Girls Like You
by catwalksalone
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: Sequel to Boys Like Me. belmanoir was impressed at Vecchio's fortitude, and I may have mentioned that given no change in circumstances, certain priorities might have to shift. WRITE IT! said bel. So I did. With thanks to lamentables and simplystars for their quick, thoughtful betas.
Story Notes: Written September, 2008.
SequelTo: Boys Like Me
"So," said Kowalski from behind Ray, "this isn't working for me."
Ray twisted his neck around to look at his enforced roommate and immediately slapped one hand over his eyes, the other waving wild shooing gestures in the air. Because naked. Naked. And that was so against the rules he couldn't even begin to come up with an appropriate punishment.
Maybe tying Kowalski to the bed, with something non-chafing, obviously — a couple of his silk ties, perhaps — and then maybe some light spanking because, yeah, he wasn't into violence but talking didn't seem to be getting him anywhere and maybe Kowalski would respond to that, to the red marks of Ray's fingers on her buttcheeks and...god, god, god he was already going to the hell that the nice Catholics had fully-furnished for queers. He didn't need to be going to the 'takes-sexual-advantage-of-a-fucked-up-friend-slash-potential-lover-Christ-boyfriend-Christ-why-weren't-there-better-words?' annex as well.
"Clothes," he said through gritted teeth. "I am too young to die of a heart attack. Just. Clothes."
There was no response and Ray risked a peek through his fingers. Oh crap. Bad idea. Because Kowalski had taken a couple of steps forward, and Ray's eyes were now level with Kowalski's hips, a dark red-gold line of hair clearly visible over the back of the couch. There were shadowed hollows carved out of the flesh below Kowalski's hipbones and Ray couldn't decide if he wanted more to press into them with his thumbs, his nose, his tongue, or to fetch pastries from the local deli and fatten her up until she stopped looking like she would break from a single touch.
"No clothes," said Kowalski. "And none on you, neither. Strip, Vecchio. I told you, this isn't working for me. Time to fuck, now."
The most sensible thing to do was put distance between them, Ray thought. Preferably a whole continent. He scrambled back off the couch, tripping over the coffee table in his rush to get away.
"Fuck," he yelped, sprawling across the floor in a highly undignified manner.
"You know," said Kowalski, and Ray didn't even need to be looking at her to know she was pouting, "the fact that you'd knock yourself unconscious rather than look at my hot naked ass could be humiliating." Her tone sharpened. "If it wasn't for that huge boner in your pants."
And then there she was, in his line of vision, pale and beautiful and utterly, utterly not safe to touch. Only no one had told her that, clearly, because she stepped over him and dropped down to straddle him in one easy motion. She looked cool and collected. Ray's fists clenched and unclenched spasmodically, and he tried to grab his scattered thoughts and shove them together in sentences longer than 'Want,' and 'Bad,' and 'Screwed.' It wasn't working.
"Hi!" she said, smiling. Ray couldn't remember being quite so scared by a smile before. Not scared enough for wilting to occur, though '" his dick seemed particularly happy to be sitting under Kowalski's ass, throbbing with what felt like a century's worth of repression every time Kowalski shifted even a millimeter.
"Um. Hey?"
"I'm not changing back, Vecchio. Not anytime soon, looks like, and I want you to screw me until I can't even remember who I am any more. Got a new hole, seems a shame to waste it." Kowalski still smiled, but there was a hint of defiance in her eyes.
Ray felt a twinge shoot across his chest. "I remember who you are," he said. "I remember who you were, who you will be. I can't. I...we made rules for a reason, Kowalski."
"We do rules all day, how about we don't bring them home, Raimundo?" Kowalski's finger traced down from Ray's collarbone over his shirt leaving a trail of prickling sensation, like all Ray's nerve endings were rushing to get to the surface at once. Her finger was joined by her thumb and started working on Ray's buttons. This was- No. Ray put a hand over Kowalski's, stilling it.
"You really want this, huh?" he said, staring hard at Kowalski, who see-sawed between being as difficult to understand as that French run-on guy Benny'd made him read and as easy as the Sunday funnies. He was really hoping this time for the second option.
"Yeah." She sounded straight up but her eyes skittered off Ray's for a split second and that was all Ray needed.
"Not even a little unsure? Like, one percent? Really, Stanley? You sure? 'Cos I ain't sure you're sure."
Kowalski's cheek twitched and her fingers flexed under Ray's hand.
"C'mon, just admit it," Ray pressed, sliding his free hand along the inside of Kowalski's thigh, barely able to stop himself from slipping into her. Cruel to be kind, right? But wasn't that usually a one way thing? Her muscles trembled at his touch.
"Shit, okay. Yes!" Kowalski threw up her hands. "Maybe one percent. Maybe five. Fifty. I don't know. But fuck, Vecchio, what if I'm like this forever? I want you to...I want you...I want...Fuck." She slumped down, pushing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Ray's heart thumped a painful, erratic beat.
He circled her wrists, tugging them gently away from her face and pressing them down on her taut thighs. "So," he started, "you're really going to make me do this?"
Kowalski looked puzzled. "Fuck me?"
"Well, yeah, no, maybe, yeah. No. I mean, you're going to make me say this. You're going to make me say that I don't give a flying fuck if today you're a woman, tomorrow you're a guy and the day after that you're a red-assed baboon. I don't care if you wake up with buck teeth, or a lazy eye, or moles making a connect-the-dots picture of Groucho Marx on your back. It's all just shell. I. Don't. Care. Do you get it now?"
And now Ray's heart was beating crazy fast and it had nothing to do with the fact that a beautiful, naked girl was still sitting on top of him — okay, it had a little to do with the fact that a beautiful, naked girl was still sitting on top of him — and everything to do with the fact that that was the most frightening thing he'd said since he proposed to Ange all those years ago. More frightening, probably, because yeah, there were more feelings there than he'd allowed himself to admit. But Kowalski was smiling at him, now, well, more smirking, but her eyes were shining and the message had gotten through and- "Thank God," said Ray, pulling her down to him and kissing her and kissing her and kissing her.
By the time Ray slid inside, he'd had time to learn her. Where her body was hard under his fingers, where soft. Where bullet wounds that she'd never gotten but he had had left smooth, glassy skin. Where her tattoo stood out in stark relief against the paleness, Ray's fingers unable to read it without the help of his eyes. Where sparse, silky, gold hair thickened and darkened, curling untamed across her pubic bone. It fit, Ray thought. Woman or man, there was always going to be something wild about Kowalski, something fierce and free.
By the time Ray slid inside, he'd tasted every single inch of her, salt sweat and sweet, musky and dark-light. He'd discovered that she couldn't take too much direct stimulation, but tracking a slow circle closer and closer around her clit made her slam her hips upwards, arching her back off the floor and that pressing a finger, slick with her own juices, into her ass made her chant his name over and over. Or maybe it was hers — there was no way to tell.
By the time Ray slid inside, her pupils were blown-black and her arms were flung, abandoned, above her head. Ray drew a hand down her side, tracing the curve of her breast and dipping his head to kiss the hollow below her throat. Her legs fell open further and he rose up as he slipped easily inside, like this was how it was always supposed to be. He pushed in further and she wrapped her legs tight around his waist and locked her arms around his neck and smiled up at him, already nine parts blissed out. The rush of emotion that swept through Ray left him dizzy and shaking.
Fuck. This was. This was love. He was making love. To Kowalski. No one had told him about- He hadn't signed up for- He'd been happy to go with deeply-serious-like with a whole barrel of lust thrown in, but love? Ray's dick throbbed alarmingly and he froze. Too soon. On so many counts, too soon.
"Hey," said Kowalski, somehow managing to frown with his eyebrows at the same time as smiling with his mouth, "what's going on?"
"Um," Ray managed before clamping down tight on the incriminating words that were about to escape. And then Kowalski — that rat bastard — unclasped her hands and trailed a thumb around the contour of Ray's ear, and then along his jawline and up to his mouth, pressing down lightly against the lower lip and it appeared Ray had no defenses against that kind of vicious attack and blurted out, "I love you." And, "Crap, crap, crap, I l- Crap." And, "Yes, I'm aware that screws me seven ways from Sunday, but don't worry, my heart will go on."
"Oh, is that all?" said Kowalski, turning her caress into a tap on the cheek. "I knew that. You said it already."
"I did? Wait a minute. I did?" Ray racked his brains because he was sure he hadn't even thought those words more than thirty seconds ago, let alone said them and, oh- Yeah. I don't care equals I love you. Words worked funny; sometimes he forgot that.
"Yeah, you get it now," said Kowalski. "Good. Great. With a cherry on top. And look, I'm giving you mine." He looked thoughtful. "Though apparently girl me is a slut or did a lot of horseback riding. Anyway. Mi cherry es tu cherry. You get me?"
And Ray did. Somehow, he always did. Kowalski might talk nonsense but Ray had a surefire translator, always had, and that thought made something relax inside him, something that had been wound tight like a spring and he laughed, thrusting deep into Kowalski, grinding his hips against hers.
"About time," she said. "I ordered one fuck into next week. Get going."
"Yes, ma'am," grinned Ray, and did as he was told. When he came it was with her hands in his hair and his name on her lips and it wasn't too soon at all.
End Girls Like You by catwalksalone
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