On the Rocks (Prompt 13, Ray/Ray)
On the Rocks
Ray/Ray, PG, 572 words
Kowalski wouldn't fucking stop coming to his bar, downing beers followed by shots and then a drunken stumble to the jukebox to queue up some song that made Ray groan and want to drown himself in his Heineken. Christ. It was embarrassing to watch, and Ray really didn't want to have to find a new bar, because he was kind of attached to that one.
Ray never said anything to Kowalski except a gruff hello, even when they were sitting next to each other on stools and their legs were almost touching. Sometimes, Kowalski would say, "Christ, the Cubs suck," or "I need another drink," but he never said anything directly at Ray or even really looked at him, and Ray stayed quiet too, keeping his focus on his current drink and the sounds of whatever Chicago team was losing miserably that night coming from the television.
He absolutely, under no circumstances, felt a little dizzier than he could explain away with the two drinks he'd had when Kowalski sat down, smelling of engine grease and smoke and beer, and swaying a little to the music.
One night, Kowalski drank slower, steadier, and after slamming the bottle of his third beer down on the bar, he got up and went to the jukebox. It was a song Ray didn't recognize, something with a slow, rhythmic beat. Latin, maybe. Kowalski grabbed the hand of the young, thin blonde - way too fucking young to be dancing with someone pushing forty - sitting a few stools down, dragging her out to the small clearing in the floor and pulling her close.
Ray hadn't pegged Kowalski for a dancer, even though he thought that he might have known that - that Stella might have mentioned that she and Kowalski used to dance, when they were kids. Kowalski moved like the music was coming within him, his hips pressed tightly against hers like a promise. She was laughing, throwing back her head to expose her throat, but when Kowalski turned her so that her back was facing Ray, he caught Kowalski's eyes.
Kowalski wasn't looking at the girl, or even paying attention to her, even though he had his hands on her waist, her back. His eyes were fixed on Ray, and Ray found himself taking a long pull of his beer, swallowing slowly, and watching Kowalski as he moved in perfect time with the beat, smooth and sexy as hell.
He finished up the dance with a flourish, twirling the girl around until she was laughing breathlessly, then depositing her back in her chair with a thanks. He walked back over to where Ray was sitting, smiling vaguely, and flopped down in the stool next to him. "See something you like?" Kowalski said, leaning in close, a little out of breath himself.
"Yeah, Stanley. I do," Ray shot back, his own voice a little husky like he'd been the one on the floor dancing. Kowalski's eyes got wide, but then he grinned. The smile reached his eyes for maybe the first time since they'd started sort of, not on purpose meeting in Ray's bar, and it changed his whole face. Ray couldn't look away, not for the life of him.
"All right," Kowalski said as he turned back to face the bar, still smiling and shaking his head, and he ordered them each a double. On the rocks.
My prompt table
Ray/Ray, PG, 572 words
Kowalski wouldn't fucking stop coming to his bar, downing beers followed by shots and then a drunken stumble to the jukebox to queue up some song that made Ray groan and want to drown himself in his Heineken. Christ. It was embarrassing to watch, and Ray really didn't want to have to find a new bar, because he was kind of attached to that one.
Ray never said anything to Kowalski except a gruff hello, even when they were sitting next to each other on stools and their legs were almost touching. Sometimes, Kowalski would say, "Christ, the Cubs suck," or "I need another drink," but he never said anything directly at Ray or even really looked at him, and Ray stayed quiet too, keeping his focus on his current drink and the sounds of whatever Chicago team was losing miserably that night coming from the television.
He absolutely, under no circumstances, felt a little dizzier than he could explain away with the two drinks he'd had when Kowalski sat down, smelling of engine grease and smoke and beer, and swaying a little to the music.
One night, Kowalski drank slower, steadier, and after slamming the bottle of his third beer down on the bar, he got up and went to the jukebox. It was a song Ray didn't recognize, something with a slow, rhythmic beat. Latin, maybe. Kowalski grabbed the hand of the young, thin blonde - way too fucking young to be dancing with someone pushing forty - sitting a few stools down, dragging her out to the small clearing in the floor and pulling her close.
Ray hadn't pegged Kowalski for a dancer, even though he thought that he might have known that - that Stella might have mentioned that she and Kowalski used to dance, when they were kids. Kowalski moved like the music was coming within him, his hips pressed tightly against hers like a promise. She was laughing, throwing back her head to expose her throat, but when Kowalski turned her so that her back was facing Ray, he caught Kowalski's eyes.
Kowalski wasn't looking at the girl, or even paying attention to her, even though he had his hands on her waist, her back. His eyes were fixed on Ray, and Ray found himself taking a long pull of his beer, swallowing slowly, and watching Kowalski as he moved in perfect time with the beat, smooth and sexy as hell.
He finished up the dance with a flourish, twirling the girl around until she was laughing breathlessly, then depositing her back in her chair with a thanks. He walked back over to where Ray was sitting, smiling vaguely, and flopped down in the stool next to him. "See something you like?" Kowalski said, leaning in close, a little out of breath himself.
"Yeah, Stanley. I do," Ray shot back, his own voice a little husky like he'd been the one on the floor dancing. Kowalski's eyes got wide, but then he grinned. The smile reached his eyes for maybe the first time since they'd started sort of, not on purpose meeting in Ray's bar, and it changed his whole face. Ray couldn't look away, not for the life of him.
"All right," Kowalski said as he turned back to face the bar, still smiling and shaking his head, and he ordered them each a double. On the rocks.
My prompt table