black_sluggard: (Default)
Title:  Pressure
Fandom: Castle
Rating: R
Genre:  Angst
Pairing: Esposito/Ryan
Warnings:  Slash, major spoilers, all around not-happiness
Wordcount:  412
Summary: Coda to "Knockout".
Details:  This fic was pretty much fully-formed in my head when I woke up this morning.  So, yeah...

It had all turned out to be too much in a short period.  Just too much.

Learning that a man they'd all looked up to had been dirty--and not just that, but tied up with the case.  The case that wasn't just haunting Beckett anymore, but had spread out arms like a cancer to devour bits of all their lives.  Learning that, then losing him.  The vow between the four of them that no one else would ever know.  Locking it all away had been like sticking a cork in a volcano, leaving a tight hot pressure in his chest that he didn't think was ever going to go away. 

And now Kate.  Maybe they were losing her too. 

It was all just too much. 

It felt like his entire world was falling apart piece by piece.  And on top of everything it kept running like a play-by-play in his head what he'd done.  Because he shouldn't have hit Ryan.  None of it had been his fault, and God he'd just never gotten the chance to apologize.  And when he found Ryan's face across the waiting room, reddened gaze latching onto his like an anchor, and pulled him away, he was sure that all he'd meant to do was talk.  But somewhere along the way, his murmured apologies turned into sobs, and the hands fisted in his partner's dress blues turned into a hungry grasp for something solid. 

It wasn't until both their skins were cooling that it slowly began to sink in that he'd just come hard and mean jerking his partner off in a hospital bathroom.  Ryan's eyes were still blown by endorphins, wide with confusion and hurt that reminded him far too much of that night.  And his lips were throbbing like he'd been punched in the mouth and part of him would love nothing more than to die on the spot, but the flush on Kevin's face has washed away the piebald stain left from crying, so at least there was that.  And once he finally slipped away, Javier was left alone in the stall, forehead pressed against the good chill tile, trying to wrestle with that sick feeling, that pressure in his chest that was threatening to tear him open.  Because it was possible he'd just destroyed the last part of his life that was still recognizable.

One more thing on top of too much.  One more messy, fucked-off, broken thing that didn't make any sense.

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