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Oliver is resetting for another take when his phone buzzes in his coat pocket.
Once.
Then again.
He frowns, stepping aside as the crew adjusts the lights. When he pulls it out, his lock screen is stacked with notifications.
FLIGHT CANCELLED.
WE’RE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
FLIGHT CANCELLED.
WE’RE SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE.
Oliver stares at them for a long moment, jaw tightening.
“Fuck,” he murmurs.
His phone rings immediately after, Ryan’s name lighting the screen like a beacon.
“Yeah?” Oliver answers.
“You seeing this?” Ryan asks, breathless. “Every flight out of Nashville is grounded. I’ve been on the phone with—hang on—”
There is a muffled frustration, a clipped “thank you anyway”, and then Ryan turns his attention to Oliver again. “Okay. I’ve called ten places. Ten! But everything’s booked or closed, or fucking haunted apparently.”
Oliver smiles despite himself. “You’re spiraling.”
“I am problem-solving,” Ryan shoots back. Then, softer: “How’s your knee?”
There it is.
Ryan always asks about his knee in the cold. He always asks how he was feeling in the intense heat. Ryan brings him coffee without being asked when he is tired, and snacks when he starts to get grumpy.
Ryan just … never stops caring for him.
And that fact is impossible to sit with comfortably, knowing he is in love with Ryan, and that he can’t for the life of him figure out how the fuck Ryan feels about it.
“It hurts,” Oliver says honestly. “Which will shock absolutely no one,” he spits out sarcastically.
Ryan exhales. “Shit. Okay. Well. I’ve got one option left. It’s… less than ideal.”
Oliver closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Define less than ideal.”
“One room.”
Pause.
“With…?” Oliver prompts.
“A double bed.”
Another pause.
“And you tried—”
“Two rooms. Two beds. A king. I would have taken a couch. This is it,” Ryan says earnestly. “And it’s on the other side of the city.”
“And you’re sure we can’t fly?” Oliver whines.
Ryan lets a frustrated sigh escape. “Yes, Oli, I am sure we can’t fly! Don’t you remember me getting stuck in Atlanta on your birthday? There is no way you’d survive that nonsense with your knee in this condition. You probably shouldn’t even fly today anyway, with the pain as bad as it is, if I am being honest.”
Oliver laughs quietly. “Ry, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine,” Ryan insists. “And I wanted to fix it.”
“I know,” Oliver says gently.
That stops him.
“Okay,” Ryan says after a beat. “I’ll go tell the guys we need a ride to the hotel, not the airport.”
The drive back was brutal.
Traffic crawls, and the car never seems to warm up thoroughly. The city is determined to make every red light last an eternity. Oliver shifts carefully in the passenger seat, every vibration sending a sharp reminder through his knee. He tries not to grimace; he tries not to let his breath hitch.
Ryan notices anyway.
“You’re in pain,” Ryan says gently.
“I’m British,” Oliver replies lightly. “Having a stiff upper lip about these sorts of things is sort of our brand, so if you could leave me in peace to be British, that would be great.” Oliver gasps out the last few words of his sarcastic joke because he got hit with a major wave of pain shooting down to the bottoms of his toes.
“Okay,” Oliver glares. “I am in pain.”
Ryan doesn’t smile this time; he is all too used to Oliver deflecting with a joke. Instead, Ryan reaches over and rests his hand briefly on Oliver’s leg above his knee. Oliver feels the heat of his hand on his thigh, and though it doesn’t ease the pain, it does help something inside Oliver thaw just a bit.
He swallows and tries to remain perfectly still – worrying that if he moves even a millimeter in any direction, Ryan will realise what he was doing and move his hand back to a safer, more ambiguous space. A space that didn’t lead to questions or answers.
A long time ago, what feels like ages ago, really, Oliver realized that answers from Ryan about … whatever this is are about as likely as pigs flying. Ryan was known for being very emotional and supportive of those around him, always willing to listen or talk. Still, the moment something becomes real, he withdraws into himself like a turtle – hiding under a thick shell blocking everyone and everything out.
At the hotel, they checked in quickly. Ryan handled the desk; Oliver leaned subtly on his cane, grateful for the anonymity of late-night travel fatigue. The room was small but clean. It had one double bed, only enough room between it and the wall for a tiny nightstand, and there was a narrow bathroom off to the side.
Once in the room, Ryan drops the bags and turns immediately towards Oliver, who was leaning heavily on his cane, grimacing. “Sit.”
Oliver blinks. “I…”
“Sit,” Ryan repeats.
Oliver obeys, lowering himself onto the bed with a careful exhale. The mattress dips as he bends his knees to sit down, and pain flares sharp enough to make his vision blur.
“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth.
Ryan is in front of him instantly, kneeling, hands warm and steady as they brush Oliver’s jeans. “Talk to me. Sharp or deep?”
“Both,” Oliver admits, all but hissing out the reply because of the pain.
Ryan nods. He rolls the denim up gently, fingers avoiding the most painful bit – right where Oliver’s scar is – with thoughtful intention.
“You learned all this,” Oliver says quietly. “All these ways to help me.”
Ryan snorts. “It’s not exactly complicated.”
“No,” Oliver says, watching him. “But it’s effort.”
Ryan pauses, then scoffs. “This is the bare minimum.”
Oliver laughs, breathless and disbelieving. Of course, only Ryan!
“Not a single person in my life – friend or girlfriend or family or teammate — has ever taken the time to learn how to help me with my pain. And you just… did it. What am I supposed to think about that, Ryan?”
Ryan doesn’t answer. He sets his hands back on Oliver’s leg, thumbs pressing firmly into the muscle above the knee, working warmth into places that had gone tight with pain and cold. Oliver’s head tips back almost immediately.
“Ry,” he murmurs.
“I know,” Ryan says quietly, though Oliver isn’t sure Ryan knew what he was acknowledging.
Ryan’s strong hands drift higher as he follows the tension, the anatomy, and his own instincts about Oliver’s pain and his body: inner thigh, careful but close enough that Oliver felt the shift immediately. Heat pools low in his stomach, unwanted and undeniable. He feels his cock start to fill with blood.
Oliver lets out a breath that turns into a pained laugh and presses the palms of his hands into his eyes.
Ryan freezes.
“What?” Ryan asks.
Oliver drags his hands down his face. “Well.” Oliver chuckles. “This is the part where you pull back and pretend nothing is happening, and I disappear in shame to the bathroom. But my knee fucking hurts, so let’s speed this up. I’ll take a bath. We’ll go to bed. I’m too tired for the mind games tonight.”
Ryan leans back like he’d been hit. His hands drop uselessly to his thighs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
The words hurt more than anything else.
Oliver sighs. “I forgive you.”
Of course he does.
“But please,” Oliver says, voice breaking. “Please stop. Stop doing this. You’re putting me through torture.”
“Torture?” Ryan frowns. “You mean…” He winces. “Blue balls?”
Oliver stares at him, gobsmacked.
“You have to know,” Oliver says slowly.
“Know what?” Ryan says, confused. “That this is … frustrating for you? Yeah. I get it.” At the same time, the frustration was starting to seep into Ryan’s voice.
“No,” Oliver snaps. “Ryan, don’t fuck with me, you have. to. know. Everyone knows. God, I really should start paying Aisha for her therapy services because of the number of times she has had to listen to me moan about this.”
Ryan scrambled for purchase in this conversation, sputtering. “Oli, I…wh-what am I supposed to ‘know’ here?”
Oliver sighs and sinks into himself like the strings holding him up were all cut at once. “You blind fool.” He whispers. He shakes his head before looking up at Ryan, who was looking back at him with those big, beautiful brown doe eyes that come out when Ryan knows he has hurt someone he cares about, but doesn’t understand how.
Oliver presses on. “God, you have to know I’m in love with you. And you’re ruining my life with this…” Oliver gestures between them. “All of this will you, won’t you, shutting me down before I can even speak. I’m losing my mind. Just tell me what you want.”
Ryan goes very still.
“Oh,” he breathes.
“Oh.”
Oliver watches as Ryan scrubs a hand over his face as he stands up from his knees. Ryan starts trying to pace in the limited space, but it is more like taking one step and turning in circles.
“Oli, I – look, I know, shit, I don’t know.” Ryan throws his hands up in exclamation. “What I do know is that I need to provide for my kids and their future.” He continues to pace. “What I do know is that my ex-wife is a homophobic bitch and will try to take my kids away from me. What I do know is I can’t let my kids down, let alone hurt them or, God forbid, lose them.” The words spilled out unevenly in a way that makes Oliver’s chest constrict.
Ryan stops pacing and stares at the floor like he hopes it will open up and swallow him whole. “I can’t just do what I want anymore,” Ryan says hoarsely. “I don’t get to.”
“You can!” Oliver exclaims. “Fuck your ex-wife! She isn’t going to get full custody! You support yours kids, see them often, provide for them and parent them, and you pay alimony! You have a clean record and a great career, and 100s of people from set who see you with your kids all the time and how amazing you are with them! What the fuck is your ex going to do!? We live in Los Angeles, Ryan. No court is going to side with her. Hell, I doubt it would even get to court with how ridiculously biblical it is,” Oliver says, almost in hysterics. He and Ryan had never talked about this, and Oliver felt the anxiety and anticipation striking like lightning through his veins. Oliver, his voice softer but no less emotional, says earnestly, “No one is going to let you lose your kids, Ryan.”
Oliver notices that Ryan is doing the three-small-headshakes-and-a-nod thing that he always does when he is trying not to cry.
Oliver knows his parents weren’t perfect; nobody’s are. But they never told him not to cry and never made him feel like he needed to be, act like, or look like anything other than what he wanted.
“Let yourself want it,” Oliver begs. “Let yourself want me. Please, Ry. Just try and not let people take this for us before we even let ourselves have it,” Oliver pleads.
Ryan freezes, not looking at Oliver, but not, not looking at him either.
But Oliver was waiting for an answer that was never going to come. Ryan never answers; whether he can or won’t, Oliver is sure he will never know which one it is.
“I can’t do this anymore. I — I just, God, Ry, I just want to know what it’s like to kiss you. And if I’m never going to know, I need to learn how to live with it. Because it won’t go away, it’s… It’s just a part of me now. My knee hurts when I am cold, I love red peppers, I want to know what it is like to kiss you.” Oliver cries rather hysterically. “So let me go, Ryan. Free me from this game. Please. Let me try to find some peace,” Oliver begs.
Oliver stands.
Pain shoots up and down his leg like fire as he reaches for his cane, thinking to himself how damn thankful he is that he decided to bring it with him.
Once Oliver steadies himself with the cane under him in the perfect angle, he limps into the bathroom, anger and grief propelling him forward through the pain. He ran the bath too hot, sank into it, and let the heat burn.
Outside, Ryan paced.
He thought about headlines. About his ex-wife and lawyers and ourtrooms and his kids crying.
But he thinks about the look on Oliver’s face when he thought he wasn’t wanted the most.
When Oliver emerges, towel low on his hips, cane in hand, curls damp and wild, Ryan crosses the room and kisses him.
Ryan kisses him like he needs to breathe Oliver’s air to survive. Ryan, for once, didn’t leave room for second-guessing or hesitation. Oliver freezes for half a second before melting, hands grabbing Ryan’s waist like he’d been waiting his whole life for permission.
Ryan pulls back just enough to speak, forehead resting against Oliver’s.
“I was scared,” Ryan says. “Because I can’t keep you a secret. You deserve to be loved out loud. And I—I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly ready for that. But you’re right.” Ryan rubs Oliver’s cheekbones with is thumbs. “It isn’t fair,” Ryan concedes.
Oliver laughs softly, eyes bright with tears. “So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” Ryan says, kissing him again, gentler now, “that I’m ready to try.”
Oliver stays where he is, towel slipping loose at his hips, Ryan’s hands still cupping his face like he is afraid Oliver might vanish if he lets go.
“Okay,” Oliver says softly, breath uneven. “Okay.”
Ryan laughs quietly, shaky. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Oliver chuckles wetly. “I just, give me a second. I feel like my entire nervous system just caught up with me.”
Ryan huffs out a breath, forehead dropping to Oliver’s shoulder before he picks it back up to kiss Oliver’s birthmark, which always goes from pink to maroon when his feelings are running away from him. “Same.”
They ended up tangled in bed, fully clothed, Ryan’s chest on Oliver’s chest, arm firm around Oliver’s waist, Oliver tucked close, his knee elevated and warm.
Oliver hesitates, not sure if he needs to say something, or if he should say something, or if he is expected to say something. “I—um, I.” Oliver clears his throat. “I’m sorry we can’t, you know, fool around tonight. Because of, like,” Oliver stutters, “my knee.”
Oliver counts the seconds after he lets those words out. Slowly, he feels Ryan lift his head and turn towards him in absolute shock.
“Oli, are you apologizing to me because you are experiencing a bad episode of chronic pain?” Ryan breaths out.
“Well, um, yeah, I guess,” Oliver mutters.
“Oliver, you do not ever need to apologize to anyone for that. My god.” Ryan shoots up to his knees, looking down at Oliver imploringly. “Have people made you feel bad for that?”
“I mean, sometimes people would get annoyed, yeah.” Oliver tries to say that as casually as possible.
Ryan leans forward and kisses Oliver’s forehead, and runs his fingers through his messy curls. “Baby, you don’t ever need to apologize for that to me or anyone else. I wouldn’t want to have sex if you were in pain. The point is for both of us to feel good, not one of us.” Ryan ducks his head down to really catch Oliver’s eyes. “If you aren’t fully interested in having sex, then I’m not either because it’s about us, not just me. Okay?”
Oliver blushes, looking away. “Yeah, okay.” He sniffs a bit, tears gathering and threatening to fall.
Ryan gently kisses Oliver, and he savors every moment. He’s been waiting to find out what Ryan’s lips feel like, tasted like, for as long as he’s known him. Originally, it was just an attraction, but it turned into something so deep that Oliver is convinced there is no bottom.
Ryan pulls back, “Okay.” He smiles and gives Oliver a quick peck, just because he can. Ryan settles back down on Oliver’s chest with his arm around his waist. “Good night, Oli.” Ryan says before gently kissing Oliver’s chest and nuzzling down.
“Good night, Ryan,” Oliver whispers into his hair.
They both drift off to sleep peacefully.
And for the first time in a long time, neither of them are running.