La Danza Más Antigua (When In Mexico...) Mexican Salsa Fucking! Written for Lilac_One, in the honor of her birthday. With huge thanks to Brooklinegirl for the beta, and Ni for the Spanish help.
Ray slumped against the dusty wall and let out a breath. Like everything else around him, it was hot and overpowering. If there was one thing he had always known about Fraser it was that the man was determined, with a capital D. That much had been clear from the word "go". Hell, he didn't even have to meet him to figure that out. The infamous trail of the killers of Fraser's father was a pretty long and windy one, but Fraser beat it faster than you could say "caribou." Determined didn't even begin to describe him.
What Ray hadn't really expected - even though he should have, because `expect the unexpected' had basically become his motto since partnering up with Fraser - was that Fraser would follow the trail of a serial jewelry smuggler to Mexico. And he really hadn't really expected to be the one following Fraser.
He turned to see Fraser exchanging pleasantries with one of the local cops. With Fraser's luck - and it always more special than other people's - the jewelry smuggler had turned out to be the #3 wanted guy on Coahuila's list. Ray and Fraser were pretty much local heros around here, and if Ray hadn't been allergic to any sort of diplomacy, he'd be right there with Fraser. But he was, so he'd mostly let Fraser do all the talking.
He had followed Fraser, because that was another motto he'd learned to play to: you go where the Mountie leads you. He couldn't just leave Fraser to trek down to Mexico all on his own, with no gun or plan or nothing, so he'd told himself that he would only follow him down as far as it took to convince Fraser to shove the plan and go back home. But, no. It took them going over the border, smuggling in Ray's own gun, risking being killed, or fired - and yelled at by Welsh for the next eternity while the Duck boys came up with a country song for the occasion - and actually apprehending the damn jewelry smuggler to convince Fraser that it was maybe time to go home.
They'd been in Mexico long enough for Ray to have befriended the local barman, motel maid, and the kid who ran around the street yelling out the latest news. Ray's Spanish was just as rusty as the jeep they'd been using to track the asshole down, but it was coming back to him quicker than he'd expected. Of course, he didn't really need it to, what with Fraser the Linguist always by his side, but it felt kind of good to know he wasn't totally dependent on Fraser for survival.
He was tired and dusty and wearing over-priced and pretty uncomfortable cargo shorts, but damn. He was in Mexico. Now that they had nothing to do but go back home, he felt like staying on a bit before he had to go back and get the shit grilled out of him by an irate Welsh.
Ray sighed and pushed off the wall, shaking the dust out of his hair and joining Fraser for a minute. Maybe he'd take a nap upstairs in the hotel - a very generous term for it, really, it barely had a tub, but at least the toilet was in top working condition - and see about getting another beer for dinner. He'd heard enough stories back home to mostly stay away from much local food, but beer was beer. Beer was beer everywhere.
"Ah, Ray!" Fraser nodded at him and gave him a satisfied little smile. Ray smiled at the cop, then nodded at Fraser.
"About done here, Frase?" he asked, wiping his hands on his shorts.
"Yes, just about. I was just thanking the Constable for the help that he had provided along with the others in his precinct on this case," Fraser explained and turned back to speak Spanish to the slick-`tashed cop.
Ray's eyes began glazing over, so he studied Fraser instead of trying to puzzle out his words, letting the hard consonants and round vowels wash over him. Fraser was kind of dusty, too, just like Ray. Underneath, though, he was tan and shiny and, if Ray could believe it, happy. He looked pretty damn satisfied with life, and that was cool. Even if it was, like, a hundred million degrees here, and Fraser was a Northern boy through and through, he looked more relaxed than Ray had ever seen him. Maybe it really was Chicago that was the problem. Everything about Fraser seemed relaxed, from his shoulders, loosely wrapped in a white t-shirt, to his hands, tucked matter-of-factly into his pockets, to his feet, sandaled and dusty. He hardly even looked like Fraser anymore, except he seemed to be going on about justice and making this world a safer place for children everywhere, so Ray guessed, some things even Mexico couldn't change.
When the cop could finally get a word in edgewise, Ray tuned back in and caught onto the gist before Fraser could translate for him. There was a party going on after the siesta, and they were both invited.
"As guests of honor, Ray," Fraser supplied. Ray grinned. Hey, now this was more like it. He could do party. He could do party on the street, drinking Tequila, and toasting everybody's health, because hell, they were in Mexico and they got their man. Welsh could wait, Ray decided, and clapped Fraser on the shoulder.
"A party, you say? Well, my friend, that definitely sounds like a plan."
Fraser grinned at him and Ray became all too aware of their closeness, of his sweaty palm pressing into Fraser's damp t-shirt, of Fraser's slight stubble and humid scent. Ray covered his confusion with a smile, took his hand away and nodded at the cop, who was still grinning his big white grin.
"Going for a nap, Frase. Don't wake me till it's time to party, all right?" Ray turned around before Fraser even opened his mouth, and only heard him as he stepped into the darkened doorway.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Ray," he called out in his hearty Fraser voice.
The hallway was a lot cooler than the outside. If he stripped down to nothing, Ray might actually be able to sleep.
When Ray woke up, it was dusk. The lights from the street lit up the room in muted reds and greens and he suddenly felt like a kid, back when he used to wake up from his naps every December 31st, because his mom let him stay up until midnight with the adults. But this was hotter than any New Year's he'd ever been through, and he didn't have a curfew. He stretched and only realized he was in the buff when the sheet slid down. He pulled it up and turned around. Fraser wasn't in the room. Ray threw off the sheet and padded over to his rucksack. He was pretty sure he still had a clean pair of underwear left somewhere. He dug and came up with a black pair of boxer briefs. A quick sniff told him that this was, indeed, his last pair of clean underwear and he sighed as he put it on. Maybe he could spring for some new ones tomorrow, before they left.
He finished getting dressed and ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he could do something presentable with it, after all. He didn't actually take any of his hair stuff with him, because there had been slightly more pressing things - like catching flights and criminals - on his mind, but he'd bummed a tube of hair gel from the hotel clerk the other day, and even though the stuff was ancient, it would do the trick.
After all, they were the guests of honor. He wanted to look somewhat good. Who knew what might happen. He remembered the pretty maid and vaguely wondered if she'd be there. The party had sounded like a local affair, and maybe she'd be done with the rooms by then. He let these thoughts lead him through the `rinse hair, dry hair, spike hair' routine and only after he was done did he wonder where Fraser was, or even what time it was.
He locked the room on his way out and walked down the hall, the music outside getting louder with each step. Once there, he was assaulted from all sides: noise, laughter, music, the smell of fresh tortillas mixing with tequila and beer. It was like a block party with no borders. He didn't even know that this was their party - but it sure as hell felt like it. He grinned and began making his way through the chatting and dancing crowds.
He spotted Fraser a few feet down, talking to some chick with long hair and a great ass. For a second, he almost felt like he'd been kicked, but then there was no reason at all why Fraser shouldn't have been talking a hot chick, so Ray walked right up to them. He checked the chick out while he asked Fraser why he didn't wake him up.
"Well, you appeared to be tired, Ray," Fraser explained, "So I was giving you an extra half hour to sleep. I was, in fact, almost on my way to wake you."
"I'm always awake enough for this," Ray answered, and then looked back at the girl.
She wasn't as pretty as Ray's maid, but she had a nice mouth and terrific white teeth. Her eyes nearly disappeared whenever she smiled, and it made her look real sweet, like all she wanted to do all day was smile at you. He couldn't help but grin back.
What the hell was he, a teenager? He tried to regain his cool and turned to Fraser, which turned out to be a bad solution. Fraser was still looking relaxed, with a small smile playing on his lips. His hair was sweaty and curling around his forehead and ears. He had a bottle in his hand, but it wasn't beer. Of course, it was water, and Ray snorted.
"They got anything stronger around here, Frase?"
"Of course, Ray. Disclpeme," he said to the girl, and led Ray to a bar stand by the nearest wall. The guy behind the counter was dancing along with the beat while he took Ray's money without looking and handed him a beer. Ray couldn't really read the label all that good, but what the hell, they were in Mexico and it was a party.
He let the cool beer wash away his earlier embarrassment and closed his eyes. The music was loud and infectious. He was thrown back into the old times with Stella, dancing together until the wee hours of the morning, then doing the same in bed until sunrise. It hadn't lasted long, but boy, had it been incredible. She always loosened up after dancing, letting him lead and take control. And he always knew just where to lead her. One step forward, to the side, back, and she was curving against his arm, melting around him, slipping closer.
He inhaled and opened his eyes. Yeah, the beer was a good idea. So was dancing. Dancing was a really good idea.
Fraser was looking at him with that curious look on his face, like he was trying to work out a problem. Ray never really knew what to do with that look when it was aimed at him. He didn't think he was anything special to study or think about, and anyway, there was no problem here. Fraser just constantly needed something to work on, something to puzzle out. This Ray noticed a long time ago, too. But he could never quite get used to these looks as well as the life-threatening and crazy situations they always found themselves in.
"There a problem?" he asked after he drank more of his beer. They began walking back to their earlier spot.
"Not at all, Ray," Fraser answered, walking beside him. "I was just wondering. That is- are you well?"
"Huh?" What the hell was Fraser on about? He was great. He was terrific. He was fan-freakin'-tastic.
"Well, you seemed a bit...disoriented for a moment." Fraser's eyebrow creased in concern, and Ray almost lost his footing. Did he look like he wasn't having a good time?
"I'm not disoriented, Fraser. I'm just...dancing." He feigned a step and attempted a grin. The music was really getting to him. It was working him all over, tickling his feet, rubbing up against his skin, making him want to move his hips, grab somebody else's, making him want to dance, dance the whole night through and then through the morning.
"Ah," Fraser responded. Which was so like Fraser.
"Yeah," Ray responded in kind. "Because, you know. I dance. And this is a party. And people are dancing, right?"
He didn't even know why he was being kind of an asshole, but it had something to do with dancing. Or maybe the smiling chick they'd abandoned. He thought that maybe he should go and ask her to dance. They could dance and he'd forget all about feeling weird, because... Well, because they were in Mexico, and it was practically a paid vacation. He bounced a little on the balls of his feet.
"Quite right, Ray, they are, indeed. I hope you enjoy yourself now." Fraser smiled an easy smile and was gone just like that, drowned out by the people milling all around them. Ray shook his head and took another long sip of his beer. He went in search of the girl.
It took him a little while, but two and a half beers later, he found her, chatting with a friend. That one was fuller, with a crooked smile and her hair up away from her face. Ray had had just enough to drink that everybody was starting to look real good, or at least real friendly. He smiled at the first girl and offered her his hand. He was no Latin lover, but he sure knew how to dance. It was one of the few things he did truly well, and he would be damned if he didn't flaunt it now.
She flicked her hair back, giggled, and took his hand. He gripped her hand in his - she was stronger than she looked, and he felt his blood pounding a bit harder - and led her out to where there was enough space to really move. She followed him easily, and it was so simple, letting the rhythm wash over him, bringing her closer to him, feeling her hot body against his.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She must have known enough English, because she answered, looking him straight in the eye: "Adora."
He smiled and squeezed her dark hand. "I'm Ray."
"Hello, Ray," she replied in her sweet accent, still smiling at him.
He closed his eyes and began to really move, finding the Salsa rhythm with his hips, and she moved easily with him. He could tell that she was surprised at how well he could do this, and he grinned down at her, saw her flush a little. It was hard to tell, what with it being night and her having dark skin, but her nose and cheeks got a little redder and he closed his eyes and inhaled. She smelled good, and felt good against him, her dress clinging to his bare arms. He got a little more adventurous, moving her further back, then bringing her around and pressing her close the next second. She giggled and went wherever he led her, and it was like the best aphrodisiac in the world. He could see himself, as if from a distance, leading her away, away to some awning where there were practically no people, and bringing her face close to his, kissing her, maybe leading her back to his room...
It'd be good, he thought, and she would go. He could tell from the way she pressed up against him a bit too closely, the way her hand squeezed his. She would go, and they'd have a good time. She really was very pretty, he decided.
Maybe if he had another beer. He opened his eyes and immediately saw Fraser. He was leaning against a wall, watching them. Ray couldn't quite make out his expression, he couldn't tell what Fraser was thinking, but he could see that his hands were kind of hanging useless at his sides, and he looked... he looked a bit lost.
Without thinking, Ray dropped Adora's hands and stepped away. He realized his mistake as soon as he'd done it, but there was not much to be done now. He looked down at the puzzled and almost hurt expression on her face and attempted a smile.
"I'm sorry. I think my friend there is getting kind of lonely. I need to, uh- entertain him."
She nodded a bit unsurely, and he took her hand in his and squeezed it. "We'll dance again, right?" He mimed "dancing" and "later" and that got him a giggle and a nod. Relieved, he dropped her hand and walked over to Fraser.
In focus now, Fraser looked puzzled. "Why did you stop, Ray? You two looked wonderful."
Ray shrugged and leaned against the wall next to Fraser. The stone had cooled slightly and he realized he was breathing a bit easier now. "I dunno. Just...needed a break."
"Well, you were doing very well," Fraser assured him. As if that had been the problem. "You never did tell me how you started to dance. Not every twelve year old boy out there wants to be a dancer."
Yeah, only the slightly queer ones, Ray supplied in his head. He sighed. "My mom. She really wanted me and Paulie to become dancers. Paulie hated it, but with me - I dunno. It kind of..." He shrugged. "It came natural. So I stuck with it. Met Stella. She danced, too, so..."
"Ah, yes." Fraser nodded as he looked down at his feet, and Ray didn't even want to start wondering what that had meant. Instead, he decided to change the topic. Well, sort of.
"You ever dance?"
Fraser's head snapped up and he barked a laugh. "Oh, goodness, no!"
"What do you mean? Why not?" Ray nudged him in the side.
"Well, I never - there was never an occasion, really. Apart from a few times when I was, ah, undercover and had to pose as somebody who was able to dance." Ray watched as Fraser flushed a bit. It was easier to see than Adora's. The blush spread further, all the way to his neck, under the white collar of his t-shirt. "I'm certain I could enjoy dancing, of course. But I'm afraid my repertoire is rather limited." His smile was almost sad, and Ray turned away. He drummed his fingers on his thigh, and wished he still had his beer.
"All right," he said, finally turning back to Fraser. "What's your, um, repor- reper- what can you dance?"
"Uh- I'm afraid my knowledge of modern dance ends somewhere in the vicinity of the 1960's," Fraser offered, almost in apology.
"All right. So, you're not very knowledgeable. Whatever. I can teach you. Wanna learn?"
Ray decided he was drunker than he thought. He hated teaching dance, and he certainly had never tried teaching a guy before. And, certainly, never a Mountie named Benton Fraser who he knew had two left feet, because the last time he saw Fraser `dance', it had been a pretty sad sight.
He wanted to take his words back, but Fraser suddenly smiled and Ray found himself nearly choking on the unsaid.
"Are you quite certain, Ray?"
Hell, no. Ray felt his palms breaking out in new sweat. "Absolutely. Come on, I'll show you. Piece of cake, Salsa."
To a dancer, sure, Salsa was pretty easy. A pretty basic set of steps, and then you could always get creative, as long as you knew which way to go and had a strong enough grip that you led well. With somebody who was dancing with a large block of wood, this was a bit more of a challenge. Fraser felt all frozen, like his parents had never taught him how to walk and he was just learning it all now. Ray wasn't even sure how to begin teaching him to move to a beat, much less with any grace or style.
And, really, when it came down to it, Ray wasn't even sure how to act. Here he was, just having offered his best friend a free Salsa lesson, and they were completely surrounded by people who probably weren't expecting two Yankee cops to start dirty dancing right there on the street - and with each other, no less.
Of course, this wouldn't end up being all that dirty. Things had usually deteriorated with Stella to an extent, but that had been expected, them being in love and all. Here was just...Ray didn't know what the hell it was, except that now he was gripping Fraser's hand and holding him, well, around the waist.
It was weird, really. Fraser was big - bigger than him, nearly taller. Stella had been smaller, fit better somehow. He had known what to do when she was in his arms. She was the curve over his hand, the sway against his hip. Fraser was suddenly all awkward angles and unsteady feet. Ray closed his eyes and tapped his foot to the rhythm of the song. It was a bit too fast for Salsa, still had the rhythm, but not quite the feel, and he wished it would end already, so they could dance to a new one.
When he opened his eyes, he could see Fraser was blushing worse than he had been earlier. Ray realized that the ball was totally in his court, and he gripped Fraser's hand harder, and shook their arms a bit to force him to loosen up.
"Okay," he began. "First rule is, arms need to stay pretty strong, so you don't get in each other's spaces too much." That was the classic way, of course. Better to stick with the classics. He watched as Fraser nodded and tensed up. "Don't tense up, just tense your arms. The rest of you's gotta stay loose, so you can follow. Getting me?"
"Yes, Ray. Quite." Fraser coughed and looked down for a moment, but Ray could see he was making an effort at loosening up. Bit by bit, his shoulders relaxed, his torso leaned back, and a little bit of that strange, relaxed Fraser began coming back. Ray wasn't sure how he felt about that, so he continued.
"All right. Good. Now, don't look down, but try to follow my movements, all right?"
Fraser began to object. "But how can I --"
"Just do it. Try, okay?" Ray looked at him. "Eye contact is the most important thing in Salsa. I lead, you follow. Got it?" He didn't look away as Fraser finally looked him in the eye and held his stare. Ray inhaled and gave his final bit of instruction. "Now, I'm going to start with my left foot forward. This means your right foot goes back."
Fraser nodded. Ray nodded back and, still looking him in the eye, stepped forward. Fraser did the same and they collided. Ray grunted. "Okay! All right. What did I just say?"
Fraser, looking chastened and more than a little embarrassed, answered honestly. "To move my right foot back."
"Right. Back. Not forward. Back." Ray decided then and there that he would teach Fraser to Salsa if it killed him. Nobody could be that incompetent at moving and survive. "You with me now?"
"I think so, yes," Fraser answered. A second later, having thought about it more, apparently, he added another "yes," just as the song changed. A guitar strummed the melody, and a slightly hoarse voice began to sing.
Ray put them back in position - a foot apart, arms tensed, his hand on the small of Fraser's back, Fraser's other hand holding onto his shoulder - and tried to feel the new rhythm. This was slower, better, easier for Fraser. He could feel this better. He nodded at Fraser and stepped forward again. This time, Fraser's right foot went back and they were in business.
"Remember," Ray said, "look me in the eye. That's all you gotta do. Look me in the eye and try to feel the rhythm. It's easy."
Fraser licked his lip. "I'm not sure --"
He cut him off. "Just try it, Frase." Fraser nodded. They didn't stop looking at each other as Fraser began getting some kind of hang of the dance. Ray could tell it was costing Fraser every ounce of will power not to look down at their feet, and every now and then, he would stumble and then right himself, but strangely, it was working. Fraser's feet did the opposite of Ray's, going in synch, moving awkwardly but not without promise. The music grew louder, their stance got stronger. They moved faster.
Ray's mind began to drift a bit, letting him get lost in the beat and the dance. He began to notice how heavy Fraser's hand felt on his sweaty shoulder. It would slip every once in a while, slide a bit, then come back to rest, tensed, ready to fall again. Ray could feel every move Fraser made, his hand on the small of Fraser's back, fingers following the muscles as they danced, and he felt his palm growing sweatier. He tensed his hand and the next thing he knew, he had Fraser in a hard grip, not letting him move away, only move forward and back, following his steps.
Ray wasn't following the first rule he had set for them. He couldn't look Fraser in the eye. All he could do was feel Fraser's back following the rhythm, his hot hand in Ray's, the pressure over his shoulder. He could see that Fraser's t-shirt was sticking to his skin, wet enough now that he could make out a vague shape of his nipples, dusky under the white. Ray closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He could smell beer and sweat and tortillas and Fraser, underneath it all.
He didn't notice how loose their arms had gotten until he felt Fraser's hip bump against his by accident, and immediately opened his eyes. He could barely recognize his own voice when he croaked a request at Fraser to tense up his arms. Fraser, still looking him in the eye, tensed minutely and there - they were a safe foot apart now, dancing like a teacher and a student should.
Ray looked somewhere in the vicinity of Fraser's ear from then on out. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see people watching them. It even seemed like the space around them was growing with each step they were taking, and fewer couples danced in and out of sight. Ray turned his head, and sure enough: people were laughing, smiling, egging them on, some even clapping.
Ray attempted a casual grin - no problem here, officer, just buddies doing their buddy thing, nothing to see! - and, breaking the second rule he had set for them, looked down at their dancing feet. It felt like they'd been doing this forever, and he couldn't tell if the song playing now was the same song they had begun with. With a jolt, he realized that Fraser was moving easily with him, almost no awkwardness left. Simple, fluid movement, following him instinctively, melting a bit around his grip.
Ray moved his head, caught Fraser's stare and bam, things sped up. The music got just a little bit faster, the air grew just a little bit hotter. Fraser was looking at him like that was all he had to do ever again in his life. And it was. Ray upped the ante, took it to the next level. Twisted his hips a little more, took slightly wider steps, and each time, each fucking time, Fraser followed. Wherever Ray led, he went with him, and then, when the music got just fast enough, Ray let go of Fraser's hand and pushed him a step back, widening the gap between them. Fraser went, and returned just as Ray's hand reached for his again. He did it again, and every time Fraser followed, and the crowd around them cheered. His face was burning, he could feel sweat prickling all over his scalp, on his forehead. The back of his neck was on fire.
Fraser didn't stop looking him in the eye, didn't stop moving. He didn't smile, didn't say a word. He looked like he was concentrating on the biggest test of his life, and Ray be damned, he was passing with flying colors. Who knew that someone who had moved like a wooden soldier just a few minutes ago had so much fucking grace in him, so much rhythm? But this was Fraser, and no matter how well Ray always thought he knew him, there was always a surprise around every corner.
Ray couldn't stop moving, his feet danced the beat set by the song, and he followed them. He led Fraser in ways that got more risqu with each second - not so classic anymore - and the distance between them grew smaller. For a brief second, he wondered what it would look like if he twirled Fraser - would it look weird? Would it distract them? Would Fraser get it? It was a tricky move, and they were still just two guys dancing. And then, a moment later, he didn't care. He let go of Fraser's waist, raised their arms and turned him in the right direction. It was a bit awkward with their heights and Fraser's bulk, but the rhythm only got disrupted a bit, and when Fraser finally turned back around, he had a grin on his face, and Ray laughed and brought his hand back to Fraser's back, gripping him tighter.
The crowd cheered on, and they danced on, danced until the songs changed, and Fraser closed his eyes, and Ray could hardly breathe. They danced until Ray's hip bumped against Fraser's again, danced until they couldn't look each other in the eye anymore.
When his leg got a cramp, and he had to stop or fall down, Ray made his feet still. Fraser stuttered to a halt in front of him. Holding each other by the hand, they began to make their way back to the wall. Ray felt random hands patting his back, heard their laughter - some mocking, some just happy, in that "we're drunk, anything goes" way - and blindly reached out for the wall so he could slump against it. He was amazed they'd even found the wall. The world was spinning; his feet buzzed. Next to him, Fraser dropped his head and propped his hands on his knees. He was panting.
They stood there, slumped against the dusty wall, not saying anything. Ray was afraid to turn and look Fraser in the eye now that they were stationary and the music was no longer an excuse. He stood with his eyes closed, letting his chest expand and take in as much air as his lungs could handle.
He only opened his eyes when the by now familiar pressure of Fraser's palm returned to his shoulder. The act of it still felt like a shock, and Ray jumped, steadied only by Fraser's hand. He was wired and he felt like he couldn't predict what his body would do next. He raised his eyes to Fraser's and immediately had to close them again. Fraser looked - determined. Determined and so much like Fraser, Ray didn't think he could fight it anymore. This thing, this thing that he'd been holding onto all these months, this thing was threatening to finally take over, right there, right at that moment, in front of fifty Mexicans all in different stages of drunkenness, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop it.
With some trepidation, he opened his eyes again.
"Dance with me, Ray," Fraser said. No: whispered. He whispered and Ray couldn't quite account for how his hand had found the small of Fraser's back again, how his other hand ended up gripping Fraser's like a lifeline. He was exhausted and wired at the same time. Fraser led, and Ray followed in reverse. His foot went forward, and Fraser's back, but it was Fraser who was leading him, Fraser who was holding him steady by the shoulder, Fraser who was looking him straight in the eye.
They ended up moving together through the doorway of their hotel, Ray only noticing when the darkness of the hallway enveloped them. Still dancing, the music drifting further and further back from them, they made it down the hall, to their door. Ray's arms were loose, the only tension remaining in the rest of his body, now almost flush with Fraser's. All he could do was follow when Fraser's hand slipped off his shoulder, down his back, and into Ray's pocket. Ray held his breath. After some fishing, Fraser held the keys in his hand, and a moment later, they were kicking the door open, no longer dancing.
As soon as the door was closed behind them, Ray was pinned to it, his back hitting the jamb painfully. He barely registered it, because Fraser had him by the shoulders, and then they were kissing. Hot, sweaty: Ray's head swam. His hands finally did what they had been itching to do all night, all this fucking time, and gripped Fraser's t-shirt, pressed into him. The room was stuffy, there was hardly any room to breathe, but suddenly, breathing was no longer on Ray's list of priorities.
He wound a hand in Fraser's hair, and held him there, not letting go. The kiss deepened, their tongues moving against each other, smooth, heavy. He felt Fraser all over, felt his sweat through the two layers of cloth separating them, felt his chest heaving with each labored breath. He couldn't remember a time when he wasn't sweating, when he wasn't pressed up against Fraser like this, their hips aligned and moving to the music now, again, always moving to the music. Fraser's grip on his shoulders loosened, his hands slipping towards Ray's neck, up into his hair, then sliding down his cheeks, to his chest. Fraser seemed to be everywhere at once, and Ray broke off the kiss, because he really had to breathe, and he was getting dizzy. As soon as his lips let go of Fraser's, Fraser's mouth was following the trajectory his hands had mapped earlier - Ray's cheeks, jaw, neck, biting and licking all the way down to the collar of his t-shirt, and he gasped up at the ceiling, still trying to catch his breath or any of the thoughts flying through his brain, trying to pinpoint the exact moment when things went from point A to the point of Fraser slamming him up against the wall, and then gave up.
Things seemed to speed up, or melt, or flow in ways he had never expected, because he watched as Fraser's tongue slid out, catching a drop of sweat from Ray's arm, and then Fraser's tongue was inside his mouth and he was tasting the bitter salt on his own tongue. He felt his t-shirt suffocating him, sticking to every inch of his skin, and the next moment he was sliding down the wall, his skin gliding against the paint, Fraser's hands around his hips, Fraser's naked back sweaty under his touch. Fraser pulled him down to the floor, covered his body with his, went with the rhythm, and Ray nearly lost his mind.
As the bass line pounded harder and the guitars strummed in rhythm, he thrust up against Fraser, once, twice, and then he was rolling Fraser over, right there on the floor, with the bed two feet away, but he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop, because Fraser was right there, was right there with him, under him, gasping, his eyes looking right into Ray's.
Ray's hips fit against Fraser's, and he rocked down, faster, and faster yet, and Fraser's fingers were leaving wet trails on his skin, hot imprints that never seemed to go away. It was like being enveloped in one single touch that moved in its own way, like the ocean, or a song he once heard - a woman's voice, that was all, but it was a single line in motion, up and down, and he got shivers every time he thought about it.
"Ray, God --" Fraser was gasping, and he didn't sound like himself anymore. His voice was deep and low and Ray shook and thrust harder against him. He slipped a hand in between them, took hold of Fraser's cock. His knees dug into the hard floor, and those two points of pressure were the only things grounding him to this room, because the rest of him was out to sea, out on the surf with Fraser.
He couldn't manage whole words, couldn't say what he wanted - to fuck Fraser through the floor, to suck him down his throat, to kiss him until their tongues couldn't move - or what his name even was, but he knew Fraser, and he knew that wherever he went with this, Fraser would go with him. On the heels of that thought, he thrust once more and the heat got to be unbearable, and he came, his voice cutting out mid-groan. His brain shorted out, he couldn't catch his breath, and his hand stilled on Fraser's cock. He only realized this when Fraser heaved under him, rolled him over, and covered Ray's mouth with his. Ray spread his legs, pulled Fraser closer, clutching at his smooth ass, strained to kiss him back. Fraser thrust against him harder, once, twice, and shuddered as he came.
He was heavy and too hot on top of Ray, but Ray didn't have the strength to push him off. He wiped his face with a clean hand. His eyes stung, his hair was plastered to his forehead. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this. He could still feel every shiver that had passed through Fraser on his own skin.
"Ray --" Fraser finally stopped being a dead weight and lifted himself up and off Ray, falling sideways next to him. He sighed. "Ray."
Ray waited, then turned his head. Fraser's face was hard to see in the shadow of the bed; he could only make out an eye and a smooth cheekbone. "Yeah?"
"You're- a wonderful teacher," Fraser concluded. Ray cracked a grin, his insides easing out. He couldn't stop looking at the place where Fraser's eye met his cheek. It was smooth and now wet. They probably couldn't find a dry spot on themselves if they tried.
"Thanks," he answered, and turned his body to face Fraser fully. "Maybe next time, I'll teach you the Meringue."
"Is it the kind of dance that requires us to be fully clothed?" Fraser asked, his voice just this side of innocent.
Ray knew him too well to fall for the act. He cleared his throat. "Depends on where you are. It does involve a lot of, uh, hip movement and, um...whatnot."
"Ah." Fraser rolled over onto his back, put an arm behind his head. Got comfortable, it seemed. "Then perhaps we better try it without the clothes. Just in case."
"Yeah, maybe." Ray grinned. "I have a few CDs back home. For, you know. Practice." He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his belly, feeling it rumble a bit. He never did have dinner.
"Practice," Fraser began, sounding completely out of it, "Makes perfect." Ray watched as Fraser's eyes closed and his face relaxed in the shadows. The ceiling fan whirred a bit as it moved above them, sluggish in the heat. Much use it was.
"Yeah," Ray agreed and allowed his own eyelids to shut for a moment. "Yeah, sometimes, it does."
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