Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, written purely for fun.

Author's Notes: Set in the A Year (More or Less) in the Life universe. This won't make sense if you don't read that first.

"So what part of, 'Put on some sunscreen or you'll fry up like a polish sausage' didn't you get?"

"What part of 'I'm in fucking agony here, so would you please shut the fuck up' didn't you get."

You can't be Polish, blond, and blue-eyed without getting a few nasty burns over the course of your childhood. Every summer after school let out, we'd go to some cheap-shit motel, in some dump of a town on the shores of Lake Michigan for a week. No matter how much it cost, my father would flirt with a stroke every time he had to pull out his wallet. And no matter how much I had burned the previous summer, my brother and I were out the door before my mother could lather on the sunscreen, ignoring her calls of "Boys, you need some…" Because I was itching to do some of my own flirting. With skin cancer.

So why I thought it would be any different with Vecchio I don't know. Sure, this hotel on the lake was a bazillion times nicer than the hellholes my family had stayed in. This place had a dining room and a kick-ass bar that knew how to make a decent martini—as in vermouth-sharemouth and they weren't stingy with the olives neither (not a coke machine where the cokes were warm because the assholes running the motels never paid to have the free-on replaced), a concierge (not a ninety-two year old woman with the worst halitosis I've ever run across—she could peel the skin off your face with just one breath), and a king-size bed (not the rollaways my brother and I had to share and there were no extra pillows so we had to roll up towels and use those instead).

Yeah, nice place, a one eighty from the dumps we stayed in as a kid.

Except the sun was the exact same, and I had the same hell of a sunburn I always got when I came up here, and just say sayonara to the three days of mind-blowing sex Vecchio and I had planned, because he so much as thought about touching me and I was gonna clock him with my sunburned knuckles.

What made it a bazillion times worse was that being a freaking goombah, he had got as dark as all fuck, the color a good cup of coffee laced with just the right around of cream and candy. Like I could enjoy any of that? Run a hand down the long length of him. Okay, I could do that, but nothing else. The palms of my hands were still functioning. And I could lick his tan line, that spot right between the top of his ass and his back, because he wears those really dorky Speedos; they cover his butt and his dick and nothing else. I could have a meal out of that nothing else. But the rest of me? No way, no how, forget it, buster.


"Touch me and you die."

"While you were in shower cooling down, I called Benny. He told me what to do."

I raised myself up on my elbows, the only part of me besides my dick and balls that wasn't burnt to a crisp. I swear to God, I even fried my eyelashes.

He'd filled a champagne bucket with ice and I thought for a second, Okay, get toasted, I can deal with that, and then I realized that French champagne didn't come in milk cartons and that was a half gallon of milk sitting in the ice. Sometimes I really hated Fraser, because he'd probably told Vecchio that polar bear jizz was the perfect solution to sunburn, but as polar bears were rather thin on the ground in Michigan, he had trotted out some weird ass homeowhatsit bullshit about how I had to drink cold milk to "replenish the bodily fluids because sunburn causes dehydration." I got that because I was hell of thirsty, but wild horses weren't gonna get me to drink milk.

Did I say I hated Fraser? I hope so, because he knows I do not fucking drink fucking milk. The last time I drank milk was at Lenny Kurz tenth birthday party and I only drank it because his mother threatened me that if I didn't have milk with my cake I wasn't getting the cake and I hated milk but I really liked birthday cake and Mrs. Kurz was a hell of a cook and I didn't really drink it so much as snorted it through my nose because Mr. Kurz came out of the bathroom with a trail of toilet paper hanging out of the back of his pants. Plus I also snorted out a bunch of birthday cake and I didn't eat cake for years as a result. Did I say I hated milk?

Besides, this vacation was about getting rid of bodily fluids and I was goddamned if I was drinking milk instead of sucking cock, but I wasn't sucking cock because I burnt the shit out of my lips, and Vecchio wasn't touching me because if he did I'd kill him, so it looked like our bodily fluids were staying put.

I plopped down on the bed in frustration and then screamed. Because all that sunburned chest against that knobby fabric of the bedspread hurt like a motherfucker.

"Would you shut up? People are going to think I'm beating you, which isn't a half-bad idea because I asked you a hundred times to put on sunscreen and you blew me off, and now it looks like I'm spending the weekend with Lobster Man instead of Blow-job Man."

It hurt, but I gave him the finger.

"Hold your horses, we'll get to that."

"Dream on, Vecchio."

Man, I was really thirsty, but I didn't want to get up and I didn't want to lie down and jeez could someone just stick a needle into my arm and IV me some Jack on the rocks? And yeah, I know alcohol's a diuretic, because you think that Fraser would let that one pass anytime I happened to have a drink?

Vecchio was doing something in the room, I didn't care what in the hell it was, just as long as he didn't touch me. "Vecchio, did Fraser bore you cross-eyed with his diatribes on dehydration. A tumbler of Jack equals like five quarts of piss?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Hang tight."

Hang tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight?????????????????????

Oh my god. OH MY GOD! That felt so good. Vecchio had soaked a bunch of handtowels in cold water and was laying them the length of my back and along the crispy critters that used to be my legs.

"Good?" he asked in that small little gentle voice I think he only uses with me. He better only use it with me.

"Yeah," I mumbled, and then realized that the room smelled like the dairy section of Jewels. "Are you basting me with milk, Vecchio?"

"Benny says that the milk replenishes the proteins you fried to death. Course, won't replace any brain cells so you're screwed on that front."

"Har de har har. Man, that feels good."

"I got a six-pack of beer. You want one? You got to drink a couple of glasses of water first. Switch off. Benny gave me the lecture."

"Later." I just wanted to lay there and soak up that cool, milky goodness. At some point, I'd turn over and he'd do the other side, and then maybe, maybe I'd rethink killing myself. He lay next to me our pinkies touching, he'd put on the game, and I listened to some baseball game in California where it sounded like the Giants were getting creamed again. When the towels got warm, he resoaked them in the cold milk and lay them down again.

After about an hour of doing this, I said, "Ray, can we do the other side. I think this is about as good as it's gonna get."

"Hmmm, you don't look as red by a long shot." He put a hand on my ass. His hands were cool from handling all that cold ice.

"I ain't red there, asshole."

"How about here?" He swiped his thumb down the crack of my ass.

"Nope," I managed to choke out.

"Good," he said in that low growl that always gets me going, which right now was so unfair.

"Vecchio," I groaned out.

"Don't move and you'll be fine."

"I can't move and that's the whole point, you… oh, you, you, yeah."

Then I just stopped talking because Vecchio was kissing both of my cheeks, He'd been drinking beer so his lips were cold, and there was some sort of weird electric shock thing going on between his cold lips and the heat of the sunburn everywhere else. It was that same unbelievable greatness that happens the first time you have sex. You can't believe it feels that good. That something as simple as a mouth on you hyperdrives you into Nirvana and you don't want to ever leave that planet, no sir. Except I was frigging forty years old and I had enough sex under my belt, so that it shouldn't feel like this but it did and thank you, baby Jesus on a pogo stick.

Because Vecchio is the biggest fricking tease on the face of this earth, he took his sweet time before going for the gold. He kept kissing my cheeks, sucking on an ice cube every now and then, keeping the whimper factor way up there.

"Vecchio, I'm going to kill you if you don't put that tongue where it belongs."

Before I got transported into this alternate universe where now I am gay and loving every second of it, I was your normal hetero guy who would sooner let someone rim me than let them take a tire iron to my shins. This was another of those I love Fraser moments, because that freak would lick anything and that included my ass and you wanna talk about Nirvana? It is my absolute kink of kinks. A blindfold will turn my crank because I'm a visual kind of guy and you'd think that being blind would be a deal-breaker, but nope. Tie me up? On certain days that's cool. Spank me? Never got into that. Stella and I tried a whole bunch of BDSM crap when we were trying to keep things together. Which was six different kinds of stupid because we got along fine in bed, handcuffs weren't gonna fix our marriage, but denial is a river in Egypt crap.

So I got some kinks, not others, pretty garden variety, and then you have rimming. And it does something to me that not even a really good blow job does. Let me tell you, Vecchio can suck dick. He had all those Vegas hookers sucking him off those years he was undercover, and it was like on the job training for when he turned gay. I don't care how hetero you are, if you have a dick and Vecchio offers to blow you, take him up on it. Course, you'll be fucking dead afterwards, cause I'll kill your macking ass, but you'll die happy.

Maybe because he didn't do it all the time, sort of saved it up and then would spring it on me, it slayed me every single frigging time. Just melted me and made me sex stupid in a way nothing else did. Well, spring is sprung, because when a cool tongue swiped the length of my crack, I was nearly gone already.

He knew, the bastard, he knew.

"Hold on, Ray. Just a little. Gonna make it so good for you. Open you up with my tongue, and fingerfuck you until come all over the bedspread."

Sometimes he keeps that patter up forever, calls me "baby" like I'm some chick, but he didn't this time.

He always takes it slow, running his tongue around my hole, making love to it, and, man, I just don't get that, but I think it's as much his kink as mine. I moved my face into the corner of my pillow so I could let it all hang out. Shout out the goodness. He loves the sounds I make. With one of his ginormous hands on my butt, I couldn't move; all I could do was groan it all out. At this point I just gave it up to him, let him call the shots, the pace. When I was nice and open from all that licking and sucking, I could hear the ice tinkling and I thought, what the fuck, then he stuck his tongue in. It was cool, so cool from all that ice, but soft, and the contrast from the heat of me and the cool of him was too much. I came just from that. That firm hand on the back of ass kept me from catapulting from off the bed, and it was both frigging wonderful and pretty fucked not to be able to buck into it.

When I came to the land of the living, Vecchio was lying next to me, our pinkies touching again.

"You good?" he asked.

"Yeah. Let me do you. My palms aren't burned up."

"Later, let's do the front of you then we'll talk hand jobs. I got some more milk and ice when you were in lalafuckedout land."

I pushed my pinky against his.

"Sorry for being such a stupid asshole. This is your vacation too. You look really hot with that tan."

"You look really lame with that sunburn."

"My palm ain't lame."

"Hey, later, the… the… Kowalski, fuck, that's… The…"

"Milk. I know. It's chilling." I pressed my palm against my hot thigh and then grabbed his dick. Again.