Seperis (seperis) wrote,

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dsfic: where the story changes, 3/3

part 2

He wakes up later than usual, not that the rain outside gives him any idea of what time it is. Fraser must have waylaid Dief before he could do his morning jump and lick. Stumbling out of bed, Ray brushes his teeth, mind blank and focused on routine: shower, shave, borrow clothes (God, his clothes, where are his *clothes*, wasn't he going to do something about that?), go out and--


Fraser's stretched out on his stomach on the floor inches away from Dief, the two of them locked in some kind of--something.

"Didn't you do your dominance thing last night?" Ray asks blearily as he steps over Dief, who wuffles a morning greeting without ever breaking eye-contact with Fraser, wanting coffee like *now*. As if by accident, one of Fraser's feet brushes his ankle, which isn't buddies before Ray's had something caffeinated. The back of his neck feels hot, and he can't help touching it, like Fraser'd left a mark there he could feel.

"We're having an argument," Fraser says tranquilly, chin on folded hands. "Regarding the consequences of foolish actions."

Dief snorts.

"That won't be a problem for us," Fraser answers firmly as Ray gets coffee and takes a drink. "I can't get Ray pregnant."

Ray swallows fast, leaning over the sink until he can breathe again.

"Or become pregnant," Fraser adds as an afterthought. Getting a full breath, Ray finishes the rest of the cup and pours another, keeping his back to the crazy going on in the living room. "Hungry?"

That must be for him. Ray drinks and shakes his head, keeping his back to whatever the hell the two of them are doing in there; he has no idea what to say.

"Eat something. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I made you a plate."

He did, in fact; Ray looks at it, then back where Fraser, crossed legged, is talking to Dief about nature versus nurture. Ray's pretty sure Dief's arguing the point, but he can't be sure which side he's taking. Picking up the plate, Ray goes to the table and pretends that Fraser didn't pause to actually watch him until he sat down. Not even trying to hide it. Ray's more subtle than that when he's *drunk* and with a sure thing.

Eating is good, but it's not all that good at being distracting, and he can't help but listen to Fraser and Dief, in snippets of conversation that Ray isn't sure would make sense even with context. Or say, another *voice*.

Keeping his grip on sanity by way of more coffee, Ray leaves his plate in the sink for the universe to deal with and tries to figure out what the hell to do now. Get his clothes--good idea. Could do that. But it's a lot more tempting to not do anything at all. Lazy, his mind offers up. Vacation. Pretty much bullshit excuses. He just wants to stay where Fraser is.

Going to the desk, Ray glances at the new mail in case Fraser went ahead and forwarded all his mail--he should find a way to get in touch with Frannie and get her to handle that--when he sees a letter with a recent postmark and a familiar name.

"Vecchio wrote again?" Ray asks, sipping. Picking it up, he squints at the return address. "From Florida?"

Ray's always been about intuition and instinct and how the two combine. The back of his neck suddenly feels too warm, and he can actually *feel* Fraser standing up, quiet as he usually is, and drops the letter, turning around to see two sets of eyes watching him warily.

No, wait. Worried. "What?"

Dief whines, making a sudden retreat. Fraser just watches him, mouth tight, then seems to shake himself, coming to join Ray at the desk. "I wanted to--I have no excuse," Fraser says, tripping over words so quickly Ray's not sure Fraser's even aware of what he's saying. Picking the letter up, Fraser continues, looking past Ray grimly. "I thought it might be easier, but I understand if you feel as if I'm trying to--which I'm not. I wasn't."

Ray can't quite stop staring at the paper being twisted slowly out of shape between Fraser's hands. "What--did--" Ray runs through everyone he knows--Frannie, Ma Vecchio, Welsh, Huey, Dewey, Elaine, his *parents*. Christ, what happened? "Fraser," he hears himself say from somewhere far away. "What--tell me what he said. Who--"

He can't say it.

Fraser's gaze flickers to him, freezes, then he drops the envelope, catching Ray's shoulder. "Nothing like that," he says quickly. "Everyone's fine. I'm sorry, I'm handling this badly. Please sit down."

Relief makes Ray lightheaded enough to be okay with it; Fraser maneuvers him over to the couch and pushes him down, going back for the coffee as well and thrusting it into his hands. Ray takes a deep breath, a drink, and waits as Fraser sits down beside him.

"Ray has decided to move to Florida."

Ray nods, listening for context. Ray Vecchio retired and moved to Florida. So that would mean-- "So he took retirement." Ray wonders how Fraser feels about that. Chicago is a hell of a lot closer to Canada than Florida. "Huh. What about Stella?"

"She--decided to join him. I'm sorry, Ray. They--apparently decided to formalize their relationship."

Translation: Stella Kowalski is now Stella Vecchio. Ray takes a drink of coffee and remembers the shock of finding out she was seeing Vecchio. It feels like that was months ago. "Huh."

Fraser's leg brushes his. "I am sorry," he says, voice low and uncertain. "It was very sudden. From what I understand, Stella wrote you, but--"

"Probably in my box still in Chicago." Ray's aware of a vague ache, flashes of memory of Stella, golden and sixteen, eighteen, twenty, the earlier days that he prefers to the bitter later ones. Taking a deep breath, he lets it out, shaking himself out of it. "Yeah, okay. So she's married." To Vecchio of all people; what, did Vecchio figure since Ray's keeping Fraser, he could take Stella?

Fraser, still tense beside him, doesn't seem reassured. Ray tries to think of something to tell him, but he's coming up blank. "I'm good," he tries, wondering what Fraser wants to hear. "When did you--" Ray stops, counting back. "Two days ago." Suddenly the whatever-the-fuck last night makes a lot more sense.

Fraser takes a breath. "I didn't know how to tell you."

Ray takes another drink. "It's--it's okay." To prove it, he sits back, fighting back the anger that keeps trying to surface, because it's not really aimed at Fraser at all: Stella, Vecchio, hell, maybe life. "When were you going to tell me?"

"I don't know." The worry's too obvious for Ray to stay pissed; it's not like Fraser doesn't have reason. "It never seemed the right time."

"To spare my delicate feelings, huh?" Ray feels himself smirk, surprising himself. "Hey, I appreciate it, I do. Thanks. I'm--" He can't say glad and mean it. But that--all of it, divorce, job, Stella, Chicago--feels like a different world, nothing to do with here. When Fraser starts to look worried again, Ray pats his shoulder. "I can cry a while if it'll make you feel better."

Fraser hesitates, gaze searching, then relaxes abruptly into the couch. "I was trying to be tactful."

"Not too great at it, but thanks." Slumping back beside him, Ray finishes the cup. Outside, the rain acts like it's never letting up, complete with sudden streaks of lightning. "We gonna lose power?"

Fraser follows his gaze. "Hmm. It's escalating. Probably tomorrow. Speaking of, Diefenbaker distracted me this morning. If you'll excuse me--"

"Hey." Ray starts to get up, but Fraser pushes him back down, hand warm and staying just a little longer than necessary. "I can help."

"No need." Fraser frowns suddenly. "Where did Diefenbaker--"

"Ran for shelter, I guess. Dief!"

Diefenbaker eases half out the bedroom door, looking at them warily. "Not going crazy, Dief," Ray says, patting the couch. "Come here."

With a look at Fraser, Dief bounds across the room, jumping up on the couch. Fraser looks at him repressively, but Ray's ready, hunting up *Call of the Wild* from beside the couch. "We're gonna read, see? Nice, quiet activity. A *vacation* activity." Opening the book, Ray holds it out to Dief. "Show me where he cut you off."

Fraser mutters something under his breath, going to find his boots. Ray pushes Dief over until he can stretch out and a furry head and paw shift to his belly. "All right. You're a little behind me here. So chapter four, right?"
Dief barks and rubs his head against Ray. Grinning, Ray starts to read. He's sure at some point, he's going to have to ask himself when reading to wolves became normal. But that won't be today.


Fraser comes in after fifteen pages, and Ray loses track of what he's saying at the sight of dark, wet hair and flushed cheeks, water sprinkling him like glitter; it's not like Ray's ever denied Fraser was hot, but there's hot in a funny uniform and hot in a wet t-shirt and jeans. Totally different things.

"Started water for tea," Ray manages when Fraser goes to investigate the kitchen. Turning back to the book, Ray backtracks until he figures out where he was, then starts again. Dief, who'd lifted a tail in greeting, relaxes into a sprawl covering one of Ray's legs and most of his lower body. He's not moving anytime soon.

"Diefenbaker," Fraser says sternly, then sighs. "Nevermind. I'd hardly expect courtesy from someone who doesn't appreciate Dante."

Ray twists around to stare at him.

"His Italian has always been very weak," Fraser answers almost apologetically. Dief barks, earning himself a frown. "I'm not the one who refused to improve themselves when the opportunity presented itself. Where are you?"

"Uh." Ray blinks, realizing the last question was aimed at him. "Halfway through four. Wanna--" He struggles to get up, but Fraser waves him off, sitting down on the rug with a sigh, tea in hand.

"Please continue."

Dief echoes with a hopeful growl. Fighting a smile, Ray skips back and starts again, aware of Fraser's damp head leaning into the couch near his hip, attention focused on Ray.

Could get used to this, he thinks, wondering if he should worry. Might be he already has.


Fraser takes over reading after lunch, arguing Dief into an equal share of the couch. Dief takes this as an opportunity to stretch full length on them both, whining every time Ray stops stroking. They take a break half-way through to double check emergency preparedness by way of candles and kerosene and wood and other things that Ray had never realized were part and parcel of electrical outages in the Canadian wilderness. Ray asks to help and regrets it when it becomes an infomercial on the variety of natural disasters possible and statistical probability of survival of each one.

Fraser's imitation of a really depressing weather channel leads Ray to spend quality time watching the sky suspiciously. Probably fucking with him, but still.

Even that, though, isn't enough to distract him from the feeling of being watched, constantly, though he never really catches Fraser doing it. For the life of him, he can't tell what Fraser thinks he's doing--being subtle? Flirting? Both? Neither? He feels like he's missing some kind of conversation that's not even happening, like he's being asked a question and expected to answer without even knowing what it *is*.

And damned if even Dief seems to be getting it, and Ray knows, *knows* he's been isolated too long when he starts reading obscure motives into Dief's *tail*.

There's no questionable touching, or questionable *anything*, and he'd swear to God Fraser has no idea what he's doing, except he *knows* him, and Fraser always knows what he's doing, even if he forgets to share with the class. The guy thinks more than anyone Ray's ever met, and he's thinking, that much Ray knows. Double checking, maybe. Evaluating the situation, as he does. Waiting for--something. Hell if Ray knows. Not applying any of the senses that would confirm, yes, Ray is in fact willing and maybe even getting a little impatient.

When Fraser finally gets up to go do pre-bed things, Ray stares at Dief until his tail goes down. "When I figure out what you are saying," Ray says as slowly and clearly as he can, "things are gonna change."

Dief's tail wags once before smugly curling up in the corner of the couch. Giving up, Ray goes to the bedroom and stops short when it hits him--oh God. *Bedroom*. And his clothes are still slowly not-drying in the dryer because hey, he forgot to *get them*, in that way that he just decided not to think about it.

Dief didn't follow him in, which seems hugely suspicious, and reminding himself Dief's a freaking *wolf* does not change the fact there's something Dief knows that Ray does not.

Ray takes a deep breath and gets into the suddenly smaller bed, considering curling up and pretending to be asleep. That--might be an answer, but not the one he thinks he wants Fraser to get. Laying back on top of the covers, he stares up at the ceiling, feeling suddenly sixteen and Stella's still weird about her bra and the lights being on.

He's twenty years too old for this kind of stress.

There's a noise at the door by the time he's worked his way to twenty and that girl he picked up in a bar that ended with a lot of vomiting and the first time Ray discovered alcohol did in fact fuck up performance, then the soft scrape of a closing door. Blindly, Ray picks up a pillow and throws it in the general direction of movement.

Fraser makes a satisfying sound of surprise. "Ray?" he says warily. The bed shifts where Ray assumes he's sat down. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm expressing my feelings," Ray shoots back. He hears a boot hit the floor. "You *trying* to drive me--" Another boot; Ray is distracted by a shift that seems to be migrating his direction. "--crazy?"

A pillow hits him in the chest--fucking night vision. Before he can push it off, it's removed, and the bed goes still, with a depression about six inches off his right hip. "In so many words, no," Fraser answers calmly, in that way that Ray's realized is a few steps off panic. Ray just makes out his shape a few inches away and sits up, reaching out to touch slightly damp denim. Oriented, Ray gets up on his knees, sliding his hand up Fraser's thigh, the curve of his hip, the thin t-shirt he wore under his shirt, hesitating at the slope of a shoulder, skin hot even through the damp cotton.

A barely perceptible tremble. Thank God. He's not the only one. "You don't make this easy, do you?" Ray whispers. He can hear the quickened breathing, tension heavy enough to almost stop him. If Fraser didn't want this, he'd pull away. If he-- Ray just touches the prickly line of Fraser's jaw, then his wrists is wrapped in cool, damp fingers.

They stay like that for what feels like hours, then Fraser pulls, just a little, and Ray feels lips against his palm, a slow lick from heel to the tip of his finger, and that's pretty much an answer. Ray gets his other hand on Fraser's jaw, leans forward and catches his mouth in a kiss.

A real kiss, slow and hopeful, laced with uncertainty because it's a first kiss, their first kiss, and maybe (please) the last first kiss he'll ever have.

Ray wants to remember this, and wants Fraser to remember it, too, tell him with his mouth and his body what there's no way he can say. I know you, he'd tell him, though Fraser knows that, and I want you, which if he hasn't figure out by now, Ray's just giving up.

He can feel the second Fraser gets it; the change between responding and wanting, flaring up warm and bright, one hand sliding up the back of his shirt and pressed against the small of his back, the other letting go of his wrist and curving around the back of his neck, opening to Ray by slow degrees, slow and careful, *learning*. The kind of kiss that feels like falling, feels younger than either of them are, that feels *perfect*. Ray goes up on his knees, straddling Fraser's lap and pushing both hands up beneath his shirt, breaking away long enough to get it off and his own. Kisses him again, getting a hand in damp hair, soft and slick between his fingers.

He's not sure how long they just sit there and make out; Fraser's oddly passive, letting Ray do as he likes, tilt his head or open his mouth, lie back on the bed so Ray can really feel him, all impossibly warm, smooth skin, thicker muscle beneath. Tiny, surprised sounds when Ray licks the hollow of his throat, the curve of his ear. He likes it, Ray knows--he can feel exactly how much Fraser likes it from the slow rub of cock against his thigh--but easy. Fraser's hands never leave his skin, mapping his back slowly like later he'll draw a map, charting the raised edges of his shoulder blades, the knobs of his spine, trailing slowly over ribs and the sharp rise of his hips, then gently rolling Ray on his side to start over with his chest.

Like he's being studied at the same time, but Ray can't keep the thought long when Fraser licks into his mouth, slow and wet, druggingly sweet, breath caught in his throat when Fraser eases Ray's knee over his hip, dragging his cock against his thigh. It doesn't even feel real, like the edges of a dream just before you wake up.

Faster then, Fraser pulling back with a soft, surprised sound, burying his mouth against Ray's throat, tensing. Ray hadn't even realized he was so close until he feels Fraser stiffen, a burst of damp heat that soaks through denim and sweatpants both, and comes himself, breath catching in his throat. Fraser catches his mouth in a slow kiss, shivering when Ray touches him before pulling back slightly, one hand slipping down Ray's chest and into the sweatpants, fingers sliding through the come wetting his belly, then drawing his fingers back up his skin until they pause at the hollow of Ray's throat.

Sex always makes Ray lazy. Ray lets Fraser gently ease him on his back, closing his eyes as Fraser's mouth settles on his collar, tongue heavy and wet as it slowly follows the trail of come, soothing and comfortable, even when Fraser eases his sweatpants off, mouthing low on his belly, the base of his cock, licking him clean, almost enough to get him hard again. He's half-asleep when he feels Fraser get out of bed, stripping off his jeans and boxers, barely time to shiver from the cold before Fraser fits himself against Ray's back, wrapping an arm tightly around his waist, cock settling into the curve of his ass.

He shivers again when Fraser licks the back of his neck, almost dragging him up out of the pleasant half-doze. "Hmm?" He half-turns his head and Fraser's tongue traces the curve of his ear, sending a pleasant warmth through him, becoming aware that Fraser's half-hard against his ass. "You want--" he shifts, but the arm around his waist tightens, holding him still.

"In the morning," Fraser whispers, settling a slow, sucking kiss behind his ear. Ray settles back, closing his eyes, as Fraser's fingertips trace him carefully, slowly, so much that he falls asleep between one touch and the next.


Ray wakes up by slow degrees, aware he's alone in bed and comfortably warm. He thinks about getting up, but he can hear the rain outside and from the quality of the grey bathing the room, he slept pretty damn late.

He always sleeps better after sex.

Stretching, he settles back down, letting the world stay comfortably hazy for a little longer, lifting his head when he hears the door open. Fraser's startlingly vivid in jeans and t-shirt, eyes finding Ray before reaching back and pushing the door shut.

"Frase." Half-sitting up, Ray runs a hand awkwardly through his hair, glad he's not awake enough for morning-after worries. "Sorry, overslept."

"Not a problem." Fraser climbs onto the bed, holding Ray's eyes, crawling up the bed as slowly and deliberately as a cat. Ray blinks, suddenly aware he's naked beneath the blanket and his mouth tastes like crap, but Fraser just slides a hand around the back of his neck and kisses him, tongue pushing into his mouth, easing him back down with the weight of his body and pinning Ray's free hand to the bed by his head.

Ray fights it for a second; Fraser's got about thirty pounds on him and is easily the stronger of them and doesn't bother hiding it. He doesn't stop, either, licking into Ray's mouth like he already owns it. Then Fraser's thigh slides between his knees, pushing hard against his cock, and Ray draws in a surprised breath, biting Fraser's tongue and arching up to get more.

Fraser pulls back, biting Ray's lip, hard, enough that Ray knows when he looks in the mirror later he'll see the pale purple imprint of teeth, soothed with a lick that follows his jaw, pausing. "Good morning, Ray."

Ray laughs a little, eyes falling half-closed when Fraser hums softly, mouth settling just below his ear. "Yeah. It is."

"I want you," Fraser says into his ear, followed with a hot, wet tongue. It goes straight to his cock. Ray moans, nodding absently, intent on the burn of his cock against denim, uncomfortable and addictive. It'll hurt later, but Jesus, it's good right now. The grip on his wrist eases, thumb pressing into the center of his palm before his hand's eased over his head. He turns his head, but Fraser just kisses him again, long and slow and wet, just the way he likes it best, and combined with the slow rub against his cock, he goes with it, eyes falling closed.

"You're *that* kinda morning person," Ray tells the ceiling blearily. "Shoulda known."

Fraser lets go of his wrist, but Ray leaves his hand where it is, curious and a little too turned on to care. Fraser frames his face in big hands, tilting it for another kiss, deeper and even more druggingly slow, thumbs rubbing gently over his cheekbones, then fingers sliding into his hair.

Morning sex, good stuff, even if only one of them is technically having a morning. He gasps a little when Fraser's mouth slides down his jaw, scraping teeth along the bone before pausing, licking a slow circle in the skin just below, then biting. Hard.

Ray's jerks, a jolt of heat arrowing straight for his dick, already so hard he's aching, as Fraser soothes the spot with a gentle lick before working his way down, tongue and lips soft and careful again, hand tightening in Ray's hair, tilting his head back. Using his the flat of his tongue, he licks from collar to chin, stopping to suck gently at his exposed throat.

Ray reaches to touch the mark, and Fraser's hand closes over his, pulling it gently away, licking the words Ray almost says off his lips before Fraser's tongue slides into his mouth.

Sucking Fraser's tongue, rubbing up against his thigh, Ray forgets what he was going to say, even when his arm's stretched over his head. The thin spines of the headboard brush against his fingers as Fraser lifts his head, nipping his lip again before pulling back. The blue eyes are dilated black, impossible to read in the dim room.

"Stay like that," Fraser murmurs, hands sliding down his arms, slowing at his sides as Fraser brushes a kiss against Ray's chest. He hisses when Fraser's lips brush his nipples, pausing to lick, slow and luxurious, suck with an edge of teeth that makes him shiver, hearing his own panting.

Dazed, he feels Fraser's mouth, warm and wet against his belly, the bed shift and his legs eased farther apart. He shifts more at the nudge of denim against his inner thigh, widening more, and Fraser strokes a hand down his hip before swallowing his cock.

"Jesus!" His hands close over the bars in the headboard, trying to catch his breath as Fraser pulls up, slow and slickly wet, going back down until Ray feels his throat surrounding him. He can feel Fraser's hands stroking his hips, sliding down his thigh, urging one knee up and the scrape of short fingernails back down to cup the curve of his ass. Ray's barely aware of anything but the tight heat surrounding him, the play of Fraser's tongue on the head when he comes up, maddeningly slow, the hand gently cupping and squeezing his balls in counterpoint. Just long, slow pleasure stretching through him, feeling himself start to sweat, losing even the memory of cold.

"Please," he hears himself say, voice thick, barely able to form the between moans he can't stop, trying to arch into that gorgeous mouth; looking down, he almost comes just seeing Fraser's pretty mouth stretched red and wet around his cock.

Christ, Fraser's still *dressed*. Opening his mouth, he gets out, "Your--your clothes--" when he feels the hand on his ass shift, fingers sliding down the curve until a wet finger draws small circles around his hole. He almost--almost--*I've never done that, I don't know if I can*--but they've been on their way here since he last night, since he came here with Fraser, maybe since the first time they met and the whole damn world seemed to change. He's not very good at saying no to something Fraser wants. Not when Fraser wants it this much. Wants him this much.

"Yeah, okay" he whispers, head dropping back, feeling denim pressing against his skin, then a finger slowly fill him.

It's weird, but he can't tell if it's good, not with Fraser cocksucking like he's never wanted to do anything else, like he *likes* it, enjoys it, enjoys Ray's cock in his mouth and Ray's body the way Ray enjoys what Fraser does to it. He can feel Fraser's finger twisting inside, strange but not uncomfortable, and a slow slide out. Back in again, matching the rhythm on his cock, twisting more, then brushing something bright that brings Ray's hips off the bed before Fraser's hand on his hip pins him down.

"That," he chokes out, and this time he pushes back against it, that maddening finger that finds that place and rubs against it. There's a pause, then a surprising stretch, a second finger opening him up, and Fraser finds that place again and rubs until Ray feels like he'll die if he doesn't come. "Fraser. Please. Please. Please."

Fraser pulls back, leaving his cock in too-cold air, licking down to the base, mouthing his balls, soft hair tickling against his inner thighs, so sensitized even that makes him groan, twisting on the fingers that never stop moving, the build at the base of his spine burning through him until he knows he's begging and just cannot give a good shit. Anyone would beg for this. Anyone.

Fraser slips in a third finger, sliding them in so suddenly that Ray feels a sharp burn, then Fraser's mouth is wrapped around his cock, sucking him just as Fraser pushes against that bundle of nerves and Ray comes so hard he can't see, like falling off a mountain, shaking, hands locked around the headboard and wondering dazedly if that's his voice that sounds like that, needy and helpless and maybe afraid, too.

Fraser works him through it, soft mouthed now, fingers slowing to a stop deep inside him, sparks still lighting Ray's skin with every shift of his body. Somewhere distant, he can feel the bed shift, Fraser letting his cock finally fall limp and satisfied on his belly, and then a mouth cover his. His fingers fall limply from the headboard, weirdly numb, and he has just enough energy to drape his arms over Fraser's back as he tastes himself in that warm mouth, on that tongue he should have known could do shit like that.

"You learn that in Mountie school?" Ray asks breathlessly.

"Actually, yes." Ray turns his head to telegraph "full of shit" by way of blinking, making Fraser grin, ducking his head. "Though perhaps not in what one would call a *class*, no."

"You gotta tell me about that someday." Ray licks his lips, watching Fraser's eyes follow the motion. "Anything else you wanna share with the class?"

Fraser's eyes darken, smile fading. Ray grins, arching his back slightly; getting Fraser's undivided attention is something he could get used to. "Only do it if you can say it."

"I would like to--"

"In American, Frase."

Fraser hesitates, pupils blown wide, flushed and messy and hard beneath the denim. "I want to fuck you, Ray."

It sounds so much dirtier when Fraser says it; Ray feels his cock jerk and sucks in a breath, sitting up and licking across Fraser's lips. "Yeah. That."

He watches Fraser finally taking off his shirt, giving Ray more skin to touch, and Ray drags his fingers slowly over thick muscle under smooth flesh, the stuttering line of Fraser's spine and jut of shoulder blades, learning by touch what he's only seen. Scars invisible to the naked eye catch under his fingers, the pitted flesh where a bullet went in and never came out. He feels Fraser tense when he touches it, breath hot against Ray's neck, a soft moan when Ray circles it with a lazy finger.

One inch, he thinks with a shiver, before Fraser pulls away, and Ray forces open his eyes long enough to see Fraser pull of his jeans, dropping a tube and a condom on the bed beside them. Ray gives himself an entire second to think about the implications of *that* before Fraser kisses him and urges him back down, warm and heavy, perfect, and Ray kisses back, licking into Fraser's mouth to taste himself, arching into the cock rubbing wet and silky against his belly, and wanting those fingers back so badly he's rubbing his ass up against Fraser's thighs. Like a fucking cat in heat. "Frase," he whispers, trying to find the words. "Just--fuck--do it. Come on…."

Fraser tilts his head back, mouth buried in his throat, biting into the sensitive join of neck and shoulder, and maybe it shouldn't feel good when it hurts so much, but it does. The fingers slide back inside fast and easy, not even a stretch, filling him up. Gasping, he tilts his head farther back, shuddering at the sharp bite before Fraser pulls back, kneeling between his legs.

Fraser looks--amazing. Wrecked. Dark hair clinging to his forehead, mouth swollen red and glossy wet, eyes dark and hungry; something looks at him that's never lived in a city, sat a dinner table, slept in a normal bed by Ray these last few weeks. The cap comes off the tube, and Ray watches, hypnotized, as Fraser waits for it to warm to his skin before slicking his fingers for Ray's ass. Ray raises his hips, spreading wider, trying to get more, more of everything, wet fingers and Fraser's muffled groans, the way Fraser watches him like he's never seen anything so good.

Fraser pulls out abruptly, and Ray whines, trying to follow, ass pushing against Fraser, wanting more, wanting that, wanting the cock Fraser puts the condom on with slow, deliberate movements that don't hide how his hands are shaking, slicking it with more stuff from the tube before tossing it on the bed. Hand tight around his own cock, Fraser takes a deep breath, eyes closed, then rests a hand on Ray's hip.

"It--it will be easier if you turn over," he says, voice sleep-husky. Ray's cock twitches at the sound of it, low and sex-drenched, thick as honey.

Ray shakes his head, licking dry lips, tasting the blood pooling close the skin. "Want to see you."

One hand sliding under Ray's knee, lifting it up over his shoulder, the other bent up, Ray's heel pushed against his ass. Ray watches Fraser shift slowly, cock pushing up against his hole, sensitive enough that Ray shudders, trying to move into it. A hand closes tight over his hip, keeping him still as the blunt head pushes slowly into him, passing the thick ring of muscle with a slow burn. Fraser's free hand plants itself by his shoulder, and Ray leans up, back aching at the unaccustomed stretch, as Fraser's other hand cups the back of his neck, tongue pushing into his mouth as he thrusts hard into Ray's body.

"Christ," Ray whispers against Fraser's mouth. Falling back onto the mattress, he shuts his eyes, concentrating on the stretch of his ass, the burn fading slowly. Fraser's still, sweat-slick forehead resting against his, breathing like he just ran all of Chicago and climbed a Canadian mountain with a cop on his back. Taking a breath, he tightens around Fraser, almost smiling at the startled gasp, the tiny shift of his hips, then relaxes. Easier. After a few seconds, he does it again, and the discomfort eases more.

Fraser's thumbs trail over his cheekbones, achingly gentle. "Ray?"

Ray takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Do it."

Fraser's fingers curve under his chin, tilting his head back for another kiss, sweet and warm and easy, like they're making out, like Ray doesn't have a cock up his ass and Fraser's shaking like he's about to fall apart. He feels Fraser's fingers slide between his, bracing on the bed, before he eases out, then in, letting Ray get used to his body, rocking gently until Ray can match it. His cock starts to harden against his belly again, and he relaxes more, following the careful rhythm working slowly deeper. Fraser licks his cheek softly, then shifts, pushing Ray's knee up further, changing the angle and sliding his cock against that spot hard and perfect.

Almost instantly, Ray's hard and gasping, shifting into it at the next thrust, Fraser gasping before lips are pressed against Ray's ear. "Ray. You feel--" Another thrust. "You're amazing." Fraser's breath hisses out as Ray twists up against him, wanting more, now, more of that slick cock that filled him up, the shots of pleasure like electricity wired straight to his cock.

"That's it," he whispers, fingers tightening on Ray's, the other sliding into his hair, pulling his head back. Ray shudders, back arching as Fraser speeds up each thrust, fine hair rubbing against his ass, Fraser's voice in his ear, words lost beneath the sound of Ray's own ragged breathing. Beneath his hand, Fraser's back is damp, fingers sliding for purchase, knowing he's leaving scratches he'll be able to touch tomorrow, proof he's writing onto Fraser's body.

He's close, cock rubbing up against Fraser's belly, hair tickling the sensitive skin until he's panting, panting *words*, he thinks, "Fraser. Please. Fraser. Christ. Yes," and Fraser kisses him, open-mouthed and sloppy, speeding up until Ray can't even form words, lightheaded and tingling with the glittering edge of orgasm, close, Fraser, please, please, *please*….


"God…" He starts to shake, a roll of heat and light, cock spurting between them, jerking helplessly as it consumes him. Fraser groans, working into him harder, drawing it out until Ray can't feel the bed beneath him, the cool morning air, the pillow beneath his head; there's just Fraser slick skin and the sound of his moans and the feel of his cock, the sudden stillness before he begins to shake, teeth buried in Ray's shoulder as he comes.

A while later, Ray surfaces slowly to feel Fraser's full weight resting across his chest, softening cock still buried inside him. Slowly, he eases his leg down, distantly aware of overstretched muscles, the hard ache in his ass, melting into the mattress. Fraser's just as slow, pulling out with a wince and disposing of the condom in a trash can by the bed as Ray tries to remember how to breathe.

A few more seconds pass, then Ray feels Fraser's hand on his shoulder, gently urging him onto his side. It's not the worst idea in the world; Ray rolls easily, scrabbling for a pillow to curl around, endorphins keeping him loose and disconnected, barely able to wince when a questing fingers circle his hole.

"You--have *got* to be kidding," he manages breathlessly.

Fraser breathes a laugh against his neck. "Are you sore?" A fingertip slides inside, and Ray hisses softly, trying to project *what the fuck do you think?* in Fraser's general direction. "Ah. Just a moment. Don't move."

From reserves he didn't even know he had, Ray manages one incredulous look before relaxing again. Good sex and great sex are two different worlds of incredible; Ray's not sure he'll ever want to move again.

Pulling his fingers away, Fraser gets out of bed; Ray spares a second to wonder how the hell Fraser can even make himself move, much less get up, then closes his eyes. A minute passes before the bed dips again, then Fraser's hand on his hip, holding him steady. Something probably made of something disgusting that Ray doesn't want to know about is slowly smeared around the edges and then inside--Ray bites his lip, tensing, but whatever it is, it works, easing away the worst of the remaining burn.

It's getting cold; before he gets more than a shiver, Ray feels the blankets draped over him, but Fraser's better, curling around his back, hand running up and down his side and chest, rubbing away the rash of goosebumps.

"Gonna sleep now," Ray tells Fraser. He shivers again when Fraser licks the back of his neck, hand settling low on his belly.

A kiss warms the skin behind his ear. "Understood."


At some point, there's food; Ray thinks about clothes for the time it takes for Fraser to look at him, blue eyes hopeful, and stays where he is, naked and all, fascinated by this new view of Fraser. Knowing Fraser had a kind of terrifying level of concentration and being the object of it are two totally different things. Vaguely shocked that Fraser doesn't seem to worry about crumbs in bed.

Not to mention the *touching*, like Fraser's been saving up his quota of human contact for something like this; Ray can't get used to it, and he's a pretty touchy guy himself. Fingers drawing down his back, a hand resting on his shoulder, a hand rubbing slow circles on his stomach and stroking his chest, waking up to Fraser mouthing his spine as he dozes, warm and wet. It's a low buzz without the urgency of arousal, like getting a small dose of the really *good* stuff from a doctor, a little dreamy and unreal. Kissing for what feels like hours, half-awake and sloppy and wet, Fraser's tongue stroking into his mouth and drawing Ray's into his. Nothing more complicated than lying there and letting Fraser get out what feels like a lifetime of touching.

He gets hard again somewhere in the afternoon, the light slanting through the window almost gone to dark. Ray wraps a hand around them both, jerking them off slow and easy, hand wet from Fraser's mouth, and Fraser kisses him through orgasm, rubbing their come into Ray's skin and offering Ray his fingers to suck clean.

Bed and sex and food; Ray can't honestly ask for more than that. His concentration's shot for anything that's not Fraser, though he wonders a little where Dief is and what he's doing. Surprised he hasn't clawed the door down.

"Hunting," Fraser breathes into his neck. Smelling him. Ray wonders if he should shower and forgets the thought when Fraser licks down his shoulder. Reaching up lazily, Ray slides his fingers through the mess of Fraser's hair. They're both a mess. Something to deal with later, when Ray's not so comfortable, every muscle gone loose.

Deal with *much* later, with Fraser hard against his hip, and Ray opens his eyes enough to find a pillow and roll on his side when Fraser hand slides down his ass. Fraser tests with a tip of his finger, pressed up against Ray's back from neck to knees, feeling for every wince. It's easier this time, lubed and stretched and feeling like he's going to fall apart if Fraser's not inside him, his body opening up eagerly for long fingers and the length of a heavy cock. Rocking slow and easy, building it up until Ray's panting helplessly into the pillow, reaching to lock his hand around Fraser's ass and make him *move*, and Fraser's voice saying, "Under the circumstances, I think you could use my name," and Ray unable to believe he can put a sentence together right now.

"Fraser," he says, just to be an asshole, pushing back against each thrust. Digging his nails into Fraser's ass, Ray turns his head enough to see Fraser's flushed face, eyes glassy, and licks between his lips. "Ben."

Fraser's hand slides down his side, locking on his hip, and suddenly, he's flat on his belly and Fraser's *fucking* him, maybe forgetting Ray's just above zero experience and so startlingly good Ray groans and reaches for his cock, trapped against the bed and so hard it hurts. Fraser growls against his shoulder, urging Ray to his knees, one hand on the back of his neck and pinning him to the bed, then reaches under him and slaps his hand away, jerking him off rough and fast, not wet enough and perfect.

Ray comes so hard he starts to worry about the possibility of a stroke.

Later, limp and fucked-out, Fraser rubbing that stuff to ease away the sharp burn of overstretched skin, Ray turns his head just enough to stare blearily at Fraser. "Been a while?" he manages when Fraser lies down, finally looking like just maybe, he's feeling a little less than perfectly awake, hand resting heavily on the small of Ray's back.

Fraser blinks slowly, like it's taking him some time to work out language again. "Yes, you could say that."

That's all the conversation Ray has in him, leaving Fraser to deal with the blankets and settling in for, God willing, a few hours of sleep.


Four, actually. Ray straddles a moaning, sweating Fraser and learns how to hide his teeth when he goes down, relieved that it's dark enough that Fraser can't see him flush when he chokes, cradling warm hips and breathing through his nose when he swallows.


It's indecently early when he's awake for good, and it takes him a second to realize why; Fraser's gone, and like any junkie, Ray starts getting jittery when he's not getting his fix. Sitting up, he hisses, reaching back for the first time to check the damage. Sore, sensitive and a little swollen, still slick from whatever Fraser put on him…the last time. Whenever that was. His cock isn't too much better, head red and warm to the touch, skin almost raw. He's pretty sure he doesn't want to see a mirror anytime soon, either, running his hand through his hair, and there's a fairly good chance he has hickies in places no hickies have ever been before.

All and all, he feels pretty damn good. If you can walk straight after sex like that, you just ain't doing it right.

Climbing out of bed, Ray ignores the cold of the floor and wonders what to do next. His routine feels off now, like it's been weeks and not twenty four hours, so he settles for grabbing the first pair of sweats he finds and a t-shirt, neither of which are his, but he figures after twenty four hours of sharing body fluids, sharing clothes is officially just not a big deal.

He was right about the time; finding his watch on the desk, he squints at five am and almost goes straight back to bed. There's coffee, though, the smell drawing him to the kitchen before any firm plans can be made. Half-way through the first cup, Ray walks out on the porch to check the weather.

The rain's lighter than it's been; Fraser might be out getting caught up on whatever he skipped the last few days. Ray thinks about it, weighing sitting outside against days of being cooped up against having sitting down, before giving up and finding a spare blanket. After a second, he starts another kettle of water, then goes out, folding it up and carefully sitting down. With enough shifting, he can almost imagine it doesn't hurt all that much.

He was right; the sky doesn't look as threatening as it did, and in the distance, he can see light coloring the horizon grey-pink and dark gold. Taking a drink, Ray leans against the post, a little cold but not enough to want to bother moving.

It occurs to him he hasn't thought of Stella in two days, and he waits for the faint burn of anger, thinking of Vecchio and Stella down in Florida and leaving them behind. Nothing. Feeling a faint sense of panic, Ray looks for her, image-dreams of the woman he'd married and lost and loved more than his own life, the bitter pain that overlaid every memory, and finds nothing but wistful, remembered sweetness stripped of hurt. Somehow, when he wasn't looking, he'd forgotten how to be in love with her and how to ache with her loss.

He thinks of the words that Fraser whispered to him, sleepy and dazed, touching him like he was afraid Ray would leave when he let go. All this time he'd thought that both of them had been left behind, but maybe that's not it at all. Maybe it's just that they'd moved on.

Taking another drink of coffee, he finds himself searching the trees, wondering what they'll look like draped in snow, imagining the ground glittering white, ice hanging everywhere he looks. He remembers following Fraser across the vast expanse of the far north and how even then, it awed him in its hugeness and its silence. But mostly, he remembers Fraser's joy before it was cut away by worry and fear, and imagines going back and watching him light up all over again.

I could like it here, Ray thinks in surprise, sipping the cooling coffee just as Fraser emerges from somewhere to the left in a flash of red; Ray turns to watch like a magnet drawn north, knowing the second Fraser sees him, looking like the guy who stood up in a world of white with an incredulous smile, like someone who'd finally, finally come home.

Ray's chest tightens: his do-over turned do-better, his second chance wrapped in faded flannel and worn denim, the twist in the story that he never saw coming.

Ray stands up, waiting until Fraser's on the porch and handing him the coffee cup to hold before leaning in to kiss him, Fraser's lips are cold and a little chapped, but his mouth is warm and soft and wet when Ray slides his tongue between them, threading his fingers through dark, silky hair. Pulling back when he runs out of air, Ray rests his forehead against Fraser's and sucks in a ragged breath. "I wanna go north now."

He's not sure if Robert Fraser was right, that you couldn't survive the Territories if you didn't love them. Maybe just the person in them is enough.

Fraser licks his lips like he's looking for Ray's taste. Ray gives it to him, slicking his tongue over Fraser's lips, sucking gently before he pulls away, listening to Fraser trying to catch his breath. "Tomorrow. We can leave tomorrow." Fraser hesitates. "If you're ready."

Ray licks the cold tip of his nose, the flushed skin of his cheek, the curve of his ear. "Ready like you wouldn't believe." Ray closes his eyes and answers what Fraser had written into his skin with his lips and his tongue, his hands and his cock, murmured like a secret on the edges of sleep. "I love it here."
Tags: ds: where the story changes, fic: other fandoms
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