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.
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.
by Mia (firstname.lastname@example.org)
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 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
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.
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 were 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.
"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."
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?"
"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.
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.
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-be-written -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.