"Stripped"-- by sprat
Naked without sex...plus a little sex. :)
Ray/Ray, NC-17, 2244 words.
ETA: eek! almost forgot to thank the incredible qe2 for her keen-eyed beta... Thank-you!
So Ray’s stark naked and soaking wet, and he’s about to get blessed by the founder of the Aryan Brotherhood, and he’s pretty much ready to admit that his father might have had a point about his choice of careers. Because Jesus it’s cold out here--“here” being the backyard of a summerhouse by Lake Michigan--and he doesn’t even want to think about what he could have caught from that water. Plus there’s the part where he’s surrounded by a bunch of muscley neo-Nazis who would totally kick his head in if they found out that--on his dad’s side, anyway--he’s a Jew.
“You daydreaming, there, soldier?” The heel of somebody’s hand catches the back of his head. He staggers forward a half step and brutally squashes his body’s instinct to turn and hit back. “You put your goddamn chin up and try to look like the man you ain’t. That’s Abraham Nickel you’re about to meet up there.”
Right. Big honour. Ray tries to school his face into the same wowed expression he sees these other idiots wearing. This is the big initiation ceremony. They just spent the past three days getting shoved around and yelled at and half-starved so they could be ready for this. Supposed to be some kind of “rebirth” or something. Jesus.
The dirt under his bare feet is scattered with fallen leaves and sticks and sharp little rocks. He wishes he could watch where he’s stepping. It’s getting kind of hard not to panic--the rest of the group working this bust is supposed to be somewhere close by, ready to move in, but he lost contact with them yesterday. Any time, Vecchio, he thinks, squinting surreptitiously into the darkening woods. Any goddamn time… They have plenty here to make a bust on. Ray’s seen the stockpiled weapons and explosives himself. They can send these guys up for a long time just on possession charges alone.
The line moves. Ray sees the big guy up there, looking like some kind of malevolent Santa Claus with that white beard and fluffy hair. He’s putting his hands on each recruit’s head. Ray, watching, can’t help thinking how these neo-Nazis always manage to get naked and touching, like that’s the real goal of their weird little rituals. He grins down at his bare toes. And right then the woods explode.
It’s over real fast. Black-uniformed feds swarm all over the place, yelling for people to “get down, get down, get the hell on the ground.” Ray obeys with the others, even though the rocky dirt is no place he wants to put his bare skin. But it’s not like he’s got ID over here, and these guys, they don’t look like the patient types. The shouting stops. There’s combat boots everywhere, pacing around, the crackle of radios relaying orders. And then, just when Ray’s first rush of adrenaline is starting to get replaced with deep, wracking shivers and a weird sort of embarrassment, a pair of shiny leather Guccis paces into view. “You can let this one up,” says Vecchio. “He doesn’t look like much, but that’s our inside guy.”
Ray waits til he sees the combat boots step back, then pushes himself to his feet. Vecchio’s standing there in his woolen overcoat with some jazzy outfit underneath, arms crossed over his chest. Huey and Dewey are behind him, grinning.
Ray lets his hands hang down at his sides, even though he feels like using them to cover up the stuff that ought to be covered up. Lifts his chin and meets Vecchio’s eyes. “You got a problem, Vecchio? There something funny here?”
Vecchio blinks and looks down, one hand coming up to cover the back of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, which for some reason makes Ray want to kick him in the head. “Cause maybe if somebody had been a little more on the ball with the organizing, I’d still have my goddamn clothes. I mean, Christ. Were you waiting for an invitation or something?” He starts toward the house, wrapping his arms over his bare chest.
Vecchio falls in step with him. Ray’s too pissed to even glare at him, so it’s a surprise when he feels Vecchio’s fancy overcoat settle around his shoulders. It’s still warm inside, and it’s lined with silk or something. Ray pulls it close. “I mean, seriously--we had what we needed yesterday. You just figure it’d be good for me to get baptized by a bunch of crazy Nazis or something? What happened to the fucking plan?”
They’re inside the summerhouse now. The crime scene guys are in the kitchen, and there’s a whole bunch of ATFers in the living room with the weapons. Vecchio puts his hand on Ray’s back and steers him up the stairs. Ray gives him a sidelong glare. “You figure on answering me at any point, here, Vecchio? Like, sometime today, maybe?”
There isn’t much up here--just a couple of tiny, slope-ceilinged bedrooms. No lights, totally deserted. What the fuck? Ray looks at Vecchio--really looks at him for the first time--and feels his eyes widen. “What the fuck?” he repeats, out loud.
And Vecchio’s fists close around the lapels of that stupid coat and he pushes Ray back into one of those bedrooms, pushes him up against the wall, kicks the door shut behind him. It’s real dark inside, but there’s just enough light Ray can see that look on Vecchio’s face--that wide-open, scared-shitless, god-awful look. And then Vecchio’s got his hands in Ray’s wet hair and he’s kissing him.
It’s hard, hungry, open-mouthed; Ray feels his lips get bruised a little, pushed into his teeth. But Vecchio’s hands are shaking where they’re holding Ray’s head, and his body is warm and solid, draped all over Ray like a blanket, and Ray brings his arms up around him, strokes his back, pulls him in real close.
And Vecchio makes a noise in his throat and moves his hands on Ray’s body, these hard desperate touches like he isn’t even sure where to start, and his mouth is everywhere, too, wet and open, and his breath is so warm on Ray’s chilled skin. Ray can’t believe this is really the same guy here: cool-as-a-cucumber, suck-me-off-if-you-want-to Vecchio. Guy’s usually so fucking paranoid he won’t even let Ray touch him until there’s a locked door between them and the rest of the world. Usually won’t put a hand on Ray until Ray touches him first, like that way it isn’t his fault, like maybe he can get away with less Hail-Marys at his next confession. So something is definitely weird here.
But Vecchio’s got a hand on Ray’s cock now, and he’s kissing Ray deep and slow, and Ray figures what the fuck--they can always talk about it later. He leans back against the wall in the dark little room, and he listens to the ATFers giving each other orders at the bottom of the stairs, and he tries not to moan so loud they’ll hear him.
Vecchio sucks and bites his way down Ray’s neck and twists his hand on Ray’s cock. “Jesus,” Ray gasps. “Oh, yeah, Vecchio. Christ.” Vecchio lifts his head so he can kiss Ray again. “Shh,” he whispers against Ray’s lips, and his fingers are wrapped hard around Ray’s dick, and he’s jacking Ray fast, and so good… “You have to keep your mouth shut, Kowalski. Think you can do that?”
And Ray hears his head hit the wall with a thunk, and he has to think hard about every word Vecchio just said, like he was speaking Spanish or something. “Yeah, yeah,” he says finally. “Okay.”
And Vecchio kisses him again, mouths his chin and his jaw and his ear, right where the lobe meets his neck, and he takes his hand off Ray’s dick long enough to turn him around. Ray braces his hands on the wall and lets his head hang down between his arms. Vecchio’s fancy overcoat is a crumpled heap on the floor--he doesn’t remember how that happened and he doesn’t care, either. What matters is he’s naked again, but this time it’s okay, because he’s got Vecchio all down the length of him, keeping him warm, and he’s got Vecchio’s breath on the back of his neck, and Vecchio’s lips, and his hands, and Jesus, his finger all spit-wet, pushing in, opening him up.
Ray’s still buzzing from the bust they just finished, and Vecchio’s slow penetration is driving him crazy--it’s been a while, but what pain there is gets swallowed by this rush of need and heat, and he gasps, his fingernails scraping the wall. Vecchio kisses his shoulder, slides another finger in with the first. “Okay?” he asks.
“God, yeah--s’fucking great,” Ray says.
And Vecchio laughs softly, his breath stirring Ray’s hair, and when his hand tightens on Ray’s dick, Ray can’t help but push back on those fingers. He’s trying to keep his mouth shut but it’s hard, oh man it’s hard, and after a while a low moan escapes him anyway. And Vecchio, he pushes his fingers deeper, closes his other hand harder on Ray’s dick, and leans in so he can breathe “shhh” right in Ray’s ear. Which sure, yeah, like that’s helpful. Ray bites his lip, breathes out hard through his nose.
And then Vecchio’s pulling his fingers away. Ray feels him shift, getting closer, and then there’s something blunt and wet pushing in. It hurts a little but Ray doesn’t care, can’t fucking think to care--Vecchio’s hand is tight and perfect on his cock, moving just the way he needs it, these long, hard strokes that shake him deep. And Vecchio’s teeth are on Ray’s neck, wet and sharp, and he’s moaning softly, just like he told Ray not to. Ray pants and closes his eyes, lets his forehead rest on the wall, opens his legs as wide as he can to let Vecchio in.
“Fuck,” Vecchio says against Ray’s neck. “Oh god, you feel so… fucking…good.” He thrusts deep and they both gasp. Ray’s so hot, and it’s hard to breathe, and oh Jesus he needs to come. He wraps his fingers around Vecchio’s, moving him faster, and Vecchio’s fucking him hard now, and Ray’s one arm can’t quite handle their combined weight. So he lets it buckle, lets his shoulder hit the wall instead, turns his head so his cheek is pressed into the paneling. Vecchio’s panting into his hair, his lips brushing Ray’s temple, and his cock is in Ray so deep, and Ray squeezes his fingers and Vecchio says “UH,” right in his ear and way too loud. And then Ray’s coming, with his face pressed against the wall and his teeth sunk into his lip so far he can taste blood, and Vecchio’s fingers are gripping his hip hard enough he knows there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, and Vecchio’s slamming himself into Ray and it’s so fucking good Ray can’t think anymore.
“Yeah,” Vecchio gasps. “Oh…” And he thrusts hard, and his arm moves up to circle Ray’s chest, pulling him back, pulling him close, holding him right where he needs him. And then, finally, Ray feels him convulse, feels the hot spurt inside, and he slides his hand up Vecchio’s forearm where it’s gripping his chest, and he lets his head fall back against Vecchio’s shoulder.
Slowly, slowly, Vecchio lowers them both to lean against the wall again. He shifts a little and Ray winces as Vecchio slides out of him and they just stay there, breathing hard. Ray’s skin is tingling all over, and he aches where Vecchio was inside him, and his muscles are all twitching, like his brain is still firing random synapses for no reason.
“I’m sorry,” Vecchio says, pressing his lips against Ray’s sweaty shoulder, making a wet trail of kisses to his neck.
“Uh?” Ray says, which is about as coherent as he can manage right now.
He feels Vecchio smile against his nape. Feels him lip at the damp hair there, push his nose in and breathe deep. “I said I’m sorry. When they moved you yesterday, I…I wasn’t ready. We lost track of you. So.” He mouths Ray’s neck and just kind of waits there, tensed.
Ray’s still pretty sex-stupid, so it takes him a minute. “Huh,” he says finally. He lets a grin creep over his face. “Huh. Vecchio…that’s so sweet. You were worried about me.”
Vecchio snorts. “Yeah, well, it’s my job to worry about you.”
“Yeah, but I am pretty sure it is not your job to fuck me stupid at a crime scene. Nah. You were worried because you like me. Come on, Vecchio--it’s okay. You can say it.”
“Fuck you, Stanley.” Vecchio sounds pissed, but he pulls Ray closer, and Ray isn’t buying it for a second. He turns in Vecchio’s arms, gives him a slow, sloppy kiss. “Come on,” he says after a while. “You can drive me home.” He grabs the overcoat from the floor and pulls it on again, giving Vecchio a quick grin over his shoulder. “And maybe on the way you can explain how the fuck you managed to lose a vanload of neo-Nazis. Cause that’s a part of this story I’m not real clear on just yet.”
Vecchio rolls his eyes at the ceiling, but he lets Ray pull him down the stairs.
Ray/Ray, NC-17, 2244 words.
ETA: eek! almost forgot to thank the incredible qe2 for her keen-eyed beta... Thank-you!
So Ray’s stark naked and soaking wet, and he’s about to get blessed by the founder of the Aryan Brotherhood, and he’s pretty much ready to admit that his father might have had a point about his choice of careers. Because Jesus it’s cold out here--“here” being the backyard of a summerhouse by Lake Michigan--and he doesn’t even want to think about what he could have caught from that water. Plus there’s the part where he’s surrounded by a bunch of muscley neo-Nazis who would totally kick his head in if they found out that--on his dad’s side, anyway--he’s a Jew.
“You daydreaming, there, soldier?” The heel of somebody’s hand catches the back of his head. He staggers forward a half step and brutally squashes his body’s instinct to turn and hit back. “You put your goddamn chin up and try to look like the man you ain’t. That’s Abraham Nickel you’re about to meet up there.”
Right. Big honour. Ray tries to school his face into the same wowed expression he sees these other idiots wearing. This is the big initiation ceremony. They just spent the past three days getting shoved around and yelled at and half-starved so they could be ready for this. Supposed to be some kind of “rebirth” or something. Jesus.
The dirt under his bare feet is scattered with fallen leaves and sticks and sharp little rocks. He wishes he could watch where he’s stepping. It’s getting kind of hard not to panic--the rest of the group working this bust is supposed to be somewhere close by, ready to move in, but he lost contact with them yesterday. Any time, Vecchio, he thinks, squinting surreptitiously into the darkening woods. Any goddamn time… They have plenty here to make a bust on. Ray’s seen the stockpiled weapons and explosives himself. They can send these guys up for a long time just on possession charges alone.
The line moves. Ray sees the big guy up there, looking like some kind of malevolent Santa Claus with that white beard and fluffy hair. He’s putting his hands on each recruit’s head. Ray, watching, can’t help thinking how these neo-Nazis always manage to get naked and touching, like that’s the real goal of their weird little rituals. He grins down at his bare toes. And right then the woods explode.
It’s over real fast. Black-uniformed feds swarm all over the place, yelling for people to “get down, get down, get the hell on the ground.” Ray obeys with the others, even though the rocky dirt is no place he wants to put his bare skin. But it’s not like he’s got ID over here, and these guys, they don’t look like the patient types. The shouting stops. There’s combat boots everywhere, pacing around, the crackle of radios relaying orders. And then, just when Ray’s first rush of adrenaline is starting to get replaced with deep, wracking shivers and a weird sort of embarrassment, a pair of shiny leather Guccis paces into view. “You can let this one up,” says Vecchio. “He doesn’t look like much, but that’s our inside guy.”
Ray waits til he sees the combat boots step back, then pushes himself to his feet. Vecchio’s standing there in his woolen overcoat with some jazzy outfit underneath, arms crossed over his chest. Huey and Dewey are behind him, grinning.
Ray lets his hands hang down at his sides, even though he feels like using them to cover up the stuff that ought to be covered up. Lifts his chin and meets Vecchio’s eyes. “You got a problem, Vecchio? There something funny here?”
Vecchio blinks and looks down, one hand coming up to cover the back of his neck. He doesn’t say anything, which for some reason makes Ray want to kick him in the head. “Cause maybe if somebody had been a little more on the ball with the organizing, I’d still have my goddamn clothes. I mean, Christ. Were you waiting for an invitation or something?” He starts toward the house, wrapping his arms over his bare chest.
Vecchio falls in step with him. Ray’s too pissed to even glare at him, so it’s a surprise when he feels Vecchio’s fancy overcoat settle around his shoulders. It’s still warm inside, and it’s lined with silk or something. Ray pulls it close. “I mean, seriously--we had what we needed yesterday. You just figure it’d be good for me to get baptized by a bunch of crazy Nazis or something? What happened to the fucking plan?”
They’re inside the summerhouse now. The crime scene guys are in the kitchen, and there’s a whole bunch of ATFers in the living room with the weapons. Vecchio puts his hand on Ray’s back and steers him up the stairs. Ray gives him a sidelong glare. “You figure on answering me at any point, here, Vecchio? Like, sometime today, maybe?”
There isn’t much up here--just a couple of tiny, slope-ceilinged bedrooms. No lights, totally deserted. What the fuck? Ray looks at Vecchio--really looks at him for the first time--and feels his eyes widen. “What the fuck?” he repeats, out loud.
And Vecchio’s fists close around the lapels of that stupid coat and he pushes Ray back into one of those bedrooms, pushes him up against the wall, kicks the door shut behind him. It’s real dark inside, but there’s just enough light Ray can see that look on Vecchio’s face--that wide-open, scared-shitless, god-awful look. And then Vecchio’s got his hands in Ray’s wet hair and he’s kissing him.
It’s hard, hungry, open-mouthed; Ray feels his lips get bruised a little, pushed into his teeth. But Vecchio’s hands are shaking where they’re holding Ray’s head, and his body is warm and solid, draped all over Ray like a blanket, and Ray brings his arms up around him, strokes his back, pulls him in real close.
And Vecchio makes a noise in his throat and moves his hands on Ray’s body, these hard desperate touches like he isn’t even sure where to start, and his mouth is everywhere, too, wet and open, and his breath is so warm on Ray’s chilled skin. Ray can’t believe this is really the same guy here: cool-as-a-cucumber, suck-me-off-if-you-want-to Vecchio. Guy’s usually so fucking paranoid he won’t even let Ray touch him until there’s a locked door between them and the rest of the world. Usually won’t put a hand on Ray until Ray touches him first, like that way it isn’t his fault, like maybe he can get away with less Hail-Marys at his next confession. So something is definitely weird here.
But Vecchio’s got a hand on Ray’s cock now, and he’s kissing Ray deep and slow, and Ray figures what the fuck--they can always talk about it later. He leans back against the wall in the dark little room, and he listens to the ATFers giving each other orders at the bottom of the stairs, and he tries not to moan so loud they’ll hear him.
Vecchio sucks and bites his way down Ray’s neck and twists his hand on Ray’s cock. “Jesus,” Ray gasps. “Oh, yeah, Vecchio. Christ.” Vecchio lifts his head so he can kiss Ray again. “Shh,” he whispers against Ray’s lips, and his fingers are wrapped hard around Ray’s dick, and he’s jacking Ray fast, and so good… “You have to keep your mouth shut, Kowalski. Think you can do that?”
And Ray hears his head hit the wall with a thunk, and he has to think hard about every word Vecchio just said, like he was speaking Spanish or something. “Yeah, yeah,” he says finally. “Okay.”
And Vecchio kisses him again, mouths his chin and his jaw and his ear, right where the lobe meets his neck, and he takes his hand off Ray’s dick long enough to turn him around. Ray braces his hands on the wall and lets his head hang down between his arms. Vecchio’s fancy overcoat is a crumpled heap on the floor--he doesn’t remember how that happened and he doesn’t care, either. What matters is he’s naked again, but this time it’s okay, because he’s got Vecchio all down the length of him, keeping him warm, and he’s got Vecchio’s breath on the back of his neck, and Vecchio’s lips, and his hands, and Jesus, his finger all spit-wet, pushing in, opening him up.
Ray’s still buzzing from the bust they just finished, and Vecchio’s slow penetration is driving him crazy--it’s been a while, but what pain there is gets swallowed by this rush of need and heat, and he gasps, his fingernails scraping the wall. Vecchio kisses his shoulder, slides another finger in with the first. “Okay?” he asks.
“God, yeah--s’fucking great,” Ray says.
And Vecchio laughs softly, his breath stirring Ray’s hair, and when his hand tightens on Ray’s dick, Ray can’t help but push back on those fingers. He’s trying to keep his mouth shut but it’s hard, oh man it’s hard, and after a while a low moan escapes him anyway. And Vecchio, he pushes his fingers deeper, closes his other hand harder on Ray’s dick, and leans in so he can breathe “shhh” right in Ray’s ear. Which sure, yeah, like that’s helpful. Ray bites his lip, breathes out hard through his nose.
And then Vecchio’s pulling his fingers away. Ray feels him shift, getting closer, and then there’s something blunt and wet pushing in. It hurts a little but Ray doesn’t care, can’t fucking think to care--Vecchio’s hand is tight and perfect on his cock, moving just the way he needs it, these long, hard strokes that shake him deep. And Vecchio’s teeth are on Ray’s neck, wet and sharp, and he’s moaning softly, just like he told Ray not to. Ray pants and closes his eyes, lets his forehead rest on the wall, opens his legs as wide as he can to let Vecchio in.
“Fuck,” Vecchio says against Ray’s neck. “Oh god, you feel so… fucking…good.” He thrusts deep and they both gasp. Ray’s so hot, and it’s hard to breathe, and oh Jesus he needs to come. He wraps his fingers around Vecchio’s, moving him faster, and Vecchio’s fucking him hard now, and Ray’s one arm can’t quite handle their combined weight. So he lets it buckle, lets his shoulder hit the wall instead, turns his head so his cheek is pressed into the paneling. Vecchio’s panting into his hair, his lips brushing Ray’s temple, and his cock is in Ray so deep, and Ray squeezes his fingers and Vecchio says “UH,” right in his ear and way too loud. And then Ray’s coming, with his face pressed against the wall and his teeth sunk into his lip so far he can taste blood, and Vecchio’s fingers are gripping his hip hard enough he knows there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow, and Vecchio’s slamming himself into Ray and it’s so fucking good Ray can’t think anymore.
“Yeah,” Vecchio gasps. “Oh…” And he thrusts hard, and his arm moves up to circle Ray’s chest, pulling him back, pulling him close, holding him right where he needs him. And then, finally, Ray feels him convulse, feels the hot spurt inside, and he slides his hand up Vecchio’s forearm where it’s gripping his chest, and he lets his head fall back against Vecchio’s shoulder.
Slowly, slowly, Vecchio lowers them both to lean against the wall again. He shifts a little and Ray winces as Vecchio slides out of him and they just stay there, breathing hard. Ray’s skin is tingling all over, and he aches where Vecchio was inside him, and his muscles are all twitching, like his brain is still firing random synapses for no reason.
“I’m sorry,” Vecchio says, pressing his lips against Ray’s sweaty shoulder, making a wet trail of kisses to his neck.
“Uh?” Ray says, which is about as coherent as he can manage right now.
He feels Vecchio smile against his nape. Feels him lip at the damp hair there, push his nose in and breathe deep. “I said I’m sorry. When they moved you yesterday, I…I wasn’t ready. We lost track of you. So.” He mouths Ray’s neck and just kind of waits there, tensed.
Ray’s still pretty sex-stupid, so it takes him a minute. “Huh,” he says finally. He lets a grin creep over his face. “Huh. Vecchio…that’s so sweet. You were worried about me.”
Vecchio snorts. “Yeah, well, it’s my job to worry about you.”
“Yeah, but I am pretty sure it is not your job to fuck me stupid at a crime scene. Nah. You were worried because you like me. Come on, Vecchio--it’s okay. You can say it.”
“Fuck you, Stanley.” Vecchio sounds pissed, but he pulls Ray closer, and Ray isn’t buying it for a second. He turns in Vecchio’s arms, gives him a slow, sloppy kiss. “Come on,” he says after a while. “You can drive me home.” He grabs the overcoat from the floor and pulls it on again, giving Vecchio a quick grin over his shoulder. “And maybe on the way you can explain how the fuck you managed to lose a vanload of neo-Nazis. Cause that’s a part of this story I’m not real clear on just yet.”
Vecchio rolls his eyes at the ceiling, but he lets Ray pull him down the stairs.