It's another one of those freaking seminars, the ones the city makes them do once or twice a year, and Ray's sitting there, sweating in the cramped room and counting the minutes until he can get out of this place. Fraser's sitting beside him, eyes focused on the guy at the end of the table who's talking about�well, Ray lost track of what he was talking about a long time ago. No doubt Fraser will repeat it all to him on the way home anyway.
Of course, it's still kinda debatable why Fraser's here in the first place, since, really, he doesn't have to be, but maybe this is the kind of thing Canadians do for fun. Or maybe it's one of his duty things. Ray doesn't know, and really doesn't care, because at least it provides him some kind of distraction. If he leans against the table and turns his head just the right way, he can look like he's paying attention and avoid the death glares Welsh was shooting him while he was staring out the window, and he can still watch Fraser out of the corner of his eye.
Not that Fraser's doing anything particularly interesting�he's pretty much just sitting there�but Ray figures he could watch Fraser do nothing for hours and not get bored. In fact, he can't really think of anything else he'd rather do than watch him for hours, except touch him for hours, which is definitely on the agenda for when they get out of here.
Fraser's clearly been rubbing off on him, because he finds himself making a mental checklist of things to do to him when they get home. He traces the curve of his jaw with his eyes, imagining running his tongue along it, ending just before Fraser's ear and lingering there for a minute, breathing in the scent of him until Fraser moves, just a little, and then he'd take his earlobe in his lips, sucking, running his teeth across it, making him moan.
Then maybe he'd move down that neck, reaching down to undo the buttons on his shirt, one by one, while he sucked just hard enough that he wouldn't quite leave a mark. Once the shirt was off, he could move lower, and maybe then he'd mark him, just below his collarbone, where no one but Ray would see it. Fraser would be reaching up to tug at Ray's clothes by that point, because he's really a lot less patient than he'd like people to think, and Ray would stop kissing him long enough to let him pull his shirt over his head. When he stretched back out on top of him, they'd be chest to chest, skin to skin, and Fraser would be moving beneath him, pressing up hot and hard against Ray's jeans, and�
Shit.
Ray shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Maybe, on second thought, that's not really the best way to distract himself. Fraser doesn't turn to look at him, but he can practically hear the stop fidgeting, Ray vibes that he's sending in Ray's direction. Except�no. That's not what those vibes are. Because, unless Ray's losing his mind, the Mountie's fidgeting too. Just a little, barely noticeable, really, but Ray's known him long enough to see the way his finger is twitching against his pen in an almost imperceptible rhythm, and the way the toes of his boots are subtly tapping against the floor, too slow and quiet to be heard. His eyes are still fixed on the guy at the front of the room, but Ray can feel every ounce of Fraser's attention being focused on him.
Because his hand on the pen, it's not really twitching so much as�Ray swallows. Stroking. And the way he's tapping his feet, Ray knows that tap, and it's the one that Fraser does when he's trying not to bounce his leg up and down, which he only does when he's incredibly turned on.
And then�Jesus�he's lifting the pen to his mouth and running the end of it across his lower lip, slowly bringing it up to suck on it, as if deep in thought. That's pretty much the point when Ray decides he can't take it anymore. He pushes back his chair and stands up abruptly. The speaker stops talking and everyone in the room turns to look at Ray.
"I. Uh. I have to�" he waves at the door and then flees the room as fast as humanly possible.
"This isn't kindergarten, Kowalski, you don't have to ask," he hears Welsh say as the door swings shut behind him, and half of him wants to go back in there and smack the laughter off Huey and Dewey's faces, but the other half of him knows he's got more urgent things to deal with, and that half, as usual, wins.
He's standing in one of the stalls in the empty bathroom, bracing himself on the wall and tugging down the zipper on his jeans when he hears the door open. He knows that walk, and he reaches back to unlock the door and let it swing open, then goes back to work on his pants. "Ray," Fraser says as he steps in front of the stall, but he stops when he sees Ray standing there, dick in hand, probably looking as desperate as Fraser does.
"Jesus, Fraser, what're you trying to do in there, fucking kill me?" Ray asks, but he's a little too out of breath to get much anger behind it.
"Ray," Fraser says again, and then he's in the stall, hands on Ray's hips, pushing down his pants and boxers and grinding into him like he's trying to drive him all the way back through the wall. Ray's mouth is trying to catch Fraser's and missing, hitting his jaw, his cheek, and his hands are busy with Fraser's pants, having more trouble with them than with his own. Fraser reaches down between them, tangling one hand with Ray's and using the other to expertly undo his fly and shove his pants down just far enough that his cock is brushing up against Ray's, hot and slick with sweat.
Ray muffles his cry against Fraser's throat as Fraser's hand wraps around them both, jerking them in a fast and steady rhythm that has Ray arching towards him, pushing off the wall, driving himself into the combined warmth of Fraser's cock against his and his hand around them. Their other hands are still tangled together, Fraser's pressing his back into the wall, scraping the knuckles with every thrust.
He comes fast and hard, sinking his teeth into Fraser's shoulder through his shirt, and Fraser follows a few strokes later, gasping out Ray's name and pressing tiny quick kisses against his ear, his temple, his hair. They stand there for a few minutes, leaning against each other and catching their breath, and it's finally Fraser who pulls away a little and cleans them up, tucking them both back into their pants and straightening Ray's shirt. As they go to leave the restroom, Ray pushes Fraser back against the sinks and kisses him, long and slow, savoring the taste of him.
"Fraser?" he says as they make their way back down the hallway, and Fraser raises an eyebrow to show he's listening. "Don't you dare even think of putting that damn pen anywhere near your mouth when we get back in that meeting, ok?" Fraser gives him a grin that is way too wicked to belong to a Mountie, and doesn't say a word. "Seriously, Fraser. If I see one lick, or suck, or�or fondle in that room, I'm going to kick your ass so hard when we get home."
"What's that, Ray?" Fraser asks, looking genuinely confused except for that damn twinkle in his eye. "You're going to kiss my ass?"
And leaving Ray in the hallway with that image, he opens the door and goes back to the meeting.