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WIP Amnesty, Day 3
Next stop in the ongoing WIP Amnesty tour of my sex-scene-writing learning curve. This story was going to be twelve sex scenes, tracing the development of a relationship between Fraser and RayK while skipping over any parts where they actually talked in words about what they were doing, and also skipping mostly over any other parts of what they were doing in the same timeframe.
It was going to be called Sampler, after the conceit of twelve sample-sized bottles of flavored lube, and because it was, well, it was me trying out writing sex scenes every which way until I got a handle on it, just like a little girl stitching a sampler to learn the craft. Sadly, this ended up like every actual sampler I ever attempted: about a tenth finished and stuffed into a drawer somewhere.
The outline, in flavor/location/how the lube got destroyed/POV format, with whatever notes I made three and a half years ago:
If this is sounding familiar, it may be because I actually did write up #5, Carmel Cream, as a birthdayfic for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
qe2 in 2005: Dulce Est (F/K, NC-17).
Also, and mostly irrelevantly, Getting It was the story I wrote to represent how this Fraser and Ray initially got together.
And here's the first scene and a half, which ended tragically coitus interruptus in July 2003 and never did get moving again.
Fraser/Kowalski, NC-17.
Sampler
1
Fraser locked up the door, imitating Ray’s usual economical motions, because Ray had not stopped to do so himself. Ray’s headlong rush from the hallway had carried him to the middle of the living room, where he stood holding the small brown parcel that had been leaned up against the front door.
Fraser approached cautiously. Ray’s manner as he snatched up the package and bolted into the apartment had certainly suggested that he was eager to conceal it, and he stood now with his back turned, but he made no other effort to hide. Angling slightly to place himself in Ray’s peripheral vision, Fraser tried to get a glimpse of the package. It was a plain brown cardboard box, with a computer-printed mailing label, a little larger than the padded mailers in which the Consulate periodically received videotapes from Toronto. “Ray?” he said. Ray bounced on his heels, a smile spreading across his face as he went on staring down at the box in his hands. “Ray, Ray, Ray. Ray.”
Ray looked up, his smile widening into a grin, and held out the package, all defensiveness abruptly vanishing from his posture. “Here, open it.”
Fraser accepted the box, which was somewhat heavier than he expected, and studied the mailing label. It was addressed to S R Kowalski, which was a peculiar choice and perhaps ill-advised, but the return address was singularly uninformative, giving no hint to the box’s contents. Still, he found himself smiling a little bemusedly in response to Ray’s enthusiasm. “What is it?”
“It’s a present. I didn’t think it’d get here so fast, I thought it’d be tomorrow at least. Go on, open it.”
“A present?” Fraser was stricken with the extremely unpleasant sensation of having been caught with his schoolwork uncompleted. The delightful new phase of his and Ray’s relationship had begun only four days ago, and neither of their birthdays, nor any other gift-giving holiday he could think of, was celebrated today, or tomorrow, or any time this week. “I don’t–-”
Ray rolled his eyes, but his smile never dimmed, and he threw an arm around Fraser’s shoulders, casually affectionate. “Not that kind of present, I wouldn’t spring that on you. It’s for both of us, but it’s only a surprise for you, so just open it already.”
“Ah,” he said, smiling again, as he finally placed Ray’s excitement as an enthusiasm to share a treat. Fraser hefted the box, shaking gently. It didn’t make much of a noise, but there were definitely a number of small items, which shifted sluggishly against each other.
Ray dropped his arm and bounced again, impatiently, “C’mon, open it already, Fraser, open it.”
Fraser looked sideways at his partner. “I understand it’s customary to make guesses,” he said slowly, wondering how long he could drag this out before Ray snatched the package from his hands and opened it himself. “Several guesses. And one is only allowed to actually open the present when the contents have been divined.”
Ray smirked. “Don’t try to pull that helpless-Canadian stuff on me. I know you’ve opened presents before. Now get on with it, willya? I’m not the one who’s actually in suspense here.”
Fraser grinned, strangely pleased at having been caught out, and refrained from pointing out that Ray very obviously was in some sort of suspense. “As you say, Ray,” he said instead, and took his knife from his belt, using it to slit the packing tape and then putting it away before he folded back the top flaps of the box. Despite his avowed indifference, Ray pressed close to his side, peering into the box as though it held long-lost treasure.
What it held, in fact, was a dozen small plastic bottles with brightly colored caps. Brightly colored labels, too, Fraser realized as he picked one out and read it. Artificially flavored water based lubricant. Oh. Oh.
Ray, beside him, reached out and began rifling rapidly through the little tubes. “I got one of every flavor,” he explained, “sample size, so we can see what’s good, y’know?”
“Oh,” he said, staring down at the wealth of possibilities in his hands. The bottle of lubricant with which they had initiated their romantic relationship, purchased by Ray at a 24-hour Walgreen’s in Wisconsin, was in fact already close to requiring replacement, and he had wondered how such a replacement would be procured, given the necessarily secretive nature of their arrangement. Mail order had not occurred to him, but then neither had the possibility of twelve artificial flavors.
Ray was studying his face, his smile faded but not quite gone. “I thought you’d like it, since you’re always tasting everything anyway.”
Fraser nodded slowly, still staring at the brightly colored bottles, transfixed. Ray had mail-ordered twelve flavors of lubricant, albeit in sample-size bottles. This was the nearest approach either of them had yet made to addressing the future of their relationship.
Ray chuckled, and hooked an arm around his neck, leaning in for a kiss, which Fraser returned, abstractedly at first. Then Ray moved closer, pushing the box he still held in both hands aside, so that he could press his hips against Fraser’s side, drawing his attention to the more salient aspects of the situation. Ray’s hardness against his hip, and the wet heat of his mouth, drove all thoughts from his mind except a few.
They were home from work, and the door was locked, and he was holding *twelve flavors* of lubricant in his hands.
Fraser shifted his grip on the box so that he could hold it in one hand, and slid his free arm around Ray’s waist, pulling him closer yet as Ray’s mouth moved over his. His grip on Ray tightened, and Ray wriggled in his grasp, causing his hand to shift lower. Ray pressed back, filling Fraser’s hand with the curve of his buttock, sliding his own hand under the front of Fraser’s tunic, squeezing him through the wool uniform trousers. Just as Fraser shifted his stance to reciprocate, Ray broke the kiss and pulled away. Before Fraser could say a word, he had dropped down to sit on the floor, and was pulling off his boots and socks, tossing them in the general direction of the bedroom door.
“Ray?” Fraser said, looking down at his partner as he rolled onto his side and began unlacing Fraser’s boots with a slight frown of concentration. His erection was throbbing, his lips tingling, and he was beginning to be very confused.
Ray looked up at him, waggling his eyebrows as he jerked bootlaces. “C’mon, Fraser, I know you can do this. First you unwrap the present, then you get down on the floor and play with your new toys.” Fraser stepped up to let Ray tug his boot off, and Ray set it neatly aside rather than flinging it after his own. “Just pick one, though, okay? I got plans for eleven of ‘em.”
Plans. Oh, dear. Fraser selected a bottle at random, and set the box down near his boot as he joined Ray on the floor. Ray pulled his other boot off, and Fraser started the unbuttoning and unbuckling process, only slightly hindered by Ray’s assistance. When Fraser had gotten the tunic off, and draped safely over the arm of the couch, Ray quickly skinned out of his shoulder holster, jeans and t-shirt, so that he was naked, kneeling on his clothes, by the time Fraser had begun unfastening his trousers.
He looked back over his shoulder at Fraser, mouth crooked in a half-smile, shifting his weight from knee to knee just a little too slowly and sinuously to be believed. Fraser had to look down, guiding his unsteady hands with eye contact, and even then he could feel the warmth of Ray’s gaze, on his hands and every inch of skin he exposed. When he wriggled out of his trousers, Ray dropped forward onto all fours, shifting his knees apart invitingly. Fraser moved to kneel behind him, leaning forward to set one hand on Ray’s hip and drop a kiss on the groove of his spine. Then he turned his attention to the tube of lubricant, still gripped in his other hand.
It was bright orange, and the label proclaimed *Fresh Peach*. Moving his hand on Ray’s skin in slow circles to assure him he wasn’t forgotten, Fraser unscrewed the cap, squeezing out a bit of the clear gel on his fingertips. Curious, he raised his fingers to sniff–-the smell was pleasant enough, though peach had never been his favorite–-and then, since that was the point of the exercise, swiped his tongue over it.
He was hard pressed not to spit it out, and instead swallowed quickly, glad that Ray couldn’t see the disgusted face he was surely making. What flavor he could detect, other than artificial sweetener and something vaguely related to the peach scent of a moment before, was distinctly petrochemical. *Fresh Plastic, more like.* He eyed the bottle dubiously, trying to calculate how many uses it held, and how successfully he might hide his dislike of it for the next several days, or whenever Ray started in on his ‘plans’ for the other flavors.
Well, the more he used now, the less opportunities to use it later, and they could always go back to the unflavored variety if Ray’s plans didn’t bear rushing. He turned his eyes to the expanse of Ray’s back, slightly shifting because Ray could never quite hold still, especially at a moment like this, but, for the moment, his to do with as he pleased. With a childish grin, Fraser raised the tube and drizzled a trail of lubricant down Ray’s back, from the nape of his neck to his tail bone, the line somewhat deranged by Ray’s shiver. He’d forgotten that it would feel chilly on Ray’s skin, but Ray glanced back at him with a grin that said he didn’t mind the slight shock. Fraser dropped the bottle by Ray’s knee, and settled both hands on Ray’s back, rubbing across the lubricant to warm it, lightly massaging the always-tense muscles of his shoulders and running downward along his ribs.
Ray didn’t seem to mind the attention, dropping his head to hang limply, and arching his back up under Fraser’s touch. The lubricant made it hard to properly massage, as his hands slipped a little too easily on Ray’s skin, and after a few moments he took to tracing abstract designs instead, his fingertips making tracks in the shimmery liquid along Ray’s shoulder blades, down to his hips, skimming symmetrically along his buttocks. Ray shifted his knees a little further apart when Fraser’s hands lingered there, making a small encouraging noise, and Fraser swept his thumbs along the sensitive skin he exposed before skating his hands up higher to continue his impromptu art project.
Ray’s patience, however, was clearly nearing its end. “Y’know, Fraser, that stuff doesn’t say anywhere on it that it’s for external use only.”
Fraser smiled, and wiped one hand more or less dry on Ray’s thigh before reaching for the bottle again. “Well, Ray, technically speaking the intended use *is* external. From a topological standpoint.”
“A topo-what?” Ray’s forehead furrowed–-adorably, not that Fraser would ever embarrass them both by saying so–-as he squinted over his shoulder.
Fraser squeezed more lubricant onto his fingertips, his mouth opening to offer a brief explanation of the principles of topology as applied to human physiology before he realized that he didn’t actually care. “Ray, you don’t want me to explain it right now, do you?” As he spoke, he traced one finger down Ray’s cleft, from his tailbone to the puckered opening. He pressed against it, hard enough to make Ray shudder, but not quite in. Ray’s head dropped again.
“No, Fraser, I don’t,” he murmured huskily, as Fraser continued to tease him. “Draw me a diagram later. Fuck me now.”
Fraser pushed one finger inside. Smooth and slick and the heat and tightness was still a bit of a surprise. He crooked his finger, and Ray pushed back against him, hard, and this foretaste was quickly curing him of his taste for teasing. He added a second finger and then a third, preparing Ray quickly, but, judging by the small gasps he emitted, quite sufficiently, and used his free hand to prepare himself.
He settled his hands on Ray’s hips, steadying him as he pressed slowly inside, breathing deeply as he was engulfed in heat. A few days’ time, enthusiastic and wonderful days though they had been, had not been enough to inure him to this. He hoped no amount of time would.
He’d barely pressed himself wholly inside when Ray shifted backward, pushing up to press his back against Fraser’s chest, his head dropping back onto Fraser’s shoulder. The heightened sensation wrenched twinned gasps from them both, and Ray arched away for an instant before settling back. From this vantage, Fraser could see Ray’s cock, blood-dark and already slick with a decidedly not artificially flavored fluid. His hand followed Ray’s in wrapping around the shaft, and Ray took charge, rocking forward into their combined grip, backward onto Fraser inside him, his gasps and moans loud in Fraser’s ear. He felt the first internal contractions of Ray’s approaching orgasm speeding his own when his partner gasped, “Dammit, Frase, gonna. Thing.”
That was enough, between them; he leaned forward, pressing with his hand even as he skated his thumb across the head of Ray’s cock, and the evidence of his climax landed safely on the strategically placed t-shirt. Entirely absorbed in Ray, Fraser was almost startled by his own orgasm, pressing his face against Ray’s throat where he could feel the shuddering of Ray’s effort to keep from collapsing beneath him.
He retained just enough presence of mind to tip them both sideways as his legs gave out, landing on the rug, spooned against Ray. They lay still, catching their breath, until he’d softened enough to slip free of Ray’s body, and then Ray passed him his shorts, and he cleaned them both up a bit. The lubricant from Ray’s back was now smeared all over both of them, so they’d have to shower anyway, once they got themselves off the floor.
Ray reached out again, and this time picked up the tube of Fresh Peach. “So, is this one any good?” Fraser didn’t answer immediately, and Ray squeezed a drop directly onto his tongue. His face instantly contorted into a grimace of horror, his mouth working in a fashion reminiscent of the time Dief had eaten peanut butter. Fraser quickly leaned up and kissed him, searching out every trace of the foul taste and licking it away, until Ray was kissing him back and not simply trying to scour his own tongue.
When he broke the kiss, Ray said, “Did you *like* that stuff? That’s gross. I hate peach.”
“Er,” he looked away, which had to be fairly incriminating at a distance of six inches. “No. I found it rather revolting.”
He met Ray’s eyes again, and found him scowling. “So why didn’t you say anything?”
Fraser opened his mouth, and closed it.
“What,” Ray said, his frown softening. “You didn’t wanna waste it or something?”
He nodded. It sounded rather sillier, when Ray said it.
“That’s why we got the sample sizes, Fraser, so we can see what we like. That means if you *don’t* like something, you gotta say, so we can try something else. No suffering in silence, that’s not buddies.”
Fraser licked his lip, trying to erase the lingering taste of plastic. “Buddies?”
Ray nodded firmly. “Buddies. Whatever else we are, we’re always that, right?”
“As you say, Ray.”
Ray nodded again. “Okay. So, buddy, here’s what we do with stuff we don’t like.” He hefted the bottle in his left hand and then threw it, full force, at the wall. The remaining contents splattered against the painted surface, and the bottle bounced across the floor and vanished behind the desk. “Got that, Fraser?”
He leaned in for another kiss as Ray smiled, and said, “I’ve got it, Ray.”
***
Ray’s ‘plans’ turned out to consist of–-not hiding, but *strategically locating*--the remaining eleven bottles of lubricant.
“That way,” he explained, “there’ll be one handy whenever we need it, wherever we need it.”
He refused to reveal what the strategic locations were, but some made themselves known more quickly than others.
***
2
Ray hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He had fourteen hours, anyway, before he had to think about work again, or about anything other than how to reward his really amazing partner-and-boyfriend for making dinner. He rubbed his belly absently–-he hoped Fraser never actually told him what he’d eaten tonight, because it had been really good, and he suspected that knowing for sure that it was lichen and tofu would sort of spoil that–-and then, speculatively, ran his hand down his jeans, stroking idly. *I know you’ve been getting more of a workout than usual, lately, but whaddya think? Can we desecrate the kitchen by way of thank you?*
Survey said, yes, please and thank you kindly, and with a smile, Ray headed out of the bedroom, only to find Fraser at the sink, washing dishes. The ones they’d actually used tonight were already in the drainer, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Fraser was up to his elbows in suds washing out a three-day-old coffee mug. “Hey,” he said quickly, “Fraser, you don’t gotta do that. Those were getting gross, I was just gonna throw them out and start over.”
Fraser looked up and gave him a smile, probably as much for escaping the phone call as for the weak joke. “It’s quite all right, Ray. You were on the phone, I was momentarily unoccupied, and I wanted to make myself useful. In any case, I wouldn’t do it if I minded.”
Ray wasn’t actually so sure about that. Plus, how embarrassing was it to have Fraser acting like his mom? “Look, that’s not fair, if you go around cleaning up after me. I mean, you shopped, you cooked, and now you’re doing my dishes. That’s not equal.” Ray leaned against the counter, facing him; Fraser had set the mug on the drainer and was swiping his hands through the dishwater, staring down at the sudsy surface like his life depended on making sure he hadn’t missed a fork.
“I see,” Fraser said, and he looked up with another smile, but it wasn’t the right one, it was one of those masks Fraser liked to wear. “I’ll remember that in future.”
Fuck. Dishes meant something, and he had just screwed it up, whatever it was. Time for plan B–-plan A, really. So he only had one plan, so what? It was a good one. Fraser let the water out of the sink, and while he was rinsing his hands, Ray grabbed the dishtowel and held it behind his back. Fraser didn’t actually stoop to asking for it, just looked at Ray like he’d lost his mind. “Sorry, Fraser. You wash, I dry.”
Fraser glanced at the dishes, all already in the drainer, and still didn’t say anything.
“So you better just stay there, so you don’t drip all over the place.” His straight face wasn’t really holding, and Fraser was smiling back a little–-right on cue, his eyes dipped down to Ray’s jeans–-that was a pretty safe bet, this week--and when he looked back up, blue eyes glinting dark, Ray knew he had him. Fraser settled his forearms on the edge of the sink, his hands open, palm up, so they could dry. Ray moved around behind him, dropping the towel and rummaging in the bowl on the counter that was supposed to hold fruit but mostly ended up holding whatever was cluttering up the counter when he felt like cleaning. At the bottom, right next to the plugged-in charger pack for his phone, was the tube of Big Banana (fruit, right? In the fruit bowl). Nice and warm, from being next to the charger, because happiness is warm lube.
He stepped up right behind Fraser, pressing his cock against Fraser’s ass through two layers of jeans, kicking Fraser’s feet apart a little, like he was about to pat him down, which in a manner of speaking he was. He set his hands on Fraser’s hips, letting the little tube roll between his palm and Fraser’s body as he slid his hands around to the front. Fraser kind of nodded, and pressed his ass back, tilting his hips invitingly, and Ray couldn’t resist ducking his head to lay a kiss on the nape of his neck, the naked inch that was exposed when he changed out of his tunic at the end of the day. Fraser made a little *ah* sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, and tipped his head back, so that his hair tickled Ray’s nose. He nuzzled at it, not sure whether he was about to sneeze or laugh, and kissed his way down and sideways, along the collar of Fraser’s henley, mouthing wetly at the smooth pale skin of his throat.
When he got to the point of licking along the tendon at the side, he could see his own hands, thumbs hooked into the front of Fraser’s jeans. Fraser’s hands, of course, were still dripping neatly over the sink, and when he ran his teeth over Fraser’s skin, his fingers twitched, throwing droplets of water into the sink.
Ray ran his open hand lightly over the bulge in Fraser’s jeans, and Fraser pushed forward, just a fraction, and then went still again. Ray could hear him breathing now, could feel it in the movement of Fraser’s ribs against his chest and in the circle of his arms. He watched his hands carefully as he unbuttoned and unzipped, then shoved Fraser’s jeans and boxers down in one efficient motion, freeing his cock and drawing a sigh of relief from Fraser. Ray’s own erection, still trapped in his jeans, ached for the same. He ground a little against Fraser’s now-bare ass, and steeled himself to wait for that part even as Fraser wiggled enticingly against the rough burn of denim.
He had the lube in his right hand, so he closed his left around Fraser, easing the foreskin back, and skating his thumb across the head, already leaking the clear fluid that eased his way as Fraser jerked in his grasp. He jacked him a little, but Fraser tilted his head back onto his shoulder and said, “Ray,” in a strangled voice. Ray nodded against his throat; this wasn’t what they were here for. Shifting his grip to the base of Fraser’s cock, he backed up a little, leaning his forehead against Fraser’s shoulder as he got his own jeans undone and shoved them down, along with his shorts, just far enough. He used his teeth to get the cap off the lube, and squeezed some onto his fingers.
When he brushed the back of his hand against the curve of Fraser’s ass, he shifted, leaning forward a little to tilt his hips back, helping to get the angle right. Ray pressed his slick fingers to the spot just behind his balls, making Fraser jump again, and then trailed them up to his opening, pushing steadily with two fingers. Fraser made a little grunting sound as he was breached, but he pushed back a little onto Ray’s fingers, and his hard-on never flagged in Ray’s grip. This was what they were here for, oh yeah. He worked his fingers all the way in, and he could feel the muscle loosening as Fraser relaxed, so that the grip on his fingers wasn’t so much crushing as really tight.
It was going to be called Sampler, after the conceit of twelve sample-sized bottles of flavored lube, and because it was, well, it was me trying out writing sex scenes every which way until I got a handle on it, just like a little girl stitching a sampler to learn the craft. Sadly, this ended up like every actual sampler I ever attempted: about a tenth finished and stuffed into a drawer somewhere.
The outline, in flavor/location/how the lube got destroyed/POV format, with whatever notes I made three and a half years ago:
Fresh Peach - Immediate use - disliked/pitched - Ben (playful) Big Banana - Kitchen - garbage disposal - Ray (kitchen; domesticity) Cool Mint - Bathroom - stepped on - Ben (morning, with overtones of commitment; wackily disastrous) Strawberry Kiwi - Station - lost/found - Ben/Ray (closet; closet-panic) Carmel Cream - Bed - wolfed - Ben (regular old bed sex; must be love) Vanilla Cream - Front door - bitten in half - Ray (bad day semi-rough; laughter) Chocolate Raspberry - Consulate - Turnbulled - Ray/Ben (desk kink; silliness) Luscious Watermelon - Jacket Pocket - Line of Duty - Ray (inappropriate moment; experiment with restraints) Passion Fruit - Car - Great Outdoors - Ben (Canada Day - shmoopy & romantic) Bubblegum Blast - Hat - shot - Ray (scare; post-scare alley sex) Pina Colada - Couch - squished/fallen upon - Ben (post-post-scare clinginess; slow) Wild Cherry - Hip pouch - natural causes - Ray (hmmmm. deliberately vague?)
If this is sounding familiar, it may be because I actually did write up #5, Carmel Cream, as a birthdayfic for
qe2 in 2005: Dulce Est (F/K, NC-17).Also, and mostly irrelevantly, Getting It was the story I wrote to represent how this Fraser and Ray initially got together.
And here's the first scene and a half, which ended tragically coitus interruptus in July 2003 and never did get moving again.
Fraser/Kowalski, NC-17.
Sampler
1
Fraser locked up the door, imitating Ray’s usual economical motions, because Ray had not stopped to do so himself. Ray’s headlong rush from the hallway had carried him to the middle of the living room, where he stood holding the small brown parcel that had been leaned up against the front door.
Fraser approached cautiously. Ray’s manner as he snatched up the package and bolted into the apartment had certainly suggested that he was eager to conceal it, and he stood now with his back turned, but he made no other effort to hide. Angling slightly to place himself in Ray’s peripheral vision, Fraser tried to get a glimpse of the package. It was a plain brown cardboard box, with a computer-printed mailing label, a little larger than the padded mailers in which the Consulate periodically received videotapes from Toronto. “Ray?” he said. Ray bounced on his heels, a smile spreading across his face as he went on staring down at the box in his hands. “Ray, Ray, Ray. Ray.”
Ray looked up, his smile widening into a grin, and held out the package, all defensiveness abruptly vanishing from his posture. “Here, open it.”
Fraser accepted the box, which was somewhat heavier than he expected, and studied the mailing label. It was addressed to S R Kowalski, which was a peculiar choice and perhaps ill-advised, but the return address was singularly uninformative, giving no hint to the box’s contents. Still, he found himself smiling a little bemusedly in response to Ray’s enthusiasm. “What is it?”
“It’s a present. I didn’t think it’d get here so fast, I thought it’d be tomorrow at least. Go on, open it.”
“A present?” Fraser was stricken with the extremely unpleasant sensation of having been caught with his schoolwork uncompleted. The delightful new phase of his and Ray’s relationship had begun only four days ago, and neither of their birthdays, nor any other gift-giving holiday he could think of, was celebrated today, or tomorrow, or any time this week. “I don’t–-”
Ray rolled his eyes, but his smile never dimmed, and he threw an arm around Fraser’s shoulders, casually affectionate. “Not that kind of present, I wouldn’t spring that on you. It’s for both of us, but it’s only a surprise for you, so just open it already.”
“Ah,” he said, smiling again, as he finally placed Ray’s excitement as an enthusiasm to share a treat. Fraser hefted the box, shaking gently. It didn’t make much of a noise, but there were definitely a number of small items, which shifted sluggishly against each other.
Ray dropped his arm and bounced again, impatiently, “C’mon, open it already, Fraser, open it.”
Fraser looked sideways at his partner. “I understand it’s customary to make guesses,” he said slowly, wondering how long he could drag this out before Ray snatched the package from his hands and opened it himself. “Several guesses. And one is only allowed to actually open the present when the contents have been divined.”
Ray smirked. “Don’t try to pull that helpless-Canadian stuff on me. I know you’ve opened presents before. Now get on with it, willya? I’m not the one who’s actually in suspense here.”
Fraser grinned, strangely pleased at having been caught out, and refrained from pointing out that Ray very obviously was in some sort of suspense. “As you say, Ray,” he said instead, and took his knife from his belt, using it to slit the packing tape and then putting it away before he folded back the top flaps of the box. Despite his avowed indifference, Ray pressed close to his side, peering into the box as though it held long-lost treasure.
What it held, in fact, was a dozen small plastic bottles with brightly colored caps. Brightly colored labels, too, Fraser realized as he picked one out and read it. Artificially flavored water based lubricant. Oh. Oh.
Ray, beside him, reached out and began rifling rapidly through the little tubes. “I got one of every flavor,” he explained, “sample size, so we can see what’s good, y’know?”
“Oh,” he said, staring down at the wealth of possibilities in his hands. The bottle of lubricant with which they had initiated their romantic relationship, purchased by Ray at a 24-hour Walgreen’s in Wisconsin, was in fact already close to requiring replacement, and he had wondered how such a replacement would be procured, given the necessarily secretive nature of their arrangement. Mail order had not occurred to him, but then neither had the possibility of twelve artificial flavors.
Ray was studying his face, his smile faded but not quite gone. “I thought you’d like it, since you’re always tasting everything anyway.”
Fraser nodded slowly, still staring at the brightly colored bottles, transfixed. Ray had mail-ordered twelve flavors of lubricant, albeit in sample-size bottles. This was the nearest approach either of them had yet made to addressing the future of their relationship.
Ray chuckled, and hooked an arm around his neck, leaning in for a kiss, which Fraser returned, abstractedly at first. Then Ray moved closer, pushing the box he still held in both hands aside, so that he could press his hips against Fraser’s side, drawing his attention to the more salient aspects of the situation. Ray’s hardness against his hip, and the wet heat of his mouth, drove all thoughts from his mind except a few.
They were home from work, and the door was locked, and he was holding *twelve flavors* of lubricant in his hands.
Fraser shifted his grip on the box so that he could hold it in one hand, and slid his free arm around Ray’s waist, pulling him closer yet as Ray’s mouth moved over his. His grip on Ray tightened, and Ray wriggled in his grasp, causing his hand to shift lower. Ray pressed back, filling Fraser’s hand with the curve of his buttock, sliding his own hand under the front of Fraser’s tunic, squeezing him through the wool uniform trousers. Just as Fraser shifted his stance to reciprocate, Ray broke the kiss and pulled away. Before Fraser could say a word, he had dropped down to sit on the floor, and was pulling off his boots and socks, tossing them in the general direction of the bedroom door.
“Ray?” Fraser said, looking down at his partner as he rolled onto his side and began unlacing Fraser’s boots with a slight frown of concentration. His erection was throbbing, his lips tingling, and he was beginning to be very confused.
Ray looked up at him, waggling his eyebrows as he jerked bootlaces. “C’mon, Fraser, I know you can do this. First you unwrap the present, then you get down on the floor and play with your new toys.” Fraser stepped up to let Ray tug his boot off, and Ray set it neatly aside rather than flinging it after his own. “Just pick one, though, okay? I got plans for eleven of ‘em.”
Plans. Oh, dear. Fraser selected a bottle at random, and set the box down near his boot as he joined Ray on the floor. Ray pulled his other boot off, and Fraser started the unbuttoning and unbuckling process, only slightly hindered by Ray’s assistance. When Fraser had gotten the tunic off, and draped safely over the arm of the couch, Ray quickly skinned out of his shoulder holster, jeans and t-shirt, so that he was naked, kneeling on his clothes, by the time Fraser had begun unfastening his trousers.
He looked back over his shoulder at Fraser, mouth crooked in a half-smile, shifting his weight from knee to knee just a little too slowly and sinuously to be believed. Fraser had to look down, guiding his unsteady hands with eye contact, and even then he could feel the warmth of Ray’s gaze, on his hands and every inch of skin he exposed. When he wriggled out of his trousers, Ray dropped forward onto all fours, shifting his knees apart invitingly. Fraser moved to kneel behind him, leaning forward to set one hand on Ray’s hip and drop a kiss on the groove of his spine. Then he turned his attention to the tube of lubricant, still gripped in his other hand.
It was bright orange, and the label proclaimed *Fresh Peach*. Moving his hand on Ray’s skin in slow circles to assure him he wasn’t forgotten, Fraser unscrewed the cap, squeezing out a bit of the clear gel on his fingertips. Curious, he raised his fingers to sniff–-the smell was pleasant enough, though peach had never been his favorite–-and then, since that was the point of the exercise, swiped his tongue over it.
He was hard pressed not to spit it out, and instead swallowed quickly, glad that Ray couldn’t see the disgusted face he was surely making. What flavor he could detect, other than artificial sweetener and something vaguely related to the peach scent of a moment before, was distinctly petrochemical. *Fresh Plastic, more like.* He eyed the bottle dubiously, trying to calculate how many uses it held, and how successfully he might hide his dislike of it for the next several days, or whenever Ray started in on his ‘plans’ for the other flavors.
Well, the more he used now, the less opportunities to use it later, and they could always go back to the unflavored variety if Ray’s plans didn’t bear rushing. He turned his eyes to the expanse of Ray’s back, slightly shifting because Ray could never quite hold still, especially at a moment like this, but, for the moment, his to do with as he pleased. With a childish grin, Fraser raised the tube and drizzled a trail of lubricant down Ray’s back, from the nape of his neck to his tail bone, the line somewhat deranged by Ray’s shiver. He’d forgotten that it would feel chilly on Ray’s skin, but Ray glanced back at him with a grin that said he didn’t mind the slight shock. Fraser dropped the bottle by Ray’s knee, and settled both hands on Ray’s back, rubbing across the lubricant to warm it, lightly massaging the always-tense muscles of his shoulders and running downward along his ribs.
Ray didn’t seem to mind the attention, dropping his head to hang limply, and arching his back up under Fraser’s touch. The lubricant made it hard to properly massage, as his hands slipped a little too easily on Ray’s skin, and after a few moments he took to tracing abstract designs instead, his fingertips making tracks in the shimmery liquid along Ray’s shoulder blades, down to his hips, skimming symmetrically along his buttocks. Ray shifted his knees a little further apart when Fraser’s hands lingered there, making a small encouraging noise, and Fraser swept his thumbs along the sensitive skin he exposed before skating his hands up higher to continue his impromptu art project.
Ray’s patience, however, was clearly nearing its end. “Y’know, Fraser, that stuff doesn’t say anywhere on it that it’s for external use only.”
Fraser smiled, and wiped one hand more or less dry on Ray’s thigh before reaching for the bottle again. “Well, Ray, technically speaking the intended use *is* external. From a topological standpoint.”
“A topo-what?” Ray’s forehead furrowed–-adorably, not that Fraser would ever embarrass them both by saying so–-as he squinted over his shoulder.
Fraser squeezed more lubricant onto his fingertips, his mouth opening to offer a brief explanation of the principles of topology as applied to human physiology before he realized that he didn’t actually care. “Ray, you don’t want me to explain it right now, do you?” As he spoke, he traced one finger down Ray’s cleft, from his tailbone to the puckered opening. He pressed against it, hard enough to make Ray shudder, but not quite in. Ray’s head dropped again.
“No, Fraser, I don’t,” he murmured huskily, as Fraser continued to tease him. “Draw me a diagram later. Fuck me now.”
Fraser pushed one finger inside. Smooth and slick and the heat and tightness was still a bit of a surprise. He crooked his finger, and Ray pushed back against him, hard, and this foretaste was quickly curing him of his taste for teasing. He added a second finger and then a third, preparing Ray quickly, but, judging by the small gasps he emitted, quite sufficiently, and used his free hand to prepare himself.
He settled his hands on Ray’s hips, steadying him as he pressed slowly inside, breathing deeply as he was engulfed in heat. A few days’ time, enthusiastic and wonderful days though they had been, had not been enough to inure him to this. He hoped no amount of time would.
He’d barely pressed himself wholly inside when Ray shifted backward, pushing up to press his back against Fraser’s chest, his head dropping back onto Fraser’s shoulder. The heightened sensation wrenched twinned gasps from them both, and Ray arched away for an instant before settling back. From this vantage, Fraser could see Ray’s cock, blood-dark and already slick with a decidedly not artificially flavored fluid. His hand followed Ray’s in wrapping around the shaft, and Ray took charge, rocking forward into their combined grip, backward onto Fraser inside him, his gasps and moans loud in Fraser’s ear. He felt the first internal contractions of Ray’s approaching orgasm speeding his own when his partner gasped, “Dammit, Frase, gonna. Thing.”
That was enough, between them; he leaned forward, pressing with his hand even as he skated his thumb across the head of Ray’s cock, and the evidence of his climax landed safely on the strategically placed t-shirt. Entirely absorbed in Ray, Fraser was almost startled by his own orgasm, pressing his face against Ray’s throat where he could feel the shuddering of Ray’s effort to keep from collapsing beneath him.
He retained just enough presence of mind to tip them both sideways as his legs gave out, landing on the rug, spooned against Ray. They lay still, catching their breath, until he’d softened enough to slip free of Ray’s body, and then Ray passed him his shorts, and he cleaned them both up a bit. The lubricant from Ray’s back was now smeared all over both of them, so they’d have to shower anyway, once they got themselves off the floor.
Ray reached out again, and this time picked up the tube of Fresh Peach. “So, is this one any good?” Fraser didn’t answer immediately, and Ray squeezed a drop directly onto his tongue. His face instantly contorted into a grimace of horror, his mouth working in a fashion reminiscent of the time Dief had eaten peanut butter. Fraser quickly leaned up and kissed him, searching out every trace of the foul taste and licking it away, until Ray was kissing him back and not simply trying to scour his own tongue.
When he broke the kiss, Ray said, “Did you *like* that stuff? That’s gross. I hate peach.”
“Er,” he looked away, which had to be fairly incriminating at a distance of six inches. “No. I found it rather revolting.”
He met Ray’s eyes again, and found him scowling. “So why didn’t you say anything?”
Fraser opened his mouth, and closed it.
“What,” Ray said, his frown softening. “You didn’t wanna waste it or something?”
He nodded. It sounded rather sillier, when Ray said it.
“That’s why we got the sample sizes, Fraser, so we can see what we like. That means if you *don’t* like something, you gotta say, so we can try something else. No suffering in silence, that’s not buddies.”
Fraser licked his lip, trying to erase the lingering taste of plastic. “Buddies?”
Ray nodded firmly. “Buddies. Whatever else we are, we’re always that, right?”
“As you say, Ray.”
Ray nodded again. “Okay. So, buddy, here’s what we do with stuff we don’t like.” He hefted the bottle in his left hand and then threw it, full force, at the wall. The remaining contents splattered against the painted surface, and the bottle bounced across the floor and vanished behind the desk. “Got that, Fraser?”
He leaned in for another kiss as Ray smiled, and said, “I’ve got it, Ray.”
***
Ray’s ‘plans’ turned out to consist of–-not hiding, but *strategically locating*--the remaining eleven bottles of lubricant.
“That way,” he explained, “there’ll be one handy whenever we need it, wherever we need it.”
He refused to reveal what the strategic locations were, but some made themselves known more quickly than others.
***
2
Ray hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He had fourteen hours, anyway, before he had to think about work again, or about anything other than how to reward his really amazing partner-and-boyfriend for making dinner. He rubbed his belly absently–-he hoped Fraser never actually told him what he’d eaten tonight, because it had been really good, and he suspected that knowing for sure that it was lichen and tofu would sort of spoil that–-and then, speculatively, ran his hand down his jeans, stroking idly. *I know you’ve been getting more of a workout than usual, lately, but whaddya think? Can we desecrate the kitchen by way of thank you?*
Survey said, yes, please and thank you kindly, and with a smile, Ray headed out of the bedroom, only to find Fraser at the sink, washing dishes. The ones they’d actually used tonight were already in the drainer, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Fraser was up to his elbows in suds washing out a three-day-old coffee mug. “Hey,” he said quickly, “Fraser, you don’t gotta do that. Those were getting gross, I was just gonna throw them out and start over.”
Fraser looked up and gave him a smile, probably as much for escaping the phone call as for the weak joke. “It’s quite all right, Ray. You were on the phone, I was momentarily unoccupied, and I wanted to make myself useful. In any case, I wouldn’t do it if I minded.”
Ray wasn’t actually so sure about that. Plus, how embarrassing was it to have Fraser acting like his mom? “Look, that’s not fair, if you go around cleaning up after me. I mean, you shopped, you cooked, and now you’re doing my dishes. That’s not equal.” Ray leaned against the counter, facing him; Fraser had set the mug on the drainer and was swiping his hands through the dishwater, staring down at the sudsy surface like his life depended on making sure he hadn’t missed a fork.
“I see,” Fraser said, and he looked up with another smile, but it wasn’t the right one, it was one of those masks Fraser liked to wear. “I’ll remember that in future.”
Fuck. Dishes meant something, and he had just screwed it up, whatever it was. Time for plan B–-plan A, really. So he only had one plan, so what? It was a good one. Fraser let the water out of the sink, and while he was rinsing his hands, Ray grabbed the dishtowel and held it behind his back. Fraser didn’t actually stoop to asking for it, just looked at Ray like he’d lost his mind. “Sorry, Fraser. You wash, I dry.”
Fraser glanced at the dishes, all already in the drainer, and still didn’t say anything.
“So you better just stay there, so you don’t drip all over the place.” His straight face wasn’t really holding, and Fraser was smiling back a little–-right on cue, his eyes dipped down to Ray’s jeans–-that was a pretty safe bet, this week--and when he looked back up, blue eyes glinting dark, Ray knew he had him. Fraser settled his forearms on the edge of the sink, his hands open, palm up, so they could dry. Ray moved around behind him, dropping the towel and rummaging in the bowl on the counter that was supposed to hold fruit but mostly ended up holding whatever was cluttering up the counter when he felt like cleaning. At the bottom, right next to the plugged-in charger pack for his phone, was the tube of Big Banana (fruit, right? In the fruit bowl). Nice and warm, from being next to the charger, because happiness is warm lube.
He stepped up right behind Fraser, pressing his cock against Fraser’s ass through two layers of jeans, kicking Fraser’s feet apart a little, like he was about to pat him down, which in a manner of speaking he was. He set his hands on Fraser’s hips, letting the little tube roll between his palm and Fraser’s body as he slid his hands around to the front. Fraser kind of nodded, and pressed his ass back, tilting his hips invitingly, and Ray couldn’t resist ducking his head to lay a kiss on the nape of his neck, the naked inch that was exposed when he changed out of his tunic at the end of the day. Fraser made a little *ah* sound that wasn’t quite a sigh, and tipped his head back, so that his hair tickled Ray’s nose. He nuzzled at it, not sure whether he was about to sneeze or laugh, and kissed his way down and sideways, along the collar of Fraser’s henley, mouthing wetly at the smooth pale skin of his throat.
When he got to the point of licking along the tendon at the side, he could see his own hands, thumbs hooked into the front of Fraser’s jeans. Fraser’s hands, of course, were still dripping neatly over the sink, and when he ran his teeth over Fraser’s skin, his fingers twitched, throwing droplets of water into the sink.
Ray ran his open hand lightly over the bulge in Fraser’s jeans, and Fraser pushed forward, just a fraction, and then went still again. Ray could hear him breathing now, could feel it in the movement of Fraser’s ribs against his chest and in the circle of his arms. He watched his hands carefully as he unbuttoned and unzipped, then shoved Fraser’s jeans and boxers down in one efficient motion, freeing his cock and drawing a sigh of relief from Fraser. Ray’s own erection, still trapped in his jeans, ached for the same. He ground a little against Fraser’s now-bare ass, and steeled himself to wait for that part even as Fraser wiggled enticingly against the rough burn of denim.
He had the lube in his right hand, so he closed his left around Fraser, easing the foreskin back, and skating his thumb across the head, already leaking the clear fluid that eased his way as Fraser jerked in his grasp. He jacked him a little, but Fraser tilted his head back onto his shoulder and said, “Ray,” in a strangled voice. Ray nodded against his throat; this wasn’t what they were here for. Shifting his grip to the base of Fraser’s cock, he backed up a little, leaning his forehead against Fraser’s shoulder as he got his own jeans undone and shoved them down, along with his shorts, just far enough. He used his teeth to get the cap off the lube, and squeezed some onto his fingers.
When he brushed the back of his hand against the curve of Fraser’s ass, he shifted, leaning forward a little to tilt his hips back, helping to get the angle right. Ray pressed his slick fingers to the spot just behind his balls, making Fraser jump again, and then trailed them up to his opening, pushing steadily with two fingers. Fraser made a little grunting sound as he was breached, but he pushed back a little onto Ray’s fingers, and his hard-on never flagged in Ray’s grip. This was what they were here for, oh yeah. He worked his fingers all the way in, and he could feel the muscle loosening as Fraser relaxed, so that the grip on his fingers wasn’t so much crushing as really tight.