Punk (Prompt 23, Ray/Ray); In Time (Prompt 29, F/K)
Punk
Ray/Ray, R, 548 words
He hadn't exactly meant to punch Vecchio in the face. They'd left the station, still arguing over whether or not it was the wife or the disgruntled employee who killed the florist over on Wabash. Vecchio swore that it was almost always the wife, and she seemed to have very little remorse about the whole dead husband thing in this particular case, but Ray had a hunch. The way the guy who worked the counter at the shop didn't look him right in the eye. It was off.
"I'm telling you, Kowalski - I don't know why you're making this harder than it needs to be. Let's just arrest Mrs. O'Reilly and get it over with, so that I can go home and have dinner, already."
Ray turned and looked at Vecchio. "Listen, I'm telling you. Something's hinky. I don't think it was her, okay?"
"I'm going to fucking kill you if you're wrong and I miss ma's lasagna tonight," Vecchio said as he rounded the side of his (new, and pretty fine) Riv.
"Well," Ray said smugly, leaning up against the side of the car at Vecchio's shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest, "it's a good thing that I'm never wrong. At least not as wrong as you are."
Vecchio moved so fast that Ray barely got his arms up when Vecchio had him pinned to the hood of the car. "You got a problem with my police work, Kowalski?" Vecchio breathed, and this was full on Vegas-mode. Pupils blown, body tense.
"Yeah. It's pretty pathetic, actually." He had no idea why he was egging Vecchio on, but he pushed, just a little, back against Vecchio. He could swear that Vecchio was hard in his two-hundred dollar pants, riding up against Ray's leg. He pushed harder.
"You're a fucking punk, Kowalski," Vecchio growled, and Ray took the opportunity to shove Vecchio back, as hard as he could and then, like a reflex, he swung, his fist connecting with Vecchio's cheek. His hand hurt like a bitch, and Vecchio grunted and stumbled, bringing his hand up to his face. "Jesus fucking Christ, you asshole. What the fuck was that for?"
Languistini was gone, and Vecchio was back, taking a folded handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his split lip. "Don't call me a punk," Ray said, letting himself slouch back against the car more, his heart beating fast, his hand tingling.
Vecchio stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and was right back in Ray's space, close enough that Ray could smell his sweat and spicy cologne. "Punk," Vecchio whispered, and Ray moved into the kiss, which should have been a surprise, but instead, it seemed like a completely fitting epilogue to punching a guy in the face. He licked into Vecchio's mouth, the tang of blood from Vecchio's lip flooding his mouth, and Ray pushed his leg up into Vecchio's dick, which was definitely hard. Hell, yeah.
Finally, Vecchio broke the kiss and moved his mouth to Ray's ear, letting his tongue trail, sending shivers up Ray's spine and his dick harder in his pants. "Want some lasagna?" Vecchio said, low and so fucking sexy, and Ray just laughed.
In Time
F/K, PG, 698 words
Boats were evil. Ray hated them, and he especially hated them when he was tied up on them, which seemed to happen more often than it really should. He'd gone with Fraser down to the docks to try to find these guys who were involved in a Canadian jewelry smuggling ring, and then he'd woken up here. With his hands tied up behind his back and his mouth gagged, and the water rapidly rising around him.
Fraser had made him go down to the Y and take some swimming lessons after the whole Henry Anderson incident, but he still wasn't very good, and the water still really freaked him the fuck out. And it wasn't like swimming lessons mattered when he didn't have his goddamn hands free. The water was freezing, creeping up his legs and soaking his jeans, and it was moving way too fast for comfort.
Ray had no idea where Fraser was - he remembered telling him they'd meet back in a few minutes after they checked things out, and that was the last he remembered. He hoped desperately that Fraser wasn't in the same situation. Because Fraser was amazing and managed to get himself out of a lot of shitty situations, but the frigid water lapping at Ray's waist was probably too much, even for him.
He tried not to panic, but as soon as he felt the water on his hands, behind his back, he started tugging frantically at the ropes wrapped around his wrists. They were loosening, and maybe Fraser could get these off, maybe, but they weren't coming off fast enough for Ray. Fuck.
The water seemed to be coming faster, and he was trying to keep his breathing steady around the gag and keep working on getting his hands free, under the water. It was up over his shoulders, and then brushing icy fingertips against the underside of his chin. He could get his hands loose, he just needed another second or two, but he wasn't sure he had that long. This might be it, and christ, he didn't want to die on this stupid little boat in fucking Lake Michigan, not knowing if Fraser got out somehow, not being able to yell for help.
Ray took a deep breath and held it as the water came up over his mouth and then his nose, and then, like a miracle, he felt something tugging him up hard, from underneath his arms. He kicked his legs, and blinked his eyes open to see the blurry red shape hauling him out. Fraser. Thank god.
Fraser hauled him up out of the water, dumping him onto the dock. Ray was gasping and choking up water - he felt like his lungs were burning, like they might explode right out of his chest.
"Ray," Fraser said, his hands unknotting the rope and bringing Ray's tingling wrists up in front. "Ray, my god - are you okay?" Fraser's hands were warm on his face now. Fraser was looking right at him, his eyes huge and blue.
"I'm good," Ray choked out, spitting out some more water to the side. He wanted to ask Fraser what happened, and how the hell he'd gotten to him in time, but Fraser's face was pale and shocked and inches from Ray's. "I'm okay," he said, trying to reassure Fraser.
Fraser nodded, stroking over Ray's cheekbones with his fingertips, learning in to brush his lips against the corner of Ray's mouth. "I thought I'd lost you. I really did," Fraser said quietly.
Ray turned his face just a little, because Fraser had found him, Fraser wouldn't leave a guy behind, and found Fraser's lips with his, stealing some of Fraser's warmth with his mouth. Fraser tasted like lake water and fear, but it was even better than the last time that they done this, because this time, he wasn't going to pretend it hadn't happened.
"No way you could lose me, Frase," he whispered against Fraser's lips. "And just for the record, I can breathe just fine on my own this time. But don't get me wrong, I appreciate the help."
My prompt table
Ray/Ray, R, 548 words
He hadn't exactly meant to punch Vecchio in the face. They'd left the station, still arguing over whether or not it was the wife or the disgruntled employee who killed the florist over on Wabash. Vecchio swore that it was almost always the wife, and she seemed to have very little remorse about the whole dead husband thing in this particular case, but Ray had a hunch. The way the guy who worked the counter at the shop didn't look him right in the eye. It was off.
"I'm telling you, Kowalski - I don't know why you're making this harder than it needs to be. Let's just arrest Mrs. O'Reilly and get it over with, so that I can go home and have dinner, already."
Ray turned and looked at Vecchio. "Listen, I'm telling you. Something's hinky. I don't think it was her, okay?"
"I'm going to fucking kill you if you're wrong and I miss ma's lasagna tonight," Vecchio said as he rounded the side of his (new, and pretty fine) Riv.
"Well," Ray said smugly, leaning up against the side of the car at Vecchio's shoulder with his arms crossed over his chest, "it's a good thing that I'm never wrong. At least not as wrong as you are."
Vecchio moved so fast that Ray barely got his arms up when Vecchio had him pinned to the hood of the car. "You got a problem with my police work, Kowalski?" Vecchio breathed, and this was full on Vegas-mode. Pupils blown, body tense.
"Yeah. It's pretty pathetic, actually." He had no idea why he was egging Vecchio on, but he pushed, just a little, back against Vecchio. He could swear that Vecchio was hard in his two-hundred dollar pants, riding up against Ray's leg. He pushed harder.
"You're a fucking punk, Kowalski," Vecchio growled, and Ray took the opportunity to shove Vecchio back, as hard as he could and then, like a reflex, he swung, his fist connecting with Vecchio's cheek. His hand hurt like a bitch, and Vecchio grunted and stumbled, bringing his hand up to his face. "Jesus fucking Christ, you asshole. What the fuck was that for?"
Languistini was gone, and Vecchio was back, taking a folded handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his split lip. "Don't call me a punk," Ray said, letting himself slouch back against the car more, his heart beating fast, his hand tingling.
Vecchio stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket and was right back in Ray's space, close enough that Ray could smell his sweat and spicy cologne. "Punk," Vecchio whispered, and Ray moved into the kiss, which should have been a surprise, but instead, it seemed like a completely fitting epilogue to punching a guy in the face. He licked into Vecchio's mouth, the tang of blood from Vecchio's lip flooding his mouth, and Ray pushed his leg up into Vecchio's dick, which was definitely hard. Hell, yeah.
Finally, Vecchio broke the kiss and moved his mouth to Ray's ear, letting his tongue trail, sending shivers up Ray's spine and his dick harder in his pants. "Want some lasagna?" Vecchio said, low and so fucking sexy, and Ray just laughed.
In Time
F/K, PG, 698 words
Boats were evil. Ray hated them, and he especially hated them when he was tied up on them, which seemed to happen more often than it really should. He'd gone with Fraser down to the docks to try to find these guys who were involved in a Canadian jewelry smuggling ring, and then he'd woken up here. With his hands tied up behind his back and his mouth gagged, and the water rapidly rising around him.
Fraser had made him go down to the Y and take some swimming lessons after the whole Henry Anderson incident, but he still wasn't very good, and the water still really freaked him the fuck out. And it wasn't like swimming lessons mattered when he didn't have his goddamn hands free. The water was freezing, creeping up his legs and soaking his jeans, and it was moving way too fast for comfort.
Ray had no idea where Fraser was - he remembered telling him they'd meet back in a few minutes after they checked things out, and that was the last he remembered. He hoped desperately that Fraser wasn't in the same situation. Because Fraser was amazing and managed to get himself out of a lot of shitty situations, but the frigid water lapping at Ray's waist was probably too much, even for him.
He tried not to panic, but as soon as he felt the water on his hands, behind his back, he started tugging frantically at the ropes wrapped around his wrists. They were loosening, and maybe Fraser could get these off, maybe, but they weren't coming off fast enough for Ray. Fuck.
The water seemed to be coming faster, and he was trying to keep his breathing steady around the gag and keep working on getting his hands free, under the water. It was up over his shoulders, and then brushing icy fingertips against the underside of his chin. He could get his hands loose, he just needed another second or two, but he wasn't sure he had that long. This might be it, and christ, he didn't want to die on this stupid little boat in fucking Lake Michigan, not knowing if Fraser got out somehow, not being able to yell for help.
Ray took a deep breath and held it as the water came up over his mouth and then his nose, and then, like a miracle, he felt something tugging him up hard, from underneath his arms. He kicked his legs, and blinked his eyes open to see the blurry red shape hauling him out. Fraser. Thank god.
Fraser hauled him up out of the water, dumping him onto the dock. Ray was gasping and choking up water - he felt like his lungs were burning, like they might explode right out of his chest.
"Ray," Fraser said, his hands unknotting the rope and bringing Ray's tingling wrists up in front. "Ray, my god - are you okay?" Fraser's hands were warm on his face now. Fraser was looking right at him, his eyes huge and blue.
"I'm good," Ray choked out, spitting out some more water to the side. He wanted to ask Fraser what happened, and how the hell he'd gotten to him in time, but Fraser's face was pale and shocked and inches from Ray's. "I'm okay," he said, trying to reassure Fraser.
Fraser nodded, stroking over Ray's cheekbones with his fingertips, learning in to brush his lips against the corner of Ray's mouth. "I thought I'd lost you. I really did," Fraser said quietly.
Ray turned his face just a little, because Fraser had found him, Fraser wouldn't leave a guy behind, and found Fraser's lips with his, stealing some of Fraser's warmth with his mouth. Fraser tasted like lake water and fear, but it was even better than the last time that they done this, because this time, he wasn't going to pretend it hadn't happened.
"No way you could lose me, Frase," he whispered against Fraser's lips. "And just for the record, I can breathe just fine on my own this time. But don't get me wrong, I appreciate the help."
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