Vernacular (Queer Challenge on ds-flashfiction)
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: NC-17
Size: 2 x 8” about 6500 words
Dedication and courtesy: I wrote this story for Debris_K who told me that her idea of an ideal dS fic is a Fraser/Kowalski NC-17. She did an impromptu and thorough beta of her gift and returned it to me saying that she appreciated the gesture. Thank you, D!
Vernacular
Ray has the most fascinating speech. It is playful, metaphorical, elliptical and vivid, and never difficult to comprehend. Fraser doesn’t always understand Ray’s words literally, but their meaning is never lost on him.
When Fraser doesn’t understand Ray, it is because Ray doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes Ray broods-and denies doing so when Fraser encourages him to reveal what is on his mind. When it happens, Fraser feels at a loss and is unable to think of anything to do other than to endure the silence.
Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often and it doesn’t last very long, because Ray usually loves to talk, and he loves to use colourful expressions. Some of them Fraser suspects are uniquely Ray; others he learnt are part of American vernacular.
Fraser loves Ray’s catchphrases, whether they are derived from his personal vocabulary or American idioms, because they indicate that Ray is well. Fraser knows that when something is ‘badass’ it earns Ray’s admiration, and that whenever ‘greatness’ is mentioned Ray is happy. Fraser’s personal favourites are ‘that’s not buddies’ and ‘you’re unhinged, Fraser’ because they imply that, whatever he may have done wrong, he is already and abundantly forgiven for it. In fact, Fraser suspects that Ray expresses his fondness this way.
When Ray says, “Pitter patter, let’s get at ’er,” it means he feels that matters have been discussed in abundance and action is long overdue-but he’s still in a good mood and he hasn’t lost his patience yet.
When Ray declares he wants to “Kick ’em in the head,” he has lost his patience, or he is on the verge of doing so, but his anger isn’t directed at Fraser-they are, in fact, still ‘buddies’.
When Ray says, “Fraser, I swear, I’ll kick you in the head if you don’t stop,” he is usually referring to Fraser starting his fourth Inuit story during the same stakeout session. Given the precise vocalisation of his threat, Fraser doesn’t assume Ray is serious, but he never challenges Ray’s intimidation.
Often, Ray states that ‘something is queer’. This is a mainly case-related phrase, indicating that the diverse pieces of information they have collected don’t seem to belong to the same puzzle.
‘Queer’ is a perfectly common word, in American as well as Canadian English. It has several different connotations and Fraser understands that Ray uses it mostly in the sense of ‘of a questionable nature or character’.
Intermitting the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel, Ray has just remarked that something was queer about the boots Mr. Williams wore yesterday. Mr. Williams is the alleged accomplice of Mr. Branson. Mr. Branson is the main suspect in the killing of Mrs. May. Ray and Fraser are currently on an afternoon stakeout to see whether they can catch Mr. Williams in the act of doing something…ah…queer.
“It’s the size of ’em,” Ray is saying. “They looked too big for him.”
Fraser registers that Ray is still talking about Mr. Williams’s boots, but his mind is distracted by a scene on the pavement. Two men, about the same age and height, are walking very closely together. One is blond and slender, and looking very much like Ray; the other is darker, more solidly built, and he looks a great deal like…Well, perhaps the resemblance is just a figment of Fraser’s imagination.
He holds his breath regardless.
The dark-haired man has put his arm around the shoulders of his friend, who has stuck his hand in the back pocket of his partner’s jeans. He is resting his blond head against his lover’s shoulder. Their heads move closer together. They share a kiss. Fraser’s throat tightens at the sight of it.
“They shouldn’t be doing that,” Ray says.
Fraser doesn’t understand. The men look very happy and very much in love.
“You can’t be publicly queer in Chicago.”
Ray disapproves of the men’s display of affection; that much is clear to Fraser. He fails to see the reason of Ray’s disapproval, however.
Fraser considers the different connotations of the word ‘queer’ he knows. The men don’t look disreputable to him at all, nor do they appear to be mentally unbalanced or feeling unwell. Perhaps Ray is referring to the fact that they are attracted to one another. After all, most men tend to be physically drawn to women, not other men. Homosexuality is, strictly speaking, a deviation from normalcy.
Fraser could look in his dictionary at the consulate later to check if ‘singular’ is indeed the most likely synonym of Ray’s ‘queer’ in the given context. He could also ask Ray now.
“What do you mean by ‘queer’ exactly, Ray?”
Ray scowls at him. “I don’t get you, Fraser. You speak fluent French, German, Spanish, Russian, Swahili, and several Chinese dialects, but you still don’t understand American slang after living here for three years? Homosexual, Fraser. Ho-mo-sex-u-al. That’s what ‘queer’ means.”
Ah. Fraser nods. It is always gratifying to learn new words or to become acquainted with unfamiliar connotations of familiar terms. American colloquialism is truly fascinating. Fraser regrets-not for the first time-that there isn’t a discernable reference book published on the subject.
He has another question, however.
“You mentioned that one can’t be publicly queer in Chicago, Ray. I assume that by ‘can’t’ you meant ‘is not supposed to’ but still I don’t understand fully. One kiss hardly constitutes a lascivious act, and besides-”
“It’s not the kiss, it’s the kissers,” Ray interrupts. He is scowling again. “You do get homophobia, don’t you, Fraser?”
Fraser isn’t certain about the best way to respond to this. Yes, he ‘gets’ homophobia in the sense that he understands the meaning of the word. He is familiar with the fact that some people suffer from it. He knows that homophobia is essentially fear masked by anger, resulting in hatred. Fraser knows love related fear: the fear of rejection, the fear of loss. He understands envy at witnessing the tenderness between two people. He knows longing. What he doesn’t understand is how anyone can call the love shared between two human beings ‘wrong’ and be genuinely convinced that the label is justified.
“True love is a wonderful thing,” Fraser says. “I fail to see how the gender of the people who are fortunate enough to find it bears any relevance to the evaluation of its preciousness.”
Ray is staring at him, and Fraser fears that he has chosen the wrong words to express himself.
Several seconds pass in silence, and as so many times before, Fraser is struck by the sight of Ray’s beauty. He finds he can’t look away. Ray has stunning features; the shape of his jaw, his chin, his nose, the curve of his lips, his ears: Fraser loves them all.
“Yeah,” Ray says eventually, averting his eyes. “That makes two of us, Fraser, but a lot of people in Chicago beg to differ. Some of them are willing to use their fists to stress their point. What those guys were doing was dangerous to their health.”
Those guys? Ah, the loving couple on the pavement. They shared a dangerous kiss. Fraser wonders briefly how dangerous it would be to lean forward and kiss Ray. What would Ray do?
Lately, Fraser has begun to feel reckless. It is frightening, but it’s also… exciting. Since a few weeks, he knows that the warm feelings he has for Ray can be correctly labelled infatuation.
He is in love with Ray. It is a wonderful feeing, an unknown luxury. Being with Ray, thinking of Ray, missing him when Fraser’s tasks at the consulate prevent him from liaising with Ray or when Ray is otherwise engaged, anticipating seeing him again the next day or in a couple of hours, it all warms Fraser inside.
His feelings for Ray remind him of the ones he had for Victoria, but only to a certain extent and in a certain way, since they are very different, and much happier. Ray is a good man; there is nothing dark or devious about him. Ray is all light, even when he’s brooding. (Fraser identifies this thought as an illogical one, but he doesn’t dismiss it. In his opinion, love-struck persons are allowed to entertain illogical thoughts about the object of their affection. And besides, Ray is always all light.)
Part of Fraser’s joy in his feelings for Ray derives from his suspicion that they are mutual. It is as though Ray’s ‘hunches’ have rubbed off on him. To test the hypothesis that Ray is in fact interested, Fraser has started to observe him closely. (Obviously, this didn’t imply that Fraser’s behaviour changed visibly-observing Ray has always been a secret delight-just that an ulterior motive was added to it.)
He concluded that, yes, Ray touches other people upon occasion, but not as often as he touches Fraser. Occasionally, Ray flashes his radiant smile at third parties as well (and Fraser has to admit that he isn’t amused when Ray does that, even though he is aware that it is generally in a good and case-related cause) but his warmest smile-the one that his eyes accompany saying, “this is only for you, buddy”-is only for Fraser.
Fraser feels reasonably confident that Ray reciprocates his feelings, but the subject hasn’t been brought up so far. He hasn’t been in a hurry, but he feels increasingly impatient of late.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ray says.
Fraser feels tempted to provide him with an explanatory answer, but judging from the irritation in Ray’s voice, the question was a rhetorical one.
He wants to apologize profusely for staring and making Ray feel uncomfortable. Ray is looking very nervous. A blush is creeping up to his cheeks. His eyes are very bright. He looks positively edible.
I want to swallow you whole, Fraser almost says. The phrase brings vivid images to his mind and causes a blush to rise to his face.
He cannot seem to avert his eyes, and apparently, neither can Ray. Perhaps it is time to leap.
“Ray.” Fraser startles at the sound of his voice. It is very husky, even to his ears.
Ray’s blush deepens. “Shut up, Fraser. Not here.”
“Ray.”
“Not now, Fraser. Wait until we’re back at my place.”
Fraser’s already fast heart rate accelerates even more. It’s a promise. Ray is promising him that things will change this afternoon. That is, things will alter completely and at the same time change not at all. The feelings have been present virtually from the day Ray and he met (at least Fraser’s part of them ). Now it is time to confess to them and act accordingly.
Well, strictly speaking, ‘now’ is still three quarters of an hour away. It’ll take twenty-five minutes for detectives Huey and Dewey to arrive and relieve them, and another twenty will pass before Ray will have parked the car in front of his building and opened the door to his apartment.
Fraser can barely muster the patience to wait. The silence in the GTO is highly unnerving. He wants to speak; he wants to tell Ray an Inuit story to relieve the tension, but he knows that Ray will ‘kick him in the head’ and ‘jump Bogart all over him’ if he tries it; and as much as he craves physical contact with Ray he would prefer another kind.
When the detectives come in sight, a mutual sigh of relief is breathed in the car. Ray smiles ruefully, and Fraser has to clench his jaws and hands to restrain himself from grabbing and kissing Ray right there and then, and being very publicly queer in front of Huey and Dewey.
Ray drives very fast on the way home. He exceeds all speed limits and categorically ignores red traffic lights. Fraser doesn’t say a word.
When he has closed the door of Ray’s apartment, Fraser turns and opens his mouth to speak, but surprise renders him speechless as Ray grabs the Stetson from his head and pushes him against the door. Fraser clears his throat and tries anew but finds he can’t because Ray’s lips are on his. He believes Ray is murmuring, “First things first.”
Ray is kissing him. Ray’s moving mouth is warm and soft-the pressure of it coaxes moans from Fraser. Ray’s tongue trails Fraser’s lips, enticing them to part. As it slips inside his mouth, Fraser realises that he can actively participate in this event. He was momentarily lost in Ray, aware of nothing other than the sensation of Ray’s delightful mouth on his own and of his heart, beating quite frantically, finally, oh, God, and Ray.
Ray’s tongue is deliciously wet and slick, hot, and agile. Fraser captures it and sucks gently. It earns him a moan from Ray.
He places his hand on the nape of Ray’s neck and adjusts the position of Ray’s head in order to get the right angle to taste his teeth and palate properly. Ray utters another moan.
It is an unravelling experience to savour Ray. To taste the traces of coffee, chocolate and chewing gum lingering in Ray’s mouth. To smell the scent of hair gel, leather, and Ray’s sweat. To inhale the pheromones that are uniquely Ray and so incredibly effective. Almost as effective as the sounds Ray is making. Causing Ray pleasure is the most potent aphrodisiac of all.
Fraser nips at Ray’s lower lip, biting down gently. His hands move to Ray’s hair. It feels just as electric as it looks.
He nibbles the underside of Ray’s jaw. “Fraser,” Ray sibilates, “this-”
He doesn’t finish his sentence when Fraser suckles at his neck. Instead, he chokes, “Bedroom.”
Fraser is aware of the thrill it causes him to be so unmistakably desired by Ray, yet it is with reluctance that he removes his lips and tongue. He doesn’t wish the contact with Ray’s skin to be broken, not even for a few seconds.
Holding Fraser’s stare, Ray steps back. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the floor. Fraser hesitates for a moment but leaves it there. It is a relief to see that after removing it, Ray puts his shoulder holster on the coffee table. One should not throw guns unless in a crisis, after all.
Fraser follows Ray to the bedroom.
He has barely crossed the doorstep when Ray turns and starts to fumble with his uniform. Ray’s fingers tug at the buttons of Fraser’s serge, the lanyard, the buckle of the Sam Browne. It is to no avail, and Ray growls in frustration.
Fraser slows his breathing, takes Ray’s hands, and asks, “Are you in a hurry, Ray?”
“Yes, dammit. God, Fraser, how-”
“Then let me do it.”
He sits Ray on the bed. Locking his eyes with Ray’s, he takes a step back and starts to remove his uniform.
Over the course of time, Fraser has increased his skill in disrobing from his official attire. It doesn’t have to take him more than three minutes to undress. At this juncture, he is no less in a hurry than Ray, but the ability of self-control is of course profitable in a wide variety of circumstances. Fraser intends to use it to tease Ray, to delay his pleasure and enhance it.
It is not an easy undertaking. To be the focus of Ray’s attention like this, to watch Ray look at him-his eyes so dark, his lips slightly parted, his breathing heavy and audible-is very arousing.
He wants to do this properly, however. He wants to unwrap himself for Ray watching him from the bed, mesmerised and still completely dressed. It’s a bonus; Fraser wants to do the unwrapping of Ray himself.
He manages to bare his upper body without taking his eyes off Ray, save for the moment when he pulls his undershirt over his head. When the garment slips to the floor onto the heap of lanyard, Sam Browne, Serge, suspenders and Henley, Ray inhales sharply.
Fraser suppresses a smile and considers how to proceed to unlace his boots. If he knelt down, he would hide himself from Ray’s view. If he were to grab the chair in the corner of the room he would have to turn away, but he doesn’t want to avert his eyes. He doesn’t want to break the spell he currently has on Ray.
One should not put one’s boots on a bed, of course, and an unmade bed at that, but Fraser sees no other way. He steps forward and places his right foot on the bedspread, a mere six centimetres from Ray’s left hip. As Fraser leans forward, Ray tilts his head to hold his stare.
Ray is so close. He looks-smells-so aroused. Fraser allows himself a swift downward glance. Ray’s penis seems uncomfortably trapped in his jeans. Fraser feels his own member twitch in sympathy, but he doesn’t permit himself to kiss Ray. Delaying the pleasure will be worthwhile, he is certain of it.
When he lifts his gaze, he catches Ray staring at the crotch of his jodhpurs. They are not as close fitting as Ray’s jeans, but Fraser is very much aware that above the right side of his groin, the shape of his erection is clearly visible to Ray. He sees Ray’s hands tighten on his knees.
It requires a great deal of self-control not to lean forward, grab Ray and bridge the distance to his mouth, but Fraser doesn’t do it. He starts to unlace his boot, holding Ray’s stare, keeping his lips just out of Ray’s reach.
Ray is breathing heavily. He whimpers. ‘Don’t,’ Fraser tries to let his eyes say. ‘Don’t speak.’
He loosens the lacing of his boot as much as possible, stands, and sets his left foot on the bed, without taking his eyes off Ray.
When the unlacing of his second boot is completed, he straightens his back again, removes his foot from the bed, and manages to take off his boot and sock, still focussing on Ray. Shifting his weight and removing his other boot and stocking causes him some trouble though, and he finds himself averting his eyes for a moment.
It is impossible to comprehend what happens next. Apparently, Ray is very strong of both body and will. This was, obviously, not unbeknownst to Fraser, but the timing of when Ray exerts his powers is very cunning and takes Fraser off guard. He does not understand how Ray manages to dart to the other side of the bed, launch Fraser in the process and cause him to land on top of Ray.
When Ray grabs his head and kisses him-delightfully wet and messy-growling an incoherent litany of “Not buddies. Not buddies. Not, not, not buddies,” Fraser concludes that, apparently, Ray can take only a limited amount of teasing.
He rides out the fierce release of Ray’s frustration that bruises his lips and causes his penis to become very, very erect-just as it does Ray’s, he can feel.
“Fraser.”
Ray is still fully dressed. This has to be amended.
Fraser rolls to his side and allows just enough space between Ray’s body and his own to be able to put his hand under Ray’s shirt. Feeling the warmth of Ray’s back causes him to gasp and want to strip Ray urgently. He exhales slowly though, and pulls Ray’s shirt over his head concentrated and unhurried.
The sight of Ray is mesmerising. The shape of his shoulders, his clavicles and the jugular notch between them, the dainty triangle of chest hair that covers his pectoral muscles and leaves his nipples invitingly visible bring an ache to Fraser’s throat. He wants to taste and smell what he sees.
He lowers his lips to Ray’s neck and taste the salt. His tongue moves to Ray’s clavicle and follows it upward. Now Fraser can easily trail the pattern of the tattoo on Ray’s shoulder. He wonders briefly if it hurt Ray much to have it applied, but his nostrils catch a whiff of Ray’s scent and he puts his nose in Ray’s armpit where his pheromones seem to have combined forces to drive Fraser out of his mind.
“Fraser.”
Ray thrusts his hips once, and Fraser reminds himself that he cannot linger. Finishing the process of undressing Ray has priority.
He moves to the end of the bed to remove Ray’s boots and socks. Ray has very beautiful feet.
Fraser slides his hand from Ray’s left heel to his ankle and into the leg of his jeans to his calf and the warm hollow of his knee.
“Fraser.”
Oh. Yes. He must proceed. He cannot linger to appraise every detail of Ray, but he will savour them some other time, he promises himself. Now, he has to concentrate on the ‘big picture’ as Ray would call it.
He quickly bares Ray’s other foot, and moves his hand over Ray’s leg to the waist of his jeans. Ray utters something that could be a breath of relief. Fraser isn’t certain of it, since the buttons of Ray’s fly provide a rather distracting puzzle. He manages to undo them without instructions from Ray however. For a man capable of disrobing from his RCMP uniform within three minutes, a buttoned fly doesn’t pose an insoluble problem.
Ray is wearing black briefs. Despite the dark color, an even darker wet spot is clearly visible near Ray’s left hip. Fraser runs his thumb along the shaft of Ray’s penis, but he doesn’t allow himself to be lost in the sensation. When Ray bucks his hips towards the touch, Fraser pulls his jeans and briefs down in one smooth move.
Ray is completely naked now, at Fraser’s disposal to feast his eyes, and hands, and mouth upon. The notion renders him temporarily indecisive where to start. After a moment, he concludes that Ray’s genitals fascinate him most.
The shape of Ray’s glans is accentuated by the absence of prepuce. It is beautifully flared, and the drop of pre-ejaculate emerging from the meatus looks very enticing to Fraser.
He lowers his head and laves Ray’s lean shaft from the base to the corona, feeling the scar line under his tongue and wondering whether the operation was painful to Ray. He uses the tip of his tongue to taste Ray’s fluid and his hand to guide Ray’s penis to his mouth.
“Fraser, no.”
Dumbstruck with disappointment, Fraser lifts his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Just one thing, Frase.” Ray cups Fraser’s jaw and strokes his cheeks with his thumps. “Seeing as you’re such an oral guy and all, I’m figuring that I’m about to get the best blowjob of my life, and I’m not going to enjoy it while you’re still wearing your pumpkin pants.”
Oh. Well, no, of course not. Fraser fully understands.
Ray seems to want to stress his point, though. “Playing ‘hide the Canadian bacon’ like that is considered great fun in Canada maybe,” he says, “but here in the U.S. it’s not buddies. Lose those pants, Fraser. And your starched boxers or whatever it is you’re wearing.”
Feeling a little uncomfortable at Ray’s clairvoyance, Fraser rises from the bed.
Ray throws him a stern glare. “And do not give me that striptease shit again, Fraser. Hurry.”
Fraser complies. As he pulls his boxers over his erection and down his legs, Ray gasps.
“Jesus, Frase.”
Fraser feels horribly bashful all of a sudden. It isn’t prudishness, nor is it caused by the fact that he is admired for his appearance. He has become sufficiently accustomed to the latter since he came to Chicago.
At first, he thought it was his exotic attire. Then he reluctantly admitted that his features were, apparently, greatly appealing to American women. To be admired by Ray, and for himself, is something altogether different, however.
“C’mere.”
Ray extends his arm invitingly, and Fraser sits next to him on the bed. Ray’s hands move to his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen to his penis. As Fraser gasps at the touch of Ray’s fingers around his shaft, Ray captures his lips.
Ray’s mouth is alternately rough and sweet, stirring Fraser’s arousal, apparently determined to drive him out of his mind. Ray’s hand, holding Fraser’s penis in a delightful, firm grip and moving fast, is quite maddening as well.
Fraser doesn’t want to lose his mind. Not yet. He pulls back and stills Ray’s hand. “Ray, please, stop. I want to… fellate you.”
For a moment, he fears that Ray is unfamiliar with the term referring to performing oral sex on a male. Fraser knows what a ‘blowjob’ is, but he doesn’t like the word. It sounds as though it constitutes a labour of some sort. He is certain that fellating Ray will be anything but a chore.
“Will you please allow me, Ray?” he asks, hoping that Ray is sufficiently acquainted with Latin to understand his meaning.
Relief and excitement wash over him when Ray grins and says, “Yeah, sure, you can fellate your head off, buddy. And probably mine too.”
Ray shifts to his back, and Fraser kneels at his left hip. Again, he is at a loss where to start. Ray is quite a sight. His legs are splayed, his penis is standing proudly, and he is smiling as though he anticipates ‘greatness’.
That sets Fraser’s mind quickly. He begins to apply in practice what he read about the subject of fellatio. He flattens his tongue to lave Ray’s shaft, gently nibbles the corona, licks the remnants of the frenulum, bathes the glans. He has never done this before, but it isn’t difficult at all. Ray’s moans guide him, as do his hands and hips.
He lets Ray buck. He can take this. He opens his mouth wide, and takes Ray in deep. Slowly breathing through his nose, Fraser sucks with relish. It is a delight to do this, quite the opposite of a chore, just as he expected.
“Fraser.”
His penis twitches at the sound of Ray’s groan. He knows Ray is close to orgasm. He feels Ray’s scrotum tighten in his hand and the glans swell against his palate.
He drinks Ray’s spurts. Ray’s uniquely bitter taste floods his tongue. It is wonderful to learn Ray like this. He doesn’t back pull until he feels Ray’s penis soften.
Ray is stroking his hair and shoulders with gentle caresses. Fraser rests his head on Ray’s hip.
“C’mere, buddy.”
He is pulled up to receive a soulful kiss from Ray. Ray’s mouth is warm and wet, and generous. When Ray releases Fraser with a nip at his lower lip, he smiles contently, and says, “I was right. You give head like a pro, Frase.”
Fraser feels a pang of jealousy at the implication of Ray being familiar with the fellating prowess of prostitutes. The sting subsides when he realises that Ray merely was using metaphor to compliment him.
“It was real greatness, Fraser. Let’s see if I can return the favour.”
He can. Oh, God, he can. In abundance. Ray nuzzles, nips, skims, scrapes, fondles, rubs, nibbles, and sucks every centimetre of Fraser’s genital anatomy. He is driving Fraser to insanity.
Fraser attempts to still his hips. He doesn’t want to cause Ray discomfort.
Ray looks up, his hand replacing his mouth on Fraser’s shaft. “Or you could fuck me,” he says, strangely matter-of-fact, as though he is resuming a conversation they started earlier.
Fraser tenses at the unexpected turn of events. He sincerely wishes it didn’t happen. He isn’t certain he will be able to accomplish what Ray is expecting of him. He isn’t certain what Ray is expecting exactly.
“Have you ever done this before?”
He doesn’t want to hear an affirmative reply from Ray. His possessiveness flares at the thought that Ray has been intimate in this particular fashion with anyone before. Ray is divorced, and there has been Assistant State’s Attorney Kowalski of course, but Fraser-to whom the reality of women being less valued in society is utterly incomprehensible and greatly unmerited-finds it a comforting notion that Ray’s former spouse was only a woman.
“Not really, no,” Ray says. He seems a little flustered. “But I read some stuff about it. And I tried it. By myself. With two fingers. There’s a prostrate there, you know.”
Fraser knows. He closes his eyes at the mental image of Ray penetrating himself, but opens them again quickly when he feels Ray’s fingers stroking his corona.
“Prostate,” he says, as evenly as he can muster. He finds Ray’s idiom very enticing, but some things he simply cannot condone. A verb or adjective should not be used as a noun.
“Prostate, yeah, ‘course,” Ray smiles. Being corrected by Fraser doesn’t seem to bother him in the least at this particular moment. “I want to do this, Frase,” he says. “Don’t you?”
Oh, God, of course he does. But performing a deed that inevitably will hurt Ray even if they are very careful and take it very slow, to endeavour something that could prove to be difficult without any previous experience upon which one could rely, is a terrifying prospect.
Once again, Ray’s clairvoyance becomes apparent. “I know it’s gonna hurt first, Fraser. I know I need to concentrate on staying relaxed. We can take it slow. When I’m past the pain, it’ll be greatness.”
The look in Ray’s eyes is one of confidence. Fraser feels slightly nauseated at the thought of replacing it with agony and regret.
“You might not reach orgasm again so soon, Ray,” he says.
“I know. ‘S not important. I want you close.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. “Ray,” he says, cupping Ray’s face. “Ray,” he says again, pressing his lips on Ray’s, using his tongue to demand entrance and penetrate Ray’s mouth in mimic of what Ray has asked him to do.
As Fraser pulls back breathlessly, Ray chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “Hold that thought, buddy.”
He stretches and takes a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant from the drawer of his nightstand. The box is sealed, but the lubricant has been used before.
“I wanted to know how it felt,” Ray explains. He sighs, grins and adds, “Greatness, Frase.”
“Lie on your back,” Fraser says. He knows he sounds ridiculously hoarse, but he forces himself to continue. “I want to look at you, Ray. You can turn over later.”
Ray flops onto his back and wriggles down on the bed until his knees are on either side of Fraser’s. He is quite a sight; so vulnerably exposed and so very brave.
Fraser closes his eyes for a moment, to concentrate on breathing at a slower pace. Then he takes the lubricant and squeezes a dollop onto his fingers. Very carefully, he circles Ray’s opening with his slick thumb-and gasps as Ray catches the extremity by pressing down hard.
“I can take fingers, Fraser. I’ve practised.”
Oh. Oh, God. If carefulness and caution aren’t useful to guide him in the current situation, what is?
Fraser retracts his thumb and applies a large blob of lubricant to his hands, rubbing them together until his palms and fingers are slippery. He inserts his second digit into Ray’s sphincter and eases in slowly until he reaches the prostate.
“Yeah,” Ray sighs. “That’s the thing. That’s the prostrate.”
Fraser leans forward to look at him. Ray is smiling. He wriggles a little and tightens his rectal muscle around Fraser’s finger.
He is doing it on purpose. The contraction as well as the language abuse. Fraser silences him with a kiss, rubbing the small nub inside Ray’s channel.
Ray utters sounds of contentment and his eyes drift shut. When he opens them again, his voice is urgent. “Lemme turn, Fraser. Lemme turn now, please.”
Fraser pulls back his hand and lets Ray assume the position he seems to think is best suited for their impending endeavour.
Fraser’s penis rears at the sight of Ray’s buttocks pointing upwards, his scrotum dangling between his thighs, his semi-erect penis only barely visible behind it.
He must prepare Ray first, however. He applies more lubricant to Ray’s orifice, inserts two fingers, then three. Ray moves to meet them.
“Fraser,” he hisses. “Fraser, do it. Now.”
Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, God.
Fraser puts on a condom as quickly as he can muster, which isn’t as quickly as he wishes, as his nervousness and haste cause him to fumble with the cellophane wrapping for ten excruciating seconds before he manages to open it.
When the sheath is around his penis, he slathers it with lubricant and guides his erection to Ray’s opening. Slowly he presses his glans in.
Oh, God.
“Fraser, stop. Wait. I need to….”
Ray is amazing. Fraser feels the tight clamp of Ray’s sphincter loosen, slowly and smoothly, to let him sink in deeper.
His breath hitches. To have this. To be buried inside Ray. Surrounded by his tight heat. Close, as Ray put it. There is no other word.
“Ray.”
He leans forward on his hands, pressing his torso against Ray’s back. He kisses the nape of Ray’s neck, his earlobe, his jaw. When Ray turns his head, Fraser captures his mouth.
“Ray.”
“Yeah.” Ray sighs, smiles, clenches his rectum. “You can move now if you want, Fraser.”
He can. He wants. He lifts from Ray’s back and pushes forward once.
“Yeah,” Ray says, moving back.
They adopt a rhythm together, steadily increasing the force and pace. Whether it is on his volition or Ray’s, Fraser isn’t sure.
It doesn’t matter. All that is left is the sensation of Ray surrounding him, moving with him, ushering him to let go, to give up, to give all. When Fraser cries out and ejaculates, he is pouring his soul into Ray.
He collapses onto Ray’s back, supported by Ray’s arms. The aftershocks ripple through his body for a very long time.
“Ray,” he says after a while. All of a sudden, he craves to see Ray’s face. He needs to see the look in Ray’s eyes.
“Ray, I’m going to….”
“Okay.”
Fraser pulls out of Ray, divests himself of the condom, and knots it quickly.
Ray turns. The look in his eyes is one of tenderness. He cups Fraser’s face and plants a soft, slow kiss on his lips that is without need, but by no means abstained from soulfulness.
“Give me that,” he says, taking the condom from Fraser’s hand. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Fraser watches him rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom, feeling mesmerised by Ray’s movements.
When the condom is disposed of, Ray turns and smiles. Everything has changed, Fraser knows, and everything stayed the same. He will have a future with Ray. Discussing matters is not necessary.
Fraser wants to, though. He wants to declare his love to Ray; he wants to discuss moving his personal belongings and Diefenbaker to Ray’s apartment. He doesn’t do it. Where there is no doubt, one has to trust and not let oneself be carried away by one’s neurotic need for verbal confirmation.
Ray doesn’t talk. He has nestled himself in Fraser’s arms, and his body is lying warm and relaxed against Fraser. Only when Fraser feels him smile against his nipple he asks what Ray is thinking of.
Ray’s lips brush his areola again. “You haven’t burst into an Inuit story for minutes now, Fraser. What happened?”
“Ray.”
“Yeah,” Ray smiles. “I was thinking about how good this feels, too.” He looks up. “Not just the sex thing, but the whole being with you thing, you know. Right from the beginning. Like it was, um, predatory or something.”
“I believe you mean predetermined, Ray,” Fraser says.
“Yeah, ‘course. Like we are a match made by a guy who knew damn well what he was doing.”
“God?” Fraser knows Ray’s parents raised him catholic, but he wasn’t aware that religion still played a part in Ray’s adult life.
“Yeah, maybe,” Ray says absently, as though it is of no real importance. In a clearer voice he continues, “I was in love with Stella something fierce, Fraser. It lasted a long time, even after the divorce and I thought it could never be matched, but with you it is even better.” He smiles. “I think you beat the Stella, Frase.”
Fraser captures Ray’s mouth in a kiss. He understands. He understands perfectly.
When he first met Victoria he concluded that the occasional attraction he had felt for other people constituted a mere parody of what love truly was. He had never known such craving, such aching desire before. The need to look at her, touch her, be inside her was unqualified and frightening. She robbed him of his mental sanity. He needed all the strength he could muster to resist her manipulations and bring her to justice.
When they met the second time, it was worse. He was weaker. He didn’t have the fortitude to withstand her and almost paid for it with his life.
He now knows that true love does not bereave one of one’s soundness of mind. His love for Ray doesn’t border insanity (except, he has to admit, when they make love). His thoughts about Victoria never caused him happiness. Thinking of Ray always fills him with joy.
Fraser loves Ray infinitely more than he loved Victoria, if he ever loved her at all.
Ray is trailing his index finger along Fraser’s profile. “Penny for your thoughts, buddy,” he says.
Fraser captures Ray’s wrist and presses a kiss on the inside, just above the bracelet. “I assume that we have now established to be both queer, Ray,” he replies.
Ray chuckles. “Nah, we’re not queer, Fraser. We are gay.”
Ah. Of course. Fraser nods. “I agree that we’re very happy,” he says, “and I have to admit that we seem very much inclined to lechery. I fail to see why you say that we aren’t queer, however. After all, this afternoon taught us that we are in fact romantically and sexually attracted to a person of our own sex.”
Ray stares at him, then laughs and shakes his head. “We’re not queer, Fraser. You are.”
This is true, of course. Ever since he can remember, Fraser has been aware of his lack in aptitude to meet the standards of normalcy. He would have vowed though that Ray is queer as well, in that excitingly new meaning Fraser learnt today. Ray’s semi-erect penis is pressing against Fraser’s hip. His hand is fondling Fraser’s genitals, and the look on his face is one of happiness. There are no signs that Ray is not pleased to be in Fraser’s arms.
Ray’s denial of being queer is a conundrum to Fraser, but it doesn’t really matter. He may not always understand Ray’s words literally, but their meaning is never lost on him. Ray has uncountable ways to express himself. His kisses, caresses, and nibbles for example are extremely eloquent. To Fraser, everything that is of importance at this juncture is perfectly clear.
END
Rating: NC-17
Size: 2 x 8” about 6500 words
Dedication and courtesy: I wrote this story for Debris_K who told me that her idea of an ideal dS fic is a Fraser/Kowalski NC-17. She did an impromptu and thorough beta of her gift and returned it to me saying that she appreciated the gesture. Thank you, D!
Vernacular
Ray has the most fascinating speech. It is playful, metaphorical, elliptical and vivid, and never difficult to comprehend. Fraser doesn’t always understand Ray’s words literally, but their meaning is never lost on him.
When Fraser doesn’t understand Ray, it is because Ray doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes Ray broods-and denies doing so when Fraser encourages him to reveal what is on his mind. When it happens, Fraser feels at a loss and is unable to think of anything to do other than to endure the silence.
Fortunately, it doesn’t happen very often and it doesn’t last very long, because Ray usually loves to talk, and he loves to use colourful expressions. Some of them Fraser suspects are uniquely Ray; others he learnt are part of American vernacular.
Fraser loves Ray’s catchphrases, whether they are derived from his personal vocabulary or American idioms, because they indicate that Ray is well. Fraser knows that when something is ‘badass’ it earns Ray’s admiration, and that whenever ‘greatness’ is mentioned Ray is happy. Fraser’s personal favourites are ‘that’s not buddies’ and ‘you’re unhinged, Fraser’ because they imply that, whatever he may have done wrong, he is already and abundantly forgiven for it. In fact, Fraser suspects that Ray expresses his fondness this way.
When Ray says, “Pitter patter, let’s get at ’er,” it means he feels that matters have been discussed in abundance and action is long overdue-but he’s still in a good mood and he hasn’t lost his patience yet.
When Ray declares he wants to “Kick ’em in the head,” he has lost his patience, or he is on the verge of doing so, but his anger isn’t directed at Fraser-they are, in fact, still ‘buddies’.
When Ray says, “Fraser, I swear, I’ll kick you in the head if you don’t stop,” he is usually referring to Fraser starting his fourth Inuit story during the same stakeout session. Given the precise vocalisation of his threat, Fraser doesn’t assume Ray is serious, but he never challenges Ray’s intimidation.
Often, Ray states that ‘something is queer’. This is a mainly case-related phrase, indicating that the diverse pieces of information they have collected don’t seem to belong to the same puzzle.
‘Queer’ is a perfectly common word, in American as well as Canadian English. It has several different connotations and Fraser understands that Ray uses it mostly in the sense of ‘of a questionable nature or character’.
Intermitting the tapping of his fingers on the steering wheel, Ray has just remarked that something was queer about the boots Mr. Williams wore yesterday. Mr. Williams is the alleged accomplice of Mr. Branson. Mr. Branson is the main suspect in the killing of Mrs. May. Ray and Fraser are currently on an afternoon stakeout to see whether they can catch Mr. Williams in the act of doing something…ah…queer.
“It’s the size of ’em,” Ray is saying. “They looked too big for him.”
Fraser registers that Ray is still talking about Mr. Williams’s boots, but his mind is distracted by a scene on the pavement. Two men, about the same age and height, are walking very closely together. One is blond and slender, and looking very much like Ray; the other is darker, more solidly built, and he looks a great deal like…Well, perhaps the resemblance is just a figment of Fraser’s imagination.
He holds his breath regardless.
The dark-haired man has put his arm around the shoulders of his friend, who has stuck his hand in the back pocket of his partner’s jeans. He is resting his blond head against his lover’s shoulder. Their heads move closer together. They share a kiss. Fraser’s throat tightens at the sight of it.
“They shouldn’t be doing that,” Ray says.
Fraser doesn’t understand. The men look very happy and very much in love.
“You can’t be publicly queer in Chicago.”
Ray disapproves of the men’s display of affection; that much is clear to Fraser. He fails to see the reason of Ray’s disapproval, however.
Fraser considers the different connotations of the word ‘queer’ he knows. The men don’t look disreputable to him at all, nor do they appear to be mentally unbalanced or feeling unwell. Perhaps Ray is referring to the fact that they are attracted to one another. After all, most men tend to be physically drawn to women, not other men. Homosexuality is, strictly speaking, a deviation from normalcy.
Fraser could look in his dictionary at the consulate later to check if ‘singular’ is indeed the most likely synonym of Ray’s ‘queer’ in the given context. He could also ask Ray now.
“What do you mean by ‘queer’ exactly, Ray?”
Ray scowls at him. “I don’t get you, Fraser. You speak fluent French, German, Spanish, Russian, Swahili, and several Chinese dialects, but you still don’t understand American slang after living here for three years? Homosexual, Fraser. Ho-mo-sex-u-al. That’s what ‘queer’ means.”
Ah. Fraser nods. It is always gratifying to learn new words or to become acquainted with unfamiliar connotations of familiar terms. American colloquialism is truly fascinating. Fraser regrets-not for the first time-that there isn’t a discernable reference book published on the subject.
He has another question, however.
“You mentioned that one can’t be publicly queer in Chicago, Ray. I assume that by ‘can’t’ you meant ‘is not supposed to’ but still I don’t understand fully. One kiss hardly constitutes a lascivious act, and besides-”
“It’s not the kiss, it’s the kissers,” Ray interrupts. He is scowling again. “You do get homophobia, don’t you, Fraser?”
Fraser isn’t certain about the best way to respond to this. Yes, he ‘gets’ homophobia in the sense that he understands the meaning of the word. He is familiar with the fact that some people suffer from it. He knows that homophobia is essentially fear masked by anger, resulting in hatred. Fraser knows love related fear: the fear of rejection, the fear of loss. He understands envy at witnessing the tenderness between two people. He knows longing. What he doesn’t understand is how anyone can call the love shared between two human beings ‘wrong’ and be genuinely convinced that the label is justified.
“True love is a wonderful thing,” Fraser says. “I fail to see how the gender of the people who are fortunate enough to find it bears any relevance to the evaluation of its preciousness.”
Ray is staring at him, and Fraser fears that he has chosen the wrong words to express himself.
Several seconds pass in silence, and as so many times before, Fraser is struck by the sight of Ray’s beauty. He finds he can’t look away. Ray has stunning features; the shape of his jaw, his chin, his nose, the curve of his lips, his ears: Fraser loves them all.
“Yeah,” Ray says eventually, averting his eyes. “That makes two of us, Fraser, but a lot of people in Chicago beg to differ. Some of them are willing to use their fists to stress their point. What those guys were doing was dangerous to their health.”
Those guys? Ah, the loving couple on the pavement. They shared a dangerous kiss. Fraser wonders briefly how dangerous it would be to lean forward and kiss Ray. What would Ray do?
Lately, Fraser has begun to feel reckless. It is frightening, but it’s also… exciting. Since a few weeks, he knows that the warm feelings he has for Ray can be correctly labelled infatuation.
He is in love with Ray. It is a wonderful feeing, an unknown luxury. Being with Ray, thinking of Ray, missing him when Fraser’s tasks at the consulate prevent him from liaising with Ray or when Ray is otherwise engaged, anticipating seeing him again the next day or in a couple of hours, it all warms Fraser inside.
His feelings for Ray remind him of the ones he had for Victoria, but only to a certain extent and in a certain way, since they are very different, and much happier. Ray is a good man; there is nothing dark or devious about him. Ray is all light, even when he’s brooding. (Fraser identifies this thought as an illogical one, but he doesn’t dismiss it. In his opinion, love-struck persons are allowed to entertain illogical thoughts about the object of their affection. And besides, Ray is always all light.)
Part of Fraser’s joy in his feelings for Ray derives from his suspicion that they are mutual. It is as though Ray’s ‘hunches’ have rubbed off on him. To test the hypothesis that Ray is in fact interested, Fraser has started to observe him closely. (Obviously, this didn’t imply that Fraser’s behaviour changed visibly-observing Ray has always been a secret delight-just that an ulterior motive was added to it.)
He concluded that, yes, Ray touches other people upon occasion, but not as often as he touches Fraser. Occasionally, Ray flashes his radiant smile at third parties as well (and Fraser has to admit that he isn’t amused when Ray does that, even though he is aware that it is generally in a good and case-related cause) but his warmest smile-the one that his eyes accompany saying, “this is only for you, buddy”-is only for Fraser.
Fraser feels reasonably confident that Ray reciprocates his feelings, but the subject hasn’t been brought up so far. He hasn’t been in a hurry, but he feels increasingly impatient of late.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Ray says.
Fraser feels tempted to provide him with an explanatory answer, but judging from the irritation in Ray’s voice, the question was a rhetorical one.
He wants to apologize profusely for staring and making Ray feel uncomfortable. Ray is looking very nervous. A blush is creeping up to his cheeks. His eyes are very bright. He looks positively edible.
I want to swallow you whole, Fraser almost says. The phrase brings vivid images to his mind and causes a blush to rise to his face.
He cannot seem to avert his eyes, and apparently, neither can Ray. Perhaps it is time to leap.
“Ray.” Fraser startles at the sound of his voice. It is very husky, even to his ears.
Ray’s blush deepens. “Shut up, Fraser. Not here.”
“Ray.”
“Not now, Fraser. Wait until we’re back at my place.”
Fraser’s already fast heart rate accelerates even more. It’s a promise. Ray is promising him that things will change this afternoon. That is, things will alter completely and at the same time change not at all. The feelings have been present virtually from the day Ray and he met (at least Fraser’s part of them ). Now it is time to confess to them and act accordingly.
Well, strictly speaking, ‘now’ is still three quarters of an hour away. It’ll take twenty-five minutes for detectives Huey and Dewey to arrive and relieve them, and another twenty will pass before Ray will have parked the car in front of his building and opened the door to his apartment.
Fraser can barely muster the patience to wait. The silence in the GTO is highly unnerving. He wants to speak; he wants to tell Ray an Inuit story to relieve the tension, but he knows that Ray will ‘kick him in the head’ and ‘jump Bogart all over him’ if he tries it; and as much as he craves physical contact with Ray he would prefer another kind.
When the detectives come in sight, a mutual sigh of relief is breathed in the car. Ray smiles ruefully, and Fraser has to clench his jaws and hands to restrain himself from grabbing and kissing Ray right there and then, and being very publicly queer in front of Huey and Dewey.
Ray drives very fast on the way home. He exceeds all speed limits and categorically ignores red traffic lights. Fraser doesn’t say a word.
When he has closed the door of Ray’s apartment, Fraser turns and opens his mouth to speak, but surprise renders him speechless as Ray grabs the Stetson from his head and pushes him against the door. Fraser clears his throat and tries anew but finds he can’t because Ray’s lips are on his. He believes Ray is murmuring, “First things first.”
Ray is kissing him. Ray’s moving mouth is warm and soft-the pressure of it coaxes moans from Fraser. Ray’s tongue trails Fraser’s lips, enticing them to part. As it slips inside his mouth, Fraser realises that he can actively participate in this event. He was momentarily lost in Ray, aware of nothing other than the sensation of Ray’s delightful mouth on his own and of his heart, beating quite frantically, finally, oh, God, and Ray.
Ray’s tongue is deliciously wet and slick, hot, and agile. Fraser captures it and sucks gently. It earns him a moan from Ray.
He places his hand on the nape of Ray’s neck and adjusts the position of Ray’s head in order to get the right angle to taste his teeth and palate properly. Ray utters another moan.
It is an unravelling experience to savour Ray. To taste the traces of coffee, chocolate and chewing gum lingering in Ray’s mouth. To smell the scent of hair gel, leather, and Ray’s sweat. To inhale the pheromones that are uniquely Ray and so incredibly effective. Almost as effective as the sounds Ray is making. Causing Ray pleasure is the most potent aphrodisiac of all.
Fraser nips at Ray’s lower lip, biting down gently. His hands move to Ray’s hair. It feels just as electric as it looks.
He nibbles the underside of Ray’s jaw. “Fraser,” Ray sibilates, “this-”
He doesn’t finish his sentence when Fraser suckles at his neck. Instead, he chokes, “Bedroom.”
Fraser is aware of the thrill it causes him to be so unmistakably desired by Ray, yet it is with reluctance that he removes his lips and tongue. He doesn’t wish the contact with Ray’s skin to be broken, not even for a few seconds.
Holding Fraser’s stare, Ray steps back. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it onto the floor. Fraser hesitates for a moment but leaves it there. It is a relief to see that after removing it, Ray puts his shoulder holster on the coffee table. One should not throw guns unless in a crisis, after all.
Fraser follows Ray to the bedroom.
He has barely crossed the doorstep when Ray turns and starts to fumble with his uniform. Ray’s fingers tug at the buttons of Fraser’s serge, the lanyard, the buckle of the Sam Browne. It is to no avail, and Ray growls in frustration.
Fraser slows his breathing, takes Ray’s hands, and asks, “Are you in a hurry, Ray?”
“Yes, dammit. God, Fraser, how-”
“Then let me do it.”
He sits Ray on the bed. Locking his eyes with Ray’s, he takes a step back and starts to remove his uniform.
Over the course of time, Fraser has increased his skill in disrobing from his official attire. It doesn’t have to take him more than three minutes to undress. At this juncture, he is no less in a hurry than Ray, but the ability of self-control is of course profitable in a wide variety of circumstances. Fraser intends to use it to tease Ray, to delay his pleasure and enhance it.
It is not an easy undertaking. To be the focus of Ray’s attention like this, to watch Ray look at him-his eyes so dark, his lips slightly parted, his breathing heavy and audible-is very arousing.
He wants to do this properly, however. He wants to unwrap himself for Ray watching him from the bed, mesmerised and still completely dressed. It’s a bonus; Fraser wants to do the unwrapping of Ray himself.
He manages to bare his upper body without taking his eyes off Ray, save for the moment when he pulls his undershirt over his head. When the garment slips to the floor onto the heap of lanyard, Sam Browne, Serge, suspenders and Henley, Ray inhales sharply.
Fraser suppresses a smile and considers how to proceed to unlace his boots. If he knelt down, he would hide himself from Ray’s view. If he were to grab the chair in the corner of the room he would have to turn away, but he doesn’t want to avert his eyes. He doesn’t want to break the spell he currently has on Ray.
One should not put one’s boots on a bed, of course, and an unmade bed at that, but Fraser sees no other way. He steps forward and places his right foot on the bedspread, a mere six centimetres from Ray’s left hip. As Fraser leans forward, Ray tilts his head to hold his stare.
Ray is so close. He looks-smells-so aroused. Fraser allows himself a swift downward glance. Ray’s penis seems uncomfortably trapped in his jeans. Fraser feels his own member twitch in sympathy, but he doesn’t permit himself to kiss Ray. Delaying the pleasure will be worthwhile, he is certain of it.
When he lifts his gaze, he catches Ray staring at the crotch of his jodhpurs. They are not as close fitting as Ray’s jeans, but Fraser is very much aware that above the right side of his groin, the shape of his erection is clearly visible to Ray. He sees Ray’s hands tighten on his knees.
It requires a great deal of self-control not to lean forward, grab Ray and bridge the distance to his mouth, but Fraser doesn’t do it. He starts to unlace his boot, holding Ray’s stare, keeping his lips just out of Ray’s reach.
Ray is breathing heavily. He whimpers. ‘Don’t,’ Fraser tries to let his eyes say. ‘Don’t speak.’
He loosens the lacing of his boot as much as possible, stands, and sets his left foot on the bed, without taking his eyes off Ray.
When the unlacing of his second boot is completed, he straightens his back again, removes his foot from the bed, and manages to take off his boot and sock, still focussing on Ray. Shifting his weight and removing his other boot and stocking causes him some trouble though, and he finds himself averting his eyes for a moment.
It is impossible to comprehend what happens next. Apparently, Ray is very strong of both body and will. This was, obviously, not unbeknownst to Fraser, but the timing of when Ray exerts his powers is very cunning and takes Fraser off guard. He does not understand how Ray manages to dart to the other side of the bed, launch Fraser in the process and cause him to land on top of Ray.
When Ray grabs his head and kisses him-delightfully wet and messy-growling an incoherent litany of “Not buddies. Not buddies. Not, not, not buddies,” Fraser concludes that, apparently, Ray can take only a limited amount of teasing.
He rides out the fierce release of Ray’s frustration that bruises his lips and causes his penis to become very, very erect-just as it does Ray’s, he can feel.
“Fraser.”
Ray is still fully dressed. This has to be amended.
Fraser rolls to his side and allows just enough space between Ray’s body and his own to be able to put his hand under Ray’s shirt. Feeling the warmth of Ray’s back causes him to gasp and want to strip Ray urgently. He exhales slowly though, and pulls Ray’s shirt over his head concentrated and unhurried.
The sight of Ray is mesmerising. The shape of his shoulders, his clavicles and the jugular notch between them, the dainty triangle of chest hair that covers his pectoral muscles and leaves his nipples invitingly visible bring an ache to Fraser’s throat. He wants to taste and smell what he sees.
He lowers his lips to Ray’s neck and taste the salt. His tongue moves to Ray’s clavicle and follows it upward. Now Fraser can easily trail the pattern of the tattoo on Ray’s shoulder. He wonders briefly if it hurt Ray much to have it applied, but his nostrils catch a whiff of Ray’s scent and he puts his nose in Ray’s armpit where his pheromones seem to have combined forces to drive Fraser out of his mind.
“Fraser.”
Ray thrusts his hips once, and Fraser reminds himself that he cannot linger. Finishing the process of undressing Ray has priority.
He moves to the end of the bed to remove Ray’s boots and socks. Ray has very beautiful feet.
Fraser slides his hand from Ray’s left heel to his ankle and into the leg of his jeans to his calf and the warm hollow of his knee.
“Fraser.”
Oh. Yes. He must proceed. He cannot linger to appraise every detail of Ray, but he will savour them some other time, he promises himself. Now, he has to concentrate on the ‘big picture’ as Ray would call it.
He quickly bares Ray’s other foot, and moves his hand over Ray’s leg to the waist of his jeans. Ray utters something that could be a breath of relief. Fraser isn’t certain of it, since the buttons of Ray’s fly provide a rather distracting puzzle. He manages to undo them without instructions from Ray however. For a man capable of disrobing from his RCMP uniform within three minutes, a buttoned fly doesn’t pose an insoluble problem.
Ray is wearing black briefs. Despite the dark color, an even darker wet spot is clearly visible near Ray’s left hip. Fraser runs his thumb along the shaft of Ray’s penis, but he doesn’t allow himself to be lost in the sensation. When Ray bucks his hips towards the touch, Fraser pulls his jeans and briefs down in one smooth move.
Ray is completely naked now, at Fraser’s disposal to feast his eyes, and hands, and mouth upon. The notion renders him temporarily indecisive where to start. After a moment, he concludes that Ray’s genitals fascinate him most.
The shape of Ray’s glans is accentuated by the absence of prepuce. It is beautifully flared, and the drop of pre-ejaculate emerging from the meatus looks very enticing to Fraser.
He lowers his head and laves Ray’s lean shaft from the base to the corona, feeling the scar line under his tongue and wondering whether the operation was painful to Ray. He uses the tip of his tongue to taste Ray’s fluid and his hand to guide Ray’s penis to his mouth.
“Fraser, no.”
Dumbstruck with disappointment, Fraser lifts his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Just one thing, Frase.” Ray cups Fraser’s jaw and strokes his cheeks with his thumps. “Seeing as you’re such an oral guy and all, I’m figuring that I’m about to get the best blowjob of my life, and I’m not going to enjoy it while you’re still wearing your pumpkin pants.”
Oh. Well, no, of course not. Fraser fully understands.
Ray seems to want to stress his point, though. “Playing ‘hide the Canadian bacon’ like that is considered great fun in Canada maybe,” he says, “but here in the U.S. it’s not buddies. Lose those pants, Fraser. And your starched boxers or whatever it is you’re wearing.”
Feeling a little uncomfortable at Ray’s clairvoyance, Fraser rises from the bed.
Ray throws him a stern glare. “And do not give me that striptease shit again, Fraser. Hurry.”
Fraser complies. As he pulls his boxers over his erection and down his legs, Ray gasps.
“Jesus, Frase.”
Fraser feels horribly bashful all of a sudden. It isn’t prudishness, nor is it caused by the fact that he is admired for his appearance. He has become sufficiently accustomed to the latter since he came to Chicago.
At first, he thought it was his exotic attire. Then he reluctantly admitted that his features were, apparently, greatly appealing to American women. To be admired by Ray, and for himself, is something altogether different, however.
“C’mere.”
Ray extends his arm invitingly, and Fraser sits next to him on the bed. Ray’s hands move to his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen to his penis. As Fraser gasps at the touch of Ray’s fingers around his shaft, Ray captures his lips.
Ray’s mouth is alternately rough and sweet, stirring Fraser’s arousal, apparently determined to drive him out of his mind. Ray’s hand, holding Fraser’s penis in a delightful, firm grip and moving fast, is quite maddening as well.
Fraser doesn’t want to lose his mind. Not yet. He pulls back and stills Ray’s hand. “Ray, please, stop. I want to… fellate you.”
For a moment, he fears that Ray is unfamiliar with the term referring to performing oral sex on a male. Fraser knows what a ‘blowjob’ is, but he doesn’t like the word. It sounds as though it constitutes a labour of some sort. He is certain that fellating Ray will be anything but a chore.
“Will you please allow me, Ray?” he asks, hoping that Ray is sufficiently acquainted with Latin to understand his meaning.
Relief and excitement wash over him when Ray grins and says, “Yeah, sure, you can fellate your head off, buddy. And probably mine too.”
Ray shifts to his back, and Fraser kneels at his left hip. Again, he is at a loss where to start. Ray is quite a sight. His legs are splayed, his penis is standing proudly, and he is smiling as though he anticipates ‘greatness’.
That sets Fraser’s mind quickly. He begins to apply in practice what he read about the subject of fellatio. He flattens his tongue to lave Ray’s shaft, gently nibbles the corona, licks the remnants of the frenulum, bathes the glans. He has never done this before, but it isn’t difficult at all. Ray’s moans guide him, as do his hands and hips.
He lets Ray buck. He can take this. He opens his mouth wide, and takes Ray in deep. Slowly breathing through his nose, Fraser sucks with relish. It is a delight to do this, quite the opposite of a chore, just as he expected.
“Fraser.”
His penis twitches at the sound of Ray’s groan. He knows Ray is close to orgasm. He feels Ray’s scrotum tighten in his hand and the glans swell against his palate.
He drinks Ray’s spurts. Ray’s uniquely bitter taste floods his tongue. It is wonderful to learn Ray like this. He doesn’t back pull until he feels Ray’s penis soften.
Ray is stroking his hair and shoulders with gentle caresses. Fraser rests his head on Ray’s hip.
“C’mere, buddy.”
He is pulled up to receive a soulful kiss from Ray. Ray’s mouth is warm and wet, and generous. When Ray releases Fraser with a nip at his lower lip, he smiles contently, and says, “I was right. You give head like a pro, Frase.”
Fraser feels a pang of jealousy at the implication of Ray being familiar with the fellating prowess of prostitutes. The sting subsides when he realises that Ray merely was using metaphor to compliment him.
“It was real greatness, Fraser. Let’s see if I can return the favour.”
He can. Oh, God, he can. In abundance. Ray nuzzles, nips, skims, scrapes, fondles, rubs, nibbles, and sucks every centimetre of Fraser’s genital anatomy. He is driving Fraser to insanity.
Fraser attempts to still his hips. He doesn’t want to cause Ray discomfort.
Ray looks up, his hand replacing his mouth on Fraser’s shaft. “Or you could fuck me,” he says, strangely matter-of-fact, as though he is resuming a conversation they started earlier.
Fraser tenses at the unexpected turn of events. He sincerely wishes it didn’t happen. He isn’t certain he will be able to accomplish what Ray is expecting of him. He isn’t certain what Ray is expecting exactly.
“Have you ever done this before?”
He doesn’t want to hear an affirmative reply from Ray. His possessiveness flares at the thought that Ray has been intimate in this particular fashion with anyone before. Ray is divorced, and there has been Assistant State’s Attorney Kowalski of course, but Fraser-to whom the reality of women being less valued in society is utterly incomprehensible and greatly unmerited-finds it a comforting notion that Ray’s former spouse was only a woman.
“Not really, no,” Ray says. He seems a little flustered. “But I read some stuff about it. And I tried it. By myself. With two fingers. There’s a prostrate there, you know.”
Fraser knows. He closes his eyes at the mental image of Ray penetrating himself, but opens them again quickly when he feels Ray’s fingers stroking his corona.
“Prostate,” he says, as evenly as he can muster. He finds Ray’s idiom very enticing, but some things he simply cannot condone. A verb or adjective should not be used as a noun.
“Prostate, yeah, ‘course,” Ray smiles. Being corrected by Fraser doesn’t seem to bother him in the least at this particular moment. “I want to do this, Frase,” he says. “Don’t you?”
Oh, God, of course he does. But performing a deed that inevitably will hurt Ray even if they are very careful and take it very slow, to endeavour something that could prove to be difficult without any previous experience upon which one could rely, is a terrifying prospect.
Once again, Ray’s clairvoyance becomes apparent. “I know it’s gonna hurt first, Fraser. I know I need to concentrate on staying relaxed. We can take it slow. When I’m past the pain, it’ll be greatness.”
The look in Ray’s eyes is one of confidence. Fraser feels slightly nauseated at the thought of replacing it with agony and regret.
“You might not reach orgasm again so soon, Ray,” he says.
“I know. ‘S not important. I want you close.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. “Ray,” he says, cupping Ray’s face. “Ray,” he says again, pressing his lips on Ray’s, using his tongue to demand entrance and penetrate Ray’s mouth in mimic of what Ray has asked him to do.
As Fraser pulls back breathlessly, Ray chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “Hold that thought, buddy.”
He stretches and takes a box of condoms and a tube of lubricant from the drawer of his nightstand. The box is sealed, but the lubricant has been used before.
“I wanted to know how it felt,” Ray explains. He sighs, grins and adds, “Greatness, Frase.”
“Lie on your back,” Fraser says. He knows he sounds ridiculously hoarse, but he forces himself to continue. “I want to look at you, Ray. You can turn over later.”
Ray flops onto his back and wriggles down on the bed until his knees are on either side of Fraser’s. He is quite a sight; so vulnerably exposed and so very brave.
Fraser closes his eyes for a moment, to concentrate on breathing at a slower pace. Then he takes the lubricant and squeezes a dollop onto his fingers. Very carefully, he circles Ray’s opening with his slick thumb-and gasps as Ray catches the extremity by pressing down hard.
“I can take fingers, Fraser. I’ve practised.”
Oh. Oh, God. If carefulness and caution aren’t useful to guide him in the current situation, what is?
Fraser retracts his thumb and applies a large blob of lubricant to his hands, rubbing them together until his palms and fingers are slippery. He inserts his second digit into Ray’s sphincter and eases in slowly until he reaches the prostate.
“Yeah,” Ray sighs. “That’s the thing. That’s the prostrate.”
Fraser leans forward to look at him. Ray is smiling. He wriggles a little and tightens his rectal muscle around Fraser’s finger.
He is doing it on purpose. The contraction as well as the language abuse. Fraser silences him with a kiss, rubbing the small nub inside Ray’s channel.
Ray utters sounds of contentment and his eyes drift shut. When he opens them again, his voice is urgent. “Lemme turn, Fraser. Lemme turn now, please.”
Fraser pulls back his hand and lets Ray assume the position he seems to think is best suited for their impending endeavour.
Fraser’s penis rears at the sight of Ray’s buttocks pointing upwards, his scrotum dangling between his thighs, his semi-erect penis only barely visible behind it.
He must prepare Ray first, however. He applies more lubricant to Ray’s orifice, inserts two fingers, then three. Ray moves to meet them.
“Fraser,” he hisses. “Fraser, do it. Now.”
Yes. Oh, yes. Oh, God.
Fraser puts on a condom as quickly as he can muster, which isn’t as quickly as he wishes, as his nervousness and haste cause him to fumble with the cellophane wrapping for ten excruciating seconds before he manages to open it.
When the sheath is around his penis, he slathers it with lubricant and guides his erection to Ray’s opening. Slowly he presses his glans in.
Oh, God.
“Fraser, stop. Wait. I need to….”
Ray is amazing. Fraser feels the tight clamp of Ray’s sphincter loosen, slowly and smoothly, to let him sink in deeper.
His breath hitches. To have this. To be buried inside Ray. Surrounded by his tight heat. Close, as Ray put it. There is no other word.
“Ray.”
He leans forward on his hands, pressing his torso against Ray’s back. He kisses the nape of Ray’s neck, his earlobe, his jaw. When Ray turns his head, Fraser captures his mouth.
“Ray.”
“Yeah.” Ray sighs, smiles, clenches his rectum. “You can move now if you want, Fraser.”
He can. He wants. He lifts from Ray’s back and pushes forward once.
“Yeah,” Ray says, moving back.
They adopt a rhythm together, steadily increasing the force and pace. Whether it is on his volition or Ray’s, Fraser isn’t sure.
It doesn’t matter. All that is left is the sensation of Ray surrounding him, moving with him, ushering him to let go, to give up, to give all. When Fraser cries out and ejaculates, he is pouring his soul into Ray.
He collapses onto Ray’s back, supported by Ray’s arms. The aftershocks ripple through his body for a very long time.
“Ray,” he says after a while. All of a sudden, he craves to see Ray’s face. He needs to see the look in Ray’s eyes.
“Ray, I’m going to….”
“Okay.”
Fraser pulls out of Ray, divests himself of the condom, and knots it quickly.
Ray turns. The look in his eyes is one of tenderness. He cups Fraser’s face and plants a soft, slow kiss on his lips that is without need, but by no means abstained from soulfulness.
“Give me that,” he says, taking the condom from Fraser’s hand. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Fraser watches him rise from the bed and walk to the bathroom, feeling mesmerised by Ray’s movements.
When the condom is disposed of, Ray turns and smiles. Everything has changed, Fraser knows, and everything stayed the same. He will have a future with Ray. Discussing matters is not necessary.
Fraser wants to, though. He wants to declare his love to Ray; he wants to discuss moving his personal belongings and Diefenbaker to Ray’s apartment. He doesn’t do it. Where there is no doubt, one has to trust and not let oneself be carried away by one’s neurotic need for verbal confirmation.
Ray doesn’t talk. He has nestled himself in Fraser’s arms, and his body is lying warm and relaxed against Fraser. Only when Fraser feels him smile against his nipple he asks what Ray is thinking of.
Ray’s lips brush his areola again. “You haven’t burst into an Inuit story for minutes now, Fraser. What happened?”
“Ray.”
“Yeah,” Ray smiles. “I was thinking about how good this feels, too.” He looks up. “Not just the sex thing, but the whole being with you thing, you know. Right from the beginning. Like it was, um, predatory or something.”
“I believe you mean predetermined, Ray,” Fraser says.
“Yeah, ‘course. Like we are a match made by a guy who knew damn well what he was doing.”
“God?” Fraser knows Ray’s parents raised him catholic, but he wasn’t aware that religion still played a part in Ray’s adult life.
“Yeah, maybe,” Ray says absently, as though it is of no real importance. In a clearer voice he continues, “I was in love with Stella something fierce, Fraser. It lasted a long time, even after the divorce and I thought it could never be matched, but with you it is even better.” He smiles. “I think you beat the Stella, Frase.”
Fraser captures Ray’s mouth in a kiss. He understands. He understands perfectly.
When he first met Victoria he concluded that the occasional attraction he had felt for other people constituted a mere parody of what love truly was. He had never known such craving, such aching desire before. The need to look at her, touch her, be inside her was unqualified and frightening. She robbed him of his mental sanity. He needed all the strength he could muster to resist her manipulations and bring her to justice.
When they met the second time, it was worse. He was weaker. He didn’t have the fortitude to withstand her and almost paid for it with his life.
He now knows that true love does not bereave one of one’s soundness of mind. His love for Ray doesn’t border insanity (except, he has to admit, when they make love). His thoughts about Victoria never caused him happiness. Thinking of Ray always fills him with joy.
Fraser loves Ray infinitely more than he loved Victoria, if he ever loved her at all.
Ray is trailing his index finger along Fraser’s profile. “Penny for your thoughts, buddy,” he says.
Fraser captures Ray’s wrist and presses a kiss on the inside, just above the bracelet. “I assume that we have now established to be both queer, Ray,” he replies.
Ray chuckles. “Nah, we’re not queer, Fraser. We are gay.”
Ah. Of course. Fraser nods. “I agree that we’re very happy,” he says, “and I have to admit that we seem very much inclined to lechery. I fail to see why you say that we aren’t queer, however. After all, this afternoon taught us that we are in fact romantically and sexually attracted to a person of our own sex.”
Ray stares at him, then laughs and shakes his head. “We’re not queer, Fraser. You are.”
This is true, of course. Ever since he can remember, Fraser has been aware of his lack in aptitude to meet the standards of normalcy. He would have vowed though that Ray is queer as well, in that excitingly new meaning Fraser learnt today. Ray’s semi-erect penis is pressing against Fraser’s hip. His hand is fondling Fraser’s genitals, and the look on his face is one of happiness. There are no signs that Ray is not pleased to be in Fraser’s arms.
Ray’s denial of being queer is a conundrum to Fraser, but it doesn’t really matter. He may not always understand Ray’s words literally, but their meaning is never lost on him. Ray has uncountable ways to express himself. His kisses, caresses, and nibbles for example are extremely eloquent. To Fraser, everything that is of importance at this juncture is perfectly clear.
END