The Garden of Forbidden Pleasures	   The Garden of Forbidden
Pleasures

 by Crimson Mercutio 007

  

 Author's website:
http://www.geocities.com/annodomini2003tm/mercutio/mercutio.htm

 Disclaimer: They don't belong to me, darn it. I'd treat them a lot better
if they did.

 Author's Notes: Big thanks go to my friend R. for giving my stories a
once-over, and pointing out what might have made me the laughing stock of
all slashdom. =)

 Story Notes: Multiple partners (threesomes). Angst. Language, maybe.
Unrelieved sexual tension. A teeny-tiny hint of s/m, so insignificant I
doubt merits a warning. I also took some liberties with canon, but it's
not really an AU, because. well, you'll see.

 

 

 It all started with an invitation to dinner, one of those formal
occasions where you've got to appear all decked out in your best clothes,
and guys wearing perfume are not only not frowned at, but indeed kind of a
must. It was one of those rare cases Fraser could freely indulge in his
secret love of exotic scents, and he did so happily, spaying himself with
that fresh cinnamon-and-pineapple fragrance that blended so perfectly with
the chemistry of his skin, making him smell as if he had just taken a
bubble bath spiced with tropical fruit oils, a special treat he sadly
couldn't offer himself as often as he would like. He was going to drop by
his partner Ray Vecchio's house to pick him up, and while he was putting
the finishing touches to his toilet, Fraser realized that, for some
indefinable reason, he felt inclined to make himself look exceptionally
good that evening. It must be the tamed, semi-dormant, but ever-present
instinct of male antagonism, he thought, the need to supercede your peer,
all the more so if your peer is a confirmed lady-magnet, unabashedly
waving his decadent charm like a conqueror's flag of triumph. 

 It almost went without saying that Fraser and Vecchio would present
themselves at the dinner escorted by each other. The two of them had
become great friends besides being great partners, emotionally attached to
one another in a deeply touching way which was also a little comical, each
of them acting towards the other like an over-protective older brother.
Moreover, as it happened, both of them were also dateless at the time, and
Fraser was sure his friend hoped, at least for his own part, that this
particular state of affairs would be altered in an advantageous way that
evening. He adamantly refused to admit that this thought caused an
unpleasant feeling of rejection and envy combined to start spreading
itself in his soul, slyly and slowly, making him wince internally at the
prospect of Ray ending up in the arms of some ethereal female presence,
who would be much too eager to succumb to his gallant advances. 

 He got into his car, still overwhelmed by that annoying mixture of
anticipation and reluctance. It seemed to him that the trip to Ray's house
lasted a whole eternity; and when he finally reached his destination,
Fraser saw fit to take a last appraising glance at his reflection in the
window of his car, and adjust his tie and that unruly lock that deemed it
below its dignity to remain stuck with the rest of his gel-soaked hair.
When satisfied with the result, he purposefully walked to Ray's house and
proceeded to knock on the door. 

 *"Hey man, you look just fabulous in that suit!" Ray exclaimed upon
seeing him enter, and rushed to envelop him in his lean but strong arms.
"And mmm, you smell so good..." he cooed as he stroked Fraser's hair and
nuzzled his neck before pressing his lips to the man's cheek in greeting,
the corners of their mouths meeting for the flash of a second - and as
Fraser let himself melt in the embrace, he couldn't help smiling inwardly
at the thought of what a good idea it had been to apply a hint of that
colorless, odorless balm to his lips to soothe the "roughness caused by
dehydration due to excessive heat or cold", as the product's label
affirmed it would. He felt the surreptitious heat of blushing on his face,
and wondered whether it was right for a guy to blush just because his male
partner found him so presentable and worthy of such an affectionate
welcome.* 

 *Ray had no qualms at all about telling Fraser how good he looked if he
thought so (he had, indeed, expressed his appreciation of Fraser's looks
in a pretty eloquent way a few minutes after they were first introduced -
"Man, you're gorgeous!" he had exclaimed, a little breathlessly, eliciting
from all around the place a discreet buzz of muffled giggles and a
hesitant couple of wolf-whistles. "From what everyone's been saying about
you, I'd thought you'd be a grumpy old grinch or something!" he'd added
with disarming frankness, only to dissolve in horrified apologies a
heartbeat later, as realization of what he'd just said began to sink in),
or draping himself all over the other man in an affectionate full-body hug
whenever they parted at the end of the day or met again the next morning
at work.* 

 It had been a hard thing for Fraser to learn to kiss back whenever Ray
applied his lips to the side of his face - it had already been difficult,
in the first place, to get himself to admit that being touched by another
man in an intimate way like this did not make him - or Ray, for that
matter - less of a man. By now he had fairly mastered the art of adapting
to Italian effusiveness. If nothing else, Ray was already established as
"the Italian", and whatever he said or did, which would definitely be
considered out of place coming from anyone else, was automatically
justified by Ray's being who he was, although Fraser preferred not to give
too much thought to the rather condescending perception of Ray's
nationality this attitude implied; sometimes even discrimination might
prove convenient, and absurdly enough, for the very same reasons that
motivate it. Indifference, Fraser decided, was a blessing in that case,
and as far as he was concerned, he was determined from now on to follow
the way his heart was pointing; if his heart directed him to make himself
good-looking and nice-smelling and smooth to the touch for Ray, there was
no force or power in the world that would stop him from doing it.  

 "Hey man, you're half an hour early!" Ray exclaimed upon seeing him
enter, and rushed inside to inform his mother that Fraser had already
arrived, and ask her to keep him company while he, Ray, put the finishing
touches to his own toilet. Fraser shook his head violently to clear it
from the fogs of fantasy, finding it extremely hard to even try and adapt
to a reality so dramatically different from his dream. Instead of
wallowing in the tender comfort of his friend's arms and whispered loving
words, he had to endure a whole half hour of unenthusiastic small talk
with Mrs. Vecchio, a great deal of which was, as always, occupied by her
zealous extolling of her daughter Francesca's virtues. Not that poor
Francesca did not correspond, to a certain extent, to the picture her
mother painted of her, but at the moment, Fraser was infinitely more
interested in her brother. 

 When Ray was finally ready, and materialized in front of him in his white
suit and silk azure tie that flattered the blue-green of his eyes, it was
all Fraser could do not to swoon like some lovestruck virgin. It was
almost normal for him to expect that his own white trousers would feel
impossibly tight all the way to the classy restaurant, making him squirm
uncomfortably on his seat and risking to betray himself to Ray, who sat
smiling cluelessly beside him and occasionally nudging Fraser's knee with
his own in the course of conversation, as well as lose his concentration
on the road; but when, to his utter misfortune, at the exact moment he was
stopping the car outside the restaurant, already half-filled with
well-dressed people, Ray threw his head back and laughed at a joke Fraser
couldn't even remember having told, his musical laughter ringing into the
constricted space of the car like a garland of crystalline, deep-sounding
bells, Fraser was totally unprepared for the helpless explosion that took
place in his body's nether regions. He managed to hide his shocked gasp
under a sob that was part laughter and part cry of abomination, and the
damp stain on his pants beneath his jacket, which he would now have to
keep buttoned until the end of the evening. 

 The rest of the dinner was a wet ordeal that fortunately passed in a
blur, and Fraser could only remember dancing with a couple of ladies (one
of whom began sniffing him suspiciously, and apparently not because of his
perfume) and conversing mechanically with a number of other guests, some
of whom he had never met before. In the meanwhile, Ray was making the most
of his own time, enjoying the party to the fullest and at some point
presenting Fraser with a bodacious brunette called Lori Lee or something,
whose fingers were wrapped like immovable tentacles around Ray's arm. They
left the restaurant together, of course, and Fraser returned home alone
and miserable, valiantly resisting the urge to cry his heart out like a
dishonored and abandoned soap-opera heroine. That night he offered himself
the precious luxury of a comfort bubble bath spiced with tropical fruit
oils, which lasted more than four hours and during which Fraser had all
the time he needed to masturbate frantically to random fragments of Ray's
brilliant smiles and clear baritone laughter, and brace himself for the
long days and even longer nights to come in his friend's tormenting
presence/absence, fleeting "manly" affection and occasional touches and
words that didn't, and never, ever would, mean anything more.  

 When Stanley "Ray" Kowalski came to take Raymond "Ray" Vecchio's place,
Fraser had hoped with all his heart those embarassing mental trips would
finally subside. He had willed himself to stop thinking of his former
partner as a potential lover and see him just the way he was, an innocent,
unsuspecting, and above all else, totally heterosexual guy to whom it had,
of course, never occured that he and Fraser could possibly share anything
more than the warm friendship already forged between them. At first sight,
at least, the new Ray seemed to have nothing on the old Ray, which was
rather encouraging in itself. He lacked the old Ray's atractiveness and
social finesse, and besides, he smoked like a chimney and had that
horrible accent which was a torture to Fraser's sensitive ears. There was
barely anything in his personality that might even remotely be of romantic
interest to Fraser, and thus their first hesitant steps towards a
partnership were blessed by the most positive of omens - or so he thought
in the beginning. 

 But to his horror, as time passed and their initially reluctant
relationship started to take on a closer, more affectionate turn, Fraser
realized the waking dreams continued with a vengeance, taking control of
his thoughts at any given moment or occasion, sometimes even in such
public places as the middle of the street in broad daylight, and each time
he found it more and more difficult to resist their lure, risking an
irreparable damage to his reputation. Instead of curing him from his
obsession with Raymond "Ray" Vecchio, Stanley "Ray" Kowalski's presence
kept reminding him of the other Ray. Almost against his will, Fraser's
subconscious mind pulled off detailed comparisons, and even outright
sensual confrontations between the two, his imagination helpfully
providing any missing links in the chain of his spirit and body's
instinctual reactions. 

 The worst thing was that in most cases, the missing "link" was Fraser
himself - a fully naked, painfully horny and absolutely slutty human link,
eager to please both his Rays and seal them together in his memory by
means of his own bare hands (literally, or as literally as it was possible
in the nebulous realms of reverie). Since the day his two Rays finally met
in reality, he caught himself, more often than not, imagining how it would
feel to find himself in a compromising position involving both of them, or
rather, all three of them. In those flights of fancy, Fraser was surprised
to realize he usually preferred to place himself on the receiving end,
with both his Rays servicing and being serviced by him at the same time,
while doing their best to outdo and complement one another. 

 It felt like being sandwiched between two distorting mirrors facing each
other. The one face elegantly boned, almost aristocratic, receding
hairline adding to the patrician effect. Aquiline nose, huge aquamarine
eyes you could lose yourself in, oddly shaped mouth tormenting his
earlobe. The body looked slight but there was strength in those lean arms
and legs, enough to leave bruises behind after they'd finally sorted out
which limbs belonged to whom. The other face had irregular features, and
if not for those dark blue eyes and the fair skin, there was nothing else
on it to mark it as beautiful, or even attractive. But there was fire in
those eyes, and it lit up the whole face from within, erasing the somewhat
painful angles of that wiry body and the cigarette smoke he could smell on
the other man's breath. 

 His other Ray was attacking his mouth with his lips from behind, angling
his face a bit too uncomfortably, while his one Ray was making himself at
home inside his body from the front, his own right leg hooked over his one
Ray's shoulder and the left one wrapped around his one Ray's hips. His
other Ray was gently massaging his neck and his shoulders and back,
calming and stimulating him, making it easier for both him and his other
Ray, and he could sample the strength and tenderness of both,
Mediterranean fervor and Northern nonchalance, the wholesome feeling of an
uncut member pounding him like there was no tomorrow and a cut one sliding
in and out of his palm. He wanted to bring both his Rays off
simultaneously, timing his own explosion to join theirs. He could feel the
end approaching for all of them together, and they soared up into the
seventh heaven in a white hot thunder of pleasure. 

 Long live his Rays, the Ray-Ray Vecchio and the Stanley-Ray Kowalski.
Long live the twist of fate that had brought them together. As all three
of them came down from the high, sharing the sweetest three-way kiss in
the history of threesomes, Fraser felt his other Ray's fingers working
their way into his body and using the residues of slippery moisture there
to prepare him for round two of mind-blowing lovemaking, while his one Ray
knelt in front of him, to return with his mouth the pleasure he had taken
from him earlier. 

 Fraser braced himself for the shock of ecstasy he knew he would soon be
experiencing in the hands, and arms, and lips of his oh, so talented
lovers, only to find himself abruptly landed onto reality, the reality he
hated and despised, the reality that translated itself into loneliness,
and lovelessness, and that incurable feeling of emptiness he had come to
associate so closely with himself. Stanley-Ray Kowalski was sitting at his
desk nearby, shuffling lazily through a heap of papers and putting out his
hundredth cigarette of the day. Another clueless, innocuous creature
Fraser had shamelessly used for his own personal satisfaction. 

 He suddenly felt very dirty, like the most despicable pervert, a violator
of innocent souls. This, of course, didn't stop him from coming hard in
his pants for the millionth time that year, his eyes riveted on the
ghost-white swirls of smoke escaping from between the delicate rose curves
of his partner's lips, his strangled grunt causing Stanley-Ray to raise
his head in startled worry and ask him if he was all right. To which
Fraser only managed to stutter something unintelligible in reply, which
Stanley-Ray deemed reasonable to take as the Canadian version of "yes",
and reassured about his partner's health, nodded once and went back to
studying his papers and stuffing his already full ashtray with a fresh
bunch of cigarette stubs. 

 And so one more year went by, haunted by the typical repertoire of
one-sided emotions and unrequited desires, adding another load of
self-pity and depression to Fraser's overtaxed emotional inventory. The
only consolation he had left were those mental escapades into his own
"perfumed garden", his garden of forbidden pleasures, where he took refuge
now and then, whenever the hours seemes to take much longer than usual to
roll by and life got a bit too hard to live. But since he could see no
possible alternative to this half-life he was condemned to endure forever,
he decided to clench both his teeth and fists and live it and with it, up
to its inevitable end. He was no fatalist, but he was determined to prove
to himself that he could be more than a realist if circumstances called
for it.  

 And then, the following summer, there was that seminar in Cascade,
Washington, a place Fraser hadn't even imagined the existence of until he
received the invitation to attend, and where he made the acquaintance of
big, bad, beautiful cop Jim Ellison and his sugar-sweet boy-toy, one
lovely Blair Sandburg with a razor-sharp mind and honeyed tongue, who kept
asking Fraser weird questions about his unusually acute senses of taste
and touch, and who eventually proved to be unexpectedly robust and bossy
for his size. After a couple of preliminary meetings, Fraser had already
begun to revise his initial assessment of which of them was the other's
boy-toy. In fact, Sandburg seemed to be keeping Ellison on a short leash,
a mental image that had kept Fraser mostly sleepless and almost constantly
aroused until their next rendez-vous. 

 It hardly mattered that this rendez-vous had been arranged to take place
not in one of those "discreet" motels scattered all over the outskirts of
Cascade, but in Fraser's own pleasure dome, the forbidden garden of his
private Utopia, reserved for those select few whom he judged appropriate
to "invite" there. He had come to Cascade unescorted, which meant he was
free to do as he pleased in his spare time - which, in turn, meant that if
he chose to remain locked in his hotel room for hours on end, soiling the
sheets with the liquid fruit of his solitary enjoyment, no one was going
to complain, except perhaps for the hotel's cleaning staff. There was not
much to admire in Cascade anyway, save Ellison and Sandburg and maybe one
or two other people in their company. 

 So Fraser threw his clothes away and let himself sprawl in a boneless
heap onto the king-sized bed. The room was air-conditioned, and the
caressing coolness seeped luxuriously through his bare skin, making his
whole being hum with the pleasure. As if moving of their own, his hands
started on an exhaustive journey of reacquainting themselves with the most
sensitive and most responsive areas of his body. They felt his throat,
fingered the tender spots behind his ears, stroked the broad, hairless
planes of his chest, pinched his already peaked nipples, worried his
armpits, traced his navel, played in the thatch of black curls at his
groin, tickled the inside of his thighs, and finally, as his hips began to
move in response to the more and more urgent contractions of his bowels,
those hands grasped the base of his burgeoning erection and squeezed it
painfully, wanting to punish it for its impatience and make it wait
obediently for the main event. It would be improper, if not outright rude,
to start the party before his guests arrived. 

 And then, suddenly, he was enveloped in darkness and there were hands on
his body again, only this time they weren't his own hands, because his own
hands had mysteriously been tied somewhere above his head; the new hands
felt calloused and strong, but their touch was tentative, careful, almost
gentle. They followed exactly the same path Fraser's own hands had traced
before, but their touch was lingering, more insistent, leaving behind a
trail of thrilling, unfamiliar sensations. They were obviously a man's
hands, square, knowing, capable, hands able to cause pain and bring
pleasure in equal amounts. Fraser tried to open his eyes but realized they
were already open, and unable to see because a black piece of cloth was
covering them. "Most nteresting," he thought to himself. "Restrained AND
blinfolded, and not having even the faintest idea by whom." 

 Then he felt another pair of hands touching him, those ones softer and
even gentler, with longer, slimmer fingers, but they were manly hands as
well, their movements on his skin sure, confident. Fraser sighed and
cleared his throat, intending to speak, ask who his tender torturers were,
but one of the smaller, rougher hands covered his mouth, halting his
speech. All right then, if they wanted silence, Fraser could do silence.
Even in his euphoric haze, the tiny part of his conscious mind that hadn't
been numbed by the sensual rapture found a viable reason for this. The
slightest whisper would definitely break the mood and disrupt the
voiceless ecstasy in which his invisible lovers had him swimming; the
rougher hands returned to his straining cock, smearing something cool and
slick all over its length. A weight - a big man's weight - settled slowly
on his thighs, and before he was able to register this new development,
Fraser suddenly found his hardness wrapped in impossibly tight damp
velvet, the unexpected sensation overwhelming, almost unbearable, leaving
him breathless and panting for air. The softer hands, which apparently
belonged to this big man, continued to caress his chest and worry his
nipples as the man at last found a rhythm and began moving steadily on
Fraser's erection. 

 The rougher hands were all the while slicking and stretching his own
entrance, and just as Fraser felt he was ready to explode, the weight
shifted off his thighs and went away, his cock was painfully freed from
its wonderful prison, his legs were forcefully spread apart and the
hugest, hardest erection he could ever imagine was unceremoniously shoved
into him. Then the big man straddled his hips again, impaling himself on
Fraser's cock from a different angle this time, maybe so that he was able
to face his companion. For long, interminable moments, the only noises
Fraser's trained ears were able to register were the soft susurration of
skin moving on sheets and skin moving on, in and out of skin, and the wet
sounds of greedy, lengthy, nasty kisses being exchanged above him. Despite
the thorough pleasuring he was receiving from both of his unknown lovers,
Fraser's heart was suddenly filled with almost hurtful envy at these two
men for the urgency of their hunger for one another, and their perfectly
practiced synchronization as they possessed him like a pair of demons,
making his body scream with the frightful intensity of the pleasure. 

 And he did scream indeed as he came, violently waking from his fantasy in
a pool of his own sperm and hoping the walls of this hotel's rooms were
adequately insulated. The erotic daydream had been so vivid that Fraser
was nearly surprised to discover his hands were unrestrained and that he
wasn't sore in the places he expected he would be. He half-heartedly rose
from the bed and dragged himself to the bathroom for a quick but efficient
shower, belatedly berating himself for his carelessness. Who knows what
the room service might think of him when they found out the mess he had
made on the sheets. On the other hand, the encouraging thing was they
probably would never have to see him again, or he them, for all that it
mattered.It wasn't like there would be seminars like this in Cascade every
year, or that he, of all Canadian mounties, would be chosen to attend them
on a regular basis. 

 That day's afternoon had been left free for all participants to do
whatever they wanted, so Fraser decided to replace his uniform with jeans
and an impeccably ironed T-shirt and take a walk in the streets of
Cascade, after enjoying a nice cup of coffee. A brief inspection of his
face in the mirror left him totally stunned, as it revealed a pair of
bright eyes and refreshed, shining skin, which was highly unusual after
each of his solitary exploits that left him even emptier and more needy
and dejected than before. He would normally expect to contemplate a tired,
dull complexion, eyes bloodshot and circled in black and an acrid
expression of discontent written all over his features. It took him quite
a few minutes to take in the change and accept that the face in the mirror
was really his own. In the end, still puzzled but not in a disagreeable
way, he got out of his room and made his way to the cafeteria. 

 There, among other faces he remembered from earlier sessions of the
seminar, he saw the inseparable Ellison-Sandburg pair seated at a somewhat
isolated corner table and talking in low voices, their heads bent close
together, clearly indifferent to whatever was going on around them. Fraser
felt the imperative need to avert his eyes and disappear as soon as
possible, before they had the time to acknowledge his presence. Although
it was impossible for them to be aware of what had gone on in his head and
body a quarter of an hour before, because of them but without their even
suspecting it, the familiar, ever-present guilt was taking charge of his
feelings once more, preventing him from acting and speaking as if nothing
had happened. The dream lovers he had shared his afternoon "siesta" with
had no faces, of course, and no names had been spoken at all - and yet,
deep, very deep inside him, Fraser was certain beyond any doubt that it
was them who had innocuously incited his fantasy. But just as he was about
to turn his back on them and make a hasty retreat, Jim Ellison raised that
patrician head of his, turned his face in Fraser's direction and pinned
him with a look that almost made Fraser cream his pants again. He knew,
just knew it was his imagination, but he couldn't take off his mind the
impression that the big, gorgeous man was giving him the glad eye - the
bluest glad eye anyone, woman or man, had ever given him... 

 END 

End The Garden of Forbidden Pleasures by Crimson Mercutio 007:
handsome_stranger_007@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.