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"One two three," muttered Fraser under his breath. "One two three, one two three, turn around, one two - why are we stopping?"
Ray spun over to the stereo, jabbed a finger at the 'pause' button. "Because you are just not getting it, Fraser."
"Am I not doing the moves correctly? I thought -"
"Oh, you're doing them correctly." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "You are doing them perfect, one-hundred-percent, a-okay Mountie correctly. But that ain't dancing."
"I beg your pardon." Fraser went to the couch and sat down, and Jesus, he even sat like a Mountie, all stiff and at-attention like he was still wearing the uniform instead of jeans and a regular shirt. Then he shifted just a little bit - not relaxing, exactly, but his shoulders weren't quite so square and his jaw wasn't quite so set - and whammo, the Mountie disappeared and it was just Fraser, looking sad. "I know, Ray. I appreciate your efforts. I just feel as though I ought to be able to dance for Frannie's wedding."
"You can do it, Fraser. You just gotta loosen up. Let the music flow through you. Let it speak to you." Ray took a swallow of his beer, then paused. "Hey, I got an idea. Stella, she's a great dancer, but she always used to have the same problem. Too stiff, always fighting the music instead of going with it." He sank onto the couch next to Fraser and held out his bottle. "But after she had a drink, she was smooth as could be."
Fraser eyed the bottle as though he thought it might bite him. "I hardly think I'd dance better if I were drunk."
"Not drunk. Just relaxed."
"I don't care for beer."
"Okay," said Ray, getting up and doing a two-step toward the kitchen. "I can work with that. Let me see what…you like milk, right?"
"Ray -"
"Quiet, Fraser, I'm making you a drink, here." He checked the cabinet under the sink; yeah, still half a bottle of Kahlua left. He didn't drink it much except sometimes in coffee. And there was vodka, and ice. Perfect.
He came out of the kitchen and presented it to Fraser with a flourish. "Ta-da!"
Fraser sniffed at the glass suspiciously before taking a cautious sip. "Hmm. Tastes a bit like chocolate milk."
"Chocolate milk with a kick," said Ray, grinning. Stella had always loved White Russians. Kind of a girly drink, but hey, whatever it took.
"Yes, I can taste the kick." Still, he took another sip, and then a swallow, and then, Ray noted with amusement, an honest-to-God gulp. "This is actually quite good."
"Now I know what to order you when we go out drinking," said Ray.
"But we don't go -"
"Yeah, yeah, just a joke. You ready to try again?"
Fraser tipped back the glass and drained it, setting it on the coffee table, then got to his feet in a much more fluid motion than anything else he'd managed this evening. "Ready."
Ray started the music again and moved into position, setting Fraser's right hand on his waist and taking his left in his own right hand. "Okay. Pretend I'm Frannie. Let's go."
One two three, one two three. It was a little weird to be dancing the girl's part, but Fraser had to learn to lead somehow. And the drink seemed to have helped; he was still counting the beat under his breath, but now he was gliding rather than lurching. Ray pulled him a little closer, let himself melt against Fraser's broad chest, into the circle of his arms. "Much better," he murmured, and apparently that was a mistake, because Fraser came to an abrupt stop.
"What's wrong?" asked Ray, without moving away. Felt too good to move away: Fraser's arms around him, Fraser's heat against his chest, Fraser's breath gusting past his face, smelling like milk and alcohol.
"I, er. Your voice distracted me and I lost count."
"Frannie's probably going to be talking nonstop. Better get used to it."
Fraser laughed, a low, deep sound that rippled through his body, made it vibrate against Ray's. "You're not a very convincing Frannie." The hand on Ray's waist started to move in almost imperceptible circles.
"You knocking my acting skills?"
"Never. You're a man of many talents." The circles became larger, dipping down toward Ray's ass, and Fraser moved his head forward a fraction, brushed his lips against Ray's cheek. "For example, I truly enjoy dancing with you."
On a hunch Ray pulled Fraser just that much closer, sliding forward, pushing his hips against Fraser's. Might be something interesting in those jeans….oh, yeah. Somebody was interested. "Seems to me what you want to do is the horizontal mambo."
"I thought you were teaching me the waltz," said Fraser, but Ray could feel his mouth shaping a smile against his cheek, and when he turned his head, Fraser's eyes were sparkling.
"Horizontal waltz, then." He leaned over to press their mouths together. The hand on his ass stilled; it was as if Fraser could only concentrate on one thing at a time, and what he wanted to concentrate on now was Ray's mouth. His tongue swiped in, bringing the sweet milky taste of the drink with it, and his lips slid softly around the edges of Ray's lips, exploring. Gently Ray loosed his fingers from Fraser's other hand and slid it to his shoulder, caressing his neck, twining into his hair.
When Fraser drew back slightly, Ray advanced, tracing a path from Fraser's mouth to his jawbone with his lips, soft kisses on stubbled skin; Fraser arched his neck and Ray dove in, tonguing at the sweet spot under his ear until Fraser moaned and twisted in his arms. "You said horizontal," said Fraser, his voice breathless, and Ray laughed, pulling him down to the couch.
"I can do horizontal," said Ray. "Can you do naked?"
"I can do naked," said Fraser, with a smoldering look at Ray that ought to have been illegal and probably was. Went straight to his dick, anyway, which had been starting to perk up ever since Fraser had squeezed his ass; the expression in Fraser's eyes just finished the job, which made Ray even more anxious to get out of his jeans. Shoes off, pants and underwear off, shirt off, and he turned back to…
"Holy fuck," said Ray, staring at Fraser, who was sprawled across the couch in the most un-Mountie-like pose Ray had ever seen.
"I can do naked," said Fraser smugly.
"I can see that!" Jesus. Kiss-reddened lips, mussed hair, arms and legs languidly draped as though all of his bones had evaporated. He looked like a fucking harem girl. Harem boy. Whatever. Which made Ray feel vaguely guilty, because it was his fault, sort of. "Look, Frase, I didn't mean to get you drunk and take advantage of you."
"I'm not drunk. Just tipsy."
"Still …"
Fraser reached up to take Ray's hand. "It's not taking advantage if I want it, too," he said, pulling Ray down on top of him. Skin against skin, warm and alive, and Ray gasped.
"Fraser …"
"Considering we've been sleeping together for some time now, I hardly think you can blame the alcohol," said Fraser as he nuzzled against Ray's neck. His hands skimmed down Ray's sides, light, butterfly touches that made Ray squirm and wriggle, trying to bring more of his skin in contact with Fraser's, rubbing his cock into Fraser's soft, warm belly, feeling Fraser's cock pushing wetly between his thighs.
"Not the alcohol. O-kay," said Ray, moving in for another hot kiss. Under him Fraser shifted, then brought a hand up to their faces, turning his mouth away from Ray's to lick his own palm, slowly and deliberately. Another slow stripe up his palm, his eyes never leaving Ray's; then he reached down and snaked his hand between them, enveloping Ray's cock in that warm, wet hand.
"It was your dancing," whispered Fraser, low and husky, and at that moment Ray didn't care if it was the dancing or the vodka or aliens beaming sex rays at them from outer space, as long as Fraser kept stroking, kept squeezing, kept sliding against him. As long as he kept rolling his hips, thrusting into the space between Ray's legs.
On the stereo, the waltz ended and a Lindy began to play. The world contracted to just Ray's apartment - just his couch - just his dick, trapped between Fraser's sure hand and the slow staccato thrusts of Fraser's dick, slippery with pre-come, pressing behind Ray's balls, urging him on.
Fraser looked up at him from under half-lidded eyes. His hair had fallen across his forehead, making him look unbearably young and sweet. "The way you dance," he said, punctuating his words with a twist of his hand that wrenched a groan from Ray's throat. "It makes me want to fuck you."
"Jesus!" It was like an electric shock, hearing the coarse words in Fraser's voice, and his hips jerked helplessly, pushing into Fraser's tightening grip as he came. His arms gave out, and he collapsed against Fraser's chest. "Jesus," he muttered again. "Give a guy some warning."
"Mmm," said Fraser, slipping his come-covered hand lower, spreading the wetness between Ray's legs, and it was probably going to make a mess on the couch but Ray didn't care because Fraser was moving again, his cock sliding in the slick space he'd created. Ray squeezed his legs together and Fraser gasped, throwing back his head, murmuring things Ray mostly couldn't make out. He bent down to mouth at Fraser's exposed neck, feeling the syllables vibrate against his lips, yes and God and oh, Ray, Ray, Ray, shuddering into his arms, coming between his thighs.
For a few minutes they lay tangled together, the only sounds their breathing and the cheerful Lindy music. Then Ray rolled away and sopped up the worst of the mess with tissues, stepping into the kitchen for a wet dishtowel to take care of the rest. When he came back he had to stop and stare at Fraser for a moment: Jesus, what a wet dream he was, breathing hard and covered with come. "Here," he said, pushing the towel at Fraser, who carefully cleaned himself up.
"How did I do?" said Fraser as he dabbed at the few spots that had made it down to the cushions.
"You gotta ask?" Grinning, Ray slid in next to him on the couch and pressed his lips to Fraser's neck.
"The dancing, I mean. That was an excellent suggestion about the alcohol. I think it helped quite a bit."
"Fraser, my friend," said Ray, shaking his head, "if this is what happens when you dance with a little buzz on, I don't think I want you dancing with Frannie."
Fraser blushed. "I wouldn't - that is - her dancing wouldn't have the same effect on me."
"It better not. I don't mind if you and Frannie want to do a waltz or two, okay." Fraser nodded, smiling, and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him against his chest; the Lindy came to an end and a slow foxtrot began to play. "But you don't do the horizontal mambo with anybody but me."