This story is rated NC-17 (adults only). It includes explicit male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.
Wasn't every night Hancock got to use his superpowers to put a drunk guy to bed, but it was cool. He'd just saved the pretty girl cop, and gotten the round of applause and the Get Out Of Jail Free card, and spent a nice evening out with people taking his picture because they liked him instead of for evidence in a wrongful damage suit. Crazy lady'd gone off to take the babysitter home, still looking at Hancock like she wanted to grind his bones and eat them raw, but he was used to that. It was all good.
Mostly when you flew with people, they freaked out, even if it was their idea in the first place. Not Ray. Ray giggled while Hancock dumped him on the bed and wrestled his shoes off.
Hancock wondered if he'd known anybody like Ray back before the hole in his memory. If he had, he must have screwed it up good, because, man, if Ray liked you? Wasn't nothing could keep him away from your hospital bed.
"You did good," Ray was saying, hanging onto that big two-handed handshake like he was running for office or something. "You're a hero, Hancock."
"Yeah, you told me." He pulled, but Ray held on. "Time to let go of me, man. Time to put this PR campaign in the Done box."
Ray got all sad from one second to the next, like drunks did. "I guess it is done, isn't it?" He heaved a big sigh. And still didn't let go of Hancock's hand, which was starting to sweat. "It was fun, though. Wasn't it fun? We had a good time."
"Yeah, you sent me to jail and then dressed me up like a Matrix homo. Fun." He was no good at this kind of shit. Crazy lady staring at him all the time, pissed off at him for no good reason? That was the stuff he was used to. "Let go now. You go night-night, I go bye-bye."
"But not for good," Ray said, opening his eyes up big. "You'll be back, right? Spaghetti madness, Aaron's Little League. You could come for Thanksgiving! You don't need any more PR help, but I'd like to be your friend."
Hancock's gut clenched. "I don't have friends," he said tightly.
"Sure you do," Ray said, and, christ, he always sounded so confident. He could make you believe any impossible thing. "You have us."
"Superheroes don't have friends, Ray." His jaw was clenching. The guy just didn't get it -- how could he not get it? He wasn't stupid. "You wanna know why superheroes don't have friends, Ray? Friends are weaknesses. Friends are hostages. You wanna be my friend, all you're gonna get out of it is a great big hole punched in your wall. Or in your head. So just let me go, because I don't wanna watch you bleed, Ray, and I do not wanna watch you die."
He was panting. A crash-tinkle in the quiet told him he'd broken something with that last yell.
"You're hurting me," Ray said softly.
Oh, shit. Hancock let his fingers loose, went down hard on his knees beside the bed. The back of Ray's right hand was all red. Hancock bowed his head over it, smoothed it stupidly with his fingers.
That was just exactly the fucking problem, wasn't it. He looked up to see if Ray had gotten the picture.
Ray gave an irritable shake of his head, like words had finally failed him.
Hancock would have taken evasive action if it had ever occurred to him that Ray would do something as crazy-ass as kiss him.
His mouth tasted like wine. Hancock had really missed wine when some do-gooding son of a bitch sent him to jail, and that was the reason, the only goddamned reason why his tongue was where it was and his throat was making that broken noise and his hands were blindly grabbing --
The whole thing broke apart in a gasp, cold on his wet mouth and Ray's face just that much too close.
"Holy crap," said Ray.
Oh, christ, Ray, don't do this to me, do not do this to me, do not offer me this. Shit, I got nobody but you. I can't say no.
"Oh, my god," Ray said, and he put his hand out on Hancock's goddamned smooth-shaven cheek and said, "I had no idea."
"Yeah, well, don't go getting any now." Maybe he'd been kissing dudes all over the place way back, before Frankenstein, but he sure hadn't done it in eighty years.
"God," Ray said, pushing a clumsy thumb over Hancock's lower lip. "You've got a great mouth. I always thought so. Great-looking mouth, beautiful, god, stop me, I'm babbling like an idiot." And seriously, what the fuck, they were kissing again.
Ray's mouth was so soft. Jesus, it wasn't the wine. Ray was smoothing him down, rubbing him calm, going at him like putting salve on a wound gentle enough not to add hurt to hurt. Ray Embrey was making love.
Hancock had to stop that shit before he ended up bawling like a baby.
He lunged up onto the bed and pinned Ray flat, immobilized him with one smooth fighting move -- good thing he'd been working on the soft landings, or he'd have wound up downstairs on top of a pile of bloody, pissed-off trauma victim, instead of stretched out on this pansy-ass Pottery Barn bed on a moaning, writhing, drunken PR man.
"You could do anything to me, couldn't you?" Ray's eyes were slitted half shut. "You could take me anywhere. Course you could, what am I saying, you carried a car, my weight would hardly even slow you down. Fuck me flying. Christ, that would be good. Do that sometime. Yeah? Will you?"
He gave himself a second to picture it, what it would be like with somebody who didn't freak out when things got strange. Who actually liked him.
Fuck. 'Good' did not even begin to describe it.
"Right, Ray, whatever." And then he put that picture away, because tomorrow, Ray wasn't going to remember any of this. Which was a good thing, because tomorrow he was going to remember he was married to a hot-ass crazy lady and living in suburban paradise with a cute little kid who'd never recover from walking in on Daddy getting punked by some jailbird superhero so pathetic he had to win friends by hauling their asses off of train tracks.
Ray was going to forget, but right now he didn't know that. So Hancock leaned a little harder, careful, and put slow, thoughtful teeth into Ray's neck. Ray made a strangled noise and thrashed in Hancock's hold, but Hancock knew what struggling to get away felt like, and he didn't budge.
Ray's skin tasted clean and expensive, like something Hancock didn't know how to do anything with but break.
"I haven't done this for years," Ray sighed. "You're heavy. No, no, I like it." There were a lot of clothes between them, but Ray was hard, you couldn't miss that. Maybe Hancock had been doing this in the dark time, because, fuck, his body knew exactly what it wanted to do with that. He ground his cock down, hard, and Ray pulled his mouth loose and shouted.
"Sh, sh, sh," Hancock said frantically into his collarbone. He hoped the kid was a heavy sleeper and the babysitter lived really fucking far away, because things were getting ready to get a lot harder to explain away.
Matter of fact, if he didn't get some clothes out of the way right now, he was gonna have to face off crazy lady with a big stain on the front of these nice pants. That was enough of a threat to make him stop rocking for a second, long enough to grab for the hook and the zipper.
When the back of his knuckles touched Ray's cock through his suit pants, Ray grabbed his shoulders hard and said, "Hancock," in a broken, helpless voice, and came.
Came, sighing Hancock's name, or as near as he had to one. Hancock closed his eyes, because that was like a punch in the gut.
Ray had gone still now. Passed out, maybe. Hancock rolled off beside him, just in case. Might have to take it on home, deal with it there if it survived the flight, not have to think about getting caught --
"Hey." Ray was nuzzling up against his face. "God, that was great, you were great, fantastic. Here, let me -- you just do it like regular people, right? You don't need something special?"
Hancock could usually have it when he wanted it, even if sometimes he had to pay for it. So why did it feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest just from Ray's hand in his shorts? He dug his face down into the pillow and hung on, panting.
"Hey, no, no, come on." Ray squirmed weirdly for a second -- getting his left arm out from under him, Hancock figured out when he felt that hand turning his face up. "Stay with me here, Hancock." Ray's hand closed around his cock, just right, easy, easy, jesus, he jacked as sweet as he kissed.
Hancock closed his eyes, heard Ray saying, "Yeah, good, that's right, that's right," as he gave it up.
After that, there were more sweet kisses, but it was OK because Hancock couldn't really get any more broken than he already was, and he needed something to keep him going long enough to hear what crazy lady wanted to tell him when she came home. Probably that she wanted him the hell out of her life. For once they agreed on something.
Ray wasn't going to remember shit tomorrow. Ray was such a cheap date that everything after the third glass was going to be a great big blank in his memory.
Hancock caught hold of Ray's hand. The knuckles were already swelling up. He stared at it. If he was gonna come back -- and he wasn't -- then that would be enough to remind him of why he needed to just go away again.
"Hey. Hey." Ray turned his palm up, caught Hancock's hand in a strong grip. "That's life on earth, Hancock. You have people who can hurt and sicken and die, or you have no one."
Hancock stroked his other thumb gently over the corner of Ray's eye, where a smile was all crinkled up even now when he was being so serious. "That's the plan," he said.
Read the story notes
Comment on my LiveJournal or e-mail me.
Back to in medias Res
July 15, 2008