Dancing With Myself	 

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.  

  

  Dancing With Myself  

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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