Kowalski's jerking off in Ray's shower when he gets home.
It occurs to him that things like that are no longer weird.
They got back within a week of each other--him from Florida, Kowalski from Canada--and fought over the apartment. They never talked about why they came back...never had to. They'd both been there before.
My name's on the lease had been Ray's argument, the only one that would hold up in court. Yeah, but I was here first, Kowalski had said, sounding like the petulant six year old he was, and Ray had been too tired of lawyers to force him to leave. He'd disappear on his own time, when living with Ray started pissing him off just a little too much.
He hadn't counted on Kowalski's stubbornness.
Or the sex.
Yeah, he definitely hadn't counted on the sex.
He'd come home about a week into the whole thing to find Kowalski on the couch, porn on the tv, hand down his pants. He'd glanced up when Ray walked through the door, given him one of those grins that could drop women in their tracks, and gone right back to what he was doing. "Trying to scare me into leaving?" Ray had asked from the doorway, and the corner of Kowalski's mouth twisted up, just a little, his eyes still on the tv.
"Trying to get off, you mind?" he said, and Ray was suddenly noticing the way his hand was moving fast and steady, the short little pants he was trying not to make, the way his eyes closed, just for a second, as he twisted his wrist. He was close. Really fucking close, and Ray was just standing there watching him. Because Jesus, beautiful wasn't a word Ray ever thought in the same sentence as Kowalski (or any guy, for that matter), but right now that was all he was thinking. That, and he was noticing the way his pants were suddenly starting to feel a little too tight.
"You just going to stand there?" Kowalski asked, managing to look amused and painfully turned on all at the same time, and yeah. This had to be a joke, a trick, a ploy to get Ray out of the apartment, right? Except that Kowalski was looking at him, looking fucking hungry, looking like joking was the furthest thing from his mind.
"Jesus, Kowalski, you can't just..." he waved a hand at him, advancing across the room. "I mean, shit. You're jerking off on my couch!"
"My couch," Kowalski corrected him. "And you're watching. There are other rooms in this apartment, you know. Go...I don't know, make yourself a sandwich or something if you don't want to see me." He stretched his long legs out, propped them on the far arm of the couch. His eyes travelled down Ray's body to his pants. "But I think you want to."
Ray pulled his eyes away, made them focus on the tv, where there was a very enthusiastic blowjob going on. He resolutely didn't imagine Kowalski's lips wrapped around a cock, his cock, sucking, licking, making tiny moans as Ray thrust into his mouth, twisted his fingers into that ridiculous hair...
He didn't even realize he'd wrapped a hand in Kowalski's shirt and pushed him hard against the cushions until Kowalski made a soft sound, hand stilling against his cock, breathing fast, right in Ray's space. "What do you want, Vecchio?" Kowalski asked, and Ray thought it was pretty damn clear what he wanted. "What're you trying to do here?"
"Me?" Ray choked out, giving Kowalski another shove. "You're the one who's all..." he waved a hand over Kowalski's body. "Spread out like a fucking hooker."
Kowalski smirked, shifted under Ray's grip. "Don't worry," he said in a low voice Ray had never heard before. "You don't have to leave money on the dresser or anything."
"Good," Ray said, and he could feel Kowalski shiver under him at the brush of Ray's breath against his neck. "'Cause I don't think this crappy apartment even has a dresser." Then he was leaning in, tasting the sweat that had gathered in the hollow of Kowalski's neck, running his hand up his t-shirt covered side, feeling the skin warm beneath his touch. Kowalski brought a hand up, rested it against Ray's hip, tugged at Ray until he sprawled onto the couch on top of him. They rocked against each other for a few moments, Ray keeping his face buried against Kowalski's shoulder, Kowalski breathing in short gasps beside his ear.
"Vecchio," Kowalski said finally, pushing Ray back, holding him away, and for a split second Ray panicked. But Kowalski had his eyes closed, breathing slowly, swallowing as he caught his breath, and Ray remembered how he found him, remembered Kowalski sprawled out on the couch, so close to coming, holding himself right on the edge. "Christ," he hissed, and Kowalski opened his eyes, looked at Ray, licked his lips.
Ray took that as an invitation, leaning in, pressing his own lips to the lingering dampness there, licking at the corners of Kowalski's mouth, capturing a lip between his teeth briefly, feeling Kowalski arching up under him, unbuttoning his pants. Then their cocks were sliding together in Kowalski's fist, slick and hard and so fucking hot that Ray couldn't even breathe, could just gasp desperately into Kowalski's mouth, thrusting down into his hand.
"Fuck, Vecchio," Kowalski whispered against Ray's lips, and then he was coming, muffling his cries by sinking his teeth into Ray's shoulder through his shirt, his hands clinging to Ray's back hard enough to bruise, to hurt. He took a minute to recover, and then started stroking Ray hard, fast, his hand tight around him and so wet, so fucking easy.
Ray came with a wordless cry, melting down against Kowalski, burying his face in the warm damp spot between neck and shoulder. The last thing he remembered before sleep claimed him was the feeling of Kowalski's hand, stroking slowly up and down his back.
So today Ray gets home to find Kowalski naked and touching himself in the shower, and he wonders when that stopped being weird.
Then he stops thinking about it, and joins him.