Jumpy
by cmshaw
cmshaw@cmshaw.slashcity.net
3 September 2001

Disclaimer: Yeah, right. They're so not mine.

Summary: Ray Kowalski is tense. Ray Vecchio helps.

Warnings: Uh, sex. In semi-public. Again. (I seem to have a theme here.)

Notes: This was originally just an off-the-cuff snippet I posted to the SwingBothRays list, but I think it cleaned up nicely.


Vecchio sets the last of the files down on his -- their -- desk. He's going to make an effort to be friendly, God damn it, so he says, "Okay, Stanley, you want to show me what you've got on Muldoon?"

Kowalski is apparently not making a similar effort. "Don't call me that," he snaps.

"Don't call you what?" Vecchio asks, confused.

"'Stanley'," Kowalski says with a scowl. "Don't call me that."

"Isn't that your name?" Vecchio says.

"No," Kowalski says, "I mean, yeah, but nobody but my mom calls me that."

"Fine--" Vecchio begins, holding up his hands, but Kowalski's not done.

"And you're not my mom, right? So don't even--" and Vecchio's heard enough. He grabs the fist that Kowalski is waving in his face and squeezes the wrist as hard as he can. Kowalski shuts up.

"I said fine. Okay? Just tell me what you want to be called already." Vecchio opens his hand as Kowalski twists his wrist away.

"My name's Ray," Kowalski says, rubbing his wrist with his other hand.

"No it isn't," Vecchio says automatically.

"Fuck you," Kowalski snaps back. "Yes it is. Stanley Raymond Kowalski. You wanna see ID?"

"Look, forget it," Vecchio says. Friendly, he's going to be friendly if it kills him. "How about we do some work, Ray?"

Kowalski relaxes and steps back again, which is more of a relief than Vecchio hopes anyone notices. Somehow he can stare down the mob's contract killers and make them do what he says but he can't keep his cool around Kowalski. One almost-fight and his heart is racing and his breath is coming short. Kowalski rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck before looking back at Vecchio. "Sorry," he says, sounding like he means it. "I'm just kind of tense, you know?"

"You're tense," Vecchio repeats, layering on the sarcasm to hide the way he's not quite shaking.

"Yeah, I'm tense, I got some tension. Lay off," Kowalski says, scowling again.

"Well, could you do something about that?" Vecchio says, and adds pointedly, "Something that doesn't involve punching people."

"I could do that," he says. Then he grins, which makes Vecchio nervous, and says, "Yeah, definitely I could do that. You wanna?"

"Do I want to what?" Vecchio asks cautiously.

"Help," Kowalski says.

"With what?" Vecchio asks, trying to figure out what the hell Kowalski's talking about.

Kowalski leans forward as if to tell him, then glances around and steps back. "Um," he says.

The bullpen's not too crowded, but nothing around here is ever really private. Still, there are ways, and Vecchio hasn't been gone long enough to forget them. He jerks his head toward the hallway and leads Kowalski into the roomier of the supply closets, but Kowalski shuts the door behind them before he can find the pull-string for the light. Vecchio waves his hand through the air trying to find it. "There's a light here somewhere," he says.

"No, this is good," Kowalski says, and he grabs Vecchio around the waist.

"Hey!" Vecchio says. He reaches out to push Kowalski away, but there's no one there, although he can still feel hands yanking on his trousers and hear Kowalski breathing.

"Quieter," Kowalski says from somewhere down on the floor, which makes no sense until Vecchio realizes that the tugging he felt was his zipper being lowered. He puts his hand down just as his dick is pulled out of his fly and into Kowalski's mouth, and he can feel Kowalski's stiffly gelled hair pressing against his palm. As quietly as he can, Vecchio tilts his head back, bites his tongue, and pushes Kowalski's head in toward his crotch.

And Vecchio's had a lot of blowjobs in his life, maybe more than the average schmuck, he thinks, especially in the last year or so, but it's not something a guy ever gets tired of. There's just something about spreading his legs to let somebody get down there and suck on him, something about the way he can just stand there and appreciate the attention being lavished on him -- he never says no to this. Kowalski's pretty good at it, so Vecchio decides not to care that he's a guy. It's almost a kinky sort of turn-on, in fact, knowing it's a guy kneeling on the floor giving him head. If it weren't pitch-dark it might be weirder, but Vecchio isn't sure he'd even be able to tell this was a guy if he didn't already know; all he can feel is mouth, tongue, lips, more tongue, and rough impersonal hands on his hips.

Vecchio closes his eyes against the darkness of the supply closet and enjoys himself for a while, liking the suction on the head of his cock and the long licks up and down the shaft of it. He braces his shoulders against the edge of the shelves and puts both hands on Kowalski's head, rubbing the softer bristly hair on the back of Kowalski's neck and trailing his fingers over Kowalski's ears and the side of his face. He can feel Kowalski's jaw moving as he sucks, and imagines that he can feel the shape of his own dick twitching inside Kowalski's mouth when he brushes his fingers over Kowalski's cheeks.

Eventually he gets hard enough and eager enough that he wraps both hands around the delicate curve of Kowalski's skull and starts rocking his hips forward, trying to get down Kowalski's throat. Kowalski backs off almost immediately and holds him away, hands firm on Vecchio's hips, while he pants audibly.

"Hey," Vecchio says again, and realizes that it's the first noise he's made for some time.

"I'm having a little trouble breathing down here," Kowalski says, and Vecchio squints through the darkness, thinking he can almost see the outline of Kowalski's face in the light from around the doorframe. One hand lifts away from his hip, and there's rustling. "Though so," Kowalski says, probably to himself. "How about if you fuck me instead?"

"Uh," Vecchio says, feeling more than a little dazed. "You want me to fuck you up the ass?"

Kowalski makes a rude noise. "Yeah, up the ass. You were thinking there's another way?"

"No," Vecchio says, and then remembers that there'd been two questions. "I mean, yeah, sure. I'm up for a fuck."

He can hear Kowalski moving around, and then there are hands on his hips again, sliding in to unfasten his pants completely and push them down out of the way. His dick is grabbed and gloved, smoothly enough that it's really obvious Kowalski has lots of practice with rolling a condom onto another guy. Kowalski moves around a little more, then says, "Forward a step."

Holding his pants around his thighs with one hand, Vecchio moves forward cautiously until his other hand, outstretched, finds Kowalski's back and slides down onto shockingly bare skin. Kowalski reaches back and grabs the edge of Vecchio's shirt, pulling until he's pressed up against Kowalski's back, the two of them still half-clothed with their pants down around their ankles. He can feel Kowalski's ass against his latex-clad dick, and he can't resist rubbing up against it. The last thing he's about to do is take any time to stop and think about what's going on, though, so he reaches down and guides himself quickly into Kowalski's body.

Kowalski hisses as he shoves his way in. "Quieter," Vecchio breathes into his ear.

"Slower," Kowalski grunts.

Vecchio isn't sure he can do slower, but he tries, leaning forward and letting the weight of his body ease him deeper into Kowalski's body as smoothly as possible. Kowalski is tight, damn he's tight, but he seems to have smeared himself with something slippery that lets Vecchio slide right in as deep as he wants to go.

Kowalski shifts under him when he's in all the way, taking a deep breath, tightening and relaxing around Vecchio's dick until Vecchio just has to take Kowalski's hips in his hands and begin stroking in and out. In this position it's really obvious that Kowalski's a guy; his ass is small and tight, and his hips feel almost tiny below all the muscle of his stomach. It's good, Vecchio decides; this whole back-door thing is a lot better with a guy, because women never really seem to like it but Kowalski here is definitely into being fucked. Vecchio closes his eyes again and rubs circles over Kowalski's hipbones with his thumbs, and Kowalski makes little pleased-sounding gasps every time he pushes forward. "Quieter," Vecchio whispers again.

"Harder," Kowalski whispers back.

Vecchio does him harder, biting his lower lip to keep from moaning in pleasure because that feels really good, until whatever Kowalski is leaning on starts creaking. He tries to ease off then, but his body seems to have other ideas. Kowalski can't seem to hold still either, jerking and twisting under Vecchio's hands, and Vecchio keeps driving into him, out of control, already on the verge of coming when he realizes that Kowalski's already there. Kowalski is grunting, noises choked off behind clenched teeth, and Vecchio bites the side of his tongue again, digs his fingers into Kowalski's hips, and spends himself in three long, shuddering strokes.

"Whoo," Kowalski says. "Yeah. Okay." He wiggles his hips out of Vecchio's grasp, and Vecchio reluctantly shifts his weigh back onto his own feet. He pulls off the condom slowly, shivering as the air hits his damp skin, and wraps it in his handkerchief. He'll have to remember not to just throw that in the wash. Kowalski, by the sound of it, is also cleaning off and pulling his pants back on, and he surprises Vecchio with a chuckle. "So," he says, "was it good for you too?"

Vecchio sighs. "I can't believe we just did that," he mutters. "Anyone could have opened that door."

"The way I see it, anyone looking for copier paper at this time of night deserves whatever they get," Kowalski says, and he rattles the doorknob. "You decent?"

Vecchio double-checks his fly. "A lot more than you are, apparently," he says, and blinks in the light as Kowalski opens the door.

"Hey, you know what?" Kowalski says. He tugs his shoulder holster into place and grins. "I'm a lot less tense now."

Vecchio bites back a snappy retort. He is, after all, trying to be friendly.



(obEFF)

End.

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