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In the Deep
for maryavatar
Author's Notes: maryavatar requested a first time RayK/Fraser fic, and she didn't want to hear about guys discussing their feelings. So she gets this. Dialog is at a minimum, and there's NC-17 stuff galore. I think we can all thank her for her very sensible sekrit santa request.
Much thanks to Sageness for a fantastic beta - she tried to talk me out of several huge mistakes and made this a much, much better story than it deserves to be. Also thanks to my other beta-reader, Ignaz Wisdom, for all the terrific support and porn-related handholding (which, yes, sounds much worse than it actually is.)
In the Deep
Ray woke up and thought he was drowning. He only believed it for a second, just half a heartbeat, but there it was. Drowning on dry land.
The sheets were all twisted and he was sweaty and shaky. His heart was pounding away against his ribcage like it was trying to make a break for it, and Ray couldn't really blame his poor ticker because just for a second he'd been drowning. He couldn't breathe and the world was fuzzy and out of focus and he felt like he'd swallowed a whole ocean full of salty water. Ray kicked against the sheets and lay there gasping, trying to remember why...
Right. He was drowning. Only it wasn't water that pressed down on his chest and kept his lungs from expanding. Nope, wasn't water at all.
"Fraser?" he choked out, his voice small in the quiet of the room. There was a muffled "hummph?" in reply and the sound of another body moving against his. The feel of it too, but Ray wasn't really up to figuring out exactly which part of his partner's body was brushing against his thigh or why the whatever-it-was (an arm? Fraser's leg? his dick?) sent an electric shiver of expectation up and down Ray's spine . He couldn't think about any of those things because he was drowning here.
"Fraser!" he said a little louder, putting some force into it. He was starting to feel light-headed from lack of oxygen. Finally there was some relief from the tremendous pressure on his chest. Again the sound of sliding across skin, the little noisy rasp of a hairy leg rubbing against an equally hairy thigh, and then the weight was gone and Ray could breathe again. He drew a couple deep breaths until his vision cleared and then shivered once, twice.
That was stupid. What if he'd died? What if he'd actually suffocated under Fraser, and Fraser was still too out-of-it from what had felt and sounded like a pretty spectacular orgasm to realize what was going on until it was too late? The thought of Fraser trying to explain how, exactly, Ray'd ended up dead under nearly a hundred and ninety pounds of Mountie made Ray cover his mouth and shake with silent, almost hysterical laughter.
He was proud of himself for holding it in, holding it together, and he allowed himself one more sobbing half-laugh before he turned it off completely. Because restraint was the ticket. He'd take a page from Fraser's book and try to look as sane and as normal and as buttoned-up as possible. No one would ever need to know that beneath his cool exterior lurked a wild man who'd just let a Canadian-
Ray shut down that train of thought, derailed it right away. He was on that sucker. Because he couldn't lie here next to Fraser (who was still down for the count and Jesus, why couldn't Ray have come like that?) and relive everything that had happened since they stumbled out of Lake Michigan exactly - Ray checked the clock with the big red digital numbers that he could see even when he wasn't wearing his glasses - three hours ago. That was too much, and he wasn't sure he was over the hysterical-laughing thing, or the near-drowning thing, or the realizing-he-was-gay thing.
That thought caught him by surprise. It slipped right in there, right under his defenses, like Fraser's tongue and Fraser's fingers and Fraser's...like pretty much all of Fraser's appendages had found their way into every part of Ray that could be penetrated.
Penetrated. That thought almost triggered another bout of the hysterical laughter. He'd fucking let Fraser-
It was important to remember to breathe, to remember that he wasn't really drowning. Not on dry land. Not now, all tangled up in sweat-slick sheets that smelled like sex and Fraser and Ray's own come. Not with Fraser lying next to him looking like some goddamn slumbering angel, his perfect face relaxed and at peace with the world. It was still a little dark in the room, sunrise a few hours off, but Ray could still make out Fraser okay in the dark. And his friend looked...happy, he guessed. Satiated. And he should. Ray hadn't really asked, but he doubted Fraser had gotten off like that in years. The guy had actually cried out, digging his fingers into Ray's hip with a grip that was almost painful. Ray was pretty sure if he checked there would be a little band of bruises circling his hips exactly the size and shape of Fraser's fingertips.
And the thought of Fraser crying out as he came, digging into Ray and holding him down as his cock pulsed inside was one bizarre thought he couldn't deal with right now. It was too weird on too many different levels. But mostly because...well, there was the gay thing (which Ray hadn't even been aware of until a few hours ago) but also because he'd figured that Fraser would be quiet about sex. The man himself was pretty much the strong silent type when he wasn't bickering with Ray or telling Inuit stories or muttering to thin air.
Ray'd actually thought Fraser would completely repressed about the whole thing, to be honest. When he'd tried to imagine Fraser having sex (and okay, the gay thing should have probably popped up on his radar before now because straight guys - straight guys like Ray - didn't usually spend a lot of time visualizing their partners at the moment of climax) but Ray had imagined that Fraser would keep it all in, keep it buried. The last thing he'd ever expected was that Fraser would moan and shake and cry and writhe, and cover Ray's chest and back and any other place he could reach with his lips and his tongue and warm, wet murmurings of what sounded like love. Ray was pretty sure that Fraser had tasted every inch of his body, including-
Again, not going there. Not yet. He just needed to think.
Fraser was pretty hot. And, well, duh, but he was also warm, as in he cast off a lot of body heat. Way more than Stella ever had, Stella of the freezing feet and the ice-cold fingers and the constant need for electric blankets. Ray wasn't used to sharing a bed with a supernova. And since Ray was already feeling a little sweaty and gross to begin with, he threw off the sheets and inched away from the hot zone of Fraser's body until he reached the cool sheets on the untouched side of the mattress. He winced a little as his exposed hip connected with the wet spot.
"Ugh," he muttered, twisting his body until he was able to avoid both The Spot and the oven that was Fraser. The distance helped him think a little, helped him begin to process everything. It was like building a case: he had to remember how this all got started, how point A led to option 3 and X fit into Y and why he'd ended up twisted like a pretzel between his best friend and some pretty undeniable forensic evidence that proved Stanley Raymond Kowalksi was queer as Canadian money.
Okay, the Lake-they-call-Michigan. And the Hudson case. The stolen garbage scow, the counterfeit ring, Fraser putting things into his mouth that Ray couldn't think about without feeling sick. And...had he really commandeered a fucking tugboat to chase after a garbage scow loaded with two thousand pounds of funny money? Ray blinked. Things were still a little fuzzy, and he hoped he hadn't gotten brain-damaged because Fraser had come his brains out and then passed out on top of Ray and cut off his air supply. Because that was the last fucking thing that Ray needed.
It had been so dark on the water. The wind had cut cold and deep; even sealed up inside the glassed-in helm on the tug Ray had felt the October cold blowing in off the lake. He remembered that he'd been piloting the tugboat, almost deaf from the noise of the engine, and Fraser had been standing at the prow directing him towards the garbage scow. Fraser wanted to get really close, close enough to jump on to the other ship and do his Super Mountie thing. But then the scow driver (or was it captain? Could you really captain a garbage scow?) had rammed them. The whole world had shook and Fraser got caught mid-leap and...and he'd missed.
That had been the longest twenty seconds of Ray's life. His brain got stuck in some kind of feedback loop where he kept seeing Fraser frozen mid-air against the oily black water, his tunic blood-red bright in the running lights of the little tug. Then Fraser was falling, falling through the air until his shoulder connected with a sickening "thud" against the side of the scow. And suddenly he was gone, swallowed up by all that dark water.
Ray watched it happen over and over again, blood-red tunic and black water and Fraser dead, Fraser gone, Fraser lost to him forever. Maybe that thought is what made him snap out of the instant replay loop, made Ray toss his holster to the side and pull off his sweater and untie his boots so quickly he wasn't even really aware that he was doing it. The thought of losing Fraser might have made him dive into Lake Michigan; the Thought had probably kept him from remembering that he couldn't swim, too. All he could think about were stupid things. Like Fraser handing him his glasses so he could make a shot. Like Fraser thumbing him the Signal so Ray could jump through a skylight and be a hero. Like sitting beside Fraser during a crappy all-night stakeout in the GTO and it being kinda okay because he and Fraser could talk and argue and make each other laugh. Like how the guy was his best friend and his partner and pretty much his whole life. Like how he couldn't go on without Fraser.
Yeah, stupid thoughts, and they all flashed through his mind in about the time it took for Ray to dive off the tugboat and into that foul-smelling blackness. And then it was just down and down and down, no air and no light, reaching out with his hands and feet and praying that he'd magically connect with some part of Fraser. But there was nothing. Nothing but the cold and the darkness. Nothing but knowing for sure that his lungs were going to burst and he'd die and so would Fraser. Nothing but the deep.
Nothing and nothing and nothing and all of a sudden there was something, something that brushed against Ray's left hand. Ray reached for it - he was blind, he couldn't see without his glasses even if he could open his eyes, and this was precisely why he hated swimming, why he'd never learned. But he got hold of something and started kicking. Up and up and up, hoping he was headed back the way he'd come instead of further down into all that dark nothing.
Breaking through the surface of the water felt like landing on another planet. Suddenly there was air and the cold wind and the bright lights of the boat. The garbage scow and Henry Hudson were long gone but Ray was too exhausted and too happy to be breathing to care. He twisted in the water and kicked with his legs and came back alongside the boat. The thing that he'd pulled up with him was heavier now and he grunted, one hand on the tugboat, the other straining to keep hold of what he'd rescued from the lake.
And, because Ray was one lucky bastard it turned out that he'd managed to grab onto Fraser's boot. Attached to Fraser, which made Ray really fucking happy, because he wasn't sure he could dive back down into Lake Michigan again.
He got them both back onboard the tugboat. Fraser was still and cold; Ray performed artificial respiration right there on the deck, buddy-breathing but without all the water getting in the way. It took a long moment for Fraser to come out of it. It took so long that he was afraid Fraser wouldn't come out of it, and Ray started to wonder how he'd ever be able to live with himself if Fraser died on the deck of a leaky old tugboat in the middle of Lake Michigan.
And then the world was a beautiful place again because Fraser took a big breath and expelled a whole lungful of lake water right onto Ray's chest.
Ray didn't even complain about the lake-puke thing. He just held Fraser's head in his lap and tried to pretend that was trickles of Lake Michigan streaming off his face and not tears of joy and relief and gratitude. And sure, he got a little carried away and maybe whispered a few things to Fraser that Fraser probably didn't want to hear, things like Thank God and I nearly lost you and I love you but Fraser had a strong grip on Ray's shoulder and he was smiling softly and looked happy to be alive.
Fraser took Ray's hand and levered himself up into a sitting position on the deck. Their fingers were laced together, and they were both freezing cold. For a long moment, neither let go.
"Ray," he'd said, his voice strained and hoarse from all the toxic lake water he'd swallowed. "Can you pilot the ship back to shore?"
Ray sat back and ran his fingers through his wet hair, nodding.
Then Ray had steered the tugboat back to shore where they met their backup. He watched Fraser give directions about where the scow was headed (Canada?) from the back of an ambulance. Fraser looked gray and sickly in the flashing emergency lights, all wrapped up in a scratchy blue wool blanket someone had pulled around his shoulders. His shoulder was black and swollen where he'd banged it on the side of the scow but nothing was broken, although the paramedic said it had been close. Ray knew exactly how close it had been. He'd seen it happen, and he kept seeing it happen over and over again every time he closed his eyes.
Sometime later (Ray had given up on the whole concept of time by that point) a black-and-white dropped them off where Ray had parked the Goat. They climbed in wearily, still wrapped in the blue blankets the ambulance guys had given them. Ray didn't complain about how their soaked clothing was going to damage the leather seats, and If Fraser was worried about it he didn't say. In fact, he didn't speak all the way to Ray's apartment. He didn't talk about poor Dief back at the Consulate or point out that they had to go back out after Hudson and the counterfeit money. He was just...quiet. And that was okay by Ray, that was fine and dandy, because he didn't want Fraser to ask what exactly Ray had meant when he'd said I love you right after he'd pulled Fraser's ass out of Lake Michigan and then given him mouth-to-mouth. Ray kept waiting for him to ask, but Fraser never did. Just climbed out of the GTO like his arms weighed a thousand tons and his legs wouldn't carry him up the short flight of stairs to Ray's apartment, and waited slumped against the wall for Ray to unlock the door.
Maybe it was some kind of crazy Mountie diversionary tactic. Fraser had played all weak and frail and shaken by the whole death experience. He looked like a drowned rat, that bright red uniform damp and clinging to him in weird ways, his hair all plastered against his too-pale face. Harmless, like a strong wind could bowl him over, which for a big strapping guy like Fraser was something. So Ray hadn't thought, hadn't expected, to be fucking jumped as soon as he got the door open. Fraser was all over him, his hands and lips everywhere, slipping the blanket off Ray's shoulders and tugging his wet t-shirt over and off his head, his mouth trailing kisses up the line of Ray's exposed throat.
And Ray...well, Ray was into it. He let Fraser fall upon him like a wild animal and push him back against the kitchen wall. He'd actually kind of moaned and shivered when Fraser pushed against him, and he'd really groaned when he felt Fraser's cock press hard and hot through layers of soaked cloth to rub up against Ray. Yeah, in Ray's book that had been all right. Fraser's skin was cold and they both smelled exactly like they'd taken a dip in Lake Michigan, so Ray had been the one to come up with the brilliant plan of a hot shower. At least, he thought he was responsible for it. He might have said something to Fraser, but it was kinda hard to speak with Fraser's tongue in his mouth so maybe it had been more of a mutual decision.
Anyway, somehow they'd ended up stripping each other in Ray's bathroom, the water turned as hot as they could stand and steaming up the mirror. Ray had fumbled around with Fraser's tunic but his hands wouldn't stop shaking long enough to work the big gold buttons through the holes. Fraser had managed most of that on his own. He'd kept his eyes on Ray, though, as Ray undid the buttons on his jeans and pulled them down off his narrow hips. There had been a hunger in Fraser's eyes that made Ray blush and avoid his gaze; he concentrated on pulling off his socks and lobbing them into the laundry hamper. When he looked again Fraser had gotten out of his tunic (Ray suspected that Fraser was some kind of magician to do it so quickly) and his Henley. He was already unclasping his suspenders and stepping out of the pumpkin pants. Ray couldn't even remember when Fraser had gotten out of those boots - again, magic seemed like a reasonable explanation. So much about Fraser could be explained that way.
And then they faced each other in the steamy bathroom, each bare-chested and wearing only wet boxers that were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Ray couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of Fraser's cock in the wet white boxers, which left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A big guy, long and hard and not at all like Ray had expected. If he'd expected anything. All he wanted to do was close up the two feet of space between them and press his mouth to Fraser's and slip his hands inside the waistband of Fraser's boxers. If he could just do that he could die happy, Ray figured.
So he did.
Fraser's mouth opened under his, hot and welcoming. Ray half-focused on the warm pleasure of sliding his tongue against Fraser's even as his hands traveled lower over the smooth planes of Fraser's torso. Jesus, the guy was beautiful- his muscles were hard and well-defined beneath his cold clammy skin. Sure, it was different than anything Ray was used to: no breasts to shape his hands against and fill his waiting palm, no soft hips to press into, no small feminine body to fit against his own tall, lean frame. But this was better, in a way, because a) this was Fraser and 2) it was kinda nice to be of equal height with the person you're trying to simultaneously kiss and jerk off. Because all of a sudden that's what Ray was doing. He was holding Fraser's cock and stroking him slowly, his thumb working the head and his fingers coiling around the shaft. Fraser's mouth abandoned his for an instant and Ray growled in complaint but Fraser was back - he'd only bent to shove his boxers the rest of the way down. Ray got the hint and did the same, and they stepped into the shower.
The shock of the hot water against their freezing skin drove them apart. Ray closed his eyes under the hot spray. It felt like his whole body was on fire, the water sending pins and needles up and down his body. He was breathing heavily and hard as a rock; cracking open an eye to glance at Fraser proved that his friend was in a similar state. Fraser was leaning against the tiled wall, his arms extended to support the weight of his body. His head was slightly lowered and the showerhead sent a steady stream of warm water coursing down his shoulders and chest. Little rivers of water streamed over the rippled abs and flat stomach, dripping off Fraser's public hair and his long, erect penis. For an instant Ray forgot how to breathe. The guy really was beautiful; all that muscle and sinew and bone could have easily belonged to some Greek god. It wasn't hard to see why every single woman in the greater Chicago area had tried desperately to end up in this exact situation, Fraser all nude and available and wanting. Ray fought the urge to glance down at his own skinny body. He knew what he was and what he wasn't. But this...thing with Fraser was happening, it was fucking happening, and Ray wasn't going to waste time worrying about the fact that Fraser could have anyone he wanted and he'd figure out sooner or later that Ray just couldn't measure up.
"I-" Ray tried to say but Fraser cut him off, gripping the back of his neck and pulling him forward, tongue sliding in so easily it was like he'd practiced it. That was when Ray lost track of things. He knew at some point Fraser dropped to his knees. Between getting the full spray of water in his face that had previously been blocked by Fraser's back and the extraordinary feeling of Fraser's tongue coiling around his dick Ray had a lot going on; it got even worse when Fraser took him inside, his cock instantly feeling right at home in Fraser's mouth. And Fraser...Jesus, Fraser was good. Like he'd been doing it all his life. Or maybe he just had some kind of crazy aptitude for it like he did for everything else.
He knew exactly what do to with his tongue and how much suction to use and just when to close his hand around Ray's balls. And all Ray could do was tip his head back, shut his eyes, and thread his fingers through the soft, wet curls of Fraser's hair. He didn't have to give much direction (which was probably a good thing because Ray was pretty sure he shouldn't be operating any heavy machinery at the moment, much less Fraser's fucking mouth), although when things really got going Ray couldn't help but twitch and buck his hips a little.
And then everything went Technicolor. Fraser's throat kind of opened and then Ray was in even deeper; Fraser's hands were gripping his ass, encouraging, and Ray took the hint and began to thrust. Fraser seemed to approve and between the warmth of Fraser's mouth and the feeling of his tongue licking against the head of Ray's penis, well...it all pretty much sent Ray right over the edge. He picked up the pace and kept moving, kept breathing and fucking Fraser's mouth and twisting his fingers in Fraser's hair. And nothing, not one single thing he'd ever done with Stella or the few girls before and the very few girls afterwards, none of it could have prepared Ray for the way it felt to come in Fraser's mouth.
He slumped back against the wall, the white tiles cool against his now-warm skin, and watched as Fraser stood up and rinsed out his mouth with water from the showerhead. When Fraser turned back to look at him Ray drew in a sharp breath at what was in Fraser's eyes.
"Thank you kindly," Ray said softly, and it made Fraser smile in a way that lit up his whole face. Ray hadn't known Fraser could smile like that.
They finished in the shower and toweled off. They would have made it back to Ray's bedroom but Fraser seemed to like kissing a whole lot, and Ray didn't feel like arguing the point. So he let Fraser kiss him in the hallway between the bathroom and the kitchen, and again in the living room, and once more standing up against his bedroom door.
He remembered with some guilt that Fraser hadn't gotten off yet, so Ray reached down between their bodies and took Fraser firmly in hand. He was thinking about saying something ridiculous like, "This is buddies" right before Fraser murmured his name, breaking contact with his mouth to suck and lick Ray's left earlobe. That made Ray's knees tremble and finally decide that, yes, kneeling down on the bed was now officially a necessity, a fucking imperative.
Fraser hung back and Ray glanced over his shoulder to check his friend; Fraser was just standing there, looking like he was trying to make some kind of decision.
"Frase? You coming?" Ray asked, and Fraser nodded a little dumbly. Ray thought dumb looked kinda cute on Fraser. But the next instant Fraser's fingers were stroking down the line of Ray's back, his breath warm against the cheeks of Ray's ass.
"You're not going to-"
"Do you want me to?" Fraser asked, his tone serious and hesitant. Ray gulped and nodded, feeling equal parts freaked out and aroused as hell. Why hadn't he known that he wanted this? Why hadn't he known that he wanted Fraser? How could one human guy be so fucking stupid?
Self-reproach faded to white noise the instant Ray felt Fraser's tongue at the cleft of his ass. He'd been expecting a finger, maybe two. But a tongue was...
"Jesus Christ," Ray whispered. He gathered a pillow close, burying his face in it as Fraser licked and tasted. It was...well, it was pretty weird, but it felt so good Ray wondered how he'd gone the first thirty-five years of his life without knowing how great something this weird could feel. He could feel sweat begin to bead on his back and Fraser's palm was warm against his spine, his touch feather-light as his fingers stroked the little 'V' above Ray's buttocks. His fingers seemed to echo the movements his tongue made in that deeper place.
Ray shivered and gasped, thinking about Fraser's hard cock and the naked need in his eyes, the way Fraser made even kissing feel like a life-or-death act. And he thought about Fraser slipping beneath the cold water, and the fear that had tightened in his chest at the thought that he could lose Fraser. The thought of being without Fraser.
"I want you to fuck me."
Fraser went completely still. Ray pulled forward a little, feeling the comparative chill of the air against his own warm, wet flesh. He kept his face down, his chin resting against the pillow as he stared at his headboard. "Please," he said softly. "I want you inside me."
There was nothing but the sound of Fraser's breathing. Ray couldn't decide if it was a sigh of resignation or anticipation he heard right before Fraser said, "Yes." Just 'yes' in his deep rumbly Fraser-voice, and then the inevitable question.
"Do you have-"
"In the drawer, bedside table."
Fraser rummaged in the place Ray had indicated, finding what he needed. Ray heard the soft rip of a condom package opening and then the sticky-soft sounds of Fraser putting it on. The pop of a bottle of lube opening up, and the smell of the artificial mint stuff Ray liked to use when he was with a girl. Ray glanced over his shoulder. Fraser was watching him in the darkness of the room, stroking himself as he applied the lubrication. His eyes locked with Ray's and Ray nodded at the question he saw there.
"Relax, Ray," Fraser said, tugging on Ray's hips to bring him down lower on the bed. Ray felt the cool glide of one of Fraser's lube-slicked fingers against the small of his back, trailing lower, lower. He jerked a little as Fraser placed one finger inside, but it didn't hurt. Because Fraser was gentle, and because Fraser would never hurt him. The thought accomplished what Fraser's advice hadn't and Ray forced himself to loosen up. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to the sensation of Fraser's finger inside him, twisting and sliding until it hit a spot that Ray didn't know he had. He gasped and jerked back against Fraser's finger, biting his lip. The slide of another finger made him hard again. It still felt...weird, weird like Fraser's tongue had, but it was good, too. Different but good, and Ray could certainly live with good. In fact, good was just about greatness.
Then Fraser's fingers were gone and Ray felt Fraser's big, warm hands gripping his ass, spreading him a little, getting him into position. Ray squeezed his eyes shut and cried out as Fraser entered him.
He'd gotten a really good look in the shower, but Ray was pretty sure he'd underestimated the size of Fraser's dick. He sighed and shuddered and readjusted the angle of his hips and the way his legs were positioned. Fraser had paused, murmuring into Ray's ear, "Is this okay?" and suddenly it stopped being uncomfortable and started feeling pretty great. It helped that Fraser went slow and, when he was sure Ray wasn't in any pain, thoughtfully reached down to stroke Ray's cock. It was the polite thing to do, Ray thought with a smile. Trust Fraser to remember his manners at a time like this.
But the cock-stroking helped. It really fucking helped. It helped Ray forget that he wasn't really gay but was letting Fraser do this anyway, and it helped Ray to remember that this was good, that he could enjoy this. As Fraser began to pull out and press in a little, working up to something like a regular rhythmic thrusting pattern, Ray just concentrated on the feel of Fraser's hand on his dick and the sounds their bodies made as they moved together and pulled apart. Once Ray got into the swing of things it was easy to rock back against Fraser and then push forward into Fraser's hand. And Fraser's dick found that magical spot inside, and suddenly everything else was easy too. Ray felt his toes curl and his balls tighten up, and that zig-zag-zow buildup of energy along the length of his spine that signaled he was about to come. He thought about telling Fraser but he didn't want to distract the guy, as Fraser was making some pretty interesting sounds and it seemed like he was pretty much maxed-out in the attention department.
So Ray just rocked harder, back and forth, against the pleasure of Fraser inside him hitting that sweet spot and into the warmth of Fraser's hand. Over and over, faster and faster, until Ray's brain stopped working and he bit his lip and spilled all over Fraser's hand and the sheets and his own stomach.
And that really set Fraser off. Fraser let go of his dick and leaned back, both hands on Ray's hips, his fingers curling into the hip-bone notches on either side of Ray's pelvis. One hand was still sticky and when Fraser moved his hand the air hit the cool, wet patch. Fraser had a firm grip on Ray, and leverage, and Ray went along with it, groaning and gasping as Fraser pumped away. Then there was a moment of incredible expectation, when Fraser went still and his head came down onto Ray's shoulder and Fraser bit him, just a little, and then tipped his head back and shuddered, groaning deeply. He pressed into Ray and thrust again and again, holding Ray still for five seconds, ten seconds, until everything was finished and Fraser slumped forward, leaning on Ray's sweat-slick back and breathing like he'd swum across Lake Michigan instead of merely drowning in it.
"Fraser?" Ray asked, craning his neck around. Fraser mumbled something and dropped a kiss on Ray's naked back. He pulled out slowly but despite his care, Ray winced. Ray told himself he wasn't in any pain; it was just the oddness of it that wouldn't seem to go away. He listened as Fraser removed the condom and tied it off, tossing it in the wastebasket Ray kept by the door. Ray turned over and lay down on his back, surprised when Fraser fell gracelessly back into the bed and onto him, his breath warm against Ray's bare chest.
They must have both drifted off then, because the next thing Ray knew it was an hour later and he couldn't breathe. He was drowning. Drowning in Fraser. Because...because maybe he loved him. And because maybe he was gay. And because 'maybe' was just the kind of word cowards used when they were reaching for something to keep themselves afloat in unfamiliar waters.
Ray thought about that from his cool, slightly damp section of the bed. He listened to the sound of Fraser's breathing, which was deep and regular. It was a good sound. It kind of helped make up for those long minutes of silence under the water and again while he was waiting for Fraser to breathe on the deck of that tugboat. He reached out to touch Fraser, put a hand on his chest so he could feel the rise and fall of it and the beating of Fraser's heart, but Fraser (always full of surprises) sighed a little and rolled over. Back onto Ray.
Ray blinked and squirmed and wondered why the hell Fraser, of all people, was so damn cuddly. He managed to work a shoulder free and slip his arm around Fraser-the-human-blanket so that he could tug him into a better position. Finally he got Fraser sort of on his side, and Ray turned over so that he could press his back against Fraser's chest. Fraser seemed to approve, unconscious as he was, and wrapped him up in his arms. The huge black-purple bruise on Fraser's shoulder had to hurt and Ray was careful to avoid the spot, worrying that he'd wake him. But Fraser's steady breathing, deep and regular, convinced him that maybe it was okay. Fraser just seemed to be one of those types who didn't sleep so good unless there was a warm body curled next to them. And the thought made Ray sad, because he knew Fraser had probably slept alone for most of his life. He settled back against his partner, determined to ignore the way Fraser's limp cock brushed against Ray's butt every time either of them breathed. He'd be sore in the morning, but it couldn't be helped. Things worked out like that sometimes.
Ray yawned and lay back and listened to Fraser breathing, and he thought about what a good sound it was. Then he slept.
He dreamed of deep waters.
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