Indulgence	 Indulgence by Mia

  

 Disclaimer: Characters belong to Alliance. Rating: NC-17 for language and
themes. Very mild suggestions of kink. If that isn't your thing, please
bail.
 Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski. 
 Spoilers for Odds, minor spoilers for Mountie on the Bounty and
Victoria's Secret.
 Summary: Who needs a plot when you can have smut? This is what happens
when I read too much Mulder/Krycek. Not necessarily my canon idea of the
relationship. Just an exploration. 

 Thanks to my wonderful betas, who had to put up with aborted sex scenes
and a weird tone change: Barbara Webb, Genie and Trina. I can't say too
many good things about them. 

 Indulgence 
 by Mia (tamlin@alphalink.com.au) 

 It had been a long night. Fraser had spent most of it studiously
observing Lucas Emerson's (aka Henry Everett's, aka Sir Richard Crumb's)
apartment through high-powered binoculars. 

 In the driver's seat beside him, Ray flicked an m&m, and caught it in his
mouth. Fraser watched, with somewhat guilty fascination, as Ray's tongue
slid out to curl over the candy. 

 "Shouldn't take this long to move coke," Ray muttered. He held up a
black-gloved hand to ward off Fraser's response, fingers hovering just
below Fraser's mouth. "Don't," Ray said warningly. "Do not give me the
Inuit story about the patient wolf catching the bear, Fraser." 

 In sleep-rumpled clothes - black for low visibility, and with fingers
tapping the steering wheel, Ray radiated impatience, and a kind of
dangerous sexuality. 

 He had once told Fraser that he hated waiting, and it seemed an accurate
self-assessment. He had been increasingly bad-tempered during the
surveillance. 

 Fraser wondered if there were something wrong with himself. He was
finding Ray's irritability, not exactly pleasing, but exciting in the way
that anticipation was exciting. He swallowed, and fought off the desire to
lean into that hand, let his throat rest against Ray's palm. 

 "Well actually, I don't know of any specific stories involving patient
wolves. In fact, if I've learnt anything from Diefenbaker's company, it's
that-" 

 "*Fraser.*" 

 Fraser felt a faint coil of irritation stir at the dismissal in Ray's
voice; the feeling he always had when Dief chose to forget who was alpha,
and ignored an instruction. "Because of us, people are sleeping soundly
tonight," he pointed out. 

 Ray turned to glare at him, body slanted to intimidate. "You gave me the
moral without the story, didn't you. That's just... That's just great." 

 Fraser was reasonably certain that Ray was posturing, but his body seemed
to think he was facing physical danger, or some challenge for dominance.
His heartbeat sped up, muscles tensed for action. He found himself
weighing each twitch Ray made for threat, estimating Ray's strength and
reach compared to his own. 

 There was little question Fraser would win any contest. He was heavier
and stronger. And the better boxer, he remembered with a degree of
smugness. 

 More discomfortingly, he was suddenly, unexpectedly hard. At some level,
Fraser realised, he liked this. He liked having Ray's full attention, and
he liked this promise of action, emotion... something. 

 Then without warning, Ray sighed, and the challenge seeped slowly from
his body. He stretched the tension from his shoulders as much as he could
in the cramped space. His arched back provided a tantalising glimpse of
flexibility and limber grace. "I know that, I do." He favoured Fraser with
a faintly sheepish smile - a quick flash of teeth. "Just Emerson, you
know. It's like he knows we're watching." 

 "That's highly unlikely," Fraser said, and some leftover desire to assert
himself, made him say it disdainfully. 

 Ray's new position revealed a fading bruise on his forearm, perhaps from
boxing. Fraser wondered if there were others he couldn't see, hidden by
shadow or beneath Ray's creased shirt. He resisted the urge to ask. Ray's
body was none of his business. Moreover, his own self-control was
seriously depleted, if the last few minutes were anything to go by. It
would be best - until the relief watch arrived - if they interacted as
little as possible. When he had had some rest, he would feel more in
control of 
 himself. 

 Fraser shifted in his seat to accommodate his inappropriate erection, and
lifted the binoculars. He turned to look at Emerson's parked car, then
back to the uncurtained living room. For a suspected upper-level drug
supplier, with connections all over the city, Emerson spent a surprising
amount of time slouched on his sofa, watching television. 

 *splash* 

 Fraser jumped. 

 Ray's eyes were shuttered under his lashes. He dropped another candy into
the thermos. And another. 

 *splash* *splash* *splash*. 

 "Thought you were gonna hit me for a second there." 

 Fraser looked at him startled. Had he been that transparent? "I would
never do that, Ray." He felt his cheeks flush. "I'd never do it again," he
amended. 

 "You ever had a bubble bath?" 

 For a brief, shocking moment, Fraser was so thoroughly disconcerted, he
thought Ray might be proposing they have one together. There seemed to be
the faintest hint of suggestion on his face, though in the darkness, it
was impossible to be sure. 

 Then Ray leaned forward into the seam of moonlight running between them,
and the suggestion was gone. His smile was utterly guileless. He was just
making conversation. 

 Fraser put as much detachment in his voice as he could, trying to slow
his breathing, regain his equilibrium. "Not recently." 

 "I bet you have showers. Five minute showers. I bet you just soap and
rinse." 

 Alice in Wonderland conversations with Ray were not unusual, but the fact
that *Ray* was talking about soaping and rinsing - that Ray had thought
about Fraser bathing at all - threw him off balance. His erection had been
subsiding, but he was instantly hard again, imagining Ray naked and wet
and utterly vulnerable, blond hair slicked against his head, skin
glistening and slippery with soap. 

 Fraser ruthlessly curtailed the slippery slope of associated imagery. "Of
course. In the interest of water conservation," he managed. "With care,
it's possible to use up to forty per cent less-" 

 Ray interrupted him. "Brownies, backrubs, scented toilet paper, sleeping
in, double chocolate ice-cream." Ray counted the items on slender fingers.
He looked strangely intense. "They don't exist in your universe, do they?"


 "Scented toilet paper?" Fraser asked, briefly sidetracked. 

 "*Do* they?" The intensity had reached Ray's voice. Fraser opened his
mouth to answer, but Ray didn't wait for him to speak. "I have this
theory," he said conversationally. He shook some sugar-covered chocolates
onto the dashboard. Then he reached enticingly into his coat, and brought
out a long thin box, and tipped some similar-looking chocolates next to
the first pile. "American candy is shinier outside, and-" Ray picked up
one and bit into it "the sugar shell is thicker." He bit into a Canadian
chocolate, and lifted both so that Fraser could see the difference. "Also,
the American chocolate is creamier, richer, and sweeter." 

 They were centimeters from Fraser's lips. He could smell them, a mixture
of chocolate and leather from Ray's gloves. If he flicked out his tongue,
he would be able to taste them. 

 He closed his eyes, hoping to eliminate at least the visual element of
temptation. "You're saying that Canadians don't know how to make
chocolate?" he asked uneasily. 

 "I'm saying you got to live a little, Fraser. You got to indulge yourself
once in a while." 

 Fraser hoped he wasn't visibly shaking. He could feel his control
slipping. This was the third night in five he had spent in Ray's car. The
disruption to his body clock, and metabolism, combined with extended
proximity to Ray, were making it more difficult 
 than usual to ignore the pull of Ray's body. 

 He swallowed his desire down, and picked up the binoculars again, taking
refuge in bafflement. "Indulge myself?" 

 "Exactly." Ray's hand was on his arm, pushing the binoculars back down.
When Ray's fingers slid to his wrist, it almost felt like a caress.
"Here." Ray scooped the chocolates off the dashboard, and dropped them
into the flask. He made a drink-up gesture with his hand, and smiled
teasingly. 

 The suggestion of invitation in Ray's smile, combined with his own
deteriorating self-control, spiralled Fraser into panic. "No," he said. "I
can't. I'm supposed to be watching the apartment." He knew, even as the
words were leaving his lips, that he sounded ridiculous; childish and
irrational. But it couldn't be helped. 

 Ray didn't understand. Fraser wasn't moderate because of masochism or
frugality. It was discipline. If Fraser let go of his control, even
fractionally, he didn't know what might happen, how far he might fall. 

 He remembered the way he had dropped Denny Scarpa from the window ledge.
I thought you didn't bluff, she had said. And he hadn't. He had given in
to temptation, and momentarily loosed the control he usually clasped
around himself like armour. And apparently, under all that restraint, he
had wanted to see her panic and fall. The worst of it was that it had felt
good; letting her go, letting himself go. It had felt inexplicably,
heart-poundingly good. 

 "No," he said again, more insistently. And it didn't matter that Ray
didn't understand. Fraser would protect him. And if he appeared odd or
foolish in the process, that was a small price. 

 "What are you afraid of?" Ray asked quietly. 

 Fraser looked at him, shaken. He had expected irritation, amusement,
confusion. Not this calm insight. "What?" 

 "If you let loose. What do you think's going to happen?" 

 He had been overly-optimistic to think Ray might give up without contest.
Ray was one of the most tenacious people he knew. And he had been right to
fear this topic of conversation. Ray saw too much. 

 "You don't want to know." 

 Ray looked at him. His eyes were almost amber in the moonlight. Fraser
was equally mesmerised and discomforted. He had the eerie impression that
Ray was looking straight into him, as though his skin was made of glass.
He shifted uneasily. 

 Ray seemed to realise he was staring. He turned to face the windscreen,
and tapped the dashboard. "You'd think so," he said. 

 Fraser prayed silently that Ray would pursue another line of
conversation. The idea of deflecting entreaties to indulge himself for the
rest of the night, made him shudder with anticipated weariness. 

 The silence stretched. Ray's tapping sped up, and sped up, until Fraser
found himself holding his breath. Ray had fidgeted ceaselessly throughout
the stake-out, but this seemed more focused. Something rhythmic, tempo
increasing. Thinking music. 

 Then, suddenly enough for Fraser to wonder if he had missed a frame, Ray
was still, head tipped slightly back; watching Fraser, but not watching
him. He seemed to be focusing on something internal, and his face was
filled with an inner peace Fraser had only ever seen when he danced. 

 "You afraid I'll be disgusted, that I'll think you're sick?" 

 Fraser wet his lips. That was certainly part of it. "I'd prefer not to
discuss it." 

 "I can see that Fraser." Ray sounded faintly amused. 

 "Very perceptive." 

 "So?" 

 "So what?" The snaking irritation at being challenged, was back. Ray was
looking at him as though he knew something Fraser didn't. It was
unacceptable. Fraser always knew more than Ray did. It was something that
had been established early in the relationship. 

 "You don't find me attractive?" Ray's tone was gentle. Not quite mocking.


 Fraser bit his lip, forcing himself not to get angry. "You have no idea
what I-." 

 Ray cut him off again, aggravating Fraser doubly. "I have lots of ideas."
And in another quicksilver mood change, he suddenly sounded almost as
frustrated as Fraser felt. "I know that underneath, you're not all calm
and polite like you think you should be. I know that the Mountie hero
thing isn't just about justice. I've seen you jump out windows, climb over
roofs. I know *exactly* how much you love the chase. I know how much you
like the danger." His voice rose. "And I am all over that Fraser. I am
*right* there." 

 Fraser supposed he should have been relieved, but all he felt was
infuriated. He wanted to wipe the smug smile from Ray's face, he wanted to
silence him. "You're embarrassing yourself." 

 "You're afraid to be human." 

 "*No* Ray. Mostly, I'm afraid of what I'll do to you." 

 "What? Hurt me? Fuck me? Both?" And almost as if he knew exactly how to
light the fuse, almost as if he wanted to, Ray lifted his chin defiantly.
Daring him. Then his lips curved, and it was his driving-too-fast grin,
his delighting-in-danger grin. 

 And Ray had no idea what he was doing, because he slid his hand down his
chest, arching into it a little. His fingers dipped suggestively into the
shadow at his groin in an almost-caress. It was black-on-black, almost
invisible but for the movement. 

 Fraser felt something unleash inside him, with an almost physical rush,
something primitive and uncontrollable. He batted Ray's hand from his lap
with one hand, grasped Ray's knee with the other, and tugged him suddenly
off balance. Ray's arms came up reflexively, and Fraser took advantage of
the position, shoving Ray hard, so that his shoulders smacked into the
door with a satisfying thunk. He had pinned Ray against the window before
he had lowered his arms. 

 Fraser took a deep breath, and forcibly loosened his grip. "Don't push me
Ray. I'm not always safe," he whispered. 

 "So what?" Ray was breathing hard, eyes intense. "Didn't ask for that.
Never wanted that." After a moment, his mouth curved slowly into a grin. 

 It was outrageous. Fraser had him at his mercy, and Ray was *smiling.* "I
am very serious, Ray." 

 "I can reach my ankle holster." 

 "What are you talking about?" 

 "I can take care of myself. I can take *you.*" 

 Fraser grabbed a fistful of Ray's hair, and yanked it hard, so that Ray's
throat was exposed. He ran his palm lightly over the pale skin, lingering
at the jugular. Then he pressed his mouth to Ray's ear, whispered
fur-soft. "I could snap your neck, I could crush your windpipe. I could
kill you five different ways before your hand reached the holster." 

 He watched Ray's adam's apple jump, and couldn't help himself, he lowered
his mouth, traced it with his tongue. "But I won't," he murmured
reassuringly. Ray's breath hitched under his lips, and he brushed his
mouth over the sandpaper scrape of stubble until he 
 found Ray's pulse. He paused for a few moments, enjoying the panicked
flutter under his lips. Then he licked it soothingly. "I'll protect you,
Ray, just as long as you remember your place in the pack." Some part of
him knew that that there was something wrong with what he was saying, but
his mind wouldn't focus. "Do you?" 

 Ray swallowed again, but made no response. Fraser bit Ray's throat
lightly, warningly. Then, when Ray remained silent, he moved a little
lower to the place where Ray's neck met his collarbone, and bit down hard.


 Ray whimpered, and the sound dragged Fraser back to sanity. He had known
he shouldn't trust himself. He had known he was tired, known his
self-control was eroded. He had been unforgivably reckless. And now Ray
was panicked and frightened and hurting; all the things Fraser had wanted
to protect him from. 

 Except that, when Fraser lifted his head to look at him, Ray didn't seem
particularly frightened. And he didn't seem to want protecting. He was
pressing rhythmically Fraser's thigh, eyes glittering, cat-like with
content, and Fraser realised suddenly, that he'd been played. Ray had
known *exactly* what he was doing, had *wanted* Fraser to lose control,
had contrived to make it happen, and had accurately anticipated the
results. 

 Then he was off-balance - Ray had kicked him, and Ray's left hand was
reaching for his ankle gun. Fraser scrabbled for his wrist, grasped it,
pinned it, and heard a click against his left ear. 

 Ray was grinning. "Shoulder holster. 

 Fraser was reminded him of a time he had tracked a cougar suspected of
attacking a fisherman. He had followed it to the edge of a river, where
the trail ended, and had realised immediately that the river would be
impossible to cross without a boat; the water was ice-cold, and churning
in a way which suggested a swift current, and rapids ahead. He had been
about to turn back, when he had heard a growl behind him. The cougar had
doubled back and trapped Fraser between itself and the water. It had
looked at him, as Ray was looking at him now; confidently, knowingly. And
just like Ray, it had been beautiful, kinetic, and utterly unpredictable. 

 Ray pushed himself into a sitting position, one slow graceful movement.
"I could take you if I wanted to. I can take whatever you dish out and
then some." His voice softened fractionally. "It's not actually pointed at
you. I just *could*. If I wanted to." 

 Fraser couldn't seem to take his eyes off him, and some part of him
revelled in his weakness, taking advantage of his inability to look away.
He had spent the whole night not watching, not indulging, and now he
hastily drank in Ray's features, cataloguing them, as though he would
never have another chance. 

 He had been thinking of Ray as fragile, had forgotten that their
relationship had always been give and take, that Ray had protected him
from danger as many times as he had protected Ray. Ray was stronger than
he seemed. A boxer; lean and muscled and fierce. Fraser had been so busy
forcing himself not to watch Ray, that he had overlooked his considerable
strength. 

 He didn't think he had ever been more aroused in his life. He was used to
being the most competent person in any company. The best shot, the fastest
planner. Fraser could feel himself trembling. 

 He must have made some sound, because Ray lowered the gun, hand reaching
out to stroke his thigh, petting him, soothing him. He felt sparks from
the touch all the way to his groin. 

 "Okay. It's okay, Fraser. I know you've got that Mountie hero thing
happening, and I respect that. It's good, it works. But you- you're all
bound up in it. Even off duty. All bound up. And sometimes it looks like
it's too tight, like it hurts. And it doesn't have to - *you* don't have
to be like that with me. And I know now, you can let go now. I want you
too. You can trust me." 

 Ray reached to trace Fraser's lip with his free hand, and Fraser,
helplessly captivated by the blatant eroticism of the movement, was taken
utterly off-guard. His tongue slipped out of its own accord, flicking the
tip of Ray's thumb. 

 And it was just as he had suspected. He had been tempted, he had
indulged, and now he could feel himself losing control, slipping into
darkness, where he didn't act rationally, or nobly, where there were no
rules, no laws; no 'I should', no 'I am obligated'. 

 Ray moaned, soft. And that was too much. He tugged Ray's glove off
roughly, and caught the nearest finger with his teeth. He slid his lips to
the root, sucked it, worried at it with his teeth and tongue, indulging
himself, luxuriating in the sensation of wet, warm skin sliding in and out
of his mouth, in Ray's flavour and scent, mixed with leather smells from
the glove. 

 "Yeah you can let go...." Ray gasped. "Fucking... Fucking fine with me." 

 Fraser gave Ray's finger a last long lick, base to tip, leaned in again,
to bite Ray's palm, hard enough to impress teeth marks onto his skin.
"Ray." 

 "Mmm?" Ray looked wild. He was panting, thighs parted, hips moving
fractionally. 

 "Emerson-" That wasn't quite what he had wanted to say. 

 "Fuck Emerson. We've been here for a week, and he hasn't even looked like
selling." Ray's eyes cleared a little. "I'm practically humping thin air,
and you're still-" 

 "Ray." He couldn't quite keep the note of plea from his voice. 

 Ray took a deep breath, then breathed out shakily. "All right, you're
right, I wasn't thinking. I mean I was thinking, but I wasn't *thinking*."
He ran a hand through his hair. "We've got a half hour before the relief
arrives. We'll just sit tight until then." He looked at Fraser evenly.
"Then we'll do this." He holstered his gun. It took him three tries to
find the slot. Fraser didn't offer to help. 

 Huey and Dewey were seven minutes late, something Ray pointed out to them
several times in his subsequent tirade. 

 "Jeez Ray." Dewey leaned through the passenger window. "Bring decaf
tomorrow night, Frase." 

 Then they were driving in silence. 

 *** 

 It was even darker inside Ray's apartment than it had been on Emerson's
street. Before, it had been difficult to think, but now Fraser felt
hyperalert, seeing in one glance, that Ray had only one glove on, that he
was shivering, that there was a bruise appearing on his neck where Fraser
had bitten him. 

 Ray grinned, wicked as Fraser had ever seen him, and leaned close. His
mouth hovering just over Fraser's. "You have no idea what it does to me
when I'm interrogating a perp. And you look at me and *lick*." His tongue
slicked over Fraser's lower lip. Showing him. Then he tilted his head a
little, and his mouth was opening above Fraser's, tongue sliding over his,
and Ray tasted like new snow. Clean and sweet. 

 "Not so hard, huh?" Ray murmured against his mouth. 

 "Pun clearly not intended." 

 Ray's laugh was cut off as Fraser bit gently at his shoulder, then ran
his lips lightly over the bite mark. "You're quite the strategist." 

 "Surprise". 

 Fraser thought about that for a moment. "That you can strategise, no.
That you applied it to me... somewhat". 

 Ray's mouth quirked as if he hadn't expected that answer. Perhaps he
hadn't expected any answer. "You always think this much in bed?" 

 "It doesn't seem to be something I can turn off". 

 "Hmm". Another almost smile. Ray braced himself comfortably against the
door, and began flicking the buttons of his jeans open. One by one. 

 Fraser gasped as the back of Ray's hand brushed against his groin. "How
did you know?" he managed. 

 Ray shrugged. It should have been awkward, with his weight on one arm,
but like all of Ray's movements, it was liquid smooth. "I know you. I
*get* you." 

 And then - clear-headed or not - Fraser was suddenly shaking. And cold.
Colder than when he had almost frozen to death with Victoria at Fortitude
Pass, colder than he'd ever been. Temptation. Indulgence. Loss of control.
And, right on cue, recrimination. This was really happening, there were
new bruises on Ray's neck. 

 Ray seemed to realise something was wrong. "Hey." Fraser found himself
tugged close, Ray's arms tight around him, Ray's erection pressed against
him, Ray's breath warm against his ear. "That scare you?" 

 "You might think you know me. But you- I d-dropped Denny Scarpa off the
hotel window ledge. Did you know that? She slipped and I caught her and I
dropped her and I caught her again." 

 Ray's fingers moved through his hair. "Deliberately?" 

 Fraser nodded. 

 "Woman was fucking with your head, Frase. She was-" Ray stiffened. "That
what you think I've been doing? Fucking with you?" 

 "Not-" Fraser swallowed, and whispered guiltily. "Maintaining equilibrium
is always made difficult just by your proximity." 

 "Because you want me." 

 He nodded again. 

 Ray's arms tightened around him. "I can handle you. Remember?" 

 Fraser shakily traced a finger over the bite mark on Ray's neck. Ray
tilted his head up to give him better access. "I can take it," Ray said.
"I'll do the thinking, you just let go." 

 Fraser pressed his mouth against Ray's neck. "I don't want to hurt you",
he whispered. 

 "Just let go, it's okay to let go. I won't let you do anything I don't
want to do." 

 He could feel the hum of Ray's words against his lips. It was oddly
reassuring. "And you know me?" 

 "And I know you, Fraser." 

 And just like that, everything was in focus again. He licked hard where
his lips had been pressing, feeling Ray's throat humming against his
tongue. Ray's voice was crooning, gentling, but Fraser didn't feel
gentled. Ray was too close, smelling of coffee and chocolate, and
intoxicatingly, of himself. Fraser pushed, and turned, until Ray was
pressed against the door. He lifted his head, brushed his lips across
Ray's jawline, savouring the scrape against his skin. 

 And there *were* bruises under Ray's shirt. Fraser mouthed and sucked
over them, listening to Ray's distant gasps. "Fuck. Yeah, Frase." Ray
pushed his groin against Fraser's cheek, hands flattening against the door
for balance. 

 He pressed Ray's hips to keep him still, and ran his teeth over an
almost-healed scrape, not quite drawing blood. A tug in his hair, and
Fraser lifted his lifted his head slowly. 

 Ray's eyes were glassy. "What do you want?" 

 Fraser's voice deserted him for a moment. He licked his lips. "What do
*you* want?" 

 Two long fingers pressed against his lips. He opened his mouth, and they
slid in. "I uh- I haven't been able to think about much else since the
car," Ray whispered. His fingers worked slowly in and out of Fraser's
mouth. 

 "Hmm". 

 Ray shuddered, perhaps at the vibration. Fraser watched, fascinated as he
closed his eyes tight, visibly trying to collect himself. 

 Fraser didn't give him the opportunity. He freed Ray's cock, from the
last of the buttons constraining it. And it was beautiful. Long and
slender, like Ray himself. He leaned in to kiss the head. Licked his lips,
savouring the sea-salt, bitterness. 

 Then Ray was fumbling to push his jeans down. He managed to get them to
his ankles before Fraser brushed his hands aside. That was quite
unnecessary. And clearly Ray was thinking too much. Fraser scraped his
teeth up the length of Ray's cock, waiting for Ray's breath to hitch and
his hands to go lax, before replacing teeth with lips. Just a couple of
inches and back. 

 "God." Ray's hands knotted into his hair, as if he were trying to anchor
himself. 

 Fraser slowly moved again, opening his throat this time. A whimper above
him, and Ray's thighs spread a little wider, as much as the tangled jeans
at his feet would allow. 

 And then Ray was thrusting, sliding smoothly down his throat. His usual
grace, but unrestrained. Savage dancing. And that was good too. Fraser
understood wild. 

 He worked his throat, breathing in time to the thrusts, until Ray jerked
in his mouth, filled it. And shockingly, Fraser felt an answering jerk and
warmth in his own still-fastened pants. He hadn't even realised he was
close. 

 As Ray's hands fluttered down to his face, tracing his lips, still
stretched over Ray's softening cock, it struck Fraser again, how much of a
risk Ray had taken. Was taking. 

 And maybe Ray really did know him, because he answered, just as if Fraser
had spoken. "I'm the risk-taking type," he murmured. Shades of cockiness
and smugness in his smile. And love. 

 The End. 

 Note: Ray would never, ever pull a gun on Fraser. I know that. Did I
mention too much Mulder/Krycek? 

 And (oh what can I say, I'm a tease), a couple of out takes of
sex-in-a-dark-alley-up-against-the-car-that-just-refused-to-bewritten
-because-Fraser-kept-bitching-about-it-being-a-public-place: 

 ***
 "Stop the car." 

 Ray barely glanced at him. "I'm in charge here." 

 "Stop the car *now*." 

 Ray's mouth quirked a little. But he turned into the alley Fraser had
seen, and put the car into park. 

 It was even darker here than it had been on Emerson's street. The street
lights seemed to be broken. Fraser could hear himself breathing. It was
unnaturally loud without the engine to cover it. He reached around Ray,
and opened the driver's door, kicking it wider with his boot. "Get out." 

 "You always this mono... uh monosyllabic in bed?" Ray flashed his
cockiest grin. 

 "Get out," Fraser repeated. He didn't wait for Ray to comply this time,
just gripped Ray's wrist, and dragged him out, forcing him to scramble
over the seats to exit from Fraser's door. Then he slammed the door shut
behind them, almost catching the edge of Ray's jacket. 

 *** 

 The angle wasn't quite right. Fraser slid the hand between Ray's
shoulders up to his neck, and pushed down, until Ray's cheek was resting
against the car. And that was much better, his fingers slid two knuckles
deep without any friction at all. Except that Ray was thrusting his pelvis
back, leaning hard against the car for leverage, as if he preferred the
discomfort. Ray looked over his shoulder. His hair was even wilder than
usual, spikes sweaty against his forehead despite the cold. He opened his
mouth, lips shaping soundlessly. Fraser leaned in to kiss him, fingers
still working in and out. 

 "Frase." Ray's eyes blinked shut. He pushed back again, grunted with the
effort. 

 "Mmm?" Fraser nuzzled the collar of his t-shirt aside, and bit and sucked
at the point where Ray's shoulder met his neck. 

 Really The End This Time. 

 And I never miss
 I can take you out
 With just a flick of my wrist.
 _Supervixen_ Garbage.