Fever || Heatwave Challenge || by WriteDragon

[writedragon]

Title: Fever

Author: WriteDragon

Rating: M

Pairing: Fraser/RayK

Word count: ≈ 3550

Warnings: No warnings apply

Tags: Heat, desire, longing, fire, summer

Summary: Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

Author's Notes:

“What a lovely way to burn” is the last line of the song Fever, from Peggy Lee’s cover of Little Willie John’s original tune.

Originally written for the DreamWidth ds_flashfiction community challenge: Heatwave, August 2019.

———-

A single bead of sweat slid agonizingly slowly down Fraser’s face.

The droplet started just beneath the band of his hat and trickled downward across his temple, leaving a warm, wet streak in its wake.

Ray watched that drop as it moved, inch by inch, unable to take his eyes off it.

The bead skimmed over Fraser’s cheekbone and curved around his jaw to the tendon of his throat. It paused for a moment and glistened in the dim light of the warehouse.

Ray swallowed hard, waiting for the drop to move again, but it hung there, like hot rain waiting to fall. Three seconds later it resumed its descent, gliding along the carotid artery, gently pulsing. It stuttered briefly among the short stubbled hairs on Fraser’s neck, then disappeared beneath the tight round collar of his smoke-stained uniform.

Ray wanted so badly to flick the tip of his tongue out and lick that glistening line, taste the salt, feel the contrast of slick mouth on hot skin. He also wanted to stay alive. And, you know, not get socked by his partner, so he kept his tongue to himself. Because if ever there were a time not to be thinking about stuff like that, it was now.

He and Fraser were crouched behind a cluster of massive, rusting machines in a dark corner of a warehouse, hiding from a gang fight that had broken out between the Corelli brothers and a low-level Russian crime boss.

It should have been a straightforward bust. Everything had gone sideways when Joe “Elbows” Blinovitch stopped by to have a little chat with Frankie Corelli, a conversation that happened to involve Molotov cocktails and heavily armed thugs.

Fraser and Ray barely got out of the building, escaping through a broken window just as the furnace exploded. They’d sprinted next door to the relative safety of the warehouse, dodging bullets and flying debris as they ran.

Backup was supposedly on the way but fuck-all if he knew where they were. The place should have been swarming with Chicago PD, HazMat, and the Fire Department by now. Things were getting desperate. They were pinned down, out of ammo, out of luck, and out of time.

More gunshots and another explosion went off outside, and Ray prayed to whatever gods who would listen that the baddies would be too busy killing each other to come after a couple of cops. For once, he was glad Dief was back at the Consulate, probably napping or begging for snacks from the office staff, out of the heat and out of harm’s way. The wolf could be great in a pinch, but some pinches were too tight even for him, and this was one of them.

Inside the warehouse it was quiet, their labored breathing and the hiss of steam the only sounds. The air was thick and heavy in the cramped space. Scalding-hot vapor spat and curled from a nearby underground vent, making the already-sultry air nearly unbreathable.

It reminded Ray of the clouds of warm mist that filled the alley behind that restaurant in Chinatown: a suffocating blend of boiled detergent, mildew and rust. Mixed with the stink of his own sweat and the smoke that clung to his clothes, the combination of heat and smells nearly made Ray gag. He tried to turn away from the vent but there wasn’t much room to move.

“Keep still,” Fraser whispered, his voice harsh in Ray’s ear.

“I can’t breathe. And my knee hurts,” Ray complained, rubbing it. It ached from when he’d hit the ground too hard doing a drop-and-roll during the chase. Squatting on the damp, grease-stained concrete wasn’t helping. Neither was the fact that they were hiding from pissed-off criminals in a crumbling warehouse in the middle of a stifling Chicago heat wave, while fire raged in the building across the street.

Overall, this day was sucking pretty badly.

“I don't feel so good. I’m burning up. Got to get out of here,” Ray said, panting heavily.

“Shhh. Don’t panic, Ray. The adrenaline rush will only make you hotter.”

“Never in the history of anything has telling someone not to panic actually worked, Fraser.”

“Keep your voice down!” Fraser hissed. He raised a hand, threatening to clamp it over Ray’s mouth. “Just breathe.”

Ray was about to say, “I am breathing, you moron,” when Fraser touched a finger to Ray’s lips, silencing him.

“I hear sirens,” he said, cupping his free hand to his ear.

Ray listened, desperately trying to ignore the electric sensation of Fraser’s fingertip on his mouth, but heard nothing. He had to trust Mr. Bat-ears on this one. “You’d better be right,” Ray mumbled against Fraser’s finger, “‘cause I’m about to freak out here.”

Fraser lowered his hand. A weird blend of relief and loss flooded through Ray, and he blushed.

Fraser cocked his head to one side and studied Ray for a moment. “You’re overheating,” he said, and pursed his lips, like he was going to kiss Ray.

What the hell?

Before Ray could react, Fraser blew a gentle, steady stream of air across Ray’s forehead. Startled, he jerked his head back but said nothing. Oh.

Fraser did it again, and this time Ray closed his eyes. That felt good, actually. Kinda soothing, and about one degree cooler. It was also more than a little bit arousing, which, again, staying focused and not getting socked were at the top of the agenda so…

“Chicago PD! Anyone in here?” A woman’s voice echoed through the warehouse. Ray cautiously peeked out from behind an overturned storage tank, its peeling orange paint flaking off where his arm brushed against it. It was a uniform, dressed in riot gear. Thank God.

“Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD,” Ray called out. “Don’t shoot,” he added, and emerged with his hands up, badge in his palm. “My partner’s here with me.”

Fraser moved to stand next to Ray and gave a nod. “We appreciate the assistance,” he said automatically, touching the brim of his hat, and peered through the gloom. “Wait. Elaine? Is that you?”

The officer lowered her gun.

“Oh my God. Fraser? Ray?” She stared at the two of them for a long moment, but then seemed to remember why she was there. “You guys ok?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Ray said. “What the hell happened?”

“We caught them—the ones who were left, anyway. They did a pretty good job picking each other off. You’re lucky to be alive.”

***

Ray watched as Fraser stood near a blue and white, giving a statement to another uniformed officer.

The street buzzed with activity, rescue vehicles and personnel everywhere. Firefighters had gotten the fire under control and doused the blaze. Swarms of people in soot-covered yellow safety gear were busy rolling up hoses and sweeping piles of shattered glass from the street. The air reeked of smoke and fuel and melted plastic. Gasoline rainbows swirled in the muddy puddles that filled the potholes. Moisture-saturated air shimmered above the water, turning the scene into a blurred landscape populated by ghosts.

A paramedic handed Fraser a large white paper cup filled with ice water. He accepted it gratefully, downed the water in one gulp, and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can.

Ray cornered another medic and snagged a couple bottles of Gatorade. He made his way to Fraser, winding through the maze of emergency vehicles that blocked the road at odd angles, their multicolored lights flashing and dying by turns.

Wordlessly, he handed Fraser a bottle.

“Thank you, Ray.” Fraser pressed it against his forehead and cheeks, ignoring, or maybe welcoming, the rivulets of condensation that ran down its sides and onto his face. He uncapped the bottle and took a sip of the bright red liquid, grimaced, and swallowed before putting the cap back on. “That’s revolting,” he said, “what flavor is that supposed to be?”

“Cherry Rush,” said Ray, reading the label, “though I don’t think it’s ever been near an actual cherry.”

“Indeed not.”

Poor bastard. Fraser looked miserable, like some kind of wilted exotic flower. Even his bright red tunic, usually starched and stiff, sagged in the humid air. The back of it was singed in places, where burning shrapnel from the exploding furnace had landed on him. Ray felt sorry for him.

He felt sorry for both of them, to be honest. They were exhausted, filthy, and drenched with sweat. Ray looked down at his hands. He tried rubbing off the dirt but gave up after a few seconds, embarrassed by the grime under his fingernails. There was grease on his pants, and ash stuck in the spikes of his hair. Ray’s gray t-shirt clung to his skin, soaked through where the holster pressed against the fabric. Dark circles stained his pits and collar and the small of his back. He could think of much nicer ways to have gotten all gross and sweaty, and this was definitely not one of them.

“You two, get the hell out of here,” Welsh barked, mopping his brow with a rumpled white handkerchief. “Take the rest of the day off. And go get changed — to put it delicately, you stink.”

***

The short hike to the GTO felt like walking through a sauna fully clothed. Even with his blue sunglasses flipped down, the glare from the blazing white sky blinded him, and he had to squint to protect his eyes.

Ray yanked open the car door and stood back, letting the plume of hot air trapped inside escape. When he finally climbed into the car and his butt hit the scorching-hot vinyl seat, he groaned.

“Ugh. It’s like an oven in here. I bet you could cook a pizza on the dash.”

Fraser slid into the passenger side and fanned himself with his hat, eyeing the dashboard warily. “You don’t normally prepare food in your vehicle, do you Ray?”

“Not on purpose.” Ray reached for the seat belt buckle. “Damn it!” he yelped in pain, his hand seared by the sizzling hot metal. “I should’ve thrown a towel on the seat.”

“Given that we were in earnest pursuit of criminals, it is understandable that you were unable to take precautions in this area. Proper preparation is not always possible.”

“Ya think?” Ray snarled, sucking on his burned hand.

“Are you injured?” Fraser asked, changing the subject. “I’ve got some burn salve.”

“Pass,” Ray shoved the keys into the ignition, “It’s nothing.”

“If you’re certain,” Fraser said, wrapping his own seat belt buckle in his handkerchief before snapping it in place. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do? Kiss it to make it better, perhaps?”

Ray’s eyebrows shot up and he snorted.

“You wish.” He glanced over at Fraser, who was staring at him with one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. “Freak.”

Fraser’s lips formed a genuine smile then, and he nodded. Ray wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. Fraser was probably just trying to distract him from the pain, but bringing up kissing, well.... Ray wondered if Fraser knew he was playing with fire, making jokes like that. One of these days, he was going to take him up on that offer and would make him regret it.

***

Ray drove them back to his place to get cleaned up and put on some fresh clothes. Blue Oyster Cult’s I’m Burnin’ for You crackled from the radio, A/C blasting. Ray gradually started to feel better, until he remembered that blowing thing Fraser had done with his mouth. Ray shivered and blushed simultaneously, cheeks flaming, hoping Fraser hadn’t noticed his reaction.

Of course Fraser noticed. He reached out to touch Ray’s face with the back of his hand, knuckles stroking his forehead, down his jawbone, almost a caress.

“Are you feeling feverish?” Fraser asked, his voice tinged with worry, “That could be a sign of heat stroke. We should get you to a hospital.”

“Nah. I’m better now. Just sweaty.” Ray clamped down on the steering wheel and suppressed another shudder. He had to get a grip.

“Hmm,” Fraser said, crinkling his brow. “Nevertheless, we’d best get you into a cold shower, and quickly.”

Damn right, he needed a cold shower — oh man, did he ever.

***

They climbed the stairs to Ray’s apartment, weary from the heat and the afternoon’s trials.

“Aren’t you burning up in that?” Ray waved at Fraser’s uniform as he unlocked the door.

“I admit to feeling uncomfortable.”

In Fraser-speak, that meant he was on death’s door.

“Ok, then. You first, Tundra Boy. Get that thing off before you spontaneously combust.”

“Are you sure, Ray? I am concerned about your well-being.”

“I’ll dunk my head in the sink if I have to, while you cool off. Now strip.”

Fraser shot him a glance that could only be interpreted as a smolder. “If you insist...”

Heat ran up the back of Ray’s neck, and he turned away, avoiding Fraser’s fiery gaze. He walked to the kitchen, deliberately keeping his back to Fraser until he heard the bathroom door click shut.

He turned on the sink faucet and cupped his hands under the cold — well, tepid actually … sheesh, even the water in the pipes was warm — running water and splashed it over his face. He scrubbed at his blackened hands and nails with soap and a dishcloth, which didn’t work all that well, but he hoped the activity would distract him from thinking about Fraser naked in his shower, eyes closed, working soapy lather over his body as water coursed over his muscled back and chest and down his....

“Shit.”

***

Fraser came out of the bathroom rubbing his head with a clean white towel, turning his hair from a damp, drippy mess into a tumble of dark waves that curled in all directions. He had put on a fitted white RCMP t-shirt and a pair of soft blue jeans that he’d left at Ray’s for just-in-case, like now. He looked sexy as hell, and Ray felt even more self conscious about his own disgusting state.

“Feel better?” Ray asked, trying not to think about tangling his fingers in that glorious mess and failing miserably. The struggle to hold back his libido was getting harder by the second.

“Much, thank you.” Fraser looked Ray up and down, and his face twisted into a frown. “You don’t look well. Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

Fraser, always on the case, had picked up on Ray’s agony and interpreted it as heat exhaustion, rather than the strain of keeping himself from throwing his best friend onto the bed and having his way with him.

“I just need a shower,” Ray said, blushing furiously.

“Would you like me to stay with you? I could assist, should you feel faint or need help. I wouldn’t want you to collapse in there.”

Ray almost flinched. The thought of Fraser an arm’s reach away, with Ray dripping and naked and barely hidden by a thin shower curtain … it was too much. He had to get away from Fraser, get himself under the coldest shower he could stand, and block it all out. Now.

“No! I mean, I’m, ah, I’m good,” he sputtered, barely getting the words out. He shouldered past Fraser into the bathroom and shut the door, but he didn’t lock it and didn’t ask himself why.

The shock of cold water on his skin was pure bliss — the relief from the heat was so intense that Ray let out an involuntary moan of pleasure. He soaped himself up, down, sideways and in between, in every crack and crevice and nook and cranny he could reach. Dirty gray water ran off him and down the drain along with the smoke and the guilt and, thank god, a lot of the horniness with it.

When Ray came out of the shower, dressed in gym shorts and a clean black Bulls t-shirt, he almost felt like himself again. Exhaustion was catching up with him though, and he flopped on his back onto the bed, sorely tempted to crash right there and take a nap. Fraser was banging around in the kitchen, and maybe he wouldn’t mind if Ray sacked out for a while.

But, no. There’d be no rest for the wicked, not yet anyway. Fraser came into the bedroom carrying a plate with a roast beef sandwich on it and a glass of water, looking like he’d just strolled out of the pages of Yukon Hunk Monthly. Ray’s dick responded so fast it startled him — the traitor. Ray thought about grabbing a pillow to put over his lap but decided that would make it even more obvious, so he didn’t. Just sat there exposed for all the world to see if they felt like looking.

And damn it, Fraser was looking. He was staring, open mouthed and not at all apologetic about it. Ray’s mind raced, simultaneously wishing that an asteroid would crash into the apartment and end his suffering, and that Fraser would stop staring and fucking do something — the tension was nearly unbearable.

When Fraser finally did move, it was fast. Before Ray could stop him, Fraser had put the plate and glass on the nightstand and knelt down on the edge of the bed beside Ray’s feet.

“The bruising on your knee looks significant,” Fraser said. He wrapped his hand around the back of Ray’s leg, lifting it gently. He prodded the skin around the kneecap and ran his hand over Ray’s thigh, stroking and kneading until Ray let out a gasp.

“I’m sorry Ray. Did I hurt you?”

“No. Frase — it’s not that,” Ray panted, his body tense and heating up again despite the water still evaporating from his skin. “Just stop. Please.”

Fraser let go. “I apologize Ray. Did I do something wrong?”

Ray scrubbed a hand over his chest. “Jesus, Fraser…” He had to say something. This had to stop. Or go. Either way. This being stuck in the middle situation was killing him. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

“By my observations, notably your flared nostrils, elevated pulse and breathing, flushed skin, dilated pupils, and dare I mention it, visible erection, I’d say I am successfully arousing you.”

Ray was stunned. What the fuck? “Uh. Yeah. You could say that.”

“Are you enjoying it, Ray?”

Again, what the fuck? “ Are you — you’re doing all this on purpose?”

“Of course.”

“...?”

“For some time now I’ve noticed our mutual attraction, and I’m becoming increasingly aware that life is a fragile thing, particularly in our line of work, so I decided to act on it rather than continue to waste time.”

“Were you planning on mentioning this to me at some point?”

“I thought… You gave every indication that this was consensual. Am I mistaken?”

Ray could barely believe what he was hearing. Seriously?

“You’re not. Not wrong, I mean.” He sat up straight and jabbed an accusing finger at Fraser. “But why the hell didn’t you say something before?”

Fraser hesitated. He took a deep breath, like he was about to launch into an hour long spiel about the mating habits of narwhals, when Ray interrupted him. He didn’t really want to go there right now.

“Wait. Forget I asked. Buddy, you got a hell of a lot of work to do on the communication front. Partners means sharing, remember?”

“I apologize. Would it be acceptable to share now? If you feel the same, of course.”

Ray blew out a breath, exasperated. This wasn’t how he’d imagined any of this going down, but nothing ever went as planned with Fraser. He scrubbed a hand through his hair, fluffing it up, and thought for a second. Ok then. If they were going to do this...

“Does the offer of kissing me and making it all better still stand?”

Fraser flashed a wicked grin. “If you wish. Yes.”

Ray worried for a moment whether this was actually a good idea or one that he’d later regret. He feared diving into that fire, surrendering to the heat building between them. It might incinerate him, torch their partnership, reduce everything to charred lumps of coal... but maybe, this time, it would be worth it.

Ray held out his hand, showing the reddened tips of his fingers, and raised an eyebrow.

When Fraser’s lips touched them, it ignited a spark that seared through every nerve. It filled his body with desire and melted every last shred of resistance. Clutching and sighing and laughing, consumed by the twin fevers of passion and love, they tumbled onto the mattress and into each other's arms.

They didn’t know it yet, but they had kindled a fire that would last the rest of their days. It would guide them through even their darkest nights, and keep them warm long past the time when other flames had flickered and died. In the winter of their lives, that fire would still blaze, until the last cinders fell to ash.

But oh, what a lovely way to burn.

 

Comments

[love_jackianto1]

Nice! Poor flustered Ray but I’m glad Fraser was there to help him.

[ride_4ever]

After I'm done flailing and fanning myself I'll be better able to remark about the beauty of this. It's one beautiful sentence after another and another (and I kept thinking of the time that Fraser said to RayK "that's a beautiful sentence").

I really should just make some icons that say "flails at WriteDragon" and "flails at lightspire".

[writedragon]

Ray’s definitely hot and bothered in this one! Glad you enjoyed it.

[writedragon]

Aww, thank you for your kind comments. And I just might need a “flails back” icon. ❤️

[seleneheart]

What a lovely way to burn indeed!

You do such a great job of invoking every aspect of heat and fire, giving us the visceral sense of it. Such a way with description.

Then the lovely love story between the two guys. Wondeful!

[writedragon]

Thank you. I love playing with language, and am glad you enjoyed the story.

Also, in my part of the world, we are in the midst of a brutal heat wave, so much of the description is coming from direct personal experience. The timing of this challenge was perfect.