Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'm happy I get to have a bit of fun with them while not intending infringement or making any money.

Author's Notes: Thanks to Debra, who pointed out that this is still a food fic. <wg>

Story Notes: This is the first of a "set" of stories (rather than a series) revolving around meals Fraser and Ray have. <g> I had written several "food fics" over in Sentinel, and wanted to see how the idea would play out with Fraser and RayK. These aren't sequels or even necessarily related; I'm just messing with a theme. :)

Pulling open another cupboard, I get the same results: I got diddly-squat for breakfast.

This is not good.

I've got a gorgeous, sleep-warmed Fraser -- no, Ben -- in my bed, finally. Finally! And I don't have anything to feed him.

I flash back to the way he looked as I got out of bed -- face down, sprawling just a little and taking up a bit more than half the bed. Not that I minded. His left hand had ended up tucked under his chin, and with his mouth slightly slack with sleep and his hair dark against my blue sheets, his face looked even more beautiful than usual as he slept. Perfect.

The exact opposite of me. My hair is all pushed up on one side and a quick glance in the mirror revealed a whole cheek full of sheet wrinkles. Not only that, but the only bread has green spots, and somehow I don't see Ben as a Lucky Charms kind of guy. Besides, the milk was, ah, past its prime. At least I've got tea, so I'll put some water on to boil. Maybe I'll have some, too; I'm feeling awfully mellow this morning, and since neither of us has to go to work today, I'm feeling like I don't really need that jolt of caffeine to start me off.

Whoa. Sleep with a Mountie, lessen the caffeine addiction? Who knew?

Smirking, I rest my hands on the counter in front of the stove, drop my shoulders, and stretch, enjoying the burn and the fact that for once I'm loose. Can't remember the last time I felt this good. It's nice.

Letting my head just hang for a moment, I start thinking about last night. That was nice, too. Better than nice. Way beyond nice. Gallactically nice.

If I'd known old Cary Grant movies would've led to all this, I would've bought his whole collection long, long ago, believe me. I mean, I love *North by Northwest* too, but Ben knew all sorts of facts about the film crew being banned from actually shooting on the face of Mt. Rushmore and them having to construct a set with a matte painting. I was having so much fun watching his face light with enthusiasm as he got more into the stories and background that I'd let my eyes linger a little too long on his mouth, his hands, and I'd come out of my slight lust-induced haze to find the stories had stopped and that he was watching me with that laser-bright stare of his, his hands stilled mid-gesture.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Frase?" I'd gone for non-challance, bluffing that I hadn't heard the question in the way he said my name, and then tried for a quick distraction; I pushed away from the back of the couch like it was burning me. "Hey, I'm kinda thirsty; you want something? I think I'll get myself a--"

He stopped me before I got up completely. I looked down at his hand splayed against my chest. The warmth from it was incredible. I wanted it to live there forever. Then he took his hand away. "Ray, what were you, well, what were you thinking just then?"

The part of me that wanted to answer and the part that was too chicken-shit collided in the middle of my brain and started duking it out. I froze, not knowing what to do or say or think even. I wimped. "Dunno -- nothing really."

He cocked his head, letting me know he knew something was off about my answer. Then he seemed to come to a decision. "Would you like to know what I was thinking, Ray?" He didn't pause long enough for me to answer, which is probably a good thing since I have no idea what I would've said. "I was considering exactly how many pounds of force it would take to move the coffee table out of the way so I could pull you down on the floor and make love to you."

All the air left my lungs. One big whoosh. Which, unfortunately, left nothing for my brain to work with. I sat there, frozen once again, my mouth probably hanging open, picturing it, picturing it all. I could almost feel his weight pressing me down into the floor, the way his hands would feel against my sides, my back, my skin. I wanted all of it. Now.

I didn't manage to say any of that, however, so right in front of me, Ben started to fold back into himself, the hot look in his eyes fading. Even his sentence structure got more formal. "I do hope you'll forgive me if I've gotten off on the wrong track, Ray. I do apologize. I'll just go--"

My entire body unfroze and this time I was the one putting a hand out to stop him. "Oh, no, not the wrong track, the right track. Good track, exactly fitted to my mental train." I winced, hearing myself, wanting to slap myself for babbling.

"Mental train?" But I could see the glint of amusement lurking in the back of Ben's eyes, and the way his lips were trying not to curl up at the corner and I knew that I'd gotten him back -- he wasn't retreating any more.

I shifted closer to the edge of the couch, wanting that hidden grin to come out all the way, and crossed my arms against my chest, going for the "shake bad guys, shake" look in my repertoire. "It's a metaphor, go with it."

"Oh, of course! A metaphor. Certainly. I take it, then, that this is an appropriate moment for a physics experiment?"

He'd lost me. I had no idea what the hell that meant. Just as I was about to say who gave a shit about physics, what I was interested in was physiology -- his -- he did something so cool, I'm going to remember the move and the look on his face forever. He was grinning. He looked happy, thrilled.

Putting one booted foot out, he braced it against the coffee table and *pushed.* The table went skittering across the floor, taking the little throw rug thing with it, but stopping before it hit the cabinet with the TV.

"I'm never going to look at physics that same way again." I grinned back at him. A moment later, neither of us was grinning. Our mouths were otherwise engaged. Jesus, the man can kiss. Somehow, in the back of my mind, I must've pictured our first kiss like my other first kisses -- fumbling a bit, trying to establish a rhythm. We didn't seem to need any of that. Ben's lips slid against mine like they'd been made to do it. Within seconds we were licking, sucking, lingering, nibbling. It was incredible.

I don't know how long we leaned against each other on the edge of the couch, kissing, learning each other. Our hands had begun to drift lower. I slid my right hand from his knee, up, up, grasping his thigh hard as he moaned against my mouth. Next thing I knew I was lying on the floor, Ben's entire weight pressing down against me. I wanted to feel it, just like that, every day for the rest of my life. Think I said that as I slid my legs open and let him settle against me, hot, heavy, perfect. I could feel both of us hard against the other.

We went back to kissing, but this time our fingers were unbuttoning, tugging, pushing aside cloth and setting free new patches of skin. It took both forever and an instant for us to get naked. Nothing in the whole world could feel as good as having my entire, naked front pressed against his. That is until he slid his hand between us, and bringing our cocks together, holding them loosely, so that every motion made them slide and glide against each other, and started to thrust down against me. I countered each move, loving every slip and slide of flesh, every gasp and groan that each of us was making. I think mine were louder, but Ben's voice was deeper, and I could feel the vibrations of his moans through my chest. Every moan seemed to shake something loose inside me, shatter me a little bit more, until I couldn't bear it one more moment. Sliding my hands from his shoulders down his back, all the way down to his ass, I grabbed hold and pulled him tight against me.

He let go of us to try and brace himself against the floor, but I wouldn't let him -- I wanted to feel his entire weight against me again. One final nudge collapsed him again, and, impossibly, this time was even better because our cocks were trapped between us just right, just perfect. Writhing under him, I squeezed his ass rhythmically, urging him on. Finally, his face buried against my neck, with a groan so deep he must've been storing it up forever, Benton Fraser came against me, exploding between us, pushing me down into the hard floor of my living room. I came right behind him, coming so fiercely that I think I grayed out, just let myself linger and feel and love him.

That is, after all, what it had all been about. I was in love with him. I told him that hours later, in my bed, this time with him trapped under me. I'd just made him come again, that time with my mouth. That time, I'd gotten him beyond moans -- I'd made him roar. As I'd lain there, watching him recover, I'd fallen for him all over again and the words had just flowed out of me. For the longest instant of my life, I wanted to scoop them back up, unsay them, as his entire body tightened up. But then I realized he was just rolling us over, tucking me under him. He said the words back, his eyes brighter than I'd ever seen them. Another look for me to remember forever. When he made me come again a few minutes later, I screamed his name.

And now it's the morning after; I finally, finally have Ben in my bed, I've got nothing to feed him, and I've got a hard on from the memory of last night. I'm trying to consider making a run to the store, wondering what kind of sweet rolls would be the most fun to feed to him, when I feel warm arms slide around my chest, followed by a warm body pressing up against me.

"Good morning." His breath is warm against my neck. Makes me shiver.

"Morning. Hope I didn't wake you up banging around in here."

"No, I just missed your warmth in bed." He slides his hands lower, covering me with a hot, strong hand. I gasp.

"Mmmm," he palms me harder, his fingers caressing, "this for me?"

I push back against his hand. "Yes; I was thinking about last night." He licks at my ear, nibbling around the lobe. I'm rapidly melting into a puddle of want.

When he speaks again, his breath is warm against my nape. To be honest, though, most of my attention is focused on the fact that his fingers have slipped through the hole in the front of my boxers. Never going back to briefs.

"I take it you were satisfied, then, with the proceedings?"

Only my Mountie would ask if it was good for me like that. "Yeah, you know, it was okay," I tease with the small amount of my brain still working.

"Okay?" He growls against my neck and spins me around, pinning my back against the counter. Looks like I've got a whole world of things to enjoy being pinned to by a Mountie. He kisses me hard.

When he finally pulls away, both of us are panting. "Okay as in the best ever?" I ask.

"Much better."

He licks down my throat, heading for a nipple I hope, and stupid words flow out of my mouth. "I don't have anything for breakfast."

He pauses, raises his head, meets my eyes, and then looks away, back at my chest, and against the skin right above my left nipple says, "Fuck breakfast, Ray."

Maybe we'll get to lunch.

Then again, dinner is a nice meal.