arrow00 | New F/K Story: Unhinged (NC-17)

Title: Unhinged
Author:

arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 4,967
Warnings: Cop/Mountie sex!
Arguable violation of canon.
Categories: First-time, leetle Fraser h/c
Summary: Fraser lets the cat out of the bag.
No, not that cat, the other cat. Well, all the
cats, really.

When Ray asked him on the ride back to the Consulate where the picture of his family had come from, Fraser had somehow inexplicably answered, "My father."

And, of course, Ray was all too aware of the details of Robert Fraser's demise—excruciatingly so, if Ray's complaints were to be given any credence—so Fraser had, with two innocent words, confessed himself to being more than the previously assumed level of unhinged.

Unhinged

By Arrow

Fraser blamed the season. He blamed the weather, and the heavy dampness of his pea coat bunched unevenly under his legs, and the half-swallow of eggnog he'd imbibed at the Christmas party before realizing it was spiked heavily with rum, and most of all he blamed Ray, and Ray's bright, inquisitive eyes.

The one thing he could've blamed his slip on—the fact he'd recently been beaten with a two-by-four and had suffered more than one blow to the head—he didn't blame at all, because he didn't feel at all concussed.

But when Ray asked him on the ride back to the Consulate where the picture of his family had come from, Fraser had somehow, inexplicably, answered, "My father."

And, of course, Ray was all too aware of the details of Robert Fraser's demise—excruciatingly so, if Ray's complaints were to be given any credence—so Fraser had, with two innocent words, confessed himself to being more than the previously assumed level of unhinged.

"Your father," Ray repeated.

"Erm." Fraser's eyebrow itched abominably.

"Your trail-of-his-killers father, you mean? That one?"

And now Ray was looking at him like it was time for a permanent visit to Douglas Park Psychiatric Hospital. Perhaps Fraser should just surrender, at long last, and let Ray take him there. The food really wasn't all that bad, and the other inmates had been very kind, indeed. Dief was off staying with the Vecchios; perhaps they could take care of him for a little while.

"My father is dead, yes. But he still has the annoying habit of popping up now and again," Fraser admitted, running a finger under his collar.

Ray appeared to be digesting that piece of information with more equanimity than Fraser would have expected, had he ever considered telling Ray about his father's ghost.

Which he hadn't. Not even a little bit. So why—?

"Your dead father stopped by to give you a Christmas present." There was no question in Ray's tone, and no surprise, either.

"I assume," Fraser said, deciding to be strictly truthful. "He didn't actually mention if it was from him or not."

Ray nodded very slowly, and then shook his head hard, as if endeavoring to tumble the pieces of his brain into a more pleasing configuration. "He was there? At the party?"

"Yes." Fraser looked out the window. "Ray, I thought you were taking me to the Consulate."

"Oh, no, Fraser. I'm not taking you to the Consulate." Ray took the car into a turn, his long fingers sliding competently on the wheel.

Fraser swallowed. "Then, if I might be bold—where are you taking me?"

"Well, my friend, I could take you directly to the psych ward, except it's Christmas and all—"

"I'm sure they retain a skeleton staff—"

"So, out of the goodness of my heart, and in the spirit of the holidays and all that crapola, I'm taking you back to my place where you will," and here Ray released the wheel with one hand to point two fingers at him decisively, "tell me exactly what the fuck you are talking about."

"Understood." He did. He understood, finally, that the long deception was at last over. It came as something of a relief, really. He was either mad, or being visited by his dead father, but at least someone else would finally understand there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he kept talking to himself.

He just didn't understand why he'd slipped.

>>><<<

"Take off your jacket and make yourself all cozy, there, Frase. Get you a beer?"

"No, thank you, Ray." Fraser frowned and removed his coat and tunic, relieved to be free of the heavy wool. "You know I don't drink."

"I realize that, yeah." Ray said ironically, "I just thought, on this special occasion of you coming clean about being completely unhinged, you might want to share a celebratory brewski."

Now that hurt. Just enough that Fraser's spine straightened and he said, "I do believe you're right, Ray. I think this would be a fine occasion for indulging in an alcoholic beverage." Seeing as it's probably my last opportunity to drink with you. He couldn't bear the sarcastic edge to Ray's voice, a tone that had been evident more and more of late, as if Fraser were disappointing him in some fundamental way. As if he were continually more dissatisfied with Fraser's company.

Ray arched one eyebrow at his request and then nodded, his lips pressed tight, and went to the kitchen. He reappeared a few moments later with two uncapped bottles and handed one to Fraser. Fraser settled down on the couch with a silent sigh of relief, his ribs still aching from his beating two days previous.

The first sip of beer brought back forbidden memories. Of Mark Smithbauer and his father's back shed and a six-pack of stolen brew—thin, acrid stuff that had made Ben's head swim oddly. He drank only two of them. Mark drank the rest, and started singing a dirty shanty song his father had taught him. The lyrics shocked Ben, giving him an illicit thrill.

He had been even more shocked when Mark leaned over in the cramped, dusty shed, took Ben's hand, and placed it on his stiff penis.

"Jerk me off, eh?" Mark had said, and Ben was so surprised he left his hand there for a moment, let Mark curl it closed around him. Ben was startled back into awareness when his own penis began to harden.

He'd fled, thinking about sin, about how he'd broken one rule too many that day. Had teetered on the edge of being truly bad, a bad boy, to be punished by his grandparents and then again when his father next arrived for a visit, his grave face growing even sterner as Benton's grandparents listed the transgressions committed in absentia.

"What the hell are you thinking about?" Ray said gruffly.

Fraser jumped. His beer was already half-empty, or it would've spilled on his lap.

"Sin," Fraser responded automatically. "I was thinking of a quote: 'We stop sinning only in death.'"

He wasn't sure what was wrong with his mouth today. But it seemed to be letting slip with the most appalling truths.

"It's not a sin to be unhinged, Fraser. It's just...weird."

Fraser shook his head and then regretted it. Even such a small amount of alcohol was affecting him.

Ray made a frustrated sound. "You know, I always knew you were a little bent, a little on the wiggy side, but ghosts? Ghosts do not exist, Fraser."

Fraser took a long swallow of his beer, and then another, and another—once he started he couldn't seem to stop until it was done. Then he set the empty bottle on the coffee table with a decisive clink.

"They do, Ray. I've seen him countless times. Not only that—Buck Frobisher's seen him too, and plotted with him when we were on the hijacked train."

His muzzy explanation didn't appear to convince Ray.

"Ghosts. Nuh-uh." Ray stood and started pacing, waving his beer bottle as he spoke. "Why're you doing this to me, huh? My best friend is either completely unhinged—and not in a good way—or there really are ghosts? That what you're telling me?"

"In a word, yes."

"Shit." Ray drank down the rest of his beer in a desperate motion while Fraser waited, his mouth dry.

"Could I have another beer, Ray?"

Ray made an impatient gesture and brought back two more. Fraser drank thirstily from his while he awaited the verdict.

"So." Ray stared down at his bottle and fingered the edge of the label. "Ghosts, huh?"

Fraser let out his breath in a silent sigh of relief. "Yes, Ray."

"He visits you. When?"

"Whenever he likes," Fraser said morosely.

"Oh for cryin'—all that talking to yourself you've been doing, is that what...?" Ray's eyes widened. "He's not here now, is he?" He looked around wildly.

"No. We're alone. And yes, he tends to get me involved in conversations at the most inopportune times. Has interfered with a case, actually, on more than one occasion. Really, you have no idea how awkward it is to be interrupted at any given moment by the ghost of your dead father."

Ray turned to look at him, an odd glint in his eye. "No, I don't, Fraser," he said with strange emphasis, then continued, his voice almost curious, "So, why're you telling me this? Why now, I mean, if this has been going on for so long?"

Why, indeed. That was the question. "I don't-I don't know." Frustrated, Fraser scratched his ear. He looked over at Ray, and found that the glint had turned into a gleam. Fraser knew that look. He'd seen that look too often lately on that charming, angular face. He felt himself flush, and he tugged at a lock of hair that really was too long, he'd been wearing it too long for a while, now.

Ray smiled, a hard, knowing smile. "You nervous or something? I've never seen you play with your hair before."

"I'm not nervous," Fraser denied hotly. "I'm drunk."

"Drunk? On one and a half beers?"

"Yes, well, I have a low tolerance. As we've established, I don't indulge often."

"Make that ever, Fraser," Ray said, his voice flat. "You don't indulge ever. You don't let yourself—" He dropped his bottle on the table and turned to face him fully. "Why did you tell me that about your father?" he asked again. He asked it like a cop in an interrogation room, as if he already knew the answer and didn't like it.

Fraser shook his head. The room spun.

"Damn you, Fraser. Answer the question."

"You...the other day," Fraser whispered, "after Warfield..."

"Yeah?" Ray's tone was guarded.

"You drove me home. Before I got out...you were saying something about Francesca, about how she seemed to have taken really good care of me."

Ray nodded slowly, his eyes slitted blue.

"You sounded...almost as if you were—"

"I was jealous."

Fraser averted his eyes and nodded, swallowing thickly. He lifted his beer, but Ray's hand was there, taking it from him. He set it aside.

"And then?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "You leaned over, and I thought you were going to...well, it seemed to me, as impossible as it appeared, that you were going to—"

Ray made a pained sound. "He was there, wasn't he?"

Fraser winced. Ray really was a most extraordinarily perceptive person.

"That's why you squirreled out of the car when I was about to kiss you. That's why you've been so...fuck!" Ray shifted over and grabbed his arm. "What did you mean when you said earlier, about sin? What were you thinking?"

"Ray..." The single, garbled syllable was all he could strain from his throat. The pressure of Ray's hand increased painfully.

"It ain't a sin, Fraser. Lovin' someone ain't a fucking sin."

There was a long silence while Ray's words echoed between Fraser's ears. And the one word in particular, the one that made his heart give a heavy, slow beat, like a ponderous footstep.

"No..." Fraser said finally. "I've never been a believer, not really. Not in sin, not in the devil and monsters—did I ever tell you the story of Kiviuq and the Spider Woman?"

Ray gave him a frustrated look and released his arm to yank at his own hair. "Fraser—"

"It's Inuit," Fraser said hastily, ignoring the eye-roll. "Kiviuq came upon the Spider Woman on a deserted ice island. She was a grotesque, bloated thing with many legs and red coals for eyes. The stink of carrion was about her, and surrounding her were the heads of all the men she had killed. All that was left of them after she'd fed." He remembered the chill of dread he'd felt hearing the story as a child. "I couldn't sleep for weeks after Innusiq told me about her." He laughed, and was embarrassed at the choked sound.

Ray's frown deepened with impatience. "You going somewhere with this? Like I have to ask."

Fraser nodded. "So, night after night I waited, shivering on my cot and staring at the dark crack of the closet where I was certain she was lurking, just waiting for me to fall asleep before taking my head and...eating me. Finally, I got tired of being scared. I said to her, 'All right, if you exist, come and kill me tonight. This is your one chance. If you don't take me tonight, then you don't exist. You're not real.'"

Ray gave a lopsided grin. "And she didn't."

Fraser smiled. "I woke up the next morning and realized I was still alive, and I decided once and for all that nothing of the irrational existed: not Spider Women, not ghosts, not heaven or hell or God or the devil." He sighed. "Then my father came back from the dead."

"Aw, Fraser."

"Am I truly unhinged, Ray? I'm telling you, when he visits I can see him as plain as I see you sitting next to me. He's not a momentary figment or an unexplained noise coming from down the hall. He's always standing next to me, talking in that annoying way he always had of speaking without listening for a response." Fraser was babbling, he knew it. "Really, I don't know why he bothers haunting me if he's not really interested in what I have to say. But he does exist, Ray."

"Fraser." Ray rubbed his face with his hand. "I don't think you're crazy, okay?" He raised his head, and there was anger in his eyes. "In fact—I want you to call him over here. He and I need to have a little talk, mano a mano."

"It doesn't quite work like that, Ray. He always just appears whenever he likes."

"I don't care. Call him. Get his butt over here. I got words for him."

Fraser suppressed a laugh, certain it would come out somewhat hysterical. "Ah, Dad? Would you mind coming here for a moment?"

Nothing.

Ray leaned over and whispered, "Repeat after me: Daddy-o, get your bony ass over here."

Er. It was utterly hopeless. But Fraser tried again. "Father, Ray requests the presence of your...posterior."

"My posterior? What on earth for? Benton, I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but I think the Yank might be a block or two shy of an igloo."

"Dad!" Fraser jumped in his seat and turned to see his father in full Mountie regalia, his dress gloves tucked into his Sam Browne.

"I think he's rowing without an oar, in other words. What possible interest could he have in my posterior?"

Fraser groaned.

"Is he here? Where?" Ray said, rising from the couch.

Fraser stood as well and gestured between them. "Father, I would like to introduce Detective Ray...Kowalski. Ray, this is my father, Sergeant Robert Fraser, RCMP. Uh, retired."

"You never retire from being a Mountie, son. And what in blazes are you doing introducing us? You know the Yank can't see me."

"Nonetheless, he wanted to meet you." Fraser took a breath. "I wanted him to meet you."

"What in heaven's name for? You realize he's going to send you to the loony bin for this."

"Because, Dad—" But now that the moment had come, Fraser realized he didn't want Ray to have to be the one to speak. This was his duty, his fight, and no one else's. "Dad, listen to me—"

His father was shaking his head sadly. "It'll be off to the nut hatch with you, just like poor old Tiberius. Well, I suppose you could try to pass this off as a joke. You know how gullible these Yankees are..."

Fraser sighed and turned toward Ray. "He's not listening," Fraser whispered.

Ray's eyes were wide and a little wild. Fraser smiled reassuringly, a strange peace descending over him, and put out his hand. Ray took it, and Fraser pulled him closer.

"Ray," he said softly. Ray grinned at him suddenly, that tough, courageous grin of his. Fraser's heart bucked hard inside his chest. He could feel the beat everywhere in his body, a rhythm that demanded action—that he finally take action. And if words wouldn't get through to his father, maybe—

Fraser put his hand up to Ray's cheek, leaned in, and kissed him softly on his sweet, curving lips.

"Great Scott! Benton!"

Fraser opened his mouth and felt Ray's tongue joyfully moving to meet his. He moaned softly in gratitude.

"Good lord! Oh, my word—" His father's sputtering cut off suddenly, and Fraser knew they were alone.

"He's gone," Fraser said.

Ray pulled back and smiled wide. "Well, that's one way to clue in the old man..."

"Indeed."

"But maybe we'd better make real sure..." Ray pulled him in again, and Fraser showed his approval of the plan by opening his mouth to the soft invasion of Ray's tongue. The beer was making Fraser feel a little unsteady on his feet, but maybe that was Ray, and the possessive tug of his hands on Fraser's hips. Ray kept pulling him closer until Fraser could feel the heated pressure of Ray's groin against his.

"'There is no sin but what we humans make,'" Fraser whispered.

"You know a lot of quotes about sin, Frase," Ray said, pushing him down onto the couch. "Do you know any about happy stuff? Like about feeling good, and doing your best and fuck the rest?"

"'On earth there is no heaven, but there are pieces of it.'" Fraser smiled and pulled Ray down on top of him. He spread his legs so Ray fit closely between his thighs, key to lock. "You're one piece, Ray. An important piece. The most—"

"Sap." But Ray kissed him again hard, almost desperately, and Fraser decided he wasn't the only one with that particular flaw. Ray's actions always spoke louder than his words. Fraser had been pushing him away these past weeks, but he'd also been reveling in every small sign of Ray's desire, of Ray's boundless affection. So, he knew.

Ray's heart was bigger than he'd ever admit.

Fraser's sappy musings were abruptly shattered when he felt Ray's hand closing on his erection. He has big hands, too, Fraser thought, gasping and jerking his hips involuntarily. Ray's dry chuckle shivered in his ear, and Fraser retaliated by sliding his fingers up under the back of Ray's shirt, and then down under the loose waist of his black jeans to grip the smooth flex of Ray's buttock.

Ray groaned appreciatively and moved his hips, pressing his erection against Fraser's thigh. "Gotta get undressed for this party, Frase." He reared up on his knees and shed his shirt with one quick motion. Fraser immediately claimed the muscled territory of Ray's chest with both hands, fingers stroking over soft hair and pebbled nipples.

Arching his back, Ray pushed against Fraser's hands in a sensual, wanton display that made Fraser's groin ache.

"God. You're...you...Ray."

Ray caught his hands and stared down at him, one eyebrow lifted mockingly. "That's pretty darn incoherent, there, buddy."

"Sorry, I—"

"Did I say I didn't like it?" Ray took his hands and pressed them down on the cushion by his head, leaning his weight on them. His knees slid under Fraser's thighs, and he rocked his groin suggestively against Fraser's ass.

"Oh."

Ray stopped and raised that eyebrow again, the one that Fraser had always wanted to nibble on and test the texture with his lips.

"How about it?" Ray gave a feral smile and shoved again with his hips.

Fraser shuddered. "Yes, I—" His erection was chafing at the seam of his uniform pants. "Please, Ray."

"Please and thank you, Frase." Ray hoisted himself up and rose to kick off his boots. Fraser stood shakily and watched as Ray headed toward the bedroom, his pants already undone and the tantalizing curve of his buttocks showing over the waist of his falling jeans.

Fraser stumbled after him, his fingers clumsily working the various fastenings of his pants. His thoughts spun ahead to what Ray was offering to do to him.

Fraser wanted it, all of it—his full measure of sin.

He was down to his boxers by the time he joined Ray in the bedroom. Ray was bent over his nightstand, the pale arc of his back shining in the low light coming from the hallway. He straightened and dropped some items on the bed, then turned around.

"Jesus, Fraser." Ray's face tightened, the bones of his cheeks standing like razors. "They really did a number on you."

Fraser looked down. He'd forgotten about it, really. The bruises weren't much more severe than the injuries he suffered regularly in his slap-dash chases across the city. There was a price to be paid for jumping on top of cars or off of buildings.

But he was uncommonly touched by the concern in Ray's eyes.

"It's nothing, Ray," Fraser reassured him. "I hardly feel it."

"See, that's where the unhinged part comes in, not with that other stuff. You gotta...I swear, Fraser—" Ray came over to him and ran a gentle hand across his stomach.

Fraser shivered.

"Guess I'll have to take it easy on you tonight." Ray pushed Fraser's boxers off his hips.

"I don't want 'easy'," Fraser said fervently. "I want you."

Ray tilted his head. "Who says I don't do easy on occasion?" He pushed Fraser toward the bed. "All aboard."

He joined Fraser there, the heated tumble of his body against Fraser's belying his words. Fraser twisted and wrapped himself around Ray, arching his back to get closer contact chest to chest. He felt the rasp of Ray's body hair against his nipples, and they stiffened, tingling with pleasure.

"Hot, hot Mountie," Ray whispered, sounding delighted. He took Fraser's mouth in a kiss, his other hand busy beside Fraser's head. Fraser heard a click, and then Ray's slick fingers were moving between his legs. He spread them trustingly, and Ray groaned approval into his mouth.

Ray shifted over to the side, and two of his fingers slid inside Fraser's body easily, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant at all. Fraser spread his legs wider, bringing his knees up instinctively.

"Hot inside, too," Ray said, his tongue flicking at the curve of Fraser's ear. His fingers moved deeper before he pulled them away again. When they returned they were wetter, stretching him wider, and Fraser couldn't suppress a startled moan at the odd feeling.

"Turn over." Ray's voice was gruff. He pulled away to give Fraser room to maneuver, and reached for the condom beside his head.

"Wait." Fraser struggled to sit up, his limbs feeling awkward and numb.

Ray had already begun rolling the condom on his penis. Fraser was disappointed—he'd wanted a chance to feel the hot skin and the tender swelling of another man's erection. Instead, he located the bottle and poured a little of the lubricant onto his palm, then grasped the covered shaft, sliding it within his fist to distribute the slick substance.

Ray made a sound deep in his chest as Fraser stroked him. "That's real good...don't make it too good, all right? "

Fraser nodded. He felt Ray's hand on his shoulder and looked up.

"You ever done this before?"

"No. Does it matter?"

Ray shook his head, his eyes never leaving Fraser's face. "Just good to know." He pushed gently on Fraser's shoulder.

Fraser turned and settled onto his belly. He felt a nudge between his thighs, and he spread them as widely as he could. His pulse was racing hard—he could feel it in his throat, in his groin, even in the tips of his fingers.

His ribs ached a little from the pressure of the position, and he grabbed a pillow, easing it under his hips to redistribute his weight. His penis was trapped in the soft folds, and he groaned and rocked a little.

Ray muttered an expletive behind him, and Fraser felt his warm hands sliding up his thighs to rest on his buttocks. "Damned hot Mountie. Jesus."

"Stop calling me that," Fraser said, irritated.

"What, hot?" Ray sounded amused, and Fraser felt lips dragging down his spine.

"No...I—" Fraser's breath hitched when Ray's teeth closed on his right cheek. "Here in bed, I'm not...I'm your lover. I'm Fraser, or Ben."

Ray chuckled low. "You're my hot Mountie lover, Ben." Another bite, and then a lick. "You're my unhinged partner, Fraser." Fraser's cheeks were pulled apart, and cool air traveled over his opening. "You're my best friend. And you're mine."

There was a thick, hard pressure against the tight muscle of Fraser's anus, and then he felt himself give and fold around the insistent crown. Fraser held his breath at the burn, and then deliberately relaxed. This was his. His sin. His incredible, glorious sin. He moaned softly as Ray slid deeper with lazy, even thrusts.

Fraser recognized the rhythm, though the sensation was unfamiliar from this side of it. He imagined Ray's slim hips moving, dancing into him as they pressing him down into the soft folds of the pillow against his groin. Fraser wiped the sweat from his forehead against the sheet and relaxed into the seductive rocking.

A sudden, tingling heat brought his head up. "Ah! Ray—!"

"You like that, huh?" Ray's voice was smug. His knees dug into the insides of Fraser's thighs, forcing his legs further apart. Ray started moving faster, each hard thrust forcing more of that incredible sensation to spread from inside him and up Fraser's spine and down into his groin.

He wanted more. More of that. Fraser heaved himself onto his elbows so he could push back. "Oh, God," he muttered, disbelieving.

Ray was pumping into him hard with jagged, twisting thrusts. The intensity of the pleasure was incredible, overwhelming. Fraser tried to reach down and stroke himself, but the pillow was in the way. He groaned and echoed Ray's rhythm, pushing into the pillow and then rising to meet Ray in a slap of flesh and bone.

"That's good. Oh, yeah, good," Ray moaned. "Fuck. Fraser!" He slipped his hand under Fraser's penis, resting all his weight on Fraser's back, but his hand—oh, God, Ray's hand was palming his shaft. Fraser squirmed against it, the added pressure just enough, just enough—

Fraser sank his mouth into the mattress and let out a low cry. He felt himself throb in Ray's palm and then he was climaxing, flooding the pillow, jerking between the twin pressures of Ray's shaft within him and that warm, callused hand. He felt himself tighten hard around Ray, and heard Ray's whispered approval, saying how sweet he was, how tight, how beautiful, his hot Mountie, his, his.

"Yours," Fraser agreed hoarsely, the side of his face pressed into the mattress, his testicles tingling from the continuing slap of Ray's balls.

Ray moaned, "Oh God, oh yeah," and thrust a few times like a jackhammer before giving a growl and spilling inside of him.

They were both still for a long moment, the sound of Ray's gasps painting the air. "Jesus," he said. He wriggled a little, making another plaintive sound before his rough cheek came to rest in the middle of Fraser's back.

Fraser's arms ached from being trapped underneath him. His chest hurt due to the compression of Ray's weight on him. His ass was very sore.

He was deliriously, insanely happy. Completely unhinged with joy.

"Don't wanna move," Ray whined, his cheek scraping against Fraser's back.

"Then don't. I assure you I'm adequately comfortable, Ray."

"Big liar." Ray laughed a little, and then Fraser was treated to the peculiar sensation of Ray withdrawing from his body.

"Oh," Fraser said in a small voice.

The comment earned him another weary chuckle. "You get used to it," Ray said. He rolled to the side and then hitched up until his head was even with Fraser's.

"Hey." Ray threaded his fingers into the sweaty hair at the back of Fraser's neck.

Fraser closed his eyes at the tenderness of the caress.

"You okay?"

"'Okay' would be a criminal understatement."

That low chuckle again. "Delighted to hear it, buddy."

Fraser reached up and took Ray's hand, holding it between his, letting his fingers curl around the pads of his palm, fingertips pressing against the calluses there.

Warm hand. Strong hand. Fraser lifted it and brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on the skin of Ray's wrist just below his bracelet.

"Sap," Ray said, but it sounded like he was having trouble breathing.

"Undeniable," Fraser said. He looked into Ray's face. "I want to return the favor."

"You wanna fuck me?"

Fraser closed his eyes. "I want to...take you. Take my hot cop lover, Ray."

"Anytime."

"I want to bend you over on your couch—"

"Whoa—"

"—And screw you into the seat cushions—"

"Fraser!"

"—Until you scream." Fraser opened his eyes and smiled. "Yes, just that, I think. That would be perfect."

Ray's mouth was open. But his eyes were gleaming again.

"Like I said, buddy—anytime."

Fraser found himself yawning. "But not right now, I'm afraid," he mumbled.

The damp pillow was still under his hips, and he tugged it out of the way, hurling it carelessly to the floor. Then he turned onto his back, ignoring the sensation of cold air on his damp groin. He could barely keep his eyes open. He reached out and found Ray's hand and pulled it across his chest.

There. Perfect.

He was just slipping into sleep when his eyes jerked open at a strange noise.

It sounded like a drill.

Coming from Ray's closet.

Oh, dear.

.....................
2007.06.23

The Spider Woman tale -- Eeeee!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

dodificus.livejournal.com

He was just slipping into sleep when his eyes jerked open at a strange noise.

It sounded like a drill.

Coming from Ray's closet.

Oh, dear.

After all the hot sexin' that was an ending that made me laugh:)

From:

For the love of GOD don't press that button

New F/K Story: Unhinged (NC-17)

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