F/K Story: Partners With Privileges
Feb. 17th, 2007 01:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arrow00Fraser/Rayk, NC-17
Summary: Ray makes his move. Could be he's started an avalanche.
Word count: 5,311
Partners With Privileges
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arrow00
Ray looks over at Fraser, Mr. Posture Perfect sitting ramrod straight on the couch, and watches him lift a handful of popcorn to his mouth. Fraser catches the kernels with his lips and tongue, greedy like he hardly ever is, and Ray imagines that same hunger devoted to Ray's lips, his chest, his cock, and that's it. Ray is completely doneski. Finito. He's making his move. He goes to it, practically fucking runs to it, can feel the humiliation and pain of it already, even though he's barely leaned over, barely started the long, tumbling slide under the avalanche of rejection that's right about to land on him.
And as it's happening, Ray wonders if this is what suicides feel like, this overwhelming goddamn relief because, anyway, finally it will be over, all the wanting and aching and fucked up Jedi mind-tricks he's been playing on himself, telling himself no way, he hasn't suddenly gone queer for his ultra-straight (ramrod, but don't think about that) mega-polite partner, because Ray left that shit back in high school, man—that's kids' stuff. But now he is past the river denial and his canoe is sinking and he doesn't fucking care, in fact he feels terrific, greatness, because at least he will finally know for certain that his fucking life is over.
So that's Ray, leaning over, a definite tilt now, actually making his move, and just as he's about to lunge for the soft, red corner of Fraser's lips, Fraser jerks forward and says, "Yes!" excitedly, staring at some hockey play on the screen, and Ray's momentum has him tumbling to the couch cushion behind Fraser's back.
Oh. Perfect.
"Ray?" Fraser has twisted around and is giving him Puzzled Mountie Look (#17b) from Fraser's bag of facial expressions. It's not like the guy has a huge stock of them, and Ray has pretty much cataloged them all, with a few exceptions he was hoping against hope he'd get a chance to see tonight—Fraser's eyes heating with hunger, Fraser's lips twisting in need, and Fraser's entire face pulled tight, mouth open as he comes.
Ray throws his arm over his face and groans.
"Are you all right?" Christ, Fraser sounds so concerned, but Ray's dick has already translated the worried tone into ooh, baby which is totally crazy, starkers, nuts. But Ray's dick has no brain. There's no room in there, what with the serious blood-flow. He can only pray his eagle-eyed pal has somehow failed to notice the rocket he's now sporting in his pants.
"I'm fine, Frase, just tired." Oh, and that sounds so convincing.
Fraser is deadly silent, and Ray is afraid to move his arm to check and see if this is Concerned Friend (#11) or Stiff-As-a-Corpse Offended Canadian (#2c, with slight furrow between the eyebrows.)
But a little of Ray's suicidal courage comes back to him, and he lets his arm fall back to crack his eyes open.
Sure enough, Fraser is staring at his crotch. And wouldn't you know it, but there's a brand-new expression on his face, one Ray has never seen before. And fuck all if he can tell what it means. This is not good.
"Fraser?"
Fraser blinks, but the rest of his face is perfectly still. And his eyes—it's downright creepy, but his eyes have gone somewhere else, like off to Pluto. Ray is tempted to knock three times on Fraser's forehead with their special code. Instead he taps it out on Fraser's leg.
Tap. Tap-tap.
Fraser's eyes wake up like he's slamming back into them, and they dart up Ray's chest to his face.
"Ray." Fraser stops. Swallows. And flushes red as a valentine in about two heartbeats.
Shit. There's a rattlesnake in Ray's belly. So, that last expression? Mind-numbing shock, as it turns out. And this new one? Who the fuck knows? Ray waits. His hands are cold.
"Ray, forgive me, please—if I'm—if I misunderstood your intent just now—I think I might be confused as to—"
Oh, Christ. This is worse than painful. This is razor blades and a peroxide wash.
"No, you got it right in one," Ray says, and it sounds like he's been gargling with the peroxide.
"Oh. I see." Back to Shocked Mountie on Pluto (#22.) Ray is glad to have it neatly categorized. He waits some more. Even though there's nothing going on with Fraser's face, Ray can practically hear the whine of a clutch between Fraser's ears. Wheeeer, wheeeer. The gears are just not engaging.
"Fraser—"
Fraser moves stiffly, almost like a robot, and gets to his feet. The ramrod in his back is made of titanium, or maybe carbide steel.
"I think...I have to go now."
Suddenly Ray is completely exhausted. Totaled. He sinks into the couch like a flatworm and covers his eyes again.
"Yeah. Got it. Go."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Fraser says from Pluto.
And Ray discovers for certain that everything is completely screwed up beyond all recovery, because when Fraser walks out the door, he forgets his fucking hat.
<<<>>>
Ray doesn't get a lot of sleep that night and calls in sick the next morning, groaning over his coffee and dropping his head in his hands every so often to squeeze in on his temples and try to shut up the fucked it up-fucked it up loop running inside his brain.
His only consolation is the hat, because no way Fraser isn't going to want it back, right? It's his hat. A total part of him. Might as well ask him to give up his dick. Which, seeing as Ray has never once seen Fraser get laid since they met—maybe not such a great hardship. But Fraser's hat—Ray would bet dollars to doughnuts that Fraser wouldn't just abandon it, even if it meant he had to see Ray one last time and put up with all the pitiful begging and whining and even an embarrassing snot parade.
So, when Fraser calls him later that afternoon, waking Ray up from a half-doze on the couch, Ray figures the first words out of Fraser's mouth will be just drop it in the mail, Ray. Certified, if you please. Thank you kindly.
But instead Fraser says, his voice all uncertain, "Ray? Can I trouble you to meet me this afternoon? Around four?" He gives Ray the location, a weird one, and when Ray babbles a garbled affirmative, hangs up.
And he doesn't even mention the hat.
Between his hasty shower and his crazed romp through his closet for just the thing to wear to put across cool confidence and a casual "I'm not after getting into your Mountie pants" attitude, Ray tries to work up a strategy for the conversation. He used to rehearse stuff all the time for Stella, because if he left it to his mouth to say the things his brain was thinking, he'd never have lasted through their first "serious discussion". So he knows the drill.
Only, he's having a hard time coming up with anything at all, because this is Fraser, and Fraser, even though he's terrible as crap when it comes to interpersonal-type communications, is a dead-on reader of people. So lies won't work, and the dog's honest truth is, Ray wants him bad. Not just Fraser's body, which Ray has never really seen much of anyway, what with all those damned layers of red and brown wool. No, Ray wants more than anything to peel Fraser right down to his skin and then underneath, dig down in there and get to his chocolate candy center.
Ray wants inside.
But Fraser made it pretty clear last night that the whole idea is so far out of left field it's practically in Skokie.
Ray drives slowly, trying to give himself more time. It's only a couple of miles to the planetarium. He hasn't been there since a field trip when he was a kid, but the place still looks familiar somehow. He pulls into the parking lot and finds Fraser waiting by the entrance wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and his hat.
Crap. He has a spare. There goes plan B.
Even though Fraser's in civvies, he's still standing at parade rest, carbide spinal column in place. And he's practically vibrating with tension, even though his face is showing zilch, zip, nada. Big surprise, there.
"Thank you for coming, Ray," Fraser says.
Ray just nods, his mouth too dry to speak.
"Follow me?" Fraser leads him inside. It's late, and a weekday, and there are no kids around, and hardly any people, either. The floors echo weirdly. Fraser pays admission for two, and then leads Ray with a purpose, as if he's been here before.
"It's just over here," Fraser says, and Ray wants to grab him and say What the fuck? But it's Fraser's show.
And turns out it really is a show. Fraser leads him to a set of double doors, to the Sky Theater right in the heart of the planetarium. The sign says the last show was at 2:30.
"Aren't we too late?"
Fraser shakes his head and knocks on the door. After a little while, it creaks open.
"Leyla, good afternoon." Fraser tips his hat at the tiny woman in a white coat who's cracked open the door. Her eyes and hair are dark, and when she smiles her teeth are very bright.
"Constable." She holds up her finger to her lips. "Quickly, come inside." She lets them in and closes the door behind them.
"Thank you kindly for accommodating us, Leyla." Fraser takes off his hat. "This is my good friend, Detective Ray Vecchio."
"A pleasure, ma'am," Ray says.
She tilts her head, birdlike. "Nice to meet you, Detective." She smiles again, an extremely pretty smile, only this time she's flashing it at Fraser. Ray's heart sinks when he realizes she knows him, obviously. "I have the show all set up." She pats Fraser's arm. "I'll give you a few minutes to get settled, and then I'll switch it on."
"Thank you so very kindly, Leyla."
Ray's glad to see the white-coated back of her as she lets herself out. Fraser gives a nod toward the seating and leads the way down the aisle, picking two seats at dead center of the planetarium.
The dome is dark overhead. Ray lets his eyes travel over it, not wanting to look at Fraser, who's started shifting uncomfortably as if his seat is sprung.
"You come here a lot, Fraser?" Ray says nervously.
He sees Fraser open his mouth just before the lights go out, and suddenly the black dome is filled, just fucking filled with stars. Gazillions of them. Ray hears Fraser sigh.
"Yes. I come here when I can," Fraser says. "I wanted you to see...Ray, this is the night sky from the Territories."
Well. That answers Ray's question. His chest feels heavy just thinking about it. Fraser is so damned homesick he comes to the planetarium just to see his home sky.
"It's...totally beautiful, Fraser. Completely."
"Yes. I wish they would turn off the heat so we could see our breath, feel the chill. I wanted to bring Dief here, but animals aren't allowed." Fraser is talking fast, almost babbling.
"I'm sorry, Frase." Ray figures he knows what Fraser is telling him. Fraser is letting him down easy. Maybe he's finally going to try for a transfer, and he wants Ray to think it's not because of him and his fucked-up maneuver of the night before.
"Why are you sorry, Ray?" Fraser sounds surprised.
The stars rotate over their heads slowly, emulating the turning of the year. It makes Ray a little dizzy. "You're homesick, right? You brought me here to show me?"
He senses Fraser shifting to look at him. Ray rolls his head on the seat back, and sees a gazillion stars reflected in Fraser's eyes.
Oh, that's a low blow. Ray has to force himself to listen, because Fraser is talking again, halting, awkward, as if the words are cutting his throat.
"That's—no, Ray. No. I brought you here because—I thought—" Fraser tugs on his ear, and then brushes at his eyebrow, a couple quick strokes. "I thought if I felt, if it was—familiar enough—safe enough—Ray. I need to tell you something."
No kidding. "Tell away, Fraser."
But Fraser just stares at him silently. He's turned onto one shoulder in his seat, looking at Ray instead of at the stars, and his face is completely frozen. Ray looks back at the dome, not wanting to see the ugly. Because there is bound to be some ugly, right? Visions of Stella packing his things, so totally final and over, bounce in Ray's head, and he starts jiggling his left leg.
Fraser puts his hand on it, stopping him. So Ray looks at Fraser, and now Fraser's lips are open, and his tongue pokes out to the corner of his mouth. Maybe this won't be so ugly, because the look in Fraser's eyes—it's like he doesn't even need the light show, there are stars in there already. Ray's pulse stutters, picks up, and his leg feels hot now under Fraser's hand.
"Ray." Scratch. Tug. Frown.
Usually at this point Ray would say something smart like, "Spit it out, Fraser, we ain't got all day, here," except he really doesn't want to screw this up, and so he makes himself, goddammit, wait.
"Ray," Fraser finally says in a hoarse whisper, "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have left."
"Fraser—"
"No, listen. Listen, Ray." He ducks his head and flicks his eyebrow again, and his face goes formal, and his voice is too, when he says, "I...forgive me if, by leaving, I gave you the impression last night that your attentions weren't...welcome."
Ray's heart goes pitty-pat. It's funny, but coming from anyone else Ray would think that was the most unromantic declaration he's ever heard in his life, like the sex had been completely bleached from the scenario, but coming from Fraser it's just...hot. Because Fraser is saying his advances were welcome. Ray is welcome. It couldn't be hotter if he'd said, "If you please, Ray, take me home and fuck me sideways."
Well. Actually.
But Ray's dick is finding Fraser's approach pretty okay, too.
"That's good, Fraser, because I thought you were freaked. That you didn't even want to be my friend anymore." His voice chokes up embarrassingly.
But Fraser grabs his hand, and first he just holds it, but then he presses it between his palms, as if he needs to touch all of it. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Ray. In fact...but first I must tell you—" Fraser clears his throat. "Perhaps you think it obvious, but I'm not very well-versed in...physical intimacies." His hands feel almost sweaty around Ray's, which seems weird. Fraser and sweating just don't go together.
"That doesn't matter to me." Ray has to whisper it—he's afraid Fraser will completely spook.
Fraser shakes his head. "I'm aware, of course, there is something...unyielding in my nature that has in the past acted as a barrier—" He drops Ray's hand suddenly and scrubs at his face, looking frustrated as hell. Then he turns and pins Ray with his eyes. "I didn't want that to happen this time. I can't let that happen, Ray. Not with you. I won't let it," he says fiercely.
Ray's stomach goes shivery. "Okay—it's okay," he tries to say, but it comes out kind of garbled, and Fraser is still looking lost in there.
"It's just...I might need your help with this, Ray."
Ray relaxes suddenly. Duh. "That's what partners are for, Frase." His voice sounds almost normal, and his hand is barely even shaking when he reaches for Fraser's hand. Fraser holds it tight, and a small, relieved smile lifts the corner of his mouth.
Ray's been so busy worrying about not spooking Fraser that he hasn't even realized what this means, until Fraser starts to lean toward him, murmuring, "I knew you wouldn't fail me, Ray," and then Ray gets it. Gets it. He's going to get Fraser. And then Fraser's lips touch his, oh, sweetness, this is it, soft and slow and so right that Ray's tongue has to come out and lick along that lower lip.
Fraser breathes in sharply, leaving coolness behind as he starts to pull away. But Ray hooks a hand around the back of Fraser's head, sinking his fingertips into the soft, dark hair, and hauls Fraser down so their lips meet just as Ray's head thunks against the back of his seat. And then he's licking Fraser's lips again, begging to be let inside, and Fraser opens his mouth and—oh, God, he tastes hot, and smells fantastic, a little musky and wooly but so familiar. It's like Ray's been living here already, inside Fraser's skin, inside his mouth.
Fraser kisses him back intently, moaning, and something flashes behind Ray's closed eyelids, and he opens them to see crazy swirls of color, pink and blue and green, twisting against the stars. Ray jerks in surprise, and Fraser pulls away, panting.
"Are you—? God, Ray, I'm sorry if I—"
"Shh. No, Fraser, look—"
Fraser looks up, and a smile lights his face. The colors are swirling in his eyes when he tilts his head. "Ah, yes. The Northern Lights, you see? God, I've missed it."
"Oh, man." Ray basks in the pretty and in the huge balloon of happiness in his chest for a second, and then Fraser is bending over him again but Ray pushes him back and repeats in a totally different tone, "Oh, man."
"What? What is it, Ray?"
"You—we—Fraser, we gotta stop. Right now."
"Stop?" And jeesh, Benton Fraser is, well, not pouting, but it's a damned close call.
"Just for now. Right here. 'Cause if you ever wanna come back, we can't get caught, you know..."
"Oh. Oh!" Comprehension, and then bashfulness, and then Fraser is standing up, grabbing his hat and pulling Ray to his feet. "Thank you, Ray. I would...I would miss it terribly if I couldn't return." He starts pulling Ray anxiously toward the exit. "We'll thank Leyla later, I think. Yes, later."
Ray is grinning. He's bouncing as he gets tugged along, because he did the right thing, and it's in the pocket now, he can feel it like when you line up a perfect pool shot and the cue is sliding just right between your fingers...but that gives him ideas so he thinks about ice floes, and cattle rustlers, and penguin-in-a-bar jokes, because thinking about Fraser sliding hard between his fingers is going to make him a spectacle. Not that he's not used to that, what with being partnered with a Mountie, but in this case it's wiser to be circumstantial. If that's the word.
"Hey, Frase, what's it called when you try to be quiet about something, circum-something?"
"Hmm?" Fraser sounds foggy as he pulls open the door and peeks out before closing it again. He turns around. "Do you mean 'circumspect', Ray?"
"Yeah, that's it. I know we gotta be circumspect, but I have to—" He cuts himself off by planting one on Fraser right there in the doorway, quick hot tongue and nip of teeth just to confirm this isn't some kid's crazy dream, and Fraser clutches at him immediately, groaning his name when he pulls away.
Then, swear to God, Fraser reaches into his pocket and shakes his leg. Adjusts himself.
So, it's real, all right. And Ray pushes Fraser aside and pulls the door open and just hauls ass out of there, knowing Fraser is right behind him all the way to the car, next to him all the way home like a hot ember burning at his side, neither of them saying anything as if they're afraid to break the spell. And it feels like no time at all before he has Fraser alone, in his apartment, pinned against the door because Ray can't wait to get at those lips again, to feel that hot tongue in his mouth.
"Ray. Ray. Ray." Fraser is saying his name in between kisses. Ray is trying to get his hands up Fraser's shirt, but Fraser's arms are in his way—he's got his fists clenched in Ray's jacket. Frustrated, Ray finally pulls back out of reach and points a finger.
"Strip. Now."
Fraser stiffens, and his face goes Guard Duty Blank (#9.)
Oh, shit. Way to go, dumbass. "I'm sorry, Fraser. I guess that was kind of rude, huh?"
Fraser just stares at him for a second, and Ray is hearing the wheeer, wheeer again. So he tugs off his own jacket to throw it by the couch and then approaches Fraser cautiously. "It's just...I need to see you," Ray says, keeping his voice low.
"See you—" Fraser says.
"I need to touch you—"
"Touch you." Fraser nods then clears his throat. "There's nothing I don't want. Nothing," he says, but he sounds a little shaky.
"Good. Same here." Ray reaches up and pushes Fraser's jacket off his shoulders, catching it with one hand and tossing to land on top of his own. Ray smiles at the sight, and when he turns back Fraser's eyes are smiling too, and he moves his lips, twitching his nose.
"Messy."
"I have a feeling we're gonna get a whole lot messier," Ray says, unable to contain a grin, and, yeah, Fraser's face flushes, his neck turning red. Ray lays his palm on Fraser's face to feel the heat, and Fraser ducks his head.
"I can do messy," Fraser says, his voice husky.
Ray's dick says a happy hello to his zipper. He starts unbuttoning Fraser's shirt, but Fraser pushes his hands away and does it himself, unbuttoning the flannel to reveal a tank top of smooth white cotton. He strips off the flannel and bunches it, then tosses it to land on top of their jackets before looking at Ray defiantly. Ray's eyes drop to Fraser's chest and the erect nipples poking from his pecs. Uh, oh. Wet dream walking. Ray palms Fraser's nipples through the fabric, his first real touch, and Fraser shudders beneath his hands.
"All of it," Ray whispers. "Please, Fraser?"
"You, too?" The blue of Fraser's eyes is hot, hot.
"Deal." Ray starts undressing, keeping his eyes on Fraser the whole time, watching as Fraser reaches over his shoulder and pulls off his t-shirt, then kicks off his loosely laced hiking boots and unbuttons his jeans. Ray's hands freeze on his own waist while he waits to see Fraser drop his pants.
But Fraser steps around him and has his back turned when he shucks off his jeans, leaving on a pair of crisp, white boxers, so stiff and neat it's like they're ironed or something. Jesus please us, I think they're starched.
Hastily, Ray gets his own shoes and pants and socks off until he's standing there in his boxer briefs, still staring at the pale slope of Fraser's back. The smooth skin is marred by a collection of pink scars—an ugly one low on his spine, another long slice on his shoulder blade, and what looks like a gunshot wound in the back of his thigh. It's a relief, somehow, seeing those scars. Without them, Fraser would be too goddamn perfect.
But it's upsetting, too. If Ray had his way, Fraser would somehow remain untouched by all the shit the universe threw at them. Ray sighs, and Fraser turns at the sound. His eyes travel slowly down Ray's body, and Ray sees Fraser's chest start to rise and fall rapidly. Fraser's cock moves, tenting the stiff boxers.
I turn him on. Ray shivers.
"God, Ray." Fraser sounds like he's in church or something. "You're—you—"
"You, too, Fraser. You're so—" Words like beautiful, mind-bendingly sexy, eminently fuckable, want to jump out of his mouth. Instead, Ray just lifts his hand. "Come on. Come on."
Fraser takes his hand, almost balks at the bedroom door, but responds to Ray's insistent tug almost immediately. He's getting better at going with the flow.
He proves it when Ray pushes him down on the bed and moves beside him, because Fraser pulls him closer and tucks one leg between Ray's, neat as you please, and runs his hand from the base of Ray's neck all the way down to the start of his briefs.
Big hand. Warm, and slightly calloused so it whispers against Ray's skin. Ray takes it as an invitation to shift closer until he can rub his aching hard-on against Fraser's strong thigh.
"Oh, yeah, this is it," Ray whispers against Fraser's neck, and starts licking him, tasting the salty goodness of Fraser's skin.
Fraser makes a strange sound, and his hand drops to Ray's butt, squeezing and pulling him over to lie on top of him.
Even better, because now Ray's got gravity on his side, and he squirms against Fraser's warm body, his hip rubbing against Fraser's cock. Fraser makes that strange noise again, a choked-off, pained sound, and his head drops back, exposing his throat to Ray's sucking mouth.
"Ray," Fraser whispers.
Ray grins. This is better than goodness. This is greatness. The only thing that could make it completely perfect would be getting rid of the damned underwear. He heaves himself up and skins down, then peeks at Fraser, who looks completely pole-axed. His chest is blotchy with a flush, and he has red spots on his cheeks. His eyes are dark and wide.
They follow Ray's hands as he grabs the waist band of Fraser's boxers and lifts it slowly, pulling it down to expose Fraser's hard cock. Ray gives Fraser a questioning look, but there's no objection, just the silent heave of Fraser's chest and the molten heat of his dark eyes. So Ray pulls the boxers all the way off, and then pounces.
Now they're skin to skin and heat against heat. Ray feels absolutely no shame, even though he's making the weirdest noises and wriggling like stuck pig, pinned groin to groin by Fraser's big hands, which are on his ass cheeks, grinding them together. It's like no sex Ray has ever had, because he doesn't know what he's doing, and it doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is more more more and he's grunting and thrusting down and up, slicking Fraser's skin with his pre-cum, and Fraser is making these soft, panting sighs that sound like disbelief and oh, oh, with a hint of begging.
It's over way too soon for Ray to stand it. It feels like he's dying, like he's losing something, even as the heat gathers in his groin in a piercing point of pleasure/pain, and he shoves hard, almost wailing as he comes.
He rests his head on Fraser's collarbone and trembles there for a little while. Fraser has stopped moving, except he has a hand in Ray's hair, petting him almost. It's the first time Ray can remember coming first. Never with Stella. With Stella, he was always fighting to please her, to make it good, better, best, because he was always about to lose her. His own orgasm was usually a fucking afterthought.
Ray lifts his head and Fraser looks up at him, his face tense with need but his eyes glowing with something. Pride, maybe, or relief. Ray shifts to the side and rubs his hand on Fraser's belly, gathering his own come before taking Fraser's cock into his slick fist.
Fraser's eyes widen and his mouth gasps open.
"Yeah," Ray says, his voice rough. "You gonna come for me, Fraser?"
Fraser makes a wounded sound, and his face twists up when Ray strokes him. Fraser's cock feels weird, the foreskin looser than Ray had expected, and he tightens his grip, making Fraser let out a strangled moan and buck his hips. So: good plan, then. Ray quickens the stroke, pumping Fraser's cock and twisting his wrist on the upstroke so his palm covers the head, and Fraser squeezes his eyes shut and groans low, and this is it. Fraser's cock throbs in Ray's hand and spurts again and again, slicking Ray's palm. Fraser is holding his breath, his flushed face contorting with pleasure—Ray tags it as Fraser Coming His Brains Out (#23), and it's the most beautiful goddamn thing he's ever seen.
He drops his head to press his cheek against Fraser's, whispering in his ear, "Good. That's good. God, I love you."
Fraser lets out a shuddering sigh and wraps his arms around Ray, crushing him tight.
<<<>>>
Ray wakes up to the thick smell of spunk and warm, sleepy Fraser. Fraser has his nose tucked in Ray's armpit, which is weird, but then what else is new? Fraser defines weird. But he's here, in Ray's bed, and he's naked. And Ray figures that's more than most people can wish for in their lifetime.
Fraser makes a snuffling noise and rolls to his back. Ray takes the opportunity to shuffle down and rest his head on Fraser's shoulder.
"Mmm. Ray." Fraser's voice is sleep-thick and lazy. Ray realizes he's going to have to start cataloging Fraser's speaking tones as well, starting with Morning Rumble and Hello Erection (#1.)
Ray plants a kiss on the thick cord of muscle wrapped over Fraser's collarbone. "Mmm. Benton."
Fraser's short bark of laughter sounds disbelieving. "You called me 'Benton'."
"Yeah." Ray hoists up and looks down into the sleep-mussed face. "I figure I should be on a first name basis with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend." Fraser looks like he's chewing on that one. Ray's mouth feels dry.
"I mean I was kinda making a joke there, Fraser. But it's not like there are a lot of good words to describe—"
"But it sounds too...impermanent," Fraser interrupts him.
"Impermanent." Ray suppresses a smile.
"Yes." Fraser lifts his hand and pets Ray's hair again, scratching a little at his scalp. "Impermanent. And—trivial. It lacks gravitas."
Buh. Ray's not going to ask, he just isn't.
"Meaning, not weighty, not important enough."
"Oh." Ray rubs his chin against Fraser's shoulder and strokes the pillow-wrinkle on his cheek.
Fraser scratches one eyebrow anxiously with his index finger. "It's just I would prefer a term that means...a hell of a lot more."
Ray's heart is just going to out and out explode. He lets the grin escape. "Language, Benton."
Fraser raises both eyebrows. Ray reaches up and daringly rubs his thumb backward on the right one, ruffling the even line of hair. After a moment, Fraser absently flicks it smooth again, saying, "We need another term."
"So, how about sig-o?" Ray asks.
"I beg your pardon?" Fraser's eyebrows go back up. Ray ruffles the right one again, and again Fraser brushes it back down with his thumb as if he doesn't even notice. He's biting his lip, looking confused.
"Short for Significant Other," Ray says to clarify.
"Oh. Well, if that isn't the most appalling—how unromantic!"
The third time Ray strokes Fraser's eyebrow the wrong way, Fraser finally catches on. "What are you doing, Ray?" Flick. Flick.
"I'm ruffling you." He tries to reach up again, but Fraser grabs his wrist then pulls his palm up to his mouth and plants a kiss there. Ray feels a flicker of tongue and shivers. "Oh, dirty pool, partner."
Fraser's face brightens. "That's it!"
"It?" Ray turns sideways so his erection has a nice, cozy hip to cuddle up against.
"We're partners. An entirely new definition thereof."
Ray drags his cock against Fraser's hip. "Partners with privileges, you mean."
Fraser's eyes widen before they dip in hunger. "That's just...perfect, Ray."
Ray couldn't agree more.
End.
....................
2007.02.17
Story notes: the Adler Planetarium (http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/) is in Chicago. I have no idea if it has a Northern Lights show, but I saw one in Los Angeles when I was a kid and I've never forgotten it.
Summary: Ray makes his move. Could be he's started an avalanche.
Word count: 5,311
Partners With Privileges
-->
arrow00Ray looks over at Fraser, Mr. Posture Perfect sitting ramrod straight on the couch, and watches him lift a handful of popcorn to his mouth. Fraser catches the kernels with his lips and tongue, greedy like he hardly ever is, and Ray imagines that same hunger devoted to Ray's lips, his chest, his cock, and that's it. Ray is completely doneski. Finito. He's making his move. He goes to it, practically fucking runs to it, can feel the humiliation and pain of it already, even though he's barely leaned over, barely started the long, tumbling slide under the avalanche of rejection that's right about to land on him.
And as it's happening, Ray wonders if this is what suicides feel like, this overwhelming goddamn relief because, anyway, finally it will be over, all the wanting and aching and fucked up Jedi mind-tricks he's been playing on himself, telling himself no way, he hasn't suddenly gone queer for his ultra-straight (ramrod, but don't think about that) mega-polite partner, because Ray left that shit back in high school, man—that's kids' stuff. But now he is past the river denial and his canoe is sinking and he doesn't fucking care, in fact he feels terrific, greatness, because at least he will finally know for certain that his fucking life is over.
So that's Ray, leaning over, a definite tilt now, actually making his move, and just as he's about to lunge for the soft, red corner of Fraser's lips, Fraser jerks forward and says, "Yes!" excitedly, staring at some hockey play on the screen, and Ray's momentum has him tumbling to the couch cushion behind Fraser's back.
Oh. Perfect.
"Ray?" Fraser has twisted around and is giving him Puzzled Mountie Look (#17b) from Fraser's bag of facial expressions. It's not like the guy has a huge stock of them, and Ray has pretty much cataloged them all, with a few exceptions he was hoping against hope he'd get a chance to see tonight—Fraser's eyes heating with hunger, Fraser's lips twisting in need, and Fraser's entire face pulled tight, mouth open as he comes.
Ray throws his arm over his face and groans.
"Are you all right?" Christ, Fraser sounds so concerned, but Ray's dick has already translated the worried tone into ooh, baby which is totally crazy, starkers, nuts. But Ray's dick has no brain. There's no room in there, what with the serious blood-flow. He can only pray his eagle-eyed pal has somehow failed to notice the rocket he's now sporting in his pants.
"I'm fine, Frase, just tired." Oh, and that sounds so convincing.
Fraser is deadly silent, and Ray is afraid to move his arm to check and see if this is Concerned Friend (#11) or Stiff-As-a-Corpse Offended Canadian (#2c, with slight furrow between the eyebrows.)
But a little of Ray's suicidal courage comes back to him, and he lets his arm fall back to crack his eyes open.
Sure enough, Fraser is staring at his crotch. And wouldn't you know it, but there's a brand-new expression on his face, one Ray has never seen before. And fuck all if he can tell what it means. This is not good.
"Fraser?"
Fraser blinks, but the rest of his face is perfectly still. And his eyes—it's downright creepy, but his eyes have gone somewhere else, like off to Pluto. Ray is tempted to knock three times on Fraser's forehead with their special code. Instead he taps it out on Fraser's leg.
Tap. Tap-tap.
Fraser's eyes wake up like he's slamming back into them, and they dart up Ray's chest to his face.
"Ray." Fraser stops. Swallows. And flushes red as a valentine in about two heartbeats.
Shit. There's a rattlesnake in Ray's belly. So, that last expression? Mind-numbing shock, as it turns out. And this new one? Who the fuck knows? Ray waits. His hands are cold.
"Ray, forgive me, please—if I'm—if I misunderstood your intent just now—I think I might be confused as to—"
Oh, Christ. This is worse than painful. This is razor blades and a peroxide wash.
"No, you got it right in one," Ray says, and it sounds like he's been gargling with the peroxide.
"Oh. I see." Back to Shocked Mountie on Pluto (#22.) Ray is glad to have it neatly categorized. He waits some more. Even though there's nothing going on with Fraser's face, Ray can practically hear the whine of a clutch between Fraser's ears. Wheeeer, wheeeer. The gears are just not engaging.
"Fraser—"
Fraser moves stiffly, almost like a robot, and gets to his feet. The ramrod in his back is made of titanium, or maybe carbide steel.
"I think...I have to go now."
Suddenly Ray is completely exhausted. Totaled. He sinks into the couch like a flatworm and covers his eyes again.
"Yeah. Got it. Go."
"I'll see you tomorrow," Fraser says from Pluto.
And Ray discovers for certain that everything is completely screwed up beyond all recovery, because when Fraser walks out the door, he forgets his fucking hat.
<<<>>>
Ray doesn't get a lot of sleep that night and calls in sick the next morning, groaning over his coffee and dropping his head in his hands every so often to squeeze in on his temples and try to shut up the fucked it up-fucked it up loop running inside his brain.
His only consolation is the hat, because no way Fraser isn't going to want it back, right? It's his hat. A total part of him. Might as well ask him to give up his dick. Which, seeing as Ray has never once seen Fraser get laid since they met—maybe not such a great hardship. But Fraser's hat—Ray would bet dollars to doughnuts that Fraser wouldn't just abandon it, even if it meant he had to see Ray one last time and put up with all the pitiful begging and whining and even an embarrassing snot parade.
So, when Fraser calls him later that afternoon, waking Ray up from a half-doze on the couch, Ray figures the first words out of Fraser's mouth will be just drop it in the mail, Ray. Certified, if you please. Thank you kindly.
But instead Fraser says, his voice all uncertain, "Ray? Can I trouble you to meet me this afternoon? Around four?" He gives Ray the location, a weird one, and when Ray babbles a garbled affirmative, hangs up.
And he doesn't even mention the hat.
Between his hasty shower and his crazed romp through his closet for just the thing to wear to put across cool confidence and a casual "I'm not after getting into your Mountie pants" attitude, Ray tries to work up a strategy for the conversation. He used to rehearse stuff all the time for Stella, because if he left it to his mouth to say the things his brain was thinking, he'd never have lasted through their first "serious discussion". So he knows the drill.
Only, he's having a hard time coming up with anything at all, because this is Fraser, and Fraser, even though he's terrible as crap when it comes to interpersonal-type communications, is a dead-on reader of people. So lies won't work, and the dog's honest truth is, Ray wants him bad. Not just Fraser's body, which Ray has never really seen much of anyway, what with all those damned layers of red and brown wool. No, Ray wants more than anything to peel Fraser right down to his skin and then underneath, dig down in there and get to his chocolate candy center.
Ray wants inside.
But Fraser made it pretty clear last night that the whole idea is so far out of left field it's practically in Skokie.
Ray drives slowly, trying to give himself more time. It's only a couple of miles to the planetarium. He hasn't been there since a field trip when he was a kid, but the place still looks familiar somehow. He pulls into the parking lot and finds Fraser waiting by the entrance wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, and his hat.
Crap. He has a spare. There goes plan B.
Even though Fraser's in civvies, he's still standing at parade rest, carbide spinal column in place. And he's practically vibrating with tension, even though his face is showing zilch, zip, nada. Big surprise, there.
"Thank you for coming, Ray," Fraser says.
Ray just nods, his mouth too dry to speak.
"Follow me?" Fraser leads him inside. It's late, and a weekday, and there are no kids around, and hardly any people, either. The floors echo weirdly. Fraser pays admission for two, and then leads Ray with a purpose, as if he's been here before.
"It's just over here," Fraser says, and Ray wants to grab him and say What the fuck? But it's Fraser's show.
And turns out it really is a show. Fraser leads him to a set of double doors, to the Sky Theater right in the heart of the planetarium. The sign says the last show was at 2:30.
"Aren't we too late?"
Fraser shakes his head and knocks on the door. After a little while, it creaks open.
"Leyla, good afternoon." Fraser tips his hat at the tiny woman in a white coat who's cracked open the door. Her eyes and hair are dark, and when she smiles her teeth are very bright.
"Constable." She holds up her finger to her lips. "Quickly, come inside." She lets them in and closes the door behind them.
"Thank you kindly for accommodating us, Leyla." Fraser takes off his hat. "This is my good friend, Detective Ray Vecchio."
"A pleasure, ma'am," Ray says.
She tilts her head, birdlike. "Nice to meet you, Detective." She smiles again, an extremely pretty smile, only this time she's flashing it at Fraser. Ray's heart sinks when he realizes she knows him, obviously. "I have the show all set up." She pats Fraser's arm. "I'll give you a few minutes to get settled, and then I'll switch it on."
"Thank you so very kindly, Leyla."
Ray's glad to see the white-coated back of her as she lets herself out. Fraser gives a nod toward the seating and leads the way down the aisle, picking two seats at dead center of the planetarium.
The dome is dark overhead. Ray lets his eyes travel over it, not wanting to look at Fraser, who's started shifting uncomfortably as if his seat is sprung.
"You come here a lot, Fraser?" Ray says nervously.
He sees Fraser open his mouth just before the lights go out, and suddenly the black dome is filled, just fucking filled with stars. Gazillions of them. Ray hears Fraser sigh.
"Yes. I come here when I can," Fraser says. "I wanted you to see...Ray, this is the night sky from the Territories."
Well. That answers Ray's question. His chest feels heavy just thinking about it. Fraser is so damned homesick he comes to the planetarium just to see his home sky.
"It's...totally beautiful, Fraser. Completely."
"Yes. I wish they would turn off the heat so we could see our breath, feel the chill. I wanted to bring Dief here, but animals aren't allowed." Fraser is talking fast, almost babbling.
"I'm sorry, Frase." Ray figures he knows what Fraser is telling him. Fraser is letting him down easy. Maybe he's finally going to try for a transfer, and he wants Ray to think it's not because of him and his fucked-up maneuver of the night before.
"Why are you sorry, Ray?" Fraser sounds surprised.
The stars rotate over their heads slowly, emulating the turning of the year. It makes Ray a little dizzy. "You're homesick, right? You brought me here to show me?"
He senses Fraser shifting to look at him. Ray rolls his head on the seat back, and sees a gazillion stars reflected in Fraser's eyes.
Oh, that's a low blow. Ray has to force himself to listen, because Fraser is talking again, halting, awkward, as if the words are cutting his throat.
"That's—no, Ray. No. I brought you here because—I thought—" Fraser tugs on his ear, and then brushes at his eyebrow, a couple quick strokes. "I thought if I felt, if it was—familiar enough—safe enough—Ray. I need to tell you something."
No kidding. "Tell away, Fraser."
But Fraser just stares at him silently. He's turned onto one shoulder in his seat, looking at Ray instead of at the stars, and his face is completely frozen. Ray looks back at the dome, not wanting to see the ugly. Because there is bound to be some ugly, right? Visions of Stella packing his things, so totally final and over, bounce in Ray's head, and he starts jiggling his left leg.
Fraser puts his hand on it, stopping him. So Ray looks at Fraser, and now Fraser's lips are open, and his tongue pokes out to the corner of his mouth. Maybe this won't be so ugly, because the look in Fraser's eyes—it's like he doesn't even need the light show, there are stars in there already. Ray's pulse stutters, picks up, and his leg feels hot now under Fraser's hand.
"Ray." Scratch. Tug. Frown.
Usually at this point Ray would say something smart like, "Spit it out, Fraser, we ain't got all day, here," except he really doesn't want to screw this up, and so he makes himself, goddammit, wait.
"Ray," Fraser finally says in a hoarse whisper, "I'm sorry about last night. I shouldn't have left."
"Fraser—"
"No, listen. Listen, Ray." He ducks his head and flicks his eyebrow again, and his face goes formal, and his voice is too, when he says, "I...forgive me if, by leaving, I gave you the impression last night that your attentions weren't...welcome."
Ray's heart goes pitty-pat. It's funny, but coming from anyone else Ray would think that was the most unromantic declaration he's ever heard in his life, like the sex had been completely bleached from the scenario, but coming from Fraser it's just...hot. Because Fraser is saying his advances were welcome. Ray is welcome. It couldn't be hotter if he'd said, "If you please, Ray, take me home and fuck me sideways."
Well. Actually.
But Ray's dick is finding Fraser's approach pretty okay, too.
"That's good, Fraser, because I thought you were freaked. That you didn't even want to be my friend anymore." His voice chokes up embarrassingly.
But Fraser grabs his hand, and first he just holds it, but then he presses it between his palms, as if he needs to touch all of it. "Nothing could be further from the truth, Ray. In fact...but first I must tell you—" Fraser clears his throat. "Perhaps you think it obvious, but I'm not very well-versed in...physical intimacies." His hands feel almost sweaty around Ray's, which seems weird. Fraser and sweating just don't go together.
"That doesn't matter to me." Ray has to whisper it—he's afraid Fraser will completely spook.
Fraser shakes his head. "I'm aware, of course, there is something...unyielding in my nature that has in the past acted as a barrier—" He drops Ray's hand suddenly and scrubs at his face, looking frustrated as hell. Then he turns and pins Ray with his eyes. "I didn't want that to happen this time. I can't let that happen, Ray. Not with you. I won't let it," he says fiercely.
Ray's stomach goes shivery. "Okay—it's okay," he tries to say, but it comes out kind of garbled, and Fraser is still looking lost in there.
"It's just...I might need your help with this, Ray."
Ray relaxes suddenly. Duh. "That's what partners are for, Frase." His voice sounds almost normal, and his hand is barely even shaking when he reaches for Fraser's hand. Fraser holds it tight, and a small, relieved smile lifts the corner of his mouth.
Ray's been so busy worrying about not spooking Fraser that he hasn't even realized what this means, until Fraser starts to lean toward him, murmuring, "I knew you wouldn't fail me, Ray," and then Ray gets it. Gets it. He's going to get Fraser. And then Fraser's lips touch his, oh, sweetness, this is it, soft and slow and so right that Ray's tongue has to come out and lick along that lower lip.
Fraser breathes in sharply, leaving coolness behind as he starts to pull away. But Ray hooks a hand around the back of Fraser's head, sinking his fingertips into the soft, dark hair, and hauls Fraser down so their lips meet just as Ray's head thunks against the back of his seat. And then he's licking Fraser's lips again, begging to be let inside, and Fraser opens his mouth and—oh, God, he tastes hot, and smells fantastic, a little musky and wooly but so familiar. It's like Ray's been living here already, inside Fraser's skin, inside his mouth.
Fraser kisses him back intently, moaning, and something flashes behind Ray's closed eyelids, and he opens them to see crazy swirls of color, pink and blue and green, twisting against the stars. Ray jerks in surprise, and Fraser pulls away, panting.
"Are you—? God, Ray, I'm sorry if I—"
"Shh. No, Fraser, look—"
Fraser looks up, and a smile lights his face. The colors are swirling in his eyes when he tilts his head. "Ah, yes. The Northern Lights, you see? God, I've missed it."
"Oh, man." Ray basks in the pretty and in the huge balloon of happiness in his chest for a second, and then Fraser is bending over him again but Ray pushes him back and repeats in a totally different tone, "Oh, man."
"What? What is it, Ray?"
"You—we—Fraser, we gotta stop. Right now."
"Stop?" And jeesh, Benton Fraser is, well, not pouting, but it's a damned close call.
"Just for now. Right here. 'Cause if you ever wanna come back, we can't get caught, you know..."
"Oh. Oh!" Comprehension, and then bashfulness, and then Fraser is standing up, grabbing his hat and pulling Ray to his feet. "Thank you, Ray. I would...I would miss it terribly if I couldn't return." He starts pulling Ray anxiously toward the exit. "We'll thank Leyla later, I think. Yes, later."
Ray is grinning. He's bouncing as he gets tugged along, because he did the right thing, and it's in the pocket now, he can feel it like when you line up a perfect pool shot and the cue is sliding just right between your fingers...but that gives him ideas so he thinks about ice floes, and cattle rustlers, and penguin-in-a-bar jokes, because thinking about Fraser sliding hard between his fingers is going to make him a spectacle. Not that he's not used to that, what with being partnered with a Mountie, but in this case it's wiser to be circumstantial. If that's the word.
"Hey, Frase, what's it called when you try to be quiet about something, circum-something?"
"Hmm?" Fraser sounds foggy as he pulls open the door and peeks out before closing it again. He turns around. "Do you mean 'circumspect', Ray?"
"Yeah, that's it. I know we gotta be circumspect, but I have to—" He cuts himself off by planting one on Fraser right there in the doorway, quick hot tongue and nip of teeth just to confirm this isn't some kid's crazy dream, and Fraser clutches at him immediately, groaning his name when he pulls away.
Then, swear to God, Fraser reaches into his pocket and shakes his leg. Adjusts himself.
So, it's real, all right. And Ray pushes Fraser aside and pulls the door open and just hauls ass out of there, knowing Fraser is right behind him all the way to the car, next to him all the way home like a hot ember burning at his side, neither of them saying anything as if they're afraid to break the spell. And it feels like no time at all before he has Fraser alone, in his apartment, pinned against the door because Ray can't wait to get at those lips again, to feel that hot tongue in his mouth.
"Ray. Ray. Ray." Fraser is saying his name in between kisses. Ray is trying to get his hands up Fraser's shirt, but Fraser's arms are in his way—he's got his fists clenched in Ray's jacket. Frustrated, Ray finally pulls back out of reach and points a finger.
"Strip. Now."
Fraser stiffens, and his face goes Guard Duty Blank (#9.)
Oh, shit. Way to go, dumbass. "I'm sorry, Fraser. I guess that was kind of rude, huh?"
Fraser just stares at him for a second, and Ray is hearing the wheeer, wheeer again. So he tugs off his own jacket to throw it by the couch and then approaches Fraser cautiously. "It's just...I need to see you," Ray says, keeping his voice low.
"See you—" Fraser says.
"I need to touch you—"
"Touch you." Fraser nods then clears his throat. "There's nothing I don't want. Nothing," he says, but he sounds a little shaky.
"Good. Same here." Ray reaches up and pushes Fraser's jacket off his shoulders, catching it with one hand and tossing to land on top of his own. Ray smiles at the sight, and when he turns back Fraser's eyes are smiling too, and he moves his lips, twitching his nose.
"Messy."
"I have a feeling we're gonna get a whole lot messier," Ray says, unable to contain a grin, and, yeah, Fraser's face flushes, his neck turning red. Ray lays his palm on Fraser's face to feel the heat, and Fraser ducks his head.
"I can do messy," Fraser says, his voice husky.
Ray's dick says a happy hello to his zipper. He starts unbuttoning Fraser's shirt, but Fraser pushes his hands away and does it himself, unbuttoning the flannel to reveal a tank top of smooth white cotton. He strips off the flannel and bunches it, then tosses it to land on top of their jackets before looking at Ray defiantly. Ray's eyes drop to Fraser's chest and the erect nipples poking from his pecs. Uh, oh. Wet dream walking. Ray palms Fraser's nipples through the fabric, his first real touch, and Fraser shudders beneath his hands.
"All of it," Ray whispers. "Please, Fraser?"
"You, too?" The blue of Fraser's eyes is hot, hot.
"Deal." Ray starts undressing, keeping his eyes on Fraser the whole time, watching as Fraser reaches over his shoulder and pulls off his t-shirt, then kicks off his loosely laced hiking boots and unbuttons his jeans. Ray's hands freeze on his own waist while he waits to see Fraser drop his pants.
But Fraser steps around him and has his back turned when he shucks off his jeans, leaving on a pair of crisp, white boxers, so stiff and neat it's like they're ironed or something. Jesus please us, I think they're starched.
Hastily, Ray gets his own shoes and pants and socks off until he's standing there in his boxer briefs, still staring at the pale slope of Fraser's back. The smooth skin is marred by a collection of pink scars—an ugly one low on his spine, another long slice on his shoulder blade, and what looks like a gunshot wound in the back of his thigh. It's a relief, somehow, seeing those scars. Without them, Fraser would be too goddamn perfect.
But it's upsetting, too. If Ray had his way, Fraser would somehow remain untouched by all the shit the universe threw at them. Ray sighs, and Fraser turns at the sound. His eyes travel slowly down Ray's body, and Ray sees Fraser's chest start to rise and fall rapidly. Fraser's cock moves, tenting the stiff boxers.
I turn him on. Ray shivers.
"God, Ray." Fraser sounds like he's in church or something. "You're—you—"
"You, too, Fraser. You're so—" Words like beautiful, mind-bendingly sexy, eminently fuckable, want to jump out of his mouth. Instead, Ray just lifts his hand. "Come on. Come on."
Fraser takes his hand, almost balks at the bedroom door, but responds to Ray's insistent tug almost immediately. He's getting better at going with the flow.
He proves it when Ray pushes him down on the bed and moves beside him, because Fraser pulls him closer and tucks one leg between Ray's, neat as you please, and runs his hand from the base of Ray's neck all the way down to the start of his briefs.
Big hand. Warm, and slightly calloused so it whispers against Ray's skin. Ray takes it as an invitation to shift closer until he can rub his aching hard-on against Fraser's strong thigh.
"Oh, yeah, this is it," Ray whispers against Fraser's neck, and starts licking him, tasting the salty goodness of Fraser's skin.
Fraser makes a strange sound, and his hand drops to Ray's butt, squeezing and pulling him over to lie on top of him.
Even better, because now Ray's got gravity on his side, and he squirms against Fraser's warm body, his hip rubbing against Fraser's cock. Fraser makes that strange noise again, a choked-off, pained sound, and his head drops back, exposing his throat to Ray's sucking mouth.
"Ray," Fraser whispers.
Ray grins. This is better than goodness. This is greatness. The only thing that could make it completely perfect would be getting rid of the damned underwear. He heaves himself up and skins down, then peeks at Fraser, who looks completely pole-axed. His chest is blotchy with a flush, and he has red spots on his cheeks. His eyes are dark and wide.
They follow Ray's hands as he grabs the waist band of Fraser's boxers and lifts it slowly, pulling it down to expose Fraser's hard cock. Ray gives Fraser a questioning look, but there's no objection, just the silent heave of Fraser's chest and the molten heat of his dark eyes. So Ray pulls the boxers all the way off, and then pounces.
Now they're skin to skin and heat against heat. Ray feels absolutely no shame, even though he's making the weirdest noises and wriggling like stuck pig, pinned groin to groin by Fraser's big hands, which are on his ass cheeks, grinding them together. It's like no sex Ray has ever had, because he doesn't know what he's doing, and it doesn't fucking matter. All that matters is more more more and he's grunting and thrusting down and up, slicking Fraser's skin with his pre-cum, and Fraser is making these soft, panting sighs that sound like disbelief and oh, oh, with a hint of begging.
It's over way too soon for Ray to stand it. It feels like he's dying, like he's losing something, even as the heat gathers in his groin in a piercing point of pleasure/pain, and he shoves hard, almost wailing as he comes.
He rests his head on Fraser's collarbone and trembles there for a little while. Fraser has stopped moving, except he has a hand in Ray's hair, petting him almost. It's the first time Ray can remember coming first. Never with Stella. With Stella, he was always fighting to please her, to make it good, better, best, because he was always about to lose her. His own orgasm was usually a fucking afterthought.
Ray lifts his head and Fraser looks up at him, his face tense with need but his eyes glowing with something. Pride, maybe, or relief. Ray shifts to the side and rubs his hand on Fraser's belly, gathering his own come before taking Fraser's cock into his slick fist.
Fraser's eyes widen and his mouth gasps open.
"Yeah," Ray says, his voice rough. "You gonna come for me, Fraser?"
Fraser makes a wounded sound, and his face twists up when Ray strokes him. Fraser's cock feels weird, the foreskin looser than Ray had expected, and he tightens his grip, making Fraser let out a strangled moan and buck his hips. So: good plan, then. Ray quickens the stroke, pumping Fraser's cock and twisting his wrist on the upstroke so his palm covers the head, and Fraser squeezes his eyes shut and groans low, and this is it. Fraser's cock throbs in Ray's hand and spurts again and again, slicking Ray's palm. Fraser is holding his breath, his flushed face contorting with pleasure—Ray tags it as Fraser Coming His Brains Out (#23), and it's the most beautiful goddamn thing he's ever seen.
He drops his head to press his cheek against Fraser's, whispering in his ear, "Good. That's good. God, I love you."
Fraser lets out a shuddering sigh and wraps his arms around Ray, crushing him tight.
<<<>>>
Ray wakes up to the thick smell of spunk and warm, sleepy Fraser. Fraser has his nose tucked in Ray's armpit, which is weird, but then what else is new? Fraser defines weird. But he's here, in Ray's bed, and he's naked. And Ray figures that's more than most people can wish for in their lifetime.
Fraser makes a snuffling noise and rolls to his back. Ray takes the opportunity to shuffle down and rest his head on Fraser's shoulder.
"Mmm. Ray." Fraser's voice is sleep-thick and lazy. Ray realizes he's going to have to start cataloging Fraser's speaking tones as well, starting with Morning Rumble and Hello Erection (#1.)
Ray plants a kiss on the thick cord of muscle wrapped over Fraser's collarbone. "Mmm. Benton."
Fraser's short bark of laughter sounds disbelieving. "You called me 'Benton'."
"Yeah." Ray hoists up and looks down into the sleep-mussed face. "I figure I should be on a first name basis with my boyfriend."
"Boyfriend." Fraser looks like he's chewing on that one. Ray's mouth feels dry.
"I mean I was kinda making a joke there, Fraser. But it's not like there are a lot of good words to describe—"
"But it sounds too...impermanent," Fraser interrupts him.
"Impermanent." Ray suppresses a smile.
"Yes." Fraser lifts his hand and pets Ray's hair again, scratching a little at his scalp. "Impermanent. And—trivial. It lacks gravitas."
Buh. Ray's not going to ask, he just isn't.
"Meaning, not weighty, not important enough."
"Oh." Ray rubs his chin against Fraser's shoulder and strokes the pillow-wrinkle on his cheek.
Fraser scratches one eyebrow anxiously with his index finger. "It's just I would prefer a term that means...a hell of a lot more."
Ray's heart is just going to out and out explode. He lets the grin escape. "Language, Benton."
Fraser raises both eyebrows. Ray reaches up and daringly rubs his thumb backward on the right one, ruffling the even line of hair. After a moment, Fraser absently flicks it smooth again, saying, "We need another term."
"So, how about sig-o?" Ray asks.
"I beg your pardon?" Fraser's eyebrows go back up. Ray ruffles the right one again, and again Fraser brushes it back down with his thumb as if he doesn't even notice. He's biting his lip, looking confused.
"Short for Significant Other," Ray says to clarify.
"Oh. Well, if that isn't the most appalling—how unromantic!"
The third time Ray strokes Fraser's eyebrow the wrong way, Fraser finally catches on. "What are you doing, Ray?" Flick. Flick.
"I'm ruffling you." He tries to reach up again, but Fraser grabs his wrist then pulls his palm up to his mouth and plants a kiss there. Ray feels a flicker of tongue and shivers. "Oh, dirty pool, partner."
Fraser's face brightens. "That's it!"
"It?" Ray turns sideways so his erection has a nice, cozy hip to cuddle up against.
"We're partners. An entirely new definition thereof."
Ray drags his cock against Fraser's hip. "Partners with privileges, you mean."
Fraser's eyes widen before they dip in hunger. "That's just...perfect, Ray."
Ray couldn't agree more.
End.
....................
2007.02.17
Story notes: the Adler Planetarium (http://www.adlerplanetarium.org/) is in Chicago. I have no idea if it has a Northern Lights show, but I saw one in Los Angeles when I was a kid and I've never forgotten it.
