Disclaimer: They're not mine, and the only profit I derive from this is satisfaction.

Author's Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIRA!!! May you have many, many happy returns.
Also, many thanks to Brooklinegirl, for the beta, and for the tireless cheerleading, and for not making too much of an issue over the thing with the parentheses. Man, I ::heart:: you.

Story Notes: WARNING: Contains scenes of a heterosexual *and* homosexual nature.

When Fraser showed up at Ray's apartment, hat in hand, to make the most embarrassing of requests, he thought he had hit upon the perfect plan to discover once and for all exactly where Ray's interests lay. However, Ray hemmed and hawwed and looked Fraser right in the eye and lied to him -- lied, even in the face of Fraser's overt humiliation -- when he claimed he'd just recently gotten rid of every pornographic videotape he'd ever owned.

A bit desperately (and a touch testily), Fraser asked if Ray could at least recommend one or two videos, hoping he could at least suss out a few clues to Ray's likes and dislikes by the material he considered worthy of endorsement. But Ray -- whose tomato-red face was probably matched by Fraser's own flushing skin -- asserted that he couldn't remember a single title and that, actually, he had an urgent thing to go to, right now, in fact he was already late, so see you later Fraser (and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out).

Damn.

Stymied once more, Fraser returned to the Consulate. He walked Dief and then attempted to distract himself with a book, but leftover adrenaline and bitterness on top of low-level arousal caused his concentration to wander. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job and decided to turn in early.

Knowing the frustration that probably lay ahead of him once again, he took his time cleaning his teeth and tending to his boots and accoutrements. All too soon, though, he had no further tasks remaining, and faced his empty cot with trepidation. Even Diefenbaker dreaded bedtime these days, it appeared, and had made himself scarce.

Fraser got into bed and tried to relax, but sure enough, in next to no time he was tossing and turning, unable to settle. Insomnia was one thing -- he'd contended with it before -- but not since adolescence had he been repeatedly kept awake by fleeting erotic images alternating with overwhelming guilt.

He'd already done the practical thing and attempted to assuage his lust, in order to relax himself, but recently he hadn't been able to do so much as touch himself perfunctorily without picturing his partner. He even attempted to throw aside his reservations and fantasize about Ray properly, but that didn't work out very well.

Not quite able to maintain the fiction of Ray touching him, wanting him, without his very real knowledge of his partner's personality creeping in and ruining things, Fraser had hit upon the happy solution of picturing Ray with another bedmate as an inspirational image. At first, it had worked beautifully -- he was an unseen observer, mentally watching Ray copulate with some vague woman -- and his ardor would swiftly reach an almost unbearable peak. But he was unable to escape the knowledge that, even in the confines of his own mind, he was spying in a way that would constitute the grossest breach of trust. His fantasy always came to a grinding halt as he ran up against his own moral objections to such behavior, leaving him painfully hard as well as painfully ashamed.

Fraser could not get thoughts of Ray out of his mind, though -- so, tonight, he set about constructing various far-fetched scenarios in which he was allowed to watch, encouraged to do so; a sidelined participant, but a participant nonetheless.

Finally settling on the somewhat demeaning fiction of being encouraged to watch Ray and his companion for instructional purposes, Fraser swiftly brought himself to shuddering completion. He wiped his hand on the corner of the sheet, rolled over, and promptly fell into the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

& & &

Thank goodness Ray was his normal, affectionately abrasive self at work the next day. When he flashed Fraser a wicked grin, Fraser may have become temporarily lost in images from his imaginings the night before ... but, as Ray's smile normally rendered him breathless, he was fairly confident that his behavior hadn't undergone any deviations worthy of note.

& & &

Fraser soon found that -- while his new fantasy was indeed effective, even after multiple repetitions -- rather than being satisfied and able to concentrate on other things in between interludes, he was left circling back to thoughts of Ray -- thoughts of sex -- thoughts of Ray having sex with increasing frequency.

So, although the basic premise was working, perhaps some alterations were in order. It was altogether possible that he would derive greater satisfaction from a more fully-realized scenario. First, he decided on a specific setting: Ray's bedroom. Then he wondered what other elements he could add.

Based on his observations (Stella, Luanne, the woman who wrote bad checks) Ray liked blondes, alas. Fraser himself was partial to dark hair. A compromise was necessary -- perhaps a redhead? (In fact, Fraser had been a redhead once, and maybe even -- no. No.) Keep this in the realm of implausible plausibility. Verisimilitude was of the essence, if this were to be satisfying.

So, a redhead.

Fraser had no trouble at all picturing Ray's attentions to his red-haired woman. The titian waves of her hair framed her milky skin and rosy nipples, and the contrast against Ray's golden coloration was, indeed, most satisfactory to observe as Ray stroked her, and kissed her, and thrust into her and teased her, holding off until she was panting with want, and then rubbed her vigorously with his long fingers, until she pushed down into his hand and clutched his shoulders, shouting, "yes!" as he pulled out and ejaculated onto her stomach with a groan.

Pleased with this new level of detail, Fraser cleaned himself off with the flannel he'd taken to leaving by his bedside, and sank into his now-customary deep sleep.

& & &

Fraser cautiously inquired after Ray's weekend plans, and Ray snapped at him over their Chinese food. He apologized later, though. "I know you weren't yanking my chain, earlier. No, I don't have a date. Um. Wanna come over, maybe watch the game on Sunday?"

Fraser did.

And if he took extra note of his surroundings while he was there, mining for details to incorporate in his ongoing mental movie, well. He certainly wasn't harming anyone.

& & &

Fraser's flights of fancy rapidly took on a life of their own. Soon, his imagined role changed to that of an active participant, straddling the line between wide-eyed new initiate and sexual adversary. No longer content to be a mere observer, he cast himself in the role of a welcome third party, explaining away it to himself by imagining his presence and participation were strictly at the woman's behest.

In his musings, Ray always went first. The opportunity to watch Ray as a sexual creature was the point of these ... mental exercises, after all. And perhaps Ray would be a little bit annoyed at his bedmate's request for a second male, and perhaps he would make an extra effort to satisfy her, demonstrating his skill and passion so that she would remember him with admiration, and maybe even so that Fraser himself would be impressed.

And after Ray was done, she would be breathless and recovering. (But although she was sated, Ray was not, and Ray would stalk over to him, and -- no. No.)

And after she recovered, Fraser would take Ray's place, on Ray's bed, atop Ray's girl, and tongue her breasts and sink into warm soft wetness as Ray watched him, in turn. And Fraser would bite his lip and say no names at all when he came.

& & &

Ray called him, unexpectedly, on Thursday night. Fraser was already wearing nothing but his union suit and socks, prepared for yet another early evening of pleasure and sleep.

Ray wanted to know if Fraser would like to "grab a pizza, check out a late movie, maybe," and it was only after he said no that Fraser realized Ray would be disappointed by his answer. To make up for his rudeness, but without wanting to be obvious about it, Fraser coaxed Ray into deeper conversation instead.

It was only when he'd hopelessly lost the thread of Ray's narrative that Fraser realized he'd begun stroking himself while listening to Ray's unique cadence, using Ray without his knowledge or consent. Fraser was rigid with excitement, practically on the verge of coming -- how had he not noticed? -- and frantically cut the conversation, the one he'd insisted on starting, abruptly short. He hung up and crawled into bed, draping his arm over his eyes and naming himself ten kinds of fool.

His erection didn't care about that, though, so slowly, reluctantly, he returned to The Fantasy, as he'd come to think of it. The damage had already been done, after all -- and this way, at least, he might get some sleep.

He awoke feeling restless and guilty, and, later, managed to persuade Inspector Thatcher that she needed him at the Consulate all day. Hopefully Ray would have forgotten their erratic conversation by Monday.

& & &

Ray seemed hesitant on Monday morning, and uncharacteristically unsure of himself. By the time they'd hunted down and interviewed their second witness of the afternoon, though, he was simmering with his customary energy. Later, Fraser caught himself smiling fatuously at his partner, but when Ray noticed, he just winked back and continued questioning witness number three.

Fraser decided he would simply have to be more cautious in future, and thanked the universe at large that all was back to normal, no explanations necessary.

& & &

Fraser's newfound resolution to stick to firm boundaries got him through the next few days. But he couldn't help allowing the proceedings in The Fantasy began to develop into something more (and more awkward to remember, afterwards).

Fraser found himself lingering over his imaginings of Ray in action, as he watched him plunge into the redhead -- the push of Ray's hips and flex of his buttocks and thigh muscles, viewed from behind, were very inspiring. Not to mention the tender skin hidden in the crease of his buttocks, winking in and out of sight as he pistoned in and out of the girl.

Even in his imagination, Fraser was hard pressed not to move forward and touch Ray's exposed flesh with his hands and lips and tongue. In fact, watching Ray reach the cusp of ecstasy, Fraser was hard pressed not to cut things short and climax in reality when the Ray in his fantasy did.

But Fraser would delay, if at all possible, so that he could watch Ray reach orgasm inside of her, face going slack with overwhelming sensation as the woman shuddered and bucked around him.

So. Ray would perform, and perform very well, then beckon to him and -- this being a fantasy and in no way connected to reality, so Fraser arranged the details as they would be most pleasing to him -- Fraser would slide into her, still slick with Ray's ejaculate.

The thought of his excited him so much that, even in his mind, he slid in less politely, more abruptly, than he normally would -- and the woman (their woman) reacted extremely favorably to his abrupt entry. So he continued roughly, at a furious pace, as she moaned and writhed beneath him, breasts bouncing enticingly.

He would fuck her -- in this moment, he would be unrelenting, overpowering -- he would show Ray -- and he could admit, to himself, that he was competitive. So he would exert himself, he would display great skill, he would acquit himself well, all in front of Ray's eyes. Ray, he was certain, would be impressed. (In fact, Ray might find him so impressive that he might even be inclined to wonder -- no. No.)

But Ray would be watching, prick in hand -- or perhaps not. Although the "skin flicks" that Ray had once denied owning obviously had male participants as well, so maybe.... Well. It would be best for Ray to be fascinated, and seemingly unaware of his own renewing excitement, although it would become unmistakably apparent to Fraser as he was being watched in awe.

And -- oh god, yes, Ray was touching himself.

Fraser forgot completely what he was supposed to be proving on the woman beneath him, and ejaculated all over his unbuttoned union suit as his mind's eye watched Ray using the sight of Fraser, and the redhead crying out at his prowess, as his own personal pornographic show.

& & &

Ray grabbed his arm and neatly stopped him from walking into a cement pillar.

"Fraser, you all right?"

Fraser assured Ray that he was fine, just fine.

"Only -- you've been acting a little weird lately. Weirder than usual, I mean."

Fraser vehemently disclaimed any knowledge whatsoever of whatever nonsense Ray was talking about, and his pulse finally ceased its panicked racing by the time they got back from lunch.

& & &

Fraser knew that perhaps he was developing an unhealthy obsession with what had become his nightly routine. However, the knowledge that Ray and their red-haired beauty awaited him made the pull of his fantasy life impossible to resist.

As actor, director, and co-star, he decided to exercise his creative control a little more. Actual threesomes weren't so unusual in American sexual culture, after all, from what he could tell from his research into the pornographic materials available via mail order. And Ray was -- Ray was not shy; Fraser could imagine Ray trying something like this, and so. Try this he would.

How best to position everyone? Ah, yes. Fraser closed his eyes and considered.

Ray would lie flat on his back, knees draped over the foot of his bed, feet on the floor. He would be hard already, hard and wanting, and he would stroke himself slowly, splayed out on the bed, knowing full well that he was on display. He would grip the base of his cock, then, and tilt it up, holding it in position. She would come over and straddle him, sinking down onto him slowly, and Ray would help support her with his grasp on her arms. Ray could use the leverage of his feet on the floor to brace himself and push up into her, and the two would begin to move sinuously against one another.

That would be Fraser's cue to step forward and join in. They would pause, suspended, as he prepared her carefully, easing his slick fingers into her proffered opening. Ray would be holding onto her hips, staring up at Fraser with hooded eyes, and Fraser would lock gazes with him as he pushed into her from behind.

He had to break their unspoken communication to rest his forehead on the back of her neck, though, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair, once he was all the way inside. He could feel Ray, here, inside of her, the long hard shape of him an added pressure to push up against.

Once he'd recollected himself, he was able to move -- he slid in and out of her slowly as he and Ray aided her in a languorous up-and-down movement, matching their offset rhythms perfectly. The grip of her body around him was extra-tight, and the motion, the steady force, of Ray's cock on the opposite side of her internal walls added an incredible amount of sensation and intimacy.

Fraser was staring into Ray's eyes, sensual and ecstatic beneath him -- and Ray was close, so close, surging upwards, face twisted, visibly fighting for control, and Fraser, too, was close, close, close -- and then, with a gut-wrenching, deliberate last push and slide against one another, inside of her hot wet body, they were there.

& & &

Ray tossed small hunks of his roll to a curious squirrel as they sat on a park bench, eating their sandwiches.

"So, Fraser, what about you -- you got a hot date this weekend I can tease you about?"

Fraser turned to answer Ray, and only then did he realize that Ray hadn't so much as looked up at him as he asked his question. Oh, dear. He must have been acting differently after all, and obviously Ray had misinterpreted Fraser's distance and silence as decreased interest in him, instead of rather too much.

Fraser sighed. He explained that, no, the only rendezvous he had planned was with the new exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Art -- a supplementing of their already impressive Monet collection was, truly, a cultural event not to be missed. Purely reflexively, he asked Ray if he'd care to accompany him. He was rather distracted when he asked, so perhaps he could be forgiven for being so shocked when Ray said, "yes."

Fraser just gaped at him, wondering if he was supposed to believe that Ray had suddenly developed an interest in the Impressionist movement. Not knowing what else to do, he thanked Ray awkwardly and they arranged for Ray to pick him up at the Consulate the next morning.

& & &

Fraser bought himself some time by hmmm-ing and rocking back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. Dear lord, was Ray actually asking him questions about the nudes? He finally opened his mouth to reply, completely at a loss as to what he was going to actually say, but Ray dropped his eyes with a muttered, "nevermind," and moved into the next room.

In fact, although Fraser knew he'd been a little distant of late, he was earnestly trying to make an effort to be companionable today. But now it was Ray who seemed odd and incomprehensible, and Fraser didn't know how he was supposed to act. He settled for following Ray's unmistakably recognizable sportjacket toward the main exhibit.

When they arrived at the room housing the special collection, they stayed a long time. Ray even put on his glasses. And he would stand half-beside, half-behind Fraser, apparently getting lost in each painting, as his breath brushed Fraser's ear and his body warmth made Fraser's other side feel chilled. Fraser just stood and kept his face blank, trying not to move.

When they left, Fraser had no idea what paintings they'd seen.

Prickling with sweat, he practically slammed the Consulate door behind him and leaned back against it. He took a few heaving breaths of air and hurried to his room. He skipped his ablutions entirely and was still half-dressed and vertical as he started to masturbate, no fantasy necessary at all.

Good christ, how was he supposed to bear this?

& & &

Later that night, he awoke, uncomfortable in his street clothes. He washed up and changed, a stray touch sending him back into his now near-constant state of arousal. This was truly ridiculous. He was a long way from seventeen, after all, and after his hurried self-relief earlier, his body shouldn't even be considering doing this to him again so soon.

Fraser sat on the edge of his cot and pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. *Fine, then,* he thought viciously, and impatiently started undoing the tiny buttons running down his front. His body demanded The Fantasy? He lay down and jammed the pillow under his head. Then The Fantasy his body would get.

He closed his eyes and his frustrated anger dimmed a bit as he conjured up the now-familiar surroundings of Ray's bedroom.

A shadowed figure appeared in the doorway. "She couldn't make it," the Ray of his fantasy told him, stalking over to Fraser's position on the bed. "But it'd be a shame to let all our plans go to waste, wouldn't it?"

Mouth dry, Fraser nodded wordlessly. Ray crawled onto the mattress and hovered over him, cupping Fraser's cheek with one hand. The light in his eyes -- the sheer want -- was something Fraser would have doubted his ability to imagine, had he dared to do so before. Back at the Consulate, his heart may have been breaking, but here in his mind, Ray dropped his head and took Fraser's mouth, and Fraser was overjoyed to be well and truly caught.

Their bodies brushed against each other, accidentally at first, then with conscious purpose. And it was this modest scenario -- simply kissing and rubbing off against one other in Ray's quiet bedroom -- that shattered Fraser's fantasy once and for all as he came.

& & &

It was back to restless nights for Fraser, only this time he felt like he knew exactly what he was missing. It was much as if he'd actually just gone through the ending of a relationship.

He wasn't sleeping well, and Ray was not the only one to notice his shadowed complexion and sluggish demeanor.

The last time Ray asked him if something was wrong, he was too weary to come up with a plausible denial. So here he was, on Ray's couch, forcibly propped in front of the television, staring over the empty pizza box on the coffee table.

During a commercial break -- at least, he thought it was -- Ray's hand landed heavily on his shoulder and tugged gently at him.

"Hey, Fraser," he said. "It's time you told me what's going on, I think."

Of course, Ray, Fraser thought, Certainly. I didn't like being friends with you, anyway.

What he actually said, though, was something more along the lines of bemoaning the frustration of wanting things you can't have. He thought that was probably oblique enough, while still being entirely comprehensible to Ray, of all people.

But Ray said, "Oh," and then, "Oh," and Fraser was fairly certain he'd just given away a lot more than he'd meant. He was reluctant to look at Ray's face for confirmation.

Ray -- insistent and intrusive as ever -- was having none of that. He slid his fingers under Fraser's jaw and slowly, shakily tipped his head upward, until their gazes locked.

Fraser tried to name the expression on Ray's face. Although it was not one he was accustomed to seeing, it was not entirely unfamiliar, and -- wait, he recognized this Ray; this was the heavy-lidded, hot-eyed Ray of his bedroom.

Without further thought, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ray's. Ray startled, but quickly started kissing him back, and they were tasting each other, joined wetly at the mouth. When Fraser's hands skidded up Ray's side, dragging Ray's shirt up beneath his palm, Ray laughed into Fraser's mouth and pulled back.

"Not that I'm complaining, mind -- but Fraser, what the heck has gotten into you?" Ray asked.

"What can I say, Ray? You give me ideas." And he circled Ray's wrists and pressed him back against the cushions, savoring his mouth once again.

Later -- much later -- Fraser was happy to note that the bedroom looked brighter than he remembered it.

End Musings by lynnmonster: lynnmonster@lycos.com

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