Saturday Clothes; One Small Thing / Operation: Stupid; Pet Me Poppa
Title: Saturday Clothes
Author: spuffyduds
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, with a smidge of past RayK/Stella
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,140 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Ray catches Fraser wearing old, worn jeans on laundry day. We get to enjoy the sight, too, as Ray gets hornier and hornier, getting a glimpse of this weekend Fraser, different from the Mountie. Wonderfully hot, with just enough funny -- it is Fraser and Ray, after all.
Fraser was good-looking, yeah. Pretty, even. But in the uniform-even in the casual-for-Fraser clothes Ray’s seen, he was beautiful in a don’t-touch kind of way. Like, if you put a hand on him, a museum guard would step out from somewhere with a walkie-talkie and a hairy eyeball. Not a look that turns Ray’s particular crank.
But now? Now Ray’s standing in Fraser’s not-really-a-bedroom, watching him put away his fresh-from-the-laundromat clothes (in a foot locker, like he was at camp) and Fraser’s wearing a white t-shirt with holes, and jeans that are faded almost white too. And Ray thinks he’s gonna die.
Fraser looks over at him, blinks-fuck, he was staring, wasn’t he?-and sort of waves a hand vaguely at himself, says, “Sorry about…” And for a second Ray actually thinks he means, “Sorry about giving you a raging hard-on, there, buddy, does it hurt?” But then Fraser says, “I was washing everything-decent. I’ll change before we go to lunch.”
“You do that,” Ray says. “And I’ll, uh, hit the can.”
He does a lightspeed jerkoff, a high-school jerkoff, with just enough time to think how the knees on Fraser’s jeans are so worn only the sideways threads are left, and thank god that Turnbull hasn’t gotten around to putting a portrait of the Queen in the bathroom yet.
Saturday Clothes
Title: One Small Thing / Operation: Stupid
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,840 words / 3,130 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Arrow has been producing a tremendous amount of fabulous Due South fic this summer. It was hard to pick a favorite (OMG, the turtle story!), but I think this duo -- a.k.a. the one with the cherry stem -- is an instant classic. The first part features a wonderful Fraser voice, as he frets terribly over how to let Ray know his feelings for him. In the end, proper preparation comes through. The second part is written from Ray's POV, when he should be ecstatic about the way things are going, but has to wrestle his own demons.
He can tell Ray how to hitch a dog sled, how to make a burn salve, how to shave using nothing but water and a Bowie knife (Ray tells him that's stupid, Fraser, Gillettes are freakin' .99 cents at the corner. In the Territories? Fraser responds. He is unbearably pompous. He knows this.)
He cannot tell Ray that his eyes are the exact shade of blue that twilight yearns for. Or that the line of his jaw calls to Fraser maddeningly, hourly, that he needs to put his mouth there and feel the short, golden stubble sanding his lips raw. That he wants to kiss Ray with repeated, obsessive abandon.
That he needs Ray to fuck him. (Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.)
One Small Thing / Operation: Stupid
Title: Pet Me Poppa
Author: rispacooper
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: PG
Length: 2,900 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Angst, romance, porn, adventure -- yeah, yeah, yeah. But I am a complete sucker for crack and for schmoopy feel-good fics. This story puts me instantly in my happy place. Simply put, Fraser goes to check on a missing Ray, and finds a strange kitten in his apartment. Kitten! Unbelievably cute! If you're prone to sugar shock, flee like the wind. Everyone else, prepare to say, "Aaaw."
“So you’re Ray’s new cat,” I said, instead of saying anything that I might have said otherwise. But I had to say something, anything, when the kitten started to rub its face against my fingertips.
Its fur was silky soft and fine despite the odd arrangements of spikes across its forehead, and I curled my fingers before I could help myself, scratching underneath one blue eye, petting the small cheek.
There was a rumbling in the plump belly and then the kitten flopped-or fell-onto its side, its head back and its legs spread out in almost indecent abandon. The blue eyes however were firmly fixed on me, and despite myself, I could feel my face get hot at the demand burning out from that blue.
“Very well.” I didn’t need my father to see a clue that obvious, not this time. I slid the cat to one hand and used the other to scratch softly along its stomach, where the fur was all white except for the thin trail of yellow down the middle. It was so fragile, so small, I only used one finger.
At the very first touch the little body stretched elegantly, arching happily, fine blonde hairs ruffling up, sticking out wherever I had petted him.
“Meow,” he told me, the body moving with each quick breath.
Pet Me Poppa
Author: spuffyduds
Pairing: Fraser/RayK, with a smidge of past RayK/Stella
Rating: NC-17
Length: 2,140 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Ray catches Fraser wearing old, worn jeans on laundry day. We get to enjoy the sight, too, as Ray gets hornier and hornier, getting a glimpse of this weekend Fraser, different from the Mountie. Wonderfully hot, with just enough funny -- it is Fraser and Ray, after all.
Fraser was good-looking, yeah. Pretty, even. But in the uniform-even in the casual-for-Fraser clothes Ray’s seen, he was beautiful in a don’t-touch kind of way. Like, if you put a hand on him, a museum guard would step out from somewhere with a walkie-talkie and a hairy eyeball. Not a look that turns Ray’s particular crank.
But now? Now Ray’s standing in Fraser’s not-really-a-bedroom, watching him put away his fresh-from-the-laundromat clothes (in a foot locker, like he was at camp) and Fraser’s wearing a white t-shirt with holes, and jeans that are faded almost white too. And Ray thinks he’s gonna die.
Fraser looks over at him, blinks-fuck, he was staring, wasn’t he?-and sort of waves a hand vaguely at himself, says, “Sorry about…” And for a second Ray actually thinks he means, “Sorry about giving you a raging hard-on, there, buddy, does it hurt?” But then Fraser says, “I was washing everything-decent. I’ll change before we go to lunch.”
“You do that,” Ray says. “And I’ll, uh, hit the can.”
He does a lightspeed jerkoff, a high-school jerkoff, with just enough time to think how the knees on Fraser’s jeans are so worn only the sideways threads are left, and thank god that Turnbull hasn’t gotten around to putting a portrait of the Queen in the bathroom yet.
Saturday Clothes
Title: One Small Thing / Operation: Stupid
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,840 words / 3,130 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Arrow has been producing a tremendous amount of fabulous Due South fic this summer. It was hard to pick a favorite (OMG, the turtle story!), but I think this duo -- a.k.a. the one with the cherry stem -- is an instant classic. The first part features a wonderful Fraser voice, as he frets terribly over how to let Ray know his feelings for him. In the end, proper preparation comes through. The second part is written from Ray's POV, when he should be ecstatic about the way things are going, but has to wrestle his own demons.
He can tell Ray how to hitch a dog sled, how to make a burn salve, how to shave using nothing but water and a Bowie knife (Ray tells him that's stupid, Fraser, Gillettes are freakin' .99 cents at the corner. In the Territories? Fraser responds. He is unbearably pompous. He knows this.)
He cannot tell Ray that his eyes are the exact shade of blue that twilight yearns for. Or that the line of his jaw calls to Fraser maddeningly, hourly, that he needs to put his mouth there and feel the short, golden stubble sanding his lips raw. That he wants to kiss Ray with repeated, obsessive abandon.
That he needs Ray to fuck him. (Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.)
One Small Thing / Operation: Stupid
Title: Pet Me Poppa
Author: rispacooper
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: PG
Length: 2,900 words
Why I'm reccing this fic:
Angst, romance, porn, adventure -- yeah, yeah, yeah. But I am a complete sucker for crack and for schmoopy feel-good fics. This story puts me instantly in my happy place. Simply put, Fraser goes to check on a missing Ray, and finds a strange kitten in his apartment. Kitten! Unbelievably cute! If you're prone to sugar shock, flee like the wind. Everyone else, prepare to say, "Aaaw."
“So you’re Ray’s new cat,” I said, instead of saying anything that I might have said otherwise. But I had to say something, anything, when the kitten started to rub its face against my fingertips.
Its fur was silky soft and fine despite the odd arrangements of spikes across its forehead, and I curled my fingers before I could help myself, scratching underneath one blue eye, petting the small cheek.
There was a rumbling in the plump belly and then the kitten flopped-or fell-onto its side, its head back and its legs spread out in almost indecent abandon. The blue eyes however were firmly fixed on me, and despite myself, I could feel my face get hot at the demand burning out from that blue.
“Very well.” I didn’t need my father to see a clue that obvious, not this time. I slid the cat to one hand and used the other to scratch softly along its stomach, where the fur was all white except for the thin trail of yellow down the middle. It was so fragile, so small, I only used one finger.
At the very first touch the little body stretched elegantly, arching happily, fine blonde hairs ruffling up, sticking out wherever I had petted him.
“Meow,” he told me, the body moving with each quick breath.
Pet Me Poppa