Castaway, by slidellra, posted at 10:30 a.m. Pacific time.
Title: Castaway
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Ray/Ray
Prompt: pumpkin pie
The water was turquoise blue and sparkling as far as Ray's fucked up, no-glasses-having eyes could see. "This sucks," he muttered, kicking at the pale sand with one bare, brown foot.
"Then maybe you shouldn't have gotten us stuck here," Vecchio said sharply from where he'd been napping in the shade of one of the larger palm trees.
"I didn't get us stuck here, you got us stuck here. You and Welsh and Fraser and the Girl Scouts of America and their little, the ones with the --" Ray's brain seized up on him and he resorted to cookie-shaped gestures.
"Samoas. With the coconut," Vecchio reminded him for the millionth time.
"Damn coconut smugglers."
"Damn coconut smugglers," Vecchio agreed, rolling over onto his stomach and folding his arms under his head, bare brown skin from head to foot. He looked better with the tan than Ray did, more even or something, and Ray had to admit the hundreds of hours he'd spent fishing with his palm frond nets had done good things for his shoulders and back.
Ray shrugged and rolled his own shoulders. He was more of a stab-the-fish-with-a-sharp-stick man, himself. Either way, both ways, they had enough dried fish to last for months. Disgusting, disgusting, gross dried fish. Ray groaned and stretched out on his back next to Vecchio. "It must be fall back home, right?"
"Don't do this, Kowalski. Not today," Vecchio warned.
"Getting cool outside, so you need to wear sweaters, jackets, scarves -- you remember clothing, Vecchio?"
"I despise you."
"--maybe see your breath in the morning, football, hockey, turkey and pumpkin pie--"
"Shut up, Kowalski."
"--barbers," Ray added, reaching out to run a hand over Vecchio's stubbly head. Getting near time to shave it again. When they'd first gotten there, Vecchio had just let it grow until one particularly calm, glassy day when he'd looked down at his reflection in the water and practically started crying. After that, he'd worked on sharpening a metal scrap into a wicked-looking razor. Watching Vecchio shave his scalp was one of Ray's favorite things; you just didn't get adrenalin like that in his new tropical lifestyle. He slid his hand down over the back of Vecchio's skull to the curve of his neck, his broad shoulders.
Vecchio lifted his head. "You starting something?"
"There's nothing good on TV."
Vecchio snorted and rolled over onto his back, leaning up on an elbow to brush sand off his chest, his stomach, his soft dick. Ray helped, and when Vecchio was mostly sand-free Ray rolled on top of him, warm salty skin against warm salty skin.
Vecchio's mouth, when he wasn't talking, was soft and sweet and basically the most interesting thing going in Ray's too-small universe. Ray liked to spend hours kissing him; with his eyes closed they could be making out in the car, on a dark streetcorner, Michigan and Superior, maybe. The idea hurt, he wanted it so bad, and he closed his eyes tighter and shoved his hardening dick up against Vecchio's hip.
"Hey," Vecchio said, rubbing a warm, rough hand down Ray's back, his ass. "Hey. I thought it was my turn for freaking out."
"Tomorrow," Ray said, then changed his mind. "Today, now, you can freak out now." The last time Vecchio really lost it, he'd really lost it, shoving and yelling and stomping around the beach, and then he'd bent Ray over every flat surface on the island, fucking him like if he did it hard enough he'd power them back home.
"Nah," Vecchio said between kisses. "I'm feeling pretty good today."
His hands felt pretty good when they pushed between their bodies and arranged them just right up against each other. It was too dry, and Ray hated sand more than anything else in the world, but making out with Vecchio, rubbing up against him and feeling him rub back, that was the favorite thing Ray had left. With his eyes closed, everything was warm and dark and red-tinted, and Vecchio was strong under him, flexing and breathing harder as they rocked together.
Vecchio knew it, too, so when Ray began to pant and his toes began to curl, Vecchio murmured to him, dark smooth voice the closest thing to coffee Ray knew anymore, "Slow down, c'mon, Kowalski. What's the rush?" and eased him back down until Ray's skin felt numb and oversensitized and tingly and he just zoned out, nobody home but feeling okay.
Ray tugged at Vecchio's leg, sliding down between his thighs until Vecchio pulled his legs up and wrapped them around Ray's back. That was better, closer, tighter, and Ray panted into Vecchio's mouth, holding his hip still and down and just right to he could work their bodies together at just the right angle, teasing Vecchio's tongue with his until Vecchio was gasping, "Jesus, Kowalski," and coming first after all, his head tilting back and his throat working.
Ray grinned and pushed forward, finding the slickness between them and pushing his dick through it. Vecchio laughed and ran his hand over his belly, then down Ray's dick, giving Ray a slick fist to thrust into, and Ray did, bracing himself on the sand and on Vecchio's body, he fucked and fucked into Vecchio's hand. It was so good, so sweet, god, he should fuck Vecchio later, tongue him wet and fuck him, good, yeah, and he came with a grunt and a shudder, then collapsed with his head resting on Vecchio's shoulder.
The heat coming off him and Vecchio was almost too much, but he stayed close anyway. He tilted his head to watch the side of Vecchio's face, the visible pulse in his neck, and sighed again.
"Don't," Vecchio said, eyes still closed.
"Coffee."
"Traffic, work, smog, getting shot at." Like Vecchio didn't have family and a car he loved, and like Ray was some kind of idiot.
"Lube."
Vecchio turned his face into Ray's neck, groaning, dried sand sliding in slow grains down Ray's skin. "Yeah," he agreed, warm and hoarse.
"Yeah," Ray said, then kissed Vecchio's shoulder and closed his eyes for a while.
And I tag elementalv with the prompt "layers," as in fall-type layered clothing, I'm thinking. Golly, but I hate prompts.
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Ray/Ray
Prompt: pumpkin pie
The water was turquoise blue and sparkling as far as Ray's fucked up, no-glasses-having eyes could see. "This sucks," he muttered, kicking at the pale sand with one bare, brown foot.
"Then maybe you shouldn't have gotten us stuck here," Vecchio said sharply from where he'd been napping in the shade of one of the larger palm trees.
"I didn't get us stuck here, you got us stuck here. You and Welsh and Fraser and the Girl Scouts of America and their little, the ones with the --" Ray's brain seized up on him and he resorted to cookie-shaped gestures.
"Samoas. With the coconut," Vecchio reminded him for the millionth time.
"Damn coconut smugglers."
"Damn coconut smugglers," Vecchio agreed, rolling over onto his stomach and folding his arms under his head, bare brown skin from head to foot. He looked better with the tan than Ray did, more even or something, and Ray had to admit the hundreds of hours he'd spent fishing with his palm frond nets had done good things for his shoulders and back.
Ray shrugged and rolled his own shoulders. He was more of a stab-the-fish-with-a-sharp-stick man, himself. Either way, both ways, they had enough dried fish to last for months. Disgusting, disgusting, gross dried fish. Ray groaned and stretched out on his back next to Vecchio. "It must be fall back home, right?"
"Don't do this, Kowalski. Not today," Vecchio warned.
"Getting cool outside, so you need to wear sweaters, jackets, scarves -- you remember clothing, Vecchio?"
"I despise you."
"--maybe see your breath in the morning, football, hockey, turkey and pumpkin pie--"
"Shut up, Kowalski."
"--barbers," Ray added, reaching out to run a hand over Vecchio's stubbly head. Getting near time to shave it again. When they'd first gotten there, Vecchio had just let it grow until one particularly calm, glassy day when he'd looked down at his reflection in the water and practically started crying. After that, he'd worked on sharpening a metal scrap into a wicked-looking razor. Watching Vecchio shave his scalp was one of Ray's favorite things; you just didn't get adrenalin like that in his new tropical lifestyle. He slid his hand down over the back of Vecchio's skull to the curve of his neck, his broad shoulders.
Vecchio lifted his head. "You starting something?"
"There's nothing good on TV."
Vecchio snorted and rolled over onto his back, leaning up on an elbow to brush sand off his chest, his stomach, his soft dick. Ray helped, and when Vecchio was mostly sand-free Ray rolled on top of him, warm salty skin against warm salty skin.
Vecchio's mouth, when he wasn't talking, was soft and sweet and basically the most interesting thing going in Ray's too-small universe. Ray liked to spend hours kissing him; with his eyes closed they could be making out in the car, on a dark streetcorner, Michigan and Superior, maybe. The idea hurt, he wanted it so bad, and he closed his eyes tighter and shoved his hardening dick up against Vecchio's hip.
"Hey," Vecchio said, rubbing a warm, rough hand down Ray's back, his ass. "Hey. I thought it was my turn for freaking out."
"Tomorrow," Ray said, then changed his mind. "Today, now, you can freak out now." The last time Vecchio really lost it, he'd really lost it, shoving and yelling and stomping around the beach, and then he'd bent Ray over every flat surface on the island, fucking him like if he did it hard enough he'd power them back home.
"Nah," Vecchio said between kisses. "I'm feeling pretty good today."
His hands felt pretty good when they pushed between their bodies and arranged them just right up against each other. It was too dry, and Ray hated sand more than anything else in the world, but making out with Vecchio, rubbing up against him and feeling him rub back, that was the favorite thing Ray had left. With his eyes closed, everything was warm and dark and red-tinted, and Vecchio was strong under him, flexing and breathing harder as they rocked together.
Vecchio knew it, too, so when Ray began to pant and his toes began to curl, Vecchio murmured to him, dark smooth voice the closest thing to coffee Ray knew anymore, "Slow down, c'mon, Kowalski. What's the rush?" and eased him back down until Ray's skin felt numb and oversensitized and tingly and he just zoned out, nobody home but feeling okay.
Ray tugged at Vecchio's leg, sliding down between his thighs until Vecchio pulled his legs up and wrapped them around Ray's back. That was better, closer, tighter, and Ray panted into Vecchio's mouth, holding his hip still and down and just right to he could work their bodies together at just the right angle, teasing Vecchio's tongue with his until Vecchio was gasping, "Jesus, Kowalski," and coming first after all, his head tilting back and his throat working.
Ray grinned and pushed forward, finding the slickness between them and pushing his dick through it. Vecchio laughed and ran his hand over his belly, then down Ray's dick, giving Ray a slick fist to thrust into, and Ray did, bracing himself on the sand and on Vecchio's body, he fucked and fucked into Vecchio's hand. It was so good, so sweet, god, he should fuck Vecchio later, tongue him wet and fuck him, good, yeah, and he came with a grunt and a shudder, then collapsed with his head resting on Vecchio's shoulder.
The heat coming off him and Vecchio was almost too much, but he stayed close anyway. He tilted his head to watch the side of Vecchio's face, the visible pulse in his neck, and sighed again.
"Don't," Vecchio said, eyes still closed.
"Coffee."
"Traffic, work, smog, getting shot at." Like Vecchio didn't have family and a car he loved, and like Ray was some kind of idiot.
"Lube."
Vecchio turned his face into Ray's neck, groaning, dried sand sliding in slow grains down Ray's skin. "Yeah," he agreed, warm and hoarse.
"Yeah," Ray said, then kissed Vecchio's shoulder and closed his eyes for a while.
And I tag elementalv with the prompt "layers," as in fall-type layered clothing, I'm thinking. Golly, but I hate prompts.