Reality
by MR
You barely make it inside the door before his mouth’s
on yours, warm and wet, tongue probing for entry, and
you find yourself letting it in gladly, no resistance
at all, none of the hesitance you felt whenever you
tried to imagine what this would be like; to have
Ray’s mouth on yours, teeth clicking together as he
apparently tries to devour you whole from the outside.
And dear God, why did you never realize this before?
You can’t be that stupid can you? You know what he’s
like; you’ve worked with him every day for almost
three years. You know his impatience as well as you
know your own stolidity.
Hands between your bodies now, his and yours, tugging
at each others clothes as if you’re going to die if
you don’t touch each other right this minute, and this
too is strange, not at all what you’d dreamed of on
those nights alone when the only hands you felt were
you own.
Someone’s growling low in their throat. You or him?
He’s managed to get your tunic unbuttoned, but he
can’t figure out the lanyard, and you have to abandon
your questing under his t-shirt and undo it for him
before he breaks it. You almost laugh at the thought
of trying to explain to the Inspector and Turnbull how
you managed to snap your own lanyard, but the laugh
never makes it out because Ray Kowalski is not one to
let an opportunity go past and he’s already got the
tunic off and on the floor, along with his jacket and
boots, and his mouth still hasn’t left yours.
His t-shirt is added to the pile shortly afterwards
(by the simple expedient of ripping it from his body)
and at last you’re touching him, and oh Lord, this is
nothing like you imagined; you could never adequately
imagine how he would feel, hot and smooth, all lean
hard muscle. He’s trying to push your hands away so
he can get the suspenders down and your Henley off,
but you’re reluctant to give up touching, afraid that
perhaps you won’t be allowed to do it again.
“Dammit, Frase!” He breaks the kiss finally and knocks
your arms back. “If you don’t let me get you outta
that shirt I’m gonna fucking explode!” And of course
you don’t want that, so you stand passive as the
suspenders are yanked down and the shirt comes off,
and them he’s on you again, hands running over your
shoulders and down your back while his tongue dips
into the hollow just below your Adam’s apple, and this
time you do groan out loud, and feel his laughter
vibrate against your skin. “God, you are so easy.”
More exploring now, exploring together, your lips
occasionally meeting. You bite gently on the juncture
where his shoulder joins his neck, and he slides his
hands down inside the waistband of your uniform
trousers.
By a process you’ll never quite understand, you’ve
managed to make it from the front door to halfway
across the living room. He’s working on the buttons
to your pants, which makes you unaccountably angry,
because you want his hands on your skin, and you push
them out of the way and smoothly unbutton your fly
(your uniform, after all; you can do it much faster
than him). Finally they’re undone, and his hand
slides inside, fingers running up and down the length
of your cock, feeling the hardness, then he takes hold
of the waistband of your underwear and pushes it down
and touches you for the first time.
And you know that fantasy could never come near
reality, because whenever you dreamed this it was
always your own hands touching you (blunt, square,
practical hands). Ray’s hands are nothing like yours;
they’re elegant and tapered, with long fingers. You
could never adequately imagine what those fingers
would feel like curling around your cock, stroking the
length of you, and you’ll never survive this, you’ll
never make it to the bedroom because you’re already
poised on the knife’s edge.
Ray knows it somehow, knows your control is gone, and
he gives you what you need; long hard strokes, fingers
rubbing against the tip, sliding the foreskin back and
forth, and you barely have time to think about it
before your coming like you’ve never come in your
life, and Ray’s right there with you, whispering that
it’s okay, how hot it is you want him this much, how
turned on it makes him that you couldn’t wait.
You finally spiral down to realize you’re still in the
living room, your body a dead weight against Ray’s,
your pants and underwear down around your knees, and
all you can think is there’s no way in hell you’ll be
able to go any further until you get your boots off.
For some reason this makes you laugh, and Ray laughs
with you for a moment, then silences the laugh with
another deep, wet kiss, and you feel the desire
flaring up anew. You want him naked now, want to
return the favor a dozen times over, want to make him
feel as good as he’s made you feel.
“Bedroom,” he whispers in your ear, and you nod and
manage to hobble in, sitting on the edge of the bed,
unlacing your boots while he leans against the
doorframe and watches you through half-closed eyes.
You can see his cock clearly outlined through his
jeans, and you unlace all the faster because you have
to touch him NOW, it’s very likely you’ll die if you
don’t touch him.
The boots are pulled off and dropped on the floor
beside the bed, followed by the trousers and
underwear, and you’re totally naked but in no way
embarrassed, you have only to look at Ray to tell he
appreciates the view. You reach over and grab one of
the belt loops on his jeans, pulling him towards you,
and he snorts as you maneuver him between your knees
and just ‘look’ at him, then begin to unbutton the
501’s. Now it’s your turn to be clumsy and his turn
to help, then the jeans are undone and pulled down,
taking the plaid boxer shorts he’s wearing with them,
and his cock’s right in front of you. You reach out
and take hold of it, and hear him moan.
And this is new as well; you’ve never touched anyone’s
cock but your own, aren’t sure if you know how to do
it right. And he’s cut, which is different, and you
take a moment to consider the dark purple crown that’s
right out where you can see it, a small bead of
moisture at the tip, and you don’t even think about
what you’re doing, just lean forward and take the tip
in your mouth and lick.
Reality is so different from dreams; it’s salty and a
bit bitter, but not unpleasant. Essence of Ray, you
decide, noticing he’s got one hand tangled in your
hair and is doing his level best not to thrust. His
breath’s coming in short gasps, and when you lick the
head again he whimpers.
One last lick and you pull back, looking at him. You
can’t believe how beautiful he is, bronzed skin and
wild hair, lips swollen from kissing, his eyes almost
black, and you smile, because how many nights have you
dreamed this and it always ended with you starting
awake to your hand on your cock, alone on the cot in
the office? But you’re no longer alone, you somehow
know you never will be again, and so you fall
backwards on the bed, pulling him down on top of you,
twisting around until you’ve settled in comfortably,
spreading your legs and letting his cock slip between
them. Oh yes, you know what he wants. One corner of
his mouth quirks, then he leans forward to kiss you
and starts thrusting against your thigh.
It’s beyond good, beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed
or imagined; the welcome heaviness of his body on
yours, your cock rubbing against his lightly furred
belly with every thrust, and you’re back to playing
dueling tongues. A mock fight for supremacy, because
you’ve both won here, won the jackpot, won the whole
fucking lottery.
The rhythm he falls into is hard and fast; he’s not
going to last much longer than you did, but who’s
keeping score? The notion of keeping score makes you
laugh again, and he draws back to look at you,
grinning, not quit understanding your laughter but
happy you’re here.
“Freak,” he whispers affectionately, then leans down
and bites your lower lip gently, picking up speed. He
rests his forehead on your shoulder and he’s panting
like a marathon runner, making that little whimper you
want to spend the rest of your life hearing him make
(because it’s you making him feel this way, you, real
and present, body as solid as his). For a minute the
rhythm loses its beat, becomes jerky and off-tempo,
then he slams into you with his whole weight, and you
feel him coming, feel it splattering on the bed,
between your thighs, and your moans are a chorus now
as you come again, slick and wet between you, and for
just a second the world stands still and time ceases
to exist…
And you float back down into the real world wrapped
around each other, his head heavy against your
shoulder, breath gradually slowing, and you wonder how
you ever lived with the fantasy until now.
“Freak,” his voice is low and vibrant; you smile at
the way he can make what should be an insult a mark of
affection. “Love you,” he says softly, no hesitance,
no stumbling over the words, but how could there be
hesitance now that you’ve finally stepped over that
invisible line in the sand you drew so long ago?
“And I you,” you reply, bringing up a hand to stroke
his unruly hair, feeling his body relax, knowing
you’ll be following him into dreamland very soon,
wondering what you’re going to dream about now that
you’ve finally tasted reality.
FIN
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