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When Fraser opens up the crate and a whole freaking waterfall of rubber duckies falls on both of them, Ray kind of yelps and jumps backward. "Jesus, what the hell is with you and the ducks--"
Fraser, who'd been bending down to stem the tide of yellow squeaking rubber, pauses mid-squat, slowly lowers himself the rest of the way down, and goes very, very still. He rests his elbows on his knees for a second, then straightens his back--legs still spread out, still in a full squat--and turns halfway around to look at Ray.
Ray's eyes go very, very wide, because he's seen that look on Fraser's face before. It's a hungry, almost feral look, and as Ray watches, Fraser licks his lips and looks Ray slowly up and down, head to foot and back again.
"Fraser..."
"Yes, Ray." Fraser comes to his feet, slow and graceful and fluid, and he glances down at the mess of ducks on the ground. "But now really isn't the time."
"No, I mean--"
Fraser reaches out, and Ray can't back away--for one thing, he might trip on all the ducks, and for another, even if Fraser's not in his right mind, even if this isn't real, he's not going to back away from Fraser when he's got that look on his face. Fraser wraps his hand around Ray's forearm, slow, deliberate--when he's like this he is never, ever quick, no sudden moves--and he takes a step forward (squeak, goes the ducky), and his other hand comes out and, oh God... Fraser starts by rubbing his fingertips over Ray's lips, then draws his fingers down over Ray's chin, down his throat, over his chest, down his stomach, over his--Ray's breathing hard now--belt buckle, goddamnit, his fly, his... he... Fraser cups his hand around Ray's cock and balls, and Ray's getting harder by the second here, Ray's going to bust right through his jeans so he can get that skin-on-skin contact his dick is craving.
"It really isn't the time," Fraser murmurs, caressing Ray's cock and balls, groping him with intent, there. "But later--"
"Fraser, you can't," Ray says, but wow, that is the least convincing he's ever been, especially the way he's pushing his hips forward and shoving his cock into Fraser's hand, again and again, in rhythm with Fraser's rough squeezes. "You don't wanna, you're not--it's just a post-traumatic suggestion--"
"I assure you, there's nothing the least bit traumatic about this," Fraser murmurs. "And when we're done here, I'm going to take you to your apartment, and I'm going to--"
"--oh God please," Ray whispers, reaching out for Fraser, gripping Fraser's uniform in both hands. "Please, don't tell me--"
"--I'm going to lay you out on your bed and pin you down so you can't move, and I'm going to manually stimulate you until you climax--"
"--I'm gonna do that now if you keep talking--"
"--and when you've done it, I'm going to perform anilingus on you until you're relaxed enough for me to--"
Thank God, thank God, footsteps--Fraser takes his hand off Ray and steps back, and Ray immediately drops to the ground and starts gathering up rubber ducks. Huey comes around the corner, and he takes one look at the ducks and shakes his head. "We got them," Huey says. "You guys done here, or is there some vital clue in with the rubber duckies?"
"We're done, we're done, just give us a minute," Ray says, grabbing his armload of ducks and standing up. "Gotta get these cleaned up."
Huey nods and disappears, and Fraser tips the crate onto its back so Ray can put away his load of ducks. Fraser picks up a few ducks, too, but he's really doing it so he can come up behind Ray and pin Ray between himself and the crate. He bites down on Ray's shoulder, just past Ray's holster.
"I want to be inside you," Fraser growls, and Ray's pretty sure his eyes are going to roll back in his head, that his knees would've given out if Fraser hadn't pinned him first. "When we're done with work for the day, I'm going to do so many things to you--"
"Fraser, please, please--just stop," Ray moans. "Just quit it, I'm begging you--"
"You don't want me to stop," Fraser murmurs. He kisses the side of Ray's neck; Ray shivers and pushes back against him, he can't help himself. "You want me to wreck you. It's what you said the last time--"
"--Jesus fuck, Fraser--"
"--'break me, wreck me, make me come', remember, Ray?"
Ray swallows hard. "Fraser--you gotta believe me, man, I did not mean to do this to you--"
And it's the truth. When Fraser offered to let Ray try out hypnotism on him--fair was fair, after the "cauliflower" thing--Ray didn't mean to ask Fraser questions Fraser had never intended to answer, didn't mean to make Fraser act on the impulses Fraser had never intended to put into motion. He doesn't even know how he did it; he doesn't know what word or phrase or motion sets Fraser off. If he did, maybe he could avoid using it--or maybe he'd be able to figure out the failsafe, how to pull Fraser out of these fugue states.
When Fraser bites down hard on the back of Ray's neck, though, Ray shivers and closes his eyes and says a silent, shamed prayer of thanks that he doesn't know the failsafe, that he can't stop Fraser when Fraser gets like this.
"Come on, Ray," Fraser whispers. "I can survive the next few hours if you can."
Ray nods, and the two of them finish putting away the ducks and head back to the rest of the force, to Ray's car, to the 27th. Maybe this'll fade away there and maybe it won't. Looking over at Fraser, Ray doesn't know if he wants it to--or if he wants Fraser to take him home and break him, wreck him, make him come.
-end-