Like a Glove
Title: Like a Glove
Author: oneandonlytrey
Beta: none
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: James Dewees/Ray Toro
Summary: God I think that maybe I'm in love. Ray and James spend some quality time together on a hotel roof.
Warnings/Author's Note: See here. And here. Gratuitous sex, you have been warned.
Australia was nice, Ray had decided at some point between the time James had stripped out of his Santa suit to nance around the stage in a yellow halter-dress, and when Ray had pushed his hair and head back to pour a shot of whiskey into James' mouth for him.
Australia was nice.
It was warm, see. Ray stared at the mostly-empty bottle of Southern Comfort with a discerning eye, as if it would prism his skewed thoughts into some kind of cohesive thread. The hotel they were staying in, it had stairwells that led to the roof, and Ray liked that too, because now he was sitting on a hotel roof, in Australia. And while his whiskey was almost gone, James was just taking a shower and changing and had assured him he'd be up shortly, with more whiskey and more cigarettes.
And, if Ray was lucky, more kisses.
Ray tilted the bottle, finishing the last shots-worth out of the bottle and setting it aside carefully, reaching for the sweaty pack of cigarettes he'd pilfered out of James' back pocket. He put one between his lips, and then realized belatedly that he had forgotten to bring a lighter.
A wide hand landed on his shoulder, and a matte black Zippo flicked in front of him. He smiled around the cigarette, directing the tip of it into the offered flame.
He let the smoke ease out his nose, reaching his arms up and back to wrap around James' waist, scratching at the base of his spine. "My savior."
James chuckled; his throat was like sandpaper, making his voice rough hewn. Ray giggled, moving his one hand to grip James' wrist. "Sit with me. Where's my whiskey?" He pulled another puff of smoke into his lungs, smiling and gesturing vaguely. James shook his head, taking the cigarette from Ray and taking a much more practiced drag, blowing a crooked smoke ring over Ray's head.
"I think maybe you've had enough?"
Ray shook his head hard, hair flying every which direction, a few wayward curls striking James in the face, making him chuckle again even as he scratched at the tickle on his cheeks.
"No, man, I'm just getting started." He reached for the cigarette again, but James easily evaded his grasping hand. "Please?"
"You smoke before you pass out, Toro, it's, like, clockwork or something. And I don't have the energy to carry you downstairs."
"You didn't bring it?"
James rolled his eyes, pulling on the cigarette for a long moment before leaning close, gripping Ray's hair with his off hand and pressing his lips against Ray's. Ray parted his lips eagerly, and inhaled as James exhaled, drawing the second hand smoke into his own lungs and sitting back with a dazed look in his eyes.
"That make up for it?"
Ray giggled, one eyelid drooping a bit more than the other. James patted his cheek. "Exhale, honey. Come on, for me."
Ray did as directed, the smoke barely a wisp. James nodded approvingly, sitting back for a moment. He stretched his arms over his head, took another drag off his cigarette to steel himself, then put it out carefully on the tar paper beneath them, ensuring that the ember was extinguished before throwing the cigarette away.
That taken care of, he grabbed Ray's arms, falling backwards with a quiet 'oof', pulling Ray down on top of him. Ray shuffled and flailed for a bit before settling with his knees on either side of James' hips.
"Drunk enough for this?" James queried, tangling both hands now in Ray's hair and pulling him down for a kiss proper, all touching tongues and clicking teeth. Ray's reciprocation was enough to indicate to James that, yeah, Ray was definitely drunk enough, and he set one hand to tracing down Ray's side, slipping around to loosen Ray's belt. He didn't bother with the zip or the button; he simply thrust his hand into Ray's jeans, groping him hard with a rough hand.
Ray broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes wide and glassy, a smile on his lips that made James' eyelids flutter with anticipation.
Ray groped James' back, clawing his way down. He was too drunk to notice the way the tar-paper scratched at his knuckles, leaving abrasions all across the back of his hand that he would have to explain in the morning. He didn't care, because James had a condom in his back pocket, he always did, and Ray definitely wanted to get laid on the roof of an Australian hotel.
"You?" James asked, his voice ever the same, even when Ray's other drunken hand had found it's way into his underwear. Rough, low, and with an underlying mirth that he couldn't ever shake. Little hissing lisp that Ray loved all the time, but he only did anything about it when he was drunk. "Or me?"
Ray moaned. Ray couldn't control his voice like James, his voice always sounded high-pitched and girly, and he always sang with shouts and screams, belting what didn't need to be belted. He couldn't do six thousand accents like James; pretend to be all types of different people. He was always just Ray, but sometimes, sometimes when the Southern Comfort was warm in his stomach and smoke was swirling in his brain and his skin tingled with excitement and the rush of being in a crowd instead of in front of one, sometimes he was James' Ray, and that was good.
"You."
Ray rolled off of James, struggling with his jeans, fighting to get them off. His drunken fingers were slow, clumsy. James clambered slowly to his feet, retrieving the condom Ray had been going for before slipping out of his own jeans. He was high off the show, but he wasn't half so drunk as Ray. He liked watching Ray struggle, but he was way too horny to wait for long. Instead, he brushed fingers along Ray's wrist, slipping the condom into Ray's hand. "Here."
Ray beamed, giggled. He could handle a condom, and he let James take care of his jeans, wriggling them down off his hips. Once Ray got the condom open, he reached to slip it onto James, matching James' gasp with his own.
"Don't. Don't, like. Now, I need you now, okay? Don't worry about me, just, okay? I don't mind if it hurts, because it's that good kind of hurt."
James nodded, loving Ray's drunk and horny babble and knowing that even incoherent, Ray was completely serious and meant every word he said.
"Hard and fast." James assured him, stroking a hand through his hair before moving closer, Ray moving onto his side so James could lie beside him, chest-to-back.
James always did precisely what Ray wanted, preparation being the last thing on either of their minds. He positioned himself carefully, then with one hand gripping Ray's hip, black-painted nails digging into bronzed skin, he pushed in, Ray's momentary shout of pain quickly dampened by a shivering moan of flitting pleasure. James knew him well, and wasted no time in moving his hand from Ray's hip to his cock.
They set a hard and fast rhythm, moving completely in tandem with one goal. James' voice was a perfect counter-point to Ray's, rough gravel and scratchy sand.
Ray came first, his back arched, his toes curled, one hand over his own shoulder, gripping hard at James' still shower-damp hair. James moved his now sticky hand back to Ray's hip, growling against Ray's shoulder as he came, just a moment later.
James pulled out of Ray carefully, helped Ray turn over, and they held each other, panting and sweating, for a while.
Somewhere behind them, a tinny AC/DC ring tone broke the silence. Ray sat up with a gasp. "Shit. We can't sleep on the roof."
James giggled finding his jeans and struggling into them, forgoing his underwear, which he simply slipped into his pocket. Ray giggled, reaching for his own jeans, wiggling into them while on his back.
Once he was done, he reached his hands in the air, and with an eye-roll, James helped Ray to his feet. They leaned against each other for a while, James touching the scratches on Ray's hand carefully.
"Let's go take a shower." Ray said softly near his ear.
James laughed, and nodded, and they moved, arms about each other's waists, back to the stairs.
Author: oneandonlytrey
Beta: none
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: James Dewees/Ray Toro
Summary: God I think that maybe I'm in love. Ray and James spend some quality time together on a hotel roof.
Warnings/Author's Note: See here. And here. Gratuitous sex, you have been warned.
Australia was nice, Ray had decided at some point between the time James had stripped out of his Santa suit to nance around the stage in a yellow halter-dress, and when Ray had pushed his hair and head back to pour a shot of whiskey into James' mouth for him.
Australia was nice.
It was warm, see. Ray stared at the mostly-empty bottle of Southern Comfort with a discerning eye, as if it would prism his skewed thoughts into some kind of cohesive thread. The hotel they were staying in, it had stairwells that led to the roof, and Ray liked that too, because now he was sitting on a hotel roof, in Australia. And while his whiskey was almost gone, James was just taking a shower and changing and had assured him he'd be up shortly, with more whiskey and more cigarettes.
And, if Ray was lucky, more kisses.
Ray tilted the bottle, finishing the last shots-worth out of the bottle and setting it aside carefully, reaching for the sweaty pack of cigarettes he'd pilfered out of James' back pocket. He put one between his lips, and then realized belatedly that he had forgotten to bring a lighter.
A wide hand landed on his shoulder, and a matte black Zippo flicked in front of him. He smiled around the cigarette, directing the tip of it into the offered flame.
He let the smoke ease out his nose, reaching his arms up and back to wrap around James' waist, scratching at the base of his spine. "My savior."
James chuckled; his throat was like sandpaper, making his voice rough hewn. Ray giggled, moving his one hand to grip James' wrist. "Sit with me. Where's my whiskey?" He pulled another puff of smoke into his lungs, smiling and gesturing vaguely. James shook his head, taking the cigarette from Ray and taking a much more practiced drag, blowing a crooked smoke ring over Ray's head.
"I think maybe you've had enough?"
Ray shook his head hard, hair flying every which direction, a few wayward curls striking James in the face, making him chuckle again even as he scratched at the tickle on his cheeks.
"No, man, I'm just getting started." He reached for the cigarette again, but James easily evaded his grasping hand. "Please?"
"You smoke before you pass out, Toro, it's, like, clockwork or something. And I don't have the energy to carry you downstairs."
"You didn't bring it?"
James rolled his eyes, pulling on the cigarette for a long moment before leaning close, gripping Ray's hair with his off hand and pressing his lips against Ray's. Ray parted his lips eagerly, and inhaled as James exhaled, drawing the second hand smoke into his own lungs and sitting back with a dazed look in his eyes.
"That make up for it?"
Ray giggled, one eyelid drooping a bit more than the other. James patted his cheek. "Exhale, honey. Come on, for me."
Ray did as directed, the smoke barely a wisp. James nodded approvingly, sitting back for a moment. He stretched his arms over his head, took another drag off his cigarette to steel himself, then put it out carefully on the tar paper beneath them, ensuring that the ember was extinguished before throwing the cigarette away.
That taken care of, he grabbed Ray's arms, falling backwards with a quiet 'oof', pulling Ray down on top of him. Ray shuffled and flailed for a bit before settling with his knees on either side of James' hips.
"Drunk enough for this?" James queried, tangling both hands now in Ray's hair and pulling him down for a kiss proper, all touching tongues and clicking teeth. Ray's reciprocation was enough to indicate to James that, yeah, Ray was definitely drunk enough, and he set one hand to tracing down Ray's side, slipping around to loosen Ray's belt. He didn't bother with the zip or the button; he simply thrust his hand into Ray's jeans, groping him hard with a rough hand.
Ray broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes wide and glassy, a smile on his lips that made James' eyelids flutter with anticipation.
Ray groped James' back, clawing his way down. He was too drunk to notice the way the tar-paper scratched at his knuckles, leaving abrasions all across the back of his hand that he would have to explain in the morning. He didn't care, because James had a condom in his back pocket, he always did, and Ray definitely wanted to get laid on the roof of an Australian hotel.
"You?" James asked, his voice ever the same, even when Ray's other drunken hand had found it's way into his underwear. Rough, low, and with an underlying mirth that he couldn't ever shake. Little hissing lisp that Ray loved all the time, but he only did anything about it when he was drunk. "Or me?"
Ray moaned. Ray couldn't control his voice like James, his voice always sounded high-pitched and girly, and he always sang with shouts and screams, belting what didn't need to be belted. He couldn't do six thousand accents like James; pretend to be all types of different people. He was always just Ray, but sometimes, sometimes when the Southern Comfort was warm in his stomach and smoke was swirling in his brain and his skin tingled with excitement and the rush of being in a crowd instead of in front of one, sometimes he was James' Ray, and that was good.
"You."
Ray rolled off of James, struggling with his jeans, fighting to get them off. His drunken fingers were slow, clumsy. James clambered slowly to his feet, retrieving the condom Ray had been going for before slipping out of his own jeans. He was high off the show, but he wasn't half so drunk as Ray. He liked watching Ray struggle, but he was way too horny to wait for long. Instead, he brushed fingers along Ray's wrist, slipping the condom into Ray's hand. "Here."
Ray beamed, giggled. He could handle a condom, and he let James take care of his jeans, wriggling them down off his hips. Once Ray got the condom open, he reached to slip it onto James, matching James' gasp with his own.
"Don't. Don't, like. Now, I need you now, okay? Don't worry about me, just, okay? I don't mind if it hurts, because it's that good kind of hurt."
James nodded, loving Ray's drunk and horny babble and knowing that even incoherent, Ray was completely serious and meant every word he said.
"Hard and fast." James assured him, stroking a hand through his hair before moving closer, Ray moving onto his side so James could lie beside him, chest-to-back.
James always did precisely what Ray wanted, preparation being the last thing on either of their minds. He positioned himself carefully, then with one hand gripping Ray's hip, black-painted nails digging into bronzed skin, he pushed in, Ray's momentary shout of pain quickly dampened by a shivering moan of flitting pleasure. James knew him well, and wasted no time in moving his hand from Ray's hip to his cock.
They set a hard and fast rhythm, moving completely in tandem with one goal. James' voice was a perfect counter-point to Ray's, rough gravel and scratchy sand.
Ray came first, his back arched, his toes curled, one hand over his own shoulder, gripping hard at James' still shower-damp hair. James moved his now sticky hand back to Ray's hip, growling against Ray's shoulder as he came, just a moment later.
James pulled out of Ray carefully, helped Ray turn over, and they held each other, panting and sweating, for a while.
Somewhere behind them, a tinny AC/DC ring tone broke the silence. Ray sat up with a gasp. "Shit. We can't sleep on the roof."
James giggled finding his jeans and struggling into them, forgoing his underwear, which he simply slipped into his pocket. Ray giggled, reaching for his own jeans, wiggling into them while on his back.
Once he was done, he reached his hands in the air, and with an eye-roll, James helped Ray to his feet. They leaned against each other for a while, James touching the scratches on Ray's hand carefully.
"Let's go take a shower." Ray said softly near his ear.
James laughed, and nodded, and they moved, arms about each other's waists, back to the stairs.