Taken

"C'mon, Vecchio. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon…" and Kowalski had him backed up against the wall, hands all over him, his voice in Ray's ear urging him on like it was Ray's hands fumbling with holsters and zippers, like it was Ray's hands sliding up and down and all around, unbuckling belts, pushing aside the tails of his shirt, sliding hot fingers inside. Like he was in control of this or something.

"Kowalski—"

"Kiss me. Kiss me back." Breathed hot into his mouth and over his tongue, and Kowalski was hard to resist when he was like this, hot and jittery and on the prowl, ruffled fur standing on end. When he was like this, Kowalski was callused skin over hard bone, sharp teeth and a hey, baby voice, and heat, a heat that plugged directly into Ray's motor, turned the key and revved the engine. Pure adrenaline.

Of course, it was getting so that Kowalski was hard to resist a lot of the time, or at least more often than Ray had expected. Half asleep over morning coffee, when everything Ray said was met with a slightly confused, slightly puzzled expression. Or angry and spitting when a bust went down bad, tendons standing in relief like braided rope in his neck and arms, while he paced the squad room, ready to punch everything in sight. Even obnoxious and completely unbearable, like when his team was beating the crap outta Ray's, or it turned out he was right and Ray was wrong about something on a case, that sudden grin and the jaunty cock of his head.

So Ray kissed him back, and swallowed the noise that Kowalski made, something between a moan and a sigh and the edge of laughter bitten off at the root. Felt the fierce bellows of Kowalski's breath against his cheek, and slid a hand up behind his head, holding on to stiff gelled hair, holding on, holding on, 'cause this—this was like riding an out of control freight train, one that was barreling down the tracks and gaining speed at the curves.

And he wanted to say hey, slow down, slow down, Kowalski, because this was moving too fast, it was all moving too fast, from the first time three weeks ago to now, moving faster than Ray could keep up with, too fast to know if this was anywhere he wanted to be. Space, he needed space, he wanted to say, just a little bit of goddamn space, and was that too much to ask? Which maybe he said out loud, or maybe it was his hands pushing Kowalski away, he wasn't sure, but suddenly, there was cool air on his chest, and Kowalski was backing up just a little, just enough to let some air into Ray's lungs, and he realized Kowalski had him stripped from neck to knees, coat and tie on the floor, his shirt hanging off of his shoulders, and his trousers down around his calves. He was still caged though, Kowalski's hands flat against the wall on either side of his head, and Kowalski was leaning in, whispering, and there it was, that tilt to his head, that roll of his shoulder and that grin that said you got me under your skin and I know it. "You're thinking too much again, Vecchio. You gotta stop thinking so much—you'll hurt your yourself or something."

And then it was gone, that look and that teasing whisper, or rather Kowalski was gone, down on his knees and rubbing his hands up and down Ray's thighs.

"Kick off your shoes."

"Wha—"

"I said kick off your shoes," but he couldn't, because Kowalski was already there, impatient as always, picking up his feet and tugging off his loafers, screwing with his balance, "and step out of your pants." Which he did, managing not to fall on his ass, more or less, and now he was naked—or more naked, whatever, a few more notches up on the naked scale—and he still didn't know whether he wanted to be here. Although, in a way, of course he wanted to be here—his dick was advertising that loud and clear and Kowalski was reading every damn twitch and thrum like it was a message in Braille, fingers and tongue and—Jesus! Damndamndamn…

Because Kowalski was good at this, very—ohhhh, yeahyeahyeah—good at this. Kowalski was one experienced cocksucker, if anyone wanted Ray's opinion, and how the hell Fraser ever let him go when he could've had this twenty-four seven was beyond him. Because Kowalski was in love with Fraser, and he wasn't in love with Ray, and if it was this goddamn good without love, Jesus, what had it been like with a Kowalski in love, with a Kowalski all this meant something to, a Kowalski who wasn't just here for the good times.

And—Jesus!—that was Kowalski's throat, that was Kowalski's throat, Kowalski had him down in his throat, and regular guys like Ray just did not last long when that kind of thing was happening to their dicks. And Ray Vecchio was as regular as regular guys go, and so he did the only thing he could do, grabbed onto Kowalski and held on while his orgasm ripped through him, dick to head to toe, and back again, curving his spine until he thought it would break, until he thought sure he must be strangling Kowalski with his dick. Kowalski, who was making "mmm, mmm" noises with his mouth and swallowing.

And finally Ray stopped coming, and Ray thought maybe he would just fall down now, or maybe when Kowalski let him go, whatever. Kowalski unwrapped his arms from around Ray's waist and rose to his feet without even a stumble, the bastard, but Kowalski still had an agenda, apparently, ‘cause he wasn’t moving away and—and yeah, there it was, there was Kowalski's agenda, hard and hot against Ray's thigh. Then Kowalski was kissing him again, hands on Ray's face, and he was turning Ray to the wall, moving him up against it, and Ray felt the heat that filled his face burn down his neck and into his chest, and he leaned his forehead on his arm and waited.

This wasn't his first time, no, but it hadn't been too many days and hours from his first time, and he was still getting used to how this felt—sorta funny, and plenty weird, and okay, sure, fantastic, too—all at the same time. Kowalski had big fingers, or maybe they just felt big when they were up his ass, Ray wasn't sure. It wasn't like he had a lot to compare it to. But they felt big, and wet, and slick, and Ray didn't know where the lube had come from, maybe Kowalski carried it around with him everywhere these days, but he was glad Kowalski remembered it, because it did make everything easier. Kowalski was fitting himself along Ray's back now, and somewhere in the last few minutes he'd lost his shirt, but he still had his pants on, and the rough denim felt scratchy against the backs of Ray's thighs.

Kowalski told him to take a deep breath, and Ray did, though if it was supposed to help him relax it didn't help one little bit. At least Kowalski's voice was starting to sound a little shaky, a little bit affected by all this. Ray closed his eyes when he felt Kowalski start to push inside, blunt velvety head and then inch after inch after inch, and he groaned, heard his own voice catch, heard himself breathing like the freight train he was riding.

"You okay?" Kowalski asked, and now his voice was sounding a little strained too, and Ray nodded, and bit his lip hard, and said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Kowalski stopped anyway, even though he wasn't completely inside yet, and then he pulled out, dragging a kiss across the back of Ray’s neck.  Ray felt Kowalski's hands slide down between his legs, pushing them further apart, tilting his ass up, and then Kowalski was lining himself up again, slick slide of his dick down the crease in Ray’s ass. A push, a hard push, and Kowalski was back inside, and suddenly Ray's fingers were scrabbling over the wall, trying to find something, anything, to hang onto. And Kowalski was there, leaning over him, and fingers braided into Ray's, holding tight, holding on, pressing Ray's palms flat against the wall while Kowalski started moving.

After that there was nothing but the ride, nothing but the push pull of Kowalski in his ass and the meltdown every time the head of Kowalski's dick slid over his prostate. Ray was making noise—making all kind of noise actually, not that any of it made any sense, even to him—and it sounded like Kowalski was growling, teeth caught on the cusp of Ray's shoulder.

Then the rhythm shattered, Kowalski missed the beat, missed it again, and again, and then it was gone, just gone, and Kowalski's hands were on his hips, digging in tight, and there was no rhythm, just Kowalski pounding into his ass, shoving him flat against the wall. He groaned, and pushed back, and the car was tilting on the tracks, off the tracks, and he was urging Kowalski on, demanding that he move, move, move—again, again—and then Kowalski gave a shout, like half laughter and half pain, and Kowalski pressed his face tight into the curve of Ray's neck, and came.

They stood like that for a while, long enough for the sweat to start to cool, long enough for his arms and legs to feel like overcooked pasta, and then Ray took another deep breath as he felt Kowalski slide out of him, and somehow the breath got folded into a laugh, deep and easier than it should have been, and he felt tired and sore, and ready to sleep fourteen hours. Kowalski was turning him around again, and that was more moving than he was really interested in doing, except yeah, he supposed he couldn't really curl up and go to sleep on Kowalski's wall, if for no other reason than his legs just weren't going to cooperate. He wrapped sloppy arms around Kowalski, and leaned into him, letting Kowalski take his weight. Everything below the waist felt wet and more than a little sticky.

"I'm getting too old for this, Kowalski," he said, letting his head fall forward to rest on a shoulder. He mouthed the line of Kowalski's jaw, felt it shift and knew that Kowalski was smiling again. Bastard. "Next time, we find a bed."

Kowalski snorted, and his arms tightened around Ray.

"I'm serious here, Kowalski. I want a bed. Or at least a flat surface. You got me?"

And Kowalski kept smiling, and holding on tight, and he nodded, bristles sandpapering Ray's ear. "Yeah, I got you, Vecchio," he said softly, and now Ray was smiling, too. "I got you."