Biiiiiiiirthdaaaaaaaayfiiiiiiiiiiiiiic!!!
Brynn, I looove yoooooou! (don't worry, the extended vowels won't feature in the fic. They aren't zombies- braaaaaaaaaaaains!) I enclose my HEART! Or maybe just an experimental fic. I hope you have an amazingly wonderful biiiiirthday, you're one of my FAVOURITES!
Author: llassah
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Ray/Ray
Length: 1600 words
Rating: NC-17
1
He doesn’t know how many times makes a habit. There has to be a magic number, a point where he can either stop or do it forever. There’s just Kowalski, with his stupid fucking laugh, and his smile, and the shadows his eyelashes make on his cheekbones when his eyes slip half shut. There’s the sickly yellow streetlights, a thermos of coffee, and the certain knowledge that he’s gonna jerk off thinking about this, thinking about their enforced intimacy and strangely weighted silences.
Witness protection. The court case is in two days, one of the mid-rank mob bosses. This guy’s their star witness, a sneaky little fucker, face like a rat, never stays still for very long. Wanted a 24 hour watch on his house, armed escort to the courtroom-
a payoff. Of course a payoff, because chances are, even if the guy they’re bringing down goes, there’ll be people wanting to make an example of him, people filling the gap. The underworld only looks chaotic from the outside. There are rules, and the rules mean they’re freezing their asses off in Kowalski’s car until the court case is over and the witness safely in Mexico . The rules mean he has a serious masturbation habit. He really fucking hates the rules.
“I’m bored.”
“Christ, I’ll get you a coloring book if you’re that desperate. I could be somewhere else, too, you know.”
Kowalski huffs, looks over at him with a sharp, tight smile. “Yeah, you could be watering your plants or something.”
“I don’t like you,” he tells him, going back to staring out of the window. No one there. No sign of danger. An alleycat stalks down the street, yowls. Another cat finds her, then another-
he stops watching. Envying a cat isn’t something he plans on doing.
*
He gets back to his apartment at nine in the morning. He paces until ten, then showers, leans back against the tiles and jerks off, hand wet, slippery, steam relaxing him as his mind works overtime, as Kowalski’s on his knees, lips shiny, filthy smile inviting him, as his hands slip into his jeans, as he bends over the hood of the car-
he comes with his eyes tightly shut, then sleeps until seven in the evening.
2
“Why did you think it would work with her?”
No need to ask which her. Kowalski’s been needling him since they started their shift. He doesn’t ask about Benny; one of them has to be adult about this. He decides to be honest, too.
“I have no idea. It was...a nice dream. A good thing to want.”
“She’s met someone else.”
He can think of that without his chest hurting, now. It feels good. Sort of wistful, like in old films when the lovers can’t be together, but they’ll always have Berlin, or Paris, or wherever, and the memory’s enough, and the heroine’s eyes stay pretty when she cries. No red-rimmed eyes on celluloid. “He called Ray too? It could be a habit.”
“Three ain’t a habit,” Kowalski says, a little more relaxed.
“What’s a habit?”
“Four,” he says. They both laugh, spend the rest of the shift in silence.
*
He knows it’s a habit, now. There’s a bar near his apartment he goes to sometimes. It’s eleven when he gets there, and he drinks until closing time. He doesn’t jerk off, but his dreams are confusing, vivid, and he wakes up with his hand on his dick and the memory of Kowalski holding him down, growling at him.
3
He finds out he isn’t as good at hiding a hangover as he used to be. Kowalski’s surprisingly quiet about it. Too quiet. At the end of the second hour he’s about ready to kick him.
“I- I shouldn’t have talked about Stella. I’m sorry,” he says, voice hesitant. Oh. Oh. Ray laughs, can’t help it. It’s fucking funny. “Fuck you,” Kowalski says, but then they’re both laughing a little, even if Kowalski doesn’t know why. It’s a patch-up; they’ve never been friends, but they somehow manage to not kill each other. He gets some takeout coffee and doughnuts, picks up a packet of candy for Kowalski and counts six into his cup, then puts the rest of the packet into his pocket. Kowalski blinks, surprised, when he sips the coffee, then spends the rest of the stakeout arguing about frosting on doughnuts.
*
When they’re relieved, they just seem to drift into having lunch together, sat on a bench. Kowalski eats like a pig. Their shoulders touch, and their knees do whenever Kowalski shifts. A few times, he thinks Kowalski’s going to say something. He never does. They end up wandering to Kowalski’s apartment. He falls asleep on the couch, and goes straight from there to the next stakeout. He doesn’t know what he’s doing any more.
4
Kowalski kisses him. It should have more buildup than that, but he kisses him chastely on the lips as the next two guys drive up to take over. Ray looks at him, startled, wanting to say something, anything but sounding angry is a lie and sounding like he wants this is...unwise. He stays silent. Kowalski’s eyes are huge, pupils blown.
He gets out of the car, nods curtly to the cops taking over, and walks home in the rain. He’s soaking when he gets there, cold, wet, hard. He leans against his apartment door, jerks off right there, shivering and more turned on than he’s ever been before. He comes with a cut-off moan, wipes his hand on his pants, lets his head fall back against the door, then slides down so he’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. He can’t stop touching his mouth.
*
He’s forgotten to lock the door. He wakes up as the door opens- tries to open- and stands, hand going immediately to his holster even as he stumbles, legs stiff from sleeping sitting on the floor. Kowalski’s backlit; he can’t see his expression, just the way he’s standing, tense, ready to run or fight. Ray knows he probably looks like shit, crumpled clothes and bleary eyes. “You are so full of shit,” Kowalski murmurs, then he’s in the apartment, shutting the door, undoing his coat and his shirt- warm, damp- his trousers- wetter, from being sat on- and then kneeling and unfastening his shoelaces, undressing him with deft, sure movements. He doesn’t kiss him, but Ray wants him to. He wants to have another chance to react, but Kowalski’s acting in a way that anticipates, assumes that Ray kissed him back and asked for more.
“What are we doing?”
“Something good,” Kowalski answers. Ray’s standing there in his boxers, shivering. He touches his mouth again, can’t keep the questions out of his eyes. This is a different sort of good- not the sort Benny Believes in, not something as simple and brutal as Benny’s- a good that comes from both of them being afraid and too damn old for this, and.
Ray steps forward and kisses him, slips his fingers into the neck of Kowalski’s t shirt and strokes the goosebumps that slide across his skin with his fingers. He kisses him and tastes rain. Kowalski huffs, drops the clothes he had been holding onto the floor, backs Ray against the door and then they’re kissing, kissing each other, and maybe Ray isn’t so old and scared after all. Kowalski kneels, too fucking gracefully-too prettily- and breathes against the fabric of his boxers, hot, pulls his boxers right down and looks up, cast all in shadows. Ray misses his eyelashes, the shadows they make, but his mouth’s shining a little. He puts a hand on the top of Kowalski’s head, strokes round so it’s more for contact than pressure, command.
His mouth’s hot, his hand cool where he curls it around the base of Ray’s dick. Ray’s not afraid to beg, never has been- he’ll ask. He doesn’t need to- Kowalski blows him sweet and right, soft lips and hard curved tongue, pressing flat against the shaft. Nothing too showy, just heat and suction, pure sensation, Kowalski’s hand steadying himself against his hip, the soft fuzz of hair behind his ear. Ray slips into coming like it’s the next logical step, swears, breath sighing over the frickative- fuck in a way that makes Kowalski huff out a laugh, lean back on his heels with a soft smile, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
Ray offers him a hand, pulls him up and turns him so his back’s against Ray’s chest, then whispers to him as he presses the palm of his hand into Ray’s crotch, feels the sinuous movement of his hips as he rubs against him, getting all the friction he can. Ray whispers everything he can think of, breath hot on Kowalski’s ear. Sometimes he nips at the tendon standing out on Ray’s neck. Sometimes he licks the side and tastes salt. Kowalski arches back against him, whimpers ‘please’ as he bites down, as Kowalski comes with Ray’s name on his lips. They lean back. Breathe.
Ray doesn’t turn on the light. Kowalski doesn’t speak, but he follows him to his bedroom, shoulders squared, like he’s braced for something. There’s going to be a bruise on his neck; Ray reaches out and touches the spot. Kowalski flinches, and Ray wants to make this right, has to find the words. He grips Kowalski’s hand, desperate to make him see, desperate for everything that’s impossible. “Kowalski, I have this habit,” he says, and keeps saying.
Author: llassah
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Ray/Ray
Length: 1600 words
Rating: NC-17
1
He doesn’t know how many times makes a habit. There has to be a magic number, a point where he can either stop or do it forever. There’s just Kowalski, with his stupid fucking laugh, and his smile, and the shadows his eyelashes make on his cheekbones when his eyes slip half shut. There’s the sickly yellow streetlights, a thermos of coffee, and the certain knowledge that he’s gonna jerk off thinking about this, thinking about their enforced intimacy and strangely weighted silences.
Witness protection. The court case is in two days, one of the mid-rank mob bosses. This guy’s their star witness, a sneaky little fucker, face like a rat, never stays still for very long. Wanted a 24 hour watch on his house, armed escort to the courtroom-
a payoff. Of course a payoff, because chances are, even if the guy they’re bringing down goes, there’ll be people wanting to make an example of him, people filling the gap. The underworld only looks chaotic from the outside. There are rules, and the rules mean they’re freezing their asses off in Kowalski’s car until the court case is over and the witness safely in Mexico . The rules mean he has a serious masturbation habit. He really fucking hates the rules.
“I’m bored.”
“Christ, I’ll get you a coloring book if you’re that desperate. I could be somewhere else, too, you know.”
Kowalski huffs, looks over at him with a sharp, tight smile. “Yeah, you could be watering your plants or something.”
“I don’t like you,” he tells him, going back to staring out of the window. No one there. No sign of danger. An alleycat stalks down the street, yowls. Another cat finds her, then another-
he stops watching. Envying a cat isn’t something he plans on doing.
*
He gets back to his apartment at nine in the morning. He paces until ten, then showers, leans back against the tiles and jerks off, hand wet, slippery, steam relaxing him as his mind works overtime, as Kowalski’s on his knees, lips shiny, filthy smile inviting him, as his hands slip into his jeans, as he bends over the hood of the car-
he comes with his eyes tightly shut, then sleeps until seven in the evening.
2
“Why did you think it would work with her?”
No need to ask which her. Kowalski’s been needling him since they started their shift. He doesn’t ask about Benny; one of them has to be adult about this. He decides to be honest, too.
“I have no idea. It was...a nice dream. A good thing to want.”
“She’s met someone else.”
He can think of that without his chest hurting, now. It feels good. Sort of wistful, like in old films when the lovers can’t be together, but they’ll always have Berlin, or Paris, or wherever, and the memory’s enough, and the heroine’s eyes stay pretty when she cries. No red-rimmed eyes on celluloid. “He called Ray too? It could be a habit.”
“Three ain’t a habit,” Kowalski says, a little more relaxed.
“What’s a habit?”
“Four,” he says. They both laugh, spend the rest of the shift in silence.
*
He knows it’s a habit, now. There’s a bar near his apartment he goes to sometimes. It’s eleven when he gets there, and he drinks until closing time. He doesn’t jerk off, but his dreams are confusing, vivid, and he wakes up with his hand on his dick and the memory of Kowalski holding him down, growling at him.
3
He finds out he isn’t as good at hiding a hangover as he used to be. Kowalski’s surprisingly quiet about it. Too quiet. At the end of the second hour he’s about ready to kick him.
“I- I shouldn’t have talked about Stella. I’m sorry,” he says, voice hesitant. Oh. Oh. Ray laughs, can’t help it. It’s fucking funny. “Fuck you,” Kowalski says, but then they’re both laughing a little, even if Kowalski doesn’t know why. It’s a patch-up; they’ve never been friends, but they somehow manage to not kill each other. He gets some takeout coffee and doughnuts, picks up a packet of candy for Kowalski and counts six into his cup, then puts the rest of the packet into his pocket. Kowalski blinks, surprised, when he sips the coffee, then spends the rest of the stakeout arguing about frosting on doughnuts.
*
When they’re relieved, they just seem to drift into having lunch together, sat on a bench. Kowalski eats like a pig. Their shoulders touch, and their knees do whenever Kowalski shifts. A few times, he thinks Kowalski’s going to say something. He never does. They end up wandering to Kowalski’s apartment. He falls asleep on the couch, and goes straight from there to the next stakeout. He doesn’t know what he’s doing any more.
4
Kowalski kisses him. It should have more buildup than that, but he kisses him chastely on the lips as the next two guys drive up to take over. Ray looks at him, startled, wanting to say something, anything but sounding angry is a lie and sounding like he wants this is...unwise. He stays silent. Kowalski’s eyes are huge, pupils blown.
He gets out of the car, nods curtly to the cops taking over, and walks home in the rain. He’s soaking when he gets there, cold, wet, hard. He leans against his apartment door, jerks off right there, shivering and more turned on than he’s ever been before. He comes with a cut-off moan, wipes his hand on his pants, lets his head fall back against the door, then slides down so he’s sitting on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him. He can’t stop touching his mouth.
*
He’s forgotten to lock the door. He wakes up as the door opens- tries to open- and stands, hand going immediately to his holster even as he stumbles, legs stiff from sleeping sitting on the floor. Kowalski’s backlit; he can’t see his expression, just the way he’s standing, tense, ready to run or fight. Ray knows he probably looks like shit, crumpled clothes and bleary eyes. “You are so full of shit,” Kowalski murmurs, then he’s in the apartment, shutting the door, undoing his coat and his shirt- warm, damp- his trousers- wetter, from being sat on- and then kneeling and unfastening his shoelaces, undressing him with deft, sure movements. He doesn’t kiss him, but Ray wants him to. He wants to have another chance to react, but Kowalski’s acting in a way that anticipates, assumes that Ray kissed him back and asked for more.
“What are we doing?”
“Something good,” Kowalski answers. Ray’s standing there in his boxers, shivering. He touches his mouth again, can’t keep the questions out of his eyes. This is a different sort of good- not the sort Benny Believes in, not something as simple and brutal as Benny’s- a good that comes from both of them being afraid and too damn old for this, and.
Ray steps forward and kisses him, slips his fingers into the neck of Kowalski’s t shirt and strokes the goosebumps that slide across his skin with his fingers. He kisses him and tastes rain. Kowalski huffs, drops the clothes he had been holding onto the floor, backs Ray against the door and then they’re kissing, kissing each other, and maybe Ray isn’t so old and scared after all. Kowalski kneels, too fucking gracefully-too prettily- and breathes against the fabric of his boxers, hot, pulls his boxers right down and looks up, cast all in shadows. Ray misses his eyelashes, the shadows they make, but his mouth’s shining a little. He puts a hand on the top of Kowalski’s head, strokes round so it’s more for contact than pressure, command.
His mouth’s hot, his hand cool where he curls it around the base of Ray’s dick. Ray’s not afraid to beg, never has been- he’ll ask. He doesn’t need to- Kowalski blows him sweet and right, soft lips and hard curved tongue, pressing flat against the shaft. Nothing too showy, just heat and suction, pure sensation, Kowalski’s hand steadying himself against his hip, the soft fuzz of hair behind his ear. Ray slips into coming like it’s the next logical step, swears, breath sighing over the frickative- fuck in a way that makes Kowalski huff out a laugh, lean back on his heels with a soft smile, wiping the back of his mouth with his hand.
Ray offers him a hand, pulls him up and turns him so his back’s against Ray’s chest, then whispers to him as he presses the palm of his hand into Ray’s crotch, feels the sinuous movement of his hips as he rubs against him, getting all the friction he can. Ray whispers everything he can think of, breath hot on Kowalski’s ear. Sometimes he nips at the tendon standing out on Ray’s neck. Sometimes he licks the side and tastes salt. Kowalski arches back against him, whimpers ‘please’ as he bites down, as Kowalski comes with Ray’s name on his lips. They lean back. Breathe.
Ray doesn’t turn on the light. Kowalski doesn’t speak, but he follows him to his bedroom, shoulders squared, like he’s braced for something. There’s going to be a bruise on his neck; Ray reaches out and touches the spot. Kowalski flinches, and Ray wants to make this right, has to find the words. He grips Kowalski’s hand, desperate to make him see, desperate for everything that’s impossible. “Kowalski, I have this habit,” he says, and keeps saying.