pure FORESHADOWING (nifra_idril) wrote,

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My tummy hurts. Also, fic, and birthday wishes.

Thing the first: *mwah* Happy birthday to one of the single most giving, sweet, wonderfulest, bestest ladies *evah*! *throws self at celli and smooches her*


Thing the second: my tummy really hurts. Dammit.


Thing the third, a long time ago, I promised lyra_sena a dS ficlet.

Lo and behold, the Niflet makes good:

Title: Passers on the Street
Pairing: Rayk/Fraser

It’s not like the alley’s sexy or anything – it’s just there. Convenient, kind of, because Fraser’s right there and Ray’s right there, and hey, so’s the alley. It works out nicely, or in Ray’s *mind* it does, because in reality they’re still walking around in the street, looking at the broken shop front window, cataloguing evidence, talking to witnesses, blah blah blah.

But in Ray’s head? In Ray’s head, he’s got Fraser up against that convenient alley wall, and he’s down on his knees, and Fraser’s kind of shushing him a little. Doing that thing where he pretends to be more worried than he is, but Ray’s got his number because behind those silly Mountie pants is a serious Mountie hard on. And Ray is grooving on that big time, he’s grooving on the image, on the little *sounds* Fraser keeps making that could be Inuit, could be pig-latin for all Ray knows. Could just be desperate.

He’s always had a rich fantasy life – and since meeting Fraser, it’s gotten a little richer – but this, *this* Ray can see in *technicolor*, in *surround sound*, because he’s seen it in person, and that’s maybe the biggest turn on of this whole thing. Ray knows exactly what Fraser would do when he pulled the zipper down – Fraser’d reach out with one of those big white hands of his, his fingers curling back into his palm a little, like maybe he thinks if he touches Ray’s head it’ll be uncouth or whatever.

Ray doesn’t care about couth, he never has – couth isn’t something that a guy’s going to be when he’s down on his knees getting nice and personal with a Canadian’s crotch in public. It just can’t be done, and besides, couth’s no fucking fun. So he’d reach up, take Fraser’s hand, put it where it wants to be. Cupping the back of his head, and maybe Fraser’s thumb would sneak around front, stroke over his cheek a little as Ray licks just the tip of his cock.

And then Fraser would growl, all frustrated and red-faced and buttoned up except for his dick, which would be right in front of Ray’s face – glistening and hard and long, and just *begging*, for him. Maybe Fraser would say something then, one of those things he’s always saying, something that’s *rational*, like – “Someone could see us, Ray,” but it’d be all throaty and sexy because Fraser doesn’t care, not really. And neither does Ray, because hey – this is Ray’s head! This isn’t the alley or anything – and even if it was, who’d be insane enough to say, “Oh, you’re right, Benton, please pardon my sexual aggression.”

Not Stanley Raymond Kowalski/Vecchio – no way. No, what Ray would do is grin up at him, maybe pull back a little, say, “Oh, so you want me to stop, Frase? That it?”

He’d maybe pull back a little – a bluff, of course, because Fraser wants this and Ray wants Fraser, and so this is going to happen, but teasing Fraser is so damned much *fun*, because the guy’s eyes go all dark and the hand on the back of Ray’s head gets demanding. And Fraser whimpers a little, helpless and horny, and isn’t it a good thing that Ray’s down here on his knees, ready to help the guy out?

But he waits it out, makes Fraser actually beg for it, because that’s part of the tease, and when Fraser finally speaks it’s like his voice has turned into this liquid thing that washes over Ray, makes him as desperate for this as Fraser.

So he dives in, or – no, he draws it out. Licks his way up Fraser’s dick, with these tiny little strokes, and Fraser…Fraser fuckin’ *writhes* under his tongue, and that’s the greatest power trip in the world right there.

“Want this?” Ray whispers against Fraser’s inner thigh, where he’s pressing kisses. “Want my mouth? Want me to suck you?”

“God, god *yes*, Ray!” Fraser bangs his head back against the wall, thrusts his hips out and it’s obscene, and hot, obscenely hot, and who the hell could resist that?

Fraser’s got his hands tight in Ray’s hair, and he’s pulling, and Ray sucks in the tip of Fraser’s cock, lets Fraser set the rhythm. It’s fast, but this kind of thing, this dangerous-outdoors-could-get-caught kind of thing is always fast, but God, such a turn on.

Fraser’s fucking his mouth, his hips moving in athletic, sexy little snaps, and Ray can’t help but moan around him. And that makes *Fraser* moan, and it’s a whole big moaning thing, and anyone could walk by the alley – they’d hear, but they’d probably keep walking, because it’s pretty obvious, pretty *fucking* obvious and oh, yeah – Fraser’s pretty when they’re fucking.

“Oh, *Ray*,” Fraser whimpers, even *shakes* when Ray lets his teeth brush the underside. Just a little, just enough to make things a little rougher, a littler faster, ‘cause Ray’s feeling this too. All the little shivers and shudders that work their way through Fraser are working their way straight to Ray’s dick, too, and he’s gotta come sooner or later, so with his free hand, he undoes his pants, gets himself out, jacks once, twice, nice and steady – firm and fast.

And, yeah, Fraser likes that. Looks down, and gets – gets *intense* or, really just *more* intense. Like the difference between a strong breeze and a hurricane right there in Fraser’s face, this focus on Ray’s mouth and his hand, and everything that he’s doing to Fraser, and what he’s doing to himself, and yeah, yeah, this is the kind of fantasy *legends* are made of.

Ray – Ray’s falling in love with this alley. It’s the most beautiful, wonderful, *right there* place in the world. And he could – he could just push Fraser into the alley, just fuck his mouth right there on Fraser’s cock, because they can *do* that now. In real life, not just in Ray’s head, where Fraser’s pumping into his mouth, over and over, completely lost to the orgasm that’s coming fast, so fast for both of them and Ray’s red-faced and breathing fast, and yeah, in real life the ground would be pretty hard on his knees and maybe Fraser would be serious about keeping sex indoors, Ray doesn’t know for sure.

But there’s something nice about not acting on it, about just thinking how good it would feel to come all over that wet dirty ground and suck down Fraser’s orgasm while Fraser called his name over and over in this screamy little whisper. About thinking of how Fraser would slump against the wall, his hair falling over his brow just a little bit, and his breath catching as he reached down and pulled Ray up, pulled him close, let him catch his breath right there, leaning against the solid wall of red serge and Mountie.

There’s plenty of people who can think about it – hell, every fucking person in Chicago with a sex drive, *including* teen-agers and senior citizens – thinks about it. But Ray? Maybe Ray could actually *do* it.

“Do you think there’s something down there, Ray?” Fraser asks, from right behind him.

“What? Down where?” He turns, confused, and notices that all the patrol cars are gone and it’s just him and Fraser standing on the sidewalk, which means maybe Ray was in his own personal porn for a little too long, but hey, who can blame him?

Fraser points down the alley. “You’ve been staring for quite some time,” Fraser tells him, and Ray grins, shakes his head.

“Nah, Frase, nothin’ there,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

Fraser nods, studies his face for a second. His eyes get a little wider, and he licks his bottom lip, looks down. When he looks back up, he’s – shit, he’s got a *twinkle* in his eyes, and a pretty knowing smile, and he says, “Would you like to make sure?”

Ray’s grin widens, and he grabs Fraser’s shirt, tugs him into the alley. “Fraser, my friend, I’d like nothing better.”


There should be fics named 'Lesbian Death Squad' and 'Smell Like I Sound' in this world. Though, really, there probably are, and I just don't know about it.
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