Musings	 Musings

 by lynnmonster

  

 

 Disclaimer: They're not mine, and the only profit I derive from this is
satisfaction.

 Author's Notes: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DIRA!!! May you have many, many happy
returns. 
Also, many thanks to Brooklinegirl, for the beta, and for the tireless
cheerleading, and for not making too much of an issue over the thing with
the parentheses. Man, I ::heart:: you.

 Story Notes: WARNING: Contains scenes of a heterosexual *and* homosexual
nature. 

 

 

 When Fraser showed up at Ray's apartment, hat in hand, to make the most
embarrassing of requests, he thought he had hit upon the perfect plan to
discover once and for all exactly where Ray's interests lay. However, Ray
hemmed and hawwed and looked Fraser right in the eye and lied to him --
lied, even in the face of Fraser's overt humiliation -- when he claimed
he'd just recently gotten rid of every pornographic videotape he'd ever
owned. 

 A bit desperately (and a touch testily), Fraser asked if Ray could at
least recommend one or two videos, hoping he could at least suss out a few
clues to Ray's likes and dislikes by the material he considered worthy of
endorsement. But Ray -- whose tomato-red face was probably matched by
Fraser's own flushing skin -- asserted that he couldn't remember a single
title and that, actually, he had an urgent thing to go to, right now, in
fact he was already late, so see you later Fraser (and don't let the door
hit your ass on the way out). 

 Damn. 

 Stymied once more, Fraser returned to the Consulate. He walked Dief and
then attempted to distract himself with a book, but leftover adrenaline
and bitterness on top of low-level arousal caused his concentration to
wander. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job and decided to turn in
early. 

 Knowing the frustration that probably lay ahead of him once again, he
took his time cleaning his teeth and tending to his boots and
accoutrements. All too soon, though, he had no further tasks remaining,
and faced his empty cot with trepidation. Even Diefenbaker dreaded bedtime
these days, it appeared, and had made himself scarce. 

 Fraser got into bed and tried to relax, but sure enough, in next to no
time he was tossing and turning, unable to settle. Insomnia was one thing
-- he'd contended with it before -- but not since adolescence had he been
repeatedly kept awake by fleeting erotic images alternating with
overwhelming guilt. 

 He'd already done the practical thing and attempted to assuage his lust,
in order to relax himself, but recently he hadn't been able to do so much
as touch himself perfunctorily without picturing his partner. He even
attempted to throw aside his reservations and fantasize about Ray
properly, but that didn't work out very well. 

 Not quite able to maintain the fiction of Ray touching him, wanting him,
without his very real knowledge of his partner's personality creeping in
and ruining things, Fraser had hit upon the happy solution of picturing
Ray with another bedmate as an inspirational image. At first, it had
worked beautifully -- he was an unseen observer, mentally watching Ray
copulate with some vague woman -- and his ardor would swiftly reach an
almost unbearable peak. But he was unable to escape the knowledge that,
even in the confines of his own mind, he was spying in a way that would
constitute the grossest breach of trust. His fantasy always came to a
grinding halt as he ran up against his own moral objections to such
behavior, leaving him painfully hard as well as painfully ashamed. 

 Fraser could not get thoughts of Ray out of his mind, though -- so,
tonight, he set about constructing various far-fetched scenarios in which
he was allowed to watch, encouraged to do so; a sidelined participant, but
a participant nonetheless. 

 Finally settling on the somewhat demeaning fiction of being encouraged to
watch Ray and his companion for instructional purposes, Fraser swiftly
brought himself to shuddering completion. He wiped his hand on the corner
of the sheet, rolled over, and promptly fell into the best sleep he'd had
in weeks. 

 & & & 

 Thank goodness Ray was his normal, affectionately abrasive self at work
the next day. When he flashed Fraser a wicked grin, Fraser may have become
temporarily lost in images from his imaginings the night before ... but,
as Ray's smile normally rendered him breathless, he was fairly confident
that his behavior hadn't undergone any deviations worthy of note. 

 & & & 

 Fraser soon found that -- while his new fantasy was indeed effective,
even after multiple repetitions -- rather than being satisfied and able to
concentrate on other things in between interludes, he was left circling
back to thoughts of Ray -- thoughts of sex -- thoughts of Ray having sex
with increasing frequency. 

 So, although the basic premise was working, perhaps some alterations were
in order. It was altogether possible that he would derive greater
satisfaction from a more fully-realized scenario. First, he decided on a
specific setting: Ray's bedroom. Then he wondered what other elements he
could add. 

 Based on his observations (Stella, Luanne, the woman who wrote bad
checks) Ray liked blondes, alas. Fraser himself was partial to dark hair.
A compromise was necessary -- perhaps a redhead? (In fact, Fraser had been
a redhead once, and maybe even -- no. No.) Keep this in the realm of
implausible plausibility. Verisimilitude was of the essence, if this were
to be satisfying. 

 So, a redhead. 

 Fraser had no trouble at all picturing Ray's attentions to his red-haired
woman. The titian waves of her hair framed her milky skin and rosy
nipples, and the contrast against Ray's golden coloration was, indeed,
most satisfactory to observe as Ray stroked her, and kissed her, and
thrust into her and teased her, holding off until she was panting with
want, and then rubbed her vigorously with his long fingers, until she
pushed down into his hand and clutched his shoulders, shouting, "yes!" as
he pulled out and ejaculated onto her stomach with a groan. 

 Pleased with this new level of detail, Fraser cleaned himself off with
the flannel he'd taken to leaving by his bedside, and sank into his
now-customary deep sleep. 

 & & & 

 Fraser cautiously inquired after Ray's weekend plans, and Ray snapped at
him over their Chinese food. He apologized later, though. "I know you
weren't yanking my chain, earlier. No, I don't have a date. Um. Wanna come
over, maybe watch the game on Sunday?" 

 Fraser did. 

 And if he took extra note of his surroundings while he was there, mining
for details to incorporate in his ongoing mental movie, well. He certainly
wasn't harming anyone. 

 & & & 

 Fraser's flights of fancy rapidly took on a life of their own. Soon, his
imagined role changed to that of an active participant, straddling the
line between wide-eyed new initiate and sexual adversary. No longer
content to be a mere observer, he cast himself in the role of a welcome
third party, explaining away it to himself by imagining his presence and
participation were strictly at the woman's behest. 

 In his musings, Ray always went first. The opportunity to watch Ray as a
sexual creature was the point of these ... mental exercises, after all.
And perhaps Ray would be a little bit annoyed at his bedmate's request for
a second male, and perhaps he would make an extra effort to satisfy her,
demonstrating his skill and passion so that she would remember him with
admiration, and maybe even so that Fraser himself would be impressed. 

 And after Ray was done, she would be breathless and recovering. (But
although she was sated, Ray was not, and Ray would stalk over to him, and
-- no. No.) 

 And after she recovered, Fraser would take Ray's place, on Ray's bed,
atop Ray's girl, and tongue her breasts and sink into warm soft wetness as
Ray watched him, in turn. And Fraser would bite his lip and say no names
at all when he came. 

 & & & 

 Ray called him, unexpectedly, on Thursday night. Fraser was already
wearing nothing but his union suit and socks, prepared for yet another
early evening of pleasure and sleep. 

 Ray wanted to know if Fraser would like to "grab a pizza, check out a
late movie, maybe," and it was only after he said no that Fraser realized
Ray would be disappointed by his answer. To make up for his rudeness, but
without wanting to be obvious about it, Fraser coaxed Ray into deeper
conversation instead. 

 It was only when he'd hopelessly lost the thread of Ray's narrative that
Fraser realized he'd begun stroking himself while listening to Ray's
unique cadence, using Ray without his knowledge or consent. Fraser was
rigid with excitement, practically on the verge of coming -- how had he
not noticed? -- and frantically cut the conversation, the one he'd
insisted on starting, abruptly short. He hung up and crawled into bed,
draping his arm over his eyes and naming himself ten kinds of fool. 

 His erection didn't care about that, though, so slowly, reluctantly, he
returned to The Fantasy, as he'd come to think of it. The damage had
already been done, after all -- and this way, at least, he might get some
sleep. 

 He awoke feeling restless and guilty, and, later, managed to persuade
Inspector Thatcher that she needed him at the Consulate all day. Hopefully
Ray would have forgotten their erratic conversation by Monday. 

 & & & 

 Ray seemed hesitant on Monday morning, and uncharacteristically unsure of
himself. By the time they'd hunted down and interviewed their second
witness of the afternoon, though, he was simmering with his customary
energy. Later, Fraser caught himself smiling fatuously at his partner, but
when Ray noticed, he just winked back and continued questioning witness
number three. 

 Fraser decided he would simply have to be more cautious in future, and
thanked the universe at large that all was back to normal, no explanations
necessary. 

 & & & 

 Fraser's newfound resolution to stick to firm boundaries got him through
the next few days. But he couldn't help allowing the proceedings in The
Fantasy began to develop into something more (and more awkward to
remember, afterwards). 

 Fraser found himself lingering over his imaginings of Ray in action, as
he watched him plunge into the redhead -- the push of Ray's hips and flex
of his buttocks and thigh muscles, viewed from behind, were very
inspiring. Not to mention the tender skin hidden in the crease of his
buttocks, winking in and out of sight as he pistoned in and out of the
girl. 

 Even in his imagination, Fraser was hard pressed not to move forward and
touch Ray's exposed flesh with his hands and lips and tongue. In fact,
watching Ray reach the cusp of ecstasy, Fraser was hard pressed not to cut
things short and climax in reality when the Ray in his fantasy did. 

 But Fraser would delay, if at all possible, so that he could watch Ray
reach orgasm inside of her, face going slack with overwhelming sensation
as the woman shuddered and bucked around him. 

 So. Ray would perform, and perform very well, then beckon to him and --
this being a fantasy and in no way connected to reality, so Fraser
arranged the details as they would be most pleasing to him -- Fraser would
slide into her, still slick with Ray's ejaculate. 

 The thought of his excited him so much that, even in his mind, he slid in
less politely, more abruptly, than he normally would -- and the woman
(their woman) reacted extremely favorably to his abrupt entry. So he
continued roughly, at a furious pace, as she moaned and writhed beneath
him, breasts bouncing enticingly. 

 He would fuck her -- in this moment, he would be unrelenting,
overpowering -- he would show Ray -- and he could admit, to himself, that
he was competitive. So he would exert himself, he would display great
skill, he would acquit himself well, all in front of Ray's eyes. Ray, he
was certain, would be impressed. (In fact, Ray might find him so
impressive that he might even be inclined to wonder -- no. No.) 

 But Ray would be watching, prick in hand -- or perhaps not. Although the
"skin flicks" that Ray had once denied owning obviously had male
participants as well, so maybe.... Well. It would be best for Ray to be
fascinated, and seemingly unaware of his own renewing excitement, although
it would become unmistakably apparent to Fraser as he was being watched in
awe. 

 And -- oh god, yes, Ray was touching himself. 

 Fraser forgot completely what he was supposed to be proving on the woman
beneath him, and ejaculated all over his unbuttoned union suit as his
mind's eye watched Ray using the sight of Fraser, and the redhead crying
out at his prowess, as his own personal pornographic show. 

 & & & 

 Ray grabbed his arm and neatly stopped him from walking into a cement
pillar. 

 "Fraser, you all right?" 

 Fraser assured Ray that he was fine, just fine. 

 "Only -- you've been acting a little weird lately. Weirder than usual, I
mean." 

 Fraser vehemently disclaimed any knowledge whatsoever of whatever
nonsense Ray was talking about, and his pulse finally ceased its panicked
racing by the time they got back from lunch. 

 & & & 

 Fraser knew that perhaps he was developing an unhealthy obsession with
what had become his nightly routine. However, the knowledge that Ray and
their red-haired beauty awaited him made the pull of his fantasy life
impossible to resist. 

 As actor, director, and co-star, he decided to exercise his creative
control a little more. Actual threesomes weren't so unusual in American
sexual culture, after all, from what he could tell from his research into
the pornographic materials available via mail order. And Ray was -- Ray
was not shy; Fraser could imagine Ray trying something like this, and so.
Try this he would. 

 How best to position everyone? Ah, yes. Fraser closed his eyes and
considered. 

 Ray would lie flat on his back, knees draped over the foot of his bed,
feet on the floor. He would be hard already, hard and wanting, and he
would stroke himself slowly, splayed out on the bed, knowing full well
that he was on display. He would grip the base of his cock, then, and tilt
it up, holding it in position. She would come over and straddle him,
sinking down onto him slowly, and Ray would help support her with his
grasp on her arms. Ray could use the leverage of his feet on the floor to
brace himself and push up into her, and the two would begin to move
sinuously against one another. 

 That would be Fraser's cue to step forward and join in. They would pause,
suspended, as he prepared her carefully, easing his slick fingers into her
proffered opening. Ray would be holding onto her hips, staring up at
Fraser with hooded eyes, and Fraser would lock gazes with him as he pushed
into her from behind. 

 He had to break their unspoken communication to rest his forehead on the
back of her neck, though, burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair,
once he was all the way inside. He could feel Ray, here, inside of her,
the long hard shape of him an added pressure to push up against. 

 Once he'd recollected himself, he was able to move -- he slid in and out
of her slowly as he and Ray aided her in a languorous up-and-down
movement, matching their offset rhythms perfectly. The grip of her body
around him was extra-tight, and the motion, the steady force, of Ray's
cock on the opposite side of her internal walls added an incredible amount
of sensation and intimacy. 

 Fraser was staring into Ray's eyes, sensual and ecstatic beneath him --
and Ray was close, so close, surging upwards, face twisted, visibly
fighting for control, and Fraser, too, was close, close, close -- and
then, with a gut-wrenching, deliberate last push and slide against one
another, inside of her hot wet body, they were there. 

 & & & 

 Ray tossed small hunks of his roll to a curious squirrel as they sat on a
park bench, eating their sandwiches. 

 "So, Fraser, what about you -- you got a hot date this weekend I can
tease you about?" 

 Fraser turned to answer Ray, and only then did he realize that Ray hadn't
so much as looked up at him as he asked his question. Oh, dear. He must
have been acting differently after all, and obviously Ray had
misinterpreted Fraser's distance and silence as decreased interest in him,
instead of rather too much. 

 Fraser sighed. He explained that, no, the only rendezvous he had planned
was with the new exhibit at the Chicago Museum of Art -- a supplementing
of their already impressive Monet collection was, truly, a cultural event
not to be missed. Purely reflexively, he asked Ray if he'd care to
accompany him. He was rather distracted when he asked, so perhaps he could
be forgiven for being so shocked when Ray said, "yes." 

 Fraser just gaped at him, wondering if he was supposed to believe that
Ray had suddenly developed an interest in the Impressionist movement. Not
knowing what else to do, he thanked Ray awkwardly and they arranged for
Ray to pick him up at the Consulate the next morning. 

 & & & 

 Fraser bought himself some time by hmmm-ing and rocking back on his
heels, hands clasped behind his back. Dear lord, was Ray actually asking
him questions about the nudes? He finally opened his mouth to reply,
completely at a loss as to what he was going to actually say, but Ray
dropped his eyes with a muttered, "nevermind," and moved into the next
room. 

 In fact, although Fraser knew he'd been a little distant of late, he was
earnestly trying to make an effort to be companionable today. But now it
was Ray who seemed odd and incomprehensible, and Fraser didn't know how he
was supposed to act. He settled for following Ray's unmistakably
recognizable sportjacket toward the main exhibit. 

 When they arrived at the room housing the special collection, they stayed
a long time. Ray even put on his glasses. And he would stand half-beside,
half-behind Fraser, apparently getting lost in each painting, as his
breath brushed Fraser's ear and his body warmth made Fraser's other side
feel chilled. Fraser just stood and kept his face blank, trying not to
move. 

 When they left, Fraser had no idea what paintings they'd seen. 

 Prickling with sweat, he practically slammed the Consulate door behind
him and leaned back against it. He took a few heaving breaths of air and
hurried to his room. He skipped his ablutions entirely and was still
half-dressed and vertical as he started to masturbate, no fantasy
necessary at all. 

 Good christ, how was he supposed to bear this? 

 & & & 

 Later that night, he awoke, uncomfortable in his street clothes. He
washed up and changed, a stray touch sending him back into his now
near-constant state of arousal. This was truly ridiculous. He was a long
way from seventeen, after all, and after his hurried self-relief earlier,
his body shouldn't even be considering doing this to him again so soon. 

 Fraser sat on the edge of his cot and pressed the heels of his hands to
his temples. *Fine, then,* he thought viciously, and impatiently started
undoing the tiny buttons running down his front. His body demanded The
Fantasy? He lay down and jammed the pillow under his head. Then The
Fantasy his body would get. 

 He closed his eyes and his frustrated anger dimmed a bit as he conjured
up the now-familiar surroundings of Ray's bedroom. 

 A shadowed figure appeared in the doorway. "She couldn't make it," the
Ray of his fantasy told him, stalking over to Fraser's position on the
bed. "But it'd be a shame to let all our plans go to waste, wouldn't it?" 

 Mouth dry, Fraser nodded wordlessly. Ray crawled onto the mattress and
hovered over him, cupping Fraser's cheek with one hand. The light in his
eyes -- the sheer want -- was something Fraser would have doubted his
ability to imagine, had he dared to do so before. Back at the Consulate,
his heart may have been breaking, but here in his mind, Ray dropped his
head and took Fraser's mouth, and Fraser was overjoyed to be well and
truly caught. 

 Their bodies brushed against each other, accidentally at first, then with
conscious purpose. And it was this modest scenario -- simply kissing and
rubbing off against one other in Ray's quiet bedroom -- that shattered
Fraser's fantasy once and for all as he came. 

 & & & 

 It was back to restless nights for Fraser, only this time he felt like he
knew exactly what he was missing. It was much as if he'd actually just
gone through the ending of a relationship. 

 He wasn't sleeping well, and Ray was not the only one to notice his
shadowed complexion and sluggish demeanor. 

 The last time Ray asked him if something was wrong, he was too weary to
come up with a plausible denial. So here he was, on Ray's couch, forcibly
propped in front of the television, staring over the empty pizza box on
the coffee table. 

 During a commercial break -- at least, he thought it was -- Ray's hand
landed heavily on his shoulder and tugged gently at him. 

 "Hey, Fraser," he said. "It's time you told me what's going on, I think."


 Of course, Ray, Fraser thought, Certainly. I didn't like being friends
with you, anyway. 

 What he actually said, though, was something more along the lines of
bemoaning the frustration of wanting things you can't have. He thought
that was probably oblique enough, while still being entirely
comprehensible to Ray, of all people. 

 But Ray said, "Oh," and then, "Oh," and Fraser was fairly certain he'd
just given away a lot more than he'd meant. He was reluctant to look at
Ray's face for confirmation. 

 Ray -- insistent and intrusive as ever -- was having none of that. He
slid his fingers under Fraser's jaw and slowly, shakily tipped his head
upward, until their gazes locked. 

 Fraser tried to name the expression on Ray's face. Although it was not
one he was accustomed to seeing, it was not entirely unfamiliar, and --
wait, he recognized this Ray; this was the heavy-lidded, hot-eyed Ray of
his bedroom. 

 Without further thought, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ray's.
Ray startled, but quickly started kissing him back, and they were tasting
each other, joined wetly at the mouth. When Fraser's hands skidded up
Ray's side, dragging Ray's shirt up beneath his palm, Ray laughed into
Fraser's mouth and pulled back. 

 "Not that I'm complaining, mind -- but Fraser, what the heck has gotten
into you?" Ray asked. 

 "What can I say, Ray? You give me ideas." And he circled Ray's wrists and
pressed him back against the cushions, savoring his mouth once again. 

 Later -- much later -- Fraser was happy to note that the bedroom looked
brighter than he remembered it. 

End Musings by lynnmonster: lynnmonster@lycos.com

Author and story notes above.