Mirror Image
by Nos4a2no9
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Sprat, Berty, Llassah and JS Cavalcante for a terrific beta job. Additional thanks to JS for the original idea about Ray's, err, issues with his manhood.
Story Notes: Written for the 2007 due South Seekrit Santa gift exchange. Merry Christmas, Spuffyduds!
Mirror Image
Ray liked The Cat and Fiddle, and it wasn't just because they kept great draft
beer on tap, or had a killer 99-cent-wings special on Thursday nights. He liked
the bar because of the clientele.
The guys at the Fiddle were older than a typical meat-market crowd. They were
there to watch hockey or basketball, maybe shoot a game of pool, and get drunk.
It wasn't really a cruising bar even though, yeah, Ray had picked up a couple of
guys there and put in some time in the cheap motel a couple of blocks over. The
Fiddle was a safe place, quiet and low-key. No dance floor, no techno, no twenty-
something guys in eyeliner who stripped down to their thongs by 10pm. No long,
tense moment of assessment, of waiting for that quick up-and-down glance
before the guy he'd been eyeing all night shook his head and turned, melting
back into the crowd on the dance floor.
Yeah, Ray really liked the Fiddle a lot, mainly because it cut down on all that
Halsted bullshit, the revolving door of rejection that spun faster and faster the
closer he got to forty. He'd been going to the Fiddle for years, ever since the
divorce, and he figured that if he liked the bar, maybe Fraser would, too.
They'd gone to a hockey game that Friday night, Hawks vs. Leafs, and it'd been
a pretty good game. He and Fraser had yelled themselves hoarse, Ray'd eaten
two hot dogs, and Fraser had only sulked a little when the Hawks won 4-3.
Normally--even though they'd only been fucking for about two weeks,
they already had a routine--he and Fraser would have gone back to his place to
make out for a while before getting each other off. Perfect way to start the
weekend, to Ray's way of thinking.
But instead he turned to Fraser as they left the United Center and said, "Feel like
going somewhere? I'm still a little wired."
Fraser had frowned, a little furrow appearing between his brows. "If you like," he
said slowly, "I'd just hoped that we would be--well, I'd hoped that we would-"
and he couldn't quite make himself finish it. Ray grinned because Christ, Fraser
was beautiful when he was uncertain.
Not that that was news, because Fraser was gorgeous pretty much all of the
time, even when he was being annoying as hell. But it was the kind of thing that
snuck up behind Ray sometimes with a big damn club and laid him out flat:
Benton Fraser was really, really beautiful. All he had to do was tilt his head a
certain way, or put a hand on Ray's shoulder to say something, and Ray would
feel the whole world grind to a halt. He'd tune out everything until he could focus
on Fraser's lips, or his blunt, square hand, or the weird scar on his cheek just
above his jaw. He'd stare and think about how it all fit together, how all these
parts of Fraser made up the whole. Dry elbows and ticklish knees; a thick cock
and smoke-grey eyes and a mouth that went up a little more on one side when
Fraser smiled. It scared him sometimes, how much he loved each and every part
of Fraser. How much he loved the whole picture.
But he didn't want to make Fraser suffer, so he said, softly, "I know a place. We
won't stay long."
"As you like." Fraser had just smiled back at him, and wow, that had felt pretty
great, Fraser trusting him like that.
The Fiddle was packed, even for a Friday, and Ray had to squeeze and twist his
way through all the guys crowded around the bar to get himself a beer and
Fraser a cranberry juice. Fraser had managed to score them a table near the
back, and Ray carried the drinks carefully, bobbing and weaving so he didn't
knock into anyone. Lot of good-looking guys in here tonight. He wondered if there
was some kind of "Handsome as Fuck? Get a Free Beer!" contest going on. If so,
Fraser was a shoe-in, no question.
Somebody was in Ray's seat. The guy was one of the too-good-looking types
(definitely not a Fiddle regular), and he was sitting across from Fraser with his
long, muscular legs folded up awkwardly under the little table. He was a big man,
broad shoulders, dark hair, killer smile. Looked a little familiar, but Ray couldn't
quite place him.
Ray felt a slow, sick tightening in his gut. He stepped back against the wall so
he'd be out of the flow of the bar traffic, and watched. Fraser was saying
something to the guy, talking with his hands like he did when he felt comfortable
with someone. Fraser wasn't a big hand-talker, normally, but he seemed to be
really getting into his story. The big guy was smiling and nodding and--fuck--
licking his lips. He leaned in toward Fraser and kept spreading his knees
wider, wide as they'd go in the small space under the table, and Fraser...well, it
was tough to tell, since Ray was looking at the back of Fraser's head, but his
body language was loose and relaxed, his knee brushing the other guy's every
so often as he illustrated some part of his story. And it was probably a fair bet
that his story wasn't about caribou.
That sick-tight feeling in his stomach got worse, and Ray set the drinks down on
the sticky barroom floor, breathing in through his nose. He swallowed back
against the nausea rising in his throat until he felt well enough to make it to the
bathroom. The stall on the left was empty and he shut himself inside the tiny
space, banging his head against the door a couple of times to stop the dizziness.
He would not do this. He would not. Lip-Licking Guy was probably just asking
Fraser for the time. Or he'd stopped by to ask for some tips on wilderness
survival, or something.
Or maybe Fraser was interested. Maybe a guy like that--built like a brick house,
face like a movie star's--appealed to him. After all, it wasn't like Fraser was
married to Ray, or anything. They'd had sex ten times: twice in the GTO, twice on
the couch in his apartment, and four times in Ray's bedroom. And it was good.
Real good. The kind of good people wrote songs about. But maybe it hadn't been
good for Fraser. He hadn't ever said-
Ray heard the door swing open. The noise from the busy bar filled the small
men's room for a second until the door closed over it again. Two guys, from the
sound of it.
"Crazy night, huh?" one of them said. Ray thought he recognized the voice. It
sounded like Tommy Ellison, one of the regulars. He'd played pool with Tommy,
won money off him.
"Yeah," said the other guy. Ray didn't recognize his voice but knowing how
Tommy's tastes ran, he was probably great-looking, the kind of guy who didn't
usually set foot in the Fiddle.
"You see who Kowalski came in with?"
"Maybe," said Tommy's friend, and okay, Ray knew him. Devon Anderson.
They'd gotten together last Thanksgiving. Or Ray had given him a blowjob,
anyway, in the bathroom of the Fiddle. He'd been in bad shape then, totally hung
up on Fraser, willing to break every vice code in the book if it meant he didn't
have to think about how much he loved his straight partner. Devon had been nice
about it, and he'd let Ray down easy after Ray spat and wobbled to his feet.
"Wanna watch the game at my place?" Ray'd asked, trying to smile, trying not to
sound so damn pathetic. Devon had avoided his eyes and quietly explained that
he didn't date white guys.
Except here he was, going into a stall with Tommy Ellison, who was Irish as they
came and apparently had a regular thing with Devon.
Fuck. Ray didn't need this tonight.
"That guy's something else, huh?"
"Yeah," Tommy agreed, the sound of his zipper loud in the tiny bathroom.
"Professional, you think?"
"I wouldn't put it past Kowalski," Devon chuckled. Asshole. "And if he's not paid
company, well... I can see how a twitchy, ADD closet case like Kowalski would
be a big selling point. And damn, that new guy is gorgeous. He could do a hell of
a lot better. Maybe it's just a mercy fuck."
Tommy barked a laugh. "Yeah, poor ol' Kowalski. Now," Tommy said, apparently
remembering that he had better things to do than talk about than Ray's love life,
"you made me a promise, earlier."
And then there were only the soft, quiet sounds of a blowjob, and Tommy
Ellison's low moans. Ray fled the bathroom.
Fraser was alone at the table, thank God, although when he thought to check
Ray counted at least four other guys trying to catch Fraser's eye as they circled
around the room. Fraser did a weird half-standing thing when he thought Ray
was going to throw himself down into the unoccupied chair, but he sat back down
quickly and blinked when he saw Ray wasn't going to sit, and that he wasn't
carrying any drinks.
"Ray? What's wrong? You're sweating."
"Nothing, nothing." Ray waved the question away, shifting his weight from foot to
foot. "I wanna go. Can we go?"
"Actually," Fraser said, scanning the crowded barroom, "I bumped into an old
friend. He's only in Chicago for a single night and he's invited us out with him."
For a second Ray felt a flicker of hope. Us? That was good, right? Like, Fraser
and Ray out on the town with Fraser's old friend? Except no. No, it was not good.
That was just Fraser being polite, asking Ray along to be a third wheel as he
hung out with Mr. Lip-Licking Guy. He'd heard enough of Stella's halfhearted
invitations to come out with her lawyer pals to know when he wasn't really
wanted.
"I'm not feeling too good," Ray said softly, miserably. "Those hotdogs at the
game were probably a bad idea."
Fraser stood up, checking Ray's pupils and gently stroking Ray's cheek with the
back of his hand. Ray sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, shaking off
that warm, fluttery feeling that surged through him whenever Fraser so much as
touched him. Fraser was probably just checking his temperature, anyway. "I did
try to warn you."
"Yeah," Ray said, pulling away. "I never listen." He wanted to get the hell out of
the Fiddle and this part of Chicago and back to his apartment where he could fall
apart in privacy. "Sorry. You go on ahead with your buddy."
A strange, unreadable expression flickered over Fraser's face. Disappointment,
maybe. He'd stopped smiling at Ray and now looked hurt, and for a second Ray
was a little worried that he'd misread things. But Ray was not interested in sitting
around all night and watch Fraser flirt with some old friend of his. He wasn't
nearly that masochistic.
"Have a good time," Ray told him, and stuck his hands in his pockets, not looking
back as he headed out of the bar.
*********
When he got back to his apartment Ray sat for a long time in the dark, watching
shadows shift and change as they climbed the ceiling. Two weeks. That was all
he'd had with Fraser. A few dinners out, one hurried hand job, a couple of truly
spectacular blowjobs, and then four mornings of waking up with Fraser in his
bed, in his arms. Everything had felt so good. So right.
He'd woken up early those mornings just to watch Fraser sleep. The soft sunlight
had made Fraser's skin glow, and he'd looked like an angel, or a saint. Beautiful
and perfect, and Ray could hardly believe this guy wanted to be with him,
wanted to kiss him and touch him and wake up with him.
He couldn't...fuck, he couldn't think about this. It was like Stella 2.0. And why the
hell did he keep falling for people who were totally out of his league?
Ray went to the kitchen to grab a beer, and then flipped on the late-late news,
not really registering what was on the screen for a few seconds. After he'd taken
a sip and finally glanced at the TV he felt the beer swirl in his stomach. Goddamn
it.
Lip-Licking Guy was on the late news. They were running B-roll footage of some
pickup hockey game downtown, poor kids from the projects wearing brand new
skates zipping around with Lip Guy. Mark Smithbauer, former defenseman for
the Chicago Stars. And Christ, of course he was a friend of Fraser's. Of course.
Ray should have put it together sooner, but then he'd never been a big Stars fan.
"Smithbauer's new charity organization seeks to provide uniforms and equipment
to underprivileged children in Chicago's worst neighbourhoods," the reporter was
saying. "In addition, the former NHL All-Star is working to draw attention to
organized gambling in professional sports."
The camera cut to a press conference with Smithbauer, who sat behind a long
bank of microphones and smiled at the camera. He knew how to work the press,
no question. "Illegal gaming is a real problem in pro hockey," he told the group of
reporters. The flash of the cameras didn't seem to bother Smithbauer; he just
kept talking in a level voice. "I've been speaking about this with the Canadian media
as well, and I think it's important to get this whole issue out there. Throw some
light on it. Yes, I was asked to throw a game two years ago, and yes, I took the
money. That's old news. What I'd like to do now, what I'd like to devote my life to,
is ridding the hockey world of this kind of pressure. It's unfair to the fans, and it's
unfair to the players. I-"
Ray snapped the TV off and hurled the remote at the screen. Fuck. Not only was
Lip Guy--Smithbauer--great-looking, but he was some kind of crusader for
underprivileged kids and on a mission to clean up pro hockey. Perfect for Fraser,
in other words. Because Fraser deserved to be with someone who was just as
dedicated to solving the world's problems.
And that was the problem. That was why Ray knew things ultimately wouldn't
work out with Fraser. The problem with Fraser being so fucking beautiful, so
perfect and good and generous and kind, was that it made Fraser a Somebody.
Hell, Fraser was probably the original model for a Somebody, the example of
whatever it was a guy was supposed to act like and look like and be like. And
Somebodies didn't end up with Nobodies. He had the divorce papers to prove it.
So there was something screwy with a universe that would put a guy like Ray
with a guy like Fraser. Ray knew he looked like a Nobody. It was a problem, like
it'd been with Stella. At parties people used to ask Stella to point out her
husband, and when she did, he'd overhear the other lawyer or accountant say,
"What, behind the waiter?"
He wasn't beautiful like Devon Anderson, or stacked like Mark Smithbauer. And he wasn't on a quest to save the world from murderers and litterbugs. Hell, most of the time he wasn't even sure he wanted to be a cop. There was no way a Nobody like Ray Kowalski should end up with a Somebody like Benton Fraser.
So Ray figured that he and Fraser were doomed.
It took him all night to decide how to explain it. Fraser was Canadian and Ray
suspected he wouldn't understand. He even thought Fraser might give him some
well-intended but utterly meaningless speech about equality and how people had
good qualities and bad qualities and that it balanced out in the end and yadda
yadda yadda. Ray didn't think he could handle a Fraser-sermon while he was
trying to break up with the guy. So he called Fraser and left a message on the
Consulate's machine. It was four in the morning and Fraser would have picked
up if he was there. So he was still out with his pal Smithbauer. Ray tried not to let
that knowledge hurt.
"Hey Frase, sorry I bailed on you," he said when the machine beeped. "Come by tomorrow night around six, okay?"
He kept himself busy most of Saturday, and did his best to ignore Fraser's
phonecalls. He did listen to the two messages that Fraser left, but it hurt to hear
that strong, steady voice come out of the machine and think about the happy little
hitch that had been in Fraser's breathing the first time he'd kissed Ray.
Fraser's messages on the machine didn't sound guilty, just kind of bland. "Hello
Ray. I'm taking Diefenbaker for a run and I was hoping you would join us
afterwards for lunch. Please call me back at the Consulate." And, later, sounding
even more bland, "Ray, please return my call."
Ray didn't call back. He sobered up, and did some stuff around the apartment.
He cooked a good meal, put on a new shirt (with buttons, and a collar) and
rehearsed his speech in the big full-length mirror in the hallway, just like Robert
DeNiro. Well, not just like Robert DeNiro. He didn't have a mohawk and
he wasn't insane. He hoped.
"It's not working out, okay?" Ray told his reflection. "Someday you're going to
realize that you could do a lot better. And I can't wait around for you to buy a
clue. So let's end it. We can still be buddies, partners. I just don't think I'll be
able to handle it when you finally figure out I'm wrong for you."
There. Ray sagged against the mirror, resting his forehead against the cool
glass. He closed his eyes. "I couldn't handle it," he said to himself.
Dinner was ready. He could smell the spaghetti sauce burning.
*********
Fraser broke into a wide, happy smile the second Ray opened the door, and Ray
had another one of those clubbed-over-the-head moments where he couldn't
breathe for a second because Fraser was so beautiful. Fraser was wearing a
blue button-down shirt, jeans, and that butter-soft leather jacket that made Ray's
knees go a little wobbly. He'd actually...Christ, it was embarrassing, but he'd
actually had a fantasy about Fraser wearing that jacket (and nothing else) while
fucking Ray on the futon in Ray's living room, his hips pumping hard under the
hem of that soft, chocolate-coloured jacket.
Ray tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat and made a half-hearted
attempt to return Fraser's smile. He waved Fraser inside.
"Glad you could make it," he muttered.
"Thank you kindly, Ray." Fraser didn't say it with his usual enthusiasm. In fact,
Fraser looked like he already knew there was something wrong. Which was bad.
Ray didn't want Fraser on edge through this whole dinner, turning things over in
his mind, maybe planning some kind of advance rebuttal. No, he needed to catch
Fraser by surprise. Maybe it wasn't sporting, or whatever, but Ray knew if he
gave Fraser a chance to talk him out of it he'd succeed, and then Ray'd be right
back at square one, expecting that at any second Fraser would figure out he was
too good for Ray and hightail it outta there to be with someone better, like
Smithbauer. Which would kill Ray.
So. Ray couldn't let Fraser figure out anything was wrong. Which meant that Ray
had to act natural.
"Fraser, uh, can you set the table?"
In retrospect the table, utensils and dishes probably tipped Fraser off to the fact
that something wasn't kosher. Hell, the fact that Ray had cooked at all was
probably an indication that either the world was ending or that Ray wanted to
have an Important Conversation. As he finished stirring the sauce for the pasta
Ray thought about all the times Stella had cooked for him. Each and every time
he'd known that either it was good news ("I got into law school!" "I've thought
about it, and...what the hell, let's get married!") or really, really bad news ("I don't
think we're ready to have children, Ray." "It's not working." "Ray, please stop
coming over. I can't do this anymore.") But Fraser had never been married.
Fraser had never even dated anyone, unless you counted the bank robber chick.
Which Ray did not. And he hoped Fraser didn't, either.
So maybe Fraser didn't know that when the person you're fucking invites you
over to have dinner (that they cooked, even though they don't cook) and puts on
a new shirt (with a collar and buttons, even though they hate those kind of shirts)
and uses the good china (or, hell, china, instead of paper plates) something was
definitely hinky.
He'd feel sorry for the guy if he wasn't so sure that he was saving Fraser a lot of
wasted time and effort.
"So, you have a good day?" Ray put the pot of spaghetti on the table, which
wobbled a little. One leg was shorter than the rest. Fuck, he was such a loser.
Even his table wasn't a model of a table.
"I did, thank you. Dief and I went for a run in the park and I returned some books
to the library. I'm sorry you weren't available for lunch."
Ray winced a little at that. He should have picked up the phone. But he'd needed
some time to get his head together, and hanging out at the deli down the street
from the Consulate would have been a recipe for disaster. Fraser would have
been all sweaty from his run. He would have been dressed in a t-shirt and shorts
and running shoes, and his hair would have been mussed, and his face would
have been flushed, and he would have smelled fantastic, sweaty and hot and a
little musky. And all of it--all of it--would have worn away at Ray's precious self-
control. Because after lunch Fraser would have said something like, "Would you
care to accompany me back to the Consulate, Ray?" and no way could Ray turn
down an offer like that. So, passive-aggressive mode.
"Yeah, well, I had things to do." Ray waved around his apartment. The place
was actually semi-clean for once. He'd vacuumed and dusted and even moved
the couch to get at all the little dust bunnies hiding back there. He'd found a
couple of empty condom wrappers, too, from their first couple of times on the
couch, but he hadn't wanted to throw the wrappers out. He'd set them on the
bookshelf instead, and dusted around them.
It had been a weird kind of day.
"You need a spoon?"
It was a dumb question. Fraser had set the table, so of course there was already
a spoon there: in fact, there were two spoons, and three kinds of forks, two
different knives, and napkins (Ray'd made him use paper towels, because cloth
ones would have been a big neon sign blinking, "Something's WRONG!") which
Fraser'd folded perfectly in half.
Ray squeezed his eyes shut. He was acting like a nutjob.
"I'm fine, thank you. Ray, is something the matter? You seem" and Fraser
looked pointedly around the clean, uncluttered apartment, "a little on-edge."
"Yeah, I'm good." Ray took a big gulp of beer. He'd bought a twelve-pack for
himself and some grape juice for Fraser, and he'd already finished off two beers
before Fraser had shown up. "How'd things go with your friend last night?"
Fraser paused and seemed to consider the question, sipping at his grape juice.
"It was good to see Mark again. He's had a very difficult time of late, but I think
he's finally found some sort of peace. It was quite a surprise to see him in the
bar last night."
"I'll bet," Ray said under his breath. Fraser heard it, of course, and frowned. "You
and him been good buddies for a long time, huh?"
"I wouldn't say that." Fraser picked up his fork and put it down right away, rubbing
at his eyebrow. "We were good friends a long time ago. We didn't speak for a
number of years but met by chance here in Chicago. Of course, that was-"
"That's good," Ray said, cutting him off. He knew it was rude, but he couldn't
bear to hear Fraser wax poetic about some hockey player he was in love with.
He scowled down at his plate, stabbing at his spaghetti with his fork. The fucking
sauce was terrible.
"Ray, if something's bothering you it might be a good idea to-"
"Fraser, it's fine. I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine. Eat your dinner."
Fraser frowned and used that slightly pissed-off, slightly confused voice he'd
spent years perfecting with the wolf. "Ray, what's the matter? What aren't you
telling me?"
Ray dropped his fork. It glanced off his plate with a faint tink and fell to the
floor. He felt his face heat up and he started to sweat a little under the stupid
shirt. He resisted the urge to run a finger under his collar. "Nothing."
Fraser didn't look convinced. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned
back in his chair, his knee brushing against Ray's underneath the table. Ray tried
to pretend Fraser hadn't done it deliberately. That'd be dirty pool.
"Something on your mind?"
"I could ask you the same question," Fraser said quietly, "but I suspect you
wouldn't give me an honest response."
Ray shot out of his chair and jabbed a finger at Fraser's stupid broad chest. "You
calling me a liar, Fraser?"
"No. I'm simply suggesting that something is bothering you, and you're reluctant
to tell me what it is." Fraser still looked calm but there was something in his
voice, in his eyes, that said he was afraid. Afraid of what Ray was going to say.
Fuck, he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to Fraser. The guy had had shitty
luck with people and it wasn't his fault he was way out of Ray's league. That was
Ray's problem.
And he could do this, could play this part. He could be with Fraser and know all
along that it was going to end badly. He could just watch and wait until Fraser
found Miss (or Mr.) Right and let Fraser be the one to break it off. At least then
Fraser wouldn't feel like he'd fucked up with yet another person.
Ray wondered if there was some way to explain what he'd been thinking without
making it sound like he didn't want them to be together. Because that wasn't it.
Ray loved Fraser. Maybe he hadn't told him that yet, but he loved being with him,
loved fucking him, loved working with him. It was just that, well, they wouldn't last. Even if Fraser wasn't interested in this Smithbauer guy, he deserved to be with someone
who wouldn't freak out over stupid shit all the time. Enough bad stuff had
happened to Fraser without Ray popping up to pile more on.
"Hey, Fraser," Ray said, putting his hand on Fraser's big, warm shoulder. "I'm
sorry, okay? I know I've been acting weird tonight. Don't worry about it. Let's
just watch TV, or something."
"I'd rather talk."
Ray bit back a groan. That was the kiss of death. Stella had used that same line
on him lots of times. No way was he getting out of this now without having to
explain everything.
"Fine," he sighed, dumping the rest of his uneaten dinner in the trash. He stuck
some of the spaghetti in a Tupperware container for Fraser to take back for Dief.
Might be a while before he'd see the furball again.
Fraser helped him clean up and they did the dishes in silence. They still moved
well together, keeping out of each other's way, Fraser handing him each dish to
wash in sequence so the water didn't get too dirty before he did the big pans.
While Fraser finished drying, Ray put some water on for tea and opened one last
bottle of beer.
Okay, time to talk. Fraser had settled himself on the couch. He was sitting right in
the corner of the futon, his back ramrod straight, his knees together. Ray was so
used to seeing off-duty Fraser sprawled out in bed, or relaxed beside him
watching a game, that Ray had almost forgotten Fraser could be so stiff. He sat
down next to him and put his hand on Fraser's thigh. Fraser tensed beneath him
and Ray moved his hand to the neutral space between them.
"Hey," he said quietly. "Relax, okay?"
"You first."
"Fair enough." Ray did his best impression of a guy in a state of blissful
relaxation. He slumped down a little on the couch, spread his legs wide, and
laced his hands together over his belly. Just like he was watching a game. Or
porn, like in the years After Stella and Before Fraser.
"Your turn."
Watching Fraser try to relax was kind of funny. It was like he was following a
diagram of how to do it, like he'd read a chart somewhere that said: "A) drop your
shoulders, 2) loosen your muscles, F) close your eyes and breathe deeply." Ray
watched him try it for a little while and decided that all the staring was probably
making Fraser more nervous. Plus Ray's brain was working up to another one of
those "he's gorgeous!" flashes of insight, which Ray really did not need at this
juncture.
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It seemed like the kind of
conversation that would go better if he didn't have to look at Fraser.
"Just think about how you feel after you come. Relaxed, right? Like your body
doesn't have any bones in it, and you're just this big warm puddle of goo, and all
your happy little nerve endings are zipping around saying, 'Hey, you just got laid!
Enjoy!' Try that."
He heard Fraser take a deep breath, and then sink more deeply into the couch
with a little rustle and a contented sigh. A familiar sigh, like the one Fraser
usually gave when Ray switched off the light and snuggled next to him in bed,
resting his head on Fraser's shoulder.
Okay, it would be just like ripping off a Band-Aid. He'd explain it quickly. "You
ever notice that you and I look kinda weird together?"
"What?" Fraser asked him. This time it was his hand on Ray's thigh, and Ray
pulled away a little at his touch. Fraser's hand was so warm.
There was a soft rustle of fabric, and he figured Fraser was leaning back,
surprised. He'd probably tensed up again, too.
"Fraser, relax. It's just a question."
"It sounds like a very serious question."
"Yeah, well, maybe." Ray shrugged. He kept his eyes closed. "Just let me say
this, okay? And then you can decide if it is or it isn't."
He started unbuttoning his shirt. It was new, right out of the package, so the
fabric was a little stiff and it was tough to work the buttons through the
buttonholes. He kept going until he'd got the shirt open and the ends tugged out
of his pants. Then he went to work on his jeans.
It was harder than he'd thought to do this with his eyes shut. He'd gotten
undressed in the dark plenty of times. But this was strange and awkward and he
could feel the confusion radiating off Fraser. The problem was, he didn't know
how else to explain. Now that he was in the moment he knew those Robert
DeNiro monologues wouldn't work. Fraser would argue with him, convince him
that he was wrong. And yeah, he wanted to be convinced, but Fraser had to
understand. He had to make Fraser see.
Finally he was down to his jockey shorts. Now that he was nearly naked, Ray felt
like he could open his eyes.
Fraser was staring at him, looking really worried. Ray touched his cheek, and
used his thumb to smooth out the little furrow in Fraser's brow. "It's okay," he
murmured, and then he fumbled for the buttons on Fraser's shirt. "Take this off."
"Ray, what in the world-?"
"Just do it. I gotta show you something."
Fraser made another noise of protest--he sounded a lot like Dief when the wolf
was grumbling about something--but he worked his shirt open while Ray undid
his pants. Fraser's jeans were a little (okay, a lot) tight, and Ray had to get him to
lift his hips a bit to work them off, but eventually they were both wearing nothing
but underwear. They looked like morons, but Ray figured that might help drive his
point home. Even in old-fashioned starched boxers, Fraser looked like a million
bucks. Ray looked like something you'd see at a roadside carnival.
Ray stood up and caught Fraser's hand, pulling him up. He led Fraser over to the
big mirror in the hallway.
"What do you see?"
Fraser met Ray's eyes in the mirror and raised his eyebrows.
"Ray, I don't know what you're asking."
"Just tell me what you see."
Fraser sighed and looked at his reflection quickly. "I see a human male,
thirty-seven years old, in good health and at an appropriate stage of
development. I've obviously suffered some physical trauma," he added, his
fingertips wandering over a couple of the old scars on his chest, "but otherwise
my body is in good condition. Is that what you're asking?"
Ray shook his head. It figured that Fraser, who was so smart in other ways,
wouldn't twig to this. "You think of yourself as good-looking?"
"I...err, I'm not quite sure I understand the question." Fraser was blushing
furiously now. Ray knew from personal experience that once Fraser got started,
the blush would spread from his face down his throat, across his chest
and...lower. When he let go or he couldn't help it, Fraser did everything with his
whole body, even embarrassment. And right now he was definitely embarrassed.
Maybe feeling a little betrayed, too. Like he thought the way he looked wasn't
something they were supposed to discuss.
Ray pushed on, not looking at his own face in the mirror as he hovered over
Fraser's shoulder.
"It's a pretty straightforward question, Fraser. Do you think you're attractive?"
Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow. "Why is that important?"
"Because it is," Ray said, smacking his palm against the glass. "It is, okay? You
have to know what you look like. How people react to you. You gotta know."
"Is it important to you?"
Ray's heart stuttered a little. There was so much in Fraser's voice, in the way he
asked the question. Ray knew words could be loaded, but that was a fucking
dump truck. He swallowed.
"Fraser...yeah, it's important" he sighed. "I mean, you and me, us, we've been hot and
heavy for a little while. And you gotta know that I think you're--that I think you're
beautiful, okay?"
He winced. It sounded really queer when he said it out loud like that. And not in a
gay way--gay was pretty much a given. But it sounded weird, too. He'd
told Stella over and over for years how beautiful she was. He never thought he'd
ever say it to anyone else. Or mean it more.
Fraser sighed and his shoulders relaxed. Ray couldn't even begin to figure out
why the hell Fraser was so relieved.
"I'm glad, Ray," he said, turning to wrap his arms around Ray's neck. His chest
was solid and warm against Ray's and Ray closed his eyes for a second. "I
thought...well, I wasn't quite sure what I thought, but I certainly don't understand
why you feel it necessary to point out that I--that you--what I mean is, I've
known for quite some time that you find me appealing. And I'm glad you take
pleasure in my appearance." He brushed his lips across Ray's, and Ray shivered
a little. "I find you very appealing as well."
At the warm, wet touch of Fraser's tongue against his lips, Ray broke away
roughly and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you shouldn't."
Fraser looked stunned. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.
Ray grabbed Fraser's shoulders and twisted him around to face the mirror again.
He nudged Fraser aside a little so they could both fit in front of the mirror.
"Don't you get it? We're not in the same league. You're--" he gestured to Fraser's broad, muscular chest, his tight stomach, his firm legs, even his cock, a dark, heavy weight against the thin white material of his boxers.
"And I'm--"
Not much to point at here. Just a lot of knobby limbs, a weird ribcage, skin that
looked sallow under the bright overhead light in the hall. That light showed the
deep lines forming in his face, too, and the way his belly was starting to thicken.
In ten years he'd just be some skinny freak with a potbelly and a wrinkled-up
mug.
Fraser caught his hand in a grip so tight it was almost painful. "What are you
saying about yourself?" he asked, and Ray had never, ever heard that tone in
Fraser's voice before. "What do you mean?"
"I'm not--" Ray dropped his head and sighed. Great, Fraser was pissed off. He
wouldn't even try to listen to Ray now. Stubborn bastard. "Look, I'm sorry. I knew
this was a bad idea. You're not going to understand."
"Understand what?" Fraser's voice was a little softer now, a little more gentle.
He'd eased up a bit and now he was holding Ray's hand instead of crushing it.
"Ray, please, you have to know that you are--"
Ray shook his head and pulled his hand away. "I know guys like you don't end up
settling for guys like me, okay? I thought about this a lot and I just don't want to
see you tie yourself down to something that's not right for you. That's all."
He turned back to the mirror almost reluctantly, and so did Fraser. Ray stared
down at their feet: his were narrow, knobby, with weirdly long toes. Fraser's were
like every other part of his body: big, white, and perfectly-formed. A little square,
maybe, but they made him look solid, like he could bear up under anything. Good
feet, feet made for a guy who could probably carry a dead caribou across a
thousand miles of tundra.
Fraser was working something out. When Ray finally risked a glance up to his
face he could see the gears turning away, those smoke-grey eyes dark and
cloudy with some emotion Ray couldn't quite pin down. Sorrow or anger or some
deep denial. He turned away and kept looking at their mismatched feet.
Finally Fraser spoke up. "Is this about Stella? Has she said something to you?"
Ray flinched. "No," he said quickly. "No, you've got the wrong idea. Stella never
said a word. High school, maybe, she used to tease me about being too skinny,
but we kinda grew out of that. It was later. The way people would look at us at
parties, on the street. The way guys would look at her, and then look back
at me like I was nothing, like I was her chauffeur. When we got married I was just
a dumb kid, didn't know the way things worked. Now she's dating these lawyer
types and they're all either rich or good-looking. Or both. They're on her level.
They fit with her. Everybody finds someone they fit with."
"And you don't think we fit."
Ray shrugged. "I just keep thinking about your friend. That Smithbauer guy. And
he was...well, I got a look at him in the bar. Seemed like the kind of guy you
should be with."
"Mark?" Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow, and man, those gears were going into
overdrive. "Ray, I assure you, Mark and I are friends. That's all. And I invited you
out with us."
Ray shrugged. "I didn't feel much like being a third wheel. And still. Big,
handsome guy like that, athletic, a hockey player, old friend of yours. It seems
like a good fit."
Fraser was frowning, and he looked, shit, pretty angry. "You think I would be
unfaithful to you? Or that I'd give up what we have to be with a man who-" He cut
himself off suddenly, going pale. "You planned to end our relationship tonight.
Over this." Fraser said it like it was a flat fact, no room for error.
And his face--God, he looked broken, somehow. Like none of this had ever
occurred to him. And how did a guy get through thirty-six years and get a
fuckload of scars without figuring out the way the world worked?
"No, you and me fit in lots of ways, Fraser. Cops and buddies and
partners, right? And we're both freaks. Only you don't look it, especially once you
get out of that uniform." Ray thought about Fraser squirming against the
mattress, sweaty and shaking and begging Ray to put his tongue or his cock or
fingers inside him. Yeah, once Fraser was out of his tunic he looked better than
pretty much anyone Ray had ever met.
"It's just that... someday someone is going to come along who fits with you better.
I know how people think, and how tough it's gonna be for us later if we--" But he
couldn't finish that thought. He was going to say, If we go up to Canada,
but Fraser hadn't brought that up, and this was hard enough for Ray to say
without talking about that, about all the might-have-beens.
He took a deep breath. "And when you meet somebody better I'm not going to be
able to live with it, Fraser. I got left in the dust once already and it almost killed
me."
"Ray," Fraser rested his hands on Ray's bare shoulders. He shivered a little; it
was chilly in his apartment and they were both standing around practically naked.
But Fraser's hands were warm. Fraser's hands had always felt so good on him.
Ray tried to meet Fraser's eyes. He owed him that, at least. And Fraser didn't
look angry anymore, just tired and sad.
"Ray, are you really concerned that I'm going to leave you for someone else?"
I'm concerned that you're going to leave me. Period. But Ray managed
not to say that part out loud.
"You have to realize how utterly ridiculous that is." Fraser seemed pretty serious.
In fact, Ray didn't think he'd ever seen Fraser look quite so serious, except
maybe when Fraser was asking him to jump off a building or something. "I--I love
you. I'm not going to leave you for someone just because they meet some arbitrary social standard of physical appearance. And certainly not for Mark."
Ray hadn't heard much after Fraser's stuttered I love you. They hadn't
said that to each other. He didn't think it was something they were supposed to
say. Fraser had been so careful never to push, never to ask for much more than
what he knew Ray could give him: a blowjob, or a kiss, or a night out at a hockey
game. And Ray hadn't wanted to press his luck. He already knew Fraser was
way out of his league. Love seemed too much to ask for. He already expected
hot dogs and got caviar; love would be a four-course meal. Worse and better and
way, way too much.
"You don't have to say that."
Fraser looked shocked. "Pardon me?"
"Love. You don't have to say things like that, y'know."
"I want to say it." Fraser's face had hardened up and yeah, there was that
stubborn look in his eyes. "It's my right."
"Your right?"
Fraser nodded and went into parade rest. Amazing: he was almost naked and he
still managed to look like he was wearing his full dress uniform, radiating power
and self-confidence. "I think I've earned the right to tell you how I feel, Ray."
Ray knew his mouth was hanging open. He probably looked like a trout. What
was this about rights and earning stuff? He usually didn't need a road map to
navigate a conversation with Fraser, but this whole thing was going right over his
head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Fraser said, that hard cast to his jaw still making it look like his face
was cut from granite, "that I have loved people before, Ray. Not many, but
enough to recognize that what I feel for you is fundamentally different. It's better."
Wow, Fraser's eyes were warm. Just like his hands and his feet and his whole
hot body. Kind eyes, gentle eyes. Eyes that said, You're a freak but I love you
anyway. And why the hell had Ray been willing to throw that away, even if it
wasn't going to last forever?
"But that doesn't change the fact that you're--" Ray waved at the mirror, "and
I'm--"
Fraser cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, and brushed his hand against
the elastic waistband of Ray's boxers. "Would you remove those, please?"
Ray put a protective hand on the waistband of his shorts. "Uh, why?"
"I'll take mine off if it would make you feel more comfortable."
Ray snorted. "Fraser, that would not make me feel more comfortable. Hot
n'bothered, yeah, but definitely not comfortable."
Fraser looked confused for a second--he seemed to be running 'hot and
bothered?' through his Chicago-to-Canadian dictionary--but he simply fixed Ray
with one of those level Mountie stares and said, "I took off my clothing when you
asked."
"Okay, okay." Ray skinned out of his shorts and tossed them in the vague
direction of the living room where their other clothes were piled. "Logic ain't
buddies, Fraser."
When he looked up again, Fraser was naked, and Ray didn't need that big club
over the head to recognize that, yes, Fraser was perfect. Ray had seen a lot of
Fraser's body and, while he still couldn't believe how fucking beautiful he was,
none of that had anything on the way Fraser looked right now.
When Fraser finally met Ray's eyes he shook his head and chuckled to himself,
and padded off down the hall. Ray blinked. What the fuck? Had Fraser just left
him here? He heard Fraser rustling around in the living room
(please please please don't be looking for a camera) and when Fraser
came back he held Ray's glasses out to him.
"Oh, Christ, Fraser, this is bad enough without everything being in focus."
"Indulge me."
Ray knew another appeal to logic, or at least fairness, was right around the
corner, so he put on the stupid glasses. He had to blink once or twice until his
eyes adjusted and, hey, maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea. Fraser was
certainly a lot clearer; he'd gone from a slightly fuzzy white outline (gorgeous) to
a sharply detailed body (gorgeouser).
The light in the hallway was fairly bright, so Ray could pick out all the familiar
scars and nicks and little cuts Fraser had. That weird one on his chest from the
otter. A couple old cuts from glass on his upper arm, that rough, ridged white
pattern on his pectoral from being dragged behind a jeep over an unpaved road.
And lower, on his knees, a surgery scar from when he'd broken his leg, and a
newer stab wound that had happened a couple of years before Ray had met him.
Fraser didn't turn, but Ray got a good look at Fraser's profile in the mirror, and
just above the swell of that incredible ass he knew there was a really nasty scar,
a cluster of damaged nerves and tissue right above the end of his spinal column.
Ray hadn't known what it was that first night they spent together:
it was just another part of Fraser, something he felt with his lips and tongue on
his way south. It wasn't until later, in the shower, that Ray had asked about it.
"A gunshot wound," Fraser had told him as Ray rubbed shampoo into his hair. "It
hasn't healed very well."
Ray had touched the scar with wet fingers. It seemed so out of place on Fraser's
smooth skin. All of his other scars were old and faded, or small, like Ray's. But
this one...this one was ugly. It was maybe the only ugly thing about Fraser. He'd
bent to kiss it in the shower, and he'd felt Fraser shiver.
They'd gone back to bed and Fraser had fallen asleep right away, curled up tight
next to Ray. Lying there in the dark pressed up close against Fraser, breathing in
his warm scent, listening to his heartbeat, Ray had put his hand over that scar and
covered it up with his palm. It just didn't seem to fit.
"Ray," Fraser said, and Ray blinked.
"What?"
Fraser sighed and turned Ray slightly so he was facing away from Fraser and
staring right into the mirror. "You asked me to describe myself. I'd like you to do
the same."
Ray shook his head. No way. No way was he going to put all of this shit into
words. He knew that whatever he said, Fraser would come up with some kind of
counter-argument and they'd just end up yelling at each other. He scowled at
Mirror-Fraser, but Fraser just stared right back at him. And Ray knew from
experience that it was easier to win a staring contest with a cat than with Fraser.
Ray surrendered with a sigh. "I'm getting older. I never really liked the way I look,
But now it's harder now to ignore all the bad parts."
"Such as?" Fraser asked gently. He was listening intently, but not like he was
filing points away so he could argue about them. He was listening like he was
really trying to understand.
Ray pointed at his belly, his weird ropey arms, his knobby feet. It seemed easier
to point than explain. Fraser watched his pantomime in the mirror, frowning when
Ray gestured at his cock.
"Why--?"
"It's too big." Ray blushed. "It looks freaky, doesn't it? I mean, I'm tall enough, but
I'm not a big guy like you. A dick this size looks wrong on me. Guys back in
school said...well, nevermind. But you know that comparing thing teenagers do?"
Fraser looked back at him blankly. Right. Fraser had grown up in a meatlocker a
thousand miles from anywhere. "Uh, y'know, with your buddies? I was always the
freak."
"Ray, aren't large genitals traditionally a source of pride and validation?"
"Not when the rest of you is about 5'4" and weighs less than a hundred pounds. I
didn't get my height until eleventh grade. This goddamn thing made me look like
a Chihuahua with a Mastiff's dick."
Fraser stared down at Ray's cock. Which made Ray wonder if Fraser had ever
actually noticed how big Ray was. Fraser had spent a lot of time on and around
Ray's dick, of course: stroking, sucking, rubbing up against it, but maybe it'd
never occurred to him to think about size. Ray sure had, though. Last weekend--
Christ, it had only been last weekend?--when he had first fucked Fraser, he'd
been terrified. He'd spent a long time (and a lot of lube) opening Fraser up, and
when he was pushing in he'd asked over and over again if Fraser was okay.
Fraser'd just grunted and strained a little and muttered something about, "A
moment, if you please." And then he'd taken it like a pro.
It looked like Fraser was considering dick size now. He kept staring down at Ray
with a little frown on his face, and Ray hoped he wasn't about to announce that,
yep, Ray was right and he really didn't feel like getting down and dirty with Ray
and his freakish cock anymore. Finally Fraser met his eyes in the mirror and
smiled a little.
"Ray, there's absolutely no cause to think that you're abnormal in any way.
Granted, I don't have a lot of experience with the relative size of men's genitalia,
and you are perhaps on the large side, but I don't see that as a problem. And
since we both find pleasure in...certain acts," and yep, right on cue there was that
blush, the one Fraser could never really keep at bay whenever he talked about
sex, "I'm not sure why it's relevant. I think you have a beautiful penis, Ray."
Wow. Ray was pretty impressed that Fraser had gotten that out. Ray wasn't sure
even he'd be able to say the same thing to Fraser with a straight face, but then
Fraser was kind of a freak. "Uh, thanks. I like yours, too."
He was playing it cool, of course. Ray really liked Fraser's dick, even though it
had taken a little getting used to at first, what with all that extra skin at the tip. But
now Ray associated it with all kinds of good feelings: comfort and pleasure,
mind-blowingly good sex, and a weird, warm kind of feeling that said 'home' even
though a dick was a dick was a dick and Fraser's was an appendage just like
every other guy's. It was a nice appendage, though.
"What else don't you like about the way you look?"
"What, you want a full list?"
Fraser frowned. "I'm trying to understand you, Ray. I knew you were self-
conscious, but I attributed that to your misgivings about engaging in sexual
activity with a man."
"Wait, you thought I felt weird about fucking a guy?"
"I wouldn't put it in those terms," Fraser said, "but you never seemed very
comfortable about...this. You were married to a woman for a long time. And you
seemed very reluctant to remain with me in the bar last night."
"That wasn't why I didn't want to stay," Ray cut him off. "And I picked that bar,
remember? I'm okay with being queer, Fraser. I've been with guys before, but
not...not guys like you. I just don't know what you see in me."
"Back to the 'not fitting' issue, hmmm?"
Ray flashed him a look of warning. "Don't do that 'hmmm' shit, okay? This is
serious."
Fraser grew solemn again. Weirdo thought all of this was something he could
joke about. Which it was, maybe, but Ray sure as hell wasn't in the mood to
laugh. Not when he was standing naked next to Fraser in front of a full-length
mirror. The perfect illustration of why they didn't fit was right there, fucking staring
at him in the face. He bet Smithbauer looked great naked.
Fraser moved behind Ray, and Ray couldn't help the shiver that ran up and down
his spine at the draught of air, and the sensation of Fraser standing so close
behind him. He made himself look in the mirror, and yep, still a frog. Fraser
looked like a model or a movie star, and Ray was just pale and yellow and sad-
looking. And God, his thick-framed glasses! They made him look like such a
geek. He really should get better frames or something.
Fraser edged forward a little until his chest brushed Ray's bare skin, and his
breath ghosted hotly across the back of Ray's neck.
"Will you do something for me?" His voice was lower, sexy. Seductive. Fuck.
Ray swallowed hard. "Sure."
"Will you smile?"
Ray twisted his head around to scowl at Fraser. "The hell?"
"Please," he said, staring intently at their reflection in the mirror. "Smile."
Ray shook his head and scratched at his shoulder, just above his tattoo. He tried
out a smile a couple of times but he looked demented. "I look like I'm sick or
something, Fraser."
"Hmmm," Fraser hummed, and glanced at him. "Well, let's try a different
approach. Do you remember the day we met?
"Yeah, those near-death experiences tend to stick with me."
Fraser put his hands on Ray's shoulders and started to knead the tense muscles
there. "Do you remember the ducks?"
Ray closed his eyes and dropped his head, breathing deeply through his nose.
Fraser was good at neck rubs. "Yeah, those little rubber duckies were
everywhere. I told Huey that they were evidence and had to be bagged and
tagged. Funniest damn thing in the world, Huey out there on the lake with a pool
skimmer."
Fraser's hands were working their magic: he could feel himself relaxing, getting
into the rhythm of Fraser's massage, those big broad hands moving over his skin
and easing away all the tension he'd been carrying the whole weekend.
"Think of that, then. Good. Now look."
Ray didn't give himself time to think. He looked up and caught himself grinning in
the mirror. He thought about the ducks, yeah, but he also thought about the first
time Fraser had kissed him--in the GTO, just after Christmas, his mouth soft and
hot against Ray's. It had shocked the hell out of him and thrilled him at the same
time. At that moment, the moment when Fraser put his mouth on his and sealed
their lips together, Ray had felt like a goddamn superhero.
He put that into his smile. It was his same old shit-eating grin, but Fraser was
looking at him in the mirror with a funny light in his eyes. He was smiling, too, but
without showing his teeth. And Ray really liked Fraser's soft, secret smiles.
"Look! Do you see it?" Fraser asked him, drawing Ray's attention back to his own
face. "Do you see how amazing you are?"
Ray could, kind of. When he smiled his whole face seemed brighter, and maybe
those wrinkles stood out a little more clearly, but he had a good smile, good
teeth, and when he wasn't doing that tight, fake nutcase grin he actually seemed
kind of...handsome. Plus there was the way Fraser was looking at him right now,
like he thought Ray's smile lit up all of Chicago.
"I love your smile," Fraser said, "And your eyes. They're beautiful."
Ray snorted. "Are not. Not with these," he said, tapping at his glasses. Fraser
shook his head.
"I find them endearing."
"You would."
"Yes, I would," Fraser murmured, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Ray's
chest. He dropped his head to pressed a wet kiss to the back of Ray's neck, then
rested his chin on Ray's shoulder.
Ray arched his neck back a little to nip at Fraser's ear. "I'm glad, y'know. That
you like me."
He felt Fraser smile against his cheek. "I do, very much so. I should have told
you earlier." He cleared his throat, and Ray realized that this was all new territory
for Fraser. He'd probably never talked like this with anyone before. It's my
right, Fraser had said. So Ray would let him have his say, if that was what he
wanted to do. He let the silence go for a couple more beats and, like always,
Fraser found the courage to go on.
"I like the way you look very much," he said, his voice still low and soft. "You're
strong and capable, and you are so very graceful. I like to watch you move."
Ray relaxed a little and leaned back against him, and Fraser began to rock them
back and forth, slowly, to the rhythm of his words.
"I've always enjoyed watching you, Ray. When you dance, when you walk, even
when you argue with someone on the telephone. You're very expressive. I love
how utterly unselfconscious you are, and I envy you that ability to be so at ease
in your own skin. I've never felt that way. And I thought-" Fraser's voice hitched a
little and he stiffened slightly, shifting his body away. "I thought our differences
complemented one another. I'm sorry you see them as a point of division."
"I don't," Ray said quickly, settling his arms over Fraser's and pulling him back,
pulling him closer, until they were touching everywhere. It didn't matter that
Fraser couldn't dance. He had the right moves when it counted. "Well, I did, but
you got me thinking. Maybe that's just left over insecurity or something. I guess
I'm used to getting dumped. I'm just afraid you're going to go away someday."
Fraser bent his head to nuzzle Ray's jaw. "I'm afraid you are, too," he said
quietly. "I couldn't bear it if you left me."
Ray's eyes widened. "You...you worry about that?"
Fraser nodded; he watched that dark head bob in the mirror. "Very much so.
Having had this, having been with you...I don't think I could go back to the way
things were before. You're-" He stuttered to a halt, swallowed hard, and kept
going. "You're my second chance. My last chance, I think."
Ray twisted around until they were facing each other. Fraser wouldn't meet his
eyes; he was shaking slightly, and it looked like he thought he'd said way too
much. Ray put his hand on Fraser's cheek and gently tilted his head up. God, he
hadn't had the first fucking clue.
"So we're both afraid," he said. "Think that's something we can work on?"
Fraser pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He buried his
nose in Ray's neck and nodded. Ray breathed in the warm, familiar smells of
Fraser, reveling in the way they still fit together.
"I do, Ray. I do."
They kissed for a long, breathless moment. Fraser was so warm and so close, so
real and so beautiful. He was breathing hard, practically gasping into Ray's ear
when he pulled away to whisper, "Turn around." His voice low and rough with
desire. Ray swallowed and turned in Fraser's arms, his attention going right to
the mirror.
Fraser was wild-eyed, his perfect hair mussed where Ray's hands had been stroking
through it. And Ray's image looked shell-shocked: his face was flushed and sweaty, his lips swollen from their kiss, his dick straining up and jutting out from his body. Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray's chest.
"You have no idea what the sight of you like this does to me," he whispered in
Ray's ear, and Ray shivered. Fraser trailed his hand down over Ray's ribcage,
his fingertips barely brushing Ray's sensitive belly before Fraser wrapped his
hand around his dick.
He couldn't hold back his gasp of surprise. Watching Fraser's hand move down
over his body in the mirror was weirdly pornographic. Almost like watching a
movie, but if this was a movie he wouldn't get to feel the way Fraser's hand just
glided over his skin, his grip firm and rough. He rubbed Ray's nipple with his free
hand and licked a broad swipe up the side of his neck.
"God," Ray murmured, tipping his head back to rest against Fraser's shoulder.
He couldn't watch, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the mirror. This was--
Yeah, Fraser knew what he was doing. He started pumping his hand, stroking
Ray in the tight circle of his fist. Ray couldn't help making small, jerky movements
with his hips, each delicious slide of Fraser's hand bringing him little sparks and
snaps of pleasure. He lifted his arms up and clasped his hands around Fraser's
neck. His whole body was one long, live wire; his chest was heaving, his hips
pumping into Fraser's fist and then back to where Fraser's hard, hot cock pushed
against his hip. Fraser flicked his tongue over his thumb, wetting it a bit, and
brushed it over Ray's nipple. Ray shivered, feeling like he'd just gotten zapped
with an electric current that went right from his nipple down to his balls. He
dropped his arms and put his hand over Fraser's. Together they jerked him,
moving in sync to the creak of the floorboards and the soft little gasps and grunts
of pleasure Ray kept making.
"We should...I want to..." he huffed, trying to find the words for what he wanted.
He felt Fraser smile against his neck.
"What would you like to do?"
Ray groaned, pushing his hips forward into Fraser's hand. He was about five
seconds away from coming, less if Fraser kept asking him questions in that sex-
rough voice.
And Ray got another one of those clubbed-over-the-head moments of insight. He
knew what he wanted. He'd finally agreed to fuck Fraser last weekend, but he
hadn't let Fraser fuck him. It had just been too much. Like letting Fraser in that
last little bit would ruin Ray for anyone else. If he let Fraser do this, it meant he
was all in. No going back.
"I want you to fuck me," Ray ground out, and Fraser sucked in a deep breath. He
met Ray's eyes in the mirror.
"You're sure?"
Ray nodded. "Yeah, I...yeah."
Abruptly Fraser's hand fell away. He put his hand to Ray's side (hot hot so
damn hot) and tugged his chin toward him. Ray opened his mouth and Fraser
kissed him, his slick tongue moving against Ray's.
"Stay here. Stay right here," he said. "I'll be right back." Sounded like the Mountie
was having a little trouble talking. Ray couldn't hide his smile.
Fraser was back a second later with a foil-wrapped condom and the lube. Ray
headed toward the bedroom, but Fraser caught his upper arm, his thumb stroking
over Ray's tattoo in gentle, circular motions.
"Not there. Here," Fraser said, nodding at the mirror. Ray felt his knees go a little
weak. Christ! Fraser wanted Ray to watch while they fucked? Ray closed
his eyes, swallowed hard, and leaned his forehead against the mirror, his palms
pressed against the smooth, cool glass. He shivered a little, waiting.
Fraser set the slick and the condom package on the floor within easy reach and
stroked Ray's back, pressing up close behind him. "Shhhh," he said, dropping a
kiss between Ray's shoulder blades. "Just watch."
Ray opened his eyes just as Fraser's hand moved lower, following the deep
groove of his spine until he reached the swell of Ray's buttocks. His fingers were
slick from the lube; they left a cool trail of wet down Ray's back. He tensed
slightly and pressed against Fraser. Fraser's fingers hovered for a moment and
then slipped...down.
Ray panted and widened his stance a little. Fraser's finger was just brushing his
hole and it felt, God, great. "C'mon, Frase," he muttered, and Fraser, smart guy
that he was, seemed to take the hint. He pushed his finger in and Ray sighed,
feeling himself stretch and burn a little. Fraser's fingers were big. Not as long as
Ray's, but still. Big. He grunted. "'S good, good. C'mon."
When Fraser added a second finger Ray dropped his head forward, trying to get
his breathing under control. He pushed back again and growled, "Come
on!"
And then Fraser's fingers slipped out and he heard the foil on the condom
package rip.
His palms were leaving sticky, sweaty handprints all over the mirror. He spread
his legs wide, standing almost like a perp would during a pat-down, and then
tilted his hips up a bit. He'd never done it standing before. He wasn't sure if it
would hurt, or--
Fraser paused behind him, and an uncertain note crept into his voice. "Are you
sure? Perhaps I was hasty. This might be more comfortable on the bed."
Ray shook his head. "You wanted me to see this, right? So show me."
Fraser stared at him for a second or two. Then he moved closer, closer, and
in. Ray gasped and slapped his palm against the mirror. His legs felt
wobbly and his dick had softened, but Fraser was stretching him open, coming
closer to that amazing place inside, that place where everything...there. Oh, God,
right there.
"Fraser, do not move," Ray said. "Just...don't move." He opened his eyes. They
were so close to the mirror he didn't really even need his glasses; he and Fraser
were both clear, eyes bright and drugged-looking, sweat dampening the hair at
their temples. Fraser looked at him and shifted his hands down to hold Ray's
hips.
And he began to thrust.
Fuck, when this was over Ray was really going to have to sit down--if he could--
and ask himself some tough questions about why he hadn't let Fraser to fuck him
before. This was...Jesus, feeling Fraser work in and out of his body, that hot,
heavy, almost-painful slide with each stroke out, each thrust in. And the strength
in those hard hands that gripped his hips and moved him in a counterpoint
rhythm, twisting him slightly counter-clockwise to create more heat and friction.
They should go dancing sometime. Fraser was a fucking terrific dancer.
He was hard again, his cock leaking and begging for something to thrust against.
Ray pried one hand off the glass and began to jerk his dick in time to Fraser's thrusts. Someone was grunting--it was probably him, but he couldn't tell for sure--and he felt sweat trickle down his back and slide between them, making the space between their bodies hot and slippery.
"God, Jesus, I-"
But Fraser wasn't really paying attention to what Ray was saying. He was
watching Ray's face in the mirror, and his expression was so intense Ray had to
squeeze his eyes shut. He could come like this, just from watching Fraser's face
as he fucked him. He looked so serious, eyes glazed over in pleasure. Like
people did sometimes in prayer. And maybe for Fraser this qualified as a
religious experience. It sure did for him.
He pressed back, harder, disrupting Fraser's careful rhythm to bring their bodies
together with more force. He wanted Fraser to let go. To let go and fuck
him and drive everything else away, all his bullshit fears and insecurities until
there was just this. Just Fraser, inside him, and the look on their faces in the
mirror.
"Now," Ray said, and Fraser got it. His fingers dug into Ray's hips and he pushed
up into Ray in hard, short thrusts that almost lifted Ray off his toes. Fraser made
a half-strangled sound, something between a whisper and a sigh. Ray closed his
eyes, dropped his head, and came, and came, and came, streaks of his come
painting the mirror.
Fraser sagged against him, tipping Ray forward until his forehead pressed
against the smooth, cool glass. They'd both melted, it felt like, becoming
boneless and heavy at the same time. Ray pushed himself up unsteadily, and
Fraser kissed his neck, cradling Ray with clumsy, uncoordinated movements of
his arms.
Ray met Fraser's eyes in the mirror.
"That was--"
Fraser smiled and shook his head. "Do you see now?"
"Yeah" he said quietly. "I see."
********
Ray snapped off the lights in the living room and checked to make sure the door
was locked. He heard water running through the pipes in the bathroom and paused in the hallway, smiling to himself. Funny the way a good orgasm could give a guy a whole new
perspective on things.
He slipped into bed just as Fraser came out of the bathroom. Ray had taken off
his glasses so Fraser was a dim white outline again, his pale body glowing faintly
in the light filtering in from off the street. Ray moved over a little, leaving space in
the bed beside him.
The mattress dipped as Fraser settled in, and then suddenly Ray was wrapped
up in his warm, strong hug. The sensation of Fraser's arms around him, of being
held so tightly against that broad, solid chest, was familiar by now. Comforting.
Ray squeezed his eyes shut, hugging back as hard as he could. Fraser grunted
softly, happily, and pressed a kiss to the side of Ray's neck.
"You okay?"
"Yes," Fraser whispered, his voice muffled. "Are you?"
Another dump-truck question. Ray sighed and hugged Fraser back, tight. "Yeah,
I'm good. Sorry I'm such a headcase."
"You're not." And wow, Fraser hadn't even hesitated. "You're beautiful. I wish you
could believe that."
"Well," Ray said, stroking the warm, smooth skin of Fraser's shoulder, "I know
this Boy Scout type, and he's pretty trustworthy. He never lies, cheats or steals,
and he helps little old ladies across the street. This guy? Well, he thinks I'm okay.
Guess I should trust him."
"I think he'd prefer that you trust yourself."
Ray stopped the slow stroking movement of his hand and rolled over to lay half-
on top Fraser's chest. He could hear the steady drum of Fraser's heart pumping
away right under his ear. "I love you," he said quietly, and Fraser's hand trembled
a little against Ray's bare back.
"I love you too, Ray."
Ray nodded. Fraser's heartbeat was really loud, and the steady thump thump
thump made Ray feel safe and relaxed and really, really sleepy. "I know that
now," he murmured, his voice thick and drowsy. "And the next time I freak out
over some hockey player, or I think you maybe deserve someone a little better-
looking, I'll try to remember. Okay?"
Fraser sighed. "Okay, Ray. And if you need a reminder, perhaps I'll tape a note
to the mirror."
"You're a funny guy," Ray said, nudging Fraser with his knee, wrapping himself
around him more securely.
"So I've been told. Goodnight, Ray."
"'Night, Fraser."
And Ray drifted off to sleep, smiling faintly.
the end
End Mirror Image by Nos4a2no9
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