etben | ceci n'est pas du porn

pearl_o made me do it! she talked about Fraser watching Ray while he slept, and then I got tagged for

stop_drop_porn, and this kept coming up. it's not porn (well, not really), and it's not betaed, and it's not what I'm writing, but it's here and it's staying and it's getting the hell out of my head.

looking
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pearl_o
633 words, un-betaed

When Ray wakes up, Fraser’s watching him.

Fraser does that, sometimes. Kind of a lot, actually: he does it whenever he wakes up before Ray (which is more or less always), just stays there, watching Ray sleep and petting Ray’s hair and letting Ray drool on his shoulder.

Put it like that, and it sounds kind of creepy. And, well, OK, fair’s fair: it was, the first time it happened, which was about seven and a half hours after the first time they happened. Ray had woken up, struggling through layers of sleep and aches in odd places, and Fraser had been right the fuck there, staring at Ray with these wide-open eyes, like Ray was some kind of magic trick, some kind of miracle: the amazing Ray! blink and you’ll miss him!

It had freaked Ray out, that time: Fraser was too close, too soon, too damn much for a guy who was only just waking up. He’d been about half a second and one deep breath away from jumping out of the bed and fucking the whole thing six ways from Sunday, but Fraser had just raised one eyebrow and flipped them around and wrapped one hand around Ray’s cock. By the time Ray could breathe enough to ask Fraser what the staring was about, he’d been too turned on to care.

Then, of course, Fraser’d started to talk, that low soft voice that kicked Ray’s heart into double-time.

“I like to watch you, Ray,” he’d said, and boy, was that ever the truth. “I like to see you, I like to look at you and know that you’re here with me.” He’d squeezed tighter, pressing himself up against Ray’s back; Ray had arched into the pressure and moaned. “May I do that?” And for a second, Ray had thought that Fraser was talking about his hand on Ray’s dick, or about that whole thing where Fraser’s dick was pressing behind his balls, and he’d groaned and twisted and agreed (yes, yes, fuck, god, yes, god, Fraser) and had already come all over himself before realizing that, wait, the looking, Fraser’d been talking about the staring thing.

Once he could breathe again, he’d looked up at Fraser, meaning to explain, but Fraser’s eyes were wide and dark, and Ray’d been lost.

“Yeah, Frase,” he’d said, sliding down Fraser’s body, “Watch this." He’d wrapped his mouth around Fraser’s dick, sucking him slick and fast and as dirty as he could make it, and Fraser’s words (Ray, oh, Ray, please, yes, stay, give or take) had rubbed over him like a warm breath.

And now it doesn’t bother him. If Fraser wants to look at him, well, that’s what Fraser does: he watches people, watches over them and watches out for them and watches them fucking walk away from him. And Ray—fuck, Ray knew already that he wasn’t going to leave, has known it since that first crazy day, but maybe Fraser didn’t, so what does it hurt to show him?

So Fraser watches him, and if Ray doesn’t personally get the appeal, he at least gets that this appeals to Fraser, that this is something Fraser needs to do, a way for him to keep his balance and his calm through the rest of the day. It’s not a sex-thing, not really, except of course in the sense that it’s a Fraser thing, and all Fraser-things are also sex-things as far as Ray’s concerned.

Fraser, for his part, argues that Ray’s got it backwards, that everything Ray does is sexy as hell. Ray doesn’t see the appeal, himself, but he’s not stupid enough to argue with a statement like that. Fraser loves Ray, so all of the gift horses can fuck off; the only mouth Ray wants to look at is Fraser’s.

*goes back to the thing she's actually working on*