No Regrets
by Pic
Rated: A, Slash
Pairing: Tom McLaren/Ryan Simms
Spoilers: Minor (extremely so) for Vertical Limit
Summary: Tom and Ryan have just completed an Everest expedition together in an AU setting.
Disclaimer: Recognizable characters arent mine.
Author's Notes: This is a case of not really wanting to listen to my muse so he just kept getting louder. Thanks to Sue and Missy for taking a big picture look at the story and to Missy for getting into the details despite knowing neither of these characters very well (she really must get over her Buffy the Vampire Slayer and XF fandom biases).
Series: Sequel Parisian Regrets, follows
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
"Nice job up there, Tommy."
"Thanks, Bill." Tom McLaren accepted his colleague's praise as he limped toward his base camp tent. He'd checked on just about everyone in the successful Everest summit team - five of them were in the makeshift infirmary and each of the others had their own bruises, strains and sprains. It had been the toughest climb of McLaren's career, and he'd expended nearly every ounce of his energy and used all of his skill to bring everyone back down with him.
Without Ryan Simms and Elaine Sinclair, things would've been a lot worse. Elaine was recovering from frostbite and a stress fracture of her left ankle, but the young man with the uncanny resemblance to himself was nowhere to be found.
Probably getting laid, Tom thought. Ryan had a confident, easy way with women that Tom had never quite been able to achieve. Women liked Tom well enough, but they flitted around Simms like moths to a flame.
Chuckling at how his thoughts had meandered down a path that his body hadn't a prayer of following, even if the woman of his dreams miraculously turned up in his tent, McLaren bent his head and stepped out of the biting wind.
"Hey, Tom," Ryan Simms greeted, broad but tired smile on his face. "Join me?"
He couldn't help it; McLaren laughed. A guy that could've been him five or so years ago, except for the longer hair, was about the furthest cry from the woman of his dreams that Tom could imagine. Still, Ryan had a barely dented bottle of single malt Scotch positioned next to his elbow on Tom's small camp table to recommend him. McLaren nodded without more thought. A drink, he could use.
Simms poured a stiff double in the empty glass and added a bit to his own to even the level of the two. Sinking into one of the other chairs with a heavy sigh, McLaren glanced at the bottle, noting the 18-year, port wood aged Balvenie label with approval, and reached for his drink. Before sampling, Tom took a moment to savor the aroma, closing his eyes to enhance the experience.
"Smells great," McLaren murmured, reluctantly forcing his eyes open.
"Here's to what went up coming down in one piece," Ryan offered, eyeing the older man closely, not sure whether his toast would be well received.
"More or less." Wearily, Tom added, "I will definitely drink to that."
They did, both thinking about what they'd endured together, with McLaren dwelling on what had been and Simms contemplating what might yet be.
Ryan spoke first. "How did this compare with your first assault on Everest?"
"All the trouble came on the way down this time." Tom smiled at his glorious understatement. This descent had been sheer hell. Only four hours after they'd begun, the weather had turned for the worse in a big way. "It was nice to summit without anything to dampen your good mood."
"That was such a rush," Simms commented with enthusiasm. "I know it's a cliché, but I felt like I was on top of the world."
"There's no feeling like it, Ryan. Don't be embarrassed."
Sheepish grin on his face, Simms asked, "Did summitting feel differently the second time?"
McLaren completely understood the question at a visceral rather than an intellectual level. "I appreciated it more. I was so exhausted the first time, I don't think I really stopped to look around, much less think about what I'd accomplished."
"You didn't?" Smiling at Ryan's incredulity, Tom sipped his scotch and shrugged. "Pride does strange things to a man, Ryan. I assumed I'd be back. More than once."
"So this was more satisfying then?"
"A lot more," Tom averred quietly. "I understand better what it means. How rare the opportunity is."
Intrigued, Ryan asked, "What changed?"
"I did," McLaren admitted with a chuckle. "I've heard that the phenomenon is called maturity. You might experience it in a decade or so."
"Not if I can help it!"
Simms' engaging grin coaxed another small smile out of McLaren. "It kind of sneaks up on you, Ryan."
Laughing, Simms asserted, "I've got eyes in the back of my head. If this maturity thing can be ducked, I'm the man to do it."
"Your dedication to immaturity is … impressive."
"What can I say? I'm an impressive guy, Tom."
"If you do say so yourself," McLaren countered, taking another sip of single malt.
"I do, but I'm not the only one."
Not really wanting to hear a full accounting of those impressed with Ryan Simms, Tom simply agreed, "No, you aren't."
"What's that mean, Tommy?"
"It means thanks for the help up there, Ryan." When the younger man shrugged and gestured dismissively, McLaren added, "Don't you dare say it was nothing."
"The last thing you needed was a panicked television network executive. I kept him focused. That's all."
The single malt was going down so smoothly that Tom didn't try and resist the urge to freely partake of another man's booze, noting, "C'mon, Ryan, Darren Noonan was a royal pain in your ass."
"Yeah, but I kept him out of your way and you got us all down. Seemed like a good deal for everybody. Even the queen bitch said so."
Tom smiled at Ryan's characterization of Elaine's harridan of the mountain act. "She's just … ah … too intense sometimes."
Eyes twinkling with mischief, Ryan slyly asked, "She that way in bed?"
"What makes you think I have any idea?"
"Is that a yes?"
The light-hearted mood was catching, despite Tom's fatigue. "No, that was a question."
Ryan chuckled. "Didn't your mother teach you that it was rude to answer a question with a question, Tom?"
Holding up his glass to admire the color of the scotch, McLaren countered, "Didn't yours tell you it wasn't a good idea to ask personal questions of someone you barely know?"
"I feel like I should know you."
The hint of seriousness in Ryan's voice attracted Tom's attention. Surprisingly, it matched the look on Simms' face. Curious, Tom pursued the topic. "Why? Because we look alike?"
"Partially."
"Partially?" McLaren repeated softly, trying to reason his way through the conversation. "I'm too tired for cryptic, Ryan. What's on your mind?"
"Harsh climactic conditions and fear for my life make me think about sex," Simms announced, grinning. "So I want to hear about the last time Elaine made you scream."
Startled, Tom blushed bright red, but rapidly recovered enough to ask, "Why do I suspect that just about everything calls sex to your immature mind?"
"Because you vaguely recollect what it's like to be my age."
McLaren's muttered, "Vaguely recollect, my ass," didn't deter or deflect Simms.
"Tell me about Elaine climbing Mt. McLaren," Ryan needled.
Groaning, Tom protested, "Why my sex life? Why Elaine?"
"Think of it as the price of as much good scotch as you can drink, Tommy."
Trying to regain his composure, McLaren challenged, "What's this really about, Ryan? I can't believe that you have to live vicariously through anybody when it comes to sex."
"You're stalling."
"No, I'm not. I'm just--."
"Stalling," Ryan finished for him. Dragging his chair closer to Tom's, Simms said, "Look, we've just climbed the highest mountain in the world and almost paid the ultimate price. We cheated death; I want to talk about life. Balance my karma."
"You expect a discussion of Elaine's bedroom technique to balance your karma?"
"Let's not be unnecessarily strict. Bedroom. Sleeping bag. Hotel room shower. Hall closet. Whatever setting's appropriate."
Tom regarded the man sitting less than a foot away. Simms looked both expectant and attentive when he placed a companionable hand on Tom's nearest shoulder. "Tell me," Ryan prompted softly. When McLaren didn't speak, Ryan noted, "The two of you argue like an old married couple, you know."
"We do?"
"Yep. Talk, McLaren. I'll top you off."
Watching Simms deftly pour for each of them, Tom wondered why he was even considering this. Arriving at no answer that made any sense, he tentatively offered, "We're quits, Ryan. Have been for over a year now. We didn't want the same things."
"Oh? What do you want, Tom?"
In the presence of this virtual twin, the answer to that question came more quickly than it ever had. "A partner. I want someone who's my partner in as many ways as I can get."
"What was Elaine?"
"A rival professionally. A critic personally. And … ah … she really likes to be in charge in bed."
Smirking, Ryan asked, "She tie you down, Tommy?"
"Occasionally."
As McLaren suspected he would, Ryan ignored his clipped tone and forged ahead. "And have her wicked way with you?"
"You could say that."
Curiosity surging to the fore, Ryan asked, "What's that mean?"
Tensely, Tom admitted, "I really don't want to talk about this, Ryan."
"Ok," Simms temporized. "Let's go back to the original premise - tell me about the last time she made you scream."
Staring at his drink, the tired guide inhaled slowly and exhaled all in a rush. "That was the last time period." When Ryan remained silent, Tom took another sip, tried to shrug off his unease and clarified, "The last time she decided that restraints were a good idea."
The strain in McLaren's voice finally backed Simms off. "Hey, look, Tom. You don't have to …"
Tom heard Ryan speaking but didn't pay attention; he was lost in the memory. "She made me crazy. It felt so good, I was begging her to let me come. Then she decided to throw a little pain into the mix. It was incredible at first, but I'd hurt my back. After a while the painkillers I'd taken wore off and the muscles started spasming. I asked her to stop, but she was getting off on the whole scene. She wouldn't ease up and I kind of freaked out. By the time she got the idea that I wasn't kidding, I'd torn up my wrists and ankles trying to get loose, separated my right shoulder and totally fucked up my back."
This hadn't been what Ryan had had in mind, but here they were, embroiled in a conversation that was uncomfortable for both of them. Trying to calm things down, he asked, "Didn't you have a safe word?"
"Yeah. I was babbling it over and over. Do you know how ridiculous, not to mention difficult it is for a grown man to repeat the word lobotomy when he's fighting panic? I felt like a complete idiot."
Suddenly, Tom became aware that the hand on his shoulder had taken to kneading the sore, tense muscles beneath it. He'd wrenched the hell out of that shoulder doing some tough ice axe work on the mountain and the ministrations were working out some of the stiffness. "Thanks," he muttered, embarrassed by his revelation and glad for something else to say.
"Huh?"
A hint of a smile appeared on Tom's lips. Finally, Ryan was off balance a little, too. Tapping his index finger on Ryan's massaging hand, McLaren repeated, "Thanks."
"Oh, you're welcome." After pausing briefly and biting his lower lip, Ryan ventured, "Hey, Tom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories. I just wanted to drink with someone else and laugh a little."
"Apology accepted, Ryan. But if you want to know how the lobotomy chapter in the story of Elaine and Tom ends, move that hand down about three inches and keep up the good work."
Simms chuckled in McLaren's ear and did as he was bid, massaging fingers shifting muscle groups effortlessly. "Only if you want to tell it, Tommy. Ok?"
Not analyzing the impulse, McLaren proceeded. "I was so pissed. I've never been anywhere near that angry in bed. But, then again, I'd never been that scared either. She apologized several times as she uncuffed me and bandaged my wrists and ankles, but I couldn't stop yelling at her. And, to tell you the truth, I didn't try. I wanted to punish her for making me feel out of control and helpless."
Applying both hands to McLaren's sore shoulder, Ryan softly inquired, "Is this ok?"
"Um Hm. I think maybe I could lift my hand up above my head now."
"Glad to help."
"Yeah, I could've used you that night with Elaine. After she patched me up, I sat there, leaning against the headboard, holding my shoulder -- the same shoulder you're working on now - trying to manage my back pain. When my anger faded, all I felt was tired and embarrassed. And she kissed me. No gentle, ‘Are you all right' kiss, either. That wasn't what she was interested in. She wanted to pick up where we'd left off. When I finally caught my breath, I declined in every way I could think of. I even made up some new ways to say ‘No,' I think." Remembering vividly once again, McLaren fell silent, expression pensive.
"Didn't you say your shoulder was separated?" Ryan prompted, unable to contain his curiosity about this man who looked so like him but seemed so different and the situation he was describing.
"Well, what do you know? Young Ryan is paying attention."
"You bet, old man."
"I got it looked at the next day." Smiling slightly, Tom glanced over his shoulder at Simms. Nearly identical green eyes held his captive. Staring at Ryan, he recalled, "She kept telling me to relax. I tried to, but I hurt so much. But Elaine … she was focused, determined, persistent, all the things that make her an awesome climber. No one was going to stand, sit or recline between her and her goal. Certainly not the likes of me." McLaren sighed and smiled ruefully at Ryan. "And I have to admit, as a friend of mine from Detroit, Michigan used to say, ‘She could suck chrome off a bumper.'"
Simms grinned appreciatively, "She's got the lips for it."
"Don't ever let her hear you say that." Looking away, Mclaren added, "Or get wind of a rumor that you did."
"I recognize good advice when I hear it, Tommy."
Laughing and surprised by it, McLaren added, "To make an already too long story shorter, she used that very talented mouth to drag a bone dissolving orgasm out of me. At that moment, I thought I loved her. Five minutes later, I knew I didn't. She was looking at me like … like …" Shaking his head, Tom inexplicably decided to tell Ryan the whole truth. "Like I was a favorite pet who had disappointed her somehow. I couldn't handle that, so I got out of bed, managed to pull on some clothes, find my car keys and kiss her goodbye. I didn't go back, Ryan. And she didn't call."
"And yet the two of you worked together amazingly well on this expedition. Now I'm impressed, Tom."
"There's no room for personal bullshit on the mountain, Ryan. Not with the weather we ran into, anyway"
Leaning forward and resting his chin on McLaren's shoulder, Simms noted, "Intellectually, I can't argue with you, but people are illogical, emotional organisms."
"Is that so, Mr. Spock?"
"That is so, Captain," Ryan countered, lifting his head and raising his hand, fingers deployed in the well-known "V" of a Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper."
Feeling the alcohol a bit, Tom gave into a reckless impulse. "Well, in order to do that, Mr. Simms, I'd say that I need balanced karma, too."
Smiling wickedly at the challenge in the other man's tone, Ryan asked, "What sort of sexcapade do you want to hear about, Tommy?"
Countering with a smirk, McLaren turned slightly in his chair to look Simms in the eye more comfortably. Startled momentarily by how close Ryan was sitting, Tom covered by making an open-ended suggestion. "Surprise me."
After sliding his chair still closer, Ryan put an arm around McLaren's shoulders and smiled winningly at the older man. "Let's see. What would surprise a man that climbs serious mountains for a living? Hmmm?" Mischievously, Ryan asked, "How ‘bout a hint, Tommy?" before planting a quick kiss on the tip of McLaren's nose.
Eyes widened in shock and thoroughly disconcerted, Tom leaned away from the other man, mumbling, "Ah … I … I'm not sure." But a very stubborn part of him resisted backing down, so he added, "Besides, if I hint too much, it won't be a surprise."
"That's true," Ryan allowed in a deep, sensual whisper, winking at McLaren and turning expressive green eyes on the older man. "Ok."
"Enough with the stalling, Ryan."
Glad that McLaren seemed to be getting in the spirit of the encounter, Simms laughed, leaned forward to speak confidentially and placed his other hand on Tom's thigh, ostensibly for balance. "I think I'll depart from the discipline theme."
"That's fine," McLaren noted, trying for agreeable while wondering what the fuck game Simms was playing. Invasions of McLaren's personal space were few and far between, and yet this kid seemed to think nothing of it.
"I don't have an exotic locale for you," Simms noted with a small smile. "I was at home - San Francisco. Even worse, I was at my boss' annual Fourth of July barbeque, an event marred by more than the presence of generally boring co-workers. Guests were treated to such wonders as charcoal masquerading as burgers, coleslaw and potato salad made with more mayonnaise than cabbage or potatoes and the finest American macrobrew beer."
"Not Bud?" McLaren questioned, mock horror in his voice.
"Bud and Bud Light for the ladies watching their figures, as Mr. Davenport said at least fifty times during the couple of hours I was there."
Ryan's shift in tone from suffering nobly to just plain suffering made Tom laugh. "Why do I get the impression that you selflessly watched their figures for them?"
"Because you're an insightful guy. And, hey, I needed to do something to pass the time," Simms replied amiably. "Now, at this particular barbeque, which was two years ago by the way, an ex of mine showed up with her new guy. So I had a second agenda item - avoid Alexis and friend. Unfortunately, the first interfered with the second."
Ryan paused, looking a challenge at McLaren. Surprised at the unspoken demand for participation, Tom considered for a moment before venturing, "You were checking out someone's ass and Alexis snuck up on you?"
"Judges?" Simms called, looking off to the left at the two empty chairs. "They'll give it to you, Tommy. I was distracted by a chest of excellent proportion that was struggling valiantly to free itself from a halter when Alex suddenly appeared and introduced me to David. Not Dave, mind you. David."
Grimacing in sympathy Simms, Tom asked, "What'd you do?"
"What could I do? I made small talk and plotted my escape. But while I was running through strategies and scenarios, a strange thing happened."
Another pause and expectant look clued McLaren in as to what Ryan expected. Dutifully, Tom asked, "What?"
"Alexis takes my arm and leads me over to a picnic table, sits me down and says she'll bring me something to eat. David tags along behind us, sits down next to me and smiles. He doesn't say a word. He just smiles. So I don't say anything either, other than a silent prayer for deliverance to whoever might have been out there listening. When Alex gets back, we're both just sitting and staring straight ahead. I'm poised to make my break for it, but then another weird thing happened."
"Another one?"
"Yep. She doles out three beers and a puts plate of the safe food - pretzels and potato chips -- where we all can reach it and sits next to me, rather than her new beau. So now I'm sandwiched between the grinning mute David and the overly solicitous Alexis. And I've got that fly in a spider's web feeling coming over me."
"Why didn't you make an excuse about elective surgery or something and get the hell out of there?"
"Ah, Tommy, I considered it but it was then that the plot thickened."
"Thickened how?"
Noting the slight wariness in Tom's tone with satisfaction, Ryan continued, "Alex starts talking about mutual friends of ours while she's doing this."
To illustrate his point, Ryan slid his hand suggestively along Tom's thigh.
"To you?" McLaren blurted, starting to doubt Simms' veracity.
"To me."
"With, what's his name, David, sitting right there?"
"Yep," Ryan averred and with a gleam in his eye, he added, "But then something really strange happened."
Curiosity fully engaged now, Tom prompted, "Really strange, huh?"
"Silent David does the same thing."
"He goes after your other thigh?"
"Just like this," Ryan murmured, demonstrating on McLaren once again. "And what made it all the more surreal was that they had the same rhythm, as though they were listening to the same song or something."
"What the hell happened then?"
"Alex stopped pretending to be chatting about the life and times of our friends and started talking dirty to me. You know, describing what she and David wanted to do to me in her very best sexy voice."
"Jesus."
"No shit, Tommy. She leaned close, saying that she wants to suck my cock at the same time David finger fucked my ass, while they're both touching me under my boss' backyard picnic table."
That visual image in combination with Ryan's hand moving along his thigh was making Tom warmer than he'd had any intention of getting this evening. "Ah, Ryan," he began. Relieved that his voice was steady, he added, "What'd you do?"
"What do you think I did, Tommy?" Simms asked with a laugh. "I got hard but that wasn't enough for the two of them. They were like Elaine with you -- relentless. Finally, Alex asked me whether I intended to come in my pants or if we could take the party elsewhere." Grinning a trifle sheepishly, Ryan continued, "Can you imagine the three of us in the back of a yellow cab?"
"I … I think so," Tom muttered, lifting his scotch almost as if it could shield him from those images.
"I wasn't quite begging when we got to David's place, but it was a near thing, Tommy. I had just enough pride not to do that in front of the cab driver. But, damn, two people who knew what they were doing had been punching all of my buttons for over an hour. I didn't care how I got off, but I was damn well going to. You know?"
"I get the idea, yeah."
"We went directly into the bedroom. A good thing, too or I wouldn't have been responsible for my actions. I sat on the bed with Alex, watching while David took off his clothes. He had a nice body; I could see why Alex went for him. Then they both undressed me." Frowning slightly, Ryan corrected, "Well, that's not exactly true. Alex was in an oral mood, kissing me, practically raping my mouth with her tongue. David did most of the undressing."
Ryan halted a moment to sneak a peek at McLaren. He was listening attentively, a slight flush to his cheeks. Satisfied, Simms continued, "Then he decided that oral was the way to go, too. So there I was with a guy who hadn't said three words to me sucking my cock and my ex-girlfriend whispering in my ear about how hot it would make her to watch David and I fuck."
"What … what did you say?"
"I was nearly delirious by that time," Ryan stated in a matter of fact manner. "So I agreed. And that's how I happened to have my first homosexual experience while listening to Alex get herself off as she watched us."
"Christ."
"What about you, Tommy?" Ryan asked before McLaren could react further. "You ever sleep with a guy?"
The eyes that met Ryan's were slightly unfocused, but Simms could see the seething emotions behind. Wanting to know what Tom was thinking, he prompted, "Have you?"
"Once," Tom admitted, shifting in his chair with more than uncertainty. "For all the wrong reasons."
Intrigued and sensing the strength of McLaren's reticence, Ryan projected sincerity and concern as best as he could, quietly inquiring, "Wrong reasons?"
"Nothing very interesting, Ryan," the guide muttered, nervous about going further. "We were both in bad relationships. Angry at our girlfriends. Commiserating with insightful stuff like, ‘She's a frigid bitch.' Drunk and horny as hell. The whole incident was one big mistake. I don't even remember whether I came."
"Jesus," Ryan murmured. "That really sucks."
"Not really. I certainly wasn't expecting much. It's amazing I can even remember that it happened."
Shaking his head, Simms said, "That wasn't what I meant."
"Then you lost me."
With a heavy sigh, Ryan slowly traced the outside seam of McLaren's shorts. Reaching the bottom cuff, his fingers moved onto the Lycra layer beneath. Meeting and holding Tom's eyes, he asked, "Did I?"
McLaren swallowed hard, very aware of the hand on his thigh. "Ye … Yeah."
"Really?" Ryan's hand slipped inside the leg of Tom's long khaki shorts and gently stroked the Lycra-covered flesh beneath. "I'm not exactly being subtle."
Simms' harsh whisper sent a shiver down McLaren's spine. "Ryan, I …" Tom couldn't finish his thought. Ryan's tongue flicking his earlobe threw a dart of pleasure straight at his groin.
"I guess this is as good a time as any to be honest," Simms murmured, hands industriously occupied with stimulating Tom's body.
McLaren concentrated on Ryan's words. "Honest?"
"That experience with David opened my eyes to a whole new world, Tom. I've explored it pretty thoroughly since."
Without thinking through the consequences of speaking to the topic, Tom said, "You … you seem to … ah … know what you're doing."
Warm breath flowed past Tom's ear as Ryan chuckled and stated, "I've been fantasizing about you since we met."
Latching onto that concept, McLaren tensed and declared, "Isn't that a little sick? I mean, look at us."
"Maybe a little," Ryan admitted, having no intention of telling Tom that the resemblance had been precisely the attraction before their liquor-inspired conversation. When McLaren had opened up about Elaine, he'd become an interesting person, so much more than a potential casual lay that Ryan had thought about altering his chosen course of seduction.
A string of gentle kisses along the curve where throat met shoulder drew a sigh and some of the tension from Tom. "Sick," McLaren repeated in a low, mildly defensive tone.
"Is it sick to want to be with someone I admire? Someone who saved my life and turned out to be more than a one dimensional hero when he told me a little about himself?"
Tom got stuck on the word, "Hero? Me?"
"You."
"But --."
"I'm not going to argue that point with you, Tommy. You'd lose." Smiling when the guide snorted in disbelief, Simms murmured, "Please," into Tom's ear. "Let me show you how good it can be."
Ryan's caresses were getting to McLaren. "You … God, Ryan, stop that.
The word, "Why?" was breathed directly into Tom's ear and clever teeth and tongue punctuated the question with some inspired work on McLaren's earlobe and the sensitive skin of his neck below.
"Be … because," came out as more groan than protest.
Not impressed with Tom's reasoning, Ryan unzipped McLaren's bright blue fleece vest and ran both hands along the firm, long-sleeved t-shirt clad chest. When McLaren's hands closed over his, Simms stilled immediately, earnestly whispering, "I want you, Tom. Can we try this?"
It was difficult for McLaren to talk; Ryan's lips were now doing some very nice things to the base of his throat. Finally, he forced out his reply. "No."
Simms' head came up without delay. Cupping Tom's chin in his hand, Ryan searched the trembling guide's eyes in an effort to understand. He saw something there he didn't expect- fear. Ruffling Tom's short hair affectionately, Ryan murmured, "Talk to me. Is this a guy/girl thing or something more?"
Tom tried to move his head, but Ryan held it in place firmly. Annoyed, McLaren demanded, "Let go."
"When you tell me."
Wrenching his chin away from the younger man, McLaren snarled, "Jesus Christ, Simms! Who the fuck do you think you are? I said no. Isn't that clear enough for you?"
McLaren lifted his glass with a shaking hand and drained it, glaring Ryan's way, but Simms didn't retreat. His gut told him that standing his ground was his only hope. "I'm not going to push you anywhere you don't want to go, Tom. I just want to know why you're rejecting me." Grinning lopsidedly, Ryan added, "I'm not used to that."
"For Christ's sake, I'm not rejecting you. I'm just--."
The aborted sentence gave Ryan a cue. He didn't waste it. "You're what?"
McLaren closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "That time with Elaine," he began slowly. Voice very soft, he muttered, "It wasn't only our last time."
Mouth dropping open, Simms connected the dots. He couldn't believe the picture that emerged, so he found himself asking, "You haven't had sex for a year? You?"
McLaren shrugged. "I haven't missed it much."
Believing that he comprehended, Ryan asked, "It's because she messed you up so badly, isn't it?"
He'd never actually said these words out loud before, but Tom knew they were true. "I don't ever want to feel like that again, Ryan."
Simms sat up straighter and reluctantly kept his hands to himself. "I understand, Tom. I really do, but … God, it seems such a waste."
Smiling wryly, Tom said, "Thanks."
Pouring McLaren another scotch, Ryan considered his options.
"If you get me drunk, you'll never be able to take advantage of me," Tom offered in an effort to decrease the tension. "One of the negatives that comes with age-induced maturity."
Ryan laughed and took a chance by draping his arm back around Tom's shoulders again. "I don't want to take advantage of you, but I'd love to test the structural integrity of the extra wide cot you've got over there."
Relaxing a little more, McLaren glanced at his impeccably made portable bed and laughed. "You think you can strain that graphite frame, Ryan?"
"Not exactly."
The mischievous look on Simms' face along with the vagueness of his response demanded that Tom ask, "What exactly?"
Leaning in close with twinkling eyes, Ryan confided, "I know we can."
It took McLaren a moment to connect the answer with his question. He smiled when he did, his discomfort waning as humor was infused into the situation. Deliberately looking over Ryan's shoulder at the cot, Tom said, "You don't like taking ‘No' for an answer, do you?"
"Nope."
Faced with a smiling, impudent and expectant Ryan Simms, McLaren wasn't sure what to say. When it became obvious that Ryan wasn't going to bail him out conversationally, Tom struggled to think of an appropriate way to get his point across.
As McLaren tentatively met his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, Ryan pounced, sliding his hand from Tom's shoulder to the back of his neck and fusing his lips to McLaren's. Ryan resisted Tom's attempt to pull away, concentrating on tempting the guide to respond, his free hand indulging his own desire to explore McLaren's firm, lycra-clad thigh.
Ryan smiled and lifted his head at the victory represented by Tom's low, needy moan. Not giving McLaren time to think, Simms whispered, "You trusted me on the mountain, Tommy. Can you trust me now?"
The other man's caresses of his throat and inner thigh distracted McLaren. When Ryan's lips returned to a sensitive spot on his neck, Tom stunned himself by moving his head to give Simms easier access. It had been too long since he'd felt like this and his will to resist was rapidly ebbing.
Enjoying but not satisfied with the inarticulate sounds of pleasure that McLaren was making, Ryan relented in his onslaught on the guide's senses and reiterated, "Will you trust me, Tom?"
"Wha … what?"
Unable to resist, Simms claimed McLaren's lips again and felt his control slipping when Tom began to give as good as he got. As they parted, Ryan again whispered, "What about it, Tom? Trust me?"
"I don't … God, I don't think I've got a choice, Ryan."
A wide, happy smile lit up Simms' face and his tone was teasing when he insinuated, "What? That Lycra starting to feel a little … ah … binding."
"I think the word you're looking for is tight," McLaren hissed.
Smugly, Ryan noted, "I like the sound of that."
"You would."
Responding to Tom's grumbling tone, Simms reached for the source of McLaren's ache and murmured, "But I like the feel of it better." Fingers stroking slowly, Ryan awaited further input from Tom.
It didn't take long for McLaren to lean into Ryan, giving himself over to the younger man's ministrations, groaning with increasing desire.
The restless movements of McLaren's hips gave Ryan the impetus to suggest, "Bed, Tommy." Without waiting for a response, Ryan kissed Tom lightly on the lips and moved toward the cot, discarding clothing haphazardly on the way. Wearing only his jeans, Ryan looked back over his shoulder with an inviting smile. "Let's get that cot stress test underway."
Swallowing hard, McLaren stood, eyeing Ryan avidly. The kid looked really good and he knew it. While not entirely certain how he'd ended up in this situation, Tom knew he wanted more than his own hand for company tonight. He wanted to connect with another human being. What's more, he was pretty sure that he wanted to connect, physically and emotionally, with this insufferable tease who had been reliable in a tough spot. Acknowledging that it had been quite a while since he'd felt the urge, he replied, Sure," with more ease than he felt.
Laughing, Ryan reminded, "Well, we can't with you over there."
Smiling sheepishly, McLaren crossed the room. A hint of fear peeked out from behind the lust as Tom sat on the cot next to Ryan. "You're not going to fuck with me - right?"
Smiling, Ryan placed a hand on McLaren's erection, feeling the intense heat coming off of his body. "Lose the ‘with,' Tommy and you're there."
Eyes glued to McLaren, Ryan took his hand away from the guide's body and slowly slid his own jeans off. The boxers followed quickly. Shifting to rest on his side and leaning on an elbow, Simms slowly stroked his erection and waited for Tom to make a move.
After taking a deep breath, Tom leaned down to deal with his boots, thoughts frantically racing. He'd never done this when he wasn't drunk. A rueful smile crossed his face when he realized that he was indeed a little drunk right now. He was certainly feeling the combination of the altitude and the alcohol. Having that ready-made excuse for any morning after regrets made shrugging out of his fleece easier.
A low moan redirected Tom's attention to Ryan. McLaren couldn't look away. Simms was … beautiful. Tom had never ascribed that word to a man before but couldn't think of another one for the flushed, aroused body displayed for his view. When Ryan smiled lazily, aimed slitted eyes at Tom and slowly licked his lips, McLaren threw caution into the wind and his t-shirt in the vicinity of the camp table they'd just vacated.
The shorts followed quickly, but Ryan's hands halted Tom's at the waistband of the Lycra leggings as he offered, "Let me help you with those."
Not permitting himself to think, Tom nodded and sought something to do with his hands while Ryan divested him of his remaining clothing. Taking a page out of Simms' book, Tom ran one hand along the inside of Ryan's thigh while holding onto the younger man's shoulder for balance with the other. Their moans intermingled when Ryan's hand mimicked the motion on McLaren's newly exposed thigh.
"You ok, Tommy?" he whispered.
"Yeah."
Grinning at how good he felt and how much he wanted the man he was now with, Ryan playfully asked, "How about narcissist as a safe word?"
"That's appropriate," Tom muttered, finally giving Ryan that blazing smile that Simms had hoped to see far more often that evening.
"I thought so," Ryan agreed before leaning in and kissing Tom, eschewing aggressive and demanding for sensual and tempting.
"Christ, Ryan," was all Tom could manage to say when Simms let him up for air.
"He likes that." With that quiet declaration, Simms swooped in for another go.
Groaning when he caught his breath a second time, McLaren whispered, "Fuck me."
Finally getting the permission he'd craved allowed Ryan to admit the desperate nature of the passion he felt, lunging for the other man. The small smile on McLaren's face when Simms pinned him on his back prompted Ryan to say, "You won't regret this."
"I better not." A widening of that smile softened McLaren's verbal sentiment, but Ryan was content to take it for the challenge it was.
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Grinning like a small boy, Ryan Simms placed his breakfast tray on the table and sat down next to Tom McLaren. Impishly, he whispered, "How's your appetite, Tommy?"
Rolling his eyes, McLaren countered, "Fine, Ryan. Yours?"
Simms placed a hand on Tom's thigh under the table as he shoveled a large forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth. "I'm starving."
"Is that right?"
"Um hm. And it's all your fault."
Recognizing that he was both pleased and disconcerted by Ryan's assertion and gesture of possession, McLaren simply asked, "My fault?"
"Oh, yeah, Tommy," Ryan replied, squeezing McLaren's thigh. "Last night was the appetizer for this morning and this morning only whetted my appetite for a little post-breakfast orgasm."
The younger man's words drew Tom's thoughts to the frenetic coupling of the previous evening, both had been so wound up that neither had lasted long. After Ryan had cleaned them up, he'd offered to go. Tom had been so relaxed that he'd answered by rolling closer to the younger man and falling asleep. McLaren smiled, admitting to himself that waking up with his cock in Ryan's mouth was a good way to start the day. It was a little tougher for him to accept his own explosive response to being finger-fucked senseless, but the languid feel of his muscles at breakfast would make a lie out of anything less. And now Ryan was talking round three in less than twelve hours.
"Jesus, Simms, where do you get the energy? We're still at an altitude where most people can't even breathe."
"It's you." Ryan smirked at McLaren's blush and took Tom's hand and placed it on his crotch. "This is what you do to me."
Tired of following Simms' lead, McLaren traced the younger man's erection with a light, teasing touch, determined to take Ryan down a peg. His sharply intaken breath and facial expression made Tom smile. Simms' eyes were closed and he was biting his lip to keep from crying out.
"Hey, Tommy, what's the latest with Vaughn's K2 deal next season?"
McLaren jumped, inadvertently closing his fingers a little too tightly on Ryan's cock. "Hey, Bill," Tom said as he softly stroked Simms in apology.
William Montague glanced at Ryan who had yelped for what, to Bill, had to look like no apparent reason. In order to forestall any inquiry, Tom added, "All I know is that Vaughn wants to hire a guide for the season and do a speed climb to some schedule only he knows."
"I hear that he's got his eye on you."
Shrugging, Tom demurred, "A lot can happen between now and then, Bill."
Voice serious, Bill asserted, "Vaughn gets what he wants, Tommy. And he wants you."
Before McLaren could answer, a deep, raspy voice sounded in his ear. "Well, he can't have you."
Startled by Ryan's quiet vehemence, Tom addressed it. "He doesn't mean --." Aborting his statement before he had way too much explaining to do to Bill, McLaren turned back to Montague and said, "I can't think about K2 right now. I'm still on Everest, you know?"
"I know exactly, Tommy. You haven't decompressed yet. All I'm trying to tell you is to be careful. Vaughn's so obsessed with K2 that he's dangerous and, more than that, he's bad luck."
Montague didn't need to say anything further; both he and McLaren knew what had happened the first time Vaughn had mounted an assault on K2.
"Sounds like you're gonna need someone you trust up there," Ryan chimed in softly. When McLaren and Montague regarded him with varying degrees of skepticism, Simms quickly added, "To carry your gear and such."
Laughing, McLaren said, "You're not ready for K2."
"So get me ready."
Bill watched Tommy's eyebrow rise with approval. McLaren responded to challenges and maybe this younger look alike would distract him from the one that Elliott Vaughn represented. To do his part for the cause, Bill commented, "From what I've heard, this kid has good instincts. You can hone his skills."
Nodding absently at Montague and ignoring the gleam in Ryan's eyes at Bill's choice of words, Tom moved his hand from Ryan's groin to his shoulder, brusque tone belying his interest in the response, "Are you serious, Simms?"
Without warning, McLaren's thigh was caught in a vice-like grip and Ryan stated, "I've never been more serious."
"Well, ok," Tom mused, trying to ignore his rapidly beating heart. "We could train in Utah. If we hit it right away and hard we could be ready for K2 next season."
Smiling slightly, Ryan murmured, "That sounds fine, except that we'll have to take a … a small trip as a … um … break from the training schedule."
"A trip? Where?"
"Africa." Expression neutral, Ryan waited to see how his backhanded invitation was received.
"Africa? For how long?" McLaren asked, suspicion creeping into his tone.
"A couple months. I promised to help a friend of mine with a photo shoot along the Congo River. That means a lot of stopping and smelling of whatever flowers happen to be available."
Tom muttered, "The jungle," nearly inaudibly, the look on his face clearly communicating disbelief that anyone would willingly go to such a place. Yet his expression transformed to incredulity when he realized that he was actually considering it. The moment he mentally chastised himself that good sex didn't justify temporary insanity, McLaren instinctively knew that the sex wasn't behind this. He was responding to the lure of someone who wanted to be with him.
"Change of pace might do you good, Tommy," Bill offered with a grin inspired by the thought of his mountaineer friend so far out of his element.
"I'm sorry, Tom," Ryan offered. "But I can't back out or change the timing. Smithsonian magazine's already promised to buy the piece and she's working to a deadline."
Practicalities plagued McLaren. "Months? Trudging along the Congo? I don't know of a rock worth climbing there. Damn it, Ryan, we'll never get you ready for next season."
Eyes drifting to Montague briefly, Simms shrugged and stated, "The mountain isn't going anywhere, Tommy."
"Well, no, but …" The smirk that formed on Bill's face halted McLaren's protest.
"Leave Vaughn to Elaine, Tommy," Montague advised. "She'll love you forever."
"That I really don't need, Bill."
Montague chuckled. "Think about it at least. When it comes to her, sheathed claws are as good as it gets." Smiling broadly, Bill asserted, "Safety first, Tommy. Don't you agree, Ryan?"
"Absolutely."
McLaren looked from one man to the other, knowing that they were both right and also that he very much wanted the validation that leading Elliott Vaughn's expedition would give him. He'd never have to worry about clients again. But then he'd be left with the question of what if with regard to Ryan, who had so rapidly gone from godsend to irritant to tease to … lover. Uncertain, he asked, "You actually want me to go with you to Africa? I'm not very good in heat and humidity."
The look in Ryan's eyes made Tom fear what he was going to say. Bill was open minded, but Tom wasn't sure how he'd take whatever smart ass remark Simms had on the tip of his tongue.
Amused by McLaren's widened eyes, Ryan murmured, "I'll teach you everything you need to know, Tommy." Unable to completely leave well enough alone, he appended, "And I do mean everything."
"Everything," McLaren repeated softly, a smile forming as he considered what it might be like to bring in a business partner - a junior partner who happened to be amazing in bed. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to leave Elliott Vaughn's arrogance to some other guide.
"Yep," Simms noted as the silence lengthened. The realization that he meant what he'd said. Tom McLaren might look like him, but Ryan knew the connection between them could be far deeper if they let it. And for the first time in his eventful life, Ryan was willing, even eager to see what could be forged with a bit of effort.
Pushing cold eggs around on his plate, McLaren noticed that Bill seemed to be holding his breath. That level of interest in his decision drew a laugh that dissipated his tension and made everything seem clearer. Turning to Simms, he asked, "So where can I get a good deal on a machete?"
Montague clapped Tom on the shoulder and strolled away whistling. McLaren followed the older man with his eyes, wondering if he'd just made a mistake.
After glancing around the room and determining that no one was paying particular attention to them, Ryan brushed Tom's lips with his own. "You won't regret this, Tommy," he whispered, smiling in memory of when he'd last spoken those words to this man.
There was only one response to that. "I better not, Ryan."
★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
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