Author's website: http://www.trickster.org/kass/

Disclaimer: Boys are theirs, words are mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Sihaya Black for the beta-read. This one was written in response to the footwear challenge at ds_flashfiction (the livejournal flashfic community).

Story Notes:

Vecchio climbed up onto the shoeshine stand, splayed his legs, and beckoned. Ray tried to raise an eyebrow, Mountie-style, but figured it hadn't worked when Vecchio scowled at him. In a friendly way, of course.

"C'mon, there's another seat." Vecchio gestured toward the other chair.

Ray laughed at him.

"My treat."

But the shoeshine man, who looked old enough to be their father, took one glance at Ray's shit-kickers and snorted, turning around to busy himself with Vecchio's shoes. Ray felt somehow vindicated. Like, hey, the shoeshine guy wouldn't even shine his boots, even if he wanted the guy to.

The guy was taking his time, which made sense: he probably didn't get shoes as fancy as Vecchio's every day. All that hand-stitched Italian leather bullshit Vecchio liked so much.

"Haven't you ever wanted a pair of nice shoes?"

Damn, had he ever. Those motorcycle boots, the summer he was fifteen. With the metal rings on them. Leather thick enough to stop a switchblade, guys said. And black as black could be: not that crappy dyed stuff that was actually grey on the inside, that leached out onto your feet. "Hell, yeah. There were these motorcycle boots," Ray started.

"No, Kowalski." Somehow Vecchio managed to make his name sound like an insult. Ray was never sure how he did that. "Nice shoes. Nice."

Y'know, having Vecchio on a pedestal like this was kind of cool, not that Ray would ever tell him that. It put his crisp ironed grey pants at just the right height, his groin just below Ray's face. Ray stared at Vecchio's crotch for just a second too long, then dragged his eyes up to Vecchio's face.

Vecchio knew what he was thinking. His face flushed.

Hah. Ray put on his dirtiest smile, just for Vecchio, over the head of the shoeshine guy who wasn't paying him any attention at all. "I don't do nice," he said.

Vecchio took a deep breath, then looked right back at him.

Ray's eyes were saying When we get home, I'm going to fuck you into tomorrow. At least, that's what he hoped they were saying.

Because Vecchio's were saying, Yes, yes, yes, yeah, fuck yeah.

Ray pulled out his wallet and handed the guy ten bucks with a flourish. "Keep the change," he said.

They walked back to the car nice and slow, both wanting to run but neither wanting to give the other the satisfaction of breaking first.

Life was good.

They should hit the shoeshine stand more often.

End Shine by Kass: kass@trickster.org

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