llassah, laundry
Author:
llassah
Prompt: laundry
Pairing: Fraser/rayK
Rating: NC-17 (g might have gotten me poked quiiiite severely *beams*)
Length: 1300 words
Notes: T shirts, blowjobs and snark. Normal day at Ray Kowalski's apartment, really.
“I told you, Frase, I was keeping his attention away from you so you could kick him in the head. Wasn’t taking no stupid- ow!- risks.”
He’s still frowning at me, dabbing away at the scrape on my face, fussing. I keep on at him, more for something to do than to make him agree with me.
“It was strategy- or tactics. Both. Yeah.”
“You mean to say that by presenting an easy target and then bleeding on your assailant, you were employing a strategy?”
Snarky amazement. Bastard. He’s got that voice so down pat it’s surprising he doesn’t use it more often. Guess he’s not bothering with all the polite bullshit with me. I grin as much as the graze will allow me.
“Yeah. See, I knew you’d understand, Frase.”
Score two to me. He almost laughs, and everything’s back to normal again. My forearm’s grazed too, and I glance down at my t shirt-fuck. Blood. “Dammit, I’m not losing another shirt because you don’t like packing heat.”
I stand up, pull off my shirt, swearing as it catches on my skin, and run some cold water, rinsing it.
“It looks like you washed it out in time,” Fraser observes, looking over my shoulder. I jerk, startled. He moves mighty stealthy for someone who wears such creaky boots. He laughs, presses closer so I feel the flannel of his shirt against my back, the warmth of him, the strength of him. I try and concentrate on the shirt, breath coming faster however hard I try to calm it down.
“Yeah, lucky I noticed it.”
Christ, when he’s this close, everything I say sounds like ‘fuck me’.
“Quite,” and then his hands are covering mine, water running off our skin as he guides me to the spots of blood still left on the shirt, kneading it, rubbing the fabric until I think I’m never gonna be able to look at a laundrettes again. His hands go from warm to cold but his body’s still radiating heat, the way he’s pressed against me is making me so hot I can’t see straight, and I hurt from the grazes until I dunno which way I wanna turn but everything is about sex. He’s being so damn thorough, all that attention and I can’t work out if it’s on the shirt or me. My hands are almost numb, the shirt has never been that clean before, and he’s shifting against me, pushing me so I’m pressed right up against the worktop, only if I start rubbing against it, getting more friction he’ll stop with the hands and-
I don’t know what I want. Really don’t. All roads lead to getting laid, but…
“There, that’s better,” he says, tone normal, turning off the tap. I lean back against him, grinding my ass into his erection, grinning as he gasps. Weird, the way he likes making the normal stuff kinky. He plays with what’s around us, ties me up with his belt, watches me shaving in the morning with this hungry look on his face, tugs me into the shower and washes my hair until it feels like my scalp is hardwired to my cock. He’s kinda twisted, in the best possible way. Looks like laundry’s another one of his twists.
I let the shirt drop into the sink and he sorta growls, wrapping his arms around me so I can’t move, just for a moment, like he’s testing to see if I’ll struggle. His hands are cold; it’s my turn to gasp this time as he stops restraining me and starts running his hands over my skin, like he’s trying to spread the coldness to every part of me, the shock of it making me hyper aware of where he’s touching me. Sometimes he gets to bruises and grazes and I have to stop myself flinching. Down, hands slipping between my skin and the waistband of my jeans, pressed against my hipbones then up again, to my chest, warming now a bit. Pressed right up against me, hard and hot.
“Bedroom?” I whisper, turn around and kiss him, press him up against the fridge, trying to get him so hot he forgets he’s meant to be annoyed with me. This bit’s the funnest, the geography of it- all the landmarks before we get to the bedroom, the way I can pin him there and it’s as much of a trigger as when he’s pinning me. Sink, to fridge, to doorframe, Fraser’s shirt coming off, our boots and socks, and I’m making real friendly with his nipples, he’s making those whimpering noises that surprised me so much, the first time we did this, and we might not make it to the bed.
Doorframe to wall and he’s half dancing me into the bedroom, kissing me like he’s giving me air. If we had a mansion, Christ, we’d have to put a bed in the kitchen if we ever wanted to make it to one. Nipping my lower lip, gently, tongue hot, wet- he’s a patient kisser, even when he’s this frantic. Final stretch to the bed, then I’m pulling him on top of me, getting rid of those ‘can’t concentrate on the perp, Frase, too busy ogling your ass’ jeans, his cockhead is poking out if his boxers and now I’ve gotten here, I never wanna leave.
“-Ray. Ray. Ray.”
I give him six ‘rays’ before I look up. “Yeah?”
He blushes. Man, I love this part. “Could I- I mean, that is if you…I’d like to…”
I lick around his nipple, down, sucking lightly on some places, nipping on others. He’ll get the words out eventually I guess. He stammers into nothing, I whisper “yeah, sure,” somewhere above his bellybutton and it’s action stations again, he’s pulling off my jeans, and I’m not sure what he wants to do but I figure it’ll be fun. Course, then my brain short circuits and his mouth’s hot, wet, strong suction tongue around the head, fist at the base, and all I can do is rest my hand on his head, remember not to pull his hair. Can’t even move my hips; his other arm’s braced across them, so if he just wants to take the tip into his mouth and lick around the head forever- he does- he can. It’s like some sort of blowjob assault, this. Probably go out with his mouth around my cock, and what a way to die. I raise my head a little, look at him sprawled across the bed, hips moving lazily, humping the bedsheets, mouth wide and wet, eyes fluttered shut. Musta done something right at some point. He makes me hover right on the edge of coming for what seems like forever, stilling completely till I’m ready to test how flexible I am and kick him in the head, then it’s like I’m falling real fast, coming my brains out, babbling promises and prayers, my eyes tight shut against the bright lights. He’s gonna be smug for the rest of the week after this.
Next thing I know, he’s sitting up, head lolled back, hand busy on his own cock. I crawl over and kiss him, tasting me in his mouth, my hand covering his and it’s like that shirt all over again, only it’s warm, so warm and there’s no way in hell a shirt’s ever gonna make a noise like that. I keep kissing him as he comes and we slump back onto the bed.
“C’mon, Frase,” I say after a while basking. “Otherwise we’re gonna hafta wash the sheets again.”
Fraser props himself up onto one arm with a smooth smile and an evil glint in his eye.
“Is laundry really such a chore?”
I tag.....
eledhwenlin, with the prompt 'lanyard'. Have fun, darling!
llassah
Prompt: laundry
Pairing: Fraser/rayK
Rating: NC-17 (g might have gotten me poked quiiiite severely *beams*)
Length: 1300 words
Notes: T shirts, blowjobs and snark. Normal day at Ray Kowalski's apartment, really.
“I told you, Frase, I was keeping his attention away from you so you could kick him in the head. Wasn’t taking no stupid- ow!- risks.”
He’s still frowning at me, dabbing away at the scrape on my face, fussing. I keep on at him, more for something to do than to make him agree with me.
“It was strategy- or tactics. Both. Yeah.”
“You mean to say that by presenting an easy target and then bleeding on your assailant, you were employing a strategy?”
Snarky amazement. Bastard. He’s got that voice so down pat it’s surprising he doesn’t use it more often. Guess he’s not bothering with all the polite bullshit with me. I grin as much as the graze will allow me.
“Yeah. See, I knew you’d understand, Frase.”
Score two to me. He almost laughs, and everything’s back to normal again. My forearm’s grazed too, and I glance down at my t shirt-fuck. Blood. “Dammit, I’m not losing another shirt because you don’t like packing heat.”
I stand up, pull off my shirt, swearing as it catches on my skin, and run some cold water, rinsing it.
“It looks like you washed it out in time,” Fraser observes, looking over my shoulder. I jerk, startled. He moves mighty stealthy for someone who wears such creaky boots. He laughs, presses closer so I feel the flannel of his shirt against my back, the warmth of him, the strength of him. I try and concentrate on the shirt, breath coming faster however hard I try to calm it down.
“Yeah, lucky I noticed it.”
Christ, when he’s this close, everything I say sounds like ‘fuck me’.
“Quite,” and then his hands are covering mine, water running off our skin as he guides me to the spots of blood still left on the shirt, kneading it, rubbing the fabric until I think I’m never gonna be able to look at a laundrettes again. His hands go from warm to cold but his body’s still radiating heat, the way he’s pressed against me is making me so hot I can’t see straight, and I hurt from the grazes until I dunno which way I wanna turn but everything is about sex. He’s being so damn thorough, all that attention and I can’t work out if it’s on the shirt or me. My hands are almost numb, the shirt has never been that clean before, and he’s shifting against me, pushing me so I’m pressed right up against the worktop, only if I start rubbing against it, getting more friction he’ll stop with the hands and-
I don’t know what I want. Really don’t. All roads lead to getting laid, but…
“There, that’s better,” he says, tone normal, turning off the tap. I lean back against him, grinding my ass into his erection, grinning as he gasps. Weird, the way he likes making the normal stuff kinky. He plays with what’s around us, ties me up with his belt, watches me shaving in the morning with this hungry look on his face, tugs me into the shower and washes my hair until it feels like my scalp is hardwired to my cock. He’s kinda twisted, in the best possible way. Looks like laundry’s another one of his twists.
I let the shirt drop into the sink and he sorta growls, wrapping his arms around me so I can’t move, just for a moment, like he’s testing to see if I’ll struggle. His hands are cold; it’s my turn to gasp this time as he stops restraining me and starts running his hands over my skin, like he’s trying to spread the coldness to every part of me, the shock of it making me hyper aware of where he’s touching me. Sometimes he gets to bruises and grazes and I have to stop myself flinching. Down, hands slipping between my skin and the waistband of my jeans, pressed against my hipbones then up again, to my chest, warming now a bit. Pressed right up against me, hard and hot.
“Bedroom?” I whisper, turn around and kiss him, press him up against the fridge, trying to get him so hot he forgets he’s meant to be annoyed with me. This bit’s the funnest, the geography of it- all the landmarks before we get to the bedroom, the way I can pin him there and it’s as much of a trigger as when he’s pinning me. Sink, to fridge, to doorframe, Fraser’s shirt coming off, our boots and socks, and I’m making real friendly with his nipples, he’s making those whimpering noises that surprised me so much, the first time we did this, and we might not make it to the bed.
Doorframe to wall and he’s half dancing me into the bedroom, kissing me like he’s giving me air. If we had a mansion, Christ, we’d have to put a bed in the kitchen if we ever wanted to make it to one. Nipping my lower lip, gently, tongue hot, wet- he’s a patient kisser, even when he’s this frantic. Final stretch to the bed, then I’m pulling him on top of me, getting rid of those ‘can’t concentrate on the perp, Frase, too busy ogling your ass’ jeans, his cockhead is poking out if his boxers and now I’ve gotten here, I never wanna leave.
“-Ray. Ray. Ray.”
I give him six ‘rays’ before I look up. “Yeah?”
He blushes. Man, I love this part. “Could I- I mean, that is if you…I’d like to…”
I lick around his nipple, down, sucking lightly on some places, nipping on others. He’ll get the words out eventually I guess. He stammers into nothing, I whisper “yeah, sure,” somewhere above his bellybutton and it’s action stations again, he’s pulling off my jeans, and I’m not sure what he wants to do but I figure it’ll be fun. Course, then my brain short circuits and his mouth’s hot, wet, strong suction tongue around the head, fist at the base, and all I can do is rest my hand on his head, remember not to pull his hair. Can’t even move my hips; his other arm’s braced across them, so if he just wants to take the tip into his mouth and lick around the head forever- he does- he can. It’s like some sort of blowjob assault, this. Probably go out with his mouth around my cock, and what a way to die. I raise my head a little, look at him sprawled across the bed, hips moving lazily, humping the bedsheets, mouth wide and wet, eyes fluttered shut. Musta done something right at some point. He makes me hover right on the edge of coming for what seems like forever, stilling completely till I’m ready to test how flexible I am and kick him in the head, then it’s like I’m falling real fast, coming my brains out, babbling promises and prayers, my eyes tight shut against the bright lights. He’s gonna be smug for the rest of the week after this.
Next thing I know, he’s sitting up, head lolled back, hand busy on his own cock. I crawl over and kiss him, tasting me in his mouth, my hand covering his and it’s like that shirt all over again, only it’s warm, so warm and there’s no way in hell a shirt’s ever gonna make a noise like that. I keep kissing him as he comes and we slump back onto the bed.
“C’mon, Frase,” I say after a while basking. “Otherwise we’re gonna hafta wash the sheets again.”
Fraser props himself up onto one arm with a smooth smile and an evil glint in his eye.
“Is laundry really such a chore?”
I tag.....
eledhwenlin, with the prompt 'lanyard'. Have fun, darling!