[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.]
[He listens in the quiet, but nothing about his insides is serene. No, he's burning up inside. He knows there's more to what Ryan is saying, and the fact that he won't explicitly put it into words only infuriates him even further.
So he gets to his feet in a swift movement, steps over to the other bed in an intimidating stride. Forces Ryan to lean back as he leans forward, places both hands on his sides, pressing down on the mattress.]
Does that make you feel special, Ryan?
[No longer quiet. He's letting what he really feels slip through his tongue.]
I could give him to you. You say you're just friends? John doesn't have friends. What do you think's gonna happen? You're going to say the wrong thing, Ryan, you're going to say the wrong thing and you're going to fuck it all up.
[For him? For John? For Petre? He doesn't specify.]
You want him to say he loves you while his dick's in your mouth? I could do that for you. I could do anything you want me to.
[Petre isn't someone he can easily stand his ground against, especially not now, nor would he want to stay so close; Ryan leans back when he moves to loom over him, at a loss for anything else to do. The position chafes slightly- it's just another reminder of which of them is in control of this conversation- but he's not falling all the way back, he can at least take some pride in that much.
Does that make you feel special-- fuck, of course it does, John does, but his discomfort is only growing the longer Petre speaks.]
No--
[He shakes his head vehemently, the movement brief and almost jerky.]
No. Not like that, I don't want anything to be like that. I don't want you to do anything else to him, I just-
[And there he finally lets slip the frustrated thought he's been holding onto nearly this entire time.]
I just want you to leave him alone, Petre. This is so-- so fucked up, all of it is, everything you've been doing. He does have friends. And yeah, I probably am gonna say the wrong thing eventually, but that has nothing to do with you.
[No. No. Every single nerve in Petre's body wants to reach out for the other boy and hurt him. Make him kneel and bed for forgiveness.
Leave him alone - so what? So he can fuck around and believe the lie that he could ever be satisfied with just anyone else? No. What Ryan wants is a happy ending, and Petre has decided long ago that that's the last thing any of them will ever get.]
Look at me, Ryan.
[His eyes - ice blue, incisive and perverse - stare right at him, shifting from one eye to the other until he's sure the silence around them is so heavy they can practically feel it on their bones.
His next words are all orders. They slip into the brain and fester, buzzing with the urge to complete the task, lest something horrible happen in its stead.]
You're going to call John. You're going to tell him you want more. And when he says no, you're going to try to fuck him, and you're going to make sure it hurts. And when he fights back and leaves you here to bleed, you're going to let him. You won't tell a single soul about this conversation. You won't even think about it. This is all just between you and me. Got it?
[A pause. It's as though Ryan cut through Petre and what spilled out was acid.
He leans back, takes the barely touched cigarette and puts it out between his fingers. He doesn't feel like smoking anymore. This is a much better stress-relief. (There's no burn. Nothing can burn him.)]
[He tries not to look, he does, but he can't help it-- even if that's not where he starts the orders, when Petre tells him to do it that fear of what's coming makes him glance back up, pale green eyes fixed on his blue ones like he's caught in that look.
And then the orders start to come.
There's no missing the way he starts to tear up, his thoughts desperate and panicked, a constant loop of no no no don't, you can't, you can't do this, don't please don't--
Then that final part of the order comes, and any thoughts he might have had about warning John slip from his mind. This is between him and Petre, he's not thinking about telling John at all anymore, but he is still full of that same distressed panic at the orders he's been given. Ryan can't do this, he can't-- but the need for it is there already. He wants Petre to go so he can call John over, talk to him, tell him what he wants, and knowing it's only going to ruin everything doesn't make the urge go away.]
You can't do this.
[It's a small, broken little protest, knowing just how futile it is.]
[It isn't quite a smile that brushes on Petre's lips when he keeps the dead cigarette in his hand, looking down at Ryan like a giant looking down at a bug.]
I'm doing you a favor, Ryan. He would've just hurt you eventually.
[His tone is dripped in irony, sadistic and satisfied. Suddenly he seems like the perfect image of a young man, put together in nice clothes, honey-gold hair combed to the side, skin pale, lips red. Who could ever call him a monster when he looks like that?]
No, it's not, I can't... don't make me hurt him first, Petre, please.
[God, it's got to look pathetic, he knows it does, but he promised he wouldn't. He promised. Ryan reaches up, hands clutching at the front of Petre's shirt; what might be a threatening gesture from someone else is simply desperate from him.]
I'll stop, I won't touch him again, I swear-- anything you want but this. I'd do anything else you wanted if you just took this back, what do you want from me--
[He's grabbed but doesn't budge, sad little thoughts pouring into his head. Begging. That's good.
Petre cups his face carefully with one hand, angles his head and presses his lips against his in a quick succession of movements. While what would have been a threatening gesture to others is desperate for Ryan, what others would perceive as a tender kiss is a vicious attack in return.]
You'll thank me for this. You'll see.
[He's unnervingly quiet, unnervingly collected and soft. His fingers slip down from Ryan's skin, settle down on his shoulder.]
Don't fuck it up.
[And with a smile, he grabs Ryan's hands to force him to let go, and turns to leave.]
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no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
So - not a fuckbuddy, but not a boyfriend, either. Where does that leave you?
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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'.]
no subject
[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.]
no subject
[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.
no subject
[A snake ready to strike, Ryan.]
Sit.
no subject
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.
no subject
--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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
So he gets to his feet in a swift movement, steps over to the other bed in an intimidating stride. Forces Ryan to lean back as he leans forward, places both hands on his sides, pressing down on the mattress.]
Does that make you feel special, Ryan?
[No longer quiet. He's letting what he really feels slip through his tongue.]
I could give him to you. You say you're just friends? John doesn't have friends. What do you think's gonna happen? You're going to say the wrong thing, Ryan, you're going to say the wrong thing and you're going to fuck it all up.
[For him? For John? For Petre? He doesn't specify.]
You want him to say he loves you while his dick's in your mouth? I could do that for you. I could do anything you want me to.
no subject
Does that make you feel special-- fuck, of course it does, John does, but his discomfort is only growing the longer Petre speaks.]
No--
[He shakes his head vehemently, the movement brief and almost jerky.]
No. Not like that, I don't want anything to be like that. I don't want you to do anything else to him, I just-
[And there he finally lets slip the frustrated thought he's been holding onto nearly this entire time.]
I just want you to leave him alone, Petre. This is so-- so fucked up, all of it is, everything you've been doing. He does have friends. And yeah, I probably am gonna say the wrong thing eventually, but that has nothing to do with you.
no subject
Leave him alone - so what? So he can fuck around and believe the lie that he could ever be satisfied with just anyone else? No. What Ryan wants is a happy ending, and Petre has decided long ago that that's the last thing any of them will ever get.]
Look at me, Ryan.
[His eyes - ice blue, incisive and perverse - stare right at him, shifting from one eye to the other until he's sure the silence around them is so heavy they can practically feel it on their bones.
His next words are all orders. They slip into the brain and fester, buzzing with the urge to complete the task, lest something horrible happen in its stead.]
You're going to call John. You're going to tell him you want more. And when he says no, you're going to try to fuck him, and you're going to make sure it hurts. And when he fights back and leaves you here to bleed, you're going to let him. You won't tell a single soul about this conversation. You won't even think about it. This is all just between you and me. Got it?
[A pause. It's as though Ryan cut through Petre and what spilled out was acid.
He leans back, takes the barely touched cigarette and puts it out between his fingers. He doesn't feel like smoking anymore. This is a much better stress-relief. (There's no burn. Nothing can burn him.)]
Nod.
no subject
And then the orders start to come.
There's no missing the way he starts to tear up, his thoughts desperate and panicked, a constant loop of no no no don't, you can't, you can't do this, don't please don't--
Then that final part of the order comes, and any thoughts he might have had about warning John slip from his mind. This is between him and Petre, he's not thinking about telling John at all anymore, but he is still full of that same distressed panic at the orders he's been given. Ryan can't do this, he can't-- but the need for it is there already. He wants Petre to go so he can call John over, talk to him, tell him what he wants, and knowing it's only going to ruin everything doesn't make the urge go away.]
You can't do this.
[It's a small, broken little protest, knowing just how futile it is.]
Don't make me, please--
no subject
I'm doing you a favor, Ryan. He would've just hurt you eventually.
[His tone is dripped in irony, sadistic and satisfied. Suddenly he seems like the perfect image of a young man, put together in nice clothes, honey-gold hair combed to the side, skin pale, lips red. Who could ever call him a monster when he looks like that?]
He's using you. It's better this way, you'll see.
[But he'd love to hear him beg some more.]
no subject
[God, it's got to look pathetic, he knows it does, but he promised he wouldn't. He promised. Ryan reaches up, hands clutching at the front of Petre's shirt; what might be a threatening gesture from someone else is simply desperate from him.]
I'll stop, I won't touch him again, I swear-- anything you want but this. I'd do anything else you wanted if you just took this back, what do you want from me--
no subject
[He's grabbed but doesn't budge, sad little thoughts pouring into his head. Begging. That's good.
Petre cups his face carefully with one hand, angles his head and presses his lips against his in a quick succession of movements. While what would have been a threatening gesture to others is desperate for Ryan, what others would perceive as a tender kiss is a vicious attack in return.]
You'll thank me for this. You'll see.
[He's unnervingly quiet, unnervingly collected and soft. His fingers slip down from Ryan's skin, settle down on his shoulder.]
Don't fuck it up.
[And with a smile, he grabs Ryan's hands to force him to let go, and turns to leave.]