Disclaimer: These are not my characters.
NB: This is not terribly graphic, but it is SLASH. If you do not like slash, please do not read this & yell at me afterward for grossing you out. Thank you.
PS: To those of you who have been enjoying my fics, thank you for your time & your incredibly generous reviews. You guys are the best.
Ryan is doing something to his gear shift that involves removing the chain. He has spread a wide rectangle of newspaper on the patio and is covered in motor oil. Seth lies flat on his back just out of range, holding his skateboard in one hand. When Ryan announced this project, he thought he would come out and oil his bearings but he had no idea it was going to turn into such an ordeal. He closes his eyes and lets the sun burn patterns onto his lids. After a while he says, "Ryan? How's it going over there? Because I really don't want to be late for the---"
The rest of his sentence is cut off by the sound of an engine revving hard up the steep, short driveway and slamming to a halt. The odor of burnt rubber drifts over the fence. Seth opens his eyes to see Ryan looking hilariously alert. By the time Seth sits up, Ryan has already vanished around the corner of the house. Seth runs his fingers idly over his smoothly oiled wheels and waits for him to come back.
Ryan looks bewildered. "That was your mom."
"Yeah. I figured."
"She left tire marks on the driveway." The driveway is surfaced with tiles of a pale, high-end concrete on which dripping olive oil is pretty much a grounding-worthy offense. Never mind motor oil. Never mind rubber.
"Yeah. I'd, uh, probably steer a little clear of her right now."
"What's going on?"
"Oh, god," says Seth, lying back down and holding his skateboard over his face. "I really don't want to talk about it."
"Is she all right? Is it something to do with your grandpa?"
"Ah, no. Look, I'm not suggesting that you do this, but if you were to get into the Rover right now and turn it on, the stereo would be at like twelve decibels. And it would be on some crazy pop rock station. Or, like, Nirvana would be in the CD player."
"What are you talking about?"
"About twice a year my mom just gets, I don't know, really hormonal or something. She basically turns into a teenager. She drives too fast, she listens to young guys with really scratchy voices singing angst music and she gets kind of, uh," here Seth makes a face of extreme distaste, "she gets kind of aggressive with my dad."
Ryan looks alarmed. "She freaks out on your dad?"
"Ah, no. How to put this delicately. More like, I would really, really not walk down the hall past their bedroom if I were you."
Ryan is confused for a moment and then starts laughing.
"Oh, yes. Very, very funny. I can see exactly why you're having that reaction. Look, can you just put that damn thing back together so we can get out of here?" Seth stands up looking nervous. "I'm not sure how much time we have."
"Yeah. I'll, uh, yeah. No problem."
Ryan feels exactly the opposite about parental sex. Literally the only good thing about his parents' marriage was their sex life. Nothing had ever been so reassuring as arriving home to hear, instead of yelling, the steady banging of the bed behind their closed door. Later they would emerge, affectionate and sleepy, and the four of them would have dinner together like a real family, his father drinking beer, his mother telling funny stories, sitting at the table and leaning into each other with a seamless rightness.
He understands the average adolescent's queasiness at the idea of a parent even having a sex life, but as far as he is concerned, nothing could be better than tangible evidence that your parents love each other enough to make up and stay together and possibly take care of you in one place until you are old enough not to need them anymore.
Twenty minutes later they are on the pier, Ryan in a fresh shirt but still streaked with grease. He has a black mark on one cheekbone that he proceeds to smear up to his temple when he runs his hand through his hair. Seth grabs his wrist with one hand and uses the other to rub at the mark. "I can't take you anywhere."
"Yeah, well, usually you don't have to." They are leaning up against the railing, a little too close together maybe, but no one is looking. Ryan smells like motor oil and laundry detergent. Seth closes his eyes and inhales. Ryan leans in and kisses him and smiles when Seth's eyes snap open. "So," he asks, "what's the plan?"
"I really don't want to see that movie anymore. Nothing with sex in it. Ugh. In fact, no offense, I don't know if I'll even be horny again for a month."
"Are you sure?" Ryan murmurs, pressing Seth back against the railing with his body and breathing into his neck. Seth is on the verge of caving when his eyes widen in warning and Ryan steps back, casually enough not to look guilty. Seth who has always thought of himself as fairly cagey, is continually amazed by Ryan's ability to dissemble about this stuff. Ryan who is probably the least devious person he has ever met. Seth himself feels pink and flustered, nervous.
Or maybe Ryan is not dissembling. Right now, he is greeting Marissa and Summer with the precise combination of excitement and reserve that they should both be showing. Everybody says "Hey," Marissa a little huskily because since the Tijuana debacle, she seems to be getting a little closer to choosing Ryan, although as Seth remarked to Ryan only this morning, lying naked in his bed, "Dude. It's a good thing you like boys because otherwise my little friend here," his hand wrapped loosely around Ryan's waking erection, "would be in serious trouble."
They go to see the movie after all, Marissa blushing and glancing sideways at Ryan during the steamy bits, Seth watching Ryan looking back at her, Summer watching Seth watching Ryan watching Marissa. Afterward they sit in a diner drinking Cokes and poking at a gigantic ice cream sundae. Summer rattles on soporifically about scandals in the film industry. They are in a booth, the girls on one side, the boys on the other. Bored, Seth rubs his thigh against Ryan's under the table. Ryan's expression does not change, but he leans very slightly into Seth's leg. Seth sheds his sneaker and hooks his entire leg over Ryan's so that he can rub Ryan's far ankle with his now-bare toes.
The feel of Ryan's skin is soothing and Seth thinks, contentedly, that he could listen to meaningless female chatter indefinitely, the way people listen to babbling brooks. He has just let his head loll back against the cushion when a new sensation brings him sharply awake. An unmistakably female foot is prodding his leg. He looks wildly back and forth between Summer and Marissa, then at Ryan, then realizes Ryan has no idea about the foot because the foot is blocked by Seth's leg.
Ryan looks at him curiously. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Total sugar crash. My god. I think I may have just almost nodded off in a public place."
"Right," says Ryan with equal amounts of affection and sarcasm, "Because that would never happen." It seems to Seth that he sounds exactly like someone talking to a person he is dating. Ryan continues, solicitously, "Do you want to get out of here?" He looks around to make the invitation general and the girls nod and the foot vanishes and the four of them clamber out of the booth and walk down to the beach.
Now in traditional couple configuration, Seth watches with something verging on loathing as Ryan flirts with Marissa ahead of him. Which is ridiculous. He even likes Marissa. But she needs to stay the hell away from his boyfriend. God, he thinks, I have got to calm down. I'm not even sure I'm gay. It's just that I want…Ryan. After a moment he notices Summer watching him. "What?"
She shrugs. "I finally figured it out. Ding ding ding. It took me until now, so, like, no points for me. Whatever. But that whole thing," she gestures at Marissa and Ryan, "is making both of them crazy. And you aren't enjoying it, so," she shrugs again, "I guess someone should say something to someone."
"What? What are you talking about? Say something to someone about what?"
She rolls her eyes. "Give it up, Cohen. I just told you I figured it out. And I have no idea what his deal is, but I'm guessing you're a one-guy guy. I know for damn sure the last thing Marissa needs is another guy who's going to fool around on her."
"Ah. Yes. So that's what you're talking about."
"Yeah. And if he hurts her, I will out you."
"What is that, like a threat? You're threatening me?"
"I'm just saying. You'd better get him under control."
"My god. A month ago you were my ultimate dream girl and now you're like, out of the Sopranos."
"Yeah. Whatever. Anyway. You've been warned." And she slips off her flip-flops and runs down the beach to splash her feet in the surf next to Marissa.
When they get back to the pool house, Seth says, "Uh, Ryan…?"
"Yeah?" They are still vertical but already twined around each other, Ryan's mouth traveling along Seth's collarbone, the bed just behind them. Ryan pulls back and looks at him but it is too dark to see Seth's eyes. "What?"
"Nothing. Just…nothing. Here," tugging at his t-shirt, "let me get this off of you---" And then they are on the bed, Ryan kissing his way down Seth's bare chest, the part of Seth's mind that can still think aware that any chance for talking is already gone.
The thing Seth wants to mention, more than the threat of Summer, is the threat of his mom. Her inner teenager is much more sensitive to the moods and passions of her teenaged son than her outer adult and Seth feels sure that if they are not extremely, fastidiously, scrupulously careful, she will know. But then he also wants to ask Ryan, and is afraid to ask him, whether that might actually be okay. He pictures them, rubbing up against each other on the pier, flirting in restaurants, making out behind the gym or in the library stacks at school. And the thing is, when Ryan is kissing him like this, he thinks, or would if he could think, that Ryan might just say yes.