arrow00 | New F/V Fic: Class (NC-17)

Title: Class
Author:

arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayV
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 5,908
Disclaimer: I am very poor.
Categories: First-time
Summary: The uniform is not the man.

Class

By Arrow

They're always touching him. Touching, making sexy faces, smoochin' up at him with bubblegum pink frosting their pouty lips. I swear they can't keep their hands off of him. Hell, even my own damned sister does it.

And Fraser hates it. He really can't stand it when they get so close—he starts clearing his throat, his shoulders so stiff it's like he forgot to take the hanger out when he put on his uniform this morning.

But worse than being too cozy, good cripes, the things they say to him. Sly stuff, smutty stuff, come-ons like wouldn't believe—making him go from pink to red.

Just for example: today the bullpen is full of drag queens—rousted out of a bar for getting a little too enthusiastic during a Rocky Horror Stage Show—and of course they fixate on Fraser like giant babies to a big red cinnamon stick.

"Ooooh, Officer Pretty," says one of them. "Arrest me, please!" He—well, she's—looking Fraser up and down, and she has an inch or two on him thanks to her stiletto heels. She sticks out her tongue, doing Mick Jagger one better, and Fraser blinks twice and turns away, the flush already creeping up under his collar.

"Ray, surely we have a suspect to interview...somewhere?" he says, not pleading, but his blue eyes are wide.

She moves up behind him and—

"Ah! Excuse me, Madam," Benny jumps and says. I mean, he apologizes to her even as he's backing away from her groping hand, and I think he's gonna shred his Stetson he's hanging onto the rim so tight.

Thing is, I can't get in the middle, because that would just make it worse, make him look bad in front of the other guys. But I wish to hell he would loosen up on the good manners shtick and give her the back side of his tongue. Man, I wish just once he would, but he never does, even though I know he finds it completely embarrassing. But Fraser is so damned...well, it's like someone wrapped a time-bubble around him and transported him in from the 1800s or something. He just doesn't have it in him to slap them down.

Instead, he goes tongue-tied, so then he's humiliated at being embarrassed, which just makes them crazy like there's blood in the water...it's like a vicious damned circle, is what it is.

"Quittin' time," I say, "Let's go grab a bite." And I drag him out of there, ignoring Ms. Stiletto's comment about just what she'd like to bite.

Fraser's so damned grateful he offers to pay for dinner, not that he says that's why, but I know what he's up to. I know the guy pretty well after all this time, and the thing I could tell all of them, even the sweet-looking waitress who's at our table right now trying to make innuendo out of his order for chicken pot pie—that's just not the way to go about it. Not with Fraser.

See, Benny's got class.

I don't mean high society, champagne and yacht cruises and like that. I mean real, honest-to-God, old-style class. He's way out of their league.

Mine, too.

Yeah, I think about it, sometimes. So what? It's not like it hurts anybody. At least I know not to even try, unlike the rest of these people who are just after him because of what they see. I could even coach them a little if I wanted to: truth is, the girl that finally breaks through to him is gonna be the one that lets him be the pushy one.

Not that Benny would ever push. Hmm. Maybe this needs a little re-thinking. I guess what I mean is, she'd have to wait for him to make the first move, if any, to know he's actually interested. Believe me, I don't have anything against women's lib; in fact, watching the way these chicks and she-males have been coming after Fraser has given me my first real perspective on what women have to go through all the time. Talk about objectifying—for Benny, it's like he's walking by a construction site in a tank top and shorty-shorts, twenty-four hours a day. I mean I finally get it, what women have been complaining about all this time.

So, she should let him be the one to make the move for once. And she'd better be watching real close, because it won't be anything big or obvious, like a kiss or a come-on. It'll be something small, something he'll be expecting her to understand. For that, she'd have to know him pretty well. They'd have to be friends first, so he could be comfortable with her.

And that means she'd have to be smart enough to look beneath the uniform and past the perfect face and see him—really see the guy. See that he wasn't put here to be her big strong hero in red, all ready to sweep her up in his burly arms—somehow without getting her stupid frilly skirts trapped in his lanyard.

No, if she looked really close, she'd see it's just the opposite. Fraser's the one that needs. He needs people around him, because he hasn't had a lot of that. But he needs the kind that will care about having him there—the real him, not the Mountie and not the Fabio-clone. He needs someone who, goddamn it, cares about him, first.

And right now what he needs is for me to stop picking at my french fries and take him home.

Up in Fraser's apartment, Dief, that furry sneak, already has his nose in the pocket of my coat by the time I'm two steps in the door, so I pull out my leftover fries and dump them in his food dish without making a big production out of it like I'd planned.

"Ray, you must realize you are encouraging the worst sort of behavior." Fraser takes off his hat and carefully places it in its weird little rack before rubbing his hand briskly over his head. His hair is something else: so thick and shiny it looks like an animal pelt. I don't know what type; I'm not much of a nature guy. But it does kind of remind me of the sable coat my pop bought for my momma, before he started in with the drinking and the gambling and the selling the coat so he could buy more drinks and mope around like a useless loafer until he—

Sorry. Little bitter. Anyway, it's soft, Benny's hair. I know 'cause I had to touch it one time when he took a good crack to the noggin. Felt really good under my fingers. But what felt better was the way he looked up at me and smiled a little, saying "I'm all right, Ray. Thank you."

"Dief," Fraser says now, "You will be regretting those fries around six a.m. tomorrow when we go out for our run." He's stripping off his lanyard, his belt, and his tunic as he talks.

Diefenbaker whuffles with a yip at the end.

"Don't take that tone with me. You were the one who said you've been feeling a little bloated."

Watching Fraser and Dief grumble at each other is almost as much fun as watching a basketball game. Which we could be doing, right now, if Fraser had a TV that had sound. But Fraser doesn't even have a couch, which means I end up taking my usual place, sitting at the head of his bed with one leg on top and the other stretched down to the floor.

Fraser hangs up his tunic, then slips his suspenders off his shoulders and pulls a flannel shirt on over his Henley. I'm disappointed he's covered up, but only a little. It's really better that I'm not tempted to eyeball him. He brings me an imported beer, which he keeps in stock just for me, and is carrying a glass of water for himself. But then he goes back to the kitchen and comes back with a candle.

"What's that for?" I ask him.

"It's. Ah." He stares down at it, and it's funny—his face looks surprised, like he wasn't even aware he'd done it.

"Never mind," I say, because he really does look a little freaked. "Light her up. It'll be nice."

So he does. He lights it and sets it on the chest, then sits down on the floor next to my leg. He stares at the candle for a little while, then shakes his head.

"What?" I nudge him with my knee.

"What? Oh, nothing, Ray." He gives a little shrug, his arm moving against my leg.

I'm not sure how much to push, so I keep quiet a little while, just looking at the candle. It means something, I'm sure. I'd almost think it's like a novena candle, memorializing someone, maybe. But he's not religious that way; and anyway, there's something soft in his eyes, and a little bemused. Not really sad at all.

"I used to love having a candle around," he says quietly. "I missed having a fireplace here, so I would light a candle every night."

This is where it would be a really good idea to keep my mouth shut. So, I do.

"Then...something happened to make me not...but she's gone now. It's possible I'm finally—"

He stops, and it's almost like I'm gonna fall over because I was leaning on his words trying so hard to hear them. I've never seen him like this before.

"You're finally—?"

But Fraser shakes his head again, then lets it rest back on the edge of the bed. His hair is about three inches from my fingertips, and they itch like crazy to feel it again. But more, I wish I could help him.

Because it's got to be about Victoria. She's gotta be part of this, because as far as I know, no one else has, uh, dipped his wick recently.

Sorry. I never said I was the one with class.

Anyway, I guess I do have a little, because instead of sinking my hand into his hair, I rest it on his shoulder and give him a little squeeze. An 'I'm here, buddy, and just as a friend even though, man, your shoulder is so warm and feels so good under my fingers' gesture.

You know—that kind.

And Fraser does the craziest thing—I'm only aware of it after it's all over—he tilts his head over and just for a second rests his cheek against the back of my hand.

I'm so shocked I just sit there with my tongue frozen.

After a moment, he clears his throat and pushes up from the floor. Diefenbaker wump-wumps with his tail.

Fraser says to him, "All right, Diefenbaker, we'll walk. But no sniffing around the Pekinese in 2A. I believe she's already spoken for."

<<<>>>

A couple of weeks later, like my usual I stop by the Consulate to give him a ride home. Traffic is lighter than normal, so I get there early, which I hate, because it means I'm going to be talking to a statue for a while until he's off guard duty.

Only, this time he already has company.

Two little chickies, can't be more than eighteen years old, wearing short black minis and tights, are on either side of him. One of them has her hand on his shoulder and looks to be blowing chewing gum bubbles in his ear. The other one, a blonde, is, I swear to Jesus, actually rubbing her crotch against his leg.

Fraser is as rigid as a post, completely expressionless. I mean, he's controlling it, except for the slight glow in his cheeks, but I know the guy, I know those eyes even when they don't blink, and he is completely beyond mortified.

I yank myself out of the car, and as I hurry over I catch the tail end of Blondie's little commentary.

"Mmmm, yeah, nothing I like better than a big, red, red, cock."

"That's enough," I snarl, and I'm pulling Blondie away, reaching for my badge with the other hand. I have to raise my arm and block her when she goes for my eyes.

"Let go of me, you perv—" she shrieks.

I wave my badge in her mean little face. "Yeah, well, I'm not the one rubbing myself off in public like a bitch in heat."

She gives my badge a look and then pulls her arm away to go clomping off, not even waiting for her friend, who is looking more than a little shocked.

"Beat it," I say to her. "Skedaddle. Go to confession or something."

She teeters away in her high heels, and I'm left with Fraser who, of course, hasn't moved an inch. The color is still up in his face, though, and his eyes—man. Oh, man. Because even though his face is as stiff as plaster, completely blank, somehow his eyes are deeper, and brighter, at once. Like everything he's feeling can only escape through the blue.

I want to hit something. But all I say is, "Pardon my French, Fraser."

Then I hear the first gong of the bell tower and Fraser snaps into motion, walking over to the Riv and climbing in. I'm pretty close behind, and I rev her up and start driving us back to his place. I don't say anything in the car, because I need privacy for this, and focus, or I'm going to say something really stupid. So, I keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road, and try to ignore the shame that's vibrating from him like sonic waves.

When we get to West Racine I figure he's going to give me the brush off, but Fraser makes this funny, short sigh and then gets out, which means I'm welcome to join him but don't expect too much.

I don't know what I do expect, but it isn't what happens. As soon as we walk in the door he starts yanking off his uniform. He's so upset that he doesn't even get the order right, and his lanyard tangles around his neck when he tries to pull his tunic apart. I find it pretty painful to watch, so I go to the fridge and pull a beer.

Diefenbaker comes up to me and gives me this worried little whine.

"It's okay, Dief. He's just having a rotten day." I hear the muffled clump of Fraser's boots falling, and other angry noises, while I pull out the kibble and fill Dief's bowl. I'm just straightening up when I hear the door close, not gently.

Okay, so he's gone. Gone? But Benny wouldn't do that to a guest, no matter how pissed off or ashamed he was. I peek my head out the door and see him disappearing into the communal bathroom.

His uniform is scattered all over the bed and the floor. I know, no matter how ticked off he is, he's gonna regret it in the morning if he has to wake up early to do ironing, so I get everything hung up and straightened out. My hands want to keep stroking the leather of his belt, which I know sounds kinky, but...well, so what?

I put it down, though, because in my mind's eye I can see Blondie with her skirt hitched up, rubbing against him like he was her own, giant blow-up doll. That ain't right. Not just the doing of it, but even the thought that Fraser is nothing more than a sex toy you can buy at Uncle Pete's Porn Emporium.

He's so much more than that. And I'm so angry for him I could spit.

Trying to distract myself, I turn on the silent TV and get an eyeful of Meg Ryan doing a soundless orgasm over her deli lunch. Man, is she hot.

After a while the door opens and I turn my head to see something—dear sweet Jesus—I've never seen before, and that’s Fraser, walking in dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel.

And now it's myself I'm pissed at, because I can't help the wood rising in my pants at the sight. I'm no better than Blondie.

Except, of course, I love the guy. I see him.

His eyes won't meet mine, and he says, "I beg your pardon. I forgot a change of clothes."

"That's okay, Benny." And it is, boy, it's more than okay, because before he turns away I can see his nipples are erect from the chill, and I yank my eyes back to the TV, but damned if I can see anything at all but the lazy drip of water down his smooth, pale chest.

I hear him shuffling around getting dressed, and I keep my eyes glued to the screen. After a while my heart stops ticky-tacking and something clicks in my head, like the final click of a combo lock, but I don't have a chance to pull it into the front of my brain because just then Fraser's hand lands on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry about today, Ray."

That has me turning my head to look up at him. "What the heck for?"

"For..." He brushes a nail over his eyebrow and then sits down on the bed next to me. "I'm sorry you had to...witness that."

And, boy, am I pissed again. "I'm sorry you had to go through it. They knew you couldn’t move or nothing. They were just...playing with you like a big—"

"Yes." He cuts me off—doesn't want me to say it. But I've had enough. Someone has to say it, and it might as well be me, his best friend.

"You deserve better than that, Fraser." I try to put into words what I've been working out over the past little while. "You deserve someone who sees you, not some poster guy or fantasy in their tiny heads. You deserve someone who knows you, who goddamn cares about you. You deserve..."

"A friend," he whispers.

I nod, thinking of the imaginary girl I was putting together for him, but a second later the tone of his voice pulls me back, hauls me back to what he just said. What he just implied.

I have to be really careful. I have to be careful because I think I'm about to blow it. Because even just thinking he might be saying what I think he's saying makes me want to turn and grab him in a full nelson. Or maybe a half nelson, so I could still have one hand free to touch him while I kiss him into oblivion.

But even if I'm right, I have to remember my advice to the imaginary girl. Slow. Careful. Let him make the first move. But I need to give him something more than a nod, so I turn my head toward him, not quite looking all the way up, just until I can see his mouth.

His tongue moves to wet his lower lip, a quick flicker of pink, and my dick, which has been making happy noises in my pants ever since Fraser walked in looking like a damp, rippling smorgasbord, suddenly yips into full attention.

No sudden moves. I let my own tongue come out, just for a second, and wet my lips. And I wait.

"Ray," he says. Only it sounds like the last thing he'll ever say. Ever. That's how deep his voice is. And he's moving closer now, he's leaning like the Tower of Pisa, three inches every hundred years, but I just wait, completely still like I'm on statue duty for once. I am Constable Ray of the Royal American Fucking Brigade, and I will just sit here until finally, at last, I feel his breath on my lips, and my eyes close in a clear violation of my duties, but I just can't help it because Fraser is kissing me.

Oh, God.

Maybe I'm dead, and that's why I think my heart isn't beating, only I feel the heat rushing through me like a storm and I realize it's beating about a hundred times too fast. But that's okay, because the slow, wet slide of Fraser's lips is worth dying for. Bring on the cardiac arrest.

"Ray," Benny says, and I open my eyes and it occurs to me he's stopped, that he's looking his worry at me from a couple of feet away. So how come I can still feel his lips on mine?

"Wow, Benny," I say.

He exhales sharply, like he's been stabbed.

"That was incredible," I say, just to be clear.

Fraser's face creases in a sudden, ridiculous grin. It's gone almost an instant later, so I have to wonder if I really saw it. Benny never smiles like that.

But he did. I made him. I wonder if I should push a little, beg for another kiss, but he's already read my mind, because he leans forward again, more quickly this time, and puts his lips on mine—pater omnia—and this time I get a little tickle of tongue, a flicker of that tongue that God knows Fraser is willing to put anywhere else so why the hell not straight into my mouth? And he does, and I'm moaning, sucking on it, playing with it, sliding with it. Jesus. I can't help it—I reach for him, taking his shoulders, and one of his hands grabs onto mine, and it's shaking.

He kills me, I swear. He could have anyone in the City of Chicago just by unbuttoning one epaulet or whatever the hell those things are called, and he's shaking because he's kissing plain, ordinary, yeah-he-dresses-nice-but-have-you-seen-the-mug-on-that-guy? Ray Vecchio.

But he's pulled away from kissing me and he's pressing his mouth to my fingers, and that's when I realize I'm shaking, too.

"Ray..." he says against my palm, and then I feel the wet of his tongue, right there, and that's it. I'm not well-known for my self-control, and everything that's just happened has clearly obliterated what little I had, because I take my hand back and push him backward onto the bed and take his lips like they're mine to take.

I thrust my tongue into his mouth and he shudders underneath me, so I stop long enough to ask, "Is this okay? Is this all right, Benny?"

Fraser is staring at me with his eyes so wide blue crazy that I think I've just shocked him out of his mind. But he nods and grabs the sides of my neck, pulling me back down, and then we're kissing again, God Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Benny and that tongue, Jesus, that tongue of his.

After a few minutes I realize I've been grinding my hard-on against his leg like a pet schnauzer, and it occurs to me to wonder if Fraser might find that a little weird, so I make myself pull away even though I'm about ten seconds from blowing my stack.

"Is this okay?" I ask again.

Fraser nods, but his eyes don't look any less crazy, so I try to slow it down. I lean on one elbow and start petting his chest. His shirt is damp because he hadn't dried off all the way, and I can feel it right through the cloth when I hit a hardened nipple.

He gasps and arches up, his arm falling back over his head. I nearly come in my pants.

So, I don't ask him any more stupid questions, I just put my mouth where my fingers were, nipping at the hard nipple through the cloth, and he moans, so quietly it makes me shiver. I spend the next few minutes turning the moan into deep panting by running my hands up under his shirt, shoving it up until I can get my mouth on him, sucking and licking, and he likes teeth, if the squirming is any indication at all.

I have to get him naked. I have to get us both naked, but I've only just gotten his shirt off when he reaches for me, hot curve of his hand socking to between my legs and taking hold of my cock.

I stop everything to just groan, to push into his hand, so big and strong, gripping me. I could come just like this—from just a couple more thrusts—and it's enough to panic me a little, because I don't want this to end. So I grab his wrist and pull his hand away.

He blinks up at me. "Sorry. I realize I shouldn't—"

"Hell yes you should, if you want me coming in my pants like I'm thirteen," I explain, and the uncertain look on his face dissolves into relief and joy.

"Come on," I say, taking the opportunity to get serious. "Let's get undressed."

"A-all right." He rolls off the cot to stand up. I start undressing, craning my neck so I can watch him, but then he walks over to blow out the lantern.

No. No fair. This is taking Canadianism to a brand-new low, to my mind. But he bends over and lights a candle instead, and I think Thank God, because I need to see him. I need it like I need oxygen.

He's turned sideways, so the first thing I get to see in the wavering glow is the smooth, pale curve of his hip and ass when his pants and underwear slide off his hips. And then I see the heavy, rose-dark of his erect cock before he cups it, sitting down on the side of the cot. Then he turns his head to look at me.

I unbutton my shirt slowly and shrug it off my shoulders. He looks afraid to blink, his eyes soaking me up. He licks his lips when my hands drop to my fly.

I unzip and let my pants pool to the floor. I'm so hard my cock is leaking right through my bikini briefs, and I can feel his eyes, shadowed by the tilt of his head. I slip off my underwear.

"God, Ray," he whispers. And it's a good sound, a hungry sound, although there's disbelief in there, too.

Then he raises his hand, reaching for me. I cross over and stand in front of him, and finally I get a full look at his thick, uncut cock.

My mouth waters.

But his hands are up on my hips, pulling me forward, and then they slip behind me, hugging me around the waist. And I mean all around, so the tips of his fingers are brushing against my hips, and that soft hair is pressed to my belly, making me insane.

He holds me, and I can hear him breathing deeply—feel the air moving over my groin, and I know he's smelling me. It makes my dick go sproing like a broken toy or something.

Then he slides lower and starts nuzzling me with his cheek and mouth, lower and lower until my cock is just below his lips, and I have to clench my teeth not to start begging, not to push, because I can tell from the way he's easing into this that maybe this is new to him. Then I feel a glance of hot-and-wet against the head of my cock.

"Ah! Benny!"

He tilts his head to look up at me, and then that sweet mouth opens and he slides his lips over the crown of my cock and sucks at me gently.

It takes me by surprise, a sudden, terrifying rush, and I don't even have a split second to warn him before I'm coming hard, my jaw tight, little oh, ohs jumping from between my lips, and he jolts back in surprise, so I end up spurting all over his lips and cheeks.

"Oh, God," I say when I can breathe again, and I'm a little embarrassed, even though my whole body is tingling with gratitude and relief.

He looks stunned, as if he can't believe what he did to me. He wipes his cheek with the back of his wrist, and blinks.

"Christ, I'm sorry, Benny! Here..." I start to reach toward him, my ears burning. I just came all over Fraser's face. But his tongue peeks out to swipe at his lip, and he looks up at me, and I swear he smiles, just showing the edges of his sharp little teeth.

"I made you do that," he says. "I made you—"

I'm damned glad he cuts himself off, because I thinking hearing Benny say "I made you come" is likely to make me do it all over again. He licks his lips again, and I know he tastes me in his mouth. It's enough to make my stupid dick twitch. I bend down and pick up my silk shirt and start wiping his face, my cheeks hot.

"You gotta work on your reaction time, Benny," I grumble, but he's still smiling, and he takes the shirt out of my hands and just dumps it on the floor. Then he pulls on my waist and I fall onto the bed next to him.

Suddenly I've got my arms full of crazed, humping Mountie. "Ray, Ray," he says, and he kisses me again, and he tastes like me, and man, do I love that. But I slow him down, grabbing his hands and rolling on top of him.

"Hey, give a guy a chance." I want to look at him, is the thing. I want to touch that sweet bod of his and make him feel good and know that it's me, Ray Vecchio, making Benny happy, giving something back to him.

Maybe it's my Italian upbringing, but it seems the only hospitable thing to do.

He looks a little impatient with me, but he relaxes against the pillow and closes his eyes.

"You're beautiful, Benny," I say, and he is. He really is. I put my lips on his chest, right over his heart, and I say, "But especially right here."

And he sighs, and makes this happy hum, and puts his hand on my head, his fingers stroking me, petting me a little. I kiss my way over to his nipple and take it between my teeth.

He makes this crazy noise, cutting it off before it turns into a whimper. I suck and play with his nipple until he makes it again, longer this time, and then I head south to check out the territory.

Pale, firm skin, salty sweet. My tongue says hello to his belly button, and his stomach tightens, his fingers getting a little restless in my hair. I don't want to tease him too much—God knows how long it's been since the poor guy has seen any action. If he's had any since Victoria, I'll eat my favorite pair of shoes.

So, I take hold of his cock, squeezing the base in my fist and holding it up so I can angle my mouth right on the head and suck him in.

"Ray!" He says in this harsh whisper.

I pump my fist, squeezing the flesh of his shaft up and down, and suck and drool on him, making the action slick and slippery and smooth. He tastes terrific. You'd expect that of Fraser—taste is his watchword.

But he's lost it enough that he isn't using words anymore, just grunty noises and long groans, and his hips jerk under my forearm as if he wishes he could fuck upward, but I'm a little rusty on technique so I hold him down and use my mouth and hand, faster now, giving the best I've got, sucking and swirling and pumping his thick cock.

He makes that beautiful whimpery sound again, and then fills my mouth with his come.

I love it. I suck it down, suck him in deeper, dropping my hand so I can give his balls a little roll-and-tickle, and he jerks and spurts again and again, giving it up with a shout.

I'm sure he'll be embarrassed about that later. He tries to be real courteous to his neighbors.

But what the hell, we can always blame it on Dief.

His thighs are trembling a little, and his stomach is still heaving under my ear when he's done. I clean him up with my tongue, giving him little licks, making him shiver. His hand won't stop petting my head, and I think finally I won't have to be jealous of Dief anymore.

Not that I don't admit it's totally stupid to be jealous of a wolf.

"Ray," he says in this husky voice, "could you come up here, please?"

I shift up to meet him, and he grabs me for another kiss, gentle lips and that incredible tongue again, licking my lips, cleaning them. Then he holds my head between his hands and kisses my eyes. When I open them, he's staring up at me with this dazed look, like someone spun the planet around on him.

That would be me.

"Thank you," he says.

"It was my pleasure," I say, making it sound like a joke. But that feels wrong, so I say, "I mean it, Benny. Been wanting this for a while—you and me."

"I didn't know," he says, sounding wondering. Then he scolds me, "You might've told me."

"Right, like that was gonna happen." I sit up and stuff the pillow behind me. If we're gonna have a 'talk', I'm not gonna get a crick in my neck.

Fraser sits up too, looking a little worried. "If you needed something from me, Ray—if you ever need anything from me, you need to tell me."

"Because you're such a courteous guy, you'll give it to me," I say, and I can't help it if I sound a little pissed. Pity fucks are not my bag.

"No." Fraser leans over and tilts his head against mine. "Because you're the one I want to give everything to."

"Oh." That hits me where I live. "Me, too, Benny. It's the same for me." Somehow, my hand finds his and I give it a squeeze.

"Good. I'm glad we have established the appropriate parameters." He squeezes back.

"Wha? Geez, talk English, Benny."

"What I mean is, for our relationship. Boundaries must be established, and acceptable rules applied so that blah blah blah..." He keeps talking, but he's using his professor voice so I sort of tune out, which you might think is rude, but I just came, after all. Also, I'm watching his lips, those red, beautiful lips, and wondering...

"Ray. Ray. Are you listening to me?" He doesn't sound mad, just a little exasperated.

"Nope," I say truthfully. "I'm sorry, Benny, I was busy looking at your mouth."

"Ah." Like on cue, his tongue peeps out for a second to wet his lower lip. "May I ask why?"

Not so innocent, my Benny, because you won't believe how sexy he makes those four words sound.

So, I lean over and put my lips right up to his ear and whisper something beyond obscene involving said mouth and just what I want him to do with it.

Fraser turns bright red, like he just drank a whole bottle of Tabasco.

Then he croaks, "Understood." And proceeds to do it.

Like I told you: the guy is pure class.

....................
2007.06.19

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

joandarck.livejournal.com

Oh, that was lovely. Good Vecchio voice, lots of good touches and lines. Thank you!

Typo: because I take my hand back and push him backward onto the bed and take his lips like their mine to take.

From:

For the love of GOD don't press that button

New F/V Fic: Class (NC-17)

Page Summary

Active Entries

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags