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“Shut up, Shane!” Ryan calls, flipping him off with a smile as he leaves set. Shane grins at his retreating back, a lovesick sigh leaving him in a rush. The crew giggle quietly, taking Ryan’s dramatics as a wrap on today’s postmortem. The looks they all give Shane are knowing and long-suffering, long having figured out that which Shane has only recently stopped denying.
“One day,” TJ starts, trying to look at him disapprovingly but the small, amused twitch of his lips ruins the overall effect, “your luck is gonna run out and your teasing is gonna have the opposite of its desired effect.” He points at Shane who can’t help but shrink a little at the stern gesture. TJ turns away, conducting the team as they pack up like a well practised symphony.
“There is no desired effect.” He mutters, eyes glued to the cuff of his shirt and it’s mostly true. This isn’t pigtail pulling. Shane has expressed his interest in other, more conventional ways, compliments and flirting and the like. It’s not his fault Ryan either remains totally oblivious or is simply playing dumb to spare his feelings.
It’s the reaction that he does it for. Ryan is so expressive and so quick to respond to Shane’s prodding, it’s funny. He doesn’t do it to get Ryan’s attention, Shane simply has a natural proclivity for riling Ryan up. If he’s imagined Ryan jumping his bones and kissing him silent once or twice, well, that’s Shane’s prerogative, he is but a thirty-something bisexual man with a weakness for biceps as thick as his head and sunshine smiles.
Shane has long since given up the whole hand holding fantasy of crushing on Ryan so the ‘fuck you’s and the ‘shut up Shane’s’ are his best alternative to the three little words he’ll never hear from the man.
Shane just likes trying to figure things out, see what makes them tick, things and people. There’s no better way but to push a few buttons or all the buttons, at the same time. He just pokes around a little. Sure, Shane’s poked his fair share of hornet’s nests as a result but nothing beats the rising tension before the exhilaration of having to run for your life from the coming storm. This both is, and isn’t, an analogy. It’s a damn good job he isn’t allergic.
One day he’ll get stung he knows it, he’ll lose Ryan to something or someone or he’ll grow tired of gallivanting around catching whispers with butterfly nets with the human equivalent of an alarm clock. Until then he’ll push and poke and play and Ryan will smile and roll his eyes and laugh.
Shane heaves a sigh as he leaves set, heading to the elevator to take him back up to the main office. He’s not the brooding type but sometimes a man has gotta mope, and he lopes toward the elevator’s open doors with his eyes on his feet. It’s only when he hears someone tut disapprovingly that he realises he’s not alone.
“Oh honey,” Curly starts, looking up at him in concern, “why the long face, trouble in paradise?” He squeezes Shane’s elbow.
“I dunno what you’re talking about.”
“Is it boy trouble?” Curly presses but not unkindly, it’s not his fault he happens to be right. “Is your boy causing you trouble?” He attempts to elaborate but still Shane is confused.
“My what?” He asks, eyebrow raised as he reaches for the button for his floor.
“Your boy. Ryan.” Curly says with a waggle of his eyebrows that seems pretty unnecessary. Shane just gawks at him.
“My wh- Ryan is Ryan. A boy. Not- Not mine- not my boy what-”
“Ay alright alright, don’t hurt yourself there big guy.” Curly says, grinning from ear to ear. “Alright don’t tell Curly your relationship woes, I get it what happens in the haunted mansion stays in the haunted mansion.”
“Relationship? Wait-”
“Wait-
“We aren’t-
“You aren’t-” Shane shakes his head and the elevator doors chime open, making way for the loud chatter of the main office.
“No way! You and Ryan aren’t dating!?”
“How is that- why are you so surprised?” Shane asks, dragging Curly over to a stray potted plant that at least provides the illusion of privacy.
“Are you shitting me? You flirt near constantly, just standing in the same room as you two is enough to make me pop a semi the tension is palpable, pal-pa-ble . Please, please, please tell me you’ve at least fucked.” Shane shakes his head and Curly looks like he’s about to explode.
Curly clutches at his chest looking heartbroken. “I’m so sorry.”
At this point all Shane can do is laugh, he laughs ugly and loud, aware that his life is slowly spiralling out of his control. “It is indeed tragic.” He gasps out, wiping at his eyes. Curly smiles at his candour and pats him on the back consolingly.
“One day sweet cheeks. It’d be a crying shame to let that raw sexual energy go to waste.” Curly pouts, patting Shane affectionately on the cheek before sauntering away. “From what I can see,” Curly smirks looking back at him and gesturing at Shane's chinos “baby boy is missing out.”
Shane shoos him away, flushing to the tips of his ears as he attempts to melt into the floor. He lingers by the potted plant feeling like all 6’4” of his being has just taken a whirl in a washing machine on the fastest spin cycle. He lingers for about 10 minutes somehow managing to blend in with the large banana leaf plant until of course Ryan rounds the corner and his whole body seems to grind to a halt as he spots him.
“Hey...” He starts, brows furrowed in confusion “You okay there man?”
“Yeah, yeah I'm fine yeah.” Ryan doesn't look like he quite believes him but he doesn't press the issue.
“Okay well you up for drinks tonight? Curly is rounding up a group to hit the bar a few blocks over, you in?” Ryan smiles up at him and he's saying yes before he even considers the fact that Curly's invite had come a mere 10 minutes after talking about how he and Ryan are tragically not boning.
“Of course.” He says, the warmth of Ryan's smile thawing the frigid chill of dread trickling down his spine. “Of course, little guy.”
Regret. Regret permeates every small crevice of Shane's soul as he downs his nth shot, the alcohol doing nothing for just how parched he is, mouth as dry as, and tasting quite like, a child's sandbox. He should probably switch to water, but he somehow figures that even that sweet H2O wouldn't cure this Ryan induced thirst . He regrets agreeing to this night out when liking Ryan and lusting after Ryan are at the forefront of his mind. He's at the bar too, sucking on a lime wedge with lips so plush and wet it's the picture of sin itself. They haven't left each other's sides all night, drawn together like magnets. It's familiar, comfortable, until the heat rises and the bass drops and Ryan gets closer, so much closer. It's electric now, sparks whizzing back and forth with every barb, every backhanded compliment, which in Shane's case belies a want so very, very real.
Shane barely registers what words are leaving his mouth or their exact order but Ryan's hand is on his bicep, and he keeps smiling or laughing or looking at him with those dark, doe eyes, blinking at him through the pulsing neon lights. So Shane keeps talking, slips an arm loosely around his waist, keeping him close, letting the world narrow until it's just their voices, straining to be heard above the music and Ryan's boisterous, boyish laughter.
“Someone's getting cosy.” Shane hears a voice coo directly into his ear and he flinches, absently pulling away from Ryan. Ryan doesn't let him get far, squeezing his bicep gently and swaying drunkenly back into his space.
“Curly!” Ryan chirps delighted and Curly swoops in to plant a kiss high on Ryan's cheekbone that makes Shane flush with jealousy.
“Baby boy! You're looking fine tonight look at you! Look at him Shane, isn't he a sight?” Ryan glances up at him, smile smug and Shane's head twitches in a nod. Ryan grins, practically glowing with how pleased he is as he lets his head fall against Shane's shoulder.
“Anyway...” Curly starts, rolling his eyes, “the rest of us were wondering when you two were gonna stop flirting over here all on your lonesome and come join the rest of the party.” Shane blinks rapidly, drunken brain quickly trying to catch up.
“We’re... Flirting?” Shane asks, his own voice sounding far away and wistful.
“C’mon Shane, we talked about this, all that banter? Flirting.” Curly adds, looking at Shane with a mixture of pity and sheer exasperation at the fact he’s apparently talking to the densest man alive. Ryan turns to look at him, swaying a little on his feet as he frowns at him in confusion.
“I sure hope it’s flirting,” he slurs “I’ve been trying to get in your pants for three years now.”
Shane freezes and blinks down at him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
“I thought we were flirting this whole time!” Ryan splutters, eyes wide. “I thought you were just playing hard to get or like maintaining professional boundaries or some shit.”
“Maintain- playing hard to get? For three years? Jesus Ryan! I thought you hated me!”
“Well yeah maybe a lil’ bit,” Ryan mumbles, dropping his gaze and staring intently at Shane’s chest, “but I like you a whole lot more.”
“Dios mío, give me strength.” Curly mutters and flags down a bartender, somehow managing to order and retrieve a drink without uttering a single word. “Y’all are having some kind of sexy revelation with a side of feelings so I’ll let the others know you’ll see them at work on Monday. Just give me the deets when you two finally bone down.”
He saunters away, blending seamlessly back into the crowd like a mystical being born from glitter and neon and asthma attack inducing smoke machines.
Nervousness slams into Shane like the first gulp of fresh air after leaving a stifling club and he holds onto Ryan’s waist a little tighter, apprehension rolling through him alongside the nausea of having had too many cosmos.
“I was kinda hoping that tonight would be the night.” Ryan says, leaning into Shane’s hold and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
“Why Sir! Are you propositioning me?” Shane demurs in a bad approximation of a southern drawl.
“I’ve been propositioning you since the office Christmas party of 2016,” Ryan rolls his eyes “but if you don’t want-”
“Oh I want alright.” Shane says quickly, leaning down to place a lingering kiss against the stubble of Ryan’s jaw. Ryan smiles, tangles their fingers together and tugs him through the throng toward the door.
Shane almost skips along behind him. They wave as they pass the booth crammed full of their colleagues. Whistles and jeers follow them and Shane doesn’t resist the urge to punch the air in celebration like something straight out of a John Hughes movie.
“Look at you, you’re so fucking delighted to get laid you look like you wanna high five everyone in this bar.” Ryan says as they reach the exit. His smile is teasing and soft, like he’s secretly touched that Shane feels this is something worth celebrating. A silence descends on them, as ominous as the slowly growing grin on Shane’s face.
“No,” Ryan reaches from him but Shane is quickly slipping from his grasp, bouncing away playfully like a rambunctious fox, “no, no, no Shane ...”
Shane high fives everyone in the bar.
Ryan apologises to everyone in the bar.
Neither are sorry.