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Five Things Fraser Does Not Say

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A.S.A Kowalski is teasing Ray.

Fraser imagines she doesn't think she is. She has probably rationalized her behavior as making a sincere effort to remain friends with her ex-husband, because that's what well-bred, civilized people do.

But she is sitting on the edge of Ray's desk with one long leg crossed over the other and her skirt hiked up. Fraser can see she isn't wearing pantyhose, probably in deference to the heat, and her skin appears smooth and golden. Fraser, himself, finds he is not unstirred by her sensual beauty, and is all the more angry on Ray's behalf.

Just yesterday, in her usual pattern, Stella was the opposite of seductive. She was sharp as a blade, cutting in her criticism of Ray's language on an arrest report, and her lips had curved with a vicious satisfaction that made Fraser wish something less than chivalrous.

But today she pulls the tether, her blonde hair slipping softly from behind her ear as she leans closer, her white smile gleaming.

Oddly, Ray seems almost aloof in reaction, more so than usual when Stella has played this card in the past. He looks over at Fraser and shifts his toothpick to the other side of mouth.

"That's what it says, Stel. Right there. A melon-baller. I know you can't read my writing so well. That's why I printed it up all pretty for you."

"Yes, but, Ray. Honestly." She recrosses her legs, letting her calf slide smoothly down her other shin.

Ray just grins at Fraser. Ray's eyes are saying something, but for a change Fraser doesn't understand.

"Melon-baller," Fraser affirms, thinking perhaps the look was a request for support.

Ray bursts out laughing, and Stella makes an annoyed sound.

"I can see you're taking this very seriously. Like grown-up police work."

Ray's response is somewhat garbled, since he hasn't stopped laughing. Stella makes another angry noise and gathers up the report. She pushes to her feet and settles her skirt down with one hand.

"Fine. I'll call you if there are any points that need further clarification." Her voice is more strident, but there's a puzzled tone underneath.

"You do that." Ray waves. "Bye-bye, Stel."

"Later, Ray." She barely lets her eyes flicker over Fraser as she exits. Fraser's attention returns to Ray's face, which is now creased in a frown.

"She should've said g'bye to you, Frase. That was not cool."

"It's quite all right, Ray." Fraser moves from where he was leaning against the filing cabinet and reclaims his seat on the edge of Ray's desk. "Tell me, what exactly is it about the melon-baller you find so amusing?"

Ray bursts out laughing again in a rich, deep chuckle that sends gladness into Fraser's heart.

"I admit my experience with melon-ballers is limited to yesterday's...incident."

Ray makes an obviously half-hearted effort to glare at him but ruins it when he has to blot his eyes with his sleeve. He's still chuckling.

"Perhaps," Fraser muses, "it is a lack in my upbringing. You see, we don't get much fresh fruit up in the Territories, so I've never had cause to ball a melon."

"Fraser!" Ray slaps the desk and then covers his face with his hand. "Cut it out or I'm gonna bust something."

"As you wish, Ray." Satisfied, Fraser subsides. For a post-Stella-encounter, Ray is in a remarkably good mood. Fraser would like to think his hijinks are partially responsible, but the truth is Ray was already uncharacteristically composed in her presence.

Could it be you are finally over her? Fraser wants to ask.

He doesn't.



Ray is teasing Diefenbaker.

He's purchased a brand-new tennis ball in an obscene shade of pink, and is leaning back in his chair, one arm raised over his head to toss the ball upward in a perfectly straight line before letting it land in his hand with an oddly satisfying thunk.

Thunk. Thunk.

Fraser looks at Dief, who is avidly watching the ball's flight with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. Shortly, Fraser fears, the half-wolf will begin to drool.

"You do realize you're a wolf, Dief?" Fraser says with some disgust. "Not a pet Weimaraner?"

Dief doesn't take his eye off the ball that's rising and falling. But he twitches one ear at Fraser as if brushing off the implied insult like an annoying fly.

Thunk. Thunk.

"Oh, he knows what's important, my friend. It's all about instinct. Get the pretty-shiny." Ray doesn't spare Fraser a glance either; he's completely focused on the even toss-and-catch. Today he's clad all in shades of black, including a well-washed pair of canvas pants that are faded almost to gray. They're worn in the crotch, worn thin and loose so they hide very little.

Thunk. Thunk.

Dief whines. Ray chuckles darkly.

"Think I'm gonna drop it, Dief? That what you think?" The July heat has beaded Ray's temples with sweat. As Fraser watches, the surface tension breaks on one drop that's been hovering above Ray's cheekbone. The droplet slides down to his jaw before disappearing below. Ray's neck is already slick from previous forays. He doesn't seem to mind the heat.


"Oops." Ray's throw is slightly off-center, and he has to reach back, his body arching to make the catch. Dief makes an aborted lunge.


Dief whines his disappointment. Fraser swallows, watching the sheen of sweat glistening on Ray's Adam's apple as he speaks.

"Oooh, close one. Wanna get your mouth on it, don'tcha? I mean you can practically taste it, can't you?"

I do. I can, Fraser doesn't say.



Dewey is teasing Huey.

Apparently Detective Huey has had a minor incident at the paint factory they've been staking out. Fraser has heard only mutterings, but there was talk of an explosion, and he can only assume the vibrant red paint splattered all over Huey's usually impeccable clothing is the result.

"You look fabulous," Dewey says with an exaggerated lisp. "That color just does something for you, partner."

"Enough, Dewey." Huey looks less than amused as he hunches over his computer.

"Oh, don't be shy." Dewey flops a wrist at him. "You know you're pretty."

Huey growls. Ray casually drifts over and puts a hand on Dewey's shoulder.

"Dewey, sweetheart, you're embarrassing yourself. When a man is interested, he'll let you know."

Dewey flushes and shakes off Ray's hand. "Cut it out."

Huey grins and pops the end of his cigar into his mouth. He winks at Ray.

"Someday," Ray says gravely to Dewey before walking away, "your prince will come."

Huey laughs. Ray plops back down onto his chair and grins up at Fraser. He cocks his head.

"There ain't nothing wrong with red." His eyes travel up and down Fraser's uniform. Fraser finds himself flushing under the perusal, and he rubs nervously at his eyebrow.

Do you find me attractive? He cannot ask.



Ray is teasing Fraser.

"Three of 'em, Fraser, all blonde, gorgeous, athletic, and wanting a little simultaneous Mountie action. How could you turn 'em down?"

"Ray. I doubt they had any real interest you say. They'd just barely escaped an almost disastrous situation involving an armed beaver mascot and a collapsing—"

"Fraser, buddy, you are blind. Blind and—damn." Ray pulls over to the curb in front of his apartment building and then waves both hands in a spastic quasi-semaphore meant to convey, Fraser must assume, the depth of his ignorance and stupidity in not bedding the young women in question, three cheerleaders-in-training with the Bulls' Organization. "I mean it's your duty, Fraser. Your duty to mankind. This sort of thing hasn't been possible since the 70s hit a ditch. Hell, it's your duty to me since I missed the goddamn 70s anyway because of the Stella—"

Fraser feels his face stiffen, and suddenly his amusement at Ray's intentionally overblown outrage dries up like a pond in summer.

"Forgive me if I fail in my duty," Fraser stresses sarcastically, "to vicariously fulfill the nocturnal emission fantasies of your aborted adolescence." He tugs fretfully at his ear.

In the corner of his eye, he can see Ray's grin turn mocking. "Nocturnal whatsit? You mean a wet dream, don'tcha, Frase?"

Heat rises in Fraser's face. Ray's expression twists strangely, and he raises one hand in a weird gesture before dropping it to the seat between them. Then he leans over. The confines of the GTO suddenly seem swelteringly close.

Ray says, his voice odd, "Believe me, Fraser, you already fulfill that particular...duty."

Fraser's eyes jerk to Ray's face, which is tilted downward, betraying an unwonted uncertainty.

Throat unconscionably dry, Fraser croaks out, "Is that a...a 'coming on' line, Ray?"

Ray's face is flushed, but he makes an uneasy snorting sound at Fraser's deliberate error. "'Come-on', Fraser. And, yeah, but no, not if you don't—" He turns to face him and says quickly, his words running together, "I thought that lately, the way you've been looking at me...but not if you don't want me to...just say no and I swear this never happened. I swear. Just tell me no."

Fraser doesn't say no. He endeavors with every ounce of his being to convey with his eyes how very unlikely it is he would ever wish to use the word 'no' in response to anything Ray should want, incredibly, to offer him.

Ray's face goes slack. Fraser can feel the wash of his sudden exhale from across the gap between them, but he can't hear the gasp. He can't hear anything, because his ears are roaring with the rapid thunder of his pulse. Ray leans forward and Fraser matches the movement, his hands clenched against his thighs to prevent them from latching onto Ray's shoulders and yanking him toward him.

Ray grabs Fraser's lanyard and hauls him closer, and then his mouth...his mouth. Wide and soft, yet demanding—almost angry. Fraser's experience is embarrassingly limited, and most of it in the distant past, but he can't recall ever being kissed like this. It's as if Ray wants to consume him. The lanyard digs into the collar of Fraser's serge, a painful, urgent message. He tilts his head and lets the kiss deepen, opens his mouth to invading wetness and slippery heat.

Ray suddenly releases him, and Fraser hears himself emit an embarrassing whimper of protest. With a shushing sound, Ray presses his forehead against Fraser's.

"You want this?" Ray mutters gruffly. "You really want this?"

Fraser nods, the sweat between them making the skin on his forehead stick against Ray's. He reaches for Ray's shoulder, but Ray pushes him back.

"Not here. Come up with me? Come upstairs?" Ray sounds scared, eager, and hesitant, all at once. Fraser forces himself to raise his eyes to meet the clear blue of Ray's. He nods again, and Ray's teeth flash in a disbelieving smile.

"Okay, then. Okay." Ray turns forward suddenly. "Oh." He switches off the ignition then curses as he bangs his knee on the steering wheel.

Fraser pushes open his door and climbs out of the vehicle, his legs abysmally shaky beneath him. He lets Ray precede him up the stairs, not wanting Ray to witness his sudden weakness. It feels almost like terror, but with a difference, because he wants this, wants it more than anything he can remember wanting in his adult life. Even more than wanting Victoria's forgiveness. Because without the guilt to weigh it down, his heart seems ready to soar out of his chest.

He's panting by the time he reaches the top of the stairs. Ray is fumbling with the lock, still cursing, excitement in his tone. Fraser hears Diefenbaker give an impatient bark behind the door.

"Yeah, I hear ya, Dief." Ray pushes open the door and is met with frantic pawing. "Been enjoying my air-conditioning?"

Dief imparts his gratitude with a woof and then darts over to Fraser, butting his thigh with a heavy snout.

"We missed you, too." Fraser's throat is suddenly tight. They are home. Fraser has found a new home, and never even knew it.

Ray goes to the kitchen and refills Dief's water and food bowls.

"I'd better take him out for a moment," Fraser says, surprised by the roughness of his voice.

"Make it snappy," Ray says, shooting him a look.

Fraser nods, his thoughts whirling from the look as he calls to Dief and walks out.

Going downstairs, Fraser remembers closing Dief out of the apartment when Victoria was in his bed. He remembers the sound of a gunshot while he stood out on the street leaning over Ray Vecchio's car. He remembers lighting a hundred candles to illuminate what wished only to hide from the light. He remembers lying to himself as he never had before.

Is he lying now? He looks within, and sees only Ray, a flash of blue and gold, taking a bullet on the first day they met. Fraser tastes and swallows the bitter truth: it doesn't matter whether Ray feels even a small measure of what he does. It was true of his feelings for Victoria, whom he knew held a darkness within her. It is doubly true of Ray, who holds light, so much light.

Dief nudges him insistently.

"Yes, I suppose I am procrastinating. Wouldn't you?"

Dief makes his opinion known with a wet-sounding snort.

"Well, it's different for humans. I assure you a casual sniff of someone's posterior reveals hardly anything of real import."

A sharp bark.

"I suppose you're right. Nothing ventured..."

Fraser walks back upstairs with Dief on his heels.

"Ray?" Fraser pauses in the doorway, and Dief pushes by him. Ray isn't in the kitchen or the living room. The bathroom is dark. Which leaves—

Fraser locks the door and squats down next to Dief. "Do you suppose you could grant us some necessary privacy?"

Surprisingly, Dief whuffles without complaint and curls up in the shade beneath the air conditioner.

Fraser sets his jaw and begins unlacing his uniform, stripping his lanyard, belt and strap and laying them over back of the couch, followed shortly by his tunic. The cool air is welcome against his sweaty undershirt. He feels suddenly embarrassed. Perhaps he is presuming too much?

"Frase?" Ray calls to him from the bedroom.

"Coming, Ray." Fraser's voice is low in his throat. He starts to step forward and realizes his boots are still on. Bending with a sigh, he unlaces them quickly and tugs them off while bracing his hand on the back of the couch. Then he straightens his shoulders and walks into the bedroom.

It's dusky, both shades pulled against the late afternoon light. A beam pierces between the slats, blinding him as he steps forward. Fraser winces and takes another step, looking down.

Shirtless, Ray is sitting up against the headboard, a top sheet pulled up to his waist. It is obvious beneath the thin material that he is quite bare below, as well—the sheet does little to hide his excitement. Fraser takes a deep breath.

"You're—" Fraser's throat closes, and he swallows involuntarily.

"Yeah," Ray says. "Figured—why waste time? Also, this way you'd have to be a real heel to walk out on me."

"I wouldn't." Fraser tries to say it indignantly, but his voice squeaks mid-word.

Ray tilts his head. "So?" His eyes are gleaming in the half-light, drawing Fraser nearer.

Fraser sits gingerly on the side of the bed, pulling one leg up so he can face Ray. The wool of his uniform pants stretches tight across his groin, and he drops his hands to clasp them in his lap.

Ray sighs. "We had some pretty good momentum going before. What gives?" The uncertainty is back in his voice.

Fraser can only stare speechlessly at the almost invisible blond hair on Ray's chest, at the dark nipples that are tightened expectantly. Fraser wants to reach out, to touch, to test, to taste. But the rest of it, this kind of loving, is an unfamiliar, uncharted landscape, and he doesn't want to make any promises with his actions that he won't know how to fulfill.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he confesses in a whisper.

Ray makes a funny sound, something between a bark and a laugh, and Fraser's back stiffens.

"No! Shit, sorry," Ray reaches for his knee and squeezes it once. "Just that I don't think I ever heard you say that before. It's no biggie. I mean, Christ, Fraser, I'd take you if you were a complete—"

Thankfully, Ray blushes and cuts himself off. Fraser's own face is burning, but a knot loosens in his chest.

"I'll take you any way I can," Ray finishes quietly.

Fraser drops his hand over Ray's and presses it down on his knee to keep it there while he asks, "So, as for yourself, are you—do you know how to go about this?"

"I know enough. Enough to know this is gonna be...something else. If you'd just, dammit, get undressed." The fire is back in Ray's eyes, and he slides a finger under one of Fraser's suspenders, drawing down until the back of his knuckle rubs over Fraser's nipple, which hardens immediately under the touch.

Fraser's mouth opens and he breathes in.

"Like that, do ya?"

It sounds as if Ray plans to catalog Fraser's every response, and part of him wants to hide his reactions to avoid giving Ray even more power over him. He holds a ridiculous amount, already.

But this is Ray. There is trust between us. He's not like her.

A second finger joins the first, and Ray is rubbing up and down. Fraser lets himself gasp in, feels his chest expanding against his suspenders and the teasing fingers. Suddenly they are gone, and Ray is pushing impatiently at his knee.

"Get undressed, Fraser."

Fraser shocks himself by complying immediately, standing to shrug the suspenders off his shoulders in one practiced move. He pulls off his undershirt and the cool air tightens the skin of his chest even further.


Fraser flicks his glance over to Ray, who is eyeing him with obvious appreciation, one hand now tucked under the sheet at his waist. Fraser can see his hand moving...moving.

Oh, God. Fraser turns away to unbutton his uniform pants. He loosens the lacings and his trousers slip easily past his feet. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he tugs off his socks. His erection escapes out of the slit in his boxers, and he tucks it back in hastily, then lifts the sheet and slips under it.

Ray is already sliding down to meet him, and then he—there's no other word for it—pounces on Fraser and pulls his face into a hard kiss. The weight of him, the feel of his mouth, of the damp stubble of his cheeks brushing against Fraser's skin, make Fraser moan a little in excitement. So much strength above him, fierce and wiry, pinning him down. Ray traps his arms; for a moment it feels like a threat, and Fraser almost balks, but he forces himself to relax.

Maybe he needs this. Maybe he has always needed it. The force of Ray's personality, all that he is, bearing down on Fraser like an avalanche. Maybe this is the only way he can give what he needs to, all he needs to...

Ray stops kissing him to gasp softly in his ear. His cheek is rough against Fraser's, and Fraser relishes the small, rasping pain.

"Ray." He lifts himself onto his elbows.

Ray shakes his head and commandeers his lips again before pausing to say, in a throaty rasp, "This is not the talking time, Frase. This is the kissing time. This is the naked time." He shoves the sheet away and his hand roves down Fraser's chest to squeeze his nipple. Fraser gasps and collapses backward, his body betraying him in a boneless surrender. Ray bends to suck, to nip at the tiny, aching bit of flesh. Fraser can't suppress a moan, and he hears Ray laugh—the same, rich chuckle with which he taunted Diefenbaker. Fraser wonders if he'll be reduced to whining and begging as well. He's shocked to find the thought makes his penis jerk in excitement, and he feels an embarrassing wetness seep from the tip.

Losing...losing...lost. It is vaguely familiar, this call, this pull within his body, and the way his thoughts steal away from him, his control shattering. And he's afraid.

This is Ray, he reminds himself again. Ray, tasting him, tongue wet and rough against Fraser's nipple, hands, calloused and yet so gentle, stroking along Fraser's ribcage, sliding beneath his underwear to squeeze his buttock, then over his hip to grasp his hardness—


The dreaminess is gone as if he's been splashed with cold water. Suddenly he is alive, aware of every nerve of his body, and they are all screaming pleasure and want and Ray, Ray, Ray.

"Yeah, me," Ray says, tongue flicking the edge of Fraser's ear.

Fraser realizes he's been chanting Ray's name out loud, an invocation of need, of feelings that are entirely inappropriate at this juncture, but Fraser can't stop his mouth, so he just moves his lips, silently forming Ray's name.

Ray gives him a brief kiss and then impatiently pushes Fraser's underwear off his hips. Fraser kicks it the rest of the way off his legs, completely dislodging the sheet in the process.

"Touch me. You can touch me," Ray says, and Fraser feels a selfish idiot. He runs his hand along the smooth lines of Ray's back, admiring the shift and play of the hard muscle beneath the skin as Ray recaptures his erection and strokes him. The rhythm is distracting; the pleasure threatens to overwhelm him, and Fraser pulls his hips away so he can take Ray into his hand.

It's awkward. The angle is unfamiliar, and he fumbles for a better grip. He assays a stroke but there's no give to the velvet skin within his fingers. Ray hisses and Fraser knows it's wrong—he's wrong, he can't do this right. The thought makes him panic a little, and he draws back to look down. Perhaps if he can see—

Beautiful. The strong column is flushed deep red against his pale hand. Fraser moves lower on the bed so he can look more closely. Ray is circumcised. Curious, Fraser traces the difference with this thumb, stroking the rough scar.

"Oh, man," Ray moans softly. He reaches and pulls himself on top of Fraser, flattening him once again to the bed. Fraser's hand is trapped between them, his wrist catching painfully, and he has to release his prize. Then Ray is pressing down hard against him, rocking his hips, and Fraser can feel Ray's heated erection against his, pushing, flexing—if Fraser had known what to ask for, this would have been his request. Because he knows this rhythm; it is only the novelty of a hard penis touching his that is strange.

Ray moans in his ear, and shifts back to kiss him again. His tongue slides seductively within Fraser's mouth. His body is heavy and hard in Fraser's arms. Fraser needs more pressure, and spreads his legs wider, instinctively wrapping them around Ray's thighs. Ray grunts his approval, a needy, guttural sound that ratchets Fraser's excitement. He tightens his thighs around Ray's and rocks with him, and then it's happening, rising so suddenly that his orgasm is a hard point of stabbing pleasure in his groin. He can't make a sound, can't even breathe as his ecstasy surges between them in pulses of ejaculate.

Oh, my God. My God. Ray.

Fraser becomes conscious that Ray is running the fingers of one hand through his hair, murmuring something comforting. So odd, to see Ray like this, to see him so tender. Fraser makes a sound then, a helpless one, fortunately incoherent, and Ray kisses him softly, still nudging at him with his hips in a gentle movement.

"Good?" Ray asks when he pulls back from the kiss.

Fraser can only nod wordlessly.

"Good." Then Ray grins and pulls them both to their sides, legs still intertwined. "'Cause I'm on the fast burner here, Fraser. Seeing you let loose like that—" His voice is deep, grinding with desire. "I need you," he whispers.

Fraser's still being selfish, he realizes, and heat travels beneath his skin. "Anything—tell me what," he whispers back.

But Ray doesn't tell him. He shows him, pulling Fraser's hand between them and sliding it through the semen cooling on their bellies, then pulling Fraser's hand to rest in the crevice between Ray's buttocks. The silent plea shocks Fraser somewhat, but he doesn't hesitate to slide his wet fingers to the soft, delicate entrance to Ray's body, probing there, feeling the moist heat, already damp with Ray's sweat.

Ray gives a soft moan of pleasure when Fraser penetrates him with one finger. Reaching between them, Ray takes himself in his hand and begins stroking, the head of his penis rubbing against Fraser's slick stomach.

The sound of deep groans issuing from Ray's lips pulls Fraser back to the sweetness of Ray's mouth, and he kisses him deeply even as he eases his finger in and out of Ray's body. Ray gasps against his lips as Fraser slides particularly deep, and his hips jerk.

"Right there, yeah," Ray moans, and pumps his hand, swaying back against Fraser's finger.

Fraser shifts a little lower for a better angle and then pushes a second finger into Ray's body, inspiring another moan and gasp. Ray is so hot and smooth and rough inside. Fraser feels an icy excitement, not enough to harden him again, but enough that he wishes he could, wishes he could spread Ray's legs wide and penetrate him with more than just a finger. He throbs uselessly in desire.

Ray's hand starts moving faster, and his hips are writhing back and forth until he surges against Fraser, wrapping his thigh over Fraser's hip to pull him closer. He arches his head back, and Fraser's lips fall to his throat. He licks him there, rough stubble under his tongue, and thrusts his fingers in and out of Ray's body, picking up Ray's tempo. Ray makes a helpless groan and tightens hard around his fingers once, again, and then he stills and gives out a sharp cry as he ejaculates, the head of his penis pumping fluid against Fraser's abdomen. Fraser lifts his head so he can watch the pleasure transforming Ray's beautiful face.

It is the most precious moment Fraser has known, and he fixes it in his memory—Ray in his arms, taken by pleasure, by Fraser's fingers and his body.

"Ray," Fraser whispers, helplessly planting kisses on his neck, his jaw, his cheek, his ear. He eases his fingers out, and Ray makes a strange sound, almost a laugh, and flops limply onto his back.

"God, Fraser. I think I blew a gasket."

The incongruous statement startles Fraser into brief huff of laughter, and Ray turns his head and grins at him.

"Told you we would be something else." Ray's tone is proud. Fraser can't recall ever hearing him sound so relaxed and happy.

I make him happy. It is a troubling thought, for all he should be glad. How to do it again? How to do it consistently, when all he ever seems to do is annoy Ray to the extreme?

How to get Ray to let him?

"What's that look for?"

Already, Fraser is failing, because Ray sounds a little tense again. Fraser smoothes his expression and moves in to press a kiss to Ray's mouth, begging without words. Ray's tongue traces his lips in reply.

"Just give me a minute," Ray says. "And we'll see what else we can get up to."



Fraser is teasing Ray.

After two weeks, his knowledge of how to please Ray has increased exponentially—due not in small part to Ray's frank and enthusiastic tutoring. He is generous that way, and Fraser is grateful.

Because now he knows how to drive Ray insane.

He has Ray on his back and spread open to him, a small pillow tucked under his hips to give Fraser easier access. Using the lubricant Ray provided, Fraser has two fingers sunk inside the heat of Ray's body. He is thrusting those fingers in and out, deeply, curling them upward to stroke Ray's prostate, tearing groans from Ray's throat.

Fraser's other hand, also lubricated, is lightly stroking the shaft of Ray's penis. Too lightly to bring Ray to orgasm, which is the cause of the half-muttered complaints also streaming from Ray's lips.

"Please...uh. Oh. God, Fraser, you have to—"

"Shh. Patience, Ray."

Fraser turns his fingers, bending them, and a bubble of pre-seminal fluid wells in the slit of Ray's penis. Fraser stretches over to touch his tongue to it. He is now addicted to the flavor, slightly sweet, all Ray.

Ray's breath catches and Fraser has to suppress a smile as he pulls back.

"Dammit!" Ray twitches around Fraser's fingers, and Fraser goes back to thrusting them in and out in a heartlessly slow rhythm.

"I believe I'm getting the 'hang' of this, as you say." He grips Ray's erection at the base and slips in a third finger.

Ray's reply is somewhat scathing, if garbled.

"I take your meaning," Fraser says breathlessly. He withdraws his fingers to spread lubricant on his erection, and then kneels close between Ray's thighs. Ray grunts and lifts his legs to hook them over Fraser's shoulders.

Fraser pauses to take a deep breath, his stomach fluttering in excitement. This is his favorite moment, of many—this moment when he looks down into Ray's face and sees the naked need. For him. Ray needs him to do this, and God, Fraser needs to do it, to take what is offered so freely. He hopes someday soon Ray will be willing to reciprocate, but as yet Ray has seemed hesitant to.

Fraser rests his weight on one palm and uses his other hand to guide himself up to the pucker of Ray's anus. He pushes in slowly, just the tip, penetrating the opening, watching Ray's face change, his eyelids fluttering, the blues rolling back. Exquisite pressure traps the crown of Fraser's penis and twitches around him. Fraser bites his lip.

"Go, go, go!" Ray begs. "Oh, God, Ben."

At the still-unaccustomed intimacy of hearing his first name in that familiar voice, Fraser loses his restraint. He plunges forward, feeling Ray open to him, strong muscle giving way before him. He's never known anything like it. He almost cannot bear it.

"Ray. Ray, Ray—"

"Yeah, keep—" Ray clutches at his forearms and clenches briefly around him. "Oh. Oh."

Fraser feels the smooth channel relax, and he begins to thrust in and out, a bare shifting of his hips that focuses on that one place that makes Ray's voice rise in pleasure, makes him tremble and shudder beneath him.

"Jesus, Ben. Jesus," Ray gasps. His erection jerks against his belly, now slick with emissions.

He is already close—Fraser can see it in the flush that has risen from Ray's chest and the fast pulse in his throat. Fraser continues to rock, trying to ignore his own excitement and the sensation of tight heat surrounding him.

"Harder. Fuck me harder," Ray demands, and Fraser has to close his eyes, his penis throbbing and swelling even further.

He pulls back and thrusts hard, then again, and Ray gives a high-pitched moan that sounds almost like despair. His hips buck upward to meet the driving rhythm Fraser has set, and then Ray grunts and his hands crush Fraser's forearms as he climaxes without a touch, spattering both of their chests with his ejaculate. His body tightens hard around Fraser, and suddenly the friction is unbearably good. Fraser loses his steady rhythm and begins to pump frantically, slamming down hard, the sharp scent of Ray's semen exciting him further until all he knows is the tight wave of pleasure rising up in his groin.

Fraser drops lower and thrusts upward, startling a shout out of Ray, and then Fraser gives voice to his climax in a wild growl. He feels himself tremble as his seed rushes out and into Ray's body. Squeezing his eyes shut, he lets the sensation overwhelm him.

Conscious of his weight and the awkward position he has forced Ray into, Fraser eases them onto their sides. His penis is still hard, still twitching, and he doesn't withdraw immediately. He is unwilling to lose the closeness, although he feels concerned he lost control at the end, and wants desperately to check on Ray's condition.

This, he knows from experience, will not be tolerated.

Ray's hand is petting his forehead, scratching at the hairline. "Something else," he affirms as usual.

Fraser nods in agreement. It is. It is nothing at all like being with a woman, where nature provides the ease. Making love to Ray takes work, and trust. It's somehow comforting, knowing that—knowing with certainty that he is not merely tolerated, but truly wanted. Ray's body cannot lie to him any more than Ray can.

Fraser feels a wave of emotion so powerful it tightens his throat, and he pulls Ray closer to bury his face against Ray's neck.

"Ray," Fraser murmurs against the salty skin there. "Ray...Ray, I—"

He cannot say it.

"I know." Ray's lips touch Fraser's temple. "Me, too."