TITLE: Stand in the Place Where You Are
E-MAIL: eli @ popullus.net
RATING: NC-17
POSTED: June 15, 2005
SUMMARY: It's maybe not the brightest idea in the world to be kissing Fraser up against the door of his office, but damn, it feels like a good idea.
NOTES: F/K. An attempt at random porn, not driven by any purpose or plot-point, just there because. Thanks to Minnow and Starfish for giving this a look and then giving me a pat on my poor spinning head.
DISCLAIMER: Read
It's maybe not the brightest idea in the world to be kissing Fraser up against the door of his office, but damn, it feels like a good idea. Fraser thinks so, too; Ray's a detective, he can put together all kinds of clues, and Fraser is doing things with his tongue and his hands right now that can in no way be misidentified as trying to get Ray to stop.
This isn't supposed to be happening for lots of reasons. For one, what's supposed to be happening is they're supposed to be at lunch, Ray thinks as he tries to wedge a hand in between them without getting caught in the stupid string that's just a stupid thing to put around your neck. Then Fraser's tongue gets even more creative back there against the roof of Ray's mouth, and his hands tighten on Ray's ass so that Ray isn't grinding his dick into Fraser's any more, it just happens, and screw "supposed to." All of this is goodness, and Ray stops thinking about anything but the low moan that builds from deep inside Fraser, and how Ray has to lick it up and swallow it fast, because they have to be quiet. The door's solid and no one hardly ever comes back here, but today would be the day and they need to be real hush-hush or there'll be questions, and Ray already has trouble looking Thatcher in the eye without blurting, "I'm fucking your Mountie," and she's not something he needs to be thinking about while Fraser's making shorter, needier sounds every time Ray thrusts against him.
They've never done it in the Consulate. Yeah, it's where Fraser lives, but it's really where he serves; it's sacred ground, blessed by the Queen or the Chief Mountie or something, and it's the biggest of the big no-nos they've got. Frankly, Ray's a little pissed that he's getting distracted from what really is the hottest thing that's ever happened to him with his clothes still on by the question of what's different about today, or about five minutes ago, or hell, what about now? Though...shit, it's obvious what's different -- he's about to have sex with Fraser in the Consulate. That's like frenching a choir girl in the back pews of the church and, come on, everyone's thought about that at some point, because it's just too damn hot not to. But what's changed?
Ray tries to ease back and get a look at Fraser's eyes; those are what really can't lie. He gets only a flash -- narrowed eyes, that little tip of tongue, hair...oh God, it's always the messy-standing-up hair that does him in -- before Fraser leans forward and licks into Ray's ear, wet and Jesus. Ray's eyes roll back and he almost whimpers when Fraser does it again.
But wait. Ray shifts and, with the hand that did the damage clenching in the back of Fraser's hair, he yanks Fraser's head back against the door, stopping the mind-melting licking and baring his teeth at the impatient hiss that gets from Fraser.
"Wait, wait, wait," Ray orders in one fast breath.
What made "How's pizza? I could really go for pizza," something Ray's said thousands of ways before, sound like "I need your mouth on me right fucking now" today? Because that's what Fraser must've heard. That must be why Fraser stood up and said, "Me too," and then came around his desk and pushed the door shut maybe one second before he kissed Ray like Ray was an extra-large with the good and tangy sauce.
And he's finally caught enough air again to ask when Fraser says, "Let me, Ray," rough and dark, and between that sound and the hungry look in Fraser's eyes, Ray just gives in. He tilts his head and lets Fraser's really talented tongue have a go at whatever Fraser wants, because win-win, right?
There's another win, too, Ray notices as Fraser starts a wet stripe along Ray's jaw. His hand -- the one that isn't getting randomly banged between Fraser's head and the door now, ow -- was on autopilot, and now it's under the serge and Ray completely forgets about the "why"s and he smirks against Fraser's cheek when the licking stops so Fraser can let out a moan. Practice sure does help get you to perfect; Ray's got the buttons on those damn pants open after only a couple of fumbles that are courtesy of Fraser's hands on the move. It's a total high to sense that those hands are groping him blindly, clutching here and grabbing there, no logic involved, none. Maybe he doesn't know what he did to set Fraser off, but he made Fraser want like this. And it's almost as good as coming when Ray gets a hand inside where it's not at all itchy, and Fraser's dick is already almost as slick as his tongue.
When Ray tightens his fist to the point he knows Fraser loves it, the point where Fraser starts promising wild things, Fraser's hands clamp down on Ray's waist hard enough that Ray grunts at the new small pain. Fraser isn't promising anything this time, though. He's already beyond it, sucking in air past Ray's ear, a desperate sound every time he pushes into Ray's hand, and Ray pulls back to press their foreheads together and squeeze his eyes shut, because suddenly he can't stand it. He doesn't have enough hands. Teeth'll take care of the Velcro, but he needs just one more hand to really get the high stiff collar of the tunic out of the way, too, because God, he needs skin. He needs to taste Fraser, that soap and sweat that are Fraser tucked under the Mountie wool and leather. But Fraser's not letting go of Ray's waist, and his head is trying to force its way back through Ray's hand and the wood while his hips thrust forward, and Ray's not at all sure he can stop humping Fraser's hip. So there's no way that Ray is dropping to his knees to get at the only flesh he's fought free of the uniform.
At least he recovered quick enough to have this problem, Ray thinks dizzily, and he drops his head to a more solid spot on Fraser's shoulder. Reflexes like one of those big cats, a cheetah, changing direction mid-leap when the thing with the antlers makes a hard left, that's usually all Fraser. But today that was Ray. When Fraser's lips hit his, he didn't stammer or protest; he grabbed Fraser's face and spun, and backed Fraser against the door and boom.
Now Ray has Fraser pulling at the back of his jacket, pulling up his shirt. When Fraser finally, finally, gets his hands on Ray's skin, Ray shudders and opens his eyes again to look down the two inches of space between them, squinting as he swipes his thumb over the head on the next upstroke in payback. He sees Fraser's cock jerk, watches it happen just like he can feel it, and that's so cool that Ray almost misses it when the hands on his back twitch, too. There's no way to miss anything when they skitter around until they're on Ray's chest, though, and then there are fingers rubbing at his nipples. In another moment, Ray is shaking almost as hard as Fraser every time Fraser pants, "Oh, oh yes," like this is something Fraser's needed for weeks instead of something he wanted enough last night that it took two tries to get themselves all the way naked.
There's a faint, "Oh..." and then there's nothing but their harsh breathing. Ray raises his head to see Fraser with his mouth open, gasping, not even trying for words. Ray's only just getting to know the absolute wonderfulness of feeling from up close and inside what it's like when everything in Fraser is reaching like this; he still can't always believe he knows, but he does. And right here and now, Ray thinks, it'll be good enough to feel that desperation somewhere, so he leans forward to press his mouth against Fraser's jaw, and there. That's almost the taste that he wants, the sweat that he made happen. That sweat didn't come from chasing a truck or being somewhere south of the North Pole, no siree, it's real personal, and Ray wants to lick it all off because it's his.
But Fraser shakes his head away and ducks down, and before the growl makes it out of Ray's throat, their lips collide and open to each other. They're kissing again, okay, that's good. Sucking, wet, yeah, mouth-fucking. And Fraser's thrusting against Ray, shoving his dick into Ray's hand into Ray's dick and, oh, this is better than good.
Fraser chokes out a pained sound right when Ray feels the first pulse rip through the body pressed into his, and then Ray's coming, not breathing at all, every muscle seizing with barely a split-second warning in an all-over spasm. When it lets Ray go, Fraser is frozen against him, only the cock in Ray's hand jerking as it forces out one last spurt onto Ray's stomach. A groan is torn out of one of them to rumble, muffled, before they pull apart just far enough that they won't suffocate while they slump together, wasted.
There's no outraged shouting, no pissed-off pounding on the other side of the door that they've had shut for, what? Five minutes? Ten? Two?
Ray turns his head away and just tries to be breathing normally again before Fraser remembers where he just did what he did, because that happy-orgasm face Fraser's got going right now can't last for long when his brain kicks in. In the meantime, Ray's pretty damn happy, too, but he's sticky -- his hand, his stomach, he's not going to think about his pants -- and he's plastered against the itchiness and hey, good thing Fraser's got a couple of extras nearby, huh?
He had been doing a good job before. He'd been doing great with the 2-7 in the box marked "Work," with his apartment and the rest of Chicago in the box marked "Open Season," and with the Consulate just sort of floating there like a wacko-world floating island. Usually, almost always, being in a crowd could make his dick behave even in a place where the rules were screwy. Now, with Ray's hand tingling painfully as blood rushes back into his battered fingers and Fraser making like a dead body against him, Ray is not at all sure now that he's ever going to be able to even think about the Consulate again without getting hard, no matter who's around wherever he's at.
He's pretty much okay with that, though.
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