A Tale of Two Ryan's
Summary - A peak into the lives of two Ryans we all know and love.
Rating - R for gratuitous male/male sex (God, I love that stuff!)
Pairings - I can only tell you one lest I spoil the fun…Ryan/Col. Duh…
Crossover - Whose Line/American Idol (because I needed something fresh to do)
Disclaimer - I do not own any of the celebrities mentioned here - nor am I making a profit from the use of their names. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real life situations is purely coincidental. That said, enjoy!


Colin can be rough at times. This has nothing to do with his demeanor or the way he uses words or even when ordering his coffee in a busy L.A. café (which he hates) but just the way he can get. Like during sex.

Currently, Ryan Stiles is pinned against a wall, slender arms aimless as Colin bruises his mouth during harsh kisses, deep and wet. His hands grasp Ryan's body, holding him firmly in place as they sort of make out and Ryan, the taller, younger man, feels the heavy weight of his own erection pushing against the inside of his jeans. God, this aches -- but in a really good way.

"Christ…" He murmurs, finally letting one hand come to rest on the back of Colin's head as the older man moves down to his neck, dragging teeth against flesh. "…Colin…"

Colin stops only briefly, long enough to make eye contact and Ryan has but a second to breathe before their lips meet again -- only this time gently. Something about the Canadian is so raw and so passionate. Only a fraction of this is ever visible to the public eye. Only when he wants it to be.

When they part again, Colin takes a step back, exhales deeply and adjusts himself inside his own slacks. Ryan's hand goes to his mouth, still feeling phantom traces of Colin's kiss. Colin. The most beautiful man he's ever seen. The one that didn't get away. Both men feel a kind of juvenile embarrassment at being in this position.

After several seconds of silence, Ryan is the first to speak, and his voice is ragged and deep.

"Don't tell me you're stopping."

Colin chuckles and reddens slightly. Funny how easily he morphs from almost raging with electricity to quiet and withdrawn, unsure. Not fifteen seconds ago, he might've ripped Ryan in two from near-primal sexual fury. Now, he's like his Whose Line persona. Almost mousy. Ryan cocks his head at him with a mixture of amusement and frustration.

"Hey, Mochrie…I'm talking to you."

Colin slumps backward against the wall and stares at Ryan. The adoration is so heavy in his brown orbs that Ryan's heart skips a beat. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Is all he says.

The taller man smirks. "I'm not hurt. I'll be hurt if we don't finish this."

Colin ponders the words before coming close again. He lets one hand caress the side of Ryan's face, thumb brushing his lips before leaning in to kiss him gently. Then, he pulls back again.

They're standing in Ryan's empty house. Empty since the divorce. Empty since the wife and kids moved back to London. Empty but with a hint of promise. It should bother him but it doesn't. Not much anyway.

It's late afternoon, early evening and dark and light orange shadows are cast throughout the large sitting room as Colin presses his body to Ryan's. The wind sneaks through the window, moving the sheets over the furniture. Ryan had toyed with the idea of knocking out walls and painting and adding fixtures, but he's since decided against doing anything, too lazy to make the effort.

With long arms, he wraps himself around Colin and buries his face in his neck, marveling in his scent, or non-scent. Colin smells almost sterilized -- but not for long.

With one hand, Ryan reaches between them and rubs the stiff crotch through cotton. Colin in khakis is like chocolate cherries for desert. Irresistible.

The older man's breath catches in his throat as Ryan's hand moves along the hard length. Then, he gets more insistent, kneading the thickening shaft. He likes to watch as Colin's eyes darken, as Colin's heart beats faster, his breath comes more ragged. He'd love to make him come just by doing this but it'd be a shame to ruin these pants.

"This is so frustrating." He murmurs, going for his lover's fly.

"Hmm?" Colin asks distractedly, watching Ryan's hands work at the button and then at the zipper.

"Wanting to fuck you so bad."

Colin's face flushes even warmer than before and his knees have a moment of weakness while they decide whether or not to lock in place or turn to jelly. Ryan's mouth is infinitely dirtier than Colin's, but that adds to the appeal. His constant griping hostility.

Although, he can be tender. Like now.

Their lips meet with Ryan's one hand cupping gently at Colin's face and the other starting to stroke up and down on the burning, hot shaft. Colin's moan is a soft almost unintelligible sound as Ryan begins to suck lightly his tongue.



Miles away from their location, a man stands staring at himself in the mirror of the penthouse suite at the Beverly Hilton. He smiles at his attractive face, frosted blond hair and gray blue eyes. In his black leather slacks and tight sequined shirt, he feels no one should question his sexual identity if he simply wears a blazer over all of it -- like some kind of neo geek, a metro-sexual man of the millennium. Sighing deeply, he realizes it's all bullshit. Why should anyone believe that?

When he hears footfalls behind him, he straightens himself up and smoothes his hair up…or down…or…fuck. Forget it. It's pointless trying to make himself impeccable for a guy who simply doesn't give a shit. But when he goes through the threshold and links eyes with the man he sometimes fantasizes is his lover, he stops dead in his tracks and can't help the hitching of his breath.

"Hi."

The other man simply grins, and Ryan wonders why he always has a vision of what Satan should looks like, devious, incorrigible, ornery… and so sexy Ryan feels himself beginning to sweat even though the temperature in the room is a cool sixty degrees.

"Hello." The other man replies casually, but with one raised eye- brow. "Are you alright? You look ghastly."

Ryan nods, swallowing, body melting from the London drawl. "Of course I do."

The older man has dark hair and wears a black form-fitting shirt. With his black slacks, he wears a belt and expensive Italian leather shoes. He could be a Greek tycoon in those clothes or some kind of trendy Czar. Hell, he could pass for the Governor of Gotham City, but he is none of those. He's merely Simon Cowell, record producer extraordinaire, and as Ryan watches him cross the room, he feels his legs wanting to give out, but he fights the urge to sink to the floor. After all, he must retain some semblance of his manhood. Sighing, he shrugs, stupidly, as Simon gets to within inches of him.

"Did you do what I asked?"

Ryan nods, slowly and reaches inside his blazer pocket to pull forth the tape. Extending his hand towards Simon, he catches the smirk on the other man's lips and withdraws his hand. "You're a bastard."

Simon smiles wider and takes the tape from him. "You love me for it. Don't deny it."

The part that Ryan hates most is that he's right. He does love him. Turning on his heels, he starts to leave, but hears his name and stops dead in his tracks.

"Ryan…"

Seacrest turns and slumps his shoulders in surrender. "Hey, don't bother with apologies, Cowell. I know you're an asshole, and I don't know why I come to expect anything less."

The Brit seems to consider his words. "You're angry because you want me."

Ryan's face feels instantly hot, but he brushes that off, hating that Cowell can break through his defenses. "No. I'm angry because you're a dick, and you think I need you…and I do want you. Yes. But that's beside the point." No point in hiding the truth. He knows anyway. "Come to think of it, give me back that tape."

Simon's face becomes a mask of amusement as he simply stares at the younger man.

"I said give me that tape, you son-of-a-bitch." Ryan repeats himself as Cowell casually places the tape in his jacket pocket.

"I'll give it back to you with my comments at a later date."

"No." Ryan's voice sounds panicked as he marches up to Simon. "No. I want it back now. I don't want you to hear it."

Simon stops and folds his arms across his chest. "And if I don't give it back to you?"

Ryan doesn't know what he'll do, but he takes a moment to let his mind ponder a few pleasant ideas…like Simon tied up naked and covered in chocolate sauce -- at his endless mercy...Or Simon handcuffed naked to a bed and waiting impatiently for a whipping…or Simon pressed against a brick wall and…

"I don't know what I'll do." He finally says then stands so close to the other man that he can feel his breathing. "What should I do?" Simon snorts and looks down at his hands, giving Ryan the impression that maybe he's been knocked down a few pegs or at least thrown for a bit of a loop. Then, in typical Simon fashion, he gets the last word in.

"You don't have the balls, Seacrest…" He pauses, looking (at least for half a second) like a man who is completely unsure of himself. "… but I do." The first brush of their lips is almost mutual because although Ryan hadn't really expected it, he'd been wishing for it for months and months - even years. His hands instantly go to Simon's muscular shoulders and arms, holding tight to him and soon, he feels manicured hands sliding through his chaotic blond hair. He moans at the gesture and brings his hands down to the producer's chest, marveling in the tight feel of muscle beneath nylon. He can tell there is hair covering that hard chest and he wishes he could entwine his fingers in it, but he doesn't wish to scare the man off. The man he has waited for and dreamed of for so long, the man about which he has endlessly fantasized, the man in his arms. Christ, this must be a dream.

When Simon pulls away from him, he removes Ryan's hands from his body and wipes his mouth, like a man who suddenly comes to his senses. Immediately, Ryan puts up walls, unsure of what to expect or what kind of bitter words will come from Cowell's mouth. He's so used to that, after all. God, who isn't?

But instead of harsh words, "I'm sorry." is all he says, much to Ryan's surprise.

"What? Why? It's not your fault. I think I may have…" He shrugs. "…I dunno. Provoked you or something."

Simon laughs to himself, earning him a bitter glare from Ryan. "It's not that. Goodness, no. I mean…I'm sorry for stopping…It's just that… I have a little meeting across town. A prior engagement."

Ryan nods, not entirely sure what's happening. Then, he reaches for Ryan and touches his face. "You're a very handsome man, and I know how you feel because I feel the same way."

Ryan lets himself smile and relax as Simon moves towards the door. "I'm going to call you later, and we'll have dinner and talk." Ryan doesn't reply, wishing they were still kissing, but these things take time. Especially since they're both media personalities, but still, he wishes he wouldn't have let him get that tape. It'll mark the beginning of a long line of headaches and ulcers and sleepless nights.

"Simon…" Ryan calls after him as he gets to the door.

The mogul turns to him, eyebrows raised. "Yes?"

Seacrest releases a deep sigh. "I don't know…about that tape…I feel really uneasy. Lets just forget about it, okay. Forget I ever gave it to you. Don't even listen to it."

Simon considers this, then smiles slowly, letting one hand come out and touch Ryan's five-o'clock shadow. "Don't worry, Seacrest. I'll do the right thing."

Then, the door closes leaving Ryan to stand there in the threshold and wonder what the Hell that means, exactly.



Meanwhile, across town, Ryan Stiles takes advantage of his lover by teasing him where he knows it'll drive him insane. It's funny, the noises Colin will make when so close to the brink that he can taste himself falling.

"Ungh…God…" he lets himself be manipulated as flashes of light pass over his eyes. Maybe he's getting too old for this sort of sex-play, but damn, it feels incredible. "…Ryan…" This last comes out as a weak and desperate whisper as Ryan grins and continues to drive him towards the brink and back again.

The two naked men writhe and move closer and closer to their sweet, unbridled resolution as the sun slowly sinks down into the earth and marks the end of day.


Several hours later, the two are driving along Melrose and Colin is leaning back against the seat contentedly as Ryan drives and sings quietly along with the radio. Incidentally, they stop at an outdoor café and park right next to Simon Cowell's car. It's some kind of expensive black Lexus configuration - half truck/half car. However, Ryan Stiles is completely oblivious to this when he goes inside with a sated (and somewhat aching) Colin in tow.

They are seated and served two glasses of wine as Ryan smirks across the table at Colin, who has a little trouble getting comfortable in his seat.

"You okay?" He asks, trying to conceal a little smile behind the rim of his glass.

Clearing his throat, Colin shrugs, good-naturedly. "I'm glad to see you're enjoying this."

Stiles picks up a menu and shrugs, still grinning. "I always enjoy it. And so do you."

There's a light blush creeping up the Canadian's neck as he studies his menu wordlessly. He still gets a little embarrassed and apprehensive in public - especially on a Saturday night with Ryan Stiles at his side, and Jesus Christ, he still feels the throbbing reminder of what they did and that makes him blush even more. His lips curl up slightly, revealing his deep dimples to his partner. Together, they sit like this, lost in romantic bliss as four tables away, there begins a little commotion.

Ryan turns just in time to see Ryan Seacrest standing over a table, over a dark-haired guy he also recognizes from television. Without turning to Colin, he reaches across the table to nudge him.

"Isn't that Ryan Seacrest - from the radio?"

Colin takes a sip of his wine and shrugs. "And Ryan Seacrest from television…Yeah. I think it is. And isn't that?…"

Ryan nods, still watching the scene unfolding before them. "Yeah. Simon Cowell -- from American Idol."



At the other table, the young Ryan is fuming, face burning with heat as he glares down at the unflappable Brit.

"You promised me, Cowell!"

"I did no such thing." He says, quietly. "I said I'd do the right thing."

Ryan snorts, bitterly. "Oh. The right thing is sharing it with everyone? The entire world? You're such an asshole! I could sue you for this!"

Simon studies the menu. "Please sit down. You don't know what you're talking about."

Ryan continues to hover over him. "Give me back the damned tape!"

Letting a smile play on his lips, the record producer sighs. "They're going to call security. You don't want to be handcuffed in front of all these people." He considers his own words. "Well…then again, maybe you do."

Ryan considers this a moment, then sits, hesitantly as the other patrons of the restaurant try not to gawk at them. Among these patrons are Ryan and Colin who turn to each other and make faces. Ryan Stiles, clearing his throat, smirks down at his wine glass before murmuring, "Sounds like a lover's quarrel to me."

Colin scrunches his eyebrows. "You think?"

Ryan nods back, gesturing as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course. He's…so gay."

"Which?"

Ryan half-shrugs. "Seacrest, of course."

Colin doesn't seem convinced but goes along with this idea anyway and makes up his mind about dinner as the waiter approaches and apologizes for the commotion.

Across the room, Simon orders the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu and apologizes for Ryan's behavior. Ryan sits there scowling, straightening his hair in a pocket mirror. "I hate you." He whispers, driving fingers through his blond crop. "I really do."

"I know." Simon genuinely adores the young man across from him and would desperately love to take him to bed later on. If they can get past this little milestone -- but it was for a good cause. Really, it was.

"Who did you play it for?" Seacrest finally inquires in an indifferent voice. "I mean besides the entire production company at Virgin records?"

Simon has a chuckle. "I only let two other people hear it. People you know very well -- and so do I." When Ryan looks up suspiciously, Simon cocks his head to the side as the waiter pours their wine. "People I trust." He adds, quietly. "People you trust."

Seacrest understands immediately and feels a bit relieved. Still, he speaks in hushed tones, unable to keep the insecurity out of his voice. "What'd they think? Nevermind. Don't tell me. I don't think I can bear it if they hated me. I accept that you hate me, but those two are infinitely more open minded…"

Simon waits until he's finished his rant and has taken a gulp of the silky dark, blood red wine. "They loved it." He pauses, toying with his cloth napkin. "And so do I. And I don't hate you, contrary to popular belief." He lowers his voice on the last part. "In fact, I adore you."



Four tables away, Ryan can't help but ponder Colin's recent question.

"I don't know about Fiji, Col. You don't really tan well, and I'm not big on mosquitoes."

The Canadian shrugs. "Well, what about Jamaica? There are so many really great resorts - and waterfalls and food…"

Ryan Stiles suddenly has an epiphany. "How about Egypt? The pyramids…"

Colin is shaking his head and frowning. "Too close to that whole Middle Eastern conflict. Besides, I don't tan well, remember?"

Ryan nods, slowly. "Drew would probably say Cleveland…" catching a glimpse of Colin's face, he shrugs. "…sorry. I don't even know why I said that."

As Colin picks over his Caesar salad, Ryan watches him, falling more and more in love with him everyday. His brown eyes are so empty of badness and filled with love and wonderment. Even at his age, Colin has the eyes of a child. He's seen so much in his life, but he has the optimism of a newborn baby. Not hardened and cynical like Ryan.

"I don't know why I didn't take you down to the justice of the peace when I had the chance."

The words startle Colin, slightly, but he remains calm and levelheaded, turning it into a joke. "Well, I was only rebound guy at the time, so…"

Ryan shakes his head, holding in a nervous laugh. "Oh. Right. For twenty-plus years, you've been rebound guy. How could I forget?"

"Well, there's no need for sarcasm."



Four tables away, Ryan Seacrest is holding back tears. Wine oftentimes has that effect on him. Meanwhile, Simon is trying to imagine the younger man beneath him in the cabin of his yacht on black satin sheets as they sail to whatever destination they like because although Simon Cowell isn't the richest man on earth, he is pretty damned comfortable.

"Have you ever been to Fiji?" He asks, offhandedly as Ryan glances up at him with almost silver-blue eyes.

"God, please…" the younger man is swimming in a sea of his own anxiety. "Tell me what they thought of my song. I want details."

After a moments pause, Simon obliges him. "Alright. Paula thought you had a beautiful, angelic voice that sent chills up her body and Randy wants to sign you to his label…" As Ryan stares at him, trying to summon his jaw off the table, Simon continues. "…but I told him I'd seen you first. If you go to any label, it'll be mine."

Seacrest feels his stomach lurching, eyes filling with fresh tears. "I…I…I don't know what to say…you actually…you liked it…"

Simon nods, somewhat tiring of this conversation. "Yes. Can we leave? I want to show you something."

The young rising star ponders what "something" could be. Maybe it's a mansion high up in the Hills of Los Angeles. Then again, it could be the inside of a torture chamber, but remembering that he has the immense crush on this man that won't seem to die, neither prospect sounds all that bad. In fact, they both sound pretty wonderful.



As Simon reaches into his pocket for the wallet, something falls out and goes unnoticed by most but is seen by at least one person. Ryan Stiles takes a glance over his shoulder as the American Idol pair exit the restaurant before he ambles over, inconspicuously to pick it up, and he is filled with glee to think he could be a part of some Hollywood scandal. Back at his own table, he speculates to his lover about what it could be.

"I'm almost positive it isn't a tawdry phone message, Ryan." Colin says, matter-of-factly as he forks daintily into his dessert, a plate of chocolate covered cherries.

"Well, whatever it is, that Seacrest guy was pretty ruffled about it." He stares at the object in his hands and turns it over a few times before getting a gleam in his eyes. "Hey - what if it has government secrets on it?"

Now Colin closes his eyes, more than a little exasperated. "If you're so interested, maybe you should have stopped them and asked. Although I'm sure it's nothing of any importance. Maybe it's a demo or something."

Ryan is shaking his head, unwilling to accept something so simple. "I don't know…maybe Simon is some kind of International man of mystery… you never know with these British types."

Colin is laughing now. "Right. Sure, Ryan. That's the ticket. You solved the mystery. Why don't we just go home and play it?"

Ryan seems in agreement with this idea. "Yeah. Lets."



Several miles away, at the Venice Beach Marina, Simon Cowell and Ryan Seacrest are tangled in a sweaty heap between black satin sheets in one of the rooms on Cowell's yacht, and the older man is trying not to kick himself for losing the bloody tape. He'd like to remember where it could have fallen out, and he'd like to explain the situation to Ryan in hopes that the other man made another copy, but at the moment, he doesn't wish to compromise his position, which seems (at least from his perspective) awfully close to heaven.

Moreover, Ryan's seems so content to ride the proverbial waves with him until their sweet, frenzied resolution. In fact, he's clinging to him in such a way that it nearly brings a tear to the Brit's eyes. Hopefully, he made another copy.

Meanwhile, Colin has his leg crossed over Ryan's as the two make out on the couch in Ryan's newly empty home, and Ryan marvels in the taste of chocolate cherry on the other man's lips. He almost doesn't register the soft, passionate singing flowing from the speakers because in Colin's arms, he can only focus on Colin. But Colin pulls away, just slightly, smirking at the surprised gape and smoldering look on the other man's green eyes.

"See, I told you it was a demo."

FIN