Notes: Because sometimes I write fic at 3 am and post it before I have the time to hesitate. Figured I might as well post it here, too. Written March 2. Contains Mike/Ryan. (If you don't know what slash means in shipping context, you might not want to read this.)
Ryan doesn't mean to sleep with Mike, but Mike has bright eyes and a nice smile and he always, always listens, even when Ryan takes sip after sip from his trusty water bottle, even when his legs feel unsteady and he tells Mike he has nice eyes and they're kissing and Mike has a nice mouth, too, and his fingers feel nice around Ryan's cock.
He's taking advantage of Mike and he knows it, but the awed, adoring look he gets when Ryan speaks is intoxicating.
He lies there for a while, after, Mike's head heavy on his chest, absently brushing his fingers through Mike's hair. There's a knot of feelings in his stomach he can't untangle.
He doesn't love Mike. He trusts him, and that's so much worse.
Half the time he's afraid to see Mike at the other end, another of Joe's tools, saying, "I'm your Follower, Ryan," - afraid of Joe in ways he'd forgotten he could be, as Joe studies him with an amiable smile, as he in some future, alternate reality says, "Didn't you like my present? He was so eager to please."
The other half, he can't bring himself to care. Mike's skin warms him in a way alcohol ceased to do a long time ago, and while it does anything but numb him, in those fragile, fleeting moments, he's Mike's and Mike is his, free from worldly concerns.
The fact of the matter is a horrible truth: that Mike is either a plant or a potential victim, and Ryan idly wonders what his chapter would be about.
He dislodges Mike's arm and gets up to shower.
