Rated: NC-17 XXXX for smut, sex, more smut and nakedness.
Warnings: Drugfic! some non-con issues, gobs and gobs of angst.
Beta thanks! Go to Melissa and Bone, who were both kind enough to put a lot of time and attention and hand-holding into this monster.
Additional thanks and credit have to go to nancy's roommates, Joe and Philipe, for inspiration and research-inquisition sessions in the kitchen. Thanks, guys!
The Politics of X
"Give it to Vice, Vecchio."
"Nah, I can't do that, Sir. See, this guy, the club owner, he'll only deal with me. We gotta... whatsit whosit... a rapport. I busted one of his bartenders two years ago for dealing coke. He knows I'm on the up and up."
"Are you suggesting, Detective, that there are members of our Vice department that are not, as you put it, on the up and up?"
"No, no, no, not at all. It's just that in this one particular case I think it would be a good idea to follow through and maintain community relations. He did come to us, we wanna encourage that as much as possible, right?"
Welsh runs his hand across his wrinkled forehead, giving me a look that says, 'you've been hanging around the Mountie too long'.
"Alright, do we have an inside contact?"
"Just the owner, and he's going to be there the whole time."
"So none of the club's employees are aware of this sting operation?"
"Nah. That would sorta defeat the purpose, since we're fairly sure that one of the employees is the perp."
"Of course it would." Welsh gives me a long, hard, look, his eyes flicking over to Fraser standing behind me and then back to stare at me some more. There's actually a hint of discomfort under the intimidation when he asks me, "Kowalski, is there any particular reason you want this case?"
Ah yeah, he's good. No hate words, nice and subtle. 'This case', not, 'is there any particular reason you're asking for permission to go undercover in a fag bar, Kowalski?'; just 'this case'.
I look him in the eyes, shaking my head nice and cool and relaxed, like "Don't ask, don't tell" never happened. Behind me, I can feel Fraser bristle. He stands even taller, like somebody just shoved a six-foot steel rod down his spine.
"Nope. Other than my usual desire to keep scum off the streets."
We're dismissed, and Fraser's already holding the door for me.
"I expect regular reports, gentlemen. Check in when you get there, and once an hour after that. Put Huey and Dewey in a car outside."
"Yes Sir." I call out over my shoulder, following Fraser's red back out of his office.
It's been ten years since I've tended bar, but it's starting to come back to me. The kamikazes are no problem, and I got the Gin and Tonic down cold, but the Long Island Ice Teas ain't coming out looking anything even remotely like iced tea. Fraser's lucky; he gets to work the door. Me and Phil, Club Circuit's owner, decided he'd get into less trouble up front. Well, that and he actually looks like a bouncer when you put him in tight black jeans and a t-shirt. The fuss he put up over the size of the muscle-t they gave him to wear was pretty funny. It wasn't like I could do anything to help him out, or that I would, anyway. I'd be crazy to pass up the sight of Fraser in skin-tight black from head to toe. Mmm, he makes me nuts. Which is not something I ought to be thinking about right now. Right, two Miller Lites and a Gin and Tonic, I'm on it.
Between keeping up with the orders, which is almost impossible but I'm doing my fuckin' best and they can just wait half a minute, and keeping one eye on the wide shoulders with 'security' printed across his back, I'm not getting much time to do the job. I'm hoping I'll be offered without actually having to cruise the bar traffic for drugs, which is not easy to do without also cruising for sex, which I really don't wanna do around Fraser. An awful lot of people are ordering water, so it's out there somewhere, all I gotta do is find out who it's coming from. Ecstasy hit Chicago a few years ago, and about once a month since then, somebody dies. It's weird shit, I wouldn't go near it, but I guess I can see the appeal.
It's weird-dark under the black lights around the bar, but there's enough light at the door that I can keep an eye on him pretty good. He's checking I.D.'s with a little mini Mag Lite they gave him, and stamping hands and making change. He looks a little overwhelmed by the crowd. This is the hottest club in town right now, and it's packed, wall to wall horny drunk guys trying to be cool and still have some fun. I've seen a couple people I'd really like to dance with, if I wasn't on the job. I catch sight of Frase wiping sweat off his forehead with his hankie, and send a coke over with one of the barbacks. It's hot as Hades in here, I've been gulping cokes and soda water and seven up all night. I should have thought to get him some earlier.
"Gimme a Coke, please."
"Hold on, I'm almost caught up." I don't look at the guy who wants a Coke, but I can tell from the direction of his shout that he's right behind me, on the other side of the bar.
That may be the nicest thing anybody's said to me all night. I'm getting hit on plenty, but I'm too busy to be distracted by it, and I'm wasting all my extra eye power on Fraser, which ain't that much. I hope he's doing all right with this one. It didn't seem to throw him much, I think it was more the idea of staying out 'till four a.m. that upset him than the fact that it's a gay dance club.
"When you get a sec, lemme talk to you, okay?"
I set the last drink on the tray and make change, nodding my head. Maybe I'm gonna get lucky. When I turn around I see a tall, beefy guy in his early thirties, St. Bernard brown eyes and a macho kinda set to his shoulders.
"Buck fifty." I take two singles from him and give back quarters.
He sticks his hand out, a friendly smile painted on a poker face. "Jack Miller, Cook County Sheriff, Narcotics Division."
"Oh. Okay. Can ya flash the badge?"
He does it real cool and discreet, and sure enough, he's a cop. Well, ain't that a surprise? I don't know if I'm gonna take heat for this or not yet, so I play it cool. "Ray Vecchio, nice ta meetcha."
He motions me closer, and I lean over the bar so he can talk close to my ear and not have to shout to be heard. "We have an ongoing operation here, Detective Vecchio. I don't know on what authority you and your partner are here tonight but I strongly suggest you leave. We have a pipeline we're setting up here, this is going to be a six month operation, and you're not going to muck it up while we're laying the groundwork, understand?"
"Is the management aware of this?" I ask him, staring over his shoulder with a blank expression. I'm looking for Fraser, but I can't see him through the crowd.
"They'll be aware of it when we shut the joint down for traffic. Go home, detective, we're pulling the plug."
I shrug, tilt my head to the side and pretend to think about it for a second, just 'cause I don't like his tough guy attitude. All these sheriff guys act like they're better than God.
"Whatever you say." I feel bad for Phil, who's not a bad guy, who doesn't condone drug sales in his club, and doesn't deserve to lose his license, but I'm not going to be able to do him any good. Sheriffs and city cops are almost as bad as the Insane Disciples and Latin Kings when it comes to sharing the city sandbox. We think they're all a bunch of stupid, lazy, bureaucrat-happy suburbanites, and they think we're street scum.
I toss my towel on the bar and grab my coat, ignoring the angry, panicked questions I get from the barback.
"Sorry, this job isn't workin' out for me, gotta go."
I'm pissed, but there's nothing I can do about it. If the Sheriff's Department is on it, then we're out, that's the way it works. The Lieutenant won't be upset; it's not our fault, just crossed wires. Happens all the time with various branches of law enforcement. You work this job for awhile, you find out the city's a whole lot smaller than you thought it was, and everybody wants a piece of the action.
Fraser's not at the front door, where he's supposed to be. One of the other bouncers points outside when I come looking for him. "He went out for some air."
"Thanks. That's a good idea." I push past him and the three guys waiting to pay their cover, squinting at the bright light of the streetlights and the neon on Broadway. I find him just outside the door, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back, looking up at the sky. I look up, just to see what he's staring at. It's cloudy, no stars, nothing to see.
"Hey, Frase. We're done. Sheriffs are on the X, we get to go home early."
He doesn't answer me, just keeps staring up at the sky like somebody's doing skywriting up there. "Hey, Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Hey! Pitter patter, let's go, Here's your coat."
"Ray?" He's still looking up, but his hand reaches out and grabs my arm, like he's dizzy or something.
"I feel very queer."
"Nah, Fraser, it's just the atmosphere, It'll pass." I can't help myself, stuff like that just comes outta my mouth. I'm the kinda guy that makes jokes when I'm uncomfortable, and this whole night has been one kind of uncomfortable after another. Now, I just wanna get in the car and maybe talk him into stopping at the Melrose for steak and eggs before I drive him home.
"No, Ray. I feel..."
"What? You feel what?" I'm worried now, 'cause he looks kinda sick, flushed and sorta disoriented, like maybe he's got a fever. "Fraser? What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry, Ray. I was distracted by... the wind, it's very soft this time of year."
"Yeah, it's like the chinook or somethin'." I interrupt him, even though I really want him to tell me what's wrong with him. If you don't stop him when he starts off on these little tangents, get him going on the right path again, you'll wait forever for him to get to whatever he's trying to tell you. I disengage his hand from my arm and move my hand up to his shoulder, giving him a little shake. He feels different, un-Fraser-like under the tight black t-shirt, and it takes me a few seconds to realize that it's because his shoulder muscles aren't hard as a rock. He's relaxed, squeezable under my hand.
"I think there may have been something in that soda, Ray." His voice sounds kinda funny, a little too happy to be telling me what I think he's telling me.
Please, God, no. This is cruel. There is no way I am strong enough to deal with this. I feel like spinning around and going right back in there and finding that pierced, arrogant little freak that took him the soda and strangling him. Great, just fucking wonderful. The dealer I was there to spot was right under my noise all night, I got out-dicked by the Sheriff, and to top it all off, just to make sure I lose, that little bastard dosed my partner. I wanna kill him. I want to kill Fraser, too, except it's not his fault.
"I'm afraid I was very thirsty, Ray, I had taken three large gulps before I noticed a bitter and unpleasantly chemical taste. I don't think I'm in any serious danger, though, I've been taking my pulse and heart rate, and I seem to be stable. I'm still very thirsty, though."
"Ah, shit. Put your coat on." I steer him to the car, even though he seems to be walking just fine. I'm just really upset and pissed and worried right now, and I don't want to take my hand off his shoulder. I unlock the passenger door and push him inside.
"I'm sorry, Ray." He tells me as soon as I get in, shivering because in spite of his soft wind, it's only about forty degrees outside and I'm not dressed warm. "I should have noticed right away. I was in a hurry and I was very thirsty."
"I know, Fraser. It's not your fault. Okay, um, listen, you gotta tell me if you want me to take you to the hospital. I'm gonna be honest with you, okay, Fraser? You most probably got dosed with a hit of ecstasy, and you're gonna take this trip no matter what, it's been in your system too long. It was what, almost half an hour ago that you drank the coke? I can take you to the hospital now, and they'll hook up an I.V. and pump you full of liquids, and keep you over night for observation. Or, I can take you back to my place and we can wait it out." I have no idea what I think I'm offering him, the words came out with absolutely no approval from the ethics department in my brain.
"I don't want to go to the hospital, Ray. I don't feel like I'm in need of any immediate medical attention."
"Yeah, right. Well, just sit tight, okay?" I grab the radio to tell Huey and Dewey that the stake's called off. Huey answers, sounding happy about getting out of a long night in the car.
"Yeah, go home. Thanks for your help." I tell them, waving out my window when they cruise by, tapping the horn as they pass us. I start the GTO, letting the engine warm up before I put her in drive.
We're about a two blocks away from the club when he starts singing my name, half a note off key. "Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray-Ray."
"Fraser, shut up."
"Ray, Ray, why, Ray?"
"Because you're getting on my nerves. Just relax and be quiet, Fraser, we'll be home in ten minutes."
"Why would I want to go home? That's a very long drive, Ray, I don't think we'll make it there in ten minutes."
"Not Canada. My home."
"Oh. Very well, Ray." He certainly is agreeable. He stays quiet for the next couple of minutes, and I concentrate on driving, asking myself if I know what the hell I'm doing here or not. The answer is no, definitely not. What am I going to do with a fucked-up Fraser? I'm not ready to find out what Ecstasy does to Benton Fraser, I'm really, really not. What did I do to deserve this?
I stop at a red light and he starts wriggling around, fighting his way out of his leather jacket. After watching him squirming around for a few seconds, I help him, pulling one arm and taking the jacket out from behind his back when he finally gets it off. The light changes and I hit the gas, accelerating hard. I know it's bad for the car, but I take stress out on the gas pedal, I've always been like that. He's squirming around so much he's rocking the car, and when I look over I can't stop myself from doing a double-take.
"Ah, Fraser, what're ya doing?"
"It's too tight, Ray. I can't breathe in this shirt, and it itches."
"Itches. Yeah, okay. Put your coat back on, it's cold." Argh. What is this, God testing me?
His skin is bright white in the dark, and even in the quick glances I get to check on him at red lights and stop signs, I can see that his nipples are hard.
"How do you feel, Fraser? Sick? You seein' things?"
He laughs a little, looking over his shoulder to the back seat, but he shakes his head no. I guess there's nobody there. "I feel fine, Ray. I feel fine."
"Yeah, okay. Just don't freak out on me. If you freak out on me, Fraser, I'm takin' ya to the hospital." I sound like I'm trying to threaten him, but I'm not, I'm just really nervous about this. We're almost back to my apartment, and he's almost got his coat back on.
"You want some water or tea or something?" Fraser flopped down on my couch, in a way that was so completely not Fraser that if I needed any proof that they really did dose him, I don't need it anymore.
"Water, please. I'm thirsty." He's already got this wide, dopey smile on his face, like he couldn't stop smiling if you told him his dog died. It's adorable. I don't usually pray in my kitchen, but man, I am really going to need some kind of divine intervention if I'm gonna make it through this night without jumping him. Even knowing it's the drug, it's almost spooky, seeing him like this. No stuffy reserve, no righteous do-gooder honor, no stiff politeness, just this happy guy that looks just like my partner, sprawled out on my couch.
"Yeah, we talked about that already." I mumble under my breath, running cold water for him and getting a paper filter out of the box to start a pot of coffee. If I'm gonna stay up and babysit him all night, I'm gonna need some help.
"Hold on a sec, I'll be right there." I tell him, making an effort to make my voice sound calm and soothing. He doesn't sound upset, just disoriented, like he was before. Out of his element. My brain is dreading this; dealing honorably with Fraser on Ecstasy, but my body is more than willing, rarin' and ready to see the show. My dick wants to see this so bad it's trying to pop the top button on my jeans to get a look.
I start the coffee brewing and bring him a big glass of water. I sit in front of him, on the coffee table, because I don't trust myself to sit right next to him on the furniture. Sitting down is uncomfortable at first, but even the hard-on of seeing Fraser all messed up, just the two of us alone in my apartment, can't stand up to the anxiety, the panic, of having Fraser all messed up, the two of us alone in my apartment.
"There's something I've always wanted to tell you, Ray."
Ah no you don't, Fraser. "That's probably not a good idea right now." I interrupt him, trying to head him off at the pass. "You know, Fraser, this drug, it loosens you up, takes away all your, um... whatsit-"
"Yeah, those. So you might say things that you don't really mean, or that you don't really want to say. I mean, you gotta trust me, okay?"
He laughs, peeling off his coat and pushing it away from him on the couch. "Of course I trust you, Ray."
"Good. Good, right, lemme get you a t-shirt." I jump up, in a hurry to cover up all that naked chest. I don't want to take my eyes off him, but I make myself walk away. He's humming to himself, it sounds like a lullabye but I don't recognize it. I bring him back a clean t-shirt from my bedroom. He's pulled off his boots and laid down on the cushions, and he looks perfectly comfortable and relaxed.
"Here, put this on. Do you want some more water?"
"Yes, more water." He nods, smiling at me like he's really happy about being offered.
When I get back to him with his refill he still hasn't got the t-shirt on. He's stretched out long and half-naked on my couch, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers are trailing up and down his left arm, and watching the slow graze of his fingertips over his forearm makes the hair on my own arms stand up, goosebumps rising as I imagine that touch.
"Fraser? You're still with me, right?"
"Of course, Ray." He opens his eyes, smiling up at me like I'm some kind of angel of mercy 'cause I brought him another glass of water. "Thank you kindly."
"You're welcome." I don't know what the hell to do now. I'm just standing here next to the coffee table, staring at him. I'm not sure I really thought this through before I brought him home with me. I sure as hell didn't picture him shirtless and touching himself in my living room. I tell myself that I had my partner's well being in mind, that it's my responsibility to take care of him, I'm the one who got him dosed. I didn't take him home with me all messed up to take advantage of him, I didn't, so it's not gonna happen, so I can stop feeling so guilty.
It's not doing any good, I'm still staring at his fingers brushing back and forth on his skin and boiling over with lust and self-disgust. I'm a total shithead, because as much as I want to believe that, that honorable, best intentions thing, I know it's not true.
I brought him back here, I gave him the option, because I knew, even as pissed off and upset as I was to find out he got dosed with a very dangerous and unpredictable drug, I knew that I was never going to get another chance like this. A chance to see what he's like, what he looks like and sounds like and smells like all worked up and crazy. I know what's going to happen, and I know I can take care of him, make it good for him, or at least okay. I can get him through it and get one night of Fraser in my arms, Fraser under my skin and Fraser in my mouth. Knowing how wrong it is isn't going to stop me. Maybe the only way to save myself from doing something I'll regret for the rest of my life is to get it out on the table, just tell him the truth. My sneaky, needy dick is still trying to control my brain, still rationalizing that if we tell him what's going to happen, then it's not our fault if he doesn't stop us.
"Look, Fraser, I gotta tell you this, 'cause it's important. Pay attention, okay?"
He smiles sweetly, nodding his head. His fingers slide slowly down his arm to the back of his hand, tracing the lines of his veins and tendons distractedly. "I'm listening, Ray. Sit down?" He gives me this happy, encouraging smile, pulling his knees up to make space at the end of the couch.
"Okay, okay. Yeah, ah shit, Fraser, I don't know how to say this..." My eyes are everywhere they shouldn't be, staring helplessly at the beautifully obscene bulge of his cock, hard in his tight jeans; so tight I can see the perfect outline of his dick, even the cut of the head and the definition of the long shaft. I'm staring at his exposed belly button and the sexy rise and curves of his abs, the satisfying bulk of his hairless chest and the naked, innocent hollow of his throat. God help me, I think I'm gonna make a total fool of myself here.
"You gotta believe me, Frase, I brought ya here with the best intentions, I mean, I had your best interest at heart. But now, now that you're here, considering the situation and... and... what this stuff does to you, I'm thinkin' maybe it was a big mistake. I mean, I know it was a mistake that you got dosed, but I think maybe I shouldda just taken you to the hospital, 'cause, I just can't... Ah shit. You're gettin' me all worked up here and I can't even talk." I can't believe this is me, fumbling and bumbling and making a complete fool out of myself. Like Frase is ever going to understand anything without me spelling it out for him. Yeah, right.
"Ray, Ray, it's fine. Everything's fine. Everything is wonderful, why are you so upset? I feel so good, Ray, so relaxed. Why don't you want me here? I want to be with you, I don't want to be alone, Ray." While he's talking to me, his hand slips off his arm, sliding slowly over the waistband of his jeans. His fingers begin to stroke very lightly over his hard on, with no indication in his expression that he's even aware that he's doing it. Oh Jesus that's a sight... I swallow hard, forcing my eyes back up to his face again.
"Okay, um, let's try this from a different angle. I'm gonna spell it out, and embarrass the fuck out of both of us, okay? 'Cept you're all messed up, so I'm the only one who's gonna be embarrassed, probably."
"Ray, relax. What's wrong?"
"What's wrong is that you're all sexed up and messed up and half naked on my couch and I gotta do the right thing here and not jump you, okay, Fraser?" I sound pissed off, which makes me feel rotten when I see the hurt and the confusion in his eyes.
"You want to jump me? I might like that, Ray. I don't know, of course, because I've never actually been jumped. Especially by another man, but I've thought about it a great deal."
"Thought about what a great deal?" My voice sounds choked, and I'm trying to remember that nothing he says counts, that he's not in control, not really Fraser, just the tripped out, sexy version of Fraser, that I have absolutely no right to see. But what if he's telling me the truth? What if this really is what he wants, and he's just so goddamn uptight he can't tell me without some help from mind altering chemicals? Yeah, right, Kowalski, and the Cubs are going to go all the way next year and homeless people really like being homeless and Daley took the job to honor the spirit of his Daddy.
"About what it would be like if you jumped me."
Oh. Well, I could satisfy his curiosity in about five seconds. No, no no no, NO, Kowalski. Down boy. If he really wanted you to, he'd have said it when he wasn't drugged. This doesn't count. Doesn't count, doesn't count, doesn't count. Curious and consent do not mean the same thing.
"Would you, Ray? Would you jump me?" He's whispering, so sexy I feel like I'm gonna just melt into a little puddle on my floor. He's touching his hard on, stroking his fingers up and down his cock and sighing happily from the pleasure he's giving himself.
"No, come on, Fraser, you can't do this to me now, okay? I can't... I can't do that, Frase." I'm gonna die. Who would have thought I had even this much honorable in me? Here he is, begging me to do what I want to do more than anything in this world, looking so gorgeous and edible and fuckable, and I'm still telling him no. All I can think is that I must really love this big idiot a whole fuckin' lot.
He frowns, looks down at his hand, and then back up at me. "Well, then maybe I should jump you, Ray."
I let out a loud whine of absolute frustration, shaking my head hard. "Nope, bad idea, Frase. You don't really wanna do that. It's just the drug, anybody would look good to you right now."
"Please, Ray?" He says it so soft, so trusting, so innocent. What made me think I was going to be able to resist this? I'm not honorable, I'm not a good person, I'm not Ray Vecchio, and I want to make him come about a hundred times.
His hand leaves his cock, reaching out for me. He sits up, his hand coming to rest on the back of mine, his palm rubbing in circles lightly over the back of my hand. "It feels so good, Ray." He tells me, his voice coaxing and convincing as his hand slides slowly up my bare arm, until the hair stands up and goosebumps rise on my skin. "So soft."
I force myself to hold still, close my eyes 'cause if I have to look at him I'm gonna lose it. His hand keeps stroking my arm, turning it over to touch the underside, where the skin is so sensitive to the light drag of his fingertips that I let out a strangled groan, throwing my head down and curling up against the guilty, guilty pleasure that runs through me. Fraser is touching me. Not just a slap on the back or a pat on the shoulder, he's really touching me, finding out what I feel like. I've never been so scared and so turned on at the same time in my whole life, not even the first time with Stella.
"You feel so soft, so nice. Hmm, Ray. Oh Ray. Oh Ray, so soft..." His voice rises, and I know, just from hearing him, that he's about to come. I open my eyes and I watch, totally unable to tear my eyes away from this sensual, alluring stranger with Fraser's innocent, handsome face, who wants me to see him like this. I watch, amazed, as his lips press together and his eyes squeeze shut and as he lets out a long, happy hum, throwing his head back as he comes in his jeans, a dark stain spreading over the faded black denim. His hand grips my arm, hanging on to me like I'm his lifeline. He's beautiful, so, so beautiful, so messed up and so mine. The urge to comfort him and protect him is even stronger than the urge to fuck his brains out, which surprises me so much I don't even try to stop myself. I lean over, put my arms around his shoulders and pull him close to me, hugging him to my chest. "Shh, it's gonna be okay."
I don't even know which one of us is shaking, although I really hope it's him. He's got an excuse, he's drugged, all I got is a hard-on that happened so fast I feel dizzy and a two year old guilty secret that's only going to stay a secret for a few more minutes, if Fraser has anything to say about it. I got all kinds of alarms going off in my head, telling me that this just about the biggest fuck-up we could make, that this situation is about as out-of-control-crazy as it can get, and if we don't do something soon, it's gonna explode.
He's too big to hold still and he wants to move. He resettles with both arms around me, his hands sliding all over my back and under my t-shirt, it feels like he's got about seven of them, as much skin as he's covering.
"Oh my, oh my, oh Ray." He's moaning in my ear, hot and real and pressed against me everywhere he can get to, hanging onto me with his whole body.
"Ah, jesus, Fraser, you gotta stop that..."
"Stop what, Ray?" His mouth is on my ear, nibbling and kissing and I'm gonna go crazy if he doesn't stop that breathy little moan thing.
"Stop moanin' like that, Fraser. You gotta stop..." I groan, breaking my own rules, as his hands come around to my front, sliding all over my chest, hiding under my t-shirt and stroking and squeezing me like he's really astonished that I'm made of skin and bone and muscle and he's gotta figure it all out, right away.
"You don't want me to talk? I just want to tell you, Ray... tell you how good you feel. You're so sexy, Ray."
That makes my cock go crazy. I can't believe he said that, even messed up on funky drugs that turn him into Don Juan. Fraser thinks I'm sexy. I don't care if it's the Ecstasy, I don't care if he'd think an elephant looked sexy right now, I can't help it, I don't care. I want to hear that so much, and he said it so nice, so soft and sweet and happy, I can't convince myself any more that he doesn't want this. Everybody's got a weak spot, a breaking point, a thing that's gonna take all their honor and their ideals and their bravery and shoot them straight to hell. Benton Fraser's mine. The nasty part is, I knew that, I damn well knew it, and I brought him here anyway. I can feel it all cracking and crumbling away inside me, and the last of my willpower comes out as anger, one last dare, one last chance for him to back out of this before it happens.
"You wanna talk? You wanna moan for me, Frase?" I growl against his cheek, getting my lips over his mouth before he can answer me. He hums, instead, communicating how much he likes me kissing him while his hands push my shirt up, pressing his bare chest against me. He tastes good, and his mouth is so eager I feel like he's gonna swallow my tongue. All of the sudden he's shaking, trembling and moaning into my mouth and I realize he just came, again. I gotta get him out of those jeans, before he passes out from the pressure. For that matter, My own dick is compromised to the point of pain, and one way or another, these jeans are coming off, if I have to bust the seams to do it. Fraser coming in my arms is so good though, so beautiful and so sexy and so right that as bad as I want to get at him, for a minute I can't move, all I can do is hold him, my hands digging into his back to clutch him to my chest, feeling the hard breaths he's taking against my ribs.
"You make me so happy, Ray." He talks against my neck, rubbing his cheek back and forth over my skin.
My hand goes up to the back of his head, pressing him down against my shoulder and holding him tight against me 'cause I can't answer that, all I can do is pet his thick, satiny hair and bite the inside of my cheek until my eyes water. I can't tell him how much I wish I made him this happy every day, how bad I want to be the person who makes him feel this good.
"You want out of those jeans, Frase?"
"Mmm...wet." He tells me, sounding unhappy about it.
"Okay, let's do that. Come on, Frase, let go of me for a sec, okay?" I have to coax him, push him off of me and back against the couch. He hums and closes his eyes when I touch his shoulders, pushing him gently away from me.
"Oooh, Ray, touch me, please touch me, Ray."
Something in his voice makes me choke, and I gotta swallow hard and close my eyes. He sounds so happy, like he thinks it's perfectly natural for me to be taking his clothes off. Suddenly, I feel like the dirtiest, nastiest bastard for doing this to him.
"Fraser, try and calm down for a second and listen to me, okay? You know you're drugged, right? You remember going to the club? You remember getting dosed?"
"Yes, Ray. I remember." He's pushing at the waistband of his jeans, trying to help me get them off. His hands forget about the jeans as soon as I get them down over his hips and go to his cock, pulling it free of the wet cotton briefs. He's half hard, thick and rosy and shiny and wet from coming on himself, he's absolutely gorgeous. I want to swallow him whole, just dive down on that cock and hold him safe in my mouth for the next eight hours, or however long this drug lasts. Let him come as many times as he wants to and drink it all down; get him inside me for keeps.
"Tell me you're not gonna regret this, Fraser. I gotta hear it."
"No, I won't. I promise, Ray. I won't regret this." He's still smiling, squirming all over the place to get the jeans off his legs. I pull his socks off, taking care of the jeans with one hard tug, taking his briefs off with a lot more care. He's squirmed his way down my couch until he's almost flat on his back, his chin on his chest and the small of his back on the edge of the cushion.
I had to ask him, I had to hear it from his mouth, but now that he's said it there's a pit of dread and despair growing slowly in my stomach. Now I know this isn't really Fraser giving me sane consent, because he answers me so quickly, with no thought at all, and Fraser would never do that. Ask him a serious question, and especially for any kind of promise, and he'll think it over carefully and be sure he knows exactly what he's committing to before he answers, every time. I can't look at him, can't look at his face anymore, so I concentrate on finishing taking his clothes off, trying to make some kind of compromise with my conscience that will allow me to breathe without pain again. Finally, I have to let my eyes move up his chest to his face, and then I can't think at all, because his bright eyes are shining up at me, full of expectation and excitement. There's sweat on his upper lip that I want to lick off, and his face is flushed.
"God, you look good, Frase. You look so good." He arches toward me when I move over him, his arms reaching out for me.
"Come here, Ray. Closer, closer." He moans softly, his hands groping over my shoulders to pull me up his body.
"Mmm, jesus you're hot." He is, his skin is burning, he's hot and sweaty, slick and hard, heavenly good against me. It's suddenly become absolutely imperative that I get the hell out of these clothes.
He moans loudly in complaint when I pull away from him, when I stand up on shaky legs to shimmy out of my jeans and underwear and t-shirt.
"Ray." He says my name, like he just realized something amazing. I wait for him to explain it to me, letting my eyes wander all over his body. "Ray."
"Yeah, Frase? You got somethin' you wanna tell me?" I ask him real gentle, sitting down next to him on the couch and putting my arms around his shoulders, pulling him up to sit next to me again.
"Hmm... I think so. Kissing is almost the same as talking, isn't it, Ray?" He reaches for me, hands on my shoulders pulling me closer to him. Our foreheads touch, and he looks right into my eyes, rubbing noses like Eskimos... Inuits...whatever. His nose is cold. Everything else is hot, but his nose is cold, and I find that hopelessly endearing, so Fraser.
His palms slide all over my shoulders while I kiss him, touching me with so much obvious pleasure that I groan, wrecking the kiss and taking control, diving deep into his mouth and forcing my tongue on him. He whimpers, hands clutching at my muscles, twisting onto his side so that his cock pushes up against my hip.
"More." He begs when I have to pull back because I ran out of air. I admire his lung capacity, that's for sure.
"Okay, okay, it's alright." I croon to him, petting his smooth skin, sliding my hands down his chest to his hard belly and back up again, protectiveness and love welling up so strong when I touch him I feel dizzy, sick in my stomach and so happy I might just explode. I know I'm going to have to pay for this, and that it could cost me every good thing I've got, but it's worth it, just to have him for one night. I've got this one chance, with him, one chance to show him how bad I want him, how much I love him, and God help him, he's too high to stop me.
Hanging out behind the joy of this one perfect moment when I have him naked in my arms, before anything happens, is the ugly, anxious fear of what he will say tomorrow, when the Ecstasy is out of his system. Will him condemn me for my lack of willpower? Of course he will. Will he use words like sexual assault, coercion, rape? Maybe, if he'll speak to me at all. Fear isn't going to be enough to stop me, though, not when I have him like this, asking for me to touch him, needing me, or at least needing someone.
"Oh Frase... Let me take care of you. Do you wanna come, Frase? Do you want it real bad?"
"Yes, Ray!" He's shaking, hanging on to me, but relaxed and easy to move when I push him down, laying him back to stretch out on the couch with me on top of him. His legs part with a little nudge from my knee, and then my cock is lined up against his, we're hard and smooth and slick with his come, and he's moaning so loud in my ear I could lose some hearing, but I don't care.
"Ahh, oh Ray, Ray you feel so wonderful. I love you, Ray."
I feel like my heart just shattered, like I got shards of glass in chest. "I love you too, Frase. Now just shut up, baby, just let me make you come. Come for me, Fraser, yeah, just like that, huh? Nice and slow... Mmm, yeah, I know, I know..." He won't remember, you never remember the things you say right before you come.
He comes with his mouth sealed over my neck, moaning and groaning against my skin, bucking up against me hard, our hip bones slamming into each other hard enough to bruise. His hands come up to hold the sides of my head, clutching me against his shoulder.
His body relaxes completely after he comes, taking my weight and sinking back into the cushions. I'm still grinding into him, I can't stop, can't stop, can't breathe, can't get back any of the words that come tumbling out of my mouth as I erupt against his softening cock. "Oh God yes, Fraser, Fraser, take it, take me, I need you, Frase, I need you so bad..." he holds me tight while I come, pushing harder and harder into his stomach, sliding all over the place in the mess we've made of his torso. I feel so helpless, scared, in the seconds before I explode. Like surely God has to punish me for something that feels this good, I'm never going to get away with this much pure happiness; but Fraser hangs on to me and the building doesn't blow up and I don't turn to salt or stone, I just spill out all over his belly, shouting his name.
"Beautiful." He whispers it against my skin, his lips dragging across my collarbone, his nose nuzzling into the base of my neck. It's still cold.
I've never had anybody tell me I look good to them when I come, let alone that. I don't even consider the fact that he's high as a kite, I just take the compliment.
"Mmmm..." He lets out a long, happy moan, as his hands slide down my spine to cover my ass, pressing me into his pelvis. "I want to feel you everywhere." He's whispering against my chest, shifting around underneath me until he's scooted around on his side, pressing his whole body into mine. Damn, he feels great.
"You're feelin' okay, huh Frase?" I'm grinning at him, but I'm serious, I want to know that he's still okay, that this shit isn't messing with his head too bad. He sure doesn't feel upset, he feels soft and hot and totally relaxed and fuckable in my arms. Except that I know we shouldn't go there, that I have no right to take something like that from him when his body can't possibly refuse me. I could... oh god, I know I could. I could pet him and play with him till he's nothing but a puddle of cum on my couch, and then do him so slow and so deep, make love to him 'till we burn ourselves together, till we melt right into each other, skin into skin. No, I can't do that, I really can't, no matter how much I want to.
"I'm wonderful." He raises his head to kiss me, soft and lingering. "Sticky." He tells me gravely, laughing against my lips.
He's so happy, lying here in my arms covered in our come, I have to wrap my arms around his ribs and squeeze him till he can't breathe, laughing with him. I've never felt this good, this high after sex, either. Knowing that it's not going to last, that it's not real, only makes having him lying here naked and satiated in my arms more wonderful. I'm all done with guilt; somebody broke the guilt-switch while I was screaming his name, now all I have is a sense of how precious this time is, that I have to absorb each and every moment and make it last.
"Let's put you in the shower, huh? I bet that'll feel really good. Hot shower, definitely."
"That would be lovely." He mumbles against my skin, rubbing his head against my shoulder and cuddling up against me, his legs sliding over mine.
He's right, it feels too good to move, ever. I just wanna lie here and hold him and feel his happiness, and know that I made him feel this good. That just this one time, he's mine and nobody can take him from me. He's quiet for a little while, his fingers stroking slowly up and down my chest, he's got a smile that looks like the cat that ate the canary.
"C'mon, Frase. Let's get in that shower." I pull him up with me, pausing when we get to sitting to let my head spin.
I take his hand to pull us to our feet, and he follows me to the bathroom. I turn the light on for us, watching him as he steps inside, looking around until he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He stares at his reflection, smiling, totally fascinated by what he sees. Well, I'll admit, I could look at him all day, too.
"Come on, Frase, get in." I hold the shower curtain back for him, taking his hand again to make sure he doesn't fall getting into my claw-footed tub.
I turn the water on, adjusting the taps to make sure it's nice and hot before I put him under the spray. He groans out loud as soon as the hot water touches his back, reaching to pull me under the water with him. "Oooh, nice." He tells me, turning and twisting to get the hot water all over his body.
"Yeah, I thought that'd feel pretty good." I tell him, grinning at his obvious pleasure. His cock is hard again, and I'm thinking that it's not gonna be easy to keep up with him.
His hand reaches down and wraps around me, fondling my soft cock and balls under the water. Umm, that's nice. Oh yeah, Frase, touch me. He's got such big, soft hands.
"Yeah, Frase?" He's got the most beautiful grin on his face; he looks like a kid in a candy shop.
"I want to make you do that again, Ray."
"What, Frase? Come? You wanna make me come?"
"Yes. I want to make you come." He whispers it, and I can tell it gets him hot just to say it. I put my arms around him and pull him close, kiss him hard on the mouth, like I always want to when he smiles like that.
"You just did, Frase. Lemme catch up to you."
"No, Ray, now."
I laugh at him, at the innocent insistence in his pretty blue eyes. Surprisingly, my cock seems more than happy to oblige him. I'm slowly growing hard in his gentle hands. He's playing with me, touching me all different ways and stopping to see how I react. He looks like he's enjoying himself so much I can't even concentrate on what his hands are doing, all I can do is watch the curiosity and the satisfaction in his eyes and hold myself still for him, let him play with me. Right now, I'd let him do anything to me, anything he wanted. I love him so much it hurts.
"What is it, Frase?"
"This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."
I know, I know he doesn't really mean that. The fact that he's drugged, that he's not Fraser, is absolutely impossible to ignore. He doesn't necessarily mean anything he says. His brain's all rearranged inside, and his hormones have absolute power here. Anything coming out of his mouth at this point is just like froth coming off the top. Hearing him say it like that, though, it's like a knife in my gut. I have no intention of telling him how it feels, I don't want to confuse him or complicate this. I want this to be a nice, safe trip for him, but it hurts so bad it just comes out of my mouth.
"Ah God, Frase, don't say that. Please don't say that."
His hands let go of me and fall limply to his sides as he steps back, going behind him to press against the tile for support.
"You don't want to be doing this with me, Ray? You're only doing it because I want to?"
He's so upset he won't look at me. He's frowning, his lips pressed tightly together, and he looks like he's about to cry.
"Fraser, no. No, not at all. That's not what I meant, I promise. It's okay, Frase, don't freak out on me, okay? I want you Fraser, I swear to God I want you."
I'm holding onto his shoulders, keeping him close until I'm sure he can see it in my eyes. "Okay? We okay, Fraser?"
"Okay, Ray, yes, I'm okay."
For a minute, it's like I get the real Fraser back. I can see comprehension in his eyes that wasn't there before as his hands come up to grasp my shoulders. "Ray? Promise me we'll fix it. We'll be able to make it right again, won't we, Ray?"
Ah, shit... he really is going to break my heart. I know I deserve it, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. I lie to him because I can't face the truth, even if he can. "Yeah, Frase, it'll be okay, I promise. Everything will go back to normal. You're just mixed up right now, Frase. Lemme take care of you, huh? You're gonna be fine, I'm not gonna let anything bad happen to you, Fraser."
He nods, slowly, but he still looks lost and confused, like all of the sudden he's not sure what we're talking about anymore. I'm watching his eyes, the pupils have enlarged until now there's only a small ring of color left around the glossy black pools. I'm going to be very, very careful to only think about what he needs here, and not anything else, only what he wants, what will make him feel safe. "I trust you Ray. I trust you. Please just don't leave me alone, Ray."
It's no surprise, or it shouldn't be, that Fraser has abandonment issues going on in there. Just about everybody he ever needed in his life has left him, just like I'm going to have to someday. I can't imagine how rotten that's gotta be. The only person that ever left me was Stella, and I'm still not over it.
"I'm right here, buddy. I'm not gonna leave you, I promise. It's all good, Frase, everything's okay."
"Closer, Ray. I need you closer."
I pull him against me, my arms going around his waist, my hands cover his ass to press his groin into mine, tucking his hips into my pelvis and nudging him back to lean against the tiled wall. For a little while he's content to push his face into my neck and rock slowly against me, making little satisfied, growling noises into my ear. His cock is hard, slippery and satiny smooth sliding against mine under the hot water. I'm just starting to think about adding some soap to this action, which would feel even better, when he thrusts hard into my hip bone, twisting discontentedly in my arms. "Not enough, Ray. I want you closer, closer Ray. More."
"Okay, easy, don't slip and break your neck. Just stay there for me... God you taste good." I'm telling him in grunts and groans, while my mouth devours his neck and shoulders, sliding over smooth, moist skin, trying not to be too aggressive when all I want to do is eat him alive. His hands come up to my head but I take them and pull them gently away, holding our hands out at our sides and using his grip for balance as I move slowly down his body, my mouth covering every available inch of skin I can reach. Listening to his moans, I can tell he likes to be licked better than sucked, so I concentrate on stroking his entire chest with my tongue.
"Mmm... Don't stop." He begs me, twisting under my mouth to offer up more of his skin. He's rolling his head back and forth against the wall, hanging on to my hands with fingers curled in pleasure.
"Ray, Ray, Ray..."
When I swirl my tongue lightly around a nipple he begins to chant my name, in a gasped whisper that tells me he's liking this a lot. Oh god that sounds good, my name coming out of him like that. I want to keep on licking him for hours, keep him gasping out my name till he comes. It's such an intense rush, to know that no matter how messed up he is, he knows it's me making love to him.
"Mmm, Ray, Ray, not yet, not yet. More." He moans forlornly, pressing his trembling cock hard against my hip, trying to hold back.
I don't want him to fight it, though, I want to push him right over the edge and make him come with my mouth on his skin. I work my way across smooth, wet, muscles, lapping up the droplets of water that roll down from his shoulders. Closing my lips delicately over the other nipple, I lick mercilessly, back and forth as fast and as lightly as I can over the hardened flesh between my lips. I reach down, and close my hand gently around the top half of a very long, hard cock. Man, he's gorgeous. I pump him slowly, concentrating on my tongue's speed across this swollen, sensitive little nipple I've captured carefully between my teeth.
"Oh Ray! Ray..." He groans my name, hips bucking hard into my hand, thrusting up violently into my grip. "Nothing... nothing could feel better than this."
Perversely, I have to prove him wrong, I have to show him how much better I can make it feel. Holding on to his hands, I get down on my knees in front of him. He starts to get upset about me leaving him, but before he can complain I've got my mouth around his cock, and then I'm pushing him all the way down my throat, sucking him inside me greedily, as fast as I can get it down.
"Oh my God! Ray!"
He sounds so surprised that suddenly I wonder if no one has ever done this for him before, and a little stab of guilt hits me through the back, like an arrow, for taking this first time away from him. He should be sober, and able to enjoy it. I'm enjoying it, so much that it's hard to make myself slow down when he comes. I want to keep right on blowing him, sliding up and down on his beautiful cock, with just enough suction to make his toes curl, feeling him stabbing at the back of my throat. Oh jesus it's good...
"Don't stop. Oh-my-god-don't-stop! Ray, Ray, Ray, my beautiful Ray. Mmmm," His moan has a helpless quality to it that makes me look up at him, almost afraid of what I'll see. It's just pleasure, though, maybe enough to fry his brain completely. I stop moving, and just hold him while he slowly goes soft in my mouth. He tastes so good, musky and clean, not bitter at all. I just knew he'd taste incredible.
"Oh yeah." All I can do is agree with him; that was incredible. He sways on his feet, one arm reaching out unsteadily to grab the wall. I grab him around the waist, holding him steady, afraid to get up and lose my grip on him.
"Don't fall, be careful." I warn him, holding him against the wall with one hand while I stand. My knees hurt, and my fingertips are starting to shrivel up like raisins. Reaching behind him, I shut off the water.
"Okay, buddy, you just about ready for sleep?"
I'm standing her soaking wet, shivering, hard as a pole, and all I can think about is getting him tucked in safe and sound under my blankets. I'll sleep on the couch. Crazy as it sounds, after having him eight inches down my throat and making him come, sharing a bed still feels like taking advantage of him. It's not something he'd do, he'd sleep on the floor and let me have my bed, and as bad as I want it, I'm not going to force myself on him.
"Sleep? No, I couldn't possibly sleep, Ray. I'm not tired."
"Okay, okay, you don't have to sleep." And I don't have to be gallant.
"Why did you turn the water off, Ray?"
"Because we're shriveling up like prunes, here. Well, at least most of us."
I've got to laugh at myself, and at him, at both of us, at his insatiability and my ever-hopeful, unfailing hard-on.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Do you like me, Ray?
I'm afraid he's getting all insecure on me again, and I answer quickly, nodding my head. "Yeah, Frase, yeah, of course I like you. You're my best friend."
He looks disappointed. "No, Ray, that's not what I mean. Do you like the way I look? That is, I mean, do you find me attractive?"
Oh shit. Well, what can I give him but the truth? "Oh yeah, Frase, you bet."
My reward is a wide grin that spreads across his face like sunshine. He reaches out for me, wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me against him. "I do, too." He whispers in my ear, like he's telling me a secret.
"You do what, Frase?"
"I find you attractive."
I should probably remind him that he's toasted, but I can't bring myself to. Just for tonight, I'm gonna let myself believe that's the truth.
"Ah, Frase..." I don't even know what to say, I'm so happy.
"Endlessly fascinating, actually... I watch you all the time." He's sliding his palms all over me, from my belly up to my shoulders and back down to my cock, touching me in a smooth, continuous motion that looks like he's seeing me with his hands, letting his palms follow his eyes all over my body. I think I'm going to fall down if I don't get us out of this bathtub. He's got me tingling all over, huffing and puffing and trying not to choke on how nice it feels, how smooth and slow and deliberate he touches me.
"Yeah?" I croak, pushing my hips forward and my balls into his cupped hands. Mmm, that feels good. I don't believe anything's ever felt as sweet as Fraser holding me in his hands. He's so gentle, like he thinks he's gotta be careful with me.
"Could we go to bed, even though I'm not tired?" He whispers into my ear, stroking and tickling behind my balls.
"Yeah, oh yeah." I don't even know what he asked me, I'll say yes to anything he wants at this point and be happy. Oh god he's a hot fucking tease with those fingers.
He keeps one hand cupped over my hard-as-rock erection, and takes my arm with the other, leading me out of the tub. He pulls a towel off the bar on the wall and begins to dry me, rubbing me down with the same maddeningly gentle touch that makes even the towel feel fantastic.
When he's got me mostly dry and I can't stand still anymore I take the towel away from him. He laughs, fumbling for my shoulders when I throw the damp towel over his head, drying his hair vigorously. It's chilly in my apartment and I don't want him to get sick, I know this stuff lowers your immune system.
"Ray! Ray, stop it!" He's laughing so hard he can barely talk, trying to shake the towel off his head while I'm drying him.
"Come on, now, be patient. I don't want you soakin' my pillow. Here, lemme just get this..."
He only gives me time for a few more quick swipes with the towel, but I manage to get him mostly dry before he pulls me out of the bathroom, the towel dropped and left to mildew on the floor. No, this sure as hell isn't Benton Fraser I've got on my hands here. He leads me to bed, pulling on my arm as he navigates us through the living room and down the short hall. Even with his back to me I feel like I can see his smile.
I want more of him, lots more, but I feel like I'm just digging myself a grave here, deeper and deeper, and then there's the worry about what it's going to do to him, when this is all over and he has to live with it. There's got to be some way to warn him, because this trip down the hall feels a hell of a lot like the point of no return. We're going to lie down on a bed together, and anything that happens after that is pretty much irrevocable. A handjob, hell, even a blowjob in the shower, you can be a straight guy and live with stuff like that, you can forget about it. Getting horizontal and naked and under the covers... that's asking a lot of even Fraser's power of denial.
"Let's just get one thing straight, okay Fraser? You can change your mind anytime you want to, okay? Anytime you want to stop, all you gotta do is say the word."
He stops us next to bed, stepping right up toe-to-toe to look at me. "Stop what, Ray? Stop this?"
There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as his hands reach for my cock, stroking me lightly with his fingertips while he talks. "I don't want to stop, Ray. I don't want to stop at all."
"Yeah, that's good, that's good."
All I can do is groan, grabbing for his shoulders to pull him down on the bed with me.
"Is it? Is it good, Ray?" His voice is teasing, coaxing, pulling all the want I just stuffed down right back up to the surface. Even as messed up as he is, I can still hear Fraser in there, goading me and testing me and pushing me to think, like he always does, and that's just more than I can bear.
"Oh fuck yeah. Perfect."
He licks his lips, grinning at me. "Perfect? Are you sure, Ray? It wouldn't feel better if I did this, instead?"
He's up on his knees, kneeling between my legs, and before I can even think of an answer his tongue is licking down my cock. Long, cool, wet licks that literally take the breath right out of my lungs.
"Mmm... Oh Christ."
"Is that a yes, Ray?"
"Yes! Oh fucking God in heaven, yes!" I whisper-shout at him through clenched teeth, watching with a terrifying combination of lust and dread as his pursed lips move over my cock.
How did this happen? How did I wind up lying on my back with Fraser's lips around my cock? I got ten different kinds of guilt going on here and none of it is strong enough to cancel out the painfully intense pleasure of his soft tongue, covering my cock with rapid-fire licks and quick, hot kisses, so hungry and eager and willing that I can't even stand to look at him.
"Fraser... Fraser. Wait." It's almost impossible to force the words out, thinking about losing the touch of that mouth makes me want to beat somebody's brains in. "You... you don't have to do that." I finally gasp out, my head falling back on the pillow from the exertion of pushing words out of my uncooperative mouth.
He ignores me completely, lavishing attention on my cock, kissing me and sliding his lips down my shaft, licking his way back up. He pays such amazing attention to every inch of me, covering me with his spit and his soft, soft tongue in tiny, minute licks and touches, until no matter how hard I try I can't get any words out. It just feels too good. I can't make him stop, I can't even move.
"Oh Jesus." I'm breathing so hard that I can't hear myself, the blood is pounding in my veins and I feel like there's needles and pins on my heart, like it fell asleep and he just reached in there and squeezed it.
"You taste so good, like candy." I feel him speak against me, rubbing his cheek gently back and forth over my puffed up, egotistical cock, and the bastard believes him, swelling ever bigger as his lips close around the very tip, sucking softly.
My chest hurts, tight and painfully constricted, I can feel my heart palpitating in my arms and legs and throat, like I'm about to have a heart attack. Oh god, Fraser, I'm so sorry, so, so sorry.... I know damn well I shouldn't be letting this happen like this, but the pleasure is too much, the feel of those soft lips licking and sucking over me with so much care and attention after over a year of loneliness and my own clumsy right hand; it's just more than I can stand. I'm not going to stop him, I'm not even going to discourage him, but I know what I'm doing is wrong. It's absolutely selfish and irresponsible, but he's going to have to tell me that himself. Tomorrow... tomorrow, next week, anytime in the future, anytime after I get to come with his mouth wrapped around me.
I want to touch him, to move my hands up to his face and touch that sweet, cruel mouth, stroke his face and hold him close to my cock, but the feelings are so intense I can't even make myself move. I'm just frozen here, melting under the pleasure that's flowing through me, feeling every little touch of his tongue and spinning out of control on the awareness that it's Fraser sucking my cock like this, getting to know every detail, what makes me shiver and what makes me groan and suck air through my teeth, and finally, what makes me melt. Melt and gush and scream with a pleasure so overpowering I think it might kill me, but I only black out for a few seconds and when I come back to the dark room and the bed underneath me Fraser still has me in his mouth, sucking gently on my deflating cock.
I can't help the forlorn, moaning sound that I exhale as his lips release me, laying my cock down gently onto my thigh and pressing a last kiss to the wet, tingling tip.
"Thank you." He whispers, soft and serious, like doing that to me was really important to him.
"No, no-no, c'mere. Don't thank me, Frase...don't thank me." I grab his shoulders and pull him up on top of me before he can ask any questions. I realize that he swallowed my come, that he really swallowed me and took me inside him, and the delayed shock of it knocks down whatever defenses I've got left.
"Ah man you feel so good, you know that? Just lay here with me for a minute, don't say anything, Fraser, just lemme hold you."
I've got my arms wrapped tight around his back, holding onto the satisfying, real, bigness of his body on top of me, feeling the press of his weight and his legs between mine, his hard cock nestled between my thighs. I'm still trying to wrap my shorted-out brains around the idea that Fraser took me in his mouth and swallowed me. It felt so incredibly good, about a thousand times better than a blow job is supposed to. I could get addicted to that, so fast...
He stares into my eyes, so close it's hard to focus, and then he leans down and licks me. He licks across my cheeks, my chin, the tip of my nose, strong, soft tongue lapping my dry Chicago-winter skin, bathing me like a big, happy wolf. When he's done he tucks his head into my neck, giving me his weight as he relaxes on top of me. He's almost too heavy, but I wouldn't trade the weight of Fraser on my ribs for anything in this world. I'd like to sleep like this, just let him be my blanket and have him on top of me all night long.
He sighs, pressing his hips into me so that his cock slides between my legs. I squeeze his hips with my thigh muscles, hold him tight while he rocks into me, the hot length of him pressing deliciously hard behind my balls.
"Ahh... that's it." He hisses, pushing slowly into the tight space I'm giving him, the head of his cock thrusting against me as far back as he can go, nestling between my cheeks like a heat seeking missile.
"Mmm, Fraser... yeah." I groan, reaching down between us to grab my balls and pull them up for him, rearranging myself to give him more room. I don't want him to stop, I want him to go right on pseudo-fucking me like this until he splatters come all over my ass. He feels so good this way, moving just for himself, hard and insistent and hot and sweaty, his whole body rocking on top of me with his thrusts.
I start rocking with him, lifting my hips up underneath his weight to counter his strokes, my thigh muscles clenched tight to hold his hips when he pulls back, relaxing when he thrusts down again. I've got my eyes squeezed shut, my fingers are digging into his back and he's panting in my ear, groaning with what feels like pure, animal pleasure.
When the head of his cock accidentally pushes against my hole I freeze mid-thrust, trying to pull back but already pressed down into the mattress by the weight of him on top of me. He stops too, lifts his head up off my shoulder and holds perfectly still, the head of his cock pressing against my asshole.
"Fraser!" My voice is high and panicky, I've still got my eyes screwed shut, my breath coming in tight gasps underneath him.
A hand covers my mouth, and I open my eyes, seeing him leaning over me, one elbow braced on the bed next to my shoulder. He leans down and whispers right next to my mouth, where his palm is pressed. "I want inside you, Ray. I want to feel you from the inside. Let me in, Ray." His voice is dark and raw, more emotion than I've ever heard out of him, demanding, powerful and full of sex and desire. His eyes are black and glassy, the smile on his face reckless and unfamiliar; it's the dope, but for a second I feel like I'm looking at a stranger.
He pushes against the panic-tight muscle, one hard, short thrust that shoves the head of his cock inside me, right in up to the ridge with a painful little pop that it seems like I can hear in my head. My stomach turns over and every muscle in my body tenses up, the blackness behind my closed eyes suddenly dizzy with bright dots of color.
"Oh!" He gasps out, his hand still pressed against my lips and his mouth on my cheek. It's an exclamation of pain and surprise as my muscles tighten around him, tense and trying to hold off his invasion. For the first few seconds I'm just in total shock that he hurt me, that he just forced his way in without any help, big and wet and hard, but not nearly wet enough.
The pain is hard, unexpected and sharp. I curl up around him, trying to hold his body up off me with my hands. "Stop. Wait, Fraser, wait." Shit that hurt. My body's so wrapped up around him I can't get any leverage, and the hand that was covering my mouth has closed into a tight fist in my hair, holding my head back against the bed.
"No. I want you, Ray. I want you now." He growls at me through gritted teeth, and I realize that it's taking everything he's got to hold himself still and not thrust all the way inside my ass, and that this is probably hurting him almost as much as it is me. Oh god... I know I have do something, make myself relax, or talk him out of this whole idea, but I'm just a big ball of panic inside and I can't think straight, all I can feel is the hard invasion of his cock in my ass, the pressure that burns all the way up my spine and the knife-edge fear of being split in half when he loses control. He's much, much too big to be forcing his way into me like this with no lube and no foreplay. Goddamn it, Fraser! I don't know which one of us I'm more pissed at; him for hurting me or me for being stupid enough to let it get this out of control in the first place.
I take as big a breath as I can get into my lungs, holding it until the panic starts to let go of me. God, it feels so weird, It's hard not to flip out completely on the simple idea that Fraser's cock is in my ass. It's been a long, long time since I bottomed for anybody, and I tell myself that if I was going to, if I'd planned on doing this and been given the option, Frase would have been the first guy on my wish-list. Still, it's hard not to freak out on him. I have to keep reminding myself that he's not doing it maliciously, that he's too messed up to know what he's doing. It's my fault, I'm the one that decided I could take care of him, that I could play with him when he's all fucked up and can't stop me. I'm the one who was stupid enough to think I could play with fire and not get burned. If this is what he wants, then I should just give it up for him, let him do whatever he wants to me.
Somehow, in the painful minutes it takes for him to work his way inside me, I cut a deal with myself. If I just let him do his thing with me, just let him fuck me until he comes and I don't fight him, and I don't let myself enjoy it, then it'll be okay. Then he can get off and I can pay for taking advantage of him like this in the first place, and we'll be even. Whatever you want, Fraser, only what you want... I keep telling myself this over and over again as he begins to thrust slowly inside me, groaning out loud from the tight friction we're making. I think about his cock, how good it's got to feel for him, and hold still, biting my lip hard to keep from cursing at him.
"Yes, yes, Ray." He hisses in my ear, thrusting up sharply to stab into me, burying himself tightly and staying there, rocking back and forth just enough to make me gasp for air. Silently, I'm begging him to stay there, to just give me a little while to rearrange myself around him and fucking breathe for a minute.
"Feels so good, so much better..." He grunts, rocking into me slowly, the ride finally smoothing out and getting comfortable. I can hear it in his breath, when I finally start to relax for him and he's got a little space to move. He moans in appreciation, pulling almost all the way out to slide home again, his weight coming down on top of me and pushing the air out of my lungs.
"Oh yes. More, Ray, more..." He groans against my neck, his breathing hard and fast, sending shivers over my skin. He bites my earlobe, and I feel the sweat trickling down my sides and the heat of his body and the hard, demanding thrust of his cock, and all I want to do is give it up for him. The more he bites me, the more I want it, until I have to push him back with my hands in the center of his chest, get that sexy mouth away from me before I start taking something back.
"Don't hide from me... I want you, Ray." He whispers it over my mouth, his tongue plunging in while his hand finds my cock, stroking me even though I'm soft.
"Fraser... Don't!" It's just a long howl of pain and regret; useless. I can't explain it to him, I couldn't find that many words even if he wasn't fucking me brainless. All I know is that I'm trying as hard as I can to practice healthy damage control over my emotional state, and to protect his as best I can while I'm at it, and it's not enough for him; he wants more. He always wants more.
"Yes, yes, Ray, I want to watch you. I want to feel it. Give it to me, Ray!" He argues with me, loud and demanding over my mouth, not letting me move when I try to shift around underneath him, to get some kind of leverage. I can't, I'm just stuck, impaled on his cock and face to face with pure, uncontrolled lust, physical need that's going to eat me alive if I don't let him do this to me.
"Okay, okay..." I don't even know what I'm agreeing to, just that he's demanding something, and I've got to give it to him. He wants me to let go of the last threads of sanity that I'm hanging onto, of the idea that there's any way back from this; that I can hold anything back from him at all. A warm, gentle hand is squeezing my cock, pushing me around on his hard belly, which feels pretty good, even if he is trying to push his dick out my throat via my ass, and I think he just might do it, too.
"So hot, oh god you feel so hot, keep me, Ray, keep me inside you. Be mine, nobody else's, Ray, only mine."
"Nobody else." I pant back at him, thinking how true it is. Nobody else would get away with this, anybody else would be dead, but it's Fraser. It's Fraser and I love him too much to deny him anything, even when he's too messed up to have any common sense at all.
"That's all... that's all I want, Ray. Just you. Oh god, so good!"
This wasn't part of the plan, but my brain is losing control of the situation, one deep, grinding thrust at a time. It's slipping away, the whole idea of why I have to stay quiet and lay still and let him take what he wants. Apparently, that's not going to be enough for either of us, because before I know it I'm bucking up into his thrusts, finding space where there wasn't any. I'm lifting my hips up high to greet his cock, which is slamming into me with the erotic sounds of flesh impacting flesh.
"That's it, give it to me. Oh please, Ray..." He grunts out the words as he arches into me, going up from his elbow to his hand to give me more room. His other hand is still wrapped around my cock, jerking me roughly between thrusts.
I'm getting all mixed up, I don't know if I'm giving and he's taking or if I'm the one who's taking, making him give me more and more, pushing my cock into his hand and fighting for the contact, the pleasure of being held while his cock is driving into me.
"Harder, Fraser! Oh fuck... Uh, harder." I'm going to explode and I'm so close that I'm going to die of he doesn't give me more, just a little more.
He's slamming into me, fucking me so hard I think we might break the bed, which is making almost as much noise as we are. He's jerking erratically now, swelling even harder and hotter inside me, and the first pulse of his cock makes me shudder and thrust up wildly, pleasure burning through me like fire, so that all I can do is fight for more.
I keep right on fucking his cock while he comes, my hand reaching down to cover his, making him squeeze me hard. Hard, painfully tight, while I ride up and down on him, feeling him swell and shudder inside me. It only takes a few more brutal thrusts to push myself over the edge into oblivion. I come with my face pressed into his neck, hanging on to his strong shoulders for dear life as surge after surge of ecstasy flows through me, release so powerful that when it's finally over I feel like my whole body has turned to jelly. I'm floating about three feet above the bed, my brain swimming in a liquid haze of pleasure.
Fraser's wiping the sweat off my face with a corner of the sheets we pulled up, a smile on his face so beatific it makes him look like an angel, so pure and so peaceful that for a few seconds I have no regrets at all, and I'm sure I've done the right thing; he looks so happy. Some distant, defeated part of my mind remembers that isn't a good thing, that I'm going to regret it, but even I don't hate myself enough to spoil this one moment, when I can look him and see I've made him this happy.
He doesn't say anything, though, and I'm still trying to breathe, which isn't all that easy with two hundred pounds of Mountie on top of me. He pulls out, real slow, and even though I tense up for it, it doesn't hurt. He rolls off me, lying on his side so that he's draped half across me, one arm flung out over my chest. I close my eyes, just trying to hang on to this moment for as long as I can. Finally, I think of something to say.
"I want you to know... you're still my best friend. I hope this doesn't change how you feel about me. I mean, I hope you still trust me, that we can still be partners and everything, 'cause as good as that was, it's not worth losing what we got, you know? You don't have to worry about me assuming that you're gonna want this to be an all-the-time thing, okay? It was the X, that's all, an' I know that, okay?"
When I finally shut up and work up the guts, I open my eyes to look at him. He's asleep, out like a light, looks even younger, even prettier, his mouth is open a little bit and his breathing is even and regular. So much for afterglow.
I wake up at eight am, like I always do on my day off. Doesn't matter if I go to bed at midnight or four am, I haven't been able to sleep later than eight in years. For a awhile I just lie there and listen to him breathe. It's not a shock, waking up with Fraser in my bed, I think I was aware of him lying next to me the whole time I was asleep, which couldn't have been more than five hours, tops. He sleeps on his stomach, face smashed into the pillow, and he snores a little.
If there was ever a morning I'd like to pay off God to make not-happen, this is it. I'm surprised I woke up first; he's usually awake at the crack of dawn. I guess even Mountie training can be superceded by a serious enough hangover. Well, he can just keep sleeping. As far as I'm concerned, he can sleep all day. I slip out of bed, careful not to bump him under the covers. I push my feet into my slippers and grab my robe off the hook on the back of the door, pattering as quietly as I can on the creaky old wood floor. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I head blearily down the hall to the kitchen and the coffee pot. I'm glad it's Sunday and there's nobody at the Consulate to worry about where he is, and why he didn't come home last night.
For that matter, I got no plan whatsoever for what I'm going to say when he asks me why I didn't just take him back there last night. Maybe he won't ask... I could be tying myself up in knots for nothing here. I mean, this is Benton Fraser we're talking about, King Of Denial, maybe he'll just pretend that nothing happened at all. Under-cover went sour and he crashed at my place, end of story. It's not real likely, but I can hope.
Moving slowly around the kitchen, I realize I'm sore, my muscles all ache in that particular way that makes you feel like you must be walking funny, and the whole world can tell you got fucked last night. My dick is raw and tender, and still, the little bastard's up and ready to greet the day, but my thigh muscles feel like rubber bands. No matter what my morning hard-on thinks, my head knows what the best possible scenario would be; if last night was filed under Forget About It, and everything just went back to normal. If he cares about our friendship as much as I do, that's what he'll do. It might be a little awkward at first, but we'll get back on track. Unfortunately, I don't think it's very likely he'll see it that way.
I don't even need five fingers to count the number of times he's put our partnership first, let something slide because we're more important. The answer is none, zip, zero, nada, although I do it all the time. You always hear that in any good partnership there's give and take. In ours, I do most of the giving and he does most of the taking, and it's still a good partnership. Most of the time I don't mind being the one that gives in. Sure, sometimes it makes me nutty, but that's just the nature of our thing-- that's the way we work, and as long as both of us know what part we're playing, we'll usually come out on top. Coffee... must have coffee. Damn cabinets; no way to be quiet in this kitchen.
I don't know what's going to happen this time. I've never been in a situation anything like this before; I've never taken advantage of anybody that bad before, especially on drugs. I know Ecstasy is unpredictable; maybe he won't remember anything that happened last night at all. I spend some time wondering whether that would be better or worse, and if the right thing to do by him would be to tell him, or to keep my mouth shut. I know Fraser would want me to tell him, but maybe the best thing for him would be if he never knew. When the coffee's done I fix myself a cup and carry it into the living room to sit in my chair, where I can see him through the open bedroom doorway. The lump under my covers doesn't move while I drink my coffee, and eventually I get up for a second cup, less paranoid about making noise that will wake him now.
I wish it was me that got Mickeyed at the bar. Sure, I probably would have jumped him... Okay, I know I would have; I saw what that stuff does to you, and I want Fraser more than most people want money and sex and love all wrapped up together, but at least then I'd be the one sleeping peacefully with a clear conscience.
Waiting for him to wake up is just about the worst kind of waiting I've ever done. Worse than sitting in the dentist's office waiting to get a root canal, worse than sitting on those uncomfortable chairs in the hallway outside the I.A. office, waiting for my name to get called to go get grilled. Even worse than waiting for Stella to say something right after the last time I said 'I love you'.
Two hours later, I'm still waiting, and starting to get concerned, and bored, on top of antsy and nervous and secretly, guiltily, thrilled. The coffee is sitting in my stomach like acid, and my whole body is cold and tense with dread, but my memory keeps flashing back to what he looked like, what he felt like, the proof that Fraser and I actually had sex. When I can't stand sitting still and watching the clock anymore I pace from the living room to the kitchen, down the hall to the bedroom door and back to the living room again. He's sleeping like a little kid; one hand tucked under the pillow, all curled up on his side, his mouth open and drooling on my pillow. He looks like an angel.
By ten thirty, I'm really getting worried about if he's gonna wake up at all, or if I should wake him or take him to the hospital or something. For most people, ten-thirty is a normal Sunday-morning sleeping-in time to wake up, but for Fraser it's almost halfway through the day. Standing just inside the bedroom doorway, I hesitate, afraid to wake him. I watch him sleep for another five minutes, trying to make up my mind what to do. Suddenly, he coughs, pushing himself up on his hands to lift his face a couple inches out of the pillow he was burrowing into. I hold the breath I was inhaling, waiting to see if he's really awake.
"Ugh. What time is it?" He asks so cautiously that I get the idea that he doesn't know who he's talking to or where's he's at. He doesn't have his eyes open yet, and I have to rush to reassure him, even though I don't want to talk. There's a lump in my throat, and all of the sudden I'm scared, deep down, panic-dread-sweating scared, because there's nothing I can do to avoid the situation that's about to happen, and I know I'm totally unprepared for it.
"It's ten thirty a.m. on Sunday, and you're at my place, Frase."
"I'm at your place, Ray..." He echoes, confirming it without really making any kinda statement at all about how he feels about that. I watch him tense up, his hands clenching the pillow into his fists, and then his eyes fly open, staring straight at me with shocked, wide-eyed recognition.
"Oh my God." He groans, faintly, barely moving his lips.
As soon as I start to talk, his face falls back into the pillow, making a loud sound of argument and displeasure that means 'shutup' in any language.
"Okay. Um, look... I'm gonna go make some more coffee. You can go back to sleep if you wanna, or whatever."
I go through the motions of making another pot of coffee mechanically, dumping out the grounds and counting tablespoons without letting myself think. I'm afraid to; afraid to imagine what kind of questions he's going to ask me. My ears prick up at every little sound, waiting for him to get out of bed. Five minutes tick by slowly on the kitchen clock, while I pace back and forth in front of the coffee maker. The silence sounds so loud that I imagine I can hear him breathing. I don't know how I know, but I'm sure that he didn't go back to sleep, that he's lying there wide awake listening to the gurgle of the coffee maker brewing.
When it's finished I pour two cups, adding a couple of spoons of sugar to mine; I'm out of M&M's. I can stand here like an idiot worrying about him all day, or I can bring him a cup of coffee. I'm off-kilter, and it seems like too intimate a thing to do, on this worst-possible-of-morning-afters, but I can't stand questioning every single thing anymore, I have to do something.
Walking down the hall balancing the two mugs, I tell myself the same thing over and over again, //don't say anything stupid//.
"Fraser? You still awake? I brought you some coffee."
He's still balled up under the covers, with his face smashed into the pillows. Even under the blankets, I can see the tense set of his shoulders, that he's absolutely rigid and frozen, in shock, or horror, or rage.
"Fraser? Come on, answer me, okay? I'm gonna start worrying about ya." My voice sounds high and pleading, and I bite my lip, wishing I could take it back.
He sits up abruptly, his eyes focused resolutely to the left, away from me. His hand reaches out for the mug I'm holding and I pass it over to him, while a feeling creeps over me that's so nauseating that for a second I think I'm going to have to run for the bathroom and puke. I feel like scum, like the shittiest person, the worst partner he could have gotten mixed up with.
I have to say something, I can't stand the tension. "How ya feelin'?"
He doesn't answer, lifts the cup to his lips and drinks the whole thing, one gulp after another. I can see that his eyes are closed over the blue rim. He sets the empty mug on the bedside table and flops down again, pulling the covers up to his shoulders.
I'm standing just inside the doorway, shifting my weight back and forth from one foot to the other and trying to figure out how to get him to say something to me.
He breaks the silence, his voice so loud it makes me jump. "Where are my clothes?"
"Huh? Oh, um, in the living room."
"Get them for me."
He didn't say please, that can't be a good sign. "Yeah, sure, I'll just, um...yeah."
I stare at the back of his head for another second before hurrying out of the room. There's a pit of dread in my stomach, a whole new fear I hadn't even considered up until now. What if he won't even talk to me? What if he decides that I don't even deserve a fight, just leaves and that's it, no more partnership, like it never existed? That's so totally Fraser that it stops me dead in my tracks at the end of the hall, totally helpless in the face of the possibility that he'd do that, to me. Now I'm angry on top of guilty and scared, and I got so many different things that want to come out of my mouth that I feel like I'm spinning in a circle. Gathering up his clothes, I force myself to take some deep breaths, try to clear my mind and prepare myself to face him. The hard part is probably going to be getting him to face me.
Going back into the bedroom with his clothes, I'm so anxious that I can't even wait for him to talk first. "Listen, Fraser, we really gotta talk-"
He interrupts me before I can even finish my sentence. "What do you have to say to me, Ray?"
"I'm listening. What do you have to say to me?"
He rolled over on his back, and he's just staring at me, his arms crossed defensively over his bare chest, the blankets tucked tightly under his arms. He's got that look on his face that makes me think he's made of stone, impenetrable; nothing is going to get through.
"Well, ah... shit, Fraser. What do you want me to say?"
"The truth would be nice."
That makes me so mad I want to pop him one. How dare he slip behind that snotty mask and make me do this all on my own? How does he think he can do that? That I'm one hundred percent responsible, when he's the one that threw himself on me. Even if he doesn't have any idea how badly I want him, how could he expect me to react? I'm not him; I'm not made of stone.
"Okay, well, what if the truth depends on what you have to say to me?"
Fraser closes he eyes, and shakes his head. He's really going to do it, he's going to shut me out. "I don't have anything to say to you, Ray." He sounds like it hurts to say it, but that doesn't matter, if he won't talk to me ever again, does it?
"Well then all I got to say is I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Fraser." He doesn't open his eyes, doesn't move a muscle. I wait for a few seconds, giving him a chance, but he doesn't have anything to say, so I make myself turn around and walk out of the room.
On autopilot, I go into the living room and sit down on the couch. I feel like somebody died, like God just flicked the switch and turned my world off. I can't do it, I can't do it without him, this can't happen. //The truth would be nice.// The truth isn't nice, Fraser. The truth is that my life was nothing but darkness and evil till you showed up; letting your brain get twice as twisted as the bad guys, knowing what they're going to do because it's what you would do, if you weren't on the other side. Until I got Fraser there was no black and white; there was no good at all. You give a man a hard life and he'll live it, but then if somebody comes along and shows him how dark it is, and mixes it all up with friendship and honor and justice; it's just like lifting up the sky, and he'll do anything to hang onto that.
Without any idea what my opening line is, I walk back into the bedroom. I'm so surprised that his clothes are still in a pile on the floor where I left them that I just stand there, four feet inside the doorway with my mouth open. There's a big lump in the middle of the bed, but no Fraser in sight. He's got his head buried under the blankets and he's balled up tight on one side, the covers wrapped around his body like a cocoon.
"Fraser, we gotta... Okay, you can't-- please, Fraser. Please, Frase, we have to talk about last night."
There's a back and forth movement from the top end of the lump that definitely means no, but I'm not going to give up that easy. As long as he's still here, in my house, hiding under my covers, I'm going to give it everything I got. There's got to be some way I can make this up to him.
"Fraser, I know... I know this is hard. You probably feel pretty weird about it and you got every right to be pissed at me, but just listen to me, okay? Just let us talk about it. Give me a chance, Fraser." I know I'm begging, and I don't care at all. While I'm talking to him I move to the edge of the bed, sitting down on the corner and reaching over to put my hand hesitantly on his leg. He doesn't move away, but he jumps when I touch him.
"Fraser?" Come on, you're gonna suffocate like that." He's got the blankets pulled tight under his head, one corner of the pillow pulled under there with him. "Fraser..." My voice sounds very patient, and I realize that I will sit here and talk to him buried under the covers all day if I have to.
"I'm sorry you got dosed." I offer softly, watching my hand move slowly off his calf. I guess it's a start.
He's rocking back and forth, sharp, jerking movement that curls him up even tighter under the blankets. The silence is so heavy that when he starts making these choked off gasping sounds it seems to fill up the whole room.
"Fraser, it's okay, listen to me, it's gonna be okay."
That elicits a louder gasp, and a groan. I want to rip the covers off him. What if this is some kind of side effect of the drug, what if he's in pain? I can't decide what to do, and he's not talking. If he can't get it together soon I'm going to take him to the hospital. Seeing Fraser like this is scary.
"Fraser, you're gonna suffocate yourself like that, come on, it's okay. You're gonna be okay." I tug gently at the blankets, and after a minute he releases his hold on them, pushing his face down into the bed when I pull the blankets down to his shoulders.
"I know you're upset..."
"Upset!" He spits out, yelling at me with his face smashed into the corner of the pillow. "I want to die."
"No, no you don't." It hurts so much to hear the shame and the anger in his voice that my determination wavers, and I'm not so sure I can do this, make him talk to me.
"Shut up, Ray! Just leave me alone."
"No, I can't do that, Fraser. I care too much."
He laughs spitefully, turning sharply from his side onto his stomach, hiding himself from me, like he can pretend I'm not sitting on the bed if I can't see him, like a little kid. It worries me that he won't look at me, that he can't bring himself to face it, that's not like Fraser at all. Maybe it is the after effects of the X that's messing him up so bad.
"Can I get you another cup of coffee, Frase?" I ask real carefully, getting up slowly off the bed. He nods, and I hear him roll over as soon as I turn my back. I can feel his eyes on my back as I walk out of the bedroom.
I take my time getting him coffee, trying to give myself enough time to come up with some kind of plan for how to handle this. I don't know what to do, how to say I'm sorry. What happened last night isn't going to disappear no matter what I say. I make a detour with his coffee to the bathroom to get him some aspirins. When I get back to the bedroom he's sitting up, his back against the headboard with his knees drawn up under the covers. He doesn't look up when I come into the room, but he does take the coffee cup I press into his hands. I let him take a sip before holding out the aspirins.
"Here, take these, might help the fuzzy-head upside down feeling."
"How do you know how I feel?" It sounds like he wants it to come out spiteful, but he actually just sounds vulnerable, like he doesn't know how the hell to deal with the fact that he woke up in my bed.
"I know. Take the pills, they're just aspirins."
"Okay." He agrees reluctantly, holding out his hand for me to drop the tablets into his palm. A part of me is surprised that he still trusts me even that much.
"Fraser, can I sit down?"
"It's your bed, Ray."
"Yeah, Fraser, I know it's my bed, and you're in it, and I'm asking if I can sit down."
"Be my guest."
"Okay." I sit down on the edge of the bed, wishing I had the guts to just put my arms around him. He looks like shit; his eyes are all red from crying, dark purple circles under his wet lashes. He looks lost, and I know I'm the one that's responsible for that, but I still want to be the one that makes him feel better, if there is any way to make him feel better.
I watch him swallow the aspirins and drink his coffee, his eyes cast down on the bedspread, avoiding me. After a moment, he shakes his head, and sets his cup down on the night table. "I don't want any more coffee."
There's a long silence, he just sits and stares at his hands. I've been waiting for one of us to come up with something to say for so long that when he finally whispers, it startles me so bad I jump.
"How could you?"
"I... I don't know."
"How could you let me do those things!" His face is bright red, I think it's anger and embarrassment both, and he's so upset his hands are shaking.
"Look, Fraser, I know it's not what you consider normal, but what happened last night wasn't that bad... I mean, I know it was the effect of the Ecstasy that prompted you to- well, to jump me, and I know it's not something you'd normally want to do and all, but that doesn't mean anybody got raped last night. Do understand me, Fraser?"
"No, Ray, I don't believe I do." He sounds so furious I can't even look at him, his eyes are accusing me of everything, all at once, and I can't make myself face it.
"I don't understand, Ray, how you could have allowed me to make critical decisions about my health and state of welfare when I was clearly not in any condition to assume that responsibility or to make logical choices. You should have taken me to the hospital!"
That felt like getting stabbed in the gut. He's right, and maybe if I can make myself admit it we can go forward and get somewhere.
"You're right, Fraser, I should have."
"So why didn't you, Ray?"
"What? I don't know. I don't know why, Fraser, I just didn't. You said you felt okay and..."
"And you know damn well that I was in no condition to make that determination! I asked you a question, Ray. I want an answer. Why didn't you?"
Oh my god, he swore at me. No wonder I'm yelling at him. "I felt bad, okay? I felt bad that you got dosed and I didn't want to put you through all the hospital crap, okay? I just wanted to keep you company."
He snorts in disbelief, a nasty look on his face. "The only part of that statement I believe is the last part."
I'm losing it. I don't know what he thinks he's going to accomplish by making me admit how bad I got it for him, but if he doesn't stop soon, it's gonna get him clobbered, hangover or not. "Fine! You wanna hear me say it, Fraser? I wanted to be with you! You fucking happy?"
Piercing blue eyes smolder at me, and I feel like I'm actually shoved back two feet by the rage coming off of him. As messed-up-crazy-angry as I feel, he looks twice as bad. He looks, like a Mountie on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and that's my fault. "No. I'm not fucking happy. I'm not happy at all. You wanted me and you knew you couldn't have me so you chose to take advantage of me while my inhibitions were at an all-time low. What you did, Ray, amounts to sexual abuse."
I hear my own voice, quiet and deadly angry, but it's like the words come out of somebody else's mouth. "Fraser, if there's a reason you're telling me this, you better spit it out soon, 'cause if you make another accusation like that I'm gonna pop you one, I swear ta god."
He laughs in my face, loud and sarcastic. "Why? Wasn't last night good enough for you?"
I'm on him so fast all he has time to do is put his hands up, I bounce on top of him, my knees on either side of his thighs and my hands pushing down hard on his shoulders, shaking him. "God damnit, Fraser! I didn't rape you! You raped me, okay? You want the truth, that's the fucking truth! You raped me."
"What?" He's so shocked that he goes limp underneath me, stops trying to push me off him and just lets his hands fall to the bed on either side of me.
"You heard me!"
"I heard you, Ray, but I don't know what gives you the right to make such a wild accusation."
Oh shit. I move off of him slowly, apologizing for the rough stuff by putting my hand gently on the center of his chest while I push myself off him. I make myself take deep breath and let it out slowly, and it seems like I can feel the color draining from my face.
"Okay, okay, let's take a step back here. I want you to just calm down for a second, Fraser, and tell me exactly what you do remember about last night."
"I don't see any point in that, Ray, you know perfectly well what happened."
"Yes, yes I do, but I'm not sure that you do, Fraser. Just take it from leaving the club, and tell me what you remember."
"Because, Ray." He looks away, turning his head to the side to mutter in disgust. "It's far too embarrassing."
"No, Fraser. Embarrassing is telling a stranger about your sex life. I'm not a stranger, I was actually there, okay?"
"What happened last night doesn't have anything to do with my sex life."
Nice shot, Fraser. "Yeah, okay, you're making your point. Now will you please tell me what you remember?"
"I was standing at the door, checking Identification. I noticed that my tongue was slightly swollen, I was disoriented and there was a peculiar feeling in the back of my neck. I stepped outside to get some air. Shortly after I exited the club you came to tell me that the Sherriff's department had negated our operation and that we'd been called off. I told you that I suspected I had been drugged."
"Yeah, well, actually you rambled about how soft the wind was for a while, and then you got around to the I-got-dosed part."
"The chinook." He whispers, a look in his eyes so regretful that it twists up my stomach and I wish more than I've ever wished for anything that we didn't have to have this conversation; that I could go back to that moment and do this whole thing differently.
"Yeah, the chinook. Then what?"
"We walked to the car, you notified Huey and Dewey, and we decided that we would return to your apartment."
"Yeah, that's right, we decided."
Anger flashes in his eyes, but he ignores me and keeps going, a determined set to his shoulders as he wraps his arms around his chest, like he can ward me off with body language.
"We came back here, you got me a glass of water, I was very thirsty. I was experiencing heightened tactile sensations, and I remember trying to explain it to you..."
His voice drifts off, his eyes squinting up like he's trying to picture exactly what happened and it's confusing him.
"Well, sorta. You were high, Frase. You touched me, and you told me how good it felt to you..."
"Yes, I remember that, Ray." He turns his face away from me, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment.
"Then what, Fraser?" I ask as gently as I can, pushing him to remember.
"I- oh Lord do I really have to say it?"
I just shrug. Yeah, I want him to tell me, I even want to make him tell me, but I know that's not nice, it's the hurt of his disgusted reaction that's making me want to force it out of him.
"Fine. I experienced orgasm. We took our clothes off... and you were on top of me... I believe the polite term is frottage." He mutters the last part under his breath, with his face turned against the pillow.
I don't even know what he said, but the tone of his voice just about breaks my heart. It dissolves my anger, leaving only bitter regret and tenderness. I reach out, without even knowing where I can touch him, what's safe. I end up smoothing back his hair, and realize I can breathe a little easier when he doesn't flinch away from me.
"Then what?" I croak, smiling at him sheepishly when my voice breaks.
"What do you mean?" He frowns, shaking his head.
"We took a shower..." I prompt him, trying to encourage him with hand language.
"Ah, yeah, together. Very together."
"I don't-" His jaw snaps shut and he sits up abruptly, turning away from me to sit on the opposite side of the bed with his head in his hands. The muscles in his back are so tense he's shaking. He really doesn't remember. Oh lord...
I stare at his naked back, my brain spinning too fast to say anything. After a minute he reaches down and picks up his t-shirt, pulling it on and tugging it down over his hips to cover himself. He puts his underwear on next, the quick flash of skin I get as he pulls them up brings back the sight of him all hard and slick in the shower last night, and a shudder of want runs through me.
"Are you going to tell me what happened?"
"I dunno. Do ya want me to?"
"You said..." His shoulders hunch forward defensively, one hand raking through his hair.
"You didn't, Fraser."
That's all I can say, that's all I got to give him, so I hope it's enough. It's true, it's as true as him saying I took advantage of him. I did, I did take advantage of him, but I had a hell of a lot of encouragement. The whole thing is too complicated to put into words, especially words he'll understand. When Fraser doesn't want to accept something, he just decides it doesn't exist.
What he said about me and him having nothing to do with his sex life hurt like hell. It's still hurting, there's a knife in my gut that's going to stay there for weeks. I tell myself I can live with his contempt, that it's not going to kill me. I had a pretty good idea of how he felt about guys with guys before any of this happened, and I lived with it then. I can live with his disgust, but not his bitterness. I have this image in my head of him, of innocence and purity; I know it's not really true, but I hate seeing him get jaded.
Minutes tick by while he sits with his head in his hands, not saying anything. I feel like it's the end, like neither of us is going to be able to find one more word to say. There's so much more I want to tell him, but I can't. I can't do it to him, can't cause him any more pain. He's got all he can handle, right up to the limit. It's that terrifying feeling that one more word could end the whole world. That's what it felt like the day Stella told me we were done. I sat on the bed just like this, too, cross-legged with my eyes closed and my fists hiding under my knees, waiting to get stabbed through the heart.
"There's something I need to know, Ray."
I feel myself smile, nodding my head without opening my eyes. I have to wonder about my ass-backwards defense system, the one that makes me say, "Sure, shoot," when I know it's going to end my world. Whatever Fraser needs, he's going to take it, and evading him will only stretch the pain out longer.
"Are you in love with me?"
He couldn't shock me any more if he shot me in the chest. My body falls forward, shoulders slumping down until I'm folded over myself, arms wrapped around my ribs. If there's one thing that Fraser's really good at, it's ripping the floor out from under me. I'm more than shocked, I'm paralyzed.
"Because I have to know, Ray."
"Why do you have to know?"
"Alright. Okay. Yes."
Slowly, I straighten up, I open my eyes and he's turned around, staring at me, so much hurt and betrayal on his face that I start to lose my grip on my anger.
"You mean for how long?"
He just nods, his lips a thin white line across his pale face.
"Right then? From the very beginning?"
I shrug, helpless, shaking my head with my hands up in the air in front of me. "It happens. It happens that way for me. One minute I'm alive, next the moon goes over the sun and bam! You're standing there waiting for me, like you're guarding me or something, and you were the very first thing I saw when the light came back, and I knew. Like when I threw that dreamcatcher I was just throwing my life up in the air and then it ended and started all over again."
"You never felt that I deserved to know? You never felt obligated to share your epiphany?"
"Look, Fraser..." I don't really get what he's angry about, that I didn't just blurt it out right away or that I fell for him to begin with. At this point, I suppose it doesn't really matter.
He just sits there. His eyes look about a thousand miles away, and I can tell that he's going over hundreds of details, putting everything into a fast play timeline in his head.
"You didn't trust me enough to tell me, so you lied to me instead." It's not a question, it's an accusation.
"Fraser, I didn't lie to you."
"You lied to me every day, Ray. Every single day."
"Oh! And telling you would have been better?"
When Fraser pounces, he moves fast. I get just about enough time to blink before he's on me and shoving me backwards. I get the air knocked out of me and I'm lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling with two hundred pounds of Mountie squashing my lungs. His face is so close I can feel his breath on my mouth, so close I can't really see him right. His hands are planted on either side of my head, keeping me from looking anywhere but up, right into his eyes.
"It would have been the truth!" He shouts, his hands closing hard on either side of my skull, his full weight pressing down hard on top of me. He's stretched out full length over my body, and he's not worrying about knees or elbows, either. I think my brain must be losing oxygen, that's the only excuse I can make for the words that come out of my mouth.
"What about you, Fraser?" I gasp out, struggling under his hold. I hate being held down; it makes me all claustrophobic and crazy.
"What about me, Ray?"
He snarls over my mouth, so close I get his spit on my tongue.
"Last night... In the shower..." I'm choking for breath and fighting him with everything I got, and he's not budging, no giving me one inch. "You said... you found me attractive, you said 'I watch you all the time'. Was that the truth? Was it?"
His mouth comes down on top of mine, shutting me up fast. His kiss is savage and violent, like he's got something to prove. I'm ashamed of the groan that comes out of me; of the way I instantly relax and open up for him, letting his tongue stab into my mouth.
His lips are attacking my mouth, sealing off oxygen and making me stupid and slow with lust. My body doesn't care how angry he is, or that the inside of my lower lip is bleeding. I can feel the blood rushing in my veins as my cock hardens against his hip bone.
His hands are holding my head so hard it feels like he's going to pop my brain like a balloon. I can't think, can't think of anything beyond the amazement that Fraser, Fraser-not-on-drugs, is kissing me.
"Mmm..." A hungry sound comes out of me under his mouth, trying to ask him what the hell he's doing and beg him not to stop at the same time.
When he finally pulls away we're both breathing hard, staring into each other's eyes with enough friction to burn. I'm angry, but it's a desperate, miserable kind of angry that makes me want to hold him down and just make him feel how good this could be.
"You said it too, Fraser." I pant up at him, the words out before I can stop myself.
For once, Fraser doesn't make me spell it out, he knows exactly what it I'm talking about.
"Did I really?" He breathes, his voice barely a whisper. His body is hard and tense on top of me, but his hands have relaxed their iron grip on my head. He looks lost.
"Yeah. You probably didn't mean it though."
Fraser just stares at me, not making a move to let me off the hook. He doesn't say a word. He moves off me slowly, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
"I meant it, Ray."
His face is blank, still staring at me but his eyes are far away. He doesn't sound happy about it, just shocked, and there's an edge there, like maybe he wants to blame me, but he's just going to resign himself to the facts instead. What's spooky is that I can tell just from the pitch of his voice that he doesn't remember. Sometimes I think I'm obsessed with him, that it's not healthy to know somebody as well as I know him.
"Okay." I don't know what to say. After last night, this has to be his call, he's the one in control, and I just have to wait for him to make whatever choices he's going to make.
He moves back on the bed, putting two feet of space between us to sit with his back against the headboard, his knees drawn up and his arms crossed over them.
"I can't- I don't want to- That is, there are many outside factors to consider, people that would be affected- we can't allow ourselves-"
"Shut up, Fraser."
It stops him cold, and the silence is a blessed relief from the pain of listening to him stumble his way through all the reasons we can't have anything together. All that selfless bullshit is an excuse for avoiding the disaster I'd make of his career and his future and his reputation and his nice, compartmentalized, sterile life. I know, and deep down inside, I even know he's right, it wouldn't work, but if I have to listen to him tell me all that I'm gonna wind up saying stuff I'll regret, or worse, popping him in the mouth.
"Perhaps you're right, Ray. There doesn't seem to be any point in having this conversation."
I close my eyes, nodding my head because I can't talk. There's a wall of pain around me; I can feel myself shutting down, my face turning into a mask as I switch to automatic pilot. He's wrong, there is a point, but I'm already exhausted. He wears me out, wears me down, turns me inside out and comes up clean. I almost hate him for it, except I love him too much.
He takes a deep breath, shifting on the bed when he exhales. I feel like a coward, because I can't make myself open my eyes.
"I think it would be best if we let what happened last night be forgotten."
"So you wanna call it quits?"
I interrupt him again, not able to wait for him to get to the bottom line. I'm holding it together, but I feel like I've got a time bomb ticking in my chest, and I don't know how much more sanity I have left.
"No. No, of course not. We can't do that, Ray. After all, the reason we work together is due to circumstances out of our control... I do think I'll take a few days off from my work with you and concentrate on my duties at the consulate."
Sure, Frase, go hide behind the Ice Queen, that's a good idea. I can't argue with him; at least he's got a plan. I can't even think past him walking out the door. Fraser's real good at picking up the pieces.
"Yeah, that's a good idea."
"Good. And after that we'll do our best to forget that this ever happened. I should be going-"
"I'll give you a ride." I answer automatically, getting up without looking at him.
"No. That's all right. I'll catch the bus."
It's three busses, actually, but I'm not about to argue. I don't really want to drive him back; I don't want to have to deal with the outside world at all. If I can get him out of my apartment without breaking, without begging him or hitting him or smashing anything, then I just want to be alone.
It feels like time goes into slow motion, watching him pull himself together and put the rest of his clothes on. His pants are wrinkled, and it's my t-shirt he's got on, but I don't mention it. I follow him out to the living room in silence, leaning against the wall near the door while he puts his shoes on and picks up his coat off the couch. If there was anything I could say that would make him stay, I'd be saying it. I'd beg, if I thought for second it would make any difference. Instead I just stand guard by the door and watch him, aware of each second that passes, of the silence that is nothing compared to the silence that will be here when he's gone.
There's a long, funny pause when he straightens up from putting on his boots. He stares at me without saying anything, the emotions on his face so strong I have no trouble reading them from across the room. Humiliation, and regret and some kind of conflict that scares him so much he's going to do his damndest to pretend it doesn't exist. Finally, he gives himself a little shake, pulls himself up straight and comes to stand in front of me at the door, his coat folded neatly over his arm.
"Very well then, Ray."
I'm choking down everything I want to say, it's a big ball pain in the bottom of my throat and I can't swallow right. I look down, avoid his eyes when I nod, smiling with my jaw locked.
I open the door for him, stand with my arm stretched out leaning against the door, staring at my feet. He waits a second, expecting me say something back, but I can't talk. He walks through the door and down the hall, his steps even and familiar on the wood floor.
I lean against the closed door, my forehead pressed against the wood, listening to his footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the door downstairs closing behind him. I almost do it, almost manage to just turn around and walk away, but at the last minute I lose it and spin around to punch my fist though the wall. Old plaster crumbles and falls inside the wall with a sound like a waterfall and when I pull my fist back my split knuckles smear blood around he edges of the hole I made. The pain is good; it's intense enough to block out everything. I go into the kitchen for ice and rag for my hand, concentrating on holding my swelling right fist perfectly still while I knock ice cubes out the tray and hunt through the cabinets for a dish towel.
I wrap up my hand and go into the living room to sit on the couch. I feel like I've been through a war. He meant it. Why the hell did he tell me that? I don't get it, not at all. For once I don't have the slightest idea what was going on in his head, why he told me the truth. Didn't do me any good; he pulled himself together and went right into clean-up mode on me and walked out. Which is pretty much I expected him to do, I guess, but I didn't expect that. He meant it.
It's not much, it's not anything concrete or stable or real, just Fraser telling me the truth, even when it's not going to do either of us any good. But it's something, and if I've learned anything from him, it's that a little hope is precious thing. Right now, it's all I got, so I'm gonna go with that. At this point blame seems like a waste of time. We both fucked up, and we're both paying for it. It's no consolation to think about how he looked just about as torn up as I am when he left, it's no consolation at all.
It should be so simple, we sure proved last night that we go together good; slot A fits with point B just fine, but I guess that's not the problem. The problem is I'm a guy and he's a guy and it's a prejudiced, fucked up world, and even if it wasn't, I probably wouldn't look like a real good catch to him. Hell, I probably didn't look like much of catch when he got saddled with me in the first place.
All I can do is wait for him to come back, and try to be what he wants me to be. Whatever that is.
I don't really think I can do it, but I just might kill myself trying.