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Days Like These

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Probably if anyone asked, Ray'd have to say that his relationship with Kowalski could be defined by one word: friction. There's always a whole lot of friction--the good kind and the...less good. Some days are different, though.

Some days Ray relaxes on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, a book or some mindless TV program keeping him company. If it's a warm night he's not even wearing pants. Kowalski pads over, fresh from the shower and nudges one of Ray's legs off the couch, making room. He settles between Ray's thighs and leans against him, damp hair tickling Ray's neck as he tips his head back against Ray's shoulder. Ray crosses his arms over Kowalski's chest and squeezes gently, stroking repetitively over the cool, soft skin of Kowalski's sides.

Kowalski fidgets, settling in, and Ray hooks an ankle over Kowalski's, holding him in place. He keeps up the slow movements, turning his head to press a kiss against Kowalski's temple. He's so rarely quiet like this, Kowalski, docile and dozy and loose. Even his hair is in non-fight mode. Ray loves these times, loves taking care of Kowalski, loves that Kowalski lets him.

He uncrosses his arms, leaving one resting across Kowalski's belly, and brushes back and forth over a nipple, enjoying the sensation of the skin puckering underneath his thumb. Kowalski shifts a little, letting out a breathy gasp and Ray changes to a finger, tracing over and over the tiny bumps, reading them like Braille. He pinches Kowalski's nipple just briefly before letting go and raking his fingernails lightly across Kowalski's chest.

Kowalski hisses, then, arching his back and the waft of cool air that sucks across Ray as their bodies separate is a complete contradiction to the warm press of Kowalski's ass against Ray's dick. Ray pushes up to meet Kowalski halfway as he relaxes again. He keeps up the soft scratching while his other hand circles Kowalski's belly a few times before slipping down under the waistband of Kowalski's cotton shorts and palms his dick.

It's half-hard and curled in an awkward way and Kowalski exhales with relief as Ray straightens it out and gives it a little pat.

"Fixed that for you," he says.

Kowalski doesn't say anything, just pushes his hips up to press his dick into Ray's hand.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," says Ray, curling his fingers loosely around Kowalski and stroking. Kowalski's still a little damp from his shower, and then there's the miracle of foreskin, which means Ray's hand glides easily from root to tip. For the millionth time Ray blesses Kowalski's surprisingly progressive parents and wallows in the sensation of the blood rushing to Kowalski's dick at Ray's command. When it grows against Ray's hand like this, almost forcing him to give way, make room, it's almost impossible not to think of it as having a life of its own. Like Kowalski has this magical ability to give his dick sentience. It's a crazy thought, Ray knows, but it makes him fizz and spark and loosen his grip, the better to feel the weight of its fullness against his fingers.

There's a spot just below the head of Kowalski's dick that drives him crazy when it's touched and Ray rocks his thumb against it as his fingers slide the foreskin up and down. Kowalski turns his head and Ray knows what he's asking for so he turns to and their lips meet. It's the wrong angle, and the kiss is wet and messy, but Kowalski lifts a hand and rubs the back of Ray's head in time to Ray's strokes and it's all good. It's all kinds of good.

They break the kiss. Ray keeps it slow and easy, light and loose, watching his hand moving inside Kowalski's shorts. Kowalski's lifts his head up off of Ray's shoulder and is watching, too. Ray doesn't know if it's that or the tiny shifts of Kowalski's body against his own, now really hard, dick that's making the sweat start to stand out on his forehead and his breathing sound loud and harsh and fast, and he doesn't really care.

He loves this, loves the way Kowalski, so loose-limbed and relaxed, changes bit by bit, the tension spreading out from his groin, winding around and around until he's coiled tight. He can feel it, when Kowalski is close, when he's full to capacity, all stored energy just waiting for release, when one more stroke is all it will take. Sometimes Ray hesitates, drawing it out, making Kowalski shake and beg, other times he finishes it fast, pulling Kowalski's orgasm and a yell of relief out of him, feeling Kowalski's body deflate against him like a pricked balloon.

Ray's arm tightens across Kowalski's chest and he nuzzles Kowalski's ear as he nurses him through the aftershocks. He likes to keep a hold of Kowalski's dick until the tension is gone from it, too, and it slips from his fingers and back to rest in the rough curls of Kowalski's pubic hair. He's aware of his own erection--it would be impossible not to be, with it snugged up against Kowalski's back--but now is about Kowalski's heart thudding against Ray's arm. It's about the way Kowalski's head collapses back onto Ray's shoulder, face turned at an angle to press into his neck. It's about Kowalski's fingers seeking Ray's and twining them together over Kowalski's chest.

There'll be time. There's always time. So Ray does what he always does on days like these; he holds on.