Polished
Written for Stop Drop Porn, for Pearl_O's prompt of "boots". With more huge thanks to Brooklinegirl for what is possibly the funniest beta in the history of betas.
When Fraser walked into the living room, he stopped short of his intended target. Ray was sitting bent over on the couch, polishing Fraser’s boots. In fact, not only was he well and truly polishing them, using all the implements that Fraser himself had used time and time again for that very purpose, but he was wearing them while doing so.
The first thought to distinguish itself from the maelstrom was a passing question of how Ray had managed to lace them up as tightly as he had. The second was, why? The third was primarily a command that forced his legs to move and within seconds, he was standing over Ray, watching him work and waiting for him to notice his presence.
It took a little while. Ray’s deft hands worked the brush quickly and efficiently over the brown leather. Fraser had left his boots ready to be polished – indeed, he had intended to do just that upon his return from the Laundromat – and could therefore tell how much work Ray had done. It wasn’t until his workman’s boots filled Ray’s line of vision that Ray even noticed Fraser was there. Perhaps it was a good thing, Fraser thought. His throat had gone dry.
“You’re back,” Ray noted without looking up or stopping.
“Yes,” Fraser answered. “I am. And you are --?”
“Polishing your boots?” Ray’s tone suggested that Fraser had once again asked a “d-u-m, dumb” question. He supposed Ray had a point. After all, only a blind man with severe hearing problems would not be able to tell what Ray was up to. However, that hadn’t been his precise question.
“I can see that, Ray. I was merely wondering why you were polishing my boots.” He stepped a little ways away, his gaze still glued to Ray’s hands, working the leather to an incomparable shine.
“For fun,” Ray answered, and finally stopped long enough to look up at Fraser and give him a quick smile. “Got bored, and there was nothing on the tube. Saw these, decided to help out.”
“Ah. I see.” Fraser sank down on the armchair situated next to the couch. “And, um, is there a particular reason you’re wearing them while you do so?” He tried his absolute best not to stare, but it was proving to be nearly impossible. Framed by the thin, crisp leather, Ray’s legs looked leaner than usual, even stronger. The shape of his calves was accentuated by the regulation cut of the boots. And even though on anybody else, the combination of jeans and brown leather boots would have looked rather ridiculous, somehow, Ray was able to wear them…well. Too well. Fraser swallowed and looked up at Ray’s face, trying to hide his unexpected reaction to the tableau in front of him.
Ray shrugged in answer, and finally straightened up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Guess I just wanted to find out what they felt like.” Fraser watched as Ray leaned back against the couch, spread his arms out around the back, and settled in. “Why? You mad?”
It was practically an invitation.
Fraser didn’t remember moving, but he found himself face to chest with Ray. His knees dug into the floor as he reached forward and grasped Ray’s arms.
“No. Not mad.”
Ray watched him carefully as Fraser tugged his arms away from the back of the couch, then down and finally behind Ray’s back. It was an awkward position, to be sure, but Ray didn’t look like he minded it much. Leaning up brought them face to face. He held Ray’s gaze for a moment, waiting for Ray to lean closer and kiss him. He didn’t have to wait long, and when Ray’s lips were nearly touching his, Fraser withdrew. Ray’s eyebrows drew together, and Fraser had to suppress the urge to lick right there, in the space where Ray’s confusion showed clearest. Instead, he watched as Ray’s lips reached for his mouth once more, turned his head away, and touched his cheek to Ray’s. Ray’s frustrated breath gusted in his ear.
“Ben, what --”
“Shhh,” Fraser whispered and licked the soft skin of Ray’s neck. Ray’s quick inhalation sent a slight shiver all along Fraser’s skin. He didn’t say anything more, and Ray didn’t ask as Fraser leaned back, still holding onto Ray’s arms, and settled himself between Ray’s open knees, nudging them apart further to let himself in.
He took a deep breath and looked his fill. Ray had worn his tighter jeans today. He had claimed that it was due to it being “laundry day,” however Fraser knew that Ray has always been aware of the effect those jeans had on him. Fraser licked his lips.
Letting go of Ray’s arms, confident that they would stay behind Ray’s back where he had placed them, he settled his hands on Ray’s thighs. The hard muscle underneath his fingers gave way slightly as he began to massage it, up and down, all over the vast expanse of it. His thumbs barely brushed the insides of Ray’s legs, which Fraser knew to be particularly sensitive to touch, and he could feel Ray struggling for control. He did not really want to let him gain it.
His touch got firmer as he slid his hands down and cupped Ray’s knees, deliberately circling his thumbs on the insides, pressing down, feeling every bone that shaped them. He could feel the minute shaking beneath his touch and forced himself not to look away from his hands on Ray’s legs, nor get carried away listening to Ray’s ragged breathing.
Then, he lowered his hands further until his fingers touched leather. Compared with the feel of Ray, it felt dull and extraordinarily -- inanimate. He tucked his fingers into the smooth edges of the boots, explored Ray’s legs in the space he had created. Darker, damper now – the leather wasn’t letting in much air. Looking up, he saw that Ray had grown hard in his jeans. His erection was straining against the denim, filling out the bulge that the well-worn fabric had memorized through the years. Fraser was confident he knew the shape of Ray even better than the fabric.
He had meant to unlace the boots, one stroke at a time, but he found himself distracted. He hardly even noticed when Ray untucked his arms from behind his back and reached for Fraser. And then Fraser found himself leaning up, straining to kiss Ray and catch Ray’s breath and taste and –
He couldn’t help keeping one hand on the edge of the boot, holding onto it as he held Ray’s head still for kisses with the other. Ray was mumbling into this mouth, murmuring things Fraser couldn’t possibly understand, because all he could think about was Ray’s warm mouth on his – their lips moving against each other, firm, soft, slick, hot – and the leather underneath his hand, hard, smooth, cool.
He heard himself make a desperate-sounding noise when Ray’s knees clasped his hips, trapping him now, not letting him escape. He broke off the kiss and attempted to push Ray back into the couch so he could get to his goal unhindered, but Ray didn’t seem to want to let him. Fraser caught a lopsided grin in his line of vision before that grin melded with his mouth and Ray’s hands tugged at his hair and kept him in one place.
He stayed in that place, kissing Ray, because he would be a fool not to, but his hands wandered until they found the button on Ray’s jeans and thumbed it open. The button was unfastened, but the zipper still had to come down, and he couldn’t – couldn’t concentrate long enough to ease it down without hurting Ray.
“Ray- please --” He nearly growled with impatience as Ray, not hearing him, chased his mouth, and caught it, and didn’t let him go for another minute, nearly driving Fraser out of his mind. He was delirious with the taste of Ray’s lips and the feel of his tongue. But he wanted more, he wanted Ray’s cock, wanted it out and showing against the rough denim and the brown leather boots. Wanted it in his hand, in his mouth.
“Ray, let me --”
“Oh, Christ, Ben, hang- hang on --” Ray finally let go of Fraser’s head and dove to drag his own zipper down. Fraser barely waited for it to be undone the entire way before he reached out and wrapped his hand around Ray’s erection, dark and slick and hot. “Fuck --” It came out breathless, an exhalation – Fraser’s favorite way of hearing the expletive. Ray’s voice strained, high-pitched, directed at Fraser’s actions.
Fuck, yes, he wanted to fuck Ray, wanted Ray to fuck him – wanted to do all the things that expletives suggested as negatives, turn them positive. Suck his cock, fuck him in the ass – all of it, all of it now and hard and fast and, most of all, to Ray, to his cock and his ass, his entire body, he wanted all of him.
This time, he couldn’t help the sound that escaped his throat and he shut himself up by wrapping his lips around the head of Ray’s erection. He squeezed his eyes shut and let go of everything that wasn’t the taste of Ray’s cock in his mouth or the feel of leather clutched in his fingers. He could hear Ray gasping above him, swearing, nearly sobbing as Fraser sucked him exactly as Ray liked to be sucked. A bit slow, wet, with a lick to the head on each upstroke.
His lips strained against Ray’s erection, his head finding the right rhythm. Ray tasted salty and musky and with his eyes closed, Fraser pictured brown leather, gleaming with polish, the strict cut and the smooth feel of it. He moved faster now, letting his tongue roam over the length, loving the feel of veins and velvety skin and Ray. His hips, moving to the rhythm his mouth had set, pressed up against something hard – the boot – and he moaned and thrust against it, again and again. Its rigid surface provided the pressure he needed, made his head spin.
“Ben, Jesus – gonna – God – fuck! --”
Ray’s hands clutched at Fraser’s head and he moaned as they tugged, clasped his hair. Ray had a hard grip, and Fraser loved that connection – himself and Ray’s desperation, Ray’s need. As his tongue swirled against the sensitive head of Ray’s cock, he felt Ray shifting, and then his legs tensed around Fraser’s torso. A second later, Ray let out a single cry and filled his mouth. Fraser swallowed, still sucking, wanting all of this, too. Only then did he realize that he had been squeezing Ray’s leg the entire time and attempted to unclench his grip.
When Ray was done, Fraser slowly let his mouth slip off and away, and rested his head on Ray’s hip. He licked his lips for any remains, and smiled as Ray’s fingers massaged his scalp lightly, as if in apology. He wouldn’t have cared if Ray even left him with bald patches, but he always loved the moment when Ray came back to himself and soothed him.
“Jesus, Ben,” Ray exhaled, and Fraser thrummed at the sound of it. “C’mere-- come up here,” Ray murmured and tugged at Fraser’s head. Fraser rose on his knees and once they were face to face, Ray kissed him – hard, desperate, holding Fraser’s face like he never wanted to let go. Fraser kissed him back, tasted him, and realized he was going to come right there in his pants, his knees digging holes into the carpet. Undoing his own buttons with one shaking hand was difficult, but he wouldn’t let go of the hard leather, so he tore at his button when Ray’s fingers swatted his away and replaced them on his fly. “I got you, here --”
Fraser gasped as Ray’s warm fingers found his erection and gripped it hard, with confidence to spare. He tried to breathe. He couldn’t help moving his hips now, not at all, he had to move them, and Ray quickened the pace, pumped him root to tip, flicked his thumb over the head and spread the wetness, made it better.
Fraser clutched Ray’s thighs and couldn’t make himself look away from the boots. They shifted as Ray moved, Ray’s bony knees straining the denim. The air around them seemed to condense with the scent of leather and polish and sweat. Fraser tried staving off his orgasm one moment at a time, tried to make himself last, wanted to keep Ray where he was, tried not to crash. Then his hands found purchase on Ray’s hips, and the feel of the skin under the t-shirt – warm, mobile, alive – finally sent him over the edge. He moaned as it hit him and Ray’s hand in his hair tightened and his voice murmured encouragement.
“Yeah, yeah -- come on, give it, want it -- God, you’re so damn hot --” Ray’s litany wove itself into Fraser’s mind and made him shake harder, coming all over Ray’s hand and knees and – God! – those damn boots, still shining where they hadn’t been sullied.
Fraser slumped down and attempted to get his breath back. With his face resting against Ray’s hip, he could still smell the tangy polish and musky leather, now overlaid with his own scent. He breathed it all in.
“Didn’t think you had a leather kink, that’s for sure.” Ray’s voice cut into his reverie as if it belonged there. “Or is it just me?”
Fraser considered the question. “I believe it may just be you, Ray.”
“Good. I am a-okay with that.” His voice was much quieter now, rumbling so close to Fraser’s body.
“Mmm…”
“So, if I were to, say, wear that leather strappy thing you got going – would that do anything?”
Fraser could hear the teasing in Ray’s voice and smiled. “That depends, I suppose.” He hands settled more comfortably around Ray’s torso and tightened.
“On what?”
“On where you were planning on hanging the leather strappy thing I got going.”
“What-- oh. Freak.” Ray slapped Fraser’s shoulder without much force.
“Understood.”