For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Ray is now tiny. The reasons do not need exploring because Ray does not want to explain to anyone why he's suddenly the size of an action figure, only minus the Kung Fu grip. But let's just say there was a shrink ray involved (there always is) and no puns, thanks, because this is Not Fun. On the grand scale of extreme fun—from Cubs-winning-the-World-Series all the way down to watching-Stella-go-on-her-first-post-divorce-date—being small is like a negative eleven.
And it's all Fraser's fault, of course, which is why he was there right afterwards to swoop Ray up and smuggle him under his hat until they could get somewhere private. Now he's made a special little pouch on his belt for Ray to ride around in (it smells like neatsfoot oil) and is currently tracking down every member of the Canadian Science Consortium to try to find out where Doctor Dabblefash has disappeared to.
Dabblefash being the mad scientist guy who invented the shrink ray thing. The one he brought to the consulate party. And shrank Ray with.
They decide the P.D. computers might have more local info they can use to track the doc down, so Fraser carries Ray to the precinct and into the break room so they can talk.
"Do you need anything, Ray?" Fraser asks, looking down at him and, whoa, those are some nose hairs right there. Nicely trimmed and very shiny, but not as pretty as the rest of Fraser, that's for sure.
"Yeah, I'm still hungry," Ray shouts, gripping the side of the pouch. He shouts everything now, otherwise Fraser, even with his bat ears, has trouble understanding him. Even then, Ray's voice is funny, like it's bouncing off the air wrong, and it sounds way too high to fit his macho. "Get me some Cheetos," Ray yells, "and some water."
Fraser opens Ray's snack and then goes off to do research. It takes Ray about ten minutes to eat a single Cheeto, and he ends up covered in orange dust afterward, but when he's finished, Fraser very accommodatingly holds down the knob on the drinking fountain so Ray can stand in the basin and clean up. Fraser hovers over him the whole time so no one will see Ray making like a pixie.
"Okay. Where to next?"
"I discovered from one of Dr. Dabblefash's colleagues that he has an engagement tonight with an associate he visits in town, one Ms. June Cleaver. Francesca has determined she resides on Hubbard Street."
"'Associate'? Living on Hubbard? Fraser, she sounds like a hooker."
"Yes, well, it would appear from the evidence her profession might be—"
"She's a hooker. Okay, we'll have to wait until tonight, then we'll go catch him in the act."
Fraser turns red. Amazing—from down here, Ray can see that little spot under Fraser's chin that gives him trouble shaving. Also, he can smell Fraser in full surround-sound, which is a plus. Ray likes the way Fraser smells. A lot.
Just then Diefenbaker comes trotting down the hallway, sees Ray, and gets this really attentive look on his face as he slinks toward the water fountain.
"Dief, no!" Fraser says, sounding horrified, and then there's about a mile of gleaming wolf teeth coming at Ray, and he squeals and almost falls behind the back of the fountain, only Fraser grabs Dief by the scruff in the nick of time and throws him back. Just completely tosses Dief down the hall, which Ray would be pretty impressed by if he weren't shaking in his skivvies at this moment in time.
"I'm so sorry, Ray. Are you all right?" Fraser's big, concerned face appears at the edge of the fountain.
"No, I am not all right. I'm covered in twenty year-old gunk and, correct me if I'm wrong, Fraser, but I think your wolf just tried to eat me!"
"Oh, no, Ray. Dief was just, ah—trying to greet you in his enthusiastic way, I suppose. It's really just a matter of perspective," Fraser babbles, "and yours is quite altered at this moment."
"Perspective, my tiny ass!"
Fraser clears his throat like a sonic boom, and a gigantic hand sweeps up to rub at his eyebrow.
Ray looks down at himself. He's completely coated in green, silty dust, plus there are still streaks of orange on his pants from the Cheetos.
"This is pathetic. I need a change of clothes and a dunking. Not in that order."
"Pick me up."
Fraser cups his hands around Ray, and Ray grabs onto Fraser's thumbs. Ray both loves and hates this part—being completely surrounded by Fraser's hands gives him the world's tiniest hard-on every single time. But Ray hates being this fucking helpless, he really does.
"I suppose I could sew you something to wear, Ray. I'm quite handy with a needle."
"No time for that." Ray sighs. "Take me to Toys 'R’ Us."
Ray's too small for a G.I. Joe uniform, and that ticks him off since it was his first choice. And the X-Men stuff is all lycra and spandex, which—not in this universe, thank you very much. And you can forget about the Justice League of America. Those guys are just a bunch of wussies in polyester.
In the end, they swipe some cool stuff from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer collection. Ray opts for Angel's duds over Spike's because Angel's leather coat is a little shorter. He comes with a cool ax, too, but unfortunately it’s made out of plastic. From the sales bin, Fraser digs up a tiny duffle bag that says "A-Team!" on it. Honestly.
Fraser pays for everything, since Ray's wallet is as shrunken as the rest of him, and then they all go back to Ray's place. Once they're inside, Ray cups his hands around his mouth and yells up, "Do me a favor and feed Dief something, will ya? I swear he's still looking at me funny."
"I assure you, Ray, it was a simple misunderstanding earlier. I believe Dief thought you were a gingerbread man."
"Har de ha. C'mon, I need to get cleaned up. I feel gross."
"As you wish."
Fraser carries him into the bathroom, half-fills the sink, carefully places Ray on the edge, and politely turns his back while Ray strips down. Ray is really, really glad Fraser is not looking at his tiny dick or ogling his now almost non-existent ass.
A guy has to have some pride.
The black jeans are stiff but the zipper is real, if a little big. Ray hauls it up and then pulls on the black T-shirt and coat. The seams are stitched funny, and it's fake leather, so the stupid thing pooches out on him, making him feel like an astronaut. An astronaut who feeds on human blood.
Fraser's broad, red back is still turned away. It looks like he might be twirling his hat.
Fraser turns, looks at him, and almost laughs, the bastard. Ray can tell because those tiny little creases appear by his mouth.
"Wash my old stuff, okay?"
Fraser puts on his hat and his big hands come down to swish the clothing in the sink. When he's done, he wrings them out and tucks them into another pouch on his belt. He's got more pouches than Batman at this point, and that gives Ray an idea.
"Look, Fraser, I need a weapon." Ray unholsters his gun and waves it in demonstration. He could maybe give someone an irritating bug bite, but that's it. Maybe they would die of tetanus a few weeks after he shot them.
Fraser's eyebrows crinkle. "I swear to protect you, Ray."
"Hey! I can take care of myself." Ray crosses his arms defiantly.
The stupid creases appear next to Fraser's mouth again.
"Oh, you think I'm being funny, is that it, big Mountie guy?"
"No, Ray, of course not. It's just...your situation has changed somewhat—temporarily, of course, and I think—"
"Well, stop thinking; you're starting to piss me off. Do you have any of that Beluga toad stuff on you? I've got an idea."
He makes Fraser carry him to his desk and gather together some things—pushpins, a bunch of rubber bands, a pink eraser, and a couple of paper clips. Ray has Fraser break the end off one of the pins. It feels like a solid bar in his hand.
"So, what about that Beluga stuff?"
"Of course, you mean the tetrodotoxin from the gland secretions of a bouga toad."
Ray rolls his eyes, in spite of the fact he knows Fraser can't see it. "I mean do you have any?"
Fraser smiles happily and reaches into yet another pouch. "I have a little left over from the last time. However," he kneels down so his face is level with the desk and frowns fiercely, "you must be very careful, Ray. You mustn't allow even a minute smidgen of this to touch your skin. At your size, the result might well be instantaneous death instead of just temporary paralysis."
Ray swallows and nods. Fraser nods back and puts down the jar. It's as big around as Ray's waist.
"You're going to have to open it for me. And put some on the tips of those extra pins."
Ray makes a sling shot out of a heavy paper clip and some rubber bands. When he practices launching the pushpins, he finds out it works better if he leaves the ends on for balance.
Fraser puts on a pair of surgical gloves and coats the tips of three pins with the bouga-stuff. He then pushes the ends into cut up pieces of eraser to make them safe.
The whole bundle isn't very heavy, and it all fits into Ray's A-Team! duffle.
"Okay, we're good to go. Next stop, June Cleaver. And she'd better hope she's not wrapped up in this, or she's gonna feel the sting of my toad."
This time, Fraser doesn't even try not to laugh. His teeth are big and white, and the inside of his mouth is very pink.
"Hey, we still have a couple of hours to hang. And I'm hungry again."
Fraser stands up and goes to the kitchen. Ray hangs out on the desk and watches, his legs swinging over the side. Jeez, this really bites, being small. He can't do anything at all.
When Fraser comes back he's got a plate full of teeny sandwiches. He's cut the bread into a bunch of tiny triangles, so they almost look normal-sized to Ray.
Fraser is a pretty nice guy, there's no denying that.
He puts Ray on the couch, but when Fraser sits down his weight turns the cushion into a trampoline, and Ray almost goes bouncing off the side.
"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, Ray." Fraser puts down his hand, palm up—Ray really likes how Fraser doesn't take any liberties, doesn't just go picking him up without asking permission—and Ray walks onto Fraser's hand, which cups around his legs. Then Fraser puts him down on his thigh, within reach of the plate of sandwiches sitting on his lap.
It feels weird to be straddling Fraser's thigh. For one thing, Fraser definitely dressed left today—there's this soft bulge just to the right of Ray's leg. A big bulge, and that's not just a perspective thing, Ray knows. He's taken his share of peeks while in the john.
Fraser leans back and rests against the couch. His big hand snatches up one of the regular-sized sandwiches.
"Frase?" It's quiet in here, so Ray doesn't have to yell so much.
Ray shifts around so he's straddled facing the big red wall of Mountie wool. He looks up past the buttons and straps and finds Fraser looking down at him and chewing slowly.
"You've been real nice about all this, not freaking or anything, and taking real good care of me, but not so I feel like a useless piece of crap."
Fraser's eyes take on a happy gleam, and Ray can see him swallow.
Ray clears his throat. "I guess I just wanted to say thanks. It's good to know when the chips are down I can count on you."
Fraser flicks a thumb at his eyebrow. "Ray, you must know I'd do anything for you."
"Yeah, yeah, I guess I knew that."
He does know that. There's lots more he wants to say, but this isn't the time, and he's in no way able to do a goddamned thing about it, considering he's no bigger than Fraser's hand. For a split second he lets himself imagine getting Fraser hard and then wrapping himself around Fraser's dick like it was a tree trunk.
Ray thinks they'd better fix this, and soon. Get the mad professor in a hammerlock and squeeze him until he coughs up the un-shrink ray.
Because being small is the pits.
The point of the problem, the very crux of the matter, is that Fraser is enjoying, in a very selfish way, Ray being small.
And the thought, since it first occurred to him, fills Fraser with an unreasonable amount of guilt. Not because it's his fault Ray ran afoul of Dr. Dabblefash's dastardly weapon, but because Fraser really shouldn't be enjoying having Ray in his pocket, as it were, literally on his person. Shouldn't be happy to pick him up and hold him in his hands like a sacrament, an object of incalculable worth—his own personal sliver of the holy cross.
But he is. Ray is—precious to him, and Fraser is happy.
Diefenbaker, having promised to be good, is riding in the back of the GTO, and Fraser is driving, carefully, because Ray has threatened to climb onto his cot in the middle of the night and stomp on his nose if he so much as scuffs the finish.
Hubbard Street appears to have a garbage collection problem. There are piles of long-neglected trash on the sidewalks, with bags torn open and contents strewn. The building where Ms. Cleaver resides hasn't been painted in thirty years, as far as Fraser can tell. He feels a tug on his lanyard and looks down.
"This the place?" Ray asks. He looks unreasonably sexy in the black greatcoat, and Fraser is tempted to tell him so. This, like all other pronouncements of Ray's appeal, must go unspoken. Fraser has already revealed, at Ray's plaintive request, that he thinks Ray is attractive. To belabor the point would be...unkind. It would put Ray in the awkward position of having to remind Fraser the attraction is decidedly not mutual.
"Yes, this is 38 East Hubbard. Ms. Cleaver should be in unit 2A."
"Okay, here's the plan: if Faddlebash—"
Ray punches him in the chest with his tiny fist. "—Dr. Babblefish is here, we have to be ready to use a little muscle, Fraser. And since I don't have a lot of that right now, you're gonna have to provide it. Be the brawn instead of the brains this time."
"Yes, Ray." Slightly miffed at the—he’s sure—unintended slight, Fraser adds, "I'm always quite willing to use force when necessary—"
"Yeah, sure, if they throw the first punch. But I'm not talking Marcus of Queensbury—"
"—rules, here. I'm saying you might have to twist his arm a little bit."
"Ray, Dr. Dabblefash is in his sixties. I would almost certainly break his wrist."
"So?" Ray hops upward and, using Fraser's lanyard, climbs toward his face to fix him with a serious look. Fraser endeavors not to break into a grin at seeing Ray's fierce, tiny countenance. "I mean it, Fraser. He may be old, but he's wily."
Ray insists on riding on Diefenbaker's back for the encounter, stating he wants to be out of Fraser's way. After a firm talking-to, Dief allows the liberty, and Fraser carefully places Ray, with his duffle bag, astride Dief's neck. With a little practice, Ray learns he can guide Dief by pulling on his ears this way and that, and so he steers them all up the stairs and down the hall to Ms. Cleaver's apartment.
Fraser taps politely on the door. A woman's voice responds, husky and quite deep.
"Yeah? Whaddaya want?"
Since Ray's badge is too small for the regular human eye to read, Fraser identifies himself, with guilty awareness of the jurisdictional violation.
"This is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. May I come in? I wish to speak to you regarding your, ah, friend, Dr. Dabblefash."
"Sure thing, honey. C'mon in."
Fraser pushes open the door. The room is dim, lit only by one lamp on a table by the sofa. He hears a hissing sound, and abruptly something wraps itself tightly around his neck. Dief begins barking furiously, and Fraser stumbles to the side thinking, Ridiculous, pythons are hardly indigenous to the North American Conti—
Shit. Fraser is down, out cold thanks to June Cleaver's dominatrix bullwhip. She's pulled it off him and is now using it to keep Dief at bay, snapping it at them while Dief grinds out the ugliest growl Ray has ever heard. He sounds like the Werewolf of London.
The doc, Baffledash or whatever, is kneeling next to her dressed in a studded leather harness and nothing else. Good Christ, that's a scary look, right there.
"Oh, dear. Peaches, I know that wolf," the doc says.
"Shut up, sweet cheeks, I’m concentrating here," she says. Her bullet-shaped bra is black leather tipped with silver cones, and the muscles on her forearm are bulging as she lashes out at Dief, who is practically insane with fury.
Fortunately, she doesn't seem to see Ray where he's hunkered behind Dief's ruff, so Ray tugs furiously on Dief's left ear, trying to get him to head toward the lamp. If he can just get—
Yeah! Dief seems to get with the program and goes bounding off to the side. As he passes the sofa, Ray times his jump perfectly and launches from Dief's head to catch hold of the pull chain on the lamp. It sinks with his weight, and the room clicks into darkness.
Dief howls with glee and then goes silent, but Ray can hear him making his way stealth-like toward the bad guys. Dropping from the chain, Ray rolls onto the table and then heads for the leg.
By the time he slides down to the floor, the screaming has already started. Ray scrambles across the carpet toward the action, a little afraid he'll get stepped on, but determined to get a piece of something. Maybe a toe. He unzips his A-Team! duffle and takes out one of the pushpins, uncorking it carefully. He can just barely make out the jumble of shapes—Dief he can see the clearest because of the white fur, but also, the doc's fish-belly skin also practically glows. The doc is cowering behind something, trying to hide from Dief, who has his mouth full June, it sounds like. So, Ray makes his way around and then jumps onto the doc's ass.
Dafflebash squeaks. That's the only word for it. But Ray has one hand on the leather strap around his waist, and with the other he slams the bouga-pin home.
This time the doc squeals. Ray jumps clear and runs around to see if Dief needs help, but at this point the Cleaver hussy is lying still and moaning with fear, which means Dief must have a good grip on a vital part of her anatomy.
At that moment the light flicks on. It's Fraser, standing tall, but looking woozy with one hand wrapped around his throat. He says something to Dief in that Eskimo language, then says it again, more sharply, when Dief just growls louder.
The doc chooses that second to jump up with a yell of triumph, the shrink ray in his hand. He aims it at Fraser, and Ray shouts a warning, but a second later Dabblefash freezes dead and then keels over.
"Sweetie cakes? Pet?" Cleaver says.
"I'm afraid the good doctor has been disabled by a small amount of bouga toad-venom," Fraser says, satisfaction in his voice. “And, unless you wish your throat torn out, I'd advise you not to move, Ms. Cleaver."
Fraser's sharp eyes spot Ray then, and he comes over and puts down his hand. Ray jumps aboard and settles into his pouch. When he’s set, Fraser strips off his lanyard and uses it to secure Ms. Cleaver, bouncing Ray around a little in the process.
"Thank you for your assistance, Diefenbaker."
Dief makes a happy sound and then a questioning whine.
"Yes, I'm almost certain Ray will ensure there are doughnuts in your future. Although I hasten to remind you that you are a wild animal. A feral creature of the tundra. Where I'm almost certain doughnuts don't play a role in the daily diet."
Dief snorts dismissively. Fraser bends over and picks up the shrink ray.
"Yeah!" Ray says, pumping a fist. He's about a minute away from being big again. He wants to be big. He wants to drive his Goat and buy a cheeseburger at a drive-in window and kick people in the head.
He won't get to ride in Fraser's pocket anymore, though. That part makes him a little sad.
"Shall we?" Fraser says, and he picks Ray up one last time before placing him on the bed.
"Do me!" Ray yells.
Fraser looks down at the silvery contraption and makes a careful adjustment to some knob on the side. "I assume 'un-shrink' is the proper setting. Appalling language use."
"Yeah, yeah. Critiques later, un-shrink me now."
Fraser looks at him. There's something a little mournful in his eyes, but he raises the gun, takes aim at Ray, and fires.
Oh, I forgot about this part, Ray thinks, and yells as the light blinds him and he gets hit with a painful, splashing tingle of energy. This time he feels like a balloon that's been blown up too fast, and he falls back with a groan.
When he opens his eyes again he’s normal-sized, and Fraser is looking down at him, relief on his face. But the sad look is still in his eyes.
"What?" Ray asks, but Fraser turns away.
"I'll just make sure Ms. Cleaver is still secure. And, as arresting officer on the scene...?"
Ray gets up and—whoa, I'm big—double-checks his badge, which is, yup, normal-sized again, along with his gun. He's still dressed as a stupid vampire, though.
"Crap, we forgot to un-shrink my clothes," he says.
"Ah! Of course." Fraser pulls the tiny clothes from his pouch and puts them on the bed. But when he pulls the trigger on the gun, nothing happens.
"It's out of juice," the doc says from the floor. He still looks paralyzed; only his mouth is moving. "And it takes a nuclear power source to recharge, which is why I’m having difficulty selling the patent."
Ray growls and strides over to the doc. Flipping out his badge, Ray says, "Detective Vecchio, Chicago P.D., asshole. That's my vintage Bulls T-shirt you doll-sized, along with yours truly."
"I'm very sorry—truly, Detective. I thought you were a rival trying to engage in industrial espionage."
"I was just looking for the crab puffs!"
The doc tries to shrug. "Yes, well. I realize that now."
"But a little too late for my favorite shirt, huh?"
Satisfied he's had the last word, Ray reads the paralyzed professor and Madame Cleaver their rights.
“Nice duds, bro,” Frannie snorts as they walk in. “You look like you've been shopping the knock-off district.”
Dewey laughs, and Fraser grabs Ray by the belt-loop to stop him from lunging at the jerk.
In the report, they put that Ray had been temporarily disabled by the scientist's "experimental weapon," and don’t go into any more detail than that. Ray tries to tell Welsh about it, but he just makes a pruney face and waves Ray out of his office.
They put Ray's shrunken clothes into evidence, just in case.
Ray wants to go home then. He drags Fraser along with him, and the mutt, since he owes Dief about a dozen doughnuts. He has some stale breakfast bagels that will do in a pinch—he tosses one to Dief and Dief carries it to the corner to chomp it down.
Fraser is still rubbing at his throat, which has a nice red welt running all the way around. Ray gets out the first-aid kit from the bathroom.
“Here, sit,” Ray says. Taking the kitchen chair, Fraser sits and tilts back his head.
It’s nice to be looking down into Fraser’s face again instead of always up. Nice to be close again, too, and Ray puts one hand on Fraser’s shoulder to steady him as he starts to spread the burn cream onto Fraser’s neck.
Fraser shivers a little.
“Hurt much?” Ray asks.
Fraser’s eyes stare up at him. They’re so damned blue, like deep ocean. Pacific, not Atlantic.
“It feels better now,” Fraser says, his voice still husky from the strangling. At least, Ray thinks that’s what’s making Fraser sound so damned sexy.
“Yeah, you’re okay.” Ray says, whispering for some reason. “You’re good.” He keeps smoothing the cream into Fraser's skin, even though it's way past covered at this point.
After a minute, Fraser says slowly, “I must admit—well, confess, really—“
“Yeah?” Ray stops with the stroking, but he leaves his hand on Fraser’s shoulder and gives him a little squeeze.
“It’s shameful, really, but I quite enjoyed having you...near me. On my person, as it were. In my pocket.” Fraser drops his head. His hair is so shiny, and from up here Ray can see the spot where it changes direction on the top of his head, like a little whirlpool. “I liked that you...needed me.”
“Yes, Ray. I’m sorry—“
“I liked it, too. Not the being small part,” Ray adds quickly, “but the part where you took care of me.”
“You did?” Fraser’s looking up at him again, this time with a happy shine and something else that makes Ray’s toes curl.
Shit, this is getting scary right here, but Ray bumps closer, and Fraser opens his legs, letting him in.
“I liked having you hold me.” Ray’s still whispering.
“I liked...holding you.”
“I loved that part a hell of a lot,” Ray says, putting it all out there.
Fraser suddenly smiles up at him and then grabs the front of Ray’s T-shirt to tug him down.
Ray goes with it, goes right with the pull of Fraser’s hand and the hot pull of his eyes until he lands with his mouth on Fraser’s. And then Ray kisses Fraser with everything he’s got, putting in years of wanting it and not letting himself want it—and Ray feels big, like he’s going to bust, because Fraser is taking it all and moaning up at him like he can’t stand how good it is.
Ray is the man.
When he lifts his head, Fraser tries to hold onto his lips, doesn’t want to let go of his tongue. But Ray’s dick is rock hard against his zipper and he wants out, he wants Fraser’s mouth on him, so he pushes Fraser back and then reaches down to unfasten his jeans.
Fraser’s eyes go wide and his mouth drops open. He licks his lower lip, like he’s just waiting for it, waiting for Ray to push his cock in there. Ray almost comes in his pants seeing it.
Hang on, hang on, he tells himself as he struggles with the big, clumsy zipper. Fraser isn’t so patient—he reaches up and just tears it all loose, rips the front of Ray’s toy pants open and then stops dead.
“Uh, there were no—Angel wasn’t wearing underpants,” Ray says in explanation, but Fraser just smiles and runs his finger along Ray’s cock, making Ray lurch. “Oh. Wow.”
“Not small at that,” Fraser says, looking happy about it, and he makes a little “mmm” sound as he grips Ray’s cock and leans forward to suck him in.
Then he goes down on Ray’s cock as if the cops are after them and he has to swallow the evidence. Just takes him all the way in. Fraser’s mouth is warm and plenty wet, and his tongue is moving, rubbing up against all of Ray’s sweet spots. When he starts sucking, Ray’s eyes roll up and he has to grab hold hard. He sinks his hand, still sticky with first-aid cream, into Fraser’s hair; with the other he clutches onto Fraser’s shoulder to keep himself from flying into outer space.
Fraser is moaning around him, hungry sounds that shiver right down into Ray’s balls.
“Yeah, that’s...oh, God. That’s gonna do it,” Ray gasps, and then he can’t help himself. He grips a little tighter in Fraser’s hair so he can fuck his mouth—Jesus, he’s fucking Fraser’s mouth—and Fraser is letting him, Fraser is relaxing into it and looking up at him while Ray just fucking loses it, yells something and spurts, his whole body shaking as he comes. Fraser’s hands are on his hips, rubbing him with his thumbs, and when Ray stops moving, Fraser pulls back with one last gentle suck and then swallows.
Looking satisfied as fuck.
“Jesus.” Ray practically launches himself into Fraser’s lap so he can kiss him again, and he can taste himself like nobody’s business—that’s his come still coating Fraser’s lips, inside his mouth. It’s completely nuts.
Fraser makes an unhappy sound when Ray squirms too close, and Ray realizes he must really be hurting in those uniform pants of his, those wooly things that can’t be friendly to a Canadian hard-on. So Ray stops kissing him—more later, he promises himself, more slow, lazy kisses with Fraser, lots and lots—and gets to his feet.
“C’mon, get out of those pants,” Ray says. His own jeans are falling down, and there’s no way to fasten them again, so Ray pushes them off.
Fraser is still staring up at him, looking dazed, like all the blood has left that big brain of his. Ray grins. “Come on, you goofball.” He takes Fraser’s hand and pulls him up, and then Fraser finally gets with the program and starts shedding all his Mountie gear—flip, zip, shrug, plop—and then he’s just in his underthings with his pants bunched down around his boots and his hair sticking up on the side from the burn cream. He looks a little ridiculous, and hot as shit. And smaller, somehow, as if the uniform is what makes him bigger than life all the time.
Ray reaches out and runs his finger along the sweet bit of pale skin showing between Fraser’s undershirt and his shorts. Fraser's stomach moves in a gasp, and Ray finds himself grinning.
“You want me to suck you?"
Fraser sits back down, hard, the chair creaking underneath him.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"Oh, yes," Fraser says breathlessly.
Ray gets to his knees, flattening Fraser's pants, and leans in for a good sniff. This is the smell that's been surrounding him all day, driving him crazy with lust—wool and leather and Fraser, smelling just like sex should. Ray mouths the hard line of Fraser's cock and feels Fraser's hands touch his head lightly, brushing his hair back and forth with his palms.
The head of Fraser's cock peeks out from the top of his shorts, and Ray gives it a hello lick.
Fraser jumps. "God, Ray."
Ray looks up and can tell Fraser is a little shocked at being teased. Well, he'd better get used to it. Ray licks him again, this time across the top of the crown, catching a tasty bead of pre-cum, and Fraser's hands twitch against his scalp, digging in a little. Then Ray eases down the band of Fraser's boxers, and Fraser cooperates by lifting his butt so Ray can push them down to join his bunched-up uniform pants.
Fraser's going to be doing a lot of ironing tomorrow. The thought makes Ray grin, and then he leans in to get serious, to get his mouth on Fraser's thick cock.
"I'm a little rusty," Ray says apologetically, and then takes Fraser into his mouth.
God, Ray loves this. He can't remember when exactly he decided he had to give it up—sometime after the divorce, he thinks, when it felt like just another bad habit he was getting into, just like the drinking and the smoking too much, running from his no-good life. They were all mixed together in his head, but that's wrong, because this is different. This isn't a dive bathroom and a no-name guy wearing a rubber. This is Fraser, good and thick and hard in his mouth, sweet tasting and Mountie-clean. Fraser's hard-on gives a little under the pressure of Ray's lips, and Fraser moans.
He likes that then. Fraser likes it a little rough, which is good, because Ray does, too. He gets deep and sucks hard, then teases a little with his teeth, letting Fraser know who's in charge.
Fraser's knees fall open, and Ray takes a second to look up. Fraser looks completely blissed out, head thrown back, his nipples stiff under his T-shirt. Ray reaches up and rubs his thumb over the left one, then squeezes it.
Fraser's cock twitches in Ray's mouth and gives him another little taste. So good, tasting Fraser's excitement, hearing his heavy breathing, making him lose it. Ray squeezes one more time and then drops his hand to finger Fraser's balls.
That gets a good reaction—Fraser's thighs tighten around Ray's ribs and he moans out loud, not fighting it so much anymore.
Make a little noise, buddy. The turtle won't mind. Ray keeps bobbing his head, getting back into a rhythm, and rubs his thumb underneath Fraser's balls, pressing up hard once, then again when Fraser lets out an honest-to-God groan.
Ray's got his number now—Fraser's thighs are tensing and Ray follows his rhythm, short and fast. But Ray's lips are getting a little raw, so he sticks a finger in his mouth next to Fraser's cock, getting it good and wet. The next time Fraser's legs relax, Ray sneaks his finger back to Fraser's hole and rubs it there before slipping it in.
It's a tight fit, and when Fraser freezes, Ray thinks he's fucked up and gone too far. But a second later he feels Fraser's balls draw up just under his chin, and then Fraser's cock throbs in his mouth, jerking hard.
"Oh, God. God, Ray," Fraser cries out, and his ass squeezes Ray's finger, which slips a little deeper as Fraser comes in his mouth.
Oh, yeah. This is the good stuff. Making Fraser come. Making him shudder and squeeze him hard with his ass and legs and his hands clutching Ray's head almost desperately as the last of his come spurts to fill Ray's mouth.
Ray's been looking up at Fraser all day, but this time, when Fraser looks down, Ray can really see what those eyes are saying. Jesus, the guy really loves him.
He said he'd do anything for Ray, but now Ray hopes they can do anything together, instead.
He figures today has pretty much already proved they can.
It's not so easy getting Fraser out of the rest of his clothes, the boots and the pants with their own lacings, but finally Ray untangles him, gets them both cleaned up, and has Fraser naked and half asleep, spread out all pale and beautiful against Ray's blue sheets.
Ray feels clumsy getting into bed—he's a little high on all the craziness that's happened today, but mostly just seeing Fraser naked in his bed. Ray would have been happy to spend the day as a hamster if it meant having this. Being small was nothing.
As soon as Ray lies down, Fraser rolls over and pulls at him, moving his arm here, his leg there, getting them closer. For a second Ray isn't sure he can do this—the last person he'd slept with was Stella, and Stella wasn't a big cuddler. Also, Ray isn't used to having someone bigger moving him around as if he were a doll.
Well, except that's what Fraser has been doing all day.
Funny thing, though, as soon as Fraser has him situated the way he wants, he slips down a little further on the bed and rests his head on Ray's chest so that Ray is the cuddler, and Fraser the cuddle-ee.
Ray could get used to this. Easy. "Hey, Fraser," he says, and it feels weird talking. They've been almost silent since the sex, as if both of them are afraid everything will pop like a soap bubble.
"Yes, Ray?" Fraser rumbles against his chest.
"I like this part, too."
"The part where I get to hold you."
Fraser's quiet, and Ray wonders if maybe he's fallen asleep. But then his arm tightens around Ray's waist.
"I like it, too, Ray. A hell of a lot."
Action!Ray, with battle ax!