Chapter Text
The first time Ryan lets it get stuck under his skin is an incredibly sticky day in Sydney.
His commute home starts as the sun is setting, the air warm and foggy. There’s a gaggle of drunk college students sitting on the steps outside their flat, and he thinks, What would I do for that obliviousness again?
Neither Naim nor he ever finished fucking school, so they have to take what they can get. Naim is working part-time at some convenience store, and Ryan’s doing some construction gigs he found out about from a guy on the bus.
It’s a little terrible, but it’s not awful. They have enough money for their cramped little place and enough to splurge every once in a while. A couple months ago he splurged a little too much and brought Naim a gift.
The gift is curled up on Naim’s legs when he walks through the door, throwing his keys on the stained countertop and kicking his boots off.
Alfie’s a little black lap dog that’s more fur than bones at this point. Naim and he are wound around each other on the corner of their ratty old couch they found outside someone’s dorm.
I want you to have something. When I'm not here. Something to make me feel less fucking anxious about leaving you all alone.
It takes him all of four seconds to be immediately drawn into his presence, like a magnet ripped apart. Ryan leans over him until he’s basically crushing Naim into the couch, arms wrapped tight around his back and head thrown back on his neck.
“Get the fuck off me—you need to shower.” Naim’s laughing and his hands are coming up to half-heartedly push at his shoulders.
He nips at his throat just to hear his breath catch, a little stuttering sound that makes Ryan’s arms tighten around him.
“Later.”
“What do you mean ‘later’? You smell fucking awful; go change at least, you dick.”
He pulls back a little just to look into his face. His hair is all messy; he must’ve been napping. And his eyes are a little puffy too, little brown pools following his gaze.
“You’re a fucking creep I swear—“
Naim cuts himself off with a little yelp as he slides his hands underneath his shirt, slots his hands over his hip bones and wraps them around his waist.
He’s all squirmy around, Alfie getting startled by the movement and running off to their room. Ryan ignores Naim’s little lukewarm comments, kissing down his neck. He feels him flex underneath his hands and take a shuddering breath.
When Ryan sees it, he’s lavishing a kiss on his collarbone, and Naim is twisting a little blonde curl around his finger. He goes stiller than he’s ever felt in the last fucking six months, and a familiar sense of dread creeps from his core.
There’s a buzzing in his ears now, and he hears a little “Ryan?” slip out of Naim’s mouth. Big brown eyes coming to stare up at him.
"What?" His hands tighten over Naim’s waist. "The fuck is that?”
Naim blinks, looking a little too much like a deer about to become roadkill. His mouth opens but no sound comes out. Because he knows what Ryan’s talking about.
There’s a fucking hickey. Where his throat meets his shoulder, dark and ugly. A splattering of purple and blue and multiple little teeth indents.
He feels like he’s about to start throwing up his guts. He feels like the ground is about to swallow him up and grind him to pieces until he’s just a pile of organs. He knows that wasn’t him. He remembers everything about Naim. When he wakes up in the morning and throws his leg over his. When he needs Ryan to stand outside the shower curtain. The little noises he makes into his mouth at night.
Fucking hell, he remembers more about Naim than he remembers about himself. He would remember if he left that ugly thing.
Naim is a little too quiet underneath him. His fingers have dropped from his hair to the fabric of his jumper, fidgeting with the little strings. “It’s not what you think.”
“It better fucking not be.”
Ryan’s hand moves up from his chest, cupping his face. He runs his fingers along his collarbones before he presses his thumb into the bruise, feeling around.
Naim makes a little hurt sound, hands coming up to fist in his jacket, and something ugly in his chest grows.
“Are you going to fucking say anything?”
There’s a moment of silence that feels like it stretches on for ages.
“It found me.”
It’s so quiet Ryan almost thinks he misheard him. But he keeps going on.
“I was taking a cig break at work outside, and it found me.”
His words are vague and simple, and Ryan feels the floodgates open.
The thing wearing his face left that. He didn’t break his nose or pull out his teeth; he pushed Naim up against the wall in an alley and bit down until he heard him cry.
What the fuck?
“It fucking bit you?”
Ryan knows he’s being a little bit mean. He knows that Naim was probably terrified and alone and on edge for the rest of the day. But there’s a pit in his stomach that just feels like it’s getting deeper.
“Did you let him fuck you too?”
That seems to snap Naim out of whatever trance he’s in. He snaps his head back away from Ryan and pushes him off him so quickly he stumbles over a snag in the carpet.
“God, you’re such a fucking dickhead." Naim storms to their room so quickly his footsteps resonate with the slam of the door.
Ryan’s following after him as soon as he can. His steps are heavy, and his fists are even louder banging on the door.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean it like that.
He slams on the door again, and there’s an odd amount of silence on the other side.
“Listen, I was being a cunt, alright? Jesus, you don’t have to speak to me, but don’t lock yourself in there.”
He seriously considers going out the door and climbing up the fire escape before he hears the click of the door.
Naim is lying on his side on their cramped little bed pushed up against the wall, spindly fingers fisted in the doona. When he slinks behind him and knocks their knees together, there’s a shuddering little breath.
“Fuck, don’t cry.”
When he tries to turn him over, Naim punches him in the shoulder. Ow. When he finally faces him, Ryan has to pry his hands off his face.
He looks angry. His eyebrows are all furrowed up, and there are tears stuck to his chin. His eyelashes are sticky and fanning across his face.
Ryan wants him so fucking bad.
He pulls him closer to him and brushes their noses together, letting their breath mingle. I’m sorry. He doesn’t say it again.
When they finally kiss, it’s different than usual. There’s a sense of desperation that neither of them had felt since that day in the mill. Ryan can taste the salt of Naim’s tears on his tongue and the little gasps that keep cutting him off.
His neck is going to hurt tomorrow, and there’s spit dripping down his chin onto his shirt, but he honestly couldn’t care less.
Ryan needs to see all of him. He rolls them over until he’s hovering on top of him and Naim’s hands are flat on the bed below him.
He’s so beautiful. He can feel his pulse hammering from his wrists, like a little rabbit. They keep making out, and Ryan wonders if they kissed for long enough if he could crawl into him and live inside his soul.
Naim is the one who breaks their kiss to thread his hands between Ryan’s neck, fingers getting caught in the short hair back there. He’s squirming underneath him, a box of nerves.
“You can still go to hell.”
Ryan huffs out a little laugh, dropping his head a little bit to kiss the inside of his wrist.
He slots his leg in between his to hear his breath catch, his hands glued to Naim’s waist.
He might be going fucking crazy. Naim is making these little hurt sounds in his mouth, and it’s going straight to his dick. Ryan grinds down a little harder, and Naim throws his arm over his eyes, letting out a little whine.
He catches his hand and laces their fingers together, drawing little circles with his pointer.
“Hey. You know I don’t like that—don't fucking hide from me.” Ryan’s words come out a little more stunted than he wants them to be.
Naim’s hand pulses against his. If only they were connected at this point like those stupid dolls his mum used to buy his sister at the shops; do not separate, only come as a pair!
He’s stuck in his musings when he realises Naim has gone a little too quiet below him. He can feel his hand tighten against him, and he buries his head in between the crook of his neck. He’s shaking.
Before he can ask what’s wrong, there’s a sudden loud bang from the fire escape outside of their window. When he looks over, his heart drops.
There’s nothing there.
The ugly feeling from before festers deeper into his chest. “Don’t look at him. Look at me. I’m here.” Every word that drops from his mouth feels like a blade. Ryan’s fucking sick over the idea of Naim going anywhere he can’t follow. “Look at me.”
Naim lifts his head up, and his eyes flit over to the window. Before he can say anything, Ryan’s mouth is back on his.
This time, it’s messier. He feels like he’s devouring every part of him, and it’s still not enough for Ryan. And Naim is just letting him take, and take, and take.
He breaks off for one second to slip Naim’s jumper off and to nip at the jut of his hipbones. He lathers kisses over them, fingers closing around his waist.
He’s as waifish as he’s always been, all big sad eyes and skinny limbs. It takes Ryan a minute to fumble with his belt before he’s slipping both their hands into his jeans, wrapping Naim’s slender fingers around his dick. His own hand finds Naim’s pyjama pants, moving his mouth up to kiss his shoulders.
Naim’s movements are a little too quick and shaky, but he can’t really bring himself to fucking care. All he can feel is how much he wants him, and Ryan speeds up a little just to hear him whine.
He knows Naim is about to come because he gets this little twitch in his leg and he starts making these tiny little whimpers in the back of his throat. Ryan brings his other hand to cup his face, running his thumb over his lip and wiping his own spit all over his chin. He feels himself grow close as well, his hand getting a little rougher.
When he comes, he pushes the edge of his thumb into the little bruise on his neck, hearing him let out a little cry. Naim stutters in his palm before he spills into his hand, falling flat back onto the bed. His chest is heaving when Ryan falls next to him.
“Can you please go get in the fucking shower now?” Naim sounds too out of breath for him to take him seriously.
He turns over so he can nuzzle at his cheek, blonde curls tickling his ear. Naim burrows deeper into his chest before turning his back to him so he can talk.
He’s so bad at communicating it’d be almost endearing if it didn’t make Ryan want to rip his own head off.
“You know that I just want you.” The sentence comes out a little too quickly, like he had to piece the words back together as they left his mouth.
Ryan blinks. There’s a sudden burning in his eyes that he rubs away with the back of his palm. He slides over to his back and hitches his leg over Naim’s knees, laying a kiss on his forehead.
“I know.”
They stay like that until Naim’s breaths start to even out, fingers falling limp and head lolling to the side. Ryan stays up a little longer, eyes glued to the darkness outside their window.
He knows that since Naim’s asleep, it’s gone. But he still drapes his arm over him and traces a protective finger over his heart; you can’t get him.