[ Fraser has a vague idea how this is going to go. Ray asked for slow, and that's what he intends to give him. Slow and a little experimental, but not asking him to commit to anything more than he had demonstrated he wanted so far. Sure, Fraser had made an offer downstairs that really broke the bank as far as rushing to the last possible base went, but then part of that had been the novelty of curling the F word around his tongue in a room full of people. That was uninhibited for Fraser; that was practically extraterrestrial.
So, although he was more than ready to do that if Ray seemed willing, present circumstances made it unlikely. Ray loved him, he liked kissing him, but as he'd pointed out quite succinctly he had no general overriding interest in male genitalia. Lips were different, and easy. Sure, there were subtle differences between kissing a man and a woman, but most of those Fraser thought he was probably strange for picking up, the more angular jaw, the larger lung capacity, lips thinner, tongue wider, teeth set slightly differently. There was the hint of Ray's stubble, too, whereas Fraser made that easier still by being meticulous with his grooming habits, no hair left behind.
So kissing was easy, and touching clearly wasn't a problem, Ray had been quite willing under his own hands, let them wander up his sides and across his back and into his hair. Those were harder to mistake: Fraser's hands were rough and larger, and he knew Ray had acknowledged that much to himself in some respect already. He'd liked it, too, when Fraser had resisted against him in the elevator, when he'd ground his body against him in the kiss from before, one arm pinned above his head, and his shame about being seen kissing a man had evaporated into a sort of greedy smugness that Fraser found incredibly attractive even despite himself. Maybe that was the alcohol again, but the idea of being found in the elevator with Ray sucking on his tongue was thrilling. The story would have made it down to Stella by now, hushed, almost inarticulate murmurs of Your ex-husband! and I always knew there had to be something wrong with that Mountie. That sounded about right. Was that what he wanted? A reputation? Something to dull the bright honest goodness that everyone projected onto him?
So he considered Ray, and for a moment he really did consider giving him a lap dance for specifically those reasons, but he figured that given the day they'd had, breaking into hotel rooms and carving giant wooden penises and crying behind churches, it really would be one step too far beyond the ordinary, even for him.
His jacket removed, leaving him in just his tight white shirt and jeans now, he crossed the room, fetching the rest of the bottle of champagne from where they'd left it and carrying it over to the couch. He set it on the coffee table beside Huey and Dewey's 'gift', then ignored it completely, clambering up beside Ray and folding in against his side, his knees together and resting on Ray's right thigh, one arm sliding under his back, the other high across his chest.
Just for a second or so to get his bearings, Fraser pressed his nose into the crook of his partner's neck, then he raised his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ray's mouth, inviting him into another embrace, this one softer, slower, the kind of kiss that would stay willing for hours. And why not? They had nowhere else to be. There were no expectations, but if their touches wandered so they wandered. This close, whatever happened didn't have to be anything but a natural evolution of intimacy, and maybe Ray didn't have to pay too much attention to the fact that his body wasn't a woman's body, would grow to love it as much as he loved Fraser himself.
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So, although he was more than ready to do that if Ray seemed willing, present circumstances made it unlikely. Ray loved him, he liked kissing him, but as he'd pointed out quite succinctly he had no general overriding interest in male genitalia. Lips were different, and easy. Sure, there were subtle differences between kissing a man and a woman, but most of those Fraser thought he was probably strange for picking up, the more angular jaw, the larger lung capacity, lips thinner, tongue wider, teeth set slightly differently. There was the hint of Ray's stubble, too, whereas Fraser made that easier still by being meticulous with his grooming habits, no hair left behind.
So kissing was easy, and touching clearly wasn't a problem, Ray had been quite willing under his own hands, let them wander up his sides and across his back and into his hair. Those were harder to mistake: Fraser's hands were rough and larger, and he knew Ray had acknowledged that much to himself in some respect already. He'd liked it, too, when Fraser had resisted against him in the elevator, when he'd ground his body against him in the kiss from before, one arm pinned above his head, and his shame about being seen kissing a man had evaporated into a sort of greedy smugness that Fraser found incredibly attractive even despite himself. Maybe that was the alcohol again, but the idea of being found in the elevator with Ray sucking on his tongue was thrilling. The story would have made it down to Stella by now, hushed, almost inarticulate murmurs of Your ex-husband! and I always knew there had to be something wrong with that Mountie. That sounded about right. Was that what he wanted? A reputation? Something to dull the bright honest goodness that everyone projected onto him?
So he considered Ray, and for a moment he really did consider giving him a lap dance for specifically those reasons, but he figured that given the day they'd had, breaking into hotel rooms and carving giant wooden penises and crying behind churches, it really would be one step too far beyond the ordinary, even for him.
His jacket removed, leaving him in just his tight white shirt and jeans now, he crossed the room, fetching the rest of the bottle of champagne from where they'd left it and carrying it over to the couch. He set it on the coffee table beside Huey and Dewey's 'gift', then ignored it completely, clambering up beside Ray and folding in against his side, his knees together and resting on Ray's right thigh, one arm sliding under his back, the other high across his chest.
Just for a second or so to get his bearings, Fraser pressed his nose into the crook of his partner's neck, then he raised his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ray's mouth, inviting him into another embrace, this one softer, slower, the kind of kiss that would stay willing for hours. And why not? They had nowhere else to be. There were no expectations, but if their touches wandered so they wandered. This close, whatever happened didn't have to be anything but a natural evolution of intimacy, and maybe Ray didn't have to pay too much attention to the fact that his body wasn't a woman's body, would grow to love it as much as he loved Fraser himself.