For the Jewlery Challenge
Sep. 5th, 2004 03:06 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
amireal.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionSo I haven't written a single word of Due South fic in my life.
Damn you people.
1,268 words of Fraser/RayK kinda sorta smut but with a definate NC-17 rating.
Distraction – NC-17
Fraser isn’t sure when he first noticed it. He doesn’t know if it was something new, or something very old. Part of a rebellious youth, or the act of an adult reclaiming his identity.
Sometimes he imagines it was a lark. An off the cuff moment when Ray passed a store.
Sometimes he thinks the act was well planned, executed with great deliberation and forethought.
Some days he doesn’t care as long as he can catch a glimpse of its outline underneath one of those tight tee shirts Ray often wears.
He has an image of the first time he saw it. Confirmation of what he suspects was nothing more than a flash of silver while Ray changes his shirt.
He remembers feeling flushed. At first he thinks its the satisfaction of his deductive reasoning. Knowing one still has their keen powers of observation should make one proud.
But that doesn’t explain the heat that courses through him the second time he sees that brief flash of silver. He looks, of course, to confirm what he saw that first time. As his brain registers that he is, indeed, correct, he tugs gently at his collar. Perhaps it is a bit humid today.
The third happens when there are other things on his mind, but he revisits the image later. Mentally, he adds it to the pile of evidence that has been accumulating in his brain. Dutifully he reorganizes and reviews all that he has learned while in the shower. Mutlitasking is the key to saving time. He ignores the clock that tells him his shower had taken longer than was strictly necessary. It has, after all, been a trying day.
By around the fifteenth time, Fraser admits he might be dwelling on it more than is healthy. Perhaps if he simply asked…
The twenty-first time they were alone in Ray’s apartment soaking wet. He supposed it was bound to happen as soon as he ran that truck into the fire hydrant.
“Come on Fraser, my place is up the block, we can dry off there.”
Still cataloguing the twentieth time, Fraser just nods.
A towel is thrown at him and he automatically and mechanically wipes away the water.
Lanyard.
Belt.
Buttons.
Suspenders.
Henley.
A flash of silver. He freezes. Ray is across the room, shirt off, head buried under a large towel. His soaked blue jeans hang heavily on his slim waist showing a sliver of grey boxers, also wet. His bare chest glows just slightly in the low lamplight and every goosebump is clearly outlined against lightly tanned skin.
Fraser lets his eyes wander up, following a flat abdomen up to a well defined chest and out to peaked nipples.
And one gleaming silver ring.
He reaches out, unsure when he even crossed the room. He can’t bring himself to touch it right away, so his fingers skim just below it, the areole tightens just a bit more and Ray freezes.
Mussed spikey blonde hair peaks out from under the towel. “Frase?”
He clears his throat, though he doesn’t know when his voice had gotten so hoarse. “I just…” His rudeness is unthinkable, but he cannot seem to get the words out.
Ray’s eyes follow his and as they see the source of his fascination his lips quirk up ever so slightly, “Never seen one before, huh?”
He shakes his head, or at least he tries. It comes out as small jerking motions.
Ray shrugs and ducks his head a bit. “It was for a case, a while back. At first I couldn’t wait the rip the thing out. Felt like a damn Christmas tree.”
“Ah.” His voice still hoarse. His hand, he notices, has not moved. He should remove it. His fingers inch upwards. “What made you… ah… keep it?”
Ray, head still down, “Someone showed me the error of my ways.” Now he tilts his head up, just so his eyes can look up through his lashes.
Fraser’s hands shake ever so slightly. “Error?” He asks, genuinely curious.
Ray’s hand traces up his arm until it rests lightly at his wrist. “Yeah.” A slight pressure forces his fingers up over Ray’s nipple. One pad roughly brushing the peak, another getting tangled in the hoop. Ray’s breathing caught and his lips quirked up again, “Never knew how much fun a Christmas tree got ta have.”
“Oh.”
They stay like for several breathes.
“Look Frase,” Raying finally says, “If I didn’t want you here, I woulda taken it out sometime around stare number two.”
Fraser blinks dumbly.
Ray continues softly, “Hey, for all I know this could be some sort of weird fascination for body jewelry ya got, but I’m gonna take a big leap here and say its less the jewelry and more the body. Which hey, I’m not complainin’. I mean you’re the most important thing in my life so- mmmphh!”
It is around then that Fraser assumed the rest of the conversation could be held at a later juncture.
He pins Ray against the wall and swallows whatever remaining words there are in a deep, wet, kiss.
He nips and licks his way to the silver hoop, sucking it into his mouth with an obscene wet noise. He sucks gently and laps roughly at the nipple with his tongue. Ray’s back arches and they slide gracefully to the floor. Ray’s legs hooked over his, which are neatly crossed.
His hands find two firm shapes to grab onto and as he licks and sucks and bites, they rock.
Ray shudders constantly and mutters a stream of nearly incoherent gibberish. “Oh… god… yeah… Frase… Frase… don’t stop… yeah… need this… need you.”
They have a rhythm that Fraser knows intimately. It was the same one they use to catch criminals, to confuse their friends, to help little old ladies across the street while avoiding gunfire. It is them, they are the rhythm. But the tempo is shifting and he can barely concentrate enough to remember not to bite too hard.
Suddenly, Ray’s calloused hand is on his face, pulling his chin up. ‘Need you… need you,” Ray’s voice murmurs hoarsely, his hot breath prickling against his cheek. Then they’re kissing again. Roughly, passionately and the pleasure is too intense, too good, too right. Fraser thinks he might crack or melt, shake apart in something he can’t control.
They break apart gasping and Ray’s voice is in his ear. “Leggo. I’m here. Let go.”
He gasps, taut, straining, their chest plastered together, rubbing raw, oversensitive. He feels Ray’s arms tight around him, Ray’s lips moist and hot on his neck. And he knows with utter certainty that despite how dangerous this is, how horribly it could all end, that Ray will be there. With him in pain and with him in gut wrenching pleasure.
Lips seek his again and this time he can get lost, drown in pleasure. Riding a crest so high he could never hope to see bottom, he thrusts with all that he is and jumps.
Ray is shuddering against him as he slowly comes back to himself. They are fully on the floor now, trembling and spent. He rolls them gently to their sides and rests his forehead on Ray’s shoulder.
“Frase?” Comes Ray’s weak voice from beside him.
“Yes Ray?”
“I love you,” Ray mutters, “but you’re doing the damn laundry.”
“Yes, Ray.” He answers and smiles softly, “But you have to wash the dishes.”
“What dishes?” Ray’s arms tighten around him.
“The metaphorical dishes,” He volleys back with a small nod and return tightening of arms.
“Metaphorical, huh?”
“Yes, Ray.”
“Deal.”
Damn you people.
1,268 words of Fraser/RayK kinda sorta smut but with a definate NC-17 rating.
Distraction – NC-17
Fraser isn’t sure when he first noticed it. He doesn’t know if it was something new, or something very old. Part of a rebellious youth, or the act of an adult reclaiming his identity.
Sometimes he imagines it was a lark. An off the cuff moment when Ray passed a store.
Sometimes he thinks the act was well planned, executed with great deliberation and forethought.
Some days he doesn’t care as long as he can catch a glimpse of its outline underneath one of those tight tee shirts Ray often wears.
He has an image of the first time he saw it. Confirmation of what he suspects was nothing more than a flash of silver while Ray changes his shirt.
He remembers feeling flushed. At first he thinks its the satisfaction of his deductive reasoning. Knowing one still has their keen powers of observation should make one proud.
But that doesn’t explain the heat that courses through him the second time he sees that brief flash of silver. He looks, of course, to confirm what he saw that first time. As his brain registers that he is, indeed, correct, he tugs gently at his collar. Perhaps it is a bit humid today.
The third happens when there are other things on his mind, but he revisits the image later. Mentally, he adds it to the pile of evidence that has been accumulating in his brain. Dutifully he reorganizes and reviews all that he has learned while in the shower. Mutlitasking is the key to saving time. He ignores the clock that tells him his shower had taken longer than was strictly necessary. It has, after all, been a trying day.
By around the fifteenth time, Fraser admits he might be dwelling on it more than is healthy. Perhaps if he simply asked…
The twenty-first time they were alone in Ray’s apartment soaking wet. He supposed it was bound to happen as soon as he ran that truck into the fire hydrant.
“Come on Fraser, my place is up the block, we can dry off there.”
Still cataloguing the twentieth time, Fraser just nods.
A towel is thrown at him and he automatically and mechanically wipes away the water.
Lanyard.
Belt.
Buttons.
Suspenders.
Henley.
A flash of silver. He freezes. Ray is across the room, shirt off, head buried under a large towel. His soaked blue jeans hang heavily on his slim waist showing a sliver of grey boxers, also wet. His bare chest glows just slightly in the low lamplight and every goosebump is clearly outlined against lightly tanned skin.
Fraser lets his eyes wander up, following a flat abdomen up to a well defined chest and out to peaked nipples.
And one gleaming silver ring.
He reaches out, unsure when he even crossed the room. He can’t bring himself to touch it right away, so his fingers skim just below it, the areole tightens just a bit more and Ray freezes.
Mussed spikey blonde hair peaks out from under the towel. “Frase?”
He clears his throat, though he doesn’t know when his voice had gotten so hoarse. “I just…” His rudeness is unthinkable, but he cannot seem to get the words out.
Ray’s eyes follow his and as they see the source of his fascination his lips quirk up ever so slightly, “Never seen one before, huh?”
He shakes his head, or at least he tries. It comes out as small jerking motions.
Ray shrugs and ducks his head a bit. “It was for a case, a while back. At first I couldn’t wait the rip the thing out. Felt like a damn Christmas tree.”
“Ah.” His voice still hoarse. His hand, he notices, has not moved. He should remove it. His fingers inch upwards. “What made you… ah… keep it?”
Ray, head still down, “Someone showed me the error of my ways.” Now he tilts his head up, just so his eyes can look up through his lashes.
Fraser’s hands shake ever so slightly. “Error?” He asks, genuinely curious.
Ray’s hand traces up his arm until it rests lightly at his wrist. “Yeah.” A slight pressure forces his fingers up over Ray’s nipple. One pad roughly brushing the peak, another getting tangled in the hoop. Ray’s breathing caught and his lips quirked up again, “Never knew how much fun a Christmas tree got ta have.”
“Oh.”
They stay like for several breathes.
“Look Frase,” Raying finally says, “If I didn’t want you here, I woulda taken it out sometime around stare number two.”
Fraser blinks dumbly.
Ray continues softly, “Hey, for all I know this could be some sort of weird fascination for body jewelry ya got, but I’m gonna take a big leap here and say its less the jewelry and more the body. Which hey, I’m not complainin’. I mean you’re the most important thing in my life so- mmmphh!”
It is around then that Fraser assumed the rest of the conversation could be held at a later juncture.
He pins Ray against the wall and swallows whatever remaining words there are in a deep, wet, kiss.
He nips and licks his way to the silver hoop, sucking it into his mouth with an obscene wet noise. He sucks gently and laps roughly at the nipple with his tongue. Ray’s back arches and they slide gracefully to the floor. Ray’s legs hooked over his, which are neatly crossed.
His hands find two firm shapes to grab onto and as he licks and sucks and bites, they rock.
Ray shudders constantly and mutters a stream of nearly incoherent gibberish. “Oh… god… yeah… Frase… Frase… don’t stop… yeah… need this… need you.”
They have a rhythm that Fraser knows intimately. It was the same one they use to catch criminals, to confuse their friends, to help little old ladies across the street while avoiding gunfire. It is them, they are the rhythm. But the tempo is shifting and he can barely concentrate enough to remember not to bite too hard.
Suddenly, Ray’s calloused hand is on his face, pulling his chin up. ‘Need you… need you,” Ray’s voice murmurs hoarsely, his hot breath prickling against his cheek. Then they’re kissing again. Roughly, passionately and the pleasure is too intense, too good, too right. Fraser thinks he might crack or melt, shake apart in something he can’t control.
They break apart gasping and Ray’s voice is in his ear. “Leggo. I’m here. Let go.”
He gasps, taut, straining, their chest plastered together, rubbing raw, oversensitive. He feels Ray’s arms tight around him, Ray’s lips moist and hot on his neck. And he knows with utter certainty that despite how dangerous this is, how horribly it could all end, that Ray will be there. With him in pain and with him in gut wrenching pleasure.
Lips seek his again and this time he can get lost, drown in pleasure. Riding a crest so high he could never hope to see bottom, he thrusts with all that he is and jumps.
Ray is shuddering against him as he slowly comes back to himself. They are fully on the floor now, trembling and spent. He rolls them gently to their sides and rests his forehead on Ray’s shoulder.
“Frase?” Comes Ray’s weak voice from beside him.
“Yes Ray?”
“I love you,” Ray mutters, “but you’re doing the damn laundry.”
“Yes, Ray.” He answers and smiles softly, “But you have to wash the dishes.”
“What dishes?” Ray’s arms tighten around him.
“The metaphorical dishes,” He volleys back with a small nod and return tightening of arms.
“Metaphorical, huh?”
“Yes, Ray.”
“Deal.”
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-05 11:03 am (UTC)Really? 'Cause that was excellent. Ray with a nipple ring, whoa!
Damn you people.
Hee! Resistance is futile.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-05 02:04 pm (UTC)No, I will not be sucked in! Not!
mm.. sucked...