Ray's sex drive went in a cycle, and right now, the cycle was definitely on. He'd be okay, sometimes, taking care of matters whenever they, uh, came up. He was a normal guy with normal needs, and hey, normal guys jerked off on a pretty regular basis.

The thing was, lately, he'd been on all the damn time. Lately, he couldn't stop thinking about sex and it didn't matter where he was or what he was doing, bam, his brain would skew right into these hot, hot, pornographic fantasies that he had no control over. He would be sitting at his desk at the precinct, a week behind in his paperwork, and the entire place crazy as per usual, nothing that could remotely be construed as sexual, and - yeah. Bam.

He'd be turned on, worked up, mental images galore, and find himself just staring down at his paperwork, pen clutched in his suddenly sweaty hand, with an erection that wouldn't quit and a full-blown fantasy of getting his dick sucked as he sat right there, in front of God and everybody.

It was bad, and it was all the time. Sex, constantly, in his head, and the thing was, it was bad enough when it was just random porny images, girls sucking him off or bending some blonde girl with a nice round ass over his desk and fucking her right there. Things like that were inconvenient, sure, but he could take care of it. Half the time, he'd get home after work and end up sprawled on the couch, jerking off before he could even really think about it. He'd carry around those mental images with him all day, the low-level buzz of sex sex sex in his head, and, man. It wasn't since he was a teenager that he was jerking off this much and was still ready for more an hour later.

And again, okay, it was a cycle. It had happened before, and he knew it would even out eventually, and, hell, there were worse ways to spend his free time than getting up close and personal with his dick. He was handling it, really, up until his fantasy life started getting a little too personal.

He was on his couch, after work, and he'd been half-hard all afternoon. By the time he came home, he was aching for it, so he just toed his boots off, sprawled back on his bed, and opened his jeans. At that point, he didn't even need porn to get him going - his brain was providing plenty of mental images, more than enough to get him off. So he was there, with his jeans open, his dick in his hand, getting this nice rhythm going, feeling really good, and he was trying to decide if he was gonna draw this out, or just let himself go for it, get off fast, fast. He was stroking himself nice and slow to start with, and wasn't even thinking of anything in particular yet, mostly just enjoying the feel of his hand on his cock before settling into a fantasy when the mental image slammed into him.

And it wasn't his own hand on his dick, and it wasn't Stella's mouth (one of his old favorites, and a real easy one to get off to), no. No. It was Vecchio's hand on him, Vecchio's fingers wrapped around his cock. Ray's eyes flew open, because no, no, don't go there, please, do not go there. He had to work with the guy. God. Vecchio wasn't even close to his type.

But his hand didn't care, and neither did his dick. His dick liked that idea a lot, and Ray's brain was supplying the mental image of Vecchio pushing Ray up against a wall, holding him in place with one soft, warm hand on the back of his neck, while his other hand moved in a slow, steady rhythm on Ray's cock. Not letting up at all, driving Ray hard and fast, and fuck, oh, fuck, Vecchio was watching him. Vecchio was looking right in his eyes as Ray lost control and thrust harder, harder, though the slippery circle of Vecchio's fingers and came, oh fuck, came so hard all over Vecchio's fist.

Ray, on the bed, opened his eyes and panted up at the ceiling. Fuck. He looked down at his softening cock, his come-spattered belly, and wiped his hand on his t-shirt before sitting up tiredly and tugging off the shirt entirely, using it to wipe himself down.

He was so fucking screwed.

It didn't let up, either, Vecchio's starring roles in his sex fantasies. Ray tried, man, he tried like hell to push it away, but every blonde girl he'd ever jerked off to, even Stella, dammit, turned into Vecchio the second he started to get into it.

Really, it had him questioning his sanity.

Vecchio - the real-life Vecchio - the straight Vecchio - wasn't helping so much either. There was this day that Vecchio was getting more and more pissed off because Ray had been snapping at him all day (which Ray had, he totally had, because the guy had an active enough role in his fantasies. Ray just wanted some fucking peace and quiet while he could get it in his real life.). And finally, he just grabbed Ray's shoulder and dragged him into the supply closet to finish their fight in relative private, and - well. That gave Ray a hard-on right there, so quick he got light-headed, and actually ended up giving Vecchio a very quick and sincere apology just to get the fuck out of there.

Vecchio blinked, startled out of his tirade. He stared at Ray for a second, then said, "Well, good, then."

"Right," said Ray quickly. "Right. It's just a bad day. I'll knock it off tomorrow, I promise."

"All right." Vecchio was still looking at him, and rubbing the back of his head uneasily.

Ray just shook his head and took himself and his hard-on out of the closet as quickly as he could. And that was the first time he jerked off in the station bathroom, locking himself in a stall and taking himself in hand, biting his lip desperately and coming hard about twenty-five seconds later.

See, the thing was - and this was the way-more-than-fucked-up thing - was that Ray was pretty damn sure Vecchio was straight. Sure, a lot of guys said they were, but the line got blurry after a bunch of beers, or in the right set of circumstances. Vecchio, though - and Ray had been watching - Vecchio was about as close to the one hundred percent straight end of the spectrum as Ray had ever seen.

The problem was, that just made Ray want to fuck him over the back of his couch even more.

"So screwed," Ray muttered to himself the next morning, as he jerked off in the shower, gasping into the hot, steamy air and picturing Vecchio - straight-as-an-arrow Vecchio - watching Ray touch himself. Picturing Vecchio himself getting hard, getting turned on, turned on without wanting to, and stroking himself, timing his rhythm to match Ray's, and moving his hand faster - faster - and - yeah - yeah - coming just at the exact time that Ray lost control himself.

Ray slumped, panting, against the slick wall of the shower. He was so beyond screwed.

Vecchio knew something was up. Ray was just desperately waiting for his sex drive to cool down, telling himself over and over that it was just a cycle, just one of those things, it would be fine.

And it would have been. It so totally would have been, if it weren't for the stake-out. If it weren't for Vecchio right there next to him in the car, and Ray with his dick just aching in his jeans, desperately turned on for no reason, no fucking reason. Vecchio was straight, Vecchio wasn't even his type, Vecchio wasn't even anything, Vecchio was -

Vecchio was talking to him. "Kowalski," he said, and it sounded like he maybe wasn't saying it for the first time.

"Yeah," said Ray faintly, watching how his hands clutched at the steering wheel.

Vecchio sighed, and grabbed his shoulder, and Ray shut his eyes.

"God, what is up with you?" Vecchio sounded more bewildered than anything else.

"Nothing." Ray's voice sounded tight even to himself. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Vecchio tugged on his shoulder, making Ray turn to look at him. Ray kept his eyes down, not wanting to look Vecchio in the eye, but that meant that his gaze fell right on Vecchio's crotch, the fabric of his pants looking soft, and not doing a whole lot to disguise what seemed to be a pretty nice package.

Oh God.

He wrenched his eyes up to Vecchio's face. "Really. Nothing's up. I'm fine."

"No," said Vecchio, looking curious now. "You're really not."

Vecchio's hand was still on his shoulder and Ray could feel it, hot, through his t-shirt. Ray was so turned on that he was going to die. Really. Right here, in this car, any second now.

He took a deep breath. "I'm good. I'm just - " He waved his hand around weakly. "Distracted."

"Yeah, I see that." Vecchio was grinning at him, and Ray's cock got harder.

"Fuck," he breathed, letting his head fall back against the seat with a thump. "I just need to get laid."

"Oh." Vecchio was quiet for a second, while Ray cursed his own mouth and felt his face turn eight shades of red in the darkness of the car. "Yeah. I can see that, too."

Ray blinked. Vecchio's thumb was tracing slow circles on Ray's shoulder, and Ray's whole body shuddered. He just - Ray looked at Vecchio out of the corner of his eye. Vecchio had shifted closer to him on the seat and even in the dark, Ray could see the hot look Vecchio was giving him.

"Jesus," Ray breathed. "Listen, Vecchio - "

"Yeah," said Vecchio, his voice smooth like honey.

"Vecchio, you're straight." Ray's dick was thrumming in his jeans.

"You think?" Vecchio said curiously, moving another inch closer.

"Yeah." Oh God. Oh God."

"Huh," and Vecchio's lips were barely a breath away from Ray's face.

"Aren't you?" said Ray desperately.

Vecchio's shoulder rose and fell in an easy shrug. "Mostly," he said, low in Ray's ear. "I guess."

Ray turned his head, because what? Mostly? And very suddenly, Vecchio's mouth was on his in the darkness. Vecchio was pressing him back against the seat, and Ray's dick was throbbing to the beat of I told you so. "Oh," said Ray faintly, as Vecchio pulled away and ran his thumb over Ray's lower lip.

"Yeah," said Vecchio real low, casting a quick look back at the warehouse they were supposed to be watching. "Come here," he said, tugging at Ray.

Ray was just staring at him. Vecchio was only mostly straight. "You're not even my type," said Ray stupidly, and edged towards him.

Vecchio smiled slowly. "And what, you think I'm not slumming? Come here." He pulled Ray close and palmed his cock. Ray gasped against Vecchio's neck, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily. "Yeah," said Vecchio, distantly, his voice thick with amusement in Ray's ear. "Sure, I'm not your type."

"Oh shut up," Ray muttered, and hauled him in for a kiss.

~end~

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