Beta thanks to Brooklinegirl!
Ray's apartment was pleasantly cool, and Fraser breathed a sigh of relief as he followed Ray across the threshold. He shut the door quickly behind him, smiling to himself at the still-strange act of closing a door to keep cold air in, and Ray said, "Hey."
Fraser looked up, tilting his head at the odd softness of Ray's voice. Ray smiled, reached out and lifted the Stetson from his head. Fraser could felt the cool air hit his sweat-damp hair, and realized it must be a sight. He raised his hand automatically to set it to rights, but Ray caught his wrist, stopping it beside his head. "Benton Fraser with hat hair," he said, his smile widening. "July in Chicago is your Kryptonite, huh?"
Fraser smiled back, realizing that while both of Ray's hands were occupied, he still had one free. "Well, as I'm sure you know, Ray, Superman is half Canadian." He didn't wait for an answer beyond the amused light in Ray's eyes, but set a hand to the nape of Ray's neck and drew him in for a kiss. Ray's mouth opened to his, and Ray's hand released his wrist to slide into his hair. Fraser set his hand to Ray's hip, drawing him closer, and tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue pressing across Ray's.
A growl from considerably closer range than Diefenbaker's refuge under the kitchen table startled them apart. Ray smiled ruefully and ran a hand through his own hair, setting it on end. "Guess I should've eaten lunch."
Now that Ray mentioned it, Fraser felt the lack as well. They'd been busy all day, and the heat had made food seem so unpalatable that it had been easy to forget. Ray leaned in for a quick, light kiss, as though in apology for the interruption, and said, "Why don't you go change, grab a shower if you want, and I'll see about dinner."
Fraser nodded and took his hat from Ray's hand, already unfastening his lanyard as he headed to the bedroom. It was still strange to see his own things hanging beside Ray's in the closet, and yet he felt far more at home here, with Ray, than he had anywhere in recent years. He hung up his hat and began to unlace his boots, standing first on one foot and then the other, and feeling unbalanced only in a sense that had nothing to do with his stance.
This was very nearly the first time since their romantic relationship had begun that he and Ray had not taken immediate advantage of available privacy. Though of course they had taken advantage, he considered, sliding one boot off and moving on to the other. They'd simply stopped. It had been perfectly reasonable to stop; even now Fraser's stomach felt hollow. Because he'd neglected to eat lunch, and needed to eat dinner before anything else would be feasible. It was perfectly reasonable.
It was only that Fraser was still--more than three weeks after they'd returned from their adventure on the Henry Allen--a little at sea. In fact, he felt more lost with each passing day, as his relationship with Ray strayed into uncharted waters. Fraser had never been in a romantic relationship that had lasted beyond a long weekend (apart from his courtship of Innusiq's sister June, which had lasted through most of Grade Four, but that hardly seemed relevant to the present case, for any number of reasons). He wasn't sure how best to proceed, nor could he guess the likelihood of this relationship lasting much beyond the end of any given day. His and Ray's working partnership had very nearly ended with that case--and had instead evolved immediately thereafter into this new form. Fraser could not yet tell whether it was a permanent improvement, or merely the lead-up to their partnership ending more with a bang than a whimper.
The worst of it, he realized as he hung up his coat, was that it was entirely likely that Ray knew how to tell. He, after all, had been married for more than ten years, and his relationship with Stella had lasted nearly twice that long, all told. Despite knowing that--despite having every evidence of how Ray felt about him, and feeling as strongly as he did about Ray--despite everything they did together here, in the privacy of Ray's apartment--despite everything, Fraser could not bring himself to reveal his ignorance and ask. Ray didn't seem to have noticed; they'd spoken little about the particular status of their relationship, and Fraser was reasonably adept at taking Ray's lead without lagging too far behind.
Still, it was not unlike being back in the dark confines of that submersible, blind and lost but for Ray at his back, saying Go that way. His father had said then that a man had to trust his partner--and Fraser had to trust Ray. He did trust Ray. Three weeks, and they hadn't run aground yet. Still, he found himself anticipating the crash.
He blinked, and realized he was standing before the closet, his socks balled up in his hand, stripped to his boxer shorts. The only thing crashing, he informed himself sternly as he dropped his socks into the hamper, is your blood sugar.
He thought for a moment about taking a shower, as Ray had suggested--but then Ray would wait for him before he ate anything, and clearly he was terribly hungry. And then too, Fraser found himself as hungry for Ray's company as for food--neither of which he'd get in the bathroom. He picked up his jeans, instead, and pulled them on along with a clean t-shirt. The floor was cool under his bare feet as he walked into the kitchen, and the only sound was the whir of the freezer's fan motor: Ray was standing with one hand on the freezer door handle, leaning his head inside the freezer, entirely motionless.
Fraser stood watching him for a moment, smiling and wondering whether Ray had fallen asleep, feeling his pessimism leave him as it always did in Ray's presence.
After a moment, he realized he could not in good conscience allow Ray to make such a profligate waste of energy, and said, "Ray." Ray didn't move, and Fraser stepped closer, setting his hand on Ray's shoulder and tugging him bodily away from the refrigerator. "Ray," he repeated, and Ray straightened up all at once under his hand, slamming the freezer shut as he turned toward Fraser. He blinked rapidly, and there was a red line on his forehead from whatever he'd been leaning against.
Fraser shifted his hand to the nape of Ray's neck--the sweat on his skin had gone icy cold, but not quite frozen--and tugged him close. His head radiated cold against Fraser's shoulder, and Ray gave a low mmmm of contentment and draped his arms loosely around Fraser's waist. Fraser ran his head through Ray's cold hair as it steamed, marveling at the strange sensation. "Did you find anything in your intrepid exploration of the freezer?"
Ray rubbed his face against Fraser's shoulder. "Nothing I would wanna eat badly enough to cook it," Ray said. "So that leaves, uh--" he straightened up abruptly, pulling out of Fraser's grasp and turning back to the refrigerator, opening the lower door and bending over to peer inside. "Hot dogs or sandwiches," Ray announced. Fraser opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Ray said, "So sandwiches." He straightened up with a loaf of bread in one hand and a stack of plastic-wrapped packets in the other, handing them over the door to Fraser. Fraser laid them out on the counter while Ray collected an assortment of condiments and a couple of plates.
They fixed their sandwiches in silence, reaching past each other for whatever they needed. Ray had taken all of two days of cohabitation to break Fraser of saying "Excuse me," every time politeness would have seemed to warrant it, by the simple expedient of replying, tirelessly, each and every time, "There's no excuse for you."
Fraser set the top slice on his own sandwich, and paused to watch as Ray picked up the mustard bottle. He shook it, staring thoughtfully at his sandwich, and then squirted two dabs of mustard side by side, with a crooked L-shape between and below them, and a ragged semicircle below that. Ray considered the happy face for a moment, and then added a zigzag line above the eyes--hair? Particularly furious eyebrows?--before obliterating his artwork with a slice of bread, giving it a slight turn as he mashed it down.
Fraser set a hand against the small of Ray's back as he stepped past him to the refrigerator, putting away the meat and cheese as he pulled out the bottle of milk. Ray passed Fraser a glass as he poured himself some water, and when they headed to the living room with their plates and glasses, Diefenbaker emerged from under the table to claim his preferred chair.
"You wanna watch anything?" Ray asked, picking up the remote.
Fraser had learned, in the past few weeks, that this question did not relate to whether he wished the television to be on or off--on being its natural state in Ray's presence--but whether he had any particular programming in mind. "Well," Fraser said, not turning his head toward Ray but watching him from the corner of his eye, "I did notice there was something on tonight..." and, yes, Ray stiffened imperceptibly. Fraser raised his sandwich nearly to his mouth before he finished, "The Cubs versus the Cardinals, wasn't it?"
Ray snorted and turned the baseball game on. "You're too good to me," he muttered through the first bite of his sandwich. Fraser didn't see a need to dignify that with a reply, especially not when it would have required him to stop eating for a moment. Ray had not yet persuaded him that it was acceptable to speak with one's mouth full, however diligently he led by example in that regard.
The Cubs took an early lead, and Fraser set his dishes on the coffee table and watched intently, trying as always to see what it was about this game that so enthralled Ray, or at least to overcome his own native prejudice against games played on dirt. Ray sat back, licking mustard from his fingers, and nudged his plate aside to make room for his feet. This was Dief's cue to jump down from his seat and eat Ray's crusts, which he did in two efficient gulps before returning to his chair and settling in to stare at the television as though fascinated. Diefenbaker's taste in sports always had been rather fickle.
During the third inning, proceedings on the field seemed to grind to a complete halt. Ray was scowling at the television, listening intently to the announcers, and Fraser took the opportunity to gather up their dishes and take them to the kitchen. He did the washing up and filled Dief's water dish, and then stood a moment, watching Ray. The action--such as it was--had started again, and Ray had settled back into his relaxed position, slumped back on the couch, but after a moment he sat up and tore himself away from the game, looking around until he spotted Fraser. "Hey," he said with an easy smile, "you lurking in the kitchen for a reason?"
Fraser smiled back. "No, Ray, no reason," he said, and returned to the couch. Watching the game with Ray was interesting, because doing anything with Ray was interesting, and he was too tired for reading or a walk to appeal. Had he still been living at the Consulate, he'd have spent an evening like this doing make-work or pacing the halls; watching baseball with Ray was eminently preferable.
By midway through the game, Fraser had relaxed into a mental state not unlike that which accompanied long shifts on sentry duty. Nothing exciting was ever going to happen, and that was precisely as it should be. It was a bit like fishing: very restful.
Ray did not seem to be taking the game in the same spirit, however. Though the Cubs remained ahead, he became more restless as the end of the game neared, stretching and fidgeting almost constantly. By the eighth inning he was out of his seat, wandering through the apartment. Fraser heard him open and close the refrigerator and freezer, twice each, check Dief's water bowl, and put the clean dishes away from the drainer. When he began to pace, a few meters behind the couch, Fraser turned to watch him. "Ray," he said softly, but when Ray looked up it was to squint at the television. "Ray," he repeated. "Ray."
Ray finally looked at him, stopped pacing and came to stand directly behind him. Fraser leaned his head back, looking up at Ray's face lit by the bluish glow of the television. "Is there some reason you're skulking about the apartment?"
He watched Ray smile, upside down, even as his brow wrinkled. "Fraser, who says skulk?"
"Well, evidently I say it," Fraser replied, as Ray's fingers settled against his temple. "And you do it."
Ray shrugged, and gave the television another grim look, for all the world as if the Cubs were trailing, rather than leading, by four runs. "I can't stand this part. They got a good thing going, and I hate watching to see if they're gonna blow it."
Fraser glanced back at the television. The Cardinals had two outs already, and then the Cubs would be up to bat again. It hardly seemed likely that St. Louis would go on a sudden scoring streak, though it wasn't outside the realm of possibility; it was just that an eighth-inning rally would have been exciting, which seemed to defy the nature of the game. "We could turn it off," Fraser offered, looking back up at Ray, and Ray grinned and bent to kiss him, upside down, his hand sliding down from Fraser's hair to cup his chin. Ray's mouth tasted faintly of mustard, and he startled away at the crack of a bat, staring wide-eyed at the television. Fraser looked too, watching the ball fly beautifully and inevitably into the waiting glove of a Chicago outfielder.
Ray breathed a sigh of relief and came around the couch to sit down again, close against Fraser's side but leaning forward, elbows on knees. Fraser stayed where he was, leaning back, even though Ray's body eclipsed a third of the television. The announcers--or, more likely, Ray--would be sure to alert him if anything interesting should unexpectedly happen. Fraser closed his eyes, to focus on listening.
When he opened them, the television was off, and Ray was leaning over him in the dimness, saying, "Game's over, buddy, time for bed."
"Ah," Fraser said, blinking rapidly. He hadn't thought he was so tired. "Did they pull it over?"
"Pull it--" Ray shook his head, but in exasperation rather than negation. "Pull it off, Fraser. Yes, they pulled it off."
"Off, yes, of course," he said, pushing himself up to his feet and into Ray's arms. This time he kissed Ray right side up, and Ray's mouth tasted of toothpaste. The game had been over for some time, then.
"Mmm," Ray murmured against his mouth, and then, pulling back, "Come on, it's late."
Fraser nodded and followed Ray from the living room, stepping into the bathroom to prepare for bed while Ray went on into the bedroom. Diefenbaker was sitting just outside the bedroom door, looking irrepressibly hopeful, when Fraser emerged from the bathroom. He paused in the doorway to look down at the wolf, who got to his feet, tail wagging ingenuously. "No," Fraser said, enunciating deliberately. "We have not suddenly decided that you ought to sleep in the middle of the bed. We cede the couch for the evening. Good night."
Diefenbaker settled back on his haunches, little deterred, and Fraser shut the bedroom door behind him. He took a step into the room and then stood still in the darkness between the door and the foot of the bed, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He could already see the pale outline of Ray's body, and in his mind's eye he could see Ray perfectly, lying face down on the bed wearing only his jockey shorts, the covers already lying in a heap at the foot of the bed. He waited as the remembered image and the real one merged, until the faint streetlight filtering through the curtains showed him Ray's hair, dark against the pillow, and the shadow that marked his spine, cut by the waistband of his underwear. Ray lay so still as he watched that Fraser thought he was asleep, but after a time he rolled onto his side and looked back at Fraser. "You coming?"
Fraser smiled and said, "Sorry, I'm afraid I was woolgathering."
"Too hot for wool, Fraser," Ray muttered, putting his head back down on the pillow, though Fraser could see the shine of his eyes, still open, still watching. Ray's night vision was not as good as his own, but it didn't need to be, here. Fraser walked over to the hamper and took his shirt off, watching Ray back only from the corner of his eye. It was enough; he saw the way Ray's hand twitched against the sheet when he unbuttoned his jeans.
Fraser turned his head to hide a smile, unzipping his pants slowly and sliding them off, as though he were half-asleep, as though he had no idea how he looked. He stepped out of his jeans and then folded them neatly, precisely, taking time to smooth the fabric, listening to the sound of Ray shifting restlessly on the bed. He brushed a hand over the back of his boxers, as though he were smoothing them as well, and Ray said in a plausibly sleepy voice, "You're overplaying your hand, there, Frase."
Fraser turned toward the bed, and Ray was leaning up on one elbow, chin propped on his hand. His leg was drawn up so that the front of his shorts was hidden in shadow, but Fraser could see that in his mind's eye just as well. "Is that so?" Fraser asked. "I'm afraid I'm quite ignorant of poker."
"Yeah?" Ray said, settling down against the pillow as Fraser came over to the bed, his voice betraying nothing. "I'll have to teach you sometime, I bet you're a natural."
"Mmm," Fraser said, settling onto his side and leaning over Ray, propping himself up on one elbow.
He held still for a moment, looking down at Ray, and again Ray smiled. He slung his arm around Fraser's neck and drew him down, pushing himself up to meet halfway, and murmured against Fraser's lips, "Like this, remember? I know you know how--"
Fraser smiled as he leaned into the kiss, insinuating his knee between Ray's. Ray slung his leg cooperatively over Fraser's, grinding his hips against Fraser's thigh, his erection hard and hot behind the washed-thin fabric of his jockeys. Fraser's penis--"cock," Ray had been whispering at strategic moments for the last three weeks, and his cheeks heated even now, and the memory of that harsh whisper made him shiver--was hard in his boxers, straining against the fabric, but he was at a poor angle to make contact with Ray's body, and Ray's slow thrusts against his thigh were distraction enough for the moment, punctuating their slow soft kisses.
Ray's hand slid through Fraser's hair, tugging him further down, until Ray could rest easily on the pillow as they kissed. Fraser settled lower over him, his weight on both his arms now, and his penis--his cock--pressed against the hollow of Ray's hip. Ray was nearly still beneath him, only rocking his hips up slowly, but his mouth moved ceaselessly under Fraser's, wet and hot, and there would be no stopping now. There was nothing reasonable about this.
Ray's hand left his hair, and Fraser lost track of it for a moment as his hips thrust against Ray's, his erection throbbing. He thrust his tongue into Ray's mouth, and Ray sucked at it as his hand slid under the back of Fraser's boxers. Fraser spread his legs a little, canting his hips up under Ray's palm, feeling the way Ray's hand slid across his skin, slicked with sweat. Ray palmed the curve, squeezing with a gutturally appreciative noise and a quick jerk of his cock against Fraser's thigh, and tugged his mouth away from Fraser's to whisper, "I want--"
Fraser smothered Ray's words in another kiss, but Ray pulled away after the briefest of touches to repeat, "I want--"
Fraser kissed him again as Ray's fingers slid into his cleft, pressing lightly. He knew what Ray wanted, and he wanted it too. He just didn't want to waste kissing time on speech.
Ray squirmed away again, but this time he didn't say a word, just huffed a breath of laughter against Fraser's mouth--nearly a touch, on the sensitive skin of his lips, the blood buzzing hot just below the surface--and turned his hand to tug Fraser's boxers down. Fraser shifted to help, lifting his weight away from Ray as he kicked them down and off. Suddenly both of Ray's hands were in motion, and his leg thrown over Fraser's tightened and twisted. Ray shoved him over onto his back, settling above him and between his legs before Fraser could catch his breath, and dropped a kiss on his parted lips like the coup de grāce.
"Like I was saying," Ray murmured, holding himself over Fraser and punctuating his words with short kisses, "I want to fuck you."
"Mm," Fraser said, hooking his arm around Ray's neck to pull him down into a proper kiss, using his other hand to free Ray from his shorts. Ray kicked them off and settled lower as Fraser drew up his knees, so that his upraised thighs cradled Ray's hips and their cocks met in the space between their bodies. The first touch shook him, like flint striking stone, and he rocked his head back to draw a breath, his hips jerking under Ray's as his legs tightened around him. He could feel Ray's smile against his throat as Ray thrust against him--Fraser's mind ran on two tracks at once for just a moment, as enthralled by the balance and reciprocity of desire as by the sensation of soft skin over hard flesh, sliding on mingled sweat. Then Ray's tongue flickered against the pound of his carotid pulse, and Fraser gave himself up to feeling, surrendering thought and gasping, "Yes--please--if you would--"
Ray's teeth closed lightly on his skin, making him shudder and thrust more wildly against Ray. Fraser felt the shift of Ray's weight as he reached sideways toward the nightstand drawer. The motions were like a dance, and after a few weeks they were just beginning to move through the steps fluidly together. His thrust up and a broken sound from Ray's throat accompanied the sliding sound of the drawer opening; Ray's answering thrust and the catch of Fraser's breath were neatly punctuated by the emphatic thump of a bottle of lubricant on the top of the nightstand. Then the familiar rhythm stuttered and stalled: Ray pushed away, breaking skin contact, and Fraser had to choke back something that would have been a whine, had he been a wolf, as Ray gasped, "Fuck," with an altogether different intonation.
Fraser turned his head to watch, forcing himself to let go of Ray's neck and hip, as Ray rummaged increasingly frantically through the drawer, searching for condoms. It occurred to Fraser that they could do without, this once; but they'd been sensibly cautious so far, and hadn't properly discussed whether they had good reason to be. Now didn't seem like the time for discussion. Ray slammed the drawer shut and held still for a moment, looking down at Fraser, who met his eyes in the dimness, waiting. The decision, whatever it was, would be wordless, and mutual.
Ray blew out a long breath and straightened his shoulders, visibly steeling himself, and then bent his head for a kiss. Fraser raised his face for it, but tucked his arms behind his head, to save himself from the temptation of delaying Ray, and Ray smiled against his mouth, rolling his hips through one last tantalizing thrust, his cock sliding slowly along Fraser's, and said, "Don't move till I get back, okay?"
Fraser froze, and Ray raised his head and frowned, then brushed his lips over Fraser's, and turned to touch his cheek to Fraser's mouth. "Well, breathe," he commanded softly, his own breath stealing soft against Fraser's lips, and Fraser inhaled it and exhaled again, hard enough for Ray to feel. "Good," Ray murmured. He froze himself for a moment and then burst into motion, rolling off the bed and all but running for the bedroom door.
Fraser lay still, eyes on the doorway, waiting, feeling oddly naked in Ray's absence and resisting the urge to squirm, or cover himself, or do something about the impatient throb of his erection. He listened to Ray's footsteps receding toward the bathroom, and the quick rifling of the medicine cabinet, and then Ray was bolting back through the bedroom door. Fraser had barely taken three breaths in all; hardly enough to have made a difference, but Ray had asked it of him.
Ray paused at the foot of the bed, looking down at Fraser in the slightly brighter light from the door. Fraser held perfectly still under Ray's gaze, his breath quickening, pulse racing as though Ray's fingers were moving on him, rather than rolling a condom packet idly from knuckle to knuckle. Fraser swallowed as Ray shifted his weight from foot to foot but didn't move closer, and finally he said, "Ray."
Ray grinned and pounced, reaching the bed in a single stride and hitting the mattress on his knees. "Gotcha," he said, grinning, and Fraser nearly growled as he sat up, hauling Ray into a kiss and closing his hand on Ray's cock. He felt Ray's breath stop at the first firm stroke, and on the second Ray tore open the foil packet and thrust into Fraser's hand. Fraser took the condom from Ray's stilled fingers and rolled it on expertly, pressing a quick hard kiss to Ray's lips as he did, and Ray shook himself and pushed Fraser down onto his back. Ray's body stretched over his as he reached for the lubricant, and Fraser spread his thighs, raising his knees. Ray squeezed the gel onto his fingertips and knelt back, settling one hand against the back of Fraser's thigh as he pressed two fingers inside.
Fraser remembered to breathe as Ray's fingers entered him, drawing a long shuddering breath as his back arched, pressing his palms to the mattress for the few heartbeats until his body stopped registering the invasion as a threat, and Ray's fingers twisted inside him, sparking the first hint of pleasure. He had to touch Ray, then, reaching out a hand to meet Ray's free hand reaching up for him. There was a smear of lubricant on Ray's palm, and as Ray's fingers continued twisting inside him, Fraser drew Ray's free hand up to his mouth and licked. This was one of the flavored varieties Ray had bought: it tasted of caramel, chemical-slick and warm from Ray's skin, and when he licked again it tasted more of Ray's skin than anything else. Fraser rocked back against Ray's hand so that the stroking fingers pushed minutely further inside. His hips jerked, his cock jumping with the pleasure of Ray's touch inside him, and outside Ray's fingers curled against his mouth and slipped across his lip. Fraser sucked at Ray's fingers, breathing through his nose as the smell of caramel rose up from the warming lubricant and twined with the smell of sex.
All of Ray's fingers pulled away at once, and Fraser lay openmouthed and gasping, listening to the obscenely wet sound of Ray slicking himself and the skittering thud of the small bottle falling to the floor. Then all his senses were riveted on Ray's palm against the back of his thigh, and the blunt pressure of Ray's cock pushing into him. Ray's coolly slick fingers curled around Fraser's cock as Ray slid in, stroking slowly, and Fraser closed his eyes as Ray's weight settled on his thighs, pressing him into the mattress, heels in the air. Ray thrust into him slowly, once and twice and again, his hand moving on Fraser's cock in counterpoint, and Fraser was surrounded by him, his weight and his cock and his hand and his scent, mixed not-incongruously with caramel (caramel was only burnt sugar, after all, and that suited Ray well enough, in Fraser's mind). But then Ray said, "Hey," and Fraser opened his eyes, to find Ray's face hovering above his, and Ray's smile seemed intolerably far away from his own unoccupied mouth.
Fraser got an elbow under himself and strained upward, and Ray smiled more widely, his hips slamming hard against Fraser's, his cock sinking deep as he curled closer. Their lips brushed, a maddeningly slight contact when they were otherwise as close as could be. Fraser clenched around Ray's cock, and Ray pulled out and thrust in again, harder, as though frustrated by the barely-kiss, as though he felt the lack as keenly as Fraser did.
The second try was better, open-mouthed, their tongues straining together even when their lips parted, their breath rushing back and forth in the humid space between their mouths. Ray rolled his hips forward, and Fraser fell back toward the bed and squirmed up again, this time managing to kiss Ray properly. Their lips sealed together, his tongue thrusting up into the wetness of Ray's mouth, and then a flash of white in the corner of his eye startled him away.
"Diefenbaker!" he snapped, unthinking, but the wolf was already darting back through the bedroom door, tail waving like a banner. Fraser blinked after him, wondering if that had been some peculiar coital hallucination, but Ray's head was turned as well, and he was holding perfectly still, staring at the open doorway. Fraser squirmed under Ray, rocking his hips up against Ray's cock, but Ray didn't move; from the side of his face Fraser could see, he seemed to frown. "Ray," Fraser said, thinking half-formed thoughts about wolfskin rugs and wolf-fur mittens. "Ray. Ray--" he reached up and caught Ray's chin, pulling him away from his contemplation of the door. Ray blinked, and Fraser said sharply, "Focus," wrapping his free hand around Ray's on his cock and squeezing.
Ray's fingers tightened under his and stroked once, roughly enough to make Fraser catch his breath, as Ray grinned. "My attention span's not that short, Fraser. Hell, I can--" Ray thrust into him again, lowering his head confidentially, "I can walk across--" Fraser strained up for a kiss, and had to settle for licking Ray's lower lip as he spoke, growing breathless, "a whole street without stopping to--" a rough thrust of Ray's cock inside him, pleasure sharp and somehow startling, even though it was familiar, "help anybody."
Fraser closed his teeth on Ray's lower lip this time, nipping and then licking at the spot as Ray fucked him. Ray's thrusts turned rougher, Ray's hand on him tightening, and when Ray's tongue met his, wet and soft, Fraser came, semen splattering over his fingers and Ray's, his hand resting on Ray's as Ray stroked him through it, murmuring something soft that Fraser couldn't parse.
Ray kept moving in him, and Fraser laid his head back, watching Ray's shadowed face above him. His eyes were open, and he was watching Fraser watching him, but looking didn't seem to be enough; Ray's hand rose to Fraser's face, wet fingers tracing along his lower lip. Fraser opened his mouth, licking a sweet-salt fingertip, and Ray closed his eyes, his hips snapping in double time as he breathed, "Oh God--Frase--" and came, his thrusts turning erratic and then stuttering to a stop, sweat dripping from his face to Fraser's.
When Ray moved away, Fraser dropped his legs and rolled onto his side, and after a moment Ray curled up against his back, even though it was really too hot to lie so close. He felt heavily drowsy, and Ray's body was comfortable against his, even though Ray was whispering--loudly, so loudly there was no point in whispering--"Dief, Dief, get in here." Fraser would have pointed out to Ray, again, that the wolf was deaf, but he was too tired to lift his head, and just then Diefenbaker slunk into the bedroom, looking abashed even before Ray said, "What did you--did you eat it?"
Dief came closer to the bed, tongue out, close enough for Fraser to smell synthetic caramel and plastic on his breath. "Dief," he murmured reproachfully, and Dief looked even more embarrassed. If he hadn't been so greedy, he'd have noticed his stolen treat wasn't one, but now...
"Get in the bathroom," Ray said, sounding weary himself. "I mean it. You know you're gonna be sick, and if you shit on the rug it's dry kibble for a month, do not think I won't do it."
Dief whined, and Fraser would have said something--but it was Ray's apartment after all, and he was perfectly right; Diefenbaker really ought to know better, and the least he could do was to be considerate.
"Go on, get," Ray said, but softly, without heat. Dief trotted out with his tail between his legs, headed toward the bathroom, and Fraser heard the distant click of his nails on the tile. Closer to, Ray settled down behind Fraser again, dropped a kiss behind his ear and went still, his breathing deepening, and rolled away just as Fraser sank into sleep.
Fraser woke in an empty bed, and suffered a moment's disorientation before he realized where he was. He blinked at the clock until he was able to work out that he'd slept less than an hour, which accounted for the still-heavy feeling in his limbs, and the slowness of his faculties. He scarcely had time to feel alone before he heard Ray's voice, speaking lowly in the living room.
He got out of bed and looked around on the floor for something to put on, only realizing as he looked that the room was darker than when he'd gone to sleep; the bedroom door was closed, but there was light coming from beneath it. He reached for a white shape that looked like his boxers, but turned out to be Ray's jockey shorts, and stood a moment staring at them before he shrugged and pulled them on. The fit was tighter than he was accustomed to but not uncomfortable, and he felt sufficiently clad to go to the bedroom door and open it, peering out cautiously into the brighter light.
Ray was sitting on the rug with Dief half in his lap, wearing Fraser's boxer shorts and listening to the cordless phone propped between his shoulder and ear. One of his hands moved in slow circles over Dief's belly, and Fraser came awake all at once, realizing that Dief was sick, that Ray had gotten up to take care of him, and that he'd seen this before.
His mother had sat on the floor just like that--minus the phone, though often with a book on veterinary care propped on her knee--with his father's dogs. He remembered seeing her in the red glow of the stove, her hand moving just that way over an ailing dog's fur. He hadn't thought anything of it at the time--he'd been five, why should he?--but now, suddenly, he understood it. The dogs had belonged to his father, and Dief belonged, as much as he did to anyone, to Fraser, and his mother had cared for those dogs as Ray cared for Dief, for the sake of more than love. This was partnership--like a marriage indeed. If he could trust Ray with a foolish wolf, he could not hesitate to trust Ray with his heart.
Fraser remembered, abruptly, that he'd once thrown that in his father's face--as if his father hadn't loved his mother because she was alone so often, as if their partnership hadn't been a true one because he'd been too young to understand it before it ended. He felt suddenly, intensely ashamed of that, and flinched when he felt a presence beside him. He turned his head before his father could speak, not quite meeting his eyes, and whispered, "I'm sorry."
His father was peering around the door, smiling with something that looked rather like approval at Ray, and spared Fraser only the briefest glance. "Well," he said, strangely benign, "now you know."
Fraser nodded, opening his mouth to say more, but his father made a shooing motion and stepped back, fading into the darkness. Fraser looked out again at Ray, frozen by the enormity of what he'd realized; if he moved out of the doorway it would all be real. He would know for certain that it was real. That was a good thing, the best of things, and yet too large for him to hold just now, unprepared, nearly naked, in the middle of the night--and then Ray glanced up and smiled. He said, "Yeah, okay, thanks," before hanging up the phone, and it was only Ray and Dief, sitting on the floor. Ray said quietly, "I, uh, I think we're out to your vet," as Fraser walked toward him, with a wry, ordinary smile, as though this night were like any other night. Fraser smiled at the thought that from now on, it would be.
"Well," he said, sitting down close at Ray's side, lifting Dief's hindquarters into his own lap and petting him gently, earning a wan tail-thump, "I think I can live with that."
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