Perfect, by Te	Perfect
 by Te
 August-September 1999
 
 Disclaimers: They don't belong to me. They'd be fat, happy and satisfied
if they belonged to me. I swear.

 Spoilers: Not a single one.

 Summary: One night in a hotel room. 

 Ratings Note: NC-17 for language and smut.

 Author's Note: A dream I had, sort of.

 Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon and torch for audiencing, encouragement,
and general sexiness. 

 Archivist's note: may disturb, caveat lector.

 *
 clothes make the man, but they make you more of a martyr
 then i look at you and i see something else that i'm after
 -- some "really, really old 80's song," as quoted by torch
 *

 Daddy793: In other dreams, Fraser and Ray wound up in Vegas for some
reason.
 Aurorarowa: Because all good American dreams visit Vegas sooner or later.

 Daddy793: Hee! I supposed it just *had* to happen.
 Daddy793: Tipsy Ray does his sleepy damnedest to seduce Fraser. Poker
chips are scattered, something is glittering in the distance, Ray is
wearing suspenders for once...
 Aurorarowa: 
 Daddy793: Ray is plucking at the buttons of Fraser's tuxedo shirt,
swaying on his feet.
 Daddy793: Fraser is not stopping him, not doing much of anything. Sort of
*lurking* behind his own eyes, but Ray doesn't see, is all unwitting.
 Aurorarowa:  and oooh, yeah, that's what Fraser would be doing, and even
sober Ray would just be noticing that he wasn't stopping him...
 Daddy793: "See, I think we shoulda done this weeks ago. Months.
 
 

"The sex thing, that is. I think you're... you've been in my dreams,
Frase. Hot dreams. Do you dream?" 

Ray's hand finally got in past the buttons, splayed itself across the warm
and slightly damp expanse of t-shirt. 

"Fraser, please..." 

"Please what, Ray?" 

So calm, even. Ray shuddered, stilled his hand but didn't take it back.
"Do you dream?" 

"Ray --" 

"It's a yes or no question, Frase. No Rays about it. Do you *dream*?" 

"Everyone dreams. There are five accepted stages of sleep -- many cultures
would dispute that, but --" 

"Oh, Christ, why can't you just stop me?" 

"REM -- Rapid Eye Movement -- REM sleep is where our dreams take place,
and dreams are thought to be, in some schools of thought, nothing but the
subconscious' method of *thinking*, of putting together the day's
input..." 

Ray wasn't sure what he was feeling. The stunned sort of disbelief had
dampened his arousal, the pain... the pain. He started laughing. Fraser
kept talking and Ray laughed and laughed. 

And then he ripped the other man's shirt open, nearly bit his own lip at
the sound of rich cloth tearing. And breathed. 

And did not look into Fraser's eyes. 

"Say no." 

"I..." 

"Say no." 

"Ray, we can --" 

Ray ripped the t-shirt untucked and dipped his head until he could circle
one not-dark-enough nipple with his tongue. 

The muscle just beneath the hot, creamy skin jumped and twitched but
Fraser was silent. Ray pressed closer, pressed a kiss to and around the
hardening little peak and sucked. 

Quiet gasp and he wasn't sure what game he was playing but... was there a
point, here? Should he stop? 

Ray compromised himself, for himself, bit down gently and then tore
himself away before he could see what sort of reaction that triggered. 

"Say no, Fraser. I'll stop if you say no." 

And this time he forced himself to look directly into wide blue eyes and
wait. To watch the flush creep over the perfect skin. Fraser was angry,
but so still... 

"Say no or tell me what you want." 

And it seemed magnanimous to his own ears, terribly reasonable. The sort
of moment that -- at any other time -- Ray would use to look over at his
partner, his friend, and carefully not say 'see how good I am?' 

"Why are you doing this?" 

Ray barked another laugh. "I thought that was pretty obvious, there,
Frase." 

"It's not sex anymore." 

"Don't fucking kid yourself --" 

"Can you honestly tell me you don't want to hurt me right now?" 

Ray stepped close and... stood. Breathed the other man's air. Felt himself
shaking and wanted to... wanted to... "Fraser, I *need* you." 

 And that wasn't what he wanted to say, not at all, but it was out and he
met the other man's eyes again. And waited. 

 "It can often be difficult to discern the difference between want and
need." 

 "You're priceless. Absolutely priceless." 

 "Ray, I'm being serious --" 

 "I *know* you're being fucking serious you *god*damn *prick*." 

 "There's no need to resort to --" 

 Ray cut Fraser off by palming his cock through the expensive twill.
"Yeah, Frase, I want to hurt you." 

 Dry swallow. "That's not the best foundation for a relationship, Ray." 

 "No, it isn't. But you're rock hard, and you're full of shit, and you
can't even say *no* --" 

 "No." 

 "Too late." And Ray dove in for a kiss and Fraser didn't move, didn't
breathe, didn't respond... so Ray just breathed through his nose and kept
kissing. Began a short, unsubtle rocking motion with his hand. 

 Pressed himself closer and licked at the roof of the other man's mouth,
creating what he knew would be a maddening, tickling itch. Still no
motion, but... it wasn't OK. It wasn't OK but it was what he was getting
so it would fucking well *be* OK. 

 From Fraser, nothing. 

 Creep of something dark, nasty in his belly. Sexual harassment. Rape.
Necro-lite. 

 Heh. 

 In his own time, Ray broke the kiss with a wet, messy smacking noise.
Kept working his hand at the thickness just two layers of cloth away. Hot,
definitely hot under his hand and yet... not as hot as it could've been. 

 "You're pretty good at biofeedback, I bet." 

 "Well, I've studied it for... years, Ray." 

 He'd stopped working his hand and earned a moment's hesitation. His mind
provided an image of Fraser's body leaning in towards him, but he knew
that wasn't real. 

 "What happens when you stop?" 

 "Stop what?" 

 "Feedin' yourself. Staying calm and cool and in control." 

 "There's never any excuse --" 

 "Do you want me to hurt you?" 

 Sharp intake of breath. "Are you threatening me, Ray?" The edge of
disappointment was perfect, just perfect. 

 "Nope. I'm asking you a yes or no question, Frase. Though I'm beginning
to think you don't have the easiest time answering those." 

 "Just because a conversation does not proceed in the manner you wish it
to is no reason to assume that the other person is incapable of --" 

 "Oh, I know yer capable. Couldn't feed yourself out of a hard-on, could
ya?" 

"The human body contains billions of nerve-endings. Their job is to
respond to stimuli, and as I am a healthy and relatively young person they
do their job quite well. You really shouldn't make assumptions based on
autonomic response." 

"You're right, of course. You're always right. That's one of the reasons I
want you to fuck me. Just bend me right over and shove it in me. Way down
deep and hard and fast until I can't see." 

"Ray --" 

 "Or maybe you'd like to fuck my mouth? I talk too much, that's what my
mom always said. You wanna fuck my smart mouth? Come down my throat? Show
me what control tastes like?" 

Fraser's mouth tightened to a single stern line. The only thing keeping
his position from being 'at attention' were the way his hands were so
carefully not fisted at his sides. 

"Indecision can be a real painful thing there, Frase. Tell ya what, I'm
gonna make it easy on ya." 

 For the first time in several long, long minutes Fraser deigned to meet
his gaze again. Raised one eyebrow into a perfect arch. Halfway between
schoolteacher and cynical old whore and Ray wondered how the other man
would respond to *that* description... 

 "I will. See, I'm just gonna do what *I* want to do, and you can do
whatever you want to do. Nobody ever said it had to be mutual, right?" 

 The eyebrow remained raised for another few moments and then slowly,
deliberately, Fraser brought himself to attention. Eyes front, jaw
squared, shoulders ruler straight and erection exquisitely ignored. 

 Ray allowed himself a moment to wonder who *could* have had Fraser
tonight, and then allowed himself several more... Prick though he was, his
body, his soul never got tired of the many ways Fraser could -- if he
wanted -- be pleasured. 

 And then he walked over to the first double bed, the one just to the
right of where Fraser stood and not-stared, and took off his clothes.
Boots, then suspenders, then jeans, then socks, then shirt, then t-shirt,
then, slowly, boxer-briefs. It took a lot not to bend himself more toward
the other man, but he managed. 

 Before he forgot, he took the small tube out of his left front pocket and
tossed it on the pillow he knew he wouldn't be using. Crawled up and then
just relaxed on his knees for several breaths. 

 Faced the wall, rested his palms on his thighs. Rolled his neck around
and breathed some more. He was trying not to feel the weight of Fraser's
gaze, because he knew it wasn't really there. 

 But his cock was, right there. Hard, red idiot flesh, drooling and
leaping for any caress at all. Pathetic. 

All his. 

Ray gave it a light slap, then another. Jerked at his own touch and mmmed.
The room was cool, and he could feel the difference between abused and
not-abused flesh immediately. He slapped it again, and the sound made him
almost *need* to look around... Almost. 

 He made a claw of his other hand and raked short nails over his nipple.
Not as hard as it looked... Stella always used to freak out when he did
stuff like this. Well, not the cock-slapping... her eyes used to glitter
like a child's, like a bird's at something incomprehensible but so so
shiny... Do it again, Ray... 

And he did. Once, twice, again, again, again, again and oh, God he was
gasping every time now and he hadn't even remembered to listen for
Fraser's reaction but fuck it *hurt* so much nothing like it and maybe... 

He looked down and saw himself hesitate. Pull the blow. He was even redder
now, and dark spots dotted the gaudy blue-green-burgundy-uglier green
coverlet where his pre-come had had the time to really soak in. 

He was sweating, he could smell himself. Harsh, but almost like what it
would be at home. 

Ray licked his hands thoroughly. Not clean, but tasted all over. Sucked at
his own wrists and wondered why he didn't do that more often. 

Bit one while stroking himself in what he liked to think of as his
not-rhythm. Light-fast a few times, then slow, then harder, then faster,
then lighter, then whatever he wanted least. Cruel cruel lover stroke. 

Bit harder and moaned into his own flesh. 

If Ray drew blood Fraser would stop him. Would call his name again and
again and the blood would tickle his chin and finally, finally Fraser
would have to touch him. 

Or maybe just call room service. 

Ray laughed and released his wrist, brought the hand down to fondle his
balls. Wondered if the jagged oval of his teeth would bruise and tried to
stop thinking long enough to really feel what he was doing. 

Which worked for about a second and a half. 

He was jerking himself off with his back to Fraser, his partner, who he
had just unsuccessfully molested. 

Wasn't even looking at the guy. 

Acting like he was ashamed. 

Of himself. Ashamed of himself and performing even though... even though
he wasn't really like this. Yeah. He was doing this because he couldn't...
because he wasn't *allowed* to do anything else. He wasn't good enough to
touch anything but his own flesh. 

He wasn't good enough, and if he couldn't do this right he would... he
wouldn't get anything at all. The little warmth he was creating for
himself would blow away and he'd sit here, awkward and hurting and so
shamed. Worthless. 

And so damned hard. 

"Ohhh..." 

Ray flushed but didn't stop. Tugged on his tightening balls -- he couldn't
make this too easy -- and ran his trigger callous over the pulsing vein
along the underside of his cock. Twitched and moaned again, softer this
time. 

And just like that he found himself *there*, in that groove he'd known for
years and years. The closest thing he'd ever felt to it was his first ride
on the Cyclone... visiting Uncle Mike way out East. Coney Island, just
like the songs, only dirtier and shabbier and intoxicating as all hell. 

And the car had ratcheted and groaned its way up that old wooden track,
jerking back every now and again, creaking alarmingly... but there was
never any doubt it'd get where it was going, whether you wanted it to or
not. 

There was never any doubt that he wanted it. 

Ray gave himself a few more teasing strokes and then released himself
utterly. The groan took his throat too fast for him to flush again, and he
bent nearly double at the surprisingly intense *loss* of it. 

When he could breathe, he slicked his right hand mechanically.
Methodically. Real real careful and thorough. The lube was still warm from
its time in his pocket -- warm enough, anyway -- and Ray didn't bother
trying to warm it up anymore. 

Reached back and gave the sensitive flesh in his cleft one fast swipe.
Felt his cock twitch and grinned and did it again and again. The first
solid thrust of his hips cracked his back a little and all of a sudden he
couldn't stop thrusting, even though the immediate need had lessened with
familiarity. Just movement was enough, sometimes. 

 The next time his teasing finger reached the tight ring of muscle he
pushed himself back on it. Rough and just as shocking as he wanted it to
be, almost, almost providing the ridiculous notion that he was tearing
himself in two. 

When he could do that to his mind with just one finger it was a victory,
and the prize was not to wait, not to prepare and oh *God* the next finger
might really *have* torn something. 

On someone who didn't do this as often as he did. 

And he laughed again and gave himself a heartbeat to wonder, idly, what
Fraser thought of the sound. Grinned to himself and for no one but himself
as he arched himself backward a little. 

Just enough to make this easier. 

And then enough to make it hotter. 

An image of himself, stretched taut into a curve just this side of
unnatural, mouth open, skin flushed, cock jutting and moving with his own
movements as he fucked himself precisely the way he wanted to. 

Oh yeah. 

And finally there was nothing stopping him from taking hold of his cock
again but the need to give each nipple one rough, awkward twist, to dip
his finger into his navel and twist it into a hook of shockingly
indescribable sensation. 

So he did, and he choked it. Thrust in and back and in and back until the
lube started actually making a difference and then he did it faster. His
fingers hurt a little from the way he was bearing down, but his cock
didn't care and he didn't care and Fraser had to be watching and even if
he wasn't watching he could hear this. Smell this. Probably feel each
cresting wave of Ray's arousal slap him in the face again and again -- 

"Oh, God, please --" 

Ray came all over his hand and belly, a miniature geyser hot as blood and
much thicker. Heavy cream pain dirty please please Fraser pain and he fell
back, limber as he needed to be, ankles brushing the muscles of his back. 

Eyes closed. 

When he could, he rolled off the bed. Didn't bother to hide the shake in
his tortured knees, didn't look all the way up until he was close enough
to Fraser's stupidly gaping shirt to see the buttonholes as more than a
blur. 

Watched what was, perhaps, the fifth or sixth tear roll down the other
man's blankly noble face. The tracks were too even to be very old. 

Gathered two fingers-full of come from his belly and wiped it slowly,
deliberately over the rose-red mouth. Licked it off with one swipe. 

Some of it. 

And then Ray scooped up his clothes and walked slowly, evenly through the
connecting doors into his own room, and did not wait for anything. 

end. 

So yeah, this is my answer to my Mastfic challenge. Tell me how wrong I
am: Daddy793@aol.com