Due South fic
Title - Heart and Mind
Pairing - Fraser/Kowalski, Fraser/Fraser
Rating - NC-17
Notes -4,250, many thanks to Slidellra for the beta job. Any remaining mistakes are all mine ^_^
Prompt - #2 - “Fraser/Fraser’s right hand - Ray’s on a date, and Fraser’s at the Consulate, thinking about what Ray and his date might be doing.”
***
If Turnbull hadn’t brought his attention to the situation, he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought. “Probably” meaning you are lying to yourself, Benton Fraser, and if you are lying to yourself how can you possibly be honest to the rest of the world?
Perhaps it was less lying to himself, more skirting around the truth. Fraser glanced around, expecting his father to be at his shoulder with a “Because avoiding the truth is so much better, son." But his father had decided to leave him mercifully alone tonight. Alone with his thoughts, which was quite possibly a dangerous thing.
Would it have been easier to concentrate on his book if Turnbull hadn’t pointedly checked his watch five times in half an hour, before finally stating that Detective Vecchio was running late, even for himself? Would it have been easier for Fraser to ignore the fact that he was spending the first Friday night in several months alone at the Consulate, rather than in the company of Ray and pizza at his apartment, if he hadn’t had to say the words out loud?
“Ray has a dinner date tonight, so he won’t be picking me up. I will be catching up on my reading. My books are due back at the library in three days and I do not wish to renew them yet again.”
It had always annoyed his grandparents when people kept renewing books they obviously weren’t reading, far more than overdue books did. Books were made to be read and passed on, their lives lived through their words and shared amongst people who loved and lived with them, not to sit on a table and be used as a tea coaster. He’d had not one, but three books on loan for over a month now. He’d had to renew them once already and by rights he shouldn’t have needed even that long to read them.
Lately, all his spare time had been spent pampering his gluteus maximus on that well worn couch at Ray’s, his brain soaking up sports and TV programs that wouldn’t know a well written plot twist if it jumped up and bit them on said gluteus maximus. It concerned him that his brain might start to seize up if he didn’t exercise it soon, but until he found himself with no other option, he hadn’t quite managed to make himself care enough to remove the tea cups he kept resting on the books. Well, he reasoned with himself, at least he wasn’t feeding these books to a walrus.
It had been the look on Turnbull’s face that did it. The way his eyes widened, just a little, at the mention of Ray taking someone - someone else- out for dinner, then the tilt of the head and sympathetic pout as Fraser outlined the stimulating activities he had planned for his evening alone. The unguarded expressions were typical from Turnbull, but it made Fraser wonder; was he, himself, so transparent? Or was it one of Turnbull’s moments of clear insight and understanding? The man had depths that were hidden by the dim murkiness on the surface of his psyche.
Either way, it had made Fraser think and he didn’t want to think right now. He wanted to read his book and he couldn’t.
He’d poured himself a glass of water as soon as Turnbull had finished his evening duties and left. He’d shut himself in his office, turned on his desk lamp, hung up his uniform jacket, pulled his book to him and turned to the page he’d bookmarked -not even a third into the first book, oh dear…- as Diefenbaker settled at his feet under the desk. He’d taken a sip of water and stared at the page in anticipation of getting lost in another world, and then….
…nothing.
It was an effort to read the words, to give them significance in his head, to string them into the sentences they were designed to make, to give them meaning in context with the words, sentences, paragraphs before and after them. He’d turned two pages without taking in a single facet of plot or purple prose before he glanced up at his clock. It was a quarter to seven. Ray was probably getting ready for his date. He was probably in the shower right now, washing away the grime of the city and the smell of a hard day’s work. Water would be washing over him in clear rivulets that clung to his skin and followed the sinewy shape of his body, making his flesh sparkle and look so inviting to just place a mouth against his skin and suckle the water from it.
Suddenly Fraser’s mouth was very dry. He took a sip of his water - cold and fresh, not at all warm and salty - and turned back to his book. With a sigh he turned back the two pages he had failed to read and leaned over them with his head in his hands, fingers threading through his hair and gripping his scalp with the frustration of having to will himself to read.
Ray would be drying off, getting dressed, applying aftershave and doing whatever it was that he needed to do to his hair to get it to do what it does. Would Ray check his wallet to be sure he was carrying protection? Of course, Ray would be carrying it, but would he be thinking about the possibility of ending the evening with intercourse? In Fraser’s head, Ray flipped his wallet open with easy confidence, checking the compartment with a sure smile that made Fraser see a red mist colour the yellowing pages he was glaring down at. He was surely a lost cause if his own imagination made him feel so abysmal.
In the silence of the room, the sudden knocking at the front door seemed far away and alien. Fraser glanced up as the second round of raps commenced. Dief pulled himself to his feet with a half-hearted wuffle and padded to the office door. Fraser pushed his chair back and followed, momentarily glad of the distraction. Then he began to wonder just who would be knocking on the Consulate doors after hours, and his treacherous mind kept whispering “Ray” in answer to his musings.
The reception area at the foot of the stairs was in muted darkness, the only illumination was cast by the emergency lighting that had to be permanently on according to fire regulations. It felt like a long walk through the pools of light to the front doors and several scenarios played through Fraser’s head: Ray'd had a sudden bolt of clarity and had abandoned his date and come running to his one true love; Ray had been stood up by his date and needed his best friend to console him; there was some emergency at the Precinct and Ray had to cancel his evening and fetch his partner to join him in work; Ray has brought his date for a pre-dinner tour of the novelty Mountie-friend’s abode and work place….
Fraser gathered himself with a deep breath and straightened his Henley before opening the door.
The last person he had been expecting to find on the other side was Turnbull, dressed in civvies, curled fist raised in preparation for another round of knocking. Fraser could feel the expression of surprise twisting his face, even as he pushed the disappointment away from his chest deeper into his gut, where it sat heavily. He could feel the way one eyebrow had shoot up and twitched uncontrollably, the idiotic way his jaw fell slack. He hated this part of himself, the way his expressions sometimes escaped his control and gave him away. But still, Turnbull just smiled politely, tipped his head to the side a fraction and waited the heartbeat it took for his superior to recover himself.
“Good evening, Constable Turnbull. Have you forgotten something?”
“Oh, no, Sir,” Turnbull began to gush as his raised hand dropped to grip the other side of a baking dish covered in tinfoil. “I just thought that as you were eating alone tonight, and I know that there are barely any groceries in the Consulate kitchen, you might enjoy this spinach and ricotta cannelloni that I prepared for my own dinner,” he proffered the covered dish with outstretched arms and a warm smile. “As I am also eating alone, as I do most nights, and the recipe was for a party of four, there are plenty of leftovers to share.”
Fraser took the dish from Turnbull and tried to look grateful. The bottom of the ceramic was still warm.
“Thank you kindly, Constable.”
“Please Sir, we’re off duty. Call me Renfield.”
“Thank you, Renfield.”
Turnbull clasped his hands in front of him and looked pleased with the world in general. Fraser supposed that he should return the gesture and ask Renfield to call him Benton, or Ben, or even just Fraser, but he wasn’t in the mood for familiarity, even if it was the polite thing to do.
Turnbull began rocking slightly on his heels and Fraser realised that he was still standing on the steps outside, probably waiting for an invitation to join him for the dinner he had thoughtfully prepared. Fraser did recognise how considerate it had been of Turnbull to bring him such a lovely dinner, and how the other man probably needed company as much as he did. He should stand aside and invite him in.
“Was there anything else, Constable?”
This wasn’t the company he craved.
Turnbull’s smile faltered and his rocking stilled. He paused before replying.
“It will need warming through for fifteen minutes on a low heat before you eat it. Enjoy your evening, Sir.”
Fraser shut the door before Turnbull had even finished turning around on the top step. He leaned back against the solid support of the door, staring down at the dish he was holding out in front of him, and allowed himself a moment gather himself. Exhaling heavily, he then pushed himself away from the door and automatically began to walk towards the kitchen, Dief trotting hopefully at his heels.
“It's not pizza, or take out,” Fraser glanced down and told the wolf with a faded smile. Dief whined and dropped back a little, but still followed him into the kitchen.
Fraser turned on the oven to a low heat and placed the baking dish on the middle shelf. Why would it have been Ray? He had far better things to be doing tonight than stopping by the Consulate.
Fraser straightened up and propped himself against the cabinets opposite the oven. He watched the amber glow of the oven and vaguely felt the growing warmth it radiated soak through his clothes to settle against his skin. He was being foolish to even entertain thoughts of Ray being anything more than his best friend. He was lucky to have even that. But, there were times when Ray stood so close to him that he could feel his body heat seeping through his clothes, just like the heat from the oven was doing now, and it was like their auras had intermingled and become one. It made his skin tingle, just thinking about it. It felt right in those moments and he had to fight hard to resist inappropriate impulses. Sometimes he wished that he wasn’t so accomplished in controlling himself.
The oven timer trilled brightly to signify that his dinner was ready. Hot air blasted Fraser’s face as he opened the door. Dief had the presence of mind to push the oven gloves upon him before Fraser reached in and burned his hands.
“Thank you.” Dief cocked his head as Fraser pulled the gloves on. “Yes, I am quite aware that I’m distracted and ‘moping around’, thank you very much.”
Diefenbaker huffed at the Mountie’s tone of voice and padded away to leave him even more alone than before. Fraser thumbed his eyebrow with a gloved hand as he watched the half-wolf retreat into the drawing room. He was going to end up paying for snapping in reply to his companion’s concern, and he suspected the fee would take the form of doughnuts.
Once Fraser had dished the cannelloni onto a plate, he took the meal back to his office and arranged it on the table so that he could eat and read at the same time. He managed to force himself to eat a couple of mouthfuls; it was really very good, but he couldn’t find his appetite any more than he could will himself to enjoy his book. He chopped the pasta up into increasingly smaller pieces with the side of his fork and then began to push then around his plate, making swirling patterns in the sauce.
Glancing up, he noted that the time was now nearly 8pm. Ray would have picked up his date by now and they would have arrived at the restaurant that he had made the reservation. It was probably an Italian place, as Italian cuisine and romance were often associated. Perhaps his date had ordered cannelloni and she would cut up a piece to feed Ray over the table. There’d be a spot of sauce left on the corner of his mouth and it would be irresistible to just lean over and gently brush it away with her thumb. He’d smile at the touch, all soft and tender, his eyes getting that soft-focus hazy sheen to them, and he wouldn’t be able to resist touching the tip of his tongue to the ball of her thumb as it dragged over the cushion of his lower lip. The sexual tension would be heavy in the air after that and their hands would flitter over each other’s as they ate, willing the table away from between them. Dessert would arrive, simple ice cream to share, and he’d return the earlier gesture by spoon feeding his partner, his eyes riveted on the ice cream disappearing between smiling lips, his thoughts open and wandering, as he caught his lower lip between his teeth and anticipated his own idea of dessert.
Fraser pushed his plate away with a little more force than intended and it only just fell short of skittering over the edge of the table. He almost wished it had. At least cleaning up the mess would distract him for a short while.
Leaning back in his seat, Fraser sighed heavily. He let his head tip back to face the ceiling as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between pinched fingers. He would go to bed. At least if he was sleeping he wouldn’t be dwelling on things he had no business dwelling on, and then it would be tomorrow and Ray’s date would be over, for better or for worse…
…unless she stayed the night. Then Ray’s date wouldn’t be over in the morning, and would have in fact evolved into something more than a date. Fraser pressed the heels of his palms firmly into his eye sockets until he was seeing neon colours bursting behind his eyelids. He would just stop thinking and go to sleep, and come morning, then he could worry about Ray’s post-date report.
He undressed mechanically, folding and putting away his clothing out of habit, while in his mind Ray held open the passenger door of his car for his date to climb inside. As he pulled on his long johns, they’d already reached their destination, which happened to be outside Ray’s flat. Fraser sighed heavily to himself; obviously his imagination wasn’t going to take pity on him any time soon. The sooner he got to sleep the better.
Once he had turned off his desk lamp, the faint light from street lamps filtering through his flimsy curtains was the only illumination in the room. It had been distracting at first, sleeping beneath the window and seeing light shift over his eyelids every time a vehicle passed by outside, but it got to the point where the irregular beams had become as relaxing to him as the sounds of a storm from the inside of a well stocked cabin.
He turned the sheets back and slid onto his cot, lying on his back with the fold of the sheets only reaching his shins. He could pull them up later if he got cold. He shut his eyes and willed his mind to go blank.
A truck passed by outside, golden light sweeping through Fraser’s vision like a light switch suddenly being flicked on. After the light had slid away again, he found himself gazing into Ray’s apartment, as if he were standing in the doorway viewing it for the first time. Subconsciously, he knew that his mind was giving him a view through Ray’s date’s eyes. He took a couple of steps forward, turning his head to take note of the turtle’s tank, over on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. Then suddenly Ray appeared from nowhere and was up close in his personal space, like he’d been many times before. Except that this time he continued to approach, crowding Fraser backwards until his back was pressed against the closet door.
Ray had a grin on his face that said he knew exactly what he wanted. His head was dipped slightly so that he was looking up through long eyelashes in mock coyness, and he was getting closer and closer, leaning one arm against the door behind Fraser’s head. Chests made contact first, then groins, then eventually Ray weaved his head up and pressed his lips against Fraser’s.
On his cot, Fraser writhed and ground his hips up against the air, his mouth parting in a gasp that sounded a lot like “Oh! Ray!”
Fraser’s eyes snapped open. He ground his jaw together tightly. This was no good at all. His arms swung out violently and his hands gripped the sides of his cot as he flung himself upright so fiercely that the fragile bed shuddered and threatened to collapse under him.
There was only one thing for it. He had to at least attempt to get this out of his system
His fingers were eager to unbutton his long johns and he was pushing them from his shoulders before he’d even finished making the decision consciously. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, he put enough weight on his feet to pull the clothing down to his thighs, and then he sat back down heavily and pushed the long johns off, kicking them aside. His hand found his cock the second he began to straighten up and he breathed out a sigh of relief at the warmth gripping him suddenly. He felt too needy, so out of control, but it also felt good and he squeezed himself gently as he lay back down on the bed.
Ray. Ray and his date. No. Ray and himself; he would be Ray’s date in this fantasy.
Ray was leading him to the bedroom. Ray seemed to be dancing around him; behind him to untuck his shirt and slip a hand inside to reach around and caress the skin of his torso, then at his side to mouth at his neck and jaw, and then in front if him, unfastening the first couple of buttons of Fraser’s shirt before pulling it up over his head. With fingers looped in the waistband of Fraser’s trousers, Ray guided him over to the bed, that bright grin on his face, accompanied by a dirty leer shining in his eyes.
Fraser rubbed his thumb over the head of his dick, slickly smearing it with precome as he imagined Ray unfastening his trousers and pushing them down, along with his underwear. He groaned at the thought of Ray crouched at his feet, face level with his erection. He pictured Ray holding his gaze as he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the straining member before standing to undress himself.
Fraser began to stroke himself, slowly, smoothly, while his other hand crept along the crease of his thigh, dipping lower to fondle his scrotum.
In his mind, they were both on the bed now, exploring each other’s bodies with mouths and hands. On the cot, Fraser’s hand skimmed up his body, mapping out the contours of his flesh in a way he barely bothered with normally. His thumb rubbed back and forth over his nipple, stirring it up into a sensitive peak, then he scraped a fingernail over it, Ray’s smile fixed in his mind. He shuddered and moaned, his other hand pumping just a bit harder; Ray’s teeth would send electric sparks through him, just like that. He pinched himself softly, as if Ray was biting him. His head arched back as a guttural sound rose in his throat.
He imagined Ray nuzzling into his neck and he could almost swear that he could feel the searing breath against his earlobe as Ray whispered low and harsh, “I want to fuck you.”
In the darkness of the room, Fraser “ahh”ed and his hand flew back down his body to cup his balls again.
His treacherous mind insisted on pushing, though, and had to point out that Fraser wasn’t a woman, why would Ray want to have sex with him when he didn’t have a… a… think it, Benton Fraser, you can at least think the word, no-one will hear you… a cunt? His eyes screwed up tightly and his chest heaved at the word. Suddenly his mind was filled with images of Ray with an anonymous woman, no face, no features, just a soft body, all curves, and fleshy moist folds between her thighs. He pictured Ray’s elegant fingers as they dipped between her legs, plunging into the slick warmth there and returning wet. Fraser could imagine the twist of Ray's lips, his tongue snaking out to lick his fingers, before he slid them into his mouth to suck them clean.
Fraser put his hand to his mouth, running the pads of his fingers over his lips, just letting them catch the damp cushioned insides. The tip of his tongue touched against his fingers and he let them slip into his mouth, scraping them against teeth, sucking and lathing his tongue around them.
He was no woman, but he would be tighter, hotter. He would give himself to Ray entirely.
He spread his legs and dug his heels into the hard mattress beneath him, angling his hips up slightly. As he imagined Ray’s body settling over him, bare flesh meeting his, he drew his fingers from his mouth and lowered his hand. He brushed his fingertips over his tightly puckered opening, imagining it was Ray doing so, teasing him. He pushed a finger in slowly.
He was panting and staring wide-eyed into the darkness, but in his mind he was focused on Ray’s face gazing intently back down at him. Ray would take his time to prepare him, he would be a considerate lover, progressing slowly and drinking in every facet of making love to him, every expression and moan, every twist and writhe of the body beneath him. He would teach Fraser things about his body that he didn’t already know himself.
Fraser eased in a second finger as he thought about Ray lining his cock up against his entrance. Ray would be talking; a constant stream of hushed, reassuring words, laced with descriptions of how much he wanted Fraser, needed him, how he desired to be inside him, right now. And he would cling to the body above him as Ray pushed himself in, he would pull him close and moan with the sheer ecstasy of finally having Ray inside of him.
Fraser could feel the fine layer of sweat beading his skin, the night air prickling at it, and he wished that he could experience the weight of another body over him, making their flesh slick, so that moving together as one became easy and natural.
Fraser began to pump himself harder as he thought about Ray actually moving, actually fucking him. He would begin slowly, but he would quickly build up a rhythm, pounding into him so hard, swallowing up his cries and moans with his mouth, urgently kissing him. The final moments would be intense, frantic. The air would be filled with the sounds of their panting breaths and groans, Fraser’s hands grabbing and kneading and clinging to every lean muscle he could reach, Ray’s mouth moving in a hoarse barrage of meaningless words and incomplete sentences against his skin.
Fraser crooked his fingers and suddenly electric white jolts ignited low down in his groin and coursed through his body. He came with the thought of Ray ejaculating deep inside of him, semen gushing over his hand and across his torso.
Beams of light played over his eyelids as he lay back on his cot trying to catch his breath. His body tingled and his mind was quiet, finally. He began to allow himself to be lulled to sleep, despite the chill air settling on his damp skin.
It took several moments to notice the banging on the front door, then a few more to will his body to move. He quickly wiped his bed sheet down his front, unravelled his long johns and pulled them on. He buttoned them up as he silently cursed Turnbull’s sense of timing and wondered what he wanted now.
But deep down his heart and mind conspired to whisper: Ray…
***END***
Pairing - Fraser/Kowalski, Fraser/Fraser
Rating - NC-17
Notes -4,250, many thanks to Slidellra for the beta job. Any remaining mistakes are all mine ^_^
Prompt - #2 - “Fraser/Fraser’s right hand - Ray’s on a date, and Fraser’s at the Consulate, thinking about what Ray and his date might be doing.”
***
If Turnbull hadn’t brought his attention to the situation, he probably wouldn’t have given it a second thought. “Probably” meaning you are lying to yourself, Benton Fraser, and if you are lying to yourself how can you possibly be honest to the rest of the world?
Perhaps it was less lying to himself, more skirting around the truth. Fraser glanced around, expecting his father to be at his shoulder with a “Because avoiding the truth is so much better, son." But his father had decided to leave him mercifully alone tonight. Alone with his thoughts, which was quite possibly a dangerous thing.
Would it have been easier to concentrate on his book if Turnbull hadn’t pointedly checked his watch five times in half an hour, before finally stating that Detective Vecchio was running late, even for himself? Would it have been easier for Fraser to ignore the fact that he was spending the first Friday night in several months alone at the Consulate, rather than in the company of Ray and pizza at his apartment, if he hadn’t had to say the words out loud?
“Ray has a dinner date tonight, so he won’t be picking me up. I will be catching up on my reading. My books are due back at the library in three days and I do not wish to renew them yet again.”
It had always annoyed his grandparents when people kept renewing books they obviously weren’t reading, far more than overdue books did. Books were made to be read and passed on, their lives lived through their words and shared amongst people who loved and lived with them, not to sit on a table and be used as a tea coaster. He’d had not one, but three books on loan for over a month now. He’d had to renew them once already and by rights he shouldn’t have needed even that long to read them.
Lately, all his spare time had been spent pampering his gluteus maximus on that well worn couch at Ray’s, his brain soaking up sports and TV programs that wouldn’t know a well written plot twist if it jumped up and bit them on said gluteus maximus. It concerned him that his brain might start to seize up if he didn’t exercise it soon, but until he found himself with no other option, he hadn’t quite managed to make himself care enough to remove the tea cups he kept resting on the books. Well, he reasoned with himself, at least he wasn’t feeding these books to a walrus.
It had been the look on Turnbull’s face that did it. The way his eyes widened, just a little, at the mention of Ray taking someone - someone else- out for dinner, then the tilt of the head and sympathetic pout as Fraser outlined the stimulating activities he had planned for his evening alone. The unguarded expressions were typical from Turnbull, but it made Fraser wonder; was he, himself, so transparent? Or was it one of Turnbull’s moments of clear insight and understanding? The man had depths that were hidden by the dim murkiness on the surface of his psyche.
Either way, it had made Fraser think and he didn’t want to think right now. He wanted to read his book and he couldn’t.
He’d poured himself a glass of water as soon as Turnbull had finished his evening duties and left. He’d shut himself in his office, turned on his desk lamp, hung up his uniform jacket, pulled his book to him and turned to the page he’d bookmarked -not even a third into the first book, oh dear…- as Diefenbaker settled at his feet under the desk. He’d taken a sip of water and stared at the page in anticipation of getting lost in another world, and then….
…nothing.
It was an effort to read the words, to give them significance in his head, to string them into the sentences they were designed to make, to give them meaning in context with the words, sentences, paragraphs before and after them. He’d turned two pages without taking in a single facet of plot or purple prose before he glanced up at his clock. It was a quarter to seven. Ray was probably getting ready for his date. He was probably in the shower right now, washing away the grime of the city and the smell of a hard day’s work. Water would be washing over him in clear rivulets that clung to his skin and followed the sinewy shape of his body, making his flesh sparkle and look so inviting to just place a mouth against his skin and suckle the water from it.
Suddenly Fraser’s mouth was very dry. He took a sip of his water - cold and fresh, not at all warm and salty - and turned back to his book. With a sigh he turned back the two pages he had failed to read and leaned over them with his head in his hands, fingers threading through his hair and gripping his scalp with the frustration of having to will himself to read.
Ray would be drying off, getting dressed, applying aftershave and doing whatever it was that he needed to do to his hair to get it to do what it does. Would Ray check his wallet to be sure he was carrying protection? Of course, Ray would be carrying it, but would he be thinking about the possibility of ending the evening with intercourse? In Fraser’s head, Ray flipped his wallet open with easy confidence, checking the compartment with a sure smile that made Fraser see a red mist colour the yellowing pages he was glaring down at. He was surely a lost cause if his own imagination made him feel so abysmal.
In the silence of the room, the sudden knocking at the front door seemed far away and alien. Fraser glanced up as the second round of raps commenced. Dief pulled himself to his feet with a half-hearted wuffle and padded to the office door. Fraser pushed his chair back and followed, momentarily glad of the distraction. Then he began to wonder just who would be knocking on the Consulate doors after hours, and his treacherous mind kept whispering “Ray” in answer to his musings.
The reception area at the foot of the stairs was in muted darkness, the only illumination was cast by the emergency lighting that had to be permanently on according to fire regulations. It felt like a long walk through the pools of light to the front doors and several scenarios played through Fraser’s head: Ray'd had a sudden bolt of clarity and had abandoned his date and come running to his one true love; Ray had been stood up by his date and needed his best friend to console him; there was some emergency at the Precinct and Ray had to cancel his evening and fetch his partner to join him in work; Ray has brought his date for a pre-dinner tour of the novelty Mountie-friend’s abode and work place….
Fraser gathered himself with a deep breath and straightened his Henley before opening the door.
The last person he had been expecting to find on the other side was Turnbull, dressed in civvies, curled fist raised in preparation for another round of knocking. Fraser could feel the expression of surprise twisting his face, even as he pushed the disappointment away from his chest deeper into his gut, where it sat heavily. He could feel the way one eyebrow had shoot up and twitched uncontrollably, the idiotic way his jaw fell slack. He hated this part of himself, the way his expressions sometimes escaped his control and gave him away. But still, Turnbull just smiled politely, tipped his head to the side a fraction and waited the heartbeat it took for his superior to recover himself.
“Good evening, Constable Turnbull. Have you forgotten something?”
“Oh, no, Sir,” Turnbull began to gush as his raised hand dropped to grip the other side of a baking dish covered in tinfoil. “I just thought that as you were eating alone tonight, and I know that there are barely any groceries in the Consulate kitchen, you might enjoy this spinach and ricotta cannelloni that I prepared for my own dinner,” he proffered the covered dish with outstretched arms and a warm smile. “As I am also eating alone, as I do most nights, and the recipe was for a party of four, there are plenty of leftovers to share.”
Fraser took the dish from Turnbull and tried to look grateful. The bottom of the ceramic was still warm.
“Thank you kindly, Constable.”
“Please Sir, we’re off duty. Call me Renfield.”
“Thank you, Renfield.”
Turnbull clasped his hands in front of him and looked pleased with the world in general. Fraser supposed that he should return the gesture and ask Renfield to call him Benton, or Ben, or even just Fraser, but he wasn’t in the mood for familiarity, even if it was the polite thing to do.
Turnbull began rocking slightly on his heels and Fraser realised that he was still standing on the steps outside, probably waiting for an invitation to join him for the dinner he had thoughtfully prepared. Fraser did recognise how considerate it had been of Turnbull to bring him such a lovely dinner, and how the other man probably needed company as much as he did. He should stand aside and invite him in.
“Was there anything else, Constable?”
This wasn’t the company he craved.
Turnbull’s smile faltered and his rocking stilled. He paused before replying.
“It will need warming through for fifteen minutes on a low heat before you eat it. Enjoy your evening, Sir.”
Fraser shut the door before Turnbull had even finished turning around on the top step. He leaned back against the solid support of the door, staring down at the dish he was holding out in front of him, and allowed himself a moment gather himself. Exhaling heavily, he then pushed himself away from the door and automatically began to walk towards the kitchen, Dief trotting hopefully at his heels.
“It's not pizza, or take out,” Fraser glanced down and told the wolf with a faded smile. Dief whined and dropped back a little, but still followed him into the kitchen.
Fraser turned on the oven to a low heat and placed the baking dish on the middle shelf. Why would it have been Ray? He had far better things to be doing tonight than stopping by the Consulate.
Fraser straightened up and propped himself against the cabinets opposite the oven. He watched the amber glow of the oven and vaguely felt the growing warmth it radiated soak through his clothes to settle against his skin. He was being foolish to even entertain thoughts of Ray being anything more than his best friend. He was lucky to have even that. But, there were times when Ray stood so close to him that he could feel his body heat seeping through his clothes, just like the heat from the oven was doing now, and it was like their auras had intermingled and become one. It made his skin tingle, just thinking about it. It felt right in those moments and he had to fight hard to resist inappropriate impulses. Sometimes he wished that he wasn’t so accomplished in controlling himself.
The oven timer trilled brightly to signify that his dinner was ready. Hot air blasted Fraser’s face as he opened the door. Dief had the presence of mind to push the oven gloves upon him before Fraser reached in and burned his hands.
“Thank you.” Dief cocked his head as Fraser pulled the gloves on. “Yes, I am quite aware that I’m distracted and ‘moping around’, thank you very much.”
Diefenbaker huffed at the Mountie’s tone of voice and padded away to leave him even more alone than before. Fraser thumbed his eyebrow with a gloved hand as he watched the half-wolf retreat into the drawing room. He was going to end up paying for snapping in reply to his companion’s concern, and he suspected the fee would take the form of doughnuts.
Once Fraser had dished the cannelloni onto a plate, he took the meal back to his office and arranged it on the table so that he could eat and read at the same time. He managed to force himself to eat a couple of mouthfuls; it was really very good, but he couldn’t find his appetite any more than he could will himself to enjoy his book. He chopped the pasta up into increasingly smaller pieces with the side of his fork and then began to push then around his plate, making swirling patterns in the sauce.
Glancing up, he noted that the time was now nearly 8pm. Ray would have picked up his date by now and they would have arrived at the restaurant that he had made the reservation. It was probably an Italian place, as Italian cuisine and romance were often associated. Perhaps his date had ordered cannelloni and she would cut up a piece to feed Ray over the table. There’d be a spot of sauce left on the corner of his mouth and it would be irresistible to just lean over and gently brush it away with her thumb. He’d smile at the touch, all soft and tender, his eyes getting that soft-focus hazy sheen to them, and he wouldn’t be able to resist touching the tip of his tongue to the ball of her thumb as it dragged over the cushion of his lower lip. The sexual tension would be heavy in the air after that and their hands would flitter over each other’s as they ate, willing the table away from between them. Dessert would arrive, simple ice cream to share, and he’d return the earlier gesture by spoon feeding his partner, his eyes riveted on the ice cream disappearing between smiling lips, his thoughts open and wandering, as he caught his lower lip between his teeth and anticipated his own idea of dessert.
Fraser pushed his plate away with a little more force than intended and it only just fell short of skittering over the edge of the table. He almost wished it had. At least cleaning up the mess would distract him for a short while.
Leaning back in his seat, Fraser sighed heavily. He let his head tip back to face the ceiling as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between pinched fingers. He would go to bed. At least if he was sleeping he wouldn’t be dwelling on things he had no business dwelling on, and then it would be tomorrow and Ray’s date would be over, for better or for worse…
…unless she stayed the night. Then Ray’s date wouldn’t be over in the morning, and would have in fact evolved into something more than a date. Fraser pressed the heels of his palms firmly into his eye sockets until he was seeing neon colours bursting behind his eyelids. He would just stop thinking and go to sleep, and come morning, then he could worry about Ray’s post-date report.
He undressed mechanically, folding and putting away his clothing out of habit, while in his mind Ray held open the passenger door of his car for his date to climb inside. As he pulled on his long johns, they’d already reached their destination, which happened to be outside Ray’s flat. Fraser sighed heavily to himself; obviously his imagination wasn’t going to take pity on him any time soon. The sooner he got to sleep the better.
Once he had turned off his desk lamp, the faint light from street lamps filtering through his flimsy curtains was the only illumination in the room. It had been distracting at first, sleeping beneath the window and seeing light shift over his eyelids every time a vehicle passed by outside, but it got to the point where the irregular beams had become as relaxing to him as the sounds of a storm from the inside of a well stocked cabin.
He turned the sheets back and slid onto his cot, lying on his back with the fold of the sheets only reaching his shins. He could pull them up later if he got cold. He shut his eyes and willed his mind to go blank.
A truck passed by outside, golden light sweeping through Fraser’s vision like a light switch suddenly being flicked on. After the light had slid away again, he found himself gazing into Ray’s apartment, as if he were standing in the doorway viewing it for the first time. Subconsciously, he knew that his mind was giving him a view through Ray’s date’s eyes. He took a couple of steps forward, turning his head to take note of the turtle’s tank, over on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. Then suddenly Ray appeared from nowhere and was up close in his personal space, like he’d been many times before. Except that this time he continued to approach, crowding Fraser backwards until his back was pressed against the closet door.
Ray had a grin on his face that said he knew exactly what he wanted. His head was dipped slightly so that he was looking up through long eyelashes in mock coyness, and he was getting closer and closer, leaning one arm against the door behind Fraser’s head. Chests made contact first, then groins, then eventually Ray weaved his head up and pressed his lips against Fraser’s.
On his cot, Fraser writhed and ground his hips up against the air, his mouth parting in a gasp that sounded a lot like “Oh! Ray!”
Fraser’s eyes snapped open. He ground his jaw together tightly. This was no good at all. His arms swung out violently and his hands gripped the sides of his cot as he flung himself upright so fiercely that the fragile bed shuddered and threatened to collapse under him.
There was only one thing for it. He had to at least attempt to get this out of his system
His fingers were eager to unbutton his long johns and he was pushing them from his shoulders before he’d even finished making the decision consciously. Swinging his legs over the edge of the cot, he put enough weight on his feet to pull the clothing down to his thighs, and then he sat back down heavily and pushed the long johns off, kicking them aside. His hand found his cock the second he began to straighten up and he breathed out a sigh of relief at the warmth gripping him suddenly. He felt too needy, so out of control, but it also felt good and he squeezed himself gently as he lay back down on the bed.
Ray. Ray and his date. No. Ray and himself; he would be Ray’s date in this fantasy.
Ray was leading him to the bedroom. Ray seemed to be dancing around him; behind him to untuck his shirt and slip a hand inside to reach around and caress the skin of his torso, then at his side to mouth at his neck and jaw, and then in front if him, unfastening the first couple of buttons of Fraser’s shirt before pulling it up over his head. With fingers looped in the waistband of Fraser’s trousers, Ray guided him over to the bed, that bright grin on his face, accompanied by a dirty leer shining in his eyes.
Fraser rubbed his thumb over the head of his dick, slickly smearing it with precome as he imagined Ray unfastening his trousers and pushing them down, along with his underwear. He groaned at the thought of Ray crouched at his feet, face level with his erection. He pictured Ray holding his gaze as he leaned forward and licked a stripe up the straining member before standing to undress himself.
Fraser began to stroke himself, slowly, smoothly, while his other hand crept along the crease of his thigh, dipping lower to fondle his scrotum.
In his mind, they were both on the bed now, exploring each other’s bodies with mouths and hands. On the cot, Fraser’s hand skimmed up his body, mapping out the contours of his flesh in a way he barely bothered with normally. His thumb rubbed back and forth over his nipple, stirring it up into a sensitive peak, then he scraped a fingernail over it, Ray’s smile fixed in his mind. He shuddered and moaned, his other hand pumping just a bit harder; Ray’s teeth would send electric sparks through him, just like that. He pinched himself softly, as if Ray was biting him. His head arched back as a guttural sound rose in his throat.
He imagined Ray nuzzling into his neck and he could almost swear that he could feel the searing breath against his earlobe as Ray whispered low and harsh, “I want to fuck you.”
In the darkness of the room, Fraser “ahh”ed and his hand flew back down his body to cup his balls again.
His treacherous mind insisted on pushing, though, and had to point out that Fraser wasn’t a woman, why would Ray want to have sex with him when he didn’t have a… a… think it, Benton Fraser, you can at least think the word, no-one will hear you… a cunt? His eyes screwed up tightly and his chest heaved at the word. Suddenly his mind was filled with images of Ray with an anonymous woman, no face, no features, just a soft body, all curves, and fleshy moist folds between her thighs. He pictured Ray’s elegant fingers as they dipped between her legs, plunging into the slick warmth there and returning wet. Fraser could imagine the twist of Ray's lips, his tongue snaking out to lick his fingers, before he slid them into his mouth to suck them clean.
Fraser put his hand to his mouth, running the pads of his fingers over his lips, just letting them catch the damp cushioned insides. The tip of his tongue touched against his fingers and he let them slip into his mouth, scraping them against teeth, sucking and lathing his tongue around them.
He was no woman, but he would be tighter, hotter. He would give himself to Ray entirely.
He spread his legs and dug his heels into the hard mattress beneath him, angling his hips up slightly. As he imagined Ray’s body settling over him, bare flesh meeting his, he drew his fingers from his mouth and lowered his hand. He brushed his fingertips over his tightly puckered opening, imagining it was Ray doing so, teasing him. He pushed a finger in slowly.
He was panting and staring wide-eyed into the darkness, but in his mind he was focused on Ray’s face gazing intently back down at him. Ray would take his time to prepare him, he would be a considerate lover, progressing slowly and drinking in every facet of making love to him, every expression and moan, every twist and writhe of the body beneath him. He would teach Fraser things about his body that he didn’t already know himself.
Fraser eased in a second finger as he thought about Ray lining his cock up against his entrance. Ray would be talking; a constant stream of hushed, reassuring words, laced with descriptions of how much he wanted Fraser, needed him, how he desired to be inside him, right now. And he would cling to the body above him as Ray pushed himself in, he would pull him close and moan with the sheer ecstasy of finally having Ray inside of him.
Fraser could feel the fine layer of sweat beading his skin, the night air prickling at it, and he wished that he could experience the weight of another body over him, making their flesh slick, so that moving together as one became easy and natural.
Fraser began to pump himself harder as he thought about Ray actually moving, actually fucking him. He would begin slowly, but he would quickly build up a rhythm, pounding into him so hard, swallowing up his cries and moans with his mouth, urgently kissing him. The final moments would be intense, frantic. The air would be filled with the sounds of their panting breaths and groans, Fraser’s hands grabbing and kneading and clinging to every lean muscle he could reach, Ray’s mouth moving in a hoarse barrage of meaningless words and incomplete sentences against his skin.
Fraser crooked his fingers and suddenly electric white jolts ignited low down in his groin and coursed through his body. He came with the thought of Ray ejaculating deep inside of him, semen gushing over his hand and across his torso.
Beams of light played over his eyelids as he lay back on his cot trying to catch his breath. His body tingled and his mind was quiet, finally. He began to allow himself to be lulled to sleep, despite the chill air settling on his damp skin.
It took several moments to notice the banging on the front door, then a few more to will his body to move. He quickly wiped his bed sheet down his front, unravelled his long johns and pulled them on. He buttoned them up as he silently cursed Turnbull’s sense of timing and wondered what he wanted now.
But deep down his heart and mind conspired to whisper: Ray…
***END***