Disclaimer: Ray and Fraser belong to Alliance, yadda, yadda...
Warnings: NC-17, explicit
M/M, uh, solo action, implied Fraser/Kowalski
Response to the masturbation challenge on Serge.
He hadn't meant to come back to Ray's apartment. It was just that he'd forgotten his hat. Since he wasn't in uniform, it wasn't crucial... but he would need it the next day. And, since he'd told Ray he'd be walking home for the exercise, he now had to walk all the way back to Ray's apartment.
So Fraser had turned around. He'd already been walking for about fifteen minutes, so that meant the walk back to Ray's would be at least fifteen minutes. Ray had said he'd be doing laundry.
And now the Mountie was in the foyer ringing Ray's doorbell, and not getting any answer. Well, Ray was probably in the basement of the building, at the laundry facilities. He'd just wait... and try ringing the doorbell again in a few minutes.
But then a nice couple coming out of the building left the door open for him. Fraser took the stairs, rather than the elevator.
Once he reached Ray's floor, he had a sneaking suspicion why Ray hadn't answered the doorbell. And it wasn't laundry, although Ray might very well be doing laundry in addition to what he was doing now...
The volume of the music only got louder, the closer he got to Ray's door.
Fraser stood in front of his friend's apartment door, hearing the music as loud and clear as if he were in the apartment. Which could only mean that it was louder inside the apartment.
He knocked. No response. He knocked again, more vigorously. The song was... well, almost dirge-like in an odd way. Like a dirge sped up to be rock and roll. The guitar wasn't exactly "fuzzy" sounding... but definitely there was an odd industrial sound to one of the "instruments"... it almost sounded like a submarine "ping".
He grasped the door knob, on a hunch that Ray would leave his apartment door unlocked to facilitate going back and forth between the basement and his apartment while doing cycles of laundry.
It was unlocked. The music was deafening. He cringed in preparation for the aural blast he was sure would hit him when he opened the door. Then he turned the knob fully.
The short-ish hallway that led from Ray's door to the living room/dining area was dark. The music was blasting now, although he realized there was something familiar about the words the singer sang... even though all he was doing was sing about how he liked his baby's lips and pants...
He stepped cautiously down the hall. He hated to impose, hated to walk in unannounced... but he really didn't have any choice at this time. There was no way for Ray to hear the doorbell or his knocking on the door -- not with the music this loud.
Oh, that was it: the chorus was something Ray had said the very first day they met: "All aboard for funtime!" Except Ray had said it in a threatening manner to Motherwell, and this didn't sound, well, threatening... it sounded, well, it would have sounded fun, if it weren't deafening.
He took a few more hesitant steps down the short hallway, wondering why the apartment seemed so dark. What little light there was came from the light over the kitchen sink, and some light came from the street.
Great Scott but this music was loud. He could almost feel his ear drums vibrating. It was disorienting.
At the mouth of the hallway, his eyes had to readjust to the light a bit. Light from the kitchen blinded him, even though it didn't fall on him, and he was still in shadow.
Ray was dancing. Rather unconventionally, Fraser realized, since this was definitely not a waltz... or even a foxtrot. "Freestyle", this might be called...
His back was to Fraser, and though some of the light from the kitchen spilled into the living room, it wasn't much. And it was dappled by falling through the breakfast nook and the mugs hanging below the cabinets. The detective was silhouetted against the light of the street, coming in through his living room windows. His hips swayed, his shoulders dipped, he tossed his head. All in rhythm with the music. The deafening music, which had paralyzed Fraser in mid-stride. He put his hands over his ears.
"Ray!" he called -- to no avail. His voice couldn't even be heard above the music.
From the silhouette, it seemed like Ray was facing away from the living room -- possibly out the window. But the blinds were almost completely shut -- though this did little to block the street light right in front of Ray's apartment building -- so Ray must not be looking out the window. The dappled light which occasionally rippled across Ray's body as he shuffled backward and forward and from side to side almost seemed like a leopard-like pattern on Ray's legs... and then he'd move back into the dark.
Fraser felt somewhat embarrassed. "Ray!" he yelled again, this time with at least ninety percent of his vocal capacity -- one hundred percent being a shout that would have made him hoarse. Still he couldn't be heard above the music! It had to be louder than a live concert would have been.
The blond detective had pushed back the chair, the sofa, the coffee table, all so he could have more floor space. Fraser thought if Ray had an electric guitar around him, he be very rock-star like. And Ray was playing "air guitar", as they called it. But this volume was positively damaging. Poor Ray! He'd go deaf young, if this was how he typically listened to his rock music.
Fraser was just about to step from the hallway and try shouting to Ray again, that he was there, in his apartment, come to retrieve the hat he'd forgotten...
And then Ray's lithe figure twisted around sensually from one of those disconcerting hip-swaying moves -- Fraser had heard the word "grind" and thought that if another person were involved in dancing with Ray, those hip-swaying movements could definitely be classified as grinding --
--and Ray sat down on the arm of the overstuffed chair, and then practically slithered over it, and as luck would have it, some of the light from the kitchen did fall directly onto the chair--
The hair stood up on the back of Fraser's neck. As Ray slithered over the arm and into the chair, sliding down into a slouch with his legs splayed out in front of the chair, he, he--
He stroked his hands over the prominent bulge in his pants. And did it again. And yet again.
Fraser's mouth fell open. Now he was frozen. And not only couldn't he hear, or speak, he couldn't move, either. He felt the heat moving up his face and knew he was blushing a dark red.
The flush of Ray's cheeks, the dampness at his temples, all indicated he'd been dancing for, well, for some time -- perhaps since right after Fraser had left --
The Mountie had never realized how sultry Ray's eyes looked when they were almost completely closed. And the lashes... Fraser had never realized how long and light they were. The light from the kitchen struck him oddly... on a slight angle. For example, that... bulge... was noticeable because of the shadow that fell on the unlit side of it.
Ray wiped the sweat from his brow with one arm ...while the other hand slid between his stomach and his pants. Open-mouthed and paralyzed, Fraser watched helplessly as the detective's hand and wrist moved around in his pants...
But then he pulled his hand out swiftly and used both hands to unbutton and unzip his pants. Those pants that were normally quite loose, but had become rather excruciatingly tight, apparently--
Fraser wanted to shrink back into the hallway, he wanted to move-- this was so private, such an invasion -- thank God he had not stepped into the light spilling out from the kitchen, from the breakfast nook -- he was so embarrassed--
The flushed detective shoved both hands into his now-open pants... over his white cotton briefs. He arched his back and thrust his stomach out, feeling the hardness of his cock, scratching and rubbing his balls through his underwear--
Fraser felt his own tumescence.
While the one hand continued rubbing the bulging erection through is underwear, Ray's other hand -- the one that had been on his testicles -- came out of his pants, to stroke himself from the inner thigh, to his aroused organ, up that to his stomach, over his T-shirt to his chest, varying the pressure, as if it were some imaginary lover's hand caressing his pectorals...
It was somehow exciting but tender to watch Ray caress himself.
And so very, very bad.
The song had ended and the cessation of noise was itself very loud. Over the hiss of the speakers and the ear-aching emptiness of the air, Fraser could hear his heart beating. He couldn't move and yet he could feel how his body tried to shrink into itself, to get away. Even as his eyes were riveted...
Ray's hand moved from his chest back down to his underwear... and then he peeled back the waistband and shoved them down, further sliding his pants down those slim hips...
His beautiful tapered tremendously hard cock sprang out into the light from the kitchen.
In seconds Fraser was fully erect. Before he had a chance to realize that he was clenching and unclenching his hands at his sides, the next song began. At least it didn't begin with a bang. But it was damagingly loud... though slower and more sensual. The music sounded almost drunk... or was he imagining it?
And Ray, eyes still closed in a private world of pleasure and fantasy, pushed his pants and underwear down to his knees with both hands... and then slowly stroked his hands up his thighs to wear they joined at his balls, at his cock... one hand stroked and slightly squeezed his testicles...
The other wrapped loosely around his cock and began a slow, repeated stroking... his hips bucking slightly to follow the rhythm.
The Mountie thought his throat had never been so dry. He couldn't understand what the singer sang, but Ray's hips moved up and down, his thighs flexed, his hand stroked up and down --- all to the beat of the music.
Ray's grip tightened on his cock just as the guitar solo began. His strokes doubled in time -- two strokes for each beat of the drums. The hand on his balls stroked his thigh, then gripped the seat cushion under his slender buttocks. The muscles in his wrist and forearm bunched.
Fraser fought to keep his hands from creeping to his own painfully hard erection. It throbbed and his heart thudded in his chest and he couldn't swallow and he couldn't even blink--
The detective's stroking increased speed again, and he tossed his head back, biting his lower lip. His eyes, though still closed, squinted a moment; then his expression cleared. He nodded his head to the beat of the music, even as his hand moved faster and faster over his cock--
The Mountie found his feet again -- they could move! He felt a sweat break out all over his body.
And now they didn't want to move. Except in one direction -- forward. To Ray. To that hammering hand, the fuzz of hair on his belly near his navel, the points of his hip bones poking up through that pale, trembling flesh...
The song continued... Even though it was completely unfamiliar, Fraser had a feeling it was ending soon. Perhaps one more chorus...
Ray's lips were moving. Moving, and he was speaking...
And Fraser couldn't hear a word of it because of the music. He wished he knew what Ray was saying... suddenly that seemed desperately important. But Fraser might as well have been watching Ray from a hundred feet away... from the shadows of an alley...
But he wasn't. And he could tell, from the involuntary twitches of Ray's thigh muscles, little jerks of his stomach muscles, the way his toes curled in his socks, the tensing of his forearm muscles in his other hand --
Ray would climax soon.
The Mountie shuffled his feet experimentally, then took one jerky step backward, never moving his eyes from his partner's self-pleasuring. He had to get out of here...
But Ray's mouth was curving from forming words, to form an "O"... his neck muscles became corded... his hips began jerking more violently, and then--
Without realizing it, Fraser stepped forward -- back in the direction of Ray.
The fluid spurted once, again, again, again... Each little glob shot upward, in a steep trajectory which fell back down just above where it had begun -- a bit farther up, near Ray's navel. Ray's slow and loose, abbreviated strokes told his partner how sensitive his now dribbling cock was now--
The song, Fraser realized, was over. And, he also suddenly realized, he was cupping, stroking his own organ through his pants.
Ray's ragged breathing was now the only sound that Fraser could hear -- but for the hissing of the silent speakers. The blond head had fallen to one side as Ray breathed heavily through his mouth, his hand now barely gripping the root of his softening cock.
With a tremendous effort, Fraser brought his trembling hand back to his side and tried to think. How was he going to get out of here, first? And if he didn't or couldn't get away without being detected -- oh, curse his voyeuristic soul -- what plausible explanation could he come up with?
Plausible? There was no plausible explanation for standing, unannounced, in the shadows of the front hallway of his friend and partner Ray Kowalski's apartment, watching said partner pleasure himself to orgasm, blithely unaware his Canadian partner was watching.
All right, all right... best to just tell the truth... (the blush he'd had -- which had faded -- flared up again). Tell the truth? 'Oh, hello, Ray, I was just standing here watching you masturbate -- and a very fine thing it was -- because I forgot my hat and came back to get it.' Ray would never believe that!
The detective shifted in his chair, scooting back up to sit more upright. His lean thighs spread out on the chair seat -- but not by much. He reached up and took his T-shirt off over over his head.
Fraser took the opportunity to take one step backward.
Ray used his T-shirt to wipe up the semen on his lower belly.
The Mountie took one more desperate step backward--
And the floor creaked.
Ray looked up, his hair endearingly mussed, his pupils wide and dark, and his eyes narrowed as he looked first at Fraser's boots. He squinted, trying to make out what he was seeing in the darker hallway. He reached over to an end table, and switched on the small lamp. It shone all around the room in an even, low-watt glow... Enough to illuminate the hallway leading to the front door.
As Ray's eyes traveled disbelievingly up his Canadian partner's body from his boots to Fraser's face, his eyebrows lifted even higher and his mouth fell open.
Only one word came out -- croaked:
"Fraser?"
The hapless Mountie could only nod miserably.
"What in hell are you doing here!" Ray yelled, and jumped up, jerking his pants up violently (tangled underwear be damned), throwing the T-shirt down on the floor, and advancing on his partner with a rapidly darkening look of anger.
"How long have you been here?" he demanded, stopping a few feet from Fraser. The scent of his fresh sweat -- and other things -- came clearly to Fraser's sharp senses.
"I-- I--" He couldn't help but look at Ray's shirtless torso. Wiry. Compact. Moist with drying perspiration. Ray's pants were still unzipped, unbuttoned.
"Well?" Ray's expression was... very disturbed. It was as if his face couldn't decide whether or not it wanted to hide, or to glower -- and wasn't doing a very good job of either.
"I came back for my hat--"
"And what, a little voyeuristic thrill of watching me dancing with myself? What the hell, Fraser, why didn't you tell me you were here?"
"I-- I tried..."
"Yeah, right! I didn't hear a goddamn thing! You could have at least knocked!" Ray's ribs became more prominent when he inhaled sharply for a good yell. He turned away to zip and button his pants, belatedly realizing the absurdity of such modesty in light of everything Fraser had seen. He tossed his head angrily at the realization.
"I, I, I did, Ray, but the music--"
"How'd you get in the building, anyway?" Ray demanded, pacing away from him. "Oh, Christ, I feel like an idiot!"
"There was a couple leaving--"
"And you just thought, 'Oh, I won't bother ringing Ray's doorbell, he has no life anyway, so why wouldn't he be perfectly ready, willing and able to entertain me some more, for example by making the hooded cobra spit'--"
"--N-no, Ray, I did ring your doorbell. Several times--"
"Oh, sure!" Ray said, pausing before returning to his agitated pacing.
Now Fraser was becoming not a little frustrated.
"Ray, I did ring your d-doorbell. Several times. There was n-no answer. I could hear the music from your apartment when I stair out of the camewell, it was so loud. And your d-door was still shut and I was at the opposite end of your hallway!"
The detective stopped pacing suddenly, and looked at the Mountie.
Fraser was flushed, stammering, and tripping over his tongue, he realized. Ray glanced down at Fraser's hands, which were clenching and unclenching in fists. He slid his gaze just slightly left and up from one fist, to where Fraser's jacket hung open at the bottom...
Fraser was hard.
Ray paused, looking back up at Fraser's face, but much less suspiciously.
Fraser thought -- no, that couldn't be-- but it almost looked as if a devilish gleam came into Ray's eye.
"How much did you see, Frase?" Ray asked quietly, stepping closer.
Once again, the Mountie found he couldn't move. Ray was -- so close -- so half-naked -- and -- and --
He felt the hot blood flooding his face again.
"You saw everything, didn't you?" Ray whispered.
Fraser could only nod, looking down.
"Oh, no, you don't get away that easy," Ray said, closing the distance between them and grabbing the Mountie's chin. He tipped it up so that they faced one another again.
"Why didn't you leave, Frase?" Ray whispered, looking Fraser in the eye.
The Mountie could only shrug helplessly. His tongue was now effectively frozen, and he could not break Ray's gaze.
"You wanted to stay?" Ray asked, sliding his fingers from the Canadian's chin, up his jawline, to his neck, to the back of Fraser's neck. "Wanted to watch me stroke off?"
Fraser didn't move, then slowly nodded.
Ray's hand moved down from Fraser's neck to his shoulder... down to squeeze his bicep... down to his elbow.
"Did you like what you saw, Frase?" came Ray's husky question.
The Mountie once again heard the rushing of blood in his ears, felt the heat in his face. He nodded wordlessly.
Ray's hand slipped down his forearm, down the sleeve of his jacket... under the edge of the jacket.
The squeeze Ray gave his erection made Fraser inhale sharply.
"I think you liked it, Frase," Ray whispered. "It feels like you liked it a lot."
"Yes," Fraser choked out.
"Yes, what?" The implacable pale blue eyes held him, like a bug squirming on its back, trying to right itself; but the wiry hand stroked up and down the erection bunched painfully in the front of Fraser's pants.
"Yes... I liked it a lot," he said in a rush.
"That's good, Frase. Because..." he grabbed the edge of Fraser's jacket and pulled the bewildered Mountie across the living room. They stopped in front of the chair. "Because, Frase," Ray continued, slipping Fraser's jacket off his shoulders. It felt to the floor at his feet.
"Because you're gonna do everything you saw me do. Right now. Right here," Ray commanded, and pushed Fraser backward, just hard enough to make him sit down, with a bounce, in the overstuffed chair.
The Mountie looked up at him, an expression somewhere between terror and arousal, leaning farther toward terror.
"But, but--"
"Don't worry... I'll make it just like it was before--" Ray said, bouncing over to the stereo and starting the CD player again. "Except not so loud--" he turned the volume down substantially. Then he crossed to the end table and switched off the little lamp.
He walked down the little hallway to the end where it was very dark.
"See me?"
Fraser squinted carefully, moving his head this way and that.
"No, Ray," he answered finally, his voice trembling only slightly.
"Good." The detective leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. "Go to town, Frase," Ray said roughly.
The Mountie began unbuttoning his shirt self-consciously.
"Ray, what is this song?"
"Iggy Pop."
"What is he singing? something about lips? and pants?"
"He's singing..." Ray waited to catch up with the song, then sang in unison with the singer. "'Hey, baby, we like your lips, hey, baby, we like your pants, allllll abooooooard for fuuuuuntiiiiiiiiiiime'..."
"Oh." The Mountie continued unbuttoning his shirt, removed it and began folding it. Underneath was his usual white Henley shirt.
"And I can see what Iggy means," Ray murmured, too quietly for Fraser to hear. Then, he barked from the dark end of the hallway: "Hey!"
"What?" Fraser flinched.
"Quit with folding the clothes! Take 'em off like you mean it. Or it really will be 'all aboard for funtime', Fraser," Ray warned. He tried to sound gruff, but he wondered if the smile on his face came through in his voice.
"Right you are," Fraser replied, and carefully bunched up the flannel shirt, and then tossed it perfectly onto the coffee table. "Like that, Ray?"
The detective sighed, rolling his eyes in the dark. "Not exactly, but it'll have to do."
Ray uncrossed his arms, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants in anticipation.
end
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