Current location:	the sistergirl's dining room
Current mood:	porntastic, yo
Current music:	the sweet sound of expired college football games. go, ESPN.

Turn and Turn About, by qe2
Title: Turn and Turn About
Author: qe2
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski with, as our mad cool mod describes it, a side of Vecchio.
Rating: NC-17.
Warning: Threesome, more or less. (More less than more, but still.) Also, justbreathe80's prompt was bondage, and so there is bondage, because I am an obliging and selfless girl, I am. And there are also sextoys, because I wanted them in there. (Er. Yes. Like that.)
Betaed by brooklinegirl, even though she is in agony due to being a moving goddess and has been curled up on her new flowery couch with her bruises and her laptop for most of the day, because she is so incredibly spiffy like that. Also gracefully once-overed by dsudis and strangecobwebs, who were deep in the midst of ReGenesis fever but came up for air as a special favor.
Summary: Vecchio . . . Vecchio is watching.


Turn and Turn About
For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, Fraser, Ray, and Vecchio are having sex.

Well. Strictly speaking - and Ray is nothing if not a stickler for strictness, especially since him and Fraser started up with each other - Fraser and Ray are the ones having the sex.

Vecchio . . . Vecchio is watching.

In fact, Vecchio sort of has to watch. Being as how, a few minutes ago - could be two, could be twenty, Ray's kind of lost count at this point, for what he thinks are pretty understandable reasons having to do with Fraser's mouth and hands and teeth and those cuffs they bought on 16th last year, oh, Christ - Fraser sat Vecchio's Armani-assed self down in one of their kitchen chairs, which Fraser had moved into the bedroom just for this occasion, and tied Vecchio's hands and arms and ankles and knees to that very same chair.

Politely, of course. And with nice comfy rope.

Fraser only likes people to be uncomfortable when it's their turn.

And right now it's Ray's turn. Except for where Ray would not call this uncomfortable, really.

Nope, not so much. If Ray could actually form words - which got tough around the time Fraser tied the scarf around Ray's mouth and got more difficult once Fraser got going after that - Ray would probably describe this whole thing as hot and sweaty and fucked-up in just the right ways. Also as turning him on so hard he might pull something here in a minute if Fraser doesn't let him fucking come some time soon.

Which Fraser, damn it, shows no sign of doing.

Yet.

Ray, though - Ray is the hopeful type, along with being the tied-up type and the rock-fucking-hard type and the bitten-all-over-the-place type and the wet-everywhere-Fraser's-tongue-has-been-and-some-places-it-hasn't type.

And Ray thinks that maybe, eventually, when it suits him, Fraser might just let it happen. Fraser might just let Ray go, let Ray loose, let Ray lose it in Fraser's mouth or Fraser's ass or Fraser's hand or, hell, all over Ray's own chest and belly and the sheets Ray's twisting all over, as much as he can with the cuffs on his wrists and ankles and the biggest plug they own up his ass.

Or – hey! – all of the above.

Right now, though, Fraser's having too much fun.

And so is Ray.

And so - if that look in his eyes, above the gag Fraser courteously made from the tie Vecchio was wearing when he walked in tonight ("Waste not, want not, Ray"), and the way his smooth dark skin's gone all white over his knuckles where he's balled up those long hands, and the dark wet spot spreading bigger and bigger all the way through those pricey pants - if all that's any proof, which Ray bets it is -

then Vecchio is also having all kinds of fun.

And if he's not yet?

He will be soon.

Oh, yeah. Ray's got plans for Vecchio. Plans Fraser is all over. Plans Vecchio may never recover from, if Ray's lucky, if Ray and Fraser and Vecchio get lucky, which they will. Oh yeah they will.

Right now, though, Ray's got a – what's the word? – an agenda, yeah, that's it. Ray's got himself some priorities, thank you kindly, and the big one – oh, ohhh, God, please, the big one is to fucking come already, some time this century, please, Fraser, please?

But Fraser backs off, just stands at the foot of their bed and looks at Ray, stretched out and marked up and not silent at all despite the soft black cloth Fraser tied over his mouth God knows how many minutes ago and the way his words have deserted him. Ray can see Fraser looking at him, can see how much Fraser loves the way he looks, bitten and licked and pushed to his limits, spread wide out across the sheets, dark sweaty leather against his wrists and his cock dripping pre-come every time Fraser touches him anywhere. He needs it, please, he needs it, now, now, but he can see the way Fraser looks at him, the way Vecchio looks at him, and for them he keeps moving and tries not to come, not yet, not quite yet.

Fraser moves then, reaching between Ray's sprawled legs, and pushes hard on the base of the plug where it's snugged up tight against the skin around Ray's asshole, stripping Ray's cock from root to tip with the other hand as he does so. Ray twists his hips hard against the overload and cries out behind the gag – how can anything be this fucking good, this fucking strong? – and Fraser still hasn't let him come, and he wants to, more than anything, but not yet, not yet . . . Fraser shoves the plug in again and it's all Ray can do to hang on, hands gripping the chains above the cuffs, toes curling helplessly.

Vecchio makes a sound through the gag. A new sound – a sound with what Ray thinks might be actual words in it, instead of the groans and the "ohfuckyes" and the choked-off gasps (Vecchio, man – so goddamned wanna-be macho, can't just let himself be loud every once in a while like they all know he's desperate to be) and the other good Vecchio-type sex noises Ray's come to know and love.

"No, Ray," Fraser says, sounding so goddamned rational, like he hasn't been wringing pleasure out of Ray for what feels like hours now. Like he didn't jump Vecchio the minute the guy walked in the door, all defenseless and "Honey, I'm home" and whatever, and tie him to a fucking kitchen chair and gag him with his own Italian silk necktie (not to mention jumping Ray himself at a similar vulnerable moment a little earlier, stripping him and strapping him and filling his ass up the best ever in, like, twenty-seven seconds flat, but who's counting). "I'm afraid your slacks will have to stay zipped, as well as buttoned. I have my reasons. You can wait. I know you can."

This time, Ray knows the noise Vecchio makes, that desperate inhale through his nose as he pulls hard on the knots around his wrists and ankles. And if Ray had the wherewithal – if he had a brain cell left that wasn't focused on himself and what Fraser's doing to him, what Fraser's been doing to him – he'd have to laugh at Vecchio, buttons pushed as only Fraser can push them, trying his best not to come in his pants before Fraser gets through with Ray and Vecchio's turn comes around.

But Ray can't concentrate on Vecchio right now, can't give Vecchio the attention he deserves (yet). Because the nipple clamps came off a while back – Ray can't take those for all that long, they're too much, too intense. And Fraser, because he knows that, only ever keeps them on for just those few seconds longer, pushing Ray past the too-much point and into the place where it all just jacks him up that much more, way past where he thought he could take it back before he had Fraser in his life and his home, in his mouth and his fucking ass. So they're off, now, off at last, and Ray wants to be relieved about that. But he doesn't have the time, because God, Fraser's good, he doesn't cut Ray any slack, doesn't let him rest. Fraser's teeth and his tongue are wringing noises out of Ray he didn't know he had in him, didn't know he could fucking make, and the pads of Fraser's strong broad fingers are rubbing and pulling and pinching at Ray's nipples until Ray would come just from that if Fraser would let him.

If Fraser would let him. God, just the words… but he can't think about that, he can't, if he does he'll lose it, and it isn't just Fraser's control on the line here, it isn't just Fraser who's got something to prove about whatever this is the three of them do when they're off duty, off-line, off doing God knows what. . . And Ray is losing it here, losing it bigtime, and he's sure there's a reason he's not supposed to do that, a reason he's supposed to hang on. But his ass burns and his shoulders do, too, where he's been pulling at the cuffs without meaning to whenever Fraser does something too good to stay still for. He doesn't want to, he wants to stay still and be cool and just take it, but he can't, he can't, it's all too good – and he thinks he's maybe been hard forever and it's hard to remember his point right now. . .

Ray doesn't know he's closed his eyes – concentrate, Kowalski, concentrate, it ain't over 'til it's over – until the shock of hothotTIGHT coming down over the head of his aching cock jolts them open again. Fraser's mouth? – oh, God, that would be good enough, that would be so much more than okay. But as his eyes come open and sweat breaks out – again – all over his body, Ray sees Fraser's forearms on either side of him and Fraser's face above him, teeth sunk into the lower lip and eyes shut. And he knows – he knows it's Fraser's ass taking him in, wet-slick with lube and sliding down him obscenely slowly – Fraser has all the time in the world to fuck him, Fraser can do this for hours – and as Ray realizes what Fraser must have worn all day under the uniform his hips come up off the bed of their own accord.

Fraser makes his first uncontrolled move, shoving down hard to meet Ray's thrust and letting go of his own lip to take a breath with voice in it. There's an answering gasp from Vecchio's corner of the bedroom, and the whine in the sound would make Ray smile if he could manage it – that's Vecchio for you, coming in his pants like a teenager, no goddamned self-control. Gonna have to do something about that when it's Vecchio's turn in the cuffs, oh, yeah. But Fraser's right down on him now – Ray's all the way inside Fraser's ass, all the way, Christ it's good, it's so good, finally, finally, Jesus God. And Fraser's resting his weight on Ray and leaning forward, gripping Ray's hands above the cuffs and lacing their fingers together, and the shift in Fraser's weight on him forces the tip of the plug right up against his prostate and it just stays there, right there, there, yeah, yeah, and now it's Ray who's whining, ah, ah, God, more, please, more, more . . .

. . . and then Fraser tightens around him, around his cock. Just that, just once, hard.

And Ray comes – he can't help it, he can't, it's beyond his fucking control. His hands close tight around Fraser's, and his hips jerk up, again and again and again, burying himself over and over in Fraser's ass, and every time they come back down on the bed the plug hits his prostate again and another wave of pleasure takes him over, and he's beyond it, gone, gone.

When he lets go of Fraser's hands, his fingers have gone totally numb and his chest and face are striped with Fraser's come. And Fraser is smiling at him.

At them. At all of them.

Ray is dimly aware of Fraser – still in control! – unbuckling the cuffs from Ray's wrists and ankles, easing the plug out of his throbbing ass, and finally, gently, turning his head to untie the black-cloth gag and draw it away from his panting mouth. Fraser's warm hands coax Ray onto his side and he goes, unresisting, curled up and sighing deeply, listening to the murmur of his partners' voices without even trying to sort out actual sentences. Christ, he's tired: he's fucked-out, he's done for, he couldn't sit up straight right now if their lives depended on it. Damn good thing that he doesn't have to, eh?

Some timeless time later he feels Vecchio's mouth on his sweaty forehead, Vecchio's weight on the bed in front of him. Vecchio's arms come around him from the front just as Fraser's warmth blankets him from behind. He hears the rumble in Vecchio's chest before the actual words emerge.

"My turn next time, Kowalski." Vecchio's usual affectionate exasperation comes through loud and clear, even in Ray's post-sex haze.

Ray, feeling good – feeling better than the best there ever was – just nods, smothering a knowing smile against Vecchio's chest. Vecchio's turn. Oh, yeah. Vecchio'll get his turn. Some day soon, when he least expects it, when Ray's rested up and good to go. Vecchio better watch out then.

Meanwhile, it's all good.

There. Phew. All right, then. I tags shihadchick, because the voices said I should and because it seems like a good idea anyway. Your prompt, should you choose to accept it, is Fraser, drinking.