Notes: Well, sometimes there is just something to be said for hot, monkey sex. This is a missing scene story from "Hunting Season," inspired by Fraser and Kowalski's trip to the bathroom. I've always thought it was pretty slashy that they stay in the stall after Welsh leaves. Come to think of it, as Audra pointed out to me, it's pretty slashy that they go *in* the stall in the first place ...
Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Disclaimers et al.: Alliance, Alliance, Alliance. It's not like you really know what to do with them, even though they belong to you. If they were mine, I'd let them do it in public all the time. Rated NC-17 for pretty boys doing naughty things to other pretty boys, and bad words (Ray has a potty mouth; sue him). Set during the bathroom scene in "Hunting Season" and that's about the extent of the spoilers.
Summary: Um ... smut?
Feedback muchly wanted and greedily slurped atLaToot@aol.com.
For Anagi ...
"What he's trying to tell you, Detective, is that as a private citizen, he's free to liaise his head off with you, if he wants."
Welsh is peering down over the top of the stall at Fraser and me. I'm not sure, but it almost looks like he's gonna start laughing any second. I guess Fraser and I do look kind of silly. I mean, the stall isn't really designed for more than one person to be in it at any given time, and Fraser and I are crammed into it together. The side of my knee is pressed against the toilet seat and it feels like there's less than six inches of space between my shoulder and the door.
Fraser looks about as comfortable as I feel, but he still manages to smile as he looks up at Welsh. "Thank you, Leftenant."
Welsh's head disappears and I hear the door of the next stall open. I guess he figures we want some privacy and since he's obviously finished what he came in here to do, there's no reason to stick around. What I can't figure out is why the hell Fraser and I stay in here after Welsh leaves.
Okay, that's pretty much a lie. I know why I'm not moving. Any excuse to be thisclose to Fraser is a good excuse, especially when he's dressed in civvies. Don't get me wrong, The Uniform looks great on him, it's just ... well ... not a lot of guys fill out a pair of jeans the way Fraser does. Long legs. Blue-ribbon ass. Fraser in jeans makes me want to sacrifice something on the altar of Levi Strauss. A goat, maybe even a nice lamb. Anything that gets those legs wrapped around me.
I don't even know what I think I'm trying to do with Maggie. Yeah, she's pretty, maybe even beautiful, but I don't really want her. I guess I just figure he can't get near her if I'm standing in the way. Because in the end, it all comes back to Fraser. It has for a while. It probably always will.
I'm pretty sure we're the only people in here now that Welsh is gone, but I'm still not moving. Funny thing is, neither is Fraser. He's just standing there, his head cocked a little to the side. Tiny, barely-there smile. I stare at that smile, which means I'm staring at his mouth, and of course, because it's *his* mouth, just ... like ... that, I'm hard.
Stella used to be able to do that to me, probably still could if she put her mind to it. Look at me the right way, her head at the right angle or something and I was ready to go. Fraser is the same way. The only thing that would make me harder would be him doing that thing with his tongue, where he strokes it over his lower lip. And I swear, sometimes I think the man can read minds because he does it. While I'm standing here staring at him, he wets his lower lip with his tongue and I'm pretty sure that right now, I could use my dick for batting practice.
I must have said that out loud because Fraser looks down at my crotch, then back up at my face. The smile goes from barely to all-the-way there and he tilts his head even more before sliding down to his knees and pressing his face into me. As usual, my mouth picks the wrong time to start flapping.
"What are you doin', Fraser?" //Right, Ray, 'cause it's not fucking *obvious* or anything. Shut the hell *up*.//
He looks up at me with his eyebrows raised, as if to say, 'Well, if you have to ask, I'll stop right now,' and all I can think to do is clamp my hand over my mouth. That gets a nod, and he goes to work on getting my belt and buttons undone.
I'm amazed my dick doesn't put out his eye, but Fraser, being Fraser, just takes it in stride. He rests his cheek against my cock and starts rubbing up and down, just like a cat, only I'm the one who purrs. There are a bunch of questions I should probably ask right now, but none of them would be coherent, and none of them would make either one of us stop, so I just go with the flow.
"Is this liaising, Fraser?" I can still think enough to be a smart-ass. That particular gift isn't ever gonna fail me.
"Something like that," he whispers on my skin, and I twitch so wildly he grabs my hips to hold me still. This isn't gonna last long if I'm already that antsy and he hasn't even used his tongue yet. And of course, Fraser knows, so he doesn't make me wait for it, the way he might if we weren't in a *fucking public bathroom*. And that fact blows my mind even though I barely have one left to blow because Fraser's started sucking on my cock like it's a lollipop or something.
I fist his jacket because I'm afraid I'll hurt him if I put my hands in his hair like I want to. He slides off for a few seconds, swirls his tongue over the head, then licks up and down the underside, right on the vein, and it makes my toes wiggle. I should probably tell him to hurry or something because, well, we *are* in the station bathroom, and anybody walking in could tell something hinky was up just by checking the stall. But part of the rush that's making my neck tingle is that anybody -- Huey, Dewey, that fucking floor sweeper who keeps trying to trip me with his broom -- *could*.
Fraser swallows me whole again, and this time, he means business. Licking, sucking, I even feel a tiny scrape of teeth and I look down just as he looks up. Pretty blue eyes and honestly, they twinkle when he smiles around my dick and that's what does it. Fraser looking all shiny and happy while sucking my cock sends me right over the edge. I jerk into him hard, *feel* myself hitting the back of his throat as I come, and the twinkle in his eyes gets even brighter. Fuck *me*.
Amazingly, he doesn't spill a drop, gulps it down like it's water and he's been wandering a desert for forty days or something, then licks me clean. Climbs up my body and gives me a big, deep, wet, creamy kiss. He presses me into the wall of the stall and I can feel his hard-on through four layers of denim and cotton. Yeah, I know we have other business, real *police-type* business to do, but he's also my partner, and like I always say, partners means sharing.
I push him against the stall's other wall, keep right on kissing him as my hand gets his belt, zipper and boxers out of the fucking way. I pull his dick out, let it get some air, and you know, Fraser's big and solid *everywhere*. It always freaks me a little when that extra layer of skin he's got moves around. I think I'm hurting him or something, but then he moans like he's moaning right now, and I know I'm doing okay.
"Jesus, Fraser, shut the fuck *up*, would ya?" I say, clamping my hand over his mouth. "Do I need to remind ..." And he shuts *me* the fuck up by licking my palm almost in time with my strokes on his cock. *Both* of my hands shouldn't be having so much fun and I replace the one on his mouth with my mouth, get a nice, wet helping of Mountie tongue for my trouble. My strokes are fast and hard because I mean, we've got places to *be*, but he also likes it this way sometimes. With my free hand I make a fist, press it into his belly, just below the navel, and move myself out of his way because now he's coming, fast and hot, all over my hand and the other wall of the stall.
I lick at the spot right under his ear as his breathing gets back to normal. "You sure do make a mess, Fraser, you know that?"
He just chuckles at that and at me. With typical Fraser efficiency, he gets both of us cleaned up, then pushes me out to take care of the stall. After all, it only takes a few extra minutes to be courteous.