Toy
by Kasha and Te
November 1999

Disclaimers: Not ours, but we're willing to fight
for them. We'll kick your fucking ass. Yeah.

Spoilers: No... that would require a plot.

Summary: Smut.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for smut with assorted 
kinks -- including Mountieabuse!! Be warned. 

Authors' Note: Kasha wanted to write a stowwy. 
Te is easy. Smut ensued.

Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon for fine, 
patient audiencing and Maxine for beta. We luf
them so... It is dedicated to LaT, ("that's 
*Mistress* LaTonya…." because Kasha's a better
sub than Te will ever be. So responsive!) 

Feedback: Lusted for at <KatyCath@aol.com> and
<thete1@earthlink.net>.

*

Fraser opens the door, and he doesn't mean to 
be quiet, and he honestly doesn't think he *is* 
quiet, and yet...

There is music playing. That has to be the reason
he isn't heard. Something loud, pulsing... heavy 
bass and purring lead singer. Yes, that is why.

Something that plays so well against the tableau 
before him.

Ray curls over the arm of the dark sofa, as though
he has been thrown there. Scrabbles ineffectually 
for the edge of the nearest cushion. Moaning. Feet 
braced, legs trembling. 

Ray's skin is a heated flush all over, especially
where the other man's hands have squeezed, 
pressed...possibly even slapped. And that 
thought is neither as disturbing nor as 
surprising as he feels it should be. 

And the other man kneels behind him, long 
fingers digging into the meat of Ray's ass, 
thumbs not currently visible, but obviously 
holding the cheeks apart. 

Face in, close, impossibly close. Moving in tiny,
hungry little thrusts.

Ray is moaning continuously.

Fraser wishes he could see Ray's cock.... The 
other man's cock is fully in view, purple and 
veiny and thick with a string of pre-come 
glistening between flat muscular belly and the 
uncut tip. 

Fraser licks his lips helplessly, tries and fails 
to move -- he feels rooted to the spot, and 
finally just gives himself up to the moment. 
Ray bucks, twists against the couch, finally 
groans out "Ren..."

Fraser can't hold in his small sound of surprise, 
drowned out by the music. A moment's fear 
blocked by the sudden realization of his arousal. 
He can feel his own cock peeking out of his 
boxers, chafing itself on the serge of his 
jodhpurs. The sensation finally propels him into
action, one foot in front of the other until he 
stands behind Turnbull's flushed and sweaty 
body.

Broad, well-defined shoulders leading into 
muscled arms, tantalizingly welted back 
tapering into slim waist. Compact buttocks 
rest nearly on his ankles.

Fraser discovers he's no longer holding his 
hat when he sees himself reaching out a 
brown-gloved hand, still wet from melted snow 
to touch the marks on Turnbull's shoulder. 
Fresh, raised things that stand out easily 
against winter-pale skin. He is sure that he can
feel their heat even through the leather. 

Turnbull jumps under his touch, whipping his 
head around Lips swollen and wet in a 
surprised 'oh' that makes Fraser imagine them 
wrapped around his cock. His hands never move
from Ray's ass. "Sir?"

Before Fraser can even begin to form a 
response, Ray twists out from the other man's
grasp, slips awkwardly off the couch until 
there is a tangle of nude, jostling limbs at 
Fraser's feet. 

"Frase? What the hell...?"

"I... your door... it was... I..."

Turnbull brushes his fingers reverently, 
obscenely across the toe of Fraser's boot, 
effectively cutting off further conversation.

"You were what, Frase?"

"I... Turnbull..."

Ray cuts a look at the other man, watches him
watch Fraser. Trails his fingers over Turnbull's 
before letting his own hand caress its way up to
the laces, over his calf, between the rim of the 
boots and the rough cloth of the jodhpurs.

Turnbull continues to tease just at the toes while 
looking up into Fraser's eyes. 

Ray leans in, tugs at the laces with his teeth and 
the image, decadent and so sensual, forces a 
groan past Fraser's clenched teeth. Turnbull 
kneels up, grabs Fraser's gloved hands in his own, 
holds them, runs his thumbs over the taut leather 
covering Fraser's knuckles.

One hand -- it must be Ray's -- steals behind him
to knead the muscle at the back of one thigh and
Turnbull says, "Did you wish to join us, Sir?"

"Yeah, Frase? How 'bout it?"

And Fraser gives the only answer he can by slowly
sliding down to his knees and kissing Turnbull's 
still wet mouth. The taste is impossibly dirty and 
hot. Ray's hands move up further between his 
thighs, tugging at the zipper. The wrongness seizes
at his belly but it just makes him harder.

More hands pushing off his peacoat and expertly 
undoing his uniform, lingering momentarily at 
his throat before a mouth attaches itself to his 
pulsepoint and sucks. Hard.

Hands on his chest, plucking at the sweaty 
material of his henley before pulling it out of his
pants and sliding under. The hands run up the
clenched muscles of his belly and settle on his 
nipples, hardening them immediately and giving 
them a rough twist. He's not sure who is doing 
what to him because his eyes have long since 
closed and the caresses to his body are constant 
and hungry.

Brush of teeth against his neck and then lower, 
stubbled cheek --Ray, it must be Ray -- nudging 
the collar of the shirt aside for further exploration.
Now two sets of hands are at his chest, and one 
powerfully muscled thigh --Turnbull -- nudges his 
own further apart.

Ray is behind him now, pressing close against his 
hip and nuzzling, hands battling Turnbull's for 
possession of Fraser's nipples. Fraser lets his head
fall back on Ray's shoulder and moans.

"Like this, Frase?"

He opens his mouth to answer and finds two 
salt-sweaty fingers pressing down on his tongue. 
Yes becomes a lick, then several and he surrenders 
to his want and sucks. Ray and Turnbull continue 
to wrestle at his nipples sending pleasure into pain
into twisted pleasure until Ray abruptly pulls away
and rips off the henley entirely, dislodging 
Turnbull's fingers in the process.

For a moment Fraser is being touched solely by 
the thigh pressed casually against his groin, 
aching chest bared to the cool air of Ray's 
apartment. 

And then Turnbull starts undoing Fraser's pants, 
quickly, roughly, and efficiently. Tugs the boxers 
down along with the pants, knuckles brushing at 
his cock. He thrusts up toward the sensation but 
it's gone before he can do anything about it. 

Suddenly, Ray's arms slide up beneath Fraser's 
own, locking his shoulders against Ray's chest and
taking his weight. Instant to enjoy skin on skin, 
hard little nipples brushing against his 
shoulderblades and then Turnbull yanks his legs 
out from under him and attacks his boots. 

Ray pulls him into a steadier full nelson and bites
down hard on the knob of bone at the base of 
Fraser's neck. Fraser looks down at himself, is 
helpless to do otherwise. Watches Turnbull finally 
pull his remaining clothing off and then he is 
naked... except for the soft, leather gloves still on 
his hands.

Brown against his blushing skin, making him feel 
that much more naked. Turnbull drags himself up 
the entire length of Fraser's body, blanketing his 
legs with his body before crawling up to kneel and 
kiss Ray. They squeeze closer and closer together, 
forcing the air from Fraser's lungs in one long 
gasping moan.

A slight shift, wet sounds from above and 
Turnbull's shoulder is pressing into his throat 
while Ray continues to hold Fraser immobile. He is 
being slowly choked and he isn't entirely sure it's 
accidental. Turnbull's heavy cock thrusts and slides 
against his own, Ray's knees are placed to either 
side of Fraser's hips and his erection is teasing at 
the base of Fraser's spine and he can't breathe...

The kiss is broken with a brief sucking sound and 
then, "I can feel his throat working, Ray."

"His heart's beating kinda fast, too..."

"I'm reasonably certain that Fraser's lung capacity
is large enough to withstand another kiss."

"Reasonably?"

"I'm quite sure we'll notice if he loses consciousness, 
Ray."

"You're so practical. I love that."

And then nothing for a time but the sounds of lips
and tongues and the music seems slower and harder, 
but that could just be oxygen deprivation or the 
ruthless grind of two sets of hips into his own. His
cock throbs to the same rhythm as the pulse in his
throat, the sound pounds through his body, louder, 
faster, more desperate and his mouth is open, but 
no sound comes out and the kiss above him just 
does not stop....

And the next thing he's aware of is Turnbull 
pushing air into his mouth along with a forcefully 
probing tongue. He's flat on his back now and for 
a moment he wonders where Ray has gone... until 
he realizes Ray is sucking his still-hard cock. The 
shock of his sustained arousal and the 
psychological implications thereof last only 
heartbeats before he loses himself in the pleasures 
of his body.

Turnbull is once again torturing his nipples, now 
moving his mouth down to alternate with clever 
fingers, lapping and biting at the hard nubs. 
Drawing blood and licking him clean. And Ray... 
Ray presses his tongue against the underside of 
Fraser's cock before going down in one shocking 
thrust, pulling him deep within his own throat. And 
then the graze of teeth against tender flesh, up and 
up, catching on the head. 

Fraser trembles, yells when the sensation of both 
men's teeth on him, digging into his skin, becomes 
too much and then Ray's mouth leaves him 
altogether. 

"Ren... suck him off. I wanna watch."

Turnbull moves in immediately, pushing Fraser's 
knees up and apart and lapping at his balls and 
inner thighs. Ray moves to kneel behind Fraser's 
head, bends at the waist and Fraser darts up to try 
to lap at the crease that forms on Ray's belly. Ray 
runs his hands down the length of Fraser's arms 
before claiming his wrists and pulling them up and 
slightly back as he kneels up. 

Turnbull watches the process, catching Fraser's 
gaze and holding it as he stiffens his tongue and 
runs the point along the vein on his cock. Tilts 
his head and catches the foreskin and vein at the 
sweet spot gently. Fraser pulls against Ray's grip 
and has his fingers, glove and all, sucked into 
Ray's mouth.

Fraser is sweating freely now, moaning, arching 
his neck and trying to push his cock further into 
Turnbull's teasing mouth.

His fingers are pulled from Ray's mouth, but his 
glove remains caught between Ray's teeth and one 
more part of him is exposed. The glove is dropped 
unceremoniously onto his face, a feast of leather, 
sweat and Ray's saliva and Fraser licks at it 
awkwardly...

"Ren," slow, easy voice. "Make him come now."

"Ohhhh..." Fraser moans as Turnbull takes him 
deep in one long swallow and then starts fucking 
his mouth on Fraser's cock, slipping a finger back 
behind his balls and circling Fraser's opening. 
Ray's hands tighten on Fraser's wrists, grinding 
the bones and putting a strain on his shoulders.

Wet heat and pain, Ray's cock above him, out of 
reach and slick with pre-come. Abruptly Ray tears 
his eyes away from watching Turnbull to look 
down at Fraser, licking his lips.

"Come for us, Fraser."

And Fraser is grateful that Turnbull braced him 
properly, allowing for the vicious arch of his body 
as he comes.

Ray drops his arms and meets Turnbull's slick 
lips over Fraser's body for a long, messy kiss. 
Fraser's own come drips from their chins to spatter 
on his chest and belly.

"You've been such a good boy today, Ren... I'm 
gonna let you fuck him."

"Oh, thank you kindly, Ray." 

And Fraser whispers "please..." and Ray slips his 
thumb into Fraser's mouth, finding the hinge of his
jaw and locking it open, pulling his lips painfully 
taut.

"Shh... I didn't say you could talk."

The sweat is much cooler on his body now, but 
Fraser doesn't move, or protest. Holds Ray's gaze 
before letting his eyes close and waiting. 

And then cool slick fingers are at his opening, 
two thrusting in without warning, but then just 
resting there, giving Fraser a moment to adjust. 
Not nearly enough time, but still more than he 
expected and then Turnbull starts to prepare him 
in earnest. Fingers twist inside him, scissoring, 
probing. Loosening him. Another squeeze of lube, 
a few more perfunctory twists and Turnbull rests 
Fraser's thighs on his arms.

Ray moves and reaches between them, testing 
Fraser himself before setting Turnbull's cock 
against him. 

"Go on, pretty. Have fun." One more brief kiss and 
then Ray is standing, moving over the few steps to
the couch. Settles in to watch, stroking his own 
cock idly.

The sight is impossible to ignore and Fraser is 
drawn to the other man's lack of shame. Sitting 
there, nude, legs spread, balls heavy, cock dark 
with blood, beads of sweat --

Fraser's helpless catalogue ends with Turnbull 
entering him, of course. One slow glide that 
seems to last impossibly long, stretching him.

Fraser tries to inhale deeply, force himself to relax 
but his breath catches on a low note in his chest. 
He licks his lips in anticipation of more 
punishment.... Nothing comes but tiny, deceptive
shifts of movement within him as Turnbull searches
for the right position. 

Even with the lubrication Turnbull's cock seems to 
tug at his insides with every shift and Fraser 
twitches at the strange sensations, looks to Ray 
and finds him gazing raptly at the place where 
Fraser and Turnbull are joined, Ray's fist tightened 
just so at the base of his cock. And then Fraser's 
legs are dropped, forced apart even further.

Fraser realizes that he has truly become the 
entertainment and the thought makes him arch, 
pull just slightly away from Turnbull. The response
is immediate and brutal -- Turnbull grabs him by 
the hips and pulls him back onto his cock, growls 
over Fraser's quiet whimper:

"Do that again."

Soft creak of leather from the couch, glide of skin 
on skin and Fraser knows without looking away 
from Turnbull's carefully still face that his audience 
is utterly rapt. He tugs himself off Turnbull's cock 
slowly, making it all the way to the head before those 
fingers dig in again... but instead of pulling Fraser 
back he thrusts in, hard and deep.

"Again."

Fraser obeys, feeling the stretch in his inner thighs, 
the twist in his obliques. For a fleeting, absurd 
moment he wishes he'd taken the time to do a few 
basic stretches in the hall but then Turnbull is 
driving into him again, doing his best to fuck Fraser 
across the floor. Anticipating the next command 
Fraser raises himself up for another back-thrust... 
and his cheek hits the floor from the force of the 
slap.

"Fffuck... he didn't say Simon Sez, Frase." The 
aroused humor in Ray's voice is palpable. 

"I..."

Backhand this time, and then Turnbull rests one 
hand on Fraser's throat and finds an efficient, if 
inelegant, rhythm, thrusting deep and hard and 
silently daring Fraser to disobey again. The lesson 
sits uneasily in Fraser's mind, waiting for him to 
bend, learn it. He squeezes his eyes shut and lays as 
still as he can, instead, allowing himself to be used 
at a distance. 

The illusion of control lasts only until Turnbull 
begins to tighten his grip. The memory is 
immediate, tactile: the bloom of black flowers on 
his eyelids as Turnbull and Ray make love to each 
other with their mouths and Turnbull's next stroke
in makes Fraser's teeth click together. The 
command is clear -- Fraser *will* feel this.

All of it. For however long Turnbull lasts within him.
He opens his eyes and the other man is nearly 
smiling, braced easily on well-muscled arms, 
pumping with steady viciousness, hair curling with 
sweat --

Fraser does the only thing the rules seem to allow, 
clenching his inner muscles in counterpoint to the 
other man's thrusts. The friction is suddenly 
unbelievable and there's no way in hell he can make
the motion seem unconscious but it's good, very 
good and he needs it to end...

Turnbull's grip tightens involuntarily on his throat, 
making Fraser buck, squeeze even harder. 

"Oh, Ray, he's... ohhh..."

Turnbull's groan makes him flush all over, want 
to growl victoriously despite the pounding he 
continues to endure, despite the way he can't keep 
from trying to match the other man's rhythm. 
Fraser is taking it, in every way, and he can't bring 
himself to meet Ray's eyes again, though he's sure 
they remain focused on him.

"Just... fuck him harder, Ren."

"Oh, yes..." Almost a hiss on the last syllable and 
then Turnbull is pistoning his hips, slamming 
into him without finesse or care, pressing in on 
Fraser's windpipe, biting at his lips.

"Open your eyes, Frase..." And Ray is back on the 
floor with them, slim fingers carded into Turnbull's
short hair, tugging his neck back into an arch and 
sucking at an aging bruise. Ray's other hand 
remains wrapped around his own cock, barely 
moving.

Fraser knows that Ray is saving his erection for 
him. 

And then Ray is leaning in to whisper something 
Fraser can't quite make out into Turnbull's ear, 
something that makes Turnbull shudder and jerk, 
gasp and come, punishing Fraser's throat all the 
while.

Fraser is half-hard, not quite ready to ache, or even 
really move more than is necessary for a little more 
comfort. Before him, Ray is petting Turnbull, brief 
touches, moments of massage obviously more for 
Ray's own benefit than that of Turnbull. That 
doesn't stop Turnbull from leaning into Ray's touch, 
nearly purring as strong clever fingers dig into the 
strained muscles of his arms.

"That was really good, Ren, so sexy..." Vaguely 
incongruous lick to Turnbull's ear... Turnbull is 
still inside Fraser, but seems to have no trouble 
ignoring him. Anger, embarassment make Fraser 
uncomfortably warm, makes the scent of his 
sweat seem dirty, pointless. 

Ray continues to stroke Turnbull soothingly, kiss 
him and caress him in a way that screams 'not 
for you, never for you' at Fraser and the music 
has shifted to yet another false, driving pulse. The 
lead singer is begging for help entirely 
unconvincingly and Fraser is *pinned* there and... 
ignored. 

Fraser sits up to leave, clenching his teeth at the
teasing hint of a better angle before Turnbull slips 
out altogether, but Ray stops him with a hand on 
his chest.

"Down, Frase. My turn."

Turnbull shifts position, leans in to lap reverently 
at the spark plug on Ray's shoulder, sucking and 
biting at it, earning a slow scratch over his welts. 

"Mmmm, Ren... you make me want to get more 
tatts..."

"I would gladly mark you myself, Ray." Spoken into 
the flesh of Ray's shoulder, nuzzled into it, really. 
The only thing connecting Fraser to the other two 
men is the lightly shaking hand on his chest. He 
wants to move, wants to go, wants to *watch* this. 
Images flare and fade behind his eyes, questions 
and nascent fantasies -- when did they begin this? 
What would have happened between them had 
Fraser not interrupted?

He wants to be the one tasting Ray, taking him and
being taken and... that last is exactly what he has 
been offered. The tiniest push against him, a warning 
that would've been punishment had Turnbull not 
been so intent on Ray's skin. Fraser takes the obvious
gift and lays flat again, letting his legs splay out 
straight before him.

Resists the urge to thrust up against Turnbull's 
thigh and waiting.

Closes his eyes and allows his mind to furnish 
images for the sounds, scents assaulting him. The
insides of his thighs are wet with Turnbull's come, 
but drying fast. Turnbull's is an acrid, almost 
bitter scent... perhaps Ray never bothered to tempt 
him with sweets.

Motion close, then over him. Skin brushing, sliding 
against his own, pausing here and there to pinch, 
or pet. 

Arranging him, and then there is nothing for a 
moment. He imagines the two men deciding on the 
next step with questioning looks, perhaps a gesture.

Twin kisses land on his nipples almost 
simultaneously, soft and wet things, more than 
enough for the already over-sensitized flesh. Stubble 
against him, sucking sounds. Hand between his legs 
again, slipping decadently through the mess and 
encouraging him to spread again. Fingers inside him, 
teeth brushing his chest, heat and weight and 
pressure and his cock rises again, nudging at one 
lean hip.

He is moaning for it, trying to move in three, four 
different directions at once, trying for *more* when
it stops again, this time for just long enough to 
turn him over, urge him onto his hands and knees.

A second passes, two, and then a series of ragged 
blows fall on his ass. Before he can even think about 
moving, Turnbull has hold of his shoulders, 
effectively stilling him even if shock and lust hadn't 
been doing that already.

There is no indication of what he might've done 
wrong, or even that it is deserved punishment at all.
Ray is simply... spanking him, as though it was 
simply the next choice on a detailed agenda. Had Ray
been thinking about this? Another fantasy, this time
of himself braced on Ray's desk at the precinct house,
tunic clasped and buttoned and sealed, jodhpurs 
puddled awkwardly around his ankles. 

Ray beating him thoroughly as the day's business 
proceeds around them. No notice, no laughter, no 
rescue, just the two of them apart from the world... 
unless he was bad, and had to be given to Turnbull...

Fraser feels a load of pre-come shoot down his cock, 
shifts under the steady rain of blows and allows 
himself to pant. Turnbull is kneading his shoulders, 
pressing his thumbs against the straining tendons 
in Fraser's neck. Yet another vocalist is screaming 
about want obsessively.

The pattern of slaps move down over his thighs, he
spreads his thighs and has the underside of his cock
awkwardly smacked for his trouble. The air is 
freezing against his heated skin, terribly soothing. 
Instinctive attempt to crawl away goes nowhere, of 
course, and soon enough Ray is spreading him, 
nudging at sore, needful flesh before rocking in. 

The consideration is hardly necessary, and seems 
more a show of Ray's control than anything else. He 
wonders what Ray did to train himself, wonders if 
he'll ever get the opportunity to show off his own 
control... or even just to be here again, trapped and 
fucked and fucked again and oh, God Turnbull is 
pushing him upright, up on his knees and Fraser is 
sitting on Ray's hot rigid cock.

Gravity pushes him down, skewers him to the core 
and he calls out something he only realizes is a 
word when Turnbull slaps him again. Turnbull's 
short nails scrape his chest, over and over, graze his
drooling cock as Ray pumps into him with brief 
strokes that leave them both grunting. 

"Ah, fuck what a beautiful toy, Ren..."

"Yes, Ray..."

And the fist that settles, finally, around his cock is 
only the faintly shocking preview to what he had 
expected -- another kiss with him sandwiched between,
fucked and fucking Ray's slick tight fist while the air 
is pressed out of him. Far less grace this time, though, 
and he is given the chance to gasp as the other two 
men shift their attacks on him and each other.

His orgasm is shocking, brutal and he has no time 
to check himself before biting off a scream in the 
flesh of Turnbull's shoulder, making Turnbull jerk 
back and away, a move that sends Fraser crashing to 
the floor again. He barely manages to catch himself 
on trembling forearms before Ray is tearing into him 
again, hips snapping and rolling, hands clawing at 
his spine until he feels blood well. 

Ray comes with an incoherent shout and then 
collapses on top of Fraser, panting.

But he has only a moment to enjoy the simple weight
of him before Turnbull is tugging Ray aside, away 
from him. Sounds of soothing, more kisses... Fraser 
kneels up, braces himself on the couch and watches 
as Turnbull smoothes sweaty hair off Ray's forehead, 
spikes it up again as he strokes.

He has one arm around Ray, holding him back against 
his chest. Ray's eyes are closed.

Fraser scents himself -- blood, sweat, and come and he 
has no idea what he's supposed to do now.

And so he settles himself on his knees.

And waits. 

End.

Endnote: We simply have to thank Viridian for her 
musical inspiration. Her mix tapes, comments, and 
quiet, insidious Goth evangelism makes the world a 
darker, sweeter, kinkier place.