Notes: Written for justbreathe80.
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The solution to most problems, Ray has found, is porn.
And Ray, well, he's a guy, in case you haven't noticed, so he's got a pretty healthy stash of the stuff, all stuffed into a drawer under his tv and labeled with things like hockey, and hockey 2, and, well, you get the picture. Because you never know who's going to be snooping around in your drawers.
�so to speak.
This, of course, is one of the twelve zillion times that Ray has discovered that having a Canadian around isn't necessarily the best thing in the world. Because Ray, he runs down the street to get some beer, and he tells Fraser make yourself at home, watch some tv or something, and Fraser, because he is Canadian�he goes for the hockey.
So Ray comes home, and Fraser's standing in front of the VCR, fingers hovering near the buttons, big blue Mountie eyes even bigger and bluer and stuck on that damn tv, where a guy who looks suspiciously like Ray is being pressed up against a wall and thoroughly blown by a guy who looks suspiciously like Fraser. He doesn't look up when Ray comes in (maybe he can't hear him above the moans and the gasps and the oh god, yes, fuck mes), he's just standing there and watching, and the case of beer slips from Ray's fingers and shatters on the floor when he realizes that Fraser is breathing kinda panicky, and his fingers are gripping the edge of the tv stand until they're white, and he's so fucking hard that Ray can see it from here.
That's enough to make Fraser look up, and there's no embarrassment there like Ray would have thought, there's just intense dark-eyed arousal, and then Fraser's crossing the room, and he's closing the door behind Ray, and he's pressing him up against it, fingers rough enough on Ray's hips to leave bruises. Then he's kissing Ray, deep and slow and god, the guy even tastes like sex.
Then his lips are trailing down Ray's throat, down to his collarbone, and his fingers are undoing his pants faster than he can even do it himself. And Ray's hands, well, they can't really figure out where to go, so they're kinda sliding around Fraser's face and neck, and tangling into his hair, and when he finally remembers to open his eyes, he looks down and Fraser's on his knees.
Fraser. Is on his knees.
That, right there? That's almost enough to make Ray come, and then Fraser frees his cock from his boxers, and it bounces free and rubs, just a little bit, against the light stubble on Fraser's cheek. And breathing, man? That is a thing of the past. Because Fraser's lips are wrapping around him, and he's watching, he's looking up and locking eyes with Ray while he sucks him, and Ray�Ray's coming, hard and fast like he's a kid again, his head slamming back against the door, one hand clutching Fraser's hair, the other clenched hard around the doorframe, digging in, probably leaving scratches in the wood.
The Fraser's leaning back, and his hand is running slowly up and down the front of his jeans, and Jesus, it's got to be torture, being that fucking hard in jeans, so Ray drags him to his feet and hauls him off in the direction of the bedroom, while the synthesized moans and gasps of the video play on forgotten behind them.