(no subject)
ifreet prompted ray/ray, "sharing space"
They bashed elbows in front of the coffeemaker most mornings. Vecchio's chilly feet sought out warm spots under the blankets and Ray usually kicked back. The couch creaked under territory wars during basketball games, the hamper overflowed with dirty clothes, smooth lines of tailored suits clashed with rough leather jackets and the jumble of shoes in the closet.
Ray couldn't help but sigh when Vecchio lugged an overly-full laundry basket down to the basement for the third time in two weeks. He really wanted to order in and kick back with a beer but instead he put himself to work loading the dishwasher. He knew if it wasn't running by the time Vecchio came back upstairs, there'd be hell to pay. Well, not really hell, just an evening's worth of slumped shoulders and disappointed glances and a guaranteed lack of sex. Ray always got twitchy when Vecchio went on his impulsive cleaning jags. It just wasn't natural. It wasn't like Ray was living in squalor or anything, but to hear Vecchio tell it, he might as well have been living in a damp, grimy cave in Outer Mongolia or something.
If Vecchio suddenly busted out the Windex and started in on the windows, then Ray would put his foot down. But until then, he'd just keep loading the dishwasher. And hanging up his wet towels. And not complain. Ray didn't really like to admit it, because it was pretty girly, but he preferred it when Vecchio was happy. And if being slightly less of a slob was what made Vecchio happy? Then that's what he'd do.
They bashed elbows in front of the coffeemaker most mornings. Vecchio's chilly feet sought out warm spots under the blankets and Ray usually kicked back. The couch creaked under territory wars during basketball games, the hamper overflowed with dirty clothes, smooth lines of tailored suits clashed with rough leather jackets and the jumble of shoes in the closet.
Ray couldn't help but sigh when Vecchio lugged an overly-full laundry basket down to the basement for the third time in two weeks. He really wanted to order in and kick back with a beer but instead he put himself to work loading the dishwasher. He knew if it wasn't running by the time Vecchio came back upstairs, there'd be hell to pay. Well, not really hell, just an evening's worth of slumped shoulders and disappointed glances and a guaranteed lack of sex. Ray always got twitchy when Vecchio went on his impulsive cleaning jags. It just wasn't natural. It wasn't like Ray was living in squalor or anything, but to hear Vecchio tell it, he might as well have been living in a damp, grimy cave in Outer Mongolia or something.
If Vecchio suddenly busted out the Windex and started in on the windows, then Ray would put his foot down. But until then, he'd just keep loading the dishwasher. And hanging up his wet towels. And not complain. Ray didn't really like to admit it, because it was pretty girly, but he preferred it when Vecchio was happy. And if being slightly less of a slob was what made Vecchio happy? Then that's what he'd do.