A/N: Written as a gift for fififolle, who betas my Lester/Becker fic, posting here for completeness' sake. She requested Ryan/Lester, holding back.
The Distance Between Wanting and Having
Captain Ryan was a terrible distraction.
That would seem to be a non sequitur, given how eminently sensible and competent the man was. He did his job efficiently and well, without drawing unnecessary attention.
And yet he was, in fact, terribly distracting. Perhaps it was on account of the competence - James had always appreciated that in a person. He had also always appreciated the ability to keep quiet, and Ryan was good at that, too. He was a model of restraint and polished behaviour with a soldier's discipline, never talking back, never wasting breath on unnecessary words.
Definitely a refreshing change from certain other people working on this project, who should remain nameless.
But James would be lying if he claimed to be immune to Ryan's other… attributes. The man certainly looked good in black. Really it was just so distracting, the way he ran about in that uniform with those guns and was the thigh strap actually necessary? James was inclined to believe its main function was simply to torture him.
The man himself, however, seemed to be completely unaware of the effect he had.
Which was good, of course. It meant that James' control wasn't suffering as much as it could have been. It was also another point in Ryan's favour - James couldn't abide smugness.
And not that James was trying to take note of Ryan's more favourable attributes. He was simply acquainting himself with an employee. It was only logical.
It was inevitable that they were going to lose people on this project. James knew that very well. Knowing that, however, didn't mean that he had to like it. It didn't mean that Ryan would come in to make his report about the creature in the tunnels and James wouldn't look at him and feel a stab of regret.
Contrary to popular opinion, Sir James Lester wasn't completely heartless. He couldn't say with any truthfulness that he would mourn the death of the soldier they had lost today, but he did feel a measure of responsibility for it. He also, admittedly, regretted the death on Ryan's account. Over the short duration of their association, he had gained a large measure of respect for the Special Forces captain. It didn't please him to see the tense set of Ryan's shoulders and the weariness in his eyes.
After finishing his debrief, Ryan stood there silently in front of James' desk, obviously waiting for James to say something.
James shifted in his chair. "I'm sorry about your man."
Ryan's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you, sir."
"I don't suppose you need me to inform his family."
"No, I'd prefer to do that myself. No offense, sir, but you didn't know him."
"No, I suppose I didn't." James didn't know any of them, really, aside from Ryan, and he barely even knew Ryan.
"If there's nothing else..."
James nodded curtly. "Dismissed, Captain."
"Sir," Ryan said and walked out.
For the oddest reason, James found himself wishing that he could muster more genuine concern for the lost life of the nameless, faceless soldier, who, as Ryan had said, James hadn't known. It clearly weighed heavily on Ryan and James wished that he had been able to say something that might have sounded at least halfway sincere, something more than a platitude.
He must be going soft.
During the business with the anomaly in the basement and Helen Cutter, Ryan stood at James' shoulder like a silent, vaguely menacing shadow. James wasn't sure if he was acting as protection or a threat. Possibly both.
It was typical of what James had come to expect from Ryan. Solid, steady back-up and reliability no matter what the situation called for. Claudia Brown disapproved of his decision about the Cutter woman, James was sure of it, and he had no doubts that she was going to tell him exactly what she thought at the first opportunity. Ryan, on the other hand, just did what James asked, no questions. It didn't matter what he thought - he was the perfect soldier.
What was strange was how, later, when Helen Cutter was in their custody and James was sitting in his office, he found himself wondering what Ryan actually did think about it. Not that his opinion mattered, obviously, but James had to admit he was curious. Curious as to what went on in Ryan's head, what was there beyond an ingrained sense of duty.
But that was absurd. James was there to do a job and so was Ryan. It didn't do to develop attachment. Especially not to one of the soldiers - Ryan could easily end up dead tomorrow, for all James knew.
So, no attachments. It was better for everyone involved.
Nick Cutter was not doing a thing for James' blood pressure. James actually wanted to shout at him. He never shouted. Raised his voice, yes, occasionally, but literally shout? Never.
Cutter had ceased his ranting and was now glaring at James, his face flushed red. James raised an eyebrow. If it was a staring contest Cutter wanted, he may as well concede the victory to James right now.
Someone knocked at the door. James waited until Cutter flinched before seeing who it was for himself. "Ah, Captain Ryan. What a pleasure it will be to interact with a person who actually understands that it's in his best interests to do as I say." He waved Ryan inside.
"I'd be more likely to do what you said if you weren't such a bloody stubborn bastard who's too puffed up with his own position to listen to the people who were hired for being experts!" Cutter said.
"Experts? Is that what they're calling it these days? Well, thank you, Professor, that will be all for today," James said and made a shooing gesture with his hands. "See yourself out now, there's a good chap."
Cutter stalked past Ryan and out of the door, mumbling incoherently and sounding very Scottish.
"Problem with the professor?" Ryan enquired.
The simple question cracked James' composure. In his defense, the argument with Cutter had left him with tenuous control as it was and it had been a long day. He spluttered, "Problem with the… When is there not a problem with the professor? The man is impossible! He always thinks he knows best and his aversion to standard procedure is mind-boggling. I'd like to give him a swift kick up the arse if I thought I could get away with it."
"Don't hold back, sir," Ryan said, as calm as ever, and if James didn't know any better he might have suspected the other man was poking fun at him.
James felt his anger deflate and sank down into his chair. Yelling at Ryan, or, indeed, even yelling in Ryan's presence, was never very satisfying. The man was completely unflappable, which, admittedly, was probably a good trait for a soldier to have. "Did you want something?"
"Just checking in. I'm about to go off-shift and thought I'd ask if I could do anything for you before I leave."
If only all of James' employees were like Ryan. Perhaps Ryan could host a seminar on proper workplace behaviour… "No, thank you, Captain."
"All right." Ryan paused an instant before saying, "But, sir, just between us, I have to admit I know what you mean about Cutter. If I don't see an improvement in his listening skills soon I may hold him still for you while you give him that kick. I could probably wipe the security feed too and get rid of the evidence."
James was too surprised to do more than stare at the unveiled humour in Ryan's face. It seemed that despite all of James' best efforts, he was bound to like the soldier anyway. Lust was one thing but James was beginning to realise that it wasn't only lust he was struggling with.
"Just a thought, sir," Ryan said, smiling with his eyes if not his mouth. "Good night."
If James' line of sight happened to land on Ryan's arse as the man walked away, he consoled himself with the knowledge that simply looking never did anyone any harm. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone would ever know.
After a long day at work, James liked to relax with a hot shower, a book, and a drink. And, quite frequently, a wank. That release of tension was often what he needed to be able to just let go. Of course, his preference would have been to have someone else's hand on him, but he made do. Trying to date in his forties as a divorced father was just depressing.
In the bathroom, he hung up his suit and tossed his shirt and underwear into the laundry hamper before stepping underneath the spray of hot water in his shower. He ran the washcloth over himself and felt like the stress of the day was disappearing along with the sweat and grime. Once he was clean, he let his hand drift down to his cock.
As James stroked himself he found his mind was filling with images of Ryan. That wasn't particularly new, although it didn't make it any less embarrassing. He was of the opinion, however, that as he could never have Ryan the way he wanted, he was allowed a bit of fantasy. Without it, the build-up of tension was liable to make him do something regrettable in Ryan's presence.
James closed his eyes and saw Ryan pressing against him, the tac vest digging into his chest, Ryan kissing him hard and deep. He imagined sliding his fingers underneath the thigh strap and running all along the edge of it, right up against the warm flesh of Ryan's thigh. He thought about how Ryan's hand would feel wrapped around his cock, rough with gun calluses and completely perfect. Then Ryan would turn him around, bend him over a table and yank his trousers down and James would let him, James would let him stroke a finger down the crack of his arse and pull his legs apart. Ryan would pound into him, trousers down around his ankles, and it would be exactly what James wanted.
His orgasm drew a moan out of him, the water washing away all the evidence. He leaned his forehead against the tile and closed his eyes, water dripping down his back. He was so completely fucked.
Pun very much not intended.
James' least favourite time of day was when the soldiers returned from an anomaly. Well, all right, that was a debatable claim. It was at least up there with things such as mind-dulling meetings and discussions with Cutter.
After an anomaly, the soldiers were inevitably dirty and bloodied but in high spirits, as the lot of them were clearly insane adrenaline junkies. He hated it because of the horrifyingly improper reaction he had to the sight of Ryan, disheveled and sweaty and joking with his men.
James did his best to be far, far away until Ryan had showered and got rid of his guns. Unfortunately, he didn't always succeed.
On this particular occasion, James nearly walked right into the man as he turned a corner, stepping to the side just in time to avoid a collision.
"Sorry, sir, I didn't see you there." Ryan held out a hand like he was about to rest it on James' arm and then jerked it back quickly, clenching it into a fist at his side.
James took a step backwards and away from Ryan anyway. "No harm done," he said and tried not to look at the spot where Ryan's neck vanished beneath his collar or at that God damned thigh holster.
Ryan hefted his rifle. "Well, I'd better…"
"Yes, quite," James said and got out of the way so Ryan could pass him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, calling himself the idiot that he was, and then forced one foot in front of the other, continuing on his way. He was not thinking about Ryan cleaning his gun, he was not thinking about Ryan in the showers.
There was absolutely no way he was thinking about Ryan at all.
In one drawer of his desk, James kept a bottle of whisky and two glasses. One never knew when that sort of thing would prove eminently necessary, after all. Tonight, for example. It had been a, for lack of a better word, shitty day, and now it was late, the corridors of the Home Office nearly empty. James couldn't leave yet, like he wanted to, so he decided he was well within his rights to have a drink while he worked. It wasn't as if there was anyone around to tell him otherwise and damned if he would have listened, anyway.
The soft knock startled him enough that he smudged his signature. Lovely, it looked like his four-year-old had got hold of Daddy's work and tried to 'help'.
Ryan stepped inside the office. "I'm not disturbing you, am I, sir?"
James indicated his drink. "Not unless you're here to give me a lecture about drinking on the job."
"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Ryan said, a flash of amusement on his face.
"I wasn't aware you were still here."
"Yes, I was… Well, I don't suppose you actually care what I was doing. Suffice it to say, I'm still here. Clearly."
Funnily enough, James actually did care but of course he couldn't let Ryan know that. Instead he said, "Would you care for a drink?" Right. That was much better than admitting to curiosity.
Ryan hesitated before giving in. "Maybe just the one."
Surprised that Ryan had assented, James reached into the drawer to retrieve the other glass and poured out a measure of the whisky. He handed it to Ryan, nearly dropping it in an awkward attempt to keep their hands from brushing.
If he noticed anything strange, Ryan didn't mention it. He simply brought the glass to his lips and swallowed.
Oh, this was a bad idea, James told himself as he tore his eyes away from Ryan's throat. What had happened to his vow of no attachments? He was certainly doing a piss-poor job of following through.
Even though they were sitting in what was nearly complete silence, it wasn't awkward. It didn't feel odd to sit behind his desk with Ryan just there, not speaking, but… They were simply being alone, together.
Sod it all. Now his mind was going poetic.
Ryan finished his drink and set the empty glass down on James' desk. He was close enough that James could smell the soap on his skin, close enough to make it so easy to touch him. Except that easy wasn't the right word at all because touching Ryan would never be something James could do.
If they had been different people, if the situation had been different, James probably would have said, Stay for another drink? He might have said, Would you like to have dinner with me? If he'd been feeling particularly daring, he might have even said, Come back to mine.
But this was how things were. Ryan said, "See you tomorrow, sir," and walked out of the door, and James let him.
Lately James had begun to think that Ryan had made it his duty to check up on him. He caught him sometimes in the corridors when by all rights he should have been at home and sometimes when James was in his office, Ryan would simply pop by, like it was a normal thing for him to do.
The more upsetting thing was that James was starting to think maybe it was normal. He was going to have to try harder, he was going to have to do a better job of avoiding Ryan. And no, that wasn't childish. It was practical.
For now, though, James was going to have to accept Ryan's late night presence in his office. "Late again, sir?"
"As are you, Ryan."
"Looks like it. Would you mind… Do you still have that whisky?"
James eyed Ryan up and down, questioningly. "I do."
"Not to be pushy, but would you mind sharing again? I mean, the lads went out tonight but obviously I'm still here, and I thought…"
"You want me to provide you with alcohol because you're working when you could be at the pub."
Ryan shrugged. "I don't know that I'd put it exactly like that, but that's close enough, I suppose."
James sighed for effect and opened the drawer. Instead of remaining in his seat, he walked around to the other side of the desk, to where Ryan was standing, and poured into two glasses, giving Ryan one.
"Cheers, sir," Ryan said, lifting it up before taking a sip.
"If you don't mind me asking, what exactly is it you do here so late all the time?"
"If I told you, sir, it would ruin my air of mystery."
"We can't have that," James said, rolling his eyes.
"I'm glad you agree." Ryan swallowed the rest of his whisky, drinking it too quickly to appreciate it, in James' opinion, and then held out the empty glass. "Do you mind?"
James picked up the bottle in his other hand but as he poured, Ryan inexplicably seemed to lose his balance and jerked forward, their hands knocking, the contents of his glass dumping out all over James.
He stared down at the damp spot spreading over his shirt. Droplets of the whisky had even splattered all the way down onto his trousers. He looked at Ryan. "Captain, I'm sure you couldn't have done that on purpose."
"Of course not, sir." Ryan wiggled his fingers. "Clumsy, you know. It's terrible. Broke a lot of glasses growing up."
"Right," James said doubtfully. As if he would ever believe Captain Tom Ryan had a secret clumsy streak. Damned if he could figure out why the man would want to spill anything on him, though. "Well, it seems I'll simply have to suffer through it."
"Not necessarily. I've got a spare uniform in my locker, if you'd like. It might be a bit big, but I promise it's clean."
"Now, now, Captain, if you wanted to see me naked I'm sure there's a much more straightforward way to go about it."
Ryan shifted his stance, an almost imperceptible twitch in his face. That was interesting. "I find the thought of you having to sit in a whisky-stained, damp suit the entire drive back to your flat fairly upsetting."
James felt an urge to smile. "Admirable concern, Ryan, thank you. Well, lead the way."
The locker room was in the basement, apparently. James had never before had the need to see it but it looked fairly standard, a row of lockers and a few benches, a doorway that surely led to the showers.
Ryan walked over to what was presumably his own locker and retrieved a pair of black combat trousers and a grey T-shirt, handing them to James. "Like I said, they probably won't fit properly but it'll be better than what you're wearing."
"Thank you," James said and placed the articles onto a bench so that he could undress. As he unknotted his tie, he noticed that Ryan was still watching him, his eyes focused on the movement of James' fingers. Again, interesting. "Do you intend to watch?"
"Sorry! No, of course not. I'll just… I'll be over there, if you need me." Ryan winced, as if realising the idiocy of what he had said. He stood there a moment longer before turning in a far less composed movement than James had become accustomed to expect of him.
A crazy idea was planting itself in James' head. Maybe Ryan felt it, too, the strange gravitation that was between them. And maybe, just maybe, James could fix it. The wanting and the denial of attraction, that made things worse, didn't it? It heightened everything, made you think there was more than there actually was. Maybe if James gave in, maybe if he stopped trying so hard to ignore it, it would go away. Maybe if he had Ryan he wouldn't want him any more.
So he decided to hell with restraint. James reached out and laid his fingers against Ryan's elbow, lightly, and if it wasn't exactly the kind of contact he wanted it was still far more than he had ever before allowed himself.
Ryan looked back at him, confusion written on his face. "Sir?"
"If you did want to watch, I wouldn't be entirely opposed to the idea."
"Er," Ryan said, blinking.
James wasn't sure if he should be gratified to discover he could have this sort of effect on Ryan or if he had misjudged the situation completely. This was the moment of decision, where he could step away and chalk it all up as a misunderstanding or where he took a chance and pushed, pushed until there was no going back from it.
He skimmed his fingers up along Ryan's arm, feeling the tensing of his muscles. "Perhaps you could even be obliging and take off your shirt." There. Decision made.
A soft groan caught in the back of Ryan's throat and then before James could fully comprehend what was happening, he found his back pressed to the wall with Ryan crowding in against him. "If this isn't what you want, you'd better tell me now," Ryan said, the blue of his eyes now dark and fierce.
Deciding that words would be superfluous at that moment, James cupped his hands around the back of Ryan's head and pulled him in.
And that… that was better than James could ever have imagined. Even just the kissing, Ryan licking and biting at his lips, Ryan's hard body pressed against him, it was amazing. James' hands roamed over every bit of Ryan he could reach, making up for all the times he had tried to content himself with merely looking.
Ryan's impatience was showing and it was truly a glorious thing to behold. Finally James had discovered that it was in fact possible to ruffle Captain Tom Ryan. Ryan was trying to get James' clothes off but kept getting frustrated, first drawing his shirt tails up out of his trousers only to discover he needed to push down his braces, but the braces got caught on James' arms so Ryan instead started fumbling at the buttons.
"Too many fucking buttons," Ryan snarled, pulling at them.
James removed his own hands from where they were trying to get up under Ryan's shirt to the skin beneath and knocked Ryan's hands away. "This is going to get us nowhere. We're both wearing far too many clothes."
"That I can agree with," Ryan said and took an unsteady step back before starting to work on removing his own shirt.
James shook himself and moved quickly to the door, locking it - the last thing he wanted now was to be interrupted. He turned back to Ryan in time to see him shrugging out of his shirt to reveal his vest and his bare arms. God, those arms, James thought stupidly. Those shoulders.
There was a trace of amusement on Ryan's face as he said, "Your turn."
Oh, so that was how he wanted to do it. Well, who was James to object? He slid the unknotted tie out from under his collar and untucked his shirt the rest of the way, making quick work of the buttons that had proved so infuriating to Ryan.
While he watched, Ryan's fingers had drifted down to his thigh holster but James said, "Wait," and moved closer, sliding his fingers underneath the edge of the strap. "Let me do that for you."
One corner of Ryan's mouth lifted and he nodded. "Kinky, sir."
In all honesty, James thought he would have liked Ryan to keep the thigh strap on but his desire to see the soldier completely naked was even greater. He trailed the tips of his fingers suggestively along the line of the holster, moving gradually closer to Ryan's groin, and heard Ryan's sharp inhale. "I think we can forgo the pleasantries," James said as he found the clasp and undid it, letting the strap fall to the ground.
"Yes, sir… Lester."
"My name is James. I think if you're going to see me naked you may as well call me James." That was probably a mistake, bringing in first names made it too personal, made it more than it was (made it more into what James wanted it to be) but he was making up the rules as he went along.
"James," Ryan said, almost curiously, as if he was trying it out.
James thought he could get used to hearing Ryan say his name. He pulled down the zip on Ryan's combats and tugged them down around his hips, taking the opportunity to brush his hand against the line of Ryan's cock through his underwear.
Ryan bit his lip and bent over to pull off his boots and his socks so that he could get his trousers off all the way. James probably should have followed his lead but he got too distracted by the glorious angle Ryan was presenting him with.
Which Ryan was well aware of, judging by the smirk on his face. He snapped the waistband of his underwear and said, "Hurry up. I'm leaving these on until you're naked."
"Ryan, I had no idea you were such a tease," James said but he hastened to do as Ryan said. It was entirely probable that he had never stripped so fast in his life.
"So you can be reasonable, given the proper motivation," Ryan said as he slowly raised the hem of his vest, revealing toned flesh inch by inch. "Cutter would love to know that."
"Better not mention it. If Cutter attempts your methods, he's likely to make me ill."
Ryan laughed and God, there was so much about this James could get used to. Ryan's voice, Ryan's laughter, Ryan's admittedly amazing body. There was too much he wanted, wanted more of, because shit, what was he doing? Had he actually thought this would work? Had he actually thought he could have Ryan just once and not want him again? This was probably the most stupid idea he had ever had.
Just sex, right. It was so much easier said than done. James was trying not to think, trying to go with it, but he'd been stopping himself for so long he hardly knew how not to.
"James?" Ryan said questioningly, his thumbs pushing down the waistband of his underwear to reveal the bones of his hips. He stepped forward, circling James' waist with his hands and it was too much.
It was too intimate, too tender, and James couldn't do it. He couldn't start letting himself want that, letting himself have it because he, well, he couldn't have it. This thing with Ryan, it was an indulgence and if he started feeling too much it was only going to make things harder.
He opened his mouth to say - what? What was he going to say? We can't do this because I want you too much; I want this to be more than a one-time shag. I'm sorry, it was a mistake, let's pretend it never happened. But Ryan halted any attempt at speech with his mouth, sweeping his tongue over James' lips, long, wet kisses with Ryan's hands rubbing his neck and up into his hair and down to his neck again.
"Please," James realised he was saying, gasping it into Ryan's mouth. "Please, please," and he didn't even know what he was asking for, just knew that he wasn't thinking any more.
Ryan was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across James' jaw and down his neck, over the line of his collarbones and then onto his chest. James didn't know how they had got here, how their urgent fumbling had somehow become this slow and gentle exploration. There was still something deep in James' subconscious that ached at Ryan's kindness, that told him he needed to stop, to pull away, but James was too addled by lust to listen.
He looked down at where Ryan knelt at his feet, nuzzling his groin, and brushed his fingers through Ryan's short blond hair. "Oh God, please."
"Is this what you want?" Ryan asked, glancing up, and then kissed the leaking head of James' cock.
"Yes," James sighed. "Yes, please, fuck."
Ryan sucked just the tip into his mouth, tongued the slit, and James' cock jerked at only that small sensation, at the first feel of Ryan's warm mouth. But…
"No," James said, yanking at Ryan's hair. "No, wait." What the hell was wrong with him? What was he doing now?
"James?" Ryan's tongue flicked out to lick at his lips.
"I want… I want… Please," James said desperately, urging Ryan up to his feet.
And then Ryan seemed to get it, stroking his hands down the skin of James' back to the curve of his arse, squeezing. "Do you want me to fuck you, James?"
Over the years James had been with a few men but he had never been fucked by one. He had never wanted to be fucked by one.
But hell if he didn't want to be fucked by Ryan.
It was as if James' vocabulary had abruptly shrunk to just one word because it was all he could manage to say. "Please."
"Fuck," Ryan whispered, his hips jerking forward to rub against James.
Only instead of warm skin on skin, what James felt was the hard outline of Ryan's cock through cotton. "You're still wearing your underwear." He thought he should have noticed that before.
"I got distracted," Ryan said and moved back far enough to step out of them. "Easily remedied though, right?"
Finally, finally James was presented with the sight of Captain Ryan naked. He allowed himself the luxury of openly staring because, honestly, what sane person would pass up the opportunity? If he could never have this again he was at least going to take advantage of what he got, he was going to burn the sight into his memory.
Ryan appeared to be completely at ease without any clothes on and didn't object to the staring, but he also gave the impression of being eager to continue what they had started. He kept moving forward until his lean body was pressed against James' once again, this time with the drag of his erection against James' skin. One finger slid down the crack of James' arse and Ryan said, "Are you sure this is what you want?"
James clenched his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotions evoked by that one simple question. God, what had happened to not thinking? He didn't want to think. He wanted to insist that he didn't need to be treated like a child, that he knew what he wanted, that he wished Ryan would stop mucking about and just do it. Part of him was afraid that he wanted it too much, that that should be a warning to stop, but the rest of him didn't care. Mostly he just wanted Ryan.
"Please." And there was that blasted word again, that word he wished he would stop saying because it felt unpleasantly like begging and Sir James Lester did not beg.
Except, apparently, when he did.
Now Ryan was shoving James into motion, directing him to the wall, and it seemed they were back, at least for the moment, to roughness and impatience (a development James quite supported, by the way). James' back had barely made contact with the wall before Ryan was turning him around, using his weight to push James' front against the concrete. The hard length of Ryan's cock was pushing against James' arse and he half-thought Ryan would fuck him just like that, no warning, no nothing, and an unexpected shiver of desire went down his spine.
But Ryan said, almost tentatively, "I'm sorry, I don't have a condom, I… I can't say that I ordinarily find myself needing one so I can fuck my boss at work."
"And here I was thinking you would be an old pro at this sort of thing."
Ryan laughed softly. "I'm afraid not. If you don't mind waiting I can see if I can scrounge one up; locker room full of soldiers, it shouldn't be too difficult to find a condom."
James discovered that in actuality, yes, he did mind waiting. It was probably immature and reckless of him but then, so was getting fucked by a subordinate in the locker room. "It seems terribly unlikely that you'll get me pregnant. Have you got any sort of disease I should be concerned about?"
"Not that I'm aware of-"
"Fucked anyone strange lately?"
"No-"
"Excellent, neither have I. Now do get on with it!" James' patience could only stretch so far and this was asking a lot.
But Ryan hesitated again. "No lube, either."
"Bloody hell, Ryan, I'm not going to break. You're not that big."
Even looking back over his shoulder, James couldn't miss the mildly offended expression that crossed Ryan's face. He manfully avoided rolling his eyes and continued, "Just fucking spit into your hand and that will be good enough."
"Christ, you're pushy," Ryan said, offering James his fingers to lick. "I don't know why I'm surprised, really."
James nipped at the tips of Ryan's fingers and then said, "And I suppose I shouldn't be surprised at your extreme excess of, how should I put it? Chivalry?"
"I'm about to become a good deal less chivalrous, trust me," Ryan informed him and stuck his finger in James' arse.
James hissed at the intrusion and braced his hands against the wall. Probably the lack of lube was an extremely poor decision given that James hadn't really done this before. But Ryan was careful if not precisely gentle and he steadily stretched James open with his fingers, the burn not entirely unpleasant.
When Ryan's questing fingers found James' prostate, the proceedings improved immeasurably. Oh, yes, James remembered that, remembered it from the one man he had allowed to finger him, ages ago, before his marriage.
Ryan twisted his fingers until he wrung a moan out of James and just like that, as if that was all he'd been waiting for, his fingers slipped back out. "I knew I could get you to stop being so quiet," Ryan murmured into James' ear. He feathered his hands over James' back before audibly spitting into his hand, presumably to rub over his cock.
James leaned his forehead into the cool concrete and willed his muscles to relax, feeling the press of Ryan's cock at his entrance. Ryan slid in so slowly, impossibly slowly, and James gasped, bit savagely into his own lip. He didn't move at first, gave James time to adjust, and James made himself breathe deep. Ryan's hands were tight around James' hips, a grip that was almost bruising, and James focused on that.
He focused on the sensation of Ryan's heat seeping into his back, the way Ryan's breathing was slightly off, the smell of sweat, and when Ryan started to move again, pulling out and thrusting back in, it was better, it was good. The burn was still there but it was, fuck, it was Ryan, it was what he'd wanted and he was damn well going to enjoy it.
Another low moan ripped out of him when Ryan found that sweet spot again, when Ryan angled into him so perfectly. Ryan speeded up his thrusts until James was nearly knocked bodily into the wall with the force of it and there were nails digging into the soft skin of his waist now, all signs of care seemingly thrown out the window, which was utterly and completely what James wanted.
It wasn't until he felt the tell-tale clenching in his balls that James realised they'd both ignored his cock, that he was going to come anyway, and he might have been embarrassed except for the fact that he felt so good he didn't even care. He took his weight on one arm so he could reach down and stroke himself, once, twice, just in case Ryan was looking, because if he wasn't embarrassed now he might be later.
So he spilled into his hand and against the wall and heard Ryan groan behind him, felt Ryan's teeth in his shoulder, and by the time he was anything close to coherent again Ryan was slipping out of him, his head resting slickly against the sweaty skin at the back of James' neck.
"Fuck," Ryan said.
"Quite."
They stood there silently for a while longer and James contemplated what he should do. Straighten himself up and go on like nothing had happened? That probably would have been best but this idiotic plan had failed spectacularly. Have Ryan once so he could forget about him? Right. Like that was going to happen. James didn't know how he could ever look at Ryan again, knowing what was beneath the black combats, knowing what he could do to James.
He turned himself around so that he was facing Ryan again, Ryan making absolutely no effort to get out of the way. They were pressed so closely together that James had to tip his head back to see Ryan's face.
Then Ryan said, "You can call me Tom, if you want. Hardly anyone does but I figure you let me shove my cock up your arse, so the least I can do is give you the option."
For an instant James simply stared up at him and then unexpectedly he was laughing. He was laughing and Ryan was grinning and it suddenly felt like maybe this hadn't fucked everything up.
Ryan waved his hand toward the showers. "Remember how the reason you came down here in the first place was to get some clean clothes? Since I seem to have got you even messier now than you were then, maybe we should hit the showers."
James raised an eyebrow. "'We'?"
"Well, you might need help scrubbing your back."
Ryan was still smiling at him, smiling with a surprising amount of affection, and James realised that he wasn't the only one who wanted too much. It seemed inevitable that they were going to do this again and that, well, that would be perfectly fine. "Indeed I might," James said. "Indeed I might."
End