[FIC] (Generation Kill/True Blood) My TL's Thousand Years Old Twin
Title: My TL's Thousand Years Old Twin
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ray Person/Eric Northman (Generation Kill/True Blood crossover)
Word Count: 2,492
Summary: Because if he can't get Brad, he can get his thousand year old twin.
Disclaimer: The following story is untrue and I am only borrowing the names and in no way does this story reflect the characters from the TV series or the book series, nor am I making any profit off of this.
Notes: Written for the Generation Kill Porn Skirmish with the prompt: Northman/Person: Why does a 1000-year-old vampire look like my former Team Leader? And what the fuck happened to his hair? Along with my first GK and TB fic, combining the best two parts together in one. Hopefully my RayRay makes sense. Unbeta'd, all errors are mine. Set after Generation Kill and ignoring Sookeh in True Blood. Originally posted here.
Just because Ray is back home doesn’t mean he gets himself dragged to New Orleans. In fact, if, make that when, he’s the one telling the story, going to New Orleans was his idea. Probably the best place to visit (pussies yeah) other than Vegas. He now knows to suggest Vegas next time.
As if he gets one-up’d again (once was bad enough), Ray’s (also) whiskey-tango friend, Mike, suggests they drive up to Shreveport (where?) because there apparently is this way-fucking-awesome bar he wants to check out. Or everyone should check out, who knows.
Ray opens his mouth for another long rant on ‘why the fuck would we, upstanding citizens, want to drive for however fucking long to check out some dive bar in the middle of butt-fuck Louisiana’ - it’s at the tip of his tongue, but those steel eyes (fucking Mike) glaring at him shuts him up, for that moment at least. He’s no Iceman, but Mike’s steel blue eyes usually cut down on his (very legit, no bullshit) ramblings - keeps him in check and all that. So no negotiation this time.
“Here we are,” Mike states, as he pulls into a parking lot no law-abiding citizen would even attempt to park at unless one wants the car broken into. It’s still fucking weird to sit shotgun and watch Mike drive. He’s still too used to driving and having someone else (Brad) direct him on where to go with no batteries in their pec-2s. Ah, civilization - correct maps and streetlights and fucking hardball roads.
A loud knock snaps Ray out of his own inter-monologue. “Ray, get the fuck out of the car.” John’s knuckles against Ray’s side of the window ready to knock again, or knock something else if Ray doesn’t get out.
Ray scrambles out of the car and follows his buddies to the short lineup out front. He looks up at the sign, lit up in blood red - Fangtasia. “What the fuck is Fangtasia?”
“You’ll see,” Mike grins. Ray knows that look and eyes him carefully. Ray tilts his head and grins knowingly at the girl at the front, Fangtasia all forgotten. Really, he’s not just staring at the tits pushed up by her outfit.
“Hey,” he says, leaning against the booth before handing her the cover, but only earning him a boredom stare. He opens his mouth, only gets to “he-” before the girl grabs his arm and yanks him behind her.
“Keep the line moving, human.”
At least he gets her to talk, rubbing his sore arm. Point to RayRay. Some Ripped Fuel right now would be great.
His eyes don’t need no adjusting, as in the inside is almost as dark and shady as outside. Only finally does he notice that people are dressed differently in here. People in fucking leather, and is that a whip he sees in that guy’s hand? Whoa, whoa. What the fuck is going on? He whips his head around to search for Mike, or John, or that other dude sitting behind Mike, name forgotten, but they all scattered away already. Mike’s already chatting up some chick at the bar while the other two, Ray doesn’t even bother with.
Okay, he tells himself. The exit’s at his six, the bar’s at his three (that should be his first stop), there’s a stage twelve to him. Wait, what stage. He walks closer to said stage. There’s an empty chair on the stage. He shrugs, chair probably for some entertainer ahead, blinks and now there’s a fucking blond giant sitting in the chair, staring right at him. He hasn’t even had a drop of alcohol since coming inside this bar and he’s already seeing things. No Ripped Fuel, plenty of sleep and definitely no drugs, unless those twinkies he ate from a few gas stations back are laced.
Holy shit, he looks again (and another double take, make that triple take) at the man in the chair on the stage. Even with the long blond hair, that man looks exactly like...
No way.
He looks just like his former TL. Fucking Brad Iceman Colbert, in the flesh.
No fucking way. Even his whiskey-tango ass can’t come with something as brilliant and drugged out as this.
And what the fuck is going on with his hair. He looks like one of those west coast liberal hippies Brad twists his panties going on and on about. And that beard. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He’s hit jackpot.
They even have the same steel eyes. Ray knows that because that pair is beaming down right on him. The man don’t even need no Oakley; he can already see right through Ray. The man’s two fingers motion him to come forward and his legs just goes, no control over them or hesitancy anywhere. Ray finds himself standing right in front of the man, eyes on the same level even with the man still sitting in his cushioned (what the fuck) chair.
“Bro, dude, what the fuck happened to your hair?” Of all the things he brings up, the hair somehow has to be the first. Fucking homo thing to do.
“That’s gotta be some wig you got there. What are you going here in backward hick town number four hundred? This isn’t even in my manual of ‘things to do before I die’. I wouldn’t be here if Mike brought this up. This place is shady as hell, or my kind of bar.”
“Who is this bro… dude?”
“Finally, he speaks!” Ray exclaims, now beaming with joy. “Maybe you can tell me what Fangtasia is. Is that some weird ass wordplay on that Disney shit? Don’t ask me why I know it’s related to Walt fucking Disney either.”
The blond hair man, apparently not-Brad (his mind still haven’t caught up to that fact yet), is staring at him with the same bored look as the girl at the front. He’s surprised that Brad hasn’t shut him up yet. “And your beard? Just because we’re back home doesn’t mean you should flush grooming standard down the can. Didn’t know you can grow that shit so fast. Did you take some hair-supplement pill?
“You gotta tell me what brand you take ‘cause I got this dude back home with an ugly as fuck bald patch on the back on his head. It’s like watching a train wreck but with shit growing out of it. You wanna puke every time you see that thing, but you still gotta look at it. Then probably puke and go back to look at that shit again. Can’t avoid it to save your life.”
Ray’s still staring at the man who’s supposed to not be his TL, and his bottle of clamato juice. Where’s Mike anyway? He’s supposed to stop Ray from rambling on and on, or make a fool of himself. The look on his former TL’s face of indifference just spurs Ray on even more.
“So bro, let’s catch up. What else’s new? You talked to anyone since coming back? Visited anyone yet? My boys been taking me everywhere, don’t even have a moment to plant my ass on the sofa yet.”
“I do not think I am who you think I am.”
Shit, wait, what? This fucker really isn’t Brad? Not that they look any different from the other. This has to be him. Or maybe not apparently. He has one of a few choices. The door is at his six and it’s way too far back for him to get there right now. He’s going to have to talk himself out of this - again. Or if this guy’s the owner of this place, maybe he could get to drink for free (in some bizarre world where they befriend each other).
“So it’s like this, I’m a devil dog and you look exactly like my former TL, so I thought we’d reacquaint ourselves before me drinking you under the table. ‘Cause that’s how it works. But apparently you’re not, and you have these amazingly long hair. You ever thought about getting it cut? I know a good barber. Uncle Sam does it for free too ‘cause we all have the same haircut. I’m letting it grow out a bit of course. I wonder if I can get Uncle Sam to give me a haircut, but it’s probably a buy one get one free deal. Come for the haircut, stay for the duty.”
“I do not need a haircut.”
“And apparently you’re not Brad, so who’re you again? I’m Ray, at your service.”
“I am Eric, and you’re being a nuisance.” Not-Brad, now with a name, pauses, “now why did I just voluntarily give out my name?”
“I do that to people; my mom says it’s my gift,” Ray beams. “Do you have a twin? My TL’s adopted, so you could be his long lost brother or some shit. Then you two can have a tear-filled reunion where you two run towards each other with pansy-ass music in the background. It’d be the best thing ever. I’ll even host it!”
Ray notices a slight tug of Eric’s lips. He licks his own lips at the sight; job well done.
“I’m no twin of your... TL. You are talking a lot but not a drop of alcohol has touched your lips. I am surprised you do not know what I am, considering you are in my bar.”
“Obviously not,” Ray rolls his eyes, waiting for him to continue.
Eric laughs. “I’m a vampire, human. Therefore, I cannot be a twin of your friend.”
Ray snorts. “If you’re a vampire, I’m Hugh Hefner. Not that I want to be an old rat bastard, but he seems to attract the hottest chicks ever and gets a lot of pussies. Even I wouldn’t think of a vampire to disguise as. That’s way deep, years beyond me.”
Eric sneers and pops his fangs out, looking very full of himself. If Ray has a full bladder, his jeans would be very wet by now. He’s been through a war and being shot at, almost bombed on, dead people, dead kids, dead animals and driving almost blindfolded into a fucking desert, and it’s a fucking vampire is what gets him to almost shit his pants. Almost.
But Ray’s eyes do widen with a giant gaping hole from his mouth is. He’s rendered speechless. He regains his composure, sort of, but at least he speaks again. “I thought those were stories and shit. Wait until I tell Brad about this. His twin is a fucking vampire!”
“Again, I am not your friend’s twin. I am over a thousand years old. Can you get that that through your thick skull?”
“A thousand years old vampire! You can be his ancestor! Oh my god, is that why your bar is Fangtasia? Fucking sick man.”
(And Ray still hasn’t taken notice that he’s talking really loud in a bar with all eyes gawking at him and the vampire.)
Eric groans, apparently forgotten he’s not a measly human. “What can I do to get you to stop talking?”
“I was hoping to drink you under the table, but booze doesn’t affect you lot.” Ray grins, then lowers his voice. “So when do I get to blow you?”
“If that’s what it’ll take,” Eric abruptly stands up, stretching to his full height. Ray looks up and grins. Still twins.
“If I didn’t see those things pop up, I swear it’s some sick joke you guys are playing,” Ray comments as he follows his vampire off the stage and down the corridor.
Eric leads them into an empty room and turns to face Ray. “I did not think that when you said ‘at your service’, you were saying it in a literal sense.”
“I’ve never sucked a vampire’s cock before,” Ray comments as he drops to his knee. “What shoots out when you come?”
Eric doesn’t get the answer out as Ray takes the cock and palms it, before slipping it in his mouth, not surprised that the man’s half-hard already. Underwater training comes in handy, even if his skill is no Iceman’s. Marines should be damn good cocksuckers.
He gets a few licks in, feeling the ridges from the veins on his tongue, and bobs his head rhythmically, hands holding onto the man’s thighs. He smirks as Eric tries to find something to grab onto but the hair’s too short and the ears aren’t that big. The vampire’s large hands find their hold on Ray’s head since there’s nothing else to grab onto.
Ray feels the vampire’s cock swelling up to its full size (damn) and he even out his breaths so he doesn’t choke on the damn thing. Shit, he bets this dude’s cock is also cock twins with Brad. He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t even realize Eric’s smacking his head, more urgently this time. Guess there’s nothing much in Ray’s head since he doesn’t even notice the knocking around.
“What?” Ray asks, hands now quickly pumping Eric’s dick. “You don’t want me swallowing your vampire shit? You didn’t answer my original question either. Dude, do not collapse on me.”
Eric lets his head roll as he rides out his orgasm, only letting out one deep groan before sealing his mouth shut again. Ray looks for something to wipe his hand clean, as his hand contaminated by vampire seeds or whatever the fuck they shoot out. “Can I get a towel or something here?”
The vampire points to the white towel on the sofa. Ray stretches out his legs, knees aching from the solid concrete, and plops himself on the sofa, taking the towel too. He looks up and sees Eric staring down at him from his great height. “Just returning the favor. We vampires do not like owing things,” he mutters before flicking the button of Ray’s jeans and snakes his way below the boxer.
Ray gulps down a heavy helping of air and leans back onto the comfort of the sofa. “Fuck,” he hisses from the coldness of the hand, freeing his dick from the tight confine. The same hand that’s expertly working its way up and down Ray’s dick in a tight grip. “Whoa shit,” Ray says as his eyes open to the form of Eric towering over and closes his eye tightly. He can barely think with the hand on his dick, working much faster than his own jacks. It must be a vampire thing. He’s panting before he knows it and he can feel it building and the hand moving faster and faster and fucking shit damn fucking-a fuck yeah, he’s coming all over Eric’s hand.
“Favor returned,” Eric says, wiping his hand on the same towel. He takes two steps back and Ray’s already tucking himself back in and rebuttoning his jeans.
“Right, right, leaving,” Ray mutters and stops at the doorway. “Do I get to pretend drinking you under the table now?”
Rating: R
Pairing/Characters: Ray Person/Eric Northman (Generation Kill/True Blood crossover)
Word Count: 2,492
Summary: Because if he can't get Brad, he can get his thousand year old twin.
Disclaimer: The following story is untrue and I am only borrowing the names and in no way does this story reflect the characters from the TV series or the book series, nor am I making any profit off of this.
Notes: Written for the Generation Kill Porn Skirmish with the prompt: Northman/Person: Why does a 1000-year-old vampire look like my former Team Leader? And what the fuck happened to his hair? Along with my first GK and TB fic, combining the best two parts together in one. Hopefully my RayRay makes sense. Unbeta'd, all errors are mine. Set after Generation Kill and ignoring Sookeh in True Blood. Originally posted here.
Just because Ray is back home doesn’t mean he gets himself dragged to New Orleans. In fact, if, make that when, he’s the one telling the story, going to New Orleans was his idea. Probably the best place to visit (pussies yeah) other than Vegas. He now knows to suggest Vegas next time.
As if he gets one-up’d again (once was bad enough), Ray’s (also) whiskey-tango friend, Mike, suggests they drive up to Shreveport (where?) because there apparently is this way-fucking-awesome bar he wants to check out. Or everyone should check out, who knows.
Ray opens his mouth for another long rant on ‘why the fuck would we, upstanding citizens, want to drive for however fucking long to check out some dive bar in the middle of butt-fuck Louisiana’ - it’s at the tip of his tongue, but those steel eyes (fucking Mike) glaring at him shuts him up, for that moment at least. He’s no Iceman, but Mike’s steel blue eyes usually cut down on his (very legit, no bullshit) ramblings - keeps him in check and all that. So no negotiation this time.
“Here we are,” Mike states, as he pulls into a parking lot no law-abiding citizen would even attempt to park at unless one wants the car broken into. It’s still fucking weird to sit shotgun and watch Mike drive. He’s still too used to driving and having someone else (Brad) direct him on where to go with no batteries in their pec-2s. Ah, civilization - correct maps and streetlights and fucking hardball roads.
A loud knock snaps Ray out of his own inter-monologue. “Ray, get the fuck out of the car.” John’s knuckles against Ray’s side of the window ready to knock again, or knock something else if Ray doesn’t get out.
Ray scrambles out of the car and follows his buddies to the short lineup out front. He looks up at the sign, lit up in blood red - Fangtasia. “What the fuck is Fangtasia?”
“You’ll see,” Mike grins. Ray knows that look and eyes him carefully. Ray tilts his head and grins knowingly at the girl at the front, Fangtasia all forgotten. Really, he’s not just staring at the tits pushed up by her outfit.
“Hey,” he says, leaning against the booth before handing her the cover, but only earning him a boredom stare. He opens his mouth, only gets to “he-” before the girl grabs his arm and yanks him behind her.
“Keep the line moving, human.”
At least he gets her to talk, rubbing his sore arm. Point to RayRay. Some Ripped Fuel right now would be great.
His eyes don’t need no adjusting, as in the inside is almost as dark and shady as outside. Only finally does he notice that people are dressed differently in here. People in fucking leather, and is that a whip he sees in that guy’s hand? Whoa, whoa. What the fuck is going on? He whips his head around to search for Mike, or John, or that other dude sitting behind Mike, name forgotten, but they all scattered away already. Mike’s already chatting up some chick at the bar while the other two, Ray doesn’t even bother with.
Okay, he tells himself. The exit’s at his six, the bar’s at his three (that should be his first stop), there’s a stage twelve to him. Wait, what stage. He walks closer to said stage. There’s an empty chair on the stage. He shrugs, chair probably for some entertainer ahead, blinks and now there’s a fucking blond giant sitting in the chair, staring right at him. He hasn’t even had a drop of alcohol since coming inside this bar and he’s already seeing things. No Ripped Fuel, plenty of sleep and definitely no drugs, unless those twinkies he ate from a few gas stations back are laced.
Holy shit, he looks again (and another double take, make that triple take) at the man in the chair on the stage. Even with the long blond hair, that man looks exactly like...
No way.
He looks just like his former TL. Fucking Brad Iceman Colbert, in the flesh.
No fucking way. Even his whiskey-tango ass can’t come with something as brilliant and drugged out as this.
And what the fuck is going on with his hair. He looks like one of those west coast liberal hippies Brad twists his panties going on and on about. And that beard. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. He’s hit jackpot.
They even have the same steel eyes. Ray knows that because that pair is beaming down right on him. The man don’t even need no Oakley; he can already see right through Ray. The man’s two fingers motion him to come forward and his legs just goes, no control over them or hesitancy anywhere. Ray finds himself standing right in front of the man, eyes on the same level even with the man still sitting in his cushioned (what the fuck) chair.
“Bro, dude, what the fuck happened to your hair?” Of all the things he brings up, the hair somehow has to be the first. Fucking homo thing to do.
“That’s gotta be some wig you got there. What are you going here in backward hick town number four hundred? This isn’t even in my manual of ‘things to do before I die’. I wouldn’t be here if Mike brought this up. This place is shady as hell, or my kind of bar.”
“Who is this bro… dude?”
“Finally, he speaks!” Ray exclaims, now beaming with joy. “Maybe you can tell me what Fangtasia is. Is that some weird ass wordplay on that Disney shit? Don’t ask me why I know it’s related to Walt fucking Disney either.”
The blond hair man, apparently not-Brad (his mind still haven’t caught up to that fact yet), is staring at him with the same bored look as the girl at the front. He’s surprised that Brad hasn’t shut him up yet. “And your beard? Just because we’re back home doesn’t mean you should flush grooming standard down the can. Didn’t know you can grow that shit so fast. Did you take some hair-supplement pill?
“You gotta tell me what brand you take ‘cause I got this dude back home with an ugly as fuck bald patch on the back on his head. It’s like watching a train wreck but with shit growing out of it. You wanna puke every time you see that thing, but you still gotta look at it. Then probably puke and go back to look at that shit again. Can’t avoid it to save your life.”
Ray’s still staring at the man who’s supposed to not be his TL, and his bottle of clamato juice. Where’s Mike anyway? He’s supposed to stop Ray from rambling on and on, or make a fool of himself. The look on his former TL’s face of indifference just spurs Ray on even more.
“So bro, let’s catch up. What else’s new? You talked to anyone since coming back? Visited anyone yet? My boys been taking me everywhere, don’t even have a moment to plant my ass on the sofa yet.”
“I do not think I am who you think I am.”
Shit, wait, what? This fucker really isn’t Brad? Not that they look any different from the other. This has to be him. Or maybe not apparently. He has one of a few choices. The door is at his six and it’s way too far back for him to get there right now. He’s going to have to talk himself out of this - again. Or if this guy’s the owner of this place, maybe he could get to drink for free (in some bizarre world where they befriend each other).
“So it’s like this, I’m a devil dog and you look exactly like my former TL, so I thought we’d reacquaint ourselves before me drinking you under the table. ‘Cause that’s how it works. But apparently you’re not, and you have these amazingly long hair. You ever thought about getting it cut? I know a good barber. Uncle Sam does it for free too ‘cause we all have the same haircut. I’m letting it grow out a bit of course. I wonder if I can get Uncle Sam to give me a haircut, but it’s probably a buy one get one free deal. Come for the haircut, stay for the duty.”
“I do not need a haircut.”
“And apparently you’re not Brad, so who’re you again? I’m Ray, at your service.”
“I am Eric, and you’re being a nuisance.” Not-Brad, now with a name, pauses, “now why did I just voluntarily give out my name?”
“I do that to people; my mom says it’s my gift,” Ray beams. “Do you have a twin? My TL’s adopted, so you could be his long lost brother or some shit. Then you two can have a tear-filled reunion where you two run towards each other with pansy-ass music in the background. It’d be the best thing ever. I’ll even host it!”
Ray notices a slight tug of Eric’s lips. He licks his own lips at the sight; job well done.
“I’m no twin of your... TL. You are talking a lot but not a drop of alcohol has touched your lips. I am surprised you do not know what I am, considering you are in my bar.”
“Obviously not,” Ray rolls his eyes, waiting for him to continue.
Eric laughs. “I’m a vampire, human. Therefore, I cannot be a twin of your friend.”
Ray snorts. “If you’re a vampire, I’m Hugh Hefner. Not that I want to be an old rat bastard, but he seems to attract the hottest chicks ever and gets a lot of pussies. Even I wouldn’t think of a vampire to disguise as. That’s way deep, years beyond me.”
Eric sneers and pops his fangs out, looking very full of himself. If Ray has a full bladder, his jeans would be very wet by now. He’s been through a war and being shot at, almost bombed on, dead people, dead kids, dead animals and driving almost blindfolded into a fucking desert, and it’s a fucking vampire is what gets him to almost shit his pants. Almost.
But Ray’s eyes do widen with a giant gaping hole from his mouth is. He’s rendered speechless. He regains his composure, sort of, but at least he speaks again. “I thought those were stories and shit. Wait until I tell Brad about this. His twin is a fucking vampire!”
“Again, I am not your friend’s twin. I am over a thousand years old. Can you get that that through your thick skull?”
“A thousand years old vampire! You can be his ancestor! Oh my god, is that why your bar is Fangtasia? Fucking sick man.”
(And Ray still hasn’t taken notice that he’s talking really loud in a bar with all eyes gawking at him and the vampire.)
Eric groans, apparently forgotten he’s not a measly human. “What can I do to get you to stop talking?”
“I was hoping to drink you under the table, but booze doesn’t affect you lot.” Ray grins, then lowers his voice. “So when do I get to blow you?”
“If that’s what it’ll take,” Eric abruptly stands up, stretching to his full height. Ray looks up and grins. Still twins.
“If I didn’t see those things pop up, I swear it’s some sick joke you guys are playing,” Ray comments as he follows his vampire off the stage and down the corridor.
Eric leads them into an empty room and turns to face Ray. “I did not think that when you said ‘at your service’, you were saying it in a literal sense.”
“I’ve never sucked a vampire’s cock before,” Ray comments as he drops to his knee. “What shoots out when you come?”
Eric doesn’t get the answer out as Ray takes the cock and palms it, before slipping it in his mouth, not surprised that the man’s half-hard already. Underwater training comes in handy, even if his skill is no Iceman’s. Marines should be damn good cocksuckers.
He gets a few licks in, feeling the ridges from the veins on his tongue, and bobs his head rhythmically, hands holding onto the man’s thighs. He smirks as Eric tries to find something to grab onto but the hair’s too short and the ears aren’t that big. The vampire’s large hands find their hold on Ray’s head since there’s nothing else to grab onto.
Ray feels the vampire’s cock swelling up to its full size (damn) and he even out his breaths so he doesn’t choke on the damn thing. Shit, he bets this dude’s cock is also cock twins with Brad. He’s so deep in thought that he doesn’t even realize Eric’s smacking his head, more urgently this time. Guess there’s nothing much in Ray’s head since he doesn’t even notice the knocking around.
“What?” Ray asks, hands now quickly pumping Eric’s dick. “You don’t want me swallowing your vampire shit? You didn’t answer my original question either. Dude, do not collapse on me.”
Eric lets his head roll as he rides out his orgasm, only letting out one deep groan before sealing his mouth shut again. Ray looks for something to wipe his hand clean, as his hand contaminated by vampire seeds or whatever the fuck they shoot out. “Can I get a towel or something here?”
The vampire points to the white towel on the sofa. Ray stretches out his legs, knees aching from the solid concrete, and plops himself on the sofa, taking the towel too. He looks up and sees Eric staring down at him from his great height. “Just returning the favor. We vampires do not like owing things,” he mutters before flicking the button of Ray’s jeans and snakes his way below the boxer.
Ray gulps down a heavy helping of air and leans back onto the comfort of the sofa. “Fuck,” he hisses from the coldness of the hand, freeing his dick from the tight confine. The same hand that’s expertly working its way up and down Ray’s dick in a tight grip. “Whoa shit,” Ray says as his eyes open to the form of Eric towering over and closes his eye tightly. He can barely think with the hand on his dick, working much faster than his own jacks. It must be a vampire thing. He’s panting before he knows it and he can feel it building and the hand moving faster and faster and fucking shit damn fucking-a fuck yeah, he’s coming all over Eric’s hand.
“Favor returned,” Eric says, wiping his hand on the same towel. He takes two steps back and Ray’s already tucking himself back in and rebuttoning his jeans.
“Right, right, leaving,” Ray mutters and stops at the doorway. “Do I get to pretend drinking you under the table now?”