Title: Slow Pitch

Author: Pollitt.

Rating: Slash. Bring out the fans and smelling salts, because it finally happened. This baby is a PWP and NC-17 for m/m intimacy (yeah, yeah, it's a PWP, but it's a PWP, Pollitt-style).

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski.

Archived at: due Slash, soon. Personal site. Everywhere else, please ask first.

Disclaimers: I have no ownership on the show due South or the characters, those rights belong elsewhere. The muses, though, are mine. All mine. Okay, I'm theirs -- semantics, really.

Requests and dedications: First and foremost, to my betas -- Anne, Pam, Rowan and Star -- for grammar checking, content-watch and making sure that Fraser or Ray didn't suddenly sprout an extra arm or something like that *g* And to the quartet-plus-Linda and Allison, my thanks for the encouragement in this endeavor, even if I did blush. A lot.

Notes: Where to begin? This is the second story in a loose series - At the Old Ball Game being the first - with the overarching theme (if I can be so bold to say this has a theme) of sports. I found my muses have a ... thing for sports. And despite the fact that Ray is a South Sider, and, by that should be a White Sox fan, this isn't the case. I'm the product of South Siders as well and in our family, there is only the Cubs. Nods must be given to Trevor Hurst's rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" on the second CD of the show's soundtrack for the partial inspiration of this story. I really pity people who were driving next to me on the highway when the inspiration struck. *g* Spoilers for the episode, "Dr. Longball".



***



The slap of leather, the tiny vibrations that traveled along Fraser's muscles from the contact, the resistance of a close fit as he incrementally moved his fingers. For a moment he allowed himself to be lost in the sensations, in an action that had of late become like second nature, another note in his and Ray's duet.

"Ben?" Ray's voice brought Fraser back to the present and he retrieved the baseball from his mitt, feeling the seams move under his fingers as he prepared to return the pitch.

The weatherman had been accurate in his forecast. The sun was high in a blue sky, there was a cooling breeze coming in from the Lake and the temperature was resting in the mid-60s. By Fraser's estimation, it appeared that around 1000 Chicago residents shared his and Ray's yearning to take advantage of the weather, and to visit Ulysses Park, a place that had at one time served as a makeshift campground for Fraser. Since Muldoon, since their adventure and all that had resulted, Fraser had neither set up camp in the park, nor slept in the Consulate for that matter. Neither option could hold a candle to where he laid his head every night now - next to Ray's in their bed. Still, the park, he felt, if somewhat sentimentally, was 'their' park, where their friendship had been strengthened, days and nights spent together, helping to lay the groundwork for greater intimacy when it entered the picture.

It was a rare carefree day - not dictated by time clocks, personal obligations, case files or state affairs - and both men had agreed that an afternoon at the park, where Dief could run and they could toss the ball around, was an excellent idea. Uncomplicated and 'one-hundred percent American' as Ray had said the night before as they sat eating pizza and sharing a beer, watching the ballgame on TV. 'You'll be slouching on the couch in no time,' Ray had laughed, leaning in for a kiss that tasted of hops and grease and pineapple. Fraser had smiled; already planning the first time he would take Ray onto the ice and set a curling stone in his hand.

They had arrived at the park early - Ray and Dief sharing a donut as the three of them sat on the grass and watched the crowds walk past. About the time Fraser began feeling an almost juvenile smugness that the people who passed had to return to the confines of work while he did not, warm fingers laced with his and a rough, wet tongue swiped across his face. After a show of shock, a mild reprimand to the unrepentant wolf and an attempted halting look at his clearly amused partner, Fraser joined in on the humor, ruffling the fur behind Dief's ear before the wolf took off for some urban exploration. For their part, Fraser and Ray had spent a few minutes longer watching as fellow park-goers began arriving at the park before commencing their current activity.

Extending his arm, Fraser pitched the ball back to Ray, watching the seams spin towards their target before the ball was plucked from just above and to the left of Ray's head. Fraser could make out the faint shift of muscles on Ray's forearm as he caught the ball in his glove. The motion evoked memories of their time in Willison, of Ray in the Hawkeyes uniform, as Ace Leary. He remembered their impromptu batting practice behind the field, the excitement that had thrummed through Ray's body as he /repeatedly/ recounted the story of the hit. And then there had been the more private thoughts, including one particular fantasy that centered on getting Ray out of his uniform and into the locker room showers.

Ray stepped back, smiling, and Fraser knew his face was flushed - although whether it was from being caught in a blatant stare, or the less-than-appropriate-for-public thoughts that had begun to fill his mind -- he wasn't certain.

"Ready to call it a day?" Ray asked as he walked towards Fraser, taking off his baseball cap and wiping his brow before returning the red cap to his head. "The game's gonna be on soon, anyway. We can grab a couple of dogs for a quick lunch before we head back. Sound good to you?"

"We still have leftovers from last night as well as lasagna in the freezer that Francesca brought over last week." Following Ray towards a hot dog vendor at one end of the park, Fraser touched the brim of his Stetson at a woman who had been watching him as she walked by, to a degree that she nearly collided with another park-goer.

"I'm not in the mood for pizza," Ray said, rolling his eyes at the scene and tapping Fraser's stomach lightly with his glove. "And since Frannie brought over that Thai Peanut Butter and Jelly Chicken dish - I'm afraid to go anywhere near her pregnancy craving slash nesting bug cooking."

"Ah, good point. It probably would be in our digestive best interest to ask Francesca specifically what kind of lasagna it is -"

"Now you're talking." Ray started to reach for his back pocket as Fraser continued.

Fraser took a deep breath; the sharp tang of hot dogs and relish just starting to reach his nose made his mouth begin to salivate. "And although the food does smell... delightful, I'm sure there's something at home we could eat. It would be the most economical and logical..."

"Oh no, no logical Mountie today." Ray's voice rose with a mix of frustration and affection. "It's our day off, and if you want a dog, then get one. The starving kids in China or wherever aren't gonna suffer if we let the food at home wait for one more meal."

For reasons not even he could fully understand - perhaps the bull-headedness of the Fraser men, as his grandmother used to call it - Fraser opened his mouth in rebuttal. Before he could say his first word, he saw the knowledge of what was about to happen come into Ray's face.

"Un-uh. Nope," Ray said, and then, in the next instant, he was retreating, Fraser's snatched Stetson in hand, running towards the wooded area.

"Ray!" Fraser yelled, giving chase, hearing Ray's laughter carry as his arms pumped harder and he disappeared into the pathway cut into the trees.

Picking up speed, Fraser followed the retreating figure, and, quickly scanning his options, saw a patch of grass that he knew was a small clearing with a park bench. Ducking off the path and onto the mulch and fallen leaves, Fraser reached the clearing just as Ray turned towards the opening. Before Ray could rethink his turn, Fraser grabbed his waist -- Stetson and baseball cap falling to the ground a split second before the two men followed, Fraser on top.

"What on earth was that all about?" Fraser asked, lifting himself slightly up off of Ray and looking down into his flushed, grinning face.

"You know me, Mr. Spontaneous. You were doing so good with the just relaxing thing, I had to nip the logical Mountie thing in the bud. So I went for the power source. You know -- with the Green Lantern, you take his ring. With a Mountie, you take his hat," Ray said, his voice fighting with the deep breaths he was inhaling. "You're getting slow, Ben. You could've caught me a few times."

"That may be," Fraser conceded, pushing himself up into a kneeling position, straddling Ray's waist and pinning him into the newly cut grass as he laced their fingers together, holding Ray's hands to the ground. Leaning down, their faces mere inches apart, Fraser licked his own bottom lip and smiled. "Or perhaps I just wanted to wait until we might have a bit of privacy."

"And why would that be, Constable?" There was pure innocence in his voice, but the twist of his hips, pressing their groins together, let Fraser know Ray was very much on the same page.

"I have a confession to make... I have found, of late that that baseball seems to ... affect me."

Ray's smile twisted Fraser's insides in the most delightful way. "Being the ace detective I am, I figured that blush wasn't just from the weather."

"I should amend my statement," Fraser said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "you and baseball, together, seem to ..."

Closing the distance, his lips brushing against Ray's as he spoke, Fraser continued. "When you were on the Hawkeyes, I wanted to --"

But his comment was interrupted by the sound of people coming up the pathway. Fraser rolled to his side and off Ray, warranting them only a mildly raised eyebrow from the man and woman that walked by.

"That was a close one," Fraser commented, sitting upright and retrieving his Stetson from a patch of ground a few inches away, dusting off some stubborn blades of grass as he continued. "They nearly saw us."

"Probably should've assessed the risks of being caught in lewd and lascivious acts before you took me down in a public park, Ben," Ray said, laughing as he sat up, leaning back on his hands. His hair was even more haphazard than usual - from the flattened section that had been tamed under his baseball cap to the random spikes that had been made more pronounced by their tussle in the grass.

"Very true, Ray, but ... where's the adventure in that?" Fraser had to suppress a laugh when Ray's head, which had been turned as he looked for something, whipped back around to look at him.

"Did that fall knock around your bag of marbles or something? Fresh air and tossing a baseball making you light headed?" Before Fraser could answer, Ray continued. "Did I just hear Benton Fraser allude to intentional public impropriety?"

Fraser watched Ray scan the ground for his baseball cap, finally spotting it on the grass behind him. As he reached back, his t-shirt, which had been rumpled and twisted from their fall, lifted, allowing Fraser the barest peek of the soft skin and defined musculature of Ray's stomach. Despite his natural wont for restraint and decorum, which had decidedly not prevailed today, the almost Victorian-era thrill of a small glimpse of flesh made Fraser's usual adherence to manners seem grossly wasteful, more so than anything else this entire day.

"You've been a bad influence on me, I suppose," Fraser said, planting his hand on the other side of Ray's waist, leaning over so when Ray turned back, a statement half-formed on his lips, he was met with the kiss he'd been teased with. "Thank you."

"I can live with that." Again Ray flashed a smile, different this time, the one that creased his cheek and made Fraser's heart race.

Ray stood up, and almost instantly had his hand extended down to Fraser. For a few heartbeats, Fraser contemplated pulling Ray back down to the ground. Instead, he grasped the offered hand and let himself be helped up.

"Have you seen Dief lately?" Ray asked, rubbing his eye with the back of the hand still grasping Fraser's. "I haven't seen him for a while, and I have a feeling he's up to something."

"Likewise." Fraser started to walk back towards the opening of the path and the park. "He has been known to..."

Before he could finish, both men spotted the aforementioned half-wolf approaching them -- his muzzle and various places on his body splattered with splotches of red, yellow, brown and pink.

"Good lord," Fraser exclaimed, dropping to one knee as the newly calico Diefenbaker sat down in front of them. "What trouble have you gotten yourself into?"

"Well, I don't see any angry park-goers coming with pitchforks and torches, so he's probably in the clear," Ray said, looking down and into the wolf's upturned face. "What the hell do you have all over you, buddy?"

"I'm not sure, but whatever it is..." Fraser leaned in slightly and inhaled. "It smells like, like ketchup, mustard... and... Neapolitan ice cream, Blue Bell brand. But I'm not completely certain."

"What? That's it? No tasting the evidence? I've seen you lick dirt and toxic waste to determine what it is." Ray grabbed Fraser's offered hand and helped hoist him back up. "But you're not gonna taste ice cream?"

"Well, for one thing, my sense of smell is nearly as finely tuned at my sense of taste, and I don't have a broad enough base for comparison to determine the exact brand of ice cream. Secondly, you made it clear that I wasn't to be, as you put it, a 'logical Mountie' today. And lastly, I have no desire to taste the food products on Diefenbaker's fur when there are a number of markedly more important, not to mention appealing, uses for my oral ingenuity."

Ray shook his head, starting to walk out of the woods and in the direction of the park exit. "Great, I got a dirty wolf and a dirty-minded Mountie. I'm thinking we should go home before this gets any more indecent. We can drop Dief off at that new dog groomer's place down the street -- The Land of Canine -- and get him all cleaned up," Ray said, and Dief gave a bark of approval. Then Ray looked over at Fraser and continued, "And you, you I plan on getting a lot messier before we clean up."

Fraser flushed slightly again, the heat of Ray's voice and the return serve of double entendre straining his /currently tenuous/ hold on propriety. Turning, he looked at Ray, hoping to convey at least a portion of what the day -- with their verbal volleys and the promise of what they could, and did, have -- had stirred within him. With an equal heat to his own voice, Fraser leaned in and whispered, "Only if I can get you messy as well."

A few heads turned in their direction as Ray's somewhat colorful expletives cut through the air after he stumbled, but didn't quite fall, over the baseball mitt he had dropped.

***

"You know, Ben, if I didn't know any better, I'd say Dief knew exactly what he was doing today," Ray said as they entered their apartment half an hour later. "Did you see the way that Malamute tore into the room?"

"I did," Fraser answered, setting his Stetson on the hat rack and placing his baseball glove in the hall closet. "I wouldn't put it past Diefenbaker to concoct such a scheme."

Fraser caught the baseball cap and mitt that Ray tossed his way, hanging the cap next to his Stetson and the mitt next to his own. "Especially if the outcome was a romantic interlude with a Malamute named Tasha."

"Oh yeah," Ray agreed, opening the refrigerator and grabbing a can of pop and the carton of milk before rejoining Fraser in the living room. "Sometimes you have to scheme, and sometimes you just tackle your partner in the park."

"Yes, well..." Taking the offered carton, Fraser opened the lip and took a long drink, using the time to debate with an ever-smaller part of his mind - his 'Internal Mountie' - whether an apology was needed for his outdoor antics.

He hadn't gotten very far, however, when not for the first time that day, Ray seemed to know what was going through his mind.

Setting his unopened drink on the table Ray leaned close, his breath warm on Fraser's ear. "I'd say both tactics were a success. Heck, the whole 'milk out of the carton' thing you got going would be enough."

Despite the carton of milk in his hand, the cool taste still fresh on his tongue, Fraser felt his mouth go dry. The warm rush that spread through his nerve endings intensified when Ray's lips quirked into a smile and Ray's hands reached to close the carton. In response to Ray's actions, Fraser tilted his head incrementally in preparation for the kiss that followed. Their mouths met, tongues slicking over one another, pressing in to taste, to explore.

A loud 'whoop' of cheers -- most likely coming from the apartment upstairs, where Irv Daluca and his four teenage sons lived -- cut through the air from the open window, followed by the sounds of the familiar music that opened the television broadcast of a baseball game.

"Your ballgame's on," Fraser whispered, licking at Ray's bottom lip.

"Mhmmm." Ray took the closed carton from Fraser's hand and set in on the table without opening his eyes, while his other hand slid into the back pocket of Fraser's jeans.

"You should turn it on." Fraser mimicked Ray's action, letting his hands slip just under the waistband of Ray's jeans, his fingers resting against the curve at the small of Ray's back. "The ballgame, that is."

"And people think you're naive," Ray said, pulling Fraser closer. "I have no complaints about continuing this present activity."

"But that's why we came home, so we could watch the game," Fraser commented, stepping back. "I wouldn't want to deny you that pleasure."

"Right." Ray cocked his head and eyed Fraser suspiciously. "You cribbing Deif's tactics, now?"

"Excuse me?" Fraser headed towards the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder.

"You've got something up your sleeve." Ray climbed over the back of the couch and settled into the cushions, grabbing the remote from the seat beside him. "What? Is there some big televised bonspiel planned soon that we're going to be glued to the tube for?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Ray. I genuinely want to watch today's game. There are no ulterior motives going on at present."

Setting the drinks back in the refrigerator, Fraser returned to the living room. Sitting down on the couch next to Ray, Fraser continued, "I told you, I've come to have an appreciation for the game of baseball."

"I vaguely recall you saying something about that when you were straddling me in the park, but I was a bit distracted at the time." Ray caught Fraser's eye and winked.

"Your attention seemed very ... corporeal, to me."

This time, the kiss was short and teasing. When it was done, Ray shook his head, a bemused smile on his face as he shifted his weight, tugging quickly at the inseam of his jeans. "Damn Mountie dirty talk. Naive, my ass."

With an answering smile, Fraser sank back into the cushions of the couch as Ray turned on the television. For a couple of innings, they watched the game - making random comments about this play or that - settled close into one another's space but not quite touching. At the top of a new inning, Fraser felt Ray's fingertips brush against the back of his hand and realized that for the past several minutes, he'd been watching Ray instead of the ballgame. The indentation from the baseball cap Ray had been wearing at the park was still faintly visible in his hair, and a half-smile teased at his lips as he watched the players take to the field. At the bottom of Ray's hairline, Fraser noticed the tiny beads of sweat that had formed. Leaning closer, he breathed in the faint scent of the freshly clipped grass, of clean sweat. Before Ray could say anything, Fraser closed the distance between them and began to kiss the side of Ray's neck, tasting salt.

"I thought you said you wanted to watch the game," Ray said, turning his head slightly, offering more skin.

"I did. We have been," Fraser said, pulling back to look at Ray's face.

"I also recall you saying you had no ulterior motives."

"I said 'at that moment'. This is later." Fraser returned his attention to Ray's throat, kissing just below his jaw line. "While the game is quite entertaining, I must admit my attention has been, and is now, elsewhere."

"Kinda got that, Ben. When did this baseball thing begin? You know, when'd it start to turn your crank?" Ray asked as Fraser's hand slipped under the front of his shirt, across his stomach, up to his ribs and back down. "Not that I'm complaining... at all."

"Since Willison," Fraser answered against the tendon of Ray's neck, his thumb rubbing over Ray's stomach - the oddly seductive patch of skin he had glimpsed at the park.

"Willison?" Ray repeated, sounding confused for a minute before he turned, eyes wide with surprise, the underlying truth of the admission finally beginning to sink in. "Since Willison. Since I was..."

"I told you, Ray, it's not just baseball. It's you and baseball. That's the key element - you." Fraser's hand started to move again over Ray's stomach, but Ray's hand over his stopped him.

"That was over a year ago, Ben. You were getting worked up about ... me, all the way back then?"

Fraser smiled, his eyebrow raising as he turned his head slightly, regarding the man for whom he had held so many layers of affection. Sliding his tongue over his bottom lip, he answered simply and easily. "For some time by that point."

"Wow. I didn't... That long?" Ray was quiet for a few moments, like he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. And then, it was as if the words, the truth, made a place in their duet and settled into fact. Leaning over, Ray pressed a kiss to Fraser's lips and whispered. "Me too, Ben."

"I do have to say, the baseball element did take me by quite a surprise," Fraser deadpanned, sending both men over the edge into laughter.

Still laughing, Ray lifted at the hem of Fraser's shirt. "I can imagine. So tell me more about this baseball thing. We've tossed the ball around a hundred times. Watched ball games. What was it about today that made you into a Mountie in heat?"

"I was remembering back to when you were on the Hawkeyes, in that uniform, smiling and almost electric in your exuberance over your homerun." Fraser's hand slid down over the waistband of Ray's jeans, coming to rest over his groin. "How I had wanted to follow you into the locker room and wait until the rest of the team had gone home for the evening. Then I could slowly pull the jersey over your head and massage the sore muscles of your shoulders. After those knots were soothed, I would move to take off your cleats and remove your pants, digging my fingers into the tense muscles of your thighs..."

Ray grabbed the fabric of Fraser's shirt and pulled him forward, smashing their mouths together into a kiss as the forward momentum of Fraser's body sent them tumbling off the couch.

Fraser grabbed at the hem of Ray's shirt, tugging upward as Ray mirrored his actions and then shifted, slipping a thigh between Fraser's legs, his denim encased erection pressing into Fraser's hip as an answering hardness found a similar home.

"We seem to have a penchant for 'on the ground' activities today," Fraser whispered in between licks to Ray's ear.

"You started it, Benton-buddy," Ray pointed out, his body pressing and thrusting into Fraser's as his ear was nipped. Ray's hand slipped up and under Fraser's hiked-up shirt, finding a nipple as he continued. "But at least here, there's less of a chance for - oh god - public indecency."

Indecent indeed, Fraser thought, resting his hand on the small of Ray's back, pulling him closer. Fraser realized location at this moment was a moot point. The wooded area of Ulysses Park, the floor of their living room, the bed in their bedroom - that was incidental. The feel of Ray's body, heavy atop his own, the sounds the man was making as he touched Fraser's body, the playful sensuality entwining with the raw sexuality, was paramount as well as incendiary.

"Quite right, Ray." The name came out as an aroused moan as Ray shifted to kneel beside him, and his hand, which had been alternating between Fraser's nipples, moved to caress the warm denim over Fraser's erection. Thrusting upward, Fraser sensed as much as saw Ray's smile.

With an arm hooked around Ray's neck, Fraser pulled him down, tasting his kiss and feeling the friction, the slide of jeans, as he sat up, Ray's arms wrapping around his chest - cradling him in an erotic pieta.

With a quick jerk upward, Fraser found himself sitting upright and bereft of Ray's touch. Confused by the abrupt withdrawal, wondering if he had somehow erred, he reached out for Ray again - pulling back his hand when Ray sat back on his heels, reaching down to pull off his own shirt.

Before the cloth had cleared Ray's other arm, Fraser reached out and began to unbutton Ray's jeans with one hand as he pulled on the belt loops, drawing Ray closer to him with the other.

"Hey, hey. Slow down a sec," Ray laughed, tossing his shirt to the side and shifting to sit down next to Fraser. "You - outta your jeans, I'll tackle mine."

Fraser nodded, and they both unbuttoned and unzipped, discarding jeans and boxers into a heap.

"God you're beautiful," Ray whispered as he got back onto his knees. He reached out, running his fingers over Fraser's face, smoothing an eyebrow.

"You're unhinged, Detective Kowalski." Fraser caught Ray's hand in his own, pressing a kiss into his palm.

"Probably." Ray agreed, straddling Fraser's waist, settling on Fraser's thighs. "It happens when you're in love with a Mountie."

Although he knew, in his heart and mind, what Ray said was true, even though Ray told him numerous times in a myriad of ways everyday, the comment still acted like a shot of adrenaline to Fraser's heart, to his passion. Presented with a naked, aroused lover settled on his lap, there was an endless list of what Fraser wanted to do and suddenly he didn't have the wherewithal to find one place, one action to begin. So, with what he knew was a growl, Fraser leaned down and forward, pointing his tongue to flick across Ray's nipple, feeling the soft skin tighten and harden against his taste buds, while his hand reached in between their bodies and wrapped around Ray's straining erection.

"Shirt. Get it off." Ray bucked into Fraser's hand, as he tugged at the offending article. "Patience is a virtue, 'member."

Releasing his intimate hold, Fraser grasped the bottom of his shirt pulling it over his head as he started to answer, "Fu..."

"So help me, if you say 'fuck patience', Ben... this'll be over before it begins." Ray's fingers dug into Fraser's thighs as if he were attempting to avoid the edge, for now. "You were gonna say that, weren't you?" Ray said more than asked as Fraser's shirt was tossed in the direction of the rest of their clothing.

Fraser nodded, watching as Ray's eyes closed, his fingers tightening again on Fraser's thighs - holding back the untamed passion Fraser could feel in the tremor of Ray's muscles. He wanted that wildness, wanted Ray to give into it here and now, to make a fantasy that had been a year in the making, a reality.

Giving in to the spark of mischief that had been growing throughout the day, Fraser cupped Ray's face. "One thing I've learned since falling in love with a member of Chicago's finest is that there is a time to respect patience - wine it and dine it -- and then there are times when you just have to ... screw it."

In between one heartbeat and the next, Ray had flashed a smile so sweet it made Fraser's heart hurt and then had rumbled a growl that shot straight to Fraser's already heightened arousal. With a kiss that was at once predatory and possessive, Ray's hands moved to well-explored places on Fraser's body - the outline of ribs, the curve of hip, the silky skin just behind the knee - touching and teasing, reducing Fraser to a mass of sensation. With the pooling warmth of arousal settling in his stomach, the prickle of sweat and awareness raising the hair on his arms, Fraser inhaled the sharp and familiar scent of musk spiking through the air, melding with the earlier smells that had so enticed him earlier.

"Need you," Ray whispered against the skin of Fraser's temple, running his fingers up the roadway of Fraser's spine.

"Ray," Fraser near-gasped, hating to waste precious air on talking when he could be sharing it with Ray, but he had to... "We need..."

With a twist of his hips, Fraser rubbed against Ray, his cock slicking over the cleft of Ray's ass.

"Lube, right, fuck, it's in the bedroom..." Ray looked around the room, then reached over and to the side, grabbing a bottle of lotion from under the end table. Sitting up straight, he asked, "Think this'll do?"

With more brain cells than he realized were still working, Fraser looked at the label and dispensed some into his hand. Rubbing his index finger and thumb together, he contemplated for all of two seconds before a twitch from Ray's cock against his stomach told him that thought was an unnecessary luxury. He nodded.

Fraser wrapped one hand around the back of Ray's neck, pulling him down into a hungry kiss as the other hand, slick with lotion, reached down, cupping and massaging Ray's balls.

"Fraser," Ray growled, pulling his head back minutely before Fraser drew him back.

Moving back further, Fraser's fingers stroked the warm skin behind Ray's balls, causing another guttural rumble from Ray, one that turned into an aroused gasp as the pad of his finger pressed in, breaching Ray's body.

Pushing further in, Fraser studied Ray's face, knowing what was conveyed in the slight hitch of breath; knowing from the moan, the way Ray pressed down onto the invasion, when to add a second finger. When Ray lifted onto his knees, Fraser knew in that smile, from the hand that cupped his jaw, the thumb that caressed his cheek, that Ray was again offering him everything -- not just a satiation of his desire or display of trust, of love, but offering him a home, in all of its connotations, an identity that not even complex definitions could quite quantify. And in return, Ray was willing to take all that Fraser could give, everything - life, heart, body and soul - opening himself and accepting just as his body moved down, accepting and enveloping Fraser's cock, until they were joined.

For a number of heartbeats, as the voice from the television droned on about the game, they remained still and silent - Fraser's back pressed against the couch, his cock buried deep inside Ray, whose thighs held tight to Fraser's waist, their chests pressed close as their arms clenched one another. Foreheads resting against one another, they breathed slow, synching their breath, close enough to share air. Opening eyes he didn't remember closing, Fraser met the blue-gray of Ray's gaze.

"Us," Ray whispered, sliding his hand over Fraser's shoulder to his chest and stopping over Fraser's heart.

"Us," Fraser echoed, completing the vow.

And then Ray moved, rocking back, meeting the thrust of Fraser's hips in fluid counterpoint.

As their bodies found a rhythm, Fraser let his hands slide up Ray's thighs, digging his fingers into the tight muscles there, feeling the contraction and relaxation as Ray moved, the tremor that rippled through when a thrust stimulated Ray's prostate. Wrapping his hand around Ray's cock, he brushed his thumb over the head, feeling the shudder that passed through Ray's body, the strong thighs tightening, offering a display of their power.

Sheathed in Ray's body, held tight in Ray's long-limbed embrace, another of Fraser's long held fantasies was eclipsed by the reality. What had once been a desire to taste the strength Ray displayed so aesthetically in Willison, or in the boxing ring, was so much more. This was a shared strength - giving and receiving, a completeness - just as their relationship had been since the beginning.

As he continued to stroke Ray in tandem with their thrusts, Fraser rested his hand on Ray's hip, stroking the ridge with his thumb.

"Oh fuck, Ben," Ray moaned, his head lolling back for a second as if the muscles of his neck could no longer support the weight. Rolling his head forward, he rested his forehead on Fraser's shoulder; the slight shift breaking their rhythm for a moment and sending bursts of sensation through Fraser's nerve endings. "...so good."

Taking his hand from Ray's hip, Fraser curved it around Ray's neck. Letting his thumb stroke the sensitive skin of the nape, Fraser turned his own head, kissing the juncture of neck and shoulder, feeling the tremors travel down Ray's spine, the clenching of his body. Their rhythm faltered again as Ray's orgasm built, his hips moving down and then forward.

"Ben. Ben. Ben," Ray repeated, his hips moved forwards and back again before his thrusting stopped altogether, the sheen of sweat from their lovemaking lessened the friction as he slid incrementally forward.

Fastening onto the juncture of Fraser's shoulder again, Ray slid back, and Fraser knew he was on the edge of the precipice, waiting for that final touch. With his hands holding tight onto Ray's hips, Fraser leaned forward, kissing the skin he could reach as he thrust upwards and sending Ray over the edge - Ray's cries muffled against the skin of Fraser's shoulder as his teeth sank into the strong, pliant skin.

The feel of Ray's body tightening around him, coaxing him closer to release was almost too much. Squeezing his eyes shut, Fraser buried his face in Ray's neck, holding tight to keep his rhythm steady as Ray's body rode out the powerful waves of his orgasm. Before Ray relaxed completely, Fraser felt the familiar electric sensation pooling at the base of his spine. Framing Ray's face in his hands, Fraser brought their mouths back together as his own muscles began to tighten, hips thrusting up as his hands moved to pull Ray's body down tight against him.

"I love you," Fraser whispered harshly between kisses as he climaxed. "I love you."

***

"Hey Ben," Ray began, his voice still thick with exhaustion and exertion, lifting his head from Fraser's shoulder.

"Hmm?" Fraser kept his eyes closed as his hands rubbed over Ray's shoulder blades, massaging the lean muscle.

"What do you think about a summer league?"

Fraser's eyes opened to Ray's smiling face, mischief clearly visible in his expression. Fraser's answer was contained in the kiss that followed, his arms pulling Ray's body closer.

"And in fall -" Ray's voice was warm against his ear, his teeth grazing his earlobe. "-we've got hockey."