Good Morning, Chicago      Good Morning, Chicago

 by Beth H.

  

 Author's website: http://beth-h.mrks.org

 Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine. 

 Author's Notes: Thanks to AuKestrel for a first-draft beta (and
pronoun-wrangling) and to Kalena, from whom I shamelessly stole a few key
phrases during a long-ago AIM chat.

 Story Notes: This story was originally written for the masturbation
challenge in the LiveJournal ds_flashfiction community

 

 

 Good Morning, Chicago
 by Beth H.
 (c) May 11, 2003 

 He wakes as the first rays of sun come into the bedroom, not sure why he
isn't still fast asleep. They'd been up late the night before on a long
stake out, stuck for hours in a crappy pool car on one of the hottest
nights of the summer. When their shift ended - three hours with nothing to
show for it - Ray drove them back to his place so Fraser could pick up
Dief. The look of relief on Fraser's flushed face as he walked into the
air-conditioned apartment was enough; no way was Ray letting his partner
spend the night at the Consulate with just a cheap K-Mart desk fan blowing
hot air around his already stifling room. 

 So Fraser stayed over, as he'd been doing more and more often over the
past three weeks, ever since the first time they made love. Tonight,
though, both men were too hot, too sticky, too tired for more than slow,
soft kisses, sleepy smiles, and a few murmured words ("I'll get the light"
and "G'night" and "See you in the morning") that maybe meant "I love you,"
before they both fell asleep. 

 When Ray wakes, Fraser's still asleep. They'd kicked the covers to the
floor sometime during the night, and seeing Fraser lying there, all
loose-limbed and relaxed on the sleep-rumpled sheets beside him, makes Ray
smile. He props himself up on one elbow and watches Fraser sleep for a few
minutes, then reaches out to wrap an arm around him, accidentally brushing
his hand over Fraser's cock, which twitches at the light contact. And Ray
. . . well, the sight of all that smooth skin against the dark curls, that
half-hard morning dick makes him smile more. It looks kind of innocent,
the way Fraser used to look innocent, the way he still does sometimes, in
the right light. 

 It's all still new for them, this sex thing, and Ray wants to please
Fraser, see what gets him off, except he hasn't had the chance. Not
really. Fraser's been the aggressor, always, every time they've made love.
And Ray, who's had a lifetime of taking the lead in bed, has let Fraser
set the pace here, just like he'd let Fraser take the lead in their
working partnership, until gold and pirates and a ghost ship taught them
both that a partnership couldn't work that way. 

 All of a sudden, it's become the most important thing in the world to get
Fraser off without following directions. Without Fraser telling him what
to do. He likes it that Fraser's demanding in bed, loves it, but Ray
really wants to see that twitch again, wants to see what makes Fraser's
cock respond when the touch isn't accidental. Wants to see what happens
when he takes the lead. 

 Ray sits up, cross legged, and takes Fraser's dick in his hand. He holds
it gently at first, just sort of feeling the warmth and weight of it in
his hand, but firmly enough to know when the first pulses start that mean
Fraser's getting off on his touch. 

 He feels the slide of skin beneath his palm as he starts to move his
hand, long, slow strokes moving up along the hardening length of Fraser's
cock. Fraser's breath catches, and he arches a little into the touch of
Ray's hand. 

 Still stroking, Ray runs his other hand lightly across Fraser's chest,
teasing absent-mindedly at the flat brown nipples with the side of his
thumb. Fraser moans softly and shifts in his sleep, opening his legs and
bending them at the knees. He slides his hand across his body, reaching
for his own cock. Ray catches him, holds Fraser's hand down flat on his
belly, feeling Fraser's muscles rippling restlessly beneath both their
hands, still stroking Fraser's dick with his other hand. 

 Ray strokes more firmly now, sliding his thumb lightly over the top of
Fraser's cock on each upstroke. Beneath his other hand, Fraser's fingers
flex once, then still . . . but his body's trembling and he's breathing
harder - short, shuddering breaths that turn to gasps as Ray moves his
other hand to cup Fraser's balls - and when Ray looks at Fraser's face, he
sees smoky blue eyes looking back at him from beneath dark lashes. 

 For a second or two, Ray just looks at Fraser, all sweat-soaked and
flushed and so fucking beautiful, then Fraser closes his eyes, and Ray
leans over and kisses Fraser hard, tightens his grasp, strokes faster, and
Fraser thrusts fiercely into Ray's hand, again and again, until - "Oh, oh
God, Ray!" - he comes hard and fast, his semen spurting thickly over Ray's
fingers. 

 Then Fraser collapses, sprawls bonelessly on the bed - "Love the new
alarm clock, Ray," he murmurs - and Ray laughs and lies down next to him
and holds him until they both fall asleep. 

End Good Morning, Chicago by Beth H.: beth-h@mrks.org

Author and story notes above.