Vecchio bitched all the fucking time. It drove Ray nuts, this guy with a mouth that wouldn't quit, yammering on about his car, Ray's car, Ray's hair, Ray's attitude, Ray's clothes, Ray's music, and nothing Ray threw back at him left a mark; it all just beaded up on his sleek Vegas back and rolled away.
But the thing Ray realized--and it was on stakeout when he finally caught on, after Vecchio bitched about Ray's BBQ-flavor potato chip dinner before stealing the bag and tilting it up and pouring the crumbs down his throat--the thing was, Vecchio liked Ray's car and his hair and his attitude, was comfortable with them, with him.
Vecchio would lean against the passenger door while Ray yelled at him or ignored him or went over the case with him, and Vecchio's mouth would say bag lady and what are you, twelve? but his eyes, his body, and the way he forgot to check over his shoulder all said different stuff, warm stuff, right-there-with-him stuff.
Lucky for both of them, too, because when Vecchio caught Ray looking at his throat as he swallowed, at the salt and dark orange on his upper lip, things could have gotten things real ugly, real fast if Ray'd just listened to the words coming out of Vecchio's mouth.
He knew better, though, and so he leaned back against his own car door, insulting Vecchio right back, and let his eyes and body say different.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-09-20 11:05 pm (UTC)But the thing Ray realized--and it was on stakeout when he finally caught on, after Vecchio bitched about Ray's BBQ-flavor potato chip dinner before stealing the bag and tilting it up and pouring the crumbs down his throat--the thing was, Vecchio liked Ray's car and his hair and his attitude, was comfortable with them, with him.
Vecchio would lean against the passenger door while Ray yelled at him or ignored him or went over the case with him, and Vecchio's mouth would say bag lady and what are you, twelve? but his eyes, his body, and the way he forgot to check over his shoulder all said different stuff, warm stuff, right-there-with-him stuff.
Lucky for both of them, too, because when Vecchio caught Ray looking at his throat as he swallowed, at the salt and dark orange on his upper lip, things could have gotten things real ugly, real fast if Ray'd just listened to the words coming out of Vecchio's mouth.
He knew better, though, and so he leaned back against his own car door, insulting Vecchio right back, and let his eyes and body say different.