Title: Stetson

Author: necessary angel

Pairing: BF/RK

Rating: NC17 for m/m interaction

Disclaimer: These guys belong to themselves and Alliance.

Spoilers: None that I could find. This is just smut after all.

Summary: Fraser thinks about his partner's affection for Fraser's hat.

Thanks to Rowan, Chris and Meghan for insightful comments and suggestions, thanks also to Maxine
for reassurance and the read through. And finally to Megan, my editor, who rescues me from
punctuation hell <g>.

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Stetson by necessary angel

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Ray was always touching it.

Fraser stopped removing his uniform and stared at the familiar shape of his hat on the closet shelf.
He couldn't recall when it had started, or when he had first noticed it. Now it seemed to him that Ray
always had his Stetson when he wasn't wearing it.

It was odd how on edge the simple sight of Ray's long fingers stroking over the brim made him feel.
It was ridiculous that such an inconsequential and somewhat endearing habit had come to hold such a
fascination for him. Fraser licked his lips and continued unfastening his tunic. It had been a long day,
and Ray had dropped him off at the Consulate with a jaw-cracking yawn and a quick wave. Fraser was far
from tired himself. He was sharply and clearly awake, as if his skin was wrapped in the cold bite of snow,
despite the muggy heat of Chicago in June.

Ray touched...touched everything.

That was almost the first thing Fraser had noticed about him, once he had recovered his balance from
that first startling hug, the casual arm around his shoulders that had branded Fraser through to the bone.
Touch was as much a part of his partner as his bright, quick smile and high energy level.
His constant handling of the Stetson was just natural.

Or was it?

Fraser removed his tunic slowly, frowning. Ray couldn't possibly mean anything by his habit.
It was Fraser who wanted it to mean more, to be a signal, another step in the dance to which
he was almost sure his partner knew the moves.

The way Ray handled the Stetson was different from the easy familiarity of his touch on Fraser's arm or shoulder.
It was more careful, purposeful, and... yes, sensual. Fraser shivered as he unlaced his boots. It really
was the only way to describe it. The light, almost absent stroking ghosted over Fraser's skin,
leaving welts of sensation, whenever he caught a glimpse of Ray's fingers moving over the tan felt.

It was torture. Purely self-inflicted torment, but Fraser could no more refrain from watching for it than...
it was unnecessary and absurdly self-indulgent.

Every time, it left him aching and half-hard, neither of those being unusual states for him around Ray.

Fraser had never really believed in instant attraction, but there it was. There was little sign that the electric
fascination would die as quickly as it had sprung into life. The current of awareness shifted and shimmered
between them, but the buzz in his bones never faded.

His uniform was stowed correctly in the closet. There was no sign of his father, Dief was asleep
beneath Fraser's desk, and there were no little tasks awaiting his attention.

There was nothing to stop him.

Nothing to prevent him.

Nothing but the heat and ache of his skin to occupy his mind.

There was nothing but the shock and relief of his fingers tracking over the warm, damp cotton of his
undershirt. A poor approximation of Ray's callused fingertips against his skin, but it was touch.

Touch was now something Fraser craved; another new need that had crackled to life in the brief time
since his return to Chicago. Free of the protective case of his dress uniform, he could give in.

This wasn't what he wanted, not even close.

But it would do.

Fraser knew that he should lock the door to his office. He sank into his desk chair instead.
There was no one here to see, no one to interrupt. His undershirt hit the floor, and he shivered
as his fingers moved over his chest.

He closed his eyes and the fingers lengthened, becoming long and lean and elegant, their touch firm
and knowing. There was now breath in his ear and soft murmurs of encouragement. Ray would not be
silent, Fraser was completely certain of that much.

This was a familiar game, built on what he knew about his partner. An old ritual, despite the short amount
of time that had passed since his world flipped around. Surprisingly guilt free, from the beginning, as if Ray's wholehearted acceptance of Fraser extended to this clandestine habit too.

He was thinking far too much.

Nails scraped at his nipples and traveled down over his stomach, leaving a sharp rush of sensation
in their wake. The pictures shifted and swirled behind Fraser's closed eyelids. Ray was on his knees now,
his eyes alive with humor and challenge. His lean hands freed Fraser's aching erection from the crisp cotton
of his shorts. His touch was light, far too light, and Fraser had to arch into the tease. A light chuckle, and
then that dissolute mouth was where Fraser needed it - wrapped around the urgent heat and pulse of his cock.
The swirl of Ray's imagined tongue around the crown was almost enough to send Fraser over the edge. His hand pressed hard, stopping the rush.

Not yet.

He didn't want this to end. He had craved and needed it all day.

He was moving again, back in the slick, languorous rhythm of Ray's clever mouth. His partner's eyes were
closed now, the long sweep of his eyelashes highlighting the ascetic lines of his cheekbones. A quick tamp of incorporeal teeth had Fraser shaking and shivering on the edge again. He held himself back, pressing almost
painfully against the urgent pulse of his cock. He breathed slowly and his grip slackened.

Fraser blinked and when his eyes closed the picture had changed again. Ray was in Fraser's desk chair, an
inviting sprawl of limbs and skin. This should be wrong, but Fraser was too enthralled to care.

Ray was naked.

Or almost naked, Fraser corrected himself, as he registered the Stetson on his partner's head. He had imagined it
there so often but never like this. Tamer images of Ray wearing it as they went about their daily business, but
not this incendiary likeness. It was inevitable, and Fraser surrendered to the clamor of his pulse.

Ray pushed the hat back and smiled as he looked at Fraser. His right hand was pulling lazily at the impressive,
swollen length at his groin. Fraser licked his bottom lip, his own hand moving faster now, matching the rhythm
Ray had set.

Watching his partner like this was almost better than the feel of those fingers against his own heat and need.
The play of Ray's muscles as they tensed and released under the flushed skin of his arm and thighs was
mesmerizing. And the expression on Ray's face was almost... feral, his eyes dark, almost black and his teeth
pressing hard into the swell of his bottom lip.

"Fraze."

Ray's voice, husky and raw, was the final push. Fraser arched into his own grasp, once, twice, and he
came with a groan that was somehow less real than Ray saying his name.

End