Special Fucking Friends by slidellra
Title: Special Fucking Friends
Pairing: fraser/hugh dillon, hd/ckr implied
Rating: R, maybe. not sure.
Author: slidellra
Summary/Story Notes: RPS, partly. because i have no shame, no respect, and am a bad, bad girl. okay, so i have some shame, just not enough to stop me. many thanks to lipstickcat for beta and general handholding. although i did keep fiddling with the story right up until posting, so it's likely i added some clever new mistakes.
Prompt: 189. Fraser/Hugh Dillon - Hugh loses his passport and has to come into the Consulate in Chicago.
Ray paused on his way out, one hand on the Consulate door. “I got to go scrape this crap off. Might have to burn the shoes. But, after, do you want to come over? Bring the mutt, we’ll get takeout, watch hockey. Or if you want to watch something else. Maybe. Depends what.”
“With pleasure.” Fraser was momentarily startled by the disproportionately happy smile Ray beamed at him. “Diefenbaker and I will come by around seven o’clock, if that works for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, great. See you then.”
Fraser turned away and had already begun trying to decode Turnbullspeak, attempting to figure out what exactly the man had done with yesterday’s P-359 form, when he was distracted by a yelp and a thud outside the door. When he went to explore the disturbance, he found Ray struggling in the arms of a large, spiky man in a heavy coat.
“You gorgeous cunt, what the fuck are you doing here?!”
“Get your hands off me!” Ray wrenched himself free, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking ready to swing when Fraser stepped between the two men, placing a hand on Ray’s shoulder.
“He touched my...” Ray broke off, flushing bright red, and sent the stranger a dark, suspicious look. “I mean, he grabbed me! Out of nowhere! I didn’t do anything!”
“Come on, baby, that’s no way to greet an old friend. What brings you to Chicago?”
“The stork, you freak.”
“Ray.”
“What the hell makes you think you can just walk up to people...”
“Ray.”
“There’s a time and a place! What the hell do you want?! No, no, don’t answer that.”
“Somebody ripped off my passport. Need a new one. Gotta get back to Toronto for a show. But, hell, if you’re here I’ll stick around. We can catch up.”
“I don’t want to catch anything you got. And you are not Canadian. You’re lying. He’s lying, Fraser. Canadians don’t do what he... I mean, they don’t act like that.”
“Ray! Why don’t you go home and I’ll come over at seven. In the meantime I’ll assist our visitor in obtaining the appropriate paperwork to replace his passport.”
Ray glared at the stranger, who smiled innocently back.
“You’re a freak. And not in the good way. See you, Fraser.” Ray stalked off, shoulders tense.
“Right back at you, Cal, you nut job.”
Ray didn’t turn around, just raised his hand in an obscene gesture and kept on walking.
“If this is some method acting bullshit I’m going to kick your ass, Rennie!”
Fraser stepped in front of the odd stranger.
“So, you’re a Canadian citizen and you require assistance in replacing a stolen passport?”
“Yeah. You know that guy?”
“Yes. Ray and I are partners and friends. If you’ll come into the consulate Constable Turnbull will assist you with the necessary paperwork.”
“Uh huh. Right.”
Inside the consulate, Turnbull had managed to get himself into difficulties with the stapler and a roll of tape. Fraser sighed, reached over his struggling form, and found the necessary paperwork.
“If you’ll come with me, Mr...?”
“Dillon. Hugh Dillon. And you are?”
“Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian...”
“You’re going over to Cal’s tonight? He’s got a place here, your 'partner'?” Dillon stressed the last word quite oddly.
“Ray. Ray has a place here. I mean to say, yes, I am going to Ray’s home tonight. If you’ll just follow me, Mr. Dillon.”
Fraser ushered Dillon into the spare chair in his office and seated himself, with a brief glance at the clock. If he finished the paperwork quickly, he could shower and change into off-duty clothing with more than adequate time left for the walk to Ray’s apartment.
“That crazy fucker.”
“Pardon?”
Dillon was staring at him appraisingly, a bemused scowl on his face. He shook his head, "Nah, nothing. So, I need paperwork. Need to get out of this fucking country.”
“Understood. If you’ll begin with this form...”
The man popped out of the chair and began pacing the office. “You live here? In this room?”
“That is correct. Unfortunately, my apartment was destroyed by a performance arsonist and since then I have found it convenient to sleep at the Consulate.”
“Right. Except when you’re staying with ‘Ray’.” Dillon's tone was still suggestive. Fraser frowned slightly, torn between his curiosity at any mystery and a strong disinclination to provoke further insinuations.
Dillon leaned against Fraser’s side of the desk, forcing Fraser to lean back to see his face.
Fraser's frown became more pronounced. “While there have been occasions when circumstance made it convenient to stay over at Ray’s apartment, I’m afraid I fail to see what relevance that has to your missing passport.”
“He’s pretty hot, huh?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know, I know. Shouldn’t talk about such things.” Dillon made an exaggerated closed-mouthed face and mimed zipping his mouth shut. “Could get around to the wrong people, do some damage. But I figure since you and him are so close, and with you looking the way you do, you already know all about his fucking tendencies."
"Really, have you considered the possibility that you have simply mistaken Ray for somebody else?"
"Nope. He's one of a goddamn kind and there ain't nobody else like him." Dillon flicked his eyes over Fraser's face and body. "I don't blame him for being interested, but i don't like the asshole pretending he doesn’t know me just so he can get in your jodhpurs.”
Pushing his leg against Fraser’s, Dillon asked, “You got something special in there, would make him forget a dear old friend?”
“It seems apparent that Ray does not regard you as a friend; dear, old or otherwise."
Dillon leaned closer into Fraser’s space, his eyes intent and his crotch disturbingly close to Fraser’s eye level. “Territorial, Constable? He giving you some innocent act, you think he needs your protection?”
Standing, Fraser attempted to establish some control over the situation. “I must object to your insinuations. Ray is my friend, and while he does not need my protection, he does deserve respect."
“You’re going to go over there tonight, hang out, shoot the shit. And he’s going to laugh and twinkle his pretty eyes at you. And you know just where the fuck it's going, don’t you?”
Using his body to corral Fraser against the boxes piled behind the desk, Dillon leaned in so his breath puffed, cigarette acrid and hot, against Fraser’s face. “He’s got a nice mouth, doesn’t he?”
“Certainly Ray has been known to use colorful language at times. In fact...”
“I’m not talking about the language, Constable, colorful though it may well be. I’m talking about how good it feels when the talented little fuck's got it wrapped around your cock.”
Fraser was frozen in gapjawed shock for some moments before he was able to reply. “This is completely inappropriate and, indeed, farcical!"
Lowering his voice and attempting to regulate both his emotional response and his tone, he continued, "While I do not know all the particulars of Ray’s personal history, it is clear that you are either wildly mistaken or inventing out of whole cloth. Ray was married for many years and he...”
“Married, my ass. He fucks chicks, though, yeah. Hell, he’s an open-minded guy. He’ll try anything once. More, if he likes it. And let me tell you, he likes me.”
Fraser was taken aback, doubt creeping in. As far as he knew, despite the uncanny familiarity of Dillon’s words, Ray was strictly, even devoutly, heterosexual. Even if he were not, would he really be attracted to this overbearing man? Well, he supposed Dillon did have a certain rough dynamism, if one found the type appealing.
Of course, Fraser realized belatedly, and with a painful flash of insight, Ray had done extensive undercover work. That could explain both why he refused to recognize Dillon and why Dillon seemed to know him under a different name. The possibility made Fraser feel simultaneously queasy and aroused.
“But man, as you fucking well know, he’s not the kind of thing you can try just once or twice. He’s addictive, is our boy. So easy, once you get past the games, so fucking easy. Dirty and eager and, oh yeah, that’s exactly what he likes...”
Oh dear. Dillon’s hand had landed heavily over Fraser’s crotch. Even through the pants and tunic it must be apparent to him that his description of Ray’s charms had been quite stimulating.
It had been so long since anyone touched him, touched him with confidence and knowledge, so long since anyone simply assumed he had a fully functioning and desiring body under his uniform.
“Yeah, that’s what he does. He gets you all riled up and just fucking smirks about it. All, ‘Oh, me?’ He likes to play, likes to make you sweat.”
Fraser shifted towards the door, but Dillon leaned harder against him, pinning him in place. While he imagined he could easily overpower the other man, the large hand that had slipped under his tunic to work him through his pants was quite effectively discouraging him from that particular course of action. And of course, he realized, it would not do to cause a scene if this was indeed an individual from one of Ray’s previous undercover assignments.
“I’m not saying he’s a tease. Not just a tease. He’s a tease who delivers.”
Dillon moved both hands to Fraser’s pants, now, fumbling with the complicated clasp. “And, now that I think about it, you are a sweet change of pace, aren’t you? All handsome and straitlaced. Just how straight are you laced, Mountie?”
He leaned in to lick a wet stripe up Fraser’s cheek, Fraser flinching but growing ever harder against Dillon's hand. The resulting chuckle was filthy.
Fraser closed his eyes, held very still, unable to tear away from the experience, but refusing to cooperate or even acknowledge what was happening.
“Or is he still playing with you? Still playing ‘friends’, maybe special fucking friends who touch a bit more than most? A hand on the shoulder here, a wink there, maybe a full body contact hug to get your blood pumping? Just keeping you on your toes, wondering if you're ever going to get a piece, get his hand on your cock, just like this.”
Fraser’s pants were open, both pants and underwear pushed down over his thighs, his tunic pushed awkwardly up so Dillon could work him rough and fast and painfully tight and how had the situation gotten so completely away from him? Concentrate. Turnbull would be no help, obviously...
“Nice,” Dillon breathed into his ear. “Very nice. But nothing all that special. I’ve seen bigger and I’ll bet my fucking eyeteeth that...”
...so it was up to him to subdue Dillon. He moved quickly, reversing their positions so he was pushing the other man against the boxes, feeling angry and ridiculous in his disordered, aroused state.
Fraser immobilized Dillon by restraining an arm behind his back, but when the man again tried to yank himself free he was forced to use his body weight to hold him still. His struggles were very distracting.
“Yeah, he likes this, too,” Dillon growled furiously. “Likes to be held down. You tried that yet?”
“Please stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Don’t want to hear what other people’ve done to your sweetheart? Or what he’s done to them? He’s a flirt and a slut, but he’s no pushover bottom-boy. He’ll fuck with the best of them, if you give him a chance. You give him a chance yet? To get into your tight Mountie ass?”
Dillon's voice was throaty with sex and anger, his body pushing back against Fraser, deliberately stimulating Fraser's overeager erection. Had Ray been in this position, thrusting against Dillon? Or been the one held down, forced to endure the man rubbing against him? Had he been penetrated by this man?
Fraser’s temper boiled over and he pushed harder, pulling Dillon’s arm tight up against his back until Dillon swore in pain.
“You do not touch him. Whatever may or may not have happened in the past, you do not touch him again.”
“Sure, Mountie, you asshole. Until he comes flirting up to me again. You think you can keep him satisfied? Hungry slut that he is?” Even now Dillon was shifting his hips, stimulating Fraser’s cock with his ass. “When he’s panting and crazy-eyed, you gotta wonder if you’re not enough, if he's thinking of other guys he fucked. Other ‘friends’ he’s fucked. Maybe chicks, who knows? You can’t own him, man.”
“Ray. Is. Mine.” Fraser didn’t plan the words, was appalled to hear such a sentiment come out of his mouth, but he said it anyway, in just the same instinctive way he thrust against Dillon’s ass with ever word.
Chagrin at his own brutish, melodramatic behavior brought Fraser abruptly back to himself. Stepping back, he released Dillon’s arm and turned away, pulling his pants up, shamefacedly ignoring his lingering erection.
“I apologize for my use of force, but this conversation is over. We should no longer discuss... him. If you’ll sit back down, we’ll finish the paperwork and get you on your way as soon as possible.”
“Awww, Constable, I’m sorry.” Dillon's voice was all saccharine contrition. “I didn’t mean to piss on your turf. Hey, me and him, we’re pals, we got history, sure, but if you want to try to domesticate the guy, go for it. Who knows, you just might be strange enough to keep his attention. You sure are pretty enough.”
Once again, Dillon leaned into Fraser, working his half-fastened pants back down, then pushing him into the chair. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he licked wetly across his palm and fingers, then began stroking Fraser's erection steadily. Looming over the chair, he continued to masturbate Fraser, talking now in soothing tones, even cooing, if a man as naturally abrasive as he could achieve such an effect.
“He’s a lucky man. He’ll love it, Cro-Magnon Mountie fighting for his ass. He’ll laugh for days, but he’ll be touched, really.”
Humiliated and confused, Fraser ignored both the words and the quietly obscene noises of Dillon's hand on him. He stared fixedly at his desk, biting his lip against any sound of pleasure. When he came the relief of orgasm was almost exceeded by the relief of the experience finally coming to an end. This terribly confusing man would now leave and he could continue as usual.
The day was over, he could close up the Consulate and shower, yes, he certainly needed one now. Shower and go to Ray’s. Oh dear. How on earth was he going to face Ray after this?
Dillon wiped his hand on the front of Fraser’s tunic, adjusted himself in his pants, then strolled around the desk to throw himself in the visitor’s chair. Propping his booted feet up on the desk, he asked, “So, the fucking paperwork?”
The End.
Pairing: fraser/hugh dillon, hd/ckr implied
Rating: R, maybe. not sure.
Author: slidellra
Summary/Story Notes: RPS, partly. because i have no shame, no respect, and am a bad, bad girl. okay, so i have some shame, just not enough to stop me. many thanks to lipstickcat for beta and general handholding. although i did keep fiddling with the story right up until posting, so it's likely i added some clever new mistakes.
Prompt: 189. Fraser/Hugh Dillon - Hugh loses his passport and has to come into the Consulate in Chicago.
Ray paused on his way out, one hand on the Consulate door. “I got to go scrape this crap off. Might have to burn the shoes. But, after, do you want to come over? Bring the mutt, we’ll get takeout, watch hockey. Or if you want to watch something else. Maybe. Depends what.”
“With pleasure.” Fraser was momentarily startled by the disproportionately happy smile Ray beamed at him. “Diefenbaker and I will come by around seven o’clock, if that works for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, great. See you then.”
Fraser turned away and had already begun trying to decode Turnbullspeak, attempting to figure out what exactly the man had done with yesterday’s P-359 form, when he was distracted by a yelp and a thud outside the door. When he went to explore the disturbance, he found Ray struggling in the arms of a large, spiky man in a heavy coat.
“You gorgeous cunt, what the fuck are you doing here?!”
“Get your hands off me!” Ray wrenched himself free, bouncing on the balls of his feet, looking ready to swing when Fraser stepped between the two men, placing a hand on Ray’s shoulder.
“He touched my...” Ray broke off, flushing bright red, and sent the stranger a dark, suspicious look. “I mean, he grabbed me! Out of nowhere! I didn’t do anything!”
“Come on, baby, that’s no way to greet an old friend. What brings you to Chicago?”
“The stork, you freak.”
“Ray.”
“What the hell makes you think you can just walk up to people...”
“Ray.”
“There’s a time and a place! What the hell do you want?! No, no, don’t answer that.”
“Somebody ripped off my passport. Need a new one. Gotta get back to Toronto for a show. But, hell, if you’re here I’ll stick around. We can catch up.”
“I don’t want to catch anything you got. And you are not Canadian. You’re lying. He’s lying, Fraser. Canadians don’t do what he... I mean, they don’t act like that.”
“Ray! Why don’t you go home and I’ll come over at seven. In the meantime I’ll assist our visitor in obtaining the appropriate paperwork to replace his passport.”
Ray glared at the stranger, who smiled innocently back.
“You’re a freak. And not in the good way. See you, Fraser.” Ray stalked off, shoulders tense.
“Right back at you, Cal, you nut job.”
Ray didn’t turn around, just raised his hand in an obscene gesture and kept on walking.
“If this is some method acting bullshit I’m going to kick your ass, Rennie!”
Fraser stepped in front of the odd stranger.
“So, you’re a Canadian citizen and you require assistance in replacing a stolen passport?”
“Yeah. You know that guy?”
“Yes. Ray and I are partners and friends. If you’ll come into the consulate Constable Turnbull will assist you with the necessary paperwork.”
“Uh huh. Right.”
Inside the consulate, Turnbull had managed to get himself into difficulties with the stapler and a roll of tape. Fraser sighed, reached over his struggling form, and found the necessary paperwork.
“If you’ll come with me, Mr...?”
“Dillon. Hugh Dillon. And you are?”
“Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian...”
“You’re going over to Cal’s tonight? He’s got a place here, your 'partner'?” Dillon stressed the last word quite oddly.
“Ray. Ray has a place here. I mean to say, yes, I am going to Ray’s home tonight. If you’ll just follow me, Mr. Dillon.”
Fraser ushered Dillon into the spare chair in his office and seated himself, with a brief glance at the clock. If he finished the paperwork quickly, he could shower and change into off-duty clothing with more than adequate time left for the walk to Ray’s apartment.
“That crazy fucker.”
“Pardon?”
Dillon was staring at him appraisingly, a bemused scowl on his face. He shook his head, "Nah, nothing. So, I need paperwork. Need to get out of this fucking country.”
“Understood. If you’ll begin with this form...”
The man popped out of the chair and began pacing the office. “You live here? In this room?”
“That is correct. Unfortunately, my apartment was destroyed by a performance arsonist and since then I have found it convenient to sleep at the Consulate.”
“Right. Except when you’re staying with ‘Ray’.” Dillon's tone was still suggestive. Fraser frowned slightly, torn between his curiosity at any mystery and a strong disinclination to provoke further insinuations.
Dillon leaned against Fraser’s side of the desk, forcing Fraser to lean back to see his face.
Fraser's frown became more pronounced. “While there have been occasions when circumstance made it convenient to stay over at Ray’s apartment, I’m afraid I fail to see what relevance that has to your missing passport.”
“He’s pretty hot, huh?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know, I know. Shouldn’t talk about such things.” Dillon made an exaggerated closed-mouthed face and mimed zipping his mouth shut. “Could get around to the wrong people, do some damage. But I figure since you and him are so close, and with you looking the way you do, you already know all about his fucking tendencies."
"Really, have you considered the possibility that you have simply mistaken Ray for somebody else?"
"Nope. He's one of a goddamn kind and there ain't nobody else like him." Dillon flicked his eyes over Fraser's face and body. "I don't blame him for being interested, but i don't like the asshole pretending he doesn’t know me just so he can get in your jodhpurs.”
Pushing his leg against Fraser’s, Dillon asked, “You got something special in there, would make him forget a dear old friend?”
“It seems apparent that Ray does not regard you as a friend; dear, old or otherwise."
Dillon leaned closer into Fraser’s space, his eyes intent and his crotch disturbingly close to Fraser’s eye level. “Territorial, Constable? He giving you some innocent act, you think he needs your protection?”
Standing, Fraser attempted to establish some control over the situation. “I must object to your insinuations. Ray is my friend, and while he does not need my protection, he does deserve respect."
“You’re going to go over there tonight, hang out, shoot the shit. And he’s going to laugh and twinkle his pretty eyes at you. And you know just where the fuck it's going, don’t you?”
Using his body to corral Fraser against the boxes piled behind the desk, Dillon leaned in so his breath puffed, cigarette acrid and hot, against Fraser’s face. “He’s got a nice mouth, doesn’t he?”
“Certainly Ray has been known to use colorful language at times. In fact...”
“I’m not talking about the language, Constable, colorful though it may well be. I’m talking about how good it feels when the talented little fuck's got it wrapped around your cock.”
Fraser was frozen in gapjawed shock for some moments before he was able to reply. “This is completely inappropriate and, indeed, farcical!"
Lowering his voice and attempting to regulate both his emotional response and his tone, he continued, "While I do not know all the particulars of Ray’s personal history, it is clear that you are either wildly mistaken or inventing out of whole cloth. Ray was married for many years and he...”
“Married, my ass. He fucks chicks, though, yeah. Hell, he’s an open-minded guy. He’ll try anything once. More, if he likes it. And let me tell you, he likes me.”
Fraser was taken aback, doubt creeping in. As far as he knew, despite the uncanny familiarity of Dillon’s words, Ray was strictly, even devoutly, heterosexual. Even if he were not, would he really be attracted to this overbearing man? Well, he supposed Dillon did have a certain rough dynamism, if one found the type appealing.
Of course, Fraser realized belatedly, and with a painful flash of insight, Ray had done extensive undercover work. That could explain both why he refused to recognize Dillon and why Dillon seemed to know him under a different name. The possibility made Fraser feel simultaneously queasy and aroused.
“But man, as you fucking well know, he’s not the kind of thing you can try just once or twice. He’s addictive, is our boy. So easy, once you get past the games, so fucking easy. Dirty and eager and, oh yeah, that’s exactly what he likes...”
Oh dear. Dillon’s hand had landed heavily over Fraser’s crotch. Even through the pants and tunic it must be apparent to him that his description of Ray’s charms had been quite stimulating.
It had been so long since anyone touched him, touched him with confidence and knowledge, so long since anyone simply assumed he had a fully functioning and desiring body under his uniform.
“Yeah, that’s what he does. He gets you all riled up and just fucking smirks about it. All, ‘Oh, me?’ He likes to play, likes to make you sweat.”
Fraser shifted towards the door, but Dillon leaned harder against him, pinning him in place. While he imagined he could easily overpower the other man, the large hand that had slipped under his tunic to work him through his pants was quite effectively discouraging him from that particular course of action. And of course, he realized, it would not do to cause a scene if this was indeed an individual from one of Ray’s previous undercover assignments.
“I’m not saying he’s a tease. Not just a tease. He’s a tease who delivers.”
Dillon moved both hands to Fraser’s pants, now, fumbling with the complicated clasp. “And, now that I think about it, you are a sweet change of pace, aren’t you? All handsome and straitlaced. Just how straight are you laced, Mountie?”
He leaned in to lick a wet stripe up Fraser’s cheek, Fraser flinching but growing ever harder against Dillon's hand. The resulting chuckle was filthy.
Fraser closed his eyes, held very still, unable to tear away from the experience, but refusing to cooperate or even acknowledge what was happening.
“Or is he still playing with you? Still playing ‘friends’, maybe special fucking friends who touch a bit more than most? A hand on the shoulder here, a wink there, maybe a full body contact hug to get your blood pumping? Just keeping you on your toes, wondering if you're ever going to get a piece, get his hand on your cock, just like this.”
Fraser’s pants were open, both pants and underwear pushed down over his thighs, his tunic pushed awkwardly up so Dillon could work him rough and fast and painfully tight and how had the situation gotten so completely away from him? Concentrate. Turnbull would be no help, obviously...
“Nice,” Dillon breathed into his ear. “Very nice. But nothing all that special. I’ve seen bigger and I’ll bet my fucking eyeteeth that...”
...so it was up to him to subdue Dillon. He moved quickly, reversing their positions so he was pushing the other man against the boxes, feeling angry and ridiculous in his disordered, aroused state.
Fraser immobilized Dillon by restraining an arm behind his back, but when the man again tried to yank himself free he was forced to use his body weight to hold him still. His struggles were very distracting.
“Yeah, he likes this, too,” Dillon growled furiously. “Likes to be held down. You tried that yet?”
“Please stop. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“Don’t want to hear what other people’ve done to your sweetheart? Or what he’s done to them? He’s a flirt and a slut, but he’s no pushover bottom-boy. He’ll fuck with the best of them, if you give him a chance. You give him a chance yet? To get into your tight Mountie ass?”
Dillon's voice was throaty with sex and anger, his body pushing back against Fraser, deliberately stimulating Fraser's overeager erection. Had Ray been in this position, thrusting against Dillon? Or been the one held down, forced to endure the man rubbing against him? Had he been penetrated by this man?
Fraser’s temper boiled over and he pushed harder, pulling Dillon’s arm tight up against his back until Dillon swore in pain.
“You do not touch him. Whatever may or may not have happened in the past, you do not touch him again.”
“Sure, Mountie, you asshole. Until he comes flirting up to me again. You think you can keep him satisfied? Hungry slut that he is?” Even now Dillon was shifting his hips, stimulating Fraser’s cock with his ass. “When he’s panting and crazy-eyed, you gotta wonder if you’re not enough, if he's thinking of other guys he fucked. Other ‘friends’ he’s fucked. Maybe chicks, who knows? You can’t own him, man.”
“Ray. Is. Mine.” Fraser didn’t plan the words, was appalled to hear such a sentiment come out of his mouth, but he said it anyway, in just the same instinctive way he thrust against Dillon’s ass with ever word.
Chagrin at his own brutish, melodramatic behavior brought Fraser abruptly back to himself. Stepping back, he released Dillon’s arm and turned away, pulling his pants up, shamefacedly ignoring his lingering erection.
“I apologize for my use of force, but this conversation is over. We should no longer discuss... him. If you’ll sit back down, we’ll finish the paperwork and get you on your way as soon as possible.”
“Awww, Constable, I’m sorry.” Dillon's voice was all saccharine contrition. “I didn’t mean to piss on your turf. Hey, me and him, we’re pals, we got history, sure, but if you want to try to domesticate the guy, go for it. Who knows, you just might be strange enough to keep his attention. You sure are pretty enough.”
Once again, Dillon leaned into Fraser, working his half-fastened pants back down, then pushing him into the chair. Bringing a hand to his mouth, he licked wetly across his palm and fingers, then began stroking Fraser's erection steadily. Looming over the chair, he continued to masturbate Fraser, talking now in soothing tones, even cooing, if a man as naturally abrasive as he could achieve such an effect.
“He’s a lucky man. He’ll love it, Cro-Magnon Mountie fighting for his ass. He’ll laugh for days, but he’ll be touched, really.”
Humiliated and confused, Fraser ignored both the words and the quietly obscene noises of Dillon's hand on him. He stared fixedly at his desk, biting his lip against any sound of pleasure. When he came the relief of orgasm was almost exceeded by the relief of the experience finally coming to an end. This terribly confusing man would now leave and he could continue as usual.
The day was over, he could close up the Consulate and shower, yes, he certainly needed one now. Shower and go to Ray’s. Oh dear. How on earth was he going to face Ray after this?
Dillon wiped his hand on the front of Fraser’s tunic, adjusted himself in his pants, then strolled around the desk to throw himself in the visitor’s chair. Propping his booted feet up on the desk, he asked, “So, the fucking paperwork?”
The End.