Dancing challenge by slidellra
Title: Countdown
Pairing: Stella/RayK. Except I tend to like the slash, you know?
Rating: NC-17
Notes: omphale23 is an overachiever and a multitasker and gives great beta. Plus she knows stuff I do not know. Handy, that. 1850 words or so.
5.
Mrs. Gewertz glares around the room and pairs kids off, bam, bam, bam, boy, girl, boy, girl. The girl Ray gets bammed with is nobody he's seen before, calm and pretty, with long, shining almost-blonde hair. At least she isn't taller than him. Much.
He tells her, "Hey," and just keeps standing there like a dork.
"Hey," she says back, and then, when he doesn't move, grabs his hand in hers, raising her eyebrows and lifting their joined hands out to the side.
"Right. Okay." He puts his other hand on her waist, then her back, then her waist again. They wait like that a long time while all the other kids buzz and shuffle and try to figure out what hand goes where. She isn't looking at him, so he twitches his head to the side, trying to tell if his armpits smell. She seems really clean.
The music comes up, a basic waltz like his mom likes, and the whole room starts shuffling one-two-three, one-two-three. Ray stares past her shoulder, counting in his head and watching the others. He doesn't know hardly anybody, but he can see Jimmy from two streets over acting like an idiot, bending his knees deep so he pops up and down, making it a joke. The girl Jimmy's supposed to be dancing with rolls her eyes at her friends. If Ray wasn't stuck here, he'd maybe be out on his bike. The others were racing down by the lake, probably, and that dick Tony needed a...
"You're good at this," the girl says, out of nowhere, and he blinks and focuses on her face. Yeah, they were dancing. While he'd been thinking about his bike, him and the girl were dancing better than anybody else in the class.
He says, "Uh," and kicks himself. Way to be slick there, buddy. "My mom. She likes it."
"Mine too," she says, then rolls her eyes. "The music, though."
"Yeah," Ray agrees, but it turns out she likes David Cassidy, and he tries to set her straight as they go one-two-three, one-two-three, around and around.
Mrs. Gewertz makes everybody change partners after that, and the next two girls can't remember the steps at all. The next time they switch, his girl, the one with the long hair, is right there in front of him, and he grabs her hand this time, even though Mrs. Gewertz probably wanted them to dance with new people again.
The next week is foxtrot, and Ray's mom gives him money for the bus and says he could find the place himself this time, right? Which is stupid, because Ray knows the city better than her, better than anybody.
He walks to the stop with the coin in his hand, then tosses it up in the air, slapping it onto the back of his hand on the way down.
Heads he'd go to dance class, tails he'd play hooky.
4.
They moved into their own place two months back, but the stereo is new today. Ray cranks it up until he can feel the low, driving beat in his chest and in his dick.
Stella's got one hand on the fridge door and she's talking about her job, and he kisses the back of her neck and hums, moving with the music. She tilts her head to the side, giving him room to work. Her bare foot slides up over his and from there things heat up quick.
He pushes her skirt up around her waist and his fingers inside her panties, teasing her. She's slick, she's always so wet for him, and when he traces the edge of that hard nub she spreads her legs and pushes her ass out and, jesus, yeah.
"I've got that," she says, breathless, her hand pushing his away and he misses it, misses touching her and making her moan, but he's just gotta get her panties down and his dick out and then he's sliding home.
"Damn, Stella," he says, and she says, "Oh, god," and they're moving together, braced against the ugly green secondhand fridge they got from Stella's parents' garage, and he laughs, because they fucked against the same fridge in high school, when the house was empty and they were dumb and always, always hot for each other.
It was good then, and it's good now, Stella pushing against him, wanting more, and he's got more, he's got anything she wants, anything. She's still touching herself, smart Stella, so he braces one arm on the top of the fridge and holds her hip with the other as he rocks into her slow and hard, just the way she likes it, the way that makes her tremble and build until she's begging for more, more, more, and then he's losing it, trying not to, but the way she moves, fuck, he's going to come, and then he is, grunting and shuddering against her.
She doesn't miss a beat, keeps riding him, riding her own fingers, and he can concentrate better now, so he slides his hand up and pinches her nipple hard and Stella makes this incredible broken, falling sound as she convulses around his dick.
He slips out of her then but doesn't back away. Her ass is soft against his wet dick, and he wraps their fingers together, wraps her in their arms and sways, too slow for the music. She squeezes his hand, their rings blunt against each other, and twists around for a kiss before pushing him off, saying, "Bathroom."
She calls, "Get me a beer?" over her shoulder as she walks a little stiff-legged out of the room, and Ray opens the door and stands in the cool air in front of the fridge, staring blindly inside, music heavy in his ears, a dopey smile on his face.
3.
Dinner is lawyer shop-talk, mostly, and there's this one guy Henriksen--Ray's never liked him--a dumbass cop-bashing prick who wouldn't know shit if it bit him on the ass on the way out. As soon as Ray can, he scoots his chair back from the table with a squeal, nods at the others, then pulls Stella toward the floor. Behind them, he hears Donna somebody saying, "Oh, they're such wonderful dancers."
The floor isn't crowded, so he closes his eyes and moves, feeling the familiar rhythm, the way Stella moves with him. For the first time this week Ray feels right, out on the dance floor with his wife in his arms. No hoods or overtime or case files or not knowing what to say or loneliness or blood splatter here. This is good.
He brushes a kiss against her hair. They should fuck tonight. They should fuck every night. Fuck and dance and...
"Ray."
"Love you," Ray says, not opening his eyes.
"I love you, too," Stella replies, "but we need to get back to the table. It's been three songs already."
"Don't wanna." He dips her low, holding her suspended for a moment before pulling her, flushed and laughing, back up into his arms.
"Ray!" Stella laughs, and her eyes are sparkling for him again.
He keeps her out there for two more numbers, never wanting to leave this place.
2.
He worked over 60 hours this week, and god, he needs this. A husky voice on the stereo and Stella in his arms. He can do this with his eyes closed, and so he does. He knows the steps, knows her, knows enough to improvise and make it work. Her back is warm under his hand, and he slides his fingers lower, draws her just that bit closer, feels the tickle of her hair on his face.
Stella. Stella and Ray. Ray and Stella. It makes sense this way. He makes sense this way, all the pieces fitting into place.
The song ends and starts again, and Ray keeps moving. If he opens his eyes, he won't like what he sees, so he doesn't.
Some asshole drives down the street, the bass thump rattling the windows and blocking out their song, and Ray hesitates, dropping his hands.
When he opens his eyes, he's in his apartment, it's the middle of the night, and it smells like wolf and stale beer and he wants Stella, a bottle, a punching bag, a blow job, a gun.
"Screw this," Ray tells nobody, and grabs his keys off the counter, then slams the door on his way out. Behind him, the stereo keeps playing, but he needs something louder.
1.
Stella's apartment door is open, cardboard boxes lining the hallway. Stella's crouched down inside, using the top of a box as a table as she works on one of her lists. Ray can picture it: shoes packed, couch to Goodwill, remember to eat, where's the printer cable?
He watches her--hair up in a ponytail, a line between her eyes--until she notices him, and then has to apologize when she jumps.
"Ray. What--" and then she breaks off, standing up to look at him better. "Well, it's a look."
"Arctic explorer version," Ray says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"I can see that. I didn't realize you were back in Chicago." Her eyes narrow at him. "You aren't going to--"
"Nah," Ray says. "Just wanted to see you. When are you leaving?"
"Out of here today. We fly down on Thursday."
Ray nods, looks around. Empty, the place looks anonymous, like any apartment anywhere. "Stereo packed up?"
"Yeah. I'm bringing it with me."
"Good. It's a good one." Ray scratches his neck where it itches, then holds his hand out. "Dance with me?"
Stella frowns at his hand for a minute, then takes it. "Quick one. The movers are late, and I need these ready to go."
Their last dance is a slow, easy almost-waltz in the empty apartment.
"What are you going to do now?" Stella asks, quiet and close.
"I'm, uh, gonna to teach Fraser how to dance." Subtle there, Ray.
He can feel Stella's surprise, the tension and then the release of tension in her back. "Tough job," she says finally.
"Yeah," Ray agrees. "But you know me. Stubborn."
She laughs at that, and Ray misses that sound so fucking much.
They come to a stop, just holding each other. The music is over, has been over for a long time.
Ray steps back. "See you, Stell."
"Take care of yourself, Ray."
He shuts the door behind him on his way out.
*
Pairing: Stella/RayK. Except I tend to like the slash, you know?
Rating: NC-17
Notes: omphale23 is an overachiever and a multitasker and gives great beta. Plus she knows stuff I do not know. Handy, that. 1850 words or so.
5.
Mrs. Gewertz glares around the room and pairs kids off, bam, bam, bam, boy, girl, boy, girl. The girl Ray gets bammed with is nobody he's seen before, calm and pretty, with long, shining almost-blonde hair. At least she isn't taller than him. Much.
He tells her, "Hey," and just keeps standing there like a dork.
"Hey," she says back, and then, when he doesn't move, grabs his hand in hers, raising her eyebrows and lifting their joined hands out to the side.
"Right. Okay." He puts his other hand on her waist, then her back, then her waist again. They wait like that a long time while all the other kids buzz and shuffle and try to figure out what hand goes where. She isn't looking at him, so he twitches his head to the side, trying to tell if his armpits smell. She seems really clean.
The music comes up, a basic waltz like his mom likes, and the whole room starts shuffling one-two-three, one-two-three. Ray stares past her shoulder, counting in his head and watching the others. He doesn't know hardly anybody, but he can see Jimmy from two streets over acting like an idiot, bending his knees deep so he pops up and down, making it a joke. The girl Jimmy's supposed to be dancing with rolls her eyes at her friends. If Ray wasn't stuck here, he'd maybe be out on his bike. The others were racing down by the lake, probably, and that dick Tony needed a...
"You're good at this," the girl says, out of nowhere, and he blinks and focuses on her face. Yeah, they were dancing. While he'd been thinking about his bike, him and the girl were dancing better than anybody else in the class.
He says, "Uh," and kicks himself. Way to be slick there, buddy. "My mom. She likes it."
"Mine too," she says, then rolls her eyes. "The music, though."
"Yeah," Ray agrees, but it turns out she likes David Cassidy, and he tries to set her straight as they go one-two-three, one-two-three, around and around.
Mrs. Gewertz makes everybody change partners after that, and the next two girls can't remember the steps at all. The next time they switch, his girl, the one with the long hair, is right there in front of him, and he grabs her hand this time, even though Mrs. Gewertz probably wanted them to dance with new people again.
The next week is foxtrot, and Ray's mom gives him money for the bus and says he could find the place himself this time, right? Which is stupid, because Ray knows the city better than her, better than anybody.
He walks to the stop with the coin in his hand, then tosses it up in the air, slapping it onto the back of his hand on the way down.
Heads he'd go to dance class, tails he'd play hooky.
4.
They moved into their own place two months back, but the stereo is new today. Ray cranks it up until he can feel the low, driving beat in his chest and in his dick.
Stella's got one hand on the fridge door and she's talking about her job, and he kisses the back of her neck and hums, moving with the music. She tilts her head to the side, giving him room to work. Her bare foot slides up over his and from there things heat up quick.
He pushes her skirt up around her waist and his fingers inside her panties, teasing her. She's slick, she's always so wet for him, and when he traces the edge of that hard nub she spreads her legs and pushes her ass out and, jesus, yeah.
"I've got that," she says, breathless, her hand pushing his away and he misses it, misses touching her and making her moan, but he's just gotta get her panties down and his dick out and then he's sliding home.
"Damn, Stella," he says, and she says, "Oh, god," and they're moving together, braced against the ugly green secondhand fridge they got from Stella's parents' garage, and he laughs, because they fucked against the same fridge in high school, when the house was empty and they were dumb and always, always hot for each other.
It was good then, and it's good now, Stella pushing against him, wanting more, and he's got more, he's got anything she wants, anything. She's still touching herself, smart Stella, so he braces one arm on the top of the fridge and holds her hip with the other as he rocks into her slow and hard, just the way she likes it, the way that makes her tremble and build until she's begging for more, more, more, and then he's losing it, trying not to, but the way she moves, fuck, he's going to come, and then he is, grunting and shuddering against her.
She doesn't miss a beat, keeps riding him, riding her own fingers, and he can concentrate better now, so he slides his hand up and pinches her nipple hard and Stella makes this incredible broken, falling sound as she convulses around his dick.
He slips out of her then but doesn't back away. Her ass is soft against his wet dick, and he wraps their fingers together, wraps her in their arms and sways, too slow for the music. She squeezes his hand, their rings blunt against each other, and twists around for a kiss before pushing him off, saying, "Bathroom."
She calls, "Get me a beer?" over her shoulder as she walks a little stiff-legged out of the room, and Ray opens the door and stands in the cool air in front of the fridge, staring blindly inside, music heavy in his ears, a dopey smile on his face.
3.
Dinner is lawyer shop-talk, mostly, and there's this one guy Henriksen--Ray's never liked him--a dumbass cop-bashing prick who wouldn't know shit if it bit him on the ass on the way out. As soon as Ray can, he scoots his chair back from the table with a squeal, nods at the others, then pulls Stella toward the floor. Behind them, he hears Donna somebody saying, "Oh, they're such wonderful dancers."
The floor isn't crowded, so he closes his eyes and moves, feeling the familiar rhythm, the way Stella moves with him. For the first time this week Ray feels right, out on the dance floor with his wife in his arms. No hoods or overtime or case files or not knowing what to say or loneliness or blood splatter here. This is good.
He brushes a kiss against her hair. They should fuck tonight. They should fuck every night. Fuck and dance and...
"Ray."
"Love you," Ray says, not opening his eyes.
"I love you, too," Stella replies, "but we need to get back to the table. It's been three songs already."
"Don't wanna." He dips her low, holding her suspended for a moment before pulling her, flushed and laughing, back up into his arms.
"Ray!" Stella laughs, and her eyes are sparkling for him again.
He keeps her out there for two more numbers, never wanting to leave this place.
2.
He worked over 60 hours this week, and god, he needs this. A husky voice on the stereo and Stella in his arms. He can do this with his eyes closed, and so he does. He knows the steps, knows her, knows enough to improvise and make it work. Her back is warm under his hand, and he slides his fingers lower, draws her just that bit closer, feels the tickle of her hair on his face.
Stella. Stella and Ray. Ray and Stella. It makes sense this way. He makes sense this way, all the pieces fitting into place.
The song ends and starts again, and Ray keeps moving. If he opens his eyes, he won't like what he sees, so he doesn't.
Some asshole drives down the street, the bass thump rattling the windows and blocking out their song, and Ray hesitates, dropping his hands.
When he opens his eyes, he's in his apartment, it's the middle of the night, and it smells like wolf and stale beer and he wants Stella, a bottle, a punching bag, a blow job, a gun.
"Screw this," Ray tells nobody, and grabs his keys off the counter, then slams the door on his way out. Behind him, the stereo keeps playing, but he needs something louder.
1.
Stella's apartment door is open, cardboard boxes lining the hallway. Stella's crouched down inside, using the top of a box as a table as she works on one of her lists. Ray can picture it: shoes packed, couch to Goodwill, remember to eat, where's the printer cable?
He watches her--hair up in a ponytail, a line between her eyes--until she notices him, and then has to apologize when she jumps.
"Ray. What--" and then she breaks off, standing up to look at him better. "Well, it's a look."
"Arctic explorer version," Ray says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"I can see that. I didn't realize you were back in Chicago." Her eyes narrow at him. "You aren't going to--"
"Nah," Ray says. "Just wanted to see you. When are you leaving?"
"Out of here today. We fly down on Thursday."
Ray nods, looks around. Empty, the place looks anonymous, like any apartment anywhere. "Stereo packed up?"
"Yeah. I'm bringing it with me."
"Good. It's a good one." Ray scratches his neck where it itches, then holds his hand out. "Dance with me?"
Stella frowns at his hand for a minute, then takes it. "Quick one. The movers are late, and I need these ready to go."
Their last dance is a slow, easy almost-waltz in the empty apartment.
"What are you going to do now?" Stella asks, quiet and close.
"I'm, uh, gonna to teach Fraser how to dance." Subtle there, Ray.
He can feel Stella's surprise, the tension and then the release of tension in her back. "Tough job," she says finally.
"Yeah," Ray agrees. "But you know me. Stubborn."
She laughs at that, and Ray misses that sound so fucking much.
They come to a stop, just holding each other. The music is over, has been over for a long time.
Ray steps back. "See you, Stell."
"Take care of yourself, Ray."
He shuts the door behind him on his way out.
*