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The first time, technically, was sort of accidental. Incidental. Certainly not part of a pattern.
Yet.
But River remembers it.
He’d gone to Spider’s flat, with just enough alcohol in him to make it seem like, if not a good idea, then at least not a terrible one. He hadn’t had so much a plan of what he was going to say when he got there as he had about a dozen. Snippets of all the things he'd had festering inside him for months, years now. Like...
You’re the worst.
You ruined my life.
I still can’t understand why you did any of it, why you kept doing it.
I think about you all the time.
I was devastated when you died.
I hate you.
I love you.
And he’d gotten most of that out in one way or another.
It went about as well as it usually did though. Sharp, petty barbs and mockery, and then they were up against a wall, hands and bodies and mouths too close, and then...
It had ended a bit differently.
River had awoken the next morning in a bed that wasn’t his own, only mildly hungover, sore and exhausted in a way that felt pretty good actually, and a little confused as to what had happened. Spider had been about the same, and there had been a strange, awkward tension in the air, neither of them sure what to say next.
After what had already been said. And what hadn’t.
They’d both slept through until morning, though, and River hadn’t been immediately kicked out, so that probably said enough.
But he hadn’t lingered. Or at least, had tried not to, dressed, shoes in hand, only to look out the window and see that it was pouring rain. Not unexpected for London by any stretch, obviously, but inconvenient given the walk to the nearest tube station. And for the switch. And then the walk home on the end of the trip.
River can remember staring at the rain with a little despair, post-coital glow banished, trying to work himself up to the inevitable.
The universe giveth...
Spider had wandered out of the bedroom at that point, to see him off maybe, as awkward as that might have been.
“What’s wrong?”
River had, redundantly, waved the hand not holding his shoes towards the window.
Spider had shrugged. “So, call a taxi.”
And the thing was, is, River isn’t broke. It’s not quite that bad.
But the public sector didn’t always pay the highest to begin with, and in his current position he was certainly making less than what he might have been, had certain things not derailed his career. London rent was not cheap, and River wasn’t making six figures.
And then there was his grandfather, the facility, and of course he’s happy to pay it, but the added bills were starting to noticeably eat into what little disposable income he had.
Which meant a little more frugality for the foreseeable future. Or maybe a lot of frugality.
“No,” he’d said, as casually as possible, looking out the window and purposefully not at Spider. “Why waste the money? Perfectly good public transport right there.”
He’d felt eyes on the back of his head and thought back to that stupid thing Spider had said back at Chieftain. Not the OnlyFans thing. Or the thing about his dick.
At that moment at least. Those particular comments had an annoying habit of popping up in his thoughts whenever he least expected them, especially now that he knew Spider was alive and essentially fine.
Spider had scoffed as River had sat down to put on his shoes. “If you want pneumonia, sure.”
River had heard, more than seen him walk away, bare feet quietly crossing the flat’s wooden floors while River concentrated a little too hard on his laces. He'd expected that to be it, as much of a goodbye as would have fitted their regular pattern, and had mused to himself on the chances of this happening again.
Not zero, he had guessed, and been happy enough with the thought, even as a small part of him simultaneously tried to warn about all the ways that could only make him, them, his life, worse.
And then Spider was there, standing in front of him and holding something out.
“Your coat isn’t even waterproof,” he’d said.
River had blinked up at him for an embarrassingly long moment, unsure of what to say, or what he was looking at.
Spider had eventually rolled his eyes and waved the money at him, and River had finally filled in that he was meant to take it. For the ride home.
“Uh...” was all he’d been able to offer in the face of such courtesy.
Or was it? It was Spider after all, recent, and decent, sex aside. He wouldn’t have put it above the man to yank it back with a sneer the moment River reached for it.
And from a glance, it had been clear that it was also way too much.
“How much do you think a cab ride is?”
Spider had sniffed. “A tip then,” he’d joked.
River had thought he meant for the driver, and then-
“And maybe you can buy yourself a decent coat. I’m actually almost embarrassed for you.”
Oh, he’d thought. He’d meant a tip for him. For services rendered as it were.
A joke, obviously, but like so much of what Spider’s said to him over the years, it had stuck in River’s head.
And River really hadn’t wanted to walk, to be soaked to the bone and squeezing himself onto the tube and then a bus, going home to a shit flat where the heating only half worked.
He’d overthought it. Thought about the meaning and significance, the ways it could be used against him, round and round in circles. A quick glance up at Spider’s face had suggested that he might have also been overthinking the gesture, and that had sent River overthinking it even more.
“Fuck off,” he’d eventually said, with rolled eyes and a half-hearted glare. And then he’d taken the money.
So yes, that had been the first time Spider had, in a roundabout way, paid him for sex.
But it wasn’t the last, and it only got more explicit.
What came first? Money for sex, or sex for money? Which was offered, demanded, given first, and by whom?
Chicken or egg?
River’s not sure that he could say. He doubts Spider could either? Or maybe they could say but won’t because saying it would be admitting something and they can’t do that.
They need the excuses. The games. The powerplays. The deniability. The layers upon layers upon layers.
That's who they were.
And River could use the money.
River muffles his moans by biting down on the pillow. He’s grabbing onto it too, rocked forward with every thrust of Spider inside of him. Neatly trimmed nails dig into his hips, and he can feel Spider’s chest against his back where he’s folded over him, the both of them wet with sweat.
Spider equally muffles himself as he comes, only he does it against River’s shoulder and he’s not as successful. The sound is strangely gratifying to hear, and as he shakes above him, River reaches a hand underneath himself to grasp at his own cock.
He’s hard, has been the entire time, but he either doesn’t trust Spider to help out with that, or isn’t interested in waiting for him – he can’t decide – so he brings himself off in a few quick, harsh strokes, coming over Spider’s sheets in a way he’ll feel vindictively pleased about once he catches his breath, and that Spider himself will bitch about once he catches his.
A hand runs up and down his side, a petting-like motion that River is annoyed to find he enjoys. He’s forced to hold himself up until Spider withdraws, only able to roll over and collapse on the bed, away from the wet patch, once Spider’s cock has slipped out of him.
Arm thrown over his face, River assumes the condom is disposed of before he feels the mattress dip as Spider lays next to him. Not quite touching, but close enough that he can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
“Well, that was a much more believable thank you,” Spider says into the quiet of the bedroom. “It’s your tone that’s the problem, you know.”
River remembers the way he’d gritted his teeth as he’d thanked Spider after the transfer had come through, the way he hadn’t been able to meet his eyes, and silently agrees.
He’s got one of Spider’s legs wrapped around his hip, the other half splayed out to the side so he can fit between them. Spider’s hands rove from his back to his shoulders to threading through his hair and then down again. River’s forearms are braced either side of his head, keeping him hovering above his body as he fucks into him.
“I doubt you’d remember him,” Spider says suddenly, voice tight with exertion, with arousal, but decently understandable all the same. “But I have this colleague.”
“Huh?” River asks, just as breathless and not expecting conversation right now.
Spider’s hand trails down his spine, and River finds his body bending with it. “I was thinking about it. A colleague, coworker, whatever you want to call him, who would probably love to see you like this. Have you too, but let’s not jump ahead of ourselves.”
River shakes his head, looking down at Spider’s face, at his mouth that’s red and wet and swollen. At the flush on his cheeks and down his chest. At his hair that’s soft and loose and falling in his face for once instead of slicked back to an unsettling and off-putting degree.
“You’re way too into the idea of other people jerking off to the thought of me, you know,” River says with a bemused frown. “What’s up with that?”
Spider groans as River presses into him deeply, but his mouth curls up into a smile that’s more a smirk, and his hand drags further down his back. “What can I say, it seems to follow me everywhere. You made quite the impression, even with the ones whose friends you then killed.”
“They tried to kill me first. Self-defense.”
Spider shrugs as much as he is able, even as he also rocks down on River’s cock. “At the Park too, all those whispered, and not so whispered things about what people wanted to do with you.”
River fills in the ‘people’ Spider’s talking about.
“Close with the Dogs then, were you? How much did Duffy like you?”
“Did you ever fuck him?” Spider rediverts the subject.
“Duffy?” River feels his face twist in disgust. He doesn’t stop fucking Spider though. “Fuck no.”
“Hobbs then? Or any of them?”
“Again, fuck no.”
Spider hums, fingers still trailing down until they’re brushing the top of his arse.
“I was always a bit curious, although I guess I’m not that surprised. If they’d ever managed it, they probably wouldn’t have been so pissed all the time. All that frustration, nowhere for it to go.”
“Except to wanking off to videos of me, apparently. And then fracturing my ribs and giving me a concussion.” River shakes his head again. “Can we stop talking about people who hated and tried to kill me for a bit, please?”
“Hmm, suit yourself.”
River decides he doesn’t want to know whether Spider’s just being a dick, or if he genuinely enjoys the thought of the Dogs’ violent and sexual and at times violently sexual feelings towards him.
He’d certainly seemed pleased with the state of him when he’d shown up at his office after being released from Duffy’s attentive custody.
But Spider’s not done. “Your thoughts on me maybe sharing a few things with the guys at work, though? We can keep them tasteful if you prefer.”
River’s next thrust pushes him up the bed. “Why the hell would I agree to that?”
“As if you don’t secretly love the attention. It’s basically a compliment.”
He feels fingers digging into his arse cheek. “You’re so full of shit. Absolutely not.”
“What’s your next bill?”
River scoffs, and hikes Spider’s leg higher, leaning down so that he can fuck into him quicker, harder. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Maybe a bit odd, to orgasm while bargaining with your partner over how much money it would take for you to allow him to share compromising photos or videos or whatever of you with his awful coworkers, but River might just manage it.
It doesn’t seem to be actually ruining the mood for either of them though, and River reassures himself that there’s no way he’s actually going to agree.
He can’t trust Spider.
River wants to, has always wanted to, and even now, after everything, he still wants to.
But every time he gets close to letting his guard down, every time he looks at Spider, at James, and thinks fuck, I might actually lo-
Well, he’ll remember Spider’s voice in his ear, coming through the earpiece as clear as day.
Blue shirt, white tee.
White shirt, blue tee.
He’ll remember standing on the bridge, and then standing in the Chieftain office, Louisa’s eyes on him, the Chieftain goons’ eyes on him, Spider’s eyes on him.
Look I’m a shit and I’m a prick and I don’t blame you for hating me, but these are kids, River.
You have to get it by midday.
You don’t belong in Slough House. Everyone knows that.
Set me the task of selecting the biggest sucker on the books.
I knew you’d take the bait. Again.
River knows better than to trust him.
It’s why a transaction is simpler. Safer.
Emotions are unavoidable, new and old, and it’s not entirely cold and clean, but it’s near enough. Spider’s just as compromised by this as he is, even if it’s in a different way.
It’s okay that River can’t trust him, because this way, he doesn’t have to.
“I shouldn’t have even bothered,” Spider says. “It’s entirely wasted on you.”
River doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s preoccupied, mouth busy with something else.
Not that Spider seems to expect a response, or an argument. “It was hard to look at you, is all, and I certainly couldn’t be seen in public with you as you were. Did you actually only have the one suit?”
River feels a hand in his hair. He doesn’t look up. A thumb brushes over his forehead and fingers tighten around the strands.
“Even now, you’re ruining it. Creasing it, getting the knees dirty. Wouldn’t surprise me if you came in your pants and left it utterly ruined. It’s dry clean only, for the record.”
Spider’s foot shifts, edging forward between his spread knees, like he’s considering pressing down on River’s crotch, or presenting his leg to rut against.
He clicks his tongue. “A waste,” he says again.
River leans back, letting Spider’s cock fall from his mouth.
“You’re the one that wanted me to suck your dick,” he says.
“Hmm, I think you’ll find that I didn’t actually say anything. You’re the one that couldn’t wait to get on your knees.”
“Are you really complaining right now?”
“I might start if you don’t get back to it. And you’re welcome for the new suit, by the way. And for dinner.”
River deliberately doesn’t say anything, just strokes Spider’s cock languidly a few times. Dinner had been overpriced. A decent enough meal, but way too expensive for what they’d gotten, though from his understanding, that’s generally how it went.
The suit though, was nice, he’ll give Spider that. Just not out loud.
He looks up at Spider’s face, at the way his head is tilted back, eyes open but staring at the ceiling, lips slightly parted as he subtly fucks into River’s hand.
The slide is wet, and smooth, and slick, both from River’s mouth and the way his cock is leaking. He probably doesn’t need to swallow it back down. He can already tell that Spider is not far off. He can probably do it with his hand.
And wouldn’t that annoy Spider, coming all over the nice, expensive suit he’s just bought him and was already shaming him for dirtying. River would come out the worse, of course, being the one with come on his clothes, but if it annoyed Spider, if it made him huff and clench his jaw and frown in a way that was closer to a pout, if it ruined his so-called hard work, then it was at least a partial win.
Or maybe he’d like it. He’s certainly not putting in much of an effort to get River to stop, or to get him up off the ground.
Maybe this was the whole point, and maybe it would only make the whole thing better for him.
Perhaps River should just be courteous and ask Spider whether he wants to come in his mouth or not.
Whether River then just does the opposite, he hasn’t quite decided yet.
Spider speaks first. “But just think, River, you might start having better luck at job interviews. You’d be surprised at how much a decent suit can distract from an utter lack of intelligence and skill. Your arse doesn’t look half bad in it either.”
“Oh, speaking from experience, are you?”
“Now, hear me out,” Spider says.
“No,” is River’s immediate reply.
He says it as firmly as he can, but that’s admittedly had to pull off when he’s currently got two fingers inside himself.
Spider is stretched out along his side, with his head propped up on his hand the last time River had looked, but he’s got his eyes closed in concentration, in avoidance, right now, and can’t confirm he’s still positioned that way.
He imagines he can feel Spider’s gaze like a physical thing though, which suggests that he’s probably still watching.
That was the idea, after all.
Spider had said “fuck yourself for me,” and River had agreed.
“Aww, don’t be like that.”
“I can already guess what you’re going to ask, and the answer’s no. I’m not shoving any phallic-shaped fruit, or vegetables before you get pedantic, up my arse while you watch.”
“Do you only want my cock then? How sweet. I’m flattered.”
“Actually, I manage fine without any of it.”
Spider makes a doubtful sound. “The ease with which you got those fingers in, I’m not sure if it proves or disproves your point.”
“Don’t call me easy,” River snaps.
Spider laughs. “Oh please, River. You’re incredibly easy. Always were.”
River...doesn’t like the way the words call to mind other things Spider has said to him. Other times he’s called him easy – to use, to lead, to fool, to manipulate – so he presses another finger inside himself as a distraction.
It does the job, sending a flash of pain-tinged pleasure to both his head and his cock.
“Go watch some porn if this isn’t to your liking then,” River says, swallowing a moan. “I’m sure there’s someone on OnlyFans offering what you’re after if general porn sites won’t cover it.”
“They wouldn’t be you though.”
And River doesn’t allow himself to read into the words, to interpret the tone and what he thinks he hears in Spider’s voice there.
Affectionate possessiveness, or cruel?
He doesn’t want the answer.
River shakes his head, eyes still closed, certain that Spider, for some reason, is watching his face, rather than his arse where he’s currently got three fingers buried. He has to shift his leg to get them in deeper, search out his prostate. His free hand has been at his side, clutching at the sheets, and he makes to reach for his cock.
Spider’s hand comes down on it before he can, trapping his hand flat against the top of his thigh, close, but not close enough to his aching dick to be of any use.
“What-”
Spider shushes him, the sound coming so close to his ear that River almost jumps, almost opens his eyes and turns to look.
“Don’t,” Spider says. “Just your fingers. I want you to come from that.”
“Bastard.”
Spider’s hand over his is the only point where they’re actually touching, but River is very, very, aware of the shape of him, his breath, the displaced air and weight on the bed and the heat coming off him.
River’s fingers dig into his own leg, Spider’s curling with him, but they don’t let up.
“A bastard that’s paying your bills,” Spider says, and River would swear that he feels the quickest, lightest brush of lips against his ear. “And a bastard that thinks you should maybe work for it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Next time, if I’m in the mood for it. But for now...”
Their fingers are still curled together. Spider’s thumb rubs at the skin of his thigh, and it has River’s hips jerking up as much has his own fingers fucking into himself do.
“Come on, River. Be a good boy and give me a show. That’s all I want.”
“What do you need?”
Spider asks it, and River thinks about where in the transaction they are. What stage.
What’s he really being asked?
Is it the point where he has to plead for help, admit he needs it, admit that he’s drowning just a little and crawl to a person that has mocked him, betrayed him, for saving?
Or is it after that? When they’re together because River can’t walk away, can’t give up on the flickering, crushing hope just as much as he can’t stand the pity inherent in the help, can’t accept a gift, and can’t trust that either are what they appear.
He might even be the one asking.
What do you need?
What does Spider need this time? What does he want?
What do you need?
How much do you need? How desperate are you?
What do you need?
Are you ready? How desperate are you?
“Well, you’re not going to be winning an Emmy anytime soon.”
“Will you just let me suck it already.”
Spider sniffs. “With the amount I’m, you know, paying, a little foreplay wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Foreplay I can do,” River says. “Just not simpering, desperate gasping about how big it is. It’s not even that-”
“Okay fine,” Spider interrupts. “Get on with it then.”
No, River thinks. Spider’s not huge, not massive as he’d once memorably put it, but he’s also not small. He’s fine. Big enough that River has to concentrate, take his time, take care not to choke or bruise himself.
It’s actually, in a fucked up way, in the moment, however briefly, a nice distraction. Something to focus on that’s not his job or his grandad or the general disaster that is his life.
Yes, it takes concentration, because despite what might have been implied by some of the things Spider has said to him in the heat of the moment recently, River isn’t a whore in the promiscuous sense of the word.
The other, more literal sense? Yes, fine. If you want to be technical about it.
But he’s not, or at least hadn’t been, regularly fucking, or getting fucked. Nor had he been constantly sucking cock.
This “arrangement”, in fact, is the most regular and consistent sex he’s had...well, ever.
So, between that, and the decent size of Spider’s cock, River generally has to take his time. Can’t just deepthroat the thing straight off.
He’s improving though, which is an odd thing to feel pride in if he really thinks about it. But what can he do? River’s resigned himself to the fact that he has an almost crippling, self-sabotaging need to impress.
And as much as he may hate it, being told that he’s good is better than being told he was shit. Especially when it’s coming from Spider.
They’re at his place this time, and River had been grateful that Spider hadn’t actually said anything about the state of his living conditions when he’d walked in the door. River’s well aware of the contrast, having spent more than enough time in the other’s flat recently.
He’d been thinking things, certainly, River could see that on his face, but whatever comments he could have made, he’d kept them to himself. Mostly. The almost literal upturned nose as he’d surveilled the flat had been hard to miss, as had the way he’d delicately nudged the curtain apart to peer out the window, the barest hint of a smirk appearing at the “view”.
River had taken his shirt off earlier than intended in an effort to derail any comments that might have made it out in defiance of Spider’s apparent attempt at tactfulness.
It had worked.
Spider’s on top of him now, hands planted firmly on his chest, not entirely for balance, as he rides him. River’s got one hand on his hip, the other curled over his thigh, helping him move a little, but mostly letting him set the pace.
He’s staring down at him, face flushed and his equally flushed chest rising and falling with increasingly shallow breath as much as he himself is on River’s cock. His fingers grab at the meat of his chest, pinch at his nipples, and River groans.
Naked and on top of him, Spider doesn’t look as out of place as he had when he’d first walked in. With his cock hard and red and leaking, his hair stuck to his forehead and neck with sweat, and his clothes folded neatly over a chair on the other side of the room, he looks, not lesser, nothing like that, but rather...River’s not sure.
He wonders, suddenly, if they were like this at work, would it be the same?
If he had Spider like this, in his crappy, miserable office, would he stand out, be above it, better than it enough to not fit? To feel wrong just being there?
He’d be turning up his nose at it, certainly.
Or maybe not. Maybe so obviously and majorly slumming it would get him off instead.
River can easily imagine the sorts of things he’d be saying. About him. About Slough House. About the place he was in and the place he was stuck.
And maybe not exactly like this – River's not lying on that floor unless they were spreading their clothes out first – but in his chair, perhaps. With Spider on top of him, touching him, both chasing pleasure, close enough to breathe the same air, in that place, what would Spider be? How would he be?
And how deep would that pit of shame and disappointment and regret in his stomach feel?
Not that he ever would. Even the possibility of being caught by anyone, the knowledge of how insufferable they’d all be about it is enough to put him off the idea entirely.
But he wonders still, briefly, on the idea of Spider in Slough House for just a moment, a visit, for the time it would take for a quick fuck.
How would he fit into that picture? That place? Would just that be enough to infect him?
And how much more would River hate himself, having his fall, his failure, shoved so directly in his face just by contrast?
No one ever thinks they belong in Slough House, but slowly, gradually, it gets to you, and in the end, it’s like you were always there.
There will be an inheritance. He won’t exactly be rolling in it, but there will be something. Only one thing has to happen first, and River doesn’t want that thing to happen.
Mostly.
Sometimes he...
It’s not the money, or the house, or anything like that.
It’s the stranger he’ll sometimes find when he goes to visit, the one who might not recognise him, and the one he recognises less and less...
This isn’t what his grandfather wanted, what he wanted to be. He wanted to be dead before now, but his brain and his body and River’s love and River’s cowardice have prevented that.
It would solve a lot of his problems if his grandad died, and River teeters in-between wanting it and not wanting it and hating himself either way.
Spider, likewise, helps and doesn’t help, and in the same way, River teeters between wanting and not wanting.
“Come over.”
River hesitates in answering, in agreeing, or at least, phone pressed to his ear, he makes a show of doing that, letting the silence after Spider’s request, his demand, drag on.
Spider eventually huffs. “That’s the trade off, need I remind you. Any time, any place, remember?”
“Maybe I’m busy,” River offers.
“No, you’re not,” Spider shoots back immediately.
It’s true, but River’s not going to admit that.
“Look, I’ll even throw in dinner, your choice, because I’m charitable like that. But you need to get over here now.”
River hears a harsh breath coming down the line. What might even be a groan.
“God, what’s wrong with you?”
Even as he asks, he’s already picturing Spider grabbing himself, grinding against the heel of his hand, maybe even openly stroking cock if he’s that far gone.
“What’s got you so worked up? Is this a ‘had lunch with someone important’ hard on, or a ‘devised a scheme to ruin someone’s life’ hard on?”
“Oh, shut up and get over here so you can fuck me.”
He hangs up.
River, briefly, almost like contrarian force of habit, and maybe to also preserve a smidge of self-respect, contemplates forgetting about the call and standing Spider up.
He contemplates it, but he won’t.
Fingers brush over the bruise on his cheek.
Spider tuts.
His touch is light, but River is braced for the fingers to press down.
“While I get the appeal of punching you in the face, understand completely why someone might want to do so, I do think you should try to be more careful, River. After all, your pretty face is one of the few things you’ve got going for you.”
“Fuck off,” River retorts, ducking his head away.
He doesn’t get far, has allowed himself to be semi-corralled against the kitchen island, and Spider is very close. His hand fell away from his face when he pulled back, but is now brushing just hard enough to feel up and down the outside of his thigh.
“No, I’m trying to be nice here,” Spider says, too sweetly. “You are good for something, even if it’s not what you went through school and training for.”
Spider stretches up and leans in, but just slowly enough that River has time to duck away again. Spider's mouth lands on his jaw, and he feels the curve of a smirk in the press of his lips, followed by the brief scrape of teeth.
“I’m just expressing some friendly concern,” Spider continues. “With your habit of running off half-cocked to be a hero.” The hand on his thigh shifts to the front of his leg, and then dangerously close to the inner seam of his jeans. “Not to mention how you always seem to go out of your way to piss people off, you’re putting your best asset at risk.”
“If you say so.”
“I just wouldn’t want you to one day come to your senses, you know, realise where your real talents lie, what would actually pay the bills better than where you are now, only for you to have missed your chance because you goaded one too many people into beating the shit out of you. I’m just looking out for you.”
“Sure you are, prick,” River says. “But forgive me for not taking career advice from you of all people. Especially on this. How many times have you pissed someone off enough to shoot you again? Or try to smash your head in? Plus, didn’t you only get your current job because Taverner was using you?”
He feels Spider stiffen, but if he’s really bothered by either barb, he recovers quickly.
“I’m still here,” he says. “Where are you?”
Spider’s hand drifts over his crotch, touch still light, but noticeable. River keeps his hands by his side.
“But maybe I’m overreacting,” Spider continues, mouth drifting over the bruise. “I know I don’t really mind a bit of colour on your face. But again, if I could offer some advice? If you’re going to keep letting people smack you around, River, you should at least be smart enough to start charging for it.”
His phone buzzes. River checks the text.
It’s from Spider.
He ignores it.
He’s ignoring a few things right now.
There’s a lot he has to do, but he’s decided he’s going to do it tomorrow.
Tonight, he just wants to not move, not think, not face anyone.
Even calling Louisa, the closest thing he has to an actual friend, the only one who’d really understand, feels like the last thing he wants to do.
He's certainly not feeling up to calling his mother. He'll have to, eventually, but not right now.
Right now, he’s staring up at the ceiling, feeling the tears running down his face, down his neck, dripping onto the pillow beneath his head. He's not even sobbing. Just silently crying.
He’ll probably text Louisa in the morning, maybe Catherine, let them know he won’t be coming in. A bit unfair to drop it on them like that, make them face Lamb when he asks in that polite way of his why the hell River hasn’t turned up for work, but having to deal with Lamb, even over the phone, at any point in the foreseeable future, might actually kill him.
Although, news of what’s happened will certainly spread quickly, so Lamb’s bound to put it together.
His phone rings. It’s Spider again.
He lets it ring out, then sends the briefest of texts, if only so his phone will stop vibrating right next to his head.
Not tonight.
River falls asleep, maybe, or perhaps just dozes, but close to two hours later he’s pulled from his stupor by the ringing of his doorbell. He contemplates ignoring it too, letting whoever it is get frustrated enough to give up while he lies there in desolate, paralysed misery for a few more hours, but the rarity of someone, whoever it is, calling on him to begin with forces him up.
He doesn’t really care that he’s sure to look a mess. His clothes are rumpled, his head aches, he can feel that his hair is sticking up in multiple directions, and his eyes are no doubt puffy and red.
It will be obvious that he’s been crying, but he can’t bring himself to care.
He doesn’t even manage to make himself care when he opens the door to find Spider on the other side.
Spider does seem to care though, but not in the way River would have suspected. At first, he looks a little surprised that River had actually opened the door, before his face shifts into something that River, if he didn’t know better, might have called concern.
“Hi,” Spider says, actually looking uncomfortable.
River leans against the door frame, less in an attempt to look casual, and more because he doesn’t want to hold himself up.
“Hi,” he says back, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth, his throat protesting the sounds required to speak. “I texted. Not really in the mood tonight so you’ve wasted a trip. Feel free to start charging interest though.”
Spider shakes his head. “No, I got it. That’s not- I'm not...” He stops and takes a breath. “I heard about your grandfather. I’m sorry.”
“You are?”
“Yes, I am.” He holds up the bottle he’d been carrying that River hadn’t noticed until now. “And I thought you might want to- Or if you’d rather do it alone, I’d get it, so, if you want...”
He presses the bottle towards River.
River stares at it for what he knows is an uncomfortably long time, but his head hurts and his brain is feeling a bit foggy right now and it takes him a moment to really comprehend what’s happening.
“You found out my grandad died,” he says slowly. “So, you came over to tell me you’re sorry and offer to drunkenly commiserate with me.”
“Or you can get drunk on your own if you prefer, but yes, I suppose that’s what’s happened.”
He’s not quite looking at River, more like just to the right of his face.
River’s looking at him though.
He’s obviously not the mess that River is, but he also clearly wasn’t just stopping by on his way home from work. He's dressed like he was at home, at least half settled in for the evening. His hair is even damp like he’s already had a shower. And yet he’d come back out, came all this way because...
Spider’s fooled him before. Convinced him, played the part, led him along once, twice, more than he likes to keep track of. It had seemed real, believable enough then, just like this does.
He has been, can be, is fucking awful. Sometimes. Most of the time.
But River wonders, can’t help but wonder.
What does this gain him? Why would he bother? Why wouldn’t he just wait until River could stand to see anyone, stand to be touched, was ready to suck it up and get on with things?
His text hadn’t said they were done. Just, not tonight.
Why?
River can’t trust him...
Spider had heard that River’s grandad had died and he... he was here.
River reaches to take the bottle from spider’s hand, and then steps back from the doorway to give him the space to come in.