Summary: For the Fuck or Die Challenge at DS Flashfiction. It fits if you, uhm, squint. Also for Estrella, who is having a no-good, very bad week.
Many, many beta thanks go to ms. Pearl-O, for being mean, and right. *loves*
Fraser is slow and weird at work. It's midsummer and the heat's vicious. In my car one afternoon, I watch the drops of sweat on his forehead as he stares, unfocused, out the window, and I turn the a/c up to high. He shoots me a quick glance, and I shrug, reaching out touch his shoulder briefly.
I've stopped trying not to touch him. I can't tell if he minds or not, but it feels better to me to touch him than not to. And if he never touches me back, well, he never pulls away, either.
He's busy all the time at the Consulate. The Ice Queen looks at me sharply every time I come in to get him, like we're in a tug-of-war over him and I'm winning. That makes me tired more than anything else; Fraser doesn't need anyone fighting over him. Fraser needs - hell, I don't know what Fraser needs, but it's something other than what he's getting. Chicago, and the heat, and the job, and the summer - I think it's killing him.
We work together at my desk, in the under-air-conditioned bullpen. I watch him as he types the forms, filling in the blanks of stuff I forgot, and I wonder what it would be like if we kissed, if his lips would be hot or cool. He keeps looking up and catching me watching, and the heat makes me too slow at looking away.
In the middle of the second week of the heat wave, I make him come home with me when I leave work. He gets that set look to his face, like he wants to fight it, but he's too tired, too hot, and in the end he nods, defeated. He sits limply next to me in the car and I keep the radio on, so he won't feel like he has to talk. When we get inside the apartment, I turn on the a/c in my bedroom full-blast, and I press gym shorts and a t-shirt into his hands.
He just looks at me, blinking, till I push him towards the bathroom. "Shower. Change. God, Fraser, wool in August. That's inhumane."
"It's standard," he murmurs, but he goes into the bathroom, and I hear the water go on.
I make iced tea the way Fraser taught me, which he says is the way you're supposed to: from tea bags and boiled water instead of from a mix, and then I put it in ice in a big pitcher in the fridge. It takes a while, and by the time I'm done, the water's been off for a while, but there's no sign of Fraser.
When I tap on the bedroom door, there's no answer, and when I push it open, he's sprawled out on his stomach on my unmade bed in the shorts and t-shirt, the freezing air from the a/c ruffling his wet hair. His eyes are closed, but I'm not sure he's asleep. Still, I shut the door again, and leave him alone.
Later, when Fraser comes out of the bedroom, his hair's dried funny. He's blinking his eyes and looks slightly embarrassed. I pour him some iced tea, and he swallows it gratefully, sitting down on the couch next to me. I've got the a/c on low in here, because two a/cs on high means I blow a fuse, but it's still cooler than outside.
"Food?" I ask. I flip through eighteen stations of nothing on before turning off the TV and tossing the remote aside.
"Sure," he says softly, "Yes," but when I go to get up from the couch, his hand is on my arm. I sit there, and look at him, and he leans forward and kisses me like he's just been waiting for his chance. It's soft, and it's sweet, and his lips are warm. He kisses me for a while, his thumb stroking my arm. When he tries to pull away, I loop my arm around his neck, and hold him close, and slip my tongue into his mouth.
When we finally stop, my chest is tight, and I breathe, and breathe, and then go get the take-out menus.
The heat breaks later that night with a fierce thunderstorm that shakes the building. We open all the windows and the cool night air washes through the apartment like a gift from God. I stand there in front of the windows and close my eyes and feel the rain spatter me through the screen and the wind lift my sweaty hair. Fraser comes up behind me and his hands are on my shoulders. I turn and kiss him there in front of the window, rocking my hips against him as he runs his hands down my back. I tug at him again, pull him after me into the bedroom, pull him down to the bed on top of me.
He sighs against my mouth, his hands moving restlessly, tugging at my clothes. The rain is pounding against the window. When I open my eyes, he's looking down at me in the dim light of the room, and his eyes look alive again.
It's a power play and it works for us; Fraser strips my clothes off and shoves me down hard. His mouth is on my neck, my chest, and he's sweating, but it's good sweat, work sweat, sex sweat. I'm pushing my cock up against his hip, slick with sweat, so turned on it almost hurts. When he slides down my body, holds onto my hips and sucks my cock into his mouth, it makes me shake. It's perfect. He does it slow, lets it build, and when he swallows around me, I hang onto the rumpled sheets and come hard.
He lifts his head, his hair hanging down over his forehead, and looks at me. I haul him up here to kiss me, before I push him off of me, make him lie on his stomach. I drape myself over him, lick down the sweat on his back. Moving down further, I nudge his legs apart. He freezes for a second, and I can hear him groaning low in his throat. I move my tongue against him and he moans, his hips moving as he humps the wrinkled sheets.
"God," he mutters into the pillow. "God, Ray," and I tug at his hips till he moans again and manages to slide one knee up, shaky. He lets me lick him like that till he's panting. I want to see him, I want to see, and I make him turn over for me. I stay down there, licking his balls and jerking him slowly, looking up at his face as he gasps, and squeezes his eyes closed, and comes all over my hand and his stomach.
My head is resting on his thigh, and he's got one of his hands in my hair. He's murmuring, "Ray, Ray," and stroking behind my ear, and it's still thundering outside, but quieter. The sweat is drying on my back. I move, finally, and we go to the shower, and then back to bed. The storm is dying down, and the rooms are cool, the curtains moving in the breeze from the windows. I untangle the sheets and tug them over us, and we fall asleep like that, not touching, but together all the same.
Back to brooklinegirl's due South Fic