Thanks: Thanks to Sage and mergatrude for beta
Notes: For mergatrude, who wanted glove porn
It was the first really cold day of fall, and Ray had spent most of it trying to find witnesses to an armed robbery at the Aladdin's Cave Costume Shop on Belmont while Fraser was stuck on sentry duty at the Consulate. Ray finally managed to track down the girls who'd rented the ninja outfits and took them down to the station to get their statements, and then he called Fraser. "I gotta find a pirate and a Zorro, so I might be late tonight, but I'll be there. Should I bring food?"
"No need," said Fraser. "Turnbull's cooked enough lasagna for a small army, and he offered to leave us some."
"Cool." Ray lowered his voice. "So, uh, I'll see you in a couple of hours."
"I'll look forward to it." Fraser's voice was kind of husky, which was a good thing because the night before they'd kissed for the first time, just as Ray was dropping Fraser off after the game, and Ray couldn't stop thinking about it, the sudden lips on his, the white heat of shock and the wave of lust that'd followed. When Fraser sat back, red-faced, and reached for the door handle, Ray had been so distracted by the fact it was happening, he was on the road, leaving Fraser on the curb, before he'd realized it. So it was reassuring, now, to know Fraser was thinking about it too, even if their conversation was all business on the surface.
"You do that," said Ray, and hung up with a grin on his face, which froze when he caught Dewey watching him speculatively.
"Uh, I just got a lead on a Zorro," Ray explained hastily. He grabbed his jacket, checked his gun and headed out.
* * *
It took an hour and a half to track down the Zorro and confirm that the perp was a Batman, and another two hours to get the Batman's name and rap sheet, and pick him up at his mom's house. "I needed the dough," he said, after Ray had cuffed and Mirandized him. "I need a batmobile."
"You violated a sacred thing," Ray told him, and took him into the station.
So it was nearly eight by the time Ray knocked on the Consulate door, and the wind was icy cold. Ray shivered, jittering on the spot while he waited for Fraser to let him in.
The door swung open, and there he was: Fraser. His hair was slightly ruffled and he was wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt with a red undershirt showing at the neck, and thick woolly socks with no shoes. The no shoes gave Ray a slight height advantage once he stepped inside, and Fraser looked up at him with such a pleased, open expression Ray really had no choice but to kick the door shut behind him and push Fraser against the wall.
"So," he murmured, unfastening his raincoat and stepping in close so they were chest to chest, "I've been thinking."
"Indeed?" A smile lurked in Fraser's eyes, but otherwise he was every inch the innocent.
Ray wasn't going to let him get away with that. "Yeah," he said and leaned forward, letting his breath fall on Fraser's neck. "About this." He pressed his lips to Fraser's cheek just at the corner of his mouth, teasing him. "And this." He let his hand trail down Fraser's side to his waist and gripped his hipbone. Ray was still wearing his gloves, but even through the leather and Fraser's jeans, he could feel him. It was dizzying.
Fraser let his head fall back against the wood paneling. "I see." The innocence faded and he gave Ray the most wicked, inviting smile Ray'd ever seen, and widened his legs, letting Ray in closer. "And what exactly—?"
Ray pressed his mouth to Fraser's. "Mmmrf." Everywhere they were touching, Ray flushed hot and sweaty. His dick ached for attention, but Start with kissing, he told himself. Don't rush this. Don't screw up.
Fraser kissed him back, hard and just as hungry as Ray, and Ray let himself get carried away with that, started murmuring stupid endearments and all kinds of dumb stuff, hoping with the few braincells that were still firing that Fraser was too distracted to be listening.
"God, I want you," Ray gasped against Fraser's perfectly smooth jaw, and Fraser wrapped one arm around Ray's waist and shoved his tongue in Ray's mouth without hesitation, humming his approval. And then he made another noise, disapproving this time, and tried to peel Ray's coat off with one hand and move Ray's hand to Fraser's crotch with the other, all without breaking the kiss. And because it was Fraser, this somehow magically worked. Ray's coat pooled at their feet, and Ray felt the length of Fraser's dick through his jeans, and Fraser said, "Please, Ray," like he couldn't wait another second.
And really, Ray would've given Fraser just about anything at that point. If Fraser had said, "I need to fuck you" or "I need a thousand bucks," either way, Ray would've done whatever it took. So a hand job, that was a no-brainer.
"Shh," said Ray, and, "Yeah, yeah, I got you." And then he kissed Fraser again and undid Fraser's jeans, clumsy 'cause of his gloves and him being out of practice at getting inside other people's clothing. The boxers offered no resistance, despite the starch, and then he had Fraser's dick, hard and heavy and hot in his hand. In his gloved hand. That was stupid. He went to let go, to take off his glove, but Fraser grabbed his wrist.
"No. Please." Fraser's neck went pink but he didn't shy away from saying it, and it blew Ray's mind that Fraser knew what he wanted, that he'd ask for what he wanted. And okay, so it wasn't exactly what Ray wanted, but it was in the ballpark and if it made Fraser happy, Ray was more than willing to give it a shot.
"Okay, okay," said Ray, and put his gloved hand back on Fraser's dick. "Tell me, uh, tell me what you want." He started to stroke, but the leather was pulling at the skin. That couldn't be good — it was going to chafe like hell.
"Lighter," said Fraser. His head went thunk against the paneling again and his eyes fluttered shut. "Gently. I want—" Ray changed his grip, making it so careful and light he was barely touching Fraser's dick, just cradling it and feathering over it. And jeez, the leather must be cold from the wind outside, but Fraser didn't seem to notice or care. Or maybe he liked that. Maybe being from the Arctic meant he was into cold and ice, maybe really into it, because now Fraser was moaning. Fraser fisted his hand in Ray's sweater and yanked him in to kiss him again, all messy and sloppy, while his hips pushed forward. "Sorry," he said, breathlessly against Ray's jaw. "I— you should—"
"Don't." Ray was mesmerized and turned on like crazy, and no way was he going to let politeness enter the picture. "I can wait."
He swiped his thumb lightly along Fraser's dick, the supple leather of his gloves forming a loose tunnel for Fraser to thrust into. Fraser groaned his name, and Ray's heart split open, heat spilling through his veins. This was happening.
He rested his forehead on Fraser's shoulder and looked down to watch, to memorize the sight of them. In the shadows between their bodies, the black leather gloves were a deeper shadow, contrasting with Fraser's pure white boxers. Ray could only catch glimpses of Fraser's dick, the head poking out from his gloved hand and then withdrawing, over and over, too quick to really register. Fraser was speeding up, his breath loud and uneven, and as Ray thought that, Fraser's hand clenched on the back of Ray's neck — too tight for comfort, but Ray wasn't complaining — and Fraser's whole body stiffened.
Ray just had time to point Fraser's dick up at his plaid shirt before Fraser came with a gasp. Ray lifted his head and held him through it. He stilled his hand and kissed the side of Fraser's neck, tasting sweat and soap, smelling trees or the outdoors or something. And then Fraser slumped back, his face sweaty and embarrassed, and started apologizing again.
"Shut up," Ray told him softly, shaking his head.
There was a crease between Fraser's eyebrows. "But—"
Ray kissed him to stop the words, and then kissed him some more because he wanted to, because Fraser was full-lipped and relaxed and sensual, and if this was how he got when he'd just come, Ray was going to make sure he came early and came often.
"It's good," he said against Fraser's cheek. Fraser's hands were sneaking under Ray's sweater and the two shirts beneath that, and were cool against Ray's skin, and Ray shook with lust and realized Fraser hadn't had that yet. Hadn't had Ray's hands on him, not really. He yanked off his gloves impatiently and dropped them onto his crumpled coat, and then mapped out Fraser's neck, slid his bare fingers into Fraser's hair. It was incredibly intimate, like the lights had turned down and there was just the two of them in the whole world. Ray's body felt lit up like a Christmas tree.
"God, you feel good." Fraser's hair was soft and thick, his scalp warm, and Ray closed his eyes to concentrate better, and then blinked them open and smiled, teasing. "I can't believe you made me keep my gloves on."
Fraser blushed and kissed Ray hard, like he was trying to distract him. "They're very attractive gloves," he said. "And, you know, I rarely encounter leather that smells like leather, what with the propensity of the RCMP to saturate everything in Neat's Foot Oil. I mean— Oh." He half-sighed, half-moaned, and arched his neck into Ray's touch.
Ray slipped his fingers inside the neck of the red undershirt and ran his hand across the muscles of Fraser's back. His own hard-on had been pretty quiet while he'd been focused on satisfying Fraser, but now his body was starting to get insistent. "I need—"
"Anything," said Fraser, and it was plain as the nose on his face that he meant it. The possibilities took Ray's breath away. But it was too soon, too soon for that, for any of the images that flashed like porn in Ray's head. He wanted all those things, but he wanted to ease into being with Fraser first. Take it slow and enjoy the ride.
He wanted to start at the beginning. He wanted Fraser to touch him.
He opened his mouth to say so, but before he could find the words, Fraser grasped his waist and turned them, pushed Ray against the wall and leaned into him. His weight and his heat and his sweet, hot breath made Ray's pulse race. "Yeah. Fuck, just." Ray shook his head helplessly and rubbed up against Fraser's thigh.
Fraser's eyes were dark, his pupils blown like he was on drugs, and he rested his forearm against the wall by Ray's head and unbuckled Ray's belt with his other hand, while he murmured in his deep voice into Ray's ear, "Let me. I've wanted this."
"Fraser." It was more a moan than a word, and Ray pretty much grabbed Fraser's hand and shoved it into his shorts. "Come on, come on. Jesus."
Fraser's hand wrapped around him at once, eagerly, and Fraser pressed his face into the side of Ray's neck and jerked him off, hard and fast and just right, like he knew exactly what Ray needed.
Ray should've known that Fraser, a natural at pretty much everything he turned his hand to, would be a dynamo in the sack. Or in the hallway, in this case. Ray just hoped he'd be able to keep up. He slung his arms around Fraser's shoulders and hung on, and in only a minute or two he was riding the knife edge, fighting the sharp swell of light and pleasure bursting through him, flashing behind his eyelids. Fighting and losing. He gritted his teeth and came hard. His dick pulsed in Fraser's fist, and Ray felt like he'd been stripped bare. Thank God it was Fraser holding him. Fraser who he trusted, who he needed. Anyone else and Ray would've had to find some way to pull himself together, swagger to his feet.
With Fraser, Ray let himself slide down the wall till he was sitting on the floor, his chest still heaving for breath. "Uh. Wow."
Fraser crouched down in front of him, his hand shiny and slick. There were wet patches down his front.
"We messed up your shirt," said Ray, stupidly. Things had moved a damn sight quicker than he'd expected.
Fraser glanced down. "So we have." He didn't seem worried about it.
"Come here," said Ray, and hauled Fraser in by his damp, stained shirt until Fraser was kneeling, straddling his legs, and they were face to face. Ray touched the tip of his nose to Fraser's, feeling goofy and happy, then tilted his head and pressed their mouths together. Fraser kissed him slowly, like they were learning Braille with their lips.
They kissed for forever, until Ray shivered again.
"All right?" asked Fraser quietly. His thumbs were on Ray's neck, half-caress, half-massage, and Ray was melting in his hands.
"'S a draft coming under the front door," he said against Fraser's cheek. "'S not important."
But Fraser sat back. "Take a load off, Ray," he said. "Stay a while." The corner of his mouth twitched.
Ray thumped his arm half-heartedly and tried to summon the energy to move.
"I have a perfectly well-insulated office. With a bed of sorts." Fraser climbed to his feet and offered Ray a hand up. "And there's Turnbull's lasagna."
"Where's the wolf?" Ray looked around. If Dief was here, the hallway was somehow, weirdly, more private than Fraser's office.
"He had some errands to run." Fraser scratched his eyebrow. "He, ah, he said he might be some time."
"You told him, didn't you?" Ray grabbed Fraser's hand so he could clamber up, landing himself right up in Fraser's personal space. Once he got there, he didn't want to move. "How'd he take it?"
"He was rather smug about it, actually," said Fraser, wryly. "He informed me it was about time."
"He got that right." Ray grinned. "Good to know we've got someone in our corner, anyway, even if it is a wolf."
"Yes, indeed." Fraser looked embarrassed and started leading the way back to his office. "Well, and there's Turnbull."
Ray blinked, and a tiny thrill of surprise ran down his spine. "You told Turnbull?"
"Not exactly." Fraser looked sheepish. "I'm afraid I'm not particularly skilled at prevarication."
"I noticed that."
"If it's any consolation, I believe it inspired his baking," offered Fraser.
Ray shook his head in mock despair and stopped in the doorway of Fraser's office, leaned against the doorjamb and eyed him narrowly. "Anyone else I should know about?"
Fraser opened his mouth and shut it again. He glanced towards the closet, and then back at Ray. "Not another living soul," he said, firmly. And then he smiled, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. "I may be tempted to tell the golden daffodils, though."
Ray shook his head and grinned. "You are a Grade A freak, Benton Fraser. You are—" He stared at him for a long moment, overcome with love and triumph and post-sex smugness.
"I'm a Canadian," Fraser finished for him, his tone a mix of pride and unbelievable dorkiness. There was a twinkle in his eye.
Ray snorted. "That you are," he said. "My fine Canadian friend." And just in case that sounded too friends-and-partners-y, he walked Fraser backwards across the room, pushed him down on his hard, narrow little cot, and blew him, then and there. Just so they both knew exactly where they stood.