Page 29 of Rent: Paid in Full
It makes Miller feel too real and too close.
“Please stop talking,” I grind out when I can’t take it anymore.
He cracks up, laughing quietly from low down in his belly. Laughing like we're on the same team. The sound bounces off the walls and tries to get into bed with me. I can’t stand it.
I throw my covers off and stomp to the bathroom, brushing my teeth with more toothpaste and vigor than is strictly required. I spit several times and brush my tongue an extra time to be on the safe side.
Miller doesn’t stop talking the whole time I’m in the bathroom, despite the fact I tell him I can’t hear him twice.
“D’you want to do something tomorrow? We could hang with the guys, or we could do something else. It’s up to yo—”
“Please go to sleep.”
He laughs again. “Okay, fine, I’ll go to sleep, but only if you tell me one thing.”
That’s classic Miller for you. A taker. Always wants something and never hesitates to ask for it. Must be nice, actually, sailing through life getting exactly what you want because you have the gall to ask for it.
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you like? Things, people, what makes you happy? Tell me. I want to know.”
Oh God. Please make it stop.
“I like books and Guy Richie movies. TV too. British comedies, especially. Want to know why I like them? Huh? Do you?”Ooh, I seem to be going off course a little. I can feel myself veering, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I answer my own question before he has time to. “Because I canclosethem. Or mute them. That’s why I like them.”
“Ah,” he says as if he not only gets it but agrees completely. He answers his own question back, even though I distinctly remember not asking. “Me, I like people. I like watching them. I like working out what they want, what makes them tick, you know? I find all people interesting…but rude and complicated people? Hmph, that’s a sweet spot for me.” I ignore that, though I’m pretty sure it was aimed squarely at me. “I also like everything bagels. Fuck, I love that seasoning! You know what I wish? I wish you could buy it. Just the seasoning. There’s a million-dollar idea for you. I’d put that shit on everything I eat.” I make a firm decision never to tell him he could live his life’s dream simply by taking a stroll through the spice aisle of the nearest grocery store. “And I like old tumble-down houses with soul. And cats.”
I’m not sure what to say to the old house thing. It seems like an odd thing to say. Strangely intimate and interesting. Not endearing. Definitely not endearing at all.
“I’m a dog person,” I lie. “Can’t stand cats.”
He chuckles tolerantly. “Hmm, that’s weird because you, Ryan Haraway, throw black cat vibes in a very big way.”
He’s mercifully quiet when I don’t answer. I breathe the silence in, inhaling it like a drug and only exhaling when my lungs start to protest. I feel my body relax, shoulders unclenching, spine melting into the mattress as sleep asks and I answer.
“Night,” he chirps a few minutes later, wrenching me out of the sleepy cocoon enveloping me. “Sleep tight.”
“Piss off.”
12
Miller
I’m up before Ryan,as usual. Today, I stand beside his bed and look down at him as he sleeps. He’s on his side, curled into a tight ball. Dark lashes wash his cheeks with spiky shadows. He looks so different like this, completely relaxed. His face looks different. His features look like they belong to someone else without the tension he normally carries. Awake, he’s scarily attractive, sculptural, and different. Asleep, there’s something almost soft about him.
Almost. Not quite.
I follow the line of his nose and consider trailing my finger along the curve of the bridge. I want to. I don’t though. Something tells me waking Ryan from a deep sleep would put me at serious risk of violence. And while I wouldn’t mind that per se, not if he was the one dispensing it, it does seem like the sort of thing that would go down better after a nice cup of coffee.
Sweet Jesus, last night was something else.
That blowjob was seriously hot. Breathy, nervous perfection. The way he looked at me when he was on his knees. Pure hatred, red hot and vicious, shining out of his eyes like lasers. I don’tknow why that gets me so hard. I really don’t. I think it’s one of those things that’s probably best not to think about too much. But it does. It gets me rock-hard. Just thinking about it now is making me stiffen.
I stroke myself lightly through my boxer briefs as I watch him sleep.
Maybe it’s the conflict I like. Maybe it’s the strength of the emotion. He was literally shaking with it last night. His hand shook so hard it felt like he was holding a vibe to my dick when he first touched me. It was there the whole time, the hatred, the disdain, but that wasn’t all. The second he touched me, there was a spark in his eyes. I was watching him closely, so I didn’t miss it. His pupils dilated. His hair hung in his face, a dark screen he tried to hide behind, but still, I saw it. Big black orbs circled by crazy wild flecks of green and gold.
The sounds he made were unreal. Soft. So soft I could tell he was trying his best to be quiet. Now and again, when he pulled his mouth off my dick, he pressed his lips together so hard they went white. Even then, little noises escaped him, tiny whimpers and moans.