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"And I say it again, a whopping... three minutes since last time. I'm here for moral support, not public indecency."
Nate sighs and pushes Ray's exploratory foot from where it's wiggled into his lap beneath the coffee shop table. So much for getting through the newspaper.
"Then support my morals," Ray reasons. "You know better than anyone that they're loose as a whore's sphincter. My morals and I are in constant need of a good bolstering." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Nate tries a glare. He thinks it probably comes out less than menacing. He's always been pretty shitty at not being amused by Ray Person.
"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Nate says and reaches across the little table to dig his fingers into Ray's temples in small massaging circles.
"Whatever, Inigo Montoya," Ray mutters, head dropping gratefully forward into Nate's hands. "Just keep doing that for a minute, would ya?"
Nate keeps up the circles, and Ray pulls off his glasses and closes his eyes with a sigh of relief.
"You're going to kick that exam's ass, Ray," Nate says softly. He lets go of Ray's head for a moment to nudge shut his thick, much-highlighted notebook and then resumes the temple massage. "At this point, I don't think there's anything you don't know about Technology, Society, or the Future."
"Don't even say those words to me right now," Ray groans. "Why did I sign up for that goat-fucked seminar in the first place?"
"Because Baretsky's a great professor who's got friends in high places, and you're about to graduate with honors from one of the most rigorous Sociology programs in the country."
Ray drops his head down onto his crossed arms on the table. Nate skritches his nails soothingly through Ray's hair.
"But, the trade-offs, man. The motherfucking trade-offs!" Ray's whine is muffled in his sweater. "This class has eaten my life. Hell, Nate, it's been two whole days since we last fucked."
Nate smiles as Ray turns his head to the side and stares balefully up at him.
"OK, don't even start with me on that one," Nate says. "Because I blew you on the couch last night, and I recall very clearly waking up to a couple of fingers in my ass this morning." He pauses, thinking. "Huh... unless those were someone else's fingers, in which case I'd think you might want to–"
"Don't you go there," Ray squawks, jerking his head up and glaring at Nate. "You know very well they were my amazing, sexy fingers of dexterous awesomeness! And we both know you don't want anyone else's fingers in your ass but mine, you monogamous romantic, you."
Nate pats Ray's cheek. "It's how I declare my undying love. Can't help it. I'm a one-man's-fingers kinda guy. Unless, of course, Brad ever takes us up on the offer to join in."
Ray groans and shakes his head. "Noooo. I still have notes to review. No way in fuck can I retain this shit if you're dangling a you-me-Iceman threeway in my face."
"May I remind you it was your foot in my lap not five minutes ago," Nate laughs.
"Yeah, but you were sitting there all Ivy League fuckable, with the coffee and the paper and that little frowny concentrating face," Ray protests. "There's only so much a red-blooded homo like me can take."
Nate leans across the table to kiss Ray quickly. "Here's the deal," he declares while he's still up in Ray's face. "You are going to finish reviewing your notes."
Ray pouts.
"I am going to finish my coffee and my newspaper."
Ray heaves a put-upon sigh.
"Then we are going to go home, and I am going to do my level penetrative best to get you to stop thinking about sociology at all for the rest of the night."
Ray dimples at that one.
"And when your exam's done tomorrow, we're going to call Brad and find out the next time he's in town."
The way Ray's pupils dilate is very satisfying. He tries to lunge up to Nate's mouth, but Nate sits back in his own chair again.
"Nuh-uh," he scolds. "First step to all of that..." He eyes Ray's notebook pointedly.
"You're a conniving bastard, Nate Fick," Ray says. He sounds impressed. "Fine. Step one: notes and coffee. Step two: fuck me into oblivion. Step three: post-exam Colbert propositioning. Roger copy."
"Atta boy," Nate smirks, and returns to his reading.