Beta: the lovely elfscribe5
Notes: Who'd have thought it? After my initial horror at being asked to write Ray/Ray for out_of_con_txt, this appears to be turning into a series, or something.
Ray opens his eyes to watery grey daylight and shuts them again right away. His mouth feels like it's full of stale fur and the bed's uncomfortably warm. His stomach muscles clench as his brain catches up with the fact that the weight pressing into his side is an arm, Vecchio's arm, and Vecchio's hand is splayed over his chest, fingers curling slightly into his ribs.
Oh shit. How the fuck did he let this happen?
The first part of the evening is still pretty clear in his mind: dressing up for the club, the weirdness of dancing with Vecchio, the drive back and chilling out with a beer. The next part too - the part where they jerked each other off right there in the living room, up against the shelves, then staggered across to the couch, necking and groping like teenagers in some sort of contest, before jerking each other off again as soon as it was humanly possible.
Yeah, he remembers that part alright. Vividly enough that his dick's getting hard again and his breathing's going to wake Vecchio if he can't calm it down.
Ray can't even count the months since he last got laid, so there's an excuse of sorts for the urgency of it, even if his choice of partner is completely screwed. It's the rest of it that's fucking with his head, the part where they crawled into bed together like some old couple playing house, and - he rubs one thigh across the other to make sure - and yeah, naked. That's the part that's freaky as hell. Plus, it kind of rules out turning up at the station and never talking about it again, pretending it never happened, which as far as Ray can see is the only sane way forward from here.
Perhaps he can ease himself out from under Vecchio's arm, get himself showered and dressed before Vecchio even surfaces, and they'll still have a chance to salvage it. He tenses up and slides a leg forward carefully.
Ray's luck being as shitty as it is, it's no great surprise that the movement's enough to disturb Vecchio. The hand on his chest twitches, then starts to inch its way downwards, rubbing a little as it goes.
"Hey," Vecchio says. His nose is pressing into Ray's neck just behind the ear, and his breath across the tiny hairs there makes Ray shiver.
Ray's still wondering how the hell to reply when Vecchio's hand reaches his belly and starts circling a bit more firmly.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ray hisses.
"You don't know? Want me to draw you a diagram?" Vecchio says lazily. His fingers are stroking through Ray's pubic hair, and Ray grabs his wrist to try to stop him.
"Why are you -"
"Why not? You want it, I want it, and Welsh isn't expecting us in till four." Vecchio twists his hand free and starts stroking again. The backs of his knuckles are brushing against Ray's dick, which is already standing up and practically dancing for joy.
"See, that's what I don't get," Ray says, struggling to make his voice work like normal while Vecchio's still touching him. "You can't possibly believe it's that simple."
"We can't put it back in the box, you know," is all Vecchio says.
Ray's hips are moving without his consent, his dick not the only traitor in this team. His breathing's starting to get rough, and yeah, of course he wants it, his body wants it, but that doesn't mean it isn't a mistake.
"I knew you were an asshole, but I hadn't realised you were completely crazy," he spits out, clutching hold of Vecchio's arm again.
"Oh, for Christ's sake, Stanley, don't you ever stop complaining?" Vecchio, who's a lot stronger than he looks at first sight, pulls his hand away and gets a grip on Ray's hip. He shifts on the bed and tugs Ray towards him, and Ray rolls over to find himself leaning, half lying, on Vecchio. He's still processing the fact of Vecchio's warm chest against his back, Vecchio's stiff cock pressed tight between his ass cheeks, when Vecchio grabs him again, no messing about now, and starts to work it.
"Fuck," Ray says. It's not a complaint this time. He's already twisting and pushing into Vecchio's hand, only dimly aware of how good it is to shove back against Vecchio on the off beat, feeling him hot and rigid there as he grunts and thrusts and grinds against Ray's ass. Ray's got one arm trapped underneath himself, but the other's reaching back for Vecchio's leg, pulling him in harder.
When Vecchio tightens his grip the friction's too much and Ray lets out a yelp. Even in the middle of it all, Vecchio seems to get it. There's a pause, then he takes his hand off Ray's dick and brings it up to his face.
There's lube in the drawer by the bed but something's stopping Ray from telling Vecchio that, so instead he takes a moment to get enough fluid in his mouth, then sticks out his tongue and licks Vecchio's palm as wetly as he can. And either the licking itself or the noise Vecchio makes, a strange little moan, is enough to make Ray's entire groin throb. He's already so hard that he's hurting.
Vecchio's hand is back on him at last, and he's changed to a kind of kneading, squeezing motion that feels unbelievably good. When his thumb starts to rub over the tip of Ray's cock, Ray gives up trying to hold back.
"Jesus, oh sweet Jesus, fuck!" Ray's voice is high, like he's about to lose it for real.
"Yeah," Vecchio sounds as if he'd be laughing if he wasn't gasping for air. "Yeah, that's right. Come on."
And Ray does, there's no way he could stop it if he wanted to, he's juddering and twitching against Vecchio and coming like a fucking fountain all over his belly and chest, and yelling out Christ knows what kind of crap while Vecchio holds onto him and murmurs hot, dirty stuff right into his ear.
When it's over, which seems to take forever, Ray grabs the edge of the bed and rolls away from Vecchio. He curls around himself and lies there panting, not even trying to make any sense of it all. It's a while before he realises that the noises from behind him, the soft sound of skin on skin and the quiet, rhythmic grunting, are down to Vecchio getting himself off, and however fucked up this whole thing is, that doesn't seem right. He turns again and gets a hand on Vecchio's leg, runs it up through the black hairs on his thigh to cover his balls, and he's obviously got there just in time. Vecchio groans and goes still, the hand wrapped round his long, dark cock slowing right down, and then he's staring at Ray, just staring with his mouth open in a wordless shout while he comes, messily, and from the look of it painfully hard.
The sight of it does something weird to Ray's belly that he doesn't even want to analyse.
A bit later he notices that he's still got his hand cupped around Vecchio's balls like he owns them, and pulls it away quickly. His skin's starting to itch, the bed's clammy, and the room doesn't smell so good. If Vecchio - Mr. Fastidious himself - has even noticed, he's not bothering to complain.
Ray clears his throat and Vecchio opens his eyes.
"You gotta stop ambushing me," Ray says after a moment. His voice sounds like he smoked a pack of twenty last night.
"You could've stopped me, or got out of bed," Vecchio says.
Ray can't think of a reply that doesn't make him sound weak or stupid or both, so he turns over, shifts to the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well, I'm just gonna-"
He makes his escape to the bathroom, trying not to think about Vecchio watching his naked butt. A couple of minutes later he's back, safely wrapped in a towel and holding a damp washcloth, but Vecchio's already sitting up with his wine-red boxers on, straightening the sleeves of his shirt.
"You want to take a shower?" Ray asks.
"Nah, I'll get one at home. My clothes stink of smoke anyway."
"Well I'm gonna - you need the bathroom first?"
"Give me a minute," Vecchio says, nodding at him on the way past.
They pass again when Vecchio comes out of the bathroom and Ray's heading in, and this time they don't speak at all.
Ray turns the water up as hot as he can bear it and scrubs hard at his skin. It doesn't stop him thinking about Vecchio, about Vecchio's cock jammed up against his ass, pushing, sliding there. He's running soapy hands over his chest and already getting stiff at the thought, and good as it feels it's freaking him out all over again. The groping, the rubbing off, is one thing, not that different from the stuff he did as a teenager; but getting hot over the idea of Vecchio fucking him up the ass? That's a whole other story, and he's really not prepared to go there.
It's not even the principle of getting fucked by another man. God knows he's thought about that before: he thought about it pretty well every day up in Canada, and thought about it so much in that last month that he knew he had to come home before he did something monumentally stupid. But that was different - it was Fraser, and normal rules just don't apply where Fraser's concerned. This is Vecchio, and Ray doesn't have those sorts of feelings for him, isn't even certain that he likes him terribly much. No way is he letting this particular fantasy go any further.
When Ray comes out of the bathroom and smells the coffee, he almost has to revise his opinion of Vecchio. He always keeps some real stuff in the freezer, and Vecchio must have found it, along with the filters at the back of the cupboard. It's enough to get Ray dressed in record time, and he makes do with running his fingers through his hair on the way out of the bedroom. The gel can wait; he's got nothing to prove to Vecchio. There's the wig to look forward to later, anyway.
Vecchio's sitting on the couch reading an old issue of Hot Rod. There's a cup of coffee on the counter top, a spoon and the sugar packet right by it. Ray heaps the sugar in and stirs it while he wanders over to the chair opposite Vecchio.
"Thanks," he says, gesturing with his cup, when Vecchio glances up at him.
"Your kitchen needs some serious work," Vecchio says, and sips his coffee. He's given himself the maple leaf mug that Ray can never use without getting all pathetic. Probably took it because it was the cleanest one on the shelf.
When Ray looks up again, he realises Vecchio's been watching him staring at the mug.
"You should call him, you know," Vecchio says, just as if they're half way through a conversation, "or write, something more than one line on a postcard."
The coffee turns to acid in Ray's mouth, but weirdly, his first instinct is to laugh.
Dear Fraser, I've started dressing as a woman for professional reasons. She's called Rachel and I don't think you'd approve. She wears too much make-up and her hair's a mess. Oh, and by the way, I slept with Vecchio. I'm not sure I like him all that much, but my dick doesn't seem to care.
Yeah. That would work.
"He doesn't write to me any more," Ray says, stupidly. Why the fuck is he even getting into this?
Vecchio shrugs. "He asks about you, every week. How you are, what you've been doing."
This is way too much to process. Ray realises he's been sitting with his mouth open for at least ten seconds before he manages to speak. "What do you tell him?"
"The truth. 'Cos lying to Benny, that's not something you want to be doing."
"Are you going to tell him about this?"
Vecchio smiles, and it looks kind of sad. "I don't think he'd appreciate it," he says.
They stare at each other for a moment, while Ray tries to force his rising nausea back down. "Why'd you tell me, why now?" he says at last.
"I thought you should know." Vecchio's still speaking slowly, like he's aware how important this is. "Look, Kowalski, it'll have to come from you. He'll never push it. He still doesn't think he deserves to be happy."
Ray's pretty certain he can't take any more of this. Vecchio's already ripped him right open, he doesn't have to start poking around in there, too. "Can we please just not talk about it?" he says, knowing that his voice isn't quite steady.
"Well, not talking's what we do best." Vecchio shrugs again and takes another mouthful of coffee.
"What I don't get," Ray says suddenly, needing to end the silence and wanting something back, "I don't get how you - I read your files, I talked to people, and I knew you better than your own mother, and you, you were never -" he can't say it, can't say gay, because he's not even sure that's what this is, but Vecchio understands him anyway.
"Yeah, well," he says slowly, "I'm not the same man now that I was then. I've already broken all the rules."
It's a bit like a punch to the gut, watching that face take shape on Vecchio, like all the big talk, all the confidence has drained out of him and he's letting Ray see just how difficult those two years were. It's not something they ever discuss. Looking into those haunted eyes, Ray doesn't need to hear it spoken.
"Yeah," Ray says quietly, "I get that."
"I know," Vecchio says. He smiles at Ray, and it's another swift and deadly right hook.
Ray stares down into his coffee until it occurs to him that it's cool enough to drink in one go, so he stands up to get himself a refill. "More coffee?" he asks.
"No, I gotta get going, or Ma will be thinking the worst." Vecchio's on his feet too, leaning down to leave the maple leaf mug on the low table and looking around for his jacket.
Vecchio's almost at the door when Ray finally gets himself together and says, "We've got to, you know, put it back in the box. We'd be certifiably fucking crazy not to."
His hand already on the lock, Vecchio turns round. "Yeah, right," he says, and he's grinning like he doesn't believe Ray means it, or maybe he really doesn't care either way. "See you at the station at four."
And just like that Vecchio's gone, and Ray's standing like a moron in the middle of his own living room, wondering how the hell he's going to get his head straight enough to go to work after all that.
This time yesterday he'd thought that his life was fucked up, simply because Welsh was making him wear a dress. Now he's beginning to understand what fucked up really means.