Mood Slime 1989

3. You're Not Sleeping With It, Are You Ray?

CW: explicit

The funky intro to Marvin Gaye's song "Let's Get It On" comes out of the small speakers. Instantly, the erotic edge to Gaye's voice seems to heat the room ten degrees. The opening lines of the song immediately beg the listener for sex, causing blood to rush south in both Egon and Ray's already aroused bodies.

"Woah," Ray says, pupils dilating with a flood of desire. He unconsciously licks his lips. If he thought he was desperately craving a cigarette earlier, that is nothing compared to the craving he feels now for Egon's body. Holy shit. Ray yanks back the covers and jumps into bed.

"Can we start already, please?" Egon goes from sitting patiently on the bedspread to quickly climbing under it with Ray.

"Yes," Ray says, breathless, reaching for him.

Egon and Ray crash together in the middle of their bed. At the touch of all that skin, bare chests and arms colliding, lips meeting- their senses are immediately swamped with input. Ray's observant hindbrain is still aware enough to mentally note that the slime is definitely doing something to their nervous systems. Their nerve endings and sense organs are unusually perceptive. It feels so good, they want to put their hands everywhere, touch everything at once. Their joining is half way to a wrestling match, something primal about it. A race to explore the most skin.

Egon is on top for the moment, roughly pushing Ray into the pillows. His tall angular self pressing down into the heaven of Ray's padded, muscular form. Egon's lips on Ray's, his tongue in his mouth, it's somehow incredibly familiar and entirely new at once. Tasting him is the most delicious thing. He wants to do it forever.

Ray's palms feel too sensitive, just running his hands over Egon's back, erotic. He can feel every detail of the muscles and shoulder blades moving under his hands. Egon's skin is velvet. The weight of his body on Ray's chest feels like home. The scent of his freshly shampooed hair and the scratch of his stubble does too.

"I feel so-" Ray tries to put words to it but Egon's mouth is too scrumptious to waste time on language. Instead he rolls them over so that he can take control. Ray licks into Egon's mouth and then dives to greedily kiss his throat. Ray nudges his knee between Egon's legs, straddles a long lean thigh. Pinches his nipple between callused fingers.

With Ray on top, Egon can grab Ray's magnificent ass with each hand and press their hips together. Ray grinding down on him, their erections caught between their bodies, thin cotton frustratingly still between them. Ray's full lips break away from kissing Egon for a second and at the absence of their sweetness, Egon makes a whine sound that he has never heard himself make before. He doesn't feel even slightly embarrassed.

"Spengs, take your pajama pants off, for science," Ray says, eyes smoldering hot as he yanks Egon's waistband down past his lovely hips. Hot hands over silken skin. "Off! Pants!"

Egon lifts his butt off the bed to help Ray get them all the way off. They're instantly forgotten, kicked down and lost somewhere in the covers. Ray's fingers are wrapping around him and his mouth is sliding down over Egon's cock and then Egon doesn't have any thoughts at all.

Marvin Gaye's voice sings of the joys of good sex, his high notes orgasmic cries and his low notes groans of ecstasy. He sings,
"Giving yourself to me,
would never be wrong,
if the love is true."

Of course, neither Ray nor Egon can stop to take written notes. Usually, even in the throws of passion, some part of their highly scientific minds is still capable of calculation, observation and notation. Not tonight. Now, neither one has words other than yes, more, now. Fuck science.