asher_talos | I don't love you like I did yesterday [for Ray; dated to Feb. 16]

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ray vecchio

I don't love you like I did yesterday [for Ray; dated to Feb. 16]

The gentle rocking of the boat had kept Asher in bed a lot later than he was accustomed to, and he might had stayed that way for an hour or two longer if it hadn't been for the sun streaming in through the porthole beside him. He tried pulling the covers up over his head but that made him too hot, and draping an arm over his eyes wasn't all that comfortable a position.

Grumbling quietly at the back of his throat, he eventually conceded to the idea that fighting it wasn't going to get him anywhere; he was awake. It wasn't until he stretched and his elbow nudged against something solid that his eyes finally opened slowly, blinking a few times before they focused properly.

Suddenly, the sun in his eyes was the very least of his problems.

Yelling was followed by scrambling, which was quickly followed by groaning as Asher had managed to scramble himself right off the foot of the bed in all of his flailing and commotion. "What the fuck?!" He hissed pulling a fucking shoe out from under himself. And it wasn't even his shoe!

It did make for an excellent projectile, though, so he threw it from his awkward position of the floor and just hoped it connected with Vecchio.

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Connected was an understatement. The heel of his shoe slapped him right in the face due to his badly timed rising, Asher's shout startling him bolt upright. He echoed the sentiment and covered his cheek with a hand, eyes wide behind it. It didn't take long before he started his own scrambling in the opposite direction, memories flooding back with unwelcome ease.

"Oh my God." He tipped his head heavenward with a curse and reached forward to tug the covers up and over his lap as an afterthought, trying not to draw attention to the action but failing miserably. "Oh my God." Waking up next to a guy was one thing; waking up next to him with a fucking hard-on was another.

Asher winced as he pulled himself to his feet, quickly averting his eyes when he caught a eyeful of Ray that he could have really done without seeing. Suddenly, waves that had been soothing a couple of minutes ago were only adding to his increasing nausea.

"Oh, sure, now you get it up," he said with a shudder, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, the heels of his hands pressing hard into his eye sockets.

"Oh my God," Ray repeated, only this time a vaguely hysterical "shut up!" was tagged on the end after Asher's comment. He pressed himself further against the wall and drew up his knees, leaving his hands free to mirror the other man. Only when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Asher 'getting it up' and that wasn't an image he could deal with.

"What the hell did you do to me?!" Amnesia would have been very welcome right then. Ironically, it barely registered to Ray right then that neither of them had very many clothes on.

Asher didn't answer at first, just reached down for Vecchio's other shoe and winged it at him from over his shoulder. "I'm going to be stuck with the nightmares, too, you fucking moron! I had nothing to do with this!"

He was as much a victim in all of this as Ray was, possibly more so; he... baked and this guy didn't even put out. "Oh, God." He was going to be sick.

"We nearly...!" Ray trailed off in horror, staring at the expanse of slept-in bed that was now vacated, so transfixed that he didn't even duck when the shoe came flying. It collided with him but he still continued to stare.

It was horrific, truly horrific but the worst (and unnerving) part was that when he looked back at the memories, none of them were bad. They had all been good, really, really good. At the time, at least. It was hard to feel sickened when he remembered, clear as day, that he'd been willing, and more to the point, happy about all of it. It confused the fuck out of him and it was written all over his face.

"You wanted to--...!" Ray could only deal with one bit at a time and considering his current excited state, sex won out over love. "You look like Kowalski!" Like that was a reason none of this could possibly be true.

"I know what I wanted! I was there." Pushing his fingers back through his hair, Asher leaned forward to rest his elbows against his knees.

At the mention of one of the clones, Asher bristled, just barely kept himself from growling. They all looked like him, not the other way around. "And you look like Mr. Clean. Frankly, I think you got the better end of the deal."

"Oh, that's mature," Ray sniped, gathering up the covers and holding them low over his stomach as he frantically crawled to the edge of the bed. Bare feet hit the cold floor and he hissed around his words as he began stomping out of the bedroom. His feet got tangled in the sheet every step of the way, adding to his frustration.

"Thank Christ I had the sense to say no to Mr. Insult. There's one thing at least that neither of us are gonna regret." Who knew, maybe even if Ray had put out, Asher would have reverted back to his less than charming self without the need for Island magic to wear off.

"Speak for yourself," Asher grumbled once Ray was out of the room. HE BAKED. Nothing about that was ever going to be okay with him. And it wasn't like he hadn't slept with people he absolutely loathed the thought of before...

Getting to his feet, Asher stepped into his own shoes on his way out of the room. "Bathroom's that way if you need to... take care of business," he said, waving the hand in its general direction. Ray could interpret that however he saw fit.

"Would you put a shirt on?!" Ray exclaimed in response, waving his own hand in Asher's vicinity and choosing to ignore the bathroom jab. "Do you have any idea what this'll do to my reputation if people see us like this?" he continued, mumbling mostly to himself as he shoved open the cabin door and stepped out, expecting to see a dock, quickly followed by safety.

He returned a full minute later, face set hard, eyes a little wild. The logistics of their little romantic trip had clearly slipped his mind; escape was hindered by a large expanse of ocean. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stem the migraine that was quickly forming. "Okay. Alright. Okay... We can just pretend none of this ever happened," he rationalised, reaching down and plucking his suit jacket from the pile of discarded clothes.

Several polaroids fell from the pocket, scattering across the floor.

"I'm working on it!" Asher bit back immediately, half tempted to remain shirtless just to make Ray more uncomfortable. Instead, he settled for a short commentary as he scooped his shirt up off the floor and proceeded to button it. "It's not my fault someone decided to start the stripping in the kitchen, is it?" Maybe it was; he couldn't really remember. Nor did he care to.

He went to fasten the last button, only to find it gone. "You broke my fucking shirt," he said, eyes slowly shifting to the pictures that now littered the floor. Well, those needed to be burned... right along with his eyeballs and maybe his shirt.

"You were saying?"

Ray wasn't saying much of anything. The breeze outside had calmed him down so he was confident enough to leave the bed covers in a pool at his feet when he bent down to pick up a few of the photos.

He bypassed the ones of them kissing and boggled briefly at the hand-holding but when he got to one of himself looking carefree and happy, he paused, squinting a little. It was him, undoubtedly, but Ray didn't recognise the person at all, wasn't sure if he'd ever seen him before. And suddenly his chest was hurting for an altogether different reason, a hollow kind of ache deep inside.

"Uh...I said..." He cleared his throat and shoved the photos into his pants pocket, hands going to his belt to do it up. "I said let's forget this ever happened. Forget the cupcakes, forget the buttermilk, forget the movie, the park, the walks, the boat." That wasn't really forgetting. "Just get us back to shore, wouldja. I got stuff to do."

"Stuff that involves you sicking that nose of yours where it doesn't belong?" That's what had gotten them here in the first place. It wasn't the Island's fault, it was Ray's fault. He was easier to blame, anyway. After a while, being angry at the Powers That Be that ruled this place got pretty tiring.

He wasn't necessarily looking forward to getting back on dry land -- the thought of facing Danica alone sort of made the idea of drifting around out on the water sound relatively appealing -- but he heaved a sigh and headed out to raise the anchor despite that.

"I'm a cop," Ray replied evenly, watching Asher leave, "my nose belongs anywhere and everywhere I see fit."

Even if he had admitted that he had no evidence to go on. But he'd find some. Maybe not now, maybe not even in the next few weeks or months, but one day... Oh yeah, Ray's suspicious side was back in full force. He narrowed his gaze at where Asher had been standing and absently buttoned up his shirt.

A few moments later and he ducked his head out of the cabin, calling out to him. "What happened to 'You're just doing your job'? That never changed."

"I never said that," Asher insisted, and as far as he was concerned it wasn't a lie. "Forget this ever happened. Your words. You don't get to pick and choose sections you what to remember."

Asher cut across the deck to the helm as he spoke, his shirt getting tucked in along the way. "So it never happened, that included."

"Ugh, you are so annoying," Ray shouted, disappearing back into the cabin and making sure the door shut with enough of a bang to emphasise his point. It wasn't like he liked investigating something when there was only the bare minimum to go on but a hunch was a hunch and so far it had yet to admit defeat.

Stomping back, he poked his head out once again, sucking in a lungful of ocean air before expelling it in another shout. "And I'm keeping the buttermilk!" He was aggressively downing it no more than thirty seconds later.

"Yeah, I hope you choke on it," Asher muttered to himself. He wondered if it would be at all possible to swing the boat around and abandon Ray over on the second island. Who the fuck did he think he was slamming doors on his boat, anyway? He was lucky Asher was letting him stay on board and hadn't decided to tie a rope around his waist and tow him behind the boat instead.

The lulls in the arguing made Asher uneasy, silence just making it possible for him to hear his own thoughts, which was the last thing he wanted. The happiest he'd ever been in over two and a half years there, and it was all the product of the island's fucked up sense of humor.

He tried to push those thoughts from his mind and concentrate solely on getting the back to shore, and was successful for about the firsts five minutes.

The chugging had to end at some point and when it did, Ray felt an increasing nausea in the pit of his stomach. He'd probably just drunk the buttermilk too fast.

Seeing as this was his first experience with Island magic affecting him, he thought he was dealing with it quite well. On the outside, at least. His head though was nothing more than a tangled mess of thank God my Ma wasn't here to see this/he's a guy!/who saw?!/my heart hurts/the Island can go to hell/...I'm going to hell all at once, over and over again. He sat at the table and stared at the surface, willing the boat to move faster. He could smell Asher on him. He picked at the cupcake in his hands, wanting to eat it but not doing so on principle.

Asher was glad that his lovesick self hadn't taken them too far out from the main island. The ride was still a lot longer than he would have liked it to be, but it could have been much, much worse. It was about the only bright spot he could find in any of this.

As he sat and kept the boat on course, he fussed with his tie, knotting it and un-knotting it and re-knotting it again, wringing the fabric in his hands. When he couldn't think of anything else to do with it, he would up just staring at it, as if he were expecting it to entertain and occupy him all on its own. It didn't, obviously, but it didn't matter once the boat had eventually come up on the docks. Asher wasted no time hoping down from the helm and trudging across the deck, throwing the glass doors open with one word: "Off."

Grabbing the rope that was wound off in a corner, Asher carefully made the boat-to-boardwalk jump and tied the tethered the vessel in place.

There was an awkward beat of silence before Ray called out "Finally!" after Asher had appeared, almost as if to deliberately piss him off so there was something other than silence. Insults had come so naturally the morning before.

Ray was fairly sure he had everything of his from the bedroom but he really wasn't strong enough to go back inside to check. His tie, at least, hung halfway out of his pant's pocket. He was nearly at the door when he turned back as an afterthought and replaced the cupcake, putting it with the rest on the plate. Something caught his eye and with a frown, he nudged the cake out of the way and picked up the foreign object.

The button. Ray stared at it for a long moment before dumping it on the table, in amongst the discarded polaroids he hadn't wanted to take. When he left the cabin, he was faced the same difficulty he'd conquered the day before, only this time getting off the boat looked a lot harder to do without tumbling into the water.

If Asher had stayed there, watching and waiting for Ray to finally take the leap, he knew he wouldn't have been able to keep himself from pushing him into the water.

Instead, he started down the boardwalk, curses quietly spilling from his lips the entire way. The longer he took, the more distance Asher could put between them, and maybe they could avoid being seen together by too many more people. Or so he could hope.

Exasperated, Ray gaped at Asher's retreating figure. God, that man was rude and incorrigible and everything he didn't like in another human being.

He held two loose fists by his side as he called out, "What, you're not gonna help me?!"

"No," Asher answered. Did the walking away not make that clear enough? He was as bad as Onyx, just more annoying since he whined with actual words and not a bunch of whimpers. "Jump. Or stay there for all I care."

At least now Ray could stop wondering how much of yesterday had been magically-engineered and how much hadn't. A big fat one hundred percent, that was how much. Every bit fake. Ray guessed he should thank God.

His pride prevented him from calling for help again. He just dropped his head into his hands and groaned pitifully, sitting down at the nearest flat spot and waiting for the sun to evaporate the entire ocean.

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I don't love you like I did yesterday [for Ray; dated to Feb. 16]

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