The next day, Ray was sitting at his desk trying to make head or tail of a report from the coroner's office when he heard laughter and looked up to see Kowalski leaning in the doorway talking to the mail guy, Jerry. Kowalski was grinning, his eyes warm and happy. He was wearing the new Bulls t-shirt he'd bought to replace his old tattered one, and his shoulder holster pulled the fabric tight across his chest. He said something and Jerry laughed and nodded. "Twenty," Ray heard Jerry say.
Probably betting on a game. Cops breaking the law in a police station. Ray shook his head, half-wanting to go over and lay down some money, too, but mostly unable to tear his eyes away from Kowalski. It was entirely spontaneous. The words slid into his head, and he zoned out, thinking about Kowalski in the shower, his skin pink from the heat, shiny and slippery with soap. Hair wet and pushed back from his forehead. Eyelashes spiky. Cock half-hard from the hot water running down it, pouring off the end.
Ray shifted in his seat and lowered his eyes.
And then Fraser had come in to ask a question. That was what Kowalski'd said, right? Fraser in his shirtsleeves, suspenders, shirt open at the throat, knocking politely and sticking his head around the door, asking something Fraserish like, "Do you know where the tapioca is, Ray?"
And Kowalski probably had soap in his eyes or his ears. Probably said, "What's that? Fraser? Hang on a sec." And had stuck his head out of the shower and squinted across the steamy room.
Fraser would've come inside properly, then, not wanting to let steam out into the rest of the house. He would've shut the door behind him and gone right up to Kowalski. "I can't find the tapioca, Ray."
Ray could imagine Kowalski's eyes glinting with mischief and lust. Kowalski would've got off just on the fact that he was wet and naked, and Fraser was fully-dressed. He would've lowered his voice, said softly, "Tapioca, huh?" Said it in a way that meant let's fuck, and how could Fraser resist that? How could anyone?
Fraser would've kissed him then, of course, his forearm braced against the wall for balance because of the awkward angle, the shower curtain pulled between them keeping the water mostly on Kowalski's side. Fraser would've ended up with a wet face, maybe a few splashes of water on his shirt.
Ray took a deep breath and looked up, looked around the squadroom. It was quiet. Kowalski had gone, and the new detective was on the phone explaining to someone that no, there was no law against wearing really ugly hats. Ray stood up and walked quickly out of the room, hoping no one was looking close enough to see his dick was hard. He hurried into the men's room, which thank Christ was empty, and shut himself into a stall.
He knew he shouldn't do this, not here, but Jesus, it was killing him imagining Kowalski and Fraser together. Fraser would be sweaty from the steam, and Kowalski wet from the shower, and their skin would just slide...
Ray unzipped his fly and took his cock in his hand, and squeezed it. He leaned against the side of the stall and shut his eyes. Images crowded his mind: Kowalski and Fraser kissing, their tongues sliding into each other's mouths; Fraser licking Kowalski's neck; Kowalski getting really hard, his cock full and red; Kowalski's lips, full and sexy.
"What about Ray?" Fraser would've asked, at some point. "Shouldn't we—?"
But Kowalski was single-minded when it came to sex. There was no way he would've stopped then. "He's at his folks' place. He won't want to when he gets back. He never does—" And maybe he pulled Fraser into the shower with him then. Or, no, Fraser would've had his boots on and he wouldn't have wanted to get them wet, so Kowalski would've shut off the water and gotten out of the shower. Would've climbed all over Fraser. And Fraser, Christ, Fraser would've had his arms full of hot, wet, eager Kowalski.
Ray bit his lips together and sped up his strokes. Jesus, this was— He could die of this, and die happy.
Kowalski would've stripped Fraser out of his clothes, shoving Fraser's pants down 'cause he was too impatient to deal with the boots. And Fraser would've forgotten all his inhibitions, would've shed his starch with his clothing like he always did, and been hungry and urgent, his hands exploring Kowalski's body like it was the first time. Fraser's strong hands holding Kowalski's ass. Fraser's thick fingers pinching his nipple. Their mouths locked together, open and desperate.
Ray stifled a moan, and tried to pace himself. He needed to last this out. He needed to picture it all. His forehead prickled with sweat, and his whole body burned with awareness, and he couldn't get these pictures out of his head. He couldn't stop.
There would've been a brief tussle maybe— who was gonna fuck who— not fighting or dominance, but both of them so eager, and then this time, maybe Kowalski'd come out on top. Maybe he'd turned Fraser to face the basin. Maybe he'd reached for the spare lube in the bathroom cabinet (the stuff they'd stopped using because Ray hated the taste) and slicked himself up, and pushed his long fingers into Fraser's ass. Kowalski would've been so eager for it, he would've been balanced on the balls of his feet, leaning over Fraser's back with his fingers in Fraser's ass, and talking dirty. Telling Fraser how good it was gonna be, how much he wanted to fuck him.
Fraser would've braced one hand on the edge of the basin and one on the mirror, and let his head drop, and his face would've had that look of flushed concentration Ray knew so well. And Kowalski would've kept talking, kept talking the whole time, and slid his cock into Fraser, into the heat there. Christ.
Fuck! Ray turned just in time to shoot into the bowl. He steadied himself with one hand on the wall behind the toilet, and came hard, struggling not to cry out, his head full of skin and skin and Kowalski thrusting into Fraser, his thin ass flexing with every stroke.
Ray cleaned himself up, and flushed, and then leaned back against the door of the cubicle and tried to collect himself. He couldn't stop now. Even though he was done with jerking off, he needed to see this through.
Kowalski would've reached around and jacked Fraser while he fucked him, yeah, and Fraser— Fraser would've wiped his hand across the mirror, clearing a patch so they could see themselves. Kowalski would've looked over Fraser's shoulder and gotten the perfect picture of Fraser's broad chest, the head of his cock sliding in and out of Kowalski's fist, and Fraser's face, taut with pleasure. Meeting his eyes. Yeah, they would've locked gazes in the mirror and then both of them, coming, gasping. Kowalski swearing, and Fraser just groaning long and low, clenching his ass around Kowalski's cock.
Maybe afterwards, when Kowalski pulled out, he would've laughed breathlessly. "Jesus, Fraser," he might've said. "Jesus, I fucking—"
"Yeah," Fraser would've replied, and kissed him. "Me, too."
The image faded, leaving Ray's chest aching. Christ, how much did he love these guys, and he wanted them to love each other. He wanted it like this, all of them hungry and giving each other pleasure and satisfaction. It was okay that he hadn't been there that particular time, because last night, Jesus, last night they'd blown his mind. And then he'd had this too: this perfect fantasy of his two guys together.
He was good with it. He got it now.
He checked his fly was done up, his pants weren't stained or anything, and he went out to find Kowalski and tell him it was okay.