Meloncholyway
Copyright September 8-November 17, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex
Pairings: Benton Fraser/Renfield Turnbull, Ray Kowalski/Ray Vecchio
Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Alliance and Paul Haggis, not to me. I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor.
Wherein the reader will find Ren's thoughts on Victoria, Fraser's attitude toward Turnbull, and, ooh! ooh! a Ray/Ray sex scene!
Notice: I used to write long stories with sex scene after sex scene. Suddenly, I've begun to write terribly short stories (terrible short stories?), and I keep hearing Christian Campbell in my head: "But what about the sex?" This one will be short, but no matter what, there will be sex!
One might have supposed that anyone connected with Benton Fraser, RCMP, had a difficult time of it. Anyone close to Constable Fraser had to try to live up to the constable's ideals, had to strive each day to meet the constable's high standards. Anyone romantically connected with the constable had to spend each day realizing that at every and any moment the constable was in the company of people; and people - - any and all people - - were attracted to the constable.
Renfield Turnbull didn't worry about those things. He was with Ben. Generous, kind, loyal, caring, beautiful Ben, who worked to live up to the standards of others, who was baffled by those around him, and who only had eyes for Ren.
Ren. Not Inspector Thatcher. Not the women he extracted from trouble on a daily basis. Not, as Ren long had feared, either of the Rays. Only Ren.
Ben was quite a blend of people. He had the ambitiously principled Bob Fraser's son, the dutiful Mountie, the endlessly loyal friend, and the bewildered boy from the Northwest Territories. He tried to balance out these characters, ruling himself strictly and trying to keep his priorities in order.
Sometimes he abandoned the strict rule in favor of some baser instincts.
That "sometimes" happened most often when he had his hands on Ren.
There were other Bens. The devoted husband. The devastating lover. Ren alone had been privileged to meet those sides to him.
You're thinking of Victoria, aren't you? Ah, but Ren did not count her. She and Ben had had a relationship, yes, Ren would not deny it. Victoria was an important part of Ben's past. A formative moment, perhaps. Ren did have the maturity (yes, Ren had maturity) to realize that there were many varieties, unending varieties, of love. No two people felt the same love. But what Ben and Victoria shared was not love. Ren doubted that they shared anything at all. It seemed to him that they had pursued different relationships together. Ben had been desperate. Ben had not been himself. Too much himself. And she...thinking of Victoria was not healthy for Ren or Ren's blood pressure.
Ren never had killed anyone. He'd been lucky in that his duties never asked that of him. Given the chance, he would not have hesitated to kill her. No, perhaps he would not have killed her, after all; death was too good for her.
Ren had asked Ben whether he loved her. Ren asked before marrying Ben and afterward as well. Before they married, Ben looked into Ren's eyes but his gaze was shuttered. He said, "No." A simple, straightforward, quiet answer. After they married, lying in bed, he slid his arm over Ren's waist and looked into Ren's eyes and raised his hand, sliding his thumb over Ren's cheekbone. "Not at all. I had no idea, then, of what love is, of what love can be."
On the whole, Ben was not prone to soul-searching romantic conversations. Men, after all, do not discuss their feelings. These ridiculous social stereotypes are frustrating. They cause grown men to express their emotions in roundabout ways, such as almost coming to fisticuffs over curling v. baseball rather than admit to feeling threatened over, say, jealousy of the attentions and friendship of a blue-eyed constable.
Ren would have won, you realize.
In the end, he rather thought that he had.
Ren was fond of Ray. And of Ray, as well. They were wonderful friends of Ben's, and of his. He was no longer jealous. Ray and Ray were completely enamored of each other, and Ben was...his.
His.
Ben wouldn't deny it, either. Ben knew full well that he belonged to Ren. With Ren. As Ren belonged to him.
On the one hand, the civilized and rational parts of Ben would insist that one human being cannot own another. Ren was not his slave, after all; Ren was his husband, married to him by choice. On the other hand, Ben could be rather possessive, and his repressed instinctual side fought to claim Ren.
That possession came out most often when he had his hands on Ren.
It was a fairly safe bet that as soon as he came home from work he'd try again.
In the meantime, there was work for Ren to do. Ray and Ray were renewing their vows; Ray wanted Ray to pay attention to the words this time. They'd be moving into a lovely house down the street from where the rest of the Vecchios lived, and Ren would be giving them paintings as a housewarming present. He'd completed a portrait of them, one where he dismissed the traditional formal poses and arranged them on canvas as they lived in his head; he had another painting for them as well, a tribute to Ray's commitment to children. A last painting, a third one, was more personal, and he wondered whether he should rethink his decision to present it to them. They might not appreciate his interference. Perhaps "speculation" was the better word.
Well, he'd better begin dinner if Ben were going to be late. He stowed his painting materials, changed out of his painting clothes, and washed his hands before moving into the kitchen area.
Ben had intended to make chicken cordon bleu. It was amazing what Ben thought that he could cook.
Door. Wolf claws. Whine and nudge at Ren's knee. Ren crouched and put a hand to Diefenbaker's head. "Good evening, Diefenbaker. I was just about to begin dinner."
"Dinner's my chore tonight," Ben said, coming in behind Diefenbaker.
"Good evening." Ren stood before Ben could get any ideas about what Ren should do from that position. "I'll begin the salad while you change."
"Thank you," Ben said. "I'll be out shortly."
Ren opened the cookbook and looked over the chicken recipe. Just as he'd suspected. Not something to be left in the hands of an amateur. He sighed, looked over the assembled salad ingredients, and reached for a tomato.
Oops.
Well, he certainly couldn't allow this stain to set. He walked back through the apartment, heading for the bathroom off the master bedroom. As he passed Ben, who was in boxers and T-shirt just reaching for jeans, he pulled his white T-shirt over his head. Bared to the waist, he turned on the sink faucet and held his T-shirt under the cold water. He washed out the tomato juice and wrung out his shirt. When he returned to the bedroom and opened the dresser, Ben dropped the jeans to the floor and put two hands on his biceps, pushing him back toward the bed.
Some people were predictable.
Forty-five sweaty minutes
later, when Ben fell asleep at his side, Ren left the bed, showered briefly,
and went to start dinner. He knew full well that he'd just used sex
to keep from eating dry chicken. He also knew that Ben had elected
this particular meal with this particular scenario in mind. It worked
out well for both of them: fantastic sex and a delicious meal. The
only one who didn't win on all sides was Diefenbaker, who tended to get
hungry waiting for the humans to mate. But Ren wasn't too worried
tonight, since Diefenbaker's wolf breath had been suspiciously doughnut-scented.
Ben had been planning ahead, apparently. A Mountie to the end.
Damn it, should have told Vecchio he'd do the first floor and let Vecchio come up here.
Damn it, should have left Fraser behind. Downstairs. At the Consulate. In the freaking Yukon Areas. "Northwest Territories, Ray." Yeah, he knew, damn it, but now wasn't the time to bother to-
Shit! That was one way for Fraser to get himself killed.
If Fraser died, Turnbull was going to kill Ray. Hard. A lot. He would be so so dead.
He remembered discussing that, just after Fraser and Turnbull got engaged. They'd been sitting in Ray's apartment - - Ray and Vecchio's apartment, at that time - - discussing Fraser's latest attempt to get Ray and Vecchio killed. Vecchio had made a comment about how they'd need to be careful from now on, since if anything happened to Fraser they'd have to answer to Turnbull.
Turnbull looked at Vecchio calmly. "Why, no, Ray. You have been Ben's close friend for some years now, and I am well aware that you'd not take his safety lightly. Besides which, he is a Mountie."
Like that explained everything. And, to Turnbull, maybe it did.
Then: "Although, should Ben be killed in the line of duty, with either of you present, in my grief I might forget myself and...well, it's best not to speculate." Ren sipped his tea calmly.
Fraser smiled.
And Fraser's smile told Ray everything he needed to know. This was love, what Fraser and Turnbull had, and Fraser was happy in a fulfilled kind of way that Ray'd never seen. He wanted to see it. Fraser deserved to be running over with happiness and fulfillment and everything else good. Ray started to see, too, not just in the abstract but for himself, why Fraser liked Turnbull. Turnbull was a freak. A big whopping freak. But awesome. In a weird way, not the "Good morning, I'm perfect" way that Fraser had.
And it would so totally suck if Ray had to tell Turnbull that Fraser'd just gotten killed. So he'd better get his ass in gear and save Fraser's butt again.
The door opened and shots were fired and the door closed again. Ray closed his eyes and breathed. He recognized the flash of gun and hand. Vecchio. On the one hand, the cop hand, thank god. On the other hand, the husband hand, the one with the wedding band, something in Ray, on the surface and way down deep inside, coiled tight and shuddered every time "bullet" and "Vecchio" came into play at the same moment.
His cop side muttered, "About time, Vecchio." He shifted and turned and got on his knees, peering over his garbage cans. There were the three black hats, over there, and there was Fraser, and Vecchio was behind him, and, let's see...
Four hours later, Vecchio still wasn't speaking to him.
Okay, so for a little of that time Vecchio's mouth had been sort of, um, occupied. What with dragging him into the closet and sucking his cock. Not kissing him. Vecchio took kissing real seriously, and sometimes, when Vecchio really really needed to kiss him, Vecchio just couldn't do it. It hurt too much, or something. Which Ray, scaring himself, sort of understood. Anyway, Vecchio shoved him in the closet and went down on him and left. Ray decided not to get pissed about it. After all, he'd been there himself. So furious and terrified and angry and upset and worried and scared that something had to be done, but unable to say it just yet, needing a connection but not ready to make one, stuck in that awful place between killing him and fucking him and keeping him safe and protected and secure.
Yeah, he'd been there.
What was it like for Turnbull? Ray and Vecchio were partners, they worked together, they were side-by-side when trouble came, they could watch each other's back on the street. Turnbull was stuck behind a desk while Fraser was across the city charging headfirst into danger. How could Turnbull live like that? Trust? Faith? In God, Fraser, and Fraser's gun-toting cop best friends?
Ray tossed aside his paperwork and said, to no one in particular as he rose at his desk, "Time to go home." Vecchio didn't say anything, but when Ray left the building, Vecchio was right behind him. He drove, even though it was Vecchio's turn. He did not want Vecchio to drive his car without complete calm.
When he got to Happy Hands, Jordan was coloring quietly at a low bright yellow table with the head teacher, Miss Bertson. "Look who's here, Jordan," she said with a smile. Jordan looked up and almost smiled.
"Hey," Ray said, crouching down across the table from them. "Good to see you. You wanna come home now?"
Jordan almost nodded.
"Great. Vecchio, you go collect Juliane while Jordan and I put away the crayons," he said without looking over his shoulder. Miss Bertson rose to help Vecchio; Ray and Jordan dumped crayons in plastic boxes. "Can I see?" he asked, reaching for the paper slowly. Jordan backed up an inch, giving permission. He turned it to view it right-side-up, tilting his head to one side. "Dief. Hey, cool. You're like Dief's personal portrait guy by now. The official Diefenbaker drawer. Can we show this to him later? He's coming over tonight, you know. You could let him see it. That'd be cool." He handed the page back to Jordan and rose. "Let's get your stuff and go home. I could use some dinner. Think we could get Vecchio to cook something good for us?"
Ray, Vecchio, Jordan, and Juliane lived in a beautiful house down the block from the Vecchio home. The two households visited back and forth, but Jordan was terrified by the Vecchios. Ray suspected that the noise and confusion and commotion and sheer extroversion were overwhelming for the boy. Jordan was very fond of Juliane, treating her with great respect. Fraser he shied away from; Diefenbaker fascinated him greatly but frightened him just as greatly. He felt most comfortable with Ray, Vecchio, and Turnbull. He seemed to admire Ray and Vecchio shyly; Turnbull he'd come to treat as a piece of furniture, apparently finding nothing threatening or intimidating there.
Ray changed clothes, then did some standard baby care-taking with Juliane while Vecchio cooked. Once she was changed, fed, burped, and changed, he set her down and got Jordan's hands washed.
Dinner conversation was strange some nights. Tonight, for example, Vecchio wasn't speaking to Ray. Jordan wasn't going to be any more communicative than usual. That left Ray wandering through a monologue of sorts, with brief almost-replies from Jordan. Vecchio wasn't making any outward signs of unhappiness, not wanting to upset Jordan, but Ray figured that Jordan was bound to notice that Vecchio, of all people, wasn't talking.
Dinner ended. Since Vecchio had cooked, Ray cleared the table while Vecchio started playtime. When the kitchen was clean, Ray gave Juliane a sink bath and got her ready to sleep.
Their home was split-level. That meant that Ray could put Juliane in her crib on the second floor and not be too far away if something happened. He put her down and waited until she was asleep before creeping downstairs again. He heard a familiar knock; Fraser and Turnbull (and Dief) knew not to ring the doorbell, since there were sleepy young people in the house.
Ray opened the door to admit their guests. He was given polite greetings by all three as they entered. "Hey, come on in. Juliane's asleep."
Diefenbaker was wandering over to greet Jordan and Vecchio. Jordan scooted away as unobtrusively as possible, so Vecchio pointed Dief back in the direction of Fraser.
"Good evening Ray, Jordan," Fraser said. "Diefenbaker."
"Is something wrong?" Turnbull asked.
"Nope," Ray said.
"Are you certain?"
"If Vecchio's pissed at me, we're not going to talk about it in front of Jordan, and we're not going to talk to you about it, either," Ray said.
"Would this hypothetical upset relate to this afternoon's incident?"
"No, it wouldn't," Ray said. "Take a seat."
"You're not upset about this afternoon's," Fraser glanced at Jordan, "display, are you, Ray?"
Vecchio stood from the floor and his pile of blocks. "Nothing to be upset about, Benny. Why don't you have a seat?"
"Fraser ran off right into the middle of it, and you don't see Turnbull all pissed at him," Ray said. Apparently they were going to talk about it after all.
"If you're through with your blocks, Ray, may I...?"
"Go ahead," Vecchio told Turnbull. Turnbull sat before Vecchio's convoluted tower and began to disassemble it block by block. "Turnbull wasn't there," Vecchio told Ray, facing him directly for once. "He wasn't there, he didn't see Benny acting like an idiot. I was there, I got a front row seat for the whole act."
"I was doing my job." Ray kept his voice low and even for Jordan. Turnbull was on the floor playing with blocks, Fraser was sitting on the sofa watching them with concerned blue eyes, Jordan was sitting on the floor watching them too, and Diefenbaker was wandering around the room, bored. "We are not going to fight about it." They weren't. There was nothing to say. "Go up and check on Juliane." There was no real urgent need to check on Juliane. She was probably fine, just sleeping. But it would give Vecchio a little room, space-wise and time-wise, and looking at cute sleeping babies usually seemed to help people calm down some, relax. So Vecchio went upstairs.
Ray sat beside Fraser on the sofa. "So you told Turnbull how today went?"
"Yes, Ray."
"You think it's harder being there, watching it all happen, or you think it's harder not being there, not knowing?"
"If one is present, Ray, should anything unfortunate happen, one would feel responsible. If one is not present, should anything unfortunate occur, one would think, 'If only I'd been there...' Not knowing, not seeing it for oneself, opens the mind to the dangers of imagination."
"So either way sucks."
"Yes, Ray."
"Really, Diefenbaker," Turnbull said. "Thank you." Dief came back to their side of the sofa, and Ray figured that Dief had been bothering Jordan again. As near as Ray could figure it, Dief sensed Jordan's fascination and was returning it, and wasn't understanding Jordan's fear. Maybe Dief was trying to make friends, to prove that there was no reason to be scared. Ray just guessed that Jordan needed more time, to get used to Dief, to get used to all of the rest of them.
Jordan liked Turnbull, though. In fact, right now - - Ray turned his head and looked behind the sofa - - Jordan was sort of hanging all over Turnbull's back and shoulders. And Turnbull was just patiently playing with blocks. It was so weird. Turnbull was weird. The weirdest part was, Ray wasn't one hundred percent certain that Turnbull was playing with blocks for Jordan's sake and not just because it was fun or something.
Okay, it sort of was fun. He got a kick out of playing with kid stuff, himself.
Vecchio came down and took Jordan off for bed. Dief knocked over Turnbull's blocks. Ray and Fraser talked quietly on the sofa. Vecchio came downstairs again, and Ray went up to read Jordan a bedtime story.
When Fraser and Turnbull left, Ray went upstairs. Did stuff in the bathroom, got naked, got in bed. Settled in on his stomach, arms crossed over his pillow, staring at the headboard. Waited.
Hands sliding over his shoulders, over his biceps. Mouth on his shoulderblade, weight dipping the mattress. "Sorry," murmured, heartfelt, against his skin, licked away gently.
"Yeah." He turned, rolled, pulled Vecchio to his mouth for a kiss. Today he'd scared Vecchio. Tomorrow Vecchio might scare him. It happened. They knew the risks, had known from the start. He wasn't quitting his job, and Vecchio wouldn't ask him to quit. That was the deal. "What're you doing still wearing clothes?"
"Seeing you all naked in bed, you think I'm going to stop for anything on my way?"
"Yeah, but now we gotta stop and undress you."
"No we don't."
"You wanna come in your pants again? Last time you got all pissed about it."
Vecchio sighed and crawled off of the bed. "Give me a minute."
"Take your time." Ray pushed off the covers, crooked a knee, reached down his body to stroke his balls.
"You're such a tease," Vecchio muttered, stripping faster suddenly.
"I'm not a tease. I always deliver. You ever walk away from me unsatisfied?"
"Okay, then, you're a slut."
"You're a bastard."
"Say that in front of my mother."
"She'd agree with me."
"Can't keep your hands off of yourself, can you?"
"You can't keep your hands off me, either." Vecchio on the bed again, tongue in his mouth, hand displacing his. "Love you."
"I love you," Vecchio said, fingers running over and over his perineum, teeth raking his lower lip.
"You think I'm a slut?"
"No."
"You think I'm a tease?"
"Sometimes."
He grinned and scratched down Vecchio's back lightly. "You like it."
"All the time. Less talking, more action."
Finger rubbing insistently over his asshole. "You going somewhere?"
"Maybe."
"Why do you always have to be on top?"
Vecchio licked across his mouth. "You're such a pretty bottom boy, Stanley."
Cop training had its advantages. In an instant Ray was on top, pinning Vecchio back against the mattress. "Say that again."
"You're so cute when you're pretending to be tough."
Ray groaned and slid down, resting his head on Vecchio's shoulder. "Tell me again why I married you."
"'Cause you love me, baby."
"Yeah." He sighed. "Okay. You can fuck me. Just don't call me baby."
"Okay, Ray."
"Thank you, Ray."
"You're welcome, Ray."
He laughed silently, shoulders shaking, forehead on Vecchio's neck. "What the fuck is wrong with us?"
"We had a bad day and we're not sure how to deal with it. Fighting, sex, acting like idiots."
"Bad day?"
"Yeah, a bad day."
"So that's what it feels like. Life with you is such a paradise, I forgot."
Vecchio tugged a spike of his hair. "You're hilarious, Kowalski."
"I know." He relaxed, comfortable. "Wanna have sex?"
"We're naked in bed together. What else would we do?"
"Talk. Sleep." Vecchio snorted. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm so sexy you can't imagine I'm good for anything else." Vecchio snorted again. "Keep doing that you'll inhale something unpleasant."
"You disparaging my nose, Kowalski?"
"No. If I were going to 'disparage' something, I'd start with your chin. Or your lack of a chin."
"You want to hear what I'd disparage about you?"
"Go ahead. I know you're dying to start about my hair, and that just means that I get to make fun of your hair. Or your lack of hair."
"I might start with something a little more important to you."
"Only thing more important to me than my hair is my dick. And that just means that I get to make fun of your dick. Or your l-"
"Say it and I'll kill you."
"You can try."
"I was going to talk about your skinny ass."
"You don't like my butt? You love my butt. You like my butt better than anything else about me."
"How'd you guess?"
"You're a lot of things, Vecchio, but you aren't subtle." Vecchio was stroking his back with one hand, fingers of the other hand toying with his hair absently. "Ray?"
"Hmm."
He closed his eyes and slept.
"Good morning, Constable Fraser, sir," was murmured respectfully against his skin.
"Ren, really."
"Yes, Constable Fraser, sir?"
"Ren."
"Yes, Constable Fraser, sir?"
"That's - oh - perfectly acceptable, even expected, in the workplace, as I am your superior officer due to my age and experience, but I don't - oh - could you please not do that while I'm-"
Low chuckle, a kiss over his pelvic bone. "No, Constable Fraser, sir." Wet heat around his, oh yes... "Do you like that, Constable Fraser, sir?"
Fraser grabbed and rolled, until he was astride Ren. He looked down at Ren, measuring, speculating. Ren looked up at him with a patented look of patience and curiosity. "Ren."
"Yes, Constable Fraser, sir?"
"You can't really want this."
"I can, Ben." Gentle fingers on his nipple, blue eyes looking up at him. "So can you."
No. No, he didn't want that, he didn't, he'd never...
Never, ever...
Well, perhaps just once or twice. Out of curiosity only. Pure fantasy. It was nothing that he actually wanted.
He lightly smacked away Ren's hand. Ren smiled slowly, knowingly. "Constable Turnbull."
"Yes, Constable Fraser, sir?" The knowing smile was gone. Ren was gone. Here was pure Turnbull.
"Suck my cock, Constable."
A perfect look of perplexity crossed Ren's - - Turnbull's - - face. "All right, Constable Fraser, sir. If you're sure that's what you want."
"I'm sure."
"All righty then." Turnbull slid down on the mattress.
Mere minutes later, Fraser was shaking on his hands and knees, biting his lip to hold back his moans. Ren was beneath him, propped up slightly on one elbow, one muscled arm around his waist, licking at the head of his cock. He gave a minute thrust, gritting his teeth to control the movement of his hips. Ren nursed his cock gently, encouraging him. He knew that if he did thrust into Ren's mouth, if he actually let go and fucked Ren's mouth, that Ren could take it. And he wanted to, oh god, he wanted to, wanted to fuck Ren's mouth, yes, rock into that sucking mouth, down that welcoming throat, push snugly into- "Constable."
"Yes, sir?" came Turnbull's polite, official voice.
"Swallow my cock."
"Yes, sir." Down, down, yes, and throat muscles rippled, and oh yes. He pumped his hips again, then again, picking up a tempo then abandoning it, just trying to rock deeper, deeper, into the heat, the wetness, the heat, suction, the yes, yes, oh god, Turnbull was his eager-to-please subordinate and he was going to fuck that boy's mouth - - orgasm hit hard, ripping pleasure through his body, pouring jism down Turnbull's throat. Fraser caught himself before he collapsed and managed to fall to one side. As he panted and stared blindly at the ceiling, Turnbull crawled up his body and licked his voicebox. "Constable Fraser, sir?" Nibble at his earlobe. "I hope that my performance was satisfactory." Tongue on his clavicle.
"I'm putting you on guard duty. So that you'll have time to think about what you've done."
"Yes, sir." Teeth at his nipple. "Perhaps, sir, if you gave me a second chance?"
"You should endeavor to perform your duties as best you can the first time, Constable."
"Yes, sir."
"But I'll be lenient this time and give you an opportunity to better your performance."
"Thank you, Constable Fraser,
sir. I won't let you down."
Vecchio's hand left his spine. Ray knew what that meant, and reached out, too, opening one eye and snatching the lube from the nightstand before Vecchio could. He broke the kiss and said, "No way. It's my turn."
"We're taking turns, now? You're keeping count?"
"You don't want me to fuck you?"
"I never said that."
Ray narrowed his eyes. "You really want to fuck me?"
"Yeah." Pushing him over, getting on top of him. "Yeah, I do." Kissing him, kissing him fast and deep, starting to rock against his body. He hugged Vecchio's hips with his thighs, getting a hand between their bodies to feel down Vecchio's chest. He liked this, loved this, it went straight to his head and shut down his brain, made him feel nothing but sharp pulses of pleasure, this mouth-to-mouth, cock-to-cock, Ray-to-Ray.
Vecchio's fingers pried the lube from his grip. He didn't mean to be clutching at it like that, but his fingers curled in pleasure and he couldn't let go. When his hand was empty, he reached for Vecchio's cock, but Vecchio pushed his hand away, so he settled for tugging at Vecchio's nipple instead. Since this really wasn't the first time they'd done this, Vecchio could kiss him and open the lube one-handed and then reach down, yeah, down there, pressing a slick finger against him right...there. Mmm. Ray felt his body opening, his back arching, and maybe he was a slut, but not for everybody. Definitely for Vecchio. He tightened his muscles on purpose and tasted Vecchio's gasp.
Vecchio knew where his prostate was, that was for damned sure. Kept rubbing it, making him even harder, making him moan, making him want more, more, more. Two fingers up his ass, then three, and hell no hell no hell no hell no oh god yes. He arched and opened and Vecchio's other hand was over his mouth to stifle the scream; don't wake the kids.
When he came down again, Vecchio was licking cum off his chest. Through an incredible act of will, he managed to lift his hand and rest it on Vecchio's head, petting the peach fuzz a little. God.
What Vecchio called him said a lot sometimes. Usually he was Ray. When Vecchio was trying to create some distance, either because they were fighting or because they were on the job and Vecchio needed to remember that letting their personal relationship interfere might get one of them killed, then he was Kowalski. And when something hit Vecchio deep down in an emotional place, he was Stanley. Usually Vecchio censored that one, tried to keep it stifled, but sometimes it came out anyway. Like right now, when Vecchio was breathing his first-first name into his navel.
He rested his foot on Vecchio's back. "Come on." A second later he was staring up into green, and there was a thick pulse against his ass, and then it slid deep inside, and his eyes rolled back in his head. On his back, knees up, one hand reaching back for the headboard, Ray lifted himself, rocked himself, clenched his jaw to hold back the moans and closed his muscles around Vecchio's cock. Might as well make it a good ride. He knew what worked on Vecchio. Flexibility and muscle control were right up there on the list. Near the top of his list was Vecchio's stamina. And damn if it wasn't paying off tonight.
Harder.
Faster.
Harder.
Faster.
He was sweating and sticky, his cock was leaking, and he had a cramp in his right thigh. He didn't care; it didn't matter; the only important thing in the world anymore was this deep-seated, growing pleasure, the throb of the blood in his veins, the constant and eternal triggering of his prostate, fireworks, shudders, fireworks again.
He didn't quite pass out this time. When he opened his eyes, he pet Vecchio's peach fuzz again, Vecchio's face in his neck. "How long have you been planning that?"
"Two weeks."
"That long? Why'd you wait?"
"I've been trying to work up the courage. Thought you might kill me for it."
"You want me to-"
"No thank you." Vecchio pushed himself up to his elbows, removing some of his weight from Ray. "I'm not as.... I don't have the..."
"Trying to come up with a comparison that won't make me kick you in the head?"
Vecchio eased out of his body. Ray shivered. "I'll go get something to clean you up."
"Yeah, you make your escape now," Ray said. "Hey, you like my ass tight, you can't pull stuff like that."
Vecchio came back from the bathroom momentarily, bearing a warm washcloth. "You'll recover. How long have we been doing this and you're still tight as you were the first time."
"It's stress. And stop groping me. I'm not getting it up again."
"You're not?"
"Could you at least give me five minutes?" Ow, sensitive.
Vecchio kissed him. "It's okay. We should get some sleep anyway."
He curled up on his side, closing his eyes. Vecchio got into bed a minute later, spooning up behind him, kissing his shoulder.
A minute after that, Vecchio's fingers were creeping into his lap.
A minute after that, he was
on his back again.