Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ryan_kwanten): a few days after
Dec. 16th, 2014 09:58 amsam_worthingtonplayers only. backdated to early March 2014. takes place a few days after Ryan's branding and Sam's tattoo.
Ryan is fucking bitter. His healing brand hurts every which way, the new skin stretching and itching and goddamn throbbing no matter how he moves. On the front of his right hip, just a bit higher than the bone, the brand has turned out to be in the perfectly wrong location. A simple lunge pose is agony, forget a side camel. His breathing is shot, he can't meditate for crap, and the aggression has been building for days, ominously roiling to the surface like a pot about to boil over.
Cup of coffee in hand, Sam pushes open the sliding door between their bedroom and deck. "Morning. How's it going?" he asks, even though one look at Ryan's expression, at the pain and anger etched across his features, already provides the answer.
"It's fucking great," Ryan answers through gritted teeth, pushing into triangle pose and stretching his right arm over his head.
"Didn't Dan say you were supposed to take it easy?" Sam says, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I am," Ryan argues, and tries to breathe into his diaphragm without wincing. "I only ran five K yesterday."
"Which isn't even close to taking it easy, except for you," Sam observes, pulling a chair closer and taking a seat. "You're going to delay the healing time if you keep this up."
Ryan frowns and glances sharply up at his lover, nearly destroying his form in the process. "What the hell does that mean, 'except for me'? If I don't play the way other people do, then I shouldn't rest the way they do, either." Tightening his abs, he twists - fuck! - gracefully into a backbend.
Sam fixes Ryan with a stare. "Are you going to make me order you to take some down time?"
His shoulders tighten in spite of his best efforts, the whole flow of energy blocked, and Ryan carefully sits down on the deck. "But you wouldn't do that," he says, although there's wariness in his eyes now. "Would you?"
"I might if you can't see the need to go easier on yourself," Sam says. "I know you're used to just pushing through, but sometimes you need to take a few days."
Ryan looks uncomfortable at that, and this time the expression on his face has nothing to do with the pain in his body. "Sam, I can't do that," he says softly, willing his husband to understand. "I'll get soft. Lose my edge."
"Not from a day or two, you won't," Sam says, equally as softly, hoping they can find some middle ground.
With a slight wince, Ryan brings his knees to his chest and curls his arms around them, trying to relax. "You won't like it if I get fat," he says, trying for a joke.
"You have about as much chance of getting fat as I do of getting to go to the moon," Sam says, moving from his chair to sit beside Ryan. "But I would love you no matter what."
"Do you want to go to the moon?" Ryan asks curiously, briefly distracted. "I'm sure we could make that happen. I can make some calls later, find out if they're still selling passages to the Russian space station or whatever that was."
"That wasn't exactly my point," Sam points out with a smile. "In case you haven't figured it out, I'm concerned about you."
"Me?" Ryan huffs a laugh. "That's backwards. That's the opposite of your job," he teases, working to put a happy-go-lucky mask on a very real internal struggle.
"Then make it easier on me," Sam says bluntly, taking Ryan's hand and brushing his lips across the knuckles. "Three days."
The kiss is enticing, but still Ryan looks aghast. "Three days... until what?"
"Three days of rest and then you can start back into all of this." Fuck. Maybe he should've started with four or five then he'd have somewhere to go.
"Sam..." Ryan lightly presses his fingers to the square gauze bandage on his torso, the fresh wound beneath. "What if... what if I just lay off the stretching stuff for three days? Can I still just lift some light weights?"
"Is it really that hard to take three days from everything?" Sam asks, even though he knows what Ryan's answer will be. Of course it is. His lover's fucking addicted to working out.
"It... Um." Ryan shrugs, and gives his Sir a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Unless you're proposing to give me that massive endorphin rush some other way," he suggests. "Which-- I mean, I know you're fully capable of that. But three days? That'd be a lot of work for you."
Sam grins. "Tell you what. You take three days. Today you rest, tomorrow I give you that endorphin rush you need so badly, and the third day you can lift some light weights, emphasis on light, and if you don't follow through on that, I'll beat your ass and not in a good way."
"Oh." All right, so that last bit sounds intriguing, but Ryan knows that it really shouldn't. "Yes, Sir," he says on a sigh, and leans over to rub his cheek against Sam's shoulder for a moment. He looks down again at his bandage. "I just want it to have the best frame possible. Especially for when you see it for the first time."
"It will," Sam says, hugging Ryan close. "Three days is not going to change that." He smiles. "You want to get out for a while?"
"Yeah, sure," Ryan agrees, although he's thinking that he may have to stay on the phone looking professional the entire time, just so that it doesn't look like he and Sam are out together. His grin quirks. "Are you gonna wear that?"
"What?" Sam takes a look at himself. At his ratty old Metallica t-shirt, torn cargo shorts and flip-flops. "You want me to change into clothes without holes in them? Just to go out? You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?" he teases back.
"No." Ryan's smile widens and he hooks his finger through one of said holes in Sam's worn shirt. "I love that you're real and not fussy. It's sexy." That's for sure. "Although you know I still vote for Master of Puppets over Ride the Lightning.”
"No way," Sam says, grinning and leaning in, his forehead pressed against Ryan's. "You bought into the hype."
Ryan laughs out loud. "I love you," he murmurs. "Let me put some real clothes on. Then you can come to the market with me and make rude comments in the produce section."
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]
Ryan is fucking bitter. His healing brand hurts every which way, the new skin stretching and itching and goddamn throbbing no matter how he moves. On the front of his right hip, just a bit higher than the bone, the brand has turned out to be in the perfectly wrong location. A simple lunge pose is agony, forget a side camel. His breathing is shot, he can't meditate for crap, and the aggression has been building for days, ominously roiling to the surface like a pot about to boil over.
Cup of coffee in hand, Sam pushes open the sliding door between their bedroom and deck. "Morning. How's it going?" he asks, even though one look at Ryan's expression, at the pain and anger etched across his features, already provides the answer.
"It's fucking great," Ryan answers through gritted teeth, pushing into triangle pose and stretching his right arm over his head.
"Didn't Dan say you were supposed to take it easy?" Sam says, taking a sip of his coffee.
"I am," Ryan argues, and tries to breathe into his diaphragm without wincing. "I only ran five K yesterday."
"Which isn't even close to taking it easy, except for you," Sam observes, pulling a chair closer and taking a seat. "You're going to delay the healing time if you keep this up."
Ryan frowns and glances sharply up at his lover, nearly destroying his form in the process. "What the hell does that mean, 'except for me'? If I don't play the way other people do, then I shouldn't rest the way they do, either." Tightening his abs, he twists - fuck! - gracefully into a backbend.
Sam fixes Ryan with a stare. "Are you going to make me order you to take some down time?"
His shoulders tighten in spite of his best efforts, the whole flow of energy blocked, and Ryan carefully sits down on the deck. "But you wouldn't do that," he says, although there's wariness in his eyes now. "Would you?"
"I might if you can't see the need to go easier on yourself," Sam says. "I know you're used to just pushing through, but sometimes you need to take a few days."
Ryan looks uncomfortable at that, and this time the expression on his face has nothing to do with the pain in his body. "Sam, I can't do that," he says softly, willing his husband to understand. "I'll get soft. Lose my edge."
"Not from a day or two, you won't," Sam says, equally as softly, hoping they can find some middle ground.
With a slight wince, Ryan brings his knees to his chest and curls his arms around them, trying to relax. "You won't like it if I get fat," he says, trying for a joke.
"You have about as much chance of getting fat as I do of getting to go to the moon," Sam says, moving from his chair to sit beside Ryan. "But I would love you no matter what."
"Do you want to go to the moon?" Ryan asks curiously, briefly distracted. "I'm sure we could make that happen. I can make some calls later, find out if they're still selling passages to the Russian space station or whatever that was."
"That wasn't exactly my point," Sam points out with a smile. "In case you haven't figured it out, I'm concerned about you."
"Me?" Ryan huffs a laugh. "That's backwards. That's the opposite of your job," he teases, working to put a happy-go-lucky mask on a very real internal struggle.
"Then make it easier on me," Sam says bluntly, taking Ryan's hand and brushing his lips across the knuckles. "Three days."
The kiss is enticing, but still Ryan looks aghast. "Three days... until what?"
"Three days of rest and then you can start back into all of this." Fuck. Maybe he should've started with four or five then he'd have somewhere to go.
"Sam..." Ryan lightly presses his fingers to the square gauze bandage on his torso, the fresh wound beneath. "What if... what if I just lay off the stretching stuff for three days? Can I still just lift some light weights?"
"Is it really that hard to take three days from everything?" Sam asks, even though he knows what Ryan's answer will be. Of course it is. His lover's fucking addicted to working out.
"It... Um." Ryan shrugs, and gives his Sir a sheepish grin. "Yeah. Unless you're proposing to give me that massive endorphin rush some other way," he suggests. "Which-- I mean, I know you're fully capable of that. But three days? That'd be a lot of work for you."
Sam grins. "Tell you what. You take three days. Today you rest, tomorrow I give you that endorphin rush you need so badly, and the third day you can lift some light weights, emphasis on light, and if you don't follow through on that, I'll beat your ass and not in a good way."
"Oh." All right, so that last bit sounds intriguing, but Ryan knows that it really shouldn't. "Yes, Sir," he says on a sigh, and leans over to rub his cheek against Sam's shoulder for a moment. He looks down again at his bandage. "I just want it to have the best frame possible. Especially for when you see it for the first time."
"It will," Sam says, hugging Ryan close. "Three days is not going to change that." He smiles. "You want to get out for a while?"
"Yeah, sure," Ryan agrees, although he's thinking that he may have to stay on the phone looking professional the entire time, just so that it doesn't look like he and Sam are out together. His grin quirks. "Are you gonna wear that?"
"What?" Sam takes a look at himself. At his ratty old Metallica t-shirt, torn cargo shorts and flip-flops. "You want me to change into clothes without holes in them? Just to go out? You really do have a high opinion of yourself, don't you?" he teases back.
"No." Ryan's smile widens and he hooks his finger through one of said holes in Sam's worn shirt. "I love that you're real and not fussy. It's sexy." That's for sure. "Although you know I still vote for Master of Puppets over Ride the Lightning.”
"No way," Sam says, grinning and leaning in, his forehead pressed against Ryan's. "You bought into the hype."
Ryan laughs out loud. "I love you," he murmurs. "Let me put some real clothes on. Then you can come to the market with me and make rude comments in the produce section."
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]
