There is nothing on TV.
Well, okay--there's a re-run of Full House, and there's a show about cooking prawns, and there is something involving a llama and a can-can dancer that might kind of be interesting, only it's in Spanish, and then there is a snooker tournament taking up the whole of ESPN. There are, uh, music videos. Stand-up comics. A show in which you can try to guess whether the people were born with lady parts or whether they just look like they were, and that is entertaining for about five minutes, but then it is not.
There are sitcoms. NASCAR. Golf, for Christ's sake. Ray throws down the remote in disgust and glances over at Fraser.
Fraser doesn't look up. Fraser is sitting at the other end of the couch in his jeans and an untucked t-shirt, one socked foot propped on his opposite knee. He's reading a book. It is a very important book, being as it's a book full of Mountie regulations that Fraser has to know if he wants to pass his Corporal's exam, which obviously he does, being Fraser. He's frowning into it in deep concentration, tapping a pencil against his bottom lip; every once in a while he goes "hm" or "aha" and makes a note in one of the margins in neat, erasable printing.
"Fraser," Ray says, quietly. "Fraser. Fraser. Fraser."
Fraser lifts his eyes from the book and looks at Ray.
Ray scratches his nose. "There's, uh. There's nothing on TV."
Fraser clears his throat. "Ah," he says. "That's...well. That's unfortunate, Ray." He does not lower the book or look ready to entertain Ray at all, really. He looks like a guy who is planning to go back to what he was doing as soon as he possibly can.
Ray sighs and lets his head thunk against the back of the couch. Fraser watches him for a moment longer, then lowers his eyes to his book again. A couple of seconds later, he's absorbed. Ray sighs again. He pulls his foot up on the couch and tugs off his sock and checks out his toes (toenails: still okay) and then he makes a slingshot out of his sock and wings it at his ballroom dancing trophy from when he was twelve, and although he hits it dead on, it only wobbles a little and doesn't fall.
He looks at the clock. Seven-thirty. He looks at the tv. Still with the golf over there. He squeezes his eyes closed, then opens them again and sits up, finds a file on the coffee table and picks it up. And it turns out it's a file from the Lorand case which him and Fraser closed last week, and wow, that should not have even left the station--he better remember to bring it back on Monday. "Remind me to bring this back in on Monday, okay Frase?" he says.
Fraser says "hmm," but he doesn't look up, and Ray doubts very much that he was actually listening. He scowls at the side of Fraser's face. Fraser does not seem to notice. He is reading something with so much concentration that Ray bets he's trying to memorize it. He looks angry, almost; his hair is kind of mussed and there are lines on his forehead, around his eyes. And the weird thing is, Fraser looks pretty much exactly like that when he is having sex: that same intense concentration, that same habit of sometimes closing his teeth on his bottom lip and then slowly letting it slide free again, all wet and full and redder than before.
Ray shifts a little, and he clears his throat, because...whoo. Wow. There's times when he forgets to pay attention to Fraser, on account of they live together and sometimes work together, and that can make you take anybody for granted. But the thing is, Fraser is ungodly sexy. Not always. Not even most of the time--Fraser is a private kind of guy, and he is already handsome enough to drive most people crazy, so he tends to try to keep himself kind of reined in. But every once in a while, he'll do something or say something, and the sexy will jump right out and punch Ray in the gut.
Like, for instance, yesterday, when they were in line at the grocery store and Ray was reading about the trials and tribulations of the Bat-Faced Boy in the Enquirer, and he looked up to tell Fraser something from the article and instead got distracted by the fact that Fraser was trying to discreetly adjust himself without anybody seeing. And...jeeeze. Ray caught a glimpse of that thick cock, outlined nice and clearly by Fraser's too-tight jeans, and then the whole thing got even hotter when Fraser caught Ray looking and blushed, and ducked his head, and licked his lips in this half-rueful, half-flirty way that made Ray want to make out with him right there, between the lady with the crying baby and the old man with the coupons, under the gaze of the bored-looking teenaged cashier.
Or like now, because fuck--Fraser isn't even trying, he isn't even thinking about sex, as far as Ray can see; but Ray is hard and hot and wanting him, just from watching him read.
That is so not fair, and inside Ray's head, the not-fairness gets combined with the boredness and the horniness, and then with the knowledge that it's only Saturday evening, and Fraser still has tomorrow to study, and he probably had that manual memorized twenty years ago, anyways. So all of that adds up to Ray stretching, nice and slow, arms pushing up into the air so that his shirt comes up and shows a little belly, then scootching a little closer to Fraser on the couch.
Fraser keeps reading.
Ray reaches along the back of the couch and strokes Fraser's nearest ear with the tip of his finger, traces the curve of it, nice and slow. Fraser frowns and keeps his eyes on his book. "Ray," he says. "What are you doing?"
Ray sniffs. He takes his hand away and scratches his head. "Nothing. Jeeze. I'm just watching, uh...golf."
Fraser eyes him. "Mhmm."
Ray shrugs, waving a hand at the tv, which really does still have golf on it. Fraser shakes his head and goes back to his book, but Ray can see hard evidence (ha) that Fraser is not as Ray-proof as he would like people to believe; he's shifting a little, looking kind of uncomfortable, and his cheeks are kind of flushed.
Ray grins. Then he slides, all casual, to kneel on the floor.
Fraser blinks and looks up.
Ray puts a hand on Fraser's knee. Fraser's knee is hard and warm, and the best thing about it is that if you dig your thumb into the muscle right there, Fraser will always moan.
"Unnnh," Fraser says. "Ray..."
Ray grins again. He shifts closer, pushes Fraser's knees apart so he can get in there between them.
"Ray," Fraser says. "This, uh. This really isn't--that is, the exam is on Monday, for heaven's sake. Do you want me to fail it?"
Ray slides his hands up Fraser's thighs, slow, slow. "Unh huh," he says. "No way, pal--I'm looking forward to that raise more than you are, I bet. But you can keep on studying. I won't, uh. Intrude." He hooks his fingers into Fraser's belt loops and pulls him forward a little, so his knees are sticking out in front of the couch and his crotch, with its bulge, is close enough to reach. Ray swallows. Sometimes he thinks there might be something wrong with him, to make him want Fraser's cock this much. Because seriously, he is drooling for it over here, and that has got to be some kind of psychological thing, doesn't it? Or maybe just that his slut glands are over active. He grins a little, because that is funny, and he strokes his thumb over the bulge in Fraser's jeans.
Someplace above his head, Fraser breathes out. "I think there may be a, a flaw in your. Um. Reasoning," he says.
"Nah," Ray tells him. "It's good, we're good. You just keep on reading over there and I'm going to, uh. Do some stuff." He pops the button of Fraser's jeans, tugs down the fly. Fraser's breath hitches, his belly quivering under that thin layer of cotton t-shirt, and one of his hands brushes the back of Ray's head, helplessly, then comes back and settles there, those blunt fingertips burrowing into Ray's hair. Ray says, "mmmm," and leans in, his hands sliding around Fraser's hips to push up inside the t-shirt. He presses his lips to Fraser's belly, and god, yeah--Fraser's cock bumps his chin, still trapped in those stupid starched boxers, but already a little bit wet. Ray kisses his way lower, until he has his lips over the shape of Fraser's cock through that fabric, and fuck--Spray 'N' Starch does not taste good, but there is nothing better than the helpless noise that comes out of Fraser's mouth when Ray exhales around his cock, the sudden tightening of his grip in Ray's hair. The book thumps into the couch cushions. The pencil bounces once before it clatters on the floor.
Ray grins. He pushes his hands into Fraser's shorts and looks up, lifts his eyebrows at Fraser.
Fraser huffs a laugh and shakes his head, but his thumb strokes the tip of Ray's ear and his hips come up off the couch so Ray can push his jeans and underwear out of the way. And mm, yeah--this is what Ray's talking about, right here. He closes his hands on Fraser's hips again, lets himself lean forward so he can get his mouth on Fraser, on his belly and his chest, which is likewise naked now on account of Fraser is pulling his t-shirt off over his head, and fuck, fuck--Fraser tastes so fucking good, all skin and spit and sweat and himself and Ray kisses him, and kisses him. Fraser's hands are on him, stroking over his back, cupping one of his shoulders, sliding over the nape of his neck and into his hair. Fraser's breathing like a freight train, his chest heaving; when Ray closes his teeth on one of Fraser's tight pink nipples and then wraps his fingers around Fraser's cock, Fraser actually whimpers, his head falling back, his hips thrusting out. He digs his fingers into the muscle of Ray's back, closes a fist in Ray's hair so tight that Ray's eyes water. Ray moans soothingly, licks at the nipple he bit. He strokes down Fraser's cock and then up again, slow.
"You," Fraser says, then stops and licks his lips. "You, uh. Shirt." He tugs at it. Ray grins and shimmies out of his own t-shirt, lets Fraser pull it all the way off and toss it aside. Fraser's hands skim Ray's back, his arms, his neck. Ray bends his head to Fraser's chest again, finds Fraser's cock and gives it a few slow, twisting strokes as he skims his way down Fraser's body with his lips and his tongue. He stops for a second before he takes the head of Fraser's cock in his mouth, his thumb pushing at the vein where Fraser likes it. Fraser's fingers are in his hair again, but they're just resting there, and Ray huffs a laugh and shakes his head, because you can tell how bad Fraser wants it by the way his hand gets looser, lighter, all deliberate and careful--it's the opposite of pushing: just one big wordless plea. Ray closes his eyes and gets his tongue on Fraser's dick, finally, finally, slides his mouth down and over the head. Fraser exhales, loud and open-mouthed. His legs fall open. His hips thrust up all by themselves, like they're trying to push more of his cock into Ray's mouth, and Jesus, is that ever a turn on. Ray slides his hand down a ways, lets Fraser push into him a couple of times, all sloppy and desperate, before he presses Fraser's hips back down into the couch and wraps his fingers tight around the base of Fraser's cock and gets down to it for real.
See, Ray was a fuck up all the way through high school. He was never much good at sports and he does not play the violin. But this, sucking cock, giving head: this is a thing Ray could always just do. He is a natural. He has this talent. He doesn't like to get boastful about it, but that is the plain truth.
He keeps his eyes closed, so he can get lost in it, in the wet and the heat and rhythmic slide, in the taste of Fraser in the back of his throat, on his tongue, everywhere. Fraser's hands move on him at first, but after a while, all the guy can do is hang on, keep breathing; Ray feels his thighs shake a little, pressed close against Ray's ribs. Ray keeps that hand around the base of Fraser's cock, but he slides the other one in and under, strokes Fraser's balls for a while, then pushes further back. The angle is all fucked up, so he can't get inside Fraser, but he pushes up against the stretch of skin right before you get there and Fraser moans, low in his throat, and tightens his grip on Ray's hair. So yeah, all right, then. Ray hollows his cheeks, sucks a little harder, moves a little faster around Fraser's cock. "Oh, Jesus, Ray," Fraser says, and fuck, yes--Ray is swallowing, his eyes squeezed tight in concentration, swallowing again.
After a while, Fraser shifts and the world comes back. Ray lifts his head from Fraser's lap, where it was resting, and Fraser's hand comes around to cup the side of his face, one thumb stroking Ray's cheek. Fraser looks sleepy and amused, but he shakes his head at Ray, frowns like he's still pissed off. "That was more than a little intrusive, actually," he says.
Ray grins. "Yeah, so, about that. Oops?"
Fraser laughs. He tugs at Ray's arms until Ray climbs up onto the couch with him, over him, then he slides down until he's lying against one of the corners of it with Ray on top of him, which naturally seems to indicate that Ray should kiss him, so he does. It goes on for a while. Fraser's mouth is all soft and wet and Ray gets kind of lost in it, can't stop from thrusting into Fraser's belly a little, then more than a little when Fraser mmm's and gets Ray's jeans open, pushes them down his hips. One of those warm hands strokes up Ray's back. The other one cups his ass, pulls him in hard, harder, until Ray gasps and pulls his mouth from Fraser's and comes all over Fraser's stomach, his mouth on Fraser's cheek.
"Huh," he says, and drops his head to Fraser's shoulder. "Ha. Wow."
Fraser laughs and strokes the sweat-damp hair at the back of Ray's head. "You're a terrible influence," he says. "I won't be surprised if I do very poorly on the exam."
Ray smiles and buries his nose in Fraser's neck, pats Fraser's chest a couple of times. "I'll, uh. I'll write you a note."
Fraser snorts. He finds Ray's t-shirt on the floor next to the couch and uses it to wipe things up a little. Then he loops an arm around Ray's waist and traces patterns on Ray's back with the other hand, and Ray knows he's saying something important, about how he has plans for Ray to take Dief on a roadtrip tomorrow, maybe all the way up to Canada, to do something involving fish, but Ray can't, he can't pay attention because actually, he is asleep.