ds_flashfiction | Undercover challenge: When in Rome

Title: When in Rome
Author: Sihaya Black
Rating: NC-17 or X or whatever
Notes: Many, many thanks to the wonderful

kassrachel and

shayheyred for their sterling beta work. They can attest to the fact that I had a draft of this written before

rhythmsextion's hothothot

stop_drop_porn story, which only goes to prove that GMTA. All mistakes and awkwardnesses are mine. This baby runs about 1,740 words or so.

When in Rome

“Ray?”

Fraser blinked. His eyesight was generally reliable, except for the occasional hallucination caused by unexpected outside influences, especially decaying elk. He blinked again. No, this couldn’t be right.

“Hey, Frase.” Ray carefully closed the Consulate door behind him, then brushed the heavy flakes of snow from the shoulders of his long black coat. “I just stopped by to...”

Certain that the floor was shifting beneath him, Fraser folded his hands and waited. He knew he was still sitting quietly behind the desk, but felt as if he were tumbling down a steep slope, head over heels. No doubt this bizarre image of Ray would transform into a more recognizable one in a moment or two.

“Fraser?”

Faintly dizzy, Fraser took a deep breath. Or not.

Ray cocked his head to one side. “You freaking out on me?”

“That depends, Ray.” Fraser placed his pen precisely alongside the neat stack of papers on the desk, pushed back his chair, and stood. “Are you...” He cleared his throat. “Do you have something you’d like to tell me?”

Ray shrugged off his coat and threw it over a chair. “Besides me turning into a priest, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

Ray’s transformation was remarkable. With his hair parted on the side and flattened to his skull, dressed in a flowing cassock and black sash, Ray appeared much younger than usual. Fraser couldn’t take his eyes from Ray’s neck, its length cleft by the stark white of his clerical collar. Somehow that interruption made it look even longer, more vulnerable, more...

“I’m not really a priest, you know.” Ray’s hand drifted toward his hair, but at the last moment, he inserted a finger into his collar and tugged.

Eyes on the strong tendons in Ray’s neck, mouth dry, Fraser licked his lower lip. “I suspected not.” Temptation, in the form of his partner, stood square before him.

“Nope.” Ray paused, eyes widening. Suddenly he grinned. “Still me, still Ray Kowalski, Chicago flatfoot.”

Fraser swallowed. “A detective in priest’s clothing?” Seeing Ray, his Ray, familiar, much desired Ray dressed in such a way, unexpectedly stripped away Fraser’s defenses. Ray had never looked so... so fetching and yet, in that somber raiment, so forbidden. Or were they simply two sides of the same coin? Desire itself placed the desired object out of reach. Not that Ray could ever be classified as an object.

“Just for the next couple days.” Ray’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Welsh told me not to stop by, but I...” His lashes dipped, raised. “I figured that’s not buddies.”

Fraser matched Ray’s whisper. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“It’s just that...” Ray’s grin disappeared. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and shrugged. “It’s just that I wanted to ask... tell... Oh, hell, Fraser.”

Ray suddenly strode to the desk, the swinging skirts of his cassock hinting at the length of leg hidden beneath. Eyes glittering, he leaned forward, leaned into Fraser’s space. Leaned with intent. He grabbed Fraser’s shoulders, fingers digging hard into the muscle, hauled him forward and kissed him.

Ray’s lips were warm and soft, and after the initial crush, gentle against his own. A long moment of shock, then Fraser opened his mouth, gave an exploratory lick to Ray’s bottom lip. Ray shuddered, meeting Fraser’s tongue with his own.

It was not the kiss Fraser had imagined – if he had ever been so ungentlemanly as to imagine such a thing, late at night, in the privacy of his own cot – not at all the type of kiss he dreamed he would like to exchange with Ray. That kiss had resembled their arguments, all hard, swift demands, each vying for domination, to subsume the other. This...

This was Ray asking, cajoling. Promising.

Didn’t he know that Fraser had already agreed to anything Ray wanted?

Ray pulled away enough to breathe heavily onto Fraser’s neck, sending a shiver down his spine.

That shiver reverberated through Fraser like a drop of water striking a still pond, sending waves racing along his nerves to the tips of his fingers and toes.

“Oh, God.” Ray’s fingers tightened, then released Fraser’s shoulders. “Oh, God, Fraser, I’m... I just...” He straightened, eyes dark, wet lips bent in a frown. “I have to go, I have to...”

They rounded the desk, hands reaching, grabbing, fingers clasped tight around fistfuls of cloth, pulling them close. Ray’s kiss this time was harder, bolder, tinged with desperation. Fraser met Ray’s kiss with an intensity that would have frightened him a few moments earlier. Now he fed on it. Ray rubbed against Fraser, chest and groin and thighs, pushed and shoved at Fraser until, with a thump, Fraser’s back struck the wall, crashing their teeth together, knocking the breath from his lungs.

Panting, Ray slid his hands up, fingers wrapping around the back of Fraser’s neck, thumbs stroking his jaw. “I’m late, Frase. I gotta...”

“No.”

Fraser grabbed Ray’s arms and pivoted, reversing their positions. Ray thudded against the paneling, face pale against the dark wood, eyes wide. If his need had been less, Fraser would have murmured reassurances, told Ray something of what was in his head and heart, but all he could do was shake his head, over and over, at the thought of Ray leaving him.

“Not yet.”

Holding Ray’s arms, Fraser sank to his knees, buried his face in the soft, dark folds, whispered his desires into Ray’s shaking belly. He squeezed tense biceps, pushed back, against the wall, then released them.

“Stay.”

Ray didn’t move.

Fingers clumsy with haste, Fraser untied the sash and unbuttoned the front of the cassock, the material spreading into dark wings on either side of Ray’s thin hips. Beneath the drape of fine cotton, he unfastened Ray’s black trousers, drew them down, encouraged by the sight of damp white boxers stretched tightly over Ray’s erection.

Fraser breathed deeply, scenting, memorizing, ignoring the portion of his mind that catalogued the various smells – right now he didn’t care about the components, about each individual odor. No, he wanted, needed, to experience Ray in his entirety, complete.

Another deep breath triggered the need to taste. Fraser touched his tongue to the damp cotton, rewarded with a faint moan from Ray. A warm breath evoked a jerk of the hips and another moan, and Fraser’s own erection pressed painfully against the confines of his trousers. Fraser leaned forward and slid his lips over Ray’s cloth-covered erection, licking the rigid side of Ray’s penis, mixing his saliva with Ray’s pre-ejaculate, for the first time tasting the two of them, together. He pulled back, closed his eyes.

“Yes.” Barely a whisper, almost a prayer.

“Fraser...”

Fraser looked up, up the dark length of Ray’s chest. He met Ray’s eyes, now almost completely black, shot with only a thin crescent of blue. The white collar caught the light, moved as Ray swallowed.

Slowly Ray rested his hands on Fraser’s head, a benediction, a blessing.

Fraser shivered at the feel of Ray’s hands on his skull, not directing, not pushing, just... there. He freed Ray’s erection from the damp cloth, then pressed Ray’s hips back, holding him tight against the wall. Fraser opened his mouth and bent his head, the length of Ray’s penis slipping, inch by thickening inch, across his lips.

He closed his eyes again, the better to focus on the weight on his tongue, the stretch of his lips around hard muscle, the sound of Ray’s harsh breathing, the throb of his own neglected erection, trapped beneath layers of wool and cotton.

Oh, God, so good.

Ray’s fingers curled in Fraser’s hair, then smoothed the rumpled tufts. His thighs quivered beneath Fraser’s hands, and Fraser heard the thud as the back of Ray’s head hit the paneling. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait, couldn’t not move.

Holding Ray’s hips immobile, Fraser wrapped his tongue around Ray’s penis and pulled back, gratified at Ray’s full-body tremble and deep groan. For the first time in his life, Fraser understood the word ‘luxuriate,’ for he positively relished holding Ray, with his hands, with his mouth, keeping Ray suspended on the thin blade of desire. Fraser wanted to toy with Ray, to tease and flirt and make Ray want him as much as he wanted Ray, but he couldn’t, he simply couldn’t deny Ray anything.

Ray wanted this.

And Fraser would give it to him, would ignore his own desires in order to fulfill Ray’s. Fraser worked hard, a drop of perspiration trailing down his temple and into his eye as he sucked and licked. Blinking, a matching tear sliding down his cheek, Fraser shifted one hand from Ray’s sharp hipbone to the tender inner thigh, stroking, pressing, coaxing out the climax that hovered between them, waiting, waiting, for that moment when sensation caught up to emotion and the two collided, sending up showers of sparks like fireworks in celebration of the Queen’s birthday.

Then Ray jerked free of Fraser’s grasp, trembling hands moving from Fraser’s hair to cup his cheeks, cursing softly as he pushed between Fraser’s lips, emptied himself down Fraser’s throat.

“Fraser, thank... thank God...”

Fraser did thank God, thanked Him for allowing this chance with Ray, for allowing Fraser to climax immediately after Ray without any tactile encouragement, for every joy and sorrow in his life.

When he pulled away, wiping his tender lips with the back of his wrist, Fraser leaned into Ray’s palm for a moment, just for a heartbeat or two. Then he pulled up Ray’s boxers and trousers, fastened them, and buttoned each button down the front of his cassock. He pulled the thick satin sash around Ray’s waist, tying the knot with care, wrapping Ray in folds of black, robing him as a priest again.

“How long will you be undercover, Ray?” Fraser rose, surreptitiously adjusting himself. Damp underwear would never be pleasant, but for a climax like the one he’d just shared? That was worth some chafing.

Ray smoothed his skirts. “No more’n two, three days, tops.”

“Tops?” With one finger, Fraser traced the white band around Ray’s neck. Perhaps after he returned, Ray could find a reason to keep the cassock for a day or two. Or three.

“Or bottoms.” Ray winked, pulling Fraser’s hand to his mouth and dropping a kiss on his knuckles. “Y’know, Frase? I don’t think I’m cut out to be a priest.”

Fraser smiled. “I’m glad to hear that, Ray. Very glad.”