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due South: The Reaching Out One: part 3B

 See part 1A for notes, warnings, etc.  More sex. 

#


They made a slightly later start that morning than usual--the morning’s activities, while delightful, left him with an uncharacteristic lassitude that kept him abed with Ray until the dogs’ demands for breakfast became too frenzied to ignore. Their day progressed, by unspoken agreement and in deference to the demands of the environment, with no change except the occasional moment of heated eye contact that went straight to Fraser’s groin. In the evening, sex and physical affection replaced singing and storytelling--a pastime that was, at least, equally enjoyable.

 

He wasn’t particularly surprised by the enthusiasm with which Ray threw himself into this new endeavor. Ray was never one to do anything by halves, whether it was teaching a young gang member to channel his aggressive impulses into the sport of boxing, pursuing a gang of lake pirates, or exploring the Arctic with his best friend and partner.

He was surprised, however, by Ray’s insistence that Fraser receive equal pleasure from their encounters. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been--after the twelve years of their partnership, he had ample evidence of Ray’s generous spirit.

“Fraser, I gotta tell you this,” Ray said during their third sexual encounter. “You give a mean blowjob, but you’re really not so good at jerking off.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he said, a little stiffly. He’d had few sexual partners compared to most men his age, but he found that with sufficient research and willingness to learn, he was able to give uniform satisfaction.

“Well, yeah, you have. From this guy, here.” Ray held Fraser’s penis loosely in his palm, sliding the foreskin around between his thumb and forefinger. “That not always being able to come thing? That would be a complaint.”

One thing Fraser knew about himself was that he had a number of unusual talents. Perhaps the least useful of these was his talent for saying exactly the wrong thing at exactly the wrong moment. “Well, perhaps. But I don’t see how it affects you.”

Fortunately, Ray--his amazing, beloved Ray--had a complimentary talent for frequently overlooking it when he did. “Because I love you, you giant freak. Okay, here’s the thing--most of your euphemisms for masturbation will give you the wrong idea. Spanking the monkey, choking the chicken, beating your meat--it sounds kinda violent, I guess.”

Ray was stroking him just enough to be a distraction, but Fraser managed to focus on what he was saying. “I didn’t realize you had an interest in etymology. It’s truly astonishing how much of the Anglo-Saxon vocabulary associated with sexual topics have violent etymological undertones. The word ‘fuck,’ for example--”

“Fraser, I am not interested in the entomology of the f-word--well, actually, maybe I could be interested, but not right this minute.”

“Etymology,” Fraser said helpfully.

“What about it?”

“Entomology is the study of insects.”

“I do not care, Fraser. You may be the guy who knows the difference between entomology and etymology, but I am the guy who knows how to jerk off without doing himself an injury, and which one of those areas of expertise do you think is more useful in everyday life?”

“Ah. Yours, I would think.”

“Damn right.” He brought his other hand into play, holding Fraser’s cock with one hand and stroking it with the other, as if it were a kitten or some other small animal. “So here’s the thing. The death grip on your cock? Not a good thing. You get yourself used to that, it’s an arms race between getting off and cutting off your circulation.”

“You have a real gift for metaphor,” Fraser commented.

“Uh-huh. Are you getting what I’m saying, or are you just pulling out irrelevant details to focus on?”

“I’m sorry, Ray.”

“Yeah, it’s not me you should be apologizing to, it’s--this guy have a name?” he asked, indicating Fraser’s penis.

“Er, no.” Fraser wondered why anyone would give a part of their body its own name, but if he asked, Ray would probably--rightly--point out that he was focusing on irrelevant details. “I don’t generally talk to it, either.”

“Yeah, well, it only takes an extra moment to be courteous.” Ray grinned up at him. “Yeah, okay, talking to it, probably not necessary and a little weird. But I bet anything you got yourself into this mess by treating jerking off like a chore, something to get over with as fast as possible.”

“Actually, when doing chores I’ve found that undue haste can be--” Irrelevant details again. And in fact, if he finished that sentence, he’d find himself making Ray’s point for him. When polishing his boots or washing the dishes, he took the time to do it properly. Masturbation--which he usually mentally termed self abuse, the description used in the book on puberty that he’d received on his 13th birthday--he generally attempted to shoehorn into his morning shower without allowing any extra time for the exercise. “Yes, Ray.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Ray licked his own palm and rubbed it in slow circles over the head of Fraser’s cock. “This kind of thing, it takes some practice to learn what works. Lucky for you, I’ve had lots and lots of practice.”

Fraser swallowed hard. What Ray was doing was…pleasant. Surprisingly pleasant. “I can, ah, see that.”

“Seriously, in my prime, I coulda jerked off for America, if it was an Olympic sport.”

Fraser tried to quash the mental picture that suggestion was giving him. “How would they judge it?”

“Dunno. Like figure skating, I guess. So many required elements, extra points for style.” Ray shrugged.

“I didn’t realize you followed figure skating.”

“I don’t. But when the Olympics are on, nobody puts anything good up against ‘em, so once every four fucking years, I suck it up and watch some damn figure skating. That a problem for you?”

“Not at all.”

“Good. And stop doing that.”

“What?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we are having sex, Fraser. You should be thinking sex thoughts, not constantly trying to change the subject.”

“I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, abashed. Ray was completely right--he was trying to do Fraser a good turn, and he was not being particularly cooperative. “I’ll try to focus.”

“Good. Good. And I’ll help you.” Fraser wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to do that, unless Ray had added mind-control to his list of talents, but Ray evidently did. He settled back, positioning Fraser against his chest, and gave him a few slow, firm strokes. “Lemme tell you how I do this, okay?” Without waiting for an answer, Ray continued, “Well, there’s lotsa ways. Let’s say I’ve had a hard day, okay? One of those days when nothing goes right. And you know how I get. All wound up. Tense. Maybe I’m at work hopping around hoping somebody’ll give me a reason to beat the crap out of ‘em, but nobody does.”

Fraser could picture it. He’d seen Ray like that often enough, during his time in Chicago. “Okay.”

“So when work’s done, I start putting all that tension somewhere else. Fighting or fucking, it’s all testosterone, right? I’m driving home in the Goat--it’s a warm day, I’ve got the windows down, I’m leaning against the windowsill, whole bit. Since it’s a warm day--maybe it’s the first warm day of the spring--half the girls on the street are wearing little dresses and no stockings, so I stop at a red light and I’m watchin’ ‘em, pretending like if I talked to ‘em they wouldn’t laugh and call me grandpa.”

Fraser wanted to point out that he’s nowhere near old enough to be the grandfather of a girl of nubile age, but he’s supposed to be focusing. In his mind, he puts Ray in one of his tight white t-shirts, with the sleeves rolled up. Ray’s tense--full of anxious energy--but he’s smiling. “Okay.”

“So by the time I get home, I’m about half hard, but I don’t take care of it right away. This is, you know, something I’m in charge of. I know I’m gonna get off eventually, unlike the rest of the day where I couldn’t get anything to go my way, so it’s kinda fun to just, you know, anticipate it. So I open the mail, check if there’s anything decent on TV, stuff like that.”

The Ray in Fraser’s mind received mostly bills, and perhaps one of the charity solicitations that resembled a personal letter, which he opened and scanned for a moment before dropping it on the countertop with a huff. He deviated from the real Ray’s description of his activities, opening the refrigerator and drumming his fingers on the edge of the door.

“Maybe I’ll take a shower, ‘cause I was too dumb to look at the weather report and find out ahead of time that it was gonna be the first warm day. So I just kind of throw my clothes every which way, ‘cause you’re not there to bitch about it, and hop in the shower. Cool, but not cold, ‘cause I do want to get off eventually. But first I wash up. Spend a little more time than ab-so-lutely necessary here--” He stroked Fraser’s chest, making slow circles around his nipples “--and here.” Ray’s hands moved to his scrotum

“Mm. Nice.” When Ray was gone--Fraser tried not to think about it, but Ray would be going home soon--he’d be able to imagine this, Ray pleasuring himself alone.

Maybe Ray would think of him.

“Yeah, it’s nice. So I do that for a while, there in the water. It’s warm, and the soap is kinda slippery. Maybe I stay in there until the hot water runs out. No need to rush things, right?”

No, there was no need to rush things. Funny how he’d never realized that before. Ray’s body was arm against his back, his voice warm in his ear, and he didn’t have to hurry to finish up, because there wasn’t anywhere else he needed to be.

“Now, maybe you can’t play with yourself in the shower for an hour, what with the whole trucked-in water thing you’ve got up here. Now that is a crazy system.”

Ray was one to talk about thinking sex thoughts. Plumbing was perhaps not inherently anerotic subject matter, but Ray was definitely drifting into one of the less sexy aspects of the topic. “Trucked-in water is a considerable improvement over the previous system.”

“What was the--never mind. We’re still in the shower, and we’re in Chicago, where we don’t have to think about where the water was before it came outta the tap. But yeah, it’s starting to get a little chilly, so I’m gonna get out of the shower. I’ll dry off, check the roots in the mirror, see if I need a touch-up, think about how I look pretty good for an old guy.”

“You look wonderful.”

“Mm, thanks. So I’m thinking’ about how I look pretty good for a guy my age, and head on into the bedroom.”

“You’re not going to get dressed?” That was fine, he could enjoy the visual--but even when he had the luxury of private living quarters, and it was warm enough to be in a state of undress without discomfort, he never walked around naked.

“Why bother putting on clothes when I’m just going to take them off again? I could put on a towel. You want me to put on a towel?”

Perhaps he should. But it was a fantasy. He could let Ray walk around naked in a fantasy. “Er, no.”

“Okay, so I’m walking into the bedroom. You like the view, huh?” he added as Fraser’s cock twitched.

“It is a most engaging visual.” A visual he’d schooled himself not to think about during those brief moments in the shower--but now Ray was encouraging him to think about it. It wasn’t as if he was fantasizing about Ray without his consent.

“Okay, so I’ll go in and get on the bed. I’m kind of leaning up against the headboard, I’ve got my legs apart--” Fraser moved his legs further apart, giving Ray more access. “I’m still down here with one hand, just kind of keepin’ myself interested. Maybe up here with the other one.” He ran his hands over Fraser’s chest, pinching his nipples lightly. “I like that sometimes, how ‘bout you?”

“I’ve, uh, never tried it.” It had been a most agreeable surprise when Ray touched his chest the night before. It hadn’t escaped him that men’s nipples responded to cold in much the same way that women’s did, but he’d never made the leap to more enjoyable forms of sensory input.

“Well, they’re on there, you might as well get some use out of ‘em.” He ran his fingertips down Fraser’s sternum. “Now we’ll get the other hand in on the fun down here.” He cradled Fraser’s scrotum. “If you hold on to these guys when you’re--never mind that. Give ‘em a little squeeze, let ‘em know you haven’t forgotten about ‘em.” Both hands wrapped around his cock. “Once I’ve had enough of playin’ around, I’ll start workin’ it.” His hands tightened a little and sped up--not as tight or as fast as when Fraser did himself, but some.

Against his expectations, Fraser felt himself responding. He tensed, and his breath caught in his throat. If he could catch his breath, he’d have said No, wait, this isn’t--but he couldn’t form the words, and Ray was saying, “It’s all right. It’s all right. I’ve got you,” as he came.

He put his arm over his face as Ray quietly cleaned him up. Settling back beside him, Ray gently moved his arm down to his chest, holding his hand. “You look kinda freaked.”

Keeping his eyes closed, Fraser sighed, but didn’t answer.

“C’mon, open up. What’d I do?”

His eyes flew open. “Nothing, Ray. You were-e” Belatedly, he remembered his manners. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Ray raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. “So, what?”

“I’m just feeling--overwhelmed.” It was a small word for what he was feeling, but more or less accurate.

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Overwhelming like jumping into a cold swimming pool on a hot day, or overwhelming like being chained to the floor in a sinking ship?”

“Ah…I’m not sure I understand the categories.”

“Hm. One’s something you plan to go out of our way to avoid ever happening again, the other’s something you want to get used to.”

“Oh. Ah, the latter.” Although perhaps a better metaphor would be going down on a sinking ship and suddenly learning that he was able to breathe water. He would get used to it, certainly, but his life might never be the same.

#

Fraser called the dogs to a halt and bent down to tell Ray, “There’s a storm coming.”

Once, Ray would have demanded to know how Fraser could possibly know that, but he knew by now that Fraser could predict the weather. Maybe it was some kind of Mountie thing. “Okay. Where are we going to camp?”

“Blood Rock, I think. That mountain up there.”

Ray shielded his eyes with his hand. “Huh. Okay.”

“The storm shouldn’t hit until well after dark--probably around midnight, and last until the next night. But let’s keep moving, so we have time to get everybody settled in.”

Making camp before a storm meant a lot of extra work--they’d need plenty of firewood, for one thing, and Fraser would want to make some kind of shelter for the dogs, and maybe a windbreak around the tent if there wasn’t a naturally sheltered spot to put it. Once they were hunkered down, there wouldn’t be much to do other than ride it out.

Except--it occurred to him--they now had lots of new options for ways to pass the time. Things that wouldn’t get old quite as fast as playing card games and singing songs did. “Yeah, okay. Pemmican?”

Fraser gave him a handful and they pressed on.

When they got to Blood Rock, Fraser strapped on his snowshoes and tramped around until he’d selected the best site for the tent. Fraser took charge of the tent and the dogs--he set up the tent and built a lean-to out of snow and branches to keep the worst of the snow and wind off the dogs, then strung a rope from the tent to the doghouse so that they’d be able to feed and water the team without getting lost.

While he did all that, Ray cut and carried firewood. Lots and lots of firewood. They probably wouldn’t be able to keep a fire going during the worst of the storm, but they’d want to keep it going as long as possible, for warmth, cooking, and water-melting purposes. Once Fraser told him there was enough firewood, he cut spruce, and Fraser wove them another Christmas-tree bed.

By the time they’d finished making camp, the wind was starting to pick up. Ray stuck close to Fraser’s side--even after ten years, being out in an Arctic storm still made him a little nervous. “Why do they call it Blood Rock, anyway?” he asked, hoping that a Dene story might distract him from the howling wind.

“It was the site of a quarry where the Dene mined a particular red stone that they used to make tools, before Europeans came with metal tools,” Fraser explained.

“Oh. Good. I was worried it was gonna be something scary.”

“Well, the mountain is also believed to be the skull of a giant old man,” Fraser admitted. “Yamozhah, the traveling man, and his brother Ts’idzoo, the old man’s grandsons, killed him by splitting his skull and dropping hot rocks inside, which turned him to stone.”

Naturally. Of course there was some gory reason for the name. Ray scraped the last traces of stew out of his plate. “Why’d they do that? Was their grandfather a bad guy? Or were Yamaha and--whatever--the bad guys?”

“Dene stories don’t always have clear cut bad guys and good guys,” Fraser explained. “But Yamozhah is generally considered a heroic figure, and Ts’idzoo a villainous one.”

“So what about the grandpa?”

“I’m…not sure,” Fraser admitted. “The Dene leave offerings here for the grandfather, but whether that’s to honor him or placate him, I don’t know.”

“Wow, a Dene story you don’t know?” Ray shook his head in mock disappointment.

“Well, I don’t know everything.”

“Can I get that in writing?” Ray bumped his shoulder against Fraser’s.

Fraser cleared his throat. “Perhaps the storm will afford us an opportunity to address some of my other, ah, areas of ignorance.”

Fraser making sexual innuendo was probably going to take him another ten years to get used to. Ray grinned and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that it might.”

 

#

Ray settled back against their packs, his legs sprawled every which way. “Jeeze, Frase. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“Depot,” Fraser answered automatically.

Ray picked his head up to give him a startled look. “Seriously?”

“It wasn’t part of the official curriculum, Ray.” It was more than a little frightening how easily he could imagine what Ray was thinking.

“Oh. Yeah. I told you about the post-orgasm IQ drop, right?”

Fraser nodded, sitting back against with his head against Ray’s chest. It was approximately noon and they hadn’t dressed yet, which would have felt practically sinful but for the fact that they couldn’t leave the tent without putting themselves at risk of death.

“So I guess it was, uh, one of your classmates?”

“No,” Fraser admitted.

“Townie? Groundskeeper? Horse?”

Fraser shook his head at each question. Ray wasn’t going to like the answer, but he knew that if he didn’t volunteer the information, Ray would keep pressing. “Instructor.”

“Oh.” Ray’s hand settled on his shoulder. “That’s, uh…I don’t know how they do things in Canada, but at the Academy in Chicago, that would not be cool. Even if it was an opposite-sex situation.”

“Er, yes. It would be considered inappropriate behavior at Depot, as well. It was, on reflection, not one of my finer moments.” Perhaps not the absolute debacle that his relationship with Victoria had been, but still, not something he could look back on without a considerable degree of embarrassment.

“Oh, jeeze, Frase, I didn’t mean…I meant it wasn’t cool for him--it was a him, right?”

“Of course.” Fraser didn’t want to think about how he might’ve learned fellatio from a woman instructor.

“I mean, it’s like sexual harassment or something,” Ray clarified.

“I’m not entirely sure that the concept of sexual harassment had been invented in 1979. And I assure you, my participation in the--improprieties--was entirely voluntary.” It hadn’t occurred to him until years afterward that Sergeant Baker had been taking shameful advantage of his position. He could only hope that then-Cadet Fraser’s enthusiastic response hadn’t encouraged him to repeat the behavior.

“Improprieties,” Ray repeated, rubbing his shoulders. “Yeah. I don’t know, Frase. How old was this guy?”

“I don’t know. Forty?” They hadn’t talked very much. “I found his attention flattering. At the time.” From the perspective of age, he could see that what he’d thought had been sexual attraction had mainly been loneliness, naïveté, and a puppyish eagerness to please.

“Yeah, that’s…probably normal. But that’s why practically the first thing they tell you in teaching-somebody-stuff school is ‘don’t bang the students, even if they ask you to.’ When I did that Police Explorers thing, a whole day of the training was about not banging the students. There was role playing,” Ray added mournfully.

“The young people in that program are high school students, aren’t they? Cadets at Depot are adults,” Fraser pointed out.

“It’s for ages sixteen to twenty, and they were real clear that you can’t do the nineteen-year-olds, either.”

Although Ray was stroking him affectionately, his voice was downright peevish. “I do realize it was a mistake,” Fraser said, hoping to placate him.

“Yeah, I’m not mad at you, you stupid Mountie.”

“What, then?”

“Haven’t you noticed I don’t like people taking advantage of you?”

Fraser knew better than to argue that he hadn’t been taken advantage of. The fact that he’d been too foolish to recognize it at the time didn’t mean that he hadn’t been. “It was more than twenty-five years ago,” he pointed out instead.

“Yeah, I think I like the idea of somebody taking advantage of you when you were a little baby Mountie even less.”

That stung. Baby Mountie, indeed. “I was nineteen, Ray. A grown man with the capacity to make rational decisions.”

“Why don’t you try telling me that if it was, I dunno, O’Donnell getting schtupped by an instructor old enough to be her father, you’d say, ‘Well, she’s a grown woman with the capacity to make rational decisions.’”

Fraser hadn’t thought of it like that. He’d likely attempt to discern the identity of the instructor in question and push for an investigation and disciplinary action. Certainly he wouldn’t feel that the young officer in question was equally responsible for the--impropriety. Rather, he’d feel that the young officer had made a regrettable error in judgment, but the instructor had committed a serious breach of trust. “Hm.”

“Yeah, I figured once I put it like that, you’d see it my way.” Ray traced Fraser’s collarbone with his fingertips. “So was this guy at least nice to you?”

“Oh, certainly.” Oddly enough, he hadn’t given the question much thought. “He was very patient with my, er, early efforts.” Although, now that he thought about it, what he’d thought of as patience had mostly been long-suffering sighs and the suggestion that he try again. And the relationship--if you could even call it that--had mostly involved him on his knees in Sergeant Baker’s office. “We went on a hike once,” he added. That had been…well, it had been very kind, actually. He’d been frazzled from the near-constant company of his troopmates, and missing home, and a few hours nearly alone and in the out-of-doors had been just what he needed.

“Yeah, that’s…that guy sounds like a real prince.”

“Well, we can’t all be lucky enough to marry our high-school sweethearts.”

“And divorce them ten years later? Yeah, I was real lucky there.” Ray carded his fingers through Fraser’s hair. “No, actually, I was. We trusted each other, and we kinda figured the sex stuff out as we went along, which is probably the right way to do it.”

Fraser thought he was probably right. “There are disadvantages to growing up with no other young people within courting distance.”

“Hm, yeah. So who else was there? Tell me it wasn’t just the bank robber and the cradle robber.”

“No, there was--let’s see. The young man in Moosejaw--that only lasted about a week. And then in Arctic Bay, a year or two later, one of the nurses posted to the medical station. That was mostly a matter of convenience--we were both new in town, unattached, and about the same age. Her contract ended and she went back down south.” They had parted without acrimony, at least. No one had been shot. “And then Victoria, which you know about. And you, which you also know about.”

“Sounds like you had a couple of long dry spells there,” Ray observed. “S’okay, so’ve I. You were always into both, then?” he asked sleepily. “Guys and girls?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Cool.” Ray yawned and shoved at the packs behind him, making enough room to lie down, pulling Fraser back with him.

Outside, the wind howled. Beneath his head, Ray’s heart beat. There were far worse places to be.

“How much longer you think that storm’s going to last?” Ray asked a while later.

“Another six or eight hours, I’d say.”

“Mm. I bet we can get it on at least twice more before it stops.”

Fraser calculated refractory periods. “Yes, at least,” he agreed.

“Cool.”

#

 

Fraser was writing in his journal. Ray tried to like it when he did that, he really did. Fraser loved having his Dad’s journals, and it was good to have a record of all their adventures. The idea of Fraser’s journal was great.

But when he was actually writing in it, Ray wanted to bounce over him like Tigger and say, “What are you sayin’ in there? Anything about me? Huh? What didja put about me?”

At least Fraser had given up suggesting that he write his own. He’d tried, once. His entries were things like, “Cold. Lots of snow. Fell on butt 4 times.”

Fraser, on the other hand, would probably write in that thing for hours if Ray let him. Which he never did.

Ray dug his iPod out of his pack. He’d give Fraser at least two more songs before he started bugging him--that was fair, wasn’t it?

The iPod turned out to be a bad idea. Music to him had always spelled move, and there wasn’t room in the tent to do much more than tap his fingers. And even that made Fraser glance up from the journal and give him an excessively-patient look.

“Sorry.” After a few minutes of trying to listen while being completely still, he turned off the iPod and stuffed it back in the pack with a sigh. Maybe he’d try some Fraser-admiring. That usually held his attention for a few minutes.

A while ago they’d put their clothes on and folded up the blankets, just to give the day some kind of shape. But even the fully-clothed version of Fraser was worth looking at. It was amazing he’d been looking at Fraser for twelve years without noticing what terrible tenderness he had for the curve of his eyebrows, the gentle bow of his lips, the back of his neck, sweetly vulnerable as he bent over the notebook.

Ray breathed on his fingers to warm them, then traced the curve of Fraser’s ear.

Fraser glared at him, but from the way his eyes were sparkling, Ray knew he was mostly pretending to be annoyed. “Let me finish this sentence.”

“Okay,” Ray agreed, and waited.

He wondered what the longest sentence in Canadian history was. Fraser seemed to be going for the record.

Finally, the pen stopped moving. He capped the pen and looked at what he’d written. “Perhaps the semicolon was cheating a bit,” he admitted, closing the notebook and putting it away.

“Okay,” Ray said, since he didn’t want to open up a discussion about how he didn’t know his semicolon from his asshole. Instead, he leaned in to kiss Fraser--

But at the last moment, Fraser ducked to one side and licked his ear. “Hm,” he said, doing it again. “I think I understand the appeal.”

“I have delicious ears,” Ray agreed, licking Fraser’s. “Yours ain’t half bad, either.”

As soon as Fraser’s mouth moved on, trailing down his jawbone, his ear started feeling cold from the moisture. He yanked his hat down over it.

Their mouths met. Fraser’s tongue explored his mouth, stroking each of his teeth. Ray sort of wished he had brushed them, but Fraser was stuck in the same tent he was, and hadn’t had a chance to brush his either, so Ray guessed he couldn’t really complain.

Fraser’s mouth left his and he started working his way down, taking advantage of Ray’s unbuttoned parka and flannel--something he’d been bitching about not long before--to mouth Ray’s nipples through only two layers of clothing.

Ray let him, for a moment, twining his hands in Fraser’s hair. “Hey. Hey.”

Fraser looked up at him. “Mm?”

“Let’s do this the other way around this time. I’ll go down on you.” He hadn’t done that yet. He’d jerked Fraser off, Fraser had fucked him, he’d fucked Fraser, Fraser’d sucked him off--this was next on the list.

Fraser sat back slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” Ray said, stroking Fraser through his jeans. “I want to.” He did. He wanted to know Fraser every way it was possible to know him. He wanted to wake up next to him every morning and fall asleep next to him every night until the slow heat-death of the universe.

Since that wasn’t possible, he’d take having Fraser’s dick in his mouth.

Ray knew this was going to be difficult, between Fraser’s death-grip sensitivity issues and his own general inexperience. His ass was tight in ways his mouth wasn’t. He might end up getting a sore jaw out of this, but oh well. Fraser seemed to have the idea that the point of sex was to make sure the other person got off. Which, okay, cool, but it meant that Ray had to be equally committed to making sure Fraser got off.

Fortunately, an advantage of having spent a lot of time getting up-close and personal with Fraser’s cock before trying this was that he was putting together a decent idea of what it liked, other than the death-grip thing.

It took a little maneuvering to get the position right. If he could’ve had Fraser sit up on a chair or the edge of a bed, so Ray could kneel in front of him, it would’ve made the angles easier, but hey, they were in a tent. No furniture. Instead he sprawled on his belly between Fraser’s legs, propping himself up on his elbows enough that he wasn’t going to get a crick in his neck.

So, okay. He gave a few experimental licks while he thought about strategy. He was relieved to find that cock basically tasted like skin--a little muskier and just, generally, more than, say, an arm, but not categorically different.

He remembered that Stella sometimes wrapped her hand around the base, if she didn’t feel like taking the whole thing. A sort of semi-death grip and lots of attention on the head might do the trick.

He tried it. Fraser made a sort of strangled gasp.

“Okay?” Ray asked.

“Yeah. Yeah. Please, ah--”

“Got it.” Ray gave him more of the same, and the reactions he got were pretty good--Fraser’s hands going through his hair, murmurs of encouragement, little jerks of his hips that let Ray know Fraser would have been thrusting up in his mouth if he wasn’t so damn polite.

They were gonna have to have a talk about that, too, but on his first time having a dick in his mouth, Ray would take polite. He tightened his mouth around it and pushed down, taking in a few inches, then pulled back, and down again, doing the thrusting for him.

Didn’t take too long to get Fraser slicked up with precome. That tasted okay, too. Salty and sort of Fraserish. Beat ugly-fish liver by a mile, that was for sure.

Probably didn’t have the same nutritional benefits, which was a damn shame. Maybe Ray could convince him it did--that they ought to suck each other off at least once a day to make sure they got enough…something. Vitamin S, for sex.

Yeah, probably not. His story would have to be a lot more believable than that if Fraser was going to fall for it.

The only problem with this--it had been a problem in the Stella days, too--was that his mouth was too busy to talk. Having all those thoughts go through his head without going out his mouth made him twitchy.

Fraser’s balls were real sensitive--seemed like he left them out of the fun when he jerked off, which probably worked out to a good thing, since balls liked death-grips even less than cocks did. Ray gave Fraser’s cock a last nuzzle and moved on to them.

“Ray?”

Maybe ball-licking had been something Sergeant Lecher left out of Fraser’s private Cocksucking 101 lessons. Now that he thought of it, Fraser hadn’t done that to his. He let the testicle slip out of his mouth long enough to say, “S’good. You’ll see.”

“As you wi--i-i-i-i! Ray!”

Ray smirked. Score one for instinct.

#

 

When they fell asleep--restless from the long day of relative inactivity--the storm was still raging outside. When Fraser woke, the world was quiet. He swallowed a few times and stuck his fingers in his ears, not entirely sure that the quiet he was hearing was real and not inside his own head.

But it was. Moving quietly so as not to wake Ray, he pulled on his outside clothes and unzipped the tent door.

Outside, the sun was coming up, casting a pinkish glow over the fresh snow. The tent was half-buried; the sled was just an uneven hump in the snow that could have been a rock or anything else not made by the hand of man. The world might have looked like this on the sixth day, when the first man on Earth woke up.

Retreating into the tent, he shook Ray. “Ray. Ray. Ray.”

Ray scrubbed a hand over his face. “What?”

“Come outside.”

“What for?”

Fraser was a little embarrassed. Ray had seen mornings before. He’d seen fresh snow before, too. But now that he was awake, it was a little late to change his mind. “You’ll see.”

Ray blinked owlishly. “Okay,” he finally said. “Gimme a minute.”

Fraser sat back on his heels and waited as Ray got dressed. Ray took his time about it, but didn’t complain or say--as Fraser half-expected he would--this better be good, Fraser.

Finally, he was ready, and Fraser, who was closer to the entrance, crawled out first, then offered Ray a hand up and out.

Ray kept holding onto his hand as he looked around. “Wow.” He sounded--fortunately--genuinely impressed. “This--I dunno. This is something.”

“Mm-hm,” Fraser agreed. Ray had been the only thing lacking to make the morning perfect.

Well. His jaw tightened. Except his other beloved friend. But it was foolish to ruin something so nearly-perfect thinking of what he couldn’t have, so he wrapped his arms around Ray and pulled him in close. “I love you,” he whispered in Ray’s ear.

“I love you too, buddy.” Ray patted his arm, squeezing him through layers of Thinsulate and Gore-Tex and down. He sighed. “I guess we have to do regular morning-stuff, huh?”

“We could stand here until we turn to stone,” Fraser said. “But I’m not sure I’d recommend it.”

“Dunno. We could be our own Inuit story.”

“Dene story,” Fraser said.

“Whatever. The story of the two white guys who couldn’t keep their hands off each other long enough to not starve to death.”

“I take it that means you’re hungry?”

“Starving.” Ray gave his arm a last squeeze and went to dig out the firewood.

 

On to part 4A.

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Comments

( 10 comments — Leave a comment )
thatratorpheus
Apr. 19th, 2008 03:20 am (UTC)
I left a comment about an earlier part on the noticeboard - but, oh, how yummy and satisfying this is. I've even managed to stop crying...you're not going to make me start again, are you? *eyes suspiciously*
alex51324
Apr. 19th, 2008 03:21 am (UTC)
The rest of the story is fairly happy, so unless you're the sort that cries at weddings, you should be OK.
julia_here
Apr. 19th, 2008 03:44 am (UTC)
I'm just luxuriating in the ways Ray is making Fraser let go of his self abnegation and pointless stoicism.

Julia, silly people who think they don't need or deserve joy.
wihluta
Apr. 19th, 2008 08:38 am (UTC)
The slogan machine said: The best Ray a man can get and boy, isn't that true. :-)
chaoskir
Apr. 19th, 2008 11:06 am (UTC)
Wow! I do love Ray teaching Fraser a kind of joy and teaching him that love isn't a one way road. Thank you for the long and great written update and as always: you stopped my detox before it was getting worse. This story is soooo moving. I love this fic.
grey853
Apr. 19th, 2008 01:02 pm (UTC)
It's nice to know that Ray finally found something he's better at than Fraser. Wonder if it'll last. *g*

I'm glad they finally exchanged the "I Love You" and it's not just sex.
chikan4
Apr. 19th, 2008 03:02 pm (UTC)
I love the way Fraser is trying so hard to learn how to fantasize. You give good Fraser.
starfishchick
May. 11th, 2008 12:55 am (UTC)
“Seriously, in my prime, I coulda jerked off for America, if it was an Olympic sport.”

and

that’s why practically the first thing they tell you in teaching-somebody-stuff school is ‘don’t bang the students, even if they ask you to.’ When I did that Police Explorers thing, a whole day of the training was about not banging the students. There was role playing,” Ray added mournfully.

both had me in giggle fits. Oh, RAY.
keerawa
Jul. 28th, 2008 11:02 pm (UTC)
That scene with Ray showing Fraser how to jerk off, leading Fraser through a fantasy about himself, is just mind-bending hot. I also really like Fraser seemed to have the idea that the point of sex was to make sure the other person got off. I think it's a real insight into him.
plotbunniofdoom
Mar. 1st, 2009 04:40 am (UTC)
Oh! (I normally have a wider vocab than this, honest!)

Oh, this is just brilliant!

“Seriously, in my prime, I coulda jerked off for America, if it was an Olympic sport.”

Fraser tried to quash the mental picture that suggestion was giving him. “How would they judge it?”

“Dunno. Like figure skating, I guess. So many required elements, extra points for style.” Ray shrugged.


lol Such a great exchange.

Their banter is so great and you portray the love between them in such a believable way. And the sex is great! So in character and I hope Ray gets Fraser to loosen up a bit more!
( 10 comments — Leave a comment )