Disclaimers: If they belonged to me... *sigh*. They don't, and I have covetousness in my soul.

Spoilers: None.

Archiving: Sure, anywhere.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for language, m/m interaction.

Summary: It's Wednesday.

Author's Note: Viridian kept talking about dancing... this pretty much had to happen. Lyrics cheerfully stolen from "Electric Relaxation" by A Tribe Called Quest. Sequel to "Wet."

Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon and Spike for fine audiencing, and to Maxine and Kellie Matthews for fine, fast beta. Any remaining mistakes and ambiguities are entirely my own fault, of course. Please feel free to call me on them at Daddy793@aol.com.

*

for torch
yes, this too

*

Morning.

Sex.

Morning.

Frasersex.

Work.

Need more sex.

You're not actually getting any, jerk.

And the Fraser in Ray's mind dissolves a la Raiders of the Friggin' Arc into an image of himself wearing that nightmare of a friggin' prom tux and *wham*.

He's awake and struggling with the sheets that have somehow wound around his ankles and tripped him *anotherwham* to the floor.

And he suddenly realizes he has to piss like a racehorse and *just* the same moment he realizes that it's 11:42 ayem and

//*fuckfuckfuck WORK* Fraser's gonna give me such shit for this oh wait it's Wednesday.//

Day-off Wednesday to be specific and he would've been more pissed with himself if all the panicking hadn't allowed him to forget what Fraser had been about to do when he'd so rudely interrupted himself.

//Aaaaaaaaaah.//

Ray smacks himself a good one and continues to disentangle himself from the sheets in a far slower and more orderly fashion. Yes, he's got the day off.

Nobody is going to yell at him for sleeping late while dreaming about things he doesn't even remember good.

Up off the floor, into the shower and eeeeeeeee that's cold but getting hotter hotter too hot colder *right*.

Shakes his head for not remembering that he didn't have to do that jump in the shower *immediately* thing.

It's his *day* *off*.

Just for that, he stays in the shower until the questionable drain stops draining and his feet are getting pruney. His skin prickles up as soon as he shuts the water off. Even in the dim, steamy shower he knows he's distinctly more reddish than usual.

It's now 12:20 and Ray congratulates himself. That was definitely a day off shower.

He considers shaving, checks out the scruff, the aging razor, the empty razor package, the scruff, and gives up. Runs his finger over the damp stubble and shivers briefly at the damp familiar friction of it.

Maybe later.

Slow piss complete with gratuitous ass-scratching.

Out into the bedroom and he remembers his resolution -- get the damned mumble song the fuck out of the stereo. He reflects that it may or may not be a good thing that he hasn't been with Fraser long enough to stop thinking things like that are achievments.

CD's changed and now he's done it. He has started it in motion.

It is nothing more nor less than the quintessential day-off thing.

He has put on dance music.

Today he starts with remixed Tribe. A few years old, but still undeniably quality. Later there'll be this funky little club mix acquired as a thank-you gift from a lipsticked-up dj kid Fraser had managed to save from sure prison time with his own help.

Day-off music. Something close to the fabled night-off music from back when he was a rookie and Stella a student and the both of them ready to dance or fight or fuck on the floor of that pit of an apartment --

He smacks himself another good one. Stella no longer counts as a day-off thought.

But the bass has already started and he doesn't have to think because his hips are moving. It's almost to the right point -- the Day Off Point -- and he's only just begun. Tribe was a good choice.

The rhythms are these shameless things. Firm, inescapable. Definite impression that the lyrics are secondary to this body-thumping creature of pure music.

His spine creaks into life, his legs move and bend to counter-rhythm his hips. One simple motion expands to three. Some feeling in his head like the instacartoon sensation of stop-motion plant fertility films. Exploding flowers or whatever.

"You could be my mama and I'll be your boy."

Q-Tip purring, Ray moving his lips along with the words, arms raising slowly, following the sways and wave-turns of his upper body.

Fuck it. He wants his dance partner back, if only for a little while.

And suddenly there's Stella, hair falling over her eyes as her head dips to the music, dressed in that pastel peach suit that makes Ray want to just *smudge* her a little until she isn't.

Then she's in that worn little gray tank-top and no bra and her cut-off khaki shorts. Her knees, of all things, are a little sunburned.

The spray of freckles on her lower belly is visible for a sudden heart-stopping moment as she dances. Ray might as well be 22 or 14 as he is 27. Stella's still the girl, the constant of perfection that proves the simple goodness of life.

Her head's up again and she's smiling and her hips start to move more as Ray crouches into a sensuous little snakedance before her, moving in closer and closer.

Not breathing yet. Knowing exactly what Stella will smell like but still waiting for it. Working for it.

Music shifts with each song but it's one of those times where Ray's rhythm doesn't have to be an exact copy. Stella's got her arms up over her head now, and when she does that... It's almost... devotional the way she does it.

Both reaching for and being trapped by divinity. Wild like Ray knows wild things should be. He can feel a wave of her heat now, scent that classy cologne she likes so much on the air and finally, finally --

There's a knock on the door.

Ray wobbles a little in his stance and barely manages to catch himself before he falls on his ass. Stella's gone. The only smell is the vague mustiness of his apartment.

"Who is it?"

He knows who it is.

"Benton Fraser."

Of course. Someone's in trouble and time is of the essence and so much for Wednesday.

He opens the door with a resigned sigh, rubs his temples in anticipation of the headache to come.

And there Fraser is on the threshold, the least casual looking person in casual clothes in the entire universe. Hat tapping lightly against the side of his thigh and *wham* just like that he remembers that in the dream Fraser had pushed him up against the wall, nudged his thighs apart and --

"Afternoon, Ray. May I come in?"

//Aaaaaaah.//

Ray makes an expansive gesture at his apartment and moves aside for Fraser to pass. Dark blue plaid today. Vaguely scandalous to be able to see no obvious red.

"What's going on, Frase? Who's in great peril?"

Confused look. "No one is in peril that I know of, Ray."

"You're sure?"

"Well, I can't actually be *sure*, as I have no way of seeing everyone at once."

"I thought that came standard with the uniform."

"I'm not wearing my uniform, Ray."

Ray can't help but crack a smile. He shares it with Fraser before he can second-guess himself and they proceed to have a moment. And then Ray remembers they're just standing there and shakes it off.

"Have a seat, Frase. Can I get you anything?"

"Oh, a glass of water would be nice, thank you."

"Your wish..."

And Ray gets the water and walks back over to his couch. Fraser is continuing to look like what Ray is pretty sure could be found only in an L.L. Bean catalog. He's never seen the inside of one, but Fraser certainly fits the part.

The music's still on and he knows this part and he's moving again, just on the way to the couch. Stella's still gone but Q-Tip will never leave him.

Fraser doesn't get his water until the third grab but when he does Ray dances back to his bedroom and shuts the stereo off and back into the living room and Fraser looks vaguely worried.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to interrupt you, Ray --"

"You're *not* interrupting me."

"All right."

Silence again, but Ray doesn't mind. He can still hear the echoes of bass and percussion in his head and he's just on the edge of movement. If he listens to the echoes any longer he'll be dancing again, but for now he's what he considers to be still.

Fraser is just slightly in front and to the right of him on the couch and a simple eye-cut gives him a view of one tricky little dark curl falling to the soft-looking skin at Fraser's nape.

He reaches out a hand to touch it and is just snatching it back when Fraser turns again to face him. Awkward positioning gives Ray what he hopes is enough time to make the snatching look like a plausible move.

"Feel free to keep dancing, Ray. I find your music to be fascinating."

"You sound like a Star Trek alien, Fraser."

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing."

"All right."

"OK."

"Yes."

Ray chuckles again and catches Fraser's smile dead-on as he did it. Stupid little things are fun with Fraser, Ray has long since come to accept that as part of the way things are.

"... Ray?"

Something tells him that isn't the first Ray to come out of Fraser's mouth. "What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. Why would anything be wrong? Is this some sort of Canadian thing?"

"Actually, Ray, many species find prolonged eye contact to be threatening."

"Why are you here?" And Ray winces to himself because there's no way his tone is remotely neutral. It's not his fault. He's confused, horny, tired. Something.

It's his *day* *off* --

"Well, Inspector Thatcher gave me the afternoon off and I just thought we might do something together..." His eyes are widening. "We don't have to, of course. I'm sorry to intrude." Awkward glance. "I'll -- ah -- just be going."

Saying something would be good.

"I like you in blue."

No more days off, ever.

"Thank you, Ray. You yourself look quite nice in that towel."

Ray blinks, looks down. Pokes gently at the incredibly firm and complex knot.

Proof positive his time with Fraser has been profitable... though only if he can actually figure a way *out* of the towel when the time comes.

"Um... sorry about the gratuitous semi-nudity, Frase."

"Oh, it's quite all right."

//How about some just plain nudity then?//

"... Ray?"

//Oops. Speech.//

"How do I undo this knot, Fraser?"

//*AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH*//

"Ah. The woodchuck backs out of the burrow, where he meets the squirrel. They argue for several moments before embracing passionately --"

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Yes, Ray, I am. I'm not sure I've ever seen a knot quite like that before."

"I created a new and special knot?"

"Everything you do is quite special."

"Thanks, Fraser. How do I get this towel off?"

"Maybe if you wriggle a bit?"

"Wriggle. You want me to wriggle?"

"Well... I must admit the thought had occurred to me. You move around so *much*. I imagine it would be quite torturous for you to have to stand still, and that wriggling would come quite naturally to you."

"I don't wriggle."

"Of course not."

"I can writhe."

"Yes."

"Possibly even shimmy."

"That could work."

"I'm not a wriggler. I do not wriggle. Wriggling does not occur in the Land of Ray."

"Never."

"Right."

"Yes."

Another pause. Ray's still poking at the knot with no success whatsoever, but that could just be because Fraser is still twisted around to look at him and they're both being very threatening.

"Ray?"

"Yeah?" Got it in one.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

Ray blinks. Twice. Does his best to jumpstart his voicebox, but only manages to tug roughly at the towel end instead.

//Whoops.//

More nudity. But Fraser only nods seriously, and Ray figures that was as good an answer as any.

"How do you feel about adding that -- er -- aspect to our relationship, Ray?"

Ray twitches. "Thigh."

"Thigh?"

Ray nods, utterly unable to care about coherency.

"Ah. Yes. I, too.... thigh." Puzzled look and then Fraser is shaking his head. Licking his lips.

And Ray's moving again, fast and graceless and he gets Fraser pinned and then the only thing he can think to do is lick the other man's tongue.

Which is something Fraser approves of, and Ray knows that because his mouth is currently being thoroughly explored, surveyed, and developed.

Fraser.

Ray feels like making a comment, smirking, something. But only a very, very little as compared to the whole rubbing himself all over Fraser and making a terrible mess thing.

Ray buries his head under Fraser's collar and breathes. Smells something he knows he has no hope whatsoever of separating into precise scents. It doesn't matter, though. Fraser is one of the best reasons to continue breathing Ray has ever inhaled.

"Ray --"

"Shut up."

"That's not very polite."

"I'm sorry."

"I forgive you. Ray?"

"Are you going to stop me?"

"I wasn't planning to, no."

"Oh... then what?"

"I'd like to remove some of my clothing."

"All or nothing."

"All right."

"And at least one item must be thrown to the floor in wild abandon."

"Why?"

Ray regretfully sits up, straddling Fraser half-on/ half-off the couch. "It has to be rumpled."

"Why?"

"Because."

"That's not a very good reason, Ray."

"It's an excellent reason."

"I just don't see why --"

Ray braces himself on his hands and thrusts against the heat in Fraser's jeans. Has to turn his head away when Fraser gasps, squeezes his eyes shut. Thrusts up against him. "This is why."

And this is also what Ray thinks of as flying -- that part of a long, long fall where you're too terrified to even notice you're dropping like a rock. Or maybe he's just some stupid cartoon hunter who has just run out over the cliff-edge and is hovering there, just waiting to screw up and fall.

Part of him is never going to believe this, but Ray is actually *that* close to bolting up from Fraser's body when Fraser runs one hand down his spine to cup his ass. Squeeze him and oh, Jesus, somehow Ray knows that every time Fraser touches him a part of his mind is going to just short out in shock.

He gets his hands up to Fraser's buttons and manages three before the constant motion of the hand on his ass, of the other hand pressing and running across his chest becomes too much. He's shaking, trying to push himself in three different directions and every time he *thinks* he has half a handle on this Fraser is thrusting up.

Rough starched denim against him and Ray's not sure when he got this hard, but he is.

He slips his hand inside the flannel and finds Fraser's t-shirt is gratifyingly soaked in sweat. He can smell the just-past-cleaness of it, feel it humid against his own skin. And then Fraser stops touching him for just long enough to remove his shirts.

Slowly, deliberately crumples them in his fist.

Flings them over his shoulder. Ray hears them land on the floor and shivers.

"That was very, very nice of you, Fraser."

"I know."

And then Fraser was pulling him down again. Wrapping his arms around Ray and holding him against his chest just tightly enough to be... positive. Emphatic, even.

Ray feels all that smooth skin against his own and starts moving again, manages to brush his nipple against one of Fraser's once, twice before he has to moan again, has to lean in for another kiss. Fraser's tongue slips back into his mouth easily, thickly.

Ray moans again and opens himself to the kiss, feels Fraser tighten his hold briefly and then he has to move, has to shift and thrust and flex. It's suddenly extremely important that he touch as much of Fraser as possible with as much of himself as possible.

He manages to get his hands down to Fraser's waist and the kiss is broken for several heartbeats.

"Ray."

And he realizes his eyes have been closed at the same moment that he opens them to find Fraser flushed and mussed. The curve of neck to bare shoulder is almost obscene. All he can manage to get out is "hmmm...?"

"I only wanted to see your eyes."

"You just *have* to say things like that, don't you?"

"They're very dark right now, Ray. And there is a ring of fire around the blackness..."

Thrill of fear down his spine at the intensity in Fraser's voice. He can't handle this -- "Please stop."

Another confused look but Ray doesn't give the question time to form, just dives in for another kiss. Manages to jump-start his hands and get Fraser's fly undone.

The boxers are tight against his hard cock, soaked in sweat and pre-come and Fraser's still looking into his eyes and Ray suddenly notices that part of Fraser's flush is beard-burn and then he has the other man's cock in his fist and it's very, very good.

"Ray -- "

And that's the only way he ever wants to hear his name from now on. Broken like that. A little hoarse.

He kisses Fraser again, loose and messy. Wants to give him as much opportunity as possible to say his name that way again. Kisses their cocks together length to length and gasps, thrusts. His hip joints feel oiled for this and he's not sure he could stop if he tried.

And Fraser is just laying back, letting him do whatever and that thought is enough to send a wave of heat through his body. He wonders if he'll get Fraser to talk about this. About how long he'd wanted this.

He wonders if he'll be able to sit there and listen to Fraser say those things.

"Oh, please Ray..."

Yes. Only possible answer to that is yes and Ray tries and fails to move smoothly down the couch, down Fraser's body. The sweaty leather of the couch thwarts his easily, though, and he lands a little hard on the floor.

Fraser's up to help him immediately but that just makes it easy for Ray to kneel up between the other man's thighs and grab hold. Sucks in the head and Fraser lets out a low groan that makes every hair on Ray's body stand up rigid..

And then he takes a long, deep breath through his nose and when there's nothing there but Fraser it finally occurs to him that he's kneeling between the man's still-jeans-clad thighs and sucking his cock.

That there's a large strong hand trembling on his head, curling and uncurling around the back of his skull. Fraser's obviously struggling not to pull Ray down further.

Not to fuck his throat.

Ray shudders and forces his gaze up to Fraser's. Feels fingers tighten in his hair for just a second as something hot and dark flashes over those blue eyes.

And then he closes his eyes again and slips further down on Fraser's cock. He wishes he could define the taste more, the feel, but it's a fleeting thought. He's decided that he can only stroke himself as fast as he fucks his face.

So it's slow torture and the one hand hasn't left the back of his head, and the other is tracing over his eyelids and cheekbones so softly. Ray tries to quiet the wet sounds he's making if only to hear Fraser's desperate ones a little better.

Opens his eyes and something about the disappearing/reappearing crease in the soft flesh over the other man's stomach muscles is just too much to take. He starts jerking Fraser faster, harder. Out of rhythm with his suck but he needs Fraser to do this, come for him.

He hums deliberately around the other man's length and sucks harder, squeezing and pulling on himself far more roughly than usual but he *needs* this and even though he's not sure why he won't deny himself.

And suddenly there it is: a truly helpless sounding groan and real pressure on the back of his head and Fraser is much louder now. Shameless, out of control *out of control* and just those three words are all it takes to push him to the edge and over in a hot blushing sticky rush over his hand and belly, spattered on the floor before his knees.

Before he can think he brings his messy hand up, slides off with a wet pop, and slicks up Fraser's cock with a mixture of their juices.

"Ray, *please*."

And the desperation there sends another lash of feeling to his over-sensitized cock. He has to taste themselves right *now*. And so he braces Fraser again with one slick hand, feeling all that frustrated heat pulse against the soft of Ray's palm, needing to touch and rub and lick and lick and Ray leans down and takes Fraser's cock like a summer treat, using the flat of his tongue to rasp it clean.

Just a few more strokes and Fraser's entire body stiffens to attention. Ray back away just in time as Fraser loses it all over his hands, one spurt hitting him on the neck.

//Fraser you just came all over me.//

And the only thought that's spoken aloud is a shuddering gasp, and he's not sure which of them did it.

He takes a moment to breathe, revel in the feel of Fraser's come on him. Nuzzle the warm-but- still-denimed length of the other man's thighs.

"Fraser."

"Yes."

"Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to see you, Ray..."

Above him he can hear Fraser shifting, physically trying to pull himself back to order after Ray's unexpected question.

And Ray himself doesn't have the foggiest clue as to what he *wants* Fraser's answer to be and so he just crawls up and plants one on kiss-swollen lips.

Red. And the dim ache Ray feels tells him that his own mouth has seen leaner times. Already, he wishes he was just that slightest bit more raw.

"Fraser, will you stay?"

And that hand is on his jaw, tilting it up. Hesitant motion, almost until they are eye-to-eye again. Fraser searches Ray's eyes with a sort a relentless care that he knows will make him feel a little colder later. There is no part of Ray's mind that will allow him to think that... care is for anyone but him.

Much too fast. "Frase... you don't have to --"

And Fraser pulls him closer and his lips tremble for a heartbeat on the edge of saying something and then Ray's being kissed. Slowly, gently, ruthlessly until he's breathless and, for all intents and purposes, paralyzed on Fraser's lap.

Fraser's hand is already at the base of his spine, working at the spots that want to ache from the awkward positioning.

Another kiss. "I have to. I have to stay here, Ray. Is that all right?" Low perfect whisper in his ear, flurry of soft brushkisses against the shell of it.

And all Ray can do is nod and hold on.

End.

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