Chapter Text
Listen. Tom Ryder wasn't one for being bored. He wasn't one to get bored. But right now?
He was beyond fucking bored.
Set was such a drag today, they should be lucky he even decided to hang around this absolute Loserfest for as long as he has. Seriously, it's like...worse than Coachella. Tacky outfits (That he'll admit, he looks stunning in.), unbearable heat, and nothing worthwhile to do.
Tom drags his eyes along the dry deserts they're filming in, sand gritting under the leather of his cowboy boots. Glancing around for something to spend his time on until his next scene, Ryder picks out each spot of interest to him- weighing his opportunities in each.
There's the huge white tent he's affectionately nicknamed 'The huge white tent that has coffee in it'. A favorite, but he's already overcaffinated, and they never seem to get his order right, no matter how many times he reminds the baristas how to make them. Disappointing. Not where he wants to spend his time today.
Then, of course, his own trailer. The Tom-Shack. The Ryd(er) or Die. Ryder Island. The Mojo Dojo Casa House.
...Yeah, he'll admit the names need a bit of work. Though those last two have a ring to it- Right when he doesn't have any Post-Its on him, of course.
Anyways. Back to the task at hand. He could sleep for a bit- but then he'd have to redo his makeup, and he doesn't really feel like getting snarked at by Melissa for smudging the fake dirt on his face again. Besides, Gail still hadn't gotten someone to fix the air conditioning in there, and he was constantly sweltering. Terrible.
So both of those were out. Tom is about to let out a monumental groan of annoyance, just so anyone nearby knows how unfortunately displeased he is with the surrounding entertainment, he spots his favorite mop of blonde just down the slope. Besides his own, of course- Just to clarify.
Colt. Perfect. Annoying the shit out of him always got Ryder in a better mood, so, problem solved. He'd figured out how to keep himself entertained, and get a rise out of his little stunt boy. Win-win, no?
Tom's feet were moving before he fully realized it himself, boots scraping up sand clouds behind him as he went. His eyes were latched on to Colt, though his demeanor was cool, detached. They gave his doppelganger a quick glance up and down, noting his appearance from behind.
Not in that way, gross. Tom knew he was egotistical, but being interested in someone who looks like you was like, another level. It was purely because there was something...off about Colt today. He couldn't place it. Maybe the clothes?
He's wearing some sort of thick cardigan, snarling red foxes adorning the back. Terrible taste, but at least it's better than that trashy Miami Vice jacket he's never gotten rid of. Seriously, that show was such a flop! No clue why he'd even want to keep that around, of all things.
The sweater was new, and very unlike Colt's usual style. Was it a costuming change? Tom hadn't been informed, if so. I mean, he could pull it off, but- wasn't his style. Tom Ryder doesn't do soft guy, and besides; It would hide his figure too much. That's the moneymaker.
Hmph. Jody must've gotten it for him. A cardigan, in the middle of the desert. Seems like her style. The two of them were always doing weird, nice things for each other.
Relationships. Gag!
It's safe to say Tom wasn't a fan of long-term commitment. Nothing in particular about it, it was just...boring. What's the point, if it's just the same thing, day after day? Seems pointless, to him. What's life without a little excitement? Without a line of people practically begging to throw themselves at you?
All he's saying is that there's a clear winning option here, and it's certainly not the one he's lacking.
Ah, whatever. To each their own, yes? If Colt and Jody are happy, then that's their deal.
Tom drifts alongside Colt, clapping a hand on his shoulder from behind. As he slips around the front to face him, his hand glides just under the dip of his shirt. "Hellllloooo, darling!"
The nickname tilts lightly, a slight drag accenting the word in a 'dahling'. Tom had heard some rando with a fur coat and glasses he was envious of say it, and he liked the way it sounded. Sue him.
Under his touch, Colt flinches away from the expected touch. Huh. Who pissed in his cereal?
"Looking different today, Colt. What's the occasion?" Drawling lazily, a cocky smile adorns Tom's face. He decided to ignore the irregularities in his fellow coworker's attitude. So what if Colt was acting weird? That's just Colt. Though, he'll admit- it's a different flavor today. More 'ball-of-anxiety' over 'overexcited mutt dog'.
The man blinks up at him with large eyes, nearly owlish with confusion, maybe surprise? Tom liked the look, nearly copying it out of reflex. He'd have to figure out some way to mix it into Metalstorm, that expression would look great on the big screen. Perhaps the scene he's finally confessed to by the alien princess? That could work, really sell him as a character. Or, ooh, maybe-
"Sorry, you've got the wrong guy." The...Not-Colt says with a small laugh, interrupting his train of thought. He slips away from the hand on his shoulder with practiced ease, covering the apparent discomfort of an unfamiliar touch. "Colt's my-"
Another voice from behind finishes the sentence for him. "-Brother. Back off, Ryder."
Now this one's more familiar!
"Colt! Now there's the man I was looking for. Never pinned you as the kind of guy to have siblings, but the resemblance is believable enough."
More than believable, honestly. Side by side, the two nearly looked interchangeable. Now that's a good stunt double match up. Doesn't look like Clone-Colt is into the acting scene, however. His nervous fidgeting and analytical eyes are not the kind of presentation you're taught in PR training, though...Ryder can't say his demeanor isn't intriguing.
The way his slender, ink-stained fingers pull and twist a loose thread on the sleeve of his cardigan to no avail, how his glasses slip towards the bottom of his nose, only to be pushed right back up a second later.
It's all very...picturesque. Tom could almost use the word cute, but that wasn't quite right. Attractive? Adorable? He'll figure it out later.
"He's here to visit set with me today, Tom." Colt's voice is sharp like ice, a warning tucked between the lines of the sentence. "And we're twins, of course we look the same."
The delivery almost made it sound like he thought Tom was stupid, which, let's be honest, who would think that?
"Similar, not the same." The actor moves to hook his hand into Ryland's, drawing it up, and up, and up, until he can place a small, gentle kiss to his knuckles. And, just to throw in a little extra, Tom flicks on his gentlest doe eyes, peering at the man's face through his lashes. "Your brother has the prettier face here, Coltie."
As he speaks, his stubble brushes against the hand held close, tickling at the space his lips had just occupied. The hand tenses in his hold, and a sense of satisfaction brims in Tom's torso. Yeah, he's still got it.
As he pulls away, he keeps the hand trapped in his own, thumb tracing each bump and ridge of knuckles. The other clearly wasn't making a move to pull away, though Tom would back off if he insisted. But, come on. Who could resist Tom Ryder?
Even without looking, he can tell Colt is seething besides him with rage. Y'see, he does this thing, where he gets all huffy and loud and he never really says anything about it but it's so obvious and- yeah. He's doing that. Tom was giddy at just the thought of seeing his stunt double riled up and annoyed.
"Ryland." Colt grits out the name with barely restrained irritation. "Let's go finish that set tour, yeah? Leave Tom to...whatever high and mighty shit he's doing."
Ryland, hm? Tom rolled the name around in his mind like whiskey in a glass, smooth in flow and sharp in taste. He liked it. Maybe he'd name his next pet Ryland, that could be fitting. Ryland the koala. Perfect.
Tom returned his attention to Ryland- though, to be quite honest, it never really left- taking in his face once more.
Huh.
His expression is back to that of wide-eyed shock, this time adorned with a rising red flush he's clearly trying to tamper. Mouth twisted in a downturn of perplexity that Tom couldn't quite read, but certainly interpreted as flustered. What else could it possibly be?
Ryder watches as the man swallows sharply, reclaiming his hand with a jerky pull and tucking it away into the pocket of his cardigan. Readjusting his glasses again, Grace nods to his brother.
"Yeah- uh, sure. That sounds great, Colt. It was nice to meet you, Tom. Have a...nice day." With that, his face carves itself into a genuine, if small smile, and Ryder can't help but feel a strange pang in his gut at the look.
Promptly ignoring it, as he does with most of his unnecessary feelings, Tom returns the gesture with a brilliant grin of his own. "Anytime, Ryland. Come see me, if you ever visit set again? I'd love to get to know you more, sweetheart."
"Laying it on a tad thick, aren't you?" And of course Colt needed to add his two bits to the goodbye. Hmph. Whatever.
"You know it, Seavers."
With that last parting comment, Tom watches as Colt slings an arm around Ryland's shoulder and tows him away, a storm cloud of annoyance practically brewing over him. Well, it's safe to say Tom had gotten what he'd wanted, even if it was a bit...unexpected, in how it played out. This little tidbit of information, though, now that was an ace up his sleeve.
The image of Ryland's pink face slid into his mind again, accompanied by an odd buzzing he didn't know how to decipher. Something for later. Gah, but if that flush of color across his startled expression wasn't satisfactory! Maybe even more than his usual serving of taunting Colt...
He's glad his eyes follow the set of twins for as long as they do-
No, that isn't creepy! Tom Ryder is never creepy. Creepy is for men in their fifties, and he was barely thirty-six. And ultra famous. And Tom Ryder. So.
-because he manages to catch Ryland turning to meet his eyes over the arm of his brother, offering a small wave of his hand to the actor.
Without a second thought, Tom blows a quick kiss and wiggles his fingers in a wave, stylish and effective.
Hm.
A small little thought slides its way into Ryder's head, burrowing into the back like a pesky bug. A bug he found he didn't particularly mind at all. Seriously, where were his sticky notes? This one was big.
He was going to score Colt Seaver's brother.