Disclaimer: Shameless pirating of not only 'How Ray Got His Groove Back,' but also 'Unguarded Protectorate', both excellent stories (before I got my hands on them). Read them (heck, read everything else by Bone and Aristide, too) at hos.slashcity.com/soup.htm. 'Unguarded Protectorate' previously published in the fanzine Serge Protector. -- oh, and there was also this TV show -- (property of Alliance Atlantis).

Author's Notes: Eternal gratitude for the best slash that ever took over my dreams.

Story Notes: (-- but I hope to God they never see this.)

They were almost to Donato's, back in the hustle and bustle of evening in a neighborhood, when Ray leaned toward him and said under his breath, "You remember what you said once, about you and guys you can't have?"

Fraser glanced around him. No one was paying them the least bit of attention. "Yes," he said. His heart pounded in his throat, as if it would leap out to make its own case if it could.

Ray kept his eyes forward, his feet moving, and Fraser walked in cadence with him. Easy -- it was so very easy to do that.

"You can have me," Ray said quietly. "If you want."

Somehow, he didn't miss a beat, though his feet had left the ground. "I want," he said fervently. And still, he felt desperate to move forward, just one step further, but then Ray turned to meet his eyes, and he flashed that smile, the new one. The beautiful one. And Fraser was unable to find the words.

Heat and warmth combined inside, residual embarrassment trampled by the slowly dawning realization that they had just... well, it wasn't a romantic declaration, but then where would either of them have learned how to do that? No, it was like everything else between them -- half spoken, all felt, Ray surrendering himself into his possession, even if he hadn't really meant it that way. Not yet.

He felt a sudden surge of insane and frightening greed.

Ray bounced a little, executing a dance step on the sidewalk. "So you'll do it?" he asked.

"Do what, Ray?" Fraser said, finding it hard to concentrate when Ray... moved... like that.

"The old switcheroo," Ray said patiently, reaching out to hold open the door to the restaurant.

And quite deliberately he brushed against Ray's chest as he entered the warm spicy air.

"I will if you want."

"I want," Ray said, throwing his words back with a wicked grin.

Fraser firmly clamped down on the impulse to push Ray up against the wood paneling in the entry and give him exactly what they both wanted, and wondered what Mr. Donato would think if they ordered their manicotti to go.

~~~

In the mellow light of the hallway he looked impossibly... precise, clean and calm and orderly, and Ray was swamped with the desire to get in Fraser' face, more of a compulsion, really: the urge to reach out and mess him up. He wanted to make Fraser sweat, to get him dirty, sticky him up and slick him over, move him so far past clean and calm and orderly that a barracks full of Royal Canadian spit and polish wouldn't be enough to undo the damage.

In the end, though, he didn't go with it. In the end he just held the door open, waved Fraser in, and mumbled something about needing to change his shirt.

So he went in to pull something off the still- pretty-clean pile, and it wasn't until he came back into the living room that another piece of the puzzle snicked into place in his mind, and he found himself leaning against the doorway staring at Fraser -- at Fraser's profile, actually, since Fraser was standing at parade rest in front of his living-room window, looking out; tall and correct and silent. And he knew he should say something, but right now he didn't seem to be capable of saying anything, not while his head was buzzing with all this, with everything.

The queer thing, that was it.

When he looked at Fraser now, he saw 'Fraser -- queer', and that little thought totally spun his wheels, because Fraser was just so... pure.

Queerboy. Choirboy. Calm and strong and independent, infinitely capable. Godamn perfect, and what had ever made him think that Fraser was the weak one, the needy one here. It twisted him somehow. It made him feel like there was too much, just too much he didn't know, too much that he never would have guessed. Too many surprises, and a whole bunch of almost-panic.

It was an implosion, everything caving in on itself, all at once, all of it. It was just like the first time all over again; he wanted Fraser to look at him like that again, watch him while everything showed on his face, in his body, to take him in, put a hand on him and make him come. His feet moved, and then he was in front of the window, eye-to-eye with Fraser, who had turned right to him, turned right around to face him.

Fraser looked nothing like the kind of guy who gave devastating blow-jobs and made him come in his pants with just one touch. But Fraser's eyes were wide and dark, full of that strange openness, that complete lack of fear that he that he had seen from the very beginning, and he just didn't get it. He didn't get it and he couldn't fucking do it anymore. He couldn't go to dinner and just pretend.

"Tell me." His own voice sounded much too rough, much too angry in his ears. He didn't remember reaching out but apparently he'd just gone ahead and done it, because now he had one hand hooked behind Fraser's neck, and the other burrowed under the tunic and curled tight into the waistband of Fraser's pants, pulling their bodies together. It was him grabbing Fraser this time, and he didn't mind and he didn't care. Fraser was going to have to learn to like it was all. Damn, his mouth looked soft, beautiful, fucking gorgeous mouth and he wanted to kiss it, but he didn't for some reason, maybe because Fraser was watching him, seeing his helpless desire taking him ver, and God but it felt good, like coming home. He slid his hand up the back of Fraser's neck and into that soft hair, and the curve of skull fit just right in his palm. He tugged Fraser close, close enough to almost touch.

And Fraser looked so strange, staring into his eyes that way -- hungry and satisfied all at the same time, like he was seeing something, getting something out of just looking. Here Ray was, hanging on him, and Fraser was drinking him in with his eyes.

"Tell you what, Ray?"

And then Fraser's hands came up close, traced a soft, slow line over -- of all weird places -- his throat.

His whole body shuddered hard and his heart slammed in his chest, and for a split second he was so hot, white-hot, because he'd asked for it and now by God he'd got it and it was-wasn't-was what he wanted. Everything stood still for just a second -- the room, Fraser, himself -- everything frozen, everything locked. Then he felt his face go red-hot, and just like that everything unfroze, and he could let go, he was free. Free to... what?

What was he free to do, exactly?

Thud-thump. Thud-thump.

Beat of head. Beat of heart. Familiar. The realization that he'd hit a wall, a wall with a door in it, and he could either keep throwing himself at it, or he could just turn the knob and walk right on through.

He didn't want to hear it; he wanted to... He swallowed. "What if I say it?"

He felt the vibration in his throat under Fraser's fingers.

And then it kind of caught up with him: what he'd just put at risk, but he didn't have to say any more because Fraser's tongue was already slipping over his own and Fraser's body was pressed hard against him, and then there wasn't a lot of time to think about it.

There was time to feel it, though, along with the muscle-loosening, dick-hardening, pulse-pounding reality of Fraser getting into it, taking over -- a low, distant, thundery sort of sadness, a brief wish that somehow he could have kept this one thing safe from the kind of disaster he always brought down on himself. ...But Fraser was a really, really good kisser -- kind of an 'out of this world' kisser, because Ray was having a hell of a time remembering that there was a world outside of these kisses, outside of having Fraser's mouth opening him and Fraser's hands all over him, outside of what Fraser felt like when he let himself go like this.

Then there was a moment, sharp and immediate, when he could feel Fraser's shoulders pulling away from his hands, when Fraser's hands held his face away while Fraser stared into his eyes, and Ray had to blink to focus, to see more than a soft, blurred haze of want.

"Are you saying yes, Ray?"

He felt his head bob up and down. It was funny, but he'd never been in this kind of position before, never been the one who could just relax and let things happen to him. And oh, Jesus, it scared the crap out of him but he liked it-- he liked it a lot. He licked his lips, tasted Fraser there, and his stomach knotted up for a second with the desire to have Fraser's taste, his smell, everywhere, everywhere he could reach and some places he couldn't.

"What are you saying yes to, Ray?"

Hadn't they covered that? But he was melting, needing Fraser's hands on him, Fraser's eyes on him, that dark-eyed look that was so much more than he thought it was. He took a deep breath, a Fraserless breath that felt cold inside him, and laid it all on the line.

"Everything."

And maybe Fraser had needed to hear that, because Fraser just took over, stripping him out of his clothes, kissing all the bare places as they were exposed. And he just let it happen, let everything -- fear, and regret, and tense, maddening lust -- just roll over and through him, let it shake him, take him, pull him wide open.

Some of it was weird -- deeply, terribly weird. Like being down on the floor all of a sudden, naked as a jaybird and straddling Fraser's lap -- Fraser's fully clothed lap -- and being held. Like being held in a way that made him press his face down into Fraser's scratchy, uniformed shoulder -- because Fraser's strong arms and solid body felt so fucking good that it made his eyes sting, and he had no idea how Fraser could have known that he needed to be held like that when he hadn't known himself, but Fraser knew, and so Fraser held him and didn't make a big deal out of it, but it was a big deal, it was.

Made him wonder what else Fraser'd known all along.

When Fraser finally pulled back from him, left him weak and lying in a helpless puddle and started getting out of that damned itchy wool, he just watched Fraser strip efficiently out of the uniform -- and felt the way his heartbeat was shaking him, even like this, laid out flat on the floor.

But before he could decide what to feel, Fraser was on him and doing things to him again, both of them naked this time so there was a lot more Fraser to feel, now, a whole lot of it, all smooth and warm, like his mouth; he was like his mouth all over his body, and the world went away again, flamed away on tongues and rough fingers and the fire of his hard, desperate cock until he was kneeling up with Fraser right behind him, shaking in Fraser's arms like something was wrong, really wrong with him... But there couldn't be anything wrong, because Fraser had him tight and solid, and Fraser had fingers pressing inside him now (inside! God!), and he couldn't stop rocking back, shocking himself with it, and he could hear his own voice, low and rough, saying over and over that this was good, this was good, this was just so fucking good.

"Easy, Ray. It's all right." He heard that from far away, and then Fraser tilted him, shifted him forward so he went, went down, went forward and put his hot face down on the scratchy, but significantly cooler carpet, because he trusted Fraser. And he stayed where Fraser put him and then he waited, thinking to himself that he was being very patient, for someone who was about ten strokes past crazy.

Even though he was shaking he felt calm until one big hand gripped his hip and he felt a snub, slick touch right where he was hungriest -- not fingers, no way was that fingers -- and the truth of what this was and who was with him sank home all in one hot, spasming second and then, before he could blink, or protest, or take a second even to figure out what that incredible rush meant, he was coming hot and wet all over his own chest and rocking and groaning loud enough to make his own ears hurt.

And of course he expected Fraser to stop, then, to back off a little and let him pull himself together, but instead Fraser nudged at him, pushed, and he felt himself flex and then Fraser just stroked right into him, right in deep, and his entire body went rigid and there was pain and he was still coming, shaking, gasping -- God! -- taking it, taking everything Fraser had to give, utterly unable -- finally, finally -- to hold anything back.

He came down slowly, relaxing one muscle at a time into a body that was already full beyond bearing. Full of pleasure, full of Fraser -- and that still seemed unbelievable, absolutely unreal, but all he had to do was tighten down to know that, yes, that was Fraser back there, that was Fraser in him, around him, everywhere.

"Perfect," Fraser breathed in his ear, stroking him -- such a strong, sure touch -- stroking down his wet chest, his belly, stroking up his thighs, holding him, touching him, in every way he could be touched. "You're perfect, so perfect --" and he was so entranced by that, by the fact that Fraser could actually say that, that he barely noticed when Fraser started to move again until they were already there, in rhythm, back and forth and in and out and deep and slow and...

...And this was a lot more than he'd bargained for. This went so far past what he'd bargained for that he couldn't even see there from here. After all this time of not getting it, of not understanding what Fraser wanted, now he was starting to get it. A truth communicated to him through touch, through patience, through steady, smooth, stroke after stroke of slow pleasure.

And that changed everything. He let himself go under, gave himself up to sound and smell and the lapping ripples of sweet, unbearable sensation that spread, wider and deeper, softening him, guiding, opening him from the inside out, straight from Fraser's center to his own. A mainline.

He felt Fraser push deep inside him, felt each stroke connect directly to his dick, pumping it up, tingling sensation, until he pushed back, thrust forward, learning the motion, absorbing it, absorbing Fraser, dizzy from trying to sort out one sensation from another.

Sweat. His chest, wet with it, with come, smeared by Fraser's fingers. He heard his name, lost among moans. Heard himself fight for breath.

He pushed hard into air until he felt Fraser's hand there, as smooth and warm as the rest of him, a strong hold, and he had to open his eyes, had to see. Looked down and saw an old scar on Fraser's knuckle, barely visible in the dim light. Something wild and lionhearted thundered against him when he pushed back, teeth rasped on the nape of his neck, and he felt obedient blood rising to the surface. Blood rising, slowly but surely; a ripening and heavy-wet smell of desire. An upside-down world, the long reach of view down his own body, Fraser's pale, strong hand on his hard wet cock, raw and shocking.

When the deliberate rhythm stuttered apart he gasped, caught on a spike of excitement, skittering along like a kicked pebble across the surface of his own lust. Catching up. Reaching back for a handful of hot, smooth-skinned muscle, the flex and rock and ragged, shallow pounding of need.

Low hunger in his belly, a thigh-clenching, cock-throbbing, tight and urgent greed for this, fucking Fraser's hand and taking everything he wanted, pulling Fraser to him and demanding -- do it, let it go, let me have it -- and then he was slammed forward so hard he almost went down flat. Fraser's arm curled up under his shoulder and pulled him back, pulled him into it, and Fraser made some desperate sound like an animal and shoved one last time and then Fraser was coming inside him, rigid and groaning and spasming inside him and Ray was there, right where Fraser was, twisted with pleasure and pulsing out, out; the wild, mingled sound of their voices something bright and strange and wonderful.

~~~

Ray sighed, burrowed closer to Fraser's drowsing body beside his. Felt like himself for the first time in a long time, which was strange, too, since he wasn't sure he'd ever really known who he was before. He'd missed something pretty important, missed it completely. Thank God for Fraser, who hadn't given up on him, hadn't let him throw it all away, even when he thought he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You could've said something, you know," Ray mumbled into the arm under his head.

"I thought I had," Fraser said against Ray's shoulder.

Using every ounce of energy left in his sore, sated body, Ray rolled over to face him.

"Not so much with words," Fraser continued, aligning his body to Ray's, holding him snugly against his chest. "I'm afraid words tend to desert me just when they might prove the most useful, but --"

"With what you did," Ray finished the sentence for him, and saw a grateful little smile flicker across Fraser's face.

"Yes," Fraser said quietly.

"Cuz you don't do casual relationships," Ray said.

Fraser moved against him. "That's very perceptive, Ray."

Ray snorted. "Not as much as you'd think."

Fraser raised an eyebrow at him, and Ray gave in to the temptation to trace it with his index finger.

Mouth on his, familiar, warm, like a dream of something lost - a slick, heated blur.

Ray struggled not to fall back under. Oh God. So sure of himself, Fraser was so sure of himself. For a minute, Ray felt envy rise up in him, sharp and bitter. What he wouldn't have given to be that certain of who he was, what he needed, instead of stumbling along as he had, shredded up inside, unsure about everything except the fact that nothing had been the way he wanted it.

He pulled himself back, forced himself to concentrate on what Fraser was saying.

"But I didn't think you... I didn't know if... " And for once, Fraser didn't sound perfectly sure.

Right. Well, how could Fraser know when Ray hadn't had a fucking clue? Fraser was sure of himself, no problem there -- it was Ray he didn't get. Yeah, well, join the club.

Ray rubbed his face on Fraser's damp chest. "I didn't know either, Fraser, so it's not like you missed anything."

Quiet descended, spread over them like a blanket.

"And now?" Fraser asked.

Ray raised his head, looked Fraser in the eye, whispered. "This is the part where you usually say, 'It's all right, Ray.'"

Fraser smiled. "It's all right, Ray."

"It is?" Man, that felt a lot better than his usual 'it's not'. Hell of a lot better.

"Yes."

"Okay."

So he put his head back down and closed his eyes, and let it be all right. Even as sore and tired as he was, there was something in him that said Fraser still wasn't close enough, so he reached out and got a big armful and hung on tight, and Fraser squeezed him back, and that made it even all righter.

'He felt muscles loosen up that he hadn't even realized were tense.

He wondered why he could figure out little things on a case without any trouble, but big things, like the fact that his wife didn't love him anymore, or that maybe, just possibly, his partner did, went right over his head.

Maybe it was time to stop thinking so much, maybe thinking too much was what got him tangled up in that coil in the first place, and he ought to just quit it, just feel for awhile. Open his eyes and ears and see what Fraser had to say for himself.

He moved a little, but Fraser wouldn't let him pull back, not even an inch. Fraser kept him sealed right up against his body, skin to skin.

Ray subsided. Okay, yeah, that worked, too.

Close. Protected.

God, it was sweet. So sweet, to be like this, heartbeats blended, mingled breath, inching towards sleep. He wondered if Fraser felt it, too. Then Fraser's hand moved slowly, slid from tight on his back to light on his chest, settling right over his heart, pressing there, and it felt like a kiss.

Yeah, Fraser felt it.

End