brooklinegirl@rcn.com
NC-17
2/2005
A car skidded to a stop and pulled off to park right in front of the shit-box. Not just any car. A GTO. A black GTO. A black 1967 GTO. "Of course," he muttered to himself around his hand. "Naturally. Why not."It's 1,876 words of Kowalski/Vecchio, and, uh, *koff* This is a work of FICTION. Any similarity to actual events is completely coincid - oh, fuck it, yeah, okay, I totally got the idea for this from Dira's bad bad day. It's dedicated to you, hon. Sorry I, uh. Turned your shit day into a Ray/Ray story.
Beta thanks go to the truly inimitable lynnmonster, and I also owe thanks to ms. estrella for
nakedinspirational cheerleading."Son of a bitch!" Ray Vecchio kicked at the crappy, rusted, fucked-up excuse for a car that CPD had given him to use. He stared angrily at it, but that didn’t change the fact that the tire was flat. Completely flat. Not just flat-needing-some-air flat, but more like vague-tube-of-rubber-sort-of-wrapped-around-the-rim flat. Frigidly cold day, and cars were whipping by on the highway, the drivers keeping their eyes turned determinedly towards the road, racing by like they didn't see him.
He was supposed to be meeting Kowalski at the courthouse over in Bridgeview at 7:30 AM which was - he glanced at his watch - about twenty minutes from now. Sighing, he dug his cell phone out of his coat pocket to call Kowalski and AAA - not necessarily in that order. He punched the buttons and - dead. His cell phone was dead. Because it had been in his coat pocket since the night before. When he hadn't charged it.
Great. Wonderful. Tremendous. He jammed his hands into his pockets and whirled around, stomping around to the back of the car. "Stupid, worthless, fucked-up…" he muttered as he opened the trunk. He let his chin drop to his chest. Of course, there was piled-up crap from years' worth of lazy detectives using the car. Fabulous. He started unloading the stuff onto the snow-covered ground. "There won't even be a jack, I know it, I just know it…"
There was a jack. Nicely stowed in a little recessed place underneath every other piece of garbage in the trunk. Well, that was something at least. Great. Okay. Nice little recessed holder for the - "This," he muttered, staring down into the trunk, "is just fucking perfect. Thank you, god, for my lot in life." The jack and the spare were bolted into place. "Because, what, they might try to get away? Crawl out of the hole by themselves, maybe?" He grabbed the tire iron, which was so cold it promptly tried to adhere itself to his hands, and set to work wrestling with the bolts.
The last bolt on the tire was really stuck, and he threw his weight into it, muttering. "Jesus H. motherfucking Christ." It came loose all of a sudden, Ray's grip on the tire iron slipped, and he jammed his hand into the edge of the trunk. "Motherfuck," he growled, and was standing there sucking on his bleeding hand when a car skidded to a stop and pulled off to park right in front of the shit-box. Not just any car. A GTO. A black GTO. A black 1967 GTO.
"Of course," he muttered to himself around his hand. "Naturally. Why not."
Kowalski was grinning as he stepped out of the car, tugging his coat close around him. "Need a hand there, Vecchio?"
Ray grimaced. "Why, you turn good Samaritan all of a sudden, Kowalski?"
"Hey, I’m just naturally a nice guy." He surveyed the scene before him, the junk on the ground, the tire half-out of its well, Ray's bleeding hand. His eyes strayed over the car itself. "What the fuck is this you're driving?" His voice was full of barely-repressed amusement.
"Department car," Ray responded tiredly.
"This is not a car," Kowalski said disgustedly. "This is - I don't know what this is, but it sure as hell isn't a car." He looked over at Ray. "I thought you had taste, Vecchio."
"Yeah, like I chose this piece of -"
"Where's your jack?" Kowalski interrupted him, pushing past him and leaning into the trunk. He was wearing a hip-length leather coat - not the best thing given that it was about minus two degrees out. He wasn't wearing gloves, either, but he didn't even flinch as he pulled the jack out of the trunk and set it on the ground. He yanked the tire out of the well and set that on the ground too.
Jesus, it was like the guy thought he was the second freaking coming for knowing how to change a tire. "Listen, Kowalski, I can do this, you know."
Kowalski paused, and looked at Ray, grinning. He leaned his hip against the car, tucking his hands deep into his coat pockets. "Oh. Okay." He lifted his chin, gesturing at the side of the car with the flat - the one away from the road, of course, with several inches of dirty gray snow on the ground. "Go for it. Have fun." He gazed at Ray, then let his eyes drop down to survey Ray's long coat, his suit - Christ, yeah, his fucking Armani suit, of course he'd be dressed in his favorite suit in order to change a flat - and his nice shoes - newly shined, Ray was going to court, gotta make a good impression. He didn't think he'd be hiking around in this mess.
He looked down sadly, because of course his shoes had been newly shined, but now were all gunked up with slush already. Before he'd even had to crouch down behind the car to change the goddamn tire.
He took in some air, carefully, and looked at Kowalski. Kowalski, who was very deliberately looking at Ray with an expression of intent interest. "I got the jack out for you," he said encouragingly.
"Yeah," Ray said shortly. He stared at the tire and jack on the snowy ground. He transferred his stare to Kowalski, who was studiously studying his nails. "What?" Kowalski said, looking up and catching Ray's look.
"Will you change the damn tire?" Ray said wearily.
"Huh?" Kowalski looked positively radiant with glee leaning there. "But I thought you said…"
"Please," Ray interrupted. "Okay? Please will you change the goddamn motherfucking tire."
Kowalski looked at him dubiously. "Well, if you're sure you don't want to…"
Ray moaned quietly, scrubbing his freezing-cold hands over his face. "No. Please. You go ahead."
"Since you asked so nicely." Kowalski rolled the spare over to the far side of the car. Ray shoved his hands in his pockets and followed him, wiggling his fingers to try to get some feeling back in them. It was cold and raw and gray out, and here Kowalski was doing all this with bare hands and acting like he didn't feel a thing. Ray leaned back on his heels and watched morosely as Kowalski quickly and expertly got the car up on the jack.
"Christ, you don’t have a flat, you barely have a tire," he said disgustedly, tugging the old tire off and tossing it aside. He was kneeling in order to do it, the knees of his jeans getting soaked with snow. His face was flushed pink with cold, and he had this animated delight to his manner, even as he frowned and cursed at the tire, the car, at Ray himself. Like he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world except the side of the road changing Ray's pathetic old tire. For Christ's sake - the guy needed to get out more.
"You'd think the department would invest in some decent cars," Ray observed, watching Kowalski heft the new tire into place.
"Yeah," Kowalski said, his tongue between his teeth as he carefully put the bolts back on and tightened them. "That's why I drive my own." He spared a moment to give Ray a fierce grin. "Nothing beats a '67 GTO."
"The Riv would've given you a run for your money," Ray said gloomily.
"Yeah, right," Kowalski snorted. He finished with the bolts and wiped his greasy hands on his jeans. "This is why I bring the monkey suit with me," he said, jerking his head toward the GTO. Ray could see his suit hanging in back, all nice and neat.
"Good plan," he said, watching as Kowalski's mouth curved into a grin.
"I thought so," Kowalski said, surveying the tire. "Okay. You're all set."
"You sure it's on tight?" Ray said, pretty much just to be an asshole. Because. Okay. He felt like an asshole. Kowalski had changed his damn tire for him.
Kowalski stared up at him. "You wanna come down here and check?"
Ray looked down at him kneeling on the ground. Kowalski's jeans had soaked up so much snow they were wet to the thigh. He had a smear of grease across one cheek where he'd wiped his hand, and his ears were red with cold.
"Yeah," Ray said. "I do." He crouched down carefully beside Kowalski and tugged the tire iron out of his hand. He tested the bolts.
Kowalski just knelt there, watching him curiously, a small smile on his face. "They good?" he asked. "You approve?"
"I - yeah," Ray said distractedly, looking at the smear of grease on Kowalski's cheek.
"What?" Kowalski said, raising an eyebrow.
"Just -" And see, Ray was going to just point out the grease, maybe make a crack about Kowalski needing a bath, but instead of pointing, his hand somehow kept going till it was on the back of Kowalski's neck. And Kowalski looked startled, but game, so Ray tugged him closer and then they were kissing. Kinda awkwardly for a second, but then, Jesus, Kowalski slid his tongue into Ray's mouth and holy fuck, he was making out with Kowalski - annoying Kowalski, who he didn't even like - on the side of the road, crouched in the snow behind his crappy car.
The back of Kowalski's neck, which he'd thought might be cold, was warm, and slightly damp from his exertions, and Ray found himself pushing his fingers into his hair. Ray's other hand was traveling up the snow-soaked denim of Kowalski's thigh, and Kowalski made a soft sound in his throat and snaked his hands under Ray's coat, grabbing onto his shirt. Ray didn't even think, kept moving his hand, and Christ, Kowalski was hard in his jeans, just one fucking kiss and he was hard, right there under Ray's hand.
Ray groaned. He could vaguely hear cars going by on the road on the other side of the car. This was a bad idea, this was such a stupendously bad idea. But Kowalski was tugging him closer - Christ, they couldn't get any closer, on their knees, chest to chest, Jesus, Kowalski's tongue was fucking amazing. All Ray could do was hang on.
He was breathless, panting, when Kowalski pulled back. Ray actually leaned in further for a second before he caught himself. Kowalski just kinda looked at him, his breath making clouds in the air. "You better be careful, Vecchio," he said, and thank god, Kowalski's voice was unsteady, he was right there with Ray. He took a breath, like he was pulling himself together. "You're getting all messy. Ruined your nice suit."
Ray noticed that his knees were wet, as he was kneeling there right on the ground, his hand still on Kowalski's cock. He tightened his hand in Kowalski's hair, and dragged him back in close. "Like I fucking care." Then he was kissing Kowalski again, and Kowalski was moaning, hot against his mouth, and sliding his hands under Ray's coat again, and Ray didn't even notice the cold.
~end~