Disclaimer: Just borrowing them - no harm done!

Author's Notes: I am indebted to Pepe and missapocalyptic for their beta work and comments on this story. Thank you, girlies! Any remaining errors/ lack of style/ suckitudes are my own.

Story Notes: Written for the Get Fraser Laid Challenge.

Another Likely Story

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

Ray lays his head down with a thump.

Nothing.

That can't be right.

He lifts his head again and looks. It's like a scene from some cheesy seventies soft porn flick. Slim, longhaired Luanne Russell undressing, silhouetted through the thin curtains of her bedroom. Bra. Stockings. Panties. Naked woman.

More importantly - naked woman who is totally digging Ray.

And there's... nothing.

Nothing.

What the fuck?

"Ray!"

Fraser is sounding scandalised, wrapped up in his dopey stripy blanket - not even sneaking a peak. Stupid Mountie.

Ray puts his head down again, but he's far from tired. If the sight of a woman getting naked isn't enough to make him feel something, then what does that mean? She's pretty. She's single. She's interested, for Chrissakes! So why isn't Ray?

Sleep is a long time coming.

He's standing outside the two seven and Stella is handing him a lunch box, a book bag and his stuffed zebra from when he was seven years old.

"Don't forget this," she says with a little smile, making Zebra bounce up his arm as if it were running.

"'Kay. Thanks," Ray mumbles, takes the scruffy, much-loved toy, turns and walks into the building.

It's silent; there's no one on the front desk - there's no one in the break room. Ray walks into the bullpen and turns 360 degrees. It's deserted, although from the light coming in through the windows, it looks like late afternoon, the way it slants across his suspiciously tidy desk.

Ray looks down. He's lost his lunch and his zebra somewhere, but he's wearing his favourite Bulls t-shirt, although it seems to have turned pink for some reason.

A familiar, "Ahem" breaks his confusion. Frase. Ray turns back to his desk and there's the Mountie, no hat, no tunic, just his Henley and his braces and his stupid pants. He's sitting on Ray's desk, his booted foot pulled up and an arm resting on his knee.

He looks different.

Relaxed.

Smiling.

Inexplicably this irritates Ray, and he crosses the room to give Fraser what for. But when he arrives nose to nose with his cheerful partner, what he does is lean in and kiss him.

Instead of freaking out, which is what he should do, Fraser tilts his head back and opens his mouth to Ray. And this should be weird, but it's not. It's wonderful. He tastes of sweet tea and fresh air, and Ray feels a thrill of longing spike straight into his groin.

He squirms as he deepens the kiss, trying to give his growing hard-on some space, but Fraser's there already. Broad, rough, thick-fingered hands are unbuckling his belt and snaking behind each individual button to pop it open.

Ray opens his eyes in surprise, and Fraser's naked, grinning at him in a way that Ray has never actually seen. It's honest and unguarded, and it looks good on him. He's got Ray's dick in one hand and his own in the other. Slowly he begins to stroke them both in time. He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip. Ray stares at him, as if seeing him for the first time.

Sensation prickles all over Ray's skin and there's a familiar dull ache low down in his belly. He puts a hand on Fraser's shoulder and slumps against him. It's been so long since he's been touched by anyone but himself; he's forgotten the heady feeling of complete surrender.

"Frase..."

"Shh! It's a secret, Ray."

Ray nods. He knew that. His eyes slide down to the gap between them to where Fraser's clever, capable hands are working them together. Fraser's cock is heavy and uncut against his pale skin, and Ray can't drag his eyes away from the sight of Fraser's foreskin sliding easily over the slickness of his crown.

Fraser's pace builds; tight, fast jerks - no finesse, no other goal than to bring them both off. Ray has to hang on with both hands to keep his knees from giving way beneath him. He wants to laugh, he wants to swear and he badly wants to come.

But Fraser comes first - thick, white strings of semen, coating his hands and his belly. Fraser's hot breath gusts over Ray's mouth and he groans, "Oh, Ray. Ray..."

"...Ray. Ray."

Ray sits up suddenly.

He can feel where Fraser has kicked his shin to wake him. It gives him something to think about while the disorientation of being dragged from something... what was it? Ray only remembers that it was good. He notices how uncomfortable his jeans are and concludes that it must have been a very good dream.

Trust Fraser to ruin that for him.

"You were moaning. I thought you must be having a nightmare," Fraser whispers.

"Yeah, nightmare," Ray agrees, rubs sweaty palms through his hair and lies back down again, settling his blanket so his hard-on won't show.

"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" Fraser's voice is slurred with sleep and his eyes are heavy when Ray turns to look at him in the weird combination of moon and street lighting.

"No, Frase, s'okay. M'good. Go back to sleep."

But Fraser has already done so - flat on his back, nose to the sky, breathing slow and even like the freak he is. Ray smiles and closes his eyes again.

He's in some kind of room - dark, heavy wooden furniture and plain walls, candles dotted around him and the sounds of laughing voices floating in through a window opened to the night sky. His hands are bound behind his back and his heart is thumping but he doesn't know why.

A door he hadn't noticed opens to his left, and a man enters. "Warfield," he thinks and tries to breathe calmly. The man stands in the shadows and he doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of trying to confirm his identification by staring.

"I'm afraid I'm finding your hospitality to be rather poor," he says to the room at large.

"That's too bad, Frase," says a voice that makes his already labouring heart lurch up into his throat; a controlled voice, slightly gritty and slower than he's used to hearing it.

Ray steps into the circle of light - black boots, black pants and a white shirt, open at the collar as he's loosening a tie. His suit jacket is slung casually over one shoulder and he looks like he's just stepped out of a formal dinner party. Fraser knows he's staring, but he can't seem to stop.

"Ray?"

Ray smiles knowingly as he drops his tie and jacket on a chair and starts to roll up his sleeves. The metal at his wrist gleams dully in the candlelight.

"Hold him," Ray commands softly, not looking up from his task.

Rough hands pull Fraser over to a rather ornate bed and push him onto his back, down onto cool, white cotton sheets. His arms are stretched over his head - he struggles, craning his neck to see the faces of his captors, but they are lost in shadows. His hands are tightly tied, the rough material rubbing at his wrists as he tests his bonds.

Ray appears beside the bed, standing over him with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Why are you doing this?" Fraser asks, forcing himself to speak calmly.

"Oh, I think you know why, Ben."

Ray never calls him Ben and he wonders why he is doing so now.

Ray leans a hand on the mattress beside his ribs and leans over him. Fraser can smell him; feel the heat of his body hovering over his. It's hard to concentrate.

"I don't," Fraser grates and, dear God, he's becoming aroused. The heat of it churns inside him.

Ray smiles slowly. "You know why," he murmurs in a voice that's smooth and dark and delicious like honey.

The burn in Fraser's belly intensifies - a coiling, twisting heat that he wants to push the heel of his hand into. His body betrays him as his erection rises uncomfortably against his jeans. Ray sees it and his smile becomes wider, his eyes glittering and dark.

Without a word Ray settles himself between Fraser's thighs and easily peels back his clothing. Fraser bites his lip to hold the soul-deep groan he makes when Ray's hand closes around his penis.

He should say something. He should struggle and kick. He should attempt to dislocate his thumb and free himself of these restraints, but Ray's long, slim hand fits against him so well, and when he finally opens his mouth to protest, Fraser says, "Oh, God," instead of, "Stop."

Ray's thumb swipes across the head of his penis with an aching slowness, causing his hips to buck and his breath to catch. "Please," he whispers.

"Please this?" Ray asks slyly, pumping Fraser with a hard, sure grip. Fraser arches his neck into the crisp sheets and squeezes his eyes shut, certain that one more stroke will rip his orgasm from him and his sanity with it.

But Ray's hand stills and Fraser feels him shift position on the bed. "Or please this?" he says and Fraser feels the shape of the words against the tip of his penis the split second before it is engulfed by the slick wetness of Ray's mouth. It feels incredible against his burning skin, so cool and tight and better than anything Fraser has ever felt before.

He reaches down with hands that are suddenly free - were they ever actually bound? - and drives his fingers into the blond spikes, cradling Ray's head against his groin and trying with all his might not to force him. But Ray is beyond noticing either way, as he works Fraser's penis between his tongue and the hard roof of his mouth; swiping at him and teasing him with unimagined skill.

Fraser groans, his toes curl, his muscles lock, and he's coming and coming and...

...he's coming.

God - he can't believe it. He's thirty-seven years old. He's on duty, protecting an elderly, recently widowed woman and sleeping next to his partner on the hard, damp earth of a Chicago backyard. And he's just had the most erotic and vivid wet dream of his life.

And that's when he remembers the content. His penis pulses one more time as the memory of Ray's confident smile and talented mouth lingers from his dream. The tingles of pleasure slowly dissipate, leaving behind the heavy, welcome lassitude of sexual release.

While the dampness at his groin cools and becomes uncomfortable, Fraser stares, open mouthed, at the man beside him. Thankfully Fraser's disturbed sleep hasn't roused Ray and he dreams on, unaware. His lips are softly parted; gusts of his warm breath reach Fraser's face, making it damp. He's curled on his side and he's still, for once, giving Fraser the opportunity to study him. Without the attitude and the swagger and the sarcasm he looks surprisingly vulnerable, and Fraser fights down the urge to put his hand into Ray's hair to see if his imagination is as good as the real thing.

Fraser knows that dreams rarely make sense and to try to interpret them is a path strewn with the temptation to mould them to your liking, but it would be pointless to deny that he feels a strong emotional and physical attraction to the man sleeping soundly beside him.

He had his shirt and clean underwear tucked inside his bedroll, but if he gets up now to change, he might well wake Ray and spark questions he has no adequate answers for. So Fraser watches the few stars he can see and does his best to ignore the clammy chill of his shorts and his desire to roll closer to the warm coffee and candy breath on his right.

Ray leans back against the rough brick of the gymnasium wall at his High School. Isolated from the other buildings and overlooking the sports field, it's a good place to hide. He's spent many happy moments here, playing hooky, hanging out with the guys, bumming smokes and trying to impress Stella.

Ray's wearing his beat up leather jacket, the one his Dad hates so much, and his biker boots. He knows what he looks like; dangerous, even hostile, but he also knows that Stella gets a kick out of his bad-boy image, and he figures he doesn't have much else going for him on that front.

He's the only one here today, which is weird, so he pulls out one of his own cigarettes and lights up, dropping his head back against the bricks and closing his eyes at the perfect buzz of his first drag.

"You shouldn't be doing that."

Ray opens one lazy eye. Fraser is standing in front of him, his jaw set, his face stern, and with his fucking uniform on. The sunshine winks off those highly polished buttons, making Ray's head ache. What kind of a freak wears his uniform to school?

"Yeah? Why not?"

"Well, it's detrimental to your health for one. And if that's not enough, the school rules strictly prohibit smoking in the grounds."

Ray tips his head up and stares at the Mountie, insolently taking another drag as he looks him up and down.

Ben's eye twitches under the scrutiny. He shifts uncomfortably on the spot and then settles himself at parade rest again.

Ray blows smoke over his shoulder through pursed lips, then asks, "Why are you wearing that?"

"Well, Ray, I'm a representative of Her Majesty's Government of the Dominion of Canada and as such..."

"Not here, you're not. Just you and me, here. No Queen, no dominoes." Ray takes another drag, then jerks his chin up. "Lose the jacket, Frase."

Fraser looks like he's going to argue but finally sighs and complies, folding his tunic neatly and putting it on the ground. After a second, the hat joins it and Fraser looks almost normal apart from the puffy pants. He turns and echoes Ray's slouch against the wall, bringing a booted foot up against the brickwork.

Ray grins, takes the ciggie from his mouth and holds it to Ben's lips, looking across at his friend with a dare in his eyes.

Ben's tongue moistens his lips quickly as he attempts to outstare Ray, then very deliberately he leans forward and takes the cigarette. Ray nods in approval and puts his hands in his jeans pockets.

Fraser looks good like that. Very good indeed.

"Can't be so stiff all the time, Frase," Ray says quietly. "Gotta be yourself sometimes." Ray watches Ben as he lets the smoke curl from his mouth and dissipate above their heads. He doesn't seem to have anything to say to that.

Fraser takes his time, savouring. When he finishes the cigarette he flicks the butt away, then looks across at Ray. "What are you skipping?" he asks softly.

"Biology."

"Hope it's nothing important today," Ben murmurs with a hint of a smile on his face.

"I already know everything about biology that I'll ever need to know," Ray affirms and moves to stand challengingly in front of his friend.

Ben's smirk becomes a smug grin, so Ray has to kiss it off his face, pressing closer to his solid body. He tastes of cigarettes and something sweet. His lips are cool and soft, but his skin under Ray's hands when he slides them beneath Fraser's shirt, is warm and firm. The sun feels hot on Ray's back and the smell of the grass and the smoke and Fraser gives him a feeling of wellbeing he's rarely experienced so strongly. It's like all the best things about summer rolled into one perfect moment.

Obligingly, Fraser widens his stance and hums his approval into Ray's mouth when he snugs his groin up against Fraser's. They're practically the same height, although Fraser is broader, and everything lines up nicely. He doesn't need to stoop to kiss him or lift him off his feet to make their cocks meet up - it's all easy. He can feel the unmistakable strength in the Mountie's body, matching his own, and Ray leans into Fraser, building a delicious friction between them.

Fraser pulls his mouth away from Ray's and drops his head back against the wall, his arms tight around Ray's waist. "Someone might see us," he growls. Ray kisses his jaw, his neck, his collarbone - everywhere he can reach.

"Don't care. Let 'em look," he mutters and buries his nose into the skin behind Ben's ear, licking and tasting.

"But if Stella sees you..."

Ray pauses, licks his lips and sighs into Fraser's neck. "She knows," he breathes against the smooth skin.

"You tell her?"

"Didn't need to, she's smart. You can't be married for twelve years without noticing something like that."

"So it's over between you and her?"

"Yeah, Frase. Has been for a long time - you know that."

Fraser reaches beneath the heavy leather of Ray's jacket and pulls his shirt out of his jeans so he can lay big, warm hands against the small of Ray's back. His fingers slide lower beneath Ray's waistband and he strokes cautiously. "You still love her," he says quietly.

"Yeah. Probably always will."

"Do you love me?" Ben's fingers still against Ray's skin.

Ray lifts his eyes to Ben's face. He's looking over Ray's shoulder, gaze firmly on the other side of the field. His lips are red and slick from kissing and his hair is messed up, just the way Ray likes it. A slight flush creeps into his cheeks as he waits for an answer.

"What kind of a question is that?" Ray stalls.

"A valid one as you're just about to make me come in my uniform pants," Fraser counters, but still refuses to look at him.

"Christ, Fraser," Ray spits torn between the thrill of hearing Ben say something so anti-Mountie and anger at him being so damn black and white about everything.

"Is that a yes?"

"Frase!"

"Why can't you say it?" Ben brings a hand round to cup Ray's groin, the heel of his palm rubbing perfectly over his sweet spot.

"Because you already know! You must do by now."

"And how would I know that when you're sniffing around every woman we encounter? You're worse than Diefenbaker." He punctuates his point with a sharp squeeze and Ray gasps.

"It's a cover. To throw people off. It doesn't mean anything." Ray presses against Fraser's clever hand, rocking his hips to help things along.

"It's hurtful and confusing," Fraser tells him softly.

"I know. I've seen your face when I do it. I'm sorry," Ray grits, leaning more of his weight against Fraser who finally relents and lets him slide back up against his body, their dicks pressing together, just this side of painful. Just perfect.

"So you do. Love me, I mean," Fraser pants, rolling his head, his hands anchoring Ray against him.

Ray is straining into each press of hips, feeling the thrum of sensation grow and spread from his dick in waves. He bites the tendon in Fraser's neck that sticks out when he throws back his head that way. "Yeah," he whispers against his ear, "I love you, Frase."

The climax that slams through him is like a kick in the head - it comes out of nowhere and stretches out, making him twitch and moan long after the friction is gone.

"Ray. Ray. Ray..."

Ray pants in a lungful of damp morning air as the shudders abate. Something hard knocks against his head.

"Time?" he gulps, disoriented.

"Six thirty. Coffee?"

Fraser, who he's just been fucking up against a wall, moaning his name, tasting his sweat, telling him he loves him... Christ! What the fuck is going on? "Anything happen?" Other than him just coming in his fucking jeans.

"No."

"You sleep?"

"Very little. You?"

"No." He knows he sounds weird. Freaked. He needs to distract Fraser's attention while he gets his shit together. "What about him?" He nods in the wolf's direction.

"I don't think he's moved." Diefenbaker ignores the conversation going on and continues his obsessive peeping-tom routine.

"He saw it all? Dogs, huh? They have all the fun," Ray croaks wondering how the hell he is going to be able to cover the big damp patch at his groin.

"It would seem so... Well, we should get going," Fraser says, all bracing and chipper.

"Look, Fraser, I'm wallowing. Give me a little time for a wallow." Besides, he's not sure his legs are working yet.

"Right you are. Do you take sugar when you wallow?"

Sugar. Sweetness. Fraser's soft mouth, pliant and open under his. Fraser's hand rubbing him just right. Fraser baring his throat to him and gasping his name. Fraser hurting when Ray is making a dick of himself trying to get a date. Fraser wanting to know if Ray loves him...

Ray fumbles a hand around the mug and the normality of it is good - grounding. Coffee. Something he does every day. Something safe and predictable and not even slightly gay. Something he doesn't have to think about or worry that he's been sublimating for months, wishing it was really tea.

Ray takes a too hot mouthful and watches Dief. Stupid wolf - doesn't he know that she's not even the same species? He doesn't stand a chance. But Ray does. He knows what he saw in Luanne's smile wasn't just being friendly - it was a personal invitation. So why isn't Ray drooling like one of Pandora's dogs at the sound of a bell? Just like at last night's performance, Ray's unmoved. Just going through the motions. Why? Isn't this what he wanted?

His eyes track back to his partner. Fraser is busy as only a boy scout can be, remaking his bedroll, clearing up their makeshift camp. Ray watches his precise, economical movements and wonders what he'd have to do to make Fraser lose control like he did in his dream, only for real. To let him see the guy underneath the uniform, meta... uh... physically and literally.

The heavy feeling that sparks in his belly again makes him chug down more coffee, trying to drown it. Ray guesses that's a kind of answer in itself, but he wants to be sure.

"Hey, Fraser. There's a coupla things I need to uh...check out today, but how 'bout later, you and me go and finish off that ghost story?"

"Okay, Ray. I look forward to it."

"Cool. And then I've got a story to tell you."

Fraser smiles - a real one, big and wide and breathtaking, and Ray's guts give a lurch that no amount of coffee is ever going to help.

Fin