Fic: Take On Me (The O.C., Ryan/Summer)

[amathela]

Title: Take On Me
Fandom: The O.C.
Pairing(s): Ryan/Summer
Word Count: 2103
Rating: PG-13

Summary: In which Ryan helps Summer out. As a friend. In a totally platonic way. (With makeouts.)

Notes: Set post-season four. Written for moirariordan for tagyourfic.


Ryan hates parties. Ryan hates this party. The music is too loud, the air too thick with the press of bodies and late afternoon humidity to breathe properly, and he can already tell he's going to have one hell of a headache tomorrow. He's not even sure why he's here, except that Summer's back, and she asked him to, and Taylor's in France and Seth's in Rhode Island, which makes him pretty much her only friend here.

So he came. Of course he came. Now, he's just wondering how much longer until he can leave.

"Nice party," he says to Summer, in a tone he's pretty sure couldn't say this is hell any more clearly if he'd actually meant it to. "It's … crowded."

Summer turns to him, patting him on the arm and smiling fondly, almost apologetically, as if she can sense his discomfort. "Technically, it's not a party," she says. "It's a rally."

"This is a rally?"

"Well." She shrugs. "A post-rally celebration?"

"So, basically it's a party."

"It's a party for a good cause," she says, letting out an answering whoop when somebody yells out what he's guessing is the rallying cry. "And you're a good friend for coming."

"Did I have a choice?" he asks, smiling to let her know he's kidding. Mostly.

"Funny, too," she says. "All those years living with Cohen must have rubbed off."

"Bound to happen someday," he says. It could be worse. He could have inherited Seth's fashion sense.

"Just do me a favour, okay?" she says, and he doesn't say, another one? "At least try to have fun?"

"Yeah," he mutters. "That's going to happen."

Summer ignores him, even though he's pretty sure she heard. But she's still smiling, like not even Ryan's obvious grumpiness is going to drag her down from her victory, so he leaves her to it, staying mostly silent by her side as she's approached by what seem like endless waves of people, hugging her, congratulating her, shouting things that are completely incomprehensible to Ryan and only occasionally trying to drag him into the conversation. All in all, it's not completely terrible.

Until Summer laughs way too loud, grabbing Ryan's arm for support she doesn't need, suddenly moving closer, and he knows it's coming a split second before it happens.

"Don't you think, sweetie?" she asks, her voice syrupy sweet, and just in case Ryan hasn't caught on yet, she follows it up by pinching the underside of his arm. Hard.

Ryan smiles, turning to Summer, trying to communicate with his eyes that he is Not Happy about this. And then he gets a look at the guy she's talking to, and suddenly he kind of gets it. The guy's standing way too close, looking down at Summer - or down her shirt - like he's ordering dinner, smirking at both of them like he's way too good to even be having this conversation.

Ryan hates guys like this. He hates this guy, in particular. Which is maybe why he smiles a little more genuinely, pulls Summer closer, and slings an arm casually around her shoulders as he says, "Sure is, honey bun."

The guy's expression falters a little at that, but then the fake smile is back, twice as big. He turns to Ryan. "So, how do you feel about the widespread destruction of the black-footed ferret's habitat?"

"Um," Ryan says, and glances at Summer. She widens her eyes and makes some kind of jerky head movement, which is absolutely no help at all. "It's bad?"

He hopes it's bad. Ferrets are good, right?

"That's … certainly concise," the guy says, smirking again, and Ryan wants to punch him.

But he won't. Probably.

"I'm going to get another drink," he says instead. "Want one, sugar bear?"

"Thanks, pumpkin," Summer says. "Hurry back!"

That last is kind of desperate, and he doesn't blame her, but if he doesn't get a break from that guy, he's going to end up doing something stupid. Besides, it'll only take him a few minutes; how much trouble could she possibly get into while he's gone?

Okay, so. Maybe a lot.

By the time Ryan returns, drinks in hand, that same guy's practically got his arm around Summer, leaning into her, and if she leaned any further back she'd probably be bent double. Ryan clenches his fists for a second, takes a deep breath, and then sets the drinks down on the table beside them, coming up behind Summer and wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Miss me?" he asks.

Summer elbows him, a little harder than is probably necessary, but he supposes he should be happy she hasn't attacked the other guy instead. "You have no idea."

The guy's face contorts, then, into something Ryan's guessing is an unfamiliar expression: The 'I'm not getting exactly what I want' look. Ignoring him - or trying to - Ryan spins Summer around, laughing as she crashes into him, retreating back behind the table.

The guy doesn't follow them.

Ryan moves to unwrap his arms from around Summer, and she grabs his wrist, steps forward into him as he steps back.

"He's still looking," she hisses.

Ryan glances sideways, and sees the same guy giving them the stink eye. Great. This is exactly the kind of drama he hasn't had to deal with for the past year, not until Summer came back into town. (The kind he won't admit he misses, not even a little bit, not even for a second.)

"Yeah," Ryan says, resigned. Keeping one arm around Summer, his hand settling easily into the crook of her waist, he picks up his drink with the other, downing it nearly in one.

"Quick," Summer says, laughing and hitting his arm in a way that's probably supposed to be gentle. "Whisper something in my ear."

"Why?" he asks. Or whispers, really, leaning forward until his lips practically touch her ear.

"We have to make it look believable," she whispers back.

"Again," he says. "Why?"

"You ask too many questions," she says, pressing forward into him.

"Summer," he says warningly.

"Oh, relax," she says, but doesn't back off. "Like you've never fake dated anyone before."

Yeah. The problem is, he tends to suck at the 'fake' part. Except she's looking up at him like she needs his help, eyes wide and lower lip stuck out in a way he knows is deliberate, just like she knows he won't be able to say no. So he pulls her closer, flush against him, and feels her sharp intake of breath before she relaxes again.

"See?" she says. "That's more like it. Now kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me. While he's still watching."

So, okay. He's done this before. And they're just friends, right?

So he kisses her. Softly at first, barely pressing his lips against hers, but Summer's kiss is about as subtle as her personality, all force and sharp insistence, and his mouth opens against hers almost of its own accord. She tastes sweet and sharp, remnants of the too-strong cocktail still on her lips, and she presses against him like she means it, bites his lower lip and pulls back just as he moves forward, aiming a kiss at the edge of her jaw.

He deflects, ducks his head like that was his original intention, tries to get his breathing under control. Tries to get himself under control.

"Okay," Summer says, a hint nervous laughter in her voice, and he's glad he's not the only one affected. "Did it work?"

"What?" he asks.

"The kiss," she says, rolling her eyes. "Is he still watching?"

"Um," he says. He turns sidelong as if to slide his arm around her waist, glances back at where the guy was standing. "I don't think so."

He drops his arm, reaching instead for the drink behind her, and she grabs his hand.

"Oh, no," she says. "You never know what other creeps are out there, just waiting for me to drop my guard. You're my safety net."

"Is that so?" he asks, but he doesn't protest, and when she moves to put his arm back around her, he goes with it. Manoeuvring a little awkwardly, he manages to reach his drink with his other hand, only to have Summer snatch it away, downing it in one. For somebody with probably half his body mass, she can definitely put it away. Raising an eyebrow at her unapologetic look, he grabs her drink instead, finishing it before she can steal that one, too. If it's going to be that kind of night, he's going to need it.

"Incoming," she says a few minutes later, and Ryan doesn't know if it's the same guy from before or a new idiot coming to try his luck, but he grins as he leans into her, lips skimming her earlobe, pressing gently against the skin just below. He didn't mean to get so close, he thinks, and he freezes for a second, but Summer leans into it, laughing softly, and he huffs out a breath, rests his forehead briefly on her shoulder.

Then her fingers curl underneath his shirt, skimming the waistband of his jeans, and he tenses even as he instinctively moves towards her.

"Summer," he says. Warning, or maybe questioning. "What are you doing?"

"Making out with my boyfriend," she says. "As far as they know."

Yeah, and pretty convincingly. There are parts of Ryan that have already forgotten it's supposed to be fake. Which he's pretty sure she knows, given how close they're standing.

Unfortunately, his brain is one of those parts, or maybe it's just numb from the cheap booze and loud music. When Summer leans in again, kissing him slowly, her fingers dragging along his hipbone underneath his jeans, he goes with it, leaning into her in turn, pressing hard against her when her hand skims a little lower. He's still sober enough - barely - to know this is a Bad Idea, and so is Summer, judging by the look in her eyes when he pulls back, but she grins at him wickedly, almost grinding against him, and he finds it really hard to care at this particular moment.

"You know we're still in public," he says haltingly, backing her up against the edge of the table.

"Isn't that kind of the point?" she asks. "This is all fake, remember?"

Right. Fake. He's just a friend helping out another friend. Who has her hands halfway down his pants.

"In that case," he says, biting at the skin just above her shoulder and feeling her shudder against him, "we'd better make sure we're doing a good job."

Summer pulls him closer by his belt loops until he's flush against her, nestled in between her legs, aching to get even closer. "I think," she says, letting her head fall back, giving him access to her bare neck, "you're doing a very good job."

"Yeah?" he asks, and captures her in a kiss, thrusting against her almost involuntarily. If he doesn't back off soon, he's pretty sure he's going to give these people even more of a show than they're already getting. Assuming anyone is even paying attention, which they weren't the last time he checked.

"Yeah," she says, a little breathlessly. "Good work, pal."

And then she reaches up awkwardly to pat him on the shoulder, and Ryan can't help laughing, loud enough that it rings out even over the pounding music. After a second, Summer starts laughing, too, shaking against him, one of her hands still on his ass, which makes him laugh even harder.

"Um," she says, straightening a little, and Ryan backs up a step to give her room. Her cheeks are flushed bright red, and he's not sure if it's the heat or the embarrassment or the kiss. "Do you still want to get out of here?"

He isn't even sure, any more, but he says, "Yeah."

"Great," she says and there's a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach he tells himself isn't there. "So, we should leave."

"Yeah," he says again. Moves forward a little almost before he notices he's doing it.

"Unless," she says, her fingers sliding once more through his belt loops, "you think that would tip us off."

"Hmm," he says, pretending to consider it, moving forward a step as she tugs him towards her. "It could."

"And we don't want people to know we were faking."

"Definitely not."

"So," she says, "maybe we should stay here. And keep, you know. Faking it."

"I guess we'd better," he says and grins against her mouth as she kisses him again.

(Ryan hates most parties.)