Written expressly for mistress lynnmonster on the occasion of her birthday. Said birthday being some weeks ago, but I had extenuating circumstances. My current birthday motto seems to be "better late than never."
Many, many thanks to lamardeuse for the supremely fast beta work, and to Dira and Estrella for double-checking my smut.
However I school myself to behave, I catch myself looking. I renew my determination at the start of each day to take this friendship as far as it is offered and no further, but it seems I am addicted to Ray. When I see him, I feel my breath catch a little, and my eyes flick over him, cataloguing and recording the details. Unfairly. Unfair to him, when he doesn't offer to put himself on display. Unfair to me, who may only look but not touch.
But I allow myself to think about it, and sometimes, thinking feels like tasting.
The early morning sun catches in his hair and makes it look golden. He squints a little in the sunlight, his sunglasses obviously not enough this morning. He's still bleary and a little grumpy - only on his second cup of coffee. The full effect of the caffeine won't hit him until after we get to the station, and by the third cup, he will have cheered considerably.
Later in the day, I lean over his shoulder at his desk to point out something, and the scent of him is so strong, so heady, that I have to back away or risk leaning in closer, closer, burying my nose in the side of his neck and breathing to my heart's content. He looks at me curiously as I take a stumbling step backwards, and I just shake my head. He shrugs and nods, turning back to his work. After a steadying moment I do the same, taking my seat across from him, the desk between us providing a measure of safety.
At the end of the day, when his eyes are too tired to squint, he digs deep into his coat where it hangs over the back of his chair, extracts his glasses from the depths and slips them on, then settles in over the paperwork once more. Sitting hunched over his desk, brow creased, Ray looks like a child working on math homework. I want to lean over and push those thick glasses up onto his head, want to run my fingers over his brow and smooth out the wrinkles, want to cup his cheek and lean close, close enough to feel his breath coming fast and warm against my mouth...
I swallow hard and stare down at the desk, the paperwork blurring under my gaze as though I were the one who required glasses.
I am drawn to Ray so strongly, in so many ways. I find, though, that it's his hands that have captured me the most. They will surely be the death of me, for they draw my eyes like nothing else. I am ill prepared to dissemble regarding this, for they are such a powerful lure. He runs those long fingers through his hair, tousling the spikes into ever-more erratic angles, and my hand is inching forward without my knowledge to follow the same path.
Watching his hands move seems such a harmless thing, but - I want to take them in my mouth, want to lick them, taste them, categorize his flavor as well as his scent, his movements, his mannerisms. My mouth literally waters and it takes all my strength to look away, to pull my gaze from him and start organizing his desk. I get up, re-stacking papers and setting aside files to return to Francesca and discarding the detritus of the day (newspapers and napkins and almost-empty cups of coffee), allowing my mind to focus on these tasks.
Ray's hand lands on mine. I look up at him, startled. He's leaning forward from where he sits, his fingers curled warmly around my wrist. A simple enough touch, yet it causes an erection abrupt enough that I feel momentarily dizzy. I will away my body's traitorous reaction. He must not notice. He must not notice.
He looks at me with his eyebrows raised, his lips quirked. "Fraser. Quit it. You're not my housekeeper."
I'm pinned, leaning over the desk, by his hand on my wrist. I look at him for what I fear is a moment too long. "Yes, Ray," I manage, and he releases me with a grin. I sit back down abruptly in my chair, and he tilts his head back to scrutinize the report he's working on as I try to unobtrusively wipe the sweat from my temple.
Dief, safely ensconced under the desk, slides his head out and whines at me scoldingly. "Oh, shut up," I mutter at him.
Ray looks up at me.
"I was talking to the wolf," I explain.
He nods sympathetically and goes back to his work. I shake my head, wondering if perhaps we have worked together too long, for him to see nothing unusual about such a statement. Either he has come to expect such psychosis from me, or else some of my insanity has bled over to him.
Whichever way, I find his acceptance comforting.
Later than evening, I find myself once again accompanying him home after work. I fear overstaying my welcome; I try to limit myself to doing this only once or twice a week. Try to give him the space he surely needs, try to make sure he feels no debt to me. But my suggestion that perhaps he would prefer an evening to himself is turned down with an exhalation of breath, a short shake of his head. "Come over, we'll eat - I'll order out," he says, off of my raised eyebrow and amused expression. "Don't worry, I 'm not cooking. And we can watch the game, and it'll be fun. Okay?"
"Certainly," I agree, as we reach his car, and he unlocks my door. I hold the door open for Dief, who hops in and flops gracelessly onto his stomach in the back seat. I slide in, reaching across to unlock Ray's door. He gets in, starts the car. "Only..."
"Yeah?" he says absently, as he flings his arm over the seat back and cranes his neck in order to pull the car out of the spot.
I am mesmerized, momentarily, by several things all at once: the curve of his neck, the tired wrinkles near his eyes, the brush of his fingers against my shoulder. I feel intensely stimulus-bound, and an involuntary shudder runs down my spine before I am able to respond. "Only there isn't a game tonight."
"There isn't?" Ray faces forward again and peels out of the parking lot. "Well, crap."
Driving relaxes him; driving suits him. Behind the wheel, he makes driving look like dancing. As we proceed away from work, he shakes out his shoulders a little, loosens his neck, and relaxes back against the seat. His features look younger; his expression more open. He shrugs his shoulders. "Okay. We'll just, uh, you know. Eat. Hang." He throws me a glance. "Hang out. You know? Relax. You do know how to relax, right, Frase?"
"Yes. I mean - yes." I pull my gaze from his profile and look resolutely out the front window, towards the sun setting over the buildings in the distance.
"Good." He turns on the radio and rolls down the window, taps his fingers on the edge as he hums along to the music. The warm air that comes through the window is our first hint of impending spring. He looks - happy. I realize abruptly that I am once again staring. But - it is the end of the day, and I'm content to lean back a little, allow my glance to flit subtly over his body and simply cross my fingers that he won't notice. It's worth it to me, this risk, for it costs me a great deal to hold the façade in place throughout the day.
Ray brings his hand to curve into the pocket of his shirt. He pulls it out empty, with a curse and a sigh, as he remembers that he has once again quit smoking and no cigarettes are to be found there. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. Dief whines from the backseat, and Ray says, "No, uh-uh, we did Chinese food last time. Pizza, tonight, I think. If that's okay with you?" He looks over at me, and it takes me a moment to realize that he's talking to me and not to Dief. Who is deaf, so even if he had been talking to Dief, it would have been slightly odd. Although, actually, this habit he has aquired of talking to Dief is something I find both gratifying and slightly alarming, for if he picks this up, how long before he and my father start conversing...
I am pulled out of my reverie by his hand waving in front of my face. My immediate inclination, which I refuse to give in to, is to lick it. Taste it. My god. This has got to stop.
"Hello? Fraser? Hello?" Ray snaps his fingers and I close my eyes briefly, shake my head.
"Pizza is, ah, good, Ray." My, that's sage. I sigh, concerned that my coherency has gone the same way as my self-control. I rub my eyebrow and wonder not for the first time just how strong the inclination towards insanity is in my family.
Ray is looking at me with concern. "Okay, Frase. I mean - if you're with the wolf on this, we can get Chinese, it's just that the last time, Dief had that incident with the chow mein..." He makes a face. "That was just gross."
I nod. "Yes, I think we can do without a repeat performance. He has no self-control, I'm afraid."
Dief exhales loudly in the back seat and turns away from both of us.
Ray grins and sings along with the radio the rest of the way home.
We do end up ordering pizza (topped with an abundance of meat), and Dief forgives us enough to partake of his share. There is, indeed, no game on, and after a quick flip through the channels, Ray turns off the TV and turns on the stereo instead. He moves continually, unconsciously, to the music, even while relaxing. His foot taps, or his shoulders move, or he spreads his fingers on his knee and creates a compelling offset rhythm to go along with the music.
With the TV off, it strikes me that we are constantly on the move - multitasking, what with work and driving, with games and stakeouts - always, always with our focus divided. And now - we are merely sitting and talking. Doing so with Ray, Ray whom I know so well - know too well - I find myself unreasonably tense.
When he gets up to get himself a beer, I request one as well. He raises his eyebrow in surprise, and I am unable to keep from flushing - I find that I have asked both for the relief of having something to do with my hands, and the hope for the relaxing effect of alcohol. Moreover, I admit to curiosity as to what his reaction will be to me requesting something so slightly out of character as a beer.
"Here you go." He presses an ice-cold bottle into my hand. "You're sure living life on the edge tonight, Frase."
He's amused, that much is certain - but he seems to like it. I think he enjoys, to a certain extent, having a "bad-boy" effect on me. "It is Friday, Ray," I respond gravely. "I have a certain - moral obligation to celebrate the end of the week, do I not?"
"Indeed you do, Fraser." He matches my grave tone, but his eyes are twinkling. He watches as I take a sip of the beer, pressing his lips together in amusement. "Don't overdo it there, okay, Frase?"
It crosses my mind that he's serious, perhaps - a "this far, no further" feel to it - and that I should perhaps heed his warning. "No worries, Ray." He settles down next to me, easy and grinning, taking a long swig from his bottle. I take another sip and sigh to myself, suddenly sick to death of over-thinking things. Wishing I could just, for the love of all that's holy, finally just settle - all one way or all another. Give it my everything, give in, shove aside all logic and weighed thoughts - tear down all the facades and push aside all the care and just - just be as human as Ray. As easy as Ray.
Or - and I grant, even to myself, that this is the less attractive option - to push all this aside. Push aside this - attraction. Push aside this want that borders on need. Push aside my preoccupation with his hands, his hair, his scent, his mouth. Push it aside, lock it up, be done with it.
Be happy with being all one thing. Or all another.
Because being caught halfway may well kill me.
I take another sip of beer as the song changes. There's a moment, where he closes his eyes, then grins. "This was - man, I love this song. This is Procol Harum - you know Procol Harum?"
I just tilt my head at him.
He sighs. "No, I don't guess they made it all the way up to where you were. But man, we gotta do something about your musical education, because - and okay, I know, we got different taste in music - but this sort of stuff - you like it, yeah?"
I listen for a few moments, and - yes, I do like it. There's a folk flavor to it, but it's driven by a sort of - soul, that would be what would draw Ray. The words themselves - they don't make much sense - but I close my eyes myself, and don't overthink it, just let myself feel it - her face, at first just ghostly, turned a whiter shade of pale - and - "Yes." I open my eyes, and find Ray watching me, looking anxious for my response. "I like it."
"Yeah." He relaxes back, his hands moving restlessly over his thighs. "I danced with Stella to this at the end of our wedding reception." He grins at me. "We were - real young. At the time, it seems romantic. Now? Okay, kinda creepy, but still - good song."
"Yes." It is so, so easy to get caught up in watching him. He shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair, and - it's instantaneous, the decision and the action - I follow his hand with my own. Run my hand through his hair (the catalogue is immediate, as well: how my fingers slide through the spikes, how they are softer than I would have thought, how very, very warm he is) and even as he's turning to me, startled, my hand is tangling with his own, just for a second - just for a second - giving in to this. Not all one thing, nor all another - but - close.
"Fraser, what the fuck," he says, sounding - well, hugely surprised, as is his due. His eyes are wide and startled, but he doesn't pull his hand away. Too taken aback to do so, most likely, but still, I squeeze his hand momentarily before pulling away.
He's got his head tilted, his mouth open, looking very, very - no. I stifle my initial response, which is to lean forward and lick those lips, and instead get up, calling for Dief. "Thank you for the evening, Ray. I have an early day tomorrow. I should head home."
He shakes his head, hard, still with that startled look on his face. Opens his mouth and shuts it again. I take advantage of his momentary inability to speak, settle my hat firmly on my head, say in a tone that, even to my own ears, has a ring of desperate jocularity, "It's a lovely night for a walk. See you Monday, then?"
Dear god, I sound like my father.
I cringe and head to the door, calling to Dief again, sharply this time. He whines and inches out from under the coffee table, looking mournfully at me. I shake my head at him and stride out. He's at my heels, albeit unwillingly, as the door swings shut behind me.
I'm going to kill him. That's it - I just think I really need to kill him. He just goes and - he runs his hand through my hair - and then he leaves. That's all - he gets up, all Mountie-polite, and he leaves. All smiles, nice as can be, and I am going to just kill him when I get my hands on him.
I realize suddenly that I'm sitting here right where Fraser left me after he - you know, did that - and then left - and I get up, fuming, start to head to the door - the guy is walking home, yeah, that's just great, just perfect, "lovely night for a walk," only, what, 68 blocks or something to the Consulate? Then I spin around and think, fuck it, he's a grown-up, he can make his own decisions.
Obviously. Didn’t see fit to include me in the decision-making deal, but whatever. Jesus Christ. I push my hand through my hair, then yank it out, quick. I'm staring at my hand like I don't recognize it, because - man, did Fraser really do that? He had his hand in my hair, and the look on his face was - god. You'd think a guy who talks as much as he does could come up with a way of telling me something as important as that at some point before he had his hand in my hair. And then on my neck, for a second, resting there real warm, before he was sort of - kind of actually holding my hand and he - Jesus fuck, he squeezed my fucking hand before he let go and got all polite and booked it out of there.
Bastard. I've got the keys in my hand and I'm out the door without even thinking about it.
Damn, he walks fast. I'm just thinking that I missed him, that he took a different route or something, when there he is, striding along, perfect posture, like it's really very normal for him to be walking home in the dark after doing what he did. I pull up beside him, roll down the window. "Fraser," I say, real calm. Yeah. This is normal, no problem.
He stops, bends down, holding onto his hat with one hand. "Oh, hello, Ray," he says, sounding surprised. Really. I'm going to kill him.
"Fraser." I take a deep breath, trying to control my tone. "Get in the car."
He straightens up and shakes his head, looking sort of scared for just a second before pasting a smile on. "Oh, no, we're practically there already, Ray, only another 26 and a half blocks to go…"
"Fraser," I grate out. Fuck calm. "Get in the goddamn car."
He opens his mouth, looks at me, shuts it again and nods. Opens the door and pushes the back seat forward for Dief. Dief whines.
"Diefenbaker," Fraser enunciates carefully. "Get in the car."
Dief tosses his head and snorts, then trots off in the direction of the Consulate. Fraser glares after him for a moment. "Traitor," he mutters, then straightens his shoulders, takes a deep breath and gets in. I have my foot on the gas the second his door closes, and he gets thrust back in the seat by the acceleration.
"Ray," he says in that scolding tone.
"Shut the fuck up." The calm tone is slipping real quick.
He sighs and sort of sinks back in his seat. Closes his eyes. "Ray," he says, and he just sounds tired now. His hat is on the dashboard, and his hair is sort of messed up from when he pulled it off to get in. Which is weird. Fraser's hair has a sort of mind of its own - it almost never gets messed up. "Ray, I…"
I slam my foot on the brake and turn the wheel fiercely, pulling the car off onto a side street. We slam to a stop and I throw the car into park, turn it off, and turn to Fraser. "What? C'mon, we're here, we're talking, it's quiet, what?"
He's got his eyes open now, wide, but he just presses his lips together and shakes his head.
"Fraser," I say tightly, but the anger is seeping out of me. I've got my hands curled around the steering wheel so tight they hurt, and I lean forward, let the side of my head rest on the top of the wheel as I look at him. I take a deep breath and let it out slow. "You got something to tell me?"
He's watching me. The streetlight we're under is out, but even in the dark of the car, his eyes look huge. Then he reaches out his hand, hesitates for a second, then runs it slowly through my hair. Again. I shut my eyes. He lets out his breath in a long rush, and when he's done, he's cupping the back of my neck with that warm hand. I just lean there, waiting.
"Yes," he says.
I open my eyes. A shiver runs down my spine as he moves his fingers gently against my neck. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He looks at me. "I - I just did."
"Christ," I mutter, looking at him in the dark. "Christ, we are - we are just so, so -"
His tongue runs nervously over his bottom lip. I take a deep breath again, and reach over, tangle my hand in his hair, and I'm kissing him. God, this is crazy, I know it is, but dammit, it's like I can't help it, it's like I have to do this. Because he ran his hand through my hair before, and he looked at me like that, and - he didn't tell me and I just have to do this.
Fraser breathes out hot against my lips. I push my tongue into his mouth, and he makes a sound, half moan, half laugh. He's kissing me back, and it's good, it's so fucking good. I knew it would be good, I just didn't think Fraser was ever gonna give me a chance to give it a shot. But, hell, he's kissing me like he needs this to breathe, like he's been itching to do this. Like he's been waiting to do this. And he's touching me, too. First just holding tight to my waist, then he pushes up my t-shirt, traces his fingers along the edge of my jeans. It doesn't tickle, not quite, but I squirm against him, only to have him move his hands up along my back to cup my neck again.
I pull back - I have to breathe, here - and his eyes flick open. I stare at him, can't stop staring at him, so close to me in the car. Necking with me in the car. Kissing me so hot and so good that I'm ready to do him right here. I thought I knew Fraser. I thought I knew everything that I could know about Fraser. I was so, so wrong. I open my mouth to say something, but he's kissing me again before I can, slipping his tongue in my mouth, and - god, the man can kiss. His hands roam back up into my hair, and he slips his mouth from mine, draws his lips, hot, over to my ear. He's breathing hard as he says, "Did you have something to tell me, Ray?"
"You asshole, Fraser," I gasp. Fuck, I just - I want him so fucking bad. I've been not looking and not pushing and not wanting for so long that, hell, one make-out session - with Fraser, I'm making out with Fraser - in the front seat and I'm ready to pop. "Jesus, why didn't you say something, do something? You could have fucking told me. Even if I wasn't - you know, uh, in to this, what's the worst that could've happened?"
His eyes darken for a second, and my stomach tightens. "Jesus Christ, Fraser, have some fucking faith in me, okay? You're my partner, I wouldn't've -" Hit you. Hurt you. Left you. "I wouldn't've done that, okay?"
He closes his eyes for a second. "I know."
Yeah, only, he didn't.
I push myself back, off of him, and he takes a deep breath, like he's pulling himself together. But I'm crawling over into the backseat. Because fuck it. This? Right now? Is what I call an all-or-nothing situation. And if he can do that, take that chance, let me know how he feels, when he wasn't sure, when he didn't know - then I figure this, I can do.
Fraser peers over the seat at me.
"C'mere," I say. "It's roomier back here. And I got something to tell you." I reach over the seat and tug on his arm. He blinks, and then scrambles over to land heavily beside me.
He reaches for me, but I push his hand away. He looks at me sort of startled, and clenches both hands into fists on his thighs. "Yes, Ray?" He's reverting back to polite-Mountie mode. He's in the backseat of my car with me, was just making out with me, and he's being polite.
I lean towards him. "I sort of have a crush on you," I whisper seriously.
I move closer. "I've had this crush? For a while now," I say.
"You…have?" He's clenching and unclenching his fists on his thighs now. I swing myself over to straddle his lap. Fraser's hands come up and sort of flail a little, like he's not sure if he's allowed to touch me.
I rock against him, closing my eyes for a second, 'cause I can feel him, as hard as I am, and it makes it sort of hard to breathe. "I thought you knew." I lean forward and bite his earlobe, and feel him groan against my throat. "I thought you knew," I say again, fiercely.
His hands clench in the back of my shirt, and he breathes out a shaky laugh. God, he's gonna be the death of me. "I thought you were, ah, heterosexual," he says.
I spread my legs wider, get as hard up against him as I can. Supposed to be a tease, but it makes us both gasp. I lean forward and whisper roughly in his ear, "Nope."
He breathes hot against my neck for a second, before twisting his head so he can look at me. "Me either, Ray," he says, sort of desperately, like it's real important to him that I understand that. "Not entirely."
I try very hard not to smile. "Yeah, Fraser," I say. "I sort of figured that out."
I feel him shudder against me. He turns his head, mouths my neck. "God, Ray," he mumbles against my skin.
I close my eyes tight. "Yeah. Yeah." Not entirely straight. God. Master of the understatement, there, Fraser. He pulls me forward, kisses me hotly. Like it's everything. Like he's giving me everything. No holding back.
And it should be complicated, it all should be more complicated than this. But it's not. What was complicated was before, was being everything but this. Now it's just - it's like the whole world has narrowed to me and Fraser here in the back seat. I can't seem to keep my mouth off of him. It's not till he pushes at me that I realize I've moved forward, have got him sprawled across the seat under me. Not that he's complaining - man, he's just spread out under me, and I can't stop moving my hips against him. But he's pushing at my shoulders, and I'm thinking he wants to slow down a little. And sure, okay, I can do that. Just gotta take a deep breath here and get control. But looks like Fraser's got different plans. He gets his hands between us, and goes right for my crotch, undoing my jeans like he's done this a hundred times before, drawing down the zipper, and not even hesitating before reaching in and pulling me out.
His hand closes hot around me and I think I whimper. He's staring down between us, at my cock as he strokes it, and all I can do here is gasp, and try not to come just from this. I'm sort of half-balanced over him, just fucking lost in his hand on me, stroking so good, just right, my breath coming real, real fast.
And then he looks up at me, his eyes dark, and lets go. I say, "Hey," just as he somehow twists sort of gracefully under me, turning over. He looks over his shoulder at me, where I'm just sort of staring at him and panting a little. Because - god. He's there, like that, in front of me, like he wants me to… I shut my eyes for a second. Breathe.
He moves then, his jeans rough against my bare cock. I groan, and he just says, "Ray." And then I've got his shirt shoved up and my mouth on his back, tasting him, licking him. He moans and sort of squirms against me, and, okay, that's motivation right there. Real, honest-to-god, wonderful motivation. It goes to my head and everything happens real quick and dizzy from there. I somehow struggle through my gym bag on the floor, looking desperately for something, anything to use for lube, and Fraser murmurs, "Conditioner. Not ideal, but…"
"It'll work," I interrupt. I want to kiss him, he's a genius, he's - god, he's kneeling here, half on, half off the seat, never mind kiss, he wants me to fuck him, he's a goddamn genius.
My hands are shaking, but he's smooth as anything now, and keeps muttering these quiet words of encouragement as I undo his jeans, push them and his shorts down off his hips. He's breathing out words - yes and Ray and now - which makes it almost impossible to go slow and not come. It doesn't help when he says, "Wait," in this rough voice. When I freeze, wondering what's wrong, he reaches back, tugs my hand forward, and - oh god - sucks my fingers into his mouth. I - uh, oh wow. I knew he had this licking thing, fetish, whatever. Figures he'd be good with his mouth. But - fuck. His mouth is so damn hot around my fingers and my head drops to his back, my cock pressed against his ass, just lost in that hot slick tongue sucking rhythmically at my fingers.
Fraser - he's been waiting for this, wanting this, for - god. He has been. He's been wanting this - he - I need to fuck him now.
And he says it, too: "Now, Ray," his voice desperate-sounding. I put my sweat-slippery hands on his hips. I want this, have wanted this so bad it hurts, but I didn't know - I really didn’t know I could have it. I didn't know he wanted it, never for a second, even while I was jerking off thinking about him, never for a second did I ever think that he'd want it like this. Want it so bad that he'll let me do him in the backseat, because the ten minutes it'll take to get back to my apartment is too damn long for either of us to wait. He's here with his head dropping down between his arms as he braces himself, like all there is in the world to experience is getting fucked by me.
In the backseat of the GTO. I offer up a quick thank-you to God and whoever else may be listening.
When I push into Fraser, he groans deep in his throat and I have to just stop for a second, dropping my head to his back. Breathe. Breathe. He's so fucking tight around me, and I can't believe, I cannot fucking believe, that we're here. That he's letting me do this. Not entirely straight my - uh, his - ass.
He's moving restlessly against me, saying, "Ray. Ray. Ray." I take a deep breath, lift my head, and hold onto his hips tight as I push all the way in. He takes a deep, hissing breath, and I manage, "You okay?" I’m trying to stop, but my hips keep moving, my body not anywhere near on board with my brain. I'm pumping into him slow, and thank god, he just drops his head and says, "Yes. Yes. God. Ray." He takes a slow deep breath, and shudders. "Fuck me."
That just does something to me. I thrust into him, hard, hard enough that I see stars, can't even think what it must feel like to him. He's shaking under me, but hisses under his breath, "Yes, god, harder," and all I can think is, thank god. Because I'm fucking Fraser here in the backseat and I have no control, because he's asking for it, just like that. My fingers are digging into his hips as I push myself into him. He's so damn hot around me, and I think I should maybe try to change the angle or try to make this better for him, but all I can feel is this driving need to just fuck him.
His arms are braced, hope he can hold us. I'm sweating like crazy, my shirt is rucked up and soaked with it, my jeans around my knees are damp with it. I tilt forward so I'm over his back, arms around his waist, groaning in his ear, "Jesus, Fraser, Jesus, this is - fucking love this - come on, come on, come on," urgent, suddenly, need him to - want him to - my hand drops, brushes against his cock where it's straining against his stomach, and he takes a choking breath, and comes, hot and sudden, groaning and half-collapsing.
Jesus. I thrust frantically into him again, again, and - I'm - god - "Fraser - I - " and I come, still thrusting - god.
Then Fraser does collapse. I'm smushed against his back. We're a sweaty mess in the backseat, and I'd grin if I could find the energy. Instead, I just sort of vaguely bring my hand up to rest against his soaked, sweaty hair. "I - you - " I take a breath, smelling the way my car reeks of sex now and liking that a whole lot. "We okay?"
He mumbles something.
He moves a little, and I make a huge effort and lever myself off of him. He breathes out in a sigh, and turns his head to look back at me. "Yes, Ray, we're - good."
His eyes gleam a little in the dark of the car. Like I said, master of the fucking understatement, that's Fraser.
I suddenly want to kiss him so much that I feel my face get hot. God. I got it bad here. I fumble around for a towel from my gym bag, gallantly toss it to him first. He rearranges himself, wincing slightly, and hands the towel back to me while he struggles to pull his jeans up. I mop at myself quickly, get my act together, and open the door to get back up front. We both flinch at the light that comes on. I think I'm still blushing, so I get in the front quick. He does the same, and I start the car, not looking at him, still wanting to kiss him really badly. The car is way too quiet as I pull out, but I just can't look at him right now.
He clears his throat. "You, ah, agree?"
I blink a couple of times, trying to follow his train of thought, with my orgasm-slow mind. "Um?"
I can fucking feel him looking at me. I hold the wheel tighter.
Oh. That. "Yeah, Fraser, we're, uh…" Weird. Different. Everything's different, my mind is blown, I can taste your skin in my mouth, I know what you sound like when you come, I want to see what you look like when you come… "We're better than okay." I risk a quick glance at him. He's flushed and messy, but still manages to look innocent. I don't know how he does that. He's looking at me, all right, real steady. "We're good," I manage.
Eyes on the road, Kowalski. Do not pull over and kiss him senseless. No.
We pull up in front of the Consulate, and he clears his throat, reaching for his hat on the dashboard. "Well, then, I'll be heading in. I appreciate the ride…" He trails off. "That is, what I meant to say was..."
I grab his arm as he reaches for the door handle. "I know what you meant, Fraser." He turns, looking sort of startled and sad at the same time, and I kiss him. It feels desperate and I don't know why. It feels like it's necessary for me to be kissing him right now. And I know it should feel weirder, like maybe I should be freaking out, but god, he opens right up, just leans into it, and it's good. It's all real, real good.
I pull back slowly. He licks his lips for a second before he opens his eyes. "I should go inside," he says.
"Fraser." He looks at me. "Get the goddamn wolf and then get back in the car."
"Ray, I - " He looks startled for a second, and then cautiously happy. "I - yes. Okay. Yes. Of course." He sort of leans in towards me, like he wants to kiss me again.
I grab the front of his shirt and pull him in real close, just keeping him there for a second before I kiss him hard. "You're coming home with me." I tug on his shirt a little. "Get it?"
"Yes, Ray." He nods solemnly, the corners of his eyes crinkled in that happy way. "I get it."
"Good." I let him go.
He doesn't move back, just puts his hand on the back of my neck, and kisses me way more deeply. I'm breathing hard by the time he lets me go. "That's, uh, good," I say.
He smiles and gets out of the car, calling for Dief and pulling the seat forward.
I slouch down, tapping my fingers against the wheel and trying to get my breathing under control. Man. Man. What a night. What a goddamn night. I look over to where his ass is framed in the doorway, and then away again quickly. "Get that wolf in the car, will ya, Fraser?" I say gruffly. I glance at the backseat. "Tell him to look out for the damp spot."
Fraser bends to look in at me. I just know he's grinning. I refuse to look at him, drumming harder against the steering wheel. "Get your own ass in here, too, Fraser. I got plans for it when we get home."
He does that lip-licking thing again before saying, "Understood," in the low tone that really just turns my crank so damn hard.
Dief hops in the back, whines discontentedly at the odor and the dampness. Fraser gets in and quickly slams the door. I risk a quick grin at him before peeling out and doing an illegal U-turn as I head us for home.
"Ray," he says.
I wait for him to scold me for unsafe driving practices.
I turn my head to stare at him He's staring intently out the windshield. I think I sort of love this side of Fraser. I crack my neck real quick and put the pedal to the metal. Because I tell you - Fraser knows the meaning of motivation.
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