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the_water_clockAuthor: Clio
Title: Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Pairing: American Idol: Simon Cowell/Ryan Seacrest
Rating: NC17
Summary: One would think it would be Simon that would have difficulty giving up his independence now that he and Ryan are in a relationship. But one would be incorrect.
Length: 4800 words
Disclaimer: I made it all up. People sort of own themselves, don't they?
Notes: Once again speedily and expertly beta'd by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladyjaida. A sequel to both Who's Afraid of Janis Ian and Tipping the Velvet, this story takes place in late March and early April of this year, between the top 10 (Lisa's elimination) and the top 9 (Mandisa's).
I just want to note, given the plot point with which I'd ended Who's Afraid of Janis Ian, my vague freak out when I heard that Ryan really has bought a new house from Kevin Costner.
In some jurisdictions what I was doing would probably be considered stalking. Hell, in this jurisdiction—this being Malibu, California—sitting across the PCH, watching the presenter from the top show in the country perform a ridiculous charade with a high-strung, botoxed television actress through high-powered binoculars likely is a felony, even if that presenter is your boyfriend. Actually, especially if he is.
My mobile rang; it was Terri. “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“Malibu.”
“He’s letting you watch?” she asked.
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” I admitted.
“Oh, Simon. Why are you torturing yourself?”
I took another drag from my cigarette. “I don’t know. He puts up with you, doesn’t he?”
“That’s different and you know it. Come over; I’ll take care of you.”
I pulled the binoculars away from my eyes. She was right. “I’ll be there in 45 minutes,” I replied, then hung up.
This was pathetic behavior, even for me. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It started out as just sex. Well, it started out as flirting, but I flirt with many people, men and women, so that wasn’t new. Ryan looked so bland, so prefabricated, so what a wonderful surprise to find that he is smart and quick with a sly sense of humor, certainly capable of putting me in my place.
I am not a man who is easily surprised. But perhaps this is obvious.
One night that first year we were out at Tuesday night dinner and someone made some joke and we all laughed and he turned to me and flashed me that smile (the real one, not the fake one that makes him look like a Ken doll) and I leaned over and said into his ear “You’re coming home with me tonight.” His smile faltered for a just a moment before he nodded, as though he’d been waiting for me to say it. I should have known, then, what I was in for.
But it wasn’t until I got him into my rented rooms that he showed me what I’d got hold of. He could take whatever I gave him and give it back just as hard and I was addicted. Granted, it took over three years and several separations and a stern talking-to from Terri to work it out, but now I have him and I’m not letting him go for anything.
He says that part of him knew all along, knew the first time I opened my mouth, and held tight and waited for me to catch up. This time, though, it was I who knew and I’m not nearly as patient a man as he is.
By the time Ryan got home I was long since back from Terri’s and sitting out by the pool watching the sky go crimson as the sun set. He flopped into one of the chairs near me, looking drawn and deflated, and threw one arm over his face. If I hadn’t been so irritated with him and what he’d been doing all day I might have been more sympathetic.
“Long day?” I asked.
He opened one eye. “Went later than expected.”
I nodded, but said nothing. The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable. I sat and smoked, listening to the breeze stir the water in the pool.
Finally Ryan sat up. “I’m going to go get in the tub.” After waiting for a reply I didn’t give, he leaned over and kissed my cheek, then sniffed my neck. “Next time you fuck your girlfriend,” he said into my ear, “take a shower.” He stood and walked back into the house without giving me a second look.
Right, so I’m not always a good boyfriend, and I hadn’t taken a shower because I was angry and I wanted to hurt him a little. What did I get for this bit of nastiness? A boyfriend closing up like a clamshell upstairs while I sat alone by the pool. Clearly it was not the night to make my point to him, so I went into the house.
Ryan accuses me of being a girl when I’m particularly moody or pouty but I think we all know who the girl is in this relationship. If you doubt me, I point to the enormous tub, complete with old-fashioned taps, a mini shower head on a hose, surrounded by a spillover drain, in the master bath. Ryan was perched on the edge in his robe watching it fill with bubbles.
I had stripped down to pants while walking up the stairs. “May I join you?”
Ryan looked up at me, surprised. Happily, I liked to think. “Sure. I just—I’m tired, I’m not really in the mood for—“
“No,” I said quickly, “that’s fine. Just a bath.”
He nodded and we shed the rest of our clothes and climbed in. I grabbed some shampoo from the side and gestured for him to come closer. He did, slipping between my legs, though his body was still stiff. I poured some shampoo into my hand and started in washing his hair. Usually I end with this as it leaves him purring like a kitten, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He relaxed under my touch, tipping his head forward.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“Okay,” I answered. I pulled the mini shower head over. “Rinse,” I said, and he closed his eyes as I sprayed his head and neck.
He reached for the shower gel and sponges as I put the shower head away. He turned around to face me, putting his legs over my thighs under the water. “Thanks, Simon,” he said, then started to wash my chest and shoulders.
He looked even younger with his wet hair slicked down and I so wanted to take him in my arms and take control and make things better but Terri had spent the better part of the afternoon beating into my thick skull that I shouldn’t force this, so I didn’t. Instead I settled for shrugging and saying, “That’s what I’m here for.”
He smiled slightly and I thought maybe, in spite of myself, I’d cracked his armor a bit.
When those horrid photos hit the Internet, I could tell at a glance that they would do precisely the opposite of what they had been meant to do. What a bloody mess. On top of that, I had to hop on the red eye immediately after we taped on Wednesday, and I wouldn’t be back from London until Tuesday. It couldn’t have been worse timing.
I waited all day Wednesday for Ryan to bring it up but he said nothing, though I knew he’d seen them, must have known what would happen. We got through the show and sent Lisa home (and I’m sorry, Nigel, but the 21st century is a terrible idea for a theme) and somehow managed to get out of the studio and into my car before too many people noticed.
It took us a bit to get to the freeway and Ryan was as silent as he’d been all day. Once we were on the parking lot they call the 10 I turned to him and said, “Right, want to talk about it?”
Ryan was looking out the window, maybe at the car in the next lane, maybe at his own reflection in the side mirror, maybe at nothing. “Talk about what?” he muttered.
I sighed. “The pictures?”
“Nothing to say.”
“Ryan, I can tell you’re upset—“
“I don’t want to talk about it!” he shouted, turning to face me. “We’ll just fight and I don’t want to fight with you before you leave.”
His vehemence threw me off balance, so I closed my eyes before I said something stupid. “All right. Anything else?”
“No.”
I sped up and eased into a lane that seemed to be moving. “You do realize that we’re arguing already, don’t you?” I asked.
Ryan put his hand atop mine where it sat on the gear shift. “I don’t want to get into this with you. Let me take care of it, okay?” He moved his hand up my arm to my shoulder. “You’ll give me a wake up call every morning?”
Traffic was moving along now so my eyes were back on the road. “I always do.”
He rubbed my shoulder. “You’re so tense.”
“I wonder why.”
“Simon!” Ryan took his hand away and leaned down, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
I reached over and put my hand on the back of his neck. “You’re tense, too. Let me help. I can—“
Ryan turned his head in my direction. “I know you think I’m incompetent but just let me handle it.”
I sat up a bit, surprised, letting my hand slide down his back. “Ryan, I don’t think you’re incompetent.”
“It’s fine. I’m used being underestimated; everyone does it.”
“Ryan, look at me.” He sat up and I slid my hand back onto the gear shift. “I think you’re clearly perfectly capable of accomplishing whatever you set your remarkable determination to.”
“Then trust me.” He turned away. “You’re going to miss the exit.”
We were silent as I drove through the Santa Monica Airport to my plane. I got out and grabbed my bag. Ryan was leaning against the passenger side of the car, his arms crossed.
“Got everything?” he asked.
“Bit late if I don’t,” I said, walking over to him. “I don’t like leaving like this.”
“Don’t make me get all Casablanca on your ass, Cowell,” he said, smirking. “Get some sleep on the plane. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” I said. I looked around and, seeing no one but my pilot, leaned in to kiss him. “Okay?” I asked, one hand cupping his face.
He leaned into my hand, smiling a little. “Okay.” He turned and kissed my palm. “Go.”
As we taxied out onto the runway I could see Ryan sitting on the hood of the car to watch us take off as he usually does. He looked so small and alone; who wouldn’t want to protect him? I lit up a cigarette and settled in for the long flight ahead of me.
The good part about being a general bastard is that few can tell when you’re in a foul mood. I’m sure that week in London went down in the annals as particularly horrid by the staff. Well, it wouldn’t do to lose my edge.
The flight back was even longer than the flight out. Those daily calls to Ryan were entirely unsatisfactory. We’d have sex and then talk about nothing of substance. I couldn’t wait to see him in person again.
A car was waiting in Santa Monica to take me straight to the studio where I barely made it to the producers’ meeting for the show that night. I slipped into my usual chair next to Randy and looked down at the agenda.
“We’re doing a Teri Hatcher joke?” I asked.
“Sure,” Nigel said. “We can’t ignore it. Ryan doesn’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t,” Ryan said from across the table. He looked up at me with the blandest smile I’d seen on his face since we’d met. He’d grown quite a bit of stubble; I wasn’t sure he’d shaved at all since I’d left Even in meetings such as this where we were trying to be cagey he’d have a twinkle in his eye for me, but that day his green eyes were completely dead. I cursed those London meetings again; he’d needed me this week, and I wasn’t here. Then again, he hadn’t let me be here for him even before I left.
Well, desperate times (and desperate housewives) call for desperate measures. He needed to be taken by the shoulders and shaken out of this.
And Nigel had just handed me the means to do it.
“Lose the beard!”
So I said what I felt in front of millions of people. Isn’t that what I’m paid for? Did anyone really expect anything else?
We got through the after-show dinner, clowning for our colleagues. Everything’s fine! Of course Simon didn’t go too far! It was just a joke between friends!
It had been our pattern since the season began for Ryan to get a ride from someone for Tuesday night dinner and have them drop him off back at the studio and we would ride home together from there with no one the wiser. But as he’d driven my convertible back from the airport a week ago and into town that day, the keys were in his hands (in more ways than one), so I’d grabbed a ride to and fro with Nigel, who was coming back to do work for the next day anyway.
I went by Ryan’s dressing room first and heard the shower running. I unlocked the door and left him a quick note saying that if he wanted me, I’d be waiting in my dressing room. I jumped into the shower myself, knowing that my being clean would please him, though I felt pessimistic and was ready to call a car service and a hotel if I had to. Slipping on my robe, I realized I’d left the outer room dark in my haste, but before I had a chance to turn the light on I heard a voice say, “I thought of storming in here and throwing these keys in your face but I’m just too tired to be angry.”
I turned on the lamp on the table, rather than the overhead light. “Ryan, why are you sitting here in the dark?”
He shrugged. He had slipped my key ring over his right middle finger and spun the keys around, letting them clang against his palm. “I don’t know. Feels like I’m in the dark lately.”
I walked over and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s do this at home.”
We drove back up into the hills with the top and windows up. I wanted to cocoon him, swaddle him, and he obliged, sinking down into the seat and propping his knees against the dashboard. He leaned his head against the door and stared out at the darkening sky.
Once home I made us drinks and lit the gas fire in the living room, then sat down on one end of the long couch. Ryan hesitated before sitting at the other end, staring into the fire as he does when he needs to think.
Finally he said, “I’m just used to it, is all.”
I nodded. “Get un-used to it.”
“I don’t want to be dependent. You wouldn’t like that.”
I chuckled. “You are as far from that as it is possible to get. Don’t worry. If it’s too much we’ll deal with it then.”
“If I stop holding myself together I’ll fall apart.”
“You’re strong and so am I.”
“But what if—“
“Ryan, remember before I left, you asked me to trust you?”
He nodded.
“You have to trust me, too.” I put my hand on the cushion between us and Ryan took it, squeezing it tightly. Then he slid over, nestling against me, and I put my arm around him. I closed my eyes, thinking, “Thank God.”
“I fucked up,” he whispered.
“You did. We all do sometimes. Perhaps not this much, though. No more looking for beards, yeah?”
He nodded. “But you have Terri.”
“Terri is a friend. As soon as she wants a proper boyfriend, she’ll throw me over and I’ll take the fault.” I paused, taking a sip from my drink. “I love her, but not the way I love you.”
Ryan shifted his head to look at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve never said it before. You’ve shown it, but you never said it.”
“Well. Dunno why not; I should have done. ‘I love you, Ryan Seacrest.’ Good enough for you?”
Ryan smiled. “It’ll do.”
I put my drink down on the side table, then took his and put it there as well. The occasion called for a kiss and Ryan is so touchy about spills on his upholstery. Ryan took his now-free hand and wrapped it around my waist. Easy to just pull him into my lap for a long, lovely snog.
We pulled apart and he cuddled in close. I whispered into his ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m going to make love to you properly, it will be in a bed, not on a couch.”
Ryan sat up. “Oh Simon, you really know how to smooth talk a man,” he said.
I responded by pinching his bottom.
Once we got upstairs (and I must say, walking up stairs behind Ryan is one of my top things to do) I took my time getting us both undressed, kissing and groping him all the while. We usually move fast once we get going, especially if we’ve been apart, but I wanted to slow down, savor it. I could tell by the way he trembled that he was still emotional; sometimes Ryan needs a bit of gentling—like any thoroughbred, really.
I led him to the bed so he could relax and focus while I went to the bedside table to get what we needed. He pulled down the covers, moving the thousands of extraneous pillows onto the chairs at the side of the bed. Grabbing the condom mandated by Ryan, I bypassed the multi-pack of flavored lube neatly laid out in rainbow order in favor of the larger tube of plain, everyday lube and closed the drawer.
Ryan lay on his side on the bed, naked and lovely, his head propped up on one hand, a dreamy smile on his lips. “How do you want me?” he asked.
I ran a hand along his side and hip, resting it on his thigh. “The question is, how do you want me? Because I’m taking care of you tonight.”
“Hmm,” he said, making a show of thinking by rubbing his chin. “Haven’t taken advantage of that oral fixation of yours for a while. Then after the blow job you can erase my memories of the vibrator I had to use this week by fucking me into the headboard.” He squeezed my hand. “I missed you.”
I leaned over and kissed him. “We need to get a webcam so I can watch what you do with that vibrator. I bought the thing but I’ve never seen it in action.” I slid my tongue along his stubbly chin, its rough texture reminding me of the beard he sported last fall, and shifted us both so that he lay on his back with me atop him.
Ryan hummed. “Maybe I’ll give you a live show this week. Not tonight, though.” His hands rubbed my shoulders, and as I sucked on his ear he said, “Ooh, Simon. Tonight I want the real thing.”
Slow, slow. I could ravish him any other night, and have, especially before when I was denying how I felt, but tonight I wanted him to feel safe with me. I kissed and touched every bit of him I could reach—collar bone, shoulders, biceps, armpits, chest and stomach. As he relaxed his moans and whimpers became louder; it took all my restraint to go slow because of those sexy sounds. I renewed my acquaintance with his nipples and he arched off the bed, letting his legs fall wide apart. Sliding down his body I nibbled on my favorite part of his body, that little spot below his navel that I can never keep my hands off, where he always smells musky no matter how many showers he takes. I brushed my fingertips lightly across the head of his cock and he growled.
I grinned. “Turn over,” I said, grabbing the lube and sliding back along the bed.
He rolled up and got on his hands and knees over me, his cock close to my mouth. It had been a while, and I can’t deep throat the way Ryan can anyway, so I started slow, taking long licks along the veins and all over the shaft. I moved my head and sucked a soft testicle into my mouth and he arched his back. God, his moans are lovely; they almost make him forget what I’m doing.
One plus of his kneeling above me is that his legs are spread. Easy to lick down from the base of his cock to that little spot between his legs. I grabbed for the lube and slicked up one hand and brought it up to the arse he was sticking out so lewdly. I slid my first finger into his arse as I licked back along the underside of his cock, finally taking the dripping head into my mouth. I felt the sheets move and knew he was grabbing them in his hands.
“Oooh, Simon, oh, suck it, suck it,” he muttered.
I did as I was told, sucking hard on the head where it fit so perfectly against the roof of my mouth, stroking the shaft with one slick hand while I slipped another finger into his arse. I sucked harder, sliding my tongue all around and getting just a little bit more of his dick into my mouth, getting more sexy sounds for my trouble. I slid a third finger in, wanting to finger fuck him now because there was no way I was going to last once I started fucking him, not with this prelude. My fingers moved in and out of that little hole in time to my stroking and sucking and I closed my eyes, losing myself in the smell and taste and feel and sound of him.
I hummed against him and stroked his dick a bit harder and he tensed up, so I slipped my fingers out of his arse and slid them to the base of his cock. I sucked harder and he came, pumping into my mouth a bit and I slurped it up eagerly. I love swallowing his come; it’s so dirty.
Ryan fell down on the bed on his side and I slid over, rolling onto my side and propping my head on my hand. He was flushed all over, his face the picture of post-orgasm bliss, and my cock got even harder, if that was possible, just by looking at him. He opened his eyes and I winked at him, making a show of licking my lips.
He wrinkled his nose. “Dunno how you can do that,” he said.
“Poor Ryan,” I said, mockingly. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” I sat up and ruffled his hair, then got off the bed.
Ryan pulled up onto his elbows. “Where’re you goin’?”
“Just getting this,” I said, pulling the stand up mirror over to the foot of the bed. Ryan teases me about my oral fixation—I’m a smoker so it’s really no secret—but it’s also why I don’t like kissing him when we fuck. Oh, when he tops me it’s fine, really quite nice, but when I top him I get distracted. I know, an old debaucher like me shouldn’t get caught up in kisses, but Ryan is a really good kisser. Too bad for me he won’t kiss me when I’ve just sucked him off. So the mirror lets me take him from behind and still be able to watch his face. Best of both worlds.
Back on the bed, I reached for the condom. “Right, on your knees,” I said, ripping it open.
Ryan took it out of my hands. “Let me do this one thing,” he said, sitting up on his knees to face me. He glanced down and slipped the condom over the head of my cock, then looked me in the eyes as he rolled it up the shaft. This is one intense young man I’ve got.
Then, suddenly, he leaned forward, taking my head in his hands, and kissed me deeply. “Well?” I asked.
Ryan cocked his head, moving his tongue in his mouth. “Hmm, not as bad as I thought. Maybe I’ll let you kiss me next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, kissing him again. “Now, down you go.”
Ryan turned and got on his hands and knees again, facing the mirror. He arched his back, pushing his arse out and wiggling it a bit, so I slapped it, making him giggle. His hole was open and waiting for me, shiny and slick with lube, and I slid in easily. Ryan threw his head back and closed his eyes, moaning.
“Open your eyes and watch, Ryan,” I said, thrusting deep and slow.
Our eyes met in the mirror. God, if I’d thought it was intense before, it was nothing like this, like fucking him hard and deep, really working him over, and seeing it on his face. He’s such a perfect bottom; he sticks his arse out almost unconsciously when he’s turned on, like a little bitch in heat and all for me; no other man in his bed any more. He held my stare—no backing down for my Ryan—and his mouth was open, panting. He licked his lips and started talking.
“Fuck me good, darlin’, harder, so deep this way, so hot taking me, missed this so much.” He swallowed and paused for a moment, then said, “Come on, darlin’, come for me” while he clenched me tight inside him.
Who could last longer between that voice and those green eyes and that amazing arse? I grabbed his flanks tight, pulling him onto me and coming, hard. Ryan let his arms go and we collapsed down onto the bed.
After a bit I slipped out of him and rolled over. I could feel Ryan running a hand down my sweaty chest, then get off the bed. I love him, so I’ve got used to his need for immediate clean-up time and don’t worry about the afterglow so much anymore, but it’s still weird, his whole fluids thing. I glanced up and sure enough, there he was with some Kleenex to take off my condom. He put one tissue over his right hand and pulled the condom off from the base, rolling it up tight in the tissue. But then, before he used the other one to wipe me off, he took a forefinger and swiped off the tiny bit of come that clung to the head of my cock, licking it off with his pointed pink tongue.
“Well?” I asked.
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s all right. Wouldn’t want it spraying into the back of my throat or leaking out of my ass.” He leaned in and lapped at the head and shaft of my cock, cleaning it with his tongue instead of the tissue. “But it’s all right.” He grinned.
“One step at a time, Ryan,” I said, smiling back.
He disposed of the tissues in the bathroom and I moved back up to the head of the bed. When he returned we pulled the covers back up and he snuggled in close, his arm wrapped around me. I kissed the top of his head.
“So this is you taking care of me?” he asked.
“Part of it.”
He hummed, satisfied and sleepy. “Then I guess it’s okay.”
I laughed. “So glad you approve,” I replied.
I keep Ryan’s ridiculously early hours when I’m in LA. They’re actually terribly convenient if one is trying to run a business in London. Therefore we were sound asleep two nights later when Ryan’s mobile started beeping at 11pm.
I put my arm over my eyes as Ryan fumbled on the bedside table. He looked at the text, then sat up and pushed my arm. “We got it!”
“Got what?” I mumbled.
“The house! We got the house, our house, a house together!”
This wasn’t strictly true; only Ryan was actually buying the house. But it was a house that we’d looked at and agreed on together, a house that would be decorated with both of us in mind. Our house in all but name, which was really close enough for me.
“Darlin’, aren’t you excited? It’s what you said you wanted.”
I looked up at him and saw just the tiniest twinge of disappointment so I smiled, reaching up to take his hand. “It’s everything I want,” I said. “Now let’s go back to sleep. We can celebrate over breakfast.”
Ryan put his mobile back on the bedside table and lay down in my arms. “I love you, Simon Cowell.”
“Of course you do,” I replied.
Title: Even Cowgirls Get the Blues
Pairing: American Idol: Simon Cowell/Ryan Seacrest
Rating: NC17
Summary: One would think it would be Simon that would have difficulty giving up his independence now that he and Ryan are in a relationship. But one would be incorrect.
Length: 4800 words
Disclaimer: I made it all up. People sort of own themselves, don't they?
Notes: Once again speedily and expertly beta'd by
ladyjaida. A sequel to both Who's Afraid of Janis Ian and Tipping the Velvet, this story takes place in late March and early April of this year, between the top 10 (Lisa's elimination) and the top 9 (Mandisa's).I just want to note, given the plot point with which I'd ended Who's Afraid of Janis Ian, my vague freak out when I heard that Ryan really has bought a new house from Kevin Costner.
In some jurisdictions what I was doing would probably be considered stalking. Hell, in this jurisdiction—this being Malibu, California—sitting across the PCH, watching the presenter from the top show in the country perform a ridiculous charade with a high-strung, botoxed television actress through high-powered binoculars likely is a felony, even if that presenter is your boyfriend. Actually, especially if he is.
My mobile rang; it was Terri. “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“Malibu.”
“He’s letting you watch?” she asked.
“He doesn’t know I’m here,” I admitted.
“Oh, Simon. Why are you torturing yourself?”
I took another drag from my cigarette. “I don’t know. He puts up with you, doesn’t he?”
“That’s different and you know it. Come over; I’ll take care of you.”
I pulled the binoculars away from my eyes. She was right. “I’ll be there in 45 minutes,” I replied, then hung up.
This was pathetic behavior, even for me. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
It started out as just sex. Well, it started out as flirting, but I flirt with many people, men and women, so that wasn’t new. Ryan looked so bland, so prefabricated, so what a wonderful surprise to find that he is smart and quick with a sly sense of humor, certainly capable of putting me in my place.
I am not a man who is easily surprised. But perhaps this is obvious.
One night that first year we were out at Tuesday night dinner and someone made some joke and we all laughed and he turned to me and flashed me that smile (the real one, not the fake one that makes him look like a Ken doll) and I leaned over and said into his ear “You’re coming home with me tonight.” His smile faltered for a just a moment before he nodded, as though he’d been waiting for me to say it. I should have known, then, what I was in for.
But it wasn’t until I got him into my rented rooms that he showed me what I’d got hold of. He could take whatever I gave him and give it back just as hard and I was addicted. Granted, it took over three years and several separations and a stern talking-to from Terri to work it out, but now I have him and I’m not letting him go for anything.
He says that part of him knew all along, knew the first time I opened my mouth, and held tight and waited for me to catch up. This time, though, it was I who knew and I’m not nearly as patient a man as he is.
By the time Ryan got home I was long since back from Terri’s and sitting out by the pool watching the sky go crimson as the sun set. He flopped into one of the chairs near me, looking drawn and deflated, and threw one arm over his face. If I hadn’t been so irritated with him and what he’d been doing all day I might have been more sympathetic.
“Long day?” I asked.
He opened one eye. “Went later than expected.”
I nodded, but said nothing. The silence stretched out, becoming uncomfortable. I sat and smoked, listening to the breeze stir the water in the pool.
Finally Ryan sat up. “I’m going to go get in the tub.” After waiting for a reply I didn’t give, he leaned over and kissed my cheek, then sniffed my neck. “Next time you fuck your girlfriend,” he said into my ear, “take a shower.” He stood and walked back into the house without giving me a second look.
Right, so I’m not always a good boyfriend, and I hadn’t taken a shower because I was angry and I wanted to hurt him a little. What did I get for this bit of nastiness? A boyfriend closing up like a clamshell upstairs while I sat alone by the pool. Clearly it was not the night to make my point to him, so I went into the house.
Ryan accuses me of being a girl when I’m particularly moody or pouty but I think we all know who the girl is in this relationship. If you doubt me, I point to the enormous tub, complete with old-fashioned taps, a mini shower head on a hose, surrounded by a spillover drain, in the master bath. Ryan was perched on the edge in his robe watching it fill with bubbles.
I had stripped down to pants while walking up the stairs. “May I join you?”
Ryan looked up at me, surprised. Happily, I liked to think. “Sure. I just—I’m tired, I’m not really in the mood for—“
“No,” I said quickly, “that’s fine. Just a bath.”
He nodded and we shed the rest of our clothes and climbed in. I grabbed some shampoo from the side and gestured for him to come closer. He did, slipping between my legs, though his body was still stiff. I poured some shampoo into my hand and started in washing his hair. Usually I end with this as it leaves him purring like a kitten, but desperate times call for desperate measures. He relaxed under my touch, tipping his head forward.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“Okay,” I answered. I pulled the mini shower head over. “Rinse,” I said, and he closed his eyes as I sprayed his head and neck.
He reached for the shower gel and sponges as I put the shower head away. He turned around to face me, putting his legs over my thighs under the water. “Thanks, Simon,” he said, then started to wash my chest and shoulders.
He looked even younger with his wet hair slicked down and I so wanted to take him in my arms and take control and make things better but Terri had spent the better part of the afternoon beating into my thick skull that I shouldn’t force this, so I didn’t. Instead I settled for shrugging and saying, “That’s what I’m here for.”
He smiled slightly and I thought maybe, in spite of myself, I’d cracked his armor a bit.
When those horrid photos hit the Internet, I could tell at a glance that they would do precisely the opposite of what they had been meant to do. What a bloody mess. On top of that, I had to hop on the red eye immediately after we taped on Wednesday, and I wouldn’t be back from London until Tuesday. It couldn’t have been worse timing.
I waited all day Wednesday for Ryan to bring it up but he said nothing, though I knew he’d seen them, must have known what would happen. We got through the show and sent Lisa home (and I’m sorry, Nigel, but the 21st century is a terrible idea for a theme) and somehow managed to get out of the studio and into my car before too many people noticed.
It took us a bit to get to the freeway and Ryan was as silent as he’d been all day. Once we were on the parking lot they call the 10 I turned to him and said, “Right, want to talk about it?”
Ryan was looking out the window, maybe at the car in the next lane, maybe at his own reflection in the side mirror, maybe at nothing. “Talk about what?” he muttered.
I sighed. “The pictures?”
“Nothing to say.”
“Ryan, I can tell you’re upset—“
“I don’t want to talk about it!” he shouted, turning to face me. “We’ll just fight and I don’t want to fight with you before you leave.”
His vehemence threw me off balance, so I closed my eyes before I said something stupid. “All right. Anything else?”
“No.”
I sped up and eased into a lane that seemed to be moving. “You do realize that we’re arguing already, don’t you?” I asked.
Ryan put his hand atop mine where it sat on the gear shift. “I don’t want to get into this with you. Let me take care of it, okay?” He moved his hand up my arm to my shoulder. “You’ll give me a wake up call every morning?”
Traffic was moving along now so my eyes were back on the road. “I always do.”
He rubbed my shoulder. “You’re so tense.”
“I wonder why.”
“Simon!” Ryan took his hand away and leaned down, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.
I reached over and put my hand on the back of his neck. “You’re tense, too. Let me help. I can—“
Ryan turned his head in my direction. “I know you think I’m incompetent but just let me handle it.”
I sat up a bit, surprised, letting my hand slide down his back. “Ryan, I don’t think you’re incompetent.”
“It’s fine. I’m used being underestimated; everyone does it.”
“Ryan, look at me.” He sat up and I slid my hand back onto the gear shift. “I think you’re clearly perfectly capable of accomplishing whatever you set your remarkable determination to.”
“Then trust me.” He turned away. “You’re going to miss the exit.”
We were silent as I drove through the Santa Monica Airport to my plane. I got out and grabbed my bag. Ryan was leaning against the passenger side of the car, his arms crossed.
“Got everything?” he asked.
“Bit late if I don’t,” I said, walking over to him. “I don’t like leaving like this.”
“Don’t make me get all Casablanca on your ass, Cowell,” he said, smirking. “Get some sleep on the plane. I’ll see you Tuesday.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” I said. I looked around and, seeing no one but my pilot, leaned in to kiss him. “Okay?” I asked, one hand cupping his face.
He leaned into my hand, smiling a little. “Okay.” He turned and kissed my palm. “Go.”
As we taxied out onto the runway I could see Ryan sitting on the hood of the car to watch us take off as he usually does. He looked so small and alone; who wouldn’t want to protect him? I lit up a cigarette and settled in for the long flight ahead of me.
The good part about being a general bastard is that few can tell when you’re in a foul mood. I’m sure that week in London went down in the annals as particularly horrid by the staff. Well, it wouldn’t do to lose my edge.
The flight back was even longer than the flight out. Those daily calls to Ryan were entirely unsatisfactory. We’d have sex and then talk about nothing of substance. I couldn’t wait to see him in person again.
A car was waiting in Santa Monica to take me straight to the studio where I barely made it to the producers’ meeting for the show that night. I slipped into my usual chair next to Randy and looked down at the agenda.
“We’re doing a Teri Hatcher joke?” I asked.
“Sure,” Nigel said. “We can’t ignore it. Ryan doesn’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t,” Ryan said from across the table. He looked up at me with the blandest smile I’d seen on his face since we’d met. He’d grown quite a bit of stubble; I wasn’t sure he’d shaved at all since I’d left Even in meetings such as this where we were trying to be cagey he’d have a twinkle in his eye for me, but that day his green eyes were completely dead. I cursed those London meetings again; he’d needed me this week, and I wasn’t here. Then again, he hadn’t let me be here for him even before I left.
Well, desperate times (and desperate housewives) call for desperate measures. He needed to be taken by the shoulders and shaken out of this.
And Nigel had just handed me the means to do it.
“Lose the beard!”
So I said what I felt in front of millions of people. Isn’t that what I’m paid for? Did anyone really expect anything else?
We got through the after-show dinner, clowning for our colleagues. Everything’s fine! Of course Simon didn’t go too far! It was just a joke between friends!
It had been our pattern since the season began for Ryan to get a ride from someone for Tuesday night dinner and have them drop him off back at the studio and we would ride home together from there with no one the wiser. But as he’d driven my convertible back from the airport a week ago and into town that day, the keys were in his hands (in more ways than one), so I’d grabbed a ride to and fro with Nigel, who was coming back to do work for the next day anyway.
I went by Ryan’s dressing room first and heard the shower running. I unlocked the door and left him a quick note saying that if he wanted me, I’d be waiting in my dressing room. I jumped into the shower myself, knowing that my being clean would please him, though I felt pessimistic and was ready to call a car service and a hotel if I had to. Slipping on my robe, I realized I’d left the outer room dark in my haste, but before I had a chance to turn the light on I heard a voice say, “I thought of storming in here and throwing these keys in your face but I’m just too tired to be angry.”
I turned on the lamp on the table, rather than the overhead light. “Ryan, why are you sitting here in the dark?”
He shrugged. He had slipped my key ring over his right middle finger and spun the keys around, letting them clang against his palm. “I don’t know. Feels like I’m in the dark lately.”
I walked over and kissed the top of his head. “Let’s do this at home.”
We drove back up into the hills with the top and windows up. I wanted to cocoon him, swaddle him, and he obliged, sinking down into the seat and propping his knees against the dashboard. He leaned his head against the door and stared out at the darkening sky.
Once home I made us drinks and lit the gas fire in the living room, then sat down on one end of the long couch. Ryan hesitated before sitting at the other end, staring into the fire as he does when he needs to think.
Finally he said, “I’m just used to it, is all.”
I nodded. “Get un-used to it.”
“I don’t want to be dependent. You wouldn’t like that.”
I chuckled. “You are as far from that as it is possible to get. Don’t worry. If it’s too much we’ll deal with it then.”
“If I stop holding myself together I’ll fall apart.”
“You’re strong and so am I.”
“But what if—“
“Ryan, remember before I left, you asked me to trust you?”
He nodded.
“You have to trust me, too.” I put my hand on the cushion between us and Ryan took it, squeezing it tightly. Then he slid over, nestling against me, and I put my arm around him. I closed my eyes, thinking, “Thank God.”
“I fucked up,” he whispered.
“You did. We all do sometimes. Perhaps not this much, though. No more looking for beards, yeah?”
He nodded. “But you have Terri.”
“Terri is a friend. As soon as she wants a proper boyfriend, she’ll throw me over and I’ll take the fault.” I paused, taking a sip from my drink. “I love her, but not the way I love you.”
Ryan shifted his head to look at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You’ve never said it before. You’ve shown it, but you never said it.”
“Well. Dunno why not; I should have done. ‘I love you, Ryan Seacrest.’ Good enough for you?”
Ryan smiled. “It’ll do.”
I put my drink down on the side table, then took his and put it there as well. The occasion called for a kiss and Ryan is so touchy about spills on his upholstery. Ryan took his now-free hand and wrapped it around my waist. Easy to just pull him into my lap for a long, lovely snog.
We pulled apart and he cuddled in close. I whispered into his ear, “Let’s go upstairs.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m going to make love to you properly, it will be in a bed, not on a couch.”
Ryan sat up. “Oh Simon, you really know how to smooth talk a man,” he said.
I responded by pinching his bottom.
Once we got upstairs (and I must say, walking up stairs behind Ryan is one of my top things to do) I took my time getting us both undressed, kissing and groping him all the while. We usually move fast once we get going, especially if we’ve been apart, but I wanted to slow down, savor it. I could tell by the way he trembled that he was still emotional; sometimes Ryan needs a bit of gentling—like any thoroughbred, really.
I led him to the bed so he could relax and focus while I went to the bedside table to get what we needed. He pulled down the covers, moving the thousands of extraneous pillows onto the chairs at the side of the bed. Grabbing the condom mandated by Ryan, I bypassed the multi-pack of flavored lube neatly laid out in rainbow order in favor of the larger tube of plain, everyday lube and closed the drawer.
Ryan lay on his side on the bed, naked and lovely, his head propped up on one hand, a dreamy smile on his lips. “How do you want me?” he asked.
I ran a hand along his side and hip, resting it on his thigh. “The question is, how do you want me? Because I’m taking care of you tonight.”
“Hmm,” he said, making a show of thinking by rubbing his chin. “Haven’t taken advantage of that oral fixation of yours for a while. Then after the blow job you can erase my memories of the vibrator I had to use this week by fucking me into the headboard.” He squeezed my hand. “I missed you.”
I leaned over and kissed him. “We need to get a webcam so I can watch what you do with that vibrator. I bought the thing but I’ve never seen it in action.” I slid my tongue along his stubbly chin, its rough texture reminding me of the beard he sported last fall, and shifted us both so that he lay on his back with me atop him.
Ryan hummed. “Maybe I’ll give you a live show this week. Not tonight, though.” His hands rubbed my shoulders, and as I sucked on his ear he said, “Ooh, Simon. Tonight I want the real thing.”
Slow, slow. I could ravish him any other night, and have, especially before when I was denying how I felt, but tonight I wanted him to feel safe with me. I kissed and touched every bit of him I could reach—collar bone, shoulders, biceps, armpits, chest and stomach. As he relaxed his moans and whimpers became louder; it took all my restraint to go slow because of those sexy sounds. I renewed my acquaintance with his nipples and he arched off the bed, letting his legs fall wide apart. Sliding down his body I nibbled on my favorite part of his body, that little spot below his navel that I can never keep my hands off, where he always smells musky no matter how many showers he takes. I brushed my fingertips lightly across the head of his cock and he growled.
I grinned. “Turn over,” I said, grabbing the lube and sliding back along the bed.
He rolled up and got on his hands and knees over me, his cock close to my mouth. It had been a while, and I can’t deep throat the way Ryan can anyway, so I started slow, taking long licks along the veins and all over the shaft. I moved my head and sucked a soft testicle into my mouth and he arched his back. God, his moans are lovely; they almost make him forget what I’m doing.
One plus of his kneeling above me is that his legs are spread. Easy to lick down from the base of his cock to that little spot between his legs. I grabbed for the lube and slicked up one hand and brought it up to the arse he was sticking out so lewdly. I slid my first finger into his arse as I licked back along the underside of his cock, finally taking the dripping head into my mouth. I felt the sheets move and knew he was grabbing them in his hands.
“Oooh, Simon, oh, suck it, suck it,” he muttered.
I did as I was told, sucking hard on the head where it fit so perfectly against the roof of my mouth, stroking the shaft with one slick hand while I slipped another finger into his arse. I sucked harder, sliding my tongue all around and getting just a little bit more of his dick into my mouth, getting more sexy sounds for my trouble. I slid a third finger in, wanting to finger fuck him now because there was no way I was going to last once I started fucking him, not with this prelude. My fingers moved in and out of that little hole in time to my stroking and sucking and I closed my eyes, losing myself in the smell and taste and feel and sound of him.
I hummed against him and stroked his dick a bit harder and he tensed up, so I slipped my fingers out of his arse and slid them to the base of his cock. I sucked harder and he came, pumping into my mouth a bit and I slurped it up eagerly. I love swallowing his come; it’s so dirty.
Ryan fell down on the bed on his side and I slid over, rolling onto my side and propping my head on my hand. He was flushed all over, his face the picture of post-orgasm bliss, and my cock got even harder, if that was possible, just by looking at him. He opened his eyes and I winked at him, making a show of licking my lips.
He wrinkled his nose. “Dunno how you can do that,” he said.
“Poor Ryan,” I said, mockingly. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” I sat up and ruffled his hair, then got off the bed.
Ryan pulled up onto his elbows. “Where’re you goin’?”
“Just getting this,” I said, pulling the stand up mirror over to the foot of the bed. Ryan teases me about my oral fixation—I’m a smoker so it’s really no secret—but it’s also why I don’t like kissing him when we fuck. Oh, when he tops me it’s fine, really quite nice, but when I top him I get distracted. I know, an old debaucher like me shouldn’t get caught up in kisses, but Ryan is a really good kisser. Too bad for me he won’t kiss me when I’ve just sucked him off. So the mirror lets me take him from behind and still be able to watch his face. Best of both worlds.
Back on the bed, I reached for the condom. “Right, on your knees,” I said, ripping it open.
Ryan took it out of my hands. “Let me do this one thing,” he said, sitting up on his knees to face me. He glanced down and slipped the condom over the head of my cock, then looked me in the eyes as he rolled it up the shaft. This is one intense young man I’ve got.
Then, suddenly, he leaned forward, taking my head in his hands, and kissed me deeply. “Well?” I asked.
Ryan cocked his head, moving his tongue in his mouth. “Hmm, not as bad as I thought. Maybe I’ll let you kiss me next time.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” I said, kissing him again. “Now, down you go.”
Ryan turned and got on his hands and knees again, facing the mirror. He arched his back, pushing his arse out and wiggling it a bit, so I slapped it, making him giggle. His hole was open and waiting for me, shiny and slick with lube, and I slid in easily. Ryan threw his head back and closed his eyes, moaning.
“Open your eyes and watch, Ryan,” I said, thrusting deep and slow.
Our eyes met in the mirror. God, if I’d thought it was intense before, it was nothing like this, like fucking him hard and deep, really working him over, and seeing it on his face. He’s such a perfect bottom; he sticks his arse out almost unconsciously when he’s turned on, like a little bitch in heat and all for me; no other man in his bed any more. He held my stare—no backing down for my Ryan—and his mouth was open, panting. He licked his lips and started talking.
“Fuck me good, darlin’, harder, so deep this way, so hot taking me, missed this so much.” He swallowed and paused for a moment, then said, “Come on, darlin’, come for me” while he clenched me tight inside him.
Who could last longer between that voice and those green eyes and that amazing arse? I grabbed his flanks tight, pulling him onto me and coming, hard. Ryan let his arms go and we collapsed down onto the bed.
After a bit I slipped out of him and rolled over. I could feel Ryan running a hand down my sweaty chest, then get off the bed. I love him, so I’ve got used to his need for immediate clean-up time and don’t worry about the afterglow so much anymore, but it’s still weird, his whole fluids thing. I glanced up and sure enough, there he was with some Kleenex to take off my condom. He put one tissue over his right hand and pulled the condom off from the base, rolling it up tight in the tissue. But then, before he used the other one to wipe me off, he took a forefinger and swiped off the tiny bit of come that clung to the head of my cock, licking it off with his pointed pink tongue.
“Well?” I asked.
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s all right. Wouldn’t want it spraying into the back of my throat or leaking out of my ass.” He leaned in and lapped at the head and shaft of my cock, cleaning it with his tongue instead of the tissue. “But it’s all right.” He grinned.
“One step at a time, Ryan,” I said, smiling back.
He disposed of the tissues in the bathroom and I moved back up to the head of the bed. When he returned we pulled the covers back up and he snuggled in close, his arm wrapped around me. I kissed the top of his head.
“So this is you taking care of me?” he asked.
“Part of it.”
He hummed, satisfied and sleepy. “Then I guess it’s okay.”
I laughed. “So glad you approve,” I replied.
I keep Ryan’s ridiculously early hours when I’m in LA. They’re actually terribly convenient if one is trying to run a business in London. Therefore we were sound asleep two nights later when Ryan’s mobile started beeping at 11pm.
I put my arm over my eyes as Ryan fumbled on the bedside table. He looked at the text, then sat up and pushed my arm. “We got it!”
“Got what?” I mumbled.
“The house! We got the house, our house, a house together!”
This wasn’t strictly true; only Ryan was actually buying the house. But it was a house that we’d looked at and agreed on together, a house that would be decorated with both of us in mind. Our house in all but name, which was really close enough for me.
“Darlin’, aren’t you excited? It’s what you said you wanted.”
I looked up at him and saw just the tiniest twinge of disappointment so I smiled, reaching up to take his hand. “It’s everything I want,” I said. “Now let’s go back to sleep. We can celebrate over breakfast.”
Ryan put his mobile back on the bedside table and lay down in my arms. “I love you, Simon Cowell.”
“Of course you do,” I replied.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-21 10:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-25 02:49 pm (UTC)I didn't realize Ryan was unpredictable! I guess I have him so in my head that I always know what he's going to do.
Thanks so much for the beta, sweetie. Yours are always so fun! Have some David and Keith.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-25 02:57 pm (UTC)Ryan is so Ryan; he's a particularly hard person to nail and I've really never seen him written as well as you write him, so he's just a delight.
no subject
Date: 2006-05-22 02:19 am (UTC)Looking forward for more from you. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-05-25 02:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-24 03:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-25 02:50 pm (UTC)Oh
Date: 2006-05-30 01:12 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for that.
Re: Oh
Date: 2006-05-31 04:04 pm (UTC)I'm so pleased you wrote something, too!
And where is that pic from, he looks so young!
Re: Oh
Date: 2006-05-31 04:25 pm (UTC)