|the_water_clock (the_water_clock) wrote,|
@ 2008-04-22 08:47 am UTC
|Entry tags:||[ story: goodbye mr. seacrest ]|
Title: Goodbye, Mr. Seacrest, or, To Simon, with Love: Rymon Missing Scenes from the Fast Times at Idol High 80s AU
Pairing: American Idol: Ryan Seacrest/Simon Cowell
Summary: Meanwhile the road trip, which has been approaching for several chapters, is at last here.
Length: 1600 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, clearly, as Simon would never buy a 5 series, much less one at the end of its model year.
Notes: Fast Times at Idol High, lillijulianne's 80s high school AU, can be read by friending stepintomyocean.
Special thanks to Juli for writing this awesome AU, letting me be a part of it, encouraging me get my teacher kink on, and of course being an amazing beta. Oh, and for writing Ryan and Simon into her story in the first place.
Prologue: September 1981 | 1: September 1984 | 2: October 1984 | 3: November 1984 | 4: December 1984 | 5: January 1985 | 6: February 1985 | 7: March 1985 | 8: April 1985 | 9: May 1985 | 10: June 1985 | 11: July 1985
The movers left yesterday. It took them no time at all to clean out Simon's apartment, since there hadn't been much in it to begin with. Ryan's house took a bit longer, mostly because of the 30 boxes of books. Randy teased Ryan about it but Simon said, "They're his friends."
The night before that, there had been a going-away party, and not just for Ryan and Simon; moving has spread through Ryan's little gang like a virus. Giuliana met a handsome businessman, Bill, on one of her buying trips to New York, and things got serious remarkably quickly. She's moving to Chicago where Bill is based, and has found an even better job buying for Neiman Marcus; Bill's in town to help G pack up. Jason and Ben are leaving too, for San Francisco; Ben's finally got a job reviewing movies for a small weekly paper, and figures he can supplement with some stringer work. Jason says it wouldn't have been fun at work without G anyway, and has some leads at both department stores and boutiques that look promising. The three couples meet up at Jason and Ben's for barbeque and trivial pursuit. But it isn't really goodbye—they'll all be reunited in Italy in June for her and Bill's wedding. Besides, they're all moving to, as Ben says, "very visitable locations."
After the movers left, they went to the Staceys' for a pot luck, and the table groaned with the southern favorites Ryan will dearly miss and even Simon has grown to love. It was nice to be around that crowd and not have to remember not to reach for Simon's hand, not to stand too close. Ryan wonders what it would have been like to do this all the time, and thinks, after this year, that it wouldn't have been possible, not in Mayberry. But in New York …
They drive away in a brand-new '84 BMW 5-series, a deal since the '85s are coming out soon, bought in Springfield where both demand and taxes are lower than in New York. The cooler in the back seat is full of leftovers: greens and butter beans, biscuits and a jar of gravy, pulled pork and a bottle of Weaver D's sauce, ham and carefully wrapped deviled eggs, and a whole pie from Melinda that she'd kept back from the pot luck crowd—more than enough food for the first few days in the new apartment. They hit the road early in the morning, with the sun coming up, so they'll be in Brooklyn by nightfall, especially the way Simon drives. It's odd to think that they won't be back here, and as they pull away from his little house Ryan feels a little lump in his throat, but once they're in fourth Simon holds his hand, and it's okay. They stop for breakfast on their way out of town, so Gina and Nikki are really the last ones they say goodbye to, and Gina even gives Simon a hug, which Ryan wishes he'd taken a picture of.
Ryan loves road trips, and he and Simon have taken plenty of them. He particularly adores being driven by Simon which suits Simon very well as he gets antsy in the passenger seat. Simon driving is sexy, as is Simon in command of anything that isn't Ryan. His hands on the gear shift and steering wheel, his legs bending as he moves his foot on and off clutch and gas, even his profile, where Ryan can see the brown eyes behind the Ray-Bans, all are the more obvious reasons he's half-hard most of the time on a road trip. But under that, and particularly on this road trip, is just the thrill of sitting in the front seat with him. Ryan is a child of the 50s and his parents drove he and his sister all over the country on those sparkling modern Eisenhower highways, in a deep green 1959 Pontiac bought mostly because it was so damn wide that the kids couldn't fight over the back seat. He remembers his father, who was not a publicly affectionate man, reaching across to rest his hand on his mother's knee. So now, when Simon does the same thing (well, more often his thigh, but that's Simon) Ryan thinks, "We're a couple." He's been living in the shadows for so long that he often can't quite believe that it's true, but this—driving to their new home in a car they bought together, unwrapping him gum and opening him cans of soda, maps of the south and mid-atlantic on his lap, and Simon's hand, warm on his thigh—this is undeniable. Ryan sighs, and sinks down into the seat.
As if on cue, Simon lets out an enormous belch. "Sorry, too much Diet Pepsi, or perhaps breakfast sausage."
Ryan starts laughing, and Simon sits up a little straighter in his seat. "What?" he asks.
"I love you," Ryan says, still laughing.
"Of course you do," Simon says, smiling. "I changed your life."
Ryan rolls his eyes at this, but says nothing.
In a new soft leather zipper case that fits between the two front seats are enough mix tapes to last through the entire trip: country from Phil, who worries that there are no country stations at all up north; gospel from Melinda, who worries about their immortal souls and hopes they can find "some good Christian gay men" for fellowship; R&B from Randy, whose divas have won Simon over from his Euro-pop roots; bits of movie scores from Ben, who is nothing if not single-minded; and pop from Giuliana, whose love for Madonna is deep, true, and devoid of irony. Right now, though, they're listening to one of the tapes Blake gave to Ryan, full of songs and bands Ryan's never heard of, which makes him feel a bit old to be honest. A woman sings: treat me to an honest face sometime, amaze me now.
"All right," Simon says suddenly, "you changed my life too."
Ryan laughs again. "I wasn't waiting," he says, putting his hand atop Simon's.
"I know," Simon says. "That's why I love you. Lunch soon?"
"Yeah," Ryan replies. "Sounds good."
The sign on the highway says, "Next exit: Shenandoah National Park" and every thought and hope and memory Ryan's had in the last ten months crash together in his head: it's fare-thee-well, my dear, I'm bound to leave you ….
Diner breakfast, Chik-Fil-A lunch, cheese steak dinner in Philly, and they get to Brooklyn around nine. Parking isn't too terribly difficult, and there isn't much in the car to unload anyway—two sleeping bags, a suitcase, the food and paper goods, a few books so Ryan won't get withdrawal pains, the tape case and a radio-cassette player too tiny to deserve the words "boom box." Simon pulls the radio out of the car, too, and pokes around to make sure there's nothing worth stealing inside. The movers should arrive the day after tomorrow—Ryan isn't sure why it takes them longer; he knows there is some sort of complicated system where they make a lot of side-journeys, but tries not to worry about it. All that's really important is that the keys work and the gas and electricity are turned on.
They set up in the back bedroom, after putting the food away in the fridge. Ryan opens a lot of windows and there is a cross breeze, but not enough of one. "Tomorrow," he says, stepping out of his jeans, "we get fans and an air conditioner."
Simon chuckles. "God forbid you ever sweat, Ryan," he says, peeling off his own t-shirt. "So, you aren't too tired …"
"Are you kidding?" Ryan asks. He puts his arms around Simon's waist. "First night in our new apartment together? After all that driving? You'd better fuck me." They kiss, and Ryan's legs actually buckle, pulling them down onto the floor. The stress of moving has reduced sex to a necessary relief valve lately, and even now they're moving pretty fast, hard and writhing against each other. Simon grabs the lube and a condom and Ryan pulls his boxers off, tipping up his hips for easier access, and after a little preparation Simon slides in, smooth and sure. It's everything it should be: sloppy kissing, thumbs brushing against hard nipples, and it doesn't take them long. They've been simmering all day, riding in that car, and now it's finally boiling over.
After, Simon lifts his head up from Ryan's chest and says, "Shall we break in another room?"
"You think you can break your record of last month, old man?" Ryan teases.
"I can try," Simon says. He hauls himself up to his feet, and reaches a hand out to Ryan, who rises and follows him into the second bedroom.
The next morning Simon wakes to see a note from Ryan, that he has run to the bodega to get coffee. He's brushing his teeth, wandering around the flat, and sees a sheet from the same scratch pad sitting on the windowsill in the second bedroom. Wondering if it's another note, he unfolds it and sees, in Ryan's precise handwriting:
10pm—S tops, big bedroomSimon grabs the pencil, adds at the bottom in a listing scrawl:
10:30pm—frottage, small bedroom
midnight—hand jobs, dining nook
2am—R tops, kitchen counter
9am—oral, living roomHe hears the door open. "Simon, you up?"
A Very Healthy Breakfast!
Simon walks into the hall. "Welcome home, darling. Would you like something to eat?"
13: September 1985
You can thank President Eisenhower, and the cold war, for our interstate highway system. After fighting a war on Hitler's new roads in Europe, he was determined to improve the roads in the US, if only to make it easier to move troops around in case of an invasion or other national emergency.
As for the note at the end, it's an homage to D.L.Sayers, though I didn't realize it when I wrote it. Of course, Harriet started and Peter finished a sonnet, not a note about sex acts. The summary has been slightly altered from the original William Carlos Williams.