[fic: lay right down (in my favorite place) for waltzforanight!]

[inathunderstorm]

Title: lay right down (in my favorite place)
Author: Sionnain
Fandom: Durham County/Due South
Pairing: Mike Sweeney/Ray Kowalski
Rating: MA
Warnings: d/s, bondage, s&m, gunplay, really mild breathplay. Please heed the warnings. This is risk-aware consensual edgeplay, but it's still edgeplay. Also, um, domestic cuteness and fluff. Seriously, it's fluffy edgeplay kink porn with banter.
Word Count: 12,958
Summary: Mike stands up and crosses his arms, smiling a little. "Different game, then." "Yeah," Ray says, flashing a grin. "You got it."

AN: Written for Waltzforanight for the Fandom Free For All! She requested "Mike/Ray, kinky sex." While these two can bring the angst (and there's a smidgen in here), this is not srs bsns kink, okay? It's Mike and Ray's version of being adorable, and it just so happens that includes bondage rope and Ray's service weapon. :D? Thanks to akamine_chan for the awesomely fantastic beta! Title from the song I Wanna Be Your Dog.



lay right down (in my favorite place)

Ray gets home from work, tired, and mostly soaked from the rain. He has two umbrellas and a rain jacket, but fuck if he knows where they are, and he's shivering when he lets himself into the apartment.

It smells good, spicy and warm, which means Mike must be cooking dinner. And Ray'll swear on a stack of Bibles that he could very happily eat pizza every night for the rest of his life, but he has to admit, there is something nice about coming home from a really fucking long day and having someone make him dinner.

Ray puts his gun and his badge on the table next to the door, then pauses to kick off his boots. He does this by pushing at the heel and dancing around and flailing a lot, because somehow this is easier than just leaning down and unlacing them. He strips his socks off and pads barefoot into the kitchen in his jeans and shirt and holster, raking a hand through his hair to shake out the excess water and shivering from the cold. It'll leave it looking ridiculous--experimental, maybe--but that's nothing new.

"Hey," he says to Mike, who is standing at the stove, looking a lot more disheveled than Ray is used to seeing. His dress shirt is untucked and wrinkled, sleeves rolled up and tie absent. He's also barefoot, though still in his dress pants.

"Hey," Mike says, turning around. He gives Ray a once-over, then snorts. "Hard day? Or did you try to come home looking like an escapee from a gay porn movie?"

"Fuck off. It's raining, and I chased some stupid punk for two blocks, and he tried to jump over a fence, y'know, like they do in movies?" Ray walks to the fridge, opens it, and grabs himself a beer. "That don't work so well when you've tried to shove two car stereos and six MP3 players into your pockets." He leans against the fridge and opens the beer, takes a long drink. "I look like a gay porn star?"

Mike nods, waves his hand at him. "Yeah. The shirt and the holster? All wet? Pretty sure you saved one of those to my desktop. At work. Which I'm going to kick your ass for, by the way. Even if it was pretty good, but it needed more tits. I get enough cock at home."

Ray grins at him and does something obscene to the top of his beer bottle. "You do, because you're a lucky bastard." Mike just laughs, which makes Ray happy to hear. It's a lot easier to turn Mike on than it is to make him laugh like that, the sincere kind of laugh that warms his bright eyes and makes him grin. A lot of the time he's laughing like that at Ray, but that's okay. It's a pretty big improvement over how they started out, which involved a lot more glaring and a lot less laughing.

"You're in a good mood. You get to scare someone to death today, or what?" Ray hops up on the counter, ignoring Mike's muttered don't you want to change your clothes, I don't see how you can sit around in wet jeans, that is fucking weird, Kowalski and takes another drink of his beer. Before Mike can answer, he snaps his fingers. "Oh, wait! The case you were working, the one you were telling me about--you must have wrapped that up, whassit called--"

Mike opens his mouth but Ray makes a gun-pointing motion at him and a buzzer sound. "No! No. Do not tell me. I am not failing the Good Boyfriend Test today after I failed the Good Cop Who Can Run Test. I was listening when you told me about it, I was, and the guy's name--whatever it was, it made me laugh 'cause it sounded like dumbass and I remember thinking that was funny if the guy was really a crooked cop, 'cause he got caught and that makes him a dumbass, but nobody's named dumbass, not for real. And I kept laughing and you said--"

Ray stares up at the ceiling, thinking, then says triumphantly--"The Dumas case! It was Dumas. You got him, yeah? And you're always in a good mood when you get a confession, 'cause it means you don't gotta work extra hours which make you tired, you being old and all. So you got a confession out of Dumas, booked him, and went and had a beer with Paul on your way home. Am I right?"

Mike is looking at him, and Ray can tell he's trying to be annoyed--especially about the you're old remark--except there's a grin playing on the corner of his mouth. "Your brain is fucking scary--"

"--thank you," Ray interjects, bowing at the waist. But his jeans are wet and his ass slides forward and he nearly falls off the counter, which makes Mike laugh at him, and when he straightens Mike is standing right in front of him.

"Yes, it was Dumas. Yes, we got a confession. And no, I didn't get a drink with Paul, but we exchanged a very solemn good job nod. I did get the rest of the day off, though." Mike pushes his knees apart roughly, steps in between them and reaches out to grab Ray's holster straps, one in each hand.

"You had the rest of the day off...which means you took a nap," Ray says dryly, laughing, and Mike pulls him close and kisses him. Well, first Mike bites Ray's bottom lip for that remark, but Ray's right, Mike does like taking naps. Besides, having his bottom lip bitten just makes Ray moan and open his mouth and kiss Mike back.

They stand there for a little while, kissing, the sound of rain outside comforting now that Ray isn't running around in it after some punk-ass loser. Mike still has one hand wrapped in the leather of Ray's holster, but the other is on the back of Ray's neck and gripping tight. Ray puts his legs around Mike's hips and pulls him in close, slides a little closer on the counter.

"Did you catch him?" Mike asks against Ray's mouth. His thumb is rubbing up and down Ray's neck, making him shiver.

"No," Ray says, then pulls back from their kiss and puts his arms around Mike, his face on Mike's shoulder. Mike smells good, like soap and good cologne, and whatever it is that he's been cooking. "I tripped over a curb. Fucker got away." Ray feels Mike's laugh vibrate through his body, and Ray makes a fist with his hand and punches Mike in the back. "Stop laughing, you jackass. It's not funny."

"It's a little funny," Mike says. "Come on, Kowalski. You'd laugh if it were me."

"No I wouldn't," Ray lies. He leans back on his hands, drops his legs from around Mike's waist. "It was raining, and I didn't have my glasses. Could happen to anybody, y'know. Even you."

Mike shakes his head. "So he got away?"

"Yeah." Ray looks down, sighs, feels some tension coming back. "The thing is, you know, he's a small-time crook. The kind with big dreams of criminal-dom? Thinks he's gonna be living in some Gold Coast penthouse by the time he's thirty. But that kid isn't gonna see thirty, prolly. That crime lord guy we busted, the Armenian? He called guys like this kid cannon fodder." Ray's face twists unpleasantly. "Fucker. But it's kinda true, isn't it? I mean, that's kinda why I wanted to nab that punk. Get him straightened out in a few months, a year tops, before he ends up in jail for something a lot worse than petty theft. Or he ends up dead," Ray finishes bitterly. "Sometimes I hate how this whole fucking thing works. No one ever learns, seems like. Fucking depressing."

Mike's been a cop for a long time, so Ray knows he gets it. "Yeah. Believe me, I'm glad as fuck we got Dumas, but if I think too much about how that fucker is--was--a cop, I get pretty pissed."

Ray nods. "Yeah. I took this job 'cause I want to help people. Just sucks when you honestly think helping them means throwing them in jail, but you mark my words--Tommy Bowens is gonna be dead or in Joliet in five years. And I'll hear about it and feel guilty, like if you'd just worn your glasses, moron, maybe you would've gotten him for stealing iPods and he would've straightened out eventually."

"You don't know that," Mike says, his hand resting on Ray's thigh. "Hey. You don't. It's not your fault, it's not the weather's fault, Jesus--it's not a Lifetime movie, Kowalski. That kid made his own choices, and he has to pay for them."

Ray eyes him warily. "That makes you sound like a Republican, you know that, right?"

Mike shrugs. "I'm a dad, Kowalski. You gotta teach your kids to be responsible for their actions. I mean, I get people have circumstances that make it harder for them, I'm not saying that. It's just that, you know, in the hierarchy of blame, here, you're probably somewhere above the curb and below the weather." Mike's voice goes dry. "And hierarchy means order of things," he explains, using his hands and over-exaggerating the gestures.

"I know what hierarchy means," Ray snaps, but okay, maybe he had that word confused with something else. Whatever, he can follow context clues. He's a detective, for fuck's sake. "And I know that. I do."

"Good. I just don't want you to beat yourself up over it." Mike leans in, hands coming up to brace on the cabinet on either side of Ray's head. He leans down and bites Ray on the shoulder, through the fabric of his still-damp t-shirt. "That's my job."

Ray feels a pleasant shiver from that, and reaches out to run his hand up Mike's side while Mike sucks and licks his neck. "You want to go to bed?" Mike asks him, voice right below Ray's ear. Ray's next shiver is a lot more than pleasant, his whole body reacting to the soft whisper of Mike's breath against his skin, his voice in Ray's ear, the words he's saying.

"Yeah," Ray breathes out, tilting his head. "I do. Hungry, though," he says, swallowing hard as Mike's mouth teases at his neck, the palm of his hand rubbing over Ray's dick through his pants. Mike gives a low, amused laugh, and rubs a little harder. "For food," Ray manages, though he spreads his legs, gives Mike more room to touch him. "Though--I could--yeah, fuck, harder--be persuaded to wait."

Predictably, that makes Mike give one last rough push of his palm against Ray's dick, and then step away from him because tormenting Ray is Mike's favorite thing, ever. "Dinner first. Then I can fuck you," he says, and laughs. "You can have my cock for dessert, eh? I'll even put whipped cream on it."

"No, you won't," Ray says with a grin. When Mike's in a good mood, relaxed and happy like he is right now, Ray finds it almost impossible to be annoyed or cranky. "You don't like that, remember?" Ray hops off the counter, tosses his now empty beer in the trashcan. "Which is sad, because I had this whole plan to drizzle you in caramel sauce."

"You ever get that shit in chest hair, Kowalski? Not cool."

Ray gets that image in his head and he can't stop laughing, and Mike ends up hitting him on the back of the head, which ends in the two of them having a ridiculous scuffle and Ray throwing his hands up and leaving the kitchen because Mike's version of scuffle is knock you one in the gut so you fly halfway across the kitchen and smack into the pantry door really hard. And Ray really is hungry, so he'll just cry uncle and let Mike finish making dinner. He goes to change clothes, feeling a lot better than he did when he got home, and grabs his gun and his badge on the way to the bedroom. He remembers days like this back after his divorce, coming home to an empty apartment, drinking Jack Daniels and watching porn to put himself in a better mood.

Now he comes home and has a beer with his intense, sometimes scary Canadian boyfriend, who usually makes him dinner and then fucks him into the mattress. That's pretty much the first answer on the how to get over a bad day list, in Ray's opinion, with Cubs winning the World Series a close second.

Not that he'll ever tell Mike that. As far as he needs to know, the Cubs thing is first.

*

After dinner, they don't go right to bed. Ray's feeling better and he likes having Mike in a good mood, so they play the PlayStation for awhile. Ray wins two out of their three tournaments in Soul Caliber IV, and Mike kicks his ass at Call of Duty as usual. (Mike is convinced Ray wins the fighting games because he somehow manages to execute the complicated multiple-button combination for attack moves by sheer luck, and Ray is convinced Mike wins the first-person shooter games because he has something called concentration.) After that they end up watching a hockey game between the Capitals and the Penguins, though neither of them have any strong loyalty (or opinions) for either team, and end up picking opposite ones to cheer for just so they can be dicks to each other about it.

Ray finds a Sci-Fi Channel original movie after that, and they make it about sixteen minutes into the first part before Ray's on his back and Mike's on top of him, kissing him--Mike wraps a hand around his neck, lazily tightens his fingers and watches as Ray gasps for air, twisting beneath him.

Mike's still in a good mood, so when he says, "Tell me what you want, Ray," and lets Ray breathe, Ray actually takes a minute to think about it. This question usually comes along when the answer is kind of obvious--I want you to hurt me or fuck me, please--but this time, he's really asking. And Mike's relaxed; no tick in his jaw, no tense muscles and stay the fuck away from me vibe, (not that Ray really pays attention to that), and this means Ray could really probably have whatever he wants.

Which is--what does he want? He's kissing Mike, one leg slung up over the top of the couch and the other on the floor, and while he's not desperate for it, he's still pushing his hips up at Mike and fuck, it feels good. But he's also rubbing his hand up and down Mike's back, slow, liking the way Mike's muscles shift beneath his shirt. "You're in a good mood, yeah, Mikey? You prolly don't want to hurt me."

Mike nips sharply at his shoulder--maybe for the nickname, though he seems to have accepted that by now. "I always want to hurt you." The way Mike says that, it's affectionate instead of threatening. His hand slides beneath Ray's shirt, resting low on his stomach as he nuzzles Ray's neck. "Even when I'm in a good mood. Which I am."

"I know," Ray says, his laugh a little breathless. "But you don't--I mean, you don't need to. Not like you would if Dumbass hadn't given it up, yeah?"

Mike lifts his head and looks at him, blurry-eyed, and says, "Dumas. And if you mean do I need to beat the shit out of you to feel better, no." Mike's fingers dig into his chest and pull down, his short nails scratching deep into Ray's skin. "But if you're asking because you had a bad day and you want me to...hurting you gets me hot, Kowalski, you know that. And I do like making you feel better, moron," he says gruffly, Mike's version of affectionate.

Ray nods. "I know." For a minute he's thinking that's what he wants; Mike smacking him, biting him, pinning Ray down and fucking him hard, Jesus, Ray loves that, bad day or no. "My day wasn't really that bad," Ray says, pulling at Mike's shirt. "Just annoying."

"So you want to...lay here and talk about it?" Mike asks him, exasperated. "You're such a girl, Kowalski." Mike clears his throat. "It's...wait, you don't really want that, do you?" he asks, a touch warily.

Ray tries not to laugh at him, because Mike really, really hates talking about emotions or himself. Ray thinks about being an ass for a minute and saying yes, tell me how you feel about me and also your favorite childhood memory, but he shakes his head and says, "Nah," and grins at the look of relief on Mike's face.

Ray makes himself think about his day, the thousand little annoyances that added up to him feeling beaten up by the universe before he got home and had dinner and Soul Caliber and making out. He looks at Mike, cool and competent like maybe he has no idea what that's like. Ray knows that's not true, he does, because Mike is a goddamn control freak who doesn't even like it when someone else drives. Which means he probably spends more time feeling out of control than Ray does, because Ray is usually pretty good about going with the flow, even when the flow is a little wacky or potentially dangerous and life-threatening.

He never would have survived being partners with Fraser, otherwise.

"Sometime this week, Kowalski? Or I'm going to just decide for you--" Mike gets a glint in his eyes, and his smile is sharp. "Or is that what you want me to do?"

"No, not--I mean, I always like that, you know, but I want...something else." Ray pushes at Mike's shoulders, needing some space. "Back off, Sweeney, you're too close and I can't think."

Mike looks startled but he does it, moves off Ray so he's sitting at the other end of the couch, sprawled out and breathing a little heavy. Ray takes a minute to appreciate how hot Mike is, even in the jeans and t-shirt he changed into after dinner. (The t-shirt that is maybe too tight, because Ray fails at doing the laundry and kept it in the dryer too long). Ray wants to rub his hands over Mike's stomach muscles, wants to straddle his hips and feel Mike beneath him, maybe when he can't move, hands tied--

"I want you on your back," Ray says, before he can think better of it. "Want to tie your wrists down so you can't move." His voice is sharp, definitely his if you make one more remark about my pizza toppings I will hit you voice instead of his sure, do whatever you want or you win, you got me voice. Ray is pretty happy to let Mike take charge of things, doesn't mind being the aggressive one if that's what Mike wants because fuck, that's hot--Mike giving him that look with the tilted chin and that smirk on his face, Come on, Kowalski, make me take it for you--but that's not what this is, because it's not about what Mike wants right now, it's about what Ray wants.

Mike is giving him a strange look. "You're not--are you pissed at me? There's nothing I'm not telling you, okay, Kowalski? Did someone call? Was it Sadie? Because if there is something you think I haven't told you, then you are going to have to give me a goddamned clue here because I really don't know what it is."

Ray's confused for a minute, and then he breaks into a grin when he realizes what this is about. The other time Ray is the aggressor during sex is when he wants to get Mike to give up some kind of information, stuff that Mike usually thinks is in Ray's best interest not to divulge. Mike is always wrong about that--Ray wants to know every piece of information, ever, thank you very much--and Ray has to tie him up and get it out of Mike that way, because for some reason, that makes Mike talk. Which is pretty great, because if Ray's pissed off about whatever it is, they have the make-up sex during the fight.

"No, I'm not pissed, and no, no one called." Ray leans over and rubs his fingers over Mike's mouth. "S'okay if you don't want it. Just, you asked, and I'm telling you. I'm in the mood to do it, but if you don't want to, it's fine. I'm a slut for you, Sweeney, I'll pretty much take it any way I can get it. You've figured that out by now, yeah?"

Mike opens his mouth, sucks on Ray's fingers, meets Ray's gaze with his own and nods. Ray doesn't lower his gaze or look away, and he can see Mike thinking about it, considering. Ray can tell he's a little thrown by Ray wanting to do this without being annoyed or because Mike's asked him to, but he's also in a good mood and the only tension between them is sexual. Mike might be a control freak but he's usually up for trying things in bed, though usually those things are of the how can this be used to sexually torment Ray variety. "Yeah, okay," Mike says finally, nodding. "You are pretty fucking hot when you're pushing me around, I gotta say."

"Yeah? I knew you liked that, freak," Ray jokes, and laughs when Mike gives him a playful smack on the face. It's not hard but it fucks with Ray's head a little, and he shakes his head and moves off the couch before Mike can do it again. "No, the game is not Mike makes Ray not want to be in charge, the game is Mike lets Ray do whatever he wants to Mike's really hot body."

"Oh." Mike stands up and crosses his arms, smiling a little. "Different game, then."

"Yeah," Ray says, flashing a grin. "You got it."

Mike nods once, then says, "Okay, Kowalski, game's on," in a voice that is so hot, it takes Ray a few seconds to make his legs work enough to follow Mike to the bedroom.

Bastard.

( continue to Part 2)