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Author's Notes:

Story Notes:

Renfield hadn't meant to watch-- he'd just been on his way down to the Consulate kitchen for a nice glass of warm milk-- but he'd heard something from the front parlor where Detective Vecchio-- Ray-- was sleeping. Worried by the sound of the moan (after all, the man had been arrested for murder this morning), he'd opened the parlor door the barest of cracks. In the pale reflected glow of streetlights, he saw that Ray was-- oh my. Breath catching in his throat, Ren watched, enthralled.

Ray dropped his head back, eyes closed, skin almost shining in the moonlight. His lip was bruised, as if he'd been chewing on it. He was grunting quietly, one hand stroking his cock hard, almost pulling it roughly, while his other hand moved down, cupping his balls with long fingers. He was close-- that much was obvious by the flushed skin and the sweat beading along his forehead.

Ren tried to be as quiet as possible, but when Ray brought his left hand up and licked it-- brief glimpse of tongue flickering between his fingers-- he must have made some sort of sound, must have moaned, because Ray jerked his head up suddenly, yanking a blanket over his erection and calling out, quietly, "Someone there? Frase?"

Ren stepped out from the doorway, blushing darkly. "I'm so sorry, Detective Vecchio, it was unforgivably rude for me to watch you. I should have closed the door immediately, please accept my sincere apologies..." He trailed off uncertainly.

Ray grinned, his smile slow as molasses, sharp as glass. "So you've been watching?" At Turnbull's jerky nod, Ray settled back in the chair. "Shut the door, Turnbull."

"Y-- yes, Detective Vecchio." Turnbull turned, stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Ray sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Turnbull!" he barked. A moment later, Turnbull stuck his head back in the room. "I meant, come in and shut the door. You know, you can watch, if you want." His eyes were dark as he watched Turnbull.

Ren gulped. "I can?" he squeaked, and then cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Well, if you're sure it's not too much of an imposition..." Ray crooked a finger, smiling wickedly. Ren hurried over to the other high-backed chair and perched on it stiffly, trying not to stare too obviously at the inviting way that the detective sprawled across his armchair. Clenching his fingers in the scratchy material of the upholstery, Ren tried to keep his rebellious hands under control. After all, Ray had said he could watch, not that he could kneel in front of the detective and lick the shiny, swollen head of his... oh dear. Ren grabbed the armchair harder.

Ray flipped the blanket away and slouched lower, wrapping his hand around his cock once again. His hand moved slow, watching Turnbull under his lashes. It was erotic, performing for someone, making him arch higher, want to show off. He flicked his wrist and his back arched, his eyes closing as a low moan escaped swollen lips. "God," he murmured, trembling. He was close, but he wanted to draw it out, wanted Turnbull to touch him, to taste him.

Ren whimpered. Surely, if he just-- got a little closer-- that would be acceptable? Ray had said he could watch, after all, and if he got a little closer, he could see better. Just a little closer... Ren knelt in front of Ray, hands clasped tightly behind his back, leaning forward and watching as Ray casually slung a leg over the arm of the chair, once again licking his left hand thoroughly and then sending that hand down-- below his balls-- "Oh god," Ren moaned, feeling faint with desire.

Ray groaned again, shaking as he brushed his finger along his entrance. "Touch me," he whispered, opening his eyes to Turnbull. "It's okay, you can touch me. Please..." He was begging, arching toward Turnbull, needing that touch. He whimpered, stroking harder. "Anywhere, just... god, just touch me."

Feeling as if he were moving in slow motion, Ren leaned forward and stroked his hands up Ray's legs, from the knees to the inner thighs to the hot, heavy, furry sacs.

At his touch, Ray moaned, panting, his balls tightening. A thick trickle of pre-cum slid down the swollen head of his cock.

The sight made Ren lose all self-control. Surging forward, he slid his mouth over the head of Ray's penis, drawing it into his mouth, sliding down the shaft and moaning around it.

Ray gasped, threading his fingers through Turnbull's hair, tugging him closer down. "Oh, oh god, feel so good," he purred, his hips thrusting, his cock sliding through wet heat. "So. So fucking incredible." He bit his bottom lip, trying to hold in the moans, not wanting to make too much noise in the Consulate. "Please, god, please--" His body was tight, shaking as he approached orgasm.

Almost without thought, Ren slid a questing finger down into the damp heat below Ray's balls, seeking and finding the tight, slick opening, and pressed a finger in just as he swallowed hard around the head of Ray's cock. Ray bucked, yelling, and flooded Ren's mouth.

In the aftermath, Ray was boneless, blissful, smiling sweetly at Turnbull. "That was... Jesus, Ren, that was so fucking good." He leaned forward, kissing Turnbull slow, chasing his taste inside that wicked mouth. "So fucking good," he purred against Turnbull's lips.

Ren moaned agreement. Panting, he laid his head down on Ray's thigh.

Ray carded his hand through Turnbull's thick hair. "You, um, you need a hand?" he asked.

Ren shook his head. "No, thank you kindly. I achieved orgasm, erm," he blushed again, "on my own, so to speak."

The two men cuddled in post-coital bliss, never hearing the quiet 'click' of the parlor door closing. Fraser sagged against the corridor wall, breathing heavily, and pulled out a handkerchief to get himself cleaned up. So that's what the odd noises coming from the parlor had been...

End Parlor Games by Alex SisterWolf and Alicia Malone: sharedbrain@badb.net

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