m/m situation
Rated PG
On the bus coming back from Stratford to the Quality Hotel in Toronto, our conductress was showing Episode 1 of "Chasing Rainbows," starring Paul Gross. I tried to stay awake to watch, and did stay awake for most of it...but it had been a long day. As my eyes drifted shut and then opened again, between one and two in the morning, it seemed to me that I saw PG fresh from the shower in one scene of CR. He looked as dewy as a rose with raindrops on its petals--and incredibly, edibly delicious. Made me wonder what someone else we know would look like in similar circumstances....
by Rupert Rouge
He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Was Fraser out, then? No, he couldn't be, because Dief was here, snoozing away in a patch of sunlight in the hallway outside the apartment. Maybe his friend was using Mr. Mustafi's telephone or something. He opened the door and went inside. He'd have to get on Fraser's case about that broken lock on the door. For Chrissakes, the man was a cop, even if his jurisdiction ended at the Canadian border. A cop should know better than to leave his door unlocked.
Vecchio wandered around the room, looking for anything new that Fraser might have added since the last time he was here. There didn't seem to be anything, really, although on the kitchen table reposed a book that his friend had evidently been reading. Ray moved over to look at it, curious. It was the world almanac. Trust Fraser not be reading the kind of stuff that other people read--no detective stories, no adventure stuff, no spy thrillers. Facts! Just facts. Fraser ate 'em for breakfast.
The door opened and Fraser walked through it. Ray looked up. Fraser's face broke into a smile that made his heart turn over.
"Ray!"
Vecchio stared, unable to speak because of the sudden tightness in his throat. Fraser had been in the shower downstairs. He wore a towel, sarong-style, around his narrow waist. His dark-brown hair curled tightly from the water droplets still clinging to it: he hadn't disciplined his hair with a brush yet, because it curled over his forehead, Julius-Caesar style. His face was still rosy from the heat of the water; the upper part of his body still gleamed with heat and moisture. The dazzling whiteness of his smile, the dimples at the corners of his mouth, above all, the expression of delight on his face, made Ray's stomach do little, fluttering somersaults, almost as if he were going to lose his balance.
Fraser took a step toward him. The blue eyes looked puzzled, now. "Ray--what's the matter?"
Vecchio turned his back. "Nothin'! Nothin's the matter."
"But, Ray, you look as if-- I know something's wrong. Won't you tell me what it is?"
The voice behind his back sounded very near. Desperately, Ray flipped a couple of pages of the almanac on the table. "Nothin's wrong! Get dressed, will ya? We'll never get going at this rate."
A sigh. Then, "All right. All right, Ray."
The slight vibration of the floorboards meant that Fraser was retreating. Could he risk just one more look at the vision that was Fraser? Chrissakes, if you could equate human beauty to music, then he, Vecchio, was a three-minute rock song and Fraser was a whole symphony. A miracle of grace, of harmony of line, a perfect knitting together of strength and form and loveliness.
He looked--and caught Fraser's backward look at him.
Their gazes met, froze.
Fraser turned again to face him. His handsome face looked apprehensive.
"Ray, I know there's something wrong. Won't you tell me what the matter is?
Ray suddenly decided that he would. He'd tell him and then, feeling the hardness growing between his legs, he was gonna get the hell outta here and go jump off a building to end the agony.
"You, Fraser. You're the matter."
Fraser's eyes widened. "I?"
Ray took a step closer, so that only a foot of air separated them. "Yes, you. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"
Fraser's lips parted, but he stared back, saying nothing, not moving.
"Do you have any idea how I really feel about you?" Ray's voice was ragged because he was almost on the verge of losing his self-control. He took another step forward, looking into the blue eyes, so close to his, looking at the parted lips, normally set in a firm line, but slack now with surprise. "Do you have any idea how much I'd like to...."
He could not say it.
Fraser spoke. "How much you'd like to...what?"
Ray looked down at his shoes, wishing he were dead.
Fraser moved closer, so close Ray could feel his friend's bare skin through the thin silk of his shirt. Fraser's voice was soft in his ear. "Show me, Ray. Show me what you'd like to do."
Ray's chin jerked up. He looked into Fraser's eyes, which held a light he'd never seen before. He felt Fraser's arms go around him. Unable to believe, yet wanting desperately to believe, he pulled Ben into his arms and covered his mouth with his own. For a space of time that seemed to go on forever, he kissed the hell out of Benny, sliding his tongue inside his mouth, feeling his heart pounding so hard he thought it was going to jump out of his chest, feeling the hardness of Ben's cock answering the hardness of his own, running his hands up and down that perfectly formed back, exploring the firm, warm expanse of the tight buttocks beneath the towel, until the towel loosened and fell to the floor. Fraser moaned softly and shivered in his arms.
At last he pulled his lips away to whisper into Fraser's ear. "God, Benny, I want you so bad I can taste it!"
Ben turned his face so that his cheek rested against Ray's own, while his hands caressed Ray's behind through the silk Armani slacks.
"Then...taste it, Ray."
The End