ds_flashfiction | Lying challenge by estrella

estrella30.livejournal.com posting in

Over the word limit, Fraser/Kowalski, rated R. You know the drill.

Thanks to

brooklinegirl for the brilliant beta,

lalejandra for a myriad of reasons (I was going to send it to you but I have no patience and I know you're out tonight. And, you know, no patience *g*), and

nicci_mac for the gorgeous new icon!

Title - Pure and Simple

Summary - But today is going to be a good day. (Ray hopes.) It’s Saturday and both him and Fraser have the day off, and they decided (Fraser decided) that it would be nice to do something outdoors.

Pure and Simple

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.
-Oscar Wilde

Ray Kowalski and Stella had been married for years, and now they’re divorced, but Ray still loves her and misses her every day. (Except, not really, no. He loves her, sure, but more in the way that you love someone just because you’ve known them for so long and they’ve spent so much time in your life. He’s not in love with her – hasn’t been for years – and if he misses waking up to someone everyday, well, more often than not those feelings are overshadowed by the relief of not having to fight with someone every night.)

Every morning, Ray rolls over and reaches out, momentarily surprised when his hand hits the cool pillowcase on the opposite side of the bed. (Even though the last few years of their marriage Stella hardly ever slept in the bed with him anyway. She’d get home from work late and then sit at the kitchen table and work on her cases for hours before she’d manage to make it to the couch where she would spend the rest of the night sleeping. It sucks when Ray thinks about how sad it is to sleep alone, but it sucks even more when he realizes that he was sleeping alone years before Stella even left him.) On a day like today though, Ray doesn’t pay too much attention to the empty bed and just jumps right up and heads into the shower. (That’s how he’d like to think he handled it. It probably [okay, fine. Definitely] happened more like, the alarm went off and Ray slapped the snooze button. Then it went off again. And again. And again. Until he finally cursed and picked the alarm up with one hand, tossing it against the wall next to his bed. A few minutes after that he grunted, scratched his nuts, and forced himself to get up, bleary-eyed and yawning all the way to the bathroom.)

But today is going to be a good day. (Ray hopes.) It’s Saturday and both him and Fraser have the day off, and they decided (Fraser decided) that it would be nice to do something outdoors. The weather was getting nicer (sure – maybe compared to freaking Canada) and Dief was feeling restless (that was what Fraser said, but Ray was pretty sure Fraser was just as restless as the wolf. They were both the same, when you thought about it. Tied up, cooped up, being held in a place they didn’t really want to be, unable to make the decision themselves to actually go back), so they were going to spend the day at the park playing catch or something. (Ray always thought catch was stupid; what was the point of using a ball with no bat?)

It would be fun though (Ray was pretty sure it was going to suck) and Fraser was excited when he got to Ray’s apartment (but who could tell, really. The guy was Canadian), so Ray poured some coffee in a travel mug, stuffed a bagel in his pocket and they left. (The bagel wasn’t even for him, it was for Dief when they got outside, but Ray couldn’t wait and slipped Dief little pieces as they headed across the hall and down the steps and out the front door.) The sun was shining (it wasn’t that bright though, not nearly as bright as Ray had though it would be based on the way Fraser was smiling at him) (Fraser always smiled at him like that), and it was warm out. (Ray was glad he had thought to bring his jacket. It was actually kind of chilly.)

“So, Fraser. Where are we headed?”

“Oh, I thought I had mentioned.” Fraser scratched his eyebrow. “I thought we’d go to the park.”

“Nah, I don’t remember that.” (Fraser had mentioned it on Tuesday. They had just finished the paperwork on the McElroy case and Fraser sat on the edge of Ray’s desk and twirled his hat and smiled. It was Tuesday, and every time Fraser leaned over Ray could smell cinnamon.)

Fraser stuck his hand in his jacket and pulled out a softball. He grinned at Ray and tossed the ball in the air, catching it one-handed. (The way Fraser was smiling at him didn’t mean anything at all to Ray. It could have been anyone there with him.) Dief whuffed quietly, and Fraser looked at the wolf, quirked his eyebrow, and tossed the ball clear down the block, smiling as Dief bounded away after it. (Ray didn’t understand what Dief meant at all when he whuffed like that. He was a dog, for chrissakes, Ray didn’t understand him.)

They walked quietly down the block for a few minutes (voices in your head don’t count as talking) and when Fraser walked closer and bumped his shoulder against Ray's, Ray felt nothing at all. (Liar.)

The day was nice (Ray was kind of bored) and Fraser made up some game that Ray had never heard of. (Fraser said that the game was actually better when played with a cabbage, but without one available a ball would do almost as well, whatever the fuck that meant.) Each catch was worth ten points and each miss deducted five and after a few hours tossing the ball back and forth the score was tied. (Fraser may have thought he won but Ray wasn’t so sure, so he called it a tie. Who knew where Fraser even got that freaky ball anyway. Everyone knows you can’t win a game with a Canadian ball in Chicago, it’s against the rules or something.)

“Would you like to get something to eat?” Fraser asked.

“I guess.” Ray shrugged. (Ray was starving.) “What do you want?” (Ray wanted pizza.)

“I’m not sure.” Fraser frowned and seemed to think about it. (Ray wanted pizza.) “Chinese, perhaps.”

(Ray wanted pizza.) “Chinese is good.” Ray jerked his head down the block. (He still wanted pizza.) “You want to try that place over on Third? Lucky Garden, or something?”

“Forgive me, Ray, if I’d rather not experiment with a Chinese establishment who uses the word 'lucky' in their name.”

(Ray didn’t care, he still wanted pizza.)

“You could always just call Sandor,” Fraser suggested. “Have him deliver a pizza.”

Ray shrugged. “Whatever. That’s fine. I don’t really care.”

` ` ` ` `

By the time they got back to Ray’s apartment, Sandor was there with the pizza (thank god.) Ray tipped him (he always tipped Sandor too high, but you never knew when you were going to need something from someone and he wanted to make sure to stay on Sandor’s good side.) (Ray was on a lot of people’s bad sides.)

Dief ran across the apartment and jumped up on Ray’s favorite chair (Fraser always asked Ray if he minded that Dief sat there and Ray didn’t – not really. But every once in a while Ray would be all dressed to go some place and forget that the chair was full of wolf hair now. He’d sit down and by the time he got up the back of his nice dress shirt was covered with white fuzz, and even if he’d been ready on time now he was fifteen minutes late because he had to change.)

“I’ll just set the pizza over here?” Fraser asked, moving to the kitchen table.

“Yeah. Fine.” (Ray hated the kitchen table. That’s where families and wives and kids sat, not single-divorced-quite-possibly-gay men who were more than half in love with their maybe straight [although Ray wouldn’t bet on it] Mountie partners.)

Fraser put the pizza on the kitchen table.

Ray grabbed a glass from the cabinet and held it up to the light, checking for spots (Ray didn’t actually care about glasses, most of what he drank came from their own, individual, twelve-ounce bottles, thank you kindly) and then handed it to Fraser.

“I got milk and soda and I think some iced tea in there somewhere,” Ray said. “Help yourself.” (He wasn’t too sure about the milk though, it had tasted a little wonky in his coffee that morning.)

Fraser pulled the carton from the fridge and sniffed, before jerking his head back really quickly. “Maybe I’ll try the tea.”

“Good idea.” (It was.)

Ray grabbed some paper plates and handed one to Fraser, then reached in the box and grabbed a slice of pizza. “You want to sit on the couch and watch the game or something?” Ray asked. (He really hated the kitchen table and the Cubs were on in ten minutes.)

Fraser smiled at him. “That sounds fine, Ray.”

Ray put his beer on the coffee table and clicked on the TV before sprawling out on the couch. He didn’t wait for Fraser, but he could hear Fraser moving right behind him, putting his glass down, sitting next to him. Ray watched the pre-game show and ate his pizza and didn’t hear Fraser breathing next to him or feel the heat from Fraser’s side where it was lined up right against his. (Not touching, Fraser would never sit that close. And who was Ray really kidding, anyway? Now he was lying inside and outside of his head.)

The Cubs were playing (playing, right. This wasn’t playing, this was sucking), and Ray finished his pizza and drank his beer and didn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to Fraser as he did the same. (Fraser was finishing iced tea though, not beer. Ray noticed that. Not that he was paying attention or anything.) (And Ray was lying, again.)

Ray leaned forward and grabbed his glasses off the table. Maybe he’d be able to concentrate on the game more if he could actually see it (not that there had really been anything to watch at Wrigley since the Cubs clinched the title in '89, but Ray would never really give up hope). When he moved forward he didn’t notice the way Fraser breathed in sharply at all. Ray didn’t feel Fraser stretch out his arms, and yawn, and he didn’t feel the cushions shift under him as Fraser moved even closer (and he was closer, Ray knew that for sure. He could feel Fraser sitting next to him. His whole body hummed with it.)

Ray stayed sitting forward though, and leaned his elbows on his knees and his chin against the palm of his hand. On the TV someone hit a homerun, people were cheering and running and yelling, but in the apartment it was dead quiet, except for Fraser breathing and the blood pounding in Ray’s ears. They were sitting close – too close for any two normal buddies to be, and Ray thought, “This is not buddies,” in a totally different way, because it sure as fuck wasn’t buddies. (Ray had never really had a buddy he wanted to strip and lick before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything. As far as Ray, and Ray’s dick were concerned, Benton Fraser was both stripable and lickable (and kissable and fuckable and hopefully willing-able and able-able.)

Fraser’s hand was on his back (Fraser was touching him, Fraser touched him first), really light (so light Ray thought he was imagining it), and then pressing harder, and then Ray felt the tips of Fraser’s fingers on the back of his neck.

“Ray,” Fraser said, his voice soft, and Ray couldn’t answer (Ray always had something to say – always – but not now so he just pushed his head back a little, and let Fraser’s fingers slide into his hair.)

Fraser leaned forward, moved closer, he was right there, right in Ray’s space (he always was though, even from the very beginning. Every time Ray would turn around Fraser would be there – right there, standing there - and Ray never knew what that meant.)

(Sometimes, Ray, he thinks to himself, you are a dumbass), and then Ray is turning his head, looking right at Fraser’s face, and someone kisses someone but Ray can’t tell who.

The game is still on; the Cubs could be winning one hundred and eleven to nothing and Ray couldn’t care less. Fraser’s hair is soft under his fingers, and when Ray pulls Fraser closer, he covers Ray’s body on the couch, stretching out on top of him, pressing Ray down into the cushions. (Ray likes this, feeling so out of control. He never thought he’d be the type to want to be held down and fucked, or tied up and fucked, or gagged and fucked, but right now, with Fraser’s mouth on his and Fraser’s teeth in his lip and Fraser’s fingers wrapped tight around Ray’s wrists, holding him down, pushing him harder and harder into the cushions, Ray thinks he could get used to this. He wonders about himself – how he could not have known this, but then Fraser pulls away and just looks at him, and Ray hears himself saying, “I want you to fuck me,” (because he does. Holy fuck he does), and Fraser just smiles, and doesn’t look like a Mountie at all when he says, “Not yet,” and kisses Ray again.)

Fraser is hard against Ray’s hip, and his tongue is heavy in Ray’s mouth, and Ray moves his head and bites Fraser’s jaw, sets his teeth into the soft, hot skin (cinnamon again, Fraser always smells like pine and leather and cinnamon) of Fraser’s throat.

“Ray,” Fraser says, panting against Ray’s ear.

“God, yeah.” (Fraser’s touching him, grabbing him, twisting his fingers in Ray’s hair and Ray wants him to pull tighter and bite harder and – god, yeah.)

Ray kisses Fraser back (he always wanted to kiss Fraser) and thrusts his hips up (Fraser’s hard – right there, right against him, right like that) and pants into Fraser’s mouth (Fraser breathes right back into him though, so it’s okay. He not losing breath, they’re sharing it), and they stay there, until the game is over, and the room is thrown into darkness.

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

umbo.livejournal.com

Wow--I seriously love this!

From:

Lying challenge by estrella

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags