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It Was Very
for hyperfocused
Author's Notes: Thanks to lilac_one and izzybeth for sterling beta service.
'So, tell me why we're in this monkey house again?' Ray's voice felt scratchy in his throat, but he needed the distraction. Fat damn lot of use cop instincts were if those instincts were saying action, let's go, kick some heads and you were stuck in a crowd like this, all teeth and tuxedos, everything muffled in fancy clothes, and all you could do was smile nicely and try and look like you belonged. Hell, even Fraser felt out of place, going by the parade rest he'd fallen into, and Fraser, unlike Ray in his mothbally court duds, actually looked the part. All neat dark hair and neat dark suit - had to be his, no way Huey's tux fit the line of Fraser's back like that. The only thing out of place was the lanyard poking out of the pocket where all the other guys had handkerchiefs, but that was Fraser all over: proper preparation, he'd explained, in case Ray wasn't nearby with the handcuffs. Ray hitched up his shoulders, trying to get comfortable. Trying not to look at Fraser, because no one had a right to look that good.
'Well, Inspector Thatcher is naturally anxious to apprehend Mr. Sanger before he passes on some rather sensitive industrial information, and as he's known to be a Mahler aficionado' - Fraser's stance shifted slightly, and he tilted his head at the swirl of silk and champagne in front of them - 'she believes him likely to attend tonight.'
'Uh-huh.'
'As for our presence, an extra pair of eyes never comes amiss.'
Okay, he could spend a couple of hours itching in the service of Canadian industry. It wasn't the weirdest thing hanging with Fraser had got him into by a long shot, and this gig at least smelled good.
'You spotted him yet?' Ray fumbled out his glasses.
'Not yet.'
They had plenty of pictures, but a guy in a penguin suit looked pretty much like every other guy in a penguin suit. There was Thatcher, though, frowning as she scanned the crowd, and - was that Welsh?
'Ray.' A hand touched his elbow, and he jumped. 'Time to go in.'
* * *
Their seats, when they got to them after waiting for what seemed like half of Chicago to sit down, turned out to be right up front. Fraser tried to apologise, all 'I'm sorry, Ray; these were the only adjoining seats still available', and Ray just thanked everything he'd ever believed in that there hadn't been four seats together - which meant they had a great view of the back of the conductor's knees and a terrible view of everything else, so after the first few angry hisses from behind him, Ray stopped scanning the room for Sanger and wriggled down in his seat. Stupid girl-size furniture, as if he'd needed any more proof that this was girl music. He'd been to a couple of classical gigs with Stella, law firm outings with the suits from her office and their fluffy blonde wives, and they'd definitely been on his list of reasons to be glad when she left the firm and went to work for the DA. Beside him, though, Fraser was looking... kind of nervous, expectant, so maybe there was something to it after all.
On the other hand, maybe it was like pemmican, and if you hadn't been brought up somewhere freaky like Canada or the Gold Coast, you didn't stand a chance.
Right about then, the lights went down and the bows went up, and Ray settled down to watch Fraser, on the grounds that he was marginally more interesting and a whole lot more attractive than all the knees on stage. Fraser smiled sideways at him and lidded his eyes against the discordant scrapes of the string section tuning up. Godawful yowling noise. Ray had never figured out what the point was unless it was to make you feel extra grateful when they started hitting actual notes. Right about then, though, the conductor raised his stick, Fraser's hand twitched next to Ray's on the armrest, and it started.
Ray had always figured music for something you felt, switching your brain off and letting it wash over you. Classical music might be a seriously hard-to-acquire taste, but same principle, right? People hitting or strumming or blowing into things till they made noise. Fraser, though, was watching the orchestra like he thought one of them might be Sanger. Ray nearly stood up to check, before he remembered that Welsh had briefed the conductor and that even if Sanger could play the flute or whatever, the Chicago Symphony probably wasn't in the habit of letting amateur tourists step in. No Sanger, then, but Fraser still had his concentrating face on, biting his lip and knotting his eyebrows the same way he did over a tricky bit of evidence. The same way that Ray could never tear his eyes away from, which he sincerely hoped Fraser didn't notice.
And if Fraser was concentrating, that meant there was something to concentrate on; just to take his mind off the warmth and solidity of Fraser's leg next to his, Ray tried to make out what it was. At first it sounded the same, just a cascade of notes in no particular order, but after a while he started to hear patterns repeating themselves in the flow, like the geometry of light on water. They were different each time, just slightly, but by the end of a section it added up to something new, built out of notes and harmonies and history. So, okay, maybe there was something to this after all. He wasn't going to run out and learn the clarinet or anything, but when the intermission came, he was almost sorry.
* * *
Fraser elbowed him in the ribs, if it could be called elbowing when you were already squashed together and all it took was a sideways twitch. 'Ray. Sanger.'
There he was, muddy grey hair bobbing through the crowd to the auditorium door.
'Watch where he sits, Ray.'
Ray craned his neck. 'Yeah, yeah, teach your grandmother. If she didn't have a book on it.'
Dammit, Sanger was on an aisle, which had Ray on edge all over again. He was on their side of the theater, at least, so they could make sure he didn't bolt during the show, but still, if they got stuck in the crush afterwards, Sanger could be halfway to California before they even got out, and God only knew how long it'd take to catch up with him again. The patterns in this one, whatever it was (Schoenberg, Ray) were discordant, clashing, almost as bad as tuning up, which was not doing thing one for Ray's nerves. He tapped along on the armrest, trying to make some sense of it, until the old lady behind them kicked the back of his seat. Pointy damn shoes, too. Fraser turned around with a patented apologetic smile, which seemed to settle her, but there was still half an hour to go, stuck in this gridlock with nothing to do but wait.
After what seemed like three times half an hour, the lights went up, and Ray was on his feet. Sanger seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he was up and shuffling as soon as the clapping started. Ray's hand was on his piece quicker than thinking about it; he almost pulled it, except that pulling a gun in a crowded theater would a) be a bad idea and b) leave his target on the other side of a panicking mob of people instead of just a standing-around-and-clapping mob of people.
What he hadn't counted on, though, was Fraser's super Canadian politeness powers, which turned out to give him the ability to get through a crowd quickly and without getting cursed at by a single person. Which, if you thought about it, was only reasonable payback for all the time Ray had spent waiting for old ladies to get their walkers through doors. He sidestepped after.
Okay. Now he had some room to move.
'Freeze!' He pivoted, sweeping the lobby - clear, good - and training the gun on Sanger. 'Whatever you're thinking about doing, pal? Don't.' Showing some teeth usually worked well here. Not that Sanger was showing any fight; he twitched and looked back and forth like a nervous rabbit, and seemed almost glad when Fraser appeared at his shoulder, murmuring calmly about 'promise or favor' and looping the lanyard round Sanger's wrists.
Ray grinned and quirked an eyebrow at Fraser, who was looking at him kind of funny, and he would have asked why except right then, Thatcher swept in, with Welsh puffing after her.
'Thank you, Constable. I'll take over from here.' She took a long look at Fraser, then jerked her chin up and stepped back. 'I'll see you back at the Consulate?'
Fraser looked down at his shirt front and lifted a hand to tug at nothing. 'Ah. Sir, I appear to have left my lanyard at my seat. May I...?'
Thatcher's dress swirled as she turned back to them, considering, dismissing. 'Oh, very well, Constable. I'll expect you in good time tomorrow to begin the extradition process.'
Ray swiped a hand through his hair, wishing they'd wrap it up. This was always the worst part, ten times as long and boring as the bust itself, and the sooner Thatcher got done, the sooner he could get behind the wheel and let some of this excess energy bleed off in wind and speed along an empty stretch of road. Plus Thatcher always rubbed him the wrong way. Something about how she could be looking at Fraser almost too friendly one minute and busting his balls the next, when some bosses - like Welsh, who was currently loosening his tie and telling Ray to go home, and who he really didn't appreciate enough - would just be happy to have the spy guy caught and not care if entire uniforms got lost in the process.
Which wasn't something he needed to be thinking about in connection with Fraser.
Fraser opened his mouth a couple of times and closed it again, like he was thinking of pointing out that he lived at the Consulate and couldn't be late if he tried, but in the end he just inclined his head a little and touched where his hat would have been. 'Yes, sir.' And, as he wheeled and headed back into the velvety dark, 'Ray?'
Welsh waved him away, and Ray followed Fraser through a doorway. It didn't look much like the way they'd come, but hey, maybe Fraser knew a shortcut. Ray shrugged.
* * *
It wasn't till Fraser had pulled him into a booth and closed the door behind them that he thought to ask, 'Hey, didn't you use your lanyard to tie Sanger up?'
'I did, Ray, yes.' Fraser was looking straight at him, serious and expectant, like he'd said something that actually made sense.
'Then how come-?'
Fraser didn't let him finish, just took one step closer, enough that Ray's mouth dried up and he could feel Fraser's body heat as prickling on his skin. Or maybe that was just him, just the way being close to Fraser always made him feel, except this was not buddies. Buddies didn't stand in each other's spaces like this. Buddies looked each other in the eye, not the mouth. Any more of this and he'd be doing the lip thing himself like Mounties were catching-
Fraser shook his head, Ray, Ray, Ray written all over him. When he spoke, his voice was low, steady, confidential. 'I would have thought that was obvious, Ray.'
This time it wasn't a step, it was a brush of fingertips on his wrist, under his jacket cuff but over his shirt. Christ, he hadn't gotten so turned on by a clothes-on touch since high school.
'Uh.' There was more he wanted to say, like 'No, it wasn't' or 'Yeah, but I was freaked, you know?' or 'You turn everything upside down, I was never sure', but Fraser's face was right in his now, coming into focus, his eyes blue and deep and clear, and it was damn lucky Ray didn't wear his glasses as a regular thing, because if he was seeing Fraser properly all day every day, he'd probably go blind. The little lines bracketing his eyes were soft and delicate, crinkling as he looked at Ray. God help him, he was leaning up to kiss them, to see if they tasted as heartbreakingly sweet as they looked-
But Fraser was leaning too, one hand sinking with a rich, soft sound into the curtain beside Ray's head. The other came up to stroke the hair at Ray's temple, smoothing it back and up, with the grain, in the exact direction it wanted to go.
Up so close, Fraser was going out of focus again, going soft at the edges, and Ray's whole body was following suit. He closed his eyes, breathing in the clean smell of Fraser's hair, and then, or already, the moments bleeding into one another, Fraser was kissing him.
The kiss was light at first, tentative, giving Ray the chance to get away if he wanted. If you love something, set it free. The thought of a lifetime spent offering love and escape with the same breath stabbed through Ray's chest with a bass-note ache. His arms came up automatically, tightened around Fraser's square, solid body, which Fraser seemed to take as some sort of permission, and just like that, they were there.
Fraser closed his teeth gently on Ray's lower lip, then licked into his mouth, exploring slowly, luxuriously. Ray curled a hand around the back of Fraser's neck, teasing at the short, soft hairs there, and kissed him back, trying to put all the kisses they hadn't had over the past year into the press of lips and tongue. Fraser pulled away and took a deep, shuddering breath, letting it out on a 'Ray' that was almost a groan.
'Ray, you have no idea...' Ray felt it more than heard it, a brush of lips and breath against his cheek. Tickled, kind of.
'Oh, don't I just? You would be surprised the ideas I got, my friend, I got ideas that would-' But there was kissing to be done, not to mention touching, and talking was a long way back in third place. Ray slid his hands up under Fraser's jacket, feeling the muscles stretch and flex as Fraser got down to some touching of his own, then back down to the firm curve of Fraser's ass, which fit so neatly under his hands that it was like some sort of crazy cosmic sign - as if he needed one - of the inherent greatness and rightness of making out with your partner in the first semi-private place you could find. Ray shifted his stance a little, pulling Fraser closer, and his dick was putting forward some compelling arguments in favour of having some kind of sex right now, please, when-
'Uh.' He dragged his mouth away from Fraser's; Fraser, with a protesting mumble, started nibbling on his neck. 'Uh. That sound, what's that sound?'
Fraser lifted his head, but didn't take his hand from Ray's hip. 'Oh. Well, I believe that would be-'
'The cleaning lady,' Ray finished, and pushed Fraser away, wincing at the draft that hit the exposed hollow of his neck. 'You want to take this someplace else? Like my place?'
Jeez, Fraser was actually blushing as he tipped his non-existent hat to the woman pushing open the door. 'That would be wonderful, Ray.'
* * *
Fraser was weirdly quiet once they got to the car, didn't even point out that Ray was going a whole three miles over the limit, which was enough unlike Fraser to make Ray worry he was freaking out about the whole kissing thing. If anyone should be freaking out here, Ray kind of thought it should be him, because he was the one who'd just been jumped by his partner, but then Fraser didn't seem to be following the usual script - all the late nights watching the Hawks demonstrate their astounding ability to suck more every game, and Fraser had to wait for the middle of a bust to jump him?
Not that Ray was complaining, mind you.
'Hey, buddy? You okay there?'
Fraser licked his lip, and said, kinda hoarsely, 'Yes, Ray, I'm quite all right.' His right hand was gripping his leg, pale against the dark wool, which seemed kind of a waste when he could be grabbing Ray's leg, but getting home in one piece was probably a better idea.
A moment later he asked, jerking his chin at the set of lights up ahead, 'Ray, shouldn't you be...?'
Yeah, that was it, that was the Fraser he knew, annoying and fussy and lacking any sense at all of the responsibilities a guy had to a car this cool, and Ray hummed along to the music stuck in his head as he gunned the Goat through the intersection, the amber light turning everything gold for a split second that hung in the air like forever.
* * *
He was talking again by the top of the stairs - not making much sense, mostly a lot of Ray and God and so long, but enough that Ray stopped worrying about freak-outs and started worrying about how he was going to get the key out of his pocket and into the door with Fraser plastered up against him. But there it was, snick, and they were shuffling awkwardly backwards, bouncing off the furniture, falling through the door and onto the bed with a whump that knocked the breath clean out of him.
By the time he got his breath back enough to notice, Fraser was fumbling with Ray's buttons. Not getting very far - must not be used to doing it backwards, or maybe it was the way he kept stopping to lick all the bits he uncovered, which wasn't doing much for Ray's manual dexterity, either. At least he didn't have the uniform to contend with, just jackets, shirts, pants - oh, right, shoes, check - and then they were skin to skin, kissing and kissing and thrusting awkwardly against each other, so desperate it was like all the space between eighteen and now had collapsed into nothing. This was gonna be good, so good, he was getting laid tonight, and with the goddamn hottest man in the tri-state area at that.
He was nearly there, just from the easy friction of skin on skin, but Fraser pulled away, holding Ray's shoulders to the mattress when he tried to follow, and slid down the bed. His hand stroked gently over Ray's balls as he nuzzled the soft skin at the top of Ray's thigh, and oh yeah, Ray was never complaining about the licking obsession again. He slid his hands through Fraser's hair, trying to keep from thrusting up into Fraser's mouth, but Fraser's finger was dipping lower, circling and pressing at that spot behind his balls, and that cause was lost. So lost. Loster than lost. Fraser's mouth was hot and wet and sweet, and - Jesus, how did he get that good with his tongue? Ray was gone, floating in space, and the only solid thing in the room was Fraser. The tension was building, pooling in his stomach, a whole year of wanting but trying to stay away, winding tighter and tighter and leaving him limp and gasping when he came.
Fraser slid back up to kiss him, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses on Ray's mouth and cheek and hair until Ray grabbed his head and kissed him back, searching out his own taste in Fraser's mouth. Fraser was rocking slowly against him, rubbing his cock against Ray's thigh, and wow, this really was like being eighteen again, because it was giving him ideas.
'Fraser, you wanna, uh...' Fraser was doing distracting things to his neck, so he pushed him away. 'Fuck me?'
Fraser raised himself on one elbow and met Ray's eyes. He swallowed. 'Yes.'
Which was all the warning he got before Fraser rolled him over, tugged his legs apart and - Christ - licked, right there. Long, wet swipes of his tongue at first, then swirling around and dipping in - Ray was moaning embarrassingly into his pillow, and he needed more, needed, God, something, please... But Fraser had that covered, sliding a wet finger inside, then another, his breath prickling on Ray's wet skin, like wind on sun-heated flesh, like the way his skin tingled whenever he looked up from his desk and Fraser was standing there beside him.
Fraser pulled his fingers out, and Ray pressed his face into the cool cotton of the pillowcase, listening for the crackle of the condom packet. Fraser had found the lube, so he must have found the condoms as well, or maybe he had his own, but whatever, there it was. Ray wriggled a little - his dick was hard enough now that it needed something, even if it was just sheets and springy mattress, not skin and warm flesh.
Fraser's breath was coming in ragged little puffs behind his ear, warm and damp and setting up some weird electric connection running straight from his ear to his dick. Ray felt the thick blunt length of him nudging wet and hot between his cheeks - Yeah, buddy, go for it - as Fraser kissed the patch of skin where jaw turned into neck and slid gently, experimentally, along the crack of his ass, just barely teasing over his hole.
Ray reached out, fingers curling for something, anything to hold on to. God, he just wanted Fraser inside him, wanted the connection almost more than he wanted the burn and slide and sheer bone-melting pleasure of it.
Plus, if Fraser didn't get on with it and do something about those last few higher brain functions, he might freak out a bit himself, because this wasn't just a buddy fuck or a helping hand from a guy in a bar, all no-strings friendly fun, see ya, pal and good night. This was them, this was him and Fraser, this was real. Trying to remember the last time sex had done this to him made his chest hurt and his eyes squinch closed, and he pushed his hips up, tipping his face into the cool cotton of the pillow and trying not to beg.
'Fraser. You going to do this thing any time soon? 'Cause, uh... I gotta tell you, I am not the most patient guy you'll ever meet.' He rocked against the mattress, as much to back up his point as for the friction. The sheets were old, worn soft and smooth, but they weren't what he wanted, wasn't...
'Yes, I've...' Fraser broke off, voice rough. 'I've often, ah, observed as much.'
Ray grinned against his forearm. 'You okay there? You're breathing kind of hard.' Hard and rough and desperate, and man, if that wasn't a turn-on.
For answer, Fraser squeezed his hip and leaned down to lick Ray's ear. 'There's a certain saw about kitchen implements that you might' - another lick - 'do well to remember, Ray. Ray-'
Yeah, that was Fraser, always insisting on the last word, but that was okay, better than okay, it was greatness, because from the way his hands shook as they dug into Ray's hip or stroked along his ribs, he was right there with Ray. Right there, sliding into him, slowly, so slowly - just do it, I can take it, he tried to say, but it came out more like fuck, Fraser, like that, yeah. Fraser muttered something back, then dropped a soft, breathy kiss on the back of Ray's neck and - yes, yes, finally - started to move.
He was still going slow, so slow, and Ray hissed through his teeth as Fraser pulled out, then pushed back in, giving him what he needed inch by agonising inch - nah, centimeters, Canadians counted in centimeters, didn't they, and centimeters were even slower. In and out, and in again - yeah, come on, do me - fucking him faster now, breathing in ragged groans and murmurs that hit Ray right where he lived.
Fraser hitched at Ray's hips, trying for a better angle, and that was it, that was the spot, he was hitting it, pounding it, again and again. The tension was building again, tight and tingling on his skin, sending his hips jerking forward into Fraser's hand round his cock, then back to meet Fraser's thrusts, every movement ratcheting it higher until one last stroke, hard and slick, tipped him over the edge into great rolling waves of orgasm.
Fraser kept moving, unevenly now, stroking and fucking him through the last aftershocks. He gripped Ray's hips tighter, digging in and moving faster, faster, slamming his cock into Ray in a last wild flurry before... Yeah, there it was, the moment when he dropped his head to Ray's shoulder, let it all go and shuddered as he came.
* * *
Ray felt soft and lazy, drifting in time with Fraser plastered up against him like the best kind of blanket, but he didn't want to sleep, not yet. He'd waited enough time for this - hell, for a while there he'd thought he'd never have it, so he was going to hold on to it for as long as he could.
'Fraser,' he began, and his voice sounded creaky in his ears. 'That was- That-'
Fraser kissed Ray's ear, pressing his forehead to Ray's temple. 'As you say. It was.'
'Yeah.' That came out on the tail of a sigh that left him even limper, if that was possible, sinking into warmth and sleep.
Fraser laughed, and it was almost like any time they'd been hanging out and Ray said something that was funny in Canadian. Not quite, though. It wasn't just the nakedness; his laugh came a little warmer and easier, and his hands strayed over Ray's skin like they belonged there, without any of his usual hesitation. 'It was very.'
If there was a last word, Ray didn't hear it, but then again, Fraser's warmth at his back and his arm draped heavily over Ray's side had already said everything that mattered.
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