"Safe to Eat Pie," a due South x-over by belmanoir
Title: Safe to Eat Pie
Author: belmanoir
Fandom: due South/Flashpoint
Pairing: Ray Kowalski/Ed Lane
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2573
Warnings: hurt/comfort, PWP, crack, carabiners.
Summary: Ed and Ray fuck on the roof. Carabiner straps are involved.
Notes: for mrs_laugh_track. Possibly the least plot and characterization of anything I've ever written! I'm oddly proud. I apologize for any inaccuracies in my understanding of Ed's harness (and also of police procedure, which I'm pretty sure I stepped all over). Unbeta'd.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I am making no money off this.
Screencaps and porn below the cut!
To fully understand this story, these screencaps are VITAL. Honestly.
It's been two weeks. The investigation should be over by now, but some paperwork's been held up and Ed's still at loose ends. He's going crazy with the forced inactivity. On Friday evening Sophie takes Clark to a movie, and Ed goes for a drive. He's not really surprised when he ends up at the scene. The square at twilight looks oddly peaceful. He can't even find the traces of blood on the pavement.
He's not really surprised, either, when he paces over to the building and goes in. It'll be closed soon, but for now the elevator is still running. He presses the button for ten.
It's still technically a crime scene--there's tape over the door--but they've gathered everything they needed. He's not screwing anybody over by stepping through the holes in the X and walking out onto the roof.
The view is beautiful: Toronto at sunset, the city laid out and begging to be fucked. But he can only focus on it for a minute, no matter how hard he tries. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carabiner on its strap. His harness is shoved in there, too. He didn't even realize he brought them with him.
Memory loss. Time distortions.
He shivers.
"Hey," a voice says from across the roof, and he's throwing himself down, reaching for a gun he's not carrying.
"Hey, hey, it's just me," the voice says. It's a voice that's definitely not from around here. American. Chicago, maybe. A man steps out of the shadows. The sunset turns his spiky blond hair pink and gilds the palms of his hands. He holds them up to show he's unarmed, like any negotiator at a scene. "Ray Kowalski. Just up here taking a breather."
Now he's said his name, Ed recognizes him. Blair Kowalski from I.A.'s cousin, visiting for the week. He's seen him around, noticed him and filed him away with the ease of long practice, hanging out in waiting rooms or leaning against the outsides of buildings as Ed pushed the doors open for yet another interview. He's wearing motorcycle boots, jeans, a Musical Ride t-shirt, and an unzipped hoodie--dressed like a kid, but when Ed saw him in better light he looked about Ed's age, fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the veins starting to stand out on the backs of his hands.
"Is your cousin around?" That's the last thing Ed needs right now.
Ray ducks his head to hide his grin and fails completely. "Nah. He left. Told him I'd take a cab back to his place later."
Ed finds himself grinning back. Apparently Kowalski's cousin likes him about as much as Ed does.
"You the one that shot that guy?"
Ed looks away, out over the square. "Yeah."
"That was a nice shot," Ray says, admiration clear in his voice. "I'm not sure I coulda made it even with my glasses on."
Ed's gaze snaps back to him, eyes narrowing. "You're a sniper?"
Ray laughs. "Nah. Just a detective. But I had some training back in the day. I'm pretty good with a Glock."
Ed rolls his eyes inwardly. Yeah. He hears that all the time.
"I don't get that kid, you know? The guy shot his mom."
"She's going to be okay," Ed says automatically, then realizes that wasn't the point. But it's the point to him. That kid still has one parent. They thought she wasn't going to make it, either, but she pulled through.
There's silence for a moment. "Yeah," Ray says gently. "I know."
"You don't know," Ed says, suddenly angry. "I shot him, easy as fucking pie." He slumps down in the corner, so he can't see over the ledge. It's where he was sitting when Stanto came to get him. He thinks maybe he's been sitting there in his head for two weeks.
"Hey, fucking pie's not as easy as it looks," Ray says. "I mean, you do it wrong you can burn yourself."
And that just makes Ed madder. "And I said, 'You wanna dance? We'll dance.' Like it was a fucking game, like his son wasn't about to watch his brains get spattered all over the ground." Ray is moving, somewhere off to the right, but Ed can't seem to move his eyes. Ray's hand lands on his shoulder, warm and strong, and he jumps.
"Hey," he says. "That's the job."
"It's my job," Ed says. "So what does that make me?"
"A sniper?" Ray suggests, and snickers.
Ed can move again, suddenly. He ducks his head away, embarrassed at his outburst, but the corner of his mouth is curving up. "Guess so. Making the world safe so that others may eat pie."
"Thanks a lot, asshole," Ray grumbles. "Now I want pie."
Ed chuckles. "Sorry. I think there's a restaurant down the block that serves it."
"Yeah? You got blueberries in Canada?"
Ed can't tell if he's joking, but he knows he's tired of sitting on this roof acting like he's got PTSD. He stands up, gives Ray a grin. "What are those?"
He turns around, heads for the door. Ray follows, but instead of going to get a nice piece of pie in a nice quiet diner, he catches up to Ed before they get to the door and puts a hand on his arm--no sudden moves, nothing rough--and turns him slowly around. He steps in a little, does something with his hips and the curve of his shoulders, and suddenly the cool Toronto evening feels like summer. "You wanna dance?" he murmurs, solemn except for the challenging quirk of his mouth. "Let's dance."
His eyes are on Ed's, close and intense and slightly unfocused--guess he wasn't lying about the glasses. Ed looks down at his hand on Ed's arm. It's a callused, pale, expressive hand, a bit odd around the joints. For the first time in two weeks, Ed feels something sharp and pleasant and uncomplicated.
Ray must sense it somehow, because he lets go of Ed's arm and takes hold of his hand. The other goes to Ed's waist, tugging him close, pulling him into an easy rhythm. This has to be the craziest thing Ed's ever done, dancing with some strange American on a roof he killed someone from a couple weeks before, but it doesn't feel crazy. It feels the least crazy of anything he can remember since that day.
Of course, maybe he forgot the sane parts.
He closes his eyes and lets his feet do their thing, lets his fingers hook onto Ray's belt loop, pressing them just a little bit closer. All week he's felt insulated, separated, like he was still wearing the gear, but like this, it's real apparent that he's just in a thin shirt and jeans, and so is Ray.
He's shaking, now. There's no way Ray can't feel it, not with them this close, but the guy just pulls him into a turn, unexpected and a little daring, holding him steady and in the dance with his hand on the small of Ed's back. "Shhh," he murmurs. "Shsh."
"So," he says after a while when Ed's mostly stopped shaking and is just really, really hard, "you come up here to climb a mountain?"
At first Ed thinks it's the lamest double entendre he's ever heard, but then he remembers the carabiner. "It's not for climbing," he says. "It's so I don't fall off."
"Show me," Ray whispers in his ear, and steps back.
Ed takes out the carabiner, stares at it for a second. Then he drags out his harness and shrugs into it, starts adjusting the straps. It doesn't fit the same without his vest, and it takes him a few minutes to get it to where it feels safe. Then he hooks the blue and white carabiner strap to the ring at the belt. He goes over to his corner, glances at Ray. Ray's standing with his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed, just watching him. Ed takes a deep breath and snaps the carabiner around the railing, climbing up and stretching himself out over the ledge almost automatically.
It's surprisingly different in his street clothes. The chill of the cement sneaks through his cotton shirt almost instantly. He feels exposed and not at all secure, despite the harness's reassuring grip. And he's got nothing to hold now, his hands are empty and he can't--
Ray climbs up behind him. Ed feels one of Ray's legs come down between his thighs, and then Ray's hand plants itself on the ledge just at the edge of his field of vision. "It's a nice view," he says huskily.
It looks different, too, without the goggles. Without his sights turning everything he sees into a target. It's tiny and blurry and, okay, kind of a nice view. But then Ray's lips brush his neck, and he closes his eyes anyway.
"This okay?" Ray asks.
Ed swallows hard and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods.
There's a small sound behind him, a cross between a gasp and "mmm," and then Ray's mouth is on his neck again, open and wet, and Ed is the one making the noises, straining at the strap. It holds firm. "You're not hooked on to anything," he manages to say.
Ray chuckles in his ear. "Hey, compared to some of the shit my partner makes me do, this is nothing. You got a nice skull."
That's a new one. "Uh, thanks?"
Then Ray is licking the back of his neck and up, up to the crown of his head. It feels amazing and Ed just hopes the whimper he makes never gets back to Jules because he'll never live it down.
"You're welcome," Ray says smugly. "Hey, uh--can I fuck you?"
Ed's eyes shoot wide open and for a second he actually thinks he's falling. This is insane, completely fucking nuts, but his body sure seems to know the answer. His hips jerked hard enough that it actually kind of hurt when he hit the cement. "Safe," he says. That's about all he can say. "Only if it's safe."
"You mean safe like condoms safe or safe like not on top of a building safe?" Ray slides his hand under Ed's shirt while he says it. He can't get all the way up Ed's back, but he slides his fingers up until they reach the X of the harness straps. Then he shoves his fingertips under, just an inch or so, and pulls them out again. The harness snaps back into place, the vibrations spreading down the straps and all over Ed's arms and chest and back.
"Safe like condoms safe," Ed says hoarsely, because some things you can't fight.
"Hey, I'm a Boy Scout," Ray says, and then his hands are on Ed's belt buckle. Ed expects him to have trouble--but then again, it's probably easier to do from behind someone, and the buckle slides open with barely a protest. Ed pushes himself up a little on his elbows and knees, enough so Ray's hands can unzip his pants and pull them down without his cock hitting the cement. "Yeah," Ray says breathlessly. "Like that."
Ed can feel him fumbling for something. He hears a little pop, and a squirt. Then Ray's slick hand wraps around his cock and Ed can't hear anything but his own harsh breathing. His eyes are still open but nothing's making it to his brain except Unnhhhh.
"Please," he gasps.
Ray leans down and kisses the top of his ear. "Well, since you used the magic word..." Ray lets go of his cock and plants his whole hand on Ed's left cheek instead, pulling it to the side. Ed tightens instinctively, but Ray presses down a little harder and brushes one of the slick fingers on his other hand over Ed's hole, and now he's tightening because it's good, he's waiting, waiting, come on--
The finger pushes inside. Ed's hands slide on the cement, giving him vertigo and probably a couple of scrapes, and he pushes back with a grunt.
Ray chuckles. "Take it easy," he says. "We'll get there."
Ed doesn't want to get there, he wants to be there, he wants to be open and begging and filled. But he sets his jaw and doesn't beg, and eventually Ray's cock is pushing inside him. It's bigger than the dildo Sophie uses, but Ed welcomes the stretch. "Yeah," he says. "Harder."
"You gotta stop saying shit like that," Ray says. "You want me to immaturely ejaculate?"
Ed stifles a giggle and shakes his head. But luckily Ray gets with the program pretty fast, leaves one slick hand wrapped around Ed's hip and tangles the other in the upper strap of Ed's harness, and every time he thrusts into him he tugs, just a little, just enough that every goddamn time it's a shock of pleasure so bright Ed's surprised to realize that the sun finally set when he wasn't paying attention. It's dark, but there's nothing here Ed needs to see. What he needs is to feel, and Christ, he's getting it. Ray fucks him hard enough he can feel the carabiner strap tensing, can hear the clack as the clip snaps against the railing and against the ring at his belt. And he can feel it, fuck, he can feel it, he can feel the strap pulling at him, snapping him back onto Ray's cock and Ray is moaning now too, moaning and shaking and his fingers are tight around Ed's harness. Ed never realized before that the straps go right over his nipples, and when Ray moans again and his fingers clench, Ed surges forward. The sound he makes as the straps drag against his chest is almost a sob.
Then Ray's hand leaves his hip and circles his cock again, calluses and lube and a flick of the wrist, and Ed groans and comes all over the cement.
"Oh, thank fuck," Ray gasps. That makes Ed chuckle a little, but he doesn't have enough breath for it, it turns into another of those sobby things partway through as Ray slams into him--once, twice, and then a few gentle, arrhythmic thrusts. "Ohhh," Ray says, slumping down until Ed can feel the tips of his hair ticking the back of his neck. "Wow."
"Yeah," Ed says, embarrassed at the way his voice cracks on the word. "Uh, thanks."
"Do not mention it," Ray says, sounding worn out. He tugs on Ed's harness, just a little, and a last gentle wave of pleasure starts at Ed's nipples and spreads all over his body. "Hey. You still want pie?"
"Yeah," Ed says, suddenly starving. He can't remember a single thing he's eaten in two weeks. "Yeah, I do."
Author: belmanoir
Fandom: due South/Flashpoint
Pairing: Ray Kowalski/Ed Lane
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2573
Warnings: hurt/comfort, PWP, crack, carabiners.
Summary: Ed and Ray fuck on the roof. Carabiner straps are involved.
Notes: for mrs_laugh_track. Possibly the least plot and characterization of anything I've ever written! I'm oddly proud. I apologize for any inaccuracies in my understanding of Ed's harness (and also of police procedure, which I'm pretty sure I stepped all over). Unbeta'd.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I am making no money off this.
Screencaps and porn below the cut!
To fully understand this story, these screencaps are VITAL. Honestly.
It's been two weeks. The investigation should be over by now, but some paperwork's been held up and Ed's still at loose ends. He's going crazy with the forced inactivity. On Friday evening Sophie takes Clark to a movie, and Ed goes for a drive. He's not really surprised when he ends up at the scene. The square at twilight looks oddly peaceful. He can't even find the traces of blood on the pavement.
He's not really surprised, either, when he paces over to the building and goes in. It'll be closed soon, but for now the elevator is still running. He presses the button for ten.
It's still technically a crime scene--there's tape over the door--but they've gathered everything they needed. He's not screwing anybody over by stepping through the holes in the X and walking out onto the roof.
The view is beautiful: Toronto at sunset, the city laid out and begging to be fucked. But he can only focus on it for a minute, no matter how hard he tries. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the carabiner on its strap. His harness is shoved in there, too. He didn't even realize he brought them with him.
Memory loss. Time distortions.
He shivers.
"Hey," a voice says from across the roof, and he's throwing himself down, reaching for a gun he's not carrying.
"Hey, hey, it's just me," the voice says. It's a voice that's definitely not from around here. American. Chicago, maybe. A man steps out of the shadows. The sunset turns his spiky blond hair pink and gilds the palms of his hands. He holds them up to show he's unarmed, like any negotiator at a scene. "Ray Kowalski. Just up here taking a breather."
Now he's said his name, Ed recognizes him. Blair Kowalski from I.A.'s cousin, visiting for the week. He's seen him around, noticed him and filed him away with the ease of long practice, hanging out in waiting rooms or leaning against the outsides of buildings as Ed pushed the doors open for yet another interview. He's wearing motorcycle boots, jeans, a Musical Ride t-shirt, and an unzipped hoodie--dressed like a kid, but when Ed saw him in better light he looked about Ed's age, fine lines at the corners of his eyes and the veins starting to stand out on the backs of his hands.
"Is your cousin around?" That's the last thing Ed needs right now.
Ray ducks his head to hide his grin and fails completely. "Nah. He left. Told him I'd take a cab back to his place later."
Ed finds himself grinning back. Apparently Kowalski's cousin likes him about as much as Ed does.
"You the one that shot that guy?"
Ed looks away, out over the square. "Yeah."
"That was a nice shot," Ray says, admiration clear in his voice. "I'm not sure I coulda made it even with my glasses on."
Ed's gaze snaps back to him, eyes narrowing. "You're a sniper?"
Ray laughs. "Nah. Just a detective. But I had some training back in the day. I'm pretty good with a Glock."
Ed rolls his eyes inwardly. Yeah. He hears that all the time.
"I don't get that kid, you know? The guy shot his mom."
"She's going to be okay," Ed says automatically, then realizes that wasn't the point. But it's the point to him. That kid still has one parent. They thought she wasn't going to make it, either, but she pulled through.
There's silence for a moment. "Yeah," Ray says gently. "I know."
"You don't know," Ed says, suddenly angry. "I shot him, easy as fucking pie." He slumps down in the corner, so he can't see over the ledge. It's where he was sitting when Stanto came to get him. He thinks maybe he's been sitting there in his head for two weeks.
"Hey, fucking pie's not as easy as it looks," Ray says. "I mean, you do it wrong you can burn yourself."
And that just makes Ed madder. "And I said, 'You wanna dance? We'll dance.' Like it was a fucking game, like his son wasn't about to watch his brains get spattered all over the ground." Ray is moving, somewhere off to the right, but Ed can't seem to move his eyes. Ray's hand lands on his shoulder, warm and strong, and he jumps.
"Hey," he says. "That's the job."
"It's my job," Ed says. "So what does that make me?"
"A sniper?" Ray suggests, and snickers.
Ed can move again, suddenly. He ducks his head away, embarrassed at his outburst, but the corner of his mouth is curving up. "Guess so. Making the world safe so that others may eat pie."
"Thanks a lot, asshole," Ray grumbles. "Now I want pie."
Ed chuckles. "Sorry. I think there's a restaurant down the block that serves it."
"Yeah? You got blueberries in Canada?"
Ed can't tell if he's joking, but he knows he's tired of sitting on this roof acting like he's got PTSD. He stands up, gives Ray a grin. "What are those?"
He turns around, heads for the door. Ray follows, but instead of going to get a nice piece of pie in a nice quiet diner, he catches up to Ed before they get to the door and puts a hand on his arm--no sudden moves, nothing rough--and turns him slowly around. He steps in a little, does something with his hips and the curve of his shoulders, and suddenly the cool Toronto evening feels like summer. "You wanna dance?" he murmurs, solemn except for the challenging quirk of his mouth. "Let's dance."
His eyes are on Ed's, close and intense and slightly unfocused--guess he wasn't lying about the glasses. Ed looks down at his hand on Ed's arm. It's a callused, pale, expressive hand, a bit odd around the joints. For the first time in two weeks, Ed feels something sharp and pleasant and uncomplicated.
Ray must sense it somehow, because he lets go of Ed's arm and takes hold of his hand. The other goes to Ed's waist, tugging him close, pulling him into an easy rhythm. This has to be the craziest thing Ed's ever done, dancing with some strange American on a roof he killed someone from a couple weeks before, but it doesn't feel crazy. It feels the least crazy of anything he can remember since that day.
Of course, maybe he forgot the sane parts.
He closes his eyes and lets his feet do their thing, lets his fingers hook onto Ray's belt loop, pressing them just a little bit closer. All week he's felt insulated, separated, like he was still wearing the gear, but like this, it's real apparent that he's just in a thin shirt and jeans, and so is Ray.
He's shaking, now. There's no way Ray can't feel it, not with them this close, but the guy just pulls him into a turn, unexpected and a little daring, holding him steady and in the dance with his hand on the small of Ed's back. "Shhh," he murmurs. "Shsh."
"So," he says after a while when Ed's mostly stopped shaking and is just really, really hard, "you come up here to climb a mountain?"
At first Ed thinks it's the lamest double entendre he's ever heard, but then he remembers the carabiner. "It's not for climbing," he says. "It's so I don't fall off."
"Show me," Ray whispers in his ear, and steps back.
Ed takes out the carabiner, stares at it for a second. Then he drags out his harness and shrugs into it, starts adjusting the straps. It doesn't fit the same without his vest, and it takes him a few minutes to get it to where it feels safe. Then he hooks the blue and white carabiner strap to the ring at the belt. He goes over to his corner, glances at Ray. Ray's standing with his hands in his pockets, eyes narrowed, just watching him. Ed takes a deep breath and snaps the carabiner around the railing, climbing up and stretching himself out over the ledge almost automatically.
It's surprisingly different in his street clothes. The chill of the cement sneaks through his cotton shirt almost instantly. He feels exposed and not at all secure, despite the harness's reassuring grip. And he's got nothing to hold now, his hands are empty and he can't--
Ray climbs up behind him. Ed feels one of Ray's legs come down between his thighs, and then Ray's hand plants itself on the ledge just at the edge of his field of vision. "It's a nice view," he says huskily.
It looks different, too, without the goggles. Without his sights turning everything he sees into a target. It's tiny and blurry and, okay, kind of a nice view. But then Ray's lips brush his neck, and he closes his eyes anyway.
"This okay?" Ray asks.
Ed swallows hard and squeezes his eyes tighter shut. He doesn't trust his voice, so he nods.
There's a small sound behind him, a cross between a gasp and "mmm," and then Ray's mouth is on his neck again, open and wet, and Ed is the one making the noises, straining at the strap. It holds firm. "You're not hooked on to anything," he manages to say.
Ray chuckles in his ear. "Hey, compared to some of the shit my partner makes me do, this is nothing. You got a nice skull."
That's a new one. "Uh, thanks?"
Then Ray is licking the back of his neck and up, up to the crown of his head. It feels amazing and Ed just hopes the whimper he makes never gets back to Jules because he'll never live it down.
"You're welcome," Ray says smugly. "Hey, uh--can I fuck you?"
Ed's eyes shoot wide open and for a second he actually thinks he's falling. This is insane, completely fucking nuts, but his body sure seems to know the answer. His hips jerked hard enough that it actually kind of hurt when he hit the cement. "Safe," he says. That's about all he can say. "Only if it's safe."
"You mean safe like condoms safe or safe like not on top of a building safe?" Ray slides his hand under Ed's shirt while he says it. He can't get all the way up Ed's back, but he slides his fingers up until they reach the X of the harness straps. Then he shoves his fingertips under, just an inch or so, and pulls them out again. The harness snaps back into place, the vibrations spreading down the straps and all over Ed's arms and chest and back.
"Safe like condoms safe," Ed says hoarsely, because some things you can't fight.
"Hey, I'm a Boy Scout," Ray says, and then his hands are on Ed's belt buckle. Ed expects him to have trouble--but then again, it's probably easier to do from behind someone, and the buckle slides open with barely a protest. Ed pushes himself up a little on his elbows and knees, enough so Ray's hands can unzip his pants and pull them down without his cock hitting the cement. "Yeah," Ray says breathlessly. "Like that."
Ed can feel him fumbling for something. He hears a little pop, and a squirt. Then Ray's slick hand wraps around his cock and Ed can't hear anything but his own harsh breathing. His eyes are still open but nothing's making it to his brain except Unnhhhh.
"Please," he gasps.
Ray leans down and kisses the top of his ear. "Well, since you used the magic word..." Ray lets go of his cock and plants his whole hand on Ed's left cheek instead, pulling it to the side. Ed tightens instinctively, but Ray presses down a little harder and brushes one of the slick fingers on his other hand over Ed's hole, and now he's tightening because it's good, he's waiting, waiting, come on--
The finger pushes inside. Ed's hands slide on the cement, giving him vertigo and probably a couple of scrapes, and he pushes back with a grunt.
Ray chuckles. "Take it easy," he says. "We'll get there."
Ed doesn't want to get there, he wants to be there, he wants to be open and begging and filled. But he sets his jaw and doesn't beg, and eventually Ray's cock is pushing inside him. It's bigger than the dildo Sophie uses, but Ed welcomes the stretch. "Yeah," he says. "Harder."
"You gotta stop saying shit like that," Ray says. "You want me to immaturely ejaculate?"
Ed stifles a giggle and shakes his head. But luckily Ray gets with the program pretty fast, leaves one slick hand wrapped around Ed's hip and tangles the other in the upper strap of Ed's harness, and every time he thrusts into him he tugs, just a little, just enough that every goddamn time it's a shock of pleasure so bright Ed's surprised to realize that the sun finally set when he wasn't paying attention. It's dark, but there's nothing here Ed needs to see. What he needs is to feel, and Christ, he's getting it. Ray fucks him hard enough he can feel the carabiner strap tensing, can hear the clack as the clip snaps against the railing and against the ring at his belt. And he can feel it, fuck, he can feel it, he can feel the strap pulling at him, snapping him back onto Ray's cock and Ray is moaning now too, moaning and shaking and his fingers are tight around Ed's harness. Ed never realized before that the straps go right over his nipples, and when Ray moans again and his fingers clench, Ed surges forward. The sound he makes as the straps drag against his chest is almost a sob.
Then Ray's hand leaves his hip and circles his cock again, calluses and lube and a flick of the wrist, and Ed groans and comes all over the cement.
"Oh, thank fuck," Ray gasps. That makes Ed chuckle a little, but he doesn't have enough breath for it, it turns into another of those sobby things partway through as Ray slams into him--once, twice, and then a few gentle, arrhythmic thrusts. "Ohhh," Ray says, slumping down until Ed can feel the tips of his hair ticking the back of his neck. "Wow."
"Yeah," Ed says, embarrassed at the way his voice cracks on the word. "Uh, thanks."
"Do not mention it," Ray says, sounding worn out. He tugs on Ed's harness, just a little, and a last gentle wave of pleasure starts at Ed's nipples and spreads all over his body. "Hey. You still want pie?"
"Yeah," Ed says, suddenly starving. He can't remember a single thing he's eaten in two weeks. "Yeah, I do."