![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
players only. backdated to summer 2014. takes place when the boys have a few days back in L.A.
It's wrong. It's wrong, it's... Ryan adjusts his fingers on the keys of his baby grand piano, picking through the refrain again. He sings softly in counterpoint – no lyrics yet, he'll put them together later – and then begins the phrase anew. This time he grounds the minor 7th, and his fingers find the progression naturally, blooming into the major 5th of the chorus. Ryan smiles happily and takes a moment to grab his pencil and notate the new measures, then plays them through again, improvising and letting the melody spin out into being on its own.
Back from the beer store, Sam lets himself into the house, the case set on the hall table as he takes off his boots. He smiles at the sound of music coming from the front room and tiptoes into the kitchen, the case of beer moved to the island. He doesn't often get to listen to Ryan like this, his lover getting strangely shy about his music in Sam's presence, so he sneaks around the sofa and curls up in a corner, wondering just how long he can get away with being here.
Ryan returns to the intro, and focuses on the feel of the music, now that he's got the actual notes sorted. Shutting his eyes he caresses the ivory and ebony keys like a lover, sure of his way. Melody builds richly around him, stronger and more confident with each pass and he throws himself into the music, losing himself in it.
Christ. Ryan's so fucking talented, it kills him. Sam doesn't know much about music, especially not about writing it, but he knows what he likes and this, this is fucking brilliant.
Sweat starts to bead on Ryan's forehead, tendons and muscles straining with crescendo. Counterpoint, then fall, and... His hands go still, hovering above the piano as the last strains of the finale vibrate through the air and then into nothing.
Sam waits a beat and then brings his hands together, applauding his lover. "That was fantastic," he says, hoping Ryan won't mind he snuck in.
Ryan jumps, his private reverie shattered. He stares at Sam dumbfounded, then smiles shyly, feeling his face go hot. "Thank you," he says softly, and drags a self-conscious hand through his hair. "I didn't know you were there."
"I didn't want to interrupt," Sam says. "Will you play me some more?"
"Really?" Ryan blinks, his brows rising. "Like, um. What?" he asks, frantically trying to think of what's finished, a polished piece that's fresh in his mind but not too personal. He reaches for his acoustic guitar.
"Like anything," Sam says with a smile. "I love listening to you play."
"Okay." Ryan takes a deep breath and shuts the lid on the piano, then takes a seat on the couch. He strums the guitar strings lightly for a few seconds, tuning it for dropped D, and then he dives into one of the faster-paced songs he's written. Putting words to music, singing the story of a young musician who found success and lost his identity.
Sam shifts, one leg under the other as he listens, eyes locked on Ryan, going from his face to the guitar and back again. He himself has absolutely no musical talent and Ryan's simply blows him away. He claps again when Ryan finishes and leans forward, planting a kiss on his lover's mouth. "You are so fucking good."
"With motivation like this," Ryan murmurs, leaning in to kiss his lover again, "I might even stay good." He grins, still a little flushed.
"You need motivation?" Sam grins. "If you sing me three other songs you haven't played for me before, I'll let you fuck me."
"Really?" Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Any way I want to?"
Sam gives him a look. "That sounds worrisome," he murmurs before his grin slides back into place.
"Nah, it shouldn't," Ryan says with a shrug, but mischief lights his eyes as he thrums the opening riff of another song.
Sam gives Ryan another wary look but then laughs. "Okay. Four songs and you can fuck me however you want."
"Now you're just trying to put me off," Ryan protests, affecting an offended expression. "As if you think if you stall long enough, I'll just forget..." He can't help his grin, though, even as he opens his mouth to sing.
It's even better this way, getting to sit beside Ryan, the only audience in a concert for one. Sam smiles, watching Ryan, watching his mouth move, his fingers slide over the guitar, strumming each chord so fucking perfectly.
Ryan has always been self-conscious about performing in front of his lover. Hell, it's far easier to play to a room full of strangers than to open himself musically to Sam; Sam's opinions of his music, his reactions – they're just too damn important. If his performance, whether deeply revealing or simply a catchy hook, were to disappoint his husband – or worse, bore him – Ryan knows he'd be completely crushed. So he keeps his choices light as he plays now, selecting the songs which he thinks will appeal most to his lover's musical tastes. And in truth he's always loved the acoustic guitar for its depth of expression, and he's thrilled to up the intensity now for Sam. But still, it's no double-bass drum.
"You're so good," Sam says, shaking his head in amazement when Ryan breaks for a moment. "And I really like that last one. What's it called?"
"'Pieces of Kate,'" Ryan answers with a snicker. "It's a bit dark. But dark is still saleable, especially these days." He fiddles with the tuning and looks at Sam sidelong. "Any requests? Do you have a favorite song you want me to play for you?"
Sam grins. "Do 'Wide Open'," he says. It's still one of his favourites.
Ryan smiles, caught and captured as ever by that dimpled grin. He strums the opening chords, thinking about the emotional place he was in when he wrote this song, years ago.
I'm not burnt but frozen
You left my heart wide open
Now nothing can fill this hole
"...That was a real one, by the way," Ryan murmurs, trailing off from humming the final chorus. "I felt so numb after... After. I never could've expected you."
"We got lucky," Sam says, leaning in to kiss Ryan. His mouth soft and warm. "Right place, right time. Both of us shaking our shit off long enough to not totally fuck things up."
"Yeah." Ryan rests his hand on Sam's shoulder and sinks into the kiss. But then he pulls back with a mischievous grin. "Last one. Special for you," he says, and lets a melody spin out beneath his fingers – the unexpectedly lovely instrumental interlude from Metallica's "Master of Puppets."
Hell yeah. Sam's grin widens, his eyes sparkling, and he sits back again, listening until Ryan finishes. "That was brilliant. A bit of cheating but brilliant."
"What does that mean?" Ryan asks, a delighted grin on his own face as he sets his guitar back on its stand. "I only get to fuck you, kinda?"
"Nope. I stand by my word," Sam says, shaking his head, arousal starting to stir. "Any way you want to."
"Awesome. I'll get some lube," Ryan replies, already padding up the curling staircase. "You're going to need it!"
"Oh, great," Sam deadpans, grinning to himself, his gaze firmly on his boy's ass as he follows him upstairs.
In the bedroom Ryan is already shrugging out of his clothes, kicking them out of the way. "Strip," he orders his lover with a grin, and gestures towards the foot of the bed. "Then bend over and brace yourself."
Fuck. That grin. Sam's starting to wonder if he's created a monster. But that doesn't stop him from shedding his clothes and bending over the end of the bed. Hell no.
Popping open a tube of gel lubricant, Ryan drips some down the crack of Sam's ass. "Cold," he warns, like that's not totally redundant. He smears the lube sloppily around his lover's hole before gently pushing one finger inside, working it in and out.
Sam curses under his breath, a retort about warning him before the lube goes on dying on his lips at the first penetration. He groans, his cock kicking up sharply in response.
Ryan grins, but there's no smugness in it; every sense is attuned to Sam, to his responses. Easing out, he pushes two fingers inside now, and bends to lick at his lover's throat. "Do you want this?"
"Fuck, yeah. You know I do," Sam murmurs, pressing back.
"It's going to hurt," Ryan says in a matter-of-fact way, and twists to rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves. "You still want it?"
Sam shudders, his cock kicking up again, precome leaking from the tip. "I made a promise."
"Yes, you did." And hell, Ryan intends to milk this rare opportunity for all it's worth. He wipes his fingers on his thigh, then pulls Sam to stand up. And he attacks him, hungrily delving into his mouth. Rubbing his erection against his lover's solid body.
Sam groans into Ryan's mouth, their tongues tangling. Feeds back everything he's given, his lover's passion met and matched. Fuck. So hard he'd swear he could cut glass.
Ryan keeps up the aggressive assault, licking and biting, right up until the point when desperation begins to flow through his veins. Abruptly he steps back and pushes Sam to face the wall, keeping one hand splayed against his lover's shoulder while he drizzles lube onto his own cock.
It feels like the world grinds to a halt in those few seconds Ryan takes to get ready, Sam's body aching for his lover. Needing him now.
"Hold still," Ryan murmurs, though he expects nothing else. It's just fun to get a little mouthy with Sam when he can. He spreads the cheeks of Sam's ass and pushes inside, groaning as his lover's muscles close around the head.
Sam grunts with the first streak of pain, his body starting to seize up, but he pushes back, out, forcing himself to relax, welcome Ryan in.
"There." Ryan lays his hand on the small of Sam's back and rubs slow circles. "There, love. Open up for me," he encourages softly, and shifts a fraction deeper.
"Oh, fuck," Sam moans, dropping a hand to his cock, a few strokes making his body ease up even more. "Yes, fuck... do it," he gasps.
He might regret this... Ryan shoves worry from his mind and penetrates to the hilt in one deep push, then splays his hands against the wall and forces himself completely still, to let his lover adjust.
Teeth gritted, breathing through his nose, Sam tells himself this is why they should do this more fucking often. Christ. He shifts, working himself a little on Ryan's cock, waiting for the pain to ease up before he nods. "Go. Fuck me," he whispers.
"Yeah?" Ryan grins impishly and starts moving, slow deep thrusts at first. But as he feels his lover's body start to give he speeds up. And he grabs Sam by the wrists, pinning them against the wall.
Teeth still gritted, Sam moans, angling his hips back for more. He shudders hard under Ryan's grasp, under the hot hard pounding of his cock, his whole world narrowing to this, to the feel of Ryan moving into him again and again.
"This is how I wanted you," Ryan growls, a rush of power coursing through his veins – power which he fully realizes Sam willingly surrendered to him. "Slammed on the wall with nowhere to go," he thrusts harder, "trapped, and giving up this sweet ass only to me."
Sam groans at the words, his cock smearing precome across the wall. Ryan's right. He's trapped. And Ryan's the only one who gets his ass these days. Neither of them would have it any other way. "Yours," he chokes out, feeling his orgasm right there.
"That's right," Ryan mutters, smiling. Releasing his lover's hands, he grabs Sam's hips and jerks him back, changing the angle just enough to– "Fuck!" Ryan shouts, emptying himself. "Fuck, yes!"
Sam echoes that shout, his own wordless but filling the room as he comes and comes hard, without a single touch to his cock, his body clamping down hard around Ryan, demanding every last drop.
Breathless, Ryan drops his head down to rest against Sam's back. "Holy–" he mutters, but can't seem to construct a whole sentence. He eases his cock out and then takes his lover in his arms, turning Sam and bringing him in against his chest. Damn.
Nodding, Sam buries his face against the side of Ryan's neck. His heart still racing, aftershocks trembling through his system.
"I love you," Ryan whispers, breathing a kiss over Sam's hair. He leads his husband to the bed and gets them both settled comfortably, Sam snugged tightly in his arms.
"Love you too," Sam murmurs, pressing in close.
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]
It's wrong. It's wrong, it's... Ryan adjusts his fingers on the keys of his baby grand piano, picking through the refrain again. He sings softly in counterpoint – no lyrics yet, he'll put them together later – and then begins the phrase anew. This time he grounds the minor 7th, and his fingers find the progression naturally, blooming into the major 5th of the chorus. Ryan smiles happily and takes a moment to grab his pencil and notate the new measures, then plays them through again, improvising and letting the melody spin out into being on its own.
Back from the beer store, Sam lets himself into the house, the case set on the hall table as he takes off his boots. He smiles at the sound of music coming from the front room and tiptoes into the kitchen, the case of beer moved to the island. He doesn't often get to listen to Ryan like this, his lover getting strangely shy about his music in Sam's presence, so he sneaks around the sofa and curls up in a corner, wondering just how long he can get away with being here.
Ryan returns to the intro, and focuses on the feel of the music, now that he's got the actual notes sorted. Shutting his eyes he caresses the ivory and ebony keys like a lover, sure of his way. Melody builds richly around him, stronger and more confident with each pass and he throws himself into the music, losing himself in it.
Christ. Ryan's so fucking talented, it kills him. Sam doesn't know much about music, especially not about writing it, but he knows what he likes and this, this is fucking brilliant.
Sweat starts to bead on Ryan's forehead, tendons and muscles straining with crescendo. Counterpoint, then fall, and... His hands go still, hovering above the piano as the last strains of the finale vibrate through the air and then into nothing.
Sam waits a beat and then brings his hands together, applauding his lover. "That was fantastic," he says, hoping Ryan won't mind he snuck in.
Ryan jumps, his private reverie shattered. He stares at Sam dumbfounded, then smiles shyly, feeling his face go hot. "Thank you," he says softly, and drags a self-conscious hand through his hair. "I didn't know you were there."
"I didn't want to interrupt," Sam says. "Will you play me some more?"
"Really?" Ryan blinks, his brows rising. "Like, um. What?" he asks, frantically trying to think of what's finished, a polished piece that's fresh in his mind but not too personal. He reaches for his acoustic guitar.
"Like anything," Sam says with a smile. "I love listening to you play."
"Okay." Ryan takes a deep breath and shuts the lid on the piano, then takes a seat on the couch. He strums the guitar strings lightly for a few seconds, tuning it for dropped D, and then he dives into one of the faster-paced songs he's written. Putting words to music, singing the story of a young musician who found success and lost his identity.
Sam shifts, one leg under the other as he listens, eyes locked on Ryan, going from his face to the guitar and back again. He himself has absolutely no musical talent and Ryan's simply blows him away. He claps again when Ryan finishes and leans forward, planting a kiss on his lover's mouth. "You are so fucking good."
"With motivation like this," Ryan murmurs, leaning in to kiss his lover again, "I might even stay good." He grins, still a little flushed.
"You need motivation?" Sam grins. "If you sing me three other songs you haven't played for me before, I'll let you fuck me."
"Really?" Ryan raises an eyebrow. "Any way I want to?"
Sam gives him a look. "That sounds worrisome," he murmurs before his grin slides back into place.
"Nah, it shouldn't," Ryan says with a shrug, but mischief lights his eyes as he thrums the opening riff of another song.
Sam gives Ryan another wary look but then laughs. "Okay. Four songs and you can fuck me however you want."
"Now you're just trying to put me off," Ryan protests, affecting an offended expression. "As if you think if you stall long enough, I'll just forget..." He can't help his grin, though, even as he opens his mouth to sing.
It's even better this way, getting to sit beside Ryan, the only audience in a concert for one. Sam smiles, watching Ryan, watching his mouth move, his fingers slide over the guitar, strumming each chord so fucking perfectly.
Ryan has always been self-conscious about performing in front of his lover. Hell, it's far easier to play to a room full of strangers than to open himself musically to Sam; Sam's opinions of his music, his reactions – they're just too damn important. If his performance, whether deeply revealing or simply a catchy hook, were to disappoint his husband – or worse, bore him – Ryan knows he'd be completely crushed. So he keeps his choices light as he plays now, selecting the songs which he thinks will appeal most to his lover's musical tastes. And in truth he's always loved the acoustic guitar for its depth of expression, and he's thrilled to up the intensity now for Sam. But still, it's no double-bass drum.
"You're so good," Sam says, shaking his head in amazement when Ryan breaks for a moment. "And I really like that last one. What's it called?"
"'Pieces of Kate,'" Ryan answers with a snicker. "It's a bit dark. But dark is still saleable, especially these days." He fiddles with the tuning and looks at Sam sidelong. "Any requests? Do you have a favorite song you want me to play for you?"
Sam grins. "Do 'Wide Open'," he says. It's still one of his favourites.
Ryan smiles, caught and captured as ever by that dimpled grin. He strums the opening chords, thinking about the emotional place he was in when he wrote this song, years ago.
I'm not burnt but frozen
You left my heart wide open
Now nothing can fill this hole
"...That was a real one, by the way," Ryan murmurs, trailing off from humming the final chorus. "I felt so numb after... After. I never could've expected you."
"We got lucky," Sam says, leaning in to kiss Ryan. His mouth soft and warm. "Right place, right time. Both of us shaking our shit off long enough to not totally fuck things up."
"Yeah." Ryan rests his hand on Sam's shoulder and sinks into the kiss. But then he pulls back with a mischievous grin. "Last one. Special for you," he says, and lets a melody spin out beneath his fingers – the unexpectedly lovely instrumental interlude from Metallica's "Master of Puppets."
Hell yeah. Sam's grin widens, his eyes sparkling, and he sits back again, listening until Ryan finishes. "That was brilliant. A bit of cheating but brilliant."
"What does that mean?" Ryan asks, a delighted grin on his own face as he sets his guitar back on its stand. "I only get to fuck you, kinda?"
"Nope. I stand by my word," Sam says, shaking his head, arousal starting to stir. "Any way you want to."
"Awesome. I'll get some lube," Ryan replies, already padding up the curling staircase. "You're going to need it!"
"Oh, great," Sam deadpans, grinning to himself, his gaze firmly on his boy's ass as he follows him upstairs.
In the bedroom Ryan is already shrugging out of his clothes, kicking them out of the way. "Strip," he orders his lover with a grin, and gestures towards the foot of the bed. "Then bend over and brace yourself."
Fuck. That grin. Sam's starting to wonder if he's created a monster. But that doesn't stop him from shedding his clothes and bending over the end of the bed. Hell no.
Popping open a tube of gel lubricant, Ryan drips some down the crack of Sam's ass. "Cold," he warns, like that's not totally redundant. He smears the lube sloppily around his lover's hole before gently pushing one finger inside, working it in and out.
Sam curses under his breath, a retort about warning him before the lube goes on dying on his lips at the first penetration. He groans, his cock kicking up sharply in response.
Ryan grins, but there's no smugness in it; every sense is attuned to Sam, to his responses. Easing out, he pushes two fingers inside now, and bends to lick at his lover's throat. "Do you want this?"
"Fuck, yeah. You know I do," Sam murmurs, pressing back.
"It's going to hurt," Ryan says in a matter-of-fact way, and twists to rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves. "You still want it?"
Sam shudders, his cock kicking up again, precome leaking from the tip. "I made a promise."
"Yes, you did." And hell, Ryan intends to milk this rare opportunity for all it's worth. He wipes his fingers on his thigh, then pulls Sam to stand up. And he attacks him, hungrily delving into his mouth. Rubbing his erection against his lover's solid body.
Sam groans into Ryan's mouth, their tongues tangling. Feeds back everything he's given, his lover's passion met and matched. Fuck. So hard he'd swear he could cut glass.
Ryan keeps up the aggressive assault, licking and biting, right up until the point when desperation begins to flow through his veins. Abruptly he steps back and pushes Sam to face the wall, keeping one hand splayed against his lover's shoulder while he drizzles lube onto his own cock.
It feels like the world grinds to a halt in those few seconds Ryan takes to get ready, Sam's body aching for his lover. Needing him now.
"Hold still," Ryan murmurs, though he expects nothing else. It's just fun to get a little mouthy with Sam when he can. He spreads the cheeks of Sam's ass and pushes inside, groaning as his lover's muscles close around the head.
Sam grunts with the first streak of pain, his body starting to seize up, but he pushes back, out, forcing himself to relax, welcome Ryan in.
"There." Ryan lays his hand on the small of Sam's back and rubs slow circles. "There, love. Open up for me," he encourages softly, and shifts a fraction deeper.
"Oh, fuck," Sam moans, dropping a hand to his cock, a few strokes making his body ease up even more. "Yes, fuck... do it," he gasps.
He might regret this... Ryan shoves worry from his mind and penetrates to the hilt in one deep push, then splays his hands against the wall and forces himself completely still, to let his lover adjust.
Teeth gritted, breathing through his nose, Sam tells himself this is why they should do this more fucking often. Christ. He shifts, working himself a little on Ryan's cock, waiting for the pain to ease up before he nods. "Go. Fuck me," he whispers.
"Yeah?" Ryan grins impishly and starts moving, slow deep thrusts at first. But as he feels his lover's body start to give he speeds up. And he grabs Sam by the wrists, pinning them against the wall.
Teeth still gritted, Sam moans, angling his hips back for more. He shudders hard under Ryan's grasp, under the hot hard pounding of his cock, his whole world narrowing to this, to the feel of Ryan moving into him again and again.
"This is how I wanted you," Ryan growls, a rush of power coursing through his veins – power which he fully realizes Sam willingly surrendered to him. "Slammed on the wall with nowhere to go," he thrusts harder, "trapped, and giving up this sweet ass only to me."
Sam groans at the words, his cock smearing precome across the wall. Ryan's right. He's trapped. And Ryan's the only one who gets his ass these days. Neither of them would have it any other way. "Yours," he chokes out, feeling his orgasm right there.
"That's right," Ryan mutters, smiling. Releasing his lover's hands, he grabs Sam's hips and jerks him back, changing the angle just enough to– "Fuck!" Ryan shouts, emptying himself. "Fuck, yes!"
Sam echoes that shout, his own wordless but filling the room as he comes and comes hard, without a single touch to his cock, his body clamping down hard around Ryan, demanding every last drop.
Breathless, Ryan drops his head down to rest against Sam's back. "Holy–" he mutters, but can't seem to construct a whole sentence. He eases his cock out and then takes his lover in his arms, turning Sam and bringing him in against his chest. Damn.
Nodding, Sam buries his face against the side of Ryan's neck. His heart still racing, aftershocks trembling through his system.
"I love you," Ryan whispers, breathing a kiss over Sam's hair. He leads his husband to the bed and gets them both settled comfortably, Sam snugged tightly in his arms.
"Love you too," Sam murmurs, pressing in close.
[feedback welcome. comments screened.]
