New F/K Story: Reliance (R)
Apr. 11th, 2008 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: Reliance
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Fandom: dS
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R
Category: FT, h/c
Wordcount: 6,007
Warning: none
Summary: Fraser gets pummeled. And then Ray teaches him the real lesson.
Notes: I was desperately ill and searching for Fraser h/c, when
zabira, snarkyducky, grey853 and sprat came to my rescue.
Still, it seemed to me there is a paucity, a positive dearth
of utterly disgustingly smarmy, Fraser-in-pain, Ray-offering-sweet-
succor-type F/K stories out there (or it could be I'm never satisfied.
Now that I think on it, quite probably the latter) so I ended up writing
one of my own. And, well, here 'tis.
Reliance
By Arrow
The Consulate seemed colder than usual. Or it was possible his injuries were leaching the warmth from his body. Fraser allowed himself one weary sigh and walked over to check the thermostat on his way to his office quarters. The temperature was a regulation twenty-two degrees Celsius.
Diefenbaker thunked his tail from underneath the Turnbull's desk, but exhibited only the tip of his nose, giving a welcoming snuffle before retreating into sleep.
Fraser went to his office, rubbing his jaw and carefully probing the soreness there. Nothing shifted—there was no grating of bone. The pain was sharp, but not dangerously so. He raised his hand to remove his hat and got another painful reminder. This time he sucked in his breath.
"You're not supposed to go it alone like that, Fraser," Ray's angry words echoed in his head. "That's not buddies."
Fraser had responded with an immediate apology, which had thrown Ray right back on his heels. Truthfully, it wasn't buddies—Fraser knew that. He also knew what had propelled him into the ridiculous chase. The reason was pitiful—the simple marking of an anniversary. Two years ago a friend's bullet had put an end to the disaster that threatened everyone he cared for and everything he held dear—duty, friendship, and honor.
And so today the reminder had driven him to stupidity. He knew he'd left Ray behind in the chase. Taking on three drug-smugglers alone really was excessive, even for him. All he knew was he'd felt an unholy charge of excitement in confronting them, almost as if he—
He paused in his disrobing, tunic in his hands, when he heard the quiet sound of his door office opening. Alarmed, he turned.
Ray stood there, leaning against the door frame, one hand stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans and causing the waistline to gap outward from his taut stomach.
"You left the station without saying goodbye." Ray's voice was subdued, but still held an echo of the nervous energy that had bled from him all afternoon since the arrest.
"Ray." Fraser really was going to have to reinforce the Consulate locks. "I'm sorry. I was—that is, I am...tired." And he was—too exhausted even to hold back that small piece of information, though Ray's eyebrows rose with surprise at his words.
"Benton Fraser, tired. Who'd-a thunk it?" Ray seemed to relax a little on hearing the admission. "Too tired to come over to my place for pizza and a beer? Or the weird Canadian beverage of your choice? Moose milk? Ox sweat?"
Odd, but his weariness was lifting at the sight of Ray's mocking grin.
"That sounds...intriguing, Ray. If you'll allow me to change out of my uniform?" Fraser turned back to the closet and hung up his tunic. He'd just eased off his suspenders when he realized he hadn't heard the door close. Turning back, he found Ray leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, waiting. Fraser tilted his head.
"Ah. I'm accustomed to changing in privacy," he said uncomfortably when Ray didn't take the hint.
Actually, he wasn't sure he'd mind Ray's eyes on him, or his hands, for that matter, or any other part of that active, lithe body, but that very fact demanded Ray's absence while he undressed. Fraser had no intention of giving his body an opportunity to betray him. He felt exceedingly vulnerable today, his control shaky.
Ray just cracked a half grin. "You bashful or something, Frase?" There was absolutely no suggestiveness to his tone, just gentle mockery, but still Fraser had to suppress an impulse to flush.
"I'm just more accustomed to doing it alone," he said. He knew his voice sounded stiff, saw it reflected in a sudden flash of anger in Ray's blue eyes.
"Yeah, alone. I get that about you." Ray settled more firmly against wall, widening his stance, telegraphing his intention to stay put. "Alone isn't always such a good thing, though, is it?"
Ah. A not-so-veiled reference to this afternoon's bust. Fraser turned away, afraid his own expression would betray his chagrin and his uncomfortable revelation about his motives for 'going it alone.'
He stripped off his Henley, suppressing a groan at the ache the movement awoke in his side. Ray's gasp of surprise hung sharply in the silence between them, and his voice sounded closer as he said, "Jesus, they really worked you over. Why didn't you say something?"
"There really is no cause for concern, Ray—" Fraser's voice cut off abruptly when he felt the gentle touch of fingertips on his bruised side. He stood frozen, violently clamping down on the surge of sensation. The effort left him incapable of moving.
His fingers on my skin. His fingers—
"Turn around, let me see the rest of it," Ray said. Fraser couldn't pin down his tone, but it sounded like an odd mixture of disapproval and something else. The disapproval caused an immediate spurt of resentment that made it easier for Fraser to control his reactions.
His grandparents had always evinced disappointment in him for his childhood injuries, as if he'd hurt himself out of sheer contrariness. As if his injuries merely added to the burden his very existence had placed on them. He knew he was supposed to make it as easy as possible to care for him—he represented an unwanted responsibility, foisted on them late in life by his father. So Fraser had always felt ashamed whenever he'd hurt himself as a boy, and had learned quickly to hide injuries and illness rather than face his grandparents' disapproving frowns.
"It's fine, Ray." Fraser reached for his softest flannel shirt and started to shrug it on, careful to make his motions seem easy and fluid. A hard grip on his shoulder stopped him, stopping the swing of material so the shirt hung half on him. Ray then tried to force him around.
Fraser stiffened. Ray's grip changed, gentling, shifting to a coaxing glide and nudge. The strategy was insidious; Fraser was simply unprepared to resist gentleness. He found himself turning to face his mercurial partner.
Ray's eyes were on his ribs, and his fingers soon followed, skimming lightly down Fraser's torso. Fraser was oddly reminded of his father caring for an injured sled dog and reading the extent of the damage beneath the thick fur with his gentle hands.
But Fraser lacked a coat to protect him from the tantalizing skin-to-skin contact, a tickling touch that made him twitch and brought his nipples into hard points.
"Sorry, you ticklish?"
Not trusting his voice at that moment, Fraser merely nodded. It was the truth, although it was not the cause, in this case, of his troubling reaction.
"What's this one from? Toe cap?"
Fraser looked down. Ray fingers outlined the deepest bruise, the point of the worst damage—a rough triangle of dark blue and red just below Fraser's lowest rib.
"He had pointy shoes."
"Which one of them was it?" Ray sounded detached, and his fingers left Fraser's skin abruptly. Fraser suppressed a sigh of relief.
"It was Mr. Marks, I think." Fraser remembered kicking at the dealer's kneecap and the man falling heavily to the ground. He was currently in the hospital being treated for his injury.
"Good deal," Ray said, the rough satisfaction in his voice oddly echoing Fraser's shamefully smug thoughts. "You got something smelly we can put on these that'll help?"
"I assure you, Ray, there's no need—"
"Jesus, you are such a pain in my ass, you know that?"
"Yes, I am quite aware," Fraser said tightly. He shifted forward slightly, indicating he wanted Ray out of his personal space. But Ray didn't give. Instead, his angry frown smoothed again.
"Good thing for you I like pain, huh?" Ray said, smirking a little when Fraser's mouth fell open. "Come on, you gotta put something on those."
"Well, I do have an ointment prepared with lanolin and an extract of the fetal—"
"No on the details!" Ray said, raising his hands. "Just get the stuff."
This time Ray gave way, and Fraser sidled by him to drop his shirt on his cot before sitting down. He pulled his medicine chest from underneath and dug for a few moments, coming up with the salve. Twisting off the lid, he dipped out a generous amount and rubbed it gingerly over the worst of the bruises on his midsection, wishing he were alone so he could give voice to the discomfort the action caused.
Ray watched silently, but when Fraser was through and started to recap the jar, he snapped his fingers and held out his hand.
"Now the back," he said.
Fraser started to shake his head, but Ray's warning glance, strangely intent, made him breathe an internal sigh and hand over the jar.
"Turn around." Ray made a spinning motion.
Fraser stood quickly and turned. He tried not to shiver at the gentle touch, but he felt his nipples hardening again, pulling the skin of his chest. He hadn't imagined his rough, ferally beautiful partner had this kind of capacity for tenderness; or perhaps Fraser had deliberately not considered it. But Ray was obviously trying hard not to apply too much pressure as he smoothed the salve over Fraser's skin, and the care was making Fraser's heart hurt. How long had it been since anyone had touched him so tenderly? And that it was Ray who did this—his uncharacteristic gentleness, the light, caring touch of his fingers on Fraser's skin, on skin that had forgotten the meaning of touch, was almost unbearable. Firmly, Fraser boxed the memory of the sensation, storing it away for later retrieval.
Two years, his mind whispered. Two years since...her. The sudden recollection was a cold shower to his arousal.
He jolted with surprise when the fingers suddenly trailed to the right—to the deadened skin of the scar just to the right of his spine. It was as if Ray had somehow sensed his train of thought.
"That's not—" Fraser's voice wouldn't behave.
"This is the spot, huh? This where Vecchio hit you?" Ray sounded curious.
Fraser didn't respond, since the answer was obvious, and because he suddenly felt he couldn't breathe.
The touch left him, and he heard Ray step back. Hastily, Fraser bent and retrieved his shirt, shrugging it on roughly, the pain of the movement a welcome return to the order of things.
Pain was good. Safer than pleasure, in any event, although some part of him recognized the inherent irrationality of that thought.
"Come on." Ray tapped his shoulder. "Let's get some grub."
"Yes, Ray." Fraser retrieved his hat from his desk. Normal. Back to normal. "I'm quite fond of grubs, although I admit I'm surprised to hear you enjoy dining on them as well."
"Fraser!"
///
Fraser managed to keep to his usual, deadpan banter throughout dinner—a pizza they picked up from Georgio's—but the discomfort in his side and back was worsening, turning from a hot ache to deep, cramping pain that had him shifting restlessly in search of a comfortable position on Ray's couch. He was dreading returning to the Consulate and his hard cot. Perhaps if he doubled up his bedroll—
"Maybe a hot pad would help. I think I got one of those." Ray's voice interrupted Fraser's musings, and Fraser turned his head.
Ray's extraordinary hair was glinting red, a by-product of the glow coming from the string of chili pepper lights hanging nearby. Fraser was so distracted that it took him a moment to respond.
"I beg your pardon?"
Ray shrugged. "A heating pad, you know? The kind with the dial? I had a bad back for a while and it was the only thing that helped."
So they were back to that. Fraser suppressed a flare of irritation. Ray was just trying to be helpful. Maybe it was a partner thing, although Fraser couldn't recall, even after he'd been beaten by Zuko's hired thugs, the other Ray being this solicitous of his condition.
And, of course, after Fraser was shot, it was guilt that had driven Ray Vecchio's concern. But he hadn't offered Fraser heating pads; instead, he'd offered him indoor plumbing.
"What's so funny?" Ray sounded defensive.
"Ah. I was just pondering the utility of such a device when one lives in a wood cabin without electricity."
"Huh. Well, we got plenty of that here. Lemme see if I can go dig up the thing—"
"That won't be necessary, Ray. Thank you kindly."
Ray's jaw worked for a moment, then he smacked his own forehead and made a sound of disgust. "You really are unhinged, you know that? Of course it's not necessary. I'm just trying to be buddies, here. Get it?"
"I don't want to be a burden—" Fraser started awkwardly.
"Fraser—" Ray yelled, then cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. "What the fuck does that mean, burden? This another insane Canadian thing? 'Cause if it is, I swear to God I'll bop you one."
Well, that would be just the thing. Fraser bit his lip to keep the sarcastic response from escaping. Ray actually looked a little hurt, which was the last thing Fraser wanted. He tried to be conciliatory.
"A burden, meaning: a trouble to you. It would hardly be very buddies of me if, out of my own foolishness in getting myself injured, I made you responsible for making me feel better. Indeed, I—"
"Shut up." Ray actually looked angrier. "You got it exactly the opposite, you big, dumb Canuck."
"I don't believe so," Fraser said stiffly, anger driving him now. "My own experience has taught me that—" He cut himself off just in time, a little horrified at what he'd been about to reveal.
Ray cocked his head, the glint in his eyes suddenly sharp. "Experience with who?"
"With whom," Fraser corrected.
"Whatever. Who with?"
Fraser pressed his lips together.
Ray stared at him a moment longer, then sighed. "Well, whoever it is was full of it, Fraser. 'Cause I'll tell you what buddies is about. Buddies is about, if you need a hand, you reach out. And if someone offers you a hand, you don't kick him in the head. You got that?"
Fraser nodded jerkily, wanting the conversation to be over with.
Ray clapped his hands together. "Great! Okay, lemme go find it."
Fraser waited on the couch. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach, not entirely due to the greasy slice of pepperoni-and-pineapple pizza he'd managed to choke down earlier. His thoughts were chasing each other like Dief used to chase his tail as a pup. If Fraser caused Ray too much trouble, he would tire of him soon enough. His mouth tingled with the memory of the hard punch he'd taken by the water, where their partnership had almost been broken beyond repair.
But it appeared as if refusing the assistance was equally troublesome to Ray. A kick in the head, he'd said. But Fraser could still taste the hot, bitter tang of his unshed tears, sitting in the kitchen where his grandfather had had to carry him after his first, disastrous solo on the dog sled.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" his grandmother had remonstrated. "You know your grandfather's back isn't strong. "
"Okay, up and at 'em, pitter-pat."
"I'm sorry?"
"You gotta stretch out for this. We'll use my bed."
Thankfully, Ray turned his back before he saw the heat that rose in Fraser's cheeks to burn the tips of his ears. He was slow pushing himself to his feet, both out of reluctance and because his muscles had stiffened to an excruciating point during his musings. He followed Ray into the bedroom.
"Crap. Where is that damned outlet?" Ray's voice was muffled as he crawled on the floor near the head of the bed. Fraser averted his gaze from the flexing of Ray's rear end in his loose jeans. "Ah, got it." He placed the heating pad on the bed and said, "We'll start with your back, and then flip you over like a hotcake." He grinned, not seeming to realize the dust he'd picked up on his hair and left cheek. Fraser quelled an urge to brush it away.
"Ray, I—" One last attempt, quickly overridden.
"Shut up, take off your shirt and lie down."
Fraser did as he was asked without allowing himself to hesitate, for he sensed even a slight pause would be dangerous—too revealing, and too likely to allow his mind to dwell on the heady prospect of being half-naked on Ray's bed.
Carefully, Fraser reached over his shoulder with his right hand and grabbed the back of his shirt, stripping it forward and over his head without raising his left arm. When he blinked up, he found Ray's gaze on him, his expression sympathetic. He gestured at Fraser's left side.
"Stiffened up pretty good, I'm guessing." His eyes rose to Fraser's hair, and Fraser awkwardly smoothed it down one-handed.
"On the bed, on your stomach," Ray said in the tones of a drill sergeant.
Fraser's momentary irritation died when he hit the heavenly softness of Ray's bed. It was sinfully comfortable. He couldn't imagine sleeping on it nightly; the very decadence would inevitably lead to other...indulgences. He took a deep breath through his nose to steel himself against his wayward thoughts, and was immediately assaulted by a wonderful smell—the light scent of Ray's musk, combined with the smell of fabric softener and hair gel.
Fraser flinched slightly when he felt Ray's warm palm settle on his spine.
"All right, let's put this baby to use. Where's it hurt the worst?"
Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, down low, where my belt dug in—"
He cut off abruptly when he felt Ray's hand slide down, lightly resting just above the waist of his jeans.
"Here? Pretty shade of purple you got going on."
"Yes, just below there. Perhaps you can—"
He felt a tug at the waist of his jeans, as if Ray had caught his belt loop and was tugging up. Unfortunately, Fraser's pants were a little too tight to give. With a sigh and no small amount of trepidation, he pushed himself to the side to unbutton his jeans and slide his zipper down just a bit. He prayed that would be sufficient.
Apparently it was, because he felt Ray try again, and then the most incredible sensation of soft heat melted into his skin from the quickly warming heating pad, the flannel edge of which Ray forced under the band of his boxers. A groan of relief escaped Fraser's lips before he could prevent it.
"Good, huh?" Ray said in a tone of smug satisfaction.
"It's most...good, Ray. Thank you kindly." Fraser could feel the muscles of his lower back soaking up the warmth, easing, unclenching. Incredible.
Ray patted his shoulder. "Greatness. We'll just let you roast for a while. I'll set the timer and we'll flip you in a half hour."
Thank you. Oh, thank you, Fraser wanted to say. But his throat had closed. Ray's kindness was almost unbearable, thawing the ice in his heart along with the frozen muscles in his back. He drifted, his eyes damp and his earlier arousal forgotten. He felt only gratitude now, and a painful—
He stared at the wall, not wanting to think the word, not having ever thought it before, and terrified by what it signified.
Instead he focused on his image of Ray and his vibrant personality, his ready intelligence, dogged persistence, and his truthfulness, most of all. He had captured Fraser's admiration from almost the first moment they'd met, mostly for his raw emotional courage.
Courage Fraser should have.
It's love. I love him.
It was hopeless, of course; Fraser was well aware that his heart, sublimely stupid when it came to romance, was finding it impossible to make a distinction between Ray's gestures of affection and the deeper emotion Fraser had no right to expect. The rarity of receiving affection from any other source only compounded his confusion.
Did it matter, though, if Ray couldn't return it? In point of fact, Fraser was certain he wouldn't know what to do even if Ray could feel the same. He wouldn't know where to begin.
So, better it remain a bittersweet pipedream to savor late at night when he was alone.
Fraser closed his eyes, his backache dissipating under the radiant heat until he felt like he was dissolving into the soft mattress. He listened to Ray's movements in the other room, the sound of dishes being cleaned, the low music coming from the stereo.
"'Cause I'm gonna make you see, nobody else here, no one like me...I'm special, so special..."
Ray's voice rose in falsetto, and Fraser smiled against the pillow, grateful that Dief wasn't there to add a corresponding howl that would've rattled the ceiling.
Fraser must've drifted off, because the next thing he was aware of was the sound of his name, and he opened his eyes to see Ray's dirt-smudged face about a foot away.
"Fraser?" Ray repeated.
Maybe it was the utter relaxation inspired by the soft bed, or the heat still radiating from the heating pad, or the sudden, inexpressible warmth he had discovered in his heart, but before he realized what he was doing, Fraser lifted his hand and gently drew his knuckles across Ray's cheek, brushing away the lingering dust before letting his thumb trace the beautiful curve of Ray's lower lip.
The sudden shock on Ray's face registered only as an afterimage when Fraser squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to see the dismay sure to follow. The abused muscles in his side shouted warning as his dread tightened them, and he gasped with sudden pain, sliding his hand there reflexively.
"Frase...what?"
"Cramp!" he said, panting, and rolled onto his right side to draw his legs up. The cord from the heating pad somehow managed to wrap itself around his arm as he curled into a ball, clutching at the cramp in his side.
"Hang on, hang on," Ray said, sounding a little frantic.
He was grabbing, lifting, tugging at Fraser, trying to lay him flat, and Fraser attempted to push him away, focused solely in that moment on isolating the pain, which was spreading like wildfire from muscle to muscle the more he tensed.
"Ease up, Fraser! Dammit!" Another sharp tug, and to his shame, Fraser heard himself moan helplessly. "Lie flat, buddy."
Then he was flat on his back, and Ray was pressing the hot pad against his abdomen and side. The warmth helped almost immediately, if only because the sensation served to distract him from the fierceness of the cramp.
"Thanks," he panted out.
"Breathe slower, it'll help," Ray said. His other hand lightly patted Frazer's arm. Another distraction. A good distraction. Fraser's breathing quieted, and with it, the cramp eased further, burning away to a trembling ache.
But now that his pain wasn't calling his attention, Fraser could no longer ignore the appalling thing he had just let himself do—touch Ray in a manner he had no right to.
Oh, no. His stomach started to tense again and he winced.
"Hey! Quit it!" The heating pad was pressed harder to Fraser's stomach and he felt Ray rest his hand on his chest and rub him lightly.
Fraser's eyes opened in surprise. Ray was frowning at him, his usual Fraser, you are seriously unhinged frown of almost amused disbelief. No pity. No disgust. But there was a new element, too, a caged excitement in the press of Ray's lips that made Fraser's heart jump.
"Ray?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed as best he could around his dry throat. He was certain his pathetic desires were written on his face in bold letters.
Ray's eyes softened, and his lips curved in a smile that would have fit the Mona Lisa. But his hand on Fraser's chest had developed a slight tremble that seemed to transmit itself through Fraser's skin and spread through his body.
Ray was shaking. It didn't make sense, except it did, it made perfect sense only if—
With his palm, Fraser pressed Ray's hand to his chest.
Blue-green-hazel-gold was as close as Fraser had ever gotten in describing the color of Ray's eyes to himself. Right now they were leaning hard toward blue, and shining down at him like searchlights. He wanted to close his own eyes, but couldn't. He tried to breathe but his chest was locked tight, because there was Ray—hair, skin, lips almost within reach, wiry strength strung on a lean frame and lowering over him, so close...impossible close. And then those lips broke into a grin, and Ray was pushing down with his hand, laughing shakily and saying something about CPR.
"Breathe, Fraser. Breathe," Ray said, and he pushed playfully at Fraser's chest.
Fraser sucked in a lungful of air, shocked by the sudden buzz in his head—not from the oxygen, but the sensation of Ray's hand moving up his chest to his neck, thumb stroking Fraser's throat slowly, gently, until his mouth opened in dumb response and he licked his lower lip. Once. Again, and on the third, Ray's mouth was there to catch his tongue, lips trapping it and pulling it in.
Ray. Ray. Ray. Fraser's hands leaped up, rabbits in the snow, to burrow into the dark blond hair and pull Ray closer. Fraser's side complained about the move, but Ray did not, he simply gasped Fraser's name and clutched him in turn, kissing him over and over, short ones now, interspersed with words Fraser couldn't quite parse.
"Knew it. Knew you felt it—" His tongue plundered then withdrew. "Knew you were looking, too." Ray kissed him again while lowering himself onto him, and this time Fraser's gasp was one of pain. Ray immediately drew back. "Oh! Shit, sorry."
"It's all right," Fraser said. But it wasn't. His side was complaining again, and this time it was impossible to ignore. Ray scuttled over him, over to his good side, his hand dropping down to adjust the heating pad on Fraser's torso before settling in close to him.
Fraser had had a toy once, one of the few he was permitted, an animal puzzle, all of the pieces smooth, interlocking wood. That was what it felt like when Ray fit himself into Fraser's side, like the cheetah next to the polar bear. Two predators. He'd often wondered how they had ended up like that, two animals so close but from different continents, different worlds. How could they coexist?
"Stop it," came Ray's voice.
"I beg your pardon?" Fraser blinked at Ray's suddenly serious face.
"The worrying thing. It's making you distracted, Fraser, and I hate that." Ray reached up and rubbed between Fraser's eyebrows with his thumb, then took away his hand and peered at him. "Nope, still there." He leaned over him and—Oh—his lips were kissing the spot. Warm lips. Softer than Fraser had once imagined.
He felt himself harden, and he allowed himself reach out and touch, sliding his hand along Ray's waist to catch underneath the t-shirt and stroke the smooth skin of his lower back. Fraser's fingertips registered a fine fuzz of hair, and he stroked it down, following it until his fingers rested at the top of Ray's buttocks.
Fraser stopped, suddenly conscious of his audacity.
"Mmm," Ray said in his ear. "That feels great." He arched his back beneath Fraser's hand, and Fraser's hand slid lower, resting on the muscular curve of Ray's buttock.
It was like pushing a domino—a sudden, rapid sequence of movements resulted in his single touch, and before Fraser knew it Ray had pushed down Fraser's jeans and boxers, and his own, and was curled close, his erection pressing against Fraser's thigh and one hand resting lightly on Fraser's hip, just at his groin. Those eager fingers twitched, but moved no closer as Ray's mouth and lips planted sucking kisses on Fraser's shoulder and collarbone.
"Ray, please," Fraser moaned, embarrassed at the needy sound but helpless to stop it, or the shifting of his hips as he tried to get Ray's hand to, for God's sake, move.
Instead, Ray pressed down, breaking off his exploration. "Don't. You'll stiffen up again."
"I'm already quite stiff," Fraser said pointedly, and then bit his lip.
"Ha. You made a funny." Ray kissed him again. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Me, neither, Fraser thought, surprised at himself. But his body had a tendency to overwhelm his good sense. That was nothing new. And Ray's mouth and—Dear Lord—his teeth were making rational thought a thing of the past.
"Just take it easy, Frase. We got time." The smug tone was at odds with the dragging kisses Ray treated to Fraser's neck on the way to his chest. Once there, Ray began feasting on his nipple, until Fraser squirmed involuntarily, causing his bruised side to cry out.
He made a small sound, and Ray mercifully lifted his head.
"I got you. I got you," he said, and his calloused fingertips drifted sideways until, at last, he closed his hand around Fraser's aching erection.
"Oh," Fraser said, his breath stopping at the feel of Ray's strong hand.
Ray groaned, and with a lithe heave, lunged up until he was straddling Fraser's thighs, his knees dipping to the mattress on either side. He moved once with a heart-stopping wriggle, and suddenly they were aligned, Ray's soft testicles pressed against Fraser's.
The feeling was indescribable, especially when Ray pushed his own erection down to join them both in his long fingers.
"Oh, yeah," Ray said as he stroked them together.
"Dear God," Fraser said. "You're...we're—"
"This is us, Fraser," Ray said, and his hands moved in a long, tight stroke, base upward. He made a sound, and released Fraser, scrambling off of him.
"What? Ray—"
"Got some right here," Ray muttered, doing something in the nightstand behind Fraser's shoulder. Before Fraser could voice a complaint, Ray was back, straddling him once again, and now his hands were wet, slick with something so slippery his fingers felt like velvet stroking them both together. He shifted his hips up and back, sliding into his own hands, squeezing hard so their cocks moved together, the muscles on his belly tightening and releasing.
"Ray. Ray. God, this feels—"
"Good?" Ray grinned down at him and did something base and entirely too wicked with the palm of his hand on the head of Fraser's cock, repeating it a moment later on his own. The pleasure on Ray's face echoed his own so closely Fraser had to close his eyes, thinking he had been a fool, that this was real lovemaking, regardless the body parts or the act, because Ray was sharing everything with him, all his pleasure, all his need, sweat beading his body and bliss contorting his cheeks, his mouth, while he stroked and stroked them both toward the edge.
"I wanted this," Ray said, panting, pumping his hands faster and faster, his testicles pressing seductively against Fraser's as he rocked. "I wanted this so bad and now look at you. God! Fraser. You gotta come. You gotta come, I wanna watch you come—"
Fraser closed his eyes and climaxed with a pitiful moan. He heard Ray urging him through it and felt the wet warmth of his own semen spattering his belly.
When he opened his eyes, Ray was staring down at him, awe on his face, his hand still moving slowly on himself. Fraser swiped his own hand through the mess on his stomach and reached, at last, for Ray's hardness, for the center of his pleasure, feeling the tightness of the skin, the hard shaft moving within his hand.
Ray moaned and leaned over him, planting his hands on the bed and thrusting into Fraser's grip.
"Gonna come, gonna come, do it just like that," Ray begged, and Fraser tried desperately to keep up the right rhythm until Ray threw his head back and released, his cock jerking in Fraser's hand. Fraser gentled his grip, but kept stroking until a final measure of fluid bubbled from the head of Ray's cock over his fingers.
"Jesus Christ," Ray said, and he leaned over to kiss Fraser again. Ray's lips were tender and sweet against his, but not an ounce of his weight rested on Fraser's body, and Fraser was marveling at Ray's care when he extracted himself and settled at his side.
"You okay?" Ray asked him, as if Fraser had just jumped out of a window or fallen from a speeding car. Oddly enough, it felt like he had, but he nodded in answer and turned his head for another kiss.
"That's good news," Ray said. "Because I'm gonna need you to heal up."
"I'll try my best," Fraser said, his voice somewhat strangled.
Ray's sticky palm rested on Fraser's chest. "Yeah, you always do."
///
Fraser awoke, the heating pad a warm lump by his side, and Ray's palm still pressed to his chest. He looked down, grateful for the early morning light that granted him the luxury of being able to fix Ray's naked form in his memory, the long, lean lines of him, the muscled torso and freckled skin. He stared, memorizing the patterns of stubble in Ray's cheeks until his eyes blurred. Fraser blinked them shut, fighting the sting. Ray, Ray, Ray. Fraser needed to imprint the lazy, sprawling picture on his brain, make it part of himself so it would last.
His body sent an urgent message and he slid out of bed carefully, hoping Ray wouldn't awaken. The movement made it obvious that every one of Fraser's abused muscles had stiffened two-fold in his sleep, and he hunched to the bathroom like an old, old man to relieve his bladder and drink some water.
He was stooping by the bed pulling on his pants when, in spite of himself, he emitted a muffled grunt of pain.
"Whazzat?" Ray's sleepy voice. Fraser looked up to see two blue eyes taking him in with a muzzy stare.
"It's all right, Ray. Go back to sleep."
Ray blinked at him twice and then his nose crinkled up. He rubbed at it, yawning, and Fraser felt a pang of affection so strong he had to take a sharp breath.
"You hurtin'?" The sleepiness left Ray's eyes and he propped himself up on his elbows. Fraser admired the play of muscles in his chest and arms before looking away.
"Just a little stiff, Ray. I think I'll return to the Consulate where I can make use of the claw-footed tub." Fraser looked down and drew up his zipper.
A brush of musk-scented air was the only warning he had, and then Ray was in front of him, tense with contained energy.
"I have one of those here, you know. A bathtub, I mean."
Fraser's eyes blinked shut, smarting. "I...yes, of course you do. But Dief—"
"I can get the wolf, bring him back." Ray's voice was clipped and hurt, which hadn't been Fraser's intention at all.
"I don't want to be—"
"—a bother," Ray finished, glaring. "I thought we already had this dance, Frase."
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. He felt Ray's disappointment like a brand on his cheeks. He had to get out of the habit of hurting Ray. He had to start now.
"Ah, perhaps while you're fetching Dief you could bring my tea?"
Ray's smile was sudden and brilliant. "You got it. Anything else?"
"A change of clothing?"
Ray nodded, then lunged at him, pressing his lips against Fraser's, feeding him warmth with his mouth.
"Yeah, but don't plan on getting dressed for a while," Ray said when he drew back.
"Oh?"
"Nope. I think you need more bed rest."
"Ah."
"Like, serious bed rest. I'm talking days and days."
Fraser couldn't suppress a smile. "I'm sure I'll soon be feeling right as rain."
"Count on it." Count on me, Ray's expression said.
And Fraser decided it was about damned time he did.
...................
2008.04.11
Author:
arrow00Fandom: dS
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R
Category: FT, h/c
Wordcount: 6,007
Warning: none
Summary: Fraser gets pummeled. And then Ray teaches him the real lesson.
Notes: I was desperately ill and searching for Fraser h/c, when
zabira, snarkyducky, grey853 and sprat came to my rescue. Still, it seemed to me there is a paucity, a positive dearth
of utterly disgustingly smarmy, Fraser-in-pain, Ray-offering-sweet-
succor-type F/K stories out there (or it could be I'm never satisfied.
Now that I think on it, quite probably the latter) so I ended up writing
one of my own. And, well, here 'tis.
Reliance
By Arrow
The Consulate seemed colder than usual. Or it was possible his injuries were leaching the warmth from his body. Fraser allowed himself one weary sigh and walked over to check the thermostat on his way to his office quarters. The temperature was a regulation twenty-two degrees Celsius.
Diefenbaker thunked his tail from underneath the Turnbull's desk, but exhibited only the tip of his nose, giving a welcoming snuffle before retreating into sleep.
Fraser went to his office, rubbing his jaw and carefully probing the soreness there. Nothing shifted—there was no grating of bone. The pain was sharp, but not dangerously so. He raised his hand to remove his hat and got another painful reminder. This time he sucked in his breath.
"You're not supposed to go it alone like that, Fraser," Ray's angry words echoed in his head. "That's not buddies."
Fraser had responded with an immediate apology, which had thrown Ray right back on his heels. Truthfully, it wasn't buddies—Fraser knew that. He also knew what had propelled him into the ridiculous chase. The reason was pitiful—the simple marking of an anniversary. Two years ago a friend's bullet had put an end to the disaster that threatened everyone he cared for and everything he held dear—duty, friendship, and honor.
And so today the reminder had driven him to stupidity. He knew he'd left Ray behind in the chase. Taking on three drug-smugglers alone really was excessive, even for him. All he knew was he'd felt an unholy charge of excitement in confronting them, almost as if he—
He paused in his disrobing, tunic in his hands, when he heard the quiet sound of his door office opening. Alarmed, he turned.
Ray stood there, leaning against the door frame, one hand stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans and causing the waistline to gap outward from his taut stomach.
"You left the station without saying goodbye." Ray's voice was subdued, but still held an echo of the nervous energy that had bled from him all afternoon since the arrest.
"Ray." Fraser really was going to have to reinforce the Consulate locks. "I'm sorry. I was—that is, I am...tired." And he was—too exhausted even to hold back that small piece of information, though Ray's eyebrows rose with surprise at his words.
"Benton Fraser, tired. Who'd-a thunk it?" Ray seemed to relax a little on hearing the admission. "Too tired to come over to my place for pizza and a beer? Or the weird Canadian beverage of your choice? Moose milk? Ox sweat?"
Odd, but his weariness was lifting at the sight of Ray's mocking grin.
"That sounds...intriguing, Ray. If you'll allow me to change out of my uniform?" Fraser turned back to the closet and hung up his tunic. He'd just eased off his suspenders when he realized he hadn't heard the door close. Turning back, he found Ray leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, waiting. Fraser tilted his head.
"Ah. I'm accustomed to changing in privacy," he said uncomfortably when Ray didn't take the hint.
Actually, he wasn't sure he'd mind Ray's eyes on him, or his hands, for that matter, or any other part of that active, lithe body, but that very fact demanded Ray's absence while he undressed. Fraser had no intention of giving his body an opportunity to betray him. He felt exceedingly vulnerable today, his control shaky.
Ray just cracked a half grin. "You bashful or something, Frase?" There was absolutely no suggestiveness to his tone, just gentle mockery, but still Fraser had to suppress an impulse to flush.
"I'm just more accustomed to doing it alone," he said. He knew his voice sounded stiff, saw it reflected in a sudden flash of anger in Ray's blue eyes.
"Yeah, alone. I get that about you." Ray settled more firmly against wall, widening his stance, telegraphing his intention to stay put. "Alone isn't always such a good thing, though, is it?"
Ah. A not-so-veiled reference to this afternoon's bust. Fraser turned away, afraid his own expression would betray his chagrin and his uncomfortable revelation about his motives for 'going it alone.'
He stripped off his Henley, suppressing a groan at the ache the movement awoke in his side. Ray's gasp of surprise hung sharply in the silence between them, and his voice sounded closer as he said, "Jesus, they really worked you over. Why didn't you say something?"
"There really is no cause for concern, Ray—" Fraser's voice cut off abruptly when he felt the gentle touch of fingertips on his bruised side. He stood frozen, violently clamping down on the surge of sensation. The effort left him incapable of moving.
His fingers on my skin. His fingers—
"Turn around, let me see the rest of it," Ray said. Fraser couldn't pin down his tone, but it sounded like an odd mixture of disapproval and something else. The disapproval caused an immediate spurt of resentment that made it easier for Fraser to control his reactions.
His grandparents had always evinced disappointment in him for his childhood injuries, as if he'd hurt himself out of sheer contrariness. As if his injuries merely added to the burden his very existence had placed on them. He knew he was supposed to make it as easy as possible to care for him—he represented an unwanted responsibility, foisted on them late in life by his father. So Fraser had always felt ashamed whenever he'd hurt himself as a boy, and had learned quickly to hide injuries and illness rather than face his grandparents' disapproving frowns.
"It's fine, Ray." Fraser reached for his softest flannel shirt and started to shrug it on, careful to make his motions seem easy and fluid. A hard grip on his shoulder stopped him, stopping the swing of material so the shirt hung half on him. Ray then tried to force him around.
Fraser stiffened. Ray's grip changed, gentling, shifting to a coaxing glide and nudge. The strategy was insidious; Fraser was simply unprepared to resist gentleness. He found himself turning to face his mercurial partner.
Ray's eyes were on his ribs, and his fingers soon followed, skimming lightly down Fraser's torso. Fraser was oddly reminded of his father caring for an injured sled dog and reading the extent of the damage beneath the thick fur with his gentle hands.
But Fraser lacked a coat to protect him from the tantalizing skin-to-skin contact, a tickling touch that made him twitch and brought his nipples into hard points.
"Sorry, you ticklish?"
Not trusting his voice at that moment, Fraser merely nodded. It was the truth, although it was not the cause, in this case, of his troubling reaction.
"What's this one from? Toe cap?"
Fraser looked down. Ray fingers outlined the deepest bruise, the point of the worst damage—a rough triangle of dark blue and red just below Fraser's lowest rib.
"He had pointy shoes."
"Which one of them was it?" Ray sounded detached, and his fingers left Fraser's skin abruptly. Fraser suppressed a sigh of relief.
"It was Mr. Marks, I think." Fraser remembered kicking at the dealer's kneecap and the man falling heavily to the ground. He was currently in the hospital being treated for his injury.
"Good deal," Ray said, the rough satisfaction in his voice oddly echoing Fraser's shamefully smug thoughts. "You got something smelly we can put on these that'll help?"
"I assure you, Ray, there's no need—"
"Jesus, you are such a pain in my ass, you know that?"
"Yes, I am quite aware," Fraser said tightly. He shifted forward slightly, indicating he wanted Ray out of his personal space. But Ray didn't give. Instead, his angry frown smoothed again.
"Good thing for you I like pain, huh?" Ray said, smirking a little when Fraser's mouth fell open. "Come on, you gotta put something on those."
"Well, I do have an ointment prepared with lanolin and an extract of the fetal—"
"No on the details!" Ray said, raising his hands. "Just get the stuff."
This time Ray gave way, and Fraser sidled by him to drop his shirt on his cot before sitting down. He pulled his medicine chest from underneath and dug for a few moments, coming up with the salve. Twisting off the lid, he dipped out a generous amount and rubbed it gingerly over the worst of the bruises on his midsection, wishing he were alone so he could give voice to the discomfort the action caused.
Ray watched silently, but when Fraser was through and started to recap the jar, he snapped his fingers and held out his hand.
"Now the back," he said.
Fraser started to shake his head, but Ray's warning glance, strangely intent, made him breathe an internal sigh and hand over the jar.
"Turn around." Ray made a spinning motion.
Fraser stood quickly and turned. He tried not to shiver at the gentle touch, but he felt his nipples hardening again, pulling the skin of his chest. He hadn't imagined his rough, ferally beautiful partner had this kind of capacity for tenderness; or perhaps Fraser had deliberately not considered it. But Ray was obviously trying hard not to apply too much pressure as he smoothed the salve over Fraser's skin, and the care was making Fraser's heart hurt. How long had it been since anyone had touched him so tenderly? And that it was Ray who did this—his uncharacteristic gentleness, the light, caring touch of his fingers on Fraser's skin, on skin that had forgotten the meaning of touch, was almost unbearable. Firmly, Fraser boxed the memory of the sensation, storing it away for later retrieval.
Two years, his mind whispered. Two years since...her. The sudden recollection was a cold shower to his arousal.
He jolted with surprise when the fingers suddenly trailed to the right—to the deadened skin of the scar just to the right of his spine. It was as if Ray had somehow sensed his train of thought.
"That's not—" Fraser's voice wouldn't behave.
"This is the spot, huh? This where Vecchio hit you?" Ray sounded curious.
Fraser didn't respond, since the answer was obvious, and because he suddenly felt he couldn't breathe.
The touch left him, and he heard Ray step back. Hastily, Fraser bent and retrieved his shirt, shrugging it on roughly, the pain of the movement a welcome return to the order of things.
Pain was good. Safer than pleasure, in any event, although some part of him recognized the inherent irrationality of that thought.
"Come on." Ray tapped his shoulder. "Let's get some grub."
"Yes, Ray." Fraser retrieved his hat from his desk. Normal. Back to normal. "I'm quite fond of grubs, although I admit I'm surprised to hear you enjoy dining on them as well."
"Fraser!"
///
Fraser managed to keep to his usual, deadpan banter throughout dinner—a pizza they picked up from Georgio's—but the discomfort in his side and back was worsening, turning from a hot ache to deep, cramping pain that had him shifting restlessly in search of a comfortable position on Ray's couch. He was dreading returning to the Consulate and his hard cot. Perhaps if he doubled up his bedroll—
"Maybe a hot pad would help. I think I got one of those." Ray's voice interrupted Fraser's musings, and Fraser turned his head.
Ray's extraordinary hair was glinting red, a by-product of the glow coming from the string of chili pepper lights hanging nearby. Fraser was so distracted that it took him a moment to respond.
"I beg your pardon?"
Ray shrugged. "A heating pad, you know? The kind with the dial? I had a bad back for a while and it was the only thing that helped."
So they were back to that. Fraser suppressed a flare of irritation. Ray was just trying to be helpful. Maybe it was a partner thing, although Fraser couldn't recall, even after he'd been beaten by Zuko's hired thugs, the other Ray being this solicitous of his condition.
And, of course, after Fraser was shot, it was guilt that had driven Ray Vecchio's concern. But he hadn't offered Fraser heating pads; instead, he'd offered him indoor plumbing.
"What's so funny?" Ray sounded defensive.
"Ah. I was just pondering the utility of such a device when one lives in a wood cabin without electricity."
"Huh. Well, we got plenty of that here. Lemme see if I can go dig up the thing—"
"That won't be necessary, Ray. Thank you kindly."
Ray's jaw worked for a moment, then he smacked his own forehead and made a sound of disgust. "You really are unhinged, you know that? Of course it's not necessary. I'm just trying to be buddies, here. Get it?"
"I don't want to be a burden—" Fraser started awkwardly.
"Fraser—" Ray yelled, then cut himself off, his eyes narrowing. "What the fuck does that mean, burden? This another insane Canadian thing? 'Cause if it is, I swear to God I'll bop you one."
Well, that would be just the thing. Fraser bit his lip to keep the sarcastic response from escaping. Ray actually looked a little hurt, which was the last thing Fraser wanted. He tried to be conciliatory.
"A burden, meaning: a trouble to you. It would hardly be very buddies of me if, out of my own foolishness in getting myself injured, I made you responsible for making me feel better. Indeed, I—"
"Shut up." Ray actually looked angrier. "You got it exactly the opposite, you big, dumb Canuck."
"I don't believe so," Fraser said stiffly, anger driving him now. "My own experience has taught me that—" He cut himself off just in time, a little horrified at what he'd been about to reveal.
Ray cocked his head, the glint in his eyes suddenly sharp. "Experience with who?"
"With whom," Fraser corrected.
"Whatever. Who with?"
Fraser pressed his lips together.
Ray stared at him a moment longer, then sighed. "Well, whoever it is was full of it, Fraser. 'Cause I'll tell you what buddies is about. Buddies is about, if you need a hand, you reach out. And if someone offers you a hand, you don't kick him in the head. You got that?"
Fraser nodded jerkily, wanting the conversation to be over with.
Ray clapped his hands together. "Great! Okay, lemme go find it."
Fraser waited on the couch. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach, not entirely due to the greasy slice of pepperoni-and-pineapple pizza he'd managed to choke down earlier. His thoughts were chasing each other like Dief used to chase his tail as a pup. If Fraser caused Ray too much trouble, he would tire of him soon enough. His mouth tingled with the memory of the hard punch he'd taken by the water, where their partnership had almost been broken beyond repair.
But it appeared as if refusing the assistance was equally troublesome to Ray. A kick in the head, he'd said. But Fraser could still taste the hot, bitter tang of his unshed tears, sitting in the kitchen where his grandfather had had to carry him after his first, disastrous solo on the dog sled.
"Why do you do this to yourself?" his grandmother had remonstrated. "You know your grandfather's back isn't strong. "
"Okay, up and at 'em, pitter-pat."
"I'm sorry?"
"You gotta stretch out for this. We'll use my bed."
Thankfully, Ray turned his back before he saw the heat that rose in Fraser's cheeks to burn the tips of his ears. He was slow pushing himself to his feet, both out of reluctance and because his muscles had stiffened to an excruciating point during his musings. He followed Ray into the bedroom.
"Crap. Where is that damned outlet?" Ray's voice was muffled as he crawled on the floor near the head of the bed. Fraser averted his gaze from the flexing of Ray's rear end in his loose jeans. "Ah, got it." He placed the heating pad on the bed and said, "We'll start with your back, and then flip you over like a hotcake." He grinned, not seeming to realize the dust he'd picked up on his hair and left cheek. Fraser quelled an urge to brush it away.
"Ray, I—" One last attempt, quickly overridden.
"Shut up, take off your shirt and lie down."
Fraser did as he was asked without allowing himself to hesitate, for he sensed even a slight pause would be dangerous—too revealing, and too likely to allow his mind to dwell on the heady prospect of being half-naked on Ray's bed.
Carefully, Fraser reached over his shoulder with his right hand and grabbed the back of his shirt, stripping it forward and over his head without raising his left arm. When he blinked up, he found Ray's gaze on him, his expression sympathetic. He gestured at Fraser's left side.
"Stiffened up pretty good, I'm guessing." His eyes rose to Fraser's hair, and Fraser awkwardly smoothed it down one-handed.
"On the bed, on your stomach," Ray said in the tones of a drill sergeant.
Fraser's momentary irritation died when he hit the heavenly softness of Ray's bed. It was sinfully comfortable. He couldn't imagine sleeping on it nightly; the very decadence would inevitably lead to other...indulgences. He took a deep breath through his nose to steel himself against his wayward thoughts, and was immediately assaulted by a wonderful smell—the light scent of Ray's musk, combined with the smell of fabric softener and hair gel.
Fraser flinched slightly when he felt Ray's warm palm settle on his spine.
"All right, let's put this baby to use. Where's it hurt the worst?"
Fraser cleared his throat. "Ah, down low, where my belt dug in—"
He cut off abruptly when he felt Ray's hand slide down, lightly resting just above the waist of his jeans.
"Here? Pretty shade of purple you got going on."
"Yes, just below there. Perhaps you can—"
He felt a tug at the waist of his jeans, as if Ray had caught his belt loop and was tugging up. Unfortunately, Fraser's pants were a little too tight to give. With a sigh and no small amount of trepidation, he pushed himself to the side to unbutton his jeans and slide his zipper down just a bit. He prayed that would be sufficient.
Apparently it was, because he felt Ray try again, and then the most incredible sensation of soft heat melted into his skin from the quickly warming heating pad, the flannel edge of which Ray forced under the band of his boxers. A groan of relief escaped Fraser's lips before he could prevent it.
"Good, huh?" Ray said in a tone of smug satisfaction.
"It's most...good, Ray. Thank you kindly." Fraser could feel the muscles of his lower back soaking up the warmth, easing, unclenching. Incredible.
Ray patted his shoulder. "Greatness. We'll just let you roast for a while. I'll set the timer and we'll flip you in a half hour."
Thank you. Oh, thank you, Fraser wanted to say. But his throat had closed. Ray's kindness was almost unbearable, thawing the ice in his heart along with the frozen muscles in his back. He drifted, his eyes damp and his earlier arousal forgotten. He felt only gratitude now, and a painful—
He stared at the wall, not wanting to think the word, not having ever thought it before, and terrified by what it signified.
Instead he focused on his image of Ray and his vibrant personality, his ready intelligence, dogged persistence, and his truthfulness, most of all. He had captured Fraser's admiration from almost the first moment they'd met, mostly for his raw emotional courage.
Courage Fraser should have.
It's love. I love him.
It was hopeless, of course; Fraser was well aware that his heart, sublimely stupid when it came to romance, was finding it impossible to make a distinction between Ray's gestures of affection and the deeper emotion Fraser had no right to expect. The rarity of receiving affection from any other source only compounded his confusion.
Did it matter, though, if Ray couldn't return it? In point of fact, Fraser was certain he wouldn't know what to do even if Ray could feel the same. He wouldn't know where to begin.
So, better it remain a bittersweet pipedream to savor late at night when he was alone.
Fraser closed his eyes, his backache dissipating under the radiant heat until he felt like he was dissolving into the soft mattress. He listened to Ray's movements in the other room, the sound of dishes being cleaned, the low music coming from the stereo.
"'Cause I'm gonna make you see, nobody else here, no one like me...I'm special, so special..."
Ray's voice rose in falsetto, and Fraser smiled against the pillow, grateful that Dief wasn't there to add a corresponding howl that would've rattled the ceiling.
Fraser must've drifted off, because the next thing he was aware of was the sound of his name, and he opened his eyes to see Ray's dirt-smudged face about a foot away.
"Fraser?" Ray repeated.
Maybe it was the utter relaxation inspired by the soft bed, or the heat still radiating from the heating pad, or the sudden, inexpressible warmth he had discovered in his heart, but before he realized what he was doing, Fraser lifted his hand and gently drew his knuckles across Ray's cheek, brushing away the lingering dust before letting his thumb trace the beautiful curve of Ray's lower lip.
The sudden shock on Ray's face registered only as an afterimage when Fraser squeezed his eyes closed, not wanting to see the dismay sure to follow. The abused muscles in his side shouted warning as his dread tightened them, and he gasped with sudden pain, sliding his hand there reflexively.
"Frase...what?"
"Cramp!" he said, panting, and rolled onto his right side to draw his legs up. The cord from the heating pad somehow managed to wrap itself around his arm as he curled into a ball, clutching at the cramp in his side.
"Hang on, hang on," Ray said, sounding a little frantic.
He was grabbing, lifting, tugging at Fraser, trying to lay him flat, and Fraser attempted to push him away, focused solely in that moment on isolating the pain, which was spreading like wildfire from muscle to muscle the more he tensed.
"Ease up, Fraser! Dammit!" Another sharp tug, and to his shame, Fraser heard himself moan helplessly. "Lie flat, buddy."
Then he was flat on his back, and Ray was pressing the hot pad against his abdomen and side. The warmth helped almost immediately, if only because the sensation served to distract him from the fierceness of the cramp.
"Thanks," he panted out.
"Breathe slower, it'll help," Ray said. His other hand lightly patted Frazer's arm. Another distraction. A good distraction. Fraser's breathing quieted, and with it, the cramp eased further, burning away to a trembling ache.
But now that his pain wasn't calling his attention, Fraser could no longer ignore the appalling thing he had just let himself do—touch Ray in a manner he had no right to.
Oh, no. His stomach started to tense again and he winced.
"Hey! Quit it!" The heating pad was pressed harder to Fraser's stomach and he felt Ray rest his hand on his chest and rub him lightly.
Fraser's eyes opened in surprise. Ray was frowning at him, his usual Fraser, you are seriously unhinged frown of almost amused disbelief. No pity. No disgust. But there was a new element, too, a caged excitement in the press of Ray's lips that made Fraser's heart jump.
"Ray?" His voice cracked, and he swallowed as best he could around his dry throat. He was certain his pathetic desires were written on his face in bold letters.
Ray's eyes softened, and his lips curved in a smile that would have fit the Mona Lisa. But his hand on Fraser's chest had developed a slight tremble that seemed to transmit itself through Fraser's skin and spread through his body.
Ray was shaking. It didn't make sense, except it did, it made perfect sense only if—
With his palm, Fraser pressed Ray's hand to his chest.
Blue-green-hazel-gold was as close as Fraser had ever gotten in describing the color of Ray's eyes to himself. Right now they were leaning hard toward blue, and shining down at him like searchlights. He wanted to close his own eyes, but couldn't. He tried to breathe but his chest was locked tight, because there was Ray—hair, skin, lips almost within reach, wiry strength strung on a lean frame and lowering over him, so close...impossible close. And then those lips broke into a grin, and Ray was pushing down with his hand, laughing shakily and saying something about CPR.
"Breathe, Fraser. Breathe," Ray said, and he pushed playfully at Fraser's chest.
Fraser sucked in a lungful of air, shocked by the sudden buzz in his head—not from the oxygen, but the sensation of Ray's hand moving up his chest to his neck, thumb stroking Fraser's throat slowly, gently, until his mouth opened in dumb response and he licked his lower lip. Once. Again, and on the third, Ray's mouth was there to catch his tongue, lips trapping it and pulling it in.
Ray. Ray. Ray. Fraser's hands leaped up, rabbits in the snow, to burrow into the dark blond hair and pull Ray closer. Fraser's side complained about the move, but Ray did not, he simply gasped Fraser's name and clutched him in turn, kissing him over and over, short ones now, interspersed with words Fraser couldn't quite parse.
"Knew it. Knew you felt it—" His tongue plundered then withdrew. "Knew you were looking, too." Ray kissed him again while lowering himself onto him, and this time Fraser's gasp was one of pain. Ray immediately drew back. "Oh! Shit, sorry."
"It's all right," Fraser said. But it wasn't. His side was complaining again, and this time it was impossible to ignore. Ray scuttled over him, over to his good side, his hand dropping down to adjust the heating pad on Fraser's torso before settling in close to him.
Fraser had had a toy once, one of the few he was permitted, an animal puzzle, all of the pieces smooth, interlocking wood. That was what it felt like when Ray fit himself into Fraser's side, like the cheetah next to the polar bear. Two predators. He'd often wondered how they had ended up like that, two animals so close but from different continents, different worlds. How could they coexist?
"Stop it," came Ray's voice.
"I beg your pardon?" Fraser blinked at Ray's suddenly serious face.
"The worrying thing. It's making you distracted, Fraser, and I hate that." Ray reached up and rubbed between Fraser's eyebrows with his thumb, then took away his hand and peered at him. "Nope, still there." He leaned over him and—Oh—his lips were kissing the spot. Warm lips. Softer than Fraser had once imagined.
He felt himself harden, and he allowed himself reach out and touch, sliding his hand along Ray's waist to catch underneath the t-shirt and stroke the smooth skin of his lower back. Fraser's fingertips registered a fine fuzz of hair, and he stroked it down, following it until his fingers rested at the top of Ray's buttocks.
Fraser stopped, suddenly conscious of his audacity.
"Mmm," Ray said in his ear. "That feels great." He arched his back beneath Fraser's hand, and Fraser's hand slid lower, resting on the muscular curve of Ray's buttock.
It was like pushing a domino—a sudden, rapid sequence of movements resulted in his single touch, and before Fraser knew it Ray had pushed down Fraser's jeans and boxers, and his own, and was curled close, his erection pressing against Fraser's thigh and one hand resting lightly on Fraser's hip, just at his groin. Those eager fingers twitched, but moved no closer as Ray's mouth and lips planted sucking kisses on Fraser's shoulder and collarbone.
"Ray, please," Fraser moaned, embarrassed at the needy sound but helpless to stop it, or the shifting of his hips as he tried to get Ray's hand to, for God's sake, move.
Instead, Ray pressed down, breaking off his exploration. "Don't. You'll stiffen up again."
"I'm already quite stiff," Fraser said pointedly, and then bit his lip.
"Ha. You made a funny." Ray kissed him again. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Me, neither, Fraser thought, surprised at himself. But his body had a tendency to overwhelm his good sense. That was nothing new. And Ray's mouth and—Dear Lord—his teeth were making rational thought a thing of the past.
"Just take it easy, Frase. We got time." The smug tone was at odds with the dragging kisses Ray treated to Fraser's neck on the way to his chest. Once there, Ray began feasting on his nipple, until Fraser squirmed involuntarily, causing his bruised side to cry out.
He made a small sound, and Ray mercifully lifted his head.
"I got you. I got you," he said, and his calloused fingertips drifted sideways until, at last, he closed his hand around Fraser's aching erection.
"Oh," Fraser said, his breath stopping at the feel of Ray's strong hand.
Ray groaned, and with a lithe heave, lunged up until he was straddling Fraser's thighs, his knees dipping to the mattress on either side. He moved once with a heart-stopping wriggle, and suddenly they were aligned, Ray's soft testicles pressed against Fraser's.
The feeling was indescribable, especially when Ray pushed his own erection down to join them both in his long fingers.
"Oh, yeah," Ray said as he stroked them together.
"Dear God," Fraser said. "You're...we're—"
"This is us, Fraser," Ray said, and his hands moved in a long, tight stroke, base upward. He made a sound, and released Fraser, scrambling off of him.
"What? Ray—"
"Got some right here," Ray muttered, doing something in the nightstand behind Fraser's shoulder. Before Fraser could voice a complaint, Ray was back, straddling him once again, and now his hands were wet, slick with something so slippery his fingers felt like velvet stroking them both together. He shifted his hips up and back, sliding into his own hands, squeezing hard so their cocks moved together, the muscles on his belly tightening and releasing.
"Ray. Ray. God, this feels—"
"Good?" Ray grinned down at him and did something base and entirely too wicked with the palm of his hand on the head of Fraser's cock, repeating it a moment later on his own. The pleasure on Ray's face echoed his own so closely Fraser had to close his eyes, thinking he had been a fool, that this was real lovemaking, regardless the body parts or the act, because Ray was sharing everything with him, all his pleasure, all his need, sweat beading his body and bliss contorting his cheeks, his mouth, while he stroked and stroked them both toward the edge.
"I wanted this," Ray said, panting, pumping his hands faster and faster, his testicles pressing seductively against Fraser's as he rocked. "I wanted this so bad and now look at you. God! Fraser. You gotta come. You gotta come, I wanna watch you come—"
Fraser closed his eyes and climaxed with a pitiful moan. He heard Ray urging him through it and felt the wet warmth of his own semen spattering his belly.
When he opened his eyes, Ray was staring down at him, awe on his face, his hand still moving slowly on himself. Fraser swiped his own hand through the mess on his stomach and reached, at last, for Ray's hardness, for the center of his pleasure, feeling the tightness of the skin, the hard shaft moving within his hand.
Ray moaned and leaned over him, planting his hands on the bed and thrusting into Fraser's grip.
"Gonna come, gonna come, do it just like that," Ray begged, and Fraser tried desperately to keep up the right rhythm until Ray threw his head back and released, his cock jerking in Fraser's hand. Fraser gentled his grip, but kept stroking until a final measure of fluid bubbled from the head of Ray's cock over his fingers.
"Jesus Christ," Ray said, and he leaned over to kiss Fraser again. Ray's lips were tender and sweet against his, but not an ounce of his weight rested on Fraser's body, and Fraser was marveling at Ray's care when he extracted himself and settled at his side.
"You okay?" Ray asked him, as if Fraser had just jumped out of a window or fallen from a speeding car. Oddly enough, it felt like he had, but he nodded in answer and turned his head for another kiss.
"That's good news," Ray said. "Because I'm gonna need you to heal up."
"I'll try my best," Fraser said, his voice somewhat strangled.
Ray's sticky palm rested on Fraser's chest. "Yeah, you always do."
///
Fraser awoke, the heating pad a warm lump by his side, and Ray's palm still pressed to his chest. He looked down, grateful for the early morning light that granted him the luxury of being able to fix Ray's naked form in his memory, the long, lean lines of him, the muscled torso and freckled skin. He stared, memorizing the patterns of stubble in Ray's cheeks until his eyes blurred. Fraser blinked them shut, fighting the sting. Ray, Ray, Ray. Fraser needed to imprint the lazy, sprawling picture on his brain, make it part of himself so it would last.
His body sent an urgent message and he slid out of bed carefully, hoping Ray wouldn't awaken. The movement made it obvious that every one of Fraser's abused muscles had stiffened two-fold in his sleep, and he hunched to the bathroom like an old, old man to relieve his bladder and drink some water.
He was stooping by the bed pulling on his pants when, in spite of himself, he emitted a muffled grunt of pain.
"Whazzat?" Ray's sleepy voice. Fraser looked up to see two blue eyes taking him in with a muzzy stare.
"It's all right, Ray. Go back to sleep."
Ray blinked at him twice and then his nose crinkled up. He rubbed at it, yawning, and Fraser felt a pang of affection so strong he had to take a sharp breath.
"You hurtin'?" The sleepiness left Ray's eyes and he propped himself up on his elbows. Fraser admired the play of muscles in his chest and arms before looking away.
"Just a little stiff, Ray. I think I'll return to the Consulate where I can make use of the claw-footed tub." Fraser looked down and drew up his zipper.
A brush of musk-scented air was the only warning he had, and then Ray was in front of him, tense with contained energy.
"I have one of those here, you know. A bathtub, I mean."
Fraser's eyes blinked shut, smarting. "I...yes, of course you do. But Dief—"
"I can get the wolf, bring him back." Ray's voice was clipped and hurt, which hadn't been Fraser's intention at all.
"I don't want to be—"
"—a bother," Ray finished, glaring. "I thought we already had this dance, Frase."
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. He felt Ray's disappointment like a brand on his cheeks. He had to get out of the habit of hurting Ray. He had to start now.
"Ah, perhaps while you're fetching Dief you could bring my tea?"
Ray's smile was sudden and brilliant. "You got it. Anything else?"
"A change of clothing?"
Ray nodded, then lunged at him, pressing his lips against Fraser's, feeding him warmth with his mouth.
"Yeah, but don't plan on getting dressed for a while," Ray said when he drew back.
"Oh?"
"Nope. I think you need more bed rest."
"Ah."
"Like, serious bed rest. I'm talking days and days."
Fraser couldn't suppress a smile. "I'm sure I'll soon be feeling right as rain."
"Count on it." Count on me, Ray's expression said.
And Fraser decided it was about damned time he did.
...................
2008.04.11
