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There is a litany of texts waiting for James when he digs his phone out of his bag at the end of their work day. He flexes the fingers of his right hand as he scrolls through the texts with his left: first a scattered few here and there, then a more dense retelling of Ryan's travel woes. It's easy to imagine now that James knows how he ticks: probably sitting shrimped up in his washed out travel hoodie, cap pulled deep into his eyes in some first class airport lounge trying not to be perceived while getting more and more irritated by the douchebag at the bar complaining about the travel delays to the poor service worker who is definitely not at fault for the winds that have flights delayed or rerouted.
Is it too much to buy a bottle of water so I can tip them like 500€? reads the last message, which has been sent about an hour ago from Paris to where Ryan's flight that should have come in four hours ago to Heathrow has been diverted. Never mind, I grabbed dinner, they think it's another hour until we depart.
James feels his own stomach rumble at the mention of dinner. Are you in the air yet? he writes back, seeing the bubbles appear a moment later.
Just getting in line to board, Ryan replies, adding some emojis at the end.
James just texts back a line of fire and clap emojis, before pocketing his phone and heading for catering, hoping there will still be some decent dinner left.
Even without first unit shooting on the set this week, the soundstage is busy: technicians are working on the set, getting the next shot set up. James and his rocketeers have been in the workshop, working with the smaller scale puppet to reshoot all the scenes from the past two weeks for frame storage, and while James loves the smaller puppet and the opportunity to do the shots without the restrictions of the set around them, the smaller rods and handles are much more strenuous on his hands than the bigger Rocky, where most of the heavy lifting is done through his arms.
By the time James has made it back to his rental, his hands and fingers are aching and he's ready for a hot shower and a mindless TV show to wind down.
His phone rings while James is under the shower, but he doesn't let it hurry him, has an inkling on who it probably is anyway, despite not using personalized ringtones. As expected, when he checks his phone Ryan's name is displayed above the missed call, a couple more texts stacked underneath.
Made it to Heathrow, finally!
Now I just hope immigration and traffic won't be too bad.
Can I come over? I don't know what timezone my body is in, but I don't think I can sleep any time soon.
James hits the call button.
"Hey, I'm in the car," Ryan says as a greeting, a reminder for James that whatever Ryan answers will be self-censored. "Did you see my texts?"
"Are you on speaker?" James asks back.
Ryan snorts. "No, you're good. You can talk."
"That is permission no one should ever give me," James banters back just to hear Ryan's laugh. "You've been traveling, how long now, 14 hours?" he asks, trying to gauge Ryan's mood. "Not tired?"
A loud exhale preceeds Ryan's answer. "Exhausted, actually," he admits. "But too riled up."
"Need to decompress first?"
"Mmh."
"And if I say no? If I'm already on my way to bed after a long, hard day at the studio? About to flick off the lights myself?" James says as he walks around his small apartment to grab something to drink, his fingers aching as he wraps them around a mug he places on the kitchen counter. He tucks the phone in between his ear and shoulder, needing both hands to fill the electric kettle with water, his hands shaking as it slowly grows heavier in his grasp.
"Please don't make me go to the gym instead," Ryan whines, but James can still hear the smile in his words.
"Oh no, I wouldn't be that cruel," James says, shuddering. "This is an ungodly hour to lift weights." He settles the electric kettle into its station, flicking it on, watching the little numbers on the digital display rise indicating the temperature of the water. "How long until you get here?"
There's a moment of background noise as Ryan asks the driver. "25 minutes, half an hour, tops."
"I'll be waiting," James says and then ends the call without another word, smiling at the display of his phone as he imagines Ryan's murmured curses.
His tea is almost empty, the rest of the heat seeping into James' fingers, soothing them as he's cradling the mug between them when the door bell rings. Ryan is on the other side, a small suitcase next to him. He looks travel-worn, wrinkles deepened around his eyes, hair mussed from being hidden beneath the hood of his hoodie all day. There's a tension in his body, his hand twitching inside the pocket of his hoodie.
"You look like death warmed over," James says instead of a greeting, holding the door open for Ryan to wander inside, watching as he kicks off his sneakers, leaving them pushed up against a wall in the living room next to his suitcase.
"They can't invent beaming fast enough," he complains as he wanders around the living room.
"Maybe you can throw some of your Ryan Gosling money at them to make them invent faster."
It's testament to Ryan's state of mind that he actually pauses to consider that rather than make a snide, self deprecating remark at the mention of his own wealth, the one he'd happily throw at a good cause but wouldn't spend on a private plane to lessen the strain of two cross-Atlantic flights within four days.
Like his personal center of gravity, James follows Ryan to where he's stopped by the couch, inspecting James' abandoned mug and the paused movie on the TV screen. He frowns.
"Is that Jennifer? Lawrence?" Ryan asks as he frowns at the face distorted by the frame it paused on and half visible inside the space helmet that is definitely not as based in reality as the costumes they are working with on set, a different kind of scifi.
"Don't worry, you wore it better," James says and reaches out, watching Ryan's eyelids fluttering as he lifts his hands to his head, pushing the hood of his hoodie down, one hand lingering at the back of his neck. His hair is soft between James' tingling, aching fingers. "What can I offer you?" he asks. "A drink? A shower?"
Ryan sighs, his breath warm against James' lips as he leans in for a gentle kiss, his hands finding James' waist, the worn out waistband of his sweatpants. "I thought about showering, with you," Ryan says, moving his head to nuzzle along James' jaw, then inhales as he rests his face against James' shoulder where the fabric of his t shirt is damp from the water having dripped off his hair as he's let it air dry. "But you're already cleaned up."
James chuckles, swallowing a hiss as he rubs his fingers over Ryan's neck. "Be my guest. You can still use it." He draws back a little. "You'll feel better afterwards. Let me grab you a towel."
Ryan has opened his suitcase and picked out some clothes bundled in the crook of his arm when James returns from his bedroom, carefully holding a set of towels for him. "
"What's wrong with your hands?" Ryan asks as he takes the offered towel, one hand gently wrapping around James' wrist before he can pull away.
"Pain of the trade," James says, flexing his fingers a couple times to show Ryan that he's fine. "Don't worry, I'll be fine by tomorrow."
Ryan's frown tells him he isn't convinced. "Anything that would help?"
"Heat, mostly. And I got some creme I put on before sleep, later." He watches as Ryan lifts his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his palm. "I'm okay." He taps his fingertips against Ryan's jaw. "The shower is waiting for you, baby." The endearment slips out before James can hold it back, eliciting a soft puff of breath against James' hand. "Come on, do I have to drag you in there?"
"Bossy," Ryan murmurs with a glint in his eyes.
"That's me," James says and then spins Ryan around, ignoring the ache in his hands as he cups his shoulders, steering him towards the bathroom that was still warm and damp from his own shower earlier. It's not very big, but furnished in a modern style, the shower finished with a large glass panel. James lingers in the doorway, watching Ryan hang the towels from one of the free hooks on the wall next to the shower, arrange his small heap of clothing on the counter by the sink. When he's done, he glances at James, one eyebrow raised in question.
"Let me watch," James proposes, shifting against the door jamb he's still leaning on.
Ryan frowns. "Watch what? Shower?" When he sees James nod, he averts his eyes, his hands fidgeting with the stack of clothes on the counter. "Why?"
James shrugs. He takes a step into the room, reaching out for the zipper at the front of Ryan's hoodie. It's so worn, the tap easily slides down, smoothly parting the teeth of the zipper until it's open, revealing the wrinkled cotton t shirt beneath. The space in between the layers of fabric is body warm when James slides his hands there, lightly lingering over Ryan's ribs, feeling his ribcage expand as he breathes.
"I want to look at you." If he could, he'd strip Ryan bare to his bones, dig his fingers beneath his skin. He's envious of Rocky's echolocation, his ability to observe the beat of Ryan's heart, the pulse of his blood in his veins. He corrects his words. "I want to see you, learn you."
Ryan huffs out a small laugh as he's shaking his head in a way that James has learned is not a no. "You sure you don't want to join me under the shower?"
"Let me have this," James insists, moving his hands up to push the hoodie off Ryan's shoulders. It slides off his arms, the fabric dropping to the floor with a thud.
"Bossy," Ryan repeats but doesn't argue further, hands going to the back of his t shirt to draw it off his body. A thin layer of goosebumps rises across his revealed skin and James reaches back to draw the door closed, shut out the draft. His hands touch Ryan's waist as he squeezes past him to perch on the closed toilet lid, leaning against the wall besides it. Ryan raises an eyebrow at him. "That's where you're going to be?" he asks, and his words must echo for both of them, throwing them back into the tunnel set, their banter going out of hand as so often. Before James can say something in reply, escalate, Ryan tosses his t shirt at him.
James fumbles catching it, the fabric bunching between his fingers as he lifts it to his face, pressing his nose into it, inhaling Ryan: traces of his deodorant and cologne, the musk of long hours of travel, the scent of his skin.
There's a slight flush to Ryan's skin as he unceremoniously pushes down his pants and underwear in one go to let them puddle on the floor, stepping out of them and pushing them aside with his still socked foot. It's that image James wants to burn into the memory, the situational vulnerability of a body mostly bared apart from the socks and the strap of his watch around his wrist, the sheen of Ryan's skin in the enclosed, humid room, the healthy bulk of his muscles, trained but not as rigorously sculpted as he'd had to be for other projects, the fuzz of his body hair, the half-chub of his dick between his legs. When James' gaze returns to Ryan's face after the languid stroll across his body, he finds Ryan watching him back through half lidded eyes before he averts them again, squirming as he fumbles with the clasp of his wrist watch, setting it safely onto the counter next to the glass holding James' tooth brush.
He braces one hand against the edge of the counter, the muscles in his arms bunching as he shifts his weight to one foot, lifting the other to take off his sock, before repeating the move with his other foot. There's a moment where Ryan looks at him with his socks bunched in his hand as if he'd also throw them at James, two small soft bullets, but James' nose is still buried in Ryan's t shirt, and he thinks better of it, dropping them to the floor with another shake of his head.
"Freak," he murmurs, but it's fond, layered with something hot simmering.
James preens, dropping his hands to rest them in his lap. "You love it," he throws back, watching the way Ryan's dick twitches as it fills out further. "I can see you do."
Ryan turns towards the shower as if his backside is any less beautiful to look at. The muscles in his back flex as he reaches into the shower to start the water, holding his hand out as he waits for it to warm up. The even patter of the droplets against the tiles and glass wall changes as he steps beneath the spray, his hair darkening as it gets wet. James watches the way Ryan lets his head hang for a moment, the water splashing against his neck before he straightens, turning around as he reaches up to slick his hair back. Through the slight distortion of the wet glass, he finds James' gaze again.
"What's on your mind?" Ryan asks, his voice low, barely audible over the rushing of the shower.
If you sold your bathwater, I'd buy all of it, James thinks but doesn't allow the intrusive thoughts to pass his teeth. He stays silent as he watches Ryan turn towards the small shelf of bottles on the wall, rooting through it to pick out James' shampoo. Opening it, he gives it a sniff before squeezing a dollop onto his palm, angling himself so that the shower hits his back, leaving him to slather his hair, eyes closing against the suds.
James slouches further against the wall, hands tucked into Ryan's t shirt. "When was your last test?"
"Test?" Ryan asks, his tone showing his confusion. "What, maths? Fitness?"
James rolls his eyes, biting back a smile. Fucking straights. "STD, Ryan."
That makes Ryan's eyes snap open again before he blinks, more suds dripping from his hair into his face. He tilts his head back under the spray, letting the water sluth it away. "Uh- why?"
James forces himself not to roll his eyes. Because I want to fuck you bare and lick my own cum out of your ass. Because I want you to suck me, lick me, bite me, everything. Because I don't want a single layer between us. "Because I want us to be safe," he says, his voice soft and patient. He can see the flush spreading down Ryan's face to his chest, both from the heat of the shower and the thoughts in his head.
"Uh," Ryan says, unintelligible.
"Me, it's been just before coming to England," he reports, keeping his voice light, non-judgemental. "I've had two hook-ups since, nothing penetrative, used condoms, etc." He flaps his hand.
That draws Ryan's gaze back to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "That was before…"
"Yes, before us," James confirms. "Full disclosure, and all. Haven't been tested recently, but confident that I haven't been, you know, at risk." Sometimes his control-freakism comes in handy after all.
"Uh," Ryan turns back towards the shelf on the wall, picking through it to find body wash. "Before Covid, I think," he admits, and oh, okay. That's a long time ago. "But I haven't been with anyone, you know, apart from Eva." He shrugs, glancing sideways at James. "And not for a long time either."
James nods, having known about the state of their relationship for a while now, ever since Ryan brought her and his girls to the set, NDAs firmly in place, no reason to put up a big production in front of the studio crew who all adore him, would go to war for him. It had been easy enough to see the love between Ryan and his family, even if it lacked the distinct romanticism James had expected to witness between him and his wife.
With a sigh, James pushes himself to his feet, leaving the t shirt on the side of the sink as he takes the two steps bringing him close to the glass of the shower. The glass is warm against his palm when he rests his hand against it, seeping into his aching hands.
"You've really deprived yourself, haven't you?" he asks, his voice gentle, watching a muscle in Ryan's jaw tick as he roughly scrubs the body wash over his chest, down his stomach.
"Not worth the fallout," Ryan says, just as softly before he averts his eyes again, catching sight of James' hand against the glass. He lifts his soapy hand, tapping against the glass on his side, leaving a smear where James' hand is touching it.
But this is? James wants to ask, though he isn't sure he'd be brave enough to hear the answer. "If you could ask for anything right now, what would you want?"
Ryan stills, save for the deep breaths he takes. His eyes flicker across James' face, searching, then down across his body as if seeing him for the first time. They linger on his hands for a moment, and James can already tell that even if it's what Ryan wants most (and James would be happy to work through the strain for him), he's mindful of James' comfort. "I, uh- let… let me suck you off."
James' cock, mostly hard since Ryan stepped under the spray of the shower, jumps in his underwear at the suggestion. "You want to suck cock, Ryan?" he asks back, loving the sound of the words as they fill the small bathroom that's already hot and humid from the shower, cloying. "You want to know what it feels like to wrap your lips around a hard dick?"
"Please," Ryan whispers, his voice rough, almost drowned out by the shower.
James has half a thought to just step into the shower with him, drag down his own pants and underwear, watch Ryan drop to his knees and choke on it, but the shower definitely isn't the best place for a first time, not if he doesn't want Ryan to waterboard himself. Stepping back from the shower still feels like the hardest thing he's done all week, even if it's only momentary separation.
"Finish up here," James tells him before he turns around, walking through the door into his bedroom.
The bathroom door closes behind him, shutting out the humid heat. James takes a deep breath to steel himself, then looks down along his body. His cock is throbbing in anticipation. He draws the waistband of his sweatpants away from his body, the fabric of his briefs damp with pre sticking to his dick.
"Do not let me down," he tells his eager dick. There's the valid risk of him shooting his load the moment Ryan's lips touch it and he does not want the evening to end like this.
Taking a deep breath, he moves through his flat, making sure the front door is locked, switching off the TV and lights in the living room. He picks up some bottles of water from the kitchen before returning to his bedroom. It's already bathed in the low glow of the bedside lamp. He switches the TV across from the bed on, returning to the movie he'd had running in the living room earlier, if only for some background noise. He fluffs up the pillows, pushing the blanket to the side to make space in the center of the bed, then reclines on it with an air of relaxed anticipation.
When Ryan emerges from the bathroom a minute later, he's dressed in a tank top that clings to the rosy, damp skin of his torso. His hard cock is a distinct outline behind the thin, clingy fabric of his dark briefs, already staining the front where he's leaking from the tip. His damp hair is standing up in weird clumps, the smaller towel hanging around his neck, catching stray drops.
They haven't done this often enough to feel casual, but it still feels familiar, Ryan crawling on top of him, bringing with him the heat of his body and the scent of James' own shower products, flimsy like a claim made to dissolve in a couple of hours. The shower has softened Ryan's stubble where he presses his face into James' neck, exhale shuddering against his skin as he lies down on James with a certainty that James can take his weight. James picks at the damp towel, using it to scrub at Ryan's hair some more like he's a big dog having come in from the rain, his aching fingers tingling.
"I'm not going anywhere," James says soothingly. "Take your time."
"Fuck, James," Ryan says on an exhale as he pushes himself up, braced against the pillows on either side of James' head, bracketing him in as he leans down for a lingering kiss. His dick is a hot, heavy line against James' abdomen where Ryan is straddling him, rucking into him with small, aborted thrusts that betray how worked up he already is. It makes James smile into the kiss, tasting Ryan's desperation.
"Have your way with me, baby," he murmurs, feeling Ryan shudder, then break the kiss. He hangs his head, looking into the space between them as he pushes himself backwards. "Let me—" James suggests, reaching for the waistband of his own sweatpants, only for Ryan to gently swat his hands away, his eyes dark as he glances back at James' face, catching his gaze for a moment, making James' mouth go dry. "Okay."
Spreading his legs to make room, Ryan scoots backwards on the bed and then all but collapses into the space between his legs. With a deep sigh, Ryan rests his head in the cradle of James' crotch, nosing at the shape of James' dick through the layers of his sweatpants and underwear, his hot breath quickly seeping through the fabric, making James shiver, hips flexing up against Ryan's face.
"Fuck, baby." James stretches his legs wider, groaning when Ryan pushes them over his shoulders, anchoring himself with his arms curling around James' thighs as he nuzzles him. James reaches down, petting his hair only for Ryan to gently catch his wrist and bringing his hand back to his own stomach, resting it there. "Oh, so I don't get to play?"
"Let me, please," Ryan murmurs, and fuck, his voice is wrecked already, surprising James.
"This is doing it for you, hmm, baby?" he coos. If Ryan is restricting his reach, he can't keep James' mouth from running away. "Should have known, the way you can't stop yourself from putting something in your mouth on set too." Ryan groans and opens his mouth wide over the shape of James' dick, the sensation dulled by the fabric that's quickly dampening from both Ryan's drool and James' pre. He can feel the full body shiver going through Ryan as the first salty taste seeping through, watching Ryan's hips hump the mattress further down the bed. "Come on, baby, take these off. I want your mouth on me."
Ryan leans back just enough to pull James' sweatpants down to mid thigh, then ducks beneath it, the seat of the sweatpants catching against the back of his head as he buries his face against James' crotch again. James groans, curling his fingers against his own stomach as not to reach for Ryan's head again. The fabric of his soaked briefs is so much thinner than the sweatpants, clinging snugly to the shape of his cock. Ryan puts his mouth over it, feeling out the shape with tongue and lips. His mouth is so hot and wet, James needs all his discipline not to fuck up into it as his dick pulses when Ryan hones in on the tip, sucking on it through the fabric.
Looking down is almost enough to make James cum. Ryan looks drunk, face flushed and damp with drool and pre, eyes half lidded as he mouths at James' cock. His hands are digging into James' thighs, sure to leave a scattering of bruises on his pale skin. His whole body is trembling, hips working as he seeks friction, fucking his own cock down against the mattress.
"Fuck, look at you, getting off on giving head," James moans, his own voice low, heated. "So desperate, Ry. You're close, aren't you?"
The moan Ryan presses against his dick is almost a sob, mouth open wide as he licks and sucks at him, moving his mouth lower to the base of James' dick, to his balls.
The raw need of his reaction makes James flush with amazed arousal, digging the socked heel of his foot into Ryan's back, feeling the rhythm of his thrusts against the mattress.
"Coming all over yourself at your first taste of cock."
James means it as another bit of goading, but the words have barely left his mouth before Ryan turns his head, pressing his face into the crease between James' thigh and groin, cursing as his fingers dig into James' thighs and his hips grind his cock into the mattress as he cums. His orgasm leaves him gasping and shivering, and James can't help himself now, reaching down to card his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Oh baby."
Ryan exhales a shuddering breath against James' skin. "Sorry," he mumbles.
"So— are you kidding me?" James asks in disbelief, scratching his fingers against Ryan's scalp. "This was so hot, you're so hot." He keeps petting him, stroking down over his neck, reaching out to touch his hands to where his fingers were still digging into his thighs. "Just catch your breath."
"I wanna keep going," Ryan murmurs, teeth grazing James' thigh. "Please." He looks fucked out, eyes black his pupils are blown so wide, face flushed and sticky. Beautiful.
James' dick pulses with want, even as the cooling, soaked fabric of his briefs clings unpleasantly. "Help me take these off." Ryan moves just enough that James can push off his sweatpants and briefs. The damp towel is still close enough in reach that he can grab it, cleaning up his crotch and Ryan's face a little before tossing it aside, guiding Ryan back down to rest his head against his hip. "Open your mouth for me," he prompts holding his own dick to Ryan's lips. "Careful with your teeth. Just keep it there for a while, yeah, baby?"
Ryan hums, the vibrations echoing through the first two inches of his dick as he gently sucks on it.
James exhales, stroking over Ryan's forehead, through his hair. "Good. Just stay there for a bit. Feels so good."
Having watched Ryan overcome with his orgasm has satisfied James' own need, pushing him into a mellow, languid headspace, his own pleasure drawn out by the wet heat of Ryan's mouth around him, the weight of Ryan's head against his hip, the hold of Ryan's arms around his thighs. Like an afternoon spent sunbathing, James allows himself to drift, his mind half replaying the evening, half paying attention to the movie still doodling away on the TV screen. He could easily stay like this for hours, wonders if he could actually fall asleep like this in the comfort of his banked pleasure.
At one point Ryan seems to come out of the lazy, post-orgasmic haze. His tongue starts playing along James' dick before he shifts, lifting his head to let it slip out of his mouth. He nuzzles along James' dick with his lips, then wraps his hand around the base, going back to sucking on the tip.
"Pace yourself," James instructs, his own voice low, languid. "Don't want you to choke." Not today, he thinks, the image of Ryan on his knees, arms tied behind his back, face red and wet with tears and drool flashing before his eyes. As enthusiastic as he's been today, he'll probably enjoy it, James thinks, hips bucking up into Ryan's hand and mouth as his dick pulses, more pre dribbling into Ryan's mouth. A clever tongue swipes it away, tonguing at his slit and the furl of his foreskin, and James gasps, squirming at the spike in pleasure.
"Keep doing that," James orders breathlessly, needing the sharper sensation to cut through the haze and push him towards orgasm, the heat coiling in his stomach.
Ryan follows beautifully, his lips and tongue focusing on the tip of James' dick, intensifying the suction of his mouth.
"I'm close," James warns because he is a gentleman, though Ryan doesn't pull back, just moans in acknowledgment and sucks harder. A moment later, the tension and heat in James' body uncoils as he spills into Ryan's mouth in lazy jerks, feeling Ryan reflexively swallow, then cough, some of James' cum sliding down his cock to meet Ryan's fist around him, smeared around Ryan's mouth.
"Come here," James requests, tugging gently on Ryan's hair, happy when Ryan follows, crawling up his body, his whole weight settling back down on James' body as he meets him for a kiss, the taste of James' spunk pungent in his mouth.
"Stop that," Ryan murmurs, amusement coloring his voice.
"Why?" James asks and then moans again as Ryan rubs his thumbs over his hand, massaging the creme into his palm and fingers.
"You moan like a whore," he jokes, eyes twinkling as he glances sideways at James where they're lounging next to each other on James' bed. They'd cleaned up, started another movie after they'd caught their breaths. "Louder than when, you know." He averts his eyes, blushing like he hadn't come untouched with his mouth against James' dick earlier, leaving a wet spot on the mattress further down the bed.
James leans over, nuzzling his face against Ryan's neck, then moans loudly into his ear as Ryan finds another sensitive spot. "Take it as a challenge."