fic: due South x-over by belmanoir
Yay! I'm so excited to be posting here again.
Title: The sun was a shadow of leaves
Author: belmanoir
Fandom: due South/Dresden Files (TV verse)
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski/Vecchio, Harry/Bob
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,472
Warnings: voyeurism, crack, PWP
Summary: Harry and Bob aren't the only ones who thought the woods in a public park would be a nice place to have sex.
Notes: The Rays and Harry both work for the 27th precinct! It's fate. A birthday present for qe2, who rocks. Beta'd by beachkid, who also rocks.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I am making no money off this.
"Your birthday's coming up pretty soon, Bob," Harry said, thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking at me with rather overacted unconcern.
Now, my birthday was not coming up soon. When I came into the world, birthdays weren't commonly celebrated the way they are now. Most people, if you inquired, might have a vague idea of what season they were born in, but that was as far as it went. Wizards knew, provided they came from wizard blood; the information can be useful for certain spells. But, like a true name, it wasn't something one would want getting about. After my mother stuck her spoon in the wall, only I knew the date of my birth, and it slipped my mind seven hundred years or so into my sentence. So when Harry, age eleven, had asked me when my birthday was, I chose a day as far off as I could, in hopes he'd have forgotten by the time it rolled round.
He's remembered ever since. I see no point in disillusioning him, and he gives lovely gifts. (For the most part. When he was eleven he bought me a hat. A woolly hat with a pom-pom, in case my skull got cold. It was ludicrous, and I was forced to wear it all winter.)
"So it is," I agreed.
"I've been thinking..." he said, and turned the color of a three-candle blood vortex just before it consumes the unsuspecting practitioner.
"Yeees?" I asked, suddenly extremely intrigued.
He mumbled something.
"I can't hear you..." I sing-songed.
He glared at me. "You know how you're always going on about public sex?"
I swung round to face him, my eyebrows shooting up.
He blushed harder. "I'm not having sex with your manifestation where anyone could see us and notice the glowy gold stuff everywhere," he said hastily. "It's too dangerous. The less people who know I have a ghost boyfriend, the better."
I sniffed. "I might have known you were only teasing."
"Give me a second, Bob," he snapped. "I was thinking you could...you know...ride me. And I could..." He started blushing again. "...Jerk off," he finished, very quietly. "In the park or something."
"Harry," I said, with what I hoped was fond scorn and not merely fondness, "getting caught buggering someone in public makes you look daring and a little mad. Getting caught taking matters into your own hands in the bushes is just pathetic. And a little creepy."
Harry shrugged, red and resentful. I was touched. "That's the offer," he said. "Take it or leave it."
"Oh, naturally I'm taking it."
###
What Harry quaintly and somewhat vulgarly refers to as "riding" someone is more properly a form of possession, in which two consciousness inhabits a single body. I do not enter his mind. It's an appallingly bad idea to do that with someone you're bedding. There are things you're better off not knowing, take it from me. (Just as an example: if I have my way Harry will never find out that, on rare occasions, when he kisses me his technique reminds me of his great-great-grandfather. I hasten to add that Jack Morningway was a notoriously skilled kisser; but there were other aspects of his personality that make the association an unpleasant one.)
It's a fine line, of course. Harry can physically feel what I feel, and vice versa. We're sharing a body, after all. Even particularly strong thoughts can break through, as we're using the same brain to think them. And we can talk to each other silently--telepathy. But it requires an effort of will to do so.
Harry, I thought at him.
Yeah, Bob? he thought back, tramping through the woods in one of Chicago's public parks. I reveled in the opportunity to experience contact with foreign objects in purely physical terms--the fallen leaves rustling and crunching under Harry's boots, the dappled sunlight on his face, the wind in his hair, the scrape and slide of branches against his hands and forearms as he pushed them aside. I love Harry's hands.
And stop staring at my hands, I'm trying to watch where we're going! he snapped.
Actually, "woods" is probably a unjustifiably generous term for where we were. If you go much farther you'll come out the other side.
Harry blushed for the twelve-hundredth time that day. I could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He stopped walking, and in the sudden silence we heard the sound of someone else's footsteps. Harry's body froze in a strange double-beat as first he and then I reacted.
It sounded as if there were several someones, and after a moment we could hear them speaking. "We're gonna get caught," one said.
"We are not gonna get caught, you're such a Nervous Nellie," another replied.
"I don't understand why we can't just drive out of the city after work if you want trees," said the first man. "I'll pay for the gas, maybe we can even go to Canada, they probably got specially nice woods up there--"
"That's very generous of you, Ray," a third voice said, this one rich and firm, without a trace of the thick Chicago accents that disfigured his companions' voices, "but I'm attending a social function tonight at the Consulate."
"You let your boss talk you into working overtime for free, so I gotta hike around the woods on my lunch hour and maybe ruin a perfectly good suit?"
"There is nothing perfect or good about that suit, Vecchio," the second voice said, and then there was a rustle and a snap and the three men came into view perhaps fifty yards distant--a tall, bald Italian, a man with spiky blond hair and a dress sense almost, but not quite, as bad as Harry's, and a third man in a uniform of some sort--dark brown and spangled with brass buttons and gilt thread. Harry and I drew back behind a tree.
Hey, Harry said, I know those guys. It's those detectives from the 27th and that weird Canadian guy who always hangs out with them. You remember, the ones who keep stealing Murphy's cases? It drives her batshit.
I was annoyed that our sexual interlude had apparently been put on hold, as I was already rather worked up from possessing Harry. He may dress like a Before picture from an advertisement for laundry detergent, and his conception of a close shave may be nearer most men's three-day growth, but the man has a beautiful body and I'm quite fond of it. Even breathing has an erotic component when I'm borrowing his respiratory system.
However, I had no wish--well, almost no wish--for our tryst to be interrupted by law enforcement personnel. I also scented gossip. You've mentioned them once or twice, yes. One of them put sugar in Murphy's bowl, didn't he?
Actually, they both did, Harry said. Both the Americans, anyway. I thought they were the same guy for a while. The bald one disappeared and the blond one showed up and everyone called him by the same name. I assumed it was a bodyswap, but afterwards it turned out to be some undercover thing.
You should have known, I told him. Murphy never goes back for seconds. That woman has more intimacy issues than a--
Before I could finish my analogy, the blond said, loud and clear, "Do not pay Vecchio no nevermind, Fraser. Complaining is like foreplay for the guy."
"Yeah, look who's talking," the Italian--Vecchio, apparently--retorted. "Refresh my memory, Kowalski, who bitched for three days straight about the peppermint lube and then demanded to get fucked by both of us in one night?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. I could feel his surprise--and I daresay he could feel my sudden spark of fascination.
"Hey," Kowalski snapped. "I just needed some time to equivocate myself to the idea."
See? I thought smugly. You should really give the kwan loong oil a try.
Harry made a swatting motion with one hand.
"I believe you mean 'acclimate,' Ray," the Canadian said. "And we were quite willing to wait. Weren't we, Ray?"
Vecchio made a noise indicative of skepticism. "Look, Fraser, we've only got an hour--"
"Forty minutes."
"Right, we've only got forty minutes, so can you just pick a damn tree?"
Fraser raised his eyebrows. "This one seems adequate," he said, stopping where he was. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, I thought, perhaps--but it was too far to see his expression.
"Greatness," Kowalski said. He stepped in and kissed the Canadian. We couldn't see very much besides the detective's back, but the way he hunched his shoulders, put his hands on either side of Fraser's face, and pushed forward as if he were elbowing his way through a crowd seemed indicative of a good deal of enthusiasm. Vecchio, who could no doubt see far more from where he was standing, licked his lips.
Wow, Harry thought at me, grinning. I bet Murphy doesn't know about this.
Then Kowalski dropped to his knees and attacked Fraser's pants. It looked like Vecchio moaned; I couldn't hear, and it was starting to frustrate me. Furthermore, their current position would have given us an excellent view of Fraser's face, if we were closer. As it was we could make out the line of his throat and his open mouth and not much more.
I leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Harry didn't resist. I suddenly realized that Harry, do-gooder that he is, should have put a stop to this minutes ago. He really wasn't the type to enjoy being a peeping Tom--at least, I'd thought he wasn't the type, but apparently I'd been dead wrong, because a quick inventory revealed an accelerated heart rate, deepened breathing, and--Harry's sudden spike of arousal sent us stumbling. When one isn't used to a physical body, the effects of even a small amount of strong physical sensation can be overwhelming. I struggled to refocus my consciousness on Harry's sensory input and saw that Kowalski's head was bobbing energetically, while Fraser's had fallen back against the tree.
Harry stepped on a twig regaining our balance, and to my astonishment he actually got harder.
Why, Harry, you're enjoying this! You pervert!
Shut up, Bob, Harry retorted, but he still wasn't trying to look away, or casting a veil to keep us from being seen.
It's not as if they can hear us talking, I pointed out. And we're too far away for them to recognize you. Even with your heightened wizard senses we can't see much.
I don't know, Harry said, our arousal continuing to grow as Vecchio rubbed his hand over the front of his slacks. That Mountie guy is famous at the station for his freakishly good hearing. I've wondered a few times if he's a werewolf.
"Jesus, Kowalski," Vecchio said loudly, getting down on his knees behind his partner and--doing something. We couldn't see what.
I'd noticed before that Harry likes it when I do magic with his body. Especially if it's magic he doesn't know how to do. I wove his right hand in a complex pattern and whispered a few Old English words with his tongue. The air appeared to ripple (although in fact merely our own senses were affected), and suddenly it was as if the distance between Murphy's colleagues and us were quartered. Harry's bitten-off moan sent further jolts of arousal bouncing through us, and now we could see the Canadian's face. Oh sweet Christ. The man looked like a matinee idol, all stern jawline, peaches-and-cream skin and big blue eyes, and his expression of helpless need and affection and pleasure was--inspiring, to say the least.
Vecchio, it was now apparent, had his hand on Kowalski's cock and was working him over thoroughly while rubbing his own erection against his partner's denim-clad arse.
Kowalski pulled off Fraser, who struggled to catch his breath and only managed to look more charmingly debauched than before. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rendering it pink and tempting. Harry and I sighed.
"Just fuck me, Vecchio," Kowalski said.
"Yeah, I'd like to keep us some plausible deniability, if that's all right with you."
"I think we've already sacrificed that, Ray," Fraser said, his perfect wet mouth curving upwards.
You should take me across the border sometime, I told Harry. They don't make them like that in Chicago.
So we should just go to Canada and try to pick up a Mountie, is that what you're suggesting?
Why not? I asked, and Harry bit his lip, the tiny, unexpected pain leaving me dizzy and desperate.
Kowalski was sucking Fraser off again, and as we watched--Harry's cock was hard enough by now that I was experiencing it as partly pain--Fraser reached down and ruffled Kowalski's peroxided hair, his fingers becoming invisible to us.
Abruptly I felt a wave of longing so disconnected from my own thought patterns--mainly taken up with Oh holy hell yes, give it to him--that I knew it had to be Harry's. Remember I told you that particularly strong thoughts can break through? The next thing I saw was an image of your obedient servant, doing to Harry precisely what Kowalski was now doing to Fraser. Harry's hand was buried in my hair--but it wasn't just an image. I could feel the softness of my own hair and smell my own sweat and the faint but unmistakable odor of yarrow. Yarrow had been a staple of my workings when I was alive, but how did Harry--it hit me. All these details were cribbed from that brief afternoon when Justin had given me physical form again, years ago now.
I had no idea what to do. I'd had no idea Harry had been paying such close attention. I'd had no idea Harry felt so strongly about--well, about me. Strongly enough that, though the vision was gone now, I could still feel his love, taste it at the back of my--his throat.
In front of us, Fraser closed his blue eyes and began to chant, "Ray. Ray. Ray," and Vecchio murmured back, "Yeah, Benny, come on, I love you, God, I love both of you--" We were breathing it in, like a miasma in the air, and I reached down with Harry's hand and unzipped his jeans before we all went mad.
I pushed his hand inside, clumsily, and wrapped it around Harry's cock--we both gasped at the sensation. Harry has a safeword, but he didn't say it or think it, and I took that as permission to keep going. After a few seconds our movements got smoother--Harry was taking over, and I let him. I gave up completely on physical control and opened my consciousness as fully as I could to the sensations Harry was eliciting. He wasn't bothering with teasing or flourishes or anything he usually does to me--this was how he did this alone, when I wasn't watching. Eyes on the prize, hard and fast and steady. In front of us Fraser stiffened and moaned, hips jerking, and then Vecchio and Kowalski were rolling in the leaves, tearing at each other's trousers.
"Lubricant," Fraser reminded them hoarsely, pulling a small clear tube out of an inner pocket. Vecchio snatched it out of his hand, squirted it on his fingers, and shoved them between Kowalski's cheeks. Kowalski spread his legs as far as he could with his jeans tangled down around his knees and tilted up his hips, offering us a better view. I thrust Harry's cock helplessly into his fist.
...ck, Bob...th...so wrong, Harry said, his words flickering in and out of my mind as his focus weakened.
I licked his lips and leaned us forward to watch as Vecchio rolled Kowalski over onto his knees and pushed his cock into the proffered arse. Harry's heart was going so fast I felt woozy, and the heat of our arousal combined with the chill of our sweat evaporating felt remarkably like a fever.
Harder, I thought, not sure if I was addressing Harry or Vecchio. They both obeyed. We tried to stay silent, but the two detectives were moaning as loudly as a skin flick and with a good deal more conviction. Fraser watched them with a wickedly sweet little smile that was a skin flick all on its own.
Harry tensed. With a desperate effort of will I kept the pleasure building for a few more seconds; then we spent, gasping and shuddering. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I actually lost contact with Harry's body for several seconds. When I resurfaced, the aftershocks of orgasm were coursing pleasantly through Harry, and Kowalski's cock was softening, his hands skidding in the dry leaves as he tried to keep upright. We leaned against a tree, throbbing and wrung out, and silently watched Vecchio fuck Kowalski for a minute or two more before coming with a groan and collapsing into the dirt.
"Dammit, Vecchio, I landed on a rock," Kowalski said, sounding muffled.
"Sorry," Vecchio said. He rolled them onto their sides and started picking leaves out of Kowalski's hair with slow fingers. Fraser crouched down beside them and kissed first one, then the other.
We should go, Harry thought.
I broke my spying spell. Harry made our way carefully back to where he had parked his Jeep, moving slowly and silently until we were confident we were out of earshot. I let Harry do all the work. His body was warm and relaxed and tingly, and while my sexual life as a ghost leaves very little to be desired, there was something peculiarly rewarding about Harry's satiety.
"Happy Birthday, Bob," Harry said out loud after a while.
Thank you, I thought back, my smile tugging at Harry's mouth. We must do this again some time.
He huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Maybe next time we can get arrested for indecent exposure."
Well, it's a thought. So long as you arrange for the Mountie to put the handcuffs on you.
Harry didn't answer, but his pulse jumped a little.
Title: The sun was a shadow of leaves
Author: belmanoir
Fandom: due South/Dresden Files (TV verse)
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski/Vecchio, Harry/Bob
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,472
Warnings: voyeurism, crack, PWP
Summary: Harry and Bob aren't the only ones who thought the woods in a public park would be a nice place to have sex.
Notes: The Rays and Harry both work for the 27th precinct! It's fate. A birthday present for qe2, who rocks. Beta'd by beachkid, who also rocks.
Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine and I am making no money off this.
"Your birthday's coming up pretty soon, Bob," Harry said, thrusting his hands into his pockets and looking at me with rather overacted unconcern.
Now, my birthday was not coming up soon. When I came into the world, birthdays weren't commonly celebrated the way they are now. Most people, if you inquired, might have a vague idea of what season they were born in, but that was as far as it went. Wizards knew, provided they came from wizard blood; the information can be useful for certain spells. But, like a true name, it wasn't something one would want getting about. After my mother stuck her spoon in the wall, only I knew the date of my birth, and it slipped my mind seven hundred years or so into my sentence. So when Harry, age eleven, had asked me when my birthday was, I chose a day as far off as I could, in hopes he'd have forgotten by the time it rolled round.
He's remembered ever since. I see no point in disillusioning him, and he gives lovely gifts. (For the most part. When he was eleven he bought me a hat. A woolly hat with a pom-pom, in case my skull got cold. It was ludicrous, and I was forced to wear it all winter.)
"So it is," I agreed.
"I've been thinking..." he said, and turned the color of a three-candle blood vortex just before it consumes the unsuspecting practitioner.
"Yeees?" I asked, suddenly extremely intrigued.
He mumbled something.
"I can't hear you..." I sing-songed.
He glared at me. "You know how you're always going on about public sex?"
I swung round to face him, my eyebrows shooting up.
He blushed harder. "I'm not having sex with your manifestation where anyone could see us and notice the glowy gold stuff everywhere," he said hastily. "It's too dangerous. The less people who know I have a ghost boyfriend, the better."
I sniffed. "I might have known you were only teasing."
"Give me a second, Bob," he snapped. "I was thinking you could...you know...ride me. And I could..." He started blushing again. "...Jerk off," he finished, very quietly. "In the park or something."
"Harry," I said, with what I hoped was fond scorn and not merely fondness, "getting caught buggering someone in public makes you look daring and a little mad. Getting caught taking matters into your own hands in the bushes is just pathetic. And a little creepy."
Harry shrugged, red and resentful. I was touched. "That's the offer," he said. "Take it or leave it."
"Oh, naturally I'm taking it."
###
What Harry quaintly and somewhat vulgarly refers to as "riding" someone is more properly a form of possession, in which two consciousness inhabits a single body. I do not enter his mind. It's an appallingly bad idea to do that with someone you're bedding. There are things you're better off not knowing, take it from me. (Just as an example: if I have my way Harry will never find out that, on rare occasions, when he kisses me his technique reminds me of his great-great-grandfather. I hasten to add that Jack Morningway was a notoriously skilled kisser; but there were other aspects of his personality that make the association an unpleasant one.)
It's a fine line, of course. Harry can physically feel what I feel, and vice versa. We're sharing a body, after all. Even particularly strong thoughts can break through, as we're using the same brain to think them. And we can talk to each other silently--telepathy. But it requires an effort of will to do so.
Harry, I thought at him.
Yeah, Bob? he thought back, tramping through the woods in one of Chicago's public parks. I reveled in the opportunity to experience contact with foreign objects in purely physical terms--the fallen leaves rustling and crunching under Harry's boots, the dappled sunlight on his face, the wind in his hair, the scrape and slide of branches against his hands and forearms as he pushed them aside. I love Harry's hands.
And stop staring at my hands, I'm trying to watch where we're going! he snapped.
Actually, "woods" is probably a unjustifiably generous term for where we were. If you go much farther you'll come out the other side.
Harry blushed for the twelve-hundredth time that day. I could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. He stopped walking, and in the sudden silence we heard the sound of someone else's footsteps. Harry's body froze in a strange double-beat as first he and then I reacted.
It sounded as if there were several someones, and after a moment we could hear them speaking. "We're gonna get caught," one said.
"We are not gonna get caught, you're such a Nervous Nellie," another replied.
"I don't understand why we can't just drive out of the city after work if you want trees," said the first man. "I'll pay for the gas, maybe we can even go to Canada, they probably got specially nice woods up there--"
"That's very generous of you, Ray," a third voice said, this one rich and firm, without a trace of the thick Chicago accents that disfigured his companions' voices, "but I'm attending a social function tonight at the Consulate."
"You let your boss talk you into working overtime for free, so I gotta hike around the woods on my lunch hour and maybe ruin a perfectly good suit?"
"There is nothing perfect or good about that suit, Vecchio," the second voice said, and then there was a rustle and a snap and the three men came into view perhaps fifty yards distant--a tall, bald Italian, a man with spiky blond hair and a dress sense almost, but not quite, as bad as Harry's, and a third man in a uniform of some sort--dark brown and spangled with brass buttons and gilt thread. Harry and I drew back behind a tree.
Hey, Harry said, I know those guys. It's those detectives from the 27th and that weird Canadian guy who always hangs out with them. You remember, the ones who keep stealing Murphy's cases? It drives her batshit.
I was annoyed that our sexual interlude had apparently been put on hold, as I was already rather worked up from possessing Harry. He may dress like a Before picture from an advertisement for laundry detergent, and his conception of a close shave may be nearer most men's three-day growth, but the man has a beautiful body and I'm quite fond of it. Even breathing has an erotic component when I'm borrowing his respiratory system.
However, I had no wish--well, almost no wish--for our tryst to be interrupted by law enforcement personnel. I also scented gossip. You've mentioned them once or twice, yes. One of them put sugar in Murphy's bowl, didn't he?
Actually, they both did, Harry said. Both the Americans, anyway. I thought they were the same guy for a while. The bald one disappeared and the blond one showed up and everyone called him by the same name. I assumed it was a bodyswap, but afterwards it turned out to be some undercover thing.
You should have known, I told him. Murphy never goes back for seconds. That woman has more intimacy issues than a--
Before I could finish my analogy, the blond said, loud and clear, "Do not pay Vecchio no nevermind, Fraser. Complaining is like foreplay for the guy."
"Yeah, look who's talking," the Italian--Vecchio, apparently--retorted. "Refresh my memory, Kowalski, who bitched for three days straight about the peppermint lube and then demanded to get fucked by both of us in one night?"
Harry's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. I could feel his surprise--and I daresay he could feel my sudden spark of fascination.
"Hey," Kowalski snapped. "I just needed some time to equivocate myself to the idea."
See? I thought smugly. You should really give the kwan loong oil a try.
Harry made a swatting motion with one hand.
"I believe you mean 'acclimate,' Ray," the Canadian said. "And we were quite willing to wait. Weren't we, Ray?"
Vecchio made a noise indicative of skepticism. "Look, Fraser, we've only got an hour--"
"Forty minutes."
"Right, we've only got forty minutes, so can you just pick a damn tree?"
Fraser raised his eyebrows. "This one seems adequate," he said, stopping where he was. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, I thought, perhaps--but it was too far to see his expression.
"Greatness," Kowalski said. He stepped in and kissed the Canadian. We couldn't see very much besides the detective's back, but the way he hunched his shoulders, put his hands on either side of Fraser's face, and pushed forward as if he were elbowing his way through a crowd seemed indicative of a good deal of enthusiasm. Vecchio, who could no doubt see far more from where he was standing, licked his lips.
Wow, Harry thought at me, grinning. I bet Murphy doesn't know about this.
Then Kowalski dropped to his knees and attacked Fraser's pants. It looked like Vecchio moaned; I couldn't hear, and it was starting to frustrate me. Furthermore, their current position would have given us an excellent view of Fraser's face, if we were closer. As it was we could make out the line of his throat and his open mouth and not much more.
I leaned forward, trying to get a better view. Harry didn't resist. I suddenly realized that Harry, do-gooder that he is, should have put a stop to this minutes ago. He really wasn't the type to enjoy being a peeping Tom--at least, I'd thought he wasn't the type, but apparently I'd been dead wrong, because a quick inventory revealed an accelerated heart rate, deepened breathing, and--Harry's sudden spike of arousal sent us stumbling. When one isn't used to a physical body, the effects of even a small amount of strong physical sensation can be overwhelming. I struggled to refocus my consciousness on Harry's sensory input and saw that Kowalski's head was bobbing energetically, while Fraser's had fallen back against the tree.
Harry stepped on a twig regaining our balance, and to my astonishment he actually got harder.
Why, Harry, you're enjoying this! You pervert!
Shut up, Bob, Harry retorted, but he still wasn't trying to look away, or casting a veil to keep us from being seen.
It's not as if they can hear us talking, I pointed out. And we're too far away for them to recognize you. Even with your heightened wizard senses we can't see much.
I don't know, Harry said, our arousal continuing to grow as Vecchio rubbed his hand over the front of his slacks. That Mountie guy is famous at the station for his freakishly good hearing. I've wondered a few times if he's a werewolf.
"Jesus, Kowalski," Vecchio said loudly, getting down on his knees behind his partner and--doing something. We couldn't see what.
I'd noticed before that Harry likes it when I do magic with his body. Especially if it's magic he doesn't know how to do. I wove his right hand in a complex pattern and whispered a few Old English words with his tongue. The air appeared to ripple (although in fact merely our own senses were affected), and suddenly it was as if the distance between Murphy's colleagues and us were quartered. Harry's bitten-off moan sent further jolts of arousal bouncing through us, and now we could see the Canadian's face. Oh sweet Christ. The man looked like a matinee idol, all stern jawline, peaches-and-cream skin and big blue eyes, and his expression of helpless need and affection and pleasure was--inspiring, to say the least.
Vecchio, it was now apparent, had his hand on Kowalski's cock and was working him over thoroughly while rubbing his own erection against his partner's denim-clad arse.
Kowalski pulled off Fraser, who struggled to catch his breath and only managed to look more charmingly debauched than before. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, rendering it pink and tempting. Harry and I sighed.
"Just fuck me, Vecchio," Kowalski said.
"Yeah, I'd like to keep us some plausible deniability, if that's all right with you."
"I think we've already sacrificed that, Ray," Fraser said, his perfect wet mouth curving upwards.
You should take me across the border sometime, I told Harry. They don't make them like that in Chicago.
So we should just go to Canada and try to pick up a Mountie, is that what you're suggesting?
Why not? I asked, and Harry bit his lip, the tiny, unexpected pain leaving me dizzy and desperate.
Kowalski was sucking Fraser off again, and as we watched--Harry's cock was hard enough by now that I was experiencing it as partly pain--Fraser reached down and ruffled Kowalski's peroxided hair, his fingers becoming invisible to us.
Abruptly I felt a wave of longing so disconnected from my own thought patterns--mainly taken up with Oh holy hell yes, give it to him--that I knew it had to be Harry's. Remember I told you that particularly strong thoughts can break through? The next thing I saw was an image of your obedient servant, doing to Harry precisely what Kowalski was now doing to Fraser. Harry's hand was buried in my hair--but it wasn't just an image. I could feel the softness of my own hair and smell my own sweat and the faint but unmistakable odor of yarrow. Yarrow had been a staple of my workings when I was alive, but how did Harry--it hit me. All these details were cribbed from that brief afternoon when Justin had given me physical form again, years ago now.
I had no idea what to do. I'd had no idea Harry had been paying such close attention. I'd had no idea Harry felt so strongly about--well, about me. Strongly enough that, though the vision was gone now, I could still feel his love, taste it at the back of my--his throat.
In front of us, Fraser closed his blue eyes and began to chant, "Ray. Ray. Ray," and Vecchio murmured back, "Yeah, Benny, come on, I love you, God, I love both of you--" We were breathing it in, like a miasma in the air, and I reached down with Harry's hand and unzipped his jeans before we all went mad.
I pushed his hand inside, clumsily, and wrapped it around Harry's cock--we both gasped at the sensation. Harry has a safeword, but he didn't say it or think it, and I took that as permission to keep going. After a few seconds our movements got smoother--Harry was taking over, and I let him. I gave up completely on physical control and opened my consciousness as fully as I could to the sensations Harry was eliciting. He wasn't bothering with teasing or flourishes or anything he usually does to me--this was how he did this alone, when I wasn't watching. Eyes on the prize, hard and fast and steady. In front of us Fraser stiffened and moaned, hips jerking, and then Vecchio and Kowalski were rolling in the leaves, tearing at each other's trousers.
"Lubricant," Fraser reminded them hoarsely, pulling a small clear tube out of an inner pocket. Vecchio snatched it out of his hand, squirted it on his fingers, and shoved them between Kowalski's cheeks. Kowalski spread his legs as far as he could with his jeans tangled down around his knees and tilted up his hips, offering us a better view. I thrust Harry's cock helplessly into his fist.
...ck, Bob...th...so wrong, Harry said, his words flickering in and out of my mind as his focus weakened.
I licked his lips and leaned us forward to watch as Vecchio rolled Kowalski over onto his knees and pushed his cock into the proffered arse. Harry's heart was going so fast I felt woozy, and the heat of our arousal combined with the chill of our sweat evaporating felt remarkably like a fever.
Harder, I thought, not sure if I was addressing Harry or Vecchio. They both obeyed. We tried to stay silent, but the two detectives were moaning as loudly as a skin flick and with a good deal more conviction. Fraser watched them with a wickedly sweet little smile that was a skin flick all on its own.
Harry tensed. With a desperate effort of will I kept the pleasure building for a few more seconds; then we spent, gasping and shuddering. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I actually lost contact with Harry's body for several seconds. When I resurfaced, the aftershocks of orgasm were coursing pleasantly through Harry, and Kowalski's cock was softening, his hands skidding in the dry leaves as he tried to keep upright. We leaned against a tree, throbbing and wrung out, and silently watched Vecchio fuck Kowalski for a minute or two more before coming with a groan and collapsing into the dirt.
"Dammit, Vecchio, I landed on a rock," Kowalski said, sounding muffled.
"Sorry," Vecchio said. He rolled them onto their sides and started picking leaves out of Kowalski's hair with slow fingers. Fraser crouched down beside them and kissed first one, then the other.
We should go, Harry thought.
I broke my spying spell. Harry made our way carefully back to where he had parked his Jeep, moving slowly and silently until we were confident we were out of earshot. I let Harry do all the work. His body was warm and relaxed and tingly, and while my sexual life as a ghost leaves very little to be desired, there was something peculiarly rewarding about Harry's satiety.
"Happy Birthday, Bob," Harry said out loud after a while.
Thank you, I thought back, my smile tugging at Harry's mouth. We must do this again some time.
He huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Maybe next time we can get arrested for indecent exposure."
Well, it's a thought. So long as you arrange for the Mountie to put the handcuffs on you.
Harry didn't answer, but his pulse jumped a little.