Oh, The Places You'll Go

Sometimes You Want the Whole Orange

Notes: Written for Porn Battle IX. Prompt: commonality.

Implied Ray Kowalski/Stella Kowalski, Ray Vecchio/Stella Kowalski

The first time Ray sees Vecchio, after he rocks back up from sunny Florida, he sweeps down him with his eyes, gets caught short just below the shiny-buckled belt and thinks behind those fancy woolen pants, lurking, that dick has been in the exact same places as mine. Stella's pussy, Stella's mouth, maybe even-. It makes him want to puke and break Vecchio's nose both at the same time.

The second time he thinks about it, Vecchio is stripped to his Tighty-Whities (and there's a surprise in itself, because Ray would've sworn the guy was silk to the bone), yelling the odds about being attacked by renegade snow plows not being part of the deal here, and he's got a damn fine lawyer on speed dial, thank you very much, City of freaking Chicago. Stella, thinks Ray, and realizes he's watching Vecchio's mouth, checking him out. Those lips have pressed against Stella's skin, kissed away her sweat. That tongue that's creating a racket fit to beat the band at the Super Bowl has licked along the crease of her thighs, flicked at her clit. This time his gut knots for reasons that do not include vomit, and he's not thinking about maiming Vecchio.

The third time, Ray's mouth hovers over Vecchio's dick, thick and full and waiting and stops. He thinks, Stella was here first, Stella knows how he tastes, and it's a sucker punch all right. It explodes heat across his belly, flushing right up into his face and it's all he can do not to rut against Vecchio's leg, right here, right now. Vecchio's hands scrabble at his shoulders and he whines Ray's name. Too many syllables, thinks Ray, and wonders how Stella was shaped in Vecchio's mouth. He lowers his head and sucks Vecchio in. Now he knows what Stella knows.

Vecchio is quiet, thighs tensing and releasing as Ray licks and sucks and twists. Most things Ray knows he learned from Stella. He wonders if Vecchio's silence is Stella's name unsaid. He hopes to fuck it's not. When Vecchio comes, thick and bitter in Ray's mouth, Ray swallows it all down. Stella doesn't do that. Stella spits. Stella says she can't swallow pudding and that tastes like chocolate.

Vecchio says, "Well, shit, Kowalski," as if heaven has come to earth and Ray comes so hard there are happy little bluebirds tweeting around his head.

The fourth time, Vecchio is tucking his legs over Ray's shoulders and grousing about the limber (or not so limber) qualities of an approaching-middle-aged male.

"Hey," says Ray. "Don't beat yourself up. Men's hips aren't supposed to bend that way." And then he shuts up because his dick is pressed up against Vecchio's hole and he's so ready for this if it were a pop quiz he'd be scoring an A+. He pushes in, just a little, and Vecchio gasps.

"Wait, wait," he says.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just- Give me a moment, will you?"

Vecchio squeezes his eyes tight shut and Ray balances there on his arms, so close, but still so far. Everything in him is driving him to move forward, push deeper but he clamps down on it. Men's hips aren't supposed to bend that way, he thinks, and hopes Vecchio's not causing himself permanent damage. That would be tricky to explain to Welsh. Stella was always bendy. He thinks about her smooth calves pressed against his back, sliding helplessly as Ray worked up a sweat. The hair on Vecchio's legs scratches Ray's skin. They're not going anywhere.

Opening his eyes, Vecchio says, "Let's do this thing." He touches Ray's face with his fingertips and Ray couldn't have stayed still any longer even if Vecchio had put a gun to his head. He pushes in all the way, breath catching as Vecchio's heat pours into him.

Vecchio is gasping now. Deep, ragged, ugly gulps of breath, and he can't decide what to do with his arms. He grabs Ray's shoulders, then lets go, throwing his arms out wide, hitting the bed with a dull thud. He hangs on to the headboard, scrabbles at the sheets, all the time keeping his eyes on Ray. God, his eyes. They're wide and dark and it doesn't matter that Vecchio's mouth is still shut because they're saying everything. And, fuck, Ray doesn't want to know if Vecchio ever looked at Stella like that. He wants to believe--he needs to believe--that it's only for him. Only ever for him.

One of Vecchio's restless hands lands against Ray's cheek and the fingers curl along his jaw. Vecchio slides his hand under Ray's chin and tugs it lightly. He blinks, a full, slow blink that carries worlds, and nods, too, just once. Ray thinks. Ray-

Ray doesn't think any more.

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