Work Text:
Smoke swirls in the air, illuminated by the dim, warm lights in the room. The smell of cigarettes and sex is strong, and there's music going in the background—a The Neighbourhood Vinyl that Ray found for him.
It's addictive. Not the music.
All of it is. Ray is. The way he looks at him, the clothes he wears, the cold rings that slide over his back, that chain necklace Sand likes catching with his teeth, even just the arch of his body when he comes. What's worse is that smile, when he's genuinely happy, or even just his voice. Sometimes the very tears in Ray’s eyes are what makes him want to chase after the shorter man. Every hushed conversation they have is better than any orgasm he's ever known, and maybe he's insane. Sand knows that the thing between them has long crossed the line of casualness for him, and he can't help it, can't do anything but accept the fact that Ray has already shut him down. If this is the only attention he's allowed, he wants it all.
There's an invisible collar around his throat, and no one but Ray is holding the leash. How pathetic is that? He doesn't want to be someone's dog; powerless, and panting.
Sand takes another, long drag of his cigarette, and blows the smoke into the air, watching it curl. His body still tingles, and he glances down to look at the man laying on his chest. Do friends with benefits cuddle after sex? Honestly, he doesn't know, and he doesn't care. Thinking about it for too long makes a hope bloom in his chest that he learned to put out as soon as it shows itself. Because he knows.
Because Ray has told him, shown him that it's not what he wants from him. No matter how much Sand tries, he knows that the other is untouchable in the way that he wishes wasn't true. His sole focus is on Mew, and if Sand had any more self-respect, he'd just accept it. Unfortunately, seeing Ray’s wounds makes him want to lap at them, and it's a disgustingly painful feeling in his chest. It's not fair, and yet, he doesn't want to have it any other way. He'd rather have Ray's painful existence in his life, than not have him at all. Hah.
As he moves his hand, and taps off his cigarette above the ashtray, Sand stares up at the ceiling.
I know you're sick,
hopin’ you fix
whatever's broken.
Ignorant bliss
in a few sips
might be the potion.
The music makes his throat close up, lungs aching in a way that cigarettes could never achieve. His eyes fall shut, and he swallows around the lump that's kindly keeping him from letting out a pathetic sob—one that would surely wake up the man on his chest.
Unfortunately for him, the vinyl doesn't magically stop turning, and the lyrics continue against his will.
Where have you been?
Do you know if
you're coming back?
We were too close to the stars.
I never knew somebody
like you, somebody
fallin’ just as hard.
I'd rather lose somebody
than use somebody.
With a heavy, shaky breath, Sand tips his head back against the couch. His fingers toy with the cigarette, and all he wants to do is disappear into the cushions. Until all of this is just a bad dream, and Ray never came into his life to turn it upside down.
It's funny, though, because even now he knows the truth: If he were to wake up, and find out this was all a bad dream, he'd miss Ray anyway. Years ago he heard that love is blind, and he never knew what it meant. Maybe this is it. The painful ability to look past every blatant flaw, because the person behind them is so wonderful. Sand wants to hate Ray, wants to be angry with him, and he is, but not because the other is hurting him. No. Of course not. He's angry because Ray is hurting himself, and isn't that just a tragedy in itself?
Slowly, Sand puts out his cigarette. As heart-crushing as the song is, it's also soothing. It prods at the wound in the deepest cavities of his chest, like a cruel reminder: No matter how much he loves Ray, he can't fix him. That's not something he's able to do, and Sand knows. Every rational part of him is painfully aware. He's not a therapist, he's not responsible for Ray. Unfortunately, none of those facts make it any easier to accept, because he fell for the other so deeply, so violently, and now he just has to sit with these feelings.
A loud, sobering buzzing sound starts up suddenly, and Sand swallows. His gaze drops down to the jeans he knows belong to Ray, and the phone that's vibrating in one of the pockets.
Turn it off.
It's Mew. It's always Mew. If Sand just turns off the phone, maybe Ray won't wake up, and he can keep him by his side a little longer. A couple more hours, until he wakes up naturally, and they can shower together.
Unfortunately, the man on top of him is already stirring, and Sand feels a deep, gaping hole in his chest. It's painful, watching the way Ray sleepily shifts, and reaches for the phone. As soon as he sees who's calling, he props himself up a little, and fuck, Sand hates it. He hates this feeling—not being allowed to complain, just having to accept being the second option, waiting here like a dog for Ray to come back. It's even worse when he remembers that he does have options. Sand knows he's attractive, and charming, and he's good. Why can't he fall for someone else?
“Yes?” Ray rasps into the phone, voice sleepy.
On the other line, Mew is probably calling his puppy, asking him to get there. It pisses Sand off. Ray is being treated the same way Ray treats Sand. What kind of bad joke is that? He grabs his pack of cigarettes, and pulls out another one, lighting it. Well, this is it, then.
As Ray sits up a little more, Sand stares at him. Strange pride fills him, somehow, because there's marks on the other's throat, and collarbones, and Mew will see them. It's stupid—Mew doesn't even care, doesn't see Ray that way, but Sand is still happy about it.
Yeah. He's definitely gone insane.
“How? Doesn't Cheum have a spare key?” Ray asks, rubbing at his face with one hand, and already grabbing his clothes. There's nothing Sand can do but watch, even though he wants to reach out, grab the other's wrist, and ask him to stay. It's impossible, he knows. So he just leans his head back, and continues smoking, listening to the conversation that he only hears one half of. “I don't know…A little. I can be there in twenty minutes,” Ray says, clearing his throat as he rummages through his jeans for his keys. “What?”
Suddenly, he pauses.
Sand continues staring, blowing smoke into Ray's direction, just to remind him that he's still here. Somehow it works. The other turns to look at him for only a moment before he glances back down. His eyebrows raise.
Instead of getting up, and getting dressed, Ray stays seated for a second, toying with the keys he's now holding. “No. No, it's fine. I can do that,” he says, but he sounds a little strange, and it's worrying. “Just give me a bit. I'll shower, and then I'll drive.”
That catches Sand’s attention.
Drive? Himself? Right now? Ray drank only a couple hours ago, and he's definitely not completely sober. Maybe more than he usually is, but not sober enough to drive. Immediately, Sand sits up, plucking the cigarette from his lips to set it aside as his other hand moves to Ray’s shoulder. He's not looking at him anymore. “I can call you a cab,” he says, because even if he doesn't want Ray to leave, he'd rather he leaves in a safe way. “You drank.”
“Yes…Don’t mind him. I'll be there soon,” Ray says, hanging up quickly before he finally gets up to get dressed. Completely ignoring him.
This is bad. Sand can tell. Something happened, and Mew is encouraging Ray to drive like this? Before they met, the shorter man probably did that a lot, because he's never really sober. Still. Now, Sand is in his life, and he's not letting him drive like this. Not even when they first met did he let him do that, maybe for different reasons, but he had enough of a moral compass not to let it happen. Even back then. “Ray,” he says, sitting up properly, and reaching out to touch the other's wrist. His touch is shaken off easily. “You drank. You shouldn't drive. I'll call you a cab, it's just as fast.”
A shake of Ray’s head is the only reply he gets for a moment—he's getting dressed now, pulling up his jeans, and tossing on the t-shirt that's definitely not his. The sight makes Sand’s stomach curl, because Ray doesn't even seem to realise, or care that he's wearing the worn out band tee that Sand usually wears. Blessing or curse? He can't tell. It's not a domestic thing if Ray is doing it to get to Mew as fast as possible.
“He wants me to bring my car,” the other finally says, offering a little faux-amused smile. “It’s not like I'm any less sober than I usually am. My friends are used to me driving like this. Especially Mew.”
Sand isn't amused.
A little sigh leaves his nose, and he continues watching as Ray pulls on his jacket, and pulls back on the rings he lost earlier. However, there's no way he'll leave like that. Driving. Sand swallows, and braces himself for what he knows will happen next, if he tries to intervene. He stands up, and grabs Ray’s arm, gentle but firm. “Just because you usually do it doesn't mean it's a good idea. If he wants your car, tell him to come here by cab and get it,” he insists, shaking his head. “I’ll even pay for his fucking drive.”
Instead of shaking him off, like he usually does, Ray just pauses for a moment. As he turns his head, and meets Sand’s gaze, the music fades into the background—there’s tears in his eyes.
Something inside of Sand breaks again, and it's unfair. It's cruel. He swallows, and clenches his jaw. The hand around Ray's arm twitches with the urge to pull him into a hug, but he fights against it. Not now. If he does it now, it'll only set him off. So, Sand simply drags a hand down his face, taking a deep breath, calming his racing heart. It's not fair that he's so angry on Ray's behalf. What kind of friends are just used to their friend driving in a drunken state? Isn't that fucked up? Is Sand too sensitive? He doesn't get it. Nothing about this. He doesn't get any of it—doesn’t get Mew.
“Please,” Sand says, finally, and he knows how pathetic he must look. “Did you tell him that you drank? He must've told you not to drive either.”
At that, a strangled laugh leaves Ray's throat, and his fist tightens around the keys in his hand. The sound squeezes every bit of life out of Sand, in the way those still-present tears do, too. Unfair. “He heard you,” Ray says, turning to smile at him. “I told you, he's used to it. He asked me when I started caring about things like that.”
Fuck.
Sand is starting to question Ray’s friends. It's probably not his place to do so, especially because he doesn't know them that well, but fuck. Is he too blinded by his feelings? Maybe Ray's friends have their reasons for not caring, but there's a line. Mew could've dropped it, could've dealt with this tomorrow. Why is he still asking Ray to drive there? Isn't that too much?
Another sigh leaves him. Somehow, his hand is still on Ray's arm, and he squeezes it gently.
It's finally happening, then. All this time, Sand kept quiet, and just let the other run off to answer Mew’s call. Not this time. He can't, this time. At least not if Ray wants to leave the way he's supposed to, according to his friend. With a deep, grounding breath, Sand gently steps forward until he's standing in front of Ray. His head tilts, and he shakes it lightly. Absolutely not, he wants to say, you can't, just stay here with me. It's not his right to say those things. Instead, he offers a little scoff, and says something even worse. “You do a lot for him already, why is he just okay with you endangering yourself?”
Those words cause Ray’s expression to twist into something angry, but even as he stares Sand down with a surprised glare, Sand doesn't let go of him. Not this time. He's been watching this back and forth for long enough, and even though he knows that Ray will get upset with him, he needs to say it now.
“You don't have to come every time he calls,” he insists, shaking his head again. Before Ray can snap, and argue back at him, Sand quickly cuts him off. “You don't. You said he saved your life, right? That's why you love him so much, right?” Both of his hands move to the other's shoulders, and he squeezes them, gently. “I’d save all of my friends’ lives, and never expect anything in return. That's why they're my friends. I care, Ray. I care about them.” Even though he wants to scream, Sand doesn't raise his voice, he just speaks intently, voice a little shaky. “I care about you.”
The expression on Ray's face changes, a little. His eyes widen as he stares back at him, and there's a tear rolling down his cheek. Sand wipes it away.
Another sigh leaves him, because he doesn't know how to convey what he wants to say properly. Fast enough, before Ray can shut him out again. “Please. Just think about it carefully, okay?” His voice still feels unsure, he doesn't want to push the other away, doesn't want to mess things up. It's just that he cares so much. “If he's a good friend, you can call him right now, and tell him you can't make it. He wouldn't mind, because he cares about you.” Another tear rolls down Ray's cheek, and Sand wipes it away again, eyebrows furrowed. “But you know he’ll mind. He'll be disappointed, and try to convince you. From what you've told me, he'd even bring up the times he helped you just to remind you that you owe him—you don't.”
Ray still doesn't yell at him.
There's more tears running down his face now, and he's moving his hands to Sand’s wrists, holding them tight. He doesn't shove at him, or argue. Instead, he just stares, trembling a little. Maybe even trying not to lose it. Even if that's unlikely. He's probably just too tired right now, to get angry properly.
As if summoned, Ray’s phone starts vibrating again. When both of them glance down at the screen, Sand isn't surprised to see Mew’s name.
Ah.
Sand grits his teeth, and slowly lets go of Ray. He lost. He already lost. He wasn't fast enough.
Now, Ray will just leave, and maybe he won't even tug on Sand’s leash anymore, and will just forget about him. He barked too much, nosed around in business he has no privilege to be a part of. That's it, isn't it? He doesn't have the right to worry about the other like this. It messes with Sand’s head—his chest squeezes again as he takes a deep breath, and turns away, wiping at his nose. Eyebrows raised, he picks his cigarette back up, and takes a slightly frantic drag, almost making the tingle in his lung too much.
The phone stops buzzing. Single tears are running down Sand’s cheeks, and he quickly wipes at them, because it's fine. This isn't the first time. By now, he should be used to it. Right?
However, there's nothing after the silence. Ray doesn't speak to Mew, and there's no quiet voice coming from the phone's speaker either. So, Sand furrows his eyebrows, and slowly turns his head. Fear rises in his throat, because maybe, Ray is simply gone already, as though he silently left, like a ghost.
But no.
Right there, right beside Sand, he's still standing. Phone in hand. No call visible on the screen. It's a little puzzling, because he didn't imagine that, right? Mew called. With a confused huff, Sand inhales the smoke of his cigarette one last time before putting it out, and moving closer to Ray again. The other isn't moving, just staring down at the phone like he doesn't know what to do with it. Honestly, it's…A little worrisome, and Sand tries to twist his head, so he can see Ray's expression, and can make out what emotions are running through his head.
Before he manages to do so, however, there's an incoming call again. Mew. Again. Sand swallows as he watches the eerie stillness of the man in front of him. His own gaze flicks from the phone to Ray’s head, still unable to make out his face properly. What's happening? Hope blooms in Sand's chest, and he swallows hard to make it go away, but then—then Ray’s finger slides over the screen, not taking the call, and that small blossom of hope explodes inside of Sand's ribcage.
It's a suffocating experience, making it hard to breathe, to blink, to move. Honestly, he's a little unsure what to do, frozen in place as he watches the way Ray turns off his phone, and tosses it onto the small table next to them.
Then, Ray turns to him. Silently. Their eyes meet. For some reason, the other's expression isn't at all what Sand expected. There's no sign of fear, or anger anymore. Instead, Ray looks stubborn, determined; eyebrows set, jaw clenched. Almost like he's fighting against something that Sand honestly isn't sure about. He hasn't let himself imagine an outcome like this even once, and now it's here, and he doesn't know what to do.
Luckily, he doesn't have to know.
In the span of a second, Ray reaches out, and grabs Sand by the back of his head.
The kiss is a little different from their usual ones—still intense, hungry, but also unhurried. Ray is licking at his lips, which part almost dazedly in order to meet the other's tongue with his own.
Sand’s hands are unsure for a moment, hovering centimetres from the other man's body, like he doesn't know whether he's allowed to touch too. However, when the kiss deepens, and they stumble back into the couch, Sand grabs at Ray's waist, pulling him on top of him.
Jeans rub at his still-bare skin, but he doesn't care, one of his hands moving up to the side of Ray’s face, cradling.
Everything is spinning with pure joy, because Sand doesn't know what's happening, but he's not complaining. He holds the other tight, afraid to let him go, even as Ray drags his tongue down the line of his throat. “Mn…What about the car?” Sand asks breathlessly, and it's so stupid, because he should just enjoy this while it lasts. A selfish part of him just wants the chance to hear it, even if it's unlikely, because—
“Forget about that.” Ray bites at the skin of his jaw before soothing the bruise with his lips. “I’d rather stay with you.”
Oh.
Sand’s eyes widen before they flutter shut, and he swallows, fingers tightening in the other's clothes. Oh.
A delighted, shaky chuckle leaves him.
Maybe he's dreaming. Or, perhaps he's too optimistic. One single time that Ray chooses him over Mew, it might be the last. Unfortunately, Sand can't concentrate on any doubts in his mind, because the beautiful man on his lap is undressing again, and oh.
The taste of sweat and alcohol is addictive, and he doesn't hesitate before he pushes Ray back into the cushions, kissing down his chest now that the shirt is back off.
While his hands unbutton those pesky jeans, Sand kisses his way up the other's stomach, tongue dragging over salty skin. His eyes flutter open, looking up at the pleased expression on Ray's face. When his tongue catches on thin, cold metal that dangles by Ray’s collarbones, Sand catches it with his teeth, and tugs at it lightly on his way back up to full lips.
“Then we have time for another round, don't we?” he asks, unable to fight the small, triumphant grin on his face.
Ray clearly doesn't seem to mind, letting out a low chuckle as he meets any kisses that are offered to him. Ringed fingers trail up Sand’s neck into his hair, and the cold metal makes him shiver.
The air in the room grows hot as pants and moans fill it again, and the soft creak of the couch is like music to Sand's ears. A rhythm that harmonises perfectly with the arch of Ray's body, and every sound that leaves those sinful lips which have him wrapped around Ray's finger.
At some point, the vinyl stops.
Neither of them notices.
One round turns into two, and when they finally do reach the shower after a long smoking break, Ray drops to his knees, and that's that. Sand is convinced that he's dreaming all of these things up.
Cleaning the couch is quite the effort, but Sand doesn't care. He makes sure to be thorough, stealing glances at the man watching him from the balcony, only wearing boxers and that stupid band tee. It looks ridiculous on someone so luxurious, but Sand has to admit, seeing Ray in his clothes is nice. Lovely.
“You need to stop looking at me like that. I don't have any energy left,” Sand laughs, throwing the cushions back onto the couch before he moves out onto the balcony as well.
The expression on Ray's face is equal parts amused and disappointed, bottom lip jutting out in a pout that is almost cruel while those pretty eyes twinkle. “You said that earlier, but you still seemed pretty energetic in the shower,” he teases, making Sand’s neck grow hot.
Whatever is happening, fuck.
“I mean it this time.” Sand sits down across from the other man, stealing the cigarette from his hand, and taking a drag of his own. The night air is soothing against his burning skin.
A gentle laugh leaves Ray's lips as he shakes his head, but he doesn't say anything else.
Silence creeps into the air between them, both of their eyes locked onto something meaningless. It's not tense, or uncomfortable, and the lack of music only now clicks in Sand's brain. He turns his head, glancing into the apartment again, but decides against putting on another vinyl.
Especially because, when he turns back around, Ray is looking at him again. This time, there's no hunger in his eyes—or at least less than earlier. He's not smiling anymore either, wordlessly reaching for the cigarette, and placing it between his lips, inhaling deeply. As he blows the smoke into Sand's face, there's something so intimate about it that Sand’s ribcage tightens around his lungs, and all he can do is stare. Ray is beautiful. The desperate fire behind those tragic eyes is something he's never seen before. It's such an ethereal sight. Like a lit candle fighting viscerally to keep burning, even as its world fills with water.
A deep sigh leaves Sand’s nose, watching the way Ray puts out their cigarette. Then, the other shifts closer, turning until they both face the same direction.
“I don't get it,” Ray says, quietly, leaning his head against Sand’s bare shoulder.
It's a wonderful pressure, a weight he'd do anything for, just so he can continue carrying it. “Mh?” is all he can reply.
For a moment, it's silent again. It's late. Even the outside world is slowly falling asleep, and people return from bars, and hangouts. Tired. Happy. The pressure on Sand’s shoulder shifts, and he can feel warm tears on his skin. He doesn't dare move, too afraid that he'll break whatever thin thread is connecting them tonight.
“You’ve seen how horrible I can get.”
Those words aren't what Sand expected to hear, and he turns his head just slightly, barely, to look at Ray. The other is staring blankly at the balcony railings, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m a burden. My own friends can't stand taking care of me,” he whispers. “Why do you?”
Sand can't breathe. He swallows, letting a silence settle between them again, just for a second.
Everything about that short, simple question is dangerous. The truth, especially. Sand wants to answer it, wants to say that he's fallen into a deep pit for Ray, can't crawl out of it, no matter how much he tries. That he can't bear the worry whenever the other is doing something reckless, is treating himself with less respect than he should. Like now.
“A burden…,” Sand repeats quietly, taking a deep breath. “What, you think I'm too weak to carry a burden or two?”
Just for the split of a second, he's afraid that his words won't convey the right thing, that they'll throw Ray into an even deeper bout of self-doubt. However, the other lets out a surprise little laugh, sitting up to look at him, and everything’s fine. “Sand,” Ray complains through a soft chuckle.
Sand’s lips twitch into a smile as he sees the other's confused amusement. His hand comes up, gently placing on Ray's cheek, thumb wiping away the remnants of tears that have suddenly paused their constant flow. After taking a moment to stare, to take in the man before him, his smile widens. “You aren't a burden, you're just carrying too many of your own,” he says finally, tilting his head. Ray’s eyes widen. “I just…Want to help.”
Like they never stopped, tears begin falling down Ray's face again, and he swallows, eyes meeting Sand's. “Why?”
Again, his thumb wipes away tears, and his other hand also joins in, cradling the other side of Ray's face.
“Because you're worth it,” Sand says quietly, voice hoarse with emotion that he's trying his best to hide. “Because I want to see you without the sadness in your eyes. Thriving.”
A shaky breath leaves Ray's lips. “What if I'll stop needing you?”
He needs me now.
That's the only thing repeating in Sand's brain, over, and over, and over, and over again. They make him feel more intoxicated than alcohol could ever dream to achieve.
Swallowing down the heavy I love you on his tongue is hard, but he does it anyway.
“Hm.” Sand leans in, and presses a kiss to Ray's lips, letting it linger, tasting a different kind of saltiness there—a quieter, gentler kind. “I'll continue needing you for the both of us.”
As he pulls away, just a short distance, their gazes meet. In those beautiful, wide eyes, Sand can see his own reflection, and it's the only recognition he needs.
Ray hums, swallowing. “Okay…”
A gentle smile places itself on Sand's lips, and he nudges their noses together, softly, before pulling away completely. His hands fall from Ray's face to the sides of his neck, slow.
Smoke stops clouding the air around them, and the warm lights are turned off.
The air still smells like cigarettes and sex.