Work Text:
Of course Shane would rather not work; he’d like it to be like the good old days, and who wouldn’t? But a demon’s gotta eat, and he can’t even get a discount on his rent because it turns out it’s a lot harder to influence faceless companies with ominous dreams. Ergo: gainful employment at Buzzfeed.
“Be a cat,” he coos at Sabrina on his way out the door. He doesn’t instruct her to be good or bad; he’s firmly in the camp of letting animals follow their nature. “Help yourself to any stray souls of the damned. Or, you know, your overpriced organic kibble, which everyone says is better for you.”
He picks up coffee from Starbucks, which is comfortingly low-grade evil. And honestly, as a millennial demon, Shane considers himself something of a connoisseur of consistent mediocrity, and their coffee? He’s going to just say it: not that bad.
He picks up something for Ryan while he’s at it. His boy’s been looking a little peaky, lately — a gingerbread latte with extra whip will fix him right up.
***
Ryan kind of looks like hell. Shane would know — theoretically, anyway.
“Late night, buddy?” Shane asks sympathetically, dropping off Ryan’s coffee in front of him. Ryan works really hard on the show, and sometimes, Shane thinks, he takes on a little too much. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“I just slept like shit, that’s all,” Ryan says. He sips his coffee and makes a face. “Man, you know how I feel about seasonal drinks before Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, sorry,” Shane says insincerely. He feeds on fear and needs it to survive, but Ryan’s annoyance is some tasty, tasty junk food.
Ryan makes another face, which is vaguely guilty but also a little touched. “Thank you, though. For thinking of me.”
“Don’t mention it,” Shane says, and helps himself to a gentle squeeze of Ryan’s impressively muscled shoulder.
Ryan does start to perk up soon after, so Shane feels entirely justified in his impulse purchase. Human bodies can be weird and complicated, but a hit of caffeine and sugar seems to cure a variety of ills.
However, it’s a fact that Ryan’s looked like shit for at least a week, now, and Shane’s honestly starting to get worried. Maybe he’s going too hard at P90X. Is Shane going to have to subject himself to that just to keep an eye on his precious little fear machine? It’s honestly one of the best demonic start-ups; if Shane wasn’t fundamentally opposed to sweating that much, he’d be a little annoyed with himself that he hadn’t thought of it first.
He settles in next to Ryan and checks his email, and then reads Ask a Manager. Humans basically torment each other better than demons ever could, which is something that the boomers just don’t get. Demonic possession is going the way of the dodo — it’s just not sustainable in this age of global media. Shane is really invested in the show for a few reasons: one, it’s pleasingly dumb. Two, Ryan Bergara is a one-man feast, and Shane gets to eat him up on a regular basis. Three, what the fuck else is Shane going to do? Work some seasonal gig like a scare house, which isn’t going to feed him the full year and the competition for jobs is fierce as fuck anyway? Nuts to that.
Speaking of fear, Ryan’s heart beat is picking up next to him. Shane side-eyes his laptop screen — it takes him a second, but then he realizes what’s going on.
Ryan is reviewing the footage from the Sallie House.
***
Shane’s first thought on walking into the Sallie House is: seriously, fuck this guy.
The second they step over the threshold, the weighty presence of the demon inhabiting the house makes itself known. Shane rolls his eyes at all that privilege. It’s the same story everywhere: demons who’ve been on this plane since the 1700’s think that young demons have nothing to contribute and should just pay their dues, even though their generation basically ruined everything with late stage capitalism and now Shane is stuck with this shitty gig economy because these assholes are just never going to retire to Hell.
Shane’s second thought is, like fuck he’s going to let this creep anywhere near Ryan.
So he sticks close as Ryan freaks out about the flashlights going on and off — like really, is that the best you can do? — and twines his aura all around Ryan, just to be really, exceptionally clear about his extremely solid prior claim.
Because Ryan is a glutton for punishment, the plan is to sleep at the house that night. When they crawl into their sleeping bags, Shane thinks it’s a bit like being faced with an entire leftover pie — sure, your stomach might not want you to eat a piece every few hours, but the heart wants what it wants.
“I don’t care, I’m moving closer,” Ryan says, and shuffles himself and his sleeping bag virtually against Shane’s side. His big doe eyes are wide and so, so scared.
“It’s okay,” Shane says, reaching out a hesitant hand to pat Ryan’s arm in an attempt to soothe. He didn’t really need that extra helping, anyway. Shane frowns as he realizes that Ryan is actually trembling a little under his hand. “Do you want a hug?”
“Fuck off,” Ryan spits out. Then, a beat later: “We have to edit this out.”
That’s how Shane ends up with a very warm armful of a slightly less terrified Ryan Bergara. It seems strange that wrapping his arms around Ryan could have such a strong effect on how Ryan feels. Who knows, maybe it just solidifies Shane’s claim and the house demon is even more shut out. It’s not like Shane had So You’re a Demon classes in high school — he mostly just picked up stuff here and there, so he’s not, like, an expert.
When Ryan wants to bail before five AM, Shane agrees readily enough. They bid farewell to the Sallie House, and Ryan insists that he’ll never, ever return.
“So long, demon,” Shane says, and tips an imaginary hat brim to the house.
“Oh my god please stop talking to it,” Ryan moans.
The demon indicates that Shane shouldn’t let the door hit him on the ass on his way out, and Shane honestly thinks that that, as they say, is that.
***
Shane holds out for another two hours and then he just can’t take it anymore. Ryan has bags under his eyes, and he’s in danger of nodding off every few minutes.
“Hey, buddy,” Shane says, gentle but firm. “How about a little nap?”
“I can’t take a nap,” Ryan says. “I need to get this done.”
“It’ll still be there in an hour,” Shane says. “Come on — you, deceptively comfortable orange couch, chop chop.”
“Chop chop,” Ryan repeats, sounding distinctly punchy. He really does look all kinds of not good. Maybe he has the flu? If he does, it’s almost guaranteed that Shane will get his germs, because they spend too much time breathing on each other.
“Here we go,” Shane says, coaxing Ryan out of his chair and leading him to one of the small meeting rooms that has a couch that isn’t nearly long enough for Shane to curl up on, but fits Ryan just right. The couch is like somebody looked at 70’s vomit and said, but make it fashion; that it’s at all comfortable is an unsolved mystery.
Ryan flops onto the couch, and Shane is about to leave when Ryan catches hold of his pants. “Hey,” Ryan says, almost slurring with exhaustion.
“Yeah?”
Ryan’s quiet for a moment, and then he says into the couch, “Would you — stay. Just until I fall asleep.”
Ryan is still scared, is the thing. Shane turns it over in his head, trying to puzzle it out. In the end, he just says, “Move your noggin so I can sit.”
Ryan moves just enough so that Shane can sit down at the end of the couch, and then hesitates only a moment before putting his head in Shane’s lap.
“Comfy?” Shane asks solicitously. He can’t imagine it is — he knows how bony his legs are.
But Ryan just sighs and his slide shut, and his breathing starts to slow into sleep.
Shane takes his phone out and somehow, his free hand finds its way into Ryan’s hair. “Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I won’t let anything get you.”
***
He plays Two Dots on his phone (yet another great demonic startup — so addictive! Makes people ignore other people and annoy them with the rudeness!) for about ten minutes before he feels the nightmare begin.
Shane’s felt Ryan have nightmares before. None of them felt like this. In fact, it seems a little like —
“Sorry,” Shane preemptively apologizes to Ryan, because his demonic kink is consent, okay, and he won’t be shamed for it. He leans down and takes a deep inhale through his nose, and then rears back in shock.
That Sallie House sonofabitch tagged Ryan.
He spends a few moments being silently furious, because there’s being a demon and then there’s being an asshole who steals things that don’t belong to him like a fucking coward. If the Sallie demon had offered to throw down over Ryan, well — Shane would have thrown down. He might have gotten his ass beat, but he would have gotten Ryan out of there.
Quite frankly, Shane doesn’t know where to go from here. This has never happened to him before.
He never had someone before for this to happen to.
“Sorry,” he whispers to Ryan again, and nudges the nightmare a little. It feels like a passive feeding mechanism — man, no wonder that asshole is staying put, if it’s got this gig going. It’s probably tagged at least half of everyone who’s ever been through that house — no wonder it doesn’t need anyone to live there anymore.
Shane’s not great with dreamwork, to be perfectly blunt. It’s just not his wheelhouse, and it’s fine, he’s accepted that. You can’t be good at everything, his mom always said. So while he’s prepared for his nudge of Ryan’s dream to take it out of the land of supernaturally terrifying, he isn’t really ready for where it ends up.
It ends up — kind of sexy? Kind of anxious?
“What is going on in that head of yours?” Shane says, and it comes out suspiciously fond.
Whatever it is, Shane really can’t let Ryan have a wet dream while he’s sleeping on top of him. You have to negotiate that shit first, and also, they’re at work.
“Ryan,” he says, quietly but firmly, and shakes his shoulder just a little.
Ryan comes awake abruptly, and he’s flushed and he looks some combination of confused and really, really turned on.
“You were having a nightmare,” Shane says.
Ryan swallows. “Sorry,” he says, and looks ashamed. “I’ve kind of — look, I know you don’t believe in this stuff, but I’ve been having nightmares just — every night since we left the Sallie House.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Shane says. His hand is still in Ryan’s hair, and he strokes it gently.
Ryan’s little gasp at that is not one of fright, and Shane takes his hand away immediately.
“I don’t know what to do,” Ryan says, sitting up slowly, and he sounds so damn tired. “I just want to sleep, without — without —”
Shane wracks his brain for ideas. If there’s a way for him to untag Ryan, he doesn’t know what it is. Yet. He needs some time to investigate.
“Does it help when you sleep with someone else?” he asks.
Ryan scowls at him. It’s so cute. “I’m not seeing anyone right now,” he says, somewhere between confessional and curt.
“Then how about a good old Ghoul Boy sleepover? For science.”
“For science,” Ryan says slowly, clearly thinking it over. “Sure, why not. I’ll try anything at this point.” He looks away. “I know I was asleep for less than an hour, but — I think it helped? Sleeping with you.” He’s still a little flushed, and look, Shane is only a demon.
“Then we’ll try it tonight, and see if we can get some repeatable results,” Shane says, and watches Ryan’s eyes brighten with the prospect of a plan.
“Sounds good,” he says, and when he carefully sits up, Shane recounts some inane article he read recently, until Ryan is no longer visibly hard in his very nicely fitting pants. After all, Shane’s never had a taste for embarrassment and doesn’t feel inclined to acquire one now.
***
On account of the cat, they agree to stay at Shane’s place, making a stop at Ryan’s for some clothes and toiletries. Ryan talks him into his latest taco truck infatuation, and why not? Shane isn’t much of a cook — he’s more an assembler of meals. He seems to be able to go longer than humans without eating food, but fear alone does not make a balanced diet.
It’s a balmy, beautiful evening, and the wind ruffles Ryan’s hair as he crams a taco in his mouth. Shane really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does, but this is apparently where he is. He wonders if other demons feel this way, or if it’s just him.
Probably it’s just him. Certainly that Sallie House asshole doesn’t give a shit about who it’s feeding from.
Sabrina greets them at the door, sitting just inside like she’s been waiting. Ryan nearly trips over her. “Jesus Christ!” he yelps.
“Sorry, she can get a little underfoot sometimes,” Shane says, which is an understatement. Sabrina is underfoot at all times, but especially when he’s walking anywhere near the kitchen because she thinks she can get extra food if she’s cute enough. Her opportunistic nature is a constant delight.
With no basketball game on that Ryan is invested in watching, they wind up catching up on Bakeoff, which Shane finds very soothing and also kind of hilarious, because Ryan can get really worked up over whether someone’s bake is underdone.
“She’s my favorite,” Ryan grumbles. “Now she’s going to be in trouble going into the Showstopper.” He wacks Shane with a pillow. “Stop laughing, you jerk, this is serious business.”
Shane does not, in fact, stop laughing.
When it’s finally time to go to bed, it doesn’t feel weird at all; they’ve stayed in hotel rooms together, and they’ve established something of a rhythm for getting ready for bed. Ryan’s a religious flosser, and persists in trying to talk to Shane while he’s in the middle of his elaborate dental hygiene routine.
“All I got out of that was Charlie Brown noises,” Shane calls back after Ryan’s latest garbled nonsense.
“I said, when do we have to leave by in the morning?”
“Depends on whether you want a bagel.”
“Two bagels,” Ryan says, then spits.
Ryan’s in bed when Shane comes back from his own nighttime routine, with Sabrina curled in a dainty ball behind his knees.
“I see how it is,” Shane tells her, narrowing his eyes as he climbs into bed.
“Not my fault she recognizes superiority when she sees it,” Ryan says, with that preening, shit-eating grin that just makes Shane want to pull his pigtails even harder.
“We’ll see how you like it when she decides to steal your pillow,” Shane says.
Ryan looks down at the cat, as if daring her to try it. He’s so cutely naive, sometimes.
Shane sets his alarm. “Night,” he says, and clicks off the lamp. “Sweet dreams, etcetera.” He tries to put a little push into that, on the off chance that it will work. He’s no angel, but he figures it’s worth a try.
Ryan’s heartbeat ticks up — what, he’d forgotten why they were doing this? — and Shane can feel him shift a little on the mattress, edging closer to Shane. “Night,” Ryan says eventually, and he sounds so determined.
Shane doesn’t want to let him down.
***
Ryan falls asleep in a gratifyingly short period of time; he barely sleeps at all when they do overnight shoots on location, and it makes Shane feel — well, rather pleased that Ryan feels safe in his apartment.
The nightmare starts the second Ryan hits REM. Shane can tell that Ryan is fucking terrified, but the fear itself is being immediately sucked away by the Sallie demon. Shane nudges his dream once, which seems to make it more terrifying, not less; he nudges it again, and it’s apparently back to anxious sexytimes. He can only tell how Ryan is feeling, not what he’s actually dreaming about; his brain remains mostly a mystery.
Shane thinks about nudging the dream again, except he’s afraid he’ll make it worse. The important part is: he’s disrupted the nightmare, and now that he has a better feel for the Sallie demon’s tag, he doubts it has enough juice to get tripped a second time tonight.
He sighs and snuggles down into his pillow. With any luck, he’ll still get a good chunk of sleep after all.
***
He wakes up with Ryan plastered against him, and Sabrina curled up smugly on Ryan’s pillow. He feels very rested, and also very hot under the collar, which is probably to be expected when someone is grinding their dream boner against your thigh.
Ryan probably needs to get laid. He’s not one for hookups, though. And good luck explaining the screaming nightmares to someone more long-term. The responsible thing to do, Shane decides, is to solve the nightmare situation first, and then — and then —
He’s frowning heavily when his alarm goes off, and Ryan twitches awake in his arms. “Mrgh,” he says into Shane’s shoulder.
“Hey,” Shane says softly after he hits snooze. Ryan is lying still against him, as if his boner were a deer and if he just stayed still, Shane wouldn’t know what was going on.
“Hey,” Ryan says eventually, his voice a little scratchy like it usually is when he wakes up.
“How’d you sleep?”
“Good?” Ryan hazards, and then pauses for a moment, presumably to think it over. “Better,” he says, sounding more sure. In the weak early morning light, everything feels soft and hushed and intimate; also, Ryan is still mostly talking into Shane’s shoulder and hasn’t actually moved at all.
“I’m glad,” Shane says, and he means it. He still has to figure out how to untag Ryan, but he’s bought himself another day, and they both got a decent night’s sleep.
“I think I had a nightmare still, but it must not have been too bad. I don’t remember waking up or anything.”
“Sounds like progress,” Shane says carefully.
“We should do it again,” Ryan says, finally looking up at Shane’s face. “For science.”
Shane fights mightily against the corner of his mouth that wants to turn up, and loses. “For science,” he agrees. He lets himself appreciate for a moment how nice it feels to have Ryan tucked close against him, his arm wrapped securely around Ryan’s waist, until the alarm goes off again.
***
Work is good; he’s aware of Ryan as he always is, working right beside him, but it feels like more today; also, every time he looks at Ryan out of the corner of his eye, it seems like Ryan is looking at him too. He’s got that tiny smile on his face more often than not, the one that Shane doesn’t know what it means, and doesn’t understand how to get Ryan to do it more often.
The company is sponsoring lunch again that day, and by unspoken agreement, they eat their burgers together at a picnic table. They eat lunch together most days, at least when he can tear Ryan away from editing. Sometimes Shane has to settle for going on a burrito run and dropping one off at Ryan’s desk, where Ryan eats it absently while watching the same clip, over and over again. But today, Ryan is fully present and sitting closer to Shane than he usually does except when he’s drunk.
“I think I might be possessed,” Ryan announces out of the blue.
“You are not possessed,” Shane says with perfect confidence, because there’s a gulf between tagging and straight-up possession, and — as if he would let that Sallie asshole or any other two-bit hack actually possess his — his—
Ryan is looking at him expectantly.
“What?” Shane says finally.
“You’re spacey today,” Ryan says, and takes another big bite of his burger. When he swallows, he looks a little shifty. “Did you — did you sleep okay? I know sometimes I make it hard for you to catch some z’s — I don’t mean to, you know—”
“I slept great,” Shane interrupts him mercifully.
Ryan’s relief is visible. “Good,” he says. “Awesome.”
The relief doesn’t last, though — Ryan spends the rest of the afternoon editing Sallie House footage, and Shane’s not sure that’s reinforcing the tag, but he doesn’t like it.
***
Sabrina tries to trip Ryan again on the way into the apartment, but Shane solves this by scooping her up and cradling her like a baby. “Who’s my little monster?” he coos.
Ryan reaches out a hesitant hand to pet her head, and her purr is audible. “She’s a nice cat,” he says.
“I’m very partial to her.” Shane has no idea why Ryan complimenting his choice in companion animals makes his chest puff out a little, but it does. He puts Sabrina down so he can feed her, and also see what he can make for dinner.
He ends up making spaghetti sauce, which has Ryan sort of hovering near his shoulder like Shane is performing an arcane ritual.
“I didn’t know you could cook,” Ryan says.
“This barely qualifies. I’m just browning ground beef and onions, which is the foundation of virtually every Midwestern recipe in existence.”
“Still,” Ryan insists. And once Shane’s poured in the sauce and given it a stir, Ryan is all up in his business. “Can I have a taste?”
“We’re eating as soon as the pasta is done.”
That earns him Bergara puppy eyes, and Shane sighs and obediently offers Ryan a spoonful. “Don’t burn your mouth,” he advises, and Ryan blows on the spoon carefully, and—
Oh dear, Shane thinks.
And then Ryan’s lips close around the spoon, and he looks so pleased, like Shane’s actually accomplished some culinary masterpiece as opposed to a very lazy single person’s dinner. “That’s good,” he pronounces, and he’s so close, those big brown eyes looking up at Shane, and — oh dear.
“I’m glad you like it?” Shane says faintly. The moment stretches between them, and Shane’s stupid human heart, normally so reliable, is beating faster, and he honestly isn’t sure what might have happened if the timer for the pasta hadn’t gone off.
“Let me get that,” Ryan says. “I can drain noodles.”
“Thanks,” Shane says reflexively, because his very human, very Midwestern mother raised him right, or maybe wrong, depending on one’s perspective, but she did her best, and he loves her, so it must be right.
They sit down to eat on the couch because Shane isn’t that fancy. Ryan has dumped a heap of cheese on his bowl of pasta, and they each have a beer, and he watches Ryan devour the food that he made while the Lakers do something with a basketball that periodically makes Ryan chew angrily and make faces at Shane. Shane isn’t sure what those faces are supposed to convey — discontent with reffing, maybe? — but he looks like a chipmunk. A cute one. One that Shane — likes. Jesus Christ.
What is he supposed to do with this? Shane drinks his beer moodily and then Ryan has the gall to bring out a bunch of cookies he got from the Tasty kitchen out of his bag.They’re in the shape of cats, with very inexpertly applied frosting.
“I tried my best,” Ryan says, suddenly a bundle of nerves. “Rie helped. Sort of.”
“It’s delicious,” Shane says, licking up the frosting and Ryan’s worry.
“I just — I wanted to say thanks. For this.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” Shane says, frowning slightly. “We’re friends.” And that’s true — Shane knows that, down to his core. He’s always felt like maybe he was not like other demons, and well — this is proof, isn’t it? He likes Ryan. He admires him, he likes spending time with him, and okay occasionally he wants to strangle him, but mostly that’s when he brings out the spirit box, which is such horseshit, but on the whole—
Shane just likes him. All of him. A lot.
He’s probably a terrible demon.
But Ryan’s smiling at him, and Shane thinks — maybe being a terrible demon isn’t so bad, after all.
***
Bodies are weird. Kind of cool, sometimes? Mostly weird. Shane gets himself off on a regular basis because the alternative is a certain amount of crankiness and maybe wet dreams, and no thank you. He’s never had sex with a human, because first of all, he isn’t an incubus, and second of all, it seems a little weird to bone down with something you’re feeding from. Not that he’s judging or anything; find your bliss, etc.
Ryan is asleep and having another one of his sexy anxious dreams. Shane’s proud of himself that he was basically able to cut off the Sallie demon’s nightmare before it really got going, but hell if he knows why no matter how he nudges Ryan’s dream, it seems to end up with Ryan sighing softly in his sleep. It’s distracting, is what it is. And Shane’s hard, and he’s sipping on Ryan’s anxiety, and he feels all mixed up.
And on top of that, he’s no closer to figuring out how to get the tag off. He huffs in frustration and resolutely closes his eyes.
It feels like they aren’t shut for long before he wakes up to Ryan thrashing in bed, and Shane feels stupid with sleep but when he turns on the lamp, he sees that Ryan is — clawing at his face? He calls Ryan’s name sharply, and when that doesn’t do it, he pulls Ryan’s hands away and pins them to the mattress. “Ryan — come on, buddy, wake up,” Shane says firmly. The fear is pouring off Ryan, but this is no demon-induced nightmare — there’s none of the aftertaste of the Sallie demon, only the heady sweetness of Ryan’s terror filling his senses. He’d be maybe tempted to let the nightmare go a little longer, but Ryan is struggling in his grip and he doesn’t want Ryan to hurt himself.
“Ryan!” he says sharply, and Ryan’s eyes snap open. He stares at Shane for a few moments, his chest heaving, and then his face crumples. When Shane lets go of his wrists, Ryan’s arms go around him, clutching him tight, and Ryan mutters, “Oh my god — oh my fucking god—”
“Shhh,” Shane says, feeling helpless. Ryan’s plainly relieved that it was just a dream, but he’s so fucking upset, too, and Shane can’t stand it. “You’re okay,” he says, and holds on to Ryan just as tight.
The way Ryan is trembling in his arms suggests that he is not okay, and Shane doesn’t know how to fix it. He just holds Ryan until his breathing evens out, and eventually he asks quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Ryan grips him tighter, his fingers pressing into Shane’s back, and Shane feels him shake his head. “Can we just — can we—”
“Shh, okay,” Shane says. He shifts his weight so that he’s resting more along Ryan’s side, but still covering him with most of his body. It’s the human equivalent of a thundershirt, he figures. He’ll let go when Ryan lets go.
Ryan doesn’t let go, at least until he’s fallen asleep, and even then, his grip relaxes but his arms are still around Shane like he needs him, like Shane is decidedly not optional, and oh, he wants that to be true.
***
There’s not an ounce of a no homo freakout in the morning, which Shane will admit he was bracing himself for. Shane doesn’t want to tar all former fraternity brothers with the same brush, but they’re all swimming in the same bro culture soup, and sometimes a certain amount of metaphorical gristle gets caught in your teeth.
He’s scrambling some eggs when Ryan wanders out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed for the day. He’s wearing the red sweater that clings to his biceps, which is unfair and sort of a lot for a Wednesday morning when the coffee hasn’t yet finished brewing.
Ryan is just putting toast on their plates when he looks straight at Shane and says, “Thank you. For last night.”
Shane should really stop being surprised by how brave Ryan is, because he is, all the time — he keeps hunting for ghosts even though it terrifies him, he talks about having actual feelings, and he keeps wearing that one white t-shirt even though Shane can feel how nervous it makes him when he’s eating lunch. (The free chili cheese fries day at work was a remarkably delicious and unexpected snack for Shane in more ways than one.)
“Any time,” Shane says, and he means it.
“I know it can be — I can be a lot. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate it.” It’s a vulnerable-sounding confession, and Shane wonders who was a dick to Ryan when he woke up from nightmares before.
Shane musters up some courage of his own, and says, “I want to be here for you.”
Ryan looks, just — so open and trusting and repulsively cute, and it makes Shane sort of want to claw his own face off, because he said it, and he can’t unsay it, and he doesn’t even want to.
They smile at each other like the idiots they are until the coffee pot lets out a loud gurgle that means it’s ready, and they sit down to breakfast. At Shane’s actual small dinette table, which he cleared off while Ryan was in the shower. Their knees knock together but Ryan doesn’t make any effort to push his seat further back; he just lets his ankle rest against Shane’s, like this is totally normal and fine and doesn’t make Shane’s ears feel a little warm.
He’s so fucked.
***
They don’t even discuss Ryan coming home with him after work. Well, they do in the sense that Ryan asks to make a stop by his place so he can pick up more clothes.
This may be getting out of hand, Shane reflects as he watches Ryan hesitate over the truly mindboggling number of jerseys in his closet.
He cooks again, because man can’t live on In-N-Out alone, or he shouldn’t. Not that frozen pierogies should count as cooking, but he makes some kale to go with it, and that’s like, real vitamins and fiber. The kielbasa isn’t as good as the kind his mom gets from the Polish deli back home, but he restrains himself from apologizing for it.
If Ryan feels it is in any way substandard, it’s not apparent from the way he shovels it in his mouth as they sit at the table again. “Your cat is staring at me,” Ryan says after he swallows.
“She doesn’t get people food,” Shane says to her firmly. He pretends not to see when Ryan gives her a taste of sour cream when he gets up to dish out seconds.
They settle onto the couch, Shane to read and Ryan to do some lazy research on his laptop, until he gets bored and turns on the TV right as Jurassic Park starts, and then they both get sucked in to watching it until it’s over and time for bed.
The pattern repeats: Ryan goes to sleep, Ryan hits REM, and the nightmare begins. This time, it takes Shane longer to disengage the Sallie demon’s feeding mechanism, and he doesn’t know why. He tries everything he can think of to get the tag off, and none of it works. It’s like he just can’t get any purchase, and his attempts slide right off.
He finally gets Ryan settled into non-demonic but anxiously sexual dreams, and while he’s worrying about what he’s going to do, he drops right off.
***
Shane wakes up in something of a compromising position, with his hand up the back of Ryan’s t-shirt, and ugh, jizz in his shorts, and a still-asleep Ryan panting in his ear and riding his thigh. In the confused minute it takes Shane to arrive at the decision to wake him up, Ryan comes in his arms.
And then, because of course, the alarm goes off. Ryan nuzzles Shane’s collarbone as he wakes up, and then Shane can see the ten car pileup of Ryan realizing he 1) had a wet dream, 2) on his best friend, and 3) Shane is hard against his thigh.
Shane reaches over to turn off the alarm as Ryan pulls away, and they both lie on their backs and look up at the ceiling.
“That’s it,” Ryan says finally. “I need a priest.”
“Well,” Shane says.
***
The thing is, Shane’s out of ideas. He’s tried everything in his playbook, which admittedly isn’t that extensive, and he hasn’t been able to get the tag to so much as budge. Calling a priest is basically the nuclear option, but he’ll give Ryan this — it’ll be effective.
It will also probably render Ryan completely inedible.
“Thank you so much, we’ll be there at noon,” Ryan is saying into his phone.
Shane waits for him to hang up, before he says carefully, “We?”
“You’ll come with me, right?” Ryan says, and turns puppy eyes on him, which — what the hell, Bergara, it’s nine in the morning, put those away.
“Of course,” Shane finds himself saying reflexively. In the end, he can find someone else to feed off, but he can’t find another Ryan, and that’s a real sticking point. Still, he kind of wishes he could have one more snack for the road.
***
Being a demon is not exactly like Fight Club, but generally speaking, Shane subscribes to the wisdom of keeping it on the DL. When he came out to his mom (her first, because it terrified him more and then he was hoping she would just tell his dad and he wouldn’t have to do this twice), she told him she loved him just as he was, but that other people might not be so understanding. He definitely shouldn’t tell any priests (“Mom!” he’d moaned in embarrassment) and he probably shouldn’t tell their extended family and his friends. He’s followed her recommendations to a T ever since.
He’s been lucky so far that very few people have harbored any suspicions about him. It figures that when he’s being noble and self-sacrificing, he runs into a priest who for sure knows what he is.
“So you think you’ve been — touched by a demon,” Father Martinez says slowly, aiming a really unimpressed look in Shane’s direction.
Shane attempts to communicate with his eyebrows that he hasn’t been doing that kind of touching, and that he really is trying to stay lowkey with the whole demon thing, and he pays taxes and votes and doesn’t cheat at either and really is trying his best.
“We visited a place known to be infested by a demon,” Ryan says, fidgeting a little in his chair. They’re in a pretty normal looking office, because apparently priests have offices? It’s not that Shane would have burst into flames going into a church, but he would have been basically without all his demonic abilities, so really — an office is a much better place for this to go down, although all the holy shit around is making him a little queasy. “I’ve had nightmares every night since, like it’s — stuck to me, I guess.”
Father Martinez gives Shane yet another deeply skeptical look, and then he says, “I’ll give you a blessing. It should repel any demonic...influences.”
Ryan looks so relieved, and then Shane feels even worse, because he knew this was weighing on Ryan, but he hadn’t quite understood how much.
“I’m going to go wait in the car,” Shane says softly to Ryan, touching his shoulder once before leaving the room. Ryan probably thinks Shane is trying to give him some privacy, and Shane is content to let him think that.
When Ryan opens the car door ten minutes later — Father Martinez probably tried to give him the abstinence talk, like good sense would ever keep Ryan away from the supernatural — he’s metaphysically shining like the sun. Shane breathes carefully through his nose and only has to pull over once to hurl on the side of the road.
“I told you not to eat those churros,” Ryan says heartlessly, even as he pats Shane’s back sympathetically before muscling his way into the driver’s seat so that Shane can pathetically lean his head against the passenger side window on the way back to work.
***
The blessing-induced nausea will fade in a few days, Shane knows from experience, but it doesn’t make it suck any less right now. Also he’s kind of in mourning for never getting to eat Ryan’s fear again, and not to be overly dramatic, it’s worse than never eating pie from Piehole again.
Also, he has to keep avoiding Ryan, which is hard because they literally bump elbows all day long. And then he has to go home and face that Ryan’s not there, where he’s grown accustomed to him being, dammit.
“Everything is terrible,” he tells Sabrina while eating yogurt for dinner like the sad sack he is. He lets her lick yogurt off the lid so that at least somebody is having a good time and not — pining, or whatever.
He goes to bed and stares at the ceiling until he gives up at 2 AM and starts working on a really obnoxious Hot Daga script, and then realizes that isn’t helping, either.
He endures two and a half days of this before Ryan breaks and shows up at his apartment door with a six pack and a bag of Chipotle.
“We can get drunk first if that will help but, uh. We should talk this shit out,” Ryan says. He’s got that look on his face, that one where he’s shit scared but going to do something anyway. It makes Shane melt a little, inside, which probably says everything.
Shane steps away from the door and waves Ryan in, and Ryan makes himself at home, like he never left — shoes off by the door and stowed in Shane’s shoe cupboard from IKEA so Sabrina doesn’t mess with them, beer in the fridge and Chipotle divided between the two of them. He even correctly guessed that Shane was in more of a burrito bowl mood, but maybe that’s more because he thought Shane had the flu for a few days.
They sit down at the dinette table, knees bumping again, Ryan’s ankle resting against his, and Ryan eats half his burrito before he puts it down and says, “I wanted to apologize.”
Shane stops mid-chew. “For what?” he says, taken aback.
Ryan’s chin is up, full brave little ghosthunter mode. “For that last morning. It wasn’t cool.”
“You were asleep,” Shane says carefully. “I’m not going to hold you accountable for that.”
Ryan does look down, then. “There’s something I didn’t tell you, uh. About the dreams.”
That makes Shane sit up a little straighter in his seat. “What’s that?”
“They, um. They all started off in the Sallie house. With the demon.”
Shane nods encouragingly. “I figured.”
Ryan’s mouth twists. “But they didn’t stay like that. In my dream, then you were the demon.”
Shane’s mouth goes dry. “You mean, the Sallie demon possessed me?”
“No, like you were a demon, like you’d always been one.” Ryan sounds — upset, maybe? Shane still can’t taste any of his feelings. The blessing blew out his emotional tastebuds like too much wasabi.
“Real nightmare fuel, huh,” Shane says lightly.
Ryan looks him dead in the eye. “And then we boned down. A lot.”
“Excuse me?” Shane says faintly.
“You and me, nonstop to bonetown. Like — I’ve never, but —” Ryan stops, and looks thoroughly embarrassed.
When Shane was shifting Ryan’s dreams, he never in a million years thought he was shifting them to sexy dreams about himself. He doesn’t even know how he would have done that once, let alone consistently.
“Look, Ryan, dreams are funny, sometimes things happen that we’d never do in real life—”
“I liked it,” Ryan interrupts him.
Shane gawps at him. “Oh,” he says intelligently.
“I wanted to do it when I was awake.”
“Oh.” Shane feels like his face is on fire. And then he has to take a mental step back, because this is exactly the kind of demonic influence Father Martinez was talking about. And he can’t — he just can’t let Ryan be this fucking brave about something that has to be Shane’s fault.
He doesn’t even know where to start. “Look, Ryan, I have to tell you something,” he says, and then stops.
“You can tell me anything you want,” Ryan says softly, and Shane knows he means it. It makes Shane feel even worse. And he promised his mom he’d be careful about who he told, but he can’t imagine going on another minute like this.
“I’m a demon,” Shane says heavily.
“Bullshit,” Ryan says after a beat.
Shane squints at him. “I’m being serious?”
“Do you need beer after all? I know you passed earlier, but if you need some liquid courage to talk about your feelings—”
“Ryan,” Shane says, looking him dead in the eye. “I know it seems like I must be joking, but I’m not. There are no cameras around — it’s just you and me right now.”
Ryan looks at him for a long, considering moment. Then he shakes his head. “There’s no way you’re a demon.”
“Based on what evidence?” Shane asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I’ve never been afraid of you, for starters.”
“Well, you should be,” Shane says. “I’ve been — Ryan, I’ve been eating your fear since day one—”
“Excuse me, you’ve been eating my fear?”
“Yes,” Shane says with forced patience. “Because I’m a demon.”
Ryan’s face goes through like eight expressions before landing on Intense Research, which Shane really should have expected. “So I’m like, what, a convenient snack—”
“Are you ever,” Shane mutters.
“Shut up, not now,” Ryan says, his cheeks red. “You’re really serious?”
“What would it take for you to believe me?”
Ryan opens his mouth, and then shuts it without saying anything. And then Shane can see something shift in his eyes.
Ryan believes him. He believes and he’s not afraid, he’s not running for the door.
“So you’re a demon,” Ryan says, so matter-of-fact that it makes Shane’s head spin.
“Can we please keep that between us?” Shane thinks to ask. “I promised my mom.”
“You—okay. Okay, you’re a demon. We both mutually agree that demons exist — contrary to your position for our entire show, by the way — so level with me: is there a demon in the Sallie House?”
Shane nods. “I tried to — I tried to tell it you weren’t up for grabs, but—” he shrugs, still ashamed at his failure.
“One: I fucking knew it, and two: that’s why I had the nightmares, wasn’t it.”
“Exactly, and I’m just — I’m so sorry, I tried to stop them from being nightmares, but I didn’t mean to — make you have feelings you didn’t want.”
Ryan actually leans back in his chair thoughtfully. “So you influenced my dreams?”
Shane scratches the back of his neck. “Kind of? Clearly not that successfully.”
“So your theory is, you influenced my dreams, ergo sexytimes between brotimes. You’re really going to no homo this.”
“I am not no homo-ing this, I’m saying — I’m a demon, I got a little attached, and some things happened. You’re not responsible.”
Ryan crosses his arms. “Did the blessing work?”
“Yup,” Shane says, letting the ‘p’ pop. “I got so hungry today that I went down to the accounting offices.”
“So I’m free of demons right now, is what you’re saying.”
“Pure as the virgin snow.”
Ryan’s mouth twitches, and he leans forward. “Then explain to me, big guy, why I still feel the way I do now. I tried to give you space because I figured, we’d been together 24/7 for a week and you might need it. And I hated it. I wanted to go home with you after work, watch dumb shows on the History channel that make you crazy, and eat dinner, and pet your cat even though she gnaws on my fingers half the time, and go to bed with you and — and not just to sleep, you get me?”
Shane abruptly remembers the sound and feel of Ryan coming in his arms, which must show on his face, because Ryan then looks unbearably smug, like he thinks he won.
That cannot stand, or at least: Shane is not going down without a fight. He leans forward, so that his face is close to Ryan’s. “Where’s your evidence?” he asks, his voice low and a little rough.
Ryan licks his lips. “Not compelling enough for you?”
The shiver that runs down Shane’s spine is not exactly a new feeling — he’s felt it before when he and Ryan really get into it, but it’s electric now, and Ryan knows he’s a demon and he’s okay with it, he’s still sitting across a tiny table from Shane, looking at him like he — like he might possibly—
“I’m going to kiss you now, if that’s okay,” Shane says faintly.
“About fucking time,” Ryan says, which should theoretically ruin the mood, but instead it makes Shane smile into their first kiss, and well.
It’s very nice. Compelling, even. He tells Ryan this, and Ryan burbles with laughter, and says, “Come on, can we — take this to the couch, at least?”
“Ryan, there are young eyes about,” Shane says primly, looking at Sabrina, who is curled up on the corner of the couch. He stands up and holds out his hand, and maybe he should be nervous, but he’s never felt more sure of anything in his life.
Ryan takes his hand, and pulls Shane toward the bedroom.
***
“I like my body with your body,” Shane mumbles against Ryan’s neck, where he’s been investigating all the lovely noises Ryan makes when Shane uses his teeth.
Ryan laughs, and Shane can feel the muscles of his stomach contract under his hand. “This is why I always thought you were an alien. Or a serial killer.”
“It’s turning you on, just admit it,” Shane deadpans, and then gasps when Ryan sucks on his earlobe.
They make out for some unknowable length of time after that, the minutes stretching out like taffy, before Ryan starts pulling at their clothes and Shane thinks, oh yes, what an excellent idea. When he’s naked, Ryan looks at him with some combination of analytical detachment and breathless want that makes Shane shiver.
“Is there any demon sex stuff I should be aware of?” Ryan asks.
Shane shrugs one shoulder. “It’s all standard issue,” he says. “I mean, I think. I’ve never done this before.”
“It’s okay, me neither,” Ryan says, and he looks so sweetly understanding, except he clearly doesn’t get it.
“I meant sex period,” Shane clarifies.
Ryan’s eyes go wide. “Oh. Um. We don’t have to — we can take it slow, dude.”
Shane traces one hand down Ryan’s side. “I like making you feel good. I want to — I want to get closer.”
“Yeah,” Ryan breathes out, and his body is warm against Shane’s, and the feel of him under Shane’s hands is delicious and addictive and all he wants is more.
“I want to know you’re feeling good. I want to — I want to watch you come when you’re awake and know I did that,” Shane finds himself saying. “I want to get inside you, so deep no other demon would even dare to look at you. “
He meant in the metaphysical sense, but Ryan is looking at his dick, mouth open and looking so hot for it, and oh. Right.
“Is that something you want?” Shane asks carefully. “Me inside you?”
“You better have lube,” Ryan says viciously. “And condoms, I don’t care if you are a virgin.” He mutters something under his breath that sounds like better not fucking knock me up with demon jizz which Shane elects to ignore in favor of fishing lube out of his nightstand. Ryan turns out to have a condom in his wallet, which seems very sensible and well-prepared.
“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Shane observes.
“Butt stuff?” Ryan rolls his shoulders, before settling back on the bed and pulling Shane in between his legs. “Sure. I mean. You know.”
“I really don’t,” Shane says. “I thought you’d never done this before.”
“With a guy,” Ryan clarifies. “I had a girlfriend who liked to—” He goes charmingly pink.
“Oh my,” Shane says, because isn’t that a picture.
“Shut up and give me your hand,” Ryan say bossily, and Shane complies. “Goddamn your fingers are long. “
“Is that good, generally speaking?” He thinks it might be. He hopes, anyway.
Ryan pours lube on Shane’s fingers, and Shane takes his time getting the lay of the land, so to speak — he trails his fingers down Ryan’s dick before wrapping his hand around it and stroking him gently a few times, all the while watching Ryan’s face. He likes the heft of Ryan’s balls, and wants to taste them, except Ryan is starting to look impatient. “I’m getting there,” Shane says in gentle rebuke. “I don’t want to rush this.”
Ryan’s expression goes a little soft for a moment, and then he says, “I’m ready. I’ve been ready, so if you’re waiting for me—”
Shane gets more lube on his fingers and then rubs Ryan’s hole gently, and when he pushes one finger in, he’s transfixed by the way Ryan’s hips shift, by the heat of him, by the pleasure he can just taste on the tip of his tongue. He’s watched porn out of curiosity but never understood this alchemy, the desire to do everything and anything with another person. He wants to make Ryan crazy.
When he has two fingers in, it’s not long before Ryan asks for three, and he’s riding Shane’s hand, and making these noises that Shane can’t get enough of, and Ryan’s body is greedy and Shane only wants to give him everything he wants.
Ryan grabs the condom off the nightstand and unwraps it, looking at Shane’s dick critically. “I hope this fits,” he mutters. “You’re so fucking hung.”
“It’s proportionate,” Shane says with dignity.
“It’s a monster dick, and I’ve been dreaming about riding it for weeks now,” Ryan retorts, and Shane is abruptly uninterested in arguing when Ryan rolls the condom on him, and then pushes him onto his back and throws one leg over him to straddle his hips.
“You sure about this?” Ryan asks.
“You’re the one literally inviting a demon in,” Shane points out.
Ryan makes a face at him, seemingly reflexively, and then he leans down to kiss Shane. “I’m sure. Just, uh — let me take this at my own pace, okay? So like, stay still.”
“I can do that,” Shane says.
It’s more difficult that he imagined. He did not account for the heat and tightness of Ryan sliding down onto his dick, the flex of Ryan’s thighs under the palms of his hands, the sweaty curl of Ryan’s hair against his forehead. With his eyes closed, he looks possessed, like Shane’s marked him so deep that no demon from this age or any other could take him away.
Finally Ryan breathes out a long breath and he’s fully seated. “Okay, big guy, if you want to—”
Shane rolls his hips up carefully and Ryan’s breath catches. He does it again, and it’s so — he feels like all he wants is for Ryan to keep making that noise.
It feels like madness, and by the time he’s rolled Ryan over, he’s just trying to hit that place that makes Ryan curse and clutch at his shoulders, and whatever protection the blessing imparted has crumbled, and he feels consumed by Ryan’s pleasure, can barely separate it from his own, and Ryan has one hand around his own cock and he’s panting and saying, “Oh, oh fuck—”
And then Ryan shudders and comes, and it’s like — fireworks and a perfectly held note of music and really, really good cookies? Shane groans and grinds in for a few more thrusts before he comes, too, and collapses half on top of Ryan.
Ryan’s feeling nothing but bliss.
Shane luxuriates in it for a few minutes, before it occurs to him that in the interests of full disclosure, he probably ought to tell Ryan about the whole sensing feelings thing.
“Huh,” Ryan says, remarkably blasé. “What else can you do?”
“Do?” Shane echoes.
Ryan actually uses his fingers to tick off a list. “You sense feelings, you eat fear, you change dreams,” he says, matter-of-fact.
Shane blinks. “I can play the trumpet. Poorly.”
Ryan stares at him, and then starts to laugh, and Shane can’t help smiling at him.
“That’s it?” Ryan says, wheezing.
Shane wracks his brain for anything else that’s probably not human standard. “Oh. I guess I don’t really have a refractory period?”
Ryan narrows his eyes. “Are you fucking with me?”
“I could be,” Shane says gravely. “You could always find out for yourself.”
“Raincheck? I can’t move,” Ryan says, although he looks intensely interested.
“Sure thing,” Shane says, and presses lazy, soft kisses to all of Ryan’s skin in reach.
Later, after a quick cleanup, they’re cuddled together in bed, and Sabrina is once again curled up behind Ryan’s knees.
“What am I feeling right now?” Ryan asks, on the edge of sleep.
Shane concentrates; he’s felt this before, he thinks, but it’s a little different for everyone, probably.
“I can’t eat it, if that’s what your asking,” he says. Ryan huffs out a laugh, and his eyes slide shut.
Shane basks in the warmth of how Ryan feels about him, and it’s strange and wonderful, and he really doesn’t think he can eat it, but it makes him feel full and content, and lulls him to sleep.
***
Predictably, Ryan is full of questions.
“Should I be careful about holy water and stuff?” he asks.
“It just makes me want to hurl, that’s all,” Shane says.
“But blessings are seriously no good.”
“If you got blessed again, it would probably suck for a few days, but it wouldn’t be as effective as last time, I don’t think. They’d have to exorcise me out of you.”
Ryan looks both fascinated and deeply into it, but lets that line of questioning subside.
It takes him longer than Shane honestly expected to pop the big one.
“Are ghosts real?” Ryan asks abruptly.
Shane takes his mouth off Ryan’s dick. “I’m kind of in the middle of something, here.”
“But are they?”
“I know demons are real. Everything else?” Shane shrugs his shoulders. “I remain a skeptic.”
“Huh,” Ryan says, and Shane really feels like that’s enough questions for now and applies himself to learning how to eat Ryan out.
***
“Let’s get to the questions,” Shane says, and it’s really Ryan’s own fault for letting Shane pick questions for the weekly Q&A unsupervised.
“Okay, from Gramtown — ‘Ryan how come you don’t fuck with demons anymore?? #boogara #missthedemons,’” Shane reads, and then looks up from his phone. “Hey Ryan, you want to comment on that?”
Ryan levels him with a look that manages to be both unimpressed and deeply hot. “What a good question that I’m absolutely going to cut from this.”
“He’s not the type to kiss and tell,” Shane tells the camera, and winks.