Notes: Written for Boykissing Day.
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Ray thought he liked making out when he was younger.
He thought he liked those sweaty summer afternoons, him and Stella crowded into his backseat with her hand up the back of his t-shirt and his resting just at the waistband of her shorts (as far as she�d let it go). Her hair would stick to his fingers when he ran them through it, and when they pulled away, the windows would be fogged. She�d trace pictures in the mist, lying there against his chest as they both caught their breath.
He thought he liked the secret stolen moments, in locker rooms, in alleyways, a guy�s hands on his shoulders, tongue in his mouth, quick and furtive and so goddamn hot. Nameless, faceless guys, just looking for a quick thrill, but he could stay there for hours, their strong arms holding him, pinning him, keeping him grounded.
He thought he liked those things, but now he knows that he never even knew what making out was until he found Fraser and Vecchio.
Now he can�t live without it, can�t breathe without it. It�s a part of his DNA, woven into all the things that make him Ray.
Their hands, Fraser�s warm and broad, Vecchio�s cooler, longer, more restless. They seem to touch everywhere at once, holding the back of Ray�s neck, stroking long lines up and down his back, brushing his cheek lightly. He moves his own hands in time to theirs, tangling into Fraser�s hair, resting against Vecchio�s hip.
There was too much going on in the beginning. Ray straddling Vecchio on the couch, Fraser kneeling beside them, touching and kissing where he could. But then it got easier, less awkward and more holy fuck, that�s hot, and now he can�t imagine making out without two other mouths dueling for his own, two tongues licking along his throat until he�s moaning into whichever one comes back to claim his lips.
They�re both passionate, focused, intense, but in completely different ways. Fraser will kiss slowly and deeply for hours, moving systematically to each spot on Ray�s body that he knows will make him whimper. Vecchio moves quicker, less focused, easily distracted by Ray putting his hand on the back of his head, forcing him where he wants him. Vecchio will never admit it, but he likes taking direction.
And together, god. The two of them, leaning over Ray and kissing each other in front of him, long deep kisses that make him wonder if maybe they learned some kind of secret key to never breathing when he was off being Ray Kowalski the first time.
He thought he liked making out when he was younger.
He had no idea.