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Title: Right After I Disappear
Author: [personal profile] waltzforanight
Fandom: Alt-Country RPF
Pairing: Ryan Adams/Rhett Miller
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,297
Summary: "One day, I'm gonna - in ten years, or like, in five years, I'm going to play that song for you, and you'll see."
Notes: Today is [personal profile] sionnain's birthday! So I wrote her this fic, because she's awesome. bb, we had our mushy conversation yesterday about how much ILU, but it bears repeating, so: ILU WITH ALL THE GLITTERY GLUE SNUGGLY SOULBONDEDNESS IN THE UNIVERSE. Happy Birthday! :D




Rhett doesn't remember how they ended up here - he'll blame the whisky for that, if anyone asks, or maybe whatever that pill was he took before the show. There are a lot of options and a lot of excuses he can pull from if he has to. Not that they're really doing anything wrong, just hanging out in some abandoned lecture hall after an on-campus gig. The only thing is, he's not sure if they're even allowed to be in here, him and Ryan, and even if they are, there's probably some rule against drinking in a college classroom.

Either way, that's what Rhett's doing: killing a bottle of Jim Beam with Ryan Adams at a college in Poughkeepsie.

Mostly it's Rhett doing the drinking. Ryan is too busy rolling and crawling around on the floor while he talks endlessly, jumping from one topic to the next with no discernible connection between any of them. If he's being honest, Rhett has absolutely no idea what anything Ryan says actually means, but Ryan is as enthusiastic as they come and all his flailing and grand hand gestures are compelling despite how he doesn't make sense.

Right now, he's explaining to Rhett how fireflies are the lost burning souls of Greek gods, and how that relates back to... Oasis.

"It's like - it's like that song, you know, that Wonderwall song?"

Rhett rolls his eyes, which makes Ryan scramble from his sprawl on the floor to his knees, snapping his fingers frantically. "Ah! What was that for? I saw you, Mr Nice Guy, I saw you roll your eyes. Why?" he demands, a manic grin spread across his face.

"I don't like that song," Rhett says simply, leaning his head back against the concrete wall. "It's so - so whiny."

"It is not!" Ryan protests, crawling forward so that he's right in Rhett's face. "It's fucking beautiful, don't you see that?"

Rhett shrugs. It's not like he has some kind of deep hatred for the song, really, he just doesn't see what the big fucking deal is, or how it relates to Greek mythology. "I guess it's okay," he replies, taking a long drink of the whisky and offering the bottle to Ryan, who shakes his head. This might be the first time Rhett has ever seen him refuse alcohol. "Don't get all the hype, though."

"Rhett," Ryan says slowly, his voice dripping exaggerated patience. "You can't - you gotta ignore hype. Hype is evil, hype will eat your soul, you gotta forget about that. It doesn't matter if fucking mainstream radio plays the song a million times a day. You gotta, gotta focus on the words, man. Words and music and the twisting pattern, the way they flow and dance together, it's got nothing to do with hype, it's just - it's music, man. The rest -"

"I know," Rhett interrupts. "Jeez, I am a musician, you know. I know what the point is. I'm just saying, I don't think it's that great a song."

Ryan gives a long suffering sigh, as if they'd been having this conversation for twenty years and not two minutes. "One day, I'm gonna - in ten years, or like, in five years, I'm going to play that song for you, and you'll see. You'll see that it's beautiful like you."

Rhett stares at him for a moment, unsure if he just heard what he thinks he just heard. It's hard to tell with Ryan. Sometimes you have to pause, sit back and replay everything he says in order to find that one little thing that may or may not have been there.

And then it doesn't matter what Ryan said, because actions scream meaning where words cloud the same, and there's nothing to question about the fact that Ryan is kissing Rhett. His hands are fisted in Rhett's t-shirt, so tight that Ryan is actually shaking, vibrating like a pulled wire while Rhett just sits there and wonders where the hell this came from. Nothing about this makes sense, and maybe he can blame that on whisky, too, but there's also the fact that Ryan's mouth is wet and soft and surprisingly gentle.

Gentle, at least, until he bites hard on Rhett's bottom lip and Rhett groans, loud. He finally gets with the program just as Ryan seems to be giving up. Before Ryan can pull away, Rhett roughly - maybe too roughly, he's had a lot of whisky and he's still pretty shocked by what's going on here - grabs Ryan's back with both hands and kinda shoves him forward so that their bodies slam together with a faint thump.

Ryan never needs much encouragement to do anything, Rhett's noticed, whether it's to sing a song he made up in his head five seconds ago or bring out a second bottle of whatever's around or, like right now, to make out with someone. All Rhett's done so far is give him that one nudge, and Ryan is climbing into his lap, straddling him and pressing in close.

Not, it has to be said, that Rhett is in any way complaining about this. Ryan fits against him like a missing piece of the puzzle, and a rush of warmth, one that has nothing to do with whisky, runs through Rhett's veins. Because Ryan kisses the same way he does everything, with a scatterbrained intensity that leaves Rhett dizzy and glad that he's leaning against a wall for support.

Rhett slides his hands down Ryan's back to his thighs, holding him steady while Rhett shoves up, grinding his erection against - a-ha - Ryan's. Which is pretty fucking amazing, but the best part of it is that makes Ryan whimper, a little broken and a lot needy. Not usually Rhett's thing, needy, he prefers independence and strength, but for whatever reason the noise Ryan makes turns him on like crazy.

And it's not just him, that much is obvious from the way Ryan kisses him harder and starts rolling his hips down. So it doesn't make any sense when suddenly Ryan is gone, scrambling out of Rhett's lap as fast as he climbed into it. His hands are out of Rhett's hair, no more pulling, and Rhett misses that instantly, almost as much as he misses the heat that burned between them, and the way Ryan tasted like grape whisky bubblegum, as if that were a real thing. It's cold without him.

The clues don't fit until Ryan stands up and says, too loud, "Hey, Caitlin! What's up, girlie?"

"Mike's looking for you," she says warily, like she knows something is going on. Rhett tries not to pant and hopes he doesn't look completely debauched. "Somethin' is wrong with his guitar. I don't know what the hell he's talking about, though. Sounds fine to me."

Ryan nods emphatically. "Yes, right, excellent, okay," he says in a rush. "I will come and help him out with that, yeah. Whatever that is." He heads towards the long row of stairs, taking them two at a time until he gets about halfway up. There, he stops and turns around, regarding Rhett seriously. "Thank you for your time, Mr Miller," he says seriously, bending into a low bow. He straightens up again and raises his hand in an army salute that turns into a middle finger salute, then giggles and runs the rest of the way back up the stairs.

When he's gone, Rhett is still trying to figure out what the hell just happened as he lays down on the floor with his knees in the air. Mostly, though, he wonders just how inappropriate it would be to jack off in an institution of higher learning, and whether he can blame alcohol for that, too, if he gets caught.
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