Author's Notes: Estrella30, uber-beta to the stars as well as to a few of us lesser mortals, beat this up for me like the rocking thing she is. (You enjoyed it, didn't you, you wench.) That one phrase? Not her fault: I was too attached to it for my own good.

Story Notes: My second story, written for the Seven Deadly Sins Challenge on dS_flashfic. I had an entirely different tale in mind, but it refused to be written (possibly because its informing sin was Sloth) and insisted I tell this one instead. Being as how "piss the Muse off at your peril" is the second half of my family motto, I acceded with as much grace as I could muster. (Ow.) The sin in question is Pride.

Ray's hips lift sharply against Fraser's restraining arm, and he groans deep in his throat.

"Ah, God, Ben. God. Ah, nonono--not there, please, not there, you know what that does to me..."

Licking the flesh under his tongue once more and smiling against Ray's skin as he groans again, Fraser lifts his head from the newest swollen, sensitive mark he has left on his partner--this one on the point of Ray's left hip--and considers the field of play before him. Without moving his arm from where it anchors Ray's hips, he runs his eyes along the length of Ray's body, from the long, narrow feet braced flat on the bed, toes curled desperately into the sheets, to the flushed face and restlessly tossing head. He shifts his hips away from Ray and twists his fingers experimentally where they lie, buried deep in his partner's body. Ray twitches, fingers flexing and curling like a cat's paws, and chokes off a moan. Fraser knows Ray, and he knows that reaction: his partner is fighting not to thrust himself forcefully down onto Fraser's fingers.

Fraser respects that fight. After all, Ray wants to win as much as Fraser does. Of course, Fraser's superior stamina means that Ray's pride in his staying power in this arena is sadly misplaced. But that's hardly Ray's fault, and certainly no reason to gloat. Yet.

*Breathe,* Fraser reminds himself. *In on one, out on two. Control and discipline.*

Pushing his fingers even deeper into Ray and crooking them hard, Fraser watches as Ray's back arches off the bed and his hands fist in the bedclothes. He keeps Ray on that edge for carefully measured seconds, stroking his partner's prostate and listening as Ray gasps and curses and tries not to beg. He wants so much to watch Ray like this for days, balanced at this point of sharp-edged pleasure, bent like a bow in Fraser's hands. But no, he reminds himself--that is a pleasure for another time. Tonight, such an action will defeat the purpose of the exercise in which they are engaged. Fraser has a goal to achieve, a point to make. Yes. God, yes. *Breathe. Breathe. Time for the final move.*

Fraser eases both fingers almost free of Ray's body and moves his arm away from Ray's hips. Ray draws a deep, shaky breath, and Fraser can see him struggling to pull himself back from the edge. As Ray takes in air again, Fraser abruptly adds a third finger and thrusts all three swiftly into his partner as far as he can. Ray's breath leaves him in an almost voiceless scream, and his hips surge powerfully, impaling him even more deeply on Fraser's fingers. His hands scrabble for his erection, but Fraser is there before him, the adrenaline rushing through his veins giving him just enough control to consciously relax his throat as he opens his mouth over the head of his partner's penis. He slides his lips down to the base and sucks once, strongly, with everything he has. Ray screams again and seems almost to vibrate under Fraser's mouth and hands, caught between the need to thrust and the intensity of penetration. Fraser swallows around him and Ray jerks, then comes powerfully, head thrown back, each spurt of semen down Fraser's throat matched by a clenching of the powerful muscles around Fraser's fingers.

As Ray's moans diminish to whimpers, Fraser slides his fingers carefully out of his partner's body and releases Ray's penis gently from his mouth. He reaches over to the nightstand, brushing against Ray's nipples as he does so and noting with slightly shaky satisfaction the spasm of exhausted pleasure that contorts his partner's face, and presses the button on the stopwatch. The numbers freeze at--Fraser wipes sweat from his face to make sure, for accurate timekeeping is essential to their contest--15.41. Fraser allows himself a small grin. No poor performances here, he thinks with pardonable pride.

As he comes back down onto their bed and prepares to resume his breath-control exercises, however, there is a sudden flurry of movement and Ray's weight pins him down, pressing him hard into the mattress. This is... this is remarkable--and a little distressing, actually, given the power and force of Ray's climax only a few moments before. Ray's face is mere inches from Fraser's, hair spiky with sweat and wildly disarrayed, and his hips thrust lazily but insistently against Fraser's own. Not so exhausted, then. Fraser abruptly becomes aware that, despite his utilization of meditative techniques to distance himself from his autonomic nervous responses, his erection has not diminished since he ceased touching Ray. Quite the reverse, in fact. A shiver of arousal runs down his spine, and he shudders once, hard. He schools his face and body to stillness and prays that Ray has failed to notice. *Breathe. Breathe. In on one, out on two...*

"Proud of yourself, Fraser?" Ray's voice is hoarse, as though he has been screaming--which, of course, he has--and the sound makes Fraser's skin prickle with heat. *In on one. Out on...on...* His breathing stutters, and when he regains control of it, it comes more shallowly and more quickly than before. He swallows.

"Well, Ray, I'm not sure that `proud' is the word I'd use. I do admit, however, to a certain feeling of satisfaction in a job well done." There. Controlled. Good. Fraser struggles to ignore the heat gathering in his groin where Ray's weight rests intimately against him, and musters his calmest smile.

Ray rolls his eyes affectionately. "Bullshit, Fraser. You're proud of yourself. You think you got this- this competition thing we got going here locked up. `I made Ray come so hard his teeth hurt,' you're thinking. `I made Ray scream so loud the neighbors swore out a complaint,' you're thinking. `So much for Ray lasting longer than me,' you're thinking." Although Fraser would not have phrased his reaction in quite this fashion, he admits to himself that Ray has read him, as usual, with near-total accuracy. But he remains silent, and Ray's look turns mildly exasperated. "C'mon, Frase. I know you. Own up."

Pinned beneath Ray, Fraser sighs theatrically, then tries to damp down another, stronger shudder as the movement rubs his increasingly sensitive nipples against his partner's chest. Ray's gleefully raised eyebrow indicates that this reaction of Fraser's, at least, has not gone unnoticed. Fraser hastens to reclaim ground he had not intended to lose. "Very well, Ray. If it will satisfy you, I concede the point."

Ray grins. "Proud of you, Frase. Hope that wasn't too hard to say. But you know, I think you might be getting a little ahead of yourself here. Cause from where I'm lying"--Ray looks down the length of their entwined bodies, then back up at Fraser--"you made a big mistake."

Fraser feels a frisson of pleasurable fear. With what tactical advantage has he unwittingly gifted his partner, whose endless, wicked, loving creativity really needs no assistance? He essays a slightly superior smirk, realizing as he does so that his intense arousal will almost certainly render the effort unsuccessful. His penis is wet now from tip to base (when did that happen? where is his much-vaunted control? *breathe, God, breathe*), and his nipples are hardening impossibly further under the heat of Ray's feral gaze. He tries once more for calm. "Oh, I don't think so, Ray. I believe I considered every contingency, and I am quite satisfied that our efforts here will pr- prove my ascendancy in this area."

But Ray is shaking his head even before Fraser finishes his sentence. "Nope. Sorry, buddy. You made a whatchacallit, a tactical error--and I gotta tell you, I think it's gonna cost you bigtime."

Fraser closes his eyes against the delicious friction as Ray slides down his body with agonizing slowness, then forces them open to look at his partner, propped on his forearms just above Fraser's penis, the heat radiating off his body clearly perceptible against that sensitive skin. Fraser swallows with difficulty. "R-really, Ray? And what mistake was that, if you don't mind my asking?"

Ray grins again. "You did me first. And Fraser--you did me but good. But I know you, and that whole scene with me? Turned your crank seriously hard. Plus which, your little stopwatch there gives me a nice clear goal to shoot for. Now all I gotta do is make sure you come faster than I did and I'm the winner here. And you know what?" Ray licks out against the head of Fraser's penis and Fraser gasps for air, his head going back and his hips thrusting up helplessly against his partner's open mouth. "Somehow I don't think that's gonna be much of a challenge."

Fraser moans involuntarily as Ray's tongue traces the long vein on the underside of his penis, all his response-control techniques burning to ash in the heat of Ray's mouth and Ray's precise knowledge of just how to set him aflame. "Pr-pride goeth before- before a fall, Ray," he says through gritted teeth.

"Absolutely, Frase." Ray's eyes glint at him. "And that sound you hear? That's you falling--hard." 1