Gas Food Lodging

by brooklinegirl



Summary: He should be in control, this shouldn't be as hot as it was, it just shouldn't, because this was annoy-the-fuck-out-of-him-at-any-given-opportunity Vecchio..

Enormous thanks to the wonderful lynnmonster, who went over this time and again, pushed me where I needed to be pushed, allowed me to lift lines directly from her beta (give her full credit for "Lucky you," please), and was an all-around kick-ass cheerleader through this whole thing. It's set, uh, mostly outside of Chicago.


They'd already had the fight about who was gonna drive. They'd actually had that fight a few times now, pretty much whenever they stopped for gas or food. This time, Ray lost, and he gave in with poor grace, wrenching open the passenger door of the ugly rental sedan and slouching heavily into the seat. As they pulled out, he stared moodily out the window at the bazillionth empty-ass field on the side of the road in the middle of fucking nowhere and ignored Vecchio's quiet humming.

This whole thing was a fucking waste of time. They fly all the way to fucking Colorado for a dumb-ass conference - symposium, they insisted on calling it - on "Exploring the Future of Crime-Mapping." Said exploration having, apparently, to do with a whole fuck-load of boring panels. Then their flight gets cancelled due to the kinda tremendous rain storm. And the choice was sit around for another day and stare at each other, or rent a car and get on the fucking road. Fifteen hours from Colorado to Chicago, no problem, right? Day, day and a half, easy.

Only they'd been waiting for the flight, so they got a late start Thursday. Whatever. One night in a crappy motel, no problem. It would have been fine. Thing was, it was still raining when they set out this morning. Raining hard. Hard so they could barely see and had to crawl along. Which again was manageable. Or would have been, without the flat tire. That they had to change, on the side of the road. In the rain.

God, this sucked.

"God, this sucks," Vecchio said, sighing a little.

"Shut up, what the fuck are you complaining about?" Ray responded automatically.

Vecchio glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. "What, you're having fun? This is a good time for you? Driving through Hicksville in the fucking rain and crashing at two-bit places where we're lucky they have running water?"

"You're a snob, Vecchio, that's what your problem is." Ray slouched back even further, kicking his booted foot up onto the dash in front of him. He dug into his shirt pocket, extracting his cigarettes.

"Did I ask you to explain my problems to me? No, I don't think I did ask that, and do you have to smoke?"

"It's not your car, Vecchio, so what are you bitching about?" Ray said around his cigarette as he lit it and then shoved the lighter back into his shirt pocket.

"Not your car either, Kowalski." Vecchio was scowling at the road now and his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

"Well, there you go, then," Ray said pleasantly, rolling down the window a crack so the smoke would mostly go out his side. "There's something that's not your fucking problem." He took another drag of his smoke. "In case you were wondering," he added helpfully.

"I wasn't," Vecchio snapped.

"Huh," Ray said, and Vecchio actually growled at him a little, so Ray leaned forward and put on the radio, pressing button after button. He didn't even have to look at Vecchio to keep tabs on the level of frustration; he could feel it in the air of the car. He timed it so that he stopped on a song just as Vecchio said, "Jesus Christ, Kowalski."

"What?" Ray said, leaning back again and putting both feet up on the dash now. "Springsteen. 'Thunder Road.' Totally cool."

"I hate this song." Vecchio wouldn't even look at him.

"You do not. Nobody hates this song."

"Yeah, well, I do."

Ray looked at him curiously. "Do you hate everything?"

"Well, I hate you," Vecchio responded.

"Yeah." Ray leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, fingers tapping out a rhythm on his thighs. "I get that a lot."

"I bet," Vecchio said, and Ray grinned, and hummed along till the end of the song.


Another Crappy Motel

Another night in another crappy (yeah, okay, Vecchio was right about that) side-of-the-road motel, but at least this one didn't have mold on the plastic shower curtain. Ray snagged a shower while Vecchio ordered in pizza from the place up the road. Ray stood in front of the mirror, after, swiping the steam off so he could see as he ran his fingers through his hair, tugging it up into damp spikes that'd wilt as his hair dried, but still. He felt a lot better after washing the grime of the road off of him, and would feel better yet after pizza.

He came out with the towel slung around his hips, digging around in his bag for some clothes to put on. Vecchio was lying neatly on one of the beds, thin hotel pillow folded under his head as he flipped sadly through the five stations that came in on the TV. "Nothing," he said, tossing away the remote and watching Ray as he pulled clean boxers and a t-shirt from his bag.

"Yeah, well, this place sucks, what'd you expect?" Ray muttered, dropping the damp towel to the floor and pulling on his boxers. "Besides," he said blindly, as he tugged the t-shirt on over his head, "Aren't you fucking tired? After all the driving that you did today?"

"Let it go, Kowalski. You can start tomorrow. After you've had coffee," Vecchio said.

"I can drive before coffee." Ray emerged from the t-shirt, offended.

"Yeah?" said Vecchio, looking at him doubtfully.

"Yeah, asshole, better than you, anyway."

"Uh-huh." Vecchio nodded several times. "It's just that, what with your inclination for driving into lakes and all..."

"The car," Ray said with dignity, "was on fire at the time. Besides, do you see any fucking lakes around here?" He gestured widely. "We're in the middle of the flattest, driest place I ever seen."

"Oh, but, if there were lakes, then we'd have to wait for you to have coffee." Vecchio nodded. Again. "I get it."

"Oh, Jesus god, will you please just shut up." Ray sprawled on his own bed. There was quiet for several wonderful moments, then he cracked open one eye and tilted his head to look at Vecchio. "Pizza?"

"Soon," Vecchio said, getting up and starting to unbutton his shirt just as there was a knock on the thin door to their room. "Or, now."

Pizza was good. Not being in a moving car was good. Being dry was good. They found the tail end of a basketball game on the television, which neither of them gave a fuck about, but it was something to watch in companionable silence. They ate pizza and drank warm soda from their stash in the car, after which Ray's brain was telling him sleep would be good, too. When he came back from brushing his teeth, Vecchio was tiredly stripping off his dress shirt, not paying any attention to Ray, who ran his eyes down Vecchio's body, catching on the messy scar low on his left side. Both Vecchio and Fraser still carried bullets in their bodies, and Ray couldn't help but think, meanly, wear a fucking vest sometime, why donít you?

He slid under the covers and kicked till they were untucked from the bottom, then sprawled over onto his stomach. "Turn off the light, willya, Vecchio?"

And Vecchio did, without argument, surprisingly, thankfully. Ray fell asleep to the sound of Vecchio sighing softly as he settled himself in bed.


What Are You Gonna Do

The next day was more of the same. They overslept (Vecchio must've slept like crap, same as Ray - the beds were that god-awful uncomfortable) and started out late, Ray clutching a cup of vile coffee from the machine near their room and fumbling desperately for his sunglasses to block the too-bright morning sunlight. Another day of driving. This wasn't fun. This wasn't good times.

One more night. He just had to get through today, and tonight, and then they'd be home by mid-day tomorrow, which was good, 'cause Frannie was probably sick of feeding his turtle by now.

Thing was, Vecchio was big-time obnoxious today and Ray was pretty sure he might end up punching him before the day was out, if he kept this up. Bitching over every damn thing. Every fucking thing annoyed him, and not just the stuff Ray did, like usual. No, today it was the price of gas ("It's too high, keep going." "Vecchio. This is it. See that little line? That little line is on "E" which stands for "empty" which means we're paying the buck fifty for gas, got it?"). Today, it was where to stop for lunch, and no place, not one fucking place would do ("You want to eat at that place, Kowalski? What, you like salmonella poisoning? Your choice, I guess."), so by 3 o'clock, when Ray's stomach was rumbling painfully, he pulled grimly into a side-of-the-road sandwich stop and shut Vecchio up with a look. "We're stopping. I'm getting a sandwich. You want a sandwich, Vecchio? My treat, I'll buy you a fucking sandwich, but we're stopping. Capice?"

"What, you think you're a fucking Italian now? Kowalski, hey, he's a paisano." Vecchio snorted.

Ray just looked at him, his hands holding onto the steering wheel very, very tightly. He breathed carefully: In - out. In - out. Then he got out of the car and very, very carefully closed the door behind him, before walking - carefully - though the way too fucking hot sunshine to the - hey, for once, not crappy, but actually pretty good - middle-of-nowhere sandwich shop, where they toasted your roll, and the cheese melted just perfect, and the servings were huge.

He brought Vecchio his sandwich, handing it to him silently as he slid back into the car. Vecchio accepted it, stiffly pleasant, and Ray didn't spin the wheels as he pulled back onto the road.

Jesus. Long fucking day.

He drove till it started getting dark. They were passing what looked like a halfway decent motel and he said, without looking at Vecchio, "We're stopping. We need real food. And beer. I'm pretty sure we need beer."

Vecchio looked out the window and shrugged with one shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

It was the most civilized conversation they'd had all day.

They got beer. They got Chinese food. They got a room. Ray shoved the door open with his elbow and dropped the food on the table, his bag on the floor. Vecchio came in behind him with the six-pack. Once the door was closed, the tension seemed to ease a bit. Long day - long couple of days - with no break, really, and not enough sleep, not enough food, not enough anything. They just needed to take a fucking break.

Ray pulled off his boots and socks, wiggling his toes with a happy sigh. He stretched and got up, nudging Vecchio away from the food. "I'll get it ready, you go take a shower."

Vecchio must've been fucking exhausted, 'cause he stepped away without an argument. But he stood watching Ray as Ray pulled out the various cartons and got them opened up. "I don't want a shower, I'm good."

"Yeah, well," Ray didn't look at Vecchio, and licked duck sauce off his thumb. "Then just relax, okay? I got it."

A long pause, and then, "Okay," Vecchio said, and slumped down on one of the beds, undoing the top few buttons of his shirt and then slipping out of his shoes and socks, sighing and wriggling his toes. Ray grinned, but didn't say a word, 'cause he was being nice here.

So this was a relatively nice motel, but the TV didn't even work. Neither one of them had the energy to even deal with it (with the explaining and the complaining and the slamming the phone down without ever actually getting a new TV at all), so they sat on their beds and ate their food, and Ray watched Vecchio instead.

"What?" Vecchio snapped at him.

Ray blinked, and shook his head, slurping up more of his noodles. "What, what? Nothing, what."

"Then quit looking at me."

"Trust me, Vecchio, I'm not looking at you."

"Yeah, you are, actually."

Ray shrugged. Man, Vecchio was high-strung. Sure, Ray rubbed him the wrong way - mostly on purpose, if you wanted to get down to brass tacks - but mostly, Vecchio seemed to like being rubbed the wrong way. Fuck, it was pretty much the basis of their - well, not quite "friendship," but the basis of their "not killing each other just yet." If they couldn't work off some of this tension between each other by sniping and being annoying, then they'd just explode or something, 'cause really...


Ray was looking at Vecchio again. He knew it this time, realized it, but didn't even try to stop, just reached blindly for his bottle of beer and took a long, slow swallow, never moving his eyes off of Vecchio.

"What are you looking at?" Vecchio slammed down his beer on the bedside table. The beer, of course, foamed up and over the rim of the bottle, soaking Vecchio's hand and sleeve. He jumped up, shaking his hand and cursing, and Ray was half-hard just watching him. Which didn't make any sense, but there it was.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got to his feet as well. "Nothing, just - looking." He smiled what he hoped was his dangerous smile and it must have been, because Vecchio glared at him.

"What the fuck is your problem, Kowalski?"

"I don't got a problem, Vecchio."

"Trust me, you got plenty of problems."

"Yeah?" And now Ray had drifted pretty close to Vecchio, and Vecchio was blinking like he only just now realized how close. Ray lifted his chin at him.

"Back off," Vecchio said tensely, his hands curling into fists.

"Or what?" Ray, working on pure instinct - or adrenaline, or something - moved in half a step closer, which was right the fuck up in Vecchio's space. He tilted his head, looking at Vecchio curiously. "What are you gonna do, Vecchio?"

Vecchio was a blur of motion, his hands grabbing Ray's shirt and then shoving him against the wall hard enough that he lost his breath for a moment, even though he'd been expecting it. Vecchio had his weight against Ray and was glaring at him - but not that cold glare he got sometimes. No, there was some heat in that gaze and Ray grinned just a little because hey - he'd been right on target here.

"Maybe I do have a problem," Ray said consideringly, leaning his head back against the wall and letting one leg slide forward to nudge between Vecchio's thighs. Vecchio was hard. Ray didn't have a single problem.

Vecchio was good - he didn't even take a breath, just narrowed his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Kowalski."

"You gonna make me?" Ray tilted his hips forward, raising an eyebrow.

Not a breath, even, now - and no smile either - but Ray was close enough that he could feel Vecchio's heart pounding in his chest. "Am I gonna have to?" Vecchio's voice was precisely measured.

"You might," Ray breathed against Vecchio's lips, a second from kissing him, only maybe Vecchio got there first. Probably didn't matter, 'cause Ray was suddenly slammed up against the wall again, hard, harder than before even, and Vecchio was kissing him fiercely, was up against Ray, his legs spread and pinning Ray in, pinning Ray back, shoving against him, Ray's legs trapped between the spread of Vecchio's thighs. When Vecchio finally tore his lips away from Ray's, his face was sweaty and his hand was wrapped tight in Ray's hair. Ray tried a grin, but Vecchio's hand yanked hard against his hair and Ray's hips thrust forward, and then Ray was shoving his hands in between them, desperately trying to get his pants open. To get Vecchio's pants open. Either. Both. Just do something about this, about how fucking hard they were, how fucking hot this was. Just -

Vecchio shoved Ray's hands away hard enough that he banged his knuckles against the wall, and that hurt, but it felt good, too - fuck, everything Vecchio was doing felt good. Hurt, not hurt, it didn't matter at all, because there were more interesting things going on, there were Vecchio's hands busy between them now, Vecchio's breath warm and moist against Ray's throat as he braced his forehead against the wall, fumbled with the belt on his own pants, the buttons on Ray's jeans. Did it quick, even though his hands seemed to be shaking and he was breathing fast.

And this - this was gonna be quick, and messy, and hot - so damned hot - because Vecchio was bracing himself against the wall - all hot and desperate around Ray. Bracing himself, and Ray put his hands on Vecchio's hips and yanked him forward and - oh yeah. God. Vecchio's cock was right up against him, and Christ, Vecchio was humping him here, just driving hard against him, his breath harsh in Ray's ear. Ray's hands were all tangled up in the waist of Vecchio's pants, tugging him forward hard, again, and again, and he was panting in Vecchio's ear, "Yeah, c'mon, yeah. Do it, Christ, been wanting to, do it ,Vecchio, c'mon, come, come."

And Vecchio jerked and shuddered, dropping his head and shoving his forehead against Ray's shoulder, and suddenly the space between them was warm and wet, Ray's cock soaked with Vecchio's come.

And Ray groaned, and leaned his head back against the wall, the sound of Vecchio's breathing loud in his ears. He shut his eyes tight and tried to take a deep breath, tried to stop panting, because that shouldn't be so hot, it just shouldn't, because this was annoy-the-fuck-out-of-him-at-any-given-opportunity Vecchio, only it was, it was seriously just that hot. Then Vecchio's hand closed tight around Ray's slick cock and started moving steadily. And Christ, over and over again, in his head, behind his closed eyes, turning his crank so hard, was Vecchio, head buried in Ray's shoulder, coming so hard and - fuck, fuck, Vecchio twisted his hand just right on Ray's cock, and Ray bit his lip hard enough to taste blood to keep from saying Vecchio's name as he came.


Home By Late Afternoon

Ray snorted, and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, slouching lower in the passenger seat. Sure, no problem. Except for the traffic. And the construction. And the motherfucking detour.

So "afternoon" was about five hours gone, and even Vecchio was slumped back, blinking slowly as he wove his way through the - thank fucking god - not-too-bad city traffic. He looked tired, but Ray himself was even too weary to grumble at him about whether or not he should be driving.

Today had been - just more of the same, actually, except for the goddamn stupid-ass construction - and Ray was actually pretty impressed with Vecchio for playing it cool. Letting it just be what it was, you know. Not getting all worked up by it.

He'd woken Ray up real sweet this morning, kicking Ray's bed as he walked by rubbing the towel over his non-existent hair and saying, "Get the hell up, Kowalski, I'd like to get back to Chicago and see my mother again before I fucking die."

And Ray stumbled blearily to the shower, and stood in the stream of hot water, blinking stupidly down for several moments at the come crusted on his stomach before it occurred to him that they had fucked up against the wall the night before. Or, more to the point, Vecchio had fucked him up against the wall the night before, and seemed pretty fucking fine with it this morning. Which was. You know. Good.

And it was. Vecchio lifted the keys from Ray, right from under his hand real easy as Ray fumbled for them on the dresser. "Gimme a break, Kowalski, you're half-dead."

Which Ray was so fucking not, and he was damn well ready to argue that point, only the sun hit him right between the eyes as Vecchio opened their motel room door, so all he said was, "Ow," and ducked his head low as he slumped into the front seat.

Things were better after coffee - things were always better after coffee; coffee was a drug and he liked it - and he sat up a little, and picked a fight with Vecchio about his driving skill ("See that middle line, there, Vecchio? They paint that for a reason." "See this middle finger, Kowalski?"), and felt even better after that. And they switched off driving a few times, and once Vecchio slouched against the window and fell asleep for a little while, and Ray got to make fun of him for drooling a little in his sleep, and yeah. It was good.

Till the previously mentioned goddamn motherfucking suckass roadblock. Which even then - they managed to have some sort of solidarity in their misery, at least, and sniped at each other easily, and had sunk into a grumpy-yet-companionable silence by the time they hit the outskirts of Chicago.

And when Vecchio pulled up just past the streetlight in front of Ray's apartment, and tiredly put the car in park, saying, "Get out and get some fucking sleep, Kowalski," Ray pulled his hands out of his pockets, and put them on Vecchio, anchoring himself on his jacket and pushing forward till he had Vecchio up against the driver's side door. He kissed him hard, pressing his tongue into his mouth and licking till Vecchio's hands were pulling him closer, not shoving him away.

They kissed for what Ray guessed was kind of a long time in the dark car, his hands finding their way under Vecchio's jacket, Vecchio's hands sliding down the back of his jeans. He didn't - it wasn't - he didn't really realize it, but by the time he managed to pull away, blinking at Vecchio in the dark of the car, the windows were steamed up, which he thought was actually a pretty lucky thing, considering.

He looked at Vecchio, who was licking his lips and breathing real heavy. Ray took a breath, ignoring how fast his heart was beating. "Well," he said, and was pretty pleased his voice came out so steady. "Night, Vecchio."

He slid back to his own side of the car, and ran his hands through his hair before opening the door. Vecchio turned back to the wheel. "Yeah, Kowalski." His voice was way more shakey than Ray's, and they both winced as the interior light came on when Ray opened the door. "See ya."

Ray walked upstairs only a little unsteady, which probably had a lot to do with how fucking hard he was. When he peered out the window from his apartment, Vecchio's car was still idling outside, and stayed there for several minutes before pulling out into the night.


This Isn't What You Think It Is

Ray had some grudging admiration that Vecchio waited two days before showing up at his apartment. Ray let a slow grin spread over his face as he crossed his arms over his chest and slouched against the doorway.

"Don't start, Kowalski," Vecchio growled, shaking his head and brushing past him.

Ray grinned wider and pivoted in the doorway, watching Vecchio head directly to his kitchen. "I didn't say a word, Vecchio."

"You mind if I have a beer?" Vecchio said, taking a long swallow from the one he'd taken from the fridge.

"Nope," said Ray, kicking the door shut behind him, and throwing the locks as an afterthought. He strolled to the kitchen.

"You want one?" asked Vecchio, not looking at him, and reaching for the fridge handle.

"Sure," said Ray, keeping right on moving, crowding into Vecchio's space and lifting the bottle from his slack fingers. He lifted the bottle and took several long swallows, and when he put it down and drew the back of his hand slowly over his lips, Vecchio was watching him.

"Thanks," Ray added, then kissed Vecchio the best he knew how, crowding him some more, with hips and chest hard up against him and his tongue in Vecchio's mouth, and god, he tasted like beer and his mouth was hot and Ray was hard for him already. Ray had his hands braced against the counter on either side of Vecchio's body, waiting for - there it was. Vecchio groaned and his hands came up around Ray's waist, scrabbling for a hold on his belt loops and yanking him in tight.

Ray ran his tongue up Vecchio's throat to his ear. Vecchio was breathing hard, and moving his hips against Ray's. "This isn't what you think it is, Kowalski."

"No?" said Ray, shoving his hips against Vecchio's and grinning. "I kind of think it is."

Vecchio inhaled sharply and walked Ray backwards, muttering, "Shut up, shut up, don't you ever shut up?" against his lips. Vecchio wasn't quite shoving him, but it was close, so Ray kept moving steadily back, bunching his hands in Vecchio's crisp dark dress shirt, wrinkling it and tugging it out of his slacks. He shoved his hands in between them and worked his way down, unbuttoning Veccchio's shirt as he went. Vecchio, intent on kissing Ray, just kept moving, hands firm on Ray's hips, maneuvering him backwards and into the bedroom. The back of Ray's knees hit the bed and he sat down hard, leaning back on his hands, and looked up at Vecchio.

Vecchio's shirt hung opened, framing his chest, the cross on its chain around his neck hanging forward as he leaned over Ray. "Listen to me," he said tensely, and Ray said, "Okay," and looped his arm up around Vecchio's neck, tugging him down. Vecchio groaned against his lips. "Fuck, Kowalski, just..."

"What?" Ray moved his mouth down Vecchio's neck, nudging the shirt out of the way, mouthing the skin there. "What?" he said again, dropping his head further and licking at Vecchio's nipple till he could hear Vecchio hissing for breath as he tightened his hands on Ray's shoulders. Ray nudged at him till Vecchio fell with a sigh onto the bed beside him, and Ray rolled half on top of him. "What, Vecchio, what do you want to tell me?" he breathed. "Come on," and he slid Vecchio's belt open, undid his button, and pulled the zipper down, then cupped his hand over the hard length between Vecchio's legs. "You can tell me, I'm listening."

And he wriggled down to kneel between Vecchio's legs, pulling his boxers out of the way and sucking his cock deeply into his mouth. And god, you know, it had been a while, but he fucking loved this. He'd kinda forgotten, you know, how good the stretch to his jaw felt, and how easily his arms looped into place, one circling under Vecchio's knee and tugging it up, the other laying across his hips and holding him down where he lurched, gasping, into Ray's mouth.

He loved sucking cock.

He wasn't even trying for finesse to begin with - just trying to get as much of Vecchio's cock into his mouth as quickly as possible, sucking messily and enthusiastically, in love with the slide and the weight of it against his tongue. Vecchio's cock was leaking salty into his mouth and he let his tongue move against the bottom it, listening to Vecchio's breath coming fiercely.

He ducked his head to lick a long stripe up the base of Vecchio's cock, then ducked lower, letting his tongue start down by Vecchio's balls, grinning inwardly as Vecchio gasped, at his hands scrabbling against the sheets on Ray's unmade bed. Ray's dick was trapped painfully in his jeans, and he gave Vecchio's cock another long lick and sat back on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then unbuttoning his pants, sighing with relief as he did so. "God, Vecchio." He looked down at Vecchio, who was lying sprawled on the bed, shirt falling to either side, hands clenched in the bedsheets, panting heavily and trying to glare at Ray. "God," he breathed again, letting a slow grin spread across his face as he stroked himself with one hand. That felt so fucking good - he felt like he'd been hard since that night in the car - and he moved into it with his hips, shutting his eyes briefly, letting his thumb run over the broad, damp head of his cock. He shuddered with the sensation and opened his eyes, finding Vecchio watching his cock slack-jawed, eyes quickly going back to his face and his mouth snapping closed as he felt Ray's eyes on him.

Jesus, Vecchio wanted this bad.

"Kowalski," Vecchio said grimly. "You gonna handle this yourself? You want me to leave the two of you alone?"

"Hell, no." He dropped down beside Vecchio and wiggled himself the rest of the way out of his pants, then tugged the t-shirt off over his head. He'd barely gotten himself out of it when Vecchio rolled on top of him, all hands, grabbing his arms, his hips, his ass, before moving his arms up to pin Ray's wrists to the bed. Vecchio looked down at Ray, panting slightly, and Ray moved his wrists a little, testing the grip. Vecchio's hands tightened and shoved him down. "You're such a fucking slut, Kowalski."

Still breathing heavily, Ray grinned up at him. "Lucky you." He wanted Vecchio to kiss him, but Vecchio was just looking down at him, acting like his cock wasn't right at this moment hitching up against Ray's. Vecchio couldn't seem to stop moving his hips if he tried.

His eyes were real dark as he said, "You're an annoying little fuck, you know that?"

Ray moved under him, shoving his hips up, and Vecchio's breath caught on a moan. He'd stripped out of his clothes real quick at some point, and now there was nothing between them, and every move of Ray's hips caused a un-fucking-believable slide against Vecchio's cock. He shut his eyes and moaned, letting his hips move up, and up, again and again. Vecchio's hands shook a little on Ray's wrists, and Ray smiled through his gasps for breath.

He opened his eyes to see Vecchio, sweating and panting, staring down at him. Vecchio looked like he was right on the edge, and he was shoving his dick against Ray. "What, Vecchio, what," Ray gasped. "You want to fuck me?"

Vecchio groaned and dropped his head to Ray's shoulder, his breath hot and quick against Ray's neck.

Ray grinned and twisted his hands under Vecchio's loosened grip. "C'mon, Vecchio. Fuck me."

Quicker than thought, Ray was on his stomach and gasping, Vecchio's weight heavy across his back. Oh yeah. Vecchio's teeth bit into his shoulder for a moment, and Ray made an embarrassingly loud sound, a shudder running through his body as his dick twitched under him. "Christ, just - just -"

"Last warning, Kowalski." Vecchio's voice was warm and heavy as he shifted away from Ray's back. "Shut up or I'll shut you up."

"Vecchio, bedside table, lube, condoms, come on, will you just - Jesus motherfucking ChristÖ" Oh Christ oh Christ oh Christ, those were Vecchio's hands on his hips, those were Vecchio's hands spreading him open. Oh fucking Christ, kill him now, that was Vecchio's tongue on his - licking right there, oh god, he was gonna come from this, from Vecchio's tongue, his talented, talented tongue. He wanted to tell Vecchio this - the man deserved a fucking compliment - but he could barely breathe, he couldnít speak, move, draw breath to do anything but moan, loud and incoherent and maybe Vecchio hadn't succeeded in shutting him up, but he had sure as hell had succeeded in destroying any quick retorts Ray might've had, because god, god, he was just -

Vecchio's tongue was gone, and Ray just lay there gasping, shaking hard, right on the motherfucking edge, and then Vecchio's hands were tugging on his hips again, Vecchio's voice, tight, in his ears. "On your knees, Ray, on your fucking knees," and Ray struggled to comply - no problem, Ray had not one fucking problem with that, would get on his knees for Vecchio anytime, for anything, because my god, that tongue - fuck, Ray was good with this, this whole goddamn thing.

Vecchio had one sweaty hand on Ray's back, and then his slick fingers were twisting their way in. And Ray was gasping and spreading his legs wider, bracing himself on shaking arms, because Vecchio's fingers were gone and then - Jesus, Jesus, Vecchio was shoving his cock in, smooth as anything. Ray's breath was coming in smothered gasps, and his head was hanging limp between his arms, sweat running into his eyes. The entire universe came down to Vecchio fucking him - his cock was so fucking hard he was gonna come if Vecchio so much as breathed on him.

He took a deep breath - or tried - but Vecchio was all the way in and panting, "Christ - Kowalski - tight, Jesus." Ray gasped as Vecchio rocked his hips, oh Christ - "Jesus, so tight," and fuck, fuck - Ray held his breath and clenched his fists and closed his eyes, but it was no good, because Vecchio pulled on his hips, tugging him closer, and Ray cursed inarticulately and came all over the sheets.

"Oh - fuck - Jesus." Vecchio's voice sounded like it was coming from far away, and Ray was not gonna collapse in the wet spot, that was just not gonna happen, and he summoned strength and pushed back, gasping, "Thought - you were gonna - fuck me, Vecchio."

Vecchio growled low and Ray shut his eyes and he'd have grinned if he had the strength, and Vecchio reared back and slammed into him hard, one arm looping around his stomach to hold him up as Vecchio sprawled over Ray's back and pumped into him. "Fuck - you - just - fuck you - You want this? You want this," and Vecchio fucked him, fucked him hard, and Ray just bore it, and Christ, oh yeah, this was it, this was it, and he was muttering under his breath, "Vecchio, yeah, yeah, come on, come on."

And Vecchio was groaning, "Shut up, shut up, shut up," in Ray's ear as he came.

Later, Ray rolled over and stared up at the shadowy ceiling. "Hey," he said.

"Nrrg?" Vecchio said into the pillow.

"What were you trying to tell me? Before?"

Vecchio groaned and cracked open one eye, peering at Ray in the dim room. "What? When?"

"You know. Before we -" Ray gestured.

"Oh. Yeah." Vecchio shifted a little. "That you don't know me like you think you do."

Ray lay quietly for a moment, considering this. "But I do."

Vecchio was quiet and Ray was just thinking he'd gone back to sleep when, "Yeah," Vecchio sighed, pushing his head into the pillow again. "I know."


Trust Me

"You missed the turn."

"I didn't." Ray kept his eyes on the road and his foot on the gas.

"You did. Cullerton is off of Morgan. You missed it." Vecchio picked a piece of lint off the lapel of his suit jacket and flicked it out the window.

"I didnít miss the damn turn, Vecchio," Ray said pleasantly. "Now shut the fuck up, please."

Vecchio shrugged and looked out the window. "Fine. I just grew up here, you know, no need to trust me."

Ray twisted his head to stare at him for a second. "And where the flying fuck do you think I grew up?"

Vecchio kept looking calmly out the window, and the corner of his mouth didn't even twitch as he said, "I don't know - Canada?"

Torn between outrage and laughter, Ray settled for turning his eyes resolutely back to the road. "I look like a Mountie to you, Vecchio?" he asked evenly.

Vecchio shifted a little, turning to look at him, and yeah, okay, great, now Vecchio was grinning, like this was the funniest fucking thing ever. "Fuck, Kowalski, most days you don't even look like a cop to me. But one thing you sure as hell aren't is a Mountie."

Ray flicked Vecchio a look out of the corner of his eye and shook his head sadly. "No way I could even pass, huh?"

Vecchio's grin got wider. "I've seen what you can do with that mouth of yours, Kowalski. No fucking way."

"Well," Ray shrugged, "Fraser always did like to lick things."

He kept his eyes on the road and contentedly listened as Vecchio choked on his coffee.

"Different sorts of things, Kowalski. Trust me," Vecchio said hoarsely when he could breathe again. "Can you imagine FraserÖ"

Ray pursed his lips thoughtfully just as Vecchio held up a hand and said hastily, "Don't answer that."

Ray grinned and dug for his cigarettes. "It's just, don't you think he'd be really good at -"

"Shut up, seriously, shut up," Vecchio moaned, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

"Iím just saying, with that tongue of hisÖ" Ray lit his cigarette, tilting his head consideringly as he swung the car into the correct turn.

"I swear to god, Kowalski, I am not now nor will I ever think about Fraser, and his tongue doing - "

"Yeah, but you are, aren't you? I mean, it's like saying, 'donít think about pink elephants.'"

"I hate you. A lot," Vecchio said sincerely.

Ray nodded sadly. "Lucky thing I'm so good in bed, huh?"

"Damn lucky," Vecchio said, looking out the window again.

"Yeah," said Ray thoughtfully, taking a drag on his cigarette. "I get that a lot."


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