Spencer bites his lip, hard, because it's Ryan who has the reasons to break. He stands up, turns to face the other wall, breathes, prays for patience, or help, or anything, turns back and refuses to look at the edge of hope in Ryan's eyes, hope that isn't for escape or life or a future anymore. His voice still comes out a whisper. "That's not. true." For one moment, Spencer watches the hope drop out of Ryan's eyes like Ryan's watching an execution, the stillbirth of a child. And then Ryan shudders again, his whole body, bruises and tightness and limbs that flinch away from life, and the laughter's not laughter anymore, it's Ryan sniffing quietly and trying to hide his eyes by staring at his own lap, but what the fuck's Spencer supposed to do? Ryan's knuckles are white where he's digging his chopped-short nails--they'd pull out my teeth too if it wouldn't make me look strange, Ryan whispers months ago in Spencer's memory--into his knees, and he's crying again, like Spencer might as well never have been here, for all the fucking good he's done. And then, clumsily, awkwardly, Ryan pulls his legs in, and before Spencer can even question he's rolling around onto his knees, shaking hands limp on his thighs, and begging, voice thick and broken and barely more than breath. "Please." A gasp of air, shoulders tense, and Spencer wants to be sick. "There's nothing left for me."
And Spencer doesn't just want to be sick--he wants to be dead. Because--because he can't be thinking this. He can't seriously be considering--but--but...Ryan...
He takes three quick steps forward before he can think. He drops to his knees before the momentum can wear off. And Ryan's face lifts without his encouragement, question in shining, tear-wrecked eyes, and Spencer presses forward before his better judgment or the voice of reason screaming in his head can drown out the something that's so much simpler, deep inside, the something that's nothing like what Ryan thinks--the something that needs, needs like nothing else on earth, to put that hope back in Ryan's eyes, and to make it real--the something that needs Ryan to believe more than Spencer's ever needed air or laughter or anything at all.
And it's strange, how the voice fades so easily the moment skin meets skin, how reason and thought and breath and life and need and time shiver to stillness at the feel of--soft. At the just-pressure of Ryan's lips beneath his own. At the catch of his slightly-too-dry skin on Ryan's perfect, smooth, just-warm bottom lip. At the sheer strength of the need, god, the need to pull Ryan into him, to open his mouth, for Ryan to open his, for Ryan to be closer. At the swimming, straining need to feel Ryan on top of him, all around him, to pull Ryan back over him and lie down in the dirt and run his palms down the curve of Ryan's back and feel, the need to pull Ryan in so he won't ever want to let go again--his hands twitch, almost move forward of their own compulsion--and--and--
Oh god.
Spencer can't get his feet out from under him and he falls backward, catches himself on his hands in the dirt, knees still pressed to Ryan's. He scrambles backward as quickly as he can, as best he can, and--and Ryan's just staring. Fuck. Spencer doesn't even know what he's saying--an incoherent stream of "Oh my god I'm sorry, I'm sorry Ryan, fuck, fuck I'm sorry, I don't--oh god I'm--fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--" "Don't." Spencer's breath is way, way too fast and it helps absolutely fucking nothing that that's at least partly because that stupid, stupid, traitorous parts of him is still turned on as all fuck. Ryan doesn't look down, just--past. "It's...it's a long time since anyone's kissed me. And--and that's not. It's a different--it's nothing like..." He stops--licks his lips--oh dear god--looks past Spencer again. Murmurs, distant. "There was once. Before. And...that. It's a long, a, a really long time, since...since someone's kissed me like that. I. Don't say you're sorry."
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Date: 2009-05-01 08:54 am (UTC)For one moment, Spencer watches the hope drop out of Ryan's eyes like Ryan's watching an execution, the stillbirth of a child. And then Ryan shudders again, his whole body, bruises and tightness and limbs that flinch away from life, and the laughter's not laughter anymore, it's Ryan sniffing quietly and trying to hide his eyes by staring at his own lap, but what the fuck's Spencer supposed to do? Ryan's knuckles are white where he's digging his chopped-short nails--they'd pull out my teeth too if it wouldn't make me look strange, Ryan whispers months ago in Spencer's memory--into his knees, and he's crying again, like Spencer might as well never have been here, for all the fucking good he's done. And then, clumsily, awkwardly, Ryan pulls his legs in, and before Spencer can even question he's rolling around onto his knees, shaking hands limp on his thighs, and begging, voice thick and broken and barely more than breath. "Please." A gasp of air, shoulders tense, and Spencer wants to be sick. "There's nothing left for me."
And Spencer doesn't just want to be sick--he wants to be dead. Because--because he can't be thinking this. He can't seriously be considering--but--but...Ryan...
He takes three quick steps forward before he can think. He drops to his knees before the momentum can wear off. And Ryan's face lifts without his encouragement, question in shining, tear-wrecked eyes, and Spencer presses forward before his better judgment or the voice of reason screaming in his head can drown out the something that's so much simpler, deep inside, the something that's nothing like what Ryan thinks--the something that needs, needs like nothing else on earth, to put that hope back in Ryan's eyes, and to make it real--the something that needs Ryan to believe more than Spencer's ever needed air or laughter or anything at all.
And it's strange, how the voice fades so easily the moment skin meets skin, how reason and thought and breath and life and need and time shiver to stillness at the feel of--soft. At the just-pressure of Ryan's lips beneath his own. At the catch of his slightly-too-dry skin on Ryan's perfect, smooth, just-warm bottom lip. At the sheer strength of the need, god, the need to pull Ryan into him, to open his mouth, for Ryan to open his, for Ryan to be closer. At the swimming, straining need to feel Ryan on top of him, all around him, to pull Ryan back over him and lie down in the dirt and run his palms down the curve of Ryan's back and feel, the need to pull Ryan in so he won't ever want to let go again--his hands twitch, almost move forward of their own compulsion--and--and--
Oh god.
Spencer can't get his feet out from under him and he falls backward, catches himself on his hands in the dirt, knees still pressed to Ryan's. He scrambles backward as quickly as he can, as best he can, and--and Ryan's just staring. Fuck. Spencer doesn't even know what he's saying--an incoherent stream of "Oh my god I'm sorry, I'm sorry Ryan, fuck, fuck I'm sorry, I don't--oh god I'm--fuck, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--"
"Don't."
Spencer's breath is way, way too fast and it helps absolutely fucking nothing that that's at least partly because that stupid, stupid, traitorous parts of him is still turned on as all fuck.
Ryan doesn't look down, just--past. "It's...it's a long time since anyone's kissed me. And--and that's not. It's a different--it's nothing like..." He stops--licks his lips--oh dear god--looks past Spencer again. Murmurs, distant. "There was once. Before. And...that. It's a long, a, a really long time, since...since someone's kissed me like that. I. Don't say you're sorry."