Author's website: http://beth-h.mrks.org

Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine.

Author's Notes: Thanks to AuKestrel for a first-draft beta (and pronoun-wrangling) and to Kalena, from whom I shamelessly stole a few key phrases during a long-ago AIM chat.

Story Notes: This story was originally written for the masturbation challenge in the LiveJournal ds_flashfiction community

Good Morning, Chicago
by Beth H.
(c) May 11, 2003

He wakes as the first rays of sun come into the bedroom, not sure why he isn't still fast asleep. They'd been up late the night before on a long stake out, stuck for hours in a crappy pool car on one of the hottest nights of the summer. When their shift ended - three hours with nothing to show for it - Ray drove them back to his place so Fraser could pick up Dief. The look of relief on Fraser's flushed face as he walked into the air-conditioned apartment was enough; no way was Ray letting his partner spend the night at the Consulate with just a cheap K-Mart desk fan blowing hot air around his already stifling room.

So Fraser stayed over, as he'd been doing more and more often over the past three weeks, ever since the first time they made love. Tonight, though, both men were too hot, too sticky, too tired for more than slow, soft kisses, sleepy smiles, and a few murmured words ("I'll get the light" and "G'night" and "See you in the morning") that maybe meant "I love you," before they both fell asleep.

When Ray wakes, Fraser's still asleep. They'd kicked the covers to the floor sometime during the night, and seeing Fraser lying there, all loose-limbed and relaxed on the sleep-rumpled sheets beside him, makes Ray smile. He props himself up on one elbow and watches Fraser sleep for a few minutes, then reaches out to wrap an arm around him, accidentally brushing his hand over Fraser's cock, which twitches at the light contact. And Ray . . . well, the sight of all that smooth skin against the dark curls, that half-hard morning dick makes him smile more. It looks kind of innocent, the way Fraser used to look innocent, the way he still does sometimes, in the right light.

It's all still new for them, this sex thing, and Ray wants to please Fraser, see what gets him off, except he hasn't had the chance. Not really. Fraser's been the aggressor, always, every time they've made love. And Ray, who's had a lifetime of taking the lead in bed, has let Fraser set the pace here, just like he'd let Fraser take the lead in their working partnership, until gold and pirates and a ghost ship taught them both that a partnership couldn't work that way.

All of a sudden, it's become the most important thing in the world to get Fraser off without following directions. Without Fraser telling him what to do. He likes it that Fraser's demanding in bed, loves it, but Ray really wants to see that twitch again, wants to see what makes Fraser's cock respond when the touch isn't accidental. Wants to see what happens when he takes the lead.

Ray sits up, cross legged, and takes Fraser's dick in his hand. He holds it gently at first, just sort of feeling the warmth and weight of it in his hand, but firmly enough to know when the first pulses start that mean Fraser's getting off on his touch.

He feels the slide of skin beneath his palm as he starts to move his hand, long, slow strokes moving up along the hardening length of Fraser's cock. Fraser's breath catches, and he arches a little into the touch of Ray's hand.

Still stroking, Ray runs his other hand lightly across Fraser's chest, teasing absent-mindedly at the flat brown nipples with the side of his thumb. Fraser moans softly and shifts in his sleep, opening his legs and bending them at the knees. He slides his hand across his body, reaching for his own cock. Ray catches him, holds Fraser's hand down flat on his belly, feeling Fraser's muscles rippling restlessly beneath both their hands, still stroking Fraser's dick with his other hand.

Ray strokes more firmly now, sliding his thumb lightly over the top of Fraser's cock on each upstroke. Beneath his other hand, Fraser's fingers flex once, then still . . . but his body's trembling and he's breathing harder - short, shuddering breaths that turn to gasps as Ray moves his other hand to cup Fraser's balls - and when Ray looks at Fraser's face, he sees smoky blue eyes looking back at him from beneath dark lashes.

For a second or two, Ray just looks at Fraser, all sweat-soaked and flushed and so fucking beautiful, then Fraser closes his eyes, and Ray leans over and kisses Fraser hard, tightens his grasp, strokes faster, and Fraser thrusts fiercely into Ray's hand, again and again, until - "Oh, oh God, Ray!" - he comes hard and fast, his semen spurting thickly over Ray's fingers.

Then Fraser collapses, sprawls bonelessly on the bed - "Love the new alarm clock, Ray," he murmurs - and Ray laughs and lies down next to him and holds him until they both fall asleep.

End Good Morning, Chicago by Beth H.: beth-h@mrks.org

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