Getting On	    Getting On

 by Hel Virago

  

 

 Disclaimer: I own a Fraser T-shirt, does that count? No? Okay, I own no
characters nor wolves contained herein, neither do I the idea of the show
itself.

 Author's Notes: Dankeschoen to Minim (who originated the idea), Theo (who
pointed out that it's a little AU), Shay (who said nice things), Nestra,
and Shrift (both of whom answered stupid questions. Nicely).

 Story Notes: Doesn't *exactly* fit into the timeline of CotW. So, I've
slipped an extra night in before the mall scene. 

 

 

 He had known they would hit it off... just exactly as they had. Both good
men, both fine police officers, but both insecure about their identities
-- how could their meeting under the same name have been anything but
tense? He counted them all lucky that it hadn't exploded into violence.
Still, he hadn't expected his own reaction to the sight of them staring at
each other, posturing like bull moose in mating season. They'd backed
down, both willing to defer to his authority, and he'd sternly tamped down
the swell of pride he felt -- alpha of his own small pack, even if Ray
Vecchio needed to insult him to save face. 

 There was a confrontation, inevitably, in his absence. He'd heard the
story from various concerned observers, all eager to see how the situation
between the two would work itself out. He wished he could have seen for
himself, although of course he would have been forced to interfere even
before Ray's -- Ray Kowalski's physical gesture. 

 He could imagine it, though, Ray Vecchio's attempt to project his
ownership of the space by needling Ray Kowalski, and Ray Kowalski's always
volatile nervousness exploding to sweep the desk clear of paperwork... 

 and hard though he tried to continue the story with Francesca's
interference, he found himself unable to force his mind to the course. It
would much rather imagine the two uninterrupted, facing off against each
other over the detritus of Ray's casework. There would be a moment,
certainly, a pause where they simply glared, eyes glittering -- both men
well knew the value of a hard stare. But then, a flurry of motion, and
after... maybe Ray Kowalski face down on the desk, maybe Ray Vecchio, arm
twisted behind his back, upper body flat on the wood. Ray Kowalski leaning
over him as though to press the point home. And Ray Vecchio, unable to
lose face, would regain it verbally: "Oh, this is what you're into,
Stanley?" 

 And Ray Kowalski, unwilling to be further baited, pressing his body
against the length of Ray Vecchio's, molding the cradle of his hips to Ray
Vecchio's ass, whispering, "Maybe. But don't worry, Ray. I'll let you top
next time." 

 At this point, of course, his willful imagination, having gained his
cooperation, balked at the impossibility of their... continuing where they
were. Even in pure fantasy he could not conceive of any further action.
They would let go, straighten up, glare at each other but turn away. 

 But later, perhaps, in an alley near the police station, or near Ray's
apartment, Ray Kowalski would suddenly find his own face flush against a
hard surface, with Ray Vecchio leaning in with all his weight, sneering,
"I believe this is my dance?" A hand thrust down the back of Ray's pants,
finger running determinedly down the cleft between his buttocks, rubbing
around the anus, making him clench and gasp, getting brick dust in his
mouth... 

 "Quiet, Stanley," Ray would hiss in his ear, drawing his hand out to grip
Ray's hips firmly. "Don't want to wake the neighbors, do we?" And then
Ray's hips would grind hard against Ray's back, pressing his erection
against the wall. Ray would grunt, and bite his lip against the sound, and
so give tacit agreement, conspiracy, submission. 

 Ray's tight jeans would be peeled down around his thighs, his hips yanked
outward and legs spread to give a more stable base, and Ray's fingers,
slippery and forceful, would push inward... not hurting, but working
steadily together and apart, in and out, while Ray grimaced with the
effort of keeping quiet as he angled his hips further out and up. Finally,
Ray would draw apart his own well-pressed slacks and slick up his own
erection, and push slowly but steadily into Ray until he came to rest
flush against his buttocks. 

 Ray would let out a sigh and a whisper, "Oh, yeah, Stanley." 

 Ray would reach down for his own erection and flash his fierce grin.
"Whatcha waiting for, Vecchio, an engraved invitation to my ass?" 

 "Well, it does add a touch of class, but I guess I'll do without,"
drawing back and pushing back fully, and then again, more and more
quickly. 

 "You've got a nice sweet ass, Stanley." 

 "Yeah? Can't wait to try yours." 

 Then nothing but grunts and bitten-off sounds as their bodies worked
quickly against each other, industrious in pursuit of climax, Ray pushing
hard enough to make a smack as they came together, and Ray pushing back to
meet each thrust, stroking in the same rhythm, his face constricting to a
snarl as he came closer. Ray's features would twist in a grimace as he
approached his own climax, grunting louder and finally setting his teeth
in Ray's shoulder to muffle his shout as he jerked in orgasm, holding on
long enough for Ray's final burst of frenetic pulling and thrusting to
produce a splatter of semen against the wall and a bloody bitten lip. 

 They hung against each other, panting heavily, while he thrust a few
final times into his spare handkerchief, screwing up his face to prevent
any sound from escaping, and came, hips arching up from his cot. Then the
lean lines of both bodies slipped away like smoke, leaving only the
darkness of the consulate ceiling and Dief's whuffling breath. 

End Getting On by Hel Virago: lorelei_fic@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.