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It Would End This Way
[American Idol] [Clay Aiken/Ryan Seacrest] [PG-13, for a few swear words]
It Would End This Way
His hands fluttered nervously around his shirt, searching for stray bits of clothing, un-tucked from where they should have been. His mouth felt raw, and he couldn't stop himself from gingerly raising a finger to his lips. And the smile that ghosted across his face when he saw Ryan in one of *his* shirts refused to be quelled.
He breezed through his performance, enjoying the rush of energy and pure adrenaline he got from the mere presence of the stage. And then he ignored mostly everything that the judges said, as his eyes continued flickering over to Ryan involuntarily, and he hardly managed to contain his sigh when he was finally beckoned over with a toss of Ryan's head.
Carefully, even as Clay sat, they avoided each other's hands, almost as if they knew it would be more than difficult to restrain themselves from wanting more, from needing more, if they came into skin-on-skin contact. He could already feel the electricity crackling in the air, and he knew that a simple touch could be their undoing.
Still, he could hardly keep his eyes off Ryan. Even as the numbers were being read, Clay found his eyes drawn to Ryan's mouth, and his chest physically *ached* with the need to touch those lips with his own.
Ryan's eyes mirrored the feelings in his own eyes, he was sure, when the older man turned to look at him. And then it felt as though he could see something in Ryan's head going 'fuck it' - an arm slipped around his waist. Clay didn't struggle; his reactions to Ryan's touch made it glaringly clear he had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
Thankfully, the break came before he felt desperate enough to resort to underhand measures, and Clay leaned over to whisper, "Ryan." Low and helpless and god, *needing*. Ryan just nodded, swallowing hard, releasing Clay gently. And he could almost hear Ryan's whispered reply - later.
Clay pulled away, nodding, the slightest hint of the smile on his face only just ebbing away, stood and headed for the Red Room.
It was only after he'd announced that he was wearing Ryan's socks, later on in the show, that Clay realized what they were doing together might not be quite socially acceptable. And then he was ready to knock his head against the wall. Multiple times. But Ryan moved on, quickly, expertly, and Clay thanked God for the smile that Ryan hadn't quite been able to curb. At least one of them found it amusing.
And it would have been fine - maybe even great - that evening, despite the fuck-ups and the touching-that-hadn't-quite-been-touching, if only Clay hadn't accidentally hinted at what had happened only moments before the show. Again. It was very innocent - "Ryan, are you available?" - but it had been done, all the same.
And then his cheeks were hot and flushed, and he wanted to be swallowed into the ground, "Oh. Oh my. I didn't mean." There was no excuse for his slip-up, and he had to avoid Ryan's eyes in case he started stuttering again.
Ryan raised an eyebrow, and Clay knew he blushed harder when he looked up and caught Ryan's eye. Again, they moved on, with as much grace and dignity as Ryan managed to salvage. And then, finally, it was over. And Clay could sit in his dressing room and feel embarrassed enough to cry.
He dropped his head into his hands, sighing. He had never been known for his tact. But why, WHY couldn't he at least think a little before he said anything stupid?
"Hey."
Clay turned then, and his breath caught when all he saw was Ryan's dazzling smile, eyes sparkling and warm and amused. But then warm, moist kisses robbed him of any coherent thought left.
But Clay supposed, the last slither of any sense he had left vanishing as Ryan's kisses grew more insistent and less gentle, that was just the way love worked.
-fin-
It Would End This Way
His hands fluttered nervously around his shirt, searching for stray bits of clothing, un-tucked from where they should have been. His mouth felt raw, and he couldn't stop himself from gingerly raising a finger to his lips. And the smile that ghosted across his face when he saw Ryan in one of *his* shirts refused to be quelled.
He breezed through his performance, enjoying the rush of energy and pure adrenaline he got from the mere presence of the stage. And then he ignored mostly everything that the judges said, as his eyes continued flickering over to Ryan involuntarily, and he hardly managed to contain his sigh when he was finally beckoned over with a toss of Ryan's head.
Carefully, even as Clay sat, they avoided each other's hands, almost as if they knew it would be more than difficult to restrain themselves from wanting more, from needing more, if they came into skin-on-skin contact. He could already feel the electricity crackling in the air, and he knew that a simple touch could be their undoing.
Still, he could hardly keep his eyes off Ryan. Even as the numbers were being read, Clay found his eyes drawn to Ryan's mouth, and his chest physically *ached* with the need to touch those lips with his own.
Ryan's eyes mirrored the feelings in his own eyes, he was sure, when the older man turned to look at him. And then it felt as though he could see something in Ryan's head going 'fuck it' - an arm slipped around his waist. Clay didn't struggle; his reactions to Ryan's touch made it glaringly clear he had no intention of doing anything of the sort.
Thankfully, the break came before he felt desperate enough to resort to underhand measures, and Clay leaned over to whisper, "Ryan." Low and helpless and god, *needing*. Ryan just nodded, swallowing hard, releasing Clay gently. And he could almost hear Ryan's whispered reply - later.
Clay pulled away, nodding, the slightest hint of the smile on his face only just ebbing away, stood and headed for the Red Room.
It was only after he'd announced that he was wearing Ryan's socks, later on in the show, that Clay realized what they were doing together might not be quite socially acceptable. And then he was ready to knock his head against the wall. Multiple times. But Ryan moved on, quickly, expertly, and Clay thanked God for the smile that Ryan hadn't quite been able to curb. At least one of them found it amusing.
And it would have been fine - maybe even great - that evening, despite the fuck-ups and the touching-that-hadn't-quite-been-touching, if only Clay hadn't accidentally hinted at what had happened only moments before the show. Again. It was very innocent - "Ryan, are you available?" - but it had been done, all the same.
And then his cheeks were hot and flushed, and he wanted to be swallowed into the ground, "Oh. Oh my. I didn't mean." There was no excuse for his slip-up, and he had to avoid Ryan's eyes in case he started stuttering again.
Ryan raised an eyebrow, and Clay knew he blushed harder when he looked up and caught Ryan's eye. Again, they moved on, with as much grace and dignity as Ryan managed to salvage. And then, finally, it was over. And Clay could sit in his dressing room and feel embarrassed enough to cry.
He dropped his head into his hands, sighing. He had never been known for his tact. But why, WHY couldn't he at least think a little before he said anything stupid?
"Hey."
Clay turned then, and his breath caught when all he saw was Ryan's dazzling smile, eyes sparkling and warm and amused. But then warm, moist kisses robbed him of any coherent thought left.
But Clay supposed, the last slither of any sense he had left vanishing as Ryan's kisses grew more insistent and less gentle, that was just the way love worked.
-fin-