Author's Website: http://bifictionalbedlam.slashcity.net

Disclaimer: The Pauls, Alliance/Atlantis, dudes with money. Yo, none of the above are me. Bonus, 'cause then F/K can have the sex!

Author's Notes: Thanks to: LaT, for the leather; AuKestrel, for the boot reminder; and
Res, who told me to post the thing, already.

Story Notes: It's becoming clear to me now that
since my brain is no longer occupied with undergraduate studies, it feels
free to follow pornalicious tangents. denise did say I should feel free to explicate in footnotes. And gosh, Aral, isn't it fun what a girl can draw out of "Imperial Leather"?

Ray often wore black motorcycle boots, steel-toed, with a silver ring set in the sides. "Shitkickers," he had called them, on more than one occasion. Fraser thought the designation particularly apt, considering that Ray's favorite threat involved the rather athletic statement of intent to kick people in the head.

Fraser's uniform required brown leather granny boots, buffed to a shine, neatly knotted all the way up. Smelling of clean leather and polish. And, as Ray once put it, "You could lick 'em, if you were so inclined."

The leer on Ray's face had, at the time, clearly indicated he was.

Fraser's boots were as buttoned up and spotless as Ray's were comfortable and scarred. Opposites, mated and partnered.

Fraser's boots pressed hard on either side of Ray's, scuffing and pushing, an urgent juxtapose of black and brown, grunge and spit-spot, moving and creaking in tandem, rising up on toes, because they couldn't wait to unfasten more zippers and ties than the essential.

They had stumbled just inside Ray's apartment door, and torn at each other like animals.

Fraser's forehead rested against the back of Ray's neck, their skin sweaty and hot and sliding. His tongue flicked out to trace the salty residue along the neck strap of Ray's leather holster. He angled his head to trace up Ray's neck, licking until he reached the hairline where sweat turned Ray's hair a deep honey-mustard.

Leather. Sweat. Musk.

Ray groaned and Fraser's hands flexed on his hips. The dangling hem of Ray's T-shirt tickled Fraser's thumbs, and he longed to push the shirt up, up and off, but that would mean letting go.

"Never again," Fraser rasped. "You told me. You swore."

"Had the vest on. M'not hurt. You're not hurt."

"Promise," he said. Ray's head fell back against Fraser's shoulder. Fraser opened his jaw and bit his neck, gently, holding his teeth against skin. Demanding submission out of fear.

And Ray wasn't giving it, chuckling low in his throat, thrusting back against Fraser's cock. "Harder."

Fraser grunted and shoved, fingers tight on Ray's hips, wanting to feel skin everywhere. But there had been no time.

No time, nothing but the urge to claim and mate. To taste, penetrate, reassure.

"Promise," Fraser said again.

And still Ray refused him, wet hair brushing against Fraser's cheek as he shook his head.

Fraser shoved harder, harder into tight heat. The heels of Ray's palms skidded across the wall, leaving sweat-damp streaks on the white paint. For a long moment, there was nothing but heavy, dragging breaths and the wet slap of skin, creaking leather of boots, and a soft, strangled moan every time he found Ray's prostate.

"Promise," he said, frantic, pressing deep inside Ray, hoping he would never have to come out. "Love you. Promise."

"You promise," Ray demanded.

He lurched forward and closed his jaws over Ray's neck once again, biting just enough to know the skin was still intact. Ray lived, unharmed. He could feel the vibration of Ray's voice under his teeth, repeating his words.

"Love you. Promise me."

"I can't," Fraser said, letting go, lips pressed to the side of Ray's neck.

"No shit," Ray whispered. He turned, craned his neck until Fraser's lips were on his, a hot slick of tongues and hollowed cheeks and beard stubble. They broke apart for air, for movement, for urgency.

Fraser pushed forward, burying his nose in the leather holster, one hand sliding down to hold Ray's hard cock in his palm. To hold and then squeeze and then pull. Ray made a guttural noise. Fraser drove harder, and they were panting again, moving together until there was nothing but hot, tight need.

When Fraser came, it almost took him by surprise, still shoving forward, fluid wet and warm on his hand. He sagged onto Ray's back, chin on his shoulder.

He watched Ray's left arm tremble with the curious indifference of bliss.

Ray shuddered when he came, head bowed, nude from waist to calf. Chanting, "Sorry. Had to."

Fraser wrapped himself around his partner, marking and marked by scent and touch. He squeezed as hard as he dared with heavy limbs, and said, "I know."