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It takes Ryan years of knowing Shane, and one particularly thin and shady excuse, to notice that Shane is never in the office - or even at all available - on December 21st and 22nd. And it eats him up.
Sure, Shane is generally a private guy, but with friends he's generous with his time and heart, once you know how to read him. The fact that he's bothering to hide it from Ryan at all means that if Ryan asks, he likely won't answer. He tries anyway, of course, but Shane just waves him off with some vague spiel about "a family thing" as though his "family things" aren't all back in Illinois. Scott is his own category, never lumped in with all the rest of the family and that particular half obligation half joy thing that family can sometimes mean. So Ryan knows that Shane is lying, and Shane must know that Ryan knows it, but he doesn't even bother to look contrite about it, expression smooth and placid, as though butter won't melt in his mouth.
The better part of Ryan, the one that understands the need for privacy and even more so the respect of others boundaries necessary to maintain good relationships, tells him this is simply none of his business. That if Shane wanted him to know he'd tell him. That maybe Shane still will. Maybe it's something he's anxious about and only able to share as an anecdote couched in humour once it's been seen through. Like a prostate exam or…
Well. The problem with that is that the more Ryan thinks about it like that, the more he worries. What if Shane needs support - emotional or otherwise - and in his typical buttoned-up-ness doesn't know how to ask for it. Or even that he can ask for it at all.
The situation isn't at all helped by the fact that the other side of him, the little devil on his shoulder, insists that Shane doesn't get to have secrets from him. They're closer than that. It's not like Ryan really has any secrets from Shane, not on purpose. And that kind of street goes two ways, whether you signed up for it or not. Ghoul boys fucking ride or die!
Thankfully though, Ryan is a whole-ass adult and manages to metaphorically sit on his hands and let Shane get away with his very blatant lie. He's got to hand it to him - he at least arranged it in such a way that he won't be missed in the office or anywhere else. Everything's handed in and ended. They've all collectively decided to take the two weeks between Christmas and January sixth off and there's nothing urgent Shane needs to do three days before then. In fact, he's been working so much that when he brings up how he'll probably be out of office starting on the 21st, but can maybe swing by on the 23rd or even the 22nd if shit hits the fan, Katie practically shoves him out the door and tells him not to come back before the new year.
The only crack in the armour shows up when Ryan grabs him in a hug and wishes him a merry Christmas, tells him not to be a stranger and to meet up before the new year, if they can swing it. For just a moment Shane looks at Ryan with all the knowledge of Ryan's awareness of his excuses and evasiveness, and there's something like an apology etched into the twist of his mouth. But he doesn't say anything, just pulls his lips into a grin and Ryan into another hug. Ryan can't say for certain that it's a tighter squeeze than Shane usually gives, but he certainly squeezes back for all he's worth.
"See you soon, big guy," he promises and Shane huffs a breath of a laugh.
"You know where to find me," he says, but that's the whole problem, isn't it. Ryan doesn't know where to find Shane, not when he retreats into himself like this and refuses to give anyone directions.
He thinks about it later, at home, watching kernels pop through the lid of his popcorn machine, the soft plop-plop-plop of it as soothing as rainforest ambience. The smell is starting to waft through the kitchen, canola oil and salt, familiar and comforting and not doing a damn thing to brighten the growing frown on Ryan's face.
With his actual actions out of the way, Shane safely off doing who-knows-what unharrassed by Ryan's insatiable curiosity, Ryan is free to let all the indignation and worry and even hurt off the leash.
The popcorn gets dumped unceremoniously into a bowl once it's done, with far less fanfare and far more disrespect than those sweet, fluffy, perfectly golden kernels deserve. He just doesn't understand what it could even be that Shane would want to hide from him! If it's silly, then, well. Then it's just silly. But if it's serious…
Ryan gnashes his teeth and grabs the saltshaker, shaking too much salt over the popcorn.
Fuck.
If it's serious it means he doesn't trust Ryan. Not with this. Not for whatever this is.
And no matter how silly it is in turn, when Ryan said they took an oath he meant it. And every time Shane's agreed, Ryan was sure he'd meant it too. Every rat-infested ghosty hell-hole, every roller rink and zoom call and spreadsheet and google doc. They all said the same thing to Ryan; "I chose you and I will continue to do so until death do us fucking part." He may not have married Shane in real life, but he essentially has in business. In creating. And if anyone tries to claim there's no intimacy in creating, Ryan'll call bullshit on them before their sentence is even done.
Grabbing his bowl of popcorn in one arm, Ryan crams a handful into his mouth with the other. It is too salty.
He just wants to know where it is Shane goes when he's like this. Where inside that disproportionately large noggin does it say Ryan isn't allowed to come along and why?
And because he's already been a good guy by letting Shane get away with it, Ryan's going to let himself take this huge ass bowl to the couch and sulk a little while some movie explodes all over his screen. He’s earned it.
Turning the corner into the living room, Ryan steps into snow, socks soaking through with it immediately. His breath fogs in front of him and the hair on the skin of his bare arms stands up, gooseflesh breaking out all over. He sucks in a breath, air biting at his lungs, and stumbles through a clumsy spin, disoriented amongst trees so tall he can’t see where they end against the clear night sky. The dark up there is littered with stars almost as densely as the ground is packed with snow, all of it lit in the soft, white glow of the moon that must be hiding behind these treetops somewhere.
Heart hammering away in his chest in alarm, Ryan takes another breath and forces himself to still.
“I am not my fear,” he whispers.
The night doesn’t answer.
It’s quiet, but quiet in the way the woods are - rustling here and there, the hoot of an owl and the rush of trees moving in a breeze too high up for Ryan to feel it more than occasionally.
“I am not my fear,” he repeats and makes himself take another breath, deep and controlled.
The smell of the popcorn still clutched to his chest is overridden out here by the smell of conifer needles and the damp of the snow. Earth hangs heavy in the air in the way that makes Shane take ridiculously showy breaths and huff gusts of blissful sighs while he extolls the many failures of LA air quality. Like Ryan doesn’t know or agree that smog is bad for you.
It’s only now, when he turns inward and takes deliberate stock that Ryan notices two things.
One, he’s not actually cold.
And two, he knows where to go.
There’s a pull in his chest, a gentle nudging that leads him through the trees along no visibly discernible path. But with every step it feels more and more right to be walking this way, despite the fact that the hems of his jeans are soaked through halfway up his calves and he should probably be worried about hypothermia if his perception of temperature is already this fucked.
Instead, he keeps walking, trees stretching out all around him into seemingly endless distance, the beautiful starry sky above him unrecognisable in its abundance. Not that Ryan can tell one constellation from another even when there’s less to look at.
The longer he walks, the more familiar the forest begins to feel. Not like a place Ryan has been before, but a place he recognises nonetheless. A place he knows he is supposed to be. The bark of every tree feels known to his empty hands before he reaches out to touch, the scent of fir reassuring when he rubs needles between his fingers.
He’s not cold, and he doesn’t tire, but it doesn’t feel like he’s walking for very long before the trees begin to clear a little, the moon finally visible high above when there’s a break in the treeline as Ryan steps out onto a clearing. There, in the centre of the untouched space of snow, like he’s always been here and will be here long after everything else fades, Ryan finds him.
He’s naked and pale except for where his legs and shoulders are covered in fur the same rich brown as his hair. Stark white antlers sprout from the sides of his head, pronged magnificently, and so wide it makes Ryan’s breath catch, his heart skip a beat. He’s tall, easily a foot taller than Shane is anyway, and even when all Ryan can see are the lines of his back in the distance, the strong legs and pure white of his tail, the barest hint of his profile, he’s beautiful.
The snow crunches under his weight when he falls to his knees, so captivated by the sight before him he doesn’t realise his knees have buckled until it’s too late. Maybe it’s that noise that attracts his attention, or maybe he just knows Ryan is here the same way Ryan knew where to find him, but either way, the vision in the middle of the clearing turns towards him, revealing what Ryan already knew.
Shane’s face is achingly familiar and entirely new at once. Those are the tired, slanted eyes he knows, the small mouth, the furrow of his brows. But that’s not Shane’s smooth skin, not his pink lips, not the glow lighting him up from within so brightly that Ryan feels tears spill from his eyes.
“Oh, Ryan,” Shane says, voice full of sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan says, cheeks even wetter as more tears spill from his eyes, chest tight and overwhelmed with shame. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, hush,” Shane says, taking a step and kneeling in front of Ryan.
“Hey, no, don’t cry,” he says, reaching out to wipe Ryan’s cheeks for him. His skin is so warm. “It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” Ryan repeats anyway.
Shane sighs and rubs a thumb over Ryan’s cheek, like he’s soothing a child or petting a lover. Up close, his eyes look bigger than Ryan knows they are, fathomless like the night sky and lit up with as many stars.
“I’m sorry,” he says, even though he has nothing to be sorry about, nothing at all to apologise for. “I can’t stop it now, you shouldn’t— you shouldn’t be here.”
It hits Ryan like a slap to the face, a searing heat burning all the way through him to the core.
Shane doesn’t want him here.
A noise rends the quiet of the night that rends Ryan’s heart too, sorrow and rejection wound together tight like vines, and it takes a moment to understand that it’s him making that noise, his own voice pressed into a whine so pathetic he’d take himself out back and shoot himself to end his own misery if he still understood how to move.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Shane says, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a hug. “No, god, Ryan. I want you here. I want you here. I always want—”
Ryan gasps and clings to Shane back, flush together and soaking up the warmth of Shane’s body. His skin feels like silk under Ryan’s fingers, like butterfly wings and the softest fur he’s ever felt. His own body feels rough and coarse, badly assembled edges and angles, in comparison.
“It’s okay?” he asks. “I can stay?”
“Yeah. You can stay,” Shane says, but he sounds heavy still, storm clouds fat with rain in his voice.
Ryan wants to believe him so, so badly, but a flicker of doubt makes him hold on more tightly.
“You sure? Shane?”
Shane shudders against him. “You still know my name,” he says, sounding like he genuinely expected Ryan to be idiot enough to forget it.
“Of course I know your name,” Ryan says. “Who do you take me for?”
Shane huffs a laugh, pulling away to look Ryan in the face. He’s not quite smiling, but he’s something - something lighter than the look he wore before.
“You’re always surprising me, Ryan.”
It sounds like the highest praise coming from Shane, and Ryan preens under it, shoulders drawing back to fluff him up like a bird showing off plumage. He wants to see Shane smile, wants to see that expression light up this new-familiar face, and so he leans forward, follows his instincts that led him here in the first place, and puts his mouth on Shane’s in a sweet, soft kiss.
It’s gentle, this meeting of their mouths. Sweet and slow like honey, glowing golden and warm in the centre of Ryan’s chest like sunlight.
“Ryan,” Shane says when he pulls back, that storm-heavy look back on his face. This is not what Ryan wanted, but then Shane leans back in for another kiss, brief and firm. “If I could still send you back, I would. I promise you, I would. Please remember that.”
Ryan nods thoughtlessly and leans back in, kisses the vow out of Shane’s mouth. He’ll do anything Shane asks, remember or forget whatever he says. He’s a devotee of the sound of their lips smacking together, of the taste of snow and earth on Shane’s tongue. The fur on his shoulders feels glorious under Ryan’s hands but not quite as glorious as the feeling of Shane’s own hands sliding up under Ryan’s t-shirt, warm even against the heat of Ryan’s skin.
Shane’s hands are big; so big they span the entirety of Ryan’s back, pulling him up easily when Shane stands. He doesn’t quite understand how Shane does it, how he can bend over so far to be of a height with Ryan and make it feel like the most natural thing in the world, but he gives himself up to it and sinks into the feeling.
Shane’s hands run up over Ryan’s sides to rub over his bare chest, replaced by another pair that wraps around his waist, and yet another that toys with the button on his jeans. The body behind Ryan is strong, and when Ryan breaks their kiss to take a breath, his mouth is taken by another.
Shane lets him go, but it’s okay because there are others now, pressing close and touching him. Their mouths for Ryan to kiss, their bodies for Ryan to touch back. The chest Ryan leans back against is wide and strong and the breasts pressed against his arm when she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him deeper into a kiss are soft and warm. Hands runs down over his stomach and hips, jeans falling until they are gone, the night not cold even against Ryan’s bare skin. He’s hard and almost leaking, but it feels secondary compared to touching everyone around him, compared to wrapping his hand around their cocks, brushing his fingers over their pussies.
He loses track of time between one kiss and the next, tracks only the movement of hands and mouths over his skin, the way someone is rubbing against his thigh, someone else against his hip. He wants them all to get off, wants them all to fly up to that beautiful peak, reaching out with arms and legs, with mouth and hips to aid however he can.
He’s kissing someone one moment and then sucks on their nipple the next. There’s a cock he’s pulling on with sure, tight fingers and legs he’s holding spread so someone else can get their face between them. His chin is wet with the slick of a pussy and his hip with someone’s come. The snow should be cold and hard under his knees when he takes someone into his mouth, but it’s soft. Warm. There’s nothing here but the pleasure created by the meeting of flesh, by bodies and the beautiful sensations they are capable of.
And even amongst it all, he can always tell where Shane is, can feel him through the bodies around him and between them like a homing beacon. Briefly, coming up for air as he passed from one person to another, he wonders if that’s what it feels like for them all. If they’re all floating on a sea of sensation and near-orgasmic pleasure but secretly, deep down, yearn for Shane’s touch. For his attention.
It’s not that Ryan’s jealous of the others who get to have it, however briefly, because he understands too acutely what that wanting feels like and could never begrudge anyone the satiation of a desire so deep. But he swims through the crowd anyway, moves without knowing he’s doing it until the undulating sea of limbs and breath carries him right into Shane’s arms.
Shane wraps him up and lifts him out of everyone else’s reach, sits him on his lap with Ryan’s back to his chest. His head bends low to nose at the side of Ryan’s face, the crown of his antlers heavy in Ryan’s awareness.
“They all want you,” Shane murmurs, nudging at Ryan’s jaw with his nose, like he’s trying to make him look at the bodies spread out in front of them.
Ryan laughs. “They all want you .”
“They want what I want,” Shane says, his arms tightening their hold on Ryan and lifting him up a little so he can arrange his cock beneath Ryan’s ass, poised to breach him as soon as he sets Ryan back down.
Ryan whines, deep at the back of his throat, and forgets Shane was saying something for a moment until he speaks again.
“They want what I want,” he repeats. “And trust me, baby, I want you. I want to crawl inside of you and stay there forever.”
Ryan moans and scrabbles for purchase against Shane’s arms, tries to push downward against his grip, to take him inside already. He feels broken open before Shane’s even inside him, a chasm with only one thing to fill it.
“Please,” he begs. “Please, please, please.”
Shane sighs, like it’s bliss to hear Ryan beg, and Ryan’s about to do it again when Shane finally grants his wish, pulling him down to slowly slide his cock inside him
This, too, it occurs to Ryan, should probably not be so easy.
“Oh god,” he breathers, awe colouring his voice. Shane’s not a small guy to begin with, but here in the cradle of his arms, Ryan feels his new height intimately. “Oh god, you’re going to break me.”
“I won’t,” Shane assures him, and sure enough, Ryan is seated in his lap without even a twinge of discomfort. He still feels splayed open, a charcuterie board of a person for Shane to peruse and devour, nothing but sensations laid out plain for anyone to see, but Shane is inside him so deep it actually does feel like he’ll never find his way out again.
And that’s before he starts moving.
To say Ryan sees stars is both damning with faint praise and unnecessary. Ryan has been seeing stars all night. What he does now is feel them.
Every brush of Shane’s skin against him feels radiant, every spark of pleasure a nuclear fusion right there under his own. He loses time and his mind to the mounting please that drives higher and higher still every time Ryan thinks there can’t possibly be anywhere else to go.
When it finally crests, when the wave breaks and Shane stills within him, buried deep and spilling inside, Ryan shrieks; a sharp noise to give air to the sharp sensation of his limbs feeling like they’re being shaken right out of their sockets. Lightning strikes down his spine, leaving spiderwebs of crackling sensation behind, fingers and legs twitching of their own volition.
“I love you,” Shane whispers, mouth buried in the back of Ryan’s hair.
Ryan’s whole body is awash in pure bliss, the knowledge of being Shane’s favourite, his chosen, singing in his veins like a choir of angels.
I love you too, he thinks, until he can speak again and say it out loud to the stars and moon and Shane. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Shane lets them sit there for a while in this feeling, but then he lifts Ryan again until he slides out of his body. It feels… off, to be so separated, and so Ryan turns around in his arms, wraps his own around Shane’s neck and leans in for a kiss.
“Stay,” he says, because he knows what Shane looks like when he’s leaving. “Stay here with me.”
Shane runs his hands up and down Ryan’s spine while Ryan runs his own up through Shane’s hair and then along his antlers. The bone is smooth and almost soft, even more striking from up close. Ryan wraps his hands around it and kisses Shane again.
“Please. Stay.”
Shane sighs and looks at Ryan, eyes shining with stars.
“Okay,” he says, and pulls Ryan in, against his chest. It’s easy to tuck himself under Shane’s chin when guided there, easy to let Shane lay them back into the sheets and pull the duvet over them. Ryan’s toes are cold and so he pushes them against Shane’s shins, dislodging Obi who chirps a disgruntled meow.
“Sorry, dude,” Ryan mumbles, but doesn’t bother beyond that.
Shane smells like the woods, where Ryan burrows close. Like a world too large to comprehend and like home. Like snow and firs. Like earth.
“‘m glad I found you,” he slurs, exhaustion dragging his body towards sleep. And then, one more time, “Stay.”
If Shane responds, he doesn’t hear it, falling asleep to a kiss pressed to his hair.
The End