Story Notes: Written for Greensilver for the December 2007 due South Seekrit Santa story exchange. Very mild and cheerful bondage, pretty much angst-free. So, this one was me. Which, hee, nobody guessed right, at least that I saw. But the stories that people thought I wrote ("Watching the Detectives" and "Guns Don't Kill People") and the writers that people thought wrote this story (belmanoir and aerye) made me feel tremendously complimented--yay!

Even with the blindfold on Ray could swear he knows exactly where Fraser's looking, what part of Ray he's focused on when. Fraser's gaze is heavy, slow and hot and thorough, and Ray can feel it moving lazy over his ribs and hips and, God, every place he'd like Fraser's hands or his mouth, but there's no use begging yet. Fraser always takes his time with the looking, now that he can.

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The first time Ray noticed the staring, Fraser'd only been booted back to the States for a few weeks, after making a little too much trouble over caribou and the killers of his father. Ray's ma invited him over for Sunday dinner, and there was the usual amount of crazy. Teresa was running from grownup to grownup teaching them how to make cat's cradles and Jacob's ladders, and Frannie was practically sitting in Fraser's lap, going on and on about how unfair it was that Canada thought he was a persona au gratin.

Fraser offered to wash dishes and Ma did her "Guests don't work! Shoo!" thing, and Ray grabbed his sleeve and made a break for the front porch with him, but Frannie almost cut them off at the door.

"Looking for a few minutes of manly quiet, here, Frannie," he said.

"Sexist," she said. "Fraser doesn't mind more company, do you, Frase?"

"Fine," Ray said. "Come on out. We can tell stories. How about--Joey Calloway, ninth grade, coat closet?"

"Asshole," Frannie said, but she turned around and stomped back to the kitchen.

They escaped to the quiet cool, and Ray leaned against the railing and just breathed for a minute. "They just do NOT let up, Benny, sorry about that," he said, and realized he still had Teresa's loop of string wound around his hand. He loosened it, slid fingers in, over and under and through, kept talking. "Ma cannot deal with anybody not having at least third helpings, and Frannie just--Jesus. I'm sorry about Frannie." He was definitely doing something wrong here; his Jacob's ladder looked more like a bow tie.

"I enjoy your family, Ray. They're very--lively," and Ray looked up and realized Fraser was staring at his hands. Probably because he was playing a kindergarten string game with them. He flushed, unwound the string from around his fingers and stuffed it in his pocket.

When he looked up, though, Fraser was still staring, but at his face this time, and his expression was--Ray couldn't figure it out. Sad? Lonely? Wanting--something, and Ray suddenly got it, or thought he did, and felt like a heel, because here he was bitching about his family to an orphan. "I'm sorry, Benny, I shouldn't--I mean, I know I'm lucky to have family, and--"

"That wasn't what I--," Fraser said, stopped, rolled his neck slowly. "Don't worry about it, Ray. Could I borrow that string? I believe I know what step you missed."

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"You're looking at my hands, aren't you?" Ray says. "I can feel you looking at my hands. You can do more than look, I'll put 'em on you, anywhere you like, untie me, come on come on come on, Benny."

"Almost," Fraser says. "Soon," and Ray feels him shift on the bed, and then Fraser's nuzzling his curled hand open and there's, fuck, a hot tonguetip right in the middle of his palm. Ray makes some kind of strangled noise, and Fraser laughs into his hand.

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The second time, they were playing poker at Gardino's. Louie had invited Huey and Ray, and Calvert from the night shift, but then Calvert caught a stomach bug from his kids and Ray suggested Fraser.

"Hell, no," Gardino said. "Nice guy, but I'm not playing for M & M's again, Vecchio. You play poker, you should end up happy or pissed off, not fat."

He called Ray back a couple of hours later, though, because he'd struck out on finding anybody else, and he'd come up with what he thought was a brilliant plan: they'd keep track of the winnings with M & M's, and then Fraser could take his home to eat and once he was gone the rest of them would swap theirs out for money, a quarter per piece.

"How we gonna tell who owes what, Louie?"

"We'll sort them out into different colors before. You'll be blue, I'll be red, that kinda thing."

"Like he won't notice that."

"We'll tell him you can buy 'em that way in Chicago."

"Canadian is not the same as stupid, Louie," Ray said. But he called Fraser.

When Fraser was handed a big jar of all-orange candy he blinked, and Louie said "It's more fun if you can keep track of who's losing the worst, right?"

"Just to give them shit about it," Huey said.

Fraser said," Understood." And Ray thought, "Uh-huh."

Ray'd come up with a new prevention-of-tells plan after Huey almost cleaned him out last time. Ray was pretty sure he was giving himself away somehow with his mouth--not with anything he said, but he had a hard time not grinning at good cards and wincing at bad ones, and Huey was probably picking up on that. So this time Ray'd brought a bag of Tootsie Pops, and over the course of the evening he went through three or four, root-beer flavor. It seemed to be working, keeping his mouth too busy on the lollipops for it to give out any information he didn't want it to.

By the time they were closing in on midnight Ray's pile of M & M's was way bigger than anyone else's, including Fraser's, which kinda surprised Ray. Because while Fraser had a hard time remembering the names of hands, and got all weird about the gambling, he was usually hell on wheels at calculating odds. He seemed a little distracted tonight, though; kept staring at Ray, at Ray's mouth--maybe he thought the whole lollipop thing was weird or immature or something.

Ray popped the sucker out of his mouth, grinned at Fraser, and said, "Who loves ya, baby?" Huey and Louie snorted, but Fraser just looked kinda blank--stunned, even. "Guess you didn't grow up watching Kojak, huh?" Ray said " New York cop? Lollipops? Bald head?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "No, Ray."

"One of the things made me think about being a cop," Ray said.

"Was it one of the things made you decide to go bald?" Louie said.

"Fuck off," Ray said cheerfully, because he had most of Louie's chocolate and could afford to be nice.

Midnight-ish Fraser stretched and yawned and started making noises about his Consulate duties in the morning. And then when he stood up he had a moment of weird clumsiness--he clocked the corner of the card table with his hip, and the whole damn thing went over, M & M's everywhere.

"I am so sorry," Fraser said. "Where might I find your broom and dustpan, Detective Gardino?"

He swept the candy up briskly, dumped it all in the trash, tipped his Stetson at Louie and thanked him for a lovely evening. And Ray managed to wait until he was pretty sure Fraser was out of hearing distance down the building's stairs before he burst out laughing.

"You don't think he did that on purpose, do you?" Louie said. "There's no way he did that on purpose. Is there?"

"Lot more going on in that head than most people think," Ray said. And then he suddenly had a totally ridiculous idea, to do with his hands and his mouth and string and lollipops and what Fraser might be thinking, and it was just crazy. Because Fraser was so--upright, he was such a straight arrow he barely even looked at--at women. Huh.

"Huh," Ray said.

"Huh what?" Louie said.

"I gotta get home, uh, thank you for a lovely evening," Ray mumbled.

"A what?" Louie said, but Ray just waved vaguely at him and was out the door, because he really, really needed to think.

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Ray can feel the heat of Fraser's mouth, so close to his own, and he tries to arch up for a kiss, but Fraser says, "Tsk," breathing on Ray's lips when he does, and then presses Ray firmly into the mattress with one warm hand on his chest.

"God, Benny," he says. "Do something," and Fraser obliges, leans back down and kisses him. Soft and slow, tongue flickering into Ray's mouth, teeth nipping gently at Ray's bottom lip.

Ray can't see him, and he's not touching Ray anywhere except with his lips and that one wide pressing hand, and fuck, fuck, Ray can't decide if coming just from kissing would be really embarrassing or the hottest thing ever, but he's not sure he's going to have a choice.

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The third time was at Ray's house again. Fraser had done a neat little end run around Ma at the table---he'd said something about feeling guilty for being such a frequent dinner guest, and Ma had said "Oh, Benton, you're not a guest anymore, you're family," and Fraser smiled and said, "Well, then I get to wash dishes, don't I?" So he was washing and Ray was drying.

Ray counted Fraser's sidelong-and-downward glances until he got up to nine, and then he couldn't take it anymore. He put the towel down, leaned back against the counter and grinned. "Benny," he said. "I could come up with some excuses for the staring at the hand thing and the staring at the mouth thing, what with the string and the lollipop. But you're staring at my dick, and it's not doing anything interesting right now."

Fraser choked and dropped his sponge.

"Ray," he said. "I was---lost in thought, and not noticing where I was looking, and---"

"Bullshit," Ray said, took a step closer and kissed him. Quick and soft and no tongue, but a kiss, an undeniable kiss, no backpedaling possible for either of them.

He pulled back, leaned against the counter again, tried for a casual slouch. But he was pretty sure he looked as nervous as he felt. Looking at Fraser, waiting for a verdict.

"I," Fraser said. "You never. I didn't think you---"

"Cop, here, Benny," Ray said. "Not like I'm gonna wear a sign."

"Right." And Fraser kept looking at him, and Ray couldn't tell what the hell kind of look it was for a few seconds. But then he could, because Fraser grabbed fistfuls of Ray's shirt with his still-sudsy hands and walked him backwards until they were in the little mudroom, out of sightline of the kitchen door, and kissed him and kissed him, and yeah, now Ray's dick was doing interesting things.

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And oh, yeah, now Fraser's kissing and nipping down Ray's chest, his stomach, finally, and Ray bites his bottom lip and manages not to say anything, not to even groan, because that might make him slow down and tease more, and Ray would probably die.

Fraser gets so, so close, nuzzles at Ray's hip, and then lifts up, where the fuck is he, is he stopping?--and then his mouth is hot and wet and on Ray's dick, thank you, thank you. Ray's just lost, can't feel anything but that mouth, doesn't know what his arms and legs are doing, isn't even sure he's breathing, and hears his own voice saying "stop," what?!?

"What?" Fraser says, gives him a lazy lick.

"I need," Ray says. "I need to see you."

Fraser's quiet for a moment, then says, "Yes," reaches up and twitches the blindfold off. And when he goes back to what he was doing Ray can watch, can see that beautiful mouth working. Can see Fraser, looking back at him.