Off Course


Ray figures it doesn't pay to be too particular about who you see in the romantic sense of the word, but that said, there is definitely a type of person that he tends to fall for more often.

He likes:

  • class

  • style

  • confidence

  • intelligence

  • nice-smelling-ness

  • and, generally, women.



And yeah, there was one big Mountie-shaped exception in there, back before he went to Vegas. But Fraser is the kind of guy exceptions were invented for, okay? And besides, he's not that far from Ray's particular type--he dresses like a human tragedy and he only smells nice some of the time, but he's got his own kind of class, and the smart thing was never in question.

So that explains Fraser.

This, though--this is something else. This breathless whatever-it-is--this curve of skull beneath his hand and the twist of short-cropped hair between his fingers; this bony shoulder with the leather strap of harness and the washed-thin cotton t-shirt underneath; this fucking mouth on him, sloppy and wet and so goddamned perfect--all of this came straight out of left field. Anybody ever told him he'd be getting off on the smell of sweat and sex and the soft, muffled moans Kowalski is making around his dick, Ray'd have punched them right in the kisser. Because he's predictable. He's boring and straight. He is not the kind of guy who would ever be caught dead with his pants shoved down in his partner's car, panting helpless at the ceiling.

Kowalski shifts on top of him, sliding an arm beneath Ray's waist and using it to pull him closer, deeper. He breathes out heat against Ray's belly and starts in with a whole new rhythm. Ray's mouth falls open and he hears himself make this shuddering sigh and Jesus, Kowalski looks good with his lips stretched around Ray's cock and his eyes closed like that, eyelashes dark against his cheek. He looks like he's concentrating, like he wants this, wants to suck Ray's dick so perfect in the dark, make him feel like this, like he could go blind from this, like everything they ever told him in parochial school was true, and so, so worth it. He pushes his fingers deeper into Kowalski's fair hair, slides his other hand up from Kowalski's shoulder to trace the rough line of jaw, the creases at the corner of his tight-shut eye.

Kowalski moans again, low and soft, and picks up the pace. The car fills with those small wet sounds and their harsh breath, and it's obscene and strange and god, really hot, and Ray's hand falls back to Kowalski's shoulder because he has to, has to hang on to something, here. "Oh," he says, in a voice he doesn't recognize. "Oh, fuck, Kowalski. Oh, Jesus." And Kowalski's hand tightens on Ray's bare hip, fingers digging in hard, and he pushes the flat of his tongue against the head of Ray's dick and then swallows around him, wet and tight and fuck--fuck, Ray has no choice about it: he has to come.

Afterward, Kowalski sits up slow and casual, scratches at his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He looks flushed, and kind of amused, but he doesn't say anything--just slides back over to his side of the car.

Ray takes a breath, lets it out. He fumbles in the glove compartment for some of the napkins he shoved in there after lunch and mops up his belly, tucks himself away with hands that in no way are shaking. When he opens the door to throw the napkins in the gutter, the night air comes in cool and fresh. Wakes him up a little. Clears his head.

"So, uh," he says, pulling the door closed again. "You going to drop me at home some time tonight, or what?"

Kowalski's busy staring out the windshield at the empty parking lot, one thumb rubbing thoughtfully at the corner of his mouth. He laughs a little now, though, drops his head. "Uh huh," he says, sitting up again, and reaches out to start the car. "Yeah. You bet."

Nobody says anything until they get to Wacker, at which point Ray shifts in his seat, taps the dash. "It, uh. Sounds like you got a bad differential."

Kowalski shoots a look across the car at him. "Yeah," he says. "I was going to take a look tomorrow. You want to help?"

Ray sniffs, shrugs. "Sure," he says. And he keeps his gaze on the road ahead, but he can see Kowalski's face out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn't miss that slow grin. He smiles, too.

"All right, then," Kowalski says, and a few seconds after that, he turns on the radio.


 

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