When Ray Kowalski was seventeen, he wore black eyeliner - smudged - and black nail polish, too, just on one hand. He had his ears pierced - both of them, one with two holes, one with three. He had the look, you know? Back then, he had the ripped jeans and the leather jacket, the spiked hair and the cool sunglasses, and attitude. He had the attitude.

Now, pushing forty and the holes in his ears have closed up, what he mostly has left is the attitude. But the attitude is everything. It was then and it is now, and it still works for him. Works for Vecchio, too, apparently - however hard Vecchio tried to hide it, he had it bad for Ray, and Ray knew it.

Vecchio tried to hide it with tough talk and threats and a lot of fronting, but Ray saw it in his eyes. Vecchio looked at him for too long or not at all. There was no in between, and that thing they said, about how if you look someone in the eye for too long, you were either going to fight or fuck? That was true; there was fucking heat in the looks Vecchio was shooting him.

Mostly it had ended in fighting, so far. Ray was okay with that. Fighting was good, and honest, and Vecchio got off on it, Ray was pretty sure. You make one remark about a guy's ex-wife - a shared ex-wife, Ray might add, so he felt pretty justified at making observations about her various needs in bed - and you get punched right in the mouth? Then you're dealing with a guy who's kind of high-strung, kind of in need of a little release.

From his vantage point down here on the floor, Ray thought Vecchio looked hungry up there. Not as pissed off as he was going for - though, yeah, that, too - but sort of strung out, sort of desperate for it. Ray pushed himself up on one elbow and wiped at the blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth with the back of one hand.

Vecchio followed the move with his eyes.

Ray lifted his chin, grinning up at him from the floor, even though it hurt his jaw a little where Vecchio had landed that nice punch. "Feel better, Vecchio?" he asked cheerfully.

"Not much." Vecchio's voice was tense, and his eyes were dark, and his hands were still in fists at his sides. This was a man who needed to let off a little steam. This was a man who needed more than a fist fight.

*~*~*~*~*

When Ray Kowalski was seventeen, he wore black eyeliner and ripped jeans and he loved Stella more than he'd ever loved anything in his whole life. She mostly loved him back, he was pretty sure, and she was mostly around, but when she wasn't around - which was more often than he cared to think about - a lot of things came before him in her life - when she wasn't around, Ray sucked cock.

Ray sucked cock, and he loved sucking cock, and he was good at it. Some people had natural talents, and this was one of his. He was good at only a few things in life when he was seventeen: attitude, loving Stella, and sucking cock.

There were worse things to be good at.

When Stella wasn't around - when she was studying, or interning, or had broken up with him again, and again, and again - Ray would go to parties. He'd get drunk, or stoned, or sometimes a little of both, and you know, this was the eighties - the ambiguous look was in, then (that was Stella's word, not his, but that didn't make it any less true). Girls liked him, but the only girl he liked was Stella. Guys liked him, and, well, Ray was never any good at saying no to that.

Close to twenty years later, Vecchio looked at him the way the guys at those parties looked at him. Guys with girlfriends hanging off of their arms, who would drink their beer and look at Ray over the bottle, just like Vecchio was. Like he was something they wanted.

Ray kept giving Vecchio the same look he'd give those guys back in the day: like he was something they could get.

Vecchio didn't have one fucking clue what to do with that. Vecchio would look at him too long, and then look away too quick, and it would be funny if it wasn't so sad. Both of them were pretty fucking sad, here.

And when Ray Kowalski was seventeen, he'd never let that get in his way, some guy who didn't know the rules, didn't know how to go about it. Ray had had attitude, and he'd have done something about it.

He still had attitude. There was no reason to be a pussy about it now.

He swung by Vecchio's desk late afternoon. "Want to get a drink tonight, Vecchio?"

Vecchio didn't look up from the report he was writing. "With you? Not likely."

Ray leaned his hip against the side of Vecchio's desk, and just stayed there, watching him write. Vecchio's shoulders were tense, and it took him a full minute to look up. "What," he said tensely. "Get the fuck out of here, Kowalski."

"Tonight," Ray said. "Eight o'clock, McGarrity's."

"Hold your breath, why don't you?" Vecchio suggested lightly, but his fingers were tight around the pen in his hand.

Ray looked at him for a long moment. Fight or fuck. "Sure," he said, and swung away from Vecchio's desk.

*~*~*~*~*

When Ray Kowalski was thirty-seven, he walked through the door of the bar with a little bit of eyeliner and not a lot of attitude. He didn't think he really needed either, but it was almost twenty years down the road, now, and he figured it couldn't hurt.

When he saw Vecchio at the bar, turned away from Ray, his suit jacket slung neatly over the back of his chair, his dress shirt still neat and unrumpled after a full day's work, something he didn't really know he had been worried about eased inside his chest.

"Buy you a drink?" he said as he edged up beside Vecchio at the bar.

Vecchio, to his credit, didn't startle easy, though he glanced up at Ray and then just let his gaze rest there, caught for a long moment, before he held up his glass. "I'm all set."

Ray let a pause roll by. "Right," he said, and ordered himself a beer. He sat beside Vecchio there at the bar, and you know, the place was pretty busy for a Wednesday night, but he was just so fucking aware of Vecchio - Vecchio, sitting there, being aware of him - that they seemed cut off from everyone else.

Vecchio was drinking whiskey, sipping it slowly, and he kept not looking at Ray for so long that Ray knew it had to be killing him to keep his eyes away. Ray wasn't trying not to look. Ray was wearing eyeliner and torn jeans and he was 37 years old, not 17. Ray didn't care a whole lot about how things looked.

"Nice night," he said.

"It's humid." Vecchio took a sip of his whiskey and squinted at the news on the TV screen hanging above the bar.

"Tomorrow's Friday. Got plans for the weekend?"

"Working a double, Friday, Saturday."

Ray nodded, and took a long drink of beer. "Talk to Fraser?"

"Shut the fuck up," Vecchio said before the words were out of his mouth.

Ray was silent for a moment. "Life sucks," he offered.

"My point," Vecchio said grimly.

Ray ordered them another round.

*~*~*~*~*~*

When Ray Kowalski was thirty-seven, he walked out of a bar with Ray Vecchio after three beers and two whiskeys, respectively. Vecchio's tie was loosened, but he was otherwise still buttoned up - still neat and smooth and together, but he wasn't looking away from Ray quickly anymore. He wasn't looking away from Ray at all.

And they weren't on the verge of fighting. This right here wasn't about that. And if there was one thing that Ray Kowalski knew, it was that timing was absolutely everything. He looked at Vecchio in the dim light spilling from a streetlight nearby, and hooked his fingers into the loosened knot of Vecchio's tie. "Come here," he said.

"Don't hold your breath," Vecchio said hoarsely, looking him in the eye, but when Ray gave a gentle tug, he followed Ray into the shadows of the alley next to the bar.

After that it was easy, or should have been. It should have been by the book, and it was, for a second - pressing Vecchio up against the rough brick, pinning him there in the dimness. But Vecchio still had his eyes open, and was staring at Ray like he'd never seen anything like him before. Ray swallowed, and started to lean in, but Vecchio brought his hand up to Ray's face. Ray closed his eyes as Vecchio traced his thumb gently over his eyelid.

He was the one who had Vecchio pinned there, but he couldn't move, couldn't even breathe. He had his hands dug into Vecchio's shoulders, just hanging on.

"Eyeliner is for girls," Vecchio finally said, but it was like he could hardly get the words out.

Ray managed to shrug with one shoulder. "Not always."

"Yeah, always," Vecchio said, but his voice was all low and soft, and he made a quiet sound in his throat when Ray leaned in and kissed him. Vecchio's hands were tight on his hips and he dragged Ray in close and didn't just let him do it, he went after it, and Ray felt this curl of heat in his belly.

When Ray managed to drag his mouth away, Vecchio was panting. He tilted his head back against the wall and looked at him, just looked.

Ray lifted his chin and slid smoothly to his knees.

It was dark in the alley, but that didn't mean privacy, not in this city. Still, Ray worked Vecchio's pants open quickly, and when he wrapped his lips around Vecchio's cock, Vecchio only moaned quietly, and spread his legs as far as he could with his pants around his thighs. This needed to be quick - this was really dangerous and more than a little stupid. But when he took Vecchio's cock in deep, Vecchio wrapped his fingers so fucking tight around Ray's shoulders, and he shook with it, right there up against the wall, with how good it felt.

"Jesus," Ray heard him mutter, real quiet. "You -"

When Ray looked up, Vecchio was looking down at him, watching.

Ray had to shut his eyes - had to. He took Vecchio in deep again, the clutch of Vecchio's hands against his shoulders sending a shudder all the way through him. This wasn't going to take long, not from the way Vecchio was leaking against his tongue, the way Vecchio was pressing forward into his mouth, not pushy, but asking for it, and Ray was more than willing to give it to him.

Ray had the rhythm going now, fast and sure, and when he felt Vecchio shaking hard, against the wall, he wrapped his hand tight around his hips and swallowed around him as he came, his quiet gasps seeming loud in the quiet of the dim alley.

"Fuck," Vecchio said unsteadily, as Ray let his cock slip out of his mouth slowly. "You -"

"Yeah." Ray got one foot under him, and Vecchio reached down and grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet.

"You're good at that." Vecchio was pulling his pants up, tucking himself in neatly, but he was still staring at Ray while he did it.

"It's not my first time," Ray said, grinning.

"That, I knew," Vecchio responded.

"Hey." Ray wasn't grinning anymore. "What did she tell you about me?"

"Nothing." Vecchio - rumpled now, finally - reached forward, wrapping one hand around the back of Ray's neck and tugging him in close. They kissed there in the shadow of the alley, Ray's cock hard in his jeans, pressed up tight against Vecchio's hip.

Vecchio didn't seem to mind.

Ray pulled back, finally, panting for air. "Come back to my place."

"Don't hold your breath," Vecchio muttered, but he was looking at Ray's eyes again. He tilted his head a little. "Do you use the same eyeliner as Stella?"

Fuck. "Shut the fuck up and come home with me." Ray pulled Vecchio away from the wall.

"You do, don't you? Pussy."

"Shut it," Ray said, warning in his tone, as he paused to take a quick look around before heading out of the alley.

"Did you two share everything?" Vecchio's voice was thick with amusement.

Ray looked back over his shoulder. "Apparently we share you."

"Shut it," Vecchio said, warning in his tone.

Ray tugged his keys out of his pocket and tossed them in the air, catching them again smoothly. "Don’t hold your breath."

Vecchio sighed heavily, and followed along behind him.

~end~

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