Fic: Due South, "Domestic Bliss" Slash. Fraser/Ray K, fluffy smut

[rispacooper]

Domestic Bliss: or, the Mating Habits of the Domesticated (Northern) Werewolf
For: Due South
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski Semi-Almost-Established Couple Fic.
Warnings: Language and sexing. Some pretty vanilla kink. Sequel-ish to "Moonlight and Coffee".
Summary: Domestic!kink. About a year ago (a year ago!) I wrote a remixed Fraser-as-a-werewolf story, and promised porn to follow. I started the porny sequel, based on one line from the original story, and then got distracted by various things. So here it is, twelve months late and done in a hurry.

The quote: Ray was wearing the same shirt he had worn yesterday, faded black cotton with dark stains beneath his arms. He had not done his laundry, and Fraser thought of offering to do it for him, his face heating at simply the idea of washing Ray’s clothing, of presuming to ask for something so intimate. He shifted, embarrassed at his own foolishness, grateful for once that Ray that had been so distant lately. It meant that at least Ray would never know how warmly Fraser thought of the domestic pleasures of detergent and matched socks.

Then he thought, not for the first time, that he made a very poor werewolf indeed.

It's done! Yay. That's all I care about. :) Follow the 30 Rock reference to read it...




Most nights with Fraser now are like most nights with Fraser before; they go someplace to eat unless one of them feels like cooking, which they usually don’t on account of being tired from chasing down the criminal element all day, and also because Ray can’t cook soup. Sometimes they get impatient and get the food to go, but that’s a whole different kind of night right there, and Ray’s thinking that tonight is going to end up like most nights lately—not that he’s complaining.

Because most nights mean food and then walking home if the weather’s nice, and according to Fraser the weather is almost always nice, and since he’s with Fraser—with Fraser—they almost always walk, and then he gets to come back to his warm apartment with the cold snapping at his cheeks and his stomach full and a very warm body next to him. Then he makes a move to turn on the TV—watch a game, the news, whatever—and suddenly he’ll have an armful of hot, horny Benton Fraser, ready to slowly drive Ray insane unless Ray can get Fraser’s pants off and drive him crazy in return. If he can, then it’s time for mouths and tongues and fingers and groping on the couch or maybe the floor and fucking in the bedroom and after all of that he gets to go to sleep with a sticky Fraser wrapped around him, which is so amazing that he really doesn’t mind missing the game at all.

So yeah, most nights for him now are good nights. Even the ones where they’re so tired they just pass out on the bed with their clothes on and wake up later stiff and sore.

It figures Fraser would have studied massage too, though Ray really doesn’t want to think about who, or what, he practiced on up North.

Tonight is shaping up to be something else though, because they step into his apartment and before Ray gets to even glance at the TV, Fraser’s pulled away the hand he had resting warm and careful at Ray’s back and he’s got his nose in the air. He’s making this face like Dief left a gift on the rug, only the wolf –the other wolf—is still fast asleep by the radiator, which is where he was when they left.

But Fraser’s sniffing and looking around with big eyes, like he’s never seen the place before. His mouth is open a little too, and he keeps running his tongue over his lower lip until it’s so wet and pink he could be wearing lip gloss.

This could be a Fraser thing or it could be a werewolf thing, so Ray doesn’t say anything right away, he just stands there with his keys in his hand and thinks about how Fraser things—like licking behind his ear while Ray’s trying to make his morning coffee—and werewolf things—like stripping naked on the nights when the moon is almost full and fucking Ray within an inch of his life—are not always bad things.

Not much about them together is bad at all, but judging from Fraser’s turned up nose, he don’t think so.

“I’m afraid I’ve allowed you to neglect your home, Ray,” Fraser says at last, dead serious, so Ray pulls his eyes off Fraser’s mouth for a second and looks around.

It looks alright; there’s some dirty laundry—mostly torn shirts and ripped boxers, neither of which is any fault of Ray’s—and some fur on the rug, maybe a few cartons of old takeout on the coffee table that they’d forgotten about in a rush to…

“Oh yeah,” he says now that he sees and smells it. It is getting a little ripe. “Oh yeah, I meant to do that the other day.” Which should have made Fraser give him a Look, but Fraser’s still sniffing the air and twitching and Ray gets it suddenly, that for a guy with a sensitive wolf-nose, it’s got to be butt-nasty in there. So he sets his keys down and hurries over to the living room area so he can grab cartons and cans until his arms are full and then dump them into the kitchen trash—which smells even worse, so bad his nose is twitching. He hoists that up too and heads back to the door, to where Fraser is still playing statue.

When he gets back from taking it out, shivering a little at the nip in the air, Fraser’s in the kitchen. Even in flannel and not the Red he’s easy to spot. He’s got his sleeves rolled up and Ray can see the play of muscle beneath the pale skin as Fraser swipes a sponge across the counter. He’s scrubbing hard too, some water trickling over his wrists as he works.

“Fraser.” His voice cracks a little but Fraser just pauses for a second and blinks at him like he freaking forgot Ray was there.

“Yes, Ray, I’ll be just a moment if you don’t mind,” he asks, calling out as though Ray isn’t a couple of feet away. Then he frowns down at something and reaches for the bottle of dish soap, which he squirts everywhere and continues scrubbing.

He attacks the dirt like he attacked Ray last night, eyes narrowed, licking his lip as he’d focused, and yeah, Ray had been thrusting underneath that, hard and twitching while Fraser had only held him down while he’d, as he had said, “considered how best to proceed” just because he knew that Ray loved when he talked Consulate in bed.

Thinking during sex. Not normally something Ray allowed, but for Fraser he’d make an exception. He’d make a lot of exceptions for Fraser, and not just because a part of him still thought Fraser was crazy for wanting him.

Without looking, Fraser reaches over, smoothing his fingers over the hard length of the faucet before giving it a twist, and there’s soap and water streaming white over his hands and Ray can’t take it anymore…

He marches over to the couch and flips on the TV.

“You are the weirdest werewolf I ever met, Fraser,” he comments as he grabs the remote and plops down on the couch.

“Just another moment please, Ray.” It’s starting to smell lemon fresh in the area of the kitchen, but the water’s still running, so Ray frowns and leaves it on the news. He doesn’t drop his hand into his lap even though the idea is getting tempting.

There’s been a string of arson on the South Side and someone is trying to lure kids into cars in the ‘Burbs, and Ray changes the channel until he finds a nice, harmless cartoon. The water turns off and Ray lifts his head, but Fraser’s tight ass sticking out of the hall closet is all he can see and then Fraser’s starts mumbling something about fresh towels.

“You don’t have to do this, Fraser. It’s my mess, I’ll clean it up later.” On his next day off maybe. But Fraser actually pokes his head out to stare at him and all the housework has made his cheeks flushed. He looks pink and heated and too pretty for a guy who wears flannel and serge and chases crooks all day.

“It’s my pleasure, Ray,” Fraser answers at last, slowly, and drops his eyes before Ray can figure out why they’re so bright. Then Fraser turns and bends down and very carefully puts his hands over one of Ray’s old undershirts. He holds it almost to his face and he’s starting to look almost feverish, flushed cheeks and traces of moisture at his collar where the worn flannel is touching him.

Ray opens his mouth, breathing a little too hard, but Fraser’s already moving on to the next shirt. He’s got an armful of stinky old clothes before Ray can blink, and then he’s off to get the towels, leaving Ray alone with Bugs and the Gremlin.

Bugs, Rays decides, is like Fraser. Because in his way he’s unstoppable and because he almost never gets beat, except by that freaking Gremlin.

He makes a face at his lap and reconsiders immediately. That’s just sour grapes and a stiff dick talking. Of course Fraser is nothing like Bugs because he doesn’t mean to be driving Ray crazy, he doesn’t mean to drive anyone crazy; he just does. That cleaning turns his crank was just something Ray was going to have to get used to.

It wouldn’t have been so bad, except that Fraser was so into doing the job properly he had forgotten Ray was even there at all. He was probably down on his hands and knees in the bathroom right now, sniffing out more of Ray’s dirty shorts.

Ray’s shifting just a little at the idea of Fraser on his hands and knees anywhere, or his face pressed to the white of Ray’s boxers. Who would have thought Benton Fraser loved to suck cock? Or that he loved to suck Ray’s cock? Ray sure as hell hadn’t, not outside of fantasies that had always left him hot and tired and restless for more no matter how many times he pumped into his hand. And the rest of it, the whole Fraser likes getting fucked thing, discovering that had just about killed him, not that he was complaining. No way.

Because Fraser in real life was so much better. He made these noises, these soft, pretty grunts he didn’t even know he was making, his mouth open wide and drooling, wet through Ray’s jeans, the pillows. Then Ray would pull him up, kiss him until he couldn’t breathe and Fraser would finally pull away, panting into his neck and close to crying when Ray would touch him, so beautiful Ray would have to kiss him again.

He could kiss Fraser for days maybe. Weeks, if Fraser would let him and the wolfing out didn’t interfere. Just take Fraser’s head in his hands to get him still to begin with and kiss him wordless. He loves Fraser’s mouth.

“I need a beer,” Ray says, mostly to himself since Fraser’s not listening. So he gets up and rinses the garbage off his hands in his lemony fresh sink with all his newly-washed dishes gleaming at him from a towel on the counter and then turns his back on them to grab a cold brew.

He guzzles half of it while he feeds the turtle and changes the water in Dief’s bowl, trying to ignore the amusement on the wolf’s face. It’s not like Dief can know that the thought of coming home to Fraser got him wound up and now Fraser’s left him high and dry—unless he can smell it.

Which is not a comfortable thought, even if he knows Fraser ought to smell it too.

Still no sign of the pretty guy in flannel that Ray’s been itching to screw since halfway through the Mu Shu Pork and steamed sticky buns, so he sighs again and stacks the old newspapers by the door for his next trip downstairs and then sits back on the couch with his beer in one hand.

Bugs is getting rattled now, losing his Bugs-cool and Ray licks the bitter taste of the beer off his lips and twists his head around to watch Fraser emerge from his bedroom with both arms full of dirty laundry. The sheets he must have taken from the bed are trailing behind him and Ray lifts his head up, his face hot as he wonders what scents Fraser picked up off those.

Fraser glances at him and freezes, licking at the sweat that’s collecting on his upper lip. Ray hops to his feet, almost spilling his beer.

“You…uh…you need a hand there, Fraser?”

“Hm, no. That is no thank you, Ray. I’d rather… I’ll only be another moment.” Fraser looks like he’d be scratching at his eyebrow if his hands were free, but he’s staring into Ray’s eyes the whole time, and then he breathes in, long and deep. Ray can see his nostrils flare, his chest expanding, and then, he swears, Fraser trembles.

It’s only for a second then Fraser grabs harder at the pile of laundry like it’s going to get away from him, and he’s close to running to the door. The laundry room is downstairs. Fraser’s either heading that way or taking off with Ray’s dirty clothes.

Fraser will probably have a Fraser explanation for either one too, not that Ray’s going to ask.

The wolf—the normal one—makes a noise that sounds a lot like a laugh so Ray turns around and mouths real slow what Diefenbaker can go do to himself.

The weird huffing sound of wolf laughter is all he hears as he throws himself back down on the couch. He gulps the rest of the beer in one swallow and hesitates only for about half a second before he tosses the empty bottle on the floor.

His skin feels too hot after the cold outside, the icy breeze coming from the general direction that Fraser had taken, and when he closes his eyes the world spins for a moment but not in a bad way. He leans back against the cushions and lets his head loll back, keeping his eyes front even if his ears are straining for any noises Fraser could be making downstairs.

Fraser all tight in the pants at the thought of cleaning his house and doing his laundry. Ray knows he’s grumbling, but doesn’t stop. Dief has a wolf nose, and Dief doesn’t seem to mind. Fraser hadn’t seemed to mind last night either, snoring into one of Ray’s pillows that would probably light up like Chernobyl under one of those black lights.

Which, okay, was a little gross but it wasn’t like Fraser wasn’t part of the reason his apartment smelled like sex, sex, and more sex. Was the reason, ever since confessing what it was he’d been thinking about doing to Ray underneath his innocent, nice-guy face for all those months.

That thing with all the licking…Fraser hadn’t even looked embarrassed just….hot.

He was getting hot here too. Ray mumbled under his breath and snatched up the remote to change the channel again. Nature shows. Nice, unsexy nature shows. The TV version of a cold shower. About five minutes into the wildebeests of Africa he could lean back and spread his legs. He looks relaxed at least, and lets the hand holding the remote fall.

Fraser steps back in the apartment and Ray whips his head around to watch him, shivering a little at the cold breeze that Fraser doesn’t seem to notice. Fraser looks too warm, flushed and bright-eyed as he strides purposefully back down the short hallway to the bedroom.

“I thought I might change the sheets now, Ray, while I’m waiting,” Fraser informs him from somewhere way too far away, as though Ray cares about the clean sheets right now. All he cares about is how they got dirty in the first place, but it’s no good trying to stop Fraser now, so he twists back to stare fixedly at the damn wildebeests.

Except it’s not about the wildebeests anymore. Fraser’s rustling around in the closet for something and Ray’s staring at lions eating the wildebeests. He thinks about making a face but settles for sighing.

“You have a surprising amount of extra bedding, Ray.” Fraser’s voice sounds muffled, like he’s got his face buried in something and Ray tries to think about what he means and not the idea of pressing Fraser face down on something soft, like his mattress.

Telling him he had done a good job with the laundry, that’s a Fraser compliment. Ray surprised him, in a good way, by having extra sheets and things and Ray can’t help it, he nods a little too enthusiastically and stares hard, hoping this means Fraser’s attention is coming back to him.

Fraser though, isn’t looking at him. He’s at the other end of the couch, using the arm to fold up Ray’s spare bedding. Fraser has really nice fingers. Ray’s had a lot of time to think about Fraser’s hands, a lot of time, but not even close to enough time actually getting touched by them. All of which is making him really start to hate sheets.

The fabric is red, red that was on sale, but Fraser’s smoothing it out, and Ray’s brain thinks Fraser! Red! and his mouth falls open. Wolf ears or not, Fraser’s got to hear him breathing heavy here, but Fraser’s hands slides along the edge of the sheet, bending it where he wants it and patting it down. The folded edge makes this ridge Fraser cups in his palm and Ray yanks his gaze away and stares at the lions lying in wait for some big, dumb wildebeest.

His mouth is real dry. He swallows. All that Fraser attention, wasted on sheets. But wow, Fraser was good at it, good at everything if he puts his mind to it, and watching him is almost enough to make Ray love housecleaning too.

The movement at the corner of his vision stops and Ray’s neck cracks he turns it so fast. Whatever he looks like, it makes Fraser’s head go back, his eyes widening like Ray startled him.

Fraser’s breath is fast too, too heavy for a guy folding bed sheets.

“I just…there is… I will set things right for you, Ray, if you wish.” One hand slides over an eyebrow and Fraser’s making a promise but Ray’s too hot to think what in the hell Fraser’s telling him. He licks his lips and he swears Fraser copies him, his breath hitching loudly and then it’s like Fraser’s not breathing anymore, waiting on his answer.

“Uh…okay.” He says it because he doesn’t get what else to say but Fraser nods, a long, relieved breath leaving him and an almost-smile appearing at his mouth. “Uh, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, Ray.” Fraser’s almost-smile goes all the way all of the sudden, wide and beautiful and it should have been creepy, watching a guy get that wound up over laundry, but Ray’s just watching Fraser turn to stack the folded sheets back in the closet, watching him shut the door firmly, his hand slipping on the knob he was moving so fast. He doesn’t put the red ones away and Ray bites his lip to keep from groaning.

“Your linen closet is more than adequate, Ray,” Fraser says and Ray could testify before a jury of his peers that Fraser means it dirty.

His face red as those goddamn sexy sheets, Fraser gestures at the door and heads toward it. He says something else, something about ironing and wrinkles and timers and fabric softener, but Ray’s still trying to stop his body from twitching at the thought of Fraser peering inside his linen closet, Fraser naked on red sheets. Then he’s gone before Ray can even manage a, “Wha…?”

He lets his head fall back and stares up at the ceiling. His jeans are too fucking tight and the wolf is laughing at him. Except when he lifts a hand to give the wolf the finger, his hand falls to his lap and his breath rushes right out of him.

“Fuck.” He swears at the off-white paint and waits but Fraser is down in laundry-land and Ray is alone up here with a hard-on that’s all Fraser’s fault.

“Laundry,” Ray swears again, mystified, but more than certain that the word is now worse than anything his mom ever washed his mouth out with soap for saying. Because Fraser is down there pink and hot and hungry and still he’s down there, and he took the red with him, and he’s going to be ironing, ironing, which could take hours. Hours.

Ray spends at least a good five minutes thinking about moving his hand, gasping a little when his thumb twitches against his cock anyway, which happens every time he pictures Fraser folding his shorts. It’s weird. It’s possibly the weirdest thing that’s ever gotten him hot, except that everything about Fraser gets him hot, so he shouldn’t be surprised. Because it’s Fraser, and Fraser’s weird to begin with, even without the moonlit nights of freaky werewolf sex.

He wants….he wants to be with Fraser right now, even if he ends up just watching Fraser pour fabric softener or whatever in the washing machine. That’s okay, that’s fine, because it’s Fraser and Fraser won’t care if Ray unzips and starts jacking off right there. His face might get pinker to know that Ray’s burning just thinking about him measuring out a cup full of the stuff, thinking about him pulling apart his whites and darks, thinking about him steamy and sweaty from the iron.

Maybe if Fraser doesn’t mind laundry, he won’t mind if Ray gets him a little apron, the kind with ruffles, like Fraser is Mrs. Cleaver or something, which is so wrong Ray makes himself pull his hand from his crotch and stare hard at the TV.

Only the TV is still giving him lions. And the lions are screwing. Screwing. And there’s this British guy who talks like Fraser going on and on about it, saying everything but screwing when they’re obviously screwing and he can’t take it anymore. Whatever game Fraser’s playing with him, caring more about the clothes and the bed crap than Ray, Ray doesn’t care anymore. He’s up and not even grabbing his jacket before he’s out the door and creeping downstairs.

He skids to a stop at the door to the laundry room, and even though there’s nobody around this time of night in the cold he pauses to catch his breath before he pushes on the door.

It’s a tiny room that Ray usually tries to avoid. It always smells like dust and old soap and the fluorescent lights flicker all the time and there’s always, always, someone’s stinky pile of socks in a basket on the low table next to the washers and dryers.

Except Fraser has clearly been down here for more than five minutes, because the socks have been moved to floor and there’s an ironing board that Ray’s never noticed before that’s been lowered from the wall next to the washer. Also, everything smells like lemons. Well, soap and lemons, but it doesn’t make Ray’s nose twitch, which means Fraser must be okay with it.

A dryer is rumbling and the air is heavy and warm, as though it’s been going for a while. Even the one high window is steamed up it’s so cold outside.

Fraser is standing in front of the washer with his back to Ray, and he must be really into his work now because he doesn’t say anything when Ray takes a step into the room, not even with is super-hearing. There are some sheets and things on the table and Fraser is putting socks and shorts and t-shirt after t-shirt into a washing machine, and he’s not dumping them in like a normal person. No, Fraser’s dropping them one at a time, like each part of Ray’s underwear needs his special attention.

Ray’s kind of stuck between frowning and smiling at that one, but Fraser finishes while he’s trying to decide and when he reaches for the bottle of detergent he gives this warm little “hmm” of approval at Ray’s choice that really shouldn’t shiver down Ray’s spine like it does. What did Fraser expect from him anyway? He knew he was practically living with a werewolf, so he bought the unscented stuff. The mess in the house was an accident. It’s not like he’s a jerk on purpose.

Fraser hmms again as he measures out what he wants, and really it’s more of a grunt, like the kind of sound he makes when Ray works his nipples. He trails his fingers over the buttons and when he twists the dials Ray grunts a little too.

They both flinch at the sound and then Fraser twists his head around, looking halfway guilty. Kind of like he’s been caught in a lie, except Fraser don’t lie so much as really, really deny the truth even when it’s staring him in the face. It’s really fucking irritating unless Ray gets to be the one to catch him out, so he’s grinning when Fraser blinks and clears his throat and turns back to dump the soap in the streaming flow of water and close the machine.

“Need a hand down here, Fraser?” he asks when Fraser clears his throat again, and he’s getting warm just seeing how pink Fraser’s neck is getting. It makes him want to grab Fraser and put his mouth there, because Fraser’s embarrassed and Ray would be too if he wasn’t so horny but really, Fraser’s got to know by now, Ray’s not going to freak out about something weird like a, whatever the word was, fetish.

After all, once a month when Fraser couldn’t control it, Ray got pinned to the nearest hard surface and fucked senseless by howling, wild version of Fraser and mostly thinking about just got him hard instead of nervous or worried like he ought to be.

“If you like, Ray.” Fraser was always polite when he wasn’t covered in fur, but he was also still talking to the washing machine. “But truly, it’s my pleasure.”

“Oh yeah?” He just breathes it and Fraser angles his head up, like he hears everything else Ray’s not saying, like no shit it’s his pleasure. Maybe he does, maybe he smells it now that he’s not so distracted, but he turns partially around and his look gets considering. Considering from a guy who thought fire extinguishers made good jet packs is kind of scary thing, but a good scary. It makes Ray shiver up and down his whole body.

Fraser’s face is flushed and the steam is making a few curls stick to his forehead. He swallows when Ray reaches behind him to shut the door but doesn’t say anything, which makes Ray’s pulse rev up to about a thousand beats per minute. He’s just standing there, still thinking, still nervous about what Ray’s thinking of him and while that kind of makes Ray want to deck Fraser a little for doubting him it also kind of makes him want to wrap him up in flannel or something else warm and hold him for a good long time.

He settles for shrugging and taking another step forward, because he’s still got a boner to take care of and judging from how Fraser’s standing, so does Fraser.

“Ok then.” Ray agrees just to see the way Fraser blinks and then he sucks in a breath and yanks up his sweatshirt. He catches a glimpse of Fraser’s throat moving as he swallows again and then he pulls up his t-shirt too. His fingers are cold and the air is still enough of a shock that he shudders a little.

He’s pale and too skinny, so he glances to the side as he walks to the table and puts his clothes down. He only looks up when he puts a hand to his belt and it’s like getting punched in the gut to see the way Fraser stares at him. For a second he can’t breathe and he’s seeing stars and then it’s just heat spreading out to all of him, liquid hot and melting in his blood.

“Ray?” Fraser says his name and there’s a lot behind it, like maybe he stills needs convincing that Ray’s down with whatever it is getting him so worked up. So Ray runs a hand down over his chest and leans against the table. His hand ends up back at his belt, which is good, because his nipples are puckered tight and making him think about washing machine dials in freaky ways.

Fraser’s mouth must be dry. He keeps licking his lips while his eyes skip around Ray’s bare skin. He drags them up after a pause so long Ray could rub himself the table and gestures sort of helplessly at Ray’s clothes.

“More dirty laundry for you,” Ray volunteers. He’d be more smug but it’s hard enough just keeping his voice even. He’s still got the touch though, because Fraser finishes turning around but leaves his hands holding tight on the machine behind him. “You need my pants too?”

He means it teasing, but it’s like Fraser’s touching him with just his eyes, like he’s holding his breath because he’s afraid to do more.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Ray,” Fraser says at last and Ray’s got the buckle open in a second flat. The belt goes somewhere and then Fraser’s hands are pushing his shaking ones away and popping open the buttons of his fly.

“Please, Ray,” Fraser asks him when Ray frowns a little and tries to put his hands back and then Fraser’s gone wolf without the fur. He puts his mouth to Ray’s neck and sweeps them both back until Ray’s got his ass to the table.

He’s hot, shifting, slipping his hands between Ray and his jeans and grunting when he feels Ray’s hard-on. Ray’s got enough sense to get his hands up and curl them around palmfuls of flannel and then Fraser’s shaking.

He surprised him again, in a good way, because it’s only for a second. Fraser puts his face to Ray’s shoulder, breathing in deep to soak himself in the scent of turned-on Ray and Ray’s cock is twitching because he knows that’s exactly what Fraser’s doing.

“Yeah, buddy,” Ray tells him in case Fraser still doesn’t get that he is cool with this. He is beyond cool, he is frozen solid igloo cool with all this. Which Fraser must finally get, because he puts his mouth where his nose was and darts out his tongue. He hums when that makes Ray lean back and then he does it again.

“You ought to try a different brand of fabric softener, Ray. Your current one contains some rather harsh chemicals and I would classify your skin as sensitive.” Fraser is talking Laundry, which must be close to talking Consulate, because even though he isn’t moving his hands anymore, Ray jerks against his palm anyway. The housework made Fraser’s hands rough and pruney, but Fraser still responds, breathing out through his nose and wrapping his fingers around Ray’s cock to lightly touch him.

“Sensitive?” Ray puts every bit of attitude he’s got into the question and still he sounds out of breath and it’s enough to make a guy wonder about himself. Fraser tells him he’s sensitive and he’s not even mad.

Like he has to prove his point, Fraser takes another taste of him, a long, slow lick before he swallows, making it seriously difficult to think of anything but Fraser. Ray tries anyway. He narrows his eyes and pulls his head back in time to see Fraser swipe his tongue across his upper lip.

“Delicate, if you don’t object to the term, Ray.” For the first time, Fraser brings his hands up from Ray’s dick and rests them over Ray’s nipples. Fraser is fucking warm and it feels good, shocking, and maybe his skin is turning pink because Fraser looks down to study him and he looks pleased now.

“It really bothers you, huh?” Ray isn’t really listening to the words coming out of his mouth. Fraser really needs to move his hands, kiss him, do something, but at Ray’s question he just freezes and gives him the earnest look that usually means a speech about justice.

Justice would be them both upstairs in his warm, comfortable bedroom with Fraser on his back underneath him, or at least Fraser sucking him off if they were going to stay down here. But before Ray can say something about that Fraser keeps going.

“I don’t like to see your skin needlessly irritated.” Fraser looks to the side for a second and Ray could smack himself upside the head for not getting it sooner, that maybe this cleaning stuff isn’t about Fraser at all, at least not to Fraser. Fraser just wants to make sure Ray’s taken care of, and that is the kind of thing that Hallmark cards never get. Though trying to imagine what they’d say if they had them is difficult even he was thinking with only half his brain right now.

“Thinking of you safe gets me hot”, Ray tries that one out and shakes his head, smiling a little in that goofy way like somebody knocked him cold and he just woke up. It would have to be more Fraser-y for a company with all those big-eyed ceramic statues and candles. Like, “It is my duty and my pleasure to wash your socks”. Or “Fabric softener means I love you”.

Man was he dumb for not getting this before.

“Fraser,” Ray pulls in a breath and leans forward to nibble on Fraser’s ear. He’s got some words too, but for the first surprised moment when he sucks Fraser’s earlobe into his mouth, he forgets what they are.

Fraser jerks to attention, like electricity just shot down his spine and Ray lets his earlobe slide free so he can move his mouth to Fraser’s throat. Fraser tastes like salt and a little like dish soap and Ray likes the rumbles under his mouth when Fraser tries to speak. Sometimes Fraser just needs to shut up and go with the flow, which Ray whispers to him after sucking a soft trail back to his ear. Fraser’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue, which is better than good, it’s greatness.

The flannel’s got buttons and he’s working on those while his mouth is pulling these quiet grunts out of Fraser. He pushes Fraser’s shirt open because Fraser’s not doing it, and he’s ok with seeing that Fraser gets taken care of too. Better than ok. He’ll match the freaking socks, really, even if the game is on.

Ok, maybe after the game.

He could swear out loud at finding out Fraser’s wearing a Henley underneath, but a good tug and he can at least feel the skin of Fraser’s stomach, shivering and hot.

“So what kind of, uh, softener, should I get, Fraser?” he asks like he gives a crap, because Fraser does give a crap, and Fraser just twitches and shudders and turns his head away so Ray can bite on his ear a little more. Ray uses his teeth to tug on it the way Fraser always does and he’s close enough to feel the reaction to that against his leg.

He can’t help it; he’s got to drop his hand and squeeze. Fraser’s got a nice dick. It’s not often Ray ever thought that about another guy, but it’s true. He likes Fraser’s dick, and Fraser’s dick seems to like him too.

“Perhaps, Ray, something hypo-allergenic...” Fraser suggests, puffing like he’s run a marathon. His hands slip down, grip at Ray’s hips, holding tight enough to warm the bone. All of which is good, because hearing the words “hypo-allergenic” come out of Fraser’s mouth makes Ray fall forward. He’s got his mouth open and he’s sucking softly on one of Fraser’s nipples before his brain even registers that maybe Ray’s got one of those fetishes too.

His other hand is shoving Fraser’s shirt up to his neck until Fraser grunts and says his name. For a second Fraser lifts a hand and Ray pauses long enough to swat it away, mumbling into Fraser’s chest in case he starts getting any ideas.

He rolls Fraser’s nipple against his tongue, knowing how tight and pink it is without seeing it, knowing Fraser loves it because his hand ends up at the back of Ray’s head, his fingers working through the ends of his hair.

Sensitive. Ray almost snorts. Fraser is the sensitive one here, with all the white, creamy skin that never sees the light of day.

His hand kind of lets go of Fraser’s shirt and creeps down on its own to feel up that skin. Fraser’s shirt hits his face and now that Ray’s noticing things like that, he’s aware that it’s a very soft shirt, the fabric smells clean and sweet against his nose as he breathes in deep. He inhales again and moves, sliding away from the table to push against Fraser, because that clean smell he always thought of as Fraser might just be his detergent, but that’s okay because then Ray is going to end up smelling like Fraser all day and thinking about Fraser getting off on clean clothes.

His fingers are probably still cold from being outside. Fraser’s skin feels like it’s burning when Ray plucks his other nipple into a little point he can tweak, but Fraser’s whole body stiffens for a moment and his hands tighten their hold at the back of Ray’s head. It’s only for a second—because it’s Fraser—not that Ray minds, in fact he does it again, twisting the soft skin again just to make Fraser clutch at him again, and Ray could write some Hallmark cards of his own about Fraser’s nipples, or just how much he liked getting Fraser off at all.

He hasn’t used his teeth yet, not really, and the first scrape makes Fraser gasp in a way that knocks all the flowery words Ray had been going to say right out of his brain, so Ray shrugs and replaces his mouth with his other hand and brings his lips up to Fraser’s throat, using his teeth there.

Fraser’s nipples are like diamonds against his palms and Fraser’s pulse is pounding under skin so soft that Ray can’t help but nibble a little. Fraser’s head falls back and his hands come down to Ray’s hips, and he starts to rock, gently, against Ray.

Oh yeah, he’s going to screw Fraser. Right here. Right now. And maybe he said that out loud without realizing, because then he’s blinking as Fraser pulls away and smiling at him. Smiling, when there’s all this cold air between them and not enough hands on dicks.

“In that case, Ray, may I suggest we lock the door?” The words are Consulate, but the hot look with them is all Fraser. It’s not like Ray ain’t naked here, with a monster hard-on that Fraser can’t see. His mouth is open while Fraser crosses to the door, and no he don’t really need his landlady busting in here right now, since yeah…naked…monster hard-on…but he still can’t believe Fraser—who’s got a monster hard-on of his own—left him to lock the goddamn door.

Which is for Ray again, which they both know even if Fraser thinks Ray doesn’t, and Ray just can’t take it anymore. He cannot, as Fraser might say in Consulate, allow this situation to continue without addressing some…uh…issues.

The lock clicks and Fraser is back, flushed pink and breathing hard.

Ray grabs him the second he’s in reach, grabs him rough in a way he’d always tried to control around Stella. Fraser likes it, makes all kind of hmms and holds up his arms when Ray pulls his clothes up.

Fraser smells good even with the shirts gone, even without a wolf nose to pick up all those pheromones. Ray pulls in another breath and licks at Fraser’s shoulder while his hands get busy getting Fraser’s belt loose and his pants off.

He has to duck for that, and doesn’t even comment on how eagerly Fraser steps out of them, because while he’s down there, he might as well say hello to Fraser’s dick, which is looking him right in the eye, so to speak.

He was thinking about this too when he was chewing pork buns back at that restaurant, Fraser’s nice dick in his mouth, and maybe he’s not as slow about it as Fraser, but Ray still likes to take a moment when he’s sucking cock to really appreciate the dick on his tongue.

In this case, Fraser’s, which, like he already said, is a really nice dick. Ray loves Fraser’s dick in fact, loves it in his hand, in his ass, in his mouth, even when it’s still in Fraser’s pants. He loves it almost as much as he loves Fraser, which maybe Fraser doesn’t get, but which is an awful lot. More than enough to handle weird wolf things and cleaning kinks.

So he keeps his hands on Fraser’s thighs and stays on his knees and slurps down as much of Fraser’s cock as he can, lapping up the taste that is really starting to do things to him.

“Ah, Ray…” Fraser starts and then stops, which is good, because Ray just keeps licking, not really sucking yet, just getting all he can while Fraser’s hands start moving restlessly through his hair, messing it up, not that Ray is complaining.

Fraser probably gets more out of the licking and all when he does it, but Ray closes his eyes and hmms a little, because he knows how that feels when Fraser does it to him. Fraser’s hold on him gets tight, sexy tight, Fraser control getting ragged at the edges tight, and he lets go but that only makes Ray hmm again and curl his tongue to suck hard enough to make Fraser see stars.

“Ray!” Fraser sounds pained, shocked even, but he ain’t moving away and his hips push forward, just a little, when Ray sucks him again, just at the crown. He could let Fraser slide in, and he’s twitching and hot at the idea of looking up and watching Fraser come in his mouth. It’s fucking hot to watch Fraser come, hotter than the stuff itself in his throat.

But right now Fraser is sweating despite the cold, flushed and warm and damp, his hair curling around his face. His eyes keep opening, glancing down at Ray and looking almost startled before he closes them again in case Ray didn’t know that what he’s doing feels really good. And there’s a kink just for Ray, making Fraser feel good. Making Fraser feel so good it’s all Ray can think about now, making Fraser feel so good that Fraser starts talking Fraser, these crazy unfinished stories and sexy little bursts of his name like not even Fraser can think anymore, not beyond Ray pushing inside him.

Ray slides his mouth away, licking his lips when he sees how wet he left Fraser’s dick. His own dick kind of aches it’s so hard and he looks up as he rubs it with his palm.

“Ray, that is…it…you…” Fraser starts again, and maybe there’s moose story somewhere in there dying to get out, but Ray is not especially interested at the moment.

“My knees hurt,” he complains even with his mouth all loose and his breath gone and can’t help but grin when Fraser immediately frowns and helps him to his feet. The minute he’s up he grabs Fraser again and kisses him hard.

He’s not a werewolf, but he can taste Fraser’s confusion right before Fraser grunts against his mouth and parts his lips to let Ray slide his tongue in. Ray loves Fraser’s mouth too, and his tongue, and all parts of him, but especially Fraser’s mouth, because it wasn’t used to kisses before Ray but Ray took care of that.

He just has to nudge a little and Fraser’s mouth just opens for him, soft and hungry. Even now, hard and horny, Fraser’s mouth is soft, and oh yeah, Ray loves it.

“…Love you,” Ray adds out loud, pulling back to kiss Fraser’s bottom lip, licking where it’s plumpest, letting it buzz under Fraser’s skin. Fraser jerks, like somehow the smart guy missed that, or doesn’t believe him, but Ray’s not letting him off, not letting him move anywhere he don’t want him to go.

He shifts his feet, dancing even if Fraser doesn’t get it, forcing Fraser’s legs apart, twisting them around until it’s Fraser with his back to the table overloaded with dirty sheets. Fraser makes a small sound either because his ass hit the table or because he wants to argue and Ray finally lifts his head to glare at him. Fraser’s eyes are wide and his mouth is as red as those red sheets stacked neatly behind him somewhere, waiting to get ironed.

“I. Love. You. Too.” Ray rolls his eyes at how Fraser just goes dumb. Of course, a second later Fraser’s pulling in a breath like he’s finally got something to say again. “Don’t get all Mountie on me.” Ray puts a hand against Fraser’s chest and leans into him. The table has to be right against his ass. “Think this table will hold you?” he wonders without really pausing and Fraser instantly shuts his mouth. When he breathes in this time, Ray smiles.

“I believe so, Ray,” Fraser agrees and inches backward until he’s damn near sitting on the thing. There’s a curve to his mouth that Ray’s never seen before. A guy could get thrown for a loop by a smile like that.

“Good.” It’s difficult but Ray frowns and gets back to the business of getting Fraser off. He moves in closer and likes it when Fraser shifts back to let him, that Fraser is sitting on the table now, watching him.

His palms itch, so he runs them over Fraser’s chest, over his shoulders, down to his sides. Hot. Fraser is hot. He needs to get closer, so he does, leaning in to nip at Fraser’s mouth, getting a taste right as his hand curls around the thick length of Fraser’s dick and gives it a good stroke.

Fraser’s eyelids flutter. He shifts again, clothes sliding under him. He’s going to have to wash those if he hasn’t already. Just the thing Fraser needs, more laundry. But Fraser’s not complaining.

“If you…” Ray’s thumb isn’t exactly idle, running back and forth across the tip of the dick that Ray is seriously considering sucking back into his mouth; Fraser is starting to lose his sentences again. “If you…if you don’t mind, Ray,” Fraser wets his lip where Ray has just licked him and his eyes get bright.

Mind? Ray’s chest is tight. He bends in to get his mouth anywhere on Fraser and drags his tongue over those tight nipples, rough swipes that rub them raw maybe, he doesn’t know, but Fraser just sucks in little breaths and lets Ray go at them until they’re hot and red. Fraser deserves a reward for that, so though the angle is awkward, Ray’s hand doesn’t stop toying with Fraser’s dick, stroking once or twice when all the teasing makes Fraser gasp and fall back, getting a little faster when Fraser shudders.

Fraser wants it, jerking into his hand, slick and hot, just in case that “if you don’t mind” line didn’t clue him in. Maybe even since the pork buns too. Definitely since the red sheets.

Red sheets. Ray jerks his head up and blinks away the boner-blindness he’s got going on until he can see those sheets. Oh yeah, he needs to see Fraser on them, like right now.

“Gimme the damn things,” he mutters, stretching around Fraser to grab them, barely even noticing when Fraser has to blink once or twice too. The sheets feel surprisingly soft, even if they do smell like his closet. His adequate linen closet. Oh yeah. The fabric slides between his fingers as he shakes it loose and tries to shove it under Fraser’s ass at the same time.

“Ray I was going to…”

“Iron ‘em later, Fraser.” Absolutely no arguing allowed now. The table is making creaking sounds but Fraser doesn’t really look alarmed. “These go on the bed.” His mouth just keeps on moving, his fingers leaving the sheets to curve around Fraser’s ass.

Fraser’s ass. Ray loves that too. That ought to be pretty freaking obvious at this point. Fraser just wriggles anyway, wriggles, like he’s not lying back with his legs in the air on a pretty shaky laundry table. It’s incredibly hot, because Ray knows what it means for Fraser to do something like this for him, to shut up when he’s dying to say something about that ironing board.

“We are going to earn every wrinkle in these sheets, Fraser,” Ray promises him, and sticks three fingers in his mouth. He sucks on them to get them as wet as he can, slides them in and out because Fraser is watching him with eyes like lasers.

“Sorry,” he adds a second later, because he didn’t think to bring anything down here with him, thinking with his dick and not his heart like he should have been, but Fraser just shakes his head and manages a “no…yes…it is…Ray…” when Ray brings his wet fingers down to his asshole and strokes across the tight skin a couple times.

It goes right to his cock the way just that makes Fraser frown and breathe hard with his mouth open. Because Fraser doesn’t really understand teasing, and he’ll try to control himself, pulling his lip in between his teeth, closing his eyes, but all Ray has to do is do it again, maybe push in a little, and then Fraser is arched up and frozen and angled up to him, demanding in a way he’ll be too polite for later.

“Ray…” Fraser whines, lifting up his hips when Ray stares at him for a second, his lips and nipples red like the sheets underneath him, his skin warm and shining with sweat under the crappy light, and he keeps squeezing his eyes closed only to open them and glare at Ray.

“…So hard, buddy,” Ray bites out, tense and hot at the way Fraser goes still when his fingers press in further. They’ve done this recently and Ray’s not wasting time with going too slow. Slow is Fraser’s department unless the moon is full. He’s slow for Ray, but Ray just goes right for the sweet spot, pushing in and letting Fraser go still and then move, letting him stretch, ease up a little before he crooks his fingers and strokes.

His knees almost buckle at the sharp way Fraser draws in air.

“Ray.” Fraser sounds close to crying, “That…” Feels good, Fraser wants to tell him, like Ray doesn’t know. So good he does it again, shaking at how Fraser arches up, meeting his gaze when Fraser looks at him. That look is what Fraser has been trying to say this whole time with the soap and clean socks.

Ray grunts, sliding his fingers back, out and then in again, panting at how easy it is, to finger-fuck Fraser, to watch Fraser stare at him as he pushes back, open and hot. He could do this until Fraser comes, thinks about it as he keeps going, fighting to keep it slow.

Fraser’s hands are grabbing handfuls of red, letting go with every slide just to grab at it again when Ray pushes back. He could add another finger, he could use his whole goddamn fist and Fraser would let him. Maybe someday when he had lube he would, stretch Fraser out like this and just take him in every way he could.

Or he could just fuck him, quick and hard, because that position is killer on the back, and Fraser’s had a long day and he’s probably tired no matter how much he wants this and they do have to get up early.

“Fraser?” He’s sweating too, breathing hard and dripping sweat down onto Fraser even though he’s barely moved in all this. Fraser’s eyebrows come together and Ray gets one fast glance raked over him.

“Yes, Ray,” Fraser snaps at him, just a little testy, not quite as nice as usual when he’s on the receiving end and he’s ready to pop. “If you please…”

“Oh yeah, I please, Fraser,” Ray barks back at him, only without any force or air in it, because he’s been hard since Bugs and rock hard since Fraser had licked his shoulder and he could have died in agony from all this waiting.

But he fucks Fraser with his hand some more and uses his other hand to drive Fraser crazy, milking Fraser’s dick as best as he can seeing as doing both takes a lot more coordination than he has at the moment, just to see how not-polite he can get Fraser to be. A squeeze is about all he can manage before Fraser makes a noise low in his throat that’s so sexy Ray is pushing against the table, removing his fingers to rock against Fraser, skin to skin.

Fraser’s legs close around him, and for a second Ray wants to close his eyes, just listen to the sound of Fraser choking out his name, because all the quiet, impatient, “Ray Ray Rays” are making him crazy.

He still doesn’t have anything, still doesn’t think Fraser cares much. He runs his thumb across the wet, gleaming head of Fraser’s dick and waits until Fraser sees him to lick across his palm. It tastes like Fraser, and also like salt, and sweat, and Ray licks until his tongue is dry and his palm is wet.

His own dick is leaking too. He lets out a groan when he touches himself, petting at first, then sliding his damp fist up and down the shaft. He imagines it’s Fraser, just for a second, just enough to make him fall forward, and the edge is too close and too sharp.

The first push in is rough and hot and good, so good. Fraser clenches hard around his dick, muscles like iron, trying to make him come, and Ray bends in as much as he can until he’s all the way in and he can hear Fraser breathing. It’s uneven, loud and desperate, and then Fraser breathes in, inhaling through his nose.

Whatever he smells like, Fraser moves at last, his head falling back with a little moan. He relaxes, enough for Ray to move, to scramble to get a grip on the shaky table, holding onto the same handfuls of red.

Fraser is biting his lip, but only until Ray pulls back. Shifting the angle makes Fraser moan again, push up. The sound just shimmies down Ray’s spine, makes him start some talking of his own.

“I fucking love fucking you, Fraser.” That might not make much sense, but he means every goddamn word. He slides back in at Fraser’s strangled cough and grins at how the cough gets drawn out into something lower and sexier. Fraser squirms, Ray shifts, ignoring Fraser’s legs closing around him, urging him to go faster.

He doesn’t do slow, not like this, but he wants to watch Fraser come now, wants to see it before he lets himself go. He moves, licking what he can, pumping in quick and pulling back slow, fucking aching at the fire in Fraser’s eyes, the way he opens and shuts his mouth, looking for the right Fraser-words.

Only all he’s going to end up with is Ray’s name, and maybe a please or two. Maybe a yes, because Fraser doesn’t understand teasing and that’s all Ray’s giving him, no matter how much it kills him.

Fraser glares at him for half a second, pissy, then his hands are grasping for Ray’s shoulders, his back, trying even though animal sounds are spilling out of him, coming faster and faster the longer Ray takes to fuck him. Ray can catch a word to two, something about wrinkles of all things, and a lot of please. None of that matters though, not in the general sense, except that it means Fraser is going to come.

The table is going to break but Ray ain’t stopping, not now, Fraser is beautiful right after he comes, his concentration gone, his eyes sort of dazed and pretty, his chest heaving like he’s dying. He shuts his eyes first, fights every stroke of Ray’s cock inside him, every press on that fucking spot that was like lightening until not even Fraser can fight it anymore.

His eyes fly open and then his whole body is clenching hard around Ray, and it’s so good. Maybe nobody makes sense right then, but he doesn’t care, closing his eyes finally just to hear Fraser saying his name, echoing the burning splash against his stomach. He’s still moving, pushing closer, reaching while Fraser gasps and squeezes around him.

He loves Fraser. He loves fucking him. He loves the noises he makes. He even loves that Fraser would rather clean than do his, and how is that for messed up and crazy? His hands slide away, fall to Fraser’s hips, pull him in as though there was any space between them before, thrusting hard now that Fraser’s done, opening his eyes, looking at the bright look on Fraser’s face before he’s coming too, a long, hot orgasm that makes him stumble against the table and just about bends him in half.

Even if he weren’t deaf and dumb and blind and about ready to fall to the floor, Ray would know that was good, because he can just make out Fraser saying his name. In whispers at first, and then suddenly louder. Over and over, needy and impatient, like Ray wound him up good. Oh yeah.

“Ray…Ray…Ray!” It’s the hitch in the last one that makes Ray blink a few times and raise his head. Then he blinks again. He’s still standing over Fraser, his dick not quite out of him yet. Fraser looks…sort of annoyed and amused at the same time.

“Please don’t be offended, Ray, but…” he says at last and Ray blinks again.

“Shit, that’s not buddies, sorry, Fraser.” Ray looks away as he pulls out, grabbing something from the table to wipe himself down a little. He’s sticky and tingly and more than a little tired in all the right ways. Fraser sits up, not really hiding a wince and Ray’s back in his space before he can help himself.

He’s using one of his shirts as a towel, but whatever, price of…uh…love or whatever the saying was. He dabs at Fraser’s chest, letting his fingers linger on the still-red circles of Fraser’s nipples.

“I see you are determined to keep me doing laundry for some time,” Fraser comments, in his super-dry Mountie voice, making Ray look up. Fraser even looks like a Mountie too, which is funny since he’s naked and there’s some interesting-looking marks starting to show on his chest.

Ray rolls his eyes and moves so Fraser can get off the table, which makes this unholy sound like it’s cracking in half. They both freeze for a second, but the thing stays up, still in one piece.

“Yeah well first of all, we both know you aren’t exactly pissed at the idea of folding my sheets, if you know what I’m saying here.”

Fraser blinks, a whole new flood of color coming into his face. His mouth opens, as though he’s going to debate that one and Ray rolls his eyes again and slides a hand to the back of Fraser’s head. Ready to fight or not, Fraser lets him.

“I…” Fraser exhales. There’s a line between his eyes, and when Ray just keeps staring at him, he lifts one hand to scratch at his eyebrow. Ray grins at he leans in to get a taste of Fraser’s soft lips.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Fraser,” he says against Fraser’s mouth, “but when you talk Laundry, I really, really want to kiss you.” Ray doesn’t mind saying it a million times if it makes Fraser loosen up. Besides, laundry’s never exactly been his favorite chore.

Fraser’s mouth goes open again, his cheeks getting pinker, but the washing machine lets out this god-awful noise and Fraser breaks away from him and shuffles over to it. He’s not moving smooth, and it’s Ray’s turn to blush, but Fraser hardly seems to notice for the moment, all wrapped up in opening the machine and checking on the clothes inside. There’s two dryers and he’s putting the clothes into the open one before Ray can really process that not only is Fraser still doing his laundry, but that Fraser is doing his laundry naked.

“Fraser,” Ray tries, his voice going squeaky. He glances at the door, which is still locked, even if it weren’t way too cold out there for any sane person to come down here. Then he glances down, squeaking again because he’s still naked too, and not doing much of anything about it.

It warm in here from the dryer, but not that warm. But Ray’s feet still seem stuck in place while he watches Fraser turn back to the table, grabbing stuff for a new load. He hmms a little under his breath at the state of things, frowning down once at the clothes they both left on the floor, and Ray moves without thinking, bending down to grab them for him.

“Thank you, Ray,” Fraser offers, pausing for a second to dart a questioning look into Ray’s face. “I am sure you are missing something on the new upstairs.”

“News?” Ray repeats to himself then shakes his head. Oh yeah, he’d been watching something. Lion sex. Ick. “Uh…uh no that’s okay, Fraser.” Fraser gives him another uncertain look before turning to deal with the washing.

“Fraser?” Ray can feel his mouth moving and it doesn’t seem to matter any more than the whole naked thing. Fraser stops, and the only sign he’s nervous about something is the way he checks his hand before he strokes his eyebrow again.

“Maybe tomorrow night…after we catch some more assholes, we can stop by the store…” Fraser is just staring at him, all Mountie-blank. Ray breathes out and abruptly gets the feeling back in his toes. Because the floor is cold. Very cold. He reaches over to the basket of old socks and starts separating them until he finds a good looking pair. He shrugs. “Maybe we can go look for some of that fabric softener stuff…the kind that won’t upset you…your nose.”

Looking at the socks now, Ray’s starting to wonder if they aren’t his old socks.

There’s a minute or so of total silence, then Fraser makes a huffing sound kind of like the one the wolf makes when he’s laughing.

Ray snaps his head up but Fraser’s got that new smile again. Because Fraser is real good at reading between the lines when he wants to. Doesn’t understand a direct statement sometimes, or doesn’t believe it maybe, but drop a hint and he’s all over it. That’s another thing that Ray has learned since being with Fraser. With Fraser. Something that he kind of, definitely, loves.

“That would be quite nice, Ray,” Fraser murmurs at last, and Ray doesn’t think it’s his imagination the way Fraser says the rest. “I’d very much enjoy finding something suitable, with you.”



The End