Disclaimer: These characters belong to people who are not me. I just borrow them, bend them into awkward positions and leave them out in the sunlight to go yellow.

Author's Notes: Written for oxoniensis' Porn Battle. Prompt: bite. Yay, porn!

Story Notes: Written July, 2008.

Ray's teeth sink into the cord of muscle ridging Kowalski's shoulder and part of him wants to keep going, rip right through the flesh, pull it off and spit it at Kowalski's feet but there's the other part of him, the part he's scared of. The part that wants to lick and suck and worry at the skin like a dog in search of a bone. Which maybe he is.

He's expecting Kowalski to pull him off, to give him that are-you-fucking-crazy? look he does so well, to haul off and crack his jaw for him because that's what he'd do. That's exactly what he'd do. Instead, Kowalski is taking Ray's hand and shoving it over distended denim and muttering monosyllables of encouragement.

Ray's fingers twitch under Kowalski's, the hard ridge of jeans-covered dick curving neatly against the heel of Ray's hand. He hates himself.

"Bite me," Kowalski had said. So Ray had.

It'd been a long time coming. Ray'd been needling Kowalski for weeks, trying to force a fight, to get the guy to land one on him because a bloodied nose was the least he deserved for wanting to fuck his ex-wife's ex-husband and his ex-partner's ex-whatever. It's too screwed up to ever be anything but the dumbest idea Ray's ever had and if takes beating out of him, then that's what needs to happen.

Only things don't seem to be going exactly to plan.

Because now his lips are tracing a path up the tendons of Kowalski's neck, brushing along his sharp jawline and Kowalski is shifting so their mouths are mashed together in a dirty, sloppy kiss, his hand at the base of Ray's skull, pulling him in closer. Ray's hand is moving without thought, flicking open the buttons of Kowalski's fly, crawling inside, fisting around Kowalski's dick. It should be a shock, touching it, but the heavy weight in Ray's palm feels like it's always been there.

He rubs his thumb experimentally over the head and Kowalski breaks the kiss, hissing an inward breath. Ray's thumb is damp and he knows he's doing good. He squeezes a little and strokes up, leaning back so Kowalski's face swims into focus. His eyes are closed and his lips parted and Ray finds it impossible not to imagine his own dick slipping past into the warm wetness of Kowalski's mouth. He shivers and tightens his grip, forcing himself not to give in and just hump Kowalski's leg already.

Kowalski seems to get it without even looking, though, because as Ray sets up a rhythm, tug, twist and squeeze, Kowalski braces a hip with one hand and cover's Ray's dick with the other. Ray thrusts into it helplessly, echoing the rhythm of his hand. There's red behind his eyes but it's not the violent, bloody red he's worked so hard to maintain, it's brighter, clearer, edged with light and Ray knows he can't hold it in much longer. Kowalski is panting now, hips snapping forward with each upward stroke, and Ray has a sharp urge to see him spread-eagled naked on fine cotton sheets, this exact expression on his face as Ray fills him up. The thought is too much and Ray comes, biting his lip to prevent himself yelling out.

Kowalski's dick swells improbably in his hand and then there's a dull thud as Kowalski's head hits the wall and warm liquid smearing Ray's fingers. Before he realizes what he's doing, Ray's fingers are in his mouth, licking Kowalski off them. It's equally weird and normal at the same time.

"That was ..." says Ray and he doesn't have to fill in the end because Kowalski is smirking in agreement. For the first time in maybe ever, Ray wants to kiss the smirk off without wanting to punch it off, too. His stomach clenches with mild panic. He fidgets with his tie to stop himself hauling Kowalski in and starting all over again.

"We should do that some more." Kowalski checks his watch. "We get off in three hours. Plenty recovery time."

"I can't," says Ray and he knows he's freaking out but he can't help himself. "This is fucked up, Kowalski. Do you even know us? I want ... we can't."

Kowalski shrugs. "You say potato, I say corn chips. You scared of this because of the whole queer thing then I'll call you a pussy until you deal. You scared of this because of our freaky coincidental past, then, you know, I'll call you a pussy until you deal."

And just like that, Ray relaxes. This is logic he can live with.

"Bite me," says Ray. So Kowalski does.