Work Text:
Fandom: Due South
Pairing, etc: Fraser/Kowalski
Prompt: 006. Hours
Word Count: 999
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Post CotW
While he is still at the 2-7, Ray realizes he is counting.
When he’s at lunch, Fraser has been gone four hours. When Ray’s booking a perp on a first-degree assault rap, Fraser has been gone for eight hours and fifteen minutes. As Ray is putting together hot dogs and chips for dinner that night, Fraser has been gone for 13 hours.
Ray goes to bed early that first night, because what the hell else did he have to do? He should have planned this better because its not like he doesn’t know this is coming. Ray is surprised at how fucking empty his bed feels. Over the last year, Ray’s gotten used to having a warm body next to him at night. Fraser’s body. Fraser’s warm, smooth skin, rubbing up against him whenever either of them moved. More than once, that middle of the night moving and rubbing turned into licking and fucking and Kowalski, you’re really not helping yourself here.
When Fraser is gone for twenty-one hours, Ray is still awake, lying with his face in Fraser’s pillow, thinking about jerking off. He wonders where Fraser is at that moment. Has he made it safely? Was he thinking about Ray at all?
The next day at work, no one asks him about Fraser. At first, Ray is a little pissed off about it, but the more he thinks about it, the more Ray knows it is for the best. Ray doesn’t really want to discuss Fraser with anyone. From the beginning, he and Fraser didn’t hide their relationship but they didn’t advertise it, either. Welsh was cool with it, but he asked for discretion and Ray could definitely do discreet. Except for that one time when that dickhead in robbery had said something to Fraser and Ray had shoved him against the wall before Fraser pulled him off.
Funny. Ray hadn’t seen that guy around since.
The 48-hour mark comes and goes with Ray still feeling out of step. The weird feeling in his chest isn’t easing up. It feels a little like somebody's died. Or that nuclear attack is imminent. He hasn’t felt like this in years, not since Stella and Ray starts to get a little pissed.
What, he wonders as he catches himself moping around his apartment, is he having a second adolescence this late in life? Should he make a run to the store and pick up a gallon of chocolate chip ice cream? Put on a Hank Williams album (probably not the worst idea, regardless). It did occur to him that with this extra time on his hands, he could bleach his hair but Ray firmly suppressed that idea and watched Monday Night Football instead. That night, he lies back on Fraser’s pillow and treats himself to a long, satisfying jerk-off session. It improves his mood. At least, for a while.
The next day, with Fraser gone for 72 hours, Ray more or less sleepwalks through his duties. He keeps looking at the clock. Why is it moving so slowly? Has the fucker stopped? More than once during the day, Welsh walks past, shooting Ray a frown and Ray shuffles some paper around, trying to look busy.
He’s not going to make it another day. Everybody’s watching him, laughing at him because he’s clearly losing it. He’s restless and jumpy. He can’t concentrate. He chews on a toothpick until it comes apart and he has to spit out splinters. He fakes his way through some paperwork and at the stroke of five, Ray’s out of there.
He catches every red light between the 2-7 and his apartment and by the time he finally pulls into his parking space, Ray’s ready to take something, or somebody, apart. This is stupid, he tells himself, his heart pounding from more than sprinting up the stairs. You’re not a kid. You can’t do shit like this anymore.
But as Ray opens the door, he forgets it all, forgets everything. Because Dief comes bounding up to him and Fraser comes walking out of the bedroom, his beautiful face wearing a big, goofy smile.
“Ray,” Fraser says, his deep voice welcoming and seducing at once, his eyes full of that tender stuff that they don’t talk about.
Ray walks over to him (Christ, he hopes he's walking, because running would not be cool) and pulls Fraser roughly into his arms. They hold onto each other, grabbing handfuls of each other’s shirts, squeezing each other as if they have been apart for months, instead of days. Ray presses his face into Fraser’s neck and Fraser smells like the North – clean and cedar-y – and all that’s been off with Ray over the past three days, slots back into place. He can feel Fraser’s heartbeat against his own and he’s here again and Ray doesn’t want to let him go.
“I missed you, Ray,” Fraser says against his ear and Ray shudders with need. Suddenly, they are kissing, hard and hungry, one of Fraser’s big hands sliding around to Ray’s ass and pulling him in tighter. Ray pulls Fraser’s flannel shirt out of the back of his jeans and slides one hand underneath, needing to touch skin. Ray’s dick is throbbing, straining against his zipper. God, he can’t get close enough.
“Next time you visit Maggie, Fraser,” Ray says, giving Fraser’s chin a wet, noisy kiss, “I’m going with you, you got it?” Fraser grabs Ray’s face with both hands and kisses him again. And again. Ray starts working on the buttons of Fraser’s shirt and Fraser manages to shove his hand down the front of Ray’s baggy jeans. Ray grunts happily as Fraser’s fingers curl around his dick.
“And if I can’t go,” Ray gasps, pushing Fraser’s shirt off his shoulders, “you’ll have to wait till I can, you got me?”
“Oh, yes, Ray,” Fraser said roughly, licking the corner of Ray’s mouth, “ I’ve got you.”