ds_flashfiction | Public sex challenge

This story is another

brooklinegirl birthday special -- she wanted Ray/Ray, so that's what she gets!

Endless thanks to

_aerye_, whose incredible beta job helped make this resemble the story I wanted it to be!

Velveteen Rabbit

Vecchio is wrong a lot.

He seems to think I'll be ditching him for the next person who comes along and treats me nice.

Fuck nice. I want real.

Whereas Vecchio ... Vecchio thinks I want Fraser. Well, okay, yeah, maybe there were times I thought about it, way back when. But no more chasing rainbows for me. There's only so far I could get with that on my own, after all, and Fraser's ice-shell isn't going to melt any time soon. Maybe not ever. Sometime on our quest I finally twigged to that. And ever since we got back, Fraser's been busy with his increased duties, "concomitant with my new rank, Ray," or some such bullshit, and I have a new partner.

Vecchio is my partner now.

And let me tell you, all our fighting is a relief. Vecchio is aggressive, bitchy, and rude -- but honest. I used to get that kind of honesty from Fraser sometimes, but not nearly often enough. And I need that one-two punch of a partner who's got my back but who can tell me to shut the fuck up when I need to hear it. Otherwise it's just one lame-ass punch, and no follow-through.

Vecchio's real good with the follow-through. It's what gives me that zing under my skin that makes me feel Real. But Vecchio doesn't get that. Even here, shoving up against me in the supply closet, he thinks I have somewhere else I'd rather be.

What Vecchio doesn't understand is that I need something I can sink my teeth into ... just like this. I bite the hand muzzling me and feel the give of the soft pad of flesh at the base of his thumb. His pupils dilate, even though his eyes narrow, and his "Fuck, Kowalski" gets lost as he leans in and gives me something better to occupy my mouth.

For a good detective, Vecchio gets a lot of things wrong.

Vecchio thinks I hold all the cards. I can tell because I'm "Kowalski" most of the time now, not "Stanley." By the way he waits for me to come out swinging before he attacks these days. Because when we fight now, it almost always starts with me. But the biggest giveaway is the sex. The way he winds me up and pushes me to the edge, the harder and faster the better. Like he's got to get me hard and hot and out of control before I have the chance to have second thoughts.

Like now, jumping me at the station. Vecchio must need to get a reaction real bad if he's getting me all revved up in the supply closet, of all places.

We're trading biting kisses, kissing bites, it's all good. Vecchio has soft lips and sharp teeth, so my mouth is stinging and very very happy as I scrape my teeth over his faint stubble and down to his neck.

He likes that, I know he likes that. It's obvious, the way his whole body just curves into me as I mouth his throat. And Vechhio wouldn't give an inch, not if he had any control -- not the way things are now.

Sure enough, it's not long before he pushes me away, with his hand splayed on the middle of my chest, and holds me there at arm's length for a second. The light in here is more yellow than illuminating, but in the dimness I can see his chest expand and deflate as he takes deep, heaving breaths like a racehorse.

I don't want to wait any more.

I twist away from his hand and get closer, grabbing for his belt. We're scrabbling at each other's buckles and my nose is almost touching his shoulder. Vecchio smells like aftershave and clean sweat. He's warm -- almost hot -- and I pull his shirt out of his pants. He's got these mother-of-pearl buttons, and his shirt is made of some expensive material that's smooth underneath my fingers. I unbutton my way up to his tie. I really want to wind him up, so I wait 'til I can catch his eyes and then slide the knot free, deliberate and slow. His stare gets even hotter, if that's possible. That's when I yank his tie the rest of the way off and toss it to the floor.

"These things are so stupid."

Vecchio slams me up against the door and pins me there by my shoulders. He looks pissed off. Pissed off and horny.

I'm trapped against the door, but my hips are free to surge forward and I just barely brush against him. Good. Our pants are already half-undone, and I can tell I'm not going to have to wait much longer.

"Shut up, Kowalski. Don't forget I still have the numbers of a couple of good hit men," Vecchio growls, pushing closer and grinding up against me.

A wheeze that wants to be a laugh escapes me, and I clamp down hard on the urge to smile. Instead, I work my hands down the back of his pants and pull him closer. He runs his hands down my sides and pushes my khakis and shorts down below my hips. I let my head drop back to rest against the door, and use my grip on Vecchio's butt to urge him against me. He pulls his dick out and shoves it up against mine, and I hold onto the gut-twisting rush that gives me.

"Oh yeah." I ease his pants and shorts further down, and trail my fingers up and down the cleft of his ass. He shivers and slams his palm on the door right next to my head. If anyone's out in the hallway, I sure hope they think we're fighting in here.

I tease his asshole a little more, circling around it this time, and he retaliates by wrapping his hand around our cocks and squeezing. It's so good that I'm kissing him again before I even think about it, hungry but soft, and I can tell by the way he pauses that he's surprised.

Like I said, Vecchio's wrong about a lot of things.

For instance, Vecchio also thinks I'm fucking him because I can't fuck our mutual ex-wife. I haven't told him how off base he is. I'm not chasing after my fantasy-Stella any longer. Not even now that she and Vecchio are doneski, too. She's my past. Vecchio's my choice.

And right now, I choose to lick my way into his mouth and thrust into his hand.

He thrusts back and our dicks are starting to get really slick. It's getting toasty in here, and I catch a whiff of our musk. We smell like sex, and that really cranks my motor, so I wrap my hand around our cocks to hold us even closer together and brush my fingertips against the thin skin at his wrist. He pulls away from my mouth with a gasp and drops his forehead to my shoulder. He's watching our dicks slide through our hands, and that gets me even hotter.

I cover his hand, forcing it to keep still as I pick up the pace. Oh, god, I'm going to come while he watches.

That thought does me in, and I shoot over his hand, my hand, our dicks. Vecchio makes a choked-off noise and squeezes hard, too hard, so I let go and shove his hand away. Then I grip the base of his cock and start to pump him. He presses his forehead even harder into me, and I let the pressure pin me to the wood at my back. He's hard and slippery and angry and vulnerable in my hand, and I know just how to take care of him.

I do him like I do myself when I'm crazy with it -- not gentle at all, and fast and unforgiving. Vecchio's trying to be quiet, but his body's talking loud and clear. His hips are pistoning in counterpoint and he's so close to coming I can feel it in the surge of flesh in my hand. I rub the side of my thumb over the head of his cock and give him a couple of long, slow, twisting strokes to finish him off. That does it for me every time.

Sure enough, it works like a charm on Vecchio, and he's spilling and leaning into me and calling me names.

Vecchio needs a clue, I think. Because I'm not going anywhere, there's no way I'd give this up. Nobody else makes me as crazy as he does. Nobody else gives me this kind of rush, and nobody else makes me feel this alive. And whatever he may think is going on in my head, I know he's as hooked as I am. Look where we are, for christ's sake.

I grab either side of his face and end up smearing a bit of our combined come into his jawline. I lift his head and kiss him again. This time I try to make it say "thank you" and "I'm in this thing with you" and "you're pretty hot when you come" all at once.

Let him chew on that for a while.

But now we've been in here far too long and people are going to get really suspicious any minute. He's obviously thinking along the same lines, since he grabs a few paper towels after he finishes blinking at me and starts cleaning himself up. I rearrange my clothes and do the same.

I prod my bruised-feeling lip and grin to myself.

Maybe Vecchio needs a bigger hint. Maybe I'll start things myself, next time.

The GTO hasn't seen any action in far too long.