by brooklinegirl



Response to the Naïve Fraser challenge over at ds Flashfic.

I was okay with it, I was. Really. So okay, patience is maybe not my strong suit, but I'd waited for this guy for a long time. I was willing to wait a little more. And besides, let me tell you, making out with Fraser on my couch is a hell of a lot better than being alone in my bedroom stroking myself off thinking about Fraser and all the things I want to do to him. Want him to do to me. Both. Either. Whichever.

So I am really very okay with the making out part. I think it's good. I think it's greatness. I tell you, it's so damn good I nearly passed out the first time we kissed, forgetting to breathe and all. So I want it out there, up front: I'm not complaining.

It's just that it's been like a week now, and we're doing this every night (and again with the lack of complaining. I’m making out with Fraser, every night. I am not complaining). But. Well. I'll say it again: I'm not the most patient guy in the world. And Jesus, I want him. So bad. And yeah, you know what, the making-out-on-the-couch stage is kind of a very fun part of this stuff. I forgot what it was like to do this, to ride this knife's edge of being so goddamn horny all the damn time that I can hardly think.

I like it. I like coming home with him, after a day of looking at him and feeling that shot of heat that runs straight through my body to my cock, just from eye contact or a brush of his hand. I like knowing that he'll come home with me, come upstairs with me, and stand there, all polite, hat in hand, offering to help make dinner or something. 'Cause it's cool, we got this balance thing going on, where most of the time it's me and him, just the way it's always been. 'Cause that's good, what we have, what we've had all along. That's not something to get rid of, and I think it's pretty damn cool that that doesn't have to change, even though we have this now, this making-out-on-the-couch thing, too.

So we're not weird with each other. I mean, he's not any weirder than he usually is. Which is pretty weird. Thus all the politeness and hat and dinner-cooking thing. But he's just Fraser and I'm just me, and we get home and we get some food and we talk and we kick back on the couch, and then it's just like zing, like whatchamacallit, Pavlov's freaking dog, and it's like yeah, all this me-and-Fraser guy friends thing is cool and all, but I gotta stick my tongue down your throat now, okay?

So. Tonight. We've done the whole polite-relax-dinner thing, and we're on the couch. He still waits for me to make a move, and that's okay, it's only been a week and the guy is repressed, you know? Like I think it's a major success he's even here. And I am thrumming with wanting him, have been all day, all week, fuck, since I've known him, okay, fine. But now it's kicked up a big number of notches, 'cause like I said, kissing is all well and good, but it leaves me wanting more.

And I like this, like this feeling of riding high, of being itchy just waiting for him, of getting that low, sinking tingle just from watching him sitting next to me on the couch. And I know he can feel my eyes on him. He's waiting for me to make the move and I kind of like making him wait. Even though I'm so fucking turned on here that I'm hard as a rock.

Call it maybe a minute and a half before I give in and jump him.

I grab the front of his button-down flannel shirt, pretty much just to anchor myself, and kiss him, hard. Like, hard. Like hard enough that he kind of whimpers into my mouth, and I gotta tell you, that is one hell of a turn-on. And up till tonight I've been good, I've been just as caught up in the kissing as he is (and for a real buttoned-up guy, he loves to kiss. Loves it. You can tell. I can tell. He gets lost in the kisses between us, just kind of sinks into it).

He makes out like a first-timer, like he's scared, a little. His hands don't stray any further than my waist, like they're anchored there, and even when the kissing gets me hot and hard and panting (he's panting too, fucking breathless, when I let him go), I've been following his rules. 'Cause I mean, he's a Mountie and all, and it seems like the right thing to do.

But hell, my patience has its limits. And tonight I am all over him, pretty much from step one. I'm holding onto his shirt and pushing him back against the arm of the couch. I've got one leg in between his and I'm half-kneeling up over him. It's not enough. Been waiting a real long time for him and my need is ratcheted up high tonight.

I’m pushing him back and he's murmuring my name against my mouth, over and over. "Ray, Ray, Ray." There's need there, and want, but he sounds a little scared.

I manage to stop kissing him. "Fraser," I say, taking a deep breath, trying real hard to get my head to stop spinning. "I just want…" Okay, the words aren't coming to me, can't figure how to do this without spooking him. He blushes so bad even when I just give him a slow smile, trying to let him know just how bad I want to kiss him when we get home. Thinking about telling him stuff like, well, "Fraser, I want to get down on my knees and give you a blow-job like you've never had before," just doesn't seem right, somehow. Especially 'cause I'm not entirely sure he's ever had a blow-job before. I've seen pictures of that Victoria chick. Something tells me she wasn't real big on the cock-sucking.

Or I could tell him that when he leaves at night and I'm alone in bed in the dark, that the thought of his hand, just his hand, on my cock, touching me, is enough to get me off.

Yeah. It'd be fun to see his face burst into flames, now, wouldn’t it?

I try again. "You don't have to…I don't want to push…but if I could just…" Okay, it's real hard to carry on a conversation when I'm basically pinning the guy to the couch. I tell myself that I should move back, sit down, talk about this, but my body is simply not agreeing with that sort of logic. Not when he's just leaning back there and yeah, his hands are anchored on my hips now (that's good, that's a good step from my waist, I may corrupt this guy yet). And he looks uneasy and kind of confused, but game. Patient, waiting for me to find the words. Like he's waiting for me to tell him what to do.

On top of that, his face is all flushed, and I've messed up that really neat hair, and wow, I think I kind of unbuttoned his shirt when I wasn't paying attention. And when I try to move back and end up shifting against him, my thigh comes in contact with his crotch and he gives this really fucking hot gasp and then - Jesus - lifts his hips up and presses against me.

How the hell am I supposed to take it slow when he's so hot and doesn't even know it?

"Fraser, don't do this to me," I groan, my head dropping to his chest as I try to control my breathing.

He freezes immediately. "I'm sorry, Ray," he says in that confused polite tone that tells me clear as day that he's not entirely sure of what he's apologizing for, but he really is most sincerely sorry for whatever it might be. "I'm not… Well. That is, I don't usually…I haven't had what you might call a great deal of experience in these matters…"

"No, no, that's not it," I tell him. "This is good, this is really, really good." I very seriously don't want him to freeze up, to go back, when all I want is to go forward. So I press down against him, one hand propping me up, the other down on his hip, partly hanging on, partly pulling him closer. Jesus, that feels good. I am so hard and this conversation is becoming impossible.

He's breathing heavy again, and his eyes are hot, burning into me, but still really naïve, lost, kind of, in whole new territory. "Ray, I want…" He takes a breath, and I can tell this takes a lot, for him to be so very open right here, right now. He isn't good at telling what he wants. You gotta push him into it. I watch him looking for the words and again patience fails me and I just gotta… you know, with his shirt open like that, his neck is just begging to be licked. Tasted. Nibbled. Christ.

My lips are against his neck before I can really think about it, but that's okay, because he's arching against me again, his hands scrabbling for purchase as my hips lurch forward into his. I'm getting fucking lost, fucking delirious, in how good he tastes, and it's only because his lips are like, right against my ear, that I hear what he says next.

"I want…Ray. Ray. Please. I want this. I want you. Ray. Show me. Show me." His voice breaks on that last part, and it's me that freezes here, still pressed against his neck, against his body. I freeze and I know, I mean, I knew that this was more than just sex, more than just anything, that it was me and him, a real duet now, and I thought I was holding back for him, but maybe he was holding back for me. Holding back, but only because he doesn't know how to go forward. And he trusts me to show him.

I stay there for a second and his hands come up to hesitantly pet at my back, like he can't really figure if I’m upset or angry or what. And I finally lift my head, rub my cheek against his, rough with stubble, and I kiss him again, holding onto his jaw with one hand, kiss him soft and sweet. Because yeah, I can be sweet. Because yeah, I want that too, I want him that bad, and I want to be the one to show him. It's fierce in me, this need and this want and this fucking delight, at this fucking honor, that I get to be the one to do this. To show him.

Show him how much I want him and need him.

"Frase…" I murmur in his ear.

And then I slip off his lap and onto my knees in front of him. Time for show-not-tell. I can't find the words, he can't find the words, but I am very damn good this part, at letting him know for sure how much I want him, and showing him just what I want to do to him.

When I nudge his knees further apart and reach up to open his jeans, he blushes brightly, so very red. But then he takes a breath and lets his legs splay open. And the look he shoots down at me is total trust and that's a pretty major turn-on as well. And when I pull his cock out of his pants, he blushes even more, and his hands clench, but then my lips just brush against the very tip of it and he lets out this very soft moan and his hands come to rest gently on my head, and Jesus, this is good.

Everything between us is so damn good.

And I take him in my mouth and I love, fucking love, how he tastes, so good, like I thought he would. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock, and take him as far in as I can. When his hips lurch up, I hear him gasp again, and say, "I'm sorry, Ray, sorry…"

But I just hum a little around his cock and he jerks again, moaning loud. I let him slip slowly, slowly out of my mouth. I look up at him and I know I have to look like such a slut, here on my knees in front of him, my mouth all wet. My voice is cracked and broken as I repeat his words back to him. "I want this." I say it slow, want to be sure he hears me. "I want you. Go with it, Fraser."

And I go back down on him, take him in deep, and I know this isn't going to last long, and that's okay, that's fine, that's greatness, because we have all fucking night, we have forever. And this is such a fucking turn-on, my cock is aching, and Fraser is moaning continually now, my name tied up in the moans, and then he groans, loud, and comes, hard. The taste of him in my mouth is enough to send me right over the edge, right in my jeans, without him ever laying a hand on me, and that is pretty fucking amazing, isn't it?

We're pretty fucking amazing.

And I lay my head against his thigh and all I can think is that I love him so damn much. I didn't mean to say it out loud, because, yeah, you know, spook the guy even more, right? But I must have, because his hand slips down and he runs his thumb over my cheek and even though his voice is real, real quiet, I hear it when he says, "I love you, too, Ray."

Yeah. Pretty amazing.


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