F/K Story: One Word (NC-17)
Dec. 26th, 2008 05:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Title: One Word
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,532
Categories: FT, PWP, angsty
Notes: Self-indulgent pr0n with a dash of angst.
One Word
By Arrow
"Yeah? Really?" Ray said, staring at him in surprise, and Fraser noted, with the part of his mind that wasn't reeling in shock at his recent actions, that Ray looked even better with his lips swollen from Fraser's urgent, precipitous kiss.
He could still hear the echo of Ray's body hitting the apartment door.
Fraser nodded dumbly, and Ray's dear, scruffy cheeks lifted into a grin. There was an aspect to Ray's expression that was troubling, though. In addition to the delight and the flush of arousal, Ray evinced a certain—well, smugness was the wrong word for it. Gratification, perhaps.
And then Ray was pushing him backward, two strong hands gripping Fraser's shoulders, keeping him off-balance so he could barely keep his boots under him until he finally teetered back, falling onto Ray's couch with a whump that rattled his ribs.
"Sorry," Ray said, not sounding sorry at all, and then he was kissing Fraser, as opposed to the other way around, and where Fraser had been anxious and desperate, Ray's kisses were deep and possessive and assured in a way that turned all thought to water.
"You should've said something," Ray muttered in between ravishing Fraser's mouth, "You know I'm game these days."
It was true—something had changed recently with respects to Ray's blind loyalty to Stella, and lately he had been, in words Fraser had heard Buck Frobisher use once, "Screwing everything between the bar and the doorknob."
Including men, Fraser had been shocked to discover.
It was Fraser's mad, bewildered jealousy, building up over the past weeks, that had driven them both to this moment—to Ray's hands tugging impatiently at Fraser's jeans while his mouth was occupied in driving Fraser out of his mind. The sucking kisses on his bared chest forced him to arch back, begging silently for more contact, until Ray's teeth closed on Fraser's nipple, making him whine in pleasure.
"Yeah, that's it. Let it go," Ray said.
Let what go? Fraser thought helplessly. His boots and jeans were perfunctorily stripped from him. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned but still hung from his arms. When Ray paused suddenly, Fraser looked up to see a pleased grin.
"You're a sly one, you know that, Frase? I never would have believed it." Ray stood, and Fraser had a moment of panic, but then he said, "Stay just like that. Just for a second," and spun away, leaving Fraser to stare up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.
Ray should dust more often. There was a long cobweb hanging from his light fixture, which consisted of three bare bulbs pointing away from each other.
Warm fingers closed on Fraser's erection, and he jumped.
"Heh. Sorry." Ray's hand moved slowly, stroking him from root to crown, and Fraser clenched back a moan.
"Here," Ray said, holding out a small, clear bottle. Fraser took it and stared.
"Boy, you sure get dopey when you're turned on." Ray gave him an affectionate pat on the stomach and took back the bottle. "Okay, just turn over for me."
Fraser then understood, and turned on shaky knees, moving where Ray's hands pushed him until his chest was resting against the arm of the sofa. He had one knee on the floor, the other wedged against the back of the couch, and was off-kilter, but comfortable, when he felt Ray pushing up the tails of his shirt. Warm hands caressed his hips, his buttocks.
"Nice," Ray commented, and Fraser was grateful to hide his blush against his forearm. When slickened fingers ran from his tail bone down across his opening, Fraser shivered.
"It's been a while, huh?" Ray said as he circled then pushed inward, penetrating Fraser's anus with what felt like two fingers held together. Fraser tried to detach his mind from the proceedings, but the sensation was so powerfully intimate he couldn't help focusing on it—the thrust of Ray's fingers inside him, the way they possessed him so confidently, spreading to stretch him, then hooking to catch on the ring of muscle that wanted, stubbornly, to stay closed.
Ray bent over him and nudged his mouth against Fraser's cheek. Fraser turned his head for the kiss, and was lost. When Ray finally pulled away, Fraser felt aching and open, helpless in a way he'd never allowed himself to be.
He heard Ray grumbling as struggled to tear open a condom.
Fraser closed his eyes, and then the hard tip of Ray's cock was forcing its way past his opening, stretching him wide. The taste of iron flooded Fraser's mouth, and he realized he'd bitten the inside of his cheek.
Ray mumbled reassurances behind him, then groaned as he pushed slowly inward until his groin was pressed tightly to Fraser's buttocks.
"Oh, God. Yeah," Ray said.
Fraser whimpered wordlessly in agreement. The pressure, the bright ache of Ray's cock inside him, fulfilled something he hadn't realized he needed. Then Ray started to move in slow, deep thrusts, and Fraser felt himself splintering apart, shattering like glass smashing against the pavement.
He moaned.
"Fraser. Fraser," Ray said, thrusting in and out more rapidly, the couch creaking beneath their weight. Fraser felt Ray's hand slide under him, his forearm flexing to pull Fraser upward, positioning him, steadying him, and when next Ray thrust inward, a pleasure intense enough for pain heated Fraser from inside, making him cry out.
Ray was good at this. Good at fucking a man. Of course, Fraser shouldn't be surprised—Ray had evidently had enough practice of late—but he found himself grateful at this moment, and twisted his hips, arching back for more of it, more of Ray's cock moving inside him so roughly, so beautifully.
Then Ray's hand shifted to grasp Fraser's erection, cupping it around the head and squeezing, and Fraser muffled his mouth against the crook of his elbow, and came in long, powerful swells that tore gibberish from him.
He was conscious of Ray groaning praise against his shoulder, his hot breath seeping through the flannel, and the jerking of Ray's hips as he continued to thrust, fast and shallow. Fraser tightened against each thrust, hoping, in spite of his increasing soreness, that Ray would never stop. He wanted Ray to have what he needed. He wanted to be what Ray needed.
With a few last, punishing thrusts, Ray finally groaned and climaxed, jerking stiffly inside Fraser's body, his teeth digging into Fraser's shoulder, before he collapsed. Fraser lay passively under Ray's weight and sealed the moment inside himself.
Ray was still hard inside him. Apparently, the rumors Fraser had heard about Ray's prowess were not understated in the least.
Eventually, Ray stirred, and Fraser held onto the arm across his belly, not wanting him to leave.
"Sorry to ruin the glow," Ray's breath against his neck, "but this position is bound to be hell on your back. And I can't be late for my date." Ray tightened his arm in a last hug, then pulled away from Fraser with a groan. Fraser heard him padding off toward the bathroom.
It shouldn't be such a shock—Fraser had already known about the date. Ray had told him he was on his way out—and why—when Fraser had stopped by to talk.
Just to talk. Not for this—this deconstruction of his psyche, this whirlwind encounter he would never, ever forget. Fraser eased off the couch, careful not to drip on it any more than he already had. On the coffee table there was a stack of napkins sitting next to an empty pizza box. He used a few to clean himself, grimacing in disgust at the tackiness while he prodded mentally at the gap, at the hole where something had been. His self-reliance, perhaps, or his self-respect.
He had none, apparently. Not when it came to Ray.
"Sorry to run off like this, but the tickets weren't cheap," Ray said, coming back in. He was still damp from a hasty shower, dressed in a dark shirt and black jeans, and so beautiful. The empty space in Fraser's chest throbbed like a missing tooth.
"That's all right, Ray. I quite understand," he said automatically. He'd already tucked in his shirt and buttoned his jeans. There were only his boots remaining, and he sat on the couch, ignoring the unfamiliar ache as he bent to lace them on.
"We should do this again sometime," Ray said, and then winced a smile. "Sorry. Boy, did that come out wrong—"
"Any time, Ray," Fraser said, pretending calm. "You know that."
"Yeah?" Ray frowned thoughtfully, then seemed to shake himself. "Okay, well, I need to skedaddle."
Picking up his hat, Fraser preceded Ray out of the apartment. They went downstairs and then separated out on the sidewalk, with Ray giving Fraser another puzzled smile before turning toward the GTO.
Fraser thought he understood the puzzlement, but he was no longer confused, himself. He'd known that Ray, having just found freedom from his decades-long commitment to Stella, couldn't possibly be ready to engage in another. Fraser had known, yet still he had kissed him.
That said it all, really.
He also knew he would do it again, Ray willing, regardless the consequences. There was only one way to explain such self-destructive behavior. One word.
It was a good word.
Oddly, he found himself whistling as he made the long walk home.
...........................
2008.12.26
Author:
arrow00Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,532
Categories: FT, PWP, angsty
Notes: Self-indulgent pr0n with a dash of angst.
One Word
By Arrow
"Yeah? Really?" Ray said, staring at him in surprise, and Fraser noted, with the part of his mind that wasn't reeling in shock at his recent actions, that Ray looked even better with his lips swollen from Fraser's urgent, precipitous kiss.
He could still hear the echo of Ray's body hitting the apartment door.
Fraser nodded dumbly, and Ray's dear, scruffy cheeks lifted into a grin. There was an aspect to Ray's expression that was troubling, though. In addition to the delight and the flush of arousal, Ray evinced a certain—well, smugness was the wrong word for it. Gratification, perhaps.
And then Ray was pushing him backward, two strong hands gripping Fraser's shoulders, keeping him off-balance so he could barely keep his boots under him until he finally teetered back, falling onto Ray's couch with a whump that rattled his ribs.
"Sorry," Ray said, not sounding sorry at all, and then he was kissing Fraser, as opposed to the other way around, and where Fraser had been anxious and desperate, Ray's kisses were deep and possessive and assured in a way that turned all thought to water.
"You should've said something," Ray muttered in between ravishing Fraser's mouth, "You know I'm game these days."
It was true—something had changed recently with respects to Ray's blind loyalty to Stella, and lately he had been, in words Fraser had heard Buck Frobisher use once, "Screwing everything between the bar and the doorknob."
Including men, Fraser had been shocked to discover.
It was Fraser's mad, bewildered jealousy, building up over the past weeks, that had driven them both to this moment—to Ray's hands tugging impatiently at Fraser's jeans while his mouth was occupied in driving Fraser out of his mind. The sucking kisses on his bared chest forced him to arch back, begging silently for more contact, until Ray's teeth closed on Fraser's nipple, making him whine in pleasure.
"Yeah, that's it. Let it go," Ray said.
Let what go? Fraser thought helplessly. His boots and jeans were perfunctorily stripped from him. His flannel shirt was unbuttoned but still hung from his arms. When Ray paused suddenly, Fraser looked up to see a pleased grin.
"You're a sly one, you know that, Frase? I never would have believed it." Ray stood, and Fraser had a moment of panic, but then he said, "Stay just like that. Just for a second," and spun away, leaving Fraser to stare up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling.
Ray should dust more often. There was a long cobweb hanging from his light fixture, which consisted of three bare bulbs pointing away from each other.
Warm fingers closed on Fraser's erection, and he jumped.
"Heh. Sorry." Ray's hand moved slowly, stroking him from root to crown, and Fraser clenched back a moan.
"Here," Ray said, holding out a small, clear bottle. Fraser took it and stared.
"Boy, you sure get dopey when you're turned on." Ray gave him an affectionate pat on the stomach and took back the bottle. "Okay, just turn over for me."
Fraser then understood, and turned on shaky knees, moving where Ray's hands pushed him until his chest was resting against the arm of the sofa. He had one knee on the floor, the other wedged against the back of the couch, and was off-kilter, but comfortable, when he felt Ray pushing up the tails of his shirt. Warm hands caressed his hips, his buttocks.
"Nice," Ray commented, and Fraser was grateful to hide his blush against his forearm. When slickened fingers ran from his tail bone down across his opening, Fraser shivered.
"It's been a while, huh?" Ray said as he circled then pushed inward, penetrating Fraser's anus with what felt like two fingers held together. Fraser tried to detach his mind from the proceedings, but the sensation was so powerfully intimate he couldn't help focusing on it—the thrust of Ray's fingers inside him, the way they possessed him so confidently, spreading to stretch him, then hooking to catch on the ring of muscle that wanted, stubbornly, to stay closed.
Ray bent over him and nudged his mouth against Fraser's cheek. Fraser turned his head for the kiss, and was lost. When Ray finally pulled away, Fraser felt aching and open, helpless in a way he'd never allowed himself to be.
He heard Ray grumbling as struggled to tear open a condom.
Fraser closed his eyes, and then the hard tip of Ray's cock was forcing its way past his opening, stretching him wide. The taste of iron flooded Fraser's mouth, and he realized he'd bitten the inside of his cheek.
Ray mumbled reassurances behind him, then groaned as he pushed slowly inward until his groin was pressed tightly to Fraser's buttocks.
"Oh, God. Yeah," Ray said.
Fraser whimpered wordlessly in agreement. The pressure, the bright ache of Ray's cock inside him, fulfilled something he hadn't realized he needed. Then Ray started to move in slow, deep thrusts, and Fraser felt himself splintering apart, shattering like glass smashing against the pavement.
He moaned.
"Fraser. Fraser," Ray said, thrusting in and out more rapidly, the couch creaking beneath their weight. Fraser felt Ray's hand slide under him, his forearm flexing to pull Fraser upward, positioning him, steadying him, and when next Ray thrust inward, a pleasure intense enough for pain heated Fraser from inside, making him cry out.
Ray was good at this. Good at fucking a man. Of course, Fraser shouldn't be surprised—Ray had evidently had enough practice of late—but he found himself grateful at this moment, and twisted his hips, arching back for more of it, more of Ray's cock moving inside him so roughly, so beautifully.
Then Ray's hand shifted to grasp Fraser's erection, cupping it around the head and squeezing, and Fraser muffled his mouth against the crook of his elbow, and came in long, powerful swells that tore gibberish from him.
He was conscious of Ray groaning praise against his shoulder, his hot breath seeping through the flannel, and the jerking of Ray's hips as he continued to thrust, fast and shallow. Fraser tightened against each thrust, hoping, in spite of his increasing soreness, that Ray would never stop. He wanted Ray to have what he needed. He wanted to be what Ray needed.
With a few last, punishing thrusts, Ray finally groaned and climaxed, jerking stiffly inside Fraser's body, his teeth digging into Fraser's shoulder, before he collapsed. Fraser lay passively under Ray's weight and sealed the moment inside himself.
Ray was still hard inside him. Apparently, the rumors Fraser had heard about Ray's prowess were not understated in the least.
Eventually, Ray stirred, and Fraser held onto the arm across his belly, not wanting him to leave.
"Sorry to ruin the glow," Ray's breath against his neck, "but this position is bound to be hell on your back. And I can't be late for my date." Ray tightened his arm in a last hug, then pulled away from Fraser with a groan. Fraser heard him padding off toward the bathroom.
It shouldn't be such a shock—Fraser had already known about the date. Ray had told him he was on his way out—and why—when Fraser had stopped by to talk.
Just to talk. Not for this—this deconstruction of his psyche, this whirlwind encounter he would never, ever forget. Fraser eased off the couch, careful not to drip on it any more than he already had. On the coffee table there was a stack of napkins sitting next to an empty pizza box. He used a few to clean himself, grimacing in disgust at the tackiness while he prodded mentally at the gap, at the hole where something had been. His self-reliance, perhaps, or his self-respect.
He had none, apparently. Not when it came to Ray.
"Sorry to run off like this, but the tickets weren't cheap," Ray said, coming back in. He was still damp from a hasty shower, dressed in a dark shirt and black jeans, and so beautiful. The empty space in Fraser's chest throbbed like a missing tooth.
"That's all right, Ray. I quite understand," he said automatically. He'd already tucked in his shirt and buttoned his jeans. There were only his boots remaining, and he sat on the couch, ignoring the unfamiliar ache as he bent to lace them on.
"We should do this again sometime," Ray said, and then winced a smile. "Sorry. Boy, did that come out wrong—"
"Any time, Ray," Fraser said, pretending calm. "You know that."
"Yeah?" Ray frowned thoughtfully, then seemed to shake himself. "Okay, well, I need to skedaddle."
Picking up his hat, Fraser preceded Ray out of the apartment. They went downstairs and then separated out on the sidewalk, with Ray giving Fraser another puzzled smile before turning toward the GTO.
Fraser thought he understood the puzzlement, but he was no longer confused, himself. He'd known that Ray, having just found freedom from his decades-long commitment to Stella, couldn't possibly be ready to engage in another. Fraser had known, yet still he had kissed him.
That said it all, really.
He also knew he would do it again, Ray willing, regardless the consequences. There was only one way to explain such self-destructive behavior. One word.
It was a good word.
Oddly, he found himself whistling as he made the long walk home.
...........................
2008.12.26
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-12-29 09:04 pm (UTC)*hopes for a sequel* :)
no subject
Date: 2008-12-30 09:11 pm (UTC)