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No Damage Done
for Stars
Ringing startled Ray out of a deep and fairly nice sleep -- vague memories of being about to be crowned prince of Dreamland floated somewhere in the recesses of his mind, although considering that Dreamland was like something out of a ten year old girl's sugar high fantasies, Ray supposed he shouldn't mourn the lost opportunity too much -- and he had to scramble about for a good while, managing to pick up the receiver but then do that really embarrassing grappling with the phone that made it obvious to whoever was on the other end that he had either been asleep or was drunk.
"'lo?"
"Ray?" Came the bright, perfectly constructed reply. Ray cringed. It would be the Mountie. "Good evening, Ray. I'm sorry to disturb you -- you weren't asleep, I hope? Perhaps I shouldn't have called at such a late hour."
"Nah, nah. Wasn'sleep," he slurred, making the lie in those words perfectly clear in case there had been any room for doubt. "Besides, s'not late. It's only-- huh. It is pretty late for you, buddy."
"I'm terribly so--"
"Yeah, yeah," Ray waved the apology away, intending Fraser's inhuman ears to pick up on the swishing of the wind currents or something. 10 o'clock was a strange hour for the chronically polite and proper Benton Fraser, but it was equally unusual for Ray to just crash on the couch after work as he had. "What's up?"
"I was wondering if..." There was the longest pause in the entire universal history of awkward pauses. "Would you perhaps like to accompany me tonight?"
Ray waited, until he suddenly realised that that had been the end of the proposition.
"Accompany you to what? For what?" He scratched behind his left ear, stretching his legs out over the arm of the couch. "I asked if you wanted to get pizza or something earlier and you said-- hey, wait." Now both hands were gripping the receiver, and Ray was sitting up, primed for action. "Okay, now, answer me either yes or no. Are you--"
"I'm not being held against my will, Ray, no." It said a lot about them, that Ray would ever feel the need to ask such a question, and even more that Fraser would anticipate it. "My consular duties have been completed for the day and I was... well, I suppose I was hopeful that you might be wishing for some... company. As I wish for," a discomfited cough, "Company."
Ray blinked. "Come again?"
Fraser sighed, and Ray recognised it as a 'gearing himself up for some straightforward speaking' sigh. Which meant nothing, because Fraser's idea of straightforward was always going to be way more bent than any normal person's.
"Well, you could just come over. Here. And we could... occupy ourselves. Somehow."
Ray was incredulous. "Fraser? Is... is this a booty call?"
"A boot what?" To his credit, the guy sounded genuinely confused. However, not only was he an expert in feigning such things as confusion and cultural misunderstanding, he was also totally guilty as charged. A nutjob blows someone's brains out in cold blood. He may not know the word for what he did, but he's sure as hell going down for murder.
"It is! This is a booty call! Oh my god!"
Fraser probably would have gone on to reply, but Ray would never know. He slammed the phone down and headed straight into the bedroom, too pissed off to drink or punch anything, too hysterical to call back and demand an explanation. He threw himself down on the bed, wrenched his pillow until it was in the desired crumpled position, and willed himself to please fall straight asleep before it was too late and he'd have to stay up all night, thinking about things.
God damn it.
---
"A boot what?" Fraser asked once more.
Diefenbaker yipped.
"No, I don't think so." Fraser's eyebrows descended and bunched together. "Booty? What could that..."
Diefenbaker barked, wagging his tail twice for emphasis. Fraser looked exasperated.
"What on earth do pirates have to do with this?"
---
Wintertime in Chicago, Ray had always assumed, was probably much easier for Fraser to bear than any other time of year. When Ray felt the bite of the cold on his cheeks, the dampness of melting snowflakes in his hair, could see his breath leaving his mouth like smoke, he liked to imagine that this was something like what Fraser experienced up in the Territories. Not so deep down, of course, he knew without being told that this was nothing like Fraser's home, but it was one of his favourite things to do now, to push that knowledge away for a while and just pretend. Pretend that he was there, tracing the long faded steps of little Ben, all across his old stomping grounds. Hell, maybe one day he could do it for real.
"Lovely morning, don't you think?" Fraser asked, his voice more subdued and tentative than normal.
Ray had decided to cut Fraser some slack, seeing as how he'd woken up feeling pretty ashamed of his -- well, there was only one word that sprang to mind -- girly behaviour the night before, and had accepted the invitation to go for a walk in the park with a lot less ire and complaining than he would have in any other given situation. Even the fact that this invitation had been delivered in person, at half six in the morning, hadn't been enough to bring out Ray's angry side.
"Yeah, for penguins maybe," He groused, letting his intentions to have everything return to the normal level of banter between the two of them be clear.
"And certainly for Diefenbaker," Fraser agreed, as if Ray had just come out with a perfectly pleasant and insightful comment. Oh, yes, things were getting right back on track.
The wolf-dog in question was truly in his element, it seemed. He was cavorting and capering and damn well near cart-wheeling through the settled white powder covering the ground, upsetting a snowman that had no doubt been laboriously slaved over for hours the previous day. Ray laughed and made his way over to the battered corpse, retrieving the more or less still well-formed head and holding it up to his own. "Alas, poor Frosty," he said, then turned to grin at Fraser--
Only to be hit full in the face by a flying snowball.
"Fraser!" He yelled and shook his head, dislodging the cold, cold layer of freezing coldness from his poor visage.
Fraser didn't reply, apparently using every ounce of his power in an attempt to not laugh. He tilted his head in a vaguely innocent way. Once Ray's features were thawed enough to obey his commands again, he lifted his lips up into a smirk.
"Now that, Fraser, buddy, was a pretty silly thing to do," he said slowly, taking his time in removing the carrot and buttons that made up the dead snowman's cheerfully blank expression, "when your partner is standing right here with the mother of all snowballs in his hands."
"Well, I'm waiting." That perfect, red mouth opened into a pure, teasing smile that Ray didn't think he'd ever seen before. "Although I have sufficient faith in my ability to dodge and your inability to throw a projectile of that size accurately en--"
"Oh, you wish it would be that easy, Mountie." And with that, Ray advanced.
It was a slow process, each step carefully measured in its speed and distance, because if Fraser broke into a run now, Ray would never be able to catch him. However, the plan was working thus far, the both of them stepping either forward or backward with each other in tandem. Eventually, Fraser's back came up against the wall of the public bathroom block and Ray's smirk turned bloodthirsty. Fraser's eyes widening to an almost comical size was the last thing that Ray saw before the giant ball of sweet vengeance travelled the few inches from his hand to Fraser' face, and rendered the both of them blind in the whiteness.
Fraser gasped and spat out snow, and Ray was close enough to feel the poor -- not that poor -- guy's chest heaving against his, to feel the icy puffs of desperate breath on his own lips, and just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, he'd have to-- Fraser grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him. It was so, so cold. The heat of their mouths together was thoroughly interrupted by the small but numerous rivulets of melting snow from Fraser's face dripping down and into the kiss. However, it was the most perfect moment Ray could ever remember experiencing, although it was true he found himself constantly having to revise that when he was around the Mountie. Ray didn't notice that a sneaky hand had been working on his jacket zipper until he felt it, bitter, on his chest, chilling him even through his thick shirt. He gasped his way out of the entanglement of Fraser's embrace, jerking away instinctively.
There was an all too familiar expression of growing discomfort on Fraser's face and Ray bit back on a sigh. He opened his mouth to stall the fading of this unexpected playful casualness, but was interrupted by the sounds of conversation drawing closer from the other side of the building. Just as a couple -- the first people, other than the two crazy guys and their even crazier dog, to be seen in the park so far at this early Sunday hour -- rounded the corner, Fraser ducked from Ray's hands, rubbed at his face, and began walking away. Ray, assuming that this was Fraser's version of acting innocent and not a hint that he wanted to leave Ray's company, jogged to catch up to him.
They didn't speak until the point where they had to part in order to return to their respective abodes.
"I had a wonderful time," Fraser said.
"This is bullshit," Ray didn't say.
---
"Ah, there you are." Fraser crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for his straggling companion to catch up. He'd begun to wonder whether Diefenbaker had left earlier than he and Ray and would be at the Consulate waiting for him. "Where did you disappear to?"
Diefenbaker sniffed a reply, trotting straight past Fraser in a way that only his wild and noble wolf side saved from being sulky.
Fraser coloured. "Embarrassed, indeed."
Dief threw back a wry look over his shoulder, although he shouldn't have been able to hear what had been said. Perhaps it was intuition.
"We were not 'carrying on' in any such manner--" Fraser spluttered, halting at the second such look that was sent his way. Abandoning this failing line of defense, he decided to just ask, beginning to smile, "Do you think he enjoyed himself?"
---
"Coming in?" Ray's foot was holding the door open until Fraser put his hand against it. Then Ray was across the apartment already, shedding his coat and boots by the time he reached the kitchen.
Fraser closed the door behind him and made his way to the centre of the lounge area, awkward and silent. "Ray, are you angry? At me specifically, I mean," he had asked that morning. Ray hadn't replied. Surely such a question had to be at least partly rhetorical. Even Fraser wasn't that clueless.
"Man, this job does not get any easier, huh?" He decided to try out the Mountie's way of thinking and just barrel on as if life was just peachy and there was nothing at all to worry or talk about.
"Hm?" Fraser's focus snapped up from the floor. "I'm sorry?"
"Welsh? Criminals? Back alley shootouts? Ringing any bells in that pretty little head of yours?"
They both winced at the slip that, under other circumstances, wouldn't have been a slip at all -- merely Ray being his facetious self.
"Fraser, I--"
The interruption in the form of Fraser striding across the distance between them, taking Ray's face in his palms, and proceeding to tongue the living bejeezus out of him, was too much for Ray to take and he submitted in an instant. He didn't want to have The Talk anymore than the next guy would.
So, Fraser was going off the deep end a little bit. So, he was like some rubber band twanging between mindlessly horny and hopelessly buttoned up. So, they'd had sex eight times in a fortnight and shared what could just about pass as a conversation only twice in the same amount of time. So, Ray was beginning to develop a bad case of mental whiplash. So, so, so, so what? With his body stretched low over the kitchen table, shirt rucked up past his nipples and jeans sliding down his thighs, like Ray was going to complain.
Of course, it was just a fold-up yard table so, if Ray suddenly found himself lying on the floor with a headache and no excuse to give his neighbour as to why the furniture he'd so generously leant him was broken, then he definitely was going to complain. Loudly.
Fraser ran his broad hands down the backs of Ray's legs, slipping the jeans down further until they were pooled at his ankles. The heavy, laboured puffs of air on his thighs were enough to make Ray extremely glad that he had decided to forgo underwear that day. In no time at all, Fraser's mouth was pressed against the skin, sucking vicious little kisses where Ray would be unable to see them without contorting his body into an interesting new shape.
It wasn't until that harsh, beautiful mouth had travelled up the back of Ray's balls and a little further that things became a bit less fun.
"Hey, hey, hey." Ray jerked forward against the table, away from Fraser. "I know we haven't talked about this, but I don't like that. I don't like people doing things to me... there."
Fraser didn't answer. He had slipped into that headspace that Ray was becoming familiar with -- that 'all about the sex, I'm not listening to you, maybe we can talk about it after' headspace. Except, of course, they still hadn't talked about "it" once since this whole... thing began. One of those big, rough hands slid up from Ray's knee to the hollow of his back. Ray tensed and gave a little test shimmy. Another hand came up to join the first, both pressing down gently but firmly. Ray laid his head on the tabletop, his pulse deafening in his ears. Oh, yeah, Fraser was totally gone.
At the first touch of wetness against his hole -- not tentative in the least, a wide swipe probing in -- Ray's toes curled in on themselves. He could stand this, he could stand this, as long as he did nothing to prompt Fraser to freak out and run away again then everything would be fi-- oh, god. Hot, hot air. Right over-- "Fraser! Hang on!"
"Hush, Ray." The words came from somewhere deep inside Fraser's throat, rumbling their way out and turning Ray's legs to jelly despite his displeasure. His feet slipped on the tiles and Fraser pressed up against him harder to forestall any nasty tumbles that might interrupt his exploration.
And, fuck, fuck, Ray didn't want this. It was gross and far too personal and-- and wet. Jesus, was it wet. The sounds of Fraser licking and sucking and the suction that, when it got hard enough to cause Fraser to make a slurping noise-- oh, shit. The head of Ray's cock tapped against the underside of the tabletop and Ray let out a breath that was more of a gasp. Shit. Okay, that felt indecently good.
Fraser's hands were still on Ray's back, but they eventually moved down to run the length of his legs -- from heel to hip -- numerous times, causing each little hair they passed to stand to attention. It was just on the bearable side of ticklish. Fraser's... other task... had quickly passed that threshold as it began, and now all Ray could feel was the deep, dirty pleasure of it. "F-fuck..."
Suddenly everything stopped, the two points of concentrated heat from Fraser's palms the only contact still between them. "Ray?" He sounded breathless. "Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?"
Jesus Christ, what a time to ask that question!
"Shut up, Fraser," Ray groaned into the cold surface beneath his face, wrenching his arms out from under his body to pull his cheeks apart, spreading himself. He'd feel embarrassed about this later, he decided.
Fraser swiftly pressed the moan he couldn't hold back into Ray's skin, back to tonguing Ray's asshole like it was the only thing he'd ever aspired to do. It was worshipful, in a way. His mouth was so gentle but impatient, reverent but unable to show restraint, and when Fraser brought his own hands up to cover Ray's, spreading him even wider so as to press his face as close and bury his tongue as deep as possible, Ray came undone with helpless convulsions and nothing but praises for Fraser's ideas on his lips.
Through the post-orgasmic haze, there was the faint but unmistakeable sound of a zipper coming down -- and, boy, Ray just bet that Fraser was glad he was in plain clothes today -- and pants being lowered. When he felt Fraser pressed, in all his glory, up against his thighs, squeezing his dick in between Ray's buttocks, common sense finally filtered through enough to prompt, "Hey, wait, we can't do this without--"
But Fraser hushed him once more and began to rock in movements that, although slow, had incredible strength behind them. His erection -- seeming somehow bigger now that Ray could only feel it -- was trapped snugly between Ray's legs, brushing against his balls on every stroke. The table was shaking now and Ray -- finally out of his daze and no longer having to deal with the worries that penetration brought -- was growing increasingly terrified of the surely imminent moment when everything would, literally, come crashing down.
However, Fraser quickly reached climax, Ray opening his legs wider at the last moment so that he could look down and just about see the head of Fraser's cock, spurting over but mostly under the table, and the rickety old thing managed to hold.
Ray dropped down to the floor, luckily missing the random little puddles that they had made, and Fraser backed away a few steps, behind him.
"Holy shit, Fraser," Ray managed with some effort and a wheeze to his voice. "Every time I think you can't possibly surprise me with--" Crap. Crap. That was the sound of a zipper going very hurriedly back up.
Ray turned himself around using his hands, his naked ass squeaking on the kitchen tiles. "What are you doing?" His voice sounded pretty tired and bland to his own ears and Fraser didn't answer. They both knew.
It wasn't until Fraser had zoomed his way over to the front door that he even looked in Ray's general direction. "I'm sorry-- I have to--"
Ray, still sitting on the cold floor and beginning to feel like an idiot, waved him off. "Just go."
Fraser went.
---
Much later that night, in the pitch black of the tiniest of rooms in the Canadian Consulate, Chicago, the only Mountie so dedicated to his job that he actually slept there rolled over onto his side. The cot creaked.
"Do you think I went too far?"
Diefenbaker, irked at being dragged from a very nice dream, snuffled something insulting into his paws.
"I know you weren't there," Fraser frowned, "But you must be able to judge from my less than joyous return and the fact that I have been lying here mortally ashamed for--"
"Wuff," Diefenbaker snorted.
"Even for you, that was uncouth." Fraser turned his body away, offended.
Diefenbaker gave a doggy grin to his back.
---
It was the silliest -- not to mention, the girliest -- question that Ray had ever had to ask himself. Was Fraser using him for sex? On the heels of that came perhaps the most bizarre question he'd ever had to ask himself: Did Fraser know that he was using him for sex? Hell, Ray didn't know anything about Canada. Maybe fucking and running was how they did things up there. Maybe a sudden lack of company and conversation that didn't somehow result in getting some was how you knew things were on the right track. Or, more likely, there was the possibility that Fraser was just freaked the fuck out and couldn't handle the balance between friends and lovers. That was probably it, considering the guy had issues to Timbuktu and back when it came to sex and love and any other vaguely human impulse.
Not for the first time, Ray wished he hadn't waited until he was trapped inside a car on an overnight stakeout with Fraser before asking himself these difficult questions.
To break the silence that had inhabited the GTO since Fraser had stepped into it that evening, looking at least grateful to be relieved early from his consular duties, Ray picked up the bottle of water sitting on the dashboard, took a gulp to dispel the dryness that had crept back into his mouth yet again, and asked, casually, "Hey, where do you think they get this stuff from?"
Fraser didn't even hesitate before leaning in to peruse the label. "Scotland, I believe. Why?"
"'Cause I can taste the accent," Ray snapped. "Why do you think? I was just trying to make conversation."
"Ah."
Okay, that didn't work.
Ray slumped back in his seat and craned his neck a little, looking past Fraser's head, out his window. No sign of any movement in the house. Ray was beginning to think that no one was even in there. He'd been considering, for some time, that it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Welsh liked to send him on these kinds of uneventful, recon, won't-even-lead-to-an-arrest stakeouts just for the satisfaction of knowing that Ray wouldn't be getting any sleep that night. He definitely at least waited until the last possible moment to call and relieve him for the night.
"I'm certain this must be absolutely horrid for you."
It took a moment to work out that, firstly, Fraser had actually offered up conversation, and secondly, Fraser had actually offered up conversation that related to their relationship. For a long time, Ray had thought he'd been doing his no-I-didn't-read-your-mind-but-it's-scary-how-intuitive-I-am-isn't-it thing and was referring to Ray's less than eager attitude toward the surveillance.
"Well, you've gotta admit..." was how Ray had planned to begin his reply, but as soon as he realised that the look in Fraser's eyes was not determination or-- hell, even reluctance would be better than-- shit. He looked like a guy who'd accepted defeat. Without even consulting Ray first!
"No, no, no, no, no..." was the direction that Ray decided to take instead, but before he could even open his mouth, Fraser was doing his lone ranger, Super Mountie thing and barreling ahead, leaving Ray in the dust.
"But rest assured, Ray." He swallowed. "This situation is, for me, equally as distressing."
And for the first time in two weeks, rather than despairing of Fraser's hot-cold attitude and grumping over how his silly angsting was ruining things for him, Ray really looked at his best friend and saw how much Fraser himself was affected. He obviously hadn't been sleeping well -- Ray couldn't remember ever seeing bags under his eyes before -- and his whole face was flushed as red as his outfit. He'd known that Fraser had been upset but he didn't realise that he was miserable. Any and all words of denial or persuasion shriveled up and died before they could escape Ray's mouth.
"We can't continue like this."
Ray pressed his teeth together, hard, before feeling composed enough to reply, "I'm not sure it'll be easy to go back to how we were."
To his surprise, Fraser beamed at him for this. "I was thinking precisely the same thing."
Shocked, Ray ventured," So... we're on the same page with this?" God, he hoped he was wrong.
"It would appear so." Fraser was still smiling, damn him. Ray wanted to punch that stupid expression of relief right off his face and down his fucking throat. "Ray, thank you, thank you for making this so easy. I should have known--"
"Yeah, yeah, that's great, congratulations." Ray didn't know what he was saying; just knew that he needed to get outside for some air now.
Fraser's hand came across his as he scrabbled pathetically at the door handle, unable to get a strong enough grip on it with numb fingers. "Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."
"WHAT?!" Ray exploded, tearing every part of his body far away from anything of Fraser's, the rational part still in order in his brain saying that he shouldn't be touching him in any way right now.
Fraser's lips pressed together in concern. "Ray, we're on a stakeout. It wouldn't be wise to--"
"Right, right. No leaving the car," Ray muttered, sinking back into his seat and blushing with too many emotions to quantify.
Fraser smiled once more and leaned in; patted Ray's knee. Okay, fuck it. Ray clenched his fists. He was going to haul off and smack the bastard right on the nose.
As soon as Fraser stopped kissing him, he was totally doing it.
Or, instead: "What the fuck are you doing, Fraser?!"
He got more of that beatific smile in return. "I'm fulfilling my part of our new arrangement."
"Our-- you-- wha--"
"Well, if we can't continue as we are and we can't go back to how we were, the only option is for you to get tough and let me know anytime I'm making a fool out of myself and panicking over senseless things. I assumed that we would be entering into this agreement on a reciprocal basis."
"Wait, wait, so... what? This was the page we both landed on?" Ray's head was buzzing but, damn, the clouds were beginning to part and the sun was shining the fuck through.
"Of course." Fraser's brow furrowed. "Why, what did you--"
"Nothing! Not a thing! I was lost somewhere back in the index or something. Forget about it." And Ray darted across the space between the two seats and planted his mouth firmly on Fraser's. "'Stop being a moron, or I'll kick your ass.' That I can totally do."
"As can I," Fraser's smile had something jagged in it and Ray's heart twisted.
The call to relieve them could not come fast enough.
---
"Diefenbaker. Dief," Fraser hissed, not too loudly.
A pair of eyes, tinged with both your run of the mill tiredness as well as a long-suffering weariness that had nothing to do with the physical, opened and rolled up towards the bed overhead.
"Do you think I should tell my father?"
Diefenbaker gave Fraser an incredulous look.
"I know, I know. But... he will be wondering where I've been lately and, well, you know his habit of just... turning up, unannounced. It might give him a heart attack to--"
Dief thumped his head down in despair.
"Well, yes, I get your point, but it can't be a pleasant experience, even post-mortem--"
"Fras'r..." The words were both a grunt and a whine at the same time. "Are you freaking out?"
Ray's eyes were closed, his arms sleepily splayed, but there was tension around his mouth. Fraser turned, slid further into those welcoming arms and kissed the tension away. "Not at all."
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