New F/K Story: Getting In (R)
Mar. 1st, 2008 12:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: Getting In
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Fandom: dS
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, Fraser/Smithbauer (in his dreams)
Rating: R for mild sexual shenanigans
Category: FT
Warning: Distressingly self-indulgent, long, and
schmoopy as heck. And the guys just TALK TOO MUCH.
So don't come crying to me later you big sissies.
Wordcount: 8,333
Getting In
By Arrow
This time, when Ray breaks into the Consulate, he uses the card he made special just for the purpose. He got tired of screwing up the magnetic strip on his credit card (and having the clerk at the 7-11 treat him like a fucking war criminal when it didn't work right) so a while ago he cut a fresh square from some thick plastic sheeting, and he carries that around instead.
He doesn't really need to break in. He could've just knocked. He knows Fraser is there because he saw Fraser come back to the Consulate with his "friend", his ooh-my-old-friend-from-Canada-is-in-town pal, the one that made Fraser light up like an X-Men pinball game when you knocked down the glowing Magneto three times inside a minute.
And since when did Fraser have old friends? Ones that weren't just acquaintances or roughing it in Vegas? But, no, Fraser said he knew this guy when they were kids and played hockey together, and you remember the case, Ray (thumb on nose) of the hockey player coming to town, and then mobsters and ice skates and bullets, oh my?
Ray was sitting outside in his car waiting for Fraser to come home (he can't remember why) and he was reading the case file (this Smithbauer, if you read between the lines, was a total asshole) and up walked the two of them, close together, roughhousing a little, and then Smithbauer hip-checked Fraser so he went ploof! into the snow and laughed.
Fraser laughed.
Smithbauer helped him up and got a shirtful of snow for his trouble, and the two of 'em joked and smacked each other oh-so-so friendly as they went into the Consulate.
So, Ray knows Fraser is in there. But before breaking in he sits in the car for a while, feeling weird for no good reason he can figure and reading the rest of the case file (bad guys 0, Vecchio/Fraser/Smithbauer 4, which is a pretty respectable score) and fighting this crawling in his gut. Thing is, he has to watch out for Fraser because Fraser is his friend, and a little too damned naïve to live. And Ray gets the feeling this Smithbauer is bad news with a capital b-b-bad. It's just because he's an old friend that maybe Fraser doesn't see that and is giving Smithbauer a free pass.
And Ray uses the card instead of knocking because, well. Just because, okay? Because maybe he doesn't want Fraser to know he's being creepy and weird like a stalker.
The Consulate is moody dark and quiet at night, and Ray shrugs off his jacket and moves past Turnbull's desk and down the narrow hallway. The door to Fraser's office is closed, but light spills from underneath it.
And then Ray hears it—a moan of pain and—shit!—he was right, Smithbauer brought trouble with him, maybe someone was waiting for them, or maybe Smithbauer is the one hurting Fraser—but, no, because just before Ray pulls his piece to go crashing through the door, Smithbauer says something, laughing a little, and Fraser moans again, and this time it's the deep, good moan, like when you're—
No. No way. Fraser isn't like that.
Ray is standing there, completely frozen, and hears a thump and the thud-thud of footsteps. The door opens and there's Fraser, staring at him in total surprise.
"Ray?"
Ray blinks. Fraser is still in his jeans and Henley, so maybe Ray was totally hallucinating a second ago, except Fraser is flushed, his eyes bright and his hair all mussed up.
"Uh. Hi. I thought I heard—are you okay?" Ray has to ask, even though Fraser looks just fine, just fine and dandy, and happy as a clam except for the sudden worried frown.
"Rather, I should ask you that, Ray. You look pale. Are you feeling ill?" Fraser takes his arm and tugs him into his office. "You should have gone directly to the Emergency Room—"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Ray stares at Smithbauer, who he can see clearly now is this big, big guy, a beefy hockey-type guy, and good-looking to boot, the bastard. "Hi," Ray makes himself say to him.
"Of course, you remember Ray Vecchio, Mark," Fraser says carefully.
"Yeah. How's it going?" Smithbauer says, and he looks nervous and caught-in-the-act. But Fraser is acting like nothing in the world is going on, and anyway Dief is there, and they wouldn't do anything in front of Dief, would they?
"Are you sure you're all right, Ray?" Fraser asks.
Ray says slowly, "Yeah, 'm fine. I just thought I heard—you sounded like you were hurt just now, Fraser."
Fraser smiles and shakes his head. "Oh, no. Mark was just giving me a back rub. My back's been troubling me lately, and since he's been with a professional trainer he really knows how to work the kinks out."
"I'll bet," Ray says under his breath, and he pins Smithbauer with his baddest laser-eyeball glare, because no way does one guy offer to give another guy a back rub unless he's on the make. And from the nervous look he gets back (Smithbauer is an open book, at least) Ray is at least right about his intentions, even if Fraser seems oblivious.
"Your color looks a little better," Fraser says. "Why don't we all go to the kitchen for a cup of tea?" Mr. Innocence walks out, and Ray bulldogs his chin at Smithbauer in another little warning before he follows.
Fraser makes tea. He's all smiles tonight, and it's making Ray uneasy seeing him so, well, happy. Smithbauer looks a little sick, as if he's scared Ray will tell on him. Which is smart, because that's exactly what Ray intends to do as soon as Smithbauer gets his hockey-playing ass out of here and back to wherever he belongs.
They all get their cups and sit down at the kitchen table. Fraser makes talk while Ray and Smithbauer stare across at each other. Ray thinks someone should just drop a puck between them and get it over with.
"Mark is in town trying to get funding for a pet project of his. He wants to build a children's sports center in Inuvik, and he has a lot of wealthy contacts here from his professional hockey days."
"That sounds...great," Ray says, and it does, really. Maybe Mark isn't such a jerk after all. But then Ray sees the way Fraser's eyes glow a little, all proud, and he gets pissed again.
Smithbauer clears his throat. "Yeah. I've got some early meetings, though, so I guess I'd better get back to the hotel, eh?" He pushes his untouched tea aside and gets up. Fraser stands and gives the guy a hug—dammit—and claps him on the back once. Ray grits his teeth when he sees Smithbauer's big paw sliding up to the back of Fraser's neck to give him a little squeeze and a shake.
"I'll drop you a line tomorrow, Mark. Maybe we can go out to the pond when you're done for the day."
"Sounds good." Smithbauer grins, his teeth too white. He looks huge next to Fraser, who's already a pretty big guy. Ray's stomach takes another nose-dive.
He doesn't follow them to the door. He's trying to figure out how to tell Fraser that his buddy is a no-good lech who's after his Mountie ass. Not that there's anything wrong with some good old fashioned lust, but the problem is Fraser is really old-fashioned, all courtesy and hat bobbing and not about to jump in the sack without losing his heart in the process. Ray just knows it. He doesn't know how he knows it, except for the crushed look Fraser had after that Janet chick turned out to be already married and kind of unscrupulous, to boot. And Smithbauer is already a confirmed fraud. No joy there.
Besides, Fraser isn't like that. He's not into guys. But he's also a total sucker for anyone he cares about—just look at what he puts up with from Ray all the time. Smithbauer could maybe puppy-dog Fraser right into bed before he knew what hit him.
It's all pretty much bad.
"Are you quite sure you're all right, Ray?" Fraser says as he comes back in. "You look...odd."
"I don't trust that guy," Ray says, coming right out with it. "I don't, and you shouldn't trust him either."
Fraser's face stiffens with surprise.
"It's just...okay." Ray rubs his forehead. "I'll lay it out for you, because maybe you don't get this sort of thing, being from where you are and all. But I think he's after you."
"What—? Ray, Ray, Ray." Fraser shakes his head. "Mark has been my friend since we were children. He'd never hurt me, as you seem to be implying."
"Oh, like he wouldn't swipe you with a beer bottle? Or lie to you about throwing a hockey game?"
"That was—those were difficult circumstances for him. But he's turned a new leaf."
"Fraser! I'm not talking about him taking you to the cleaners or something, or that he's in with the mob. I just mean he's...he's after you, get me? I mean, no straight guy on this planet offers a back rub unless he's got altering—alternative motives."
Fraser blinks. "'Ulterior', Ray." But his heart isn't into their usual game, because he suddenly gets very formal. "I assure you, Mark has no designs, as such, on my person. He is fond of me, granted, especially since I helped him through a difficult period—"
"He wants you. You're being stupid—"
Fraser stands suddenly, so quickly the chair behind him scrapes against the kitchen floor. Then he turns his back, his shoulders stiff under his Henley. "I'm not stupid, Ray. Neither do I see why this is any of your concern—"
"He's a lech, Fraser. And you're—"
"Ray! If Mark—if he were to, well, make advances, that would be between the two of us. Understood?"
Oh, that's a shut out, right there. And no way is Ray going to stand for it. He gets up and addresses Fraser's back. "What're you saying, Fraser? You saying you might take him up on it? Because that's—"
Fraser spins, suddenly looking furious—or as mad as he ever lets himself get. He says, his mouth barely moving, "That's what, Ray? Disgusting? Wrong? Is it wrong to show your affection for someone in a physical way? Would it be wrong for me to accept? Not that I...but it's not like I get that kind of offer every day—"
"Oh, fuck no, it's not like pretty women aren't throwing themselves at you fifty times a minute—"
Fraser rolls his eyes. "Yes, I expect I could have quite a meaningful encounter with one such."
And isn't that just what was pissing Ray off about Smithbauer, that it would be a cheap thing and Fraser would get hurt? But Fraser seemed to think it would mean more.
So—time to take a step back, and Ray does, and sits back down, and suddenly it hits him—Fraser is actually considering it. Fraser isn't weirded out by the fact Smithbauer's a guy.
Whoa.
Maybe Fraser hasn't swung that way, but it sounds like he doesn't see anything wrong with it. And did Ray just totally fuck up by clueing Fraser in that Smithbauer likes him like that?
"Wait just a second," Ray says, running his hand up through his spikes, trying to scratch the thoughts out. "Wait. First off—I never said it was disgusting."
Fraser tilts his head, looking skeptical. His hair is still all mussed up, and his cheeks have bright red spots from being mad. And Ray is sunk. Just completely sunk, because he's a fucking idiot and now Fraser will never believe—
"Ray." Fraser sits down and folds his hands on the table. "I think I know where this is coming from, and you mustn't feel threatened by my friendship with Mark." Fraser scratches his neck, looking away, "Not that you are, necessarily, but you must know how very important you are to me."
Oh, terrific. Now Fraser thinks he's a total bigot and pathetically needy.
"I know that, Frase. You're important, too. Muy importante. And I meant what I said—it's not that I think it would be wrong or something. It's that I worry about you, okay?"
Fraser seems to be listening now. He bites his lip for a second and nods.
"Thing is, you always jump in, all one big heart, and you put it all out there, all the time, in everything, but I don't think it'd be the same for him. Not like it might be for—for someone else." Ray makes the hasty switch and then feels like a coward. So, he adds, "For someone who already cares about you a whole lot, isn't just fond like an old hockey buddy."
Fraser frowns. And then he frowns deeper, his whole face getting into it. "Ray are you saying—?" He shakes his head.
"How's your back feeling?" Ray asks, putting it all the line. Double or nothing.
More confusion, and now Fraser peers at him. "I don't quite—"
"Because I could help you with that, you know? I'm kick-ass at Shiatsu."
The frown is now completely gone, because Fraser has gone blank-faced with shock. "You're—you're offering me a back-rub?" he says, disbelief making him sound windy.
"Yup." Ray ignores the shakiness in his hands and wiggles his fingers in the air. "The full ten magic fingers. Whaddaya say?"
Fraser shuts his mouth and stares at him. Ray stares back, a minor earthquake going on in his gut.
"I'll...I'll have to think about that, Ray."
"Yeah," Ray forces out through his tight throat. "I get ya."
Fraser lifts his hand. "It's not that I—I mean, I do want to think about it, Ray. If that's all right."
Better than nothing, Ray thinks. Better than Fraser high-tailing it north on the first thing smoking.
Fraser scratches his eyebrow, his neck, and then he licks his lip—the whole shebang. "I'm just not—I mean, I suppose on a hypothetical level, when you said...what you said about Mark—but it's not anything I've truly considered before—"
Oh, this is pretty painful. "It's okay. I get it, Frase. It's just out there, okay? I put it out there, and you think about it. But we're cool, right? Still buddies?"
"Yes! Of course. Always, Ray." Fraser looks relieved as all get out.
Stupid. Stupid. How could you be so stupid and just blurt it out like that?
"I should go, I guess. I gotta go."
Fraser nods and walks him to the door, then puts his hand on Ray's arm and squeezes a little. How's he supposed to know that it makes Ray's heart just shrivel? What with the care Fraser is showing, as if he's proving something to both of them. But Ray isn't proud, so he bumps his elbow against Fraser's ribs and gets the hell out before he starts crying like a baby.
In the car, he curses Smithbauer all the way home. In Polish.
///
The next evening Fraser drags Ray along to the pond for some skating. Actually, Ray really wants to go with them, but he hides it with some serious grumpiness so Fraser doesn't catch on.
No way is Ray leaving Fraser alone with that shark.
Fraser acts totally normal on the ride over, if you don't count the occasional look, the flicker of those blue eyes that seem to be checking Ray out. As if Fraser is thinking about it like he promised, and he's trying to figure out if he can see Ray like that.
Right about now, Ray wishes he were bigger, less scrawny, more handsome. More Fraser. More fucking perfect. But he sees Fraser's eyes linger on his body, and then his hands on the steering wheel, and when Ray tracks back to Fraser's face, he looks little bit...pink.
Ray starts using his hands more as a test. It's like he's using them to flirt, and Fraser, jeez, he keeps looking. So that's pretty good right there.
At the rink, they're both bent over and strapping on their skates when Smithbauer pulls up in a rental.
"Hello, Mark," Fraser greets him then looks back at Ray. His expression says be good, Ray, but Ray is never good. Fraser should know that by now.
Out on the ice, Ray forgets for a little while about his pissy feelings, because Smithbauer really is good, smooth and fast, and Ray is picking it all up again, remembering the feeling of being out here on the ice, wondering why the hell he hasn't been skating in years (except Stella didn't. Stella never wanted to.)
And the three of them are something else, warming up by sending the puck back and forth, Ray's borrowed stick a little heavy but swinging sweetly as he knocks a pass to Fraser.
Then they get down and dirty—the pond is almost round, so they decide to make three equally distant goals, each of them stomping around and marking theirs out with branches. It's a total free-for-all, and Ray is high on it—seeing Fraser look like he was born on skates, and watching him go all-out. He doesn't pull any punches, hip-checking the both of them and getting his elbows in. It's like the rules of politeness just don't apply out here.
Ray gets some nice digs in on Mark, but the guy is fast and tricky and he lays Ray out on the ice more than once. It's worth it, though, to have Fraser looking down at him with a flushed grin before they both haul him back up to his skates.
Mark wins, of course. But Ray doesn't really care, because afterward they sit on the bench with a thermos full of hot chocolate that Fraser brought along, only Ray slides himself right in between them, and Fraser doesn't seem to object. They hand the cup back and forth, and Smithbauer is fuming a little next to Ray, and Ray turns and gives him a cocky look. I win.
Smithbauer looks pissed. Which feels just great, until Ray hands the cup back to Fraser and sees the expression on Fraser's face and realizes he caught the whole thing. Cold, boy, the Mountie can do cold and disappointed like nobody's business, so it looks like Ray has really screwed the pooch.
He's sure of it when Fraser walks Mark to his car and gives him another hug—this time with no backslap, and he says something into Smithbauer's ear, and the guy smiles.
Shit.
"That was real fun, Frase. Thanks for letting me tag along," Ray says meekly once they're alone in the GTO.
"Yes. I really should skate more often," Fraser says. Then, awkwardly, "I'm glad you could join us."
Ouch. "Let's get some chow, huh?"
It takes too long for Fraser to answer, "All right, Ray."
They pick up some Chinese—with extra pot stickers for Dief—and go back to the empty Consulate. Dief sniffs at Fraser's coat and barks.
"Yes, we saw Mark. But you hate skating. You know that, Diefenbaker. Anyway, we'll be seeing him tomorrow."
"You are? I mean, you will?" Ray asks before he can stop himself. He quickly sets the food out and drops Dief's pot stickers onto a plate, putting it under the table.
"Of course," Fraser says icily. "Tomorrow is Mark's last day in town." Fraser pours himself some water and takes a sip, his eyes steady on Ray's.
"That's great," Ray says weakly. "I mean, that you'll get to see him again before he leaves." Ray feels shut out again.
"Yes," Fraser says, his voice deadly. "He's a good friend. I'll miss him."
"Fraser—"
"Don't, Ray." Fraser picks up his chopsticks and then sets them down again. "It's obvious to me now that I've been working under a certain misapprehension with regard to your motives. I thought—well, never mind what I thought. It seems you were merely being a little...possessive. But you don't have to worry. Mark is leaving." Fraser looks down. "Of course, he'll be returning from time to time, and as I have hardly anyone who bears that much fondness toward me, I will be happy to see him when he's in town."
This is crap. Ray is so deeply buried he can barely breathe. "No, Frase," he says when he can get his mouth working again, "it's not like that. You got me all wrong."
"Do I? Are you trying to claim you haven't been acting like a...like a dog in a manger?"
"I'm a dog, yeah," Ray admits. His voice is lumpy. "But only because I know he wants what I want, except he's got an in, see? With the hockey and the Canada thing and he's so buff and good-looking and I'm just...me. Just Stanley Ray, bank pisser and ex-married loser. And I'm not even me, because my life was so pathetic I had to go undercover—"
"Your life isn't pathetic," Fraser says fiercely. "And his looks aren't—that is, there's nothing about the way Mark looks that would somehow impel me to—" Fraser's voice drops. "You look fine to me, Ray. I think I've told you in the past you are a very attractive man."
Ray's heart forgets about beating for a second. "Yeah?"
"Of course. That isn't...in issue."
"Then what is?" Ray really, really needs to know. And he thinks he won't get a chance, because Fraser picks up his chopsticks and starts eating, and he won't look at Ray.
Ray has no appetite at all, so he just sits back and waits. There are times when you can push Fraser, and times when it just makes him rabbit to the nearest hole.
Fraser eats a little, staring down at his plate. "Aren't you going to eat something?"
All Ray can see is the top of his head. "Aren't you going to answer my question?" Ray asks softly. Tiny push.
"I'm not sure I want to," Fraser says to his chow mein.
"I'm pretty sure you don't," Ray says reasonably. "But don't you think, since you're my best buddy, I deserve that? We are still buddies, aren't we?"
That brings Fraser's head up. "Always, Ray. Please don't doubt it." The blue of his eyes is dark, like the night sky right before the streetlights come on.
"Then tell me. Maybe I can help with it. I'm good at puzzles."
"You are." Fraser smiles a little before he winces. "I'm...it's...embarrassment, really. That's partly the problem. You know me very well, indeed. Or, at least, what I've been able to show you—"
"You show me plenty."
"No. No. Not all." Fraser flicks a nail over his eyebrow.
"Well, tell me who does, huh? Everybody hides."
"Not you." There's all kinds of admiration in Fraser's voice, and Ray feels his face heat up.
"Yeah, me, too. Didn't tell you about this, did I? Had plenty of opportunities, too. Like when we went undercover at Studs. Or after the Henry Allman."
That gets him an exasperated look.
"Okay, okay. Henry Allen."
Fraser nods. "That's true, I suppose. Everyone, then, although I do think that I'm more inclined than most to...compartmentalize."
"Buh-huh?"
"And that's another kind of hiding," Fraser says a little briskly. "You know exactly what I mean."
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. So, what else?"
Fraser's tongue slips out to wet his lip. He doesn't hide as much as he thinks he does, because that's a pretty good tell right there.
"What else, Frase? Is it that you don't think you'll like it? Because I'll tell you right now—not a chance, A. And B., if you don't, then no biggie, all right? It's not like I'm...I'm not gonna try to make you do anything—"
"No! No, you'd never—that's not the problem, Ray. I'm sure you'd be fine, quite good, really." Fraser's face flushes deep red.
Oh. "Hey—"
"You have done this before?" Fraser interrupts him hurriedly. "I think it would behoove us to have at least one of us know what he's—"
"Then you want to? You want to try?" Because it's just occurred to Ray that the way Fraser's talking, he's willing. He's really going to—
"Yes. Yes, Ray. If, well, as you say, there's no pressure, as such, to—" Fraser coughs. And it must have caught wrong in his throat, because he coughs again suddenly, and then doesn't stop, until it sounds like he's hacking a lung, and Ray rushes around the table to thump him on the back.
"Enough, thank you," Fraser says hoarsely, raising his hand.
"Went down the wrong pipe?"
Fraser shakes his head. Then he takes a long drink of water and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
The whole time, Ray has his hand on Fraser's back, and he leaves it there, because—well, foot in the door, really. Ray sinks to one knee so he can stay close without getting a kink in his neck. The move puts him just below Fraser's face, and when he looks up, Fraser is staring down at him, his eyes a little worried, but his mouth relaxed.
And red. And just a little damp.
Oh, man. Ray's going to go for it. He has no choice, really, because, yeah, he'd thought about this, thought about it a lot, even if he'd never let himself know he was thinking about it.
He lets his hand slide up past the neck of Fraser's Henley to sink into the soft, short hair at the back of his neck. Fraser's eyes flutter for a moment before they widen in surprise, but Ray doesn't want to give him a chance to recover, so he leans up and lays a kiss on Fraser's lips. Nothing fancy, just an offer, with full intent.
When he pulls back, Fraser's eyes are closed.
Score! Ray is pretty sure he did that just right, because Fraser lips part and his tongue comes out to taste before withdrawing again. Then he opens his eyes.
"I—that was...quite agreeable."
Ray feels his entire face scrunch into a grin. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yes." Fraser's lips lift in a smile.
So Ray tugs once with his hand, pulling Fraser down, and lays another one on him, this time taking his time, licking just inside Fraser's lips, tasting that soft edge, and Fraser inhales sharply, bringing cool air between them.
"Oh," Fraser says this time.
"Mmm hmm." Ray pulls back and hoists himself up. "My knee is hurting," he says when Fraser gives him a questioning look. "Maybe we can go sit on the couch? In the sitting room?"
"Yes. Okay, yes," Fraser says, sounding a little breathless.
Ray holds in his grin until it feels like it's trapped inside his chest. He did it. He kissed Fraser. He thinks he might've blown Fraser's circuits a little, and that wasn't even his best kiss. That was like a two on his kissing scale, and he goes up to at least an eleven.
He follows Fraser into the other room. Fraser sits down a little stiffly on the pristine sofa, looking around warily as if Inspector Frigid is going to pop out from behind the curtains at any second. This might not be the best place to get Fraser in a hot-and-heavy mood. On the other hand, Ray thinks if he asks to take this to Fraser's cot the poor guy will unhinge completely.
Well, nothing ventured, as Fraser has said about a billion times before jumping off something way too high or into something on fire or whatever. So Ray sits next to him, almost in his lap, and slings his arms around Fraser's shoulders, hauling him in.
Fraser lets himself be pulled right onto Ray's lips. Ray starts slow, like before, but pretty soon he's got his tongue slipping in there where Fraser tastes so sweet and hot, a little bit of the cocoa still on his lips. Ray feels Fraser's neck give, loosening so they fit together better, mouth to mouth, and just that small sign has Ray's dick swelling against the rough material of his jeans. He has to pull back for a second and adjust himself.
Fraser's eyes open, looking a little dazed, and then they drop to Ray's hand. Ray can see him swallow.
"Ah, Ray, perhaps—"
"It's getting late, I guess," Ray says quickly, so Fraser doesn't have to.
"Yes. Of course. We do have work in the morning."
"Yeah, that's generally when we start, Frase."
It's awkward at the door while Ray grabs his jacket, already feeling the cold of parting and the heaviness in his balls that says you didn't get none, although he really wasn't expecting that tonight. Hell, Fraser was really pissed after the hockey, so really Ray's way ahead. He reminds himself of that as he zips his jacket.
But just as he's hesitating in the doorway, looking for the right thing to say before leaving, Fraser leans over and kisses him. Just a quick kiss, just a goodbye kiss, but it was Fraser doing the kissing.
Ray's cheeks hurt from grinning too hard all the way home.
///
The next day is tough, what with the escaped penguins and the blimp accident that resulted in the rain of frogs (small, green, rubber) so Ray doesn't figure on either of them having the energy to do much, but Fraser surprises him by catching him by his jacket as soon as they get inside the apartment and laying a lip-lock on him.
Ray's momentum carries him forward until Fraser's back hits the coat rack and he makes a really unhappy sound.
"Easy, there, Tex," Ray says, taking Fraser's Stetson, which is off-kilter on his head. Ray hangs it up behind Fraser and tugs on the uniform inside his pea coat. "Why don't you get this straightjacket off? I'll get us hooked up with beverages."
"I assure you, Ray, the uniform is much more comfortable than a straightjacket. Of course, having worn both—"
"Of course," Ray says, grinning as he heads to the kitchen.
"—I have to admit the collar of this uniform makes it difficult to be anything less than proper in my posture—"
"Which is the whole point," Ray says over his shoulder. He's almost out of beer.
"—which is, I suppose, the whole point." Fraser is already right behind him and out of his coat and jacket. How'd he do that so fast? He's in a tank-top undershirt today, which makes no sense since it's like a gazillion below outside.
And Ray can see right through to his nipples. Not that he needs to, since— "Little chilly for short sleeves, Fraser."
"I'm afraid we have to blame the Inspector," Fraser says, and his face is red. "Once a month or so she turns up the heat in the Consulate to ridiculous levels. And then, of course, you and I were chasing runaway penguins all afternoon, so I've hardly felt it, I assure you."
"Hardly at all, huh?" Ray brushes one rigid nipple with his knuckle before he can stop himself.
Fraser sucks in his breath. "Of course they, uh, they don't run very fast."
"Who doesn't?" Ray asks. Fraser's reaction is interesting. Ray doesn't drop his hand, instead cautiously rubs a little more.
"P-penguins." Fraser sounds strangled. Then it's genie-in-a-bottle time, Ray getting his magic wishes out of the way, because Fraser grabs his teasing hand and pulls it up to his mouth and starts licking Ray's fingers.
Ray has thought about that tongue. How could he not? The tongue was just out there all the time, begging to be thought about and imagined doing things, like what it's doing right now—licking its way over Ray's knuckles one by one.
Then it's soft kisses being sprinkled on his palm, on his wrist, tongue snaking around his chain. Totally weird, but no problem. Ray looks at Fraser's face.
"You dig my hands?"
Fraser stops and nods wordlessly.
Still clutching his beer, Ray drags Fraser over to the living room. He puts the bottle down on the table, then pushes Fraser down onto the couch, sprawling him against the arm. Ray lands moments later and starts in with the kissing.
They neck for a long time, Ray taking an occasional sip of beer because Fraser says he likes the taste in his mouth, even if he doesn't want one of his own (Ray asks.) Things get a little hot and heavy when Fraser starts licking the curve of his ear, and Ray shifts and gets his hard-on in touch with Fraser's thigh, watching for Fraser's reaction.
Fraser just pulls him in for another kiss, so Ray rubs a little against him. Jesus, Fraser has a strong leg muscles, and he actually flexes them a little as Ray humps against him, which is too much. Ray wonders how far Fraser will let him go, so he spreads one hand under Fraser's shirt where it's gotten untucked from the front of his pumpkin pants, and touches soft skin and hard muscle, which lunges under his fingers when Fraser gasps into his mouth.
It's going pretty good, so Ray lets his hand drift down a little lower, feeling the heel of his palm touch something warm and a little lumpy, and that's when the brakes squeal and Fraser pushes him off hastily.
They're both breathing a little rough and staring at each other.
Fraser says hesitantly, "Ray, I'm—"
"No biggie," Ray says quickly, cutting him off. He sets himself upright and grabs his beer, taking a long swig. "Let me finish my beer and I'll give you a ride home." He ignores the raging heat in his pants.
"Ah. I think I need the walk, Ray. But thank you."
"You're kiddin'. It's like twenty degrees out there." He turns his head.
Fraser is looking pretty red. "That's quite all right, Ray. I could really use...the exercise."
Ray holds back a snort. So Fraser could use a nice cold walk, eh? Good. So could Ray, for that matter, and he teases Fraser about it as he's getting ready by the door.
"You're just gonna leave me hanging in this awful condition?"
Fraser raises his eyebrows and now looks not at all embarrassed, which is good. "Well, Ray, you're a man. You must be quite used to taking the problem in hand. So to speak."
Ray goggles for just a second. Then he shoots back, "Wait, you're saying if I were a woman I wouldn't know how?"
Fraser gives him a sardonic look. "No, Ray, I feel quite sure even as a woman you'd be able to—"
Ray waits for it.
"—put a finger on the problem. As it were." Fraser coughs into his fist.
Ray laughs. "Holy shit. That's like, two sex jokes in under a minute. I am completely blown away there, Fraser. Put me in a pipe and smoke me."
Fraser frowns.
"Never mind." It's so great to be kidding about it. The awful awkwardness is gone, except for a little uncertainty still in Fraser's eyes.
"Good night then, Ray."
"G'night, buddy. Enjoy your walk."
Fraser's eyebrows go up again, but he doesn't suggest Ray enjoy himself as well, which is too bad, because that's just what he intends to do.
As soon as the Mountie's boot steps have faded down the hallway, Ray unzips himself and reaches into his pants with a sigh of relief. Then he has a long, leisurely yank-off on the couch, still smelling Fraser there and remembering the kisses, and Fraser's fingers on his neck, his tongue on Ray's hand, only this time Ray envisions that mouth somewhere else, pinning him to the couch, and he comes like gangbusters about five seconds later.
It occurs to him as he's getting ready for sleep that this feels familiar—getting all hot and bothered, getting the cool-off signal, and then having a solo jack-off session to ease the pressure.
He's courting. He's fucking courting Fraser. It's taken Ray way too long to figure it out, but when he does he smiles.
He's always been good at this part.
///
Bullets. Ray never has enough bullets when he really needs 'em, and ever since he started hanging out with Fraser he's needed them a lot. Maybe he should start wearing a fanny pack filled with extra clips. Now that would be sexy.
Fraser is crouched next to him behind the donut-making machine. Dief is nowhere to be seen, for obvious reasons, and Ray only hopes he'll haul his furry face out of the cool-down bin soon enough to lend a hand, or a fang.
"Ray, I don't believe we can stay here. There is a risk one of these rounds will pierce the hot oil tank."
"Don't you go out there, Fraser. Don't you do it—"
"But I feel certain we can negotiate—"
"Nrr! No, Fraser. No negotiating, no if-you-pleasing, no reasonable Mountie crap. Let me do this my way." Ray squirrels under the fry unit, oily stuff smearing on his belly all over his favorite Bulls T-shirt and just making him pissed as hell. He can see Farrell and his pals hunkered behind the packaging machine looking cocky.
It's a tough shot. Harder than hitting the emergency stop switch that time at the garden gnome factory. And when did thoughts like that become normal in his brain?
Ray pushes his glasses higher, lets out a slow breath, and squeezes.
Bam! The blast echoes in the metal space around him, so for a second he can't hear it—the yowls of pissiness as Farrell and his goons are all suddenly getting the shrink-wrap treatment from the robotic arm of the packaging machine. There's a thunk as Fraser bumps against the cooker on his way up and over, and Ray wriggles out and calls to Dief, who meets them on the way.
Dief looks pretty stupid with his muzzle coated in powdered sugar, but the goons don't seem to notice because they're all squirming in yards of plastic. And then Fraser is bending over and whipping out his buck knife, a sight that makes Ray's face go hot for some reason. Fraser crouches over goon number one, leaving Farrell to Ray.
"Good to see you, Jake."
"Mmmrph! Rmmph ftumpurf!" It's kind of funny watching Farrell's face turn red under the plastic.
"Are you sure you want me to do that? I swear that shrink wrap makes you look about ten years younger."
"Rrrrrrgph!!"
"Well, okay. Since you asked nicely and all." Ray starts reciting the Miranda warning while he pulls out his pocketknife. Jake's eyes go really wide. Ray leans down and slowly, very slowly, starts cutting the wrap away from the side of Jake's jaw.
"Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?" And it's unfair, really, because he has a knife at Jake's face when he asks the question.
But, whatever, Jake says, "Yeah, yeah, I understand. I understand."
"Excellent." That's Fraser, who has joined Ray with a wrapped-up goon under each hand. He's freed their faces but left their arms immobilized. Pretty smart, since they're kind of big guys.
"Let's get these fellas back to their cages, and then the pizza's on me."
"Oh, no, Ray. I insist on paying. It was your precision shooting that wrapped up the case."
"So to speak." Ray grins.
"So to speak, yes," Fraser says, and he licks his lower lip. His eyes look kind of hot, staring at Ray, and all of a sudden Ray's jeans feel like they've been shrink-wrapped.
He doesn't waste any time getting them out the door.
///
Fraser follows so close behind him up the stairs and down the hallway that it feels like he has a new shadow. A really wide shadow in blue flannel, faded blue jeans and unlaced hiking boots. And Ray noticed in the car that Fraser hasn't gotten any gunk on him at all—another annoying mystery.
Dief is practically waddling going through the apartment door—he's finally gotten his fill of donuts, although Ray would bet that's only a temporary condition.
Once they are all inside with the door closed, Fraser makes his move.
It isn't like Ray wasn't expecting it, considering the hot glances Fraser has been lasering Ray's way ever since the factory. But he is completely—oomph! Yeah, all right!—wowed by how fast and hard Fraser has him up against the cutaway before trying to kiss him silly.
And it's working. Silly is Ray's middle name. He goes dizzy on not enough oxygen, or maybe that's too much tongue right in his mouth, moving in hot and sloppy before Fraser turns his attention to Ray's neck. Fraser has taken Ray's hand and is holding it, but then he brings it up to his mouth and kisses it, then licks Ray's trigger finger, saying in this hoarse, unbelievably sexy voice, "You are an incredibly accurate marksman, Ray," before sucking it into his mouth. Fraser closes his eyes, and Ray figures he's getting off on the blowback.
And that is weird. But the kind of weird that makes Ray's dick pay serious, serious attention to what's going on, enjoying the sucking in a totally non-vicarious way. Enjoying it so much Ray is about to go off in his jeans. Which would be a cheat, because if Fraser is finally going to make him come, it isn't going to be like this, jammed up against the counter with all their clothes still on.
So, Ray pushes back a little, and catches an uncertain look in Fraser's face that he erases with a hard kiss on those swollen lips. Then he tugs Fraser toward the couch and pushes him down.
Fraser looks amazing, all sweaty and ruffled, and almost confused he's so turned on, and that just spins Ray's crank like crazy. Ray pulls off his grimy T-shirt and chucks it behind him. Fraser's eyes dip from Ray's face and then blink closed, and he reaches down. He puts his hand on his cock, gripping it through his jeans, and the sight almost makes Ray blow his wad right then and there.
"Take off your shirt," Ray says hoarsely.
Fraser does it—unbuttons the flannel and peels it off. He's got an undershirt on, of course, but he doesn't hesitate, just strips it over his head. And finally Ray gets to stare all he wants at Fraser's pale, muscled shoulders and the swell of his pecs, at the rough scar on his chest, and the way one nipple seems slightly lower than the other. Fraser isn't perfect, but, Jesus, he is one beautiful son of a bitch.
Ray looks up, and Fraser is staring at him, all blue heat and no uncertainty at all anymore. Ray gives him his cockiest smile, and Fraser's tongue makes a quick swipe at his lower lip. And then Fraser is reaching for him, and he catches Ray's elbow and pulls him down with clumsy strength so that Ray lands half on his lap, the skin of their chests sticking together. It's a klutzy move, almost funny, but Ray's never felt less like laughing, because this is it, boy howdy—this is what he wanted. Fraser has gone primal or something, because he just wraps himself around Ray, with arms and legs, and even his shoulders hunch in to get closer. He has one hand on the back of Ray's neck, holding him steady as he kisses the hell out of him. Ray decides air is for sissies and opens up for Fraser's tongue.
The seam on Fraser's jeans is rubbing right up against Ray's dick, and he helps the motion along—he feels Fraser doing the same thing, pushing his cock against Ray's thigh, and it's such a turn on feeling that, and knowing they're both in this so deep they can just hump like dogs. Fraser is even grunting as he pushes and pulls Ray's hips against his.
Suddenly Fraser arches up and goes rigid, and he makes a small sound, like a dying man.
"Yeah, Fraser, yeah," Ray says against his mouth, and just hangs on as Fraser trembles and comes for what seems like forever. He's still twitching when Ray gets impatient and starts shoving down hard, and then Fraser snakes his hand between them and fumbles a grip on Ray's dick through the bunch of his jeans. Fraser squeezes, rubs, and Ray drops his head and comes so hard the light futzes behind his eyeballs in a crazy geometric pattern.
They lie there for a while. Ray feels completely flattened, like a cartoon cat with a tire track right up the middle. He's starts feeling a little guilty and tries to push away, but Fraser's still got an arm around him and won't let him up.
"I've got to be crushing you," Ray says.
Fraser's breath huffs in his ear. "Never," he says, and he squeezes Ray even tighter. Ray's chest is all warm in front against Fraser's, and he listens to Fraser as his breathing eases.
Fraser whispers, "I've never known anyone like you. There's never been—Ray, I can't believe you—" He squeezes Ray again, going for anaconda this time.
"Ditto. You freak." Ray tries not to smile, but his face is out of order. He has this loopy grin on he's terrified will be totally permanent.
"As you say." Fraser doesn't sound insulted.
After a while Ray's neck starts hurting, and he pushes more insistently until Fraser finally lets him go. Ray sits in the corner of the couch and says, "So, remind me to shoot my gun off more often."
And Fraser laughs. Fraser laughs, sounding happy as hell.
Ray made him do that.
"Yes, as I mentioned, you're quite a keen shot." Fraser pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, I might need to see it again to confirm the results," he says with a completely straight face.
"Or at all," Ray says. "You realize we didn't even get our pants off?"
"Yes, I do realize." Fraser shifts uncomfortably, and Ray grins evilly.
"Got a little chafing problem there, partner?"
"Er." Fraser's face is pink.
"I hear talcum powder helps with that."
Fraser shoots him a look. "I think the issue is one of applying warm, ah, liquid to activated starch."
It takes a while for Ray to work that one out, and then he's laughing, and Fraser is being pretend-mad—giving him this mild glare that he probably thinks is all tough and mean. It just makes Ray laugh harder.
"If you wouldn't mind loaning me a pair of boxers?"
Ray wipes his eyes. "Oh, we don't need no stinkin' boxers, Frase. It's time to graduate to big boy underwear."
So, they get up, and Fraser strips off his jeans and goes to the bathroom to towel off, but Ray doesn't get to see that part because he's in the bedroom getting a pair of boxer-briefs—the soft, cottony, too-loose ones he wears when he's out of clean laundry. He has to hand them through the crack in the door because Fraser doesn't open up, which is dirty pool in Ray's book. But he smiles when he realizes Fraser's jeans are still out here in the bedroom. Eventually Fraser comes out, and—holy cow, that's a good look on him. The material of the briefs just hugs right up against his soft cock and balls.
Ray takes a couple of steps forward and he's already reaching out when Fraser makes a funny noise and shifts back, blocking his play.
"Hey," Ray says, a little pissed. "Something wrong?"
"No, of course not. Right," Fraser says, and drops his hand. It's like he's forgotten he's given Ray the go-ahead. Or maybe—
"You change your mind or something?"
Fraser's eyes go wide. "Not at all. I just—well, I'm not—" He tugs on his ear, looking confused. "I just assumed we were..."
And, Christ, Ray gets it all of a sudden. And he's suddenly stuck between wanting to smack Fraser upside the head and just grabbing him and holding him down and kissing him until he finally figures it out.
"You thought we were done? We ain't done, Fraser. We'll never be done. I'll be ninety-two with my balls nearly useless and I still won't be done touching you. You saying you're done with me?"
"No!" Fraser's hands come up, and he finally takes a step forward. "There's so much I've wanted—I've dreamed lately—of doing with you, Ray. So much."
"So, we're good, then."
"But I'm not—" Fraser rubs the back of his neck. "I'm afraid I'm quite spent, Ray," he says with his face red.
Ha, Ray thinks. "Doesn't matter," he says, and he gets in close and puts his hand on Fraser's cock. Fraser shivers, but Ray keeps his hand there, cupping the soft, heavy weight through the cotton. "I like touching you, don't you get that?"
"Mmm?" Fraser's eyes are closed.
"Yeah, really. And I need you to let me. Okay?"
"Yes, Ray," Fraser says, sounding like he's drugged. "And, may I?"
"Oh, yeah. Whenever you want."
Fraser's eyes open up again and he looks blissed again, but different, like it's Christmas morning and Ray just gave him a really nice log.
Then he does the boa constrictor thing again, completely surrounding him, and Ray's wrist nearly gets broken because it's trapped awkwardly between them, but he doesn't care a damn.
Because this, right here, is what he was after the whole time. Maybe he still hasn't gotten into Fraser's pants, but that doesn't matter.
Ray is finally inside.
....................
2008.02.29
Author:
arrow00Fandom: dS
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, Fraser/Smithbauer (in his dreams)
Rating: R for mild sexual shenanigans
Category: FT
Warning: Distressingly self-indulgent, long, and
schmoopy as heck. And the guys just TALK TOO MUCH.
So don't come crying to me later you big sissies.
Wordcount: 8,333
Getting In
By Arrow
This time, when Ray breaks into the Consulate, he uses the card he made special just for the purpose. He got tired of screwing up the magnetic strip on his credit card (and having the clerk at the 7-11 treat him like a fucking war criminal when it didn't work right) so a while ago he cut a fresh square from some thick plastic sheeting, and he carries that around instead.
He doesn't really need to break in. He could've just knocked. He knows Fraser is there because he saw Fraser come back to the Consulate with his "friend", his ooh-my-old-friend-from-Canada-is-in-town pal, the one that made Fraser light up like an X-Men pinball game when you knocked down the glowing Magneto three times inside a minute.
And since when did Fraser have old friends? Ones that weren't just acquaintances or roughing it in Vegas? But, no, Fraser said he knew this guy when they were kids and played hockey together, and you remember the case, Ray (thumb on nose) of the hockey player coming to town, and then mobsters and ice skates and bullets, oh my?
Ray was sitting outside in his car waiting for Fraser to come home (he can't remember why) and he was reading the case file (this Smithbauer, if you read between the lines, was a total asshole) and up walked the two of them, close together, roughhousing a little, and then Smithbauer hip-checked Fraser so he went ploof! into the snow and laughed.
Fraser laughed.
Smithbauer helped him up and got a shirtful of snow for his trouble, and the two of 'em joked and smacked each other oh-so-so friendly as they went into the Consulate.
So, Ray knows Fraser is in there. But before breaking in he sits in the car for a while, feeling weird for no good reason he can figure and reading the rest of the case file (bad guys 0, Vecchio/Fraser/Smithbauer 4, which is a pretty respectable score) and fighting this crawling in his gut. Thing is, he has to watch out for Fraser because Fraser is his friend, and a little too damned naïve to live. And Ray gets the feeling this Smithbauer is bad news with a capital b-b-bad. It's just because he's an old friend that maybe Fraser doesn't see that and is giving Smithbauer a free pass.
And Ray uses the card instead of knocking because, well. Just because, okay? Because maybe he doesn't want Fraser to know he's being creepy and weird like a stalker.
The Consulate is moody dark and quiet at night, and Ray shrugs off his jacket and moves past Turnbull's desk and down the narrow hallway. The door to Fraser's office is closed, but light spills from underneath it.
And then Ray hears it—a moan of pain and—shit!—he was right, Smithbauer brought trouble with him, maybe someone was waiting for them, or maybe Smithbauer is the one hurting Fraser—but, no, because just before Ray pulls his piece to go crashing through the door, Smithbauer says something, laughing a little, and Fraser moans again, and this time it's the deep, good moan, like when you're—
No. No way. Fraser isn't like that.
Ray is standing there, completely frozen, and hears a thump and the thud-thud of footsteps. The door opens and there's Fraser, staring at him in total surprise.
"Ray?"
Ray blinks. Fraser is still in his jeans and Henley, so maybe Ray was totally hallucinating a second ago, except Fraser is flushed, his eyes bright and his hair all mussed up.
"Uh. Hi. I thought I heard—are you okay?" Ray has to ask, even though Fraser looks just fine, just fine and dandy, and happy as a clam except for the sudden worried frown.
"Rather, I should ask you that, Ray. You look pale. Are you feeling ill?" Fraser takes his arm and tugs him into his office. "You should have gone directly to the Emergency Room—"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." Ray stares at Smithbauer, who he can see clearly now is this big, big guy, a beefy hockey-type guy, and good-looking to boot, the bastard. "Hi," Ray makes himself say to him.
"Of course, you remember Ray Vecchio, Mark," Fraser says carefully.
"Yeah. How's it going?" Smithbauer says, and he looks nervous and caught-in-the-act. But Fraser is acting like nothing in the world is going on, and anyway Dief is there, and they wouldn't do anything in front of Dief, would they?
"Are you sure you're all right, Ray?" Fraser asks.
Ray says slowly, "Yeah, 'm fine. I just thought I heard—you sounded like you were hurt just now, Fraser."
Fraser smiles and shakes his head. "Oh, no. Mark was just giving me a back rub. My back's been troubling me lately, and since he's been with a professional trainer he really knows how to work the kinks out."
"I'll bet," Ray says under his breath, and he pins Smithbauer with his baddest laser-eyeball glare, because no way does one guy offer to give another guy a back rub unless he's on the make. And from the nervous look he gets back (Smithbauer is an open book, at least) Ray is at least right about his intentions, even if Fraser seems oblivious.
"Your color looks a little better," Fraser says. "Why don't we all go to the kitchen for a cup of tea?" Mr. Innocence walks out, and Ray bulldogs his chin at Smithbauer in another little warning before he follows.
Fraser makes tea. He's all smiles tonight, and it's making Ray uneasy seeing him so, well, happy. Smithbauer looks a little sick, as if he's scared Ray will tell on him. Which is smart, because that's exactly what Ray intends to do as soon as Smithbauer gets his hockey-playing ass out of here and back to wherever he belongs.
They all get their cups and sit down at the kitchen table. Fraser makes talk while Ray and Smithbauer stare across at each other. Ray thinks someone should just drop a puck between them and get it over with.
"Mark is in town trying to get funding for a pet project of his. He wants to build a children's sports center in Inuvik, and he has a lot of wealthy contacts here from his professional hockey days."
"That sounds...great," Ray says, and it does, really. Maybe Mark isn't such a jerk after all. But then Ray sees the way Fraser's eyes glow a little, all proud, and he gets pissed again.
Smithbauer clears his throat. "Yeah. I've got some early meetings, though, so I guess I'd better get back to the hotel, eh?" He pushes his untouched tea aside and gets up. Fraser stands and gives the guy a hug—dammit—and claps him on the back once. Ray grits his teeth when he sees Smithbauer's big paw sliding up to the back of Fraser's neck to give him a little squeeze and a shake.
"I'll drop you a line tomorrow, Mark. Maybe we can go out to the pond when you're done for the day."
"Sounds good." Smithbauer grins, his teeth too white. He looks huge next to Fraser, who's already a pretty big guy. Ray's stomach takes another nose-dive.
He doesn't follow them to the door. He's trying to figure out how to tell Fraser that his buddy is a no-good lech who's after his Mountie ass. Not that there's anything wrong with some good old fashioned lust, but the problem is Fraser is really old-fashioned, all courtesy and hat bobbing and not about to jump in the sack without losing his heart in the process. Ray just knows it. He doesn't know how he knows it, except for the crushed look Fraser had after that Janet chick turned out to be already married and kind of unscrupulous, to boot. And Smithbauer is already a confirmed fraud. No joy there.
Besides, Fraser isn't like that. He's not into guys. But he's also a total sucker for anyone he cares about—just look at what he puts up with from Ray all the time. Smithbauer could maybe puppy-dog Fraser right into bed before he knew what hit him.
It's all pretty much bad.
"Are you quite sure you're all right, Ray?" Fraser says as he comes back in. "You look...odd."
"I don't trust that guy," Ray says, coming right out with it. "I don't, and you shouldn't trust him either."
Fraser's face stiffens with surprise.
"It's just...okay." Ray rubs his forehead. "I'll lay it out for you, because maybe you don't get this sort of thing, being from where you are and all. But I think he's after you."
"What—? Ray, Ray, Ray." Fraser shakes his head. "Mark has been my friend since we were children. He'd never hurt me, as you seem to be implying."
"Oh, like he wouldn't swipe you with a beer bottle? Or lie to you about throwing a hockey game?"
"That was—those were difficult circumstances for him. But he's turned a new leaf."
"Fraser! I'm not talking about him taking you to the cleaners or something, or that he's in with the mob. I just mean he's...he's after you, get me? I mean, no straight guy on this planet offers a back rub unless he's got altering—alternative motives."
Fraser blinks. "'Ulterior', Ray." But his heart isn't into their usual game, because he suddenly gets very formal. "I assure you, Mark has no designs, as such, on my person. He is fond of me, granted, especially since I helped him through a difficult period—"
"He wants you. You're being stupid—"
Fraser stands suddenly, so quickly the chair behind him scrapes against the kitchen floor. Then he turns his back, his shoulders stiff under his Henley. "I'm not stupid, Ray. Neither do I see why this is any of your concern—"
"He's a lech, Fraser. And you're—"
"Ray! If Mark—if he were to, well, make advances, that would be between the two of us. Understood?"
Oh, that's a shut out, right there. And no way is Ray going to stand for it. He gets up and addresses Fraser's back. "What're you saying, Fraser? You saying you might take him up on it? Because that's—"
Fraser spins, suddenly looking furious—or as mad as he ever lets himself get. He says, his mouth barely moving, "That's what, Ray? Disgusting? Wrong? Is it wrong to show your affection for someone in a physical way? Would it be wrong for me to accept? Not that I...but it's not like I get that kind of offer every day—"
"Oh, fuck no, it's not like pretty women aren't throwing themselves at you fifty times a minute—"
Fraser rolls his eyes. "Yes, I expect I could have quite a meaningful encounter with one such."
And isn't that just what was pissing Ray off about Smithbauer, that it would be a cheap thing and Fraser would get hurt? But Fraser seemed to think it would mean more.
So—time to take a step back, and Ray does, and sits back down, and suddenly it hits him—Fraser is actually considering it. Fraser isn't weirded out by the fact Smithbauer's a guy.
Whoa.
Maybe Fraser hasn't swung that way, but it sounds like he doesn't see anything wrong with it. And did Ray just totally fuck up by clueing Fraser in that Smithbauer likes him like that?
"Wait just a second," Ray says, running his hand up through his spikes, trying to scratch the thoughts out. "Wait. First off—I never said it was disgusting."
Fraser tilts his head, looking skeptical. His hair is still all mussed up, and his cheeks have bright red spots from being mad. And Ray is sunk. Just completely sunk, because he's a fucking idiot and now Fraser will never believe—
"Ray." Fraser sits down and folds his hands on the table. "I think I know where this is coming from, and you mustn't feel threatened by my friendship with Mark." Fraser scratches his neck, looking away, "Not that you are, necessarily, but you must know how very important you are to me."
Oh, terrific. Now Fraser thinks he's a total bigot and pathetically needy.
"I know that, Frase. You're important, too. Muy importante. And I meant what I said—it's not that I think it would be wrong or something. It's that I worry about you, okay?"
Fraser seems to be listening now. He bites his lip for a second and nods.
"Thing is, you always jump in, all one big heart, and you put it all out there, all the time, in everything, but I don't think it'd be the same for him. Not like it might be for—for someone else." Ray makes the hasty switch and then feels like a coward. So, he adds, "For someone who already cares about you a whole lot, isn't just fond like an old hockey buddy."
Fraser frowns. And then he frowns deeper, his whole face getting into it. "Ray are you saying—?" He shakes his head.
"How's your back feeling?" Ray asks, putting it all the line. Double or nothing.
More confusion, and now Fraser peers at him. "I don't quite—"
"Because I could help you with that, you know? I'm kick-ass at Shiatsu."
The frown is now completely gone, because Fraser has gone blank-faced with shock. "You're—you're offering me a back-rub?" he says, disbelief making him sound windy.
"Yup." Ray ignores the shakiness in his hands and wiggles his fingers in the air. "The full ten magic fingers. Whaddaya say?"
Fraser shuts his mouth and stares at him. Ray stares back, a minor earthquake going on in his gut.
"I'll...I'll have to think about that, Ray."
"Yeah," Ray forces out through his tight throat. "I get ya."
Fraser lifts his hand. "It's not that I—I mean, I do want to think about it, Ray. If that's all right."
Better than nothing, Ray thinks. Better than Fraser high-tailing it north on the first thing smoking.
Fraser scratches his eyebrow, his neck, and then he licks his lip—the whole shebang. "I'm just not—I mean, I suppose on a hypothetical level, when you said...what you said about Mark—but it's not anything I've truly considered before—"
Oh, this is pretty painful. "It's okay. I get it, Frase. It's just out there, okay? I put it out there, and you think about it. But we're cool, right? Still buddies?"
"Yes! Of course. Always, Ray." Fraser looks relieved as all get out.
Stupid. Stupid. How could you be so stupid and just blurt it out like that?
"I should go, I guess. I gotta go."
Fraser nods and walks him to the door, then puts his hand on Ray's arm and squeezes a little. How's he supposed to know that it makes Ray's heart just shrivel? What with the care Fraser is showing, as if he's proving something to both of them. But Ray isn't proud, so he bumps his elbow against Fraser's ribs and gets the hell out before he starts crying like a baby.
In the car, he curses Smithbauer all the way home. In Polish.
///
The next evening Fraser drags Ray along to the pond for some skating. Actually, Ray really wants to go with them, but he hides it with some serious grumpiness so Fraser doesn't catch on.
No way is Ray leaving Fraser alone with that shark.
Fraser acts totally normal on the ride over, if you don't count the occasional look, the flicker of those blue eyes that seem to be checking Ray out. As if Fraser is thinking about it like he promised, and he's trying to figure out if he can see Ray like that.
Right about now, Ray wishes he were bigger, less scrawny, more handsome. More Fraser. More fucking perfect. But he sees Fraser's eyes linger on his body, and then his hands on the steering wheel, and when Ray tracks back to Fraser's face, he looks little bit...pink.
Ray starts using his hands more as a test. It's like he's using them to flirt, and Fraser, jeez, he keeps looking. So that's pretty good right there.
At the rink, they're both bent over and strapping on their skates when Smithbauer pulls up in a rental.
"Hello, Mark," Fraser greets him then looks back at Ray. His expression says be good, Ray, but Ray is never good. Fraser should know that by now.
Out on the ice, Ray forgets for a little while about his pissy feelings, because Smithbauer really is good, smooth and fast, and Ray is picking it all up again, remembering the feeling of being out here on the ice, wondering why the hell he hasn't been skating in years (except Stella didn't. Stella never wanted to.)
And the three of them are something else, warming up by sending the puck back and forth, Ray's borrowed stick a little heavy but swinging sweetly as he knocks a pass to Fraser.
Then they get down and dirty—the pond is almost round, so they decide to make three equally distant goals, each of them stomping around and marking theirs out with branches. It's a total free-for-all, and Ray is high on it—seeing Fraser look like he was born on skates, and watching him go all-out. He doesn't pull any punches, hip-checking the both of them and getting his elbows in. It's like the rules of politeness just don't apply out here.
Ray gets some nice digs in on Mark, but the guy is fast and tricky and he lays Ray out on the ice more than once. It's worth it, though, to have Fraser looking down at him with a flushed grin before they both haul him back up to his skates.
Mark wins, of course. But Ray doesn't really care, because afterward they sit on the bench with a thermos full of hot chocolate that Fraser brought along, only Ray slides himself right in between them, and Fraser doesn't seem to object. They hand the cup back and forth, and Smithbauer is fuming a little next to Ray, and Ray turns and gives him a cocky look. I win.
Smithbauer looks pissed. Which feels just great, until Ray hands the cup back to Fraser and sees the expression on Fraser's face and realizes he caught the whole thing. Cold, boy, the Mountie can do cold and disappointed like nobody's business, so it looks like Ray has really screwed the pooch.
He's sure of it when Fraser walks Mark to his car and gives him another hug—this time with no backslap, and he says something into Smithbauer's ear, and the guy smiles.
Shit.
"That was real fun, Frase. Thanks for letting me tag along," Ray says meekly once they're alone in the GTO.
"Yes. I really should skate more often," Fraser says. Then, awkwardly, "I'm glad you could join us."
Ouch. "Let's get some chow, huh?"
It takes too long for Fraser to answer, "All right, Ray."
They pick up some Chinese—with extra pot stickers for Dief—and go back to the empty Consulate. Dief sniffs at Fraser's coat and barks.
"Yes, we saw Mark. But you hate skating. You know that, Diefenbaker. Anyway, we'll be seeing him tomorrow."
"You are? I mean, you will?" Ray asks before he can stop himself. He quickly sets the food out and drops Dief's pot stickers onto a plate, putting it under the table.
"Of course," Fraser says icily. "Tomorrow is Mark's last day in town." Fraser pours himself some water and takes a sip, his eyes steady on Ray's.
"That's great," Ray says weakly. "I mean, that you'll get to see him again before he leaves." Ray feels shut out again.
"Yes," Fraser says, his voice deadly. "He's a good friend. I'll miss him."
"Fraser—"
"Don't, Ray." Fraser picks up his chopsticks and then sets them down again. "It's obvious to me now that I've been working under a certain misapprehension with regard to your motives. I thought—well, never mind what I thought. It seems you were merely being a little...possessive. But you don't have to worry. Mark is leaving." Fraser looks down. "Of course, he'll be returning from time to time, and as I have hardly anyone who bears that much fondness toward me, I will be happy to see him when he's in town."
This is crap. Ray is so deeply buried he can barely breathe. "No, Frase," he says when he can get his mouth working again, "it's not like that. You got me all wrong."
"Do I? Are you trying to claim you haven't been acting like a...like a dog in a manger?"
"I'm a dog, yeah," Ray admits. His voice is lumpy. "But only because I know he wants what I want, except he's got an in, see? With the hockey and the Canada thing and he's so buff and good-looking and I'm just...me. Just Stanley Ray, bank pisser and ex-married loser. And I'm not even me, because my life was so pathetic I had to go undercover—"
"Your life isn't pathetic," Fraser says fiercely. "And his looks aren't—that is, there's nothing about the way Mark looks that would somehow impel me to—" Fraser's voice drops. "You look fine to me, Ray. I think I've told you in the past you are a very attractive man."
Ray's heart forgets about beating for a second. "Yeah?"
"Of course. That isn't...in issue."
"Then what is?" Ray really, really needs to know. And he thinks he won't get a chance, because Fraser picks up his chopsticks and starts eating, and he won't look at Ray.
Ray has no appetite at all, so he just sits back and waits. There are times when you can push Fraser, and times when it just makes him rabbit to the nearest hole.
Fraser eats a little, staring down at his plate. "Aren't you going to eat something?"
All Ray can see is the top of his head. "Aren't you going to answer my question?" Ray asks softly. Tiny push.
"I'm not sure I want to," Fraser says to his chow mein.
"I'm pretty sure you don't," Ray says reasonably. "But don't you think, since you're my best buddy, I deserve that? We are still buddies, aren't we?"
That brings Fraser's head up. "Always, Ray. Please don't doubt it." The blue of his eyes is dark, like the night sky right before the streetlights come on.
"Then tell me. Maybe I can help with it. I'm good at puzzles."
"You are." Fraser smiles a little before he winces. "I'm...it's...embarrassment, really. That's partly the problem. You know me very well, indeed. Or, at least, what I've been able to show you—"
"You show me plenty."
"No. No. Not all." Fraser flicks a nail over his eyebrow.
"Well, tell me who does, huh? Everybody hides."
"Not you." There's all kinds of admiration in Fraser's voice, and Ray feels his face heat up.
"Yeah, me, too. Didn't tell you about this, did I? Had plenty of opportunities, too. Like when we went undercover at Studs. Or after the Henry Allman."
That gets him an exasperated look.
"Okay, okay. Henry Allen."
Fraser nods. "That's true, I suppose. Everyone, then, although I do think that I'm more inclined than most to...compartmentalize."
"Buh-huh?"
"And that's another kind of hiding," Fraser says a little briskly. "You know exactly what I mean."
"Yeah. Yeah, I do. So, what else?"
Fraser's tongue slips out to wet his lip. He doesn't hide as much as he thinks he does, because that's a pretty good tell right there.
"What else, Frase? Is it that you don't think you'll like it? Because I'll tell you right now—not a chance, A. And B., if you don't, then no biggie, all right? It's not like I'm...I'm not gonna try to make you do anything—"
"No! No, you'd never—that's not the problem, Ray. I'm sure you'd be fine, quite good, really." Fraser's face flushes deep red.
Oh. "Hey—"
"You have done this before?" Fraser interrupts him hurriedly. "I think it would behoove us to have at least one of us know what he's—"
"Then you want to? You want to try?" Because it's just occurred to Ray that the way Fraser's talking, he's willing. He's really going to—
"Yes. Yes, Ray. If, well, as you say, there's no pressure, as such, to—" Fraser coughs. And it must have caught wrong in his throat, because he coughs again suddenly, and then doesn't stop, until it sounds like he's hacking a lung, and Ray rushes around the table to thump him on the back.
"Enough, thank you," Fraser says hoarsely, raising his hand.
"Went down the wrong pipe?"
Fraser shakes his head. Then he takes a long drink of water and wipes his mouth with a napkin.
The whole time, Ray has his hand on Fraser's back, and he leaves it there, because—well, foot in the door, really. Ray sinks to one knee so he can stay close without getting a kink in his neck. The move puts him just below Fraser's face, and when he looks up, Fraser is staring down at him, his eyes a little worried, but his mouth relaxed.
And red. And just a little damp.
Oh, man. Ray's going to go for it. He has no choice, really, because, yeah, he'd thought about this, thought about it a lot, even if he'd never let himself know he was thinking about it.
He lets his hand slide up past the neck of Fraser's Henley to sink into the soft, short hair at the back of his neck. Fraser's eyes flutter for a moment before they widen in surprise, but Ray doesn't want to give him a chance to recover, so he leans up and lays a kiss on Fraser's lips. Nothing fancy, just an offer, with full intent.
When he pulls back, Fraser's eyes are closed.
Score! Ray is pretty sure he did that just right, because Fraser lips part and his tongue comes out to taste before withdrawing again. Then he opens his eyes.
"I—that was...quite agreeable."
Ray feels his entire face scrunch into a grin. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yes." Fraser's lips lift in a smile.
So Ray tugs once with his hand, pulling Fraser down, and lays another one on him, this time taking his time, licking just inside Fraser's lips, tasting that soft edge, and Fraser inhales sharply, bringing cool air between them.
"Oh," Fraser says this time.
"Mmm hmm." Ray pulls back and hoists himself up. "My knee is hurting," he says when Fraser gives him a questioning look. "Maybe we can go sit on the couch? In the sitting room?"
"Yes. Okay, yes," Fraser says, sounding a little breathless.
Ray holds in his grin until it feels like it's trapped inside his chest. He did it. He kissed Fraser. He thinks he might've blown Fraser's circuits a little, and that wasn't even his best kiss. That was like a two on his kissing scale, and he goes up to at least an eleven.
He follows Fraser into the other room. Fraser sits down a little stiffly on the pristine sofa, looking around warily as if Inspector Frigid is going to pop out from behind the curtains at any second. This might not be the best place to get Fraser in a hot-and-heavy mood. On the other hand, Ray thinks if he asks to take this to Fraser's cot the poor guy will unhinge completely.
Well, nothing ventured, as Fraser has said about a billion times before jumping off something way too high or into something on fire or whatever. So Ray sits next to him, almost in his lap, and slings his arms around Fraser's shoulders, hauling him in.
Fraser lets himself be pulled right onto Ray's lips. Ray starts slow, like before, but pretty soon he's got his tongue slipping in there where Fraser tastes so sweet and hot, a little bit of the cocoa still on his lips. Ray feels Fraser's neck give, loosening so they fit together better, mouth to mouth, and just that small sign has Ray's dick swelling against the rough material of his jeans. He has to pull back for a second and adjust himself.
Fraser's eyes open, looking a little dazed, and then they drop to Ray's hand. Ray can see him swallow.
"Ah, Ray, perhaps—"
"It's getting late, I guess," Ray says quickly, so Fraser doesn't have to.
"Yes. Of course. We do have work in the morning."
"Yeah, that's generally when we start, Frase."
It's awkward at the door while Ray grabs his jacket, already feeling the cold of parting and the heaviness in his balls that says you didn't get none, although he really wasn't expecting that tonight. Hell, Fraser was really pissed after the hockey, so really Ray's way ahead. He reminds himself of that as he zips his jacket.
But just as he's hesitating in the doorway, looking for the right thing to say before leaving, Fraser leans over and kisses him. Just a quick kiss, just a goodbye kiss, but it was Fraser doing the kissing.
Ray's cheeks hurt from grinning too hard all the way home.
///
The next day is tough, what with the escaped penguins and the blimp accident that resulted in the rain of frogs (small, green, rubber) so Ray doesn't figure on either of them having the energy to do much, but Fraser surprises him by catching him by his jacket as soon as they get inside the apartment and laying a lip-lock on him.
Ray's momentum carries him forward until Fraser's back hits the coat rack and he makes a really unhappy sound.
"Easy, there, Tex," Ray says, taking Fraser's Stetson, which is off-kilter on his head. Ray hangs it up behind Fraser and tugs on the uniform inside his pea coat. "Why don't you get this straightjacket off? I'll get us hooked up with beverages."
"I assure you, Ray, the uniform is much more comfortable than a straightjacket. Of course, having worn both—"
"Of course," Ray says, grinning as he heads to the kitchen.
"—I have to admit the collar of this uniform makes it difficult to be anything less than proper in my posture—"
"Which is the whole point," Ray says over his shoulder. He's almost out of beer.
"—which is, I suppose, the whole point." Fraser is already right behind him and out of his coat and jacket. How'd he do that so fast? He's in a tank-top undershirt today, which makes no sense since it's like a gazillion below outside.
And Ray can see right through to his nipples. Not that he needs to, since— "Little chilly for short sleeves, Fraser."
"I'm afraid we have to blame the Inspector," Fraser says, and his face is red. "Once a month or so she turns up the heat in the Consulate to ridiculous levels. And then, of course, you and I were chasing runaway penguins all afternoon, so I've hardly felt it, I assure you."
"Hardly at all, huh?" Ray brushes one rigid nipple with his knuckle before he can stop himself.
Fraser sucks in his breath. "Of course they, uh, they don't run very fast."
"Who doesn't?" Ray asks. Fraser's reaction is interesting. Ray doesn't drop his hand, instead cautiously rubs a little more.
"P-penguins." Fraser sounds strangled. Then it's genie-in-a-bottle time, Ray getting his magic wishes out of the way, because Fraser grabs his teasing hand and pulls it up to his mouth and starts licking Ray's fingers.
Ray has thought about that tongue. How could he not? The tongue was just out there all the time, begging to be thought about and imagined doing things, like what it's doing right now—licking its way over Ray's knuckles one by one.
Then it's soft kisses being sprinkled on his palm, on his wrist, tongue snaking around his chain. Totally weird, but no problem. Ray looks at Fraser's face.
"You dig my hands?"
Fraser stops and nods wordlessly.
Still clutching his beer, Ray drags Fraser over to the living room. He puts the bottle down on the table, then pushes Fraser down onto the couch, sprawling him against the arm. Ray lands moments later and starts in with the kissing.
They neck for a long time, Ray taking an occasional sip of beer because Fraser says he likes the taste in his mouth, even if he doesn't want one of his own (Ray asks.) Things get a little hot and heavy when Fraser starts licking the curve of his ear, and Ray shifts and gets his hard-on in touch with Fraser's thigh, watching for Fraser's reaction.
Fraser just pulls him in for another kiss, so Ray rubs a little against him. Jesus, Fraser has a strong leg muscles, and he actually flexes them a little as Ray humps against him, which is too much. Ray wonders how far Fraser will let him go, so he spreads one hand under Fraser's shirt where it's gotten untucked from the front of his pumpkin pants, and touches soft skin and hard muscle, which lunges under his fingers when Fraser gasps into his mouth.
It's going pretty good, so Ray lets his hand drift down a little lower, feeling the heel of his palm touch something warm and a little lumpy, and that's when the brakes squeal and Fraser pushes him off hastily.
They're both breathing a little rough and staring at each other.
Fraser says hesitantly, "Ray, I'm—"
"No biggie," Ray says quickly, cutting him off. He sets himself upright and grabs his beer, taking a long swig. "Let me finish my beer and I'll give you a ride home." He ignores the raging heat in his pants.
"Ah. I think I need the walk, Ray. But thank you."
"You're kiddin'. It's like twenty degrees out there." He turns his head.
Fraser is looking pretty red. "That's quite all right, Ray. I could really use...the exercise."
Ray holds back a snort. So Fraser could use a nice cold walk, eh? Good. So could Ray, for that matter, and he teases Fraser about it as he's getting ready by the door.
"You're just gonna leave me hanging in this awful condition?"
Fraser raises his eyebrows and now looks not at all embarrassed, which is good. "Well, Ray, you're a man. You must be quite used to taking the problem in hand. So to speak."
Ray goggles for just a second. Then he shoots back, "Wait, you're saying if I were a woman I wouldn't know how?"
Fraser gives him a sardonic look. "No, Ray, I feel quite sure even as a woman you'd be able to—"
Ray waits for it.
"—put a finger on the problem. As it were." Fraser coughs into his fist.
Ray laughs. "Holy shit. That's like, two sex jokes in under a minute. I am completely blown away there, Fraser. Put me in a pipe and smoke me."
Fraser frowns.
"Never mind." It's so great to be kidding about it. The awful awkwardness is gone, except for a little uncertainty still in Fraser's eyes.
"Good night then, Ray."
"G'night, buddy. Enjoy your walk."
Fraser's eyebrows go up again, but he doesn't suggest Ray enjoy himself as well, which is too bad, because that's just what he intends to do.
As soon as the Mountie's boot steps have faded down the hallway, Ray unzips himself and reaches into his pants with a sigh of relief. Then he has a long, leisurely yank-off on the couch, still smelling Fraser there and remembering the kisses, and Fraser's fingers on his neck, his tongue on Ray's hand, only this time Ray envisions that mouth somewhere else, pinning him to the couch, and he comes like gangbusters about five seconds later.
It occurs to him as he's getting ready for sleep that this feels familiar—getting all hot and bothered, getting the cool-off signal, and then having a solo jack-off session to ease the pressure.
He's courting. He's fucking courting Fraser. It's taken Ray way too long to figure it out, but when he does he smiles.
He's always been good at this part.
///
Bullets. Ray never has enough bullets when he really needs 'em, and ever since he started hanging out with Fraser he's needed them a lot. Maybe he should start wearing a fanny pack filled with extra clips. Now that would be sexy.
Fraser is crouched next to him behind the donut-making machine. Dief is nowhere to be seen, for obvious reasons, and Ray only hopes he'll haul his furry face out of the cool-down bin soon enough to lend a hand, or a fang.
"Ray, I don't believe we can stay here. There is a risk one of these rounds will pierce the hot oil tank."
"Don't you go out there, Fraser. Don't you do it—"
"But I feel certain we can negotiate—"
"Nrr! No, Fraser. No negotiating, no if-you-pleasing, no reasonable Mountie crap. Let me do this my way." Ray squirrels under the fry unit, oily stuff smearing on his belly all over his favorite Bulls T-shirt and just making him pissed as hell. He can see Farrell and his pals hunkered behind the packaging machine looking cocky.
It's a tough shot. Harder than hitting the emergency stop switch that time at the garden gnome factory. And when did thoughts like that become normal in his brain?
Ray pushes his glasses higher, lets out a slow breath, and squeezes.
Bam! The blast echoes in the metal space around him, so for a second he can't hear it—the yowls of pissiness as Farrell and his goons are all suddenly getting the shrink-wrap treatment from the robotic arm of the packaging machine. There's a thunk as Fraser bumps against the cooker on his way up and over, and Ray wriggles out and calls to Dief, who meets them on the way.
Dief looks pretty stupid with his muzzle coated in powdered sugar, but the goons don't seem to notice because they're all squirming in yards of plastic. And then Fraser is bending over and whipping out his buck knife, a sight that makes Ray's face go hot for some reason. Fraser crouches over goon number one, leaving Farrell to Ray.
"Good to see you, Jake."
"Mmmrph! Rmmph ftumpurf!" It's kind of funny watching Farrell's face turn red under the plastic.
"Are you sure you want me to do that? I swear that shrink wrap makes you look about ten years younger."
"Rrrrrrgph!!"
"Well, okay. Since you asked nicely and all." Ray starts reciting the Miranda warning while he pulls out his pocketknife. Jake's eyes go really wide. Ray leans down and slowly, very slowly, starts cutting the wrap away from the side of Jake's jaw.
"Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?" And it's unfair, really, because he has a knife at Jake's face when he asks the question.
But, whatever, Jake says, "Yeah, yeah, I understand. I understand."
"Excellent." That's Fraser, who has joined Ray with a wrapped-up goon under each hand. He's freed their faces but left their arms immobilized. Pretty smart, since they're kind of big guys.
"Let's get these fellas back to their cages, and then the pizza's on me."
"Oh, no, Ray. I insist on paying. It was your precision shooting that wrapped up the case."
"So to speak." Ray grins.
"So to speak, yes," Fraser says, and he licks his lower lip. His eyes look kind of hot, staring at Ray, and all of a sudden Ray's jeans feel like they've been shrink-wrapped.
He doesn't waste any time getting them out the door.
///
Fraser follows so close behind him up the stairs and down the hallway that it feels like he has a new shadow. A really wide shadow in blue flannel, faded blue jeans and unlaced hiking boots. And Ray noticed in the car that Fraser hasn't gotten any gunk on him at all—another annoying mystery.
Dief is practically waddling going through the apartment door—he's finally gotten his fill of donuts, although Ray would bet that's only a temporary condition.
Once they are all inside with the door closed, Fraser makes his move.
It isn't like Ray wasn't expecting it, considering the hot glances Fraser has been lasering Ray's way ever since the factory. But he is completely—oomph! Yeah, all right!—wowed by how fast and hard Fraser has him up against the cutaway before trying to kiss him silly.
And it's working. Silly is Ray's middle name. He goes dizzy on not enough oxygen, or maybe that's too much tongue right in his mouth, moving in hot and sloppy before Fraser turns his attention to Ray's neck. Fraser has taken Ray's hand and is holding it, but then he brings it up to his mouth and kisses it, then licks Ray's trigger finger, saying in this hoarse, unbelievably sexy voice, "You are an incredibly accurate marksman, Ray," before sucking it into his mouth. Fraser closes his eyes, and Ray figures he's getting off on the blowback.
And that is weird. But the kind of weird that makes Ray's dick pay serious, serious attention to what's going on, enjoying the sucking in a totally non-vicarious way. Enjoying it so much Ray is about to go off in his jeans. Which would be a cheat, because if Fraser is finally going to make him come, it isn't going to be like this, jammed up against the counter with all their clothes still on.
So, Ray pushes back a little, and catches an uncertain look in Fraser's face that he erases with a hard kiss on those swollen lips. Then he tugs Fraser toward the couch and pushes him down.
Fraser looks amazing, all sweaty and ruffled, and almost confused he's so turned on, and that just spins Ray's crank like crazy. Ray pulls off his grimy T-shirt and chucks it behind him. Fraser's eyes dip from Ray's face and then blink closed, and he reaches down. He puts his hand on his cock, gripping it through his jeans, and the sight almost makes Ray blow his wad right then and there.
"Take off your shirt," Ray says hoarsely.
Fraser does it—unbuttons the flannel and peels it off. He's got an undershirt on, of course, but he doesn't hesitate, just strips it over his head. And finally Ray gets to stare all he wants at Fraser's pale, muscled shoulders and the swell of his pecs, at the rough scar on his chest, and the way one nipple seems slightly lower than the other. Fraser isn't perfect, but, Jesus, he is one beautiful son of a bitch.
Ray looks up, and Fraser is staring at him, all blue heat and no uncertainty at all anymore. Ray gives him his cockiest smile, and Fraser's tongue makes a quick swipe at his lower lip. And then Fraser is reaching for him, and he catches Ray's elbow and pulls him down with clumsy strength so that Ray lands half on his lap, the skin of their chests sticking together. It's a klutzy move, almost funny, but Ray's never felt less like laughing, because this is it, boy howdy—this is what he wanted. Fraser has gone primal or something, because he just wraps himself around Ray, with arms and legs, and even his shoulders hunch in to get closer. He has one hand on the back of Ray's neck, holding him steady as he kisses the hell out of him. Ray decides air is for sissies and opens up for Fraser's tongue.
The seam on Fraser's jeans is rubbing right up against Ray's dick, and he helps the motion along—he feels Fraser doing the same thing, pushing his cock against Ray's thigh, and it's such a turn on feeling that, and knowing they're both in this so deep they can just hump like dogs. Fraser is even grunting as he pushes and pulls Ray's hips against his.
Suddenly Fraser arches up and goes rigid, and he makes a small sound, like a dying man.
"Yeah, Fraser, yeah," Ray says against his mouth, and just hangs on as Fraser trembles and comes for what seems like forever. He's still twitching when Ray gets impatient and starts shoving down hard, and then Fraser snakes his hand between them and fumbles a grip on Ray's dick through the bunch of his jeans. Fraser squeezes, rubs, and Ray drops his head and comes so hard the light futzes behind his eyeballs in a crazy geometric pattern.
They lie there for a while. Ray feels completely flattened, like a cartoon cat with a tire track right up the middle. He's starts feeling a little guilty and tries to push away, but Fraser's still got an arm around him and won't let him up.
"I've got to be crushing you," Ray says.
Fraser's breath huffs in his ear. "Never," he says, and he squeezes Ray even tighter. Ray's chest is all warm in front against Fraser's, and he listens to Fraser as his breathing eases.
Fraser whispers, "I've never known anyone like you. There's never been—Ray, I can't believe you—" He squeezes Ray again, going for anaconda this time.
"Ditto. You freak." Ray tries not to smile, but his face is out of order. He has this loopy grin on he's terrified will be totally permanent.
"As you say." Fraser doesn't sound insulted.
After a while Ray's neck starts hurting, and he pushes more insistently until Fraser finally lets him go. Ray sits in the corner of the couch and says, "So, remind me to shoot my gun off more often."
And Fraser laughs. Fraser laughs, sounding happy as hell.
Ray made him do that.
"Yes, as I mentioned, you're quite a keen shot." Fraser pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. "Of course, I might need to see it again to confirm the results," he says with a completely straight face.
"Or at all," Ray says. "You realize we didn't even get our pants off?"
"Yes, I do realize." Fraser shifts uncomfortably, and Ray grins evilly.
"Got a little chafing problem there, partner?"
"Er." Fraser's face is pink.
"I hear talcum powder helps with that."
Fraser shoots him a look. "I think the issue is one of applying warm, ah, liquid to activated starch."
It takes a while for Ray to work that one out, and then he's laughing, and Fraser is being pretend-mad—giving him this mild glare that he probably thinks is all tough and mean. It just makes Ray laugh harder.
"If you wouldn't mind loaning me a pair of boxers?"
Ray wipes his eyes. "Oh, we don't need no stinkin' boxers, Frase. It's time to graduate to big boy underwear."
So, they get up, and Fraser strips off his jeans and goes to the bathroom to towel off, but Ray doesn't get to see that part because he's in the bedroom getting a pair of boxer-briefs—the soft, cottony, too-loose ones he wears when he's out of clean laundry. He has to hand them through the crack in the door because Fraser doesn't open up, which is dirty pool in Ray's book. But he smiles when he realizes Fraser's jeans are still out here in the bedroom. Eventually Fraser comes out, and—holy cow, that's a good look on him. The material of the briefs just hugs right up against his soft cock and balls.
Ray takes a couple of steps forward and he's already reaching out when Fraser makes a funny noise and shifts back, blocking his play.
"Hey," Ray says, a little pissed. "Something wrong?"
"No, of course not. Right," Fraser says, and drops his hand. It's like he's forgotten he's given Ray the go-ahead. Or maybe—
"You change your mind or something?"
Fraser's eyes go wide. "Not at all. I just—well, I'm not—" He tugs on his ear, looking confused. "I just assumed we were..."
And, Christ, Ray gets it all of a sudden. And he's suddenly stuck between wanting to smack Fraser upside the head and just grabbing him and holding him down and kissing him until he finally figures it out.
"You thought we were done? We ain't done, Fraser. We'll never be done. I'll be ninety-two with my balls nearly useless and I still won't be done touching you. You saying you're done with me?"
"No!" Fraser's hands come up, and he finally takes a step forward. "There's so much I've wanted—I've dreamed lately—of doing with you, Ray. So much."
"So, we're good, then."
"But I'm not—" Fraser rubs the back of his neck. "I'm afraid I'm quite spent, Ray," he says with his face red.
Ha, Ray thinks. "Doesn't matter," he says, and he gets in close and puts his hand on Fraser's cock. Fraser shivers, but Ray keeps his hand there, cupping the soft, heavy weight through the cotton. "I like touching you, don't you get that?"
"Mmm?" Fraser's eyes are closed.
"Yeah, really. And I need you to let me. Okay?"
"Yes, Ray," Fraser says, sounding like he's drugged. "And, may I?"
"Oh, yeah. Whenever you want."
Fraser's eyes open up again and he looks blissed again, but different, like it's Christmas morning and Ray just gave him a really nice log.
Then he does the boa constrictor thing again, completely surrounding him, and Ray's wrist nearly gets broken because it's trapped awkwardly between them, but he doesn't care a damn.
Because this, right here, is what he was after the whole time. Maybe he still hasn't gotten into Fraser's pants, but that doesn't matter.
Ray is finally inside.
....................
2008.02.29
Flat Cat! |\_/| _ / x x \ _ ("\{= Y =}/") \ \\_ ^ _// / \ \/***\/ / \ / %#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%# <><><><><><><><><><><> %#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%#%# jgs /_ //\__\ /\//|| \\/\ (_X/ \\ \X_) |_/ )) \_| (/
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Date: 2008-03-03 07:14 pm (UTC)One teeny, drunken celebration, and then, oh, look! Mark's poor knee needs icing.
Nakedness ensues.