[This is his space, after all, and even if there's nothing actually dangerous about letting Petre into it-- it'd still feel like letting his guard down.]
We're talking just fine right here, aren't we? I don't think it's necessary.
[That's too bad. All he needs is to speak the words in the right way, so Ryan will suddenly think following his order is the best and only thing he can do.]
[And abruptly he relaxes, steps back from the doorway, tugging the door open wide enough for Petre to enter. It's a much better idea than just standing here.]
-d'you want to come sit for a while?
[With the door open the state of the room is clear: pretty clean, mostly organized. Ryan's bed has a couple books lying open on it, the covers pulled back; he's been studying, apparently.]
[A pleasant smile reaches his eyes cynically. Into the room he steps, and without ceremony he takes a seat right next to those books. He even picks one up to look at the cover, see what it's about. Nothing interesting, he's sure, so back down it goes.]
[There's a moment of confusion once he realizes what must have happened-- but there's nothing he can do about it save for closing the door behind him and turning back to Petre with a faintly weary expression. Fuck. This is going to have to happen.]
-so.
[He huffs out a breath, leans back against the door.]
[Casual as he tries to keep it, his thoughts are definitely guarded, making it clear from their tone that he's purposely keeping this as lacking in detail as he possibly can.]
[And it's clear by the way Petre watches him intently that he's hearing very, very closely. Picking up any of those small whispers of a thought that the other boy releases every now and then. He learned to listen in for them while he had his dick in his mouth and he couldn't quite help himself.]
Sounds boring.
[Meanwhile, Petre has no qualms about thinking about their last night together again. How much more open Ryan was to his company than he is now. Something happened. John had to do with it. Of that he has no doubts.]
[That answer comes just a little too quickly, almost defensively, and there are little hints of thoughts that come to mind immediately after-- unclear blurs of someone else's mouth on his. It's technically not a lie, Ryan hadn't exactly practiced what he'd done with Petre again, but that's only a technicality.]
Like I said last time, there's just- not a lot of opportunity for it.
[His eyes remain locked on him. He can see something slipping already, something he doesn't want to show. And why not, he wonders. Ryan hardly seemed embarrassed about discussing sex when they first met, let alone now that they're properly acquainted.]
So there's some.
[A tense moment of silence slips in between them. The curl of Petre's lips is no longer a smile, the sentiment in his eyes is no longer nonchalant or mocking.
Until he relaxes, leans back on his hands, pressed against the mattress.]
[He can't keep his eyes fixed on Petre's, not for long. Part of it is simply nerves; the other part is that look on his face before he relaxes and settles a bit, one he's not at all sure he likes. That first comment's going completely unanswered, save for a brief, faint little shiver of an anxious feeling.]
-not that I'm not interested, I mean, I liked it-- I'm just, you know. Not sure I want to stick to anything totally casual.
[His voice is almost toneless when he makes the statement. Then there are deliberate flashes of Ryan's back on the desk, hips between Petre's legs as he rode him, shifting the desk with each thrust. He made sure Ryan's thoughts were vocal, made sure he was quiet so he could hear it all. They barely even got their clothes out of the way, didn't they. Rushed, sloppy, hard. No less amazing for it, because Petre knew exactly what he was doing and Ryan was more than willing to learn a thing or two.]
[That keeps him from answering for several moments, clearly distracted by those thoughts-- he remembers it well enough himself, and having the memories pushed back into the front of his mind leaves him getting a bit lost in them at first, lip catching between his teeth as he sucks in a shaky breath.
It was good, really fucking good, and that's exactly the problem. That's not what he wants to think about right now, he can't afford the distraction--]
It's... it's not like that.
[His answer comes late, gaze still on anything in the room except Petre.]
[petre bites his lip when ryan does the same, and it makes him look boyish, jovial, playful. Because thats all that this is - a game he's playing, still deciding what the winner gets.]
So - not a fuckbuddy, but not a boyfriend, either. Where does that leave you?
If it all works out? Leaves me happy enough with what I've got, hopefully.
[Ryan shrugs one shoulder, doing his best to look more casual than he feels-- and trying not to let anything else slip, despite that being a bit of a hopeless effort. He obviously has someone in mind, brief memories flicking through of them settled in his lap, kissing him; there's no face or voice, luckily, but that has nothing to do with his attempts to keep it quiet.]
[Petre doesn't need a face or voice. His jealousy makes him paranoid, and his paranoia points him to what should be obvious. He followed John to this room, one day. When John convinced him to lift the order and Petre convinced him he'd be locked in their bathroom for a long time.
Why else would he come here? Ryan's room. They have absolutely nothing in common. What the fuck does he have that makes him so special?
They're all thoughts that pour out, not explicitly, just in waves of emotions. Ryan should have no trouble piecing things together, though, especially when Petre presses his lips and purses them unpleasantly. Almost a contained little snarl.]
I hope you're very happy.
[Not quite sarcasm. His tone is quiet. Holding something back. Then his smile becomes cynical all over again, a snake holding still just before it strikes.]
[Those waves of emotion and the look on Petre's face tell him all he needs to know. He knows, or at least suspects-- Ryan had hoped he wouldn't, that they could keep it quiet, but he should have known that was bound to fail. He's too invested in John for it to escape his notice forever.
More than that, though, it worries him. He promised John more than once he'd stay out of whatever fucked up thing is going on between him and Petre, and if he's honest with himself? Knowing what Petre can do, the fact that they're alone here worries him more than anything.]
I don't know.
[The confusion there is genuine. Being around the guy does make him happy, he can't deny that, but he's not sure the affection's mutual-- and like hell he's answering that with a 'yes'.]
[A lie that slips from his tongue like poison. But one doesn't need to read minds to know that - Petre is being abundantly deliberate. He hopes Ryan feels uncomfortable. Hopes there's guilt and shame. Anything that brings him down to the level where he belongs.]
But some people just can't figure out what they want.
[Had Ryan heard conversations between him and John, he'd know - Petre's accused him repeatedly of this. Not knowing what he wants. In reality Petre is only accusing him of not wanting the same things he wants. At least not yet.]
You're gonna learn you're better off without people that. Probably the hard way.
[He says that knowing perfectly well just how rotten he is, just how rotten John is in turn. They deserve only each other.]
I'm pretty sure you didn't come here to try to give me relationship advice.
[It's sharp, would be snapped if he'd said it aloud- but that's all to cover up the doubt. Ryan still remembers the last time he went over to their dorm room, making out on John's bed, bits of conversation in-between.
You're not gonna hurt me. John's voice, answered by Ryan's-
I don't want to hurt you. I won't.
And the part of the memory that sparked up that doubt: don't, this is so fucking perfect, Ryan, don't ruin it now-
All of that comes out far more coherently than he'd be comfortable with if he knew, but he's not really thinking about that.]
If this is all you wanted to talk about, I think we're done.
[This is his room, he can kick out whoever he wants-- the stunned, almost angry look on his face lasts only a moment, though. Petre had made him invite him in when he didn't want to, and if he isn't ready to leave then there's nothing Ryan can do. Not when all it would take is giving him an order.
So he sits; he isn't moving to the bed, perching instead on his roommate's to keep some distance, and once he settles he watches Petre warily.]
[He makes a gesture, hand lifting as though telling Ryan that it should be obvious. Isn't it?]
We're catching up. You're telling me exactly what you've been doing, and I'm deciding what I'm going to do about it. [there's only a beat before he suddenly looks down and reaches into his pocket.] Mind if I smoke?
[either way he's lighting that cigarette. Sorry, Ryan, your room's going to stink of tobacco.]
We're still working out the kinks, though. First you have to be honest with me. Or I can just figure out just how much you're going to regret not doing that.
[That's a threat if he's ever heard one, and with how awful he is at lying... there's no choice but to tell the truth. Leaving the details out hasn't kept it from coming to this.]
--hanging out with John, mostly. Met him not long before I ran into you, the first time.
[And after a beat, he continues:]
And I know what's been going on with you two. What you've been doing to him. It's not his fault, I just- picked things up, he couldn't have hidden it-- we've talked, but I made him do it, alright? I asked about all of it.
[The least he can do is try not to let this come down too hard on John's head.]
...and I've been with him. Sort of. Not the same way as with you, nothing like that, but.
You've been trying to fuck him, is what you're saying.
[voice deceivingly relaxed. His eyes are set on Ryan. He looks like he could burn through metal with his glare. How dare he. John was supposed to be his - and he was right. He was right to implant that order in him. He's fucking around with other guys while trying to shove him off. The thought makes him absolutely furious.
And he dared to say he proved himself. Lying son of a bitch.]
Do you do that to every boy that comes crying to you, or was he just special?
[And again, Ryan can't look at him, not with that glare fixed on him. Avoiding his eyes won't make it go away, he swears he can still feel it, but seeing it is worse. His hands are in his lap, fingers laced together as he fidgets anxiously.]
It's not like that, I'm not-- we're just friends, alright, that's all. He never came crying to me, I told you, it slipped and I got the rest of it out of him, it... we just talked. He's the only one I really talk to.
[Ryan's not even sure why he adds that last part. Not to make any sort of point, he knows it's probably not what Petre wants to hear- but he'd been told to be honest. Decided to listen to that demand. It simply spills out along with the rest.]
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[This is his space, after all, and even if there's nothing actually dangerous about letting Petre into it-- it'd still feel like letting his guard down.]
We're talking just fine right here, aren't we? I don't think it's necessary.
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Invite me in, Ryan.
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-d'you want to come sit for a while?
[With the door open the state of the room is clear: pretty clean, mostly organized. Ryan's bed has a couple books lying open on it, the covers pulled back; he's been studying, apparently.]
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[A pleasant smile reaches his eyes cynically. Into the room he steps, and without ceremony he takes a seat right next to those books. He even picks one up to look at the cover, see what it's about. Nothing interesting, he's sure, so back down it goes.]
So.
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-so.
[He huffs out a breath, leans back against the door.]
You wanted to talk, fine, start talking.
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What've you been up to, Ryan?
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[Casual as he tries to keep it, his thoughts are definitely guarded, making it clear from their tone that he's purposely keeping this as lacking in detail as he possibly can.]
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Sounds boring.
[Meanwhile, Petre has no qualms about thinking about their last night together again. How much more open Ryan was to his company than he is now. Something happened. John had to do with it. Of that he has no doubts.]
Been practicing while I was gone?
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[That answer comes just a little too quickly, almost defensively, and there are little hints of thoughts that come to mind immediately after-- unclear blurs of someone else's mouth on his. It's technically not a lie, Ryan hadn't exactly practiced what he'd done with Petre again, but that's only a technicality.]
Like I said last time, there's just- not a lot of opportunity for it.
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So there's some.
[A tense moment of silence slips in between them. The curl of Petre's lips is no longer a smile, the sentiment in his eyes is no longer nonchalant or mocking.
Until he relaxes, leans back on his hands, pressed against the mattress.]
Hey - I'm available.
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-not that I'm not interested, I mean, I liked it-- I'm just, you know. Not sure I want to stick to anything totally casual.
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[His voice is almost toneless when he makes the statement. Then there are deliberate flashes of Ryan's back on the desk, hips between Petre's legs as he rode him, shifting the desk with each thrust. He made sure Ryan's thoughts were vocal, made sure he was quiet so he could hear it all. They barely even got their clothes out of the way, didn't they. Rushed, sloppy, hard. No less amazing for it, because Petre knew exactly what he was doing and Ryan was more than willing to learn a thing or two.]
Aw. Looking for love.
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It was good, really fucking good, and that's exactly the problem. That's not what he wants to think about right now, he can't afford the distraction--]
It's... it's not like that.
[His answer comes late, gaze still on anything in the room except Petre.]
Not love. Just- more than screwing around.
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So - not a fuckbuddy, but not a boyfriend, either. Where does that leave you?
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[Ryan shrugs one shoulder, doing his best to look more casual than he feels-- and trying not to let anything else slip, despite that being a bit of a hopeless effort. He obviously has someone in mind, brief memories flicking through of them settled in his lap, kissing him; there's no face or voice, luckily, but that has nothing to do with his attempts to keep it quiet.]
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Why else would he come here? Ryan's room. They have absolutely nothing in common. What the fuck does he have that makes him so special?
They're all thoughts that pour out, not explicitly, just in waves of emotions. Ryan should have no trouble piecing things together, though, especially when Petre presses his lips and purses them unpleasantly. Almost a contained little snarl.]
I hope you're very happy.
[Not quite sarcasm. His tone is quiet. Holding something back. Then his smile becomes cynical all over again, a snake holding still just before it strikes.]
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More than that, though, it worries him. He promised John more than once he'd stay out of whatever fucked up thing is going on between him and Petre, and if he's honest with himself? Knowing what Petre can do, the fact that they're alone here worries him more than anything.]
I don't know.
[The confusion there is genuine. Being around the guy does make him happy, he can't deny that, but he's not sure the affection's mutual-- and like hell he's answering that with a 'yes'.]
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[A lie that slips from his tongue like poison. But one doesn't need to read minds to know that - Petre is being abundantly deliberate. He hopes Ryan feels uncomfortable. Hopes there's guilt and shame. Anything that brings him down to the level where he belongs.]
But some people just can't figure out what they want.
[Had Ryan heard conversations between him and John, he'd know - Petre's accused him repeatedly of this. Not knowing what he wants. In reality Petre is only accusing him of not wanting the same things he wants. At least not yet.]
You're gonna learn you're better off without people that. Probably the hard way.
[He says that knowing perfectly well just how rotten he is, just how rotten John is in turn. They deserve only each other.]
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[It's sharp, would be snapped if he'd said it aloud- but that's all to cover up the doubt. Ryan still remembers the last time he went over to their dorm room, making out on John's bed, bits of conversation in-between.
You're not gonna hurt me. John's voice, answered by Ryan's-
I don't want to hurt you. I won't.
And the part of the memory that sparked up that doubt: don't, this is so fucking perfect, Ryan, don't ruin it now-
All of that comes out far more coherently than he'd be comfortable with if he knew, but he's not really thinking about that.]
If this is all you wanted to talk about, I think we're done.
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[A snake ready to strike, Ryan.]
Sit.
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So he sits; he isn't moving to the bed, perching instead on his roommate's to keep some distance, and once he settles he watches Petre warily.]
...What else do you want.
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We're catching up. You're telling me exactly what you've been doing, and I'm deciding what I'm going to do about it. [there's only a beat before he suddenly looks down and reaches into his pocket.] Mind if I smoke?
[either way he's lighting that cigarette. Sorry, Ryan, your room's going to stink of tobacco.]
We're still working out the kinks, though. First you have to be honest with me. Or I can just figure out just how much you're going to regret not doing that.
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--hanging out with John, mostly. Met him not long before I ran into you, the first time.
[And after a beat, he continues:]
And I know what's been going on with you two. What you've been doing to him. It's not his fault, I just- picked things up, he couldn't have hidden it-- we've talked, but I made him do it, alright? I asked about all of it.
[The least he can do is try not to let this come down too hard on John's head.]
...and I've been with him. Sort of. Not the same way as with you, nothing like that, but.
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[voice deceivingly relaxed. His eyes are set on Ryan. He looks like he could burn through metal with his glare. How dare he. John was supposed to be his - and he was right. He was right to implant that order in him. He's fucking around with other guys while trying to shove him off. The thought makes him absolutely furious.
And he dared to say he proved himself. Lying son of a bitch.]
Do you do that to every boy that comes crying to you, or was he just special?
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It's not like that, I'm not-- we're just friends, alright, that's all. He never came crying to me, I told you, it slipped and I got the rest of it out of him, it... we just talked. He's the only one I really talk to.
[Ryan's not even sure why he adds that last part. Not to make any sort of point, he knows it's probably not what Petre wants to hear- but he'd been told to be honest. Decided to listen to that demand. It simply spills out along with the rest.]
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