hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-11-16 01:40 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-11-16 01:40 pm
Entry tags:
PORN – it’s what’s for lunch (dS - Oral Fix)
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serialkarma is out of sorts. I said porn will fix that. Unabashedly dirty, sweaty NC-17 porn without any other purpose. She said, duh. This was supposed to be Lost-fic, but she threw me off when she said no Sawyer.due South
RayK/Fraser
Oral Fix
1.
There are fingers in Ray’s mouth -– not just any fingers, but Fraser’s fingers -- and well, they’re not in Ray’s mouth so much as on Ray’s mouth, but there’s no need to be pediatric –- pedantic –- you know, picky.
See, they were watching the hockey game and talking –- okay, they were arguing -- and Ray was gonna say something about the Maple Leafs because Fraser was getting all huffy and Canadian on him, like he does, and then –- then this happened.
Ray opened his mouth, and Fraser’s hand clamped down over it and now Ray’s got Fraser’s hand on his mouth.
Fraser’s hand smells really good, and it’s a bit damp on Ray’s mouth. It’s kinda like Ray’s kissing Fraser’s hand, which hey, he would totally not do normally, but apparently this really is not normal because Fraser’s hand’s on Ray’s mouth and Ray’s –- well, Ray’s licking Fraser’s hand -– you know, since it’s there and all.
Ray needs to breathe and Fraser’s hand is blocking his mouth, and yeah, he could just breathe through his nose, which okay he’s doing -– he even smirks when Fraser’s hand twitches on his mouth, but there’s nothing moving this Mounty. Plus, it’s not like Fraser’s the only one who likes to lick things -– he’s just the only one who likes to lick things that aren’t him. If that makes sense. Not that Ray really cares much about sense, because Fraser’s next to him on his sofa and his eyes are doing that big, wide, oh-fuck thing that they never do –- and when Ray opens his mouth a little wider one of Fraser’s fingers just slips right on in.
Considering the size of Fraser’s hands, which Ray knows from serious observation are anything but small, this is not an accident. And since it’s there and all, in Ray’s mouth, Ray sucks on it. He just wraps his lips around that long finger and strokes it with his tongue, and Fraser makes this noise like maybe he’s been shot or Ray’s killing him, and Ray closes his eyes real quick because the look on Fraser’s face is gonna kill him -- and then there’ll be no more sucking on Fraser’s fingers.
Ray’s eyes open up real quick when Fraser tries to pull his hand away; he grips Fraser’s wrist like maybe he’s never gonna let it go and then he nips Fraser’s finger sharply, in a way that Dief could probably appreciate. Not that now’s a good time to think about Dief -– but Fraser makes Ray kinda wolf-like that way, and then there’s a second finger sliding into Ray’s mouth along with the first, and Ray’s holding on to Fraser’s wrist really tight now.
Fraser could pull away if he really wanted do, but instead he starts sliding his fingers in and out of Ray’s mouth, fucking Ray’s mouth with his hand, and all Ray can do is hold on.
Fraser’s making these tiny noises as Ray sucks and flicks his tongue over the calluses on the tips of Fraser’s fingers, and Ray knows Fraser’s gotta be really hard because Ray’s really hard and he’d kill to shift on the sofa, but he can’t really bring himself to move right now because Fraser’s fucking his mouth and stroking Ray’s tongue with his fingers -- and moving might, like, ruin things.
He bites down really hard when Fraser’s other hand touches his thigh, and then that’s all the flatfoot wrote, because Fraser’s hand is moving up Ray’s thigh and Ray can’t deal with Mounties fucking his mouth and touching his thigh, and when he comes he almost chokes.
Damn Mounties and their long fingers.
2.
It’s twenty whole hours before Ray gets another crack at Fraser, and really that’s nineteen hours and fifty-nine minutes too long.
Ray had tried to convince Fraser to stay the night, but Fraser’d made excuses about the consulate and Dief, and Ray was still kind of dumb with the whole ‘sucking on Fraser’s fingers’ thing and he hadn't been at his most persuasive.
Fraser had left, and Ray had wet jeans to contend with, and he’d gone to bed because his head hurt.
Most of today had been kinda weird with the whole ‘sucking on Fraser’s fingers’ thing, and the way Ray couldn’t actually have a complete thought without the whole ‘sucking Fraser’s fingers’ thing slipping in.
It was hard enough after Fraser fucked Ray’s mouth with his fingers -- because that’s really what he did -– but to then have to go to work and talk to people and not lick his mouth every five seconds like he could still taste Fraser on his lips. It was hard.
Almost as hard as his dick for most of those twenty hours between then and now.
Fraser had come into the two-seven after doing whatever the hell he did at the Consulate when the Ice Queen wasn’t staring at his ass –- not that Ray could blame her, but clearly she didn’t know about the Fraser fingers -– and then he had sit still while Fraser sat across from him, playing with that damn hat with those damn hands, and he was supposed to act professional.
It was so painful.
And so hard.
But that ended fifty-seven minutes ago because six o’clock had come and gone, which meant no more work; and although no cases were solved, Terry the Snitch promised them something on the Rinaldi case. Since they had to wait, where better to wait than Ray’s apartment? Which also had Ray’s sofa and Ray’s bed, and now it has Ray and Fraser, and once more Fraser’s fingers are in Ray’s mouth, but Ray’s having problems focusing on them, because Fraser’s mouth is on his dick and well –-
Fraser’s mouth is on Ray’s dick.
The only thing that can improve the scenario is being naked, and right now they’re pretty damn close with Ray’s shirt pushed up and his jeans pulled down, and uh, Fraser sucking his dick.
Fraser’s making slurping noises, the damn Fraser Noises of Doom, and Ray’s got this death grip on the sides of his sofa, like maybe he might die, and if he dies, at least he’ll die sucking on Fraser’s fingers –- or not.
Ray can’t protest loudly enough when Fraser pulls his hand away, but Fraser’s still sucking Ray’s cock – up and down, and a swirl around the head and a press against that sweet spot that has Ray’s eyes tearing up, and jesusmaryjosephandthedonkey the fingers are back, not in Ray’s mouth, but pressing and brushing and pushing against his hole, and if Ray loved Fraser’s fingers before -- he wants to write songs about them now. Long, loud, fifteen minute guitar solos and punk odes to Fraser’s fingers.
He supposes he should have a coherent thought -– maybe say something to tell Fraser how much he likes this, but he thinks the cursing and the way he’s grabbing fistfuls of Fraser’s hair is kind of getting the point across.
When he comes, the shock is like somebody shot him in the chest –- lots of attention from Fraser, but without the pain and the blood and the freaking out. Which is good. Greatness, actually.
3.
The constant creaking of the bedsprings is making it really hard for Ray to focus -- or that could just be the way Fraser is fucking him into the mattress. He can barely stay on his hands and knees with the weight of Fraser behind him and Fraser’s cock driving him forward into the headboard, and by extension, the wall.
Between the slapslapslap of Fraser’s thighs against his, and Fraser’s hands digging into his hips as he holds Ray still and fucks him harder with every stroke -– Ray can feel the sweat dripping on his back and the spit and saliva fusing them together.
Fraser’s fingers are leaving bruises and prints, and oh fuck, it feels good. In the morning, Ray is going to jerk off touching himself where Fraser touched him tonight, so who needs to focus?
Fuck focusing.
Focusing can take a long walk off a short pier –- and Fraser’s thrusts are long and drawn out and then short and punishing. There’s no method to the madness, except to drive Ray crazy and the neighbors must hate him for all the shouting. Whatever, he’s a cop, who the hell are they going to complain to?
Who gives a -- oh fuck. Fuck Fraser and his grip, and the way he’s yanking Ray to his knees. Ray can barely breathe for the way that Fraser’s panting in his ear and fucking his ass, and he’s so hard, and where are Fraser’s fingers?
Ray’s addicted to Fraser’s fingers. Seriously twitchy, itchy, junkie-craving type addicted with the whole Palaver – Pilaf – really strong reaction thing happening. Dry mouth, hard cock and an inability to do anything but think, “Must suck now.”
It’s kind of sad.
It’s also really fucking hot
Almost as hot as being held against sweaty Fraser and being fucked, and Ray’s hands are scrabbling for skin and Fraser and his cock -– he’s so hard he could have a stroke -– and he’s yelling. He actually said that, because Fraser’s murmuring in his ear about the statistical probability of death by sex, and Fraser’s fingers are turning his head and Ray can't breathe because the fingers are pressing against his lips. Fraser’s spit and sweat and come-covered fingers are rubbing against his mouth -– they were in Ray’s ass -- and when Ray gasps for air the fingers slip between his lips and press down on his tongue.
Ray’s shouting is muffled by Fraser’s fingers, and when he comes he slumps backward only to be propelled forward by Fraser’s orgasm.
It’s a wonder he doesn’t get a concussion from banging into the headboard.
It takes Ray several minutes to pull himself together and disentangle his limbs from Fraser’s, and rather than making the effort to get in the bed the right way, he pulls the blanket from the bed and covers them both with it.
As Fraser makes snuffling noises behind him, Ray makes a point of wrapping Fraser’s arm around his waist and lacing their fingers together. The last thing he notices before falling asleep is the way that Fraser’s fingers fit with his.
-end-
Written for and beta'd by
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