Title: Stars are Falling Author: Clay Pairing: Ryan/Greg, Ryan’s POV Rating: NC-17 Summary: And when Greg steps back, eyes on me for only a few seconds more before he turns and jogs back to where Colin and Brad are tipsily jabbing at the vending machine, all I can think is that I really don’t get him. Author’s Notes: I think I’ve finally managed to write a happy Ryan/Greg story. My muse kept trying to steer me down a twisted, angsty path, but I beat it soundly with a large, pointy stick There’s a touch of angst, of course, but this gets downright fluffy at the end. He watches me for a moment as he pockets his lighter, the slightest smirk on his lips. I watch him right back, smiling, too, and slowly bring the cigarette to my mouth, but before the filter can even touch my lips, his hand darts out, fingers wrapping firmly around my wrist. His smile widens when I start, and he draws my hand down, pressing my fingers to his lips as he takes a drag off my cigarette. Smoke hovers, thick and alive, between his lips for a second before he draws it in, blowing it out in a soft stream just past my left ear. “Payment,” he says, letting me go, “for using my lighter.” And when Greg steps back, eyes on me for only a few seconds more before he turns and jogs back to where Colin and Brad are tipsily jabbing at the vending machine, all I can think is that I really don’t get him. We were heading back from the bar after tonight’s taping when Brad suddenly got the urge for Cheetos. After a tangled, twenty minute search, here we are at two in the morning, three blocks from the hotel, four grown men laughing at the dirt encrusted window of a half empty candy machine. Greg grins and points to something inside, making Brad laugh and Colin blush. He throws an arm around Colin’s shoulders and whispers something in his ear that only makes him blush harder. They’ve only known each other for a week, these three, but already they’re like family, and I’m glad. Colin’s never been good at making friends. I can tell Greg makes him a little uncomfortable, but he’s not shying away. He’s intrigued, like I am. Still, Colin leans, a little unconsciously, I think, toward Brad, and when Greg finally lets him be, Brad is right there, laying a friendly hand on his back and pointing at yet another snack that’s amuses them. Colin’s shoulders slump slightly as he relaxes. Ash drips from my cigarette to spatter across the toe of my shoe, and I realize I’ve been staring. I take a drag and call out, “Come on, guys, pick something. I want to get to bed before dawn.” Colin looks over his shoulder and smiles at me, and Brad just makes a face, punching in the code for a bag of M&Ms. “Yes, dad,” he intones sardonically. I laugh, and Greg smiles at me. I’m already heading back while Colin is still retrieving his own snack. I hear the soft crinkle of plastic and slap of shoes behind me and then Brad saying something, low, and Colin’s quiet reply. I look back at them to see Brad spilling brightly colored candy into Colin’s palm. “So,” Greg says suddenly from right beside me, startling me for the second time in less than ten minutes. Somewhere in there he’d lit his own cigarette, and I look to mine and realize it’s down to the filter, so I toss it aside. His dangles from his lips, his hands shoved in his pockets, eyes forward. “Are you seeing anyone?” “Yes,” I reply instantly and on instinct, forgetting for the millionth time that Pat left me over two months ago. There’s a slight pang in my chest when I remember, but I don’t blame her. We had been dating for ten years, and I could never really commit. It was time for her to move on. But even though I remember, I don’t change my answer. For some reason I can’t quite place, I don’t want Greg to know that I’m single. I haven’t even told Colin yet, and even though I’d known Greg for a year now, we’d only spent a handful of days in each other’s presence. It just wouldn’t seem right for him to find out first. He hums an indistinct response and then falls silent, sucking on his cigarette and then leaving his hand just in front of his face, the filter touching his lips when he blows the smoke out thoughtfully. “Colin?” I almost choke on my laughter and shake my head. “Colin is married,” I tell him, and then, almost as an afterthought, “I’m straight.” “Are you.” And he doesn’t seem interested in the slightest. He’s still not looking at me. The dim yellow light of the street lamps glints off his glasses, obscuring his eyes. Fifteen feet from the door, however, Greg smiles again and tosses his cigarette into the street. The cherry shatters, sending bright orange sparks skipping across the pavement. He pushes me with his shoulder and meets my eyes. “Wanna race?” It sounds like fun, but I don’t want to leave Colin. I feel protective of him, somehow. He wouldn’t even be here in this strange city if not for me. But when I look back at him, Colin is still deep in conversation with Brad. I could probably drop off the face of the earth, and he wouldn’t notice. Another nudge from Greg has me looking back at him. His eyes are shining, lips drawn into a lazy smirk. “Chicken,” he says. I just laughs and let out a little crow before shoving him back and racing for the doors. Greg lets out an indignant cry, and I can hear Colin and Brad’s laughter echoing off the buildings. I hit the door hard, rebounding off my hands and then grabbing the shining silver handle and tugging it open. Greg’s fingers scrabble at the back of my shirt, but I pull away, ignoring the outraged glare of the doorman and running through the lobby. A young woman looks up, startled, from behind the reception desk and frowns, and I ignore her, too. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins, laughter simmering just behind my tongue, and all that matters is that I get to the elevator before Greg. And older man in a wrinkled suit is just stepping inside, but I grab him and shove him aside, only slightly mollified when he stumbles and nearly falls, crying out. But then I’m inside, and Greg is still ten feet away. Just beyond him, I can see Colin and Brad gesturing, speaking to the doorman, apologizing most likely. I slam my thumb down on the close door button and then slump against the wall, catching my breath. Suddenly, fingers wrap around the doors, forcing them open. Thin black bracelets slip down his wrist, and I know it’s Greg. His shoves his way inside, squirming through the thin gap in the doors just before they slide shut. He’s out of breath, cheeks red, panting and glaring up at me playfully, and I just laugh and hit the button for the seventh floor and say, “I win.” “You cheated,” Greg argues around heavy breaths. I shrug and smirk down at him. “Still won.” “Bastard,” Greg says, laughing and darts forward, pushing me roughly into the side of the elevator. The metal railing digs into my side, and it hurts, but I barely feel it. Where Greg touches me, it burns delightfully, and I’m bouncing off the wall and shoving him back before he can regain his footing, grinning like an idiot. We spend a full minute just pushing each other, laughing, as the elevator makes its sluggish climb. I end up pinning him against the wall, winning again. We’re both still vainly trying to catch our breath. His chest his heaving visibly, lips parted, breath washing over my neck. His glasses are askew, and I reach up thoughtlessly to right them. My hand stays at his temple, however, finger tips just brushing against his hair, and the smile drops from his lips. He’s too close, too warm. Heat creeps down my torso, stirring something deep in my belly and pooling in my groin. I stumble back a step and frown. “Greg...” And then, before I can say another word, before I can even think, his hands are fisted in my shirt, tugging me forward and down, and his mouth is over mind, his tongue wet and hot, sliding over my lower lips, begging entrance, and I don’t even think to deny him. And he tastes so fucking good, like scotch and tobacco, intoxicating. I thread my hands into his hair, slipping through the resilient mass of curls. He makes a little noise deep in his throat that vibrates through my entire body. I press him back against the wall, and I swear to God he’s purring. The elevator dings. Reality comes crashing down, and I remember, with startling clarity, that I’m straight, but even more than that, this is Greg. He’s a friend and yet still someone I barely know, someone who’s lips are dark and parted, breathing in short, shallow pants when I step away from him, someone I want, more than anything just now, to throw down on the slick floor of the elevator and fuck until he can’t remember anything but my name. Greg blinks at me owlishly for a moment and then smiles slightly and ducks around me, backing toward the elevator doors. I think I reach out for him because he laughs, eyes shining, and dances out of reach, skittering backwards into the hallway. He pauses for just a moment with his hands clasped behind his back, rocking back and forth on his heels and peering up at me over his glasses, his lips spread into a sensuous smirk. “Well?” I have no idea what the fuck he could be asking, but the elevator gives another impatient ding, and I have to dart forward to squeeze through the rapidly closing doors. Greg laughs again, a short, harsh sound, as he takes another step back, keeping his distance. I lick my lips and wonder what I’d have to do to get him to kiss me like that again. I think he sees it in my eyes because he turns then and runs the length of the hallway, glancing over his shoulder just once to make sure I’m following. Which I am, of course. I don’t even think, just take after him at a lazy run. It’s a dead end, after all, and he’s nowhere to go. He realizes this a second after I do and spins again, three feet from the far wall. He looks around, desperate for escape, still smiling, but then I get there and slam him back the last remaining feet. He stumbles back and hits the wall hard, a strained laugh floating in the air between us, and then I’m kissing him again, and he moans softly. His hands are at my sides, digging in my shirt, pulling me tight against his body. And oh, God, he’s already getting hard. I can feel him pressing into my hip, and it’s fucking weird, but it makes my cock jump, and he’s laughing again between kisses, slowly moving against me, coaxing me until I’m fully erect. There’s something almost condescending in the way he’s looking at me, smiling like he knows something I don’t, like we’ve got all the time in the fucking world and like, no matter what I may have said or done before, this was inevitable. His breathing is getting ragged; he’s pushing against me harder now, tugging my shirt out of my pants in his desperate need to be close to me, but he never loses that cocky grin. “If you don’t want–“ he cuts off, shuddering, and then clears his throat, “–me to come in my pants, I suggest we go–“ A little groan now, bordering on a whimper. “–go in your room.” I’ve never heard a better suggestion in my life. In a second I’ve pulled away from him, crushing his hand in mine and dragging him back until we’re at the room Colin and I are sharing. I fumble in my pocket for the key, ignoring him now when he laughs. I finally get the door open and shove him inside, slamming it shut behind me. When I turn to him, he’s facing me, hands behind his back again, head tilted to one side and watching me curiously. The only light streams in from the window, but there’s no mistaking his smirk. “Straight, hm?” I’m not in the mood for games. In two long strides, I’m against him, pushing him back until his legs hit the edge of the bed, and his knees buckle, sending him sprawling backwards. I crawl over top him, kicking off my shoes and pulling off my shirt as I go. He manages to get half undressed himself before I pin his arms over his head and lean down to kiss him again, slowly this time, lingering over his mouth, sucking his lower lip into my mouth and biting almost hard enough to cause pain. His hips jerk, but I’m keeping mine a safe distance away, and he makes a little, desperate noise, searching for friction. “Shh...” I slide down his body, taking a moment to lap at the column of his throat, fisting the blanket in my hands when I feel him shudder beneath me. He’s infinitely patient as I unbutton his slacks and slide them and his boxers down, tossing them off into the shadows. His cock is tucked tight against his stomach, and I think it’s fucking gorgeous. Part of me knows I shouldn’t feel this way. A very, very small voice is niggling at the back of my mind, telling me to run, to get away before it’s too late, but the longer Greg looks at me, eyes smoldering, lips parted and panting, no longer capable of smiling around his lust, the quieter that voice becomes. I wonder if he’s feeling it, too, because behind the desire, I can see fear in his eyes. It seems ludicrous, but I know, instinctively, that he’s never done this before. I start to unbutton my jeans, but his dick is just so fucking inviting that I have to pause. I hesitate for only a moment and then wrap my hand around the base, squeezing gently, and then lean forward to lap experimentally at the head. He jerks and whimpers, so I do it again. His hands have found their way into my hair, slight tugs just bordering on painful, but I don’t care, not when he keeps making such fucking gorgeous noises. I linger over him, just running my hand over his penis, watching a clear dot of liquid form at the tip. It’s fascinating. I lick him again; it’s not unpleasant, so I take the first few inches into my mouth. Greg’s breath leaves him in a hiss and he shoves at my shoulders. “Shit. Shit, Ryan, stop–“ I pull back immediately, frowning. “What? Did I do something wrong?” His head is thrown back, eye squeezed shut, and he’s laughing again. “No, God, no, that was very, very right. I just...” He smiles down at me, genuinely, and opens his eyes. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to be done really soon, and I...” I think he might actually be blushing now, but it’s hard to tell in the dim light. “...I want you inside me.” And oh, God, I’ve never wanted something as badly as I want him right now. My pants are off in record time, and I’m climbing over him, coaxing him onto his belly. “Wait, wait, wait...” He murmurs, complying, “Lubrication.” Fuck. He’s right. I sit back on my heels and looks around, but Greg is talking again. “Lotion,” he says. “Little bottle in the bathroom.” “Oh, yeah.” I’m up and gone and back again in less than a minute, clutching the tiny hospitality bottle in my hand as I settle back above him. His arms are folded, cheek pillowed on them as he looks back at me. “Use a lot,” he says quietly. I nod and squeeze nearly the entirety of it into my palm, warming it before I slide it over my erection, and I doubt I’m going to last long myself. As an afterthought, I dollop the remainder of the lotion onto two fingers and then hesitantly press them to his opening. He jumps and laughs, mumbling something about it being cold, and I laugh and apologize. And then we’re as ready as we’re going to be, but I’m hesitating again. Greg is watching me. He’d removed his glasses while I was in the bathroom, and his gaze is unfocused, but I can still see fear and desire warring for dominance. I lean across his body and kiss him very softly, and he smiles. I get back into position and press inside him carefully. He buries his face in his arms, breathing harshly, and I’m digging my fingers into his hips, trying so badly to restrain myself because he feeling so fucking good. When I’m fully sheathed inside him, I pause, just breathing, and ask him if he’s okay. He gives a shaky nod. “Weird,” he says. I laugh again and nod and gently pull back before pushing back in. Greg shudders. “Fuck,” he whispers. I stop again. “Am I hurting you?” He shakes his head and lifts it slightly, attempting to speak, though he needs to clear his throat before he can form coherent words. “No. No, feels good. Keep going.” So I do, quickly finding a pace and an angle that makes him murmur more and more colorful curses with each thrust. I have the presence of mind to reach under him, wrapping my hand around his shaft, and he whimpers. I stroke him in time to my movements and bow low, resting my forehead against the hot, sweat slicked skin at the base of his neck. He keeps making these noises that are driving me out of my mind. I press my lips to his back. Suddenly there’s a loud, jarring click, and a shaft of light spills in from the hallway. “Hey, Ry, Brad and–“ Fuck. Colin. I freeze immediately, not daring to look at him, eyes squeezed shut, my forehead still bowed against Greg’s back. I don’t want him to see me like this. I think, insanely, that if I don’t look at him, then maybe it’s not real. His shadow is draped across Greg’s neck and shoulders, not moving. “Oh,” I hear him say softly. A little surge of anger seeps into my brain. “Go away, Col.” But he still doesn’t move; he’s transfixed, and I’m sure that I’ve shattered his image of me forever. “Please, Colin, ” I choke out, caught between a beg and growl,” get the fuck out.” He shifts slightly but doesn’t go. “What... um...” And then Greg jerks his head to the side, glaring daggers at him. “What? You want to watch? Get out.” And Colin is finally retreating. I hear him stumble over his own feet. The light disappears and the door clicks firmly shut. For a moment I don’t say anything. I don’t move, just listen to Greg’s breathing, feeling him, still so hard against my palm. “Fuck.” Greg stirs a little beneath me, turning his head. “You okay?” I nod, incapable of doing anything else. Greg gives a little sigh and pulls away from me, leaving me supporting myself on my arms and unable to look at him. He shifts until he’s on his back, looking up at me. He brings one hand up to tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. I do, a little reluctantly. “He thinks I’m straight.” Greg nods and then smiles slightly. “You’re not?” he jokes, gently. That actually gets a laugh out of me, weak though it is. I smile down at him, and he just smirks back, wider now, eyes skipping back and forth as his focus shifts between my eyes. I lean down then and kiss him. His arms go around my neck, and I think that I could fall for him. “Come on,” he says once I’ve pulled back again, nudging me slightly. “Get dressed. You have to talk to him.” Fuck that. I shake my head and grin, playfully now, down at him. “Not right now.” He blinks and then raises an eyebrow. “No?” “No.” I say, smiling even wider now. “We have unfinished business to take care of.” I reach down between us and squeeze his cock tight in my first, accentuating my point. His breath catches and he laughs curiously. “Fuck first, talk later?” “You got it.” He just shrugs when I roll him back onto his stomach and mutters, “You’re a strange one,” around a grin.. And when I’m pushing back inside him, kissing a trail up his spine, I think that I may never get him. But even if he doesn’t realize it, somehow, in some way, he actually gets me. Everything else can wait.