Title: "Morning Glory"
Author: Katherine F.
Disclaimer: It's Ray's fault. Sue him.
Distribution: lists: yes please, anywhere at all. Archives:
I myself will send it to Hexwood and the VU page; elsewhere is
fine, but please let me know.
Summary: A somewhat late response to the wankfic challenge --
takes place in the Volpe Universe, so you should read at least
"Kahlua" and probably also "Volpe" before this, just so's we're
on the same page. All the VU stories can be found here:
        http://netdump.com/users.purity_brown/volpemain.htm
Notes: I once said I'd never write m/m smut. Then, the day
after Te issued the wankfic challenge, Ray looked at me with
a wicked glint in his eye and licked his palm...the rest is
history...
Thanks are due to Te for encouragement, and for not beheading
me when I stopped at the interesting part.
And I would just like to make it clear that I am not now, nor
have I ever been, an Oasis fan. Thank you.
 

        "Morning Glory"
        by Katherine F.

//Motel.//

It takes Ray a minute to work that out, with his brain running
at just-woke-up speed: street lights coming in through window =
blinds and curtains not drawn = not his bedroom = Dre = motel
room. In the morning, which is when motel rooms are at their
worst.

It's six a.m.: too late for him to go back to sleep but too
early to think of leaving; besides which, he has an erection
that could conceivably cut diamond and he's got out of the
habit of letting such things go.

He rubs his chest absently, considering his options. If he
wakes Dre, there's always the chance of another round. If he
takes care of it himself, he'll get the satisfaction of
leaving a wet spot for Dre to soak in (a sort of fuck-you-too-
in-absentia-revenge for the last five times Dre's given that
very honour to *him*).

If he wakes Dre...

He leans over and nudges his -- and here his brain skirts
around a number of words and their concomitant mental images:
not "lover", not quite "fuckbuddy", definitely not "boyfriend"

//well, *whatever*, it's too early to philosophize//

 -- nudges Dre in the back.

Dre grunts.

It's not the I'm-sleeping-so-nothing-you-do-will-affect-me grunt,
either. It's the I-don't-want-to-get-up-so-leave-me-alone-and-I-
won't-castrate-you grunt.

Which is...not *good*, exactly, but it leaves room to maneuver.

Ray shifts over onto his side and rubs up against Dre's back. He's
in the position which provides for the maximum possible skin-to-skin
contact, a position which guarantees that Dre will a) be aware of
Ray's state of arousal and hopefully also b) be brought into a
similar state himself.

Unfortunately, Dre's only reaction is to move as far away as he can
without falling out of the bed and groan, "Jesus fucking Christ,
what are you, six*teen*?"

"Is that a 'no'?"

"What the -- yes, it's a fucking no."

//Mental note: he's grouchy in the mornings. Big surprise there.//

"Okay. I'll just have to take care of it myself."

Dre's head snaps back so quickly that Ray briefly worries about
whiplash

//Wouldn't *that* lawsuit be entertaining...//

and the look in his eyes is as priceless as it is infuriating.

"You wouldn't."

He actually hadn't been meaning to go through with it, just...
tease him with the possibility of something going on and him
missing out, but the certainty in Dre's voice is too much like a
dare.

He shifts backwards, sits up slightly, and gives his palm a slow,
deliberate lick.

"Watch me..."

With the first (light, teasing) touch to his cock the expression in
Dre's eyes shifts to a mixture of derision and disbelief, and Ray
finds his own eyes sliding shut, the pictures in his mind being far
more encouraging than the one before him. He thinks of the first
time Dre fucked him, the way the carpet felt under his knees...it
was amazing that he'd got his pants down at all, considering how
close he'd been...and Dre sliding into him like they'd been doing
it for years...

He feels his cock twitch under his fingers and he makes an experimental
twisting motion round the head.

//*oh* yeah that's good//

There's a rustling sound, as of sheets moving or being pushed back;
the bed creaks discreetly and Ray realises that Dre is watching him.
A warm flush starts spreading from his face downwards and he cranks
the speed of his hand's movements up a notch. He hadn't been planning
on putting on a show, the taunt notwithstanding, but now he finds
he likes the idea.

Or his cock does, anyway.

He lets his left hand drift vaguely upwards, as if of its own
volition, and starts drawing circles around his nipples; first
one, then the other. They pucker a little but it's not until
he pinches the left one savagely that that old familiar *jolt*
hits and he starts thrusting into his fist. At the same time
there's a sound from the other side of the bed that's a lot
like skin sliding over skin.

He doesn't open his eyes. There isn't enough light in the room
for him to be able to see it clearly anyway, and his skin remembers
(very very clearly) what Dre's hands feel like: a little rougher
than his own, the fingers a little shorter...he remembers the first
time, thrusting into Dre's fist, so close, so *fucking* close just
from having Dre's cock down his throat and that *kiss* --

 -- because that was the thing that surprised him, and the thing
he remembers most clearly --

 -- and his lips are itching now for a little skin to nuzzle into,
but they're going to have to wait because he is *right* *there* --

"Fuck!"

And as he finally comes his eyes fly open and latch onto Dre's,
wide and dilated and

// Well, whaddya know.//

Dre's only two seconds behind him.

There's a moment when they're just staring at each other, panting,
neither of them able to work up a smartass remark, or any kind of
remark, for that matter. Then Dre leans over and rubs the pool
of come on Ray's stomach, a gesture which, if it was Vick instead
of come, would have reminded Ray of his mother, but as it is, it's
100% Andreas Volpe, pure and unadulterated.

"Point taken," he says. And smirks.

[end]