Title: Liars
Author: Welmach.
Pairing: Ray Vecchio/Ian MacDonald.
Rating: Adult.
Disclaimer: I don't own the main ones. Alliance does.
Feedback: Is most welcomed.
Notes: Thanks, as always, to Magnes for your great beta. Any mistakes that still exist are mine. Huge thanks for Corrinne who encouraged me to post this. Your positive feedback has made my New Year.
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Mush, mush and more mush.
New Year's Eve, and Armando Langoustini, a.k.a. The Bookman, a.k.a. Ray Vecchio, stood on his bedroom balcony overlooking the pool below. The moon shown down in silver slivers on the still water. In the distance, he could see his two armed guards watching and waiting for any disturbance.
This was his life now. He was The Bookman, with bodyguards, limousines, the finest foods, the best restaurants, designer suits galore, and the beautiful people around him.
He laughed softly to himself and shook his head. The beautiful people. On the outside, they might be beautiful, but on the inside they were dark and cold. They were fake. Just like him. Fakes, pretending to be something they weren't.
Ray returned to the bedroom and looked over at the sleeping figure, covered by the down comforter. Only the top of the brown head could be seen. He knew if he removed the comforter he would find the beautiful, pale naked body of his lover.
His lover, another liar. But this liar wasn't like the others or him.
Ray lied because it was his duty. Once again, he laughed, thinking how much Benny had rubbed off on him. It was his duty to fight the wrong and help the right.
The other people in this city....They lied because they wanted to be looked at as important. They wanted people to move out of their way, to give them respect, to be in awe of them.
This sleeping figure, though....All this liar wanted was to like himself and have others care for him. He didn't want people to move out of his way; he wanted them to befriend him, to accept him.
Ray sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through the soft brown hair. Automatically, the sleeping figure moved closer and buried his face against Ray's silk covered thigh, seeking the comfort of his touch. Ray needed it as much as his lover. And this was dangerous. He couldn't afford to need anyone. And this liar couldn't stay; he didn't belong here. He couldn't. He didn't lie well enough. He didn't know how. He didn't live the lie.
Ray thought back to over a week ago, Christmas Eve. He was at one of the city's top hotels at a private party given in Armando Langoustini's honor, and in the middle of it there was a part of his past. Not The Bookman's, but Ray Vecchio's past. Standing at the bar, eating shrimp, and telling the bartender how he was a personal friend of Armando Langoustini's, how they, along with Wayne Newton, tracked aliens together.
Ray considered ignoring him, but noticed Michael LaCassio, his right hand man, was watching and becoming suspicious. And with good reason, Ian MacDonald was not a person with whom Armando Langoustini would associate.
So, Langostoni took control and ordered one of is bodyguards to bring the annoying young liar to his house, where they could have a private talk. And what a talk it was.
Ian saw right through the Langoustini mask. He knew the real Ray Vecchio, the Ray Vecchio that shone through the emerald green eyes. Ray dropped the charade and became himself. For a few hours the liar could disappear.
Two liars became two lonely men looking for a place on Christmas Eve. They found comfort in talking, in touching, in kissing, in their bodies entwining, in loving each other. At the moment when he found himself buried in the younger man's body, heard his name being cried, Ray Vecchio knew what he had been missing for so long....someone to love. And the next day, when Christmas dawned, he knew he couldn't let Ian leave, not yet.
"Ray."
The soft voice brought Ray back to the present.
"It's all right, Caro."
"Is it midnight, yet?" Ian asked, sitting up and leaning against the older man's body. "You're dressed. What's wrong?"
Ray removed his robe and slipped back into the bed. "Nothing is wrong. Just thinking."
"What about?"
"You and me...." He leaned over and kissed him, his tongue seeking the warmth of the younger man's mouth.
"Us," Ian whispered a few minutes later, running fingers through the dark on his lover's chest.
Green eyes met brown, sharing warmth and love as the distant sound of a grandfather's clock signaled the New Year.
