radicalize | (no subject)

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ryan atwood

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When Lucy woke up to the sound of pouring rain, she'd sat around the treehouse, assuming that it would pass in an hour or two, tops. Only when it didn't show any signs of letting up -- around afternoon, she supposed, judging by the fact that she was starving -- did she start to worry a little, and by then, she couldn't wait any longer. She'd always known that there was some sense in keeping around the clothes she'd arrived in, though she hadn't thought she would ever wear them again; when she headed out of the treehouse, she had on her turtleneck and coat and scarf. It made her feel ridiculous, all those layers on what was usually a tropical island, but in the end, it turned out to be worth it.

It took longer than usual to get to Ryan's, and she was soaking wet when she got there, having had to cross practically the entire island to reach his hut. She'd known all those weeks ago that she ought to have gotten her own place, but no, she'd waited and wound up like this for her trouble. Brushing her wet hair back from her face, she knocked hard on his door with the other, practically praying he'd be there. There weren't many alternative places she could think of to stay, none half as comfortable as staying with Ryan, and she really did not want to be out in the rain any longer just then.

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The tension that came from her removing her sweater was pretty impossible to miss, but Lucy wasn't sure quite what to make of it. Really, she was waiting for him. If he had any interest in doing more, she wouldn't have hesitated at all. She wanted to do this right, but also she was a nineteen year old girl who'd spent roughly a year and a half total sharing someone's bed. Going slow was as much her decision as his, but that didn't mean other options hadn't crossed her mind.

"You, uh -" she tried to begin, then cut herself off with what wasn't quite a laugh, shaking her head as she took the t-shirt from his hand. "Thanks." Deliberately looking anywhere that wasn't at Ryan, she slipped one arm out of the tank top's strap, then switched the hand his shirt was in to pull out the other, too. Then, finally, she tugged her own shirt up and over her head, tossing it in the direction of her sweater before she moved to put on his. Probably she ought to have turned away herself, in the few moments that her chest was left exposed, but she didn't quite find it in herself to. She had his shirt on quickly enough, anyway.

The trouble was, as soon as she had the shirt on, he pretty much just wanted to take it off her again, which, all things considered, was unproductive and she'd come over to be out of the rain and he was still dealing with the whole Marissa thing, so it was probably pretty inappropriate, too, but some things really just couldn't be helped, among them, his train of thought, which was hurtling pretty quickly over the side of a cliff into some interminable abyss of - he was past coming up with a decent metaphor, but it was something, something potentially problematic. Or not problematic. He didn't really know.

Possibly having her stay had been a mistake. He'd always intended to follow her lead, but sometimes something was a signal and sometimes it was just changing out of a wet shirt, and hell if he knew the difference. "No problem," he said, breathing in and slowly out. "It's a good look for you." He wouldn't have minded her walking around in his shirts more often.

As for Lucy, her problem was that she wasn't sure if it'd be crossing some line to send a clear signal, and that was the only thing holding her back. She'd doubtlessly need to be looking for another place to stay if she pushed him too far, and already she hadn't been thinking about sleeping arrangements. He had just the one bed, but if it was just the hut or that, too, that he was sharing with her, she couldn't yet be sure. She was in no position to be picky, either. She'd sleep on the floor if she needed to, but that didn't mean she wanted to.

"I could stand to dress like this more often," she replied, one corner of her mouth hitching into a smirk. What she had left of hers on, though, was still wet from the rain, which left her in only a slightly more awkward situation than removing her shirt had been. The modesty she'd been trying to maintain was rapidly declining, though, and so her grin stayed in place as her hand moved towards her waist, eyes remaining on him, this time. "You gonna be okay if I...?" She gestured with one hand down to her jeans. His shirt was long enough on her, at least, that it wouldn't be too revealing, but she figured she ought to ask.

"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll be just fine," Ryan assured her, nodding. It seemed stupid and awkward to just keep standing there, nodding mutely at her, so he moved away to toss the bag back in the corner and sit at the end of the bed. If she felt comfortable enough to do that, he certainly wasn't about to object. It could only be a good thing. They were supposed to be comfortable with each other and they were, and anyway, it indicated a certain level of trust, and really, mostly, he just didn't mind her walking around only half-dressed, if that.

Lucy nodded once in agreement, then lifted his shirt just enough that she could unfasten her jeans, sliding them down just as slowly, almost carefully, as she'd undone the button and zipper. It wasn't exactly intended to be anything more than casual, but it was difficult to keep taking one's pants off as simple as that, even with her motivation to be rid of them. Really, she wouldn't have objected to him reading any more into it, either. A part of her was almost hoping for it, in fact, but she was trying to ignore that.

Having stepped out of her jeans, she left them in a pile on the ground, letting out an easy laugh as she took a step in Ryan's direction. The clothes would probably all dry faster if she laid them out properly, but there'd be time for that later. Just then, she didn't much care. She much preferred what little attire she had on. "Thanks again," she said, smoothing his shirt over her waist, "for letting me stay here, and all. If this keeps up, I really think I'd have gone crazy up at the treehouse." The rain didn't show any sign of slowing, either, and she was pretty sure she was glad for that. The more it rained, the longer she'd have an excuse to be staying with him.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, shaking his head. "I always want you around. And I definitely don't want you going crazy." He preferred her attire, too, even if he still held a quiet preference for even less attire than that. With her staying over for however long, though, he didn't want to do anything that would make her any less comfortable. Then again, with her staying over, his chances didn't look so bad either. Either way, he'd meant what he said. He always liked having her near. Nodding to the bed next to him, he smiled over at her. "Come on, sit, you've been on your feet enough today."

At his invitation, Lucy crossed to the bed to take a seat beside him, just slightly relieved. She had been on her feet for a long time, it was true, but joining him on the bed half-dressed like she was without being prompted seemed to her to be decidedly too forward. If he was offering, though, there was no way she could turn that down. "Well, as long as you don't mind, I think I'll be staying off my feet for a while, then," she half-laughed, tucking one bare leg up beside her so she could angle herself to face him better. "With this weather especially, I think I'm done walking for a while." She paused then, head tilted slightly to one side as she looked at him, and her voice lowered considerably before she spoke again. "The company helps, too."

"It does," Ryan agreed, smiling a bit. Shifting just a little closer, he stood the risk of falling off the bed if he tried to angle himself any better, so he leaned a hand against the bed, the other coming to rest against her hip. "Well, I... I think we can find ways to manage that. For a while." He broke eye contact to initiate contact of a different kind, leaning in to kiss her neck now that he could. His fingers skimmed against her skin, just below the hem of the shirt, and he changed his mind and his tack, sitting up to catch her mouth in a kiss. It wasn't as if he didn't know what he was doing in the general sense, but he didn't know at all when it came to her, not wanting to give the sense that he'd got the wrong impression, half expecting to get pushed away and told he'd crossed some line. It was difficult, though, to know just where the boundary lay.

Lucy had tried admirably not to let herself want more, but that was a difficult task when he was initiating contact like that and then pulling back. Without detaching her mouth from his, she reached out with a free hand to catch his wrist, holding his hand where it had been against her skin, propping herself up against the bed with her other. Even if he didn't want anything more, a little touching couldn't have been anything to protest. He'd been the one to start it, after all. If he didn't want to go past that, they could stay as they were and she wouldn't have had a problem, but it was at least close to an invitation to go farther, if he wanted to.

He wouldn't be the one to protest, that much was for certain. It was invitation enough for him. Breaking his wrist free of her grasp, Ryan slipped his hand beneath the fabric, smoothing over her skin to her waist. The position was all wrong. It kept them too far separate. He had half a mind just to pull her into his lap, but instead he edged backward, further onto the bed, tugging her after him, closer. His balance less precarious, he was free to lift a hand to the back of her neck, where it rested just a moment before sliding down her back. As he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with his own, his hand beneath her shirt traveled higher, teasingly slow.

She followed his lead easily back onto the bed, back arching under his hand, her own, now freed, resting on his neck. Now that they were moving faster, she had no desire to slow down. It had been too long, she'd waited too long, and while she could be patient, if need be, she didn't want to. Being only half-dressed to begin with wasn't doing much to help that. They were close, but she wanted him closer; he was touching her, but she wanted him to touch her more. The only way she could say that, though, unwilling as she was to pull away to speak, was to deepen the kiss further, her other hand reaching to grasp the hem of his own shirt, though not yet moving underneath it.

Whether or not he got the message didn't quite matter. He trusted Lucy to let him know if he went too far, and until she did, if she did, he meant to keep going. He had no problem waiting, if that was what she wanted, if that was what was needed, but he sure as hell wasn't going to wait a moment longer than that, not if the moment was right. What he needed then was to keep touching her, keep feeling her beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, beneath him. Easing her down onto the bed, onto her back, Ryan leaned over her, his weight on one arm, a leg between both of hers. A little more certain of where he stood now, he let his hand slide higher, tracing between them as he kissed her, all his movements more relaxed now. As long as he could hold out, he intended to take his time and enjoy this.

For her part, there wasn't a too far that he could go to, and she was beginning to get the impression more and more that he was after the same thing she was here. At times, it surprised her that she'd waited this long already, but none of that mattered just then. All she could do was focus on his mouth over hers, and his hand between them, and she was more than content to do so. Eyes falling closed, she drew in a deep breath, her own fingers finally sliding up and under his shirt to press against the warm skin of his back, trying to bring him just a little closer without upsetting his balance. The last thing she needed to do now, with where this looked to be heading, was to make the whole situation suddenly awkward.

More than simply relaxed, he moved with a kind of confidence, fingers skimming over curves, his thumb brushing circles over her skin as he let himself be drawn closer. He wanted to be closer still. It seemed absurd, if distantly so, that he'd been so intent on getting her in dry clothes when now he just wished her out of them. Breaking away, he pulled back just far enough to look at her properly. "God, I want you," he murmured, affection mixing with desire. A moment later and he turned his attentions elsewhere, pressing a lingering kiss to her throat and trailing slowly downward, his hand sliding lower, following suit. There were a lot of things he might not have known how to put into words, but he could try, at least, to show her.

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