Fraser’s hand in his, his body next to his, while they fell, tumbled, slid to a stuck stop -- upright, more or less. Cold unyielding ice at his back, solid breathing warmth at his front.
“Well.” Fraser wiggled his hips, and Ray thunked his head against the ice behind him. “The important things to keep in mind are we are awake, relatively uninjured -- you are uninjured, right? good -- and there’re still two hours… well, almost two hours... of daylight left. And we’re within a day’s travel of a village --”
“You mean the three shacks we passed yesterday, the ones we didn’t even stop at ‘cause you said they wouldn’t have spare provisions? That village?”
“--plus Diefenbaker seems to have leapt free of the icefall, so really, we might most productively spend our time being grateful for what’s going our way.”
“Grateful? Fraser, we’re stuck in ice twenty feet below the middle of nowhere in Bumblefuck, Canada! Again! I don’t see anything to be grateful for in this situation!”
“Ah. Well. We’re stuck here together?”
Fraser gave him one of his small smiles, asking Ray, so goddamn politely, to play along, to be with him. Maybe he gave them to anyone he got stuck in tiny places with, but if so, Ray’d never seen it. Ray had only ever seen that smile -- and a whole bunch of other smiles -- directed at him. He’d do pretty much anything for those smiles. He had done: taken leave of his senses and his job and gone off on a crazy quest no one, not even Fraser, believed was anything other than an excuse to run away and play in the snow for a while. Gone and gotten himself trapped in a probably-deadly situation a stone’s throw from the North Pole for those smiles.
Ray wasn’t sure how many times Fraser and him had been stuck together like this. Well, not always like this -- sometimes it was so fucking hot he felt he was melting, instead of so cold he couldn’t feel his face -- but the whole up against Fraser, gonna die from the awkwardness if not from the imminent DEATH thing. That thing. Twelve? Twenty? It was about two hundred more times than he could handle, anyway. He was starting to get the shakes and get a badly timed hard-on when he so much as looked at a closet these days. ‘Course, when it actually came to it, the shakes usually took over during the thing. The hard-ons came after, when he was lying alone, in his bed, remembering.
Like right now, he probably couldn’t get hard to save his life. Which, y’know, kinda too bad, ‘cause they could use some life-saving, even if it was dick-enabled. Fraser could play Pollyanna all he damn well wanted, and okay, so far Fraser’s freakish luck had held, and he’d think of something, or someone would come along, or Dief would show up. And they’d get out of the fix. And that was greatness, as long as it lasted. But one day, Ray’d mess up one time too many, put his foot in too many places it shouldn’t go -- a bad bit of ice, his mouth, up against the wrong perp’s head -- and even Fraser’s patience and miraculous Mountie mojo would run out, and sayonara Stanley.
It’d been a good run, though.
It wasn’t the first time they’d been trapped together -- Ray wasn’t sure he could even remember the first time, and wow did that say something about how there had been way too damn many -- but it was early enough he was still kinda surprised by it.
He’d emptied his clip shooting absolutely nothing, because he’d left his glasses somewhere again, and before he knew it, Maloney and associates had him and Fraser in the trunk of a stupid, overpriced town car. (Though just at the moment, he was kinda grateful for how its too-good shocks meant that Fraser was only bouncing and rubbing against him a little as the car turned and went over bumps. If they’d been in the back of the GTO… Shit, no, don’t think about that.) Fraser had started out behind him -- sorta cushioned Ray’s landing when they tossed him in second -- but once the car started moving Fraser squirmed and shimmied and, inch by terrible, turning-on inch, wormed over Ray toward the front. Er, the back. Of the car. Which was kinda the trunk’s front. And Fraser’s… back… was against Ray’s front, and that was gonna be a bigger problem (and he didn’t like to brag, but it really was kinda a bigger problem) if the car went over any more major bumps.
Like that one. I am in hell. This is actual hell.
“Jesus, Fraser, haven’t you gotten it yet?”
“Well I’m sorry, Ray, but the mechanism keeps resetting every time the car bounces.”
You bet it does, buddy.
“Yeah, it does that, you gotta uh, you gotta hold the pin up, and then, no it’ll try to fall but just… yeah, jam in through, uh, no, jam it hard.”
The lock popped, the trunk lifted, Ray tried to remember to breathe, and Fraser said, “Oh excellent, Ray! Let’s go!” and rolled himself out of the car.
Ray cursed, adjusted his pants, and followed.
Ray had never thought closets were that small. Okay, HIS closet was pretty small, and jammed over-full of things the Stella had bought him or things he'd bought her and she'd left behind, plus the usual few dozen shoes and his court clothes and his college clothes and his high school clothes and his undercover clothes and his uniform and way too many ties and all the things that go in a closet, just -- his closet was tiny, but he didn’t judge other closets based on his. Good size closet’s got plenty of room for some reasonable air space between two guys who just happened to be in there at the same time.
Until he shared a closet with Fraser for a couple of hours.
“Fraser, quit it,” Ray hissed.
Ray’s dentist was gonna have a nice vacation this year, Ray was grinding his teeth so hard. “You gotta stop… pacing.”
“I am not pacing.”
Fraser made another short step that brought him right up against Ray, before spinning on his heel -- flaps of that weird fancy red-lined coat striking Ray a few inches below his belt, and Ray hissed a breath in through his teeth -- and taking another step and a half to the other side of the dark space.
“That! Whaddya call that? That is pacing, Fraser.”
“Ah, well, there’s a slight give to the closet floor, here, and I’m trying to ascertain whether, with sufficient repetition and vibration, the door jamb might be brought askew enough to, ah, snap out. Anyway, there’s plenty of room in here for pacing. Well, for one person to pace, anyway. And since you’re holding still…”
It was true. Ray was holding still. Ray was holding very, very still (other than his jaw, and there had been a bit of jiggling in his pocket for a while, until he realized he was jigging in his pocket and fisted his hand instead), because Ray didn’t trust himself not to tackle Fraser up against the closet’s wall if he so much as breathed too deeply. (Because the closet smelled like mothballs and fabric softener, but also like Fraser, and Ray was getting way too familiar with that scent, but this one said “trapped in a small space and trying to bullshit my way out if you could kindly keep your dick and your hands to yourself, Ray, I’ll see about wearing a hole through the floor or provoking you until you explode and I’m able to pick my way out of here over the rubble.”)
(Okay, so maybe the mothball fumes were starting to get to him.)
He unclenched his jaw. “Pop.”
Fraser paused in his pacing -- stopped right in front of Ray, right before the turn and thwack, right before Ray really did lose it -- and said (breath up against Ray’s face, breath that smelled nothing like mothballs and a little bit like sex and a lot like smarts and pine how the hell did his breath smell like pine, god he was gone when tree funk got him going), “I beg your pardon?”
It only took Ray twice to start talking.
“Pop, Fraser. You pop a lock, you don’t snap it. Like if you don’t stop pacing I’m going to pop you in the head. Or if I had my damn pick, I’d pop that lock in ten seconds flat.”
He couldn’t quite make out Fraser’s face -- there was just enough light coming in from under the door to see Fraser’s form, broad and erect (nuh uh, different word, different word), uh, not-slouchy, and right in front of him. No one said anything for a moment, and Ray started to wonder if maybe… And then Fraser cleared his throat, and… took off his hat? Looked like he was pulling something out of it, and --
“Would this do?”
Ray reached out, found Fraser’s hand with his, traced up the length of it, past those well-worked fingers, and felt…
“What the fuck, Fraser? What the actual fuck? Do you mean to tell me you’ve had a goddamn lockpick this entire time?? Two hours! Two hours, Fraser, of the worst -- nng!”
Ray yanked the pick from Fraser’s hand, knelt, and nine seconds later had the door open -- Miller and Dawson had left barely two minutes after Ray had pulled the only-opened-from-the-outside closet door closed behind them.
“I-- yes. My apologies for the, ah, distraction. Well done, though.”
Ray started leaving his clothes piled on the dresser after that. At least on mornings he couldn’t take an extra long shower after.
Okay so the boat was his fault.
Not, like, entirely his fault, but it’s kinda like the Titanic: one doomed big boat, not enough little lifesaving boats.
Except in this case, little lifesaving boat, not enough little boat-moving-things.
Fraser said the oars had been on the wall next to the boat, but since he said that after the big boat was on fire and the little boat, which they were currently in, was drifting away, it didn’t exactly do much to point it out. Except to make Ray feel even worse about things.
But that wasn’t the bad part. Nah, sitting in the boat with Fraser and kicking himself over not having any way to steer it woulda been fine, woulda been peachy keen, except apparently the water got too choppy for sitting. So then it was all, excuse me Ray, perhaps we might Ray, and moving around and squirming and trying not to hurl until he was lying on top of Fraser on the bottom of this dingy little dinghy and hurling was not what he was trying not to do anymore.
Ray shivered, and it wasn’t the cold.
Okay, it wasn’t entirely from the cold.
It was pretty cold, though. And wet. And dark. It was cold and wet and dark and the boat kept rocking, and the only thing keeping him from flipping out and flipping himself out of the boat was Fraser’s strong arms wrapped around him, making it seem more like Fraser was rocking him than that they were lost at sea (“Lake, Ray.”), in a storm, in the middle of the night. And maybe that was queer, how much Ray was into that, just being held, being rocked, but since it was that or think about the dark and the water and how the only boat that knew for sure they were out there was on fire where it wasn’t sinking, yeah, he’d stick with burying his nose in Fraser’s Fraser-y smelling neck and not-really-not listening to Fraser whisper (probably shout, but even his voice, close as Ray was to it, could hardly be heard over the water and getting-farther-away fire). We’ll be fine, Ray, you got us off the ship and saved us, Ray, I’m so glad you’re my partner, Ray. There was some poetry in there too -- unless the cold and dark had him hallucinating, which was possible -- some guy Fraser called “pretty” or maybe “birdy” when Ray got his teeth to stop chattering enough to ask about it, and that definitely sounded queer, but Ray just shrugged, and let his teeth go back to chattering, and tried to find another dry spot on Fraser to press his nose.
So anyway, that sucked. But Ray still kinda hated it when another bigger boat -- the Coast Guard, guess they were still in the US after all -- showed up and Fraser’s arms let him go.
The warm blanket that replaced them was pretty good too, though.
On the one hand, the whole do-it-while-she’s-passed-out thing had never sat right with Ray. Some guys would joke about getting a girl drunk, and Ray’d say something about not needing to if you got the goods (and then he’d smirk and half the time get punched for it, but the other guy always got punched worse, so that was okay), and he’d follow whoever said it around at the next party, and a couple times helped steer a girl away from the idiots, made sure her friends got her home safe. It wasn’t his thing, is what he’s saying.
But Fraser was passed out, and wrapped around him tighter than a lug nut, and they were both sweating, and okay mostly Ray was freaked out, but a part of him (not a small enough part at the moment) was thinking about getting his freak on, because damn Fraser smelled good like this. Sweat and wool and leather and Bay Rum and sweat and Ray really needed to think about something else for a while. Like maybe the way the ropes around his wrists were wrapped tight enough on the other side of the pipe behind him he was pretty sure he’d started bleeding from trying to wiggle his hands even a little. Definitely not enough room to twist around and untie them.
Fraser could reach, Ray was pretty sure. He’d tried to work his hands under Fraser’s -- whose wrists have those damn nylon strap cuffs, no getting out of those without something sharp -- so Fraser could, when he woke up, undo Ray’s ropes and Ray could squirm down past Fraser (Jesus God) and get Fraser’s boot knife (none of the criminals they’d encountered ever found the boot knife, he didn’t know why, maybe no one believed you could hide a knife in boots that shapely), and get them the hell out of there. That was the plan, yup, and he figured it’s maybe even a decent one, maybe even make up for how he let himself get kidnapped in the first place.
If Fraser would just wake the hell up.
Fraser did, eventually, and thought it was a great plan, and Ray spent a couple nights that week getting not enough sleep and making way more laundry for himself by remembering the way he’d had to all but rub his face against Fraser’s… front to get out from under the ropes. (Remembering how Fraser had kept up a babble of praise and encouragement the whole time, ending with a gasp as finally Ray was free, and an “Excellent, Ray!” and okay maybe in his memory the gasp was a little louder, the “Ray!” a little breathier, but hey, he’d gotten out, hadn’t he?)
He’d kept his head turned to the side.
Five, Again: Ice Redux
Fraser was babbling away, all his usual jovial crap, except sometimes he’d veer off into how well Ray had been doing on the adventure so far, how great he’d been adapting, how Fraser hadn't seen the bad ice or the edge of the crevasse either, and Ray squirmed with annoyance, but mostly it was annoyance at how warm hearing that shit from Fraser’s gorgeous mouth made him feel. ‘Cause he knew Fraser’s patter, he knew when Fraser was bullshitting just for effect, and when he reassured Ray they'd get out, anytime now, yeah that was crap, that was trying to convince himself as much as Ray -- but this sounded different. Quieter, calmer. More like Fraser was saying it because he couldn’t not, because he thought it was the truth, and that got under Ray’s skin -- past his twenty layers of parka and wool -- something fierce.
And maybe it was that, or maybe the hypothermia was starting to get to his brain, and maybe he was just at the end -- the end of his life, the end of his chances, the end of his willingness to stay silent in deference to and defense of the best friendship he'd had since he was twelve, but he found himself letting that Fraser-flavored warmth spread through him, calm him, and he took a deep, steady breath -- as deep as he could with Fraser pressed up against him like that -- and started, “Fraser--”
Which was when both their heads snapped up at the cheerful “Ahoy!” overhead, and Ray watched as a rope fell toward them -- piled on his face, of course, and he flailed around trying to bat it off, getting more and more tangled before Fraser’s hands on his arms stilled him -- and he realized this was the end. One way or another, he couldn’t do this again -- his dick might disagree, but his heart couldn’t take it any more. Adios, ice, he thought, as he watched Fraser’s upturned face while he got hauled out of the deep by Ingrid Niditchie and Dief and her sled dogs. Thanks for the memories. No more Ray-and-Fraser ice (or car, or closet, or carpet, or whatever the hell the universe tried to throw at them next) sandwiches. He was done.
And One That Wasn't: Heat
Fraser, it seemed, had other ideas.
“No! No way! No means no! You can’t make me!”
Fraser was standing, shivering (and Ray should probably feel bad about that, but he was too, too -- nngh! -- to spare more than a thought to it) next to a bed that looked very soft, and very warm, and very, very small.
“Ray, if you will just calm down for a moment --”
“Nuh uh! I’m just getting going! Vigorous movement, you said! Exercise’ll warm you up before bed, and I gotta say I’m feeling plenty vigorous over here! Plenty warm! I don’t need that… that… Just no, okay??”
Fraser sighed, and Ray could see him suppress another shiver. “Ray, your lips are blue. The recommendations for exercise as a warming activity are for people who have not already lost a worrisome amount of body heat. Ms Niditchie has been kind enough to give up her bedroom, as there are no better facilities for re-warming available, so I’m sorry Ray --” Oh yeah, you’ll BE sorry. “-- but unless you wish to either die or cover yourself in musk ox dung and get the dogs to sleep on you all night, there is no other option.”
“Point me to the ox, Fraser, ‘cause I am NOT getting in that bed with you!”
“Oh for the love of--! Look, I know this is uncomfortable for you, Ray--”
“--but I assure you this is standard procedure, and I’ll do my absolute best to make it as minimally invasive an experience as possible. It won’t change anything, I pro--”
“No SHIT it won’t! Nothing ever does! And I can’t fucking do it anymore, Fraser -- I cannot deal with one more time of standard procedure when nothing ever changes!”
Ray came to a stop, head thunked back against the rough wooden wall behind him, heels of his hands pressed tight against his eyes. He’d gone and done it now, he was done, cooked, caught out, Fraser would ship him back south soon for sure, buh-bye best buddies, see you sexual tension that tripped him up every time.
He was very, very aware that Fraser was very, very quiet. He brought his hands down to his sides, but couldn't bring himself to open his eyes.
He didn’t -- couldn’t -- move.
“Do you mean… That is, I may be misinterpreting, but...”
“Yeah. I mean, no, Fraser, you got it right. So, uh. I’m just gonna, uh. With the dogs..”
Finally Ray made himself move, and he broke himself away from the wall -- like a tongue frozen to a pole in the old neighborhood, funny to watch, but hurt like hell to do -- and started to head out the bedroom door, out of Fraser’s life. Freezing to death smelling of dung and dogs would be better than getting frozen out of the only real friendship he had left ‘cause he couldn’t keep his damn tongue where it belonged.
“Ray!” Fraser’s voice cracked like ice, loud, dangerous. It froze Ray in place.
“Step away from the door.”
Ray had watched others respond to that voice -- once or twice, Fraser almost never used it, preferring most of the time to confuse or polite perps and superiors into submission -- but he’d never had it directed at him before, not fully. He blinked, having taken a step back without fully realizing it, for sure without having made any kind of conscious decision to.
He hadn’t told his dick to start getting hard either.
“Take off your clothes and get in the bed.”
He swallowed. “I said I wasn’t gonna--”
“And I said do it. Now.”
There was a brief pause, barely a gasp’s worth, and Fraser said, quieter, less demanding and more entreating, “Please, trust me, Ray.”
Ray couldn’t have denied Fraser anything, then, not his car, not his life, not his dignity, not anything.
He took off his clothes and got in the bed, not looking at Fraser. And yeah, the bed had cooled down while he was having his freakout, but it was still warmer than what he’d stripped out of, flannel sheets old and soft, the piles of furs heavy on top of him -- heavy enough to press down on his dick; maybe, he hoped, thick enough to hide the tent it was trying to throw.
He hadn’t so much as glanced at Fraser since his mouth went off the rails without him. He lay there, shivering, staring up at the cracked and patched ceiling, and squeezed his eyes shut when Fraser moved into the edge of his vision.
The shivers only got stronger as he tensed up, and it took a moment to realize Fraser had started talking, another moment to stop his teeth chattering enough to hear him. Fraser’s voice was soft, rich, caramel flowing slow and sweet.
“--so good, Ray, I never knew. I never knew, because you did so well at the job, but it’s enough, Ray, it’s good, you’ve done so well, you’re so brave and strong but you can rest, now. I’ll take care of you, now, and it’ll be so good, so good like you’ve been good to me all this time.”
Fraser was kneeing himself onto the bed, the mattress sagging and creaking so close to Ray’s side, but he shifted to let it happen, gritting his teeth against the tears that started at Fraser’s words. He gasped when Fraser’s hand clamped around his wrist, and let out a sob for real when he realized Fraser was holding a strip of leather, wrapped it once, loose, around both Ray’s hands.
“Do you trust me, Ray? May I--?”
Ray started nodding almost before Fraser finished speaking. “Yes, God yes, Fraser, please, please, do it, please.” Ray’s voice broke off as Fraser tightened and tied the leather, binding Ray’s hands together.
“Under other circumstances, I’d want to see your arms above your head, but it wouldn’t do to have any hypothermic harm come to these perfect fingers. I have so many hopes for these fingers…” Ray, hands bound firmly together in front of him, felt Fraser’s finger caress against his own, and he shuddered. Too much, it was too much, and then the bed on the other side of him dipped as Fraser straddled his hips, Fraser was on top of him, over him, he must have died in the crevasse, he must have, this couldn’t be --
“Open your eyes, Ray.” Deep, again, the voice Ray started to obey before he’d even really heard it, but there was humor in it too, humor in Fraser’s face, humor and love, and desire, and everything Ray had ever wanted to see in that too-pretty face, it was too much--
“Shhh…” Fraser stroked his thumb over Ray’s mouth, cold against cold, catching on the splits and chaps, and it was the nicest thing Ray ever remembered feeling. “So good, Ray. You’ve been so good, and you’re going to be good again for me now, aren’t you?”
Ray swallowed, his tongue flicking out to taste the rough chill of Fraser’s thumb, and Fraser grunted, god.
Fraser’s voice ground deep, like the grind of a clutch, like the deep ice at break-up. “Good.”
And Ray gasped as Fraser lowered his hips to press their cocks together, leaned his elbows on either side of Ray’s head, Ray’s hands trapped between them, holding their stomachs apart, Fraser’s face inches from his, and shit, Ray had thought he was hard, and he was, but Fraser was a rock, his cock hot like fire where it touched Ray, and Ray thrust up, and up, into the pain of that hard-heat, wanting more wanting closer, wanting to get burned and beaten and consumed by this, fuck, he was going to--
Ray blinked his eyes open again, blinked and panted until Fraser’s face came into focus, somehow stern and smiling slightly, bright blue eyes digging into his, and then he kept panting from the strain of being so close to what he wanted, needed, and yet having to stay still for that voice, for Fraser.
“Good,” Fraser murmured again. “Stay still until I tell you to move.” Fraser’s lips started dragging all over Ray’s face, catching on his stubble, sometimes pausing to kiss with soft, closed mouth, and Ray was going to stay still for him, he was, but --
“Yes, Ray?” The answer rumbled at him from beside his jaw.
“What are -- how did -- oh fuck, yes -- but, uh, not that I’m -- shit!”
Fraser’s hot laugh dusted Ray’s neck. “We’re warming up, Ray. In fact, I think we’re going to get very --” a slow, circular grind of his hips, cock pressing almost painfully into Ray’s, and Ray was going to die from how good it felt, felt himself whimpering from trying not to thrust back. “-- very hot.”
“But --” Ray didn’t know where the words were coming from, with his brain fried and bloodless, but words had always done that, fallen out of him without thought seeming required. “But I thought you didn’t--”
“I did. God, Ray, I did, I wanted you, dreamed of you, would have killed to have you kneeling for me. I worked myself raw picturing that sparkling, stumbling mouth of yours on me, pretending all this energy and edginess and well-hidden kindness could be mine. And you were all along, weren’t you Ray, ready to be mine, already mine, and just waiting, Christ, I never knew, I couldn’t be sure, you were so good.”
Ray’s bound hands were scrabbling at Fraser’s stomach, his breath trying to raise him up to meet Fraser’s chest, legs trying to fall open, blocked by Fraser’s own firm knees. He wasn’t moving on purpose, this was just falling, just falling further and further down, tumbling and sliding closer to Fraser, closer than they'd ever been, it was gravity.
“Yes, fuck, yours, knew we sparked, didn't know you wanted me, not like this, knew we couldn’t, shouldn’t, not while--”
“I did, I do, and you were right, then, but now, now -- fuck!”
Ray was so shocked hearing that word from Fraser he stopped -- but then he was being grabbed, rocked to the side as Fraser shifted, then rolled Ray onto his side. There was a shock of cold air deep into the furs as Ray felt Fraser stretch for something, then the shocking heat of him, the hardness pressing awkwardly against Ray’s ass when Fraser rolled back. Ray planted his feet sideways against the sheet and shoved his hips back, hard as he could, rewarded in his disobedience by a throb and small spurt of slickness, and Fraser's bitten-off cursing.
Then Fraser’s hand was hard on his hip, just the good side (the far side) of too hard, and Fraser growled, “I told you to stay still.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t always do what I’m told, thought you knew that by now. Awk!”
Fraser licked over the bite he’d left on Ray’s neck. “True. And I have often had cause to benefit from your… initiative.”
“What’re you complaining about, then?” Ray pressed himself back again, adding a roll of his hips, and the head of Fraser’s cock slicked against the top of Ray’s crack.
Fraser’s hand tightened again, and Ray couldn’t move, except small thrusts and twitches, mostly just to feel the power of that hand. “I didn’t say I was complaining. I just said to stop. I have plans for you, for us, so many plans…”
If there had been the slightest friction against his dick, Ray would’ve shot off right then. But Fraser, the devious bastard, had him on his side, dick bobbing, only sometimes brushing against his thigh or the bed, not enough pressure to work, not enough.
Fraser’s hand had left his hip, slid back now, past his hips, and found Ray’s own. Ray’s hands spasmed as Fraser’s fingers slipped between them, smearing grease over his palms, the pads of his fingers. Ray stared dumbly down -- Fraser’s behind me, I can’t get my hands back to -- and then Fraser’s hand slid between his thighs, slicking them, palm rubbing and fingers twisting, right up under Ray’s tight balls, finally pulling out with one last caress dragging over his hole.
“Later,” Fraser’s voice growled in his ear, and then Ray was gone, gone, gone, at the feel of Fraser pointing his hot dick down, sliding between Ray’s ass cheeks, past Ray’s anus -- later be soon, PLEASE! -- coming to rest (not rest, throb and thrust) between Ray’s thighs.
Fraser’s hand was back on his hip, this time adjusting how he lay, getting Ray’s thighs to line up right, tight, tight is right, around his cock, and Ray was so lost in the unexpected greatness of that -- the rough slick slide of it, Fraser’s thatch of hair scratching against his ass, the bunch and thrust of Fraser’s muscled legs, Fraser grunting and moaning in his ear -- he’d forgotten there was anything else, forgotten he was anything else but Fraser’s to be moved and used and fucked how Fraser wanted.
Until Fraser slowed -- thrust hard, slow pull back -- and said, “Put your hands down. Put them around yourself.”
And Ray did, not moving to jerk himself, just wrapping the hands Fraser had bound around the dick that was hard for Fraser, and felt himself slide through the slick Fraser had placed there, hips thrust forward by Fraser’s own thrusts.
“Feel yourself fucking your hands, like I’m going to. That’s me, Ray, feel it,” and Christ, Ray did, Ray had felt nothing like this before. He’d jerked off countless times, sometimes imagining Fraser behind him like this (not like this, nothing as good as this, I didn’t know it could be like this), but it had never felt like this, never this slide of his dick between his passive palms, never this loose tangle of his long fingers cupping around him, and never, never because Fraser had done it to him, because Fraser had wanted it, ordered it. That was just a world away, and Ray was there, at the crest but not cresting, watching himself from a distance while he’d never felt more in his body, fully given over to Fraser, to the grunts, the slick, the jolting slap of hips to ass, moving cock through hands.
Ray lost track of how long he hung there, cock leaking, mouth open, legs squeezed tight, surrounded by Fraser, fucked by Fraser back and front. Everything else was gone, everything else faded, the ice and risk and fears and insecurities melted in the inferno Fraser had made for him, made of him. He noted distantly that Fraser’s breath had changed, his kisses and bites to Ray’s neck and back and shoulders grown sloppy and sporadic. It didn’t mean anything yet, because Fraser hadn’t told him what it meant, so Ray let it roll over him, let it push him higher when he’d already left the atmosphere. He didn’t know where he was any more, didn’t know how to get down from this, but Fraser will know, so he let himself fly.
Finally Fraser’s hand enclosed around his, squeezing them tighter, Fraser’s bone-rattling voice commanding, “Come,” and he did, again, still, falling and spurting, more, Christ, the wet heat of it filling his hands, spurting up between his fingers, slicking Fraser’s, and Fraser yelled, thrust, spasmed his own heat between and past Ray’s legs, coating the backs of their hands, and that was it, Ray was gone, he was done, he was home.
Fraser flung a leg over Ray’s, used his arm to crush Ray back to him. “Mine.”
Yes. He was his.
Epilogue: Just Right
Ray gradually came to, Fraser snug behind him, furs heavy and warm over them both. He rubbed his foot slowly up and down Fraser’s lightly haired leg, and Fraser hummed his approval.
“Hey, uh. Think we’re in the clear, here? All toes and things accounted for?”
“Hmm. Our toes and fingers seem to have survived the ordeal, yes. Still, we perhaps ought to remain here a little longer. To be certain.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s a good idea. I’m,” and here Ray took a breath, but for once he could. The inhale pushed him closer to Fraser -- his back to Fraser’s chest, his front to the strong, solid arm around him Fraser still hadn’t moved -- and for once that felt good, felt right. For once, for the first time, he felt just held, not trapped. The warmth and contentment had spread out to every part of him, from his no longer blue toes to the hair ruffled by Fraser’s rhythmic breath, and he continued. “I’m thinking maybe we stay here for a lot longer. Like, uh. Forty, fifty years maybe.”
Fraser’s arms tightened around him, and he pulled them closer still. “An inspired idea, Ray. I approve wholeheartedly.”
Ray kissed Fraser’s arm, then let his eyes close. Let himself sink into this moment, enjoy it in full in all the ways he could never let himself before. He felt Fraser shift behind him, heard him say, “Still, we might, at some point, want to find a larger bed.”
Ray smiled. “Nah. This one’s just big enough.”