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It’s a Thursday morning, and Ryan is exactly where he wants to be.
Not LA, not the set of the show he’s been on for seven seasons, not even the trailer he shares with Oliver, though those places are all good too.
Right now, Ryan is straddling Oliver, knees digging into the cushions of the shitty couch they have in their trailer, hands twisted in the stupid starchy button up that covers the softer LAFD shirt that makes up their wardrobe, hips grinding down into Oliver’s lap. Their mouths are hot and wet against each other, breaths coming in short gasps because neither of them can stop and break apart long enough to take an actual breath. Ryan feels like his head is spinning, and he could blame that on lack of oxygen, except this is how he always feels when he’s with Oliver.
As much as Ryan misses the mustache, he also secretly is glad it’s gone, because he knows Oliver didn’t particularly enjoy making out with him when he had it. That did lead to some spectacular hickey placement on his collarbone, hips and other areas he could hide under wardrobe, because Oliver still couldn’t spend too long with his mouth away from Ryan’s skin.
Ryan has missed having a proper makeup session though, and clearly Oliver has too, if their mutual desperation is anything to go by. It’s harsh almost, only contradicted by the hand at his lower back, solid and grounding, but not forceful; and the hand at the nape of his neck, not grabbing his hair, but gently running his fingers at Ryan’s hair line.
His face is so red, he doesn’t need a mirror to know this. Ryan thinks it’s a little bit lucky that it’s so easy to get him going, or tease him in a way that makes his cheeks heated and bright. It’s a normal enough occurrence on set that everyone assumes it's Oliver’s fault when Ryan looks like that, that they’ve just been gently bullying each other. No one knows outright, though Ryan personally thinks Jennifer suspects something.
Oliver’s stubble is really doing it for him right now, too. He wants to burying his hands in Oliver’s hair, and move Oliver’s head exactly where he wants it so he can feel the burn of the stubble all fucking over, but hair and makeup are getting sick of Oliver sheepishly turning up for a “quick touch up” so frequently. They probably definitely know what Ryan and Oliver are getting up to, but luckily they’re excellent at keeping things secret.
For now, he has to settle for what Oliver is giving him, not that it’s a hardship. Ryan almost feels like a cat, the way he’s rubbing his face against Oliver’s just to feel the stretch of stubble against his clean shaven face. Oliver is more than happy to oblige, surging up to meet Ryan.
Ryan would be embarrassed by how desperate his grip is, but Oliver keeps letting out these little whimpers when he grips the shirt harder and rocks his hips down. And, god, this is perfect, and Ryan has the errant thought that he’d rather die than be forced to move right now.
Which is why it’s such a fucking shame when the alarm Ryan set on his phone goes off, way too soon.
Oliver doesn’t hear it, which means Ryan has to be the one to pull back. Oliver’s hands do grip him tighter then, and Ryan groans, leaning his forehead against Oliver’s, breaths coming hot and heavy like he just went for a run, close enough to Oliver’s mouth that they’re sharing some breaths.
Ryan shivers at that knowledge, and then through an act of extreme willpower, pulls him away, and pushes himself off the couch.
He looks down, and Oliver is full on pouting. It’s so fucking cute and endearing that Ryan wants to die.
“Baby, you know you have that instagram Q&A thing.”
Oliver rolls his eyes, and Ryan laughs.
“You literally agreed to do it!”
“Yeah, but that was when I was in a good mood.”
The good mood in question having been laying in bed with Ryan, a nice post-coital glow, mostly saying yes so he could get off the phone call and go back to what he and Ryan had been doing.
Oliver glares at the phone in Ryan’s hand as he shuts off the alarm.
“Were you hoping to use me as an excuse to get out of doing the Q&A?” Ryan honestly wouldn’t put it past him.
“Not my fault you jumped me as soon as I walked in here.” Oliver snarks at him, but there’s a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he begrudgingly stands up and straightens out his dress shirt. He carefully tucks the edges Ryan had pulled out, and Ryan walks over to redo one of the buttons that had popped out.
“Not helping, sweetheart.” Oliver clicks his tongue at him, eyes still heated, but now they can hear movement outside their trailer, and know that a PA and probably someone from Entertainment Weekly have been sent to find them.
“Be out in a second!” Ryan calls when the knock comes to their door.
He’s willing his boner to go down sooner rather than later, and sees Oliver adjusting himself through the front of his pants.
“You’re a fucking menace, you know that.” Oliver bitches at him, but that’s really just how Ryan knows he made the right call in risking a quick makeout session. Oliver is in a good enough mood now to make it through the Q&A without being a total brat. Ryan still has one more trick up his sleeve to sweeten the deal, though.
“I talked to Tim, and he said you could have other people in the videos when you answer. If you want.”
Oliver whips his head around from where he’s about to open the door.
“Who, like Aisha and Kenneth?”
And Ryan may have been premature in thinking Oliver wouldn’t be a brat.
“Well if that’s who you want, guess I’ll just stay in here then.”
Oliver rolls his eyes, and comes up to Ryan, leaning down the small difference between them to gently press their lips together one more time, endearingly chaste considering what they were doing five minutes ago.
“You can come too, asshole.”
When they walk on set to start the Q&A, Aisha’s eyebrows go as high as Ryan has ever seen them, and she mouths “what happened?” while pointing at her mouth.
Ryan’s face is still heated and flushed, so he just shrugs his shoulders like it’s any of the other times he’s gotten a red face after Oliver publicly teases him.
He only really understands what she meant when he sees himself on screen the first time when Oliver pans the camera over to him.
In between answering questions, he lightly punches Oliver’s shoulder, whispering “Thanks a lot, asshole.”
Oliver just smirks, and that’s how Ryan knows he didn’t tell him about the raging stubble burn on purpose. Possessive bastard.
“At least everyone will assume we were filming the buddie kiss.” Oliver’s face twists like he didn’t even think of that possibility, and Ryan laughs so hard that he’s kicked out from being part of the next few questions.