Title: Farewell
Author: rachelAbendstern
Characters: Ryan Wolfe, Tim Speedle
Summary: Saying goodbye...
Disclaimer: No, they still don't belong to me :(
Warning: And once again: this is slash! Nothing too graphic but implied. Deal with it!
Author's Notes: Very weird ficlet that came to me at twelve o'clock in the evening. Turned out entirely different than what I had in mind but oh well... Thanks for beta-ing to shadowfax27

Ryan lay on his couch half asleep, snuggled into a blanket and trying to forget the world. Only the changing, flaring, colourful lights of the muted TV illuminated his living room, breaking through the twilight of the room. Outside, a storm was raging.

Wearily, reluctantly, he allowed his red-rimmed, stinging eyes to close. If he concentrated enough, he could still hear his voice. He could still feel his touches; still see the colour of his eyes. Smell him.

If only he concentrated enough…

But he was exhausted, literally at the end of his strength, and he could not concentrate anymore. As hard as he tried to fight it, sleep beckoned him into the land of dreams, to a place where he would forget. But he didn't want to forget. Finally, finally, he allowed himself to succumb, while outside, wind and rain battered against the windows.

As he awoke, he felt sunshine on his skin.

Ryan couldn't remember moving to his bedroom, but he must have, seeing as he felt his soft, fluffy down pillow under his head and the mattress under his fingers. Neither did he remember undressing, but again…he must have.

The touch of soft, gentle fingers on his skin interrupted his confusion, warm, dearly missed fingers. And Ryan knew he should feel even more confused, but he wasn't. He was glad.

The fingers, having caressed his neck, his pulse point, now moved over his bare chest, hardly even touching skin, delicately teasing a nipple before coming to rest on his hip. The soft touch now became firmer, more demanding as he was rolled on his side, forced to face the person who lay next to him. And still, Ryan did not open his eyes; dared not open his eyes, afraid that, if he did, all this would come to an end, wouldn't be real.

Another hand came up to rest on his cheek, and he heard his name whispered in silent request.

"Ryan."

Slowly, hesitatingly, he opened his eyes. The image he had painted in his mind did not waver and disappear, as he had feared. The image he saw was exactly what he had expected and, at the same time, had been afraid to hope for. There, before him, only inches separating them, lay Tim Speedle. His lover. His dead lover...

"Why are you here?"

Ryan could not help but ask the question. Tim could not be here, should not be here. And yet...Ryan was thankful that he was. There was so much left to say, so much more to do that could now never be done...

"To say goodbye."

Those three words cut through him like a knife. Tim would leave him again. And Ryan would be alone once more.

"It won't always be like that," Tim told him as if he had read his mind. And maybe he had. The hand on his cheek snuck around his neck, bringing them closer.

"It will get better."

Closer still, until their lips were almost touching.

"I promise you."

The last breath of distance was overcome as Tim leaned forward and their lips met, longingly, hungrily, desperately, tenderly. Ryan lost himself in his sensations. Touch, smell, taste, and emotions so painful, so deep-rooted, he never knew he could feel... Everything in him yearned for his lover, this man whom he knew had been dead for days and yet, was now here with him, beside him, kissing him as if nothing had changed.

'I missed you!' his heart cried out, remembering the past days, the past nights, so lonely, so terribly lonely. 'I will miss you! I can't live without you...'

As if once again reading his thoughts, Tim pulled him closer, the arm around his waist pressing Ryan against the other man with almost bruising force. 'Not close enough', his heart, his body insisted. 'Not nearly close enough.'

He willingly went along when Tim rolled them over, coming to rest on top of Ryan, in the cradle of his thighs. Reluctantly, they parted and Tim just looked at him with sad, regretful eyes. His hands framed Ryan's face, fingers absently caressing soft, dark hair.

Finally, Ryan asked the one thing he longed for with all of his being and the one thing he knew he couldn't have. Not anymore.

"I don't want you to leave."

Tenderly, Tim stroked his thumbs over Ryan's cheekbones. They should have been wet, Ryan knew, but they weren't. He had no more tears left.

"You know I can't," Tim whispered, his voice as doleful as his eyes. "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

Ryan shut up then. He knew, oh, he knew that he had been asking the impossible, but he had to. He had to at least try. Now, all he could do was make the most of what time they had been given – this last chance of saying goodbye. However long it lasted, it would be too short. But it was all they had left.

When Tim entered him, Ryan wondered, fleetingly, why it didn't hurt. It should have. They had taken no precautions. Then, thought was swept away as he concentrated on feeling. It would be the last time for Ryan to be so close to his lover...

It was raining again when Ryan awoke for the second time. Or was it still raining? Had he even woken up at all? He could practically feel the loneliness weighing him down again.

Somewhere from within him, he heard Tim's voice, "You won't be alone forever, Ryan, if you only allow someone to get close to you..."

It was too early to be thinking about what lay ahead, however. Groping around in the twilight for the blanket that had been pushed aside, Ryan's hand came to rest on the duvet of his bed.

The End.