Title: Genuine Extract Only Characters: Turnbull/RayK Rating: NC-17 Beta: Shrewreader Author's notes: Happy birthday Miriel! I wish I'd known when your b-day was sooner! Summary: Ray learns that sometimes imitation just doesn't cut it.

Renfield Turnbull was easy.

Ray decided this for two very important reasons. One: Turnbull was currently half-naked stretched crosswise Ray's couch, long legs hanging off. Two: they hadn't even gone on a first date.

Ray had only meant to share some beers and watch some curling as way of apology. He hadn't known Turnbull was allergic to imitation vanilla when he'd shared those brownies with him. Still, Ray had felt responsible. Actually, he felt like shit.

Somehow, beers and curling shifted into a discussion of pet turtles. Turnbull it seemed had recently acquired one, a baby he'd rescued from a gutter. Then Ray shifted closer to Turnbull to snag some pictures of Tennessee. Turnbull had slid a hand down Ray's denim clad thigh.

They'd kissed, but Ren had started the kiss. Ray's fingers slipped under the hem of Turnbull's shirt. They broke the kiss so Ray could pull the shirt over Turnbull's head.

Ray straddled Turnbull's hips and started rocking against him. Even through the layers of cloth, it felt ungodly good to Ray. Two pairs of jeans and one pair of underwear because Ray had to be the only one going commando. The image of Turnbull leaned against a wall with his jeans riding low and nothing else on filled Ray's mind. He had to bite back a groan.

Turnbull seemed to think it was hot, too, as he arched his neck and groaned. Large, rough hands slid down the bare skin of Ray's back to his ass. Ray could feel the gun calluses on Turnbull's fingers and an odd rough spot on his palms. Turnbull groaned as he tried to speed up the rhythm.

Ray braced his hands on either side of Turnbull's chest and closed his eyes. He tried to get control of himself. This had happened to fast, way to fast. Ray closed his eyes against the sensations.

"Please." The word was a bare whisper out of Turnbull's mouth. To Ray his voice sounded rougher in the darkness.

Ray didn't want Turnbull to beg him. In fact, he would be very happy if Turnbull didn't talk at all. Ray had a sick feeling in his stomach that Turnbull might call him Detective Vecchio if he talked.

Making out on Ray's couch was the kind of thing that Ray thought should have happened with Fraser. It shouldn't have happened with the clumsy, annoying, spare Mountie. Who would want to make out with a guy that cleaned for fun? Ray almost fell off the couch at that thought, because he did want to make out with Turnbull. The guy was weird but he got Ray. Not even Fraser got Ray completely.

Turnbull pulled Ray back across his body. Ray steadied himself over Turnbull's chest. Turnbull's teeth scrapped Ray's throat.

"Ray, please." Turnbull sounded hoarse, as if he'd been yelling over an icy wind for hours.

Hearing his name startled Ray. He opened his eyes to see Turnbull staring up at him. Turnbull looked young and ...scared. Turnbull looked scared. Turnbull looked like a man that didn't often find himself half-naked under a man he hardly knew.

Tenderness seared Ray as he gazed at the earnest face of the younger man. This was good. This was okay.

"It's okay." Ray told Turnbull softly. He leaned down and kissed Turnbull thoroughly. Ray's tongue explored every cranny of Turnbull's mouth. After a moment, Turnbull's tongue returned the favor.

Turnbull tugged at Ray's hips and he let Turnbull set the pace as they rocked and thrust against each other. They broke the kiss, both of them gasping for air. When Turnbull arched his head back, Ray dragged his teeth up the jugular. The groan Turnbull made sent a shudder through Ray.

Turnbull thrust up desperately a few more times, before his thumbs hooked into Ray's waistband. "Off." Turnbull said, before his tongue slid into and out of Ray's mouth again. Ray wanted those swollen lips on his again. "Please take them off."

Ray sucked on Turnbull's tongue and rocked harder. Turnbull's mouth tasted like chocolate with a hint of vanilla. Ray figured it was from the disastrous brownies. He could feel Turnbull's rhythm falter as they both raced towards orgasm.

"Please." Turnbull broke the kiss to plead. He tugged at Ray's jeans again. Then Turnbull's hands slid inside the jeans and down over Ray's ass. Turnbull's eyes widened as his hands encountered bare skin. His hips jerked up against Ray's hips.

With a groan, Ray arched back into Turnbull's hands. Turnbull's long fingers slid down and it felt so good. Ray hadn't expected rough fingertips or to like those rough fingertips brushing across the crevice. He hadn't expected to want them lower and inside of him. Ray wanted Turnbull there and that thought almost undid him.

"I want...I need," The couch creaked under Turnbull as he ground himself up and into Ray.

Ray watched, more and more turned on, as Turnbull rocked and twisted and writhed and his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. "Just let go, baby," he whispered. The word came out and Ray couldn't call it back. The rightness and wrongness of calling the younger man `baby' twisted his gut.

Ray slipped his hand between their bodies and popped the snap on Turnbull's jeans. Ray blinked and stared down for a moment. A snap?

Turnbull blushed and worried his bottom lip. "I kept breaking the button."

Ray smiled and nuzzled Turnbull's throat affectionately. He found the zipper of Turnbull's jeans and dragged it down.

For that moment, the only sound in the apartment was Turnbull's ragged breathing and metallic drag of the zipper. The leather couch moaned in protest as Ray shifted over Turnbull. When he encountered starched cotton, Ray grinned wryly. "Mountie code to starch boxers?"

Turnbull opened his mouth to answer, but it was lost on a low cry. Ray tugged down the boxer waistband to free Turnbull's cock. He wrapped his hand around Turnbull's cock as if he owned it.

Turnbull shuddered under Ray, eyes closed and head slung back. "Ray--I---I," Turnbull bit his lip again.

Ray stroked his thumb over the head of Turnbull's cock, slowly, teasing. No, not Turnbull, this was Ren. The reaction to Ray's strokes was instant. Ren's back arched and his hips bucked. "Come for me, Ren." His voice sounded as if he'd smoked at pack of cigarettes.

Ren's hands slid from inside Ray's pants. The young Mountie whimpered and his arms wrapped tightly around Ray's middle. Ren's still booted foot slid across the floor as Ray captured his mouth again. A few jerky thrusts into Ray's hand and Ren tore away from the kiss. Ren turned his head to the side towards the back of the couch, and then came in his jeans with a choked gasp.

Ray waited until Ren's shudders calmed and the younger man practically collapsed under him. Ray unwrapped his hand from Ren's cock and braced his hands on either side of Ren.

Ren's hands stroked Ray's back as his tongue teased the delicate whorl of Ray's ear. A few quick thrusts and Ray pressed his forehead into Ren's shoulder.

Ray gasped out his own orgasm as Ren's arms wrapped tightly around him.

When Ray could think again, he became aware of Ren's fingers as they carded through his sweaty, limp hair. He smiled against Ren's shoulder but didn't move.

They were sweaty, the room had started to grow dark, and they would start to stick to their jeans soon.

Ray felt like a million fucking dollars.