Fic repost from like, 120903941 years ago
Title: The Municipal Code of Chicago, Illinois
Author: Acadia
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: NC-17.
Notes: About 2,800 words, for mtlwritermom’s prompt “illegal” over at stop_drop_porn. The hockey wish-fulfillment is all my own, though.
The municipal statutes were taken from here, if you’re that kind of nerd :D
TITLE ONE: GENERAL PROVISIONS
Chapter 1: FALSE STATEMENTS
1-21-010 False statements.
Any person who knowingly makes a false statement of material fact to the city in violation of any statute, ordinance or regulation, or who knowingly falsifies any statement of material fact made in connection with an application, report, affidavit, oath, or attestation, including a statement of material fact made in connection with a bid, proposal, contract or economic disclosure statement or affidavit, is liable to the city for a civil penalty of not less than $500.00 and not more than $1,000.00
The whole Vecchio gig had sounded like a godsend, really. What Ray had wanted more than anything was to be somebody else, and then bam! out of the blue, there’s a call from Lieutenant Welsh with the 2-7, and oh, hey, how about you take this undercover gig where no one will know anything about Stanley Raymond Kowalski or his screw-ups. Sounded too good to be true. Sounded just about fucking perfect, actually.
So he had taken it. Everything was going good, too. The 2-7 was exactly what he needed, and that was a fresh, Stella-free start. Hell, Vecchio had never even heard of Stella, so, okay, he just had to pretend he hadn’t, either. Which was a big fucking improvement over that miserable year of drunken moping after the divorce. If he wasn’t exactly cheerful, he at least wasn’t a surly bastard. And he had never been that cheerful, anyway, so it wasn’t like it was that much of a stretch, acting-wise.
And then, about a month into the gig - right when he’s feeling good, he’s in the groove, things are great - in walks Fraser. His first thought is Jeez, RED, but his second goes something like: I am so fucked. Which, not in the good way.
He plays the gig as best he can while keeping his hands and his dick to himself, with varying degrees of success. It’s like he can’t help himself, though, and if he’s not constantly paying attention, he’ll wind up with an arm around Fraser’s shoulders, or a hand on his back, or Christ, a hand on his ass, for all he knows.
And after that absolutely nuts first day it just gets worse, because then it’s not just a hypothetical buddy-cop-partners type deal, it’s for real, and Fraser’s not just RED anymore, he’s Fraser, and Ray actually cares about him, and he is more fucked than ever. And still not in the good way.
At least he’s reasonably sure his hands haven’t been wandering around Fraser’s ass while he wasn’t looking, which is something.
TITLE 2: CITY GOVERNMENT AND ADMINISTRATION
Chapter 2-84: DEPARTMENT OF POLICE
2-84-300 Resisting police officer or aiding escape--Penalty.
Any person who knowingly shall resist or obstruct the performance by one known to the person to be a peace officer of any authorized act within his official capacity or shall knowingly interfere or prevent a peace officer from discharging his duty as such officer and whoever shall in any manner knowingly assist any person in the custody of any member of the police department to escape or attempt to escape from such custody, shall be fined not less than $25.00 nor more than $500.00.
“Stop! Goddamnit, Stop!” Ray pants as he chases after Fraser, who is chasing after Dief, who is chasing after the purse snatcher. Ray’s sure they look like some sort of demented parade. Probably one they got in Canada for Curling Day, or whatever.
When Ray finally catches up to the three of them, Fraser’s already fastening his lanyard around the guy’s wrists and talking his ear off with some Inuit story. “-So you see, the caribou had become so frightened of me that-”
“Oh, Christ on a crutch, Fraser,” Ray breaks in, still panting, “you’re not starting with that dumb caribou story again, are you?” The kid’s eyes are starting to glaze over, and it’s pretty obvious that nothing is getting through.
“It’s never too late to impart a few life lessons.” Fraser has his big-eyed sincere Mountie face on. Ray hates that face. That is the face of little curly-headed babies and kittens and shit. Ray can’t stay mad at that face, which sucks, especially after having to chase some punk kid ten blocks for stealing some old bag lady’s purse, which turns out to contain a grand total of eleven crushed pop cans and a few crumpled napkins.
“Fraser, I just busted a lung to catch a kid stealing trash.” Ray shoves the kid in the back of a black-and-white, and takes great pleasure in slamming the door in his still-slack face.
“Well, Ray, they are her most prized possessions.” Fraser’s looking kind of stuffy when Ray turns back to look at him, which is just not right, considering Ray’s sweaty and still a little winded. For God’s sake, Fraser’s hair isn’t even mussed.
There is a bit of a flush on Fraser’s cheeks, though, and if he looks hard enough, Ray’s almost sure he can see a bit of sweat darkening the hair at his temples.
Ray shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Whatever, Fraser. Let’s just go get some food, okay?”
Dief whuffles in agreement.
TITLE 5: HOUSING AND ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT
Chapter 5-8: CHICAGO FAIR HOUSING REGULATIONS
5-8-010 City policy generally.
It is hereby declared the policy of the City of Chicago to assure full and equal opportunity to all residents of the city to obtain fair and adequate housing for themselves and their families in the City of Chicago without discrimination against them because of their race, color, sex, gender identity, age, religion, disability, national origin, ancestry, sexual orientation, marital status, parental status, military discharge status or source of income.
(Prior code § 198.7B-1; Amend Coun. J. 12-21-88, p. 23526; Amend Coun. J. 11-6-02, p. 96031, § 4)
It takes them five months, but they finally find it: an apartment between the Consulate and the 2-7 whose landlord, Mr. Laurier, is willing to believe Dief is just an unusual-looking dog. Ray has to step on Fraser’s toes to keep him quiet while Ray describes Dief as half husky, half pomeranian, but it’s worth it when Laurier leaves them alone to check the place out. He doesn’t even mention animal control once.
The place is a little small, but Fraser assures him it’s “quite a nice size, actually. A cot and a bookshelf are all one really needs, Ray,” and isn’t that just fucking sad? But Ray doesn’t mention it; he just goes to inspect the bathroom (“A step up from my last apartment, which only had the one communal bathroom. In fact, this is positively extravagant by comparison.”).
When Ray comes out of the (absolutely tiny) bathroom, Fraser’s opening and closing the window with an ecstatic expression.
Ray wanders over to lean against the sill. His entire right side is pressing up against Fraser’s left, and even though the window’s letting in a ball-freezingly cold wind, the waves of heat Fraser’s putting out are making Ray feel positively toasty. He clears his throat. “What’s with you?”
“The window in my last apartment was broken,” Fraser says, sticking his head out. There’s a view of a pizza joint across the street, which is pretty busy considering it’s three pm. He pops his head back in. “You had to prop it up with a stick. This is a much better living situation.” His cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes are honest-to-god twinkling, but he’s grinning, like he knows he’s a big old freak but he just doesn’t care.
Ray has to force himself to look away, down to the pizza shop window. There’s a sign that says “2 pie 3 topping 2 good!” in fat red letters. “I guess this is it then, huh?”
Mr. Laurier is thrilled.
TITLE 8: OFFENSES AFFECTING PUBLIC PEACE, MORALS AND WELFARE
Chapter 8-8: PUBLIC MORALS
8-8-020 Directing persons to houses of ill-fame.
No person knowingly shall direct, take, transport, or offer to direct, take, or transport, any person for immoral purposes to any other person, or assist any person by any means to seek or to find any prostitute or other person engaged in immoral practices, or any brothel, bawdy house, or any other place of ill-fame.
Any person that shall violate the provisions of this section shall be fined not less than $100.00 nor more than $400.00 for each offense.
(Prior code § 192-2; Amend Coun. J. 9-4-02, p. 92888, § 1)
To celebrate, Ray buys Fraser a pizza from the place across the street from his new apartment and takes him home to watch the Oilers game on ESPN.
“Yes, well, the Canucks aren’t playing tonight, so I guess you’ll just have to make do,” Fraser says at Dief’s disgruntled muttering. The extra sausage Ray gets seems to make him feel a bit better, although he curls up on the armchair and goes right to sleep only a quarter way through the first period.
By the beginning of the third quarter, Ray’s on his fourth beer and is pleasantly buzzing, filled with pizza and contentment, when he makes the mistake of looking at Fraser.
The Oilers are decimating the Flames, and although Ray could care less about this particular game, Fraser’s obviously into it. Like, really into it. He’s sitting forward, almost on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched into fists. A lock of hair is curling on his forehead; there’s a bead of sweat running slowly down his neck towards the collar of his henley, even though Ray deliberately turned the temperature down before getting out the paper plates and drinks.
And suddenly, that’s it, all Ray’s restraint is gone, pfft, out the window. Ray can’t stand it one more goddamn second. He’s leaning forward in slow motion, like he’s underwater in a burning Riv again, hoping Fraser will save his sorry ass because his vest isn’t going to do shit for him.
He sees the moment Fraser realizes something’s up. He turns towards Ray, his lips parted and his eyes bright (maybe the Oilers scored again, but who fucking cares?), to see him leaning over the space between them. Ray hopes he doesn’t look as shit-scared as he is, because then Fraser would definitely run screaming for his transfer papers.
But whatever he looks like, Fraser’s not running. A look of surprise flashes across his face, but Ray only sees it for a second before he closes the distance between them. Ray brings his hand up to the silky soft curls at the back of Fraser’s neck and presses closer, molding his lips to Fraser’s, kissing him again and again.
For one terrifying minute Fraser does nothing while Ray brushes his mouth against Fraser’s, but then it’s like something fucking explodes inside Fraser because he’s pushing Ray back hard against the arm of the couch, his hands hot and insistent and everywhere, his tongue surging forward like the rest of him.
Whatever thoughts Ray had been having about Fraser being a gentle, timid lover fly right out the fucking window. Fraser is pushy. His hands grip Ray’s hair so hard Ray thinks he’s probably going to have bald patches in the morning, and then he thinks, oh fuck it, who cares? and grabs a handful of Fraser’s ass.
Fraser makes a hot little whimpering noise and shoves his tongue deeper into Ray’s mouth, making up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in finesse. The kiss is the sloppiest, dirtiest kiss Ray can imagine and goes on forever, leaving him breathless with lust and harder than he’s ever been in his life.
Finally, Ray slides his hands up underneath Fraser’s shirt and drags his mouth away, sucking in much-needed lungfuls of air. “Fuck,” he says, as Fraser immediately latches onto his adam’s apple, sucking and licking and biting; Ray can only gasp helplessly at the ceiling. “Fuck, Fraser.”
Fraser gives his neck one last swipe with his tongue before lifting his head. “Ray,” he says, his voice rasping out like he hasn’t spoken in days. Once he gets going, though, it’s like he just can’t stop, all Ray, God, Ray, and I’ve dreamt of you, and I want you.
Ray pulls Fraser down and takes his mouth again, humping up against the length of Fraser’s cock in his jeans. They’re both too breathless to have any skill in kissing; there’s only lips and teeth and tongue coming together in open air. Fraser gets his hands underneath Ray’s ass and heaves him close, shoving his cock against Ray’s.
Ray shoves his hands down between their bodies and tugs at Fraser’s zipper, finally managing to get it undone and his hand inside. Fraser gasps as Ray's hand shapes his length through his (starched? the fuck?) boxers. Fraser cries out and buries his head against Ray’s neck, and suddenly he’s coming all over Ray’s hand and both their pants.
“Jesus, Fraser,” Ray says, pulling his come-covered hand out of Fraser’s boxers and attempting to get into his own. Fraser makes a sound in his throat and grabs Ray’s hand, pulling it away and using his own, less slippery hand.
And apparently Ray’s zipper isn’t immune to the Fraser magic, because it just lays itself open for him and before Ray even knows what’s happening Fraser’s got his cock out and is pumping him hard and fast. “Fraser, Fraser, shit.” Ray throws his head back against the couch, but lifts it again a second later as a rush of cold air replaces Fraser’s hand.
Ray gets out a dazed “wha-?” before Fraser’s mouth envelopes him in slick wet heat and he’s coming, his surprise only adding to the pleasure.
Fraser lays his head down on Ray’s thigh and they both just sprawl bonelessly for awhile, until a cheer from the television jerks them awake. Ray lifts his head and looks over; there’s two minutes left to go and the Flames are on a power play. Ray looks back at Fraser and smiles, then drags him to the bedroom.
He didn’t really care about that game, anyway.
TITLE 16: LAND USE
Chapter 16-4: LAKE MICHIGAN AND CHICAGO LAKEFRONT PROTECTION
16-4-020 Intent.
Lake Michigan and the lakefront of the City of Chicago are hereby designated a district having special environmental, recreational, cultural, historical, community and aesthetic interests and values. It is the express legislative intention of this chapter to insure the preservation and protection of that district and of every aspect of its interest and value.
(Prior code § 194B-1)
If the thing on the Harold Allen taught him anything, it was this: he was in love with Fraser.
There’s nothing quite like almost drowning, punching out pirates, and rescuing a shit load of gold to show a man how he really feels, and how Ray feels is like he wants to hang on to Fraser for as long as Fraser’ll let him, just like he’s drowning again and he’s forgotten about bloom, close, bloom, close.
So they get back to Chicago and Ray’s apartment and sleep for about four days. They don’t even take a shower, just fling off their shoes and fall into bed. When Ray wakes up it’s two pm on Saturday and Fraser’s already staring at him, his hair standing in wild loops and tangles from lake water and sleep.
“Hey,” Ray says, his voice coming out like rusty nails.
Fraser smiles a little and reaches out to pet Ray’s beard, which is so long now that it must be soft against Fraser’s palm. “Hi,” he says, and kisses Ray, slow and wet and miles deep.
Ray sighs as they break apart and nuzzles into Fraser’s palm, kissing the ball of Fraser’s thumb. “Stay with me,” he breathes into the soft skin, half hoping Fraser hears him and half wishing he doesn’t. “Move in with me.”
Fraser pushes Ray so he lies on his back, eyes searching Ray’s face. Whatever he sees makes him smile and kiss Ray, breathing “yes” into his mouth again and again.
Ray could get used to buddy breathing.
Author: Acadia
Pairing: Fraser/Ray K
Rating: NC-17.
Notes: About 2,800 words, for mtlwritermom’s prompt “illegal” over at stop_drop_porn. The hockey wish-fulfillment is all my own, though.
The municipal statutes were taken from here, if you’re that kind of nerd :D
TITLE ONE: GENERAL PROVISIONS
Chapter 1: FALSE STATEMENTS
1-21-010 False statements.
Any person who knowingly makes a false statement of material fact to the city in violation of any statute, ordinance or regulation, or who knowingly falsifies any statement of material fact made in connection with an application, report, affidavit, oath, or attestation, including a statement of material fact made in connection with a bid, proposal, contract or economic disclosure statement or affidavit, is liable to the city for a civil penalty of not less than $500.00 and not more than $1,000.00
The whole Vecchio gig had sounded like a godsend, really. What Ray had wanted more than anything was to be somebody else, and then bam! out of the blue, there’s a call from Lieutenant Welsh with the 2-7, and oh, hey, how about you take this undercover gig where no one will know anything about Stanley Raymond Kowalski or his screw-ups. Sounded too good to be true. Sounded just about fucking perfect, actually.
So he had taken it. Everything was going good, too. The 2-7 was exactly what he needed, and that was a fresh, Stella-free start. Hell, Vecchio had never even heard of Stella, so, okay, he just had to pretend he hadn’t, either. Which was a big fucking improvement over that miserable year of drunken moping after the divorce. If he wasn’t exactly cheerful, he at least wasn’t a surly bastard. And he had never been that cheerful, anyway, so it wasn’t like it was that much of a stretch, acting-wise.
And then, about a month into the gig - right when he’s feeling good, he’s in the groove, things are great - in walks Fraser. His first thought is Jeez, RED, but his second goes something like: I am so fucked. Which, not in the good way.
He plays the gig as best he can while keeping his hands and his dick to himself, with varying degrees of success. It’s like he can’t help himself, though, and if he’s not constantly paying attention, he’ll wind up with an arm around Fraser’s shoulders, or a hand on his back, or Christ, a hand on his ass, for all he knows.
And after that absolutely nuts first day it just gets worse, because then it’s not just a hypothetical buddy-cop-partners type deal, it’s for real, and Fraser’s not just RED anymore, he’s Fraser, and Ray actually cares about him, and he is more fucked than ever. And still not in the good way.
At least he’s reasonably sure his hands haven’t been wandering around Fraser’s ass while he wasn’t looking, which is something.
TITLE 2: CITY GOVERNMENT AND ADMINISTRATION
Chapter 2-84: DEPARTMENT OF POLICE
2-84-300 Resisting police officer or aiding escape--Penalty.
Any person who knowingly shall resist or obstruct the performance by one known to the person to be a peace officer of any authorized act within his official capacity or shall knowingly interfere or prevent a peace officer from discharging his duty as such officer and whoever shall in any manner knowingly assist any person in the custody of any member of the police department to escape or attempt to escape from such custody, shall be fined not less than $25.00 nor more than $500.00.
“Stop! Goddamnit, Stop!” Ray pants as he chases after Fraser, who is chasing after Dief, who is chasing after the purse snatcher. Ray’s sure they look like some sort of demented parade. Probably one they got in Canada for Curling Day, or whatever.
When Ray finally catches up to the three of them, Fraser’s already fastening his lanyard around the guy’s wrists and talking his ear off with some Inuit story. “-So you see, the caribou had become so frightened of me that-”
“Oh, Christ on a crutch, Fraser,” Ray breaks in, still panting, “you’re not starting with that dumb caribou story again, are you?” The kid’s eyes are starting to glaze over, and it’s pretty obvious that nothing is getting through.
“It’s never too late to impart a few life lessons.” Fraser has his big-eyed sincere Mountie face on. Ray hates that face. That is the face of little curly-headed babies and kittens and shit. Ray can’t stay mad at that face, which sucks, especially after having to chase some punk kid ten blocks for stealing some old bag lady’s purse, which turns out to contain a grand total of eleven crushed pop cans and a few crumpled napkins.
“Fraser, I just busted a lung to catch a kid stealing trash.” Ray shoves the kid in the back of a black-and-white, and takes great pleasure in slamming the door in his still-slack face.
“Well, Ray, they are her most prized possessions.” Fraser’s looking kind of stuffy when Ray turns back to look at him, which is just not right, considering Ray’s sweaty and still a little winded. For God’s sake, Fraser’s hair isn’t even mussed.
There is a bit of a flush on Fraser’s cheeks, though, and if he looks hard enough, Ray’s almost sure he can see a bit of sweat darkening the hair at his temples.
Ray shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Whatever, Fraser. Let’s just go get some food, okay?”
Dief whuffles in agreement.
TITLE 5: HOUSING AND ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT
Chapter 5-8: CHICAGO FAIR HOUSING REGULATIONS
5-8-010 City policy generally.
It is hereby declared the policy of the City of Chicago to assure full and equal opportunity to all residents of the city to obtain fair and adequate housing for themselves and their families in the City of Chicago without discrimination against them because of their race, color, sex, gender identity, age, religion, disability, national origin, ancestry, sexual orientation, marital status, parental status, military discharge status or source of income.
(Prior code § 198.7B-1; Amend Coun. J. 12-21-88, p. 23526; Amend Coun. J. 11-6-02, p. 96031, § 4)
It takes them five months, but they finally find it: an apartment between the Consulate and the 2-7 whose landlord, Mr. Laurier, is willing to believe Dief is just an unusual-looking dog. Ray has to step on Fraser’s toes to keep him quiet while Ray describes Dief as half husky, half pomeranian, but it’s worth it when Laurier leaves them alone to check the place out. He doesn’t even mention animal control once.
The place is a little small, but Fraser assures him it’s “quite a nice size, actually. A cot and a bookshelf are all one really needs, Ray,” and isn’t that just fucking sad? But Ray doesn’t mention it; he just goes to inspect the bathroom (“A step up from my last apartment, which only had the one communal bathroom. In fact, this is positively extravagant by comparison.”).
When Ray comes out of the (absolutely tiny) bathroom, Fraser’s opening and closing the window with an ecstatic expression.
Ray wanders over to lean against the sill. His entire right side is pressing up against Fraser’s left, and even though the window’s letting in a ball-freezingly cold wind, the waves of heat Fraser’s putting out are making Ray feel positively toasty. He clears his throat. “What’s with you?”
“The window in my last apartment was broken,” Fraser says, sticking his head out. There’s a view of a pizza joint across the street, which is pretty busy considering it’s three pm. He pops his head back in. “You had to prop it up with a stick. This is a much better living situation.” His cheeks are pink from the cold and his eyes are honest-to-god twinkling, but he’s grinning, like he knows he’s a big old freak but he just doesn’t care.
Ray has to force himself to look away, down to the pizza shop window. There’s a sign that says “2 pie 3 topping 2 good!” in fat red letters. “I guess this is it then, huh?”
Mr. Laurier is thrilled.
TITLE 8: OFFENSES AFFECTING PUBLIC PEACE, MORALS AND WELFARE
Chapter 8-8: PUBLIC MORALS
8-8-020 Directing persons to houses of ill-fame.
No person knowingly shall direct, take, transport, or offer to direct, take, or transport, any person for immoral purposes to any other person, or assist any person by any means to seek or to find any prostitute or other person engaged in immoral practices, or any brothel, bawdy house, or any other place of ill-fame.
Any person that shall violate the provisions of this section shall be fined not less than $100.00 nor more than $400.00 for each offense.
(Prior code § 192-2; Amend Coun. J. 9-4-02, p. 92888, § 1)
To celebrate, Ray buys Fraser a pizza from the place across the street from his new apartment and takes him home to watch the Oilers game on ESPN.
“Yes, well, the Canucks aren’t playing tonight, so I guess you’ll just have to make do,” Fraser says at Dief’s disgruntled muttering. The extra sausage Ray gets seems to make him feel a bit better, although he curls up on the armchair and goes right to sleep only a quarter way through the first period.
By the beginning of the third quarter, Ray’s on his fourth beer and is pleasantly buzzing, filled with pizza and contentment, when he makes the mistake of looking at Fraser.
The Oilers are decimating the Flames, and although Ray could care less about this particular game, Fraser’s obviously into it. Like, really into it. He’s sitting forward, almost on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched into fists. A lock of hair is curling on his forehead; there’s a bead of sweat running slowly down his neck towards the collar of his henley, even though Ray deliberately turned the temperature down before getting out the paper plates and drinks.
And suddenly, that’s it, all Ray’s restraint is gone, pfft, out the window. Ray can’t stand it one more goddamn second. He’s leaning forward in slow motion, like he’s underwater in a burning Riv again, hoping Fraser will save his sorry ass because his vest isn’t going to do shit for him.
He sees the moment Fraser realizes something’s up. He turns towards Ray, his lips parted and his eyes bright (maybe the Oilers scored again, but who fucking cares?), to see him leaning over the space between them. Ray hopes he doesn’t look as shit-scared as he is, because then Fraser would definitely run screaming for his transfer papers.
But whatever he looks like, Fraser’s not running. A look of surprise flashes across his face, but Ray only sees it for a second before he closes the distance between them. Ray brings his hand up to the silky soft curls at the back of Fraser’s neck and presses closer, molding his lips to Fraser’s, kissing him again and again.
For one terrifying minute Fraser does nothing while Ray brushes his mouth against Fraser’s, but then it’s like something fucking explodes inside Fraser because he’s pushing Ray back hard against the arm of the couch, his hands hot and insistent and everywhere, his tongue surging forward like the rest of him.
Whatever thoughts Ray had been having about Fraser being a gentle, timid lover fly right out the fucking window. Fraser is pushy. His hands grip Ray’s hair so hard Ray thinks he’s probably going to have bald patches in the morning, and then he thinks, oh fuck it, who cares? and grabs a handful of Fraser’s ass.
Fraser makes a hot little whimpering noise and shoves his tongue deeper into Ray’s mouth, making up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in finesse. The kiss is the sloppiest, dirtiest kiss Ray can imagine and goes on forever, leaving him breathless with lust and harder than he’s ever been in his life.
Finally, Ray slides his hands up underneath Fraser’s shirt and drags his mouth away, sucking in much-needed lungfuls of air. “Fuck,” he says, as Fraser immediately latches onto his adam’s apple, sucking and licking and biting; Ray can only gasp helplessly at the ceiling. “Fuck, Fraser.”
Fraser gives his neck one last swipe with his tongue before lifting his head. “Ray,” he says, his voice rasping out like he hasn’t spoken in days. Once he gets going, though, it’s like he just can’t stop, all Ray, God, Ray, and I’ve dreamt of you, and I want you.
Ray pulls Fraser down and takes his mouth again, humping up against the length of Fraser’s cock in his jeans. They’re both too breathless to have any skill in kissing; there’s only lips and teeth and tongue coming together in open air. Fraser gets his hands underneath Ray’s ass and heaves him close, shoving his cock against Ray’s.
Ray shoves his hands down between their bodies and tugs at Fraser’s zipper, finally managing to get it undone and his hand inside. Fraser gasps as Ray's hand shapes his length through his (starched? the fuck?) boxers. Fraser cries out and buries his head against Ray’s neck, and suddenly he’s coming all over Ray’s hand and both their pants.
“Jesus, Fraser,” Ray says, pulling his come-covered hand out of Fraser’s boxers and attempting to get into his own. Fraser makes a sound in his throat and grabs Ray’s hand, pulling it away and using his own, less slippery hand.
And apparently Ray’s zipper isn’t immune to the Fraser magic, because it just lays itself open for him and before Ray even knows what’s happening Fraser’s got his cock out and is pumping him hard and fast. “Fraser, Fraser, shit.” Ray throws his head back against the couch, but lifts it again a second later as a rush of cold air replaces Fraser’s hand.
Ray gets out a dazed “wha-?” before Fraser’s mouth envelopes him in slick wet heat and he’s coming, his surprise only adding to the pleasure.
Fraser lays his head down on Ray’s thigh and they both just sprawl bonelessly for awhile, until a cheer from the television jerks them awake. Ray lifts his head and looks over; there’s two minutes left to go and the Flames are on a power play. Ray looks back at Fraser and smiles, then drags him to the bedroom.
He didn’t really care about that game, anyway.
TITLE 16: LAND USE
Chapter 16-4: LAKE MICHIGAN AND CHICAGO LAKEFRONT PROTECTION
16-4-020 Intent.
Lake Michigan and the lakefront of the City of Chicago are hereby designated a district having special environmental, recreational, cultural, historical, community and aesthetic interests and values. It is the express legislative intention of this chapter to insure the preservation and protection of that district and of every aspect of its interest and value.
(Prior code § 194B-1)
If the thing on the Harold Allen taught him anything, it was this: he was in love with Fraser.
There’s nothing quite like almost drowning, punching out pirates, and rescuing a shit load of gold to show a man how he really feels, and how Ray feels is like he wants to hang on to Fraser for as long as Fraser’ll let him, just like he’s drowning again and he’s forgotten about bloom, close, bloom, close.
So they get back to Chicago and Ray’s apartment and sleep for about four days. They don’t even take a shower, just fling off their shoes and fall into bed. When Ray wakes up it’s two pm on Saturday and Fraser’s already staring at him, his hair standing in wild loops and tangles from lake water and sleep.
“Hey,” Ray says, his voice coming out like rusty nails.
Fraser smiles a little and reaches out to pet Ray’s beard, which is so long now that it must be soft against Fraser’s palm. “Hi,” he says, and kisses Ray, slow and wet and miles deep.
Ray sighs as they break apart and nuzzles into Fraser’s palm, kissing the ball of Fraser’s thumb. “Stay with me,” he breathes into the soft skin, half hoping Fraser hears him and half wishing he doesn’t. “Move in with me.”
Fraser pushes Ray so he lies on his back, eyes searching Ray’s face. Whatever he sees makes him smile and kiss Ray, breathing “yes” into his mouth again and again.
Ray could get used to buddy breathing.