Work Text:
Work has never been so good.
Corporate never was. Temping sure as hell wasn’t.
The Michael Scott Paper Company, however, well. It’s a whole other story.
This beginning of their struggling business has been disorganised, full of bickering and cheeseballs and regret. Ryan also hasn’t felt this passionate about something since before it all came crashing down on him a year ago. He’s clinging to it, to Michael’s enthusiasm, like a sinking life raft. Hence why he’s moved out of his mom’s and into Michael’s condo.
The day-to-day of the company is touch-and-go, unpredictable, chaotic. It makes the little routine he and Michael have formed after hours all the more enjoyable.
At five, Michael drives them home in the van. They talk business, their voices incrementally growing louder and louder until, without realising, they’re practically yelling with excitement over their new ideas. Michael has some very clever ideas hidden amongst the ridiculous ones, and Ryan thinks he might not have been such a bad addition to corporate after all.
Ryan likes to pull off his tie and nap on Michael’s sofa when they get home. It’s comfy and smells like his soap. Michael usually watches TV beside him. Ryan doesn’t mind the background noise; it reminds him of New York.
They eat dinner at seven most nights. Michael might try to cook something for them - he’s tried pasta and steak - but he’s not a great cook and they usually end up having takeout instead. Ryan likes how Michael winds down a little at this time of night. Still silly, cracking jokes or doing offensive impressions across the table with a twinkle in his eye, but calmer. He likes how there are no cameras, either. It means he’s not putting on a show.
Ryan loves curling up into Michael after he’s showered. The smell of his shampoo is sweet and his body is warm and his hair is a little damp and he’s the loveliest he ever is. They watch some bad TV; Ryan thinks Glee is derivative and superficial, but he can’t help but smile at Michael’s over-the-top investment in the teen drama, so he puts up with it.
He usually can’t wait to get upstairs before making a move on Michael. He’ll kiss his neck, his ear, his sideburn, as he watches TV, and Michael will grin ear to ear and turn to kiss his mouth. Ryan likes to straddle him and hold his handsome face and kiss his long nose. He likes to pull off Michael’s pyjamas and boxers and pull down his own shorts and briefs and ride him there on the sweet-smelling sofa.
They’ll head to bed after that. Michael’s mattress is almost too soft, like the man himself, but it’s not as bad as the one in rehab, so he doesn’t mind. Michael gets sleepy much earlier than Ryan, he wakes up at five most days, so by ten his eyelids are heavy and his smile is lazy and his words begin to slur.
Ryan gets concerned texts from his mom. He hasn’t been home for a while now, and she clearly suspects he’s using again. It might be easier to let her believe that than tell her he’s living with Michael fucking Scott of all people. He settles for a middle ground and tells her he’s with Kelly.
He turns off his Blackberry, ignoring her and the very few friends who still text him, and kisses Michael some more as he starts to drift off. He likes to shuffle down under the covers and suck him off, rubbing his hand up and down his hairy belly and relishing in his dirty praises and contented moans and firm grip on his blonde hair.
Afterwards, Michael’s face is pink and giddy and he always falls asleep no more than five minutes after. It’s usually after a joke about how Ryan used to be his boss and how Jan never did that to him when she was at corporate, which Ryan rolls his eyes at but can never think of a good retort because the bizarreness of it all is not lost on him.
Ryan usually stays up for a few hours after Michael falls asleep. He texts, or he reads a bad magazine on Michael’s bedside, or he creeps out of bed and explores the condo.
A shelf of Dundies, a terrible attempt at what appears to be a homemade coffee table, a photo album full of photos of Dunder Mifflin employees. He’s such an odd man, in so many ways. Bumbling, blundering, inappropriate. Ryan tries very hard not to think about the overwhelming fondness he has for him. Each night, when he’s finally tired, he crawls back into bed and wraps himself around him.
In the mornings, Ryan slinks out of bed in the dark and finds Michael making elaborate, surprisingly delicious breakfast concoctions. He’s stopped the Foreman grill thing though, thank god (“The price you pay for mobility,” he had sighed when Ryan asked). They drink coffee and discuss their delivery route and Ryan is half asleep while Michael is somehow brimming with energy. Ryan thinks he’s like if the sun were a middle-aged man.
They get dressed, brush their teeth and are out the door long before sunrise. Michael chats away at him on the ride to Pam’s; Ryan leans his head against the glass and tries to go back to sleep.
They sit a metre apart, throwing cheeseballs and taking orders and making it all up as they go. They eat pizza and make fun of Dunder Mifflin and drive around town delivering paper at the lowest possible prices. Ryan spends every hour of his day with Michael, unbeknownst to anyone but the two of them.
The company is uncertain, fleeting, paper-thin ice beneath them. It should leave him a nervous wreck. But every day, Michael looks across the room at least a dozen times and grins cheekily at him. Ryan smirks back, trying not to look too affected. Who's he kidding? Work has never been so good.