Summary: Vecchio was looking at him funny. Again. "Kowalski," he said. "You're acting crazy. Crazier," he corrected himself, leaning back and looking at Ray with a tilt of his head. "You need to chill out. Or get laid."
Thanks, as ever, to ms. Lynn for a fabulous, wonderful beta job on this!
This was a little weird, and a lot dumb, Ray thought, but only for a second; all coherent thought fled as Frannie pushed him down on her bed and climbed on top of him. She held onto his cock and slid down onto it, her head thrown back and her eyes shut, breathy little moans coming out of her mouth. Ray gasped, and grabbed her hips probably too tight, and held on. Jesus. His brain was gibbering at him - hot and warm and, Jesus, tight, and much too long it's been much too long.
God, this was good, and he moved his hips as much as he could as she rode him, which was so hot. Frannie braced her hands on his chest and lifted herself almost completely off of him before sinking back down slowly, slowly, and he was sweating and shaking and so turned on he could barely breathe. She opened her eyes and looked at him in the dim light of her bedroom, panting a little. "Oh, Ray," she said breathlessly. "This is - oh," and she bent forward, sliding her tongue into his mouth as she fucked him.
He was lost in the taste of her, the scent of her hair as it fell forward, the softness of her skin under his hands. She was in charge, she was in control, and he loved it, he fucking loved it, he just - Christ. She was moaning and moving faster, with purpose, her body at an angle, her eyes shut tight and her lip caught between her teeth.
She moved back and sank down onto him even deeper, using one hand to brace herself as she worked the fingers of her other hand between her legs, stroking herself and moaning louder, and that was hot, that was hot, that was so fucking hot. God, he didn't think he could - She moved against him so hard, so perfect, and he was going to - he was - God, don't come yet, don't come, don't - Just think of anything else. Ray gasped, and shut his eyes, thinking of doing his taxes, thinking of the math and the adding and the - god, okay, the Chargers, think of football and how boring it was, and how it wasn't interesting at all, not like this, not like the tight, wet heat of Frannie all around him.
No. Don't - he grit his teeth and held on and Frannie's moans were becoming more and more desperate, and the rub of her fingers against herself and his cock was just - god. Okay. Think of - yeah, Vecchio, Christ - there you go, nothing less sexy that that. His annoying partner, total asshole, all attitude and pretty-boy clothes. Ray dug his fingers into Frannie's hips. Vecchio, who thought he was hot stuff, when he had a nose like you wouldn't believe and no hair to speak of at all. He wasn't so tough, wasn't so hot as he thought he was, with his expensive suits, Jesus, how did he get anything done all dressed up and not one place to go. Imagine Vecchio in that suit down on his knees, getting all wrinkled and messed up as he grabbed himself through his pants and sucked Ray's cock into his mouth, and - oh fuck, oh fuck, Ray groaned and came so hard he saw stars, thrusting desperately up into Frannie.
Frannie was - thank god - caught up in her own orgasm, collapsing down onto him in a cloud of soft hair over his face, and softer lips against his neck, her fingers still slick with herself as she held onto his shoulder, and murmured his name into his ear. Ray held onto her, blowing her hair out of his face and stared blankly up at the ceiling, whispering, "Frannie," softly, like he was trying to convince someone that he hadn't just come his brains out thinking of her brother's mouth on his cock.
Ray crept out of Frannie's house in the gray early morning light. It was - well, it wasn't like the two of them were getting a whole lot of affection from anywhere else, and he liked her, he did, but he'd seen what happened with her and Fraser, where she didn't even need sex, or any encouragement at all, to start planning their freaking wedding. He was a little nervous about Monday, wondering which Frannie he'd see at work: the sex-bomb crazy girl looking for a husband, or the cool Frannie, the one who was a little too old for halter tops, a little too tired for chasing guys. Who looked more real, and honest, than anyone Ray'd seen in ages.
Which was how they ended up talking, and how they ended up drinking, and how they ended up in bed. Because at that moment, she got it, was what it was. Got who he was, and who she was, and was honest about that, and that was what brought them together.
Ray thought it might be okay, since when, early this morning, he had rolled over and said, hesitantly, "Uh, I think I should maybe -" she responded immediately with, "Oh, yeah, that might - I mean, just - to make things easier, you should -"
And the relief was evident in her tone, so he kissed her lips softly, and got out of bed quickly, dressing and ducking quietly out the door.
He drove home through streets empty except for last night's party-goers staggering home and old people heading to the very early Mass, and did not think about Vecchio. He stripped and showered and brushed his teeth, gazing at himself in the mirror, and he did not think about Vecchio. His eyes felt like sandpaper. He felt worse than if he hadn't slept at all. He pulled on clean boxers and crawled into his unmade bed as the sun went up. He slept like the dead and woke up bleary at one in the afternoon, and lay there blinking at the ceiling and didn't think about Vecchio even once.
Eventually, he hauled himself out of bed, made a pot of coffee with his eyes half-closed, and grabbed the paper from the hall. He read the sports page and drank three cups of coffee before deciding he needed a shower before he could do anything else at all.
So really - honestly - it wasn’t until he was in the shower, water running over him as hot as he could stand it, his dick in his hand, thinking about Vecchio as he came hard after only five or six good jerks, that he even really knew he might have a problem.
Still, it could all be okay. A moment of weakness, a temporary lapse. Liking guys was one thing - Ray was good with that, Ray had always been good with that, ever since Josh Romero in the 9th grade. They used to hang out together, past the dead-end street a few blocks over from Ray's house. They'd climb over the metal dead-end divider and cut over the dirt to a grassy secluded park-type thing. Josh taught him how to smoke cigarettes, how to take a punch, and how to kiss, all right there in that tiny hidden park.
So that was fine. Ray was good with kissing guys, kissing girls. Ray was not someone who got kissed often enough to really quibble over the gender of who it was who was willing to do the kissing. Ray was more concerned with being attracted to the person, and yeah, he'd been attracted to Josh - he'd had to have been, to let Josh give him his first blow-job. And yeah, he'd been attracted to Frase - actually, fuck past-tense: if Fraser came along right now and decided he loved Ray just as much as he loved snow and caribou, Ray would be all set with that. Ray would have his tongue down Fraser's throat no problem.
And last night with Frannie hadn't been a problem at all. When Frannie was being a real person, not a manhunter, she could be hot as anything. Her belly was in his face half the time, and the low-cut blouses she wore were distracting, and hell, he even liked the fact that she gave him shit - he liked arguing with her. She didn't always make a whole lot of sense, but she was one hundred percent certain in her arguments and she didn't call him on his mis-placed or -pronounced words too much either.
Whatever. Girls were not his problem. Guys were not his problem. But Vecchio. Now, that was a problem.
A problem he was really not thinking about at all, and definitely not thinking about when he went into work on Monday morning. He'd still been a little nervous about the Frannie situation, but when he walked in, she was on the phone. When he looked over at her, she glanced up at him, rolling her eyes and gesturing at the phone, never breaking the stride of her argument.
Ray raised his cup of coffee at her in a salute, breathed a sigh of relief, and headed over to his desk. He settled in and pulled the vast pile of open cases over in front of him, and went at the reading with entirely more enthusiasm than he'd had in a long time. With focus, he hoped to mostly ignore any thoughts whatsoever having to do with the fact that he got off on the image of Vecchio on his knees sucking cock.
He wasn't thinking about that. At all. Really. Because it was crazy, that was all, a coincidence at most. Why would he want that? Even just thinking about it was getting him all worried and weird, so he was very much not thinking about it. Vecchio. Jeez. With his too-nice suits. Dumb.
Ray reached for his coffee and took a long swallow, then tapped his pen on the paper, looking at the phone and wishing it would ring with something he'd have to get right on. Crazed iguana smugglers. Ring of tic-tac thieves. Something. Anything.
"Kowalski, you slacker. Nice of you to join us this fine morning."
Ray groaned and dropped his head to the desk. Anything but Vecchio.
Vecchio swung around the desk and shoved at Ray's head. Ray slapped his hand away and sat back up. "What, Vecchio, and you were here at the ass-crack of dawn?"
"Nice mouth," Vecchio drawled, leaning against Ray's desk and carefully peeling open the lid of his cup of coffee.
"Nice of you to notice," Ray responded, then sagged back in his chair. Fuck, did they always flirt like this? Had he just not noticed?
"So what's up?" Vecchio took a sip of coffee and grimaced. He pushed at Ray's chair with his shiny leather shoe, shoving Ray aside so he could rummage through his desk drawer.
"What? Nothing's up." said Ray, sounding defensive and a little insane even to his own ears. "What the fuck are you doing, get out of there!" He lurched forward to slam the drawer shut.
Vecchio nimbly snatched his hand back, clutching a bunch of sugar packets. "Jeez, Kowalski, chill." He stared at Ray with his eyebrows raised.
"What? What?" Ray snarled. Christ, he wanted to shove Vecchio away, get him to take a fucking step back, give him some room to breathe, why was it so damn hot in here all of a sudden?
Vecchio laughed at him. Fucker. "What's up regarding the cases, which we are supposed to solve, that being our job." He put his coffee down on Ray's case files, added some sugar with a flourish, and took a sip. "As detectives," he added.
Ray sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Shut up, Vecchio. We're doing the same thing as we were doing yesterday - looking for leads. It being our job. As detectives." He flashed a weak smirk in Vecchio's direction, and stopped breathing for a second. Vecchio was propped there against Ray's desk, one leg planted on the floor, the other casually swinging back and forth, brushing up against Ray's own leg every time. Vecchio was pushing his space. Vecchio was always pushing his space. It made Ray wonder if he did that with everyone - all the reports he'd read when he went undercover as Vecchio said that Vecchio was pretty much always in the Mountie's back pocket, but Ray didn’t know if that meant literally.
He thought about that, about Vecchio sliding his long fingers into the back pockets of Fraser's tight jeans, and the image came much too easily, much too sharp. Vecchio pushing, the way he did, pushing Fraser's space the same way he pushed Ray's, winding himself around Fraser and leaning in to kiss and -
Vecchio was looking at him funny. Again. "Kowalski," he said. "You're acting crazy. Crazier," he corrected himself, leaning back and looking at Ray with a tilt of his head. "You need to chill out. Or get laid."
Ray stood up so quick he banged his knee against Vecchio and knocked three files off his desk. Vecchio slid off the desk and backed up, holding his coffee cup up and out to keep it from dripping on him. "Whoa, whoa," he said. "It's been that long, huh?" he asked, his eyes bright with amusement as he carefully put down the cup and reached into his breast pocket with his other hand, shaking out the handkerchief there and carefully mopping the drops of coffee off his other hand.
"Not at all," Ray shot back. He wasn't getting hard just from this conversation, he was not. "Try Friday."
"Ooh, who's the lucky lady?" Vecchio grinned for a second, then narrowed his eyes. "Not our ex-wife again? Ray, buddy, that's a road to tragedy."
"No," said Ray sharply. "It wasn't Stella. It wasn’t anyone. It - it was a one-shot deal." He carefully did not look anywhere near Frannie's desk.
"Ah." Vecchio nodded. "She dumped you already, huh? What'd you do to her?"
I couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth when I fucked her. Ray swallowed and managed, sounding strangled, "Shut up. I'm getting coffee. I'll be back. Just - " He waved his arms at Vecchio. "Just shut up, and work, and find us a lead. On anything."
"Sure," Vecchio murmured, drifting around Ray's desk and dropping down into Ray's chair. He straightened out the files deftly. "Because what you need is more caffeine in your system, but sure."
"Just -" Ray shut his eyes for a second, then turned around and stomped away. This was just fighting with Vecchio, just the same as always. Nothing was different, other than he'd fucked Vecchio's sister. Nothing had changed. Frannie looked up as Ray went by her desk, and when he looked over at her, she blushed and nodded and looked away, and that was good, that was fine.
He went to the break room and poured himself a coffee and drank it too hot, burning the inside of his mouth.
It was distracting and stupid and ridiculous, but it was also hot, and Ray was turning into an unstable nutcase the more he thought about Vecchio on his knees with Ray's cock in his mouth. It was pretty much all he could think about. It didn't matter that he was supposed to be, say, listening to Welsh run down the details of a case for him. He'd be trying to pay attention, really intending to pay attention, and then suddenly in his head would be these white-hot images of Vecchio down on the floor, his pretty suit wrinkled, his jacket off, his sleeves pushed up, pinning Ray's hips against the wall while he licked and sucked and pretty much swallowed Ray's cock.
Then Welsh would be glaring at him - uh, that part was right back here in the real world. Obviously. Welsh had no place in Ray's sex fantasies. The thought alone was enough to turn Ray off quick as a bucket of cold water, and he'd sit up straight, still sweating but no longer hard, while Welsh sighed, and rubbed his hand over his face, and told him to get his head out of his ass and solve a case, now, please.
Ray was tired of it. Tired of Vecchio laughing at him, tired of jerking off, tired of being turned on all the time and having nothing, not one thing he could do about it.
This was dumb, stupid, and he was going to stop, he was just gonna stop it, cold turkey. Step one, he figured, would be to think about girls for a little while, instead of cock. He'd thought about step one being about getting laid, but all his troubles had started the last time that happened. So instead he stopped on the way home after another long-ass day and picked up beer. And porn. A whole pile of magazines. With girls on the covers. Hot girls. Big breasts. Slick lips and long fingernails and about as far from Vecchio as you could get.
He had a plan. He got home and tossed the magazines on the table. Took a long, hot shower, letting the water pound down on the back of his neck until all the tension was gone. Pulled on some boxers and a t-shirt, got a beer from the fridge and settled down. He drank that beer, then another, while flipping through the glossy pages of Leg Show and half-watching some dumb sitcom. Finally, he shut off the television, tossed the remote aside, and settled back on the couch. He flipped through the pages: girls spread-eagled on the floor, fingers buried deep inside themselves. Girls kissing other girls, girls sucking other girls' tits. Girls in the shower, the water pouring over them.
Ray's cock was interested now, and he ran his hand over it through his boxers, sort of just teasing himself. He was going to make this good, make this great, have one of those orgasms that went on and on, and when it was all done, he'd have his mind clear. No more distractions. No more Vecchio on his knees. Not thinking about that at all, he'd had it with that, with Vecchio's mouth and how wet it might be. How he might swallow Ray whole, go all the way down. He bet that Vecchio was one of those guys who would take it as a personal challenge to get as much in as possible, show Ray what he could do, and how he did it best.
Ray had his shorts shoved down and his cock in his hand, the porn magazine (with the girls and their breasts and their wide, lipsticked mouths) sliding, utterly forgotten, to the floor. Which was, of course, when his doorbell rang.
"Gah!" Ray sat up fast and reminded himself he was thinking about girls. Nice, naked girls. His bell rang again, and he got up, fumbling to pull his boxers up - carefully - and his t-shirt down and who the fuck was at the door? He stumbled over to the buzzer. "What!"
"It's Vecchio. Let me up."
Ray stood there, blinking and trying like hell to ignore his hard-on.
"Press the button, dumbass." Vecchio's tinny sigh could be heard through the speaker, and Ray dumbly pressed the button to unlock the front door and immediately regretted it. "Fuck." He glanced frantically around the apartment, and down at himself. "Fuck fuck fuck."
Jesus, if there was a sadder case around, you wouldn’t know it by looking at him. "Jesus Christ," he said, frantically sweeping the magazines off of the coffee table and tossing them onto the chair in the corner. He spun around and grabbed his jacket, throwing it over the magazines, just as a sharp knock came on his door. "Fuck."
He flung the door open. "What."
Vecchio was there in his long grey coat, which was pushed back, his hands tucked in his pants pockets. He rocked back on his heels. "Nice, Kowalski. Remind me to never again comment on your lack of style." He plucked at Ray's t-shirt as he came in, and Ray growled at him and shoved his hand away.
"So," said Vecchio, taking off his coat and looking around for someplace to hang it. Finding nothing, he shook it out, folded it carefully in half, and lay it over Ray's coat - and the porn - on the chair in the corner. "I got this call after you left."
Ray was still standing there at the open door, his hopes of this being a quick visit dwindling. "Yeah, so?" He sighed and slammed the door shut.
"So," Vecchio said, arranging himself on the couch, "It was what we in the detective business like to call a tip - or a lead if you will - and -" He glanced down, then looked back up at Ray, his eyes bright with amusement.
"Yeah, so what's this tip?" Ray asked tiredly. He crossed his arms over his chest, and was enormously glad to be wearing the plaid boxers that didn't show much by way of wet spots. If Vecchio would just say what it was and go, Ray could just - oh god.
Vecchio bent over and picked up the magazine from where it was lying on the floor. "This your 'date' from last week?" he asked brightly, smoothing the pages out carefully and then casually flipping through it. He paused and turned the magazine at an angle. "My oh my, she's even a real blonde."
Ray sighed, and dropped his head to his chest, and thought gloomily about how very hard his life just completely, one hundred percent, sucked. "Laugh riot," he said tiredly. "That's what you are. A regular comedian. You done?"
"Were you?" Vecchio said, he shoulders shaking slightly with laughter as he got up and held the magazine out to Ray.
"Not quite," Ray shot back. "Why, you want to lend a hand?" He stared defiantly at Vecchio, raising one eyebrow. "I didn’t know you swung that way."
Vecchio tilted his head to the side. "Huh," he said, walking over to Ray. Ray couldn't breathe right, and his hands clenched at his sides, ready for - another - fistfight with Veccchio. "I knew you did," Vecchio said, his voice low. Ray's ears got hot and his cock got hard. Vecchio stood there, looking cool and collected while Ray's blood pounded in his ears. Vecchio said - Vecchio was waiting for -
"You're - " Queer, sure. Ray could see that, if he squinted. Coming on to Ray? That was just a little too -
Vecchio sounded amused. "What."
Ray reached forward, pushed Veccchio's suit jacket off his shoulders and onto the floor. "Hey!" said Vecchio, peering back over his shoulder. "That's Arman - oh." Ray slid his hand up the soft fabric of Vecchio's pants, Vecchio's cock hard under his hand.
"Yeah," breathed Vecchio, arching into Ray's hand.
"Yeah?" said Ray uncertainly.
"God, yeah." Vecchio's hands on Ray's hips were burning hot even through his boxers, and he yanked Ray forward and sank his tongue into his mouth.
Ray had had a plan, he was sure of it. His plan had involved girls, glossy pictures of pretty, slutty girls. It had been a good plan, he thought, as he Vecchio pushed another finger into him. Maybe not the best plan, but it hadn't been bad, as far as plans went.
The plan hadn’t involved Vecchio manhandling him, stripping him down and bending him over the back of the couch. It hadn't involved anything to do with Vecchio knowing everything he apparently did about lube and fingers and condoms. But Vecchio had a plan of his own, and Ray, clutching at the couch cushions with three fingers up his ass and Vecchio panting like an animal in his ear, decided that maybe he wasn't in a position to complain.
"Vecchio," he managed, shoving back against him, "Just - come on."
Vecchio planted a hand in the center of his back, holding him down, and twisted his fingers in Ray. Ray moaned - loud, he couldn't help it - and bit his lip hard enough to taste blood. He pushed his cock against the back of the couch, needing the pressure, the friction, needing to fucking come already.
"Hang on," said Vecchio tightly. His fingers left Ray's body, and Ray moaned again in frustration.
"Come on," he gasped again. "Just - come on, god, put it in, you gotta just - "
Vecchio grabbed hold of his hips with slick hands and pushed his cock into Ray's ass in one steady thrust. Ray groaned, hanging on to the cushions so tight his fingers hurt, and froze, his heart pounding.
"Like that?" Vecchio bent forward, plastering himself up against Ray's back. He was sweating - they both were - and he kissed Ray's shoulder, warm and wet, then shoved his cock in harder.
"Yeah." Ray didn't have breath for anything else.
"Good," breathed Vecchio. "Now hold on."
Ray held on. He held on as Vecchio fucked him hard, fucked him as though he'd been thinking about this, like he'd been waiting for his chance. All Ray could do was hang on, his heart pounding and his cock throbbing, desperate to come, but completely at the mercy of Vecchio, who was too busy fucking him to stroke Ray's cock. Ray just hung on as Vecchio groaned and panted and finally came, sprawled over Ray's back and biting his shoulder hard.
Ray was still trying to catch his breath, when Vecchio grabbed his shoulders turned him around, and sank down to his knees. Ray clutched the back of the couch and looked down dizzily as Vecchio sucked Ray's cock into his mouth. His hot, pretty mouth, and god, even when he was on his knees, he looked like he was in charge.
Vecchio gave him that dark stare, then closed his eyes and sucked Ray's cock with such confidence that Ray shuddered and had to drop one hand to hang on to Vecchio's shoulder.
And, man - Vecchio didn't suck cock like it was a favor; he sucked cock like he wanted it, and Ray loved his goddamn mouth, loved the steady, smooth suction, loved the way the fine cotton of the shirt that Vecchio still wore felt under his damp hand. Loved how when he moved his hand to cup the back of Vecchio's neck, the hair at the base of his scalp was soft. He loved how he didn't have to guide Vecchio at all, how he just kept his hand there because he liked holding on to Vecchio.
"Wait," he gasped, because God, he'd been thinking about this for days now, he wanted it to last. He tried to pull away, but Vecchio had his hands firm on Ray's hips, and he was going with his own plans tonight; he didn't let up at all.
"Vecchio," Ray said tightly, "Just - fuck, just - hang on, wait." He wanted to keep doing this, wanted to fuck Vecchio's mouth for a long, long time.
Vecchio let his thumbs run lightly over the bare skin of Ray's hips.
"Vecchio," Ray said again, tightening his hand on the back of Vecchio's neck. Vecchio kept sucking, taking Ray in deep, deep, and he was still touching Ray's hips, and Ray was gasping 'cause he couldn't fucking breathe. "Listen - goddammit." Christ, Ray couldn't take this, his fucking knees wouldn't hold, and he let go of Vecchio and braced both hands against the couch again. "Fuck - oh, fuck," he chanted, thrusting unsteadily. Vecchio's hands went tight on his hips, and Ray was gonna - he didn't want to, not yet, but god, he was - he was just about - right fucking there, and he sobbed out a breath and came in Vecchio's mouth, and Vecchio just took it, swallowing around him, his fingers digging into Ray's hips.
Which was maybe the only thing keeping him upright, because as soon as Vecchio let go, Ray's knees gave out.
Vecchio sat back on his heels, panting shallowly and licking his lips. "What?" he said, trying for innocent. His lips were wet and his shirt was wrinkled. "You got a problem?"
"I -" Ray was drained, exhausted, done. "You know what? No." He took a deep breath and tilted his head back against the couch. "No problem." He looked over at Vecchio, who rolled to his feet and started pulling his pants and shorts back up. Ray peered closer. "Are you wearing silk boxer shorts?"
"Yeah, so?" Vecchio smoothed the front of his shorts proudly before zipping up his pants.
"Nothing." Ray grinned to himself, amused. Silk boxers. Vecchio was such a pussy.
Vecchio cocked an eyebrow at him and reached out a hand, tugged him to his feet. Ray staggered a little, and Vecchio, in one smooth movement, pulled him close, and kissed him. Ray, pressed up naked and damp against Vecchio's real nice clothes, smiled, and wrapped his hands in the wrinkled fabric of Vecchio's shirt, and kissed him back.
"So," Vecchio said, pulling back and giving Ray what Ray was sure Vecchio thought was an incredibly suave smile, "What do you think? Was that better than your last date?"
Ray choked a little, trying really very hard not to laugh. "I, uh - " He shut his eyes and rested his forehead against Vecchio's shoulder. "Yeah. Yeah, I mean -" You fuck different than your sister. "C'mere." He cupped his hand around the back of Vecchio's head and kissed him.
Vecchio pulled back a little, looking maybe a little puzzled at Ray's amusement. "You sure?" he asked.
Ray shook his head at him, smiling. "Yeah, I'm sure. Dumbass."
"Yeah," Vecchio said, satisfied, running his thumb over Ray's bottom lip, "I thought so."
One month later
Ray was whistling as he walked into work. He and Vecchio'd worked all weekend, closed not one, not two, but three of their cases through a combination of extraordinarily good detective work (if he did say so himself) and sheer good luck. They'd run all over the city all day Sunday, stayed late at the precinct wrapping things up, then went back to Ray's place afterwards and spent the rest of the night fucking each other senseless.
And Welsh had given them Monday off, so they'd spent the next day doing pretty much the same. For such a buttoned-up guy, Ray reflected, Vecchio was pretty damn inventive in bed. Ray had aches in muscles he hadn't even known he had.
Even so, he felt like he was damn near strutting into the bullpen. He felt just that good. He ran into Frannie in the break room, and grinned at her, nudging her as she was pouring sugar into her tea so that it spilled all over the counter.
"Quit it," she said, shoving at him.
"Hey," Ray said. They hadn't really talked about much of anything except work since that one-night stand. "You doing okay?"
Frannie looked up at him. "I'm doing good," she said. "Great, actually. I'm taking a new class! The Biomechanics of Relationship Theory."
"Uh, okay. That sounds - enlightening," Ray offered.
"Right! It's all about using biofeedback, meditation, and diet to find your soul mate." Frannie looked utterly thrilled at the prospect. "And you? You're good?" Frannie narrowed her eyes, studying him. "You look good. You look - " She paused, then grinned wickedly at him. "You had a hot date or something this weekend?"
Ray froze, and felt his ears turn red, and concentrated on pouring his coffee.
Frannie grinned even more. "You did. Who is it? Who's the lucky lady?."
Which was, of course, right when Vecchio strolled by the door to the breakroom, calling out, "Kowalski, come on, let's get going."
Ray automatically swung his head around, and by the time he looked back, Frannie was staring at him, and he could feel his face turning what had to be a truly alarming shade of red.
"You didn't," she breathed.
Ray looked down and stirred his coffee very hard.
"Oh my god, you did." She sounded a mixture of horrified and amused - more amused, he decided, as he snuck a peek at her face. "Ray, that's just - " She shook her head, hands on her hips, shoulders shaking as she laughed at him. "Ray, that's sort of twisted. You know that, right?" She was actively laughing at him.
"Shut up," Ray hissed at her. "Just - it's - I didn't mean to…" What? How was he going to end that? …fuck you and your brother?
"No, no," Frannie said, waving a hand at him and wiping at her eyes. "That's awesome. Really." She grabbed her coffee and headed out of the break room. "Maybe Ray and I can compare notes or something."
Ray groaned and rubbed his eyes with his hands. Jesus. This just wasn't fair. He wasn't complaining about how things were going with his life, but - he had really very much had enough of being constantly taunted by Vecchios. He sighed, and took a sip of his now wildly over-sugared coffee, and headed - grumpily - out to the bullpen.
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