Okay, one good thing had happened today, and that was when Ray did the shimmy-shimmy-fast-talk, and he didn't have to be the virgin sacrifice no more. That was the best part of today. The other parts, not so much.
The Satanic robes were starched black and kind of itchy, and the shoes were made for a man half his size, or probably a woman. 'Cause they kept pinching his toes, and he didn't want pinched toes when he was supposed to be hovering over Fraser, waiting for the prostitutes from the Cult of Aphrodite to come barge into their ritual sacrifice. Pinched toes might mean he didn't get to kick any of the harlots in the head so good.
"They're professional sex workers, Ray, not harlots," Fraser explained patiently.
"They prey on innocent Satanists and lure them into sex dens with orgies," Ray said. "That makes them harlots, the evil kind, and that means we book 'em. You just don't do that in a polite society, you know? Good little Satanists, just trying to worship the devil in peace — what do these sex workers of yours gotta bother them for?"
"It seems they believe the energies of religious fanatics, released at the precise moment of, ah, sexual congress, provides a stimulus that will bridge this world with the world of the Greco-Roman goddess Aphrodite. Whose distinct mythological origins are borrowed from the cult of Astarte in Phoenicia, I might add." Fraser looked deep in thought, which was pretty impressive, considering Ray had him naked and tied to the slab of stone. "I find it all quite fascinating. History has many things to teach us."
Ray looked down at Fraser. More specifically, he looked down at Fraser's bare chest, which was carved as white and perfect as one of those Greco-Roman-whatsit statues. Then he looked down at Fraser's cock. No Satanic robes for the sacrifice, no sirree. Not one scrap of clothing.
Fraser said, mildly, "Do you mind scratching my nose? I fear I have an itch there."
"No problem, buddy," Ray said. He scratched Fraser's nose. Least you could do for a guy with his hands otherwise preoccupied. "So how long do you think we gotta wait? 'Til the harlots come."
"Well, it depends," Fraser said.
"How enticing they think we are, as Satanists."
"Me? Not so much," Ray said. He grabbed at his hood and twisted it between his hands. "Put me on a dance floor, give me a few drinks, I'll entice your pants off. But these robes ain't exactly the dance of the seven veils." Plus who was gonna look twice at him, even if he was supposed to be a budding Satanist? He had naked Benton Fraser tied to a fucking rock. Literally. A rock that Fraser, virgin sacrifice, was supposed to be fucked on. By Ray. Or by the harlots they were supposed to be luring. Whichever one.
Fraser adjusted his position on the sacrificial stone, probably trying to get more comfortable. He licked his lips. Ray stared at Fraser's pink tongue, at the shape of his mouth, and god. It was like the man wasn't even embarrassed.
"You do this often?" he blurted out.
"You'll have to be more specific," Fraser said. "Do you mean, do I often go undercover to lure in members of sexual cults? I'm afraid I only have the one previous experience, in the Yukon, when Bobby Sataa and I uncovered a book that led us on the trail of three nubile priestesses..."
"The priestesses, you see, believed in seducing travelers on the road while using the specific mystical powers of what they called 'the position of the sacred dog.'"
Ray held up a hand. "You're blowing my mind here, Frase. Here I thought you came to Chicago all innocent. Now you're telling me about doing it doggy style? What am I supposed to think?"
"You could think about the consequences of their actions," Fraser suggested, "of which included a skyrocketing increase in sexually transmitted diseases for the entirety of the Yukon territory, which I endeavoured to explain to my supervisors meant that —"
"Fraser? Shut up."
"Understood," Fraser said. But that didn't stop him from licking his lips again. Ray was starting to get restless. He looked at Fraser, but Fraser was busy being naked and gorgeous and freakish, so he looked away at the door, wondering when the cult prostitutes were supposed to get here. Not anytime soon, apparently, so he looked at Fraser again, and Fraser was—
"Uh," said Ray.
"Mm?" Fraser said politely, like he totally didn't have a hard-on. Ray hated him. Ray really, really hated him.
"Never mind," Ray said quickly, except his mouth overtook his brain, 'cause he minded. He minded it a lot in his mind, you see, which was running the Boston Marathon right now at the sight of Fraser's big, fat cock rising up between his thatch of curls. "I guess it's kinky, being like this," Ray said. "Don't worry. I'm not judging you. Body's natural reaction. Happens to me all the time. I'm watching hockey, or I'm making an omelette, and suddenly oops! Surprise woody."
"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said. "Your stories are extremely edifying."
Ray narrowed his eyes. "Are you making fun of me?"
Fraser sighed. He probably would have wanted to rub his eyebrow if he wasn't in the middle of Satanic bondage. "As generous as it is, you don't need to act surprised. I'm sure you're fully aware of all the other times I have, ah, been indecorous towards you in my physical responses."
"Huh?" said Ray. He tried to process what Fraser was thinking, except all he heard was indecorous and also virgin sacrifice, which Fraser probably wasn't saying with his mouth, but his body? It was singing that song all over. Ray needed to go have a shower, take a piss, or something. This wasn't worth overtime pay. Then Fraser had stopped talking and was just looking at him, waiting patiently like he'd given Ray a math problem and Ray was standing at the chalkboard trying to count on his fingers — and what? What? Ray stared back, looking at the wetness of Fraser's mouth and the nervous gleam in his eye, and then suddenly he got it.
"It isn't the Satanists that's doing it for you, is it?" he said. "This isn't your kink. The stone, the handcuffs — you're not getting off on it, are you? I'm your kink. Your kink is me." He was amazed, like he had gone into a shop for a sandwich and come back out to find the Goat had turned into a unicorn.
"Ray," Fraser said in his please-get-with-the-program voice, which normally drove Ray up the walls and through the other side, but right now sounded a lot like please-do-me-right-now-please-please-please, and oh yeah, Ray could get behind that. "I would offer to demonstrate the sincerity of my feelings, but I'm afraid I'm rather tied up in my present circumstances, so you'll have to — mmph!"
Ray was a good little undercover Satanist. No virgin sacrifice uncorrupted, and everything. Fraser's mouth was warm and hot underneath his, and Ray moaned, kneeling over the stone slab and trying to lick all the sin out of Fraser with his tongue. Fraser kissed him back eagerly, body arching against him, and it was good, it was amazing, it was fifty flavours of awesome right there, because Fraser was definitely no virgin and he wanted Ray, which was pretty much all the epiphany Ray needed, cultists be damned. Unless, of course, they were Satanists and wanted to be damned, so they'd have to pick another option there. When Ray could bother to care. When he could get his tongue out of Fraser's mouth. Next year, maybe.
He absolutely didn't notice the person sneaking up on them from behind; all of a sudden his head exploded in pinwheel pain, and someone said, hail, Aphrodite, and the world went dark.