Fic: Prudent, F/K (NC17), prompt #261, by Capella
Title: Prudent
Author: Capella
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: Smut, eventually
Words: 6427
Prompt: 261: "I have tried prudent planning long enough / From now on, I'll be mad" (Bewilderment, Rumi)
Beta: the fabulous elfscribe5, who not only did the beta at lightning speed, but also spotted the problem immediately, and suggested the perfect solution. Thanks, sweetheart.
Summary: ...Ray just had to go one better and fall for a colossal emotional fuck-up like Benton Fraser, which kind of swept the rest of it under the carpet.
Prudent
The second time Ray asked the question, he didn't immediately try to cover himself by passing it off as something else. It'd taken him long enough to get there, but having arrived at the cliff edge he was determined to jump in style. So he faced up to Fraser, looked him in the eye, and waited silently for an answer.
Just like the first time, Fraser didn't even blink. "Very much so," he said calmly.
Ray kept on waiting a while longer, but that appeared to be it.
"Uh, well, me too," he said eventually. Oh, very smooth, Kowalski. "I mean, with me it's you, but..."
"I know," Fraser said with a funny little smile. "Thank you."
Thank you? Ray'd been building up to this for months, and that was all Fraser had to say? Perhaps he didn't really get it.
"You ever thought that we could maybe do something about it?" Ray said.
"Well, Ray, that would assume that we weren't happy with things the way they are. I, for one, would be reluctant to change something as successful as our partnership."
After a moment Ray realised his mouth was open, and shut it hard enough to jolt his teeth. Either Fraser was completely clueless, or they were having one of those cultural misunderstanding things again. Maybe in Canada telling another guy you found him attractive was like admiring his car or asking him where he got his cool sunglasses or something. Or perhaps it was just that Fraser really was a freak, the most irritating freak in existence.
Ray would have pushed it further, if his cellphone hadn't started squawking right about then. It was Welsh, telling him that Isabelle Newson had been picked up for doing seventy through a red light and was currently sitting in interview one, and if Ray wanted to talk to her about the jewellery heist before she lawyered up, he'd better get his ass into the station pronto. So that was the end of that discussion.
********************
Ray would probably have waited for more than ten days to raise the subject again (a man has his pride, after all) if it hadn't been for the Simonides brothers and their escape from the timber warehouse.
He was planted firmly in the middle of the road (more of a track, really) firing repeatedly at the tyres of the departing jeep. Deafened by his own shots, he'd no idea the truck was approaching, no awareness of anything but the dust, the jeep screeching off around the corner and his own chant of "Shit, shit, shit!" until the blur of red slammed into him from the side and rolled him out from under the wheels of the Dodge Ram with, oh, at least three milliseconds to spare.
So there they were at the side of the road, Ray on his back, pressed down by Fraser's whole weight, and despite the fact that he'd had all the air knocked out of him and was finding it hard to suck in any more, it was a seriously good place to be. He kept his eyes shut and wallowed for a moment. It seemed like Fraser was so busy feeling his face and neck and shoulders for injury that he'd quite forgotten that the normal thing to do would be to back away from the full body contact. Ray wasn't about to remind him.
"Ray. Ray! Are you alright?"
Fraser sounded so concerned that Ray took pity on him and opened his eyes. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so he hooked an arm over Fraser's shoulder to keep him there while he slid one leg to the side, braced his foot on the floor and pushed his hips up just a little and yeah, that was it, right there.
"Never better, Frase," he said, grinning at the look on his partner's face, all pink realisation and panic. Still, it took Fraser a moment to get round to moving, scrambling off Ray and turning away, brushing his uniform down, like any dirt would even dare to stick to it.
"Thank god you're not injured," Fraser said warmly. "I, ah... shouldn't you be calling in?"
But Ray wasn't quite ready to let it go just yet. "You're breathing kind of hard there, buddy," he said, pinning Fraser with the kind of stare even the Mountie couldn't ignore and adding a wink for good measure. "Something you want to tell me?"
"Well, Ray, that would be the effects of adrenaline and a sudden burst of activity. Removing you from the path of Mr. Simonides's truck did require a certain amount of exertion," Fraser said, and bullseye - there was the snippy tone he saved up just for Ray.
"For which, thank you kindly," Ray said, relenting, and dug in his pocket for his phone.
There wasn't much chance to talk after that, what with speeding across town to get in at the end of the car chase, then five frustrating hours with Nico and Costas still refusing to give up the goods before Welsh called it and told Ray to get himself home and to take the constable with him, which strangely enough was exactly what Ray'd had in mind.
It took some doing, but eventually Ray got past the excuses ("Dief comes with us. You can walk him on the way back to the consulate, I'll drop you off part way,") and had the Mountie and his wolf right where he wanted them, and the pizza on the table. Fraser wouldn't accept a beer, but Ray swallowed one down to take the edge off his nerves before going for it, straight out.
"You know, buddy, you don't fool me," he started.
Fraser turned the blank look on him. "You believe I'm trying to fool you? In what respect, exactly?"
"Don't give me that bullshit," Ray said. "I've seen the way you looked at me from the start, and you can't pretend you weren't enjoying getting up close and personal in the dirt this morning."
"I -"
"You want it just as much as I do," Ray said, leaning in and grabbing hold of Fraser's wrist. "Why can't you just admit it?"
Fraser sighed, but for once he didn't turn away or change the subject. "It's not a question of wanting or not wanting it," he said slowly. "There's more to life than simply acting on our desires."
Ray looked at him, hard. "What are you scared of, Frase?" he said gently.
"I'm not sure that you realise how important our friendship is to me," Fraser said, as if every word was causing him some kind of choking pain, "and how fundamental it has become to my well-being. I'm not prepared to risk it in the name of something as elusive as desire."
"Elusive? What kind of word is that?" Ray muttered, but he already knew he wasn't going to win this round. He could argue all night that what they had was too real, too solid to be destroyed so easily, but how could he even pretend to guarantee it?
Fraser was flushed and staring at the floor and still speaking in that strangled voice. "You must know that I, ah, I do care for you, Ray."
"It's OK, Frase, I get it," Ray said. "Don't worry about it, huh?"
It looked like Ray and Ray's right hand would be going steady for a while longer.
********************
When Ray kissed Fraser, a mere nine days later, he was probably as astonished by it as Fraser was.
They were sitting in the GTO outside the consulate, 3 o'clock in the morning and nobody else about except Dief, and even he was snoozing in the back. The Simonides case was closed, finally, and not only was the evidence conclusive, but Costas had crumbled at the last minute and given them the works. Ray was tired to the core, but still buzzing with the knowledge of a job well done, and by the look of him, Fraser was in the same state.
Ray switched the engine off, glanced across at his partner, and found him looking right back like he was the wolf and Ray was the pizza.
"The way you handled Mr. Simonides in that final interview was masterful, Ray," Fraser said.
Ray grinned. "Yeah, well, we wouldn't have had him there to interview at all if you hadn't spotted the link with the window-cleaning business. That's us, the old one-two, set 'em up and knock 'em down, set 'em up and knock 'em down." He punched the air a little as he spoke.
"A duet," Fraser said, smiling back, "a quite extraordinary duet."
His voice was like warm honey and his eyes, God, if Ray could lose himself in those eyes he wouldn't ever want to be found. It took no effort and no thought at all to slide across the seat and let the eyes draw him in, and before he'd even processed it, their mouths were touching.
For a moment, a second or two, Fraser didn't move except to open his lips for Ray to push his tongue right in. But just as it dawned on Ray what was actually happening, just as he was aware of thinking, Christ, I'll never get enough of this, reality must have struck Fraser too, because the hand on Ray's shoulder tightened into a warning grip and Fraser pulled himself away.
"Frase -"
"Ray, we can't do this, we really can't." Fraser sounded as breathless as Ray.
"You want to go inside? We can do that."
"No, it's not - we have to be prudent here. There's more to consider than just ourselves."
"God, Fraser, don't do this to me!"
"There's your professional position, and mine, and Ray Vecchio. We have to remember our wider responsibilities... I'm sorry, Ray, I just can't start this."
And didn't it figure that the King of Denial would wrap up all his doubts and fears in a neat little package labelled 'Responsibilities?' Ray could have called him on it, could have pointed out that they'd already started it, that it wasn't going to go away. But the bone-aching weariness was catching up with him, and he wasn't about to push them into something Fraser would hate himself for in the morning. The look on Fraser's face was already making him feel guilty enough.
Besides, he might be disappointed, but he hadn't given up hope, not by a long shot. Fraser was only a beat or two away from giving in, Ray could feel it. So if Fraser was going to be Mr. Prudent, Ray would have to be Mr. Patient just a little while longer until it happened by itself. It sucked, sure, but even two seconds of kissing Fraser had made it clear that he was worth waiting for.
********************
You'd think that out in the middle of the Arctic wilderness, a hundred miles from the nearest village (if you could even call a dozen igloos, an inukshuk and a couple of caribou a village) they'd be far enough away from all the other shit to do what the hell they liked with each other. The thought had certainly occurred to Ray. It wasn't the only reason he'd signed up for the whole crazy expedition, but it was right there at the top of the list.
He hadn't realised that he'd be so exhausted, crushingly cold and aching all over at the end of each incredible day. It turned out that most of the time he wasn't even thinking about sex, let alone doing anything about it. He'd crawl into their zipped-together sleeping bags, ("It's standard procedure, Ray. You've nothing like sufficient subcutaneous fat to keep yourself warm." "You dissin' my skinny ass, Frase?" "Not in the slightest, I assure you") wait for Fraser to snuggle in behind him and make it bearable, and then he'd be out practically before they had time to say goodnight. It was warmer in the mornings, and things might have been different then if Fraser hadn't always been up first, making a start on the coffee before Ray'd even got his eyes open.
It wasn't until day twenty-three - so Fraser said, anyway; Ray'd lost count after the first five or six - that Ray stayed awake long enough to turn around and face Fraser in the sleeping bag. He wriggled a bit, arched his body in towards the big red furnace and discovered that yeah, he hadn't been imagining or dreaming it - Fraser was every bit as hard as he was, and his hands were sliding down Ray's back, pulling him in tight, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey," Ray murmured, nuzzling into Fraser's neck above the soft wool. "You seeing sense at last?"
And that must have been the wrong thing to say, because just like that Fraser stiffened up all over - not in the good way - and sighed so that Ray knew what was coming next.
"What is it this time?" he asked, before Fraser could even start apologising. "What did I do?"
"No! It's not you, it's - it's me, I just don't think I can do this, Ray. I'm so sorry."
Ray rolled onto his back. His head was starting to ache, his dick was wilting fast, and everywhere the cold was creeping back in. "You gonna tell me why?" he managed.
"I'm not sure I can -"
A weird thought struck Ray, and he rolled back part way to peer at Fraser through the nylon-filtered not-quite-daylight. "Are you telling me you've got some kind of whatchermacallit - dysfunction? 'Cos we can deal with that, we don't have to do anything you're not -"
Fraser laughed suddenly, a really bleak sound. "It's not that," he said. "As far as I'm aware, everything is functioning quite normally, on the physical level, at least."
"So?"
Fraser shifted a little, his arm rubbing against Ray's. He sighed again. "I'm sorry," he said.
Ray waited, silent and angry, for at least half a minute before Fraser went on, "I just don't... it's going to be difficult enough when you leave. I honestly don't think I could bear it if you - if we'd..."
Maybe the cold was getting to Ray, or maybe he'd just been around Fraser far too long, because there was a certain twisted kind of sense to that, even if it did hurt like fuck. He could hear Fraser breathing shakily, like he was still turned on, or possibly about to cry, but no way was Ray going to try to make it better, not now. He turned on his side, facing away, and squirmed to the edge of the sleeping bag, never mind that the bit around the zip was icy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to think about the future, and kept on trying until his teeth chattered.
And then Fraser was sliding up behind him, folding his body warmly around Ray's back, one hand pushing between his elbow and his side to land in the middle of his chest.
"It doesn't mean you have to be cold," Fraser said, and his voice alone could have broken Ray's heart if there was anything left to break.
There was nothing to say, so he lay there, tight and miserable, listening to Fraser's murmured apologies until he finally fell asleep.
********************
Ray realised just how wrong Fraser'd been before the plane even got off the tarmac at Yellowknife, but it took him nearly three weeks to get round to telling Fraser.
They'd been calling each other every two or three days since Ray got back, talking about work, about Dief, about Frannie and Welsh and the Duck Boys and hockey and just about anything except the stuff that mattered, like the fact that Ray felt sick half the time and dreaded these phone calls almost as much as he craved them.
That third Friday night for some reason it was all too much, and when Fraser paused in the middle of a story about Jennifer somebody's accident in the communal greenhouse, Ray took a deep breath and started to spill it.
"I can't do this, Fraser." It was like that moment at the top of the rollercoaster when your whole body realises it's too late to back out.
"Can't do what?" Fraser said faintly.
"This. These calls. You want to know why?"
"Ray -" there was a warning in Fraser's tone, but it was already too late.
"I let you keep me at arms' length, but you know what? You were wrong. So totally fucking wrong. Because I'm telling you, Fraser, nothing we did or didn't do could have made it any worse than it actually is."
"Ray, what did you -"
"Just shut up and listen," Ray said quickly, his voice almost a shout. "I can't do this any more, this talking and not talking, like everything's fine and normal between us, because it isn't fine and normal, and it's fucking killing me, can you understand that?"
There was more, Ray yelling and Fraser apologising and trying to be reasonable until Ray pushed him too far and he started yelling back, all of it desperate and hopeless. And then the phone was dead and Ray was sitting staring at it for a good five minutes before crashing it down on its stand and lurching into the kitchen for the whisky .
********************
Three days of crappy hangovers later, Ray was hunched over on his couch, as numb inside as he'd ever felt in the Arctic cold. The TV was on, but he was glaring at the phone.
Fraser wouldn't call, he was sure of that. If his stubbornness didn't stop him, he'd come up with some good logical reason why it was for the best and why he didn't deserve to be happy anyway. And if that wasn't enough, he'd be respecting Ray's wishes, for fuck's sake. None of which was anywhere near the whole truth.
Christ. Could Ray possibly have picked a worse person to fall in love with? Bad enough that he was a guy, another cop, a Canadian - any one of which was a pretty big damn obstacle on its own. Add them up, and the whole thing was already completely screwed. But Ray just had to go one better and fall for a colossal emotional fuck-up like Benton Fraser, which kind of swept the rest of it under the carpet.
So, Fraser wasn't going to call, but was Ray going to call him? Really, what was the point? They could hardly spend the next ten years trading meaningless stories twice a week, with Ray coming off the phone every time ready to drink another half pint of whisky or to punch the living crap out of something or someone. Better to go cold turkey and get it over with.
He scrabbled among the cushions for the remote and flicked through the channels for something with explosions, guns, car crashes, anything big and loud to drown out the racket in his head. Forty-five minutes later he was struggling to concentrate on Die Hard 3 when someone knocked at the door.
"Fuck," he muttered, turning the volume down and getting to his feet, hitching his shorts up with one hand while running the other through his hair. The last thing he needed right now was Mrs. Turner from downstairs, complaining about the noise.
His apologetic face morphed into open-mouthed astonishment as he swung the door open.
"Fraser!" There he was in his too-tight jeans and flannel shirt, staring at Ray intently.
"May I come in?"
Ray stepped aside, trying to make his mouth and lungs work together as Fraser slid the duffel bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor, then dropped the Stetson on top of it.
"What're you doing here?" Ray asked as the door slammed shut. His voice came out as a squeak and his heart was beating double time.
Fraser, his eyes so much bigger and darker than usual, was still staring. "You were right, and I was wrong," he said, "so totally fucking wrong."
Ray gaped at him for a moment before managing, "You flew three thousand miles to tell me that?"
"I would have come sooner," Fraser said, as if there was nothing strange about it whatsoever, "but there were arrangements to be made - Diefenbaker, the duty roster..." he stepped closer as he spoke, until his hands were on Ray's shoulders. "Ray. Are we - do you still?"
"Yes. Oh God, yes," Ray croaked. Breathe, Kowalski, breathe. His own arms went around Fraser's back without any hesitation at all, and then they were hugging, fierce and tight, and Ray's anger was vaporising in a great big flash of relief.
For a moment they just stood there holding each other, faces pressed together. Fraser's cheek felt ridiculously smooth, and there was a new smell added to the faintly herbal wholesomeness that Ray remembered, something sharp and citrusy.
"You're wearing cologne," Ray said stupidly.
"Mmm. Do you like it?" Fraser murmured in a voice that was pure, liquid sex.
Ray might have told him that while he appreciated the extra effort, he'd want him just as much if he was covered in ten-day stubble and smelling like he'd slept with the dogs for a week. But Fraser had pulled back far enough to bring his mouth around to Ray's, and that meant coherent thought was out of the equation, never mind speech.
Kissing Fraser had been great, but being kissed by him was something else entirely, a revelation. It was a good thing Ray was enjoying it, because he couldn't have pulled away if he'd wanted to, what with Fraser's big, broad hands - one in the middle of his back and the other tangling in his hair - just holding him in place while Fraser's lips and tongue got on with the serious business.
"Christ, Fraser," Ray gasped when he finally came up for air. His hands were clutching at Fraser's shoulders, and quite possibly that was the only reason he was still standing.
Fraser didn't seem particularly interested in the concept of breathing, but then he was the one with the additional lung capacity. His hands slid up inside Ray's T-shirt while they kissed again, and Ray had to edge them both back so he could lean against the wall rather than ending up on the floor.
When Fraser eventually raised his head and their eyes met, Ray swallowed so hard he could hear the gulping sound. Jesus. He'd never seen a man looking so hungry. No wonder Fraser had been scared of letting go. He sure as hell wasn't holding anything back now.
While Ray couldn't seem to do anything but gawp, Fraser clearly had an agenda.
"You don't need these," he said, getting both hands under the elastic at Ray's waist and pulling at his shorts and briefs together. Ray yelped when they caught on his dick (which had recovered from the shock of Forceful Fraser a lot faster than Ray's brain was doing) and Fraser muttered, "I’m so sorry," but it didn't stop him stretching them out over the obstruction and down Ray’s legs. Ray obediently stepped out of them without saying a word. Then there was more kissing while Fraser's hands roamed over Ray's hips and thighs and ass, pulling him in against denim that was almost painfully rough, and Fraser made growly noises that Ray could feel in his mouth and throat. When they broke apart this time, Ray had his fingers knotted in Fraser's thick, soft hair and Fraser was sliding his T-shirt up and over his head. Ray shifted his arms so Fraser could get the T-shirt off altogether and fling it to the side. Then Fraser was taking a step back to stare at him, both hands skimming over Ray's chest, which felt as if his heart might burst through it at any moment. He was so turned on it hurt, everywhere, and he was almost as completely terrified.
"God, Ray, you've no idea how much I've wanted to touch you," Fraser said. He sounded a little terrified himself, and that made Ray feel just a bit more normal, enough to find his own voice.
"What about your clothes?"
"There'll be time for that," Fraser said. He glanced across the room at the couch, then back at Ray. "Bed," he added.
However nervous he felt, Ray wasn't going to argue with that. He set off at a shuffle towards the bedroom but stopped when he realised he was on his own.
Fraser was crouching down by his duffel bag, fishing for something inside. As Ray watched, he gave a satisfied grunt and pulled out a smallish paper bag. A drugstore bag. Christ.
"Um, proper preparation, Frase?" Ray said shakily. "You been planning this?"
"Believe me, I've thought of little else for three thousand miles." There was the dark and sexy voice again. "Not to mention the preceding two years. Come on, Ray."
Ray's mind had given up trying to deal with it all, so he let Fraser's hand at his hip guide him into the bedroom and stood there like a dumb idiot while Fraser threw the covers to the floor and dragged two pillows down the bed. He urged Ray onto them so he was lying on his back, feet sticking off the end of the mattress. Then he was kneeling beside Ray and kissing him again, sliding away from his mouth to lick and suck at his neck, his shoulders, arms and chest.
When Fraser reached his nipples - lips tight around one while his fingers tweaked and rolled the other - it was like some kind of wake-up signal to Ray's brain.
"Jesus, Fraser! Fuck!" he groaned. Both hands were grasping at Fraser, kneading the muscles of his arms through the flannel and burrowing, pulling at his hair. "You're killing me here. Jesus!"
Fraser looked up at him, not quite smiling. "Hardly," he said. "You're so beautiful, Ray. Do you know that?" and before Ray could snort his disbelief, Fraser's head went back down, and down, and finally, Christ, his tongue was gliding along the length of Ray's dick.
Ray'd enjoyed a thousand fantasies of Fraser sucking him off, and it seemed like Fraser was determined to act out every single one of them. He started gently, exploring Ray, tasting him, short light licks alternating with firmer, more searching ones. He nuzzled around Ray's balls for a while, then licked and sucked each one into his mouth in turn while Ray gasped and swore and tried not to pull Fraser's hair out in chunks. Back up to the main item then, and this time Fraser's mouth closed over the tip of his cock just as his hand grasped its base, and that was it, Ray was gone, not even trying to hang on to the last fragments of his self-control. Head back on the pillow, eyes closed, he shouted out god knew what while Fraser sucked and murmured and did things with his tongue that Ray hadn't even imagined.
He was seconds from coming when Fraser's mouth moved away. Through the fog of disappointment, Ray realised that Fraser was saying something, blowing cool air over the head of Ray's cock as he did so.
"Look at me, Ray."
It wasn't a voice you'd choose to disobey, so Ray opened his eyes.
Fraser looked amazing with his hair messed up and his mouth all wet and shiny. He'd moved round at some point to kneel on the floor between Ray's legs, leaning in to get at him, elbows resting on the mattress. He was still holding onto Ray's cock, and that was wet and shiny too. Its head was a fraction of an inch from Fraser's lips, and above it he was staring at Ray with that same intense, starved expression. And like that wasn't hot enough, he was taking his other hand off Ray's thigh and bringing it to his mouth, sucking in two fingers slowly and deliberately while holding Ray's gaze.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Ray must have known what was coming next, or at least his body did, because he didn't need to be told to bend his knees and get his feet up on the bed with his thighs spread wide. And then Fraser was smiling as the fingers slid out of his mouth and headed down behind Ray's balls. He carried on staring at Ray, forcing Ray to keep on staring right back, as he sucked Ray's cock deep into his mouth, as his fingers pushed and twisted and just kept on working until they found their way inside and Ray was groaning, shouting, feeling the burn and the stretch and the incredible shocks of pleasure.
Ray's fingers were scrabbling at the sheets and his legs were shaking. He tried to hold it back but it was hopeless, with Fraser sucking him right in like that and rubbing over his prostate again and again and Ray just totally naked and open to him in every possible way. He yelled loud enough for the whole street to hear as his shoulders jerked right off the bed and he was shooting into Fraser's mouth, his hot, lovely mouth, and he struggled to keep his eyes open to watch Fraser holding on, swallowing it all down, but in the end it was just too much.
Afterwards he lay there with his hand across his eyes, panting for breath and trying to get his head together. After a while Fraser was back up on the bed beside him, stroking his chest soothingly, but when Ray shifted and said, "Mmm," Fraser's mouth was on his straight away, and Jesus, the taste of himself there was as hot as anything they'd done. He rolled over on his side and opened his eyes just as his legs rubbed up against denim and his hand grabbed a fistful of flannel.
"You gonna take your clothes off now?" he said into Fraser's neck.
"Yes, of course," Fraser said, like the thought hadn't occurred to him before, but to give him his due he didn't waste any more time, just sat up and peeled the lot off, throwing it all to the floor as if he'd never heard the word 'neat' in his life.
Naturally Ray had spent quite a few hours (more than he'd care to admit to, in fact) picturing Fraser naked, over the years. A bit like the blowjob, the reality was far better than anything in his head. It was as if he'd asked for skates for Christmas, and woken up to find not only the skates but the stick, the jersey and season tickets to the Hawks as well, because Fraser wasn't just naked and gorgeous, he was naked, gorgeous, and horny as hell - and all of it for Ray.
They kissed again and Ray slid his hands over acres of smooth skin, loving the way Fraser responded with "Ahhh," and "Oh yes, Ray," and some very un-Mountie-like noises. Fraser was on his side, pushing his cock against Ray's hip, and his breathing was getting seriously loud, even between moans. It was good, it was great, but Ray couldn't help thinking Fraser deserved better. He pushed away far enough to get his hand down between them, down to where it counted, and yeah, the sound Fraser made then, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, was worth all the waiting.
"That's right," Ray muttered, wrapping his hand firmly round Fraser's cock (solid, warm and definitely on the large side) and starting a slow, sexy, slide-twist movement. The angle was a little odd and the foreskin was different, but kind of cool - that and the fluid leaking out around the tip made it all good and slippery, and Fraser certainly seemed to be loving it. They'd got a rhythm going now, with Fraser pushing into his hand and moaning, "Ray, oh, Ray, please -" and sounding so damn desperate for it that Ray's dick was doing its best to get hard again already, which had to be impossible.
From the shuddery sound of Fraser's breathing, and the way his hips were beginning to thrust like they really meant it, Ray was pretty sure they were on the home straight when it all came to a sudden halt. Fraser went still, grabbed at his wrist and said, "Wait, Ray, stop!"
It was just too familiar. "God, Fraser, aren't we past that? What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"
"No, not wrong," Fraser panted, bringing his hand up to Ray's face and frowning in an attempt to focus on him. "It's just that I, I wanted to -"
Of course. The bag of properly prepared supplies. Ray wasn't a detective for nothing. And it seemed like just thinking about it was enough to overcome the laws of physics - or human biology at least - because his dick really was getting hard now.
"What do you want? Tell me," he whispered, stroking Fraser's belly with the back of his hand, just for the fun of feeling him shake.
"I, ah, that is... " Fraser's tongue came out and moved across his lower lip.
"Come on, Frase, it's a bit late to be shy."
Fraser nodded, red faced. "I want to be inside you. Would you? I don't want to hurt you." It sounded like he was hurting himself, just trying to get the words out.
"Yeah, I would, and you needn't worry about hurting me," Ray said, his own voice a bit unsteady. "I trust you to do it right." And I've been dreaming of it for the last two years, buddy, so I'm not about to turn you down now, he added to himself.
"You've done it before?" Naturally, Fraser had to ask.
"Not exactly, but near enough. Just - come on, we'll talk later, right? This is not the time for talking." It certainly wasn't the time for talking about toys and fingers and Stella, for fuck's sake, and for once, Fraser seemed to get that. Mr. Hesitant disappeared in the time it took Fraser to roll over and reach for the paper bag, and Forceful Fraser was back in his place. Ray was all in favour of the swap.
He lay face down and clung onto the pillows while Fraser crawled round behind him and took forever - and at least half a bottle of lube, by the feel of it - to get him ready. In the end Ray gave in completely and just begged for it, totally shameless, pushing himself back onto Fraser's fingers and moaning, "Now, Frase, please do it now. Just get on with it and fuck me, already. I'm dying of waiting here," and maybe that was what Fraser was hoping for, because he said, "Yes, oh God, yes," and took his fingers out. There was a bit of fumbling around while Fraser got with the program, and then after a couple of near misses he forced himself inside in one long slow thrust, and nothing Ray had felt before, not a single goddamn thing, had ever come close to the intensity of it.
When they started to move, it got even better, and yeah, it did hurt, but that was only a part of it; it was the pleasure, so sharp, so shattering, that was almost unbearable. And the knowledge that it was Fraser doing this to him, with him, grunting and gasping as he hung onto Ray's hips and tried to keep it steady, was the best part of all.
Ray could feel it, the instant when Fraser finally lost his self-control. The fingers on his hips dug right in, the regular rhythm faltered for a moment before starting up again, wild and desperate, and then Fraser was leaning over him, sucking the skin of his shoulder and reaching around to tug at his cock. And that was astonishing enough, but when Fraser suddenly heaved himself backwards, pulling Ray with him until they were kneeling up with Ray astride Fraser's lap and Fraser's cock so deep and hard inside him, Ray was finished, totally. His head fell back against Fraser's shoulder and he gave it all up, coming in great hot spurts and only vaguely aware of Fraser jerking and shouting through his own orgasm just a few seconds behind him.
It wasn't a position they could hold for long afterwards, especially with Fraser's arms wrapped round Ray so tightly that it was getting difficult to breathe. (Not that it didn't feel kind of good, the closeness, and Fraser murmuring into his hair about him being beautiful and perfect and all that Fraser wanted.) Pulling apart was awkward, and it took a conscious effort on Ray's part not to flinch, but no way did he want to put Fraser off the idea of doing that again.
Fraser's preparations included some kind of cooling wipes, and even a plastic bag to clear everything into before dropping it neatly in the trash. Ray had to grin when Fraser stopped on his way back across the room to pick up his jeans and shirt and hang them over the back of a chair. It was a relief, actually, to know that this really was Fraser, and not some kind of sex-crazed body-swapping alien substitute.
Still, Fraser seemed weirdly quiet as he got back into bed. Ray was all over the idea of post-sex snoozing, but this was one occasion where somebody was going to have to say something about how they'd got here. And while Fraser seemed pretty keen on kissing him again, it looked like the talking part was up to Ray.
"So Frase, what happened to Prudence? You ditch her somewhere along the way?"
Fraser snorted, and it sounded so much like a raspberry that Ray felt his eyebrows shoot up.
After leaning in to kiss Ray’s forehead, Fraser said solemnly, "I have tried prudent planning long enough; from now on I'll be mad."
"What's that, some kind of Inuit proverb?"
"Actually no, they're the words of a thirteenth century Sufi poet."
Ray could tell Fraser was gearing up for a lecture, and although that was comfortingly normal, it wasn't really what they needed right now, so he interrupted quickly, "Well, you've got the mad part right, at least," but he tightened his arms around Fraser as he said it, and he could hear the smile in his own voice.
Author: Capella
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: Smut, eventually
Words: 6427
Prompt: 261: "I have tried prudent planning long enough / From now on, I'll be mad" (Bewilderment, Rumi)
Beta: the fabulous elfscribe5, who not only did the beta at lightning speed, but also spotted the problem immediately, and suggested the perfect solution. Thanks, sweetheart.
Summary: ...Ray just had to go one better and fall for a colossal emotional fuck-up like Benton Fraser, which kind of swept the rest of it under the carpet.
Prudent
The second time Ray asked the question, he didn't immediately try to cover himself by passing it off as something else. It'd taken him long enough to get there, but having arrived at the cliff edge he was determined to jump in style. So he faced up to Fraser, looked him in the eye, and waited silently for an answer.
Just like the first time, Fraser didn't even blink. "Very much so," he said calmly.
Ray kept on waiting a while longer, but that appeared to be it.
"Uh, well, me too," he said eventually. Oh, very smooth, Kowalski. "I mean, with me it's you, but..."
"I know," Fraser said with a funny little smile. "Thank you."
Thank you? Ray'd been building up to this for months, and that was all Fraser had to say? Perhaps he didn't really get it.
"You ever thought that we could maybe do something about it?" Ray said.
"Well, Ray, that would assume that we weren't happy with things the way they are. I, for one, would be reluctant to change something as successful as our partnership."
After a moment Ray realised his mouth was open, and shut it hard enough to jolt his teeth. Either Fraser was completely clueless, or they were having one of those cultural misunderstanding things again. Maybe in Canada telling another guy you found him attractive was like admiring his car or asking him where he got his cool sunglasses or something. Or perhaps it was just that Fraser really was a freak, the most irritating freak in existence.
Ray would have pushed it further, if his cellphone hadn't started squawking right about then. It was Welsh, telling him that Isabelle Newson had been picked up for doing seventy through a red light and was currently sitting in interview one, and if Ray wanted to talk to her about the jewellery heist before she lawyered up, he'd better get his ass into the station pronto. So that was the end of that discussion.
********************
Ray would probably have waited for more than ten days to raise the subject again (a man has his pride, after all) if it hadn't been for the Simonides brothers and their escape from the timber warehouse.
He was planted firmly in the middle of the road (more of a track, really) firing repeatedly at the tyres of the departing jeep. Deafened by his own shots, he'd no idea the truck was approaching, no awareness of anything but the dust, the jeep screeching off around the corner and his own chant of "Shit, shit, shit!" until the blur of red slammed into him from the side and rolled him out from under the wheels of the Dodge Ram with, oh, at least three milliseconds to spare.
So there they were at the side of the road, Ray on his back, pressed down by Fraser's whole weight, and despite the fact that he'd had all the air knocked out of him and was finding it hard to suck in any more, it was a seriously good place to be. He kept his eyes shut and wallowed for a moment. It seemed like Fraser was so busy feeling his face and neck and shoulders for injury that he'd quite forgotten that the normal thing to do would be to back away from the full body contact. Ray wasn't about to remind him.
"Ray. Ray! Are you alright?"
Fraser sounded so concerned that Ray took pity on him and opened his eyes. It was too good an opportunity to miss, so he hooked an arm over Fraser's shoulder to keep him there while he slid one leg to the side, braced his foot on the floor and pushed his hips up just a little and yeah, that was it, right there.
"Never better, Frase," he said, grinning at the look on his partner's face, all pink realisation and panic. Still, it took Fraser a moment to get round to moving, scrambling off Ray and turning away, brushing his uniform down, like any dirt would even dare to stick to it.
"Thank god you're not injured," Fraser said warmly. "I, ah... shouldn't you be calling in?"
But Ray wasn't quite ready to let it go just yet. "You're breathing kind of hard there, buddy," he said, pinning Fraser with the kind of stare even the Mountie couldn't ignore and adding a wink for good measure. "Something you want to tell me?"
"Well, Ray, that would be the effects of adrenaline and a sudden burst of activity. Removing you from the path of Mr. Simonides's truck did require a certain amount of exertion," Fraser said, and bullseye - there was the snippy tone he saved up just for Ray.
"For which, thank you kindly," Ray said, relenting, and dug in his pocket for his phone.
There wasn't much chance to talk after that, what with speeding across town to get in at the end of the car chase, then five frustrating hours with Nico and Costas still refusing to give up the goods before Welsh called it and told Ray to get himself home and to take the constable with him, which strangely enough was exactly what Ray'd had in mind.
It took some doing, but eventually Ray got past the excuses ("Dief comes with us. You can walk him on the way back to the consulate, I'll drop you off part way,") and had the Mountie and his wolf right where he wanted them, and the pizza on the table. Fraser wouldn't accept a beer, but Ray swallowed one down to take the edge off his nerves before going for it, straight out.
"You know, buddy, you don't fool me," he started.
Fraser turned the blank look on him. "You believe I'm trying to fool you? In what respect, exactly?"
"Don't give me that bullshit," Ray said. "I've seen the way you looked at me from the start, and you can't pretend you weren't enjoying getting up close and personal in the dirt this morning."
"I -"
"You want it just as much as I do," Ray said, leaning in and grabbing hold of Fraser's wrist. "Why can't you just admit it?"
Fraser sighed, but for once he didn't turn away or change the subject. "It's not a question of wanting or not wanting it," he said slowly. "There's more to life than simply acting on our desires."
Ray looked at him, hard. "What are you scared of, Frase?" he said gently.
"I'm not sure that you realise how important our friendship is to me," Fraser said, as if every word was causing him some kind of choking pain, "and how fundamental it has become to my well-being. I'm not prepared to risk it in the name of something as elusive as desire."
"Elusive? What kind of word is that?" Ray muttered, but he already knew he wasn't going to win this round. He could argue all night that what they had was too real, too solid to be destroyed so easily, but how could he even pretend to guarantee it?
Fraser was flushed and staring at the floor and still speaking in that strangled voice. "You must know that I, ah, I do care for you, Ray."
"It's OK, Frase, I get it," Ray said. "Don't worry about it, huh?"
It looked like Ray and Ray's right hand would be going steady for a while longer.
********************
When Ray kissed Fraser, a mere nine days later, he was probably as astonished by it as Fraser was.
They were sitting in the GTO outside the consulate, 3 o'clock in the morning and nobody else about except Dief, and even he was snoozing in the back. The Simonides case was closed, finally, and not only was the evidence conclusive, but Costas had crumbled at the last minute and given them the works. Ray was tired to the core, but still buzzing with the knowledge of a job well done, and by the look of him, Fraser was in the same state.
Ray switched the engine off, glanced across at his partner, and found him looking right back like he was the wolf and Ray was the pizza.
"The way you handled Mr. Simonides in that final interview was masterful, Ray," Fraser said.
Ray grinned. "Yeah, well, we wouldn't have had him there to interview at all if you hadn't spotted the link with the window-cleaning business. That's us, the old one-two, set 'em up and knock 'em down, set 'em up and knock 'em down." He punched the air a little as he spoke.
"A duet," Fraser said, smiling back, "a quite extraordinary duet."
His voice was like warm honey and his eyes, God, if Ray could lose himself in those eyes he wouldn't ever want to be found. It took no effort and no thought at all to slide across the seat and let the eyes draw him in, and before he'd even processed it, their mouths were touching.
For a moment, a second or two, Fraser didn't move except to open his lips for Ray to push his tongue right in. But just as it dawned on Ray what was actually happening, just as he was aware of thinking, Christ, I'll never get enough of this, reality must have struck Fraser too, because the hand on Ray's shoulder tightened into a warning grip and Fraser pulled himself away.
"Frase -"
"Ray, we can't do this, we really can't." Fraser sounded as breathless as Ray.
"You want to go inside? We can do that."
"No, it's not - we have to be prudent here. There's more to consider than just ourselves."
"God, Fraser, don't do this to me!"
"There's your professional position, and mine, and Ray Vecchio. We have to remember our wider responsibilities... I'm sorry, Ray, I just can't start this."
And didn't it figure that the King of Denial would wrap up all his doubts and fears in a neat little package labelled 'Responsibilities?' Ray could have called him on it, could have pointed out that they'd already started it, that it wasn't going to go away. But the bone-aching weariness was catching up with him, and he wasn't about to push them into something Fraser would hate himself for in the morning. The look on Fraser's face was already making him feel guilty enough.
Besides, he might be disappointed, but he hadn't given up hope, not by a long shot. Fraser was only a beat or two away from giving in, Ray could feel it. So if Fraser was going to be Mr. Prudent, Ray would have to be Mr. Patient just a little while longer until it happened by itself. It sucked, sure, but even two seconds of kissing Fraser had made it clear that he was worth waiting for.
********************
You'd think that out in the middle of the Arctic wilderness, a hundred miles from the nearest village (if you could even call a dozen igloos, an inukshuk and a couple of caribou a village) they'd be far enough away from all the other shit to do what the hell they liked with each other. The thought had certainly occurred to Ray. It wasn't the only reason he'd signed up for the whole crazy expedition, but it was right there at the top of the list.
He hadn't realised that he'd be so exhausted, crushingly cold and aching all over at the end of each incredible day. It turned out that most of the time he wasn't even thinking about sex, let alone doing anything about it. He'd crawl into their zipped-together sleeping bags, ("It's standard procedure, Ray. You've nothing like sufficient subcutaneous fat to keep yourself warm." "You dissin' my skinny ass, Frase?" "Not in the slightest, I assure you") wait for Fraser to snuggle in behind him and make it bearable, and then he'd be out practically before they had time to say goodnight. It was warmer in the mornings, and things might have been different then if Fraser hadn't always been up first, making a start on the coffee before Ray'd even got his eyes open.
It wasn't until day twenty-three - so Fraser said, anyway; Ray'd lost count after the first five or six - that Ray stayed awake long enough to turn around and face Fraser in the sleeping bag. He wriggled a bit, arched his body in towards the big red furnace and discovered that yeah, he hadn't been imagining or dreaming it - Fraser was every bit as hard as he was, and his hands were sliding down Ray's back, pulling him in tight, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Hey," Ray murmured, nuzzling into Fraser's neck above the soft wool. "You seeing sense at last?"
And that must have been the wrong thing to say, because just like that Fraser stiffened up all over - not in the good way - and sighed so that Ray knew what was coming next.
"What is it this time?" he asked, before Fraser could even start apologising. "What did I do?"
"No! It's not you, it's - it's me, I just don't think I can do this, Ray. I'm so sorry."
Ray rolled onto his back. His head was starting to ache, his dick was wilting fast, and everywhere the cold was creeping back in. "You gonna tell me why?" he managed.
"I'm not sure I can -"
A weird thought struck Ray, and he rolled back part way to peer at Fraser through the nylon-filtered not-quite-daylight. "Are you telling me you've got some kind of whatchermacallit - dysfunction? 'Cos we can deal with that, we don't have to do anything you're not -"
Fraser laughed suddenly, a really bleak sound. "It's not that," he said. "As far as I'm aware, everything is functioning quite normally, on the physical level, at least."
"So?"
Fraser shifted a little, his arm rubbing against Ray's. He sighed again. "I'm sorry," he said.
Ray waited, silent and angry, for at least half a minute before Fraser went on, "I just don't... it's going to be difficult enough when you leave. I honestly don't think I could bear it if you - if we'd..."
Maybe the cold was getting to Ray, or maybe he'd just been around Fraser far too long, because there was a certain twisted kind of sense to that, even if it did hurt like fuck. He could hear Fraser breathing shakily, like he was still turned on, or possibly about to cry, but no way was Ray going to try to make it better, not now. He turned on his side, facing away, and squirmed to the edge of the sleeping bag, never mind that the bit around the zip was icy. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried not to think about the future, and kept on trying until his teeth chattered.
And then Fraser was sliding up behind him, folding his body warmly around Ray's back, one hand pushing between his elbow and his side to land in the middle of his chest.
"It doesn't mean you have to be cold," Fraser said, and his voice alone could have broken Ray's heart if there was anything left to break.
There was nothing to say, so he lay there, tight and miserable, listening to Fraser's murmured apologies until he finally fell asleep.
********************
Ray realised just how wrong Fraser'd been before the plane even got off the tarmac at Yellowknife, but it took him nearly three weeks to get round to telling Fraser.
They'd been calling each other every two or three days since Ray got back, talking about work, about Dief, about Frannie and Welsh and the Duck Boys and hockey and just about anything except the stuff that mattered, like the fact that Ray felt sick half the time and dreaded these phone calls almost as much as he craved them.
That third Friday night for some reason it was all too much, and when Fraser paused in the middle of a story about Jennifer somebody's accident in the communal greenhouse, Ray took a deep breath and started to spill it.
"I can't do this, Fraser." It was like that moment at the top of the rollercoaster when your whole body realises it's too late to back out.
"Can't do what?" Fraser said faintly.
"This. These calls. You want to know why?"
"Ray -" there was a warning in Fraser's tone, but it was already too late.
"I let you keep me at arms' length, but you know what? You were wrong. So totally fucking wrong. Because I'm telling you, Fraser, nothing we did or didn't do could have made it any worse than it actually is."
"Ray, what did you -"
"Just shut up and listen," Ray said quickly, his voice almost a shout. "I can't do this any more, this talking and not talking, like everything's fine and normal between us, because it isn't fine and normal, and it's fucking killing me, can you understand that?"
There was more, Ray yelling and Fraser apologising and trying to be reasonable until Ray pushed him too far and he started yelling back, all of it desperate and hopeless. And then the phone was dead and Ray was sitting staring at it for a good five minutes before crashing it down on its stand and lurching into the kitchen for the whisky .
********************
Three days of crappy hangovers later, Ray was hunched over on his couch, as numb inside as he'd ever felt in the Arctic cold. The TV was on, but he was glaring at the phone.
Fraser wouldn't call, he was sure of that. If his stubbornness didn't stop him, he'd come up with some good logical reason why it was for the best and why he didn't deserve to be happy anyway. And if that wasn't enough, he'd be respecting Ray's wishes, for fuck's sake. None of which was anywhere near the whole truth.
Christ. Could Ray possibly have picked a worse person to fall in love with? Bad enough that he was a guy, another cop, a Canadian - any one of which was a pretty big damn obstacle on its own. Add them up, and the whole thing was already completely screwed. But Ray just had to go one better and fall for a colossal emotional fuck-up like Benton Fraser, which kind of swept the rest of it under the carpet.
So, Fraser wasn't going to call, but was Ray going to call him? Really, what was the point? They could hardly spend the next ten years trading meaningless stories twice a week, with Ray coming off the phone every time ready to drink another half pint of whisky or to punch the living crap out of something or someone. Better to go cold turkey and get it over with.
He scrabbled among the cushions for the remote and flicked through the channels for something with explosions, guns, car crashes, anything big and loud to drown out the racket in his head. Forty-five minutes later he was struggling to concentrate on Die Hard 3 when someone knocked at the door.
"Fuck," he muttered, turning the volume down and getting to his feet, hitching his shorts up with one hand while running the other through his hair. The last thing he needed right now was Mrs. Turner from downstairs, complaining about the noise.
His apologetic face morphed into open-mouthed astonishment as he swung the door open.
"Fraser!" There he was in his too-tight jeans and flannel shirt, staring at Ray intently.
"May I come in?"
Ray stepped aside, trying to make his mouth and lungs work together as Fraser slid the duffel bag off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor, then dropped the Stetson on top of it.
"What're you doing here?" Ray asked as the door slammed shut. His voice came out as a squeak and his heart was beating double time.
Fraser, his eyes so much bigger and darker than usual, was still staring. "You were right, and I was wrong," he said, "so totally fucking wrong."
Ray gaped at him for a moment before managing, "You flew three thousand miles to tell me that?"
"I would have come sooner," Fraser said, as if there was nothing strange about it whatsoever, "but there were arrangements to be made - Diefenbaker, the duty roster..." he stepped closer as he spoke, until his hands were on Ray's shoulders. "Ray. Are we - do you still?"
"Yes. Oh God, yes," Ray croaked. Breathe, Kowalski, breathe. His own arms went around Fraser's back without any hesitation at all, and then they were hugging, fierce and tight, and Ray's anger was vaporising in a great big flash of relief.
For a moment they just stood there holding each other, faces pressed together. Fraser's cheek felt ridiculously smooth, and there was a new smell added to the faintly herbal wholesomeness that Ray remembered, something sharp and citrusy.
"You're wearing cologne," Ray said stupidly.
"Mmm. Do you like it?" Fraser murmured in a voice that was pure, liquid sex.
Ray might have told him that while he appreciated the extra effort, he'd want him just as much if he was covered in ten-day stubble and smelling like he'd slept with the dogs for a week. But Fraser had pulled back far enough to bring his mouth around to Ray's, and that meant coherent thought was out of the equation, never mind speech.
Kissing Fraser had been great, but being kissed by him was something else entirely, a revelation. It was a good thing Ray was enjoying it, because he couldn't have pulled away if he'd wanted to, what with Fraser's big, broad hands - one in the middle of his back and the other tangling in his hair - just holding him in place while Fraser's lips and tongue got on with the serious business.
"Christ, Fraser," Ray gasped when he finally came up for air. His hands were clutching at Fraser's shoulders, and quite possibly that was the only reason he was still standing.
Fraser didn't seem particularly interested in the concept of breathing, but then he was the one with the additional lung capacity. His hands slid up inside Ray's T-shirt while they kissed again, and Ray had to edge them both back so he could lean against the wall rather than ending up on the floor.
When Fraser eventually raised his head and their eyes met, Ray swallowed so hard he could hear the gulping sound. Jesus. He'd never seen a man looking so hungry. No wonder Fraser had been scared of letting go. He sure as hell wasn't holding anything back now.
While Ray couldn't seem to do anything but gawp, Fraser clearly had an agenda.
"You don't need these," he said, getting both hands under the elastic at Ray's waist and pulling at his shorts and briefs together. Ray yelped when they caught on his dick (which had recovered from the shock of Forceful Fraser a lot faster than Ray's brain was doing) and Fraser muttered, "I’m so sorry," but it didn't stop him stretching them out over the obstruction and down Ray’s legs. Ray obediently stepped out of them without saying a word. Then there was more kissing while Fraser's hands roamed over Ray's hips and thighs and ass, pulling him in against denim that was almost painfully rough, and Fraser made growly noises that Ray could feel in his mouth and throat. When they broke apart this time, Ray had his fingers knotted in Fraser's thick, soft hair and Fraser was sliding his T-shirt up and over his head. Ray shifted his arms so Fraser could get the T-shirt off altogether and fling it to the side. Then Fraser was taking a step back to stare at him, both hands skimming over Ray's chest, which felt as if his heart might burst through it at any moment. He was so turned on it hurt, everywhere, and he was almost as completely terrified.
"God, Ray, you've no idea how much I've wanted to touch you," Fraser said. He sounded a little terrified himself, and that made Ray feel just a bit more normal, enough to find his own voice.
"What about your clothes?"
"There'll be time for that," Fraser said. He glanced across the room at the couch, then back at Ray. "Bed," he added.
However nervous he felt, Ray wasn't going to argue with that. He set off at a shuffle towards the bedroom but stopped when he realised he was on his own.
Fraser was crouching down by his duffel bag, fishing for something inside. As Ray watched, he gave a satisfied grunt and pulled out a smallish paper bag. A drugstore bag. Christ.
"Um, proper preparation, Frase?" Ray said shakily. "You been planning this?"
"Believe me, I've thought of little else for three thousand miles." There was the dark and sexy voice again. "Not to mention the preceding two years. Come on, Ray."
Ray's mind had given up trying to deal with it all, so he let Fraser's hand at his hip guide him into the bedroom and stood there like a dumb idiot while Fraser threw the covers to the floor and dragged two pillows down the bed. He urged Ray onto them so he was lying on his back, feet sticking off the end of the mattress. Then he was kneeling beside Ray and kissing him again, sliding away from his mouth to lick and suck at his neck, his shoulders, arms and chest.
When Fraser reached his nipples - lips tight around one while his fingers tweaked and rolled the other - it was like some kind of wake-up signal to Ray's brain.
"Jesus, Fraser! Fuck!" he groaned. Both hands were grasping at Fraser, kneading the muscles of his arms through the flannel and burrowing, pulling at his hair. "You're killing me here. Jesus!"
Fraser looked up at him, not quite smiling. "Hardly," he said. "You're so beautiful, Ray. Do you know that?" and before Ray could snort his disbelief, Fraser's head went back down, and down, and finally, Christ, his tongue was gliding along the length of Ray's dick.
Ray'd enjoyed a thousand fantasies of Fraser sucking him off, and it seemed like Fraser was determined to act out every single one of them. He started gently, exploring Ray, tasting him, short light licks alternating with firmer, more searching ones. He nuzzled around Ray's balls for a while, then licked and sucked each one into his mouth in turn while Ray gasped and swore and tried not to pull Fraser's hair out in chunks. Back up to the main item then, and this time Fraser's mouth closed over the tip of his cock just as his hand grasped its base, and that was it, Ray was gone, not even trying to hang on to the last fragments of his self-control. Head back on the pillow, eyes closed, he shouted out god knew what while Fraser sucked and murmured and did things with his tongue that Ray hadn't even imagined.
He was seconds from coming when Fraser's mouth moved away. Through the fog of disappointment, Ray realised that Fraser was saying something, blowing cool air over the head of Ray's cock as he did so.
"Look at me, Ray."
It wasn't a voice you'd choose to disobey, so Ray opened his eyes.
Fraser looked amazing with his hair messed up and his mouth all wet and shiny. He'd moved round at some point to kneel on the floor between Ray's legs, leaning in to get at him, elbows resting on the mattress. He was still holding onto Ray's cock, and that was wet and shiny too. Its head was a fraction of an inch from Fraser's lips, and above it he was staring at Ray with that same intense, starved expression. And like that wasn't hot enough, he was taking his other hand off Ray's thigh and bringing it to his mouth, sucking in two fingers slowly and deliberately while holding Ray's gaze.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Ray must have known what was coming next, or at least his body did, because he didn't need to be told to bend his knees and get his feet up on the bed with his thighs spread wide. And then Fraser was smiling as the fingers slid out of his mouth and headed down behind Ray's balls. He carried on staring at Ray, forcing Ray to keep on staring right back, as he sucked Ray's cock deep into his mouth, as his fingers pushed and twisted and just kept on working until they found their way inside and Ray was groaning, shouting, feeling the burn and the stretch and the incredible shocks of pleasure.
Ray's fingers were scrabbling at the sheets and his legs were shaking. He tried to hold it back but it was hopeless, with Fraser sucking him right in like that and rubbing over his prostate again and again and Ray just totally naked and open to him in every possible way. He yelled loud enough for the whole street to hear as his shoulders jerked right off the bed and he was shooting into Fraser's mouth, his hot, lovely mouth, and he struggled to keep his eyes open to watch Fraser holding on, swallowing it all down, but in the end it was just too much.
Afterwards he lay there with his hand across his eyes, panting for breath and trying to get his head together. After a while Fraser was back up on the bed beside him, stroking his chest soothingly, but when Ray shifted and said, "Mmm," Fraser's mouth was on his straight away, and Jesus, the taste of himself there was as hot as anything they'd done. He rolled over on his side and opened his eyes just as his legs rubbed up against denim and his hand grabbed a fistful of flannel.
"You gonna take your clothes off now?" he said into Fraser's neck.
"Yes, of course," Fraser said, like the thought hadn't occurred to him before, but to give him his due he didn't waste any more time, just sat up and peeled the lot off, throwing it all to the floor as if he'd never heard the word 'neat' in his life.
Naturally Ray had spent quite a few hours (more than he'd care to admit to, in fact) picturing Fraser naked, over the years. A bit like the blowjob, the reality was far better than anything in his head. It was as if he'd asked for skates for Christmas, and woken up to find not only the skates but the stick, the jersey and season tickets to the Hawks as well, because Fraser wasn't just naked and gorgeous, he was naked, gorgeous, and horny as hell - and all of it for Ray.
They kissed again and Ray slid his hands over acres of smooth skin, loving the way Fraser responded with "Ahhh," and "Oh yes, Ray," and some very un-Mountie-like noises. Fraser was on his side, pushing his cock against Ray's hip, and his breathing was getting seriously loud, even between moans. It was good, it was great, but Ray couldn't help thinking Fraser deserved better. He pushed away far enough to get his hand down between them, down to where it counted, and yeah, the sound Fraser made then, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, was worth all the waiting.
"That's right," Ray muttered, wrapping his hand firmly round Fraser's cock (solid, warm and definitely on the large side) and starting a slow, sexy, slide-twist movement. The angle was a little odd and the foreskin was different, but kind of cool - that and the fluid leaking out around the tip made it all good and slippery, and Fraser certainly seemed to be loving it. They'd got a rhythm going now, with Fraser pushing into his hand and moaning, "Ray, oh, Ray, please -" and sounding so damn desperate for it that Ray's dick was doing its best to get hard again already, which had to be impossible.
From the shuddery sound of Fraser's breathing, and the way his hips were beginning to thrust like they really meant it, Ray was pretty sure they were on the home straight when it all came to a sudden halt. Fraser went still, grabbed at his wrist and said, "Wait, Ray, stop!"
It was just too familiar. "God, Fraser, aren't we past that? What's wrong? Am I hurting you?"
"No, not wrong," Fraser panted, bringing his hand up to Ray's face and frowning in an attempt to focus on him. "It's just that I, I wanted to -"
Of course. The bag of properly prepared supplies. Ray wasn't a detective for nothing. And it seemed like just thinking about it was enough to overcome the laws of physics - or human biology at least - because his dick really was getting hard now.
"What do you want? Tell me," he whispered, stroking Fraser's belly with the back of his hand, just for the fun of feeling him shake.
"I, ah, that is... " Fraser's tongue came out and moved across his lower lip.
"Come on, Frase, it's a bit late to be shy."
Fraser nodded, red faced. "I want to be inside you. Would you? I don't want to hurt you." It sounded like he was hurting himself, just trying to get the words out.
"Yeah, I would, and you needn't worry about hurting me," Ray said, his own voice a bit unsteady. "I trust you to do it right." And I've been dreaming of it for the last two years, buddy, so I'm not about to turn you down now, he added to himself.
"You've done it before?" Naturally, Fraser had to ask.
"Not exactly, but near enough. Just - come on, we'll talk later, right? This is not the time for talking." It certainly wasn't the time for talking about toys and fingers and Stella, for fuck's sake, and for once, Fraser seemed to get that. Mr. Hesitant disappeared in the time it took Fraser to roll over and reach for the paper bag, and Forceful Fraser was back in his place. Ray was all in favour of the swap.
He lay face down and clung onto the pillows while Fraser crawled round behind him and took forever - and at least half a bottle of lube, by the feel of it - to get him ready. In the end Ray gave in completely and just begged for it, totally shameless, pushing himself back onto Fraser's fingers and moaning, "Now, Frase, please do it now. Just get on with it and fuck me, already. I'm dying of waiting here," and maybe that was what Fraser was hoping for, because he said, "Yes, oh God, yes," and took his fingers out. There was a bit of fumbling around while Fraser got with the program, and then after a couple of near misses he forced himself inside in one long slow thrust, and nothing Ray had felt before, not a single goddamn thing, had ever come close to the intensity of it.
When they started to move, it got even better, and yeah, it did hurt, but that was only a part of it; it was the pleasure, so sharp, so shattering, that was almost unbearable. And the knowledge that it was Fraser doing this to him, with him, grunting and gasping as he hung onto Ray's hips and tried to keep it steady, was the best part of all.
Ray could feel it, the instant when Fraser finally lost his self-control. The fingers on his hips dug right in, the regular rhythm faltered for a moment before starting up again, wild and desperate, and then Fraser was leaning over him, sucking the skin of his shoulder and reaching around to tug at his cock. And that was astonishing enough, but when Fraser suddenly heaved himself backwards, pulling Ray with him until they were kneeling up with Ray astride Fraser's lap and Fraser's cock so deep and hard inside him, Ray was finished, totally. His head fell back against Fraser's shoulder and he gave it all up, coming in great hot spurts and only vaguely aware of Fraser jerking and shouting through his own orgasm just a few seconds behind him.
It wasn't a position they could hold for long afterwards, especially with Fraser's arms wrapped round Ray so tightly that it was getting difficult to breathe. (Not that it didn't feel kind of good, the closeness, and Fraser murmuring into his hair about him being beautiful and perfect and all that Fraser wanted.) Pulling apart was awkward, and it took a conscious effort on Ray's part not to flinch, but no way did he want to put Fraser off the idea of doing that again.
Fraser's preparations included some kind of cooling wipes, and even a plastic bag to clear everything into before dropping it neatly in the trash. Ray had to grin when Fraser stopped on his way back across the room to pick up his jeans and shirt and hang them over the back of a chair. It was a relief, actually, to know that this really was Fraser, and not some kind of sex-crazed body-swapping alien substitute.
Still, Fraser seemed weirdly quiet as he got back into bed. Ray was all over the idea of post-sex snoozing, but this was one occasion where somebody was going to have to say something about how they'd got here. And while Fraser seemed pretty keen on kissing him again, it looked like the talking part was up to Ray.
"So Frase, what happened to Prudence? You ditch her somewhere along the way?"
Fraser snorted, and it sounded so much like a raspberry that Ray felt his eyebrows shoot up.
After leaning in to kiss Ray’s forehead, Fraser said solemnly, "I have tried prudent planning long enough; from now on I'll be mad."
"What's that, some kind of Inuit proverb?"
"Actually no, they're the words of a thirteenth century Sufi poet."
Ray could tell Fraser was gearing up for a lecture, and although that was comfortingly normal, it wasn't really what they needed right now, so he interrupted quickly, "Well, you've got the mad part right, at least," but he tightened his arms around Fraser as he said it, and he could hear the smile in his own voice.