#raiclay

Clay doesn't exactly remember how they end up this way because all of five minutes ago he was sound asleep. By this way, he means with Raimundo pressed almost flush against him, both of them warmer than normal and almost sweaty, and their pajama pants pulled down – well, Clay's sure Rai kicked his off a while ago. Clay has a hand around both of their dicks and Raimundo is trying to claw the skin off the cowboy's hip, teeth sunk into his shoulder and thankfully, Clay notes, Rai is quiet for once.

Mostly quiet, anyway, save for the occasional grunts and half choked out moans.

As Clay continues working both of them, his memory barely flickers whispered words in his ear from only a few minutes ago – "Clay, I can't sleep." Anything else up until now is a blur – sloppy kisses, dragged fingertips, Raimundo's whining.

Rai is going to be the death of Clay.

"What was- that?" Clay's voice is low and right in Rai's ear, and even though the cowboy doesn't get a straight answer – or not one that he can understand, anyway – he has a pretty good idea of what Raimundo is trying to spit out if the way the Brazilian's hips suddenly jerk out of rhythm is anything to go by.

A few drags of his wrist more and Clay can feel Raimundo tense up the way he does before he comes, kisses the wind dragon and lets Rai shove his tongue down Clay's throat just as he loses it. A few strokes more and Clay's done for, too.

He cleans them up the best he can, helps Rai fix his pants and then fixes his own, and by the time Clay settles back down Raimundo is snoring quietly in his arms. Clay just sighs and relaxes.