Ricky looks into the mirror above the tiny sink. He's not a pretty sight. At least the black eye from some fight at the weekend is finally starting to yellow. There'd been a lot of fights lately. And the airplane bathroom lighting probably doesn’t help, but undeniably he looks rough. Pale with purplish-brown shadows under the bruises, Ricky looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Which, in another couple of hours, will be true; he's barely slept since he got the phone call.
Death is never convenient, but this couldn’t have come at a worse time. Ricky frowns at himself in the mirror; even in his own head he felt heartless. But he couldn’t pretend he and his father hadn’t been semi-estranged since his early 20s. Ricky on the other side of the world, only speaking to his father when the business required something of him. Ricky doesn't think his father had called once to just speak to him.
The last time they’d spoken was more than a month ago when Ricky had been receiving instructions about the Boston job. He can’t remember if he’d said goodbye or not, and he wishes he could just fucking remember so he can stop thinking about it.
Ricky checks his phone. Ryan’s going live is less than an hour but Ricky’s going to have to skip his stream. He’s got too much to get in place.
Under other circumstances he might be disappointed — this is the last stream Ryan will be doing for two weeks since his boyfriend is whisking him away for a birthday trip. A birthday trip to a place less than 40 minutes away from where Ricky will be at the end of this flight.
It was fate then, Ricky couldn’t help thinking. Family obligation dragging him back to a place he’d vowed never to go again, while a happy chance brought Ryan into an overlapping circumference.
He pushes his hair back, he needs to dye it again before next week. He wants to look good. He wants to look good for him. Ricky smudges his fingers under his eyes. And sleep, he needs to sleep. He should go back to his seat and try to sleep.
But now he’s started thinking about Ryan. Ryan grinning into the camera, Ryan strumming his guitar or dropping his controller, the tiny crease between Ryan’s eyebrows when his boyfriend called from the other room. Ricky rubs his thumbs over the rings in his lip absently. He looks at himself in the mirror again. He feels that wicked, wired, wildfire desire stealing over him.
Ricky takes a slow breath and then pops the button on his jeans. His security will probably wonder what he’s been doing in the bathroom so long, but they're too professional and too well paid to ask. He licks his palm and slips a hand into his underwear. He presses his palm on the mirror, grunting as he fits his hand around his cock. The sensation is unexpectedly intense. A heady cocktail of altitude and sleep deprivation making Ricky nearly bite through his lip to keep himself from moaning.
Ricky strokes his cock, hips flexing against the movement, looking into his own eyes as he thinks of Ryan. How his skin would feel, and smell, and taste. How soft his hair and how rough his stumble would be as he kissed Ricky’s skin. How he’d feel under him, above him. How his hands would feel between Ricky’s thighs right where his own is now. Ricky can feel his thighs tenses as his gut twists up tight at the thought.
Ryan moans, back arching, as he slips another finger into his hole. He grunts feeling the stretch. He’s naked on his back on the bed. He’d wanted to work off a little energy before getting online and his guy is still at work. Or at the bar. Ryan doesn’t know and he’s trying to not mind.
Ricky groans, slapping his hand across his mouth to keep the sound in. He’s sweating as he strokes his cock. His thighs are quivering, his stomach pulling taut as he fucks into his palm. Ricky stares into the mirror, seeing his eyes glossy and bright. Ricky clamps his hands tighter, moaning deep in his chest.
Eyes on the skyline he can see out of the window, Ryan strokes himself. They’re going on holiday next week. Flights and hotels booked. No getting out of it and in spite of the fact Ryan had said he didn’t want to make his birthday a big thing. Ryan smooths his thumb over the head of his cock — he doesn’t want to think about that right now.
Ricky can feel the orgasm on the edge of his senses, sprawling beneath his skin and curling up his spine. Tiny shocks start sparking in his fingertips and down his thighs as his gut gives a final twist and he comes. Ricky gasps, palm muffling the sound. He works himself through it slowly, feeling his come hot and sticky on his skin.
Ryan squirms, cock pulsing as he works his fingers in and out of his hole. He strokes his cock faster, the sound of the lube sticky and obscene in the silence of his apartment. He can feel his body clutching and clenching as he gets closer. Ryan moans loud and raw. Frustration and loneliness pluck at him as he feels the orgasm unfurling in his hips. He arches, clenching tight around his fingers and spilling hot on his stomach.
Ricky washes his hands and wets his face. He eyes himself. At least the orgasm had brought a bit of colour to his face. Perhaps now he’d be able to sleep for a couple of hours. He’s not looking forward to what’s coming when they arrive. Ricky sighs deeply and unlocks the door.
Ryan softens against the mattress. He feels cold now and he needs a shower but he’s finding it difficult to motivate himself to move. His limbs feel heavy. Ryan forces himself upright, done with wallowing for now. This holiday is going to be fun. They’re going to have fun. Ryan is going to have fun. Ryan lets out a very deep sigh and gets up off the bed.