(a.k.a.: "please god - kill me now" or "brooklinegirl needs a fucking lobotomy" or "look what blg made estrella beta for her" or "estrella defriends brooklinegirl")
For heuradys' birthday, which isn't till next week, but I got inspired last night, and this is what got written (I tricked Estrella into betaing it for me: Me: "Hey, E, can you beta something for me tomorrow when I'm without internet?" Estrella: "Oh, sure, no problem!" Me: "Cool, thanks, it's Turnbull/RayK." Estrella: "BITCH."), and I need to post it.
The thing is? This was surprisingly easy and fun to write. *smooches Heuradys* Happy Early Birthday!
Special thanks to erjika.*
This wasn't even really Canada, this was barely Canada, and already Ray was so fucking bored he was ready to shoot himself. Or maybe shoot somebody else. Somebody like Turnbull, maybe, who was apparently totally incapable of not talking. Jesus. What was he going on about now? Something about the team that was on the TV, his favorite curling team (like curling was something so fucking exciting you could have favorite anythings, except maybe, "oh, remember when the game ended? That was my favorite."), and how goddamn talented the team was, and Jesus, the guy just went on and on, that goofy-assed smile on his face as he stared in fascination at the television.
"They got better after the fifth end, but really, how many times do we have to hear that Parfitt doesn't belong in that position? I, personally, believe that he was made to be a skip..."
Ray laid his head back again the couch, trying to block it all out as Turnbull continued. "I must say, even if it weren't for his eyes, he's got great hair, a greater smile, and looks delicious in brown." Turnbull paused and made a - wait. Did he just purr? Ray edged his eyes open just a crack, peering suspiciously at Turnbull, who was continuing, "God knows what his playing abilities are, but he makes for fantastic eye-candy!"
Eye-candy. Did he say eye-candy? "Did you just say…"
Turnbull tore his gaze away from the television to look over at Ray. "I urge you to look at him, Detective Vecchio. I can't get over how beautiful he is. There's a certain aura of Princess Diana about him, isn't there?"
"Princess…Diana," Ray said, blinking at Turnbull, who now leapt up from his chair and sat down beside Ray, staring at him seriously.
"Yes, if you look close at the line of his cheekbone, the curve of his jaw - it's really quite breathtaking."
"Breathtaking," Ray repeated, still staring at Turnbull.
"Yes!" Turnbull exclaimed, looking simply fucking delighted. "I knew you'd understand! However much you deny it, you seem to be a man with my own sensibilities."
Ray shook his head to clear it, but it didn't work too well, because Turnbull was sitting so close beside him that he couldn't seem to breathe very well. "No, Turnbull, I'm really, really not," he said fervently, but Turnbull looked unconvinced.
"But just look at him." Ray turned his face instinctively towards the TV where a young, and apparently pretty limber, curler was bent over, frantically sweeping at one of the teakettle thingys.
Ray opened his mouth to answer, but stopped for a second - man, that guy had a pretty hot ass…
Turnbull, watching him closely, clapped his hands and exclaimed, "I knew you'd see the merits of the fine sport of curling!"
Ray groaned and put his head in his hands. "I don't! I swear!"
Turnbull leaned in closer. "But - I think you rather do." And Turnbull's hand was on Ray's thigh. Was he bored enough for this? No way he could be bored enough for this.
"I mean, I can appreciate the, uh, sweeping guy there…" Ray trailed off. Okay, Turnbull wasn't even half-watching the TV anymore, Turnbull was breathing in his ear instead, like maybe Ray was more interesting than curling. Ray tried for a deep breath, but then Turnbull's tongue was in his mouth, and - okay, maybe he was bored enough for this.
Because this? Was interesting. In a weird, disturbing sort of way. Turnbull. Kissing him. The thought crossed his mind that he should maybe be not doing this, but when he made an effort to pull away, Turnbull followed him determinedly. Now Turnbull was kissing him and stretched out over him on the couch. The guy was all arms and legs, and Ray's panic mode finally kicked in. He pushed against Turnbull, who pulled back right away, looking apologetic. "Oh! Excuse me, I'll just…"
Ray breathed a sigh of relief as Turnbull moved away, only to slip to his knees on the floor, kneeling easily between Ray's legs. The look Turnbull fixed on him was at once earnest and determined. "I assure you that if, at any point, you wish me to stop, I will do so with all haste," he said, just before he lowered his head to breathe hot against the crotch of Ray's jeans.
Ray choked, and cluched at the arm of the couch, and tried desperately to frame his answer in his head (No! Say no, dammit! Say stop, for the love of god!), but Turnbull managed to open Ray's pants between one breath and the next, and then his mouth was on Ray's cock, which was - fuck, Ray couldn't help it, he was a guy, and okay, fine, this was Turnbull and that was maybe - probably - more than a little wrong, but - dammit, this was hot, what was going on. And he still probably had a chance to say no, right then when it was just the hot wetness of his mouth, but Ray delayed that extra crucial moment - because that hot mouth, on his cock! - and Turnbull started to suck.
And again - fuck. He couldn't, just couldn’t, say no at that point.
Turnbull was going at it eagerly, one hand wrapped around the base of Ray's cock, slowly jacking him. He sucked sloppily at the same time, his head bobbing up and down in Ray's lap. Ray's mind was trying to grasp the concept of it being Turnbull who was sucking his cock with such skill, but mostly all he could do was dig his hands into Turnbull's shoulders and hang on.
This was hot, and crazy, this was fucked-up crazy. Anyone could walk in, Fraser could walk in to see Turnbull on his knees sucking Ray's cock. Turnbull gave a swirl of his tongue around the head of Ray's cock, and Ray groaned loudly, his hips thrusting up involuntarily. Turnbull immediately dropped his hand from the base of his cock, took a deep breath in through his nose and - oh Jesus - sucked Ray in deep, deeper, oh god, that was his throat.
And Ray - being a guy - gave a strangled cry and came in Turnbull's mouth.
At which point his only thought was, Fuck, Canadians give good head.
When Ray gathered enough strength to lift his head from the back of the couch, Turnbull was still on his knees between Ray's legs. When he looked up at Ray with wide eyes and red lips, Ray leaned in and kissed him. Turnbull's eyes brightened and he scrambled forward, sprawling half on top of Ray on the couch. And when Turnbull stuck his tongue in Ray's mouth and sighed happily, Ray pushed his hand under the edge of Turnbull's jacket and against Turnbull's hard-on. It should have been weird - it was weird - but it was also kind of cool how Turnbull moaned appreciatively and moved his hips gracefully and came, shuddering against Ray's hand, almost immediately.
A guy who got that turned on from giving a blowjob had to be a pretty decent guy. Even if he was a Canadian. And more than a little dimwitted.
Turnbull had his head resting against Ray's shoulder, breathing heavily. Ray's head was leaning back against the couch again, and he was looking at the ceiling and seriously trying to figure out just how very many mistakes it had taken for him to end up in this particular position.
When Turnbull lifted his head from Ray's shoulder finally, his cheeks were flushed red, and his eyes looked a little worried. "I apologize if I, ah, was, perhaps, a bit forward in my attentions, but I -"
Turnbull trailed off, staring intently at Ray, whose panic mode kicked in once more. He held his breath, staring at the earnest Mountie on his lap.
Turnbull took a deep breath. "I just really like curling," he said.
Ray nodded slowly. "I kind of picked up on that," he responded with equal sincerity, and when Turnbull gave him a grin, he couldn't help but smile back.
*Special Note: Everything Turnbull says at the beginning? Is pretty much a direct quote taken, with permission, from ms. erjika's squeeing football posts. As I explained to her: "It's not that you sound like Turnbull! It's that Turnbull sounds like a squeeing fangirl."
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