Drawing the Sun (F/K, R)
First posted on ds_flashfiction (earlier today) for the Lube Challenge. Reposted here now that the challenge is officially closed.
Title: Drawing the Sun
Author: vsee
Pairing: F/K
Rating: R
Word count: About 4200
Summary: Ray takes a break in Fraser's cot.
Notes: Thank you, spuffyduds, for beta reading and encouragement.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and locations do not belong to me. This is an amateur work of fanfiction written solely for personal pleasure.
Drawing the Sun
"We will take a two hour recess for lunch. Please be back here promptly at two o'clock. Thank you." The judge banged her gavel.
A babble of voices rose in the courtroom, and chairs scraped back. There was a push as half the crowd milled toward the front of the room and half elbowed for the door. The room was stale and a little too warm, and Ray couldn't wait to get out of there and back out into the sunshine of the early June day.
Ray turned in the row of benches near the front where he sat with the other witnesses who had testified that morning, to catch Fraser's eye. When their eyes met, Fraser gave him a small smile and a nod. He was sitting back in the regular seats behind the swinging gate, like an ordinary civilian. Fraser hadn't been on the witness list, even though he'd been there for the bust.
"Excuse me, Jackson," Ray muttered as he stepped around the other detective. "If I don't get out of here now and get another cup of coffee and something to eat, my head is going to roll off." Jackson snorted, and feinted with his foot as if to trip him. Asshole. Ray smirked and stepped into the aisle, to make his way to the door.
Apparently the new junior prosecutor wasn't comfortable with Fraser's semi-official status with the Chicago PD, or didn't trust that he could explain why a Mountie had been on the scene to the jury. Ray had wondered how his testimony would seem without Fraser taking the stand, too. He really needed this to go right. He needed to nail those smugglers to the wall. He needed to sound right, and he needed to look right.
He'd decided that his old court suit was starting to look a little dated, and a little worn, so he had gone down to the Loop last week to a snazzy men's store to get himself a new suit. It was slate grey and the jacket had a modern cut. The pants had to be let out to accommodate his long legs. The salesman had talked him into a crisp, deep teal shirt that had seemed a little iffy on the hanger, but looked good under the jacket. He had even picked a new, finely patterned grey, black and brown tie. He looked sharp, if a little like a hipster bank executive, fresh out of business school. He'd shaved close that morning and put on his heavy black glasses to complete the I'm a serious cop look, but he could already feel the prickle of fresh stubble when he ran his hand over his chin.
Fraser had talked Ray through the events from three months before on the phone last night. And he'd come to court, and sat through the whole morning of testimony. His friendly face in the crowd had given Ray a boost. Ray had been sharp with names, dates, descriptions and details, and Fraser had just looked more assured and proud the more Ray talked.
Ray's body felt light with relief as he exited the courtroom. He was glad his part in making the case was over. He met Fraser just outside the door, and they fell into step as they descended the huge double staircase that led out to the main lobby doors.
Once outside, Ray turned his face up into the sun, and took a few deep breaths to clear his nose of the courthouse funk. Chicago air wasn't the cleanest, but today it seemed fresh. Ray felt good, the day was going his way, and he looked like a million bucks in his new suit. Or at least like a c-note.
"You did a wonderful job."
"Yeah." He grinned at Fraser. "Do you want to take me to lunch? I don't think they'll call me back to the stand, but I have to be there for the afternoon session."
"I am sorry, I don't have time. I am afraid that I won't be able to come back for the afternoon, either. I'm late getting back to the consulate. The Inspector is at a meeting in Toronto today, and I agreed to cover her weekly conference call with her superior. I need to be ready to take the call in twenty minutes. Do you think you could give me a ride back? I don't think I will make it in time any other way."
"Sure, of course. Why didn't you leave if you had somewhere else to be?"
"I wanted to hear the end of your testimony. I admit, I also lost track of the time. You were very compelling."
Ray laughed and clapped Fraser's shoulder. "That's me in a nutshell."
"The conference call should only last twenty or thirty minutes. If you like, you could wait for me, and then we could get lunch at the diner. After that I have to take over the desk from Turnbull. Otherwise I would come back this afternoon."
"Yeah, that sounds good. I think I've got enough time. Let's go."
It was weird to be back at the consulate, sitting around in the fancy sitting room where he'd spent so much time hanging around with Turnbull during the whole Volpe shitstorm . The sofa was as flowery and hard and formal as Ray remembered it. There was a TV in here, but it had terrible reception and no cable hookup. Ray thumbed through the stack of videos on top of the TV. Curling. Hockey. Pretty Woman. Ugh. Probably Turnbull's. It seemed a little soft for the Ice Queen.
Ray rubbed his eyes. Now that the rush of facing the smugglers in court was over, he was starting to feel tired. Maybe he was just hungry, too, but he was having trouble staying awake. He knew from past experience that there was no point in trying to lie down on the sitting room sofa. He was too tall, and it was too lumpy.
Fraser said the call might only last twenty minutes, but twenty minutes was long gone. Ray wandered out of the sitting room, and looked back up the hall toward the lobby. Turnbull was at the front desk talking on the phone, answering some complicated question about a lost passport. When he saw Ray looking over at him, he gave him a two fingered salute, and went back to confusing the hell out of the caller on the other end. No help there.
Ray went the other way down the hall until he stood in the doorway of the Inspector's office. Fraser was in her oversized chair behind her huge desk, under her massive poster of the Canadian flag. The boxy black speaker phone filled the middle of the desk, and a male voice droned on about forms, and supply requisitions. Fraser had slouched down a little, and looked tired and hungry, too.
"Yes, sir, " he said. "I can take care of that first thing tomorrow morning."
He looked at Ray and shrugged, then rolled his eyes a little. He mouthed "I'm sorry." He pointed to his watch, and then out toward the front door, and gave him a questioning look.
Ray shook his head, then pointed down toward Fraser's office. He knew Fraser had a cot in there, and he had even slept on it for a couple of hours the last time he was here. He figured Fraser probably wouldn't mind too much if he did that again. He could grab a few minutes of rest. He didn't want to show up for the afternoon session looking dragged out.
Fraser just looked puzzled, so he pointed down toward the office again, and put his hands up to his cheek and mimed sleeping.
He still looked faintly confused, but he nodded, so Ray took that as permission.
He had forgotten just how tiny Fraser's office was. It was crammed with furniture. On one side, it was set up like a regular office with a desk, an office chair, a visitor chair, and a PC set on a stand next to the desk. On the other side, other than the cot he remembered, there was a narrow wardrobe, a tiny bedside table with a lantern on it, and a footlocker. When he crashed in here before, he thought of it like a prison cell, a place a guy would get claustrophobic. Today, it seemed kind of nice. Sheltered, contained, kind of cozy. The sunlight streamed in through the tiny window, which was open, and the plain white curtain swayed a little in the warm breeze coming in. It smelled kind of like pencil shavings and kind of like Fraser--clean and a little like pine. The scratchy wool blanket with the stripes he remembered was folded and sat on top of the footlocker. The cot was made up with sheets, and a light, white cotton blanket.
Ray stretched his arms up over his head until his shoulders both popped softly. Then he slid off the suit jacket, and tossed it over the arm of the desk chair. He loosened his tie way down and undid the top two buttons on the shirt. He sat down on the edge of the cot, kicked off his shoes, then pulled off his heavy glasses, folding them and setting them next to the lantern on the bedside table. He let himself drop over on top of the soft blanket, and closed his eyes. Hmmm, not the Ritz, but not bad. He wiggled a bit and pulled the feather pillow further under his neck. He peeled his socks off one at a time with his toes, and kicked them off the end of the cot. He hoped they landed somewhere near his shoes. He closed his eyes again, and tried to drift.
For a few minutes, he let himself go, not thinking too hard about how personal this was to be lying in Fraser's bed, with his head on Fraser's pillow. The bedding smelled even more strongly of Fraser, the everyday, normal smell he knew well, and more--like clean sweat, and a little musky. Ray turned his head a little more into the pillow, and tried to ignore the growing heat low in his belly, the feeling of his dick stirring.
The slow burn was clashing with his busy brain and his growling stomach, anyway, damping down his good mood, along with his twitchy dick. He was still jazzed from earlier, and he couldn't stop thinking about the case, thinking about all that happened at the bust.
It had gone down in March. It was a convoluted smuggling operation involving swapping out crates of legitimate baby formula for a shipment of counterfeit white tube socks. He didn't even know how the Celine Dion CDs fit into the scheme, all he knew is those guys went crazy when Fraser, Ray, Huey, Dewey, Jackson and O'Connor went to arrest them.
In his testimony, Ray had described the operation to track the shipments, the plan to make the arrests, and the long, seemingly endless firefight. Ray described the wound that had put him out of action for the last few minutes of the fight. He had been nicked in the meat of his thigh with a bullet. He had played it with as much cool dignity as he could muster on the stand, the wounded police officer. He felt like an ass, playing it for sympathy, but he wanted to get those bastards, but good.
What he didn't say in court was that even though it was just a small wound, it bled like crazy, and hurt more than he would have imagined. Jackson and Huey had the smugglers in cuffs and shoving them toward the unmarked police van by the time Fraser found him, slumped beside his silver Chevy, clutching his leg and cursing quietly to himself. Fraser had paled, even though his voice sounded steady. "You've been shot."
"I don't think it's too bad. The bullet isn't in me, it's in the side of the car, see?" He remembered that his hand had flailed weirdly up toward the car. He had felt a little lightheaded. "But Christ, it hurts like a motherfucker. And I think I am sitting in a fucking slush puddle."
His eyes had burned like someone yanked out a nosehair, but he wasn't going to act like an idiot in front of Fraser. Fraser hadn't paid that much attention to his face, though. He had reached into an inside pocket of his red coat, and pulled out a snow-white handkerchief. He knelt down beside Ray, and began dabbing some of the blood from around the tear in his jeans, then said, "I'm sorry, Ray, this is going to hurt."
He had pressed the cloth down firmly over the wound, and pain flared up so hot and bright that Ray couldn't see for a few moments. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Ray gasped for breath. Fraser just sat with him, until the pain receded enough for him to notice that Fraser had started stroking the back of his neck with his other hand. It hurt, it hurt, but that big, warm hand felt nice on his neck and distracted him. After another minute, Fraser moved Ray's hand over the makeshift bandage, and then helped him up from the ground, practically dead-lifting him, till he could get his good leg under him. Fraser got an arm around his middle and helped him hop into the passenger side of the car. Fraser drove him to the hospital, where they cleaned the wound, and gave him a tetanus booster, and some happy pills.
Something had changed between them after that day. Ray was aware, even before he got shot, that he had some feelings for Fraser that were beyond buddies. He would have to be blind not to notice that Fraser was gorgeous. If you spent enough time with the guy though, listening to his weird stories and going to basketball games, and having a burger with him after work, you kind of stopped seeing the magazine-cover good looks all the time.
It sometimes took Ray by surprise to catch a glimpse of him coming in to the bullpen, or with his head bent over a file, and just think, wow . More and more he found himself with an inappropriate hard-on shaping up out of sight under his desk.
Ray knew he was lonely. He hadn't been with anyone since he went undercover as Vecchio. Before that, he'd dated a few women, never more than two or three dates. He'd also had a few encounters with guys, but it never came to anything at all. Just a night or two, and then they were gone.
Fraser was so different from the guys he grew up with, the guys he worked with, the guys he used to go have beers with once in awhile, and certainly different than the guys he'd fucked around with. He liked working with Ray, he was always up for going out after work, or coming over to Ray's place to relax, but Fraser had never given him any other sign.
Ray turned over and pressed his face completely into the pillow, breathed in deeply, letting the throb in his chest and in his dick soar up. For a moment he let his hips go, and he ground a couple of times into the blanket. He jammed his hand underneath his body, and cupped himself through the suit pants. The impulse to ride his palm hard was there. Instead he squeezed himself firmly, pinching a little, and forced himself to cool down. He turned onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.
He knew he shouldn't stay in Fraser's bed any longer. He had to get up. His head hurt a little now. Maybe an aspirin would help. He stretched his legs out, taking one last moment to enjoy being here, and then sighed. He could dry swallow an aspirin if he could find any, and maybe that would take the edge off everything. He rolled up onto his elbow, and pulled open the little drawer in the bedside table.
He reached in and pulled out the tube before he realized what he saw in the drawer. It didn't look like anything special, just a light blue tube of lotion that smelled faintly of almonds. Then he noticed that the rest of the drawer was filled with stacks of neatly folded clean white hankies. They looked just like the one Fraser pulled out and pressed to Ray's thigh that day. He shivered. There were no other bottles or toys, no skin mags, no dirty books in Fraser's jerk-off drawer, but that was definitely what it was. Wow, that was mighty personal. He felt another thrill move through his gut, as he turned the tube over to read the label, and to give it a quick sniff. He knew Fraser must jerk off, but finding this stuff, being here made it all very real to him all of a sudden, and he could picture him lying just where Ray was now, holding the tube in one hand and stripping himself with long, lazy strokes with the other.
Oh, god. OK, time to put the stuff back. Time to get the hell out of here. He put the lotion back in the drawer, and pushed it shut. It was then he noticed that the top must have been loose and a little bit had dribbled out onto his hand. With a disgusted grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the cot, holding the sticky hand up so he wouldn't get any on the blanket and looked around for a box of tissues. Then he remembered the hankies in the drawer and thought about using one. No, no, bad idea. What if Fraser had counted them? It didn't seem out of the question.
He was ready to roll up the sleeve of his now slightly wrinkled shirt and rub the lotion into his wrist when he spotted the box of tissues on the corner of the desk, by the visitor's chair. He wiped the lotion off, and threw the crumpled tissue in the wastebasket.
He picked up his shoes and socks from beside the cot, and dropped them next to the chair with his suit jacket on it. He was about to go back out into the hall to make his way to the bathroom, so he could wash his face and straighten out his hair, when Fraser came into the room, already talking.
"I'm sorry that took so long. For some reason he decided to ask me for a breakdown of the last two months of requisitions. Are you ready to go?" He stopped and his eyes widened a little as he took in Ray's messy hair, loose tie, creased shirt and pants, and bare feet.
"What have you been doing, Ray?" Fraser asked.
"I was trying to catch a quick nap. I wanted to use your cot. That's what I was trying to say before." He lamely did his little hands- to- cheek mime of sleeping again. "I didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't mind," Fraser said, but he was still looking at Ray with some hesitation. "Were you looking for something in here?"
"Yeah, an aspirin. My head was starting to hurt. I think it will be OK, as long as I can get some food pretty soon."
"Yes, that seems like a good idea." His words sounded normal, but Ray could see that he was holding something back, and it was a struggle for him.
He looked him straight in the eye, and said "What, Fraser?"
Fraser sighed and looked away first. Then he stepped closer, right into Ray's personal space.
"I know you're not telling me the truth, all of the truth. I can smell it on you."
Oh God. Ray wanted to look away now, to step back, but he held his ground, raised his chin a little. He didn't back down or say smell what? He just waited to see what Fraser was going to do.
Fraser took a ragged breath, and continued. "I can smell my...lotion, and...lust. What were you doing in here?"
That was brave. Ray could be brave, too.
He stepped forward, and put his arms around Fraser, waited to see if he would do the same. His arms came up slowly around him, till Ray had his face against his shoulder, and they were holding on to each other.
"I was going to take a nap, but I was thinking about you," he mumbled into the side of Fraser's neck.
"Oh," said Fraser, and then he was moving his hands into Ray's hair and tilting his face toward him and then they were kissing.
Fraser's mouth was so hot and sweet over his, moving over and over his lips. Ray brought his hands up into Fraser's soft hair, and pulled him in a little closer, deepening the kiss, moving a little faster, making it a little more lewd, tangling his tongue between his lips.
Soon Fraser couldn't stifle a groan, and he pulled his mouth away to gasp for breath. He peppered Ray's chin and cheeks with kisses, as he panted. "I thought that you might...I couldn't tell."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want you to know."
Fraser jerked his head back, and looked nervous.
"Hey, don't do that. That's not what I mean. I did, I do." He pulled Fraser up against him so that his hard-on pushed into his thigh. "Obviously, I do. I just didn't know you wanted this. I had no idea, and I didn't want to ruin things." Ray leaned in to kiss him again, letting his mouth linger, and gently rocking his hips against Fraser's.
Fraser pulled his mouth away again, and pushed his hips up into the movement. "Oh," he said again. "Oh, Ray. I thought of you so many times when I-- I thought about your hands--" His breath caught. "Your hands on me." Ray couldn't tell if he meant to confess this. He covered the moment with more kisses, and then reached down to cradle Fraser's dick in his hand.
Fraser groaned again as he made contact, but then he said. "Wait, Ray. Don't."
He moved his hand away, but kissed Fraser's ear, and asked "Don't? Why not?"
"Technically I am on my lunch break, but I am on duty. I am at work. My coworker is just down the hall. And you have to be back in court in less than an hour." Fraser pulled back slowly, as if he was having trouble letting go. "I want to be with you, but I can't. Not here, not right now."
Ray shook his head a little bit to try to clear it. "OK, that makes sense. Later?"
"Oh, yes ." It was so heartfelt that Ray couldn't help but grin at him.
Ray pushed down on his own hard dick with the heel of his hand, and took three deep breaths. "All right, if I am going to get back to court, I've got to get out of here right now. Otherwise, I think I might just tip you on to that cot, and make you forget about being on duty."
Fraser laughed. "Do you still need an aspirin?"
"No, my headache is gone. I could use a roast beef sandwich, though."
"Oh dear, it is getting late. Do you still have time to eat?"
"Not really, but I can grab a sandwich on the way back. I'll be fine."
Ray sat in the visitor chair and put his shoes and socks back on. He stuck his glasses back on his face.
"This isn't how I imagined it at all," Fraser said quietly. "Not in the middle of the day, not when the office is open. I would really like it if you would come back some other time, at night."
"Yeah, we can do that."
Ray ran his hands through his hair to try to get the spikes evened out, then straighted and rebuttoned his shirt, and pulled up the knot of his tie. He put his jacket back on, and turned to ask Fraser how he looked.
Instead of asking the question, he said, "I think I am in love with you. I think I've been in love with you for the past three months. Ever since you picked me up off the ground when I got shot. I couldn't stop thinking about that today, when I was lying there." He twitched his head toward the cot.
Fraser's face was surprised, but bright and happy with pleasure. He leaned toward Ray again, but Ray pushed him back. "Don't kiss me now or you'll make me hard again."
He turned to open the door, but Fraser grabbed his arm. He didn't seem to be able to find words to answer Ray's confession, but it was as if Ray heard it anyway.
"Good. Yeah. I will see you later."
"See you later."
END
Title: Drawing the Sun
Author: vsee
Pairing: F/K
Rating: R
Word count: About 4200
Summary: Ray takes a break in Fraser's cot.
Notes: Thank you, spuffyduds, for beta reading and encouragement.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and locations do not belong to me. This is an amateur work of fanfiction written solely for personal pleasure.
Drawing the Sun
"We will take a two hour recess for lunch. Please be back here promptly at two o'clock. Thank you." The judge banged her gavel.
A babble of voices rose in the courtroom, and chairs scraped back. There was a push as half the crowd milled toward the front of the room and half elbowed for the door. The room was stale and a little too warm, and Ray couldn't wait to get out of there and back out into the sunshine of the early June day.
Ray turned in the row of benches near the front where he sat with the other witnesses who had testified that morning, to catch Fraser's eye. When their eyes met, Fraser gave him a small smile and a nod. He was sitting back in the regular seats behind the swinging gate, like an ordinary civilian. Fraser hadn't been on the witness list, even though he'd been there for the bust.
"Excuse me, Jackson," Ray muttered as he stepped around the other detective. "If I don't get out of here now and get another cup of coffee and something to eat, my head is going to roll off." Jackson snorted, and feinted with his foot as if to trip him. Asshole. Ray smirked and stepped into the aisle, to make his way to the door.
Apparently the new junior prosecutor wasn't comfortable with Fraser's semi-official status with the Chicago PD, or didn't trust that he could explain why a Mountie had been on the scene to the jury. Ray had wondered how his testimony would seem without Fraser taking the stand, too. He really needed this to go right. He needed to nail those smugglers to the wall. He needed to sound right, and he needed to look right.
He'd decided that his old court suit was starting to look a little dated, and a little worn, so he had gone down to the Loop last week to a snazzy men's store to get himself a new suit. It was slate grey and the jacket had a modern cut. The pants had to be let out to accommodate his long legs. The salesman had talked him into a crisp, deep teal shirt that had seemed a little iffy on the hanger, but looked good under the jacket. He had even picked a new, finely patterned grey, black and brown tie. He looked sharp, if a little like a hipster bank executive, fresh out of business school. He'd shaved close that morning and put on his heavy black glasses to complete the I'm a serious cop look, but he could already feel the prickle of fresh stubble when he ran his hand over his chin.
Fraser had talked Ray through the events from three months before on the phone last night. And he'd come to court, and sat through the whole morning of testimony. His friendly face in the crowd had given Ray a boost. Ray had been sharp with names, dates, descriptions and details, and Fraser had just looked more assured and proud the more Ray talked.
Ray's body felt light with relief as he exited the courtroom. He was glad his part in making the case was over. He met Fraser just outside the door, and they fell into step as they descended the huge double staircase that led out to the main lobby doors.
Once outside, Ray turned his face up into the sun, and took a few deep breaths to clear his nose of the courthouse funk. Chicago air wasn't the cleanest, but today it seemed fresh. Ray felt good, the day was going his way, and he looked like a million bucks in his new suit. Or at least like a c-note.
"You did a wonderful job."
"Yeah." He grinned at Fraser. "Do you want to take me to lunch? I don't think they'll call me back to the stand, but I have to be there for the afternoon session."
"I am sorry, I don't have time. I am afraid that I won't be able to come back for the afternoon, either. I'm late getting back to the consulate. The Inspector is at a meeting in Toronto today, and I agreed to cover her weekly conference call with her superior. I need to be ready to take the call in twenty minutes. Do you think you could give me a ride back? I don't think I will make it in time any other way."
"Sure, of course. Why didn't you leave if you had somewhere else to be?"
"I wanted to hear the end of your testimony. I admit, I also lost track of the time. You were very compelling."
Ray laughed and clapped Fraser's shoulder. "That's me in a nutshell."
"The conference call should only last twenty or thirty minutes. If you like, you could wait for me, and then we could get lunch at the diner. After that I have to take over the desk from Turnbull. Otherwise I would come back this afternoon."
"Yeah, that sounds good. I think I've got enough time. Let's go."
It was weird to be back at the consulate, sitting around in the fancy sitting room where he'd spent so much time hanging around with Turnbull during the whole Volpe shitstorm . The sofa was as flowery and hard and formal as Ray remembered it. There was a TV in here, but it had terrible reception and no cable hookup. Ray thumbed through the stack of videos on top of the TV. Curling. Hockey. Pretty Woman. Ugh. Probably Turnbull's. It seemed a little soft for the Ice Queen.
Ray rubbed his eyes. Now that the rush of facing the smugglers in court was over, he was starting to feel tired. Maybe he was just hungry, too, but he was having trouble staying awake. He knew from past experience that there was no point in trying to lie down on the sitting room sofa. He was too tall, and it was too lumpy.
Fraser said the call might only last twenty minutes, but twenty minutes was long gone. Ray wandered out of the sitting room, and looked back up the hall toward the lobby. Turnbull was at the front desk talking on the phone, answering some complicated question about a lost passport. When he saw Ray looking over at him, he gave him a two fingered salute, and went back to confusing the hell out of the caller on the other end. No help there.
Ray went the other way down the hall until he stood in the doorway of the Inspector's office. Fraser was in her oversized chair behind her huge desk, under her massive poster of the Canadian flag. The boxy black speaker phone filled the middle of the desk, and a male voice droned on about forms, and supply requisitions. Fraser had slouched down a little, and looked tired and hungry, too.
"Yes, sir, " he said. "I can take care of that first thing tomorrow morning."
He looked at Ray and shrugged, then rolled his eyes a little. He mouthed "I'm sorry." He pointed to his watch, and then out toward the front door, and gave him a questioning look.
Ray shook his head, then pointed down toward Fraser's office. He knew Fraser had a cot in there, and he had even slept on it for a couple of hours the last time he was here. He figured Fraser probably wouldn't mind too much if he did that again. He could grab a few minutes of rest. He didn't want to show up for the afternoon session looking dragged out.
Fraser just looked puzzled, so he pointed down toward the office again, and put his hands up to his cheek and mimed sleeping.
He still looked faintly confused, but he nodded, so Ray took that as permission.
He had forgotten just how tiny Fraser's office was. It was crammed with furniture. On one side, it was set up like a regular office with a desk, an office chair, a visitor chair, and a PC set on a stand next to the desk. On the other side, other than the cot he remembered, there was a narrow wardrobe, a tiny bedside table with a lantern on it, and a footlocker. When he crashed in here before, he thought of it like a prison cell, a place a guy would get claustrophobic. Today, it seemed kind of nice. Sheltered, contained, kind of cozy. The sunlight streamed in through the tiny window, which was open, and the plain white curtain swayed a little in the warm breeze coming in. It smelled kind of like pencil shavings and kind of like Fraser--clean and a little like pine. The scratchy wool blanket with the stripes he remembered was folded and sat on top of the footlocker. The cot was made up with sheets, and a light, white cotton blanket.
Ray stretched his arms up over his head until his shoulders both popped softly. Then he slid off the suit jacket, and tossed it over the arm of the desk chair. He loosened his tie way down and undid the top two buttons on the shirt. He sat down on the edge of the cot, kicked off his shoes, then pulled off his heavy glasses, folding them and setting them next to the lantern on the bedside table. He let himself drop over on top of the soft blanket, and closed his eyes. Hmmm, not the Ritz, but not bad. He wiggled a bit and pulled the feather pillow further under his neck. He peeled his socks off one at a time with his toes, and kicked them off the end of the cot. He hoped they landed somewhere near his shoes. He closed his eyes again, and tried to drift.
For a few minutes, he let himself go, not thinking too hard about how personal this was to be lying in Fraser's bed, with his head on Fraser's pillow. The bedding smelled even more strongly of Fraser, the everyday, normal smell he knew well, and more--like clean sweat, and a little musky. Ray turned his head a little more into the pillow, and tried to ignore the growing heat low in his belly, the feeling of his dick stirring.
The slow burn was clashing with his busy brain and his growling stomach, anyway, damping down his good mood, along with his twitchy dick. He was still jazzed from earlier, and he couldn't stop thinking about the case, thinking about all that happened at the bust.
It had gone down in March. It was a convoluted smuggling operation involving swapping out crates of legitimate baby formula for a shipment of counterfeit white tube socks. He didn't even know how the Celine Dion CDs fit into the scheme, all he knew is those guys went crazy when Fraser, Ray, Huey, Dewey, Jackson and O'Connor went to arrest them.
In his testimony, Ray had described the operation to track the shipments, the plan to make the arrests, and the long, seemingly endless firefight. Ray described the wound that had put him out of action for the last few minutes of the fight. He had been nicked in the meat of his thigh with a bullet. He had played it with as much cool dignity as he could muster on the stand, the wounded police officer. He felt like an ass, playing it for sympathy, but he wanted to get those bastards, but good.
What he didn't say in court was that even though it was just a small wound, it bled like crazy, and hurt more than he would have imagined. Jackson and Huey had the smugglers in cuffs and shoving them toward the unmarked police van by the time Fraser found him, slumped beside his silver Chevy, clutching his leg and cursing quietly to himself. Fraser had paled, even though his voice sounded steady. "You've been shot."
"I don't think it's too bad. The bullet isn't in me, it's in the side of the car, see?" He remembered that his hand had flailed weirdly up toward the car. He had felt a little lightheaded. "But Christ, it hurts like a motherfucker. And I think I am sitting in a fucking slush puddle."
His eyes had burned like someone yanked out a nosehair, but he wasn't going to act like an idiot in front of Fraser. Fraser hadn't paid that much attention to his face, though. He had reached into an inside pocket of his red coat, and pulled out a snow-white handkerchief. He knelt down beside Ray, and began dabbing some of the blood from around the tear in his jeans, then said, "I'm sorry, Ray, this is going to hurt."
He had pressed the cloth down firmly over the wound, and pain flared up so hot and bright that Ray couldn't see for a few moments. "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Ray gasped for breath. Fraser just sat with him, until the pain receded enough for him to notice that Fraser had started stroking the back of his neck with his other hand. It hurt, it hurt, but that big, warm hand felt nice on his neck and distracted him. After another minute, Fraser moved Ray's hand over the makeshift bandage, and then helped him up from the ground, practically dead-lifting him, till he could get his good leg under him. Fraser got an arm around his middle and helped him hop into the passenger side of the car. Fraser drove him to the hospital, where they cleaned the wound, and gave him a tetanus booster, and some happy pills.
Something had changed between them after that day. Ray was aware, even before he got shot, that he had some feelings for Fraser that were beyond buddies. He would have to be blind not to notice that Fraser was gorgeous. If you spent enough time with the guy though, listening to his weird stories and going to basketball games, and having a burger with him after work, you kind of stopped seeing the magazine-cover good looks all the time.
It sometimes took Ray by surprise to catch a glimpse of him coming in to the bullpen, or with his head bent over a file, and just think, wow . More and more he found himself with an inappropriate hard-on shaping up out of sight under his desk.
Ray knew he was lonely. He hadn't been with anyone since he went undercover as Vecchio. Before that, he'd dated a few women, never more than two or three dates. He'd also had a few encounters with guys, but it never came to anything at all. Just a night or two, and then they were gone.
Fraser was so different from the guys he grew up with, the guys he worked with, the guys he used to go have beers with once in awhile, and certainly different than the guys he'd fucked around with. He liked working with Ray, he was always up for going out after work, or coming over to Ray's place to relax, but Fraser had never given him any other sign.
Ray turned over and pressed his face completely into the pillow, breathed in deeply, letting the throb in his chest and in his dick soar up. For a moment he let his hips go, and he ground a couple of times into the blanket. He jammed his hand underneath his body, and cupped himself through the suit pants. The impulse to ride his palm hard was there. Instead he squeezed himself firmly, pinching a little, and forced himself to cool down. He turned onto his back, and stared at the ceiling.
He knew he shouldn't stay in Fraser's bed any longer. He had to get up. His head hurt a little now. Maybe an aspirin would help. He stretched his legs out, taking one last moment to enjoy being here, and then sighed. He could dry swallow an aspirin if he could find any, and maybe that would take the edge off everything. He rolled up onto his elbow, and pulled open the little drawer in the bedside table.
He reached in and pulled out the tube before he realized what he saw in the drawer. It didn't look like anything special, just a light blue tube of lotion that smelled faintly of almonds. Then he noticed that the rest of the drawer was filled with stacks of neatly folded clean white hankies. They looked just like the one Fraser pulled out and pressed to Ray's thigh that day. He shivered. There were no other bottles or toys, no skin mags, no dirty books in Fraser's jerk-off drawer, but that was definitely what it was. Wow, that was mighty personal. He felt another thrill move through his gut, as he turned the tube over to read the label, and to give it a quick sniff. He knew Fraser must jerk off, but finding this stuff, being here made it all very real to him all of a sudden, and he could picture him lying just where Ray was now, holding the tube in one hand and stripping himself with long, lazy strokes with the other.
Oh, god. OK, time to put the stuff back. Time to get the hell out of here. He put the lotion back in the drawer, and pushed it shut. It was then he noticed that the top must have been loose and a little bit had dribbled out onto his hand. With a disgusted grunt, he swung his legs over the side of the cot, holding the sticky hand up so he wouldn't get any on the blanket and looked around for a box of tissues. Then he remembered the hankies in the drawer and thought about using one. No, no, bad idea. What if Fraser had counted them? It didn't seem out of the question.
He was ready to roll up the sleeve of his now slightly wrinkled shirt and rub the lotion into his wrist when he spotted the box of tissues on the corner of the desk, by the visitor's chair. He wiped the lotion off, and threw the crumpled tissue in the wastebasket.
He picked up his shoes and socks from beside the cot, and dropped them next to the chair with his suit jacket on it. He was about to go back out into the hall to make his way to the bathroom, so he could wash his face and straighten out his hair, when Fraser came into the room, already talking.
"I'm sorry that took so long. For some reason he decided to ask me for a breakdown of the last two months of requisitions. Are you ready to go?" He stopped and his eyes widened a little as he took in Ray's messy hair, loose tie, creased shirt and pants, and bare feet.
"What have you been doing, Ray?" Fraser asked.
"I was trying to catch a quick nap. I wanted to use your cot. That's what I was trying to say before." He lamely did his little hands- to- cheek mime of sleeping again. "I didn't think you'd mind."
"I don't mind," Fraser said, but he was still looking at Ray with some hesitation. "Were you looking for something in here?"
"Yeah, an aspirin. My head was starting to hurt. I think it will be OK, as long as I can get some food pretty soon."
"Yes, that seems like a good idea." His words sounded normal, but Ray could see that he was holding something back, and it was a struggle for him.
He looked him straight in the eye, and said "What, Fraser?"
Fraser sighed and looked away first. Then he stepped closer, right into Ray's personal space.
"I know you're not telling me the truth, all of the truth. I can smell it on you."
Oh God. Ray wanted to look away now, to step back, but he held his ground, raised his chin a little. He didn't back down or say smell what? He just waited to see what Fraser was going to do.
Fraser took a ragged breath, and continued. "I can smell my...lotion, and...lust. What were you doing in here?"
That was brave. Ray could be brave, too.
He stepped forward, and put his arms around Fraser, waited to see if he would do the same. His arms came up slowly around him, till Ray had his face against his shoulder, and they were holding on to each other.
"I was going to take a nap, but I was thinking about you," he mumbled into the side of Fraser's neck.
"Oh," said Fraser, and then he was moving his hands into Ray's hair and tilting his face toward him and then they were kissing.
Fraser's mouth was so hot and sweet over his, moving over and over his lips. Ray brought his hands up into Fraser's soft hair, and pulled him in a little closer, deepening the kiss, moving a little faster, making it a little more lewd, tangling his tongue between his lips.
Soon Fraser couldn't stifle a groan, and he pulled his mouth away to gasp for breath. He peppered Ray's chin and cheeks with kisses, as he panted. "I thought that you might...I couldn't tell."
"Yeah, well, I didn't want you to know."
Fraser jerked his head back, and looked nervous.
"Hey, don't do that. That's not what I mean. I did, I do." He pulled Fraser up against him so that his hard-on pushed into his thigh. "Obviously, I do. I just didn't know you wanted this. I had no idea, and I didn't want to ruin things." Ray leaned in to kiss him again, letting his mouth linger, and gently rocking his hips against Fraser's.
Fraser pulled his mouth away again, and pushed his hips up into the movement. "Oh," he said again. "Oh, Ray. I thought of you so many times when I-- I thought about your hands--" His breath caught. "Your hands on me." Ray couldn't tell if he meant to confess this. He covered the moment with more kisses, and then reached down to cradle Fraser's dick in his hand.
Fraser groaned again as he made contact, but then he said. "Wait, Ray. Don't."
He moved his hand away, but kissed Fraser's ear, and asked "Don't? Why not?"
"Technically I am on my lunch break, but I am on duty. I am at work. My coworker is just down the hall. And you have to be back in court in less than an hour." Fraser pulled back slowly, as if he was having trouble letting go. "I want to be with you, but I can't. Not here, not right now."
Ray shook his head a little bit to try to clear it. "OK, that makes sense. Later?"
"Oh, yes ." It was so heartfelt that Ray couldn't help but grin at him.
Ray pushed down on his own hard dick with the heel of his hand, and took three deep breaths. "All right, if I am going to get back to court, I've got to get out of here right now. Otherwise, I think I might just tip you on to that cot, and make you forget about being on duty."
Fraser laughed. "Do you still need an aspirin?"
"No, my headache is gone. I could use a roast beef sandwich, though."
"Oh dear, it is getting late. Do you still have time to eat?"
"Not really, but I can grab a sandwich on the way back. I'll be fine."
Ray sat in the visitor chair and put his shoes and socks back on. He stuck his glasses back on his face.
"This isn't how I imagined it at all," Fraser said quietly. "Not in the middle of the day, not when the office is open. I would really like it if you would come back some other time, at night."
"Yeah, we can do that."
Ray ran his hands through his hair to try to get the spikes evened out, then straighted and rebuttoned his shirt, and pulled up the knot of his tie. He put his jacket back on, and turned to ask Fraser how he looked.
Instead of asking the question, he said, "I think I am in love with you. I think I've been in love with you for the past three months. Ever since you picked me up off the ground when I got shot. I couldn't stop thinking about that today, when I was lying there." He twitched his head toward the cot.
Fraser's face was surprised, but bright and happy with pleasure. He leaned toward Ray again, but Ray pushed him back. "Don't kiss me now or you'll make me hard again."
He turned to open the door, but Fraser grabbed his arm. He didn't seem to be able to find words to answer Ray's confession, but it was as if Ray heard it anyway.
"Good. Yeah. I will see you later."
"See you later."
END