In the Mirror
Title: In the Mirror
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Ray Vecchio/Benton Fraser
Disclaimer: yo
Author's Note: A bit of AU-ish something for the pornday festivities. Also, my apologies to the sequence of tenses.
Ray stares at his back in the mirror, at the regularly spaced bruises dotted between his shoulders and remembers Victoria standing in his sister's room, the cut of her shirt revealing the marks of Fraser's mouth in a line across the tops of her breasts, just below those perfect, evil collarbones. He remembers imagining how Fraser must have knelt over her, biting with the same obsessive, meticulous passion Ray'd seen in his eyes then.
He remembers how it felt, last night, Fraser's mouth and his teeth, his hands holding Ray still, and he kissed Ray's back like he was worshipping it. There was a slight, awe-inspiring tremble Ray felt in Fraser's muscles and it sent shivers up his spine as Fraser's blue jeans scraped his bare thighs.
He was whispering, murmuring things Ray couldn't make out; but his voice was low and husky, like slow sex in a warm bed. Ray wanted nothing more than to roll over and kiss Fraser until he was certain he'd never forget the taste. But Fraser's hands were on his arms; he was straddling Ray and his beautiful, solid, smooth, muscular weight had him pinned to the hardwood floor.
Fraser walks in and Ray has to kiss him, because for that one moment, when everything was converging and Fraser was slipping away, he hadn't cared who he was shooting at. Fraser leans into him a little. His hair is still a little damp from the shower and he smells like breakfast. Naked Mountie cooking. Ray wonders if the constant nudity is normal Fraser behaviour. He can definitely get used to it.
Ray sees the direction of Fraser's glance in the mirror after they separate. When he catches Fraser's eye in the glass, the look on his face is serious and thoughtful; and Ray knows he knows.
It's been enough months for the bullet wounds to heal. And the arm, and the concussion. There was something raw about last night, though, that makes Ray a little more cautious than usual this morning, a little quieter.
Francesca was not the first person to find out-everyone in Fraser's building couldn't have helped but pick up on it by then-but she was the most dramatic. Big surprise, right? Although walking in on Fraser with her brother's dick in his mouth left little room for misunderstanding. They were lucky Ray was on the bottom, because when Francesca opened the door, Ray might possibly have bitten off something unfortunate. As it was, Fraser was despite his northern yokel I-need-no-lock philosophy very easy to persuade into blocking the door with a sturdy little chest of drawers when the clothes started coming off. Apparently even Fraser's trusting nature wasn't quite up to that sort of exhibitionism.
She never would've gotten over Fraser otherwise. Not that Ray wasn't a little nervous when Fraser moved into the house. It probably helped that she was already three-quarters of the way out by that time.
Ray holds Fraser tightly. He blames the freaky grandma lady for how serious Fraser gets about words. They're as real as a knock on the head or a big slab of rock to him. He'll use them for a shield or a weapon but almost never without thinking.
Words are not Ray's thing anyway, so it's good on all counts that he can just wrap his arms around Fraser and make it plain that he has no intention of letting go and Fraser ain't going noplace.
Ray hadn't been certain anything more was going to happen, despite his own nakedness and the jeans-covered hard-on Fraser kept brushing against his ass. But when Fraser reached the other shoulder, he rolled Ray over and without hesitation went to work on one of his nipples.
Ray bit down so hard he was surprised he didn't taste blood. He groped awkwardly with his free hand for some sort of anchor and came up short. All there was was Fraser which, okay, turned out to be such a good idea because Fraser was just fun to touch. Smooth, sweaty skin and muscles delineated like an anatomy textbook. Soft hair, slightly crinkly from all the Mountie-grease on it. Fraser made a brain-meltingly pornographic sound when Ray's fingers made it up there and started scritching around. He was most definitely humping Ray's leg, and that was it. those pants were coming off right now.
Ray was smugly glad of his long arms as he reached down to fumble with Fraser's fly. Naked Fraser, naked Fraser, naked Fraser. God, Ray had dreamed about this.
Fraser pulled back only minimally to kick his pants and boxers off, but the look he gave Ray on the way back down socked him like a five-ton vault: intense, possessive, pupils blown, a wild and irresistible want that was just really fucking hot coming from Fraser, who never let himself want anything.
Ray can see a little bit of that look now, if he cranes his neck to see Fraser watching them in the mirror. It's sort of comforting: the biggest risk with Fraser is the blank wall he'll build up if you let him, the fucking backspace key. Ray has no intention of letting him stoic and self-sacrifice them out of this. In retrospect, that probably has rather a lot to do with touching off what happened last night.
At the time, Ray had only a hazy recollection of how he came to be spread across Fraser's floor, his clothing spread separately likewise. He was much more concerned with Fraser's teeth nipping at the skin between his shoulder blades.
Ray had one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle any untoward noises, and as his teeth dug into the fleshy part of his thumb, his other hand was seeking purchase on the floor. Damn Fraser's minimalist tendencies anyway, even if they did mean he never stubbed his toe on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Now that Ray thinks back on it, they'd both been shaken and scared. Creepy jackass with a thing for knives, a really nasty mouth and an even nastier way of trying to pick your brain apart. Metaphorically before literally. It was late when they caught the motherfucker, even later by the time things get settled enough for them to leave.
Ray walked Fraser up to his apartment. Large, looming silence accompanied them. He followed Fraser through the door. Fraser looked about as droopy as Fraser ever looked, all sort of worn-down around the edges, and Ray decided he ought to say something. So he started,
"Hey, Benny-"
-which was as far as he got before Fraser was on him, leaping like a magnet to his mouth and slamming the door shut and more or less ripping his clothes off.
"Yes," Ray said and started kissing back. "God, Benny, yes, yes, yes, yes."
That was more or less the entirety of his vocabulary for the rest of the night, except for occasional, surprisingly coherent variants of, "Fuck, you're so hot." For his part, Fraser maintained a murmured repetition of Ray's name whenever his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, which was seldom.
Ray shivers when he hears it breathed into his skin. He kisses Fraser's neck, because he can.
Bed was never actually achieved last night. There were more important things going on, like Fraser's cock in Ray's fist, and however he'd managed to get on top, he was straddling Fraser's hips and devouring the sight with his eyes like he'd found the promised land.
Fraser's fingers smoothed up his sides, teasing the light whorls of hair on his chest, occasionally scratching his spine, guiding his head down for a kiss and then-oh. Oh. Fraser's hand found his cock and things became inevitable.
Their knuckles bumped a few times before Fraser joined their hands and their cocks were touching. Faster and faster and fuck. Hell. Yes. Ray buried his face in Fraser's neck when he came.
Fraser's voice was a whisper, and Ray didn't know if his was even audible, but Fraser shuddered out his climax into their joined hands and afterwards would not be moved. Ray was not inclined to argue.
Ray smiles, remembering just how necessary their morning shower had been, and how wonderful it was that Fraser's oral fixation extended to the non-work-related areas of his life.
"Ray," Fraser repeats. "This is very nice, but breakfast is getting cold."
Fandom: due South
Pairing: Ray Vecchio/Benton Fraser
Disclaimer: yo
Author's Note: A bit of AU-ish something for the pornday festivities. Also, my apologies to the sequence of tenses.
Ray stares at his back in the mirror, at the regularly spaced bruises dotted between his shoulders and remembers Victoria standing in his sister's room, the cut of her shirt revealing the marks of Fraser's mouth in a line across the tops of her breasts, just below those perfect, evil collarbones. He remembers imagining how Fraser must have knelt over her, biting with the same obsessive, meticulous passion Ray'd seen in his eyes then.
He remembers how it felt, last night, Fraser's mouth and his teeth, his hands holding Ray still, and he kissed Ray's back like he was worshipping it. There was a slight, awe-inspiring tremble Ray felt in Fraser's muscles and it sent shivers up his spine as Fraser's blue jeans scraped his bare thighs.
He was whispering, murmuring things Ray couldn't make out; but his voice was low and husky, like slow sex in a warm bed. Ray wanted nothing more than to roll over and kiss Fraser until he was certain he'd never forget the taste. But Fraser's hands were on his arms; he was straddling Ray and his beautiful, solid, smooth, muscular weight had him pinned to the hardwood floor.
Fraser walks in and Ray has to kiss him, because for that one moment, when everything was converging and Fraser was slipping away, he hadn't cared who he was shooting at. Fraser leans into him a little. His hair is still a little damp from the shower and he smells like breakfast. Naked Mountie cooking. Ray wonders if the constant nudity is normal Fraser behaviour. He can definitely get used to it.
Ray sees the direction of Fraser's glance in the mirror after they separate. When he catches Fraser's eye in the glass, the look on his face is serious and thoughtful; and Ray knows he knows.
It's been enough months for the bullet wounds to heal. And the arm, and the concussion. There was something raw about last night, though, that makes Ray a little more cautious than usual this morning, a little quieter.
Francesca was not the first person to find out-everyone in Fraser's building couldn't have helped but pick up on it by then-but she was the most dramatic. Big surprise, right? Although walking in on Fraser with her brother's dick in his mouth left little room for misunderstanding. They were lucky Ray was on the bottom, because when Francesca opened the door, Ray might possibly have bitten off something unfortunate. As it was, Fraser was despite his northern yokel I-need-no-lock philosophy very easy to persuade into blocking the door with a sturdy little chest of drawers when the clothes started coming off. Apparently even Fraser's trusting nature wasn't quite up to that sort of exhibitionism.
She never would've gotten over Fraser otherwise. Not that Ray wasn't a little nervous when Fraser moved into the house. It probably helped that she was already three-quarters of the way out by that time.
Ray holds Fraser tightly. He blames the freaky grandma lady for how serious Fraser gets about words. They're as real as a knock on the head or a big slab of rock to him. He'll use them for a shield or a weapon but almost never without thinking.
Words are not Ray's thing anyway, so it's good on all counts that he can just wrap his arms around Fraser and make it plain that he has no intention of letting go and Fraser ain't going noplace.
Ray hadn't been certain anything more was going to happen, despite his own nakedness and the jeans-covered hard-on Fraser kept brushing against his ass. But when Fraser reached the other shoulder, he rolled Ray over and without hesitation went to work on one of his nipples.
Ray bit down so hard he was surprised he didn't taste blood. He groped awkwardly with his free hand for some sort of anchor and came up short. All there was was Fraser which, okay, turned out to be such a good idea because Fraser was just fun to touch. Smooth, sweaty skin and muscles delineated like an anatomy textbook. Soft hair, slightly crinkly from all the Mountie-grease on it. Fraser made a brain-meltingly pornographic sound when Ray's fingers made it up there and started scritching around. He was most definitely humping Ray's leg, and that was it. those pants were coming off right now.
Ray was smugly glad of his long arms as he reached down to fumble with Fraser's fly. Naked Fraser, naked Fraser, naked Fraser. God, Ray had dreamed about this.
Fraser pulled back only minimally to kick his pants and boxers off, but the look he gave Ray on the way back down socked him like a five-ton vault: intense, possessive, pupils blown, a wild and irresistible want that was just really fucking hot coming from Fraser, who never let himself want anything.
Ray can see a little bit of that look now, if he cranes his neck to see Fraser watching them in the mirror. It's sort of comforting: the biggest risk with Fraser is the blank wall he'll build up if you let him, the fucking backspace key. Ray has no intention of letting him stoic and self-sacrifice them out of this. In retrospect, that probably has rather a lot to do with touching off what happened last night.
At the time, Ray had only a hazy recollection of how he came to be spread across Fraser's floor, his clothing spread separately likewise. He was much more concerned with Fraser's teeth nipping at the skin between his shoulder blades.
Ray had one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle any untoward noises, and as his teeth dug into the fleshy part of his thumb, his other hand was seeking purchase on the floor. Damn Fraser's minimalist tendencies anyway, even if they did mean he never stubbed his toe on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Now that Ray thinks back on it, they'd both been shaken and scared. Creepy jackass with a thing for knives, a really nasty mouth and an even nastier way of trying to pick your brain apart. Metaphorically before literally. It was late when they caught the motherfucker, even later by the time things get settled enough for them to leave.
Ray walked Fraser up to his apartment. Large, looming silence accompanied them. He followed Fraser through the door. Fraser looked about as droopy as Fraser ever looked, all sort of worn-down around the edges, and Ray decided he ought to say something. So he started,
"Hey, Benny-"
-which was as far as he got before Fraser was on him, leaping like a magnet to his mouth and slamming the door shut and more or less ripping his clothes off.
"Yes," Ray said and started kissing back. "God, Benny, yes, yes, yes, yes."
That was more or less the entirety of his vocabulary for the rest of the night, except for occasional, surprisingly coherent variants of, "Fuck, you're so hot." For his part, Fraser maintained a murmured repetition of Ray's name whenever his mouth wasn't otherwise occupied, which was seldom.
Ray shivers when he hears it breathed into his skin. He kisses Fraser's neck, because he can.
Bed was never actually achieved last night. There were more important things going on, like Fraser's cock in Ray's fist, and however he'd managed to get on top, he was straddling Fraser's hips and devouring the sight with his eyes like he'd found the promised land.
Fraser's fingers smoothed up his sides, teasing the light whorls of hair on his chest, occasionally scratching his spine, guiding his head down for a kiss and then-oh. Oh. Fraser's hand found his cock and things became inevitable.
Their knuckles bumped a few times before Fraser joined their hands and their cocks were touching. Faster and faster and fuck. Hell. Yes. Ray buried his face in Fraser's neck when he came.
Fraser's voice was a whisper, and Ray didn't know if his was even audible, but Fraser shuddered out his climax into their joined hands and afterwards would not be moved. Ray was not inclined to argue.
Ray smiles, remembering just how necessary their morning shower had been, and how wonderful it was that Fraser's oral fixation extended to the non-work-related areas of his life.
"Ray," Fraser repeats. "This is very nice, but breakfast is getting cold."