phineasjones | stop, drop, porn

i wrote it! whew. and here it is, my contribution to the current

stop_drop_porn challenge.

Title: Something to Rest Upon
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Summary: If Fraser were any kind of normal person, he would see how Ray is lying on his back in the tent, bundled up tight with his eyes closed, and he would get the picture. And shut up.
Prompt: Chase (ok, so you may have to squint a little. but in my mind, it's all there.)
Rating: R/NC-17
Notes: my inuit myth source is here. infinite thanks to betas

fearlessdiva and

jjtaylor. infinite.
Disclaimer: No claim on these characters (sadly), no money made off this venture (even more sadly).
Wordcount: About 3200

"You see, Ray, she wouldn't marry the raven. His looks didn't suit her. She missed her husband and the worms he used to feed her. The raven offered her dung, but she wanted worms."

"Dung," Ray scoffs quietly. He doesn't ask any of the obvious questions. Like why the raven ate dung in the first place. And who says dung anyway? It's called shit, Fraser. But he doesn't say any of this out loud. He wants the story over. He wants to go to sleep. And if Fraser were any kind of normal person, he would see how Ray is lying on his back in the tent, bundled up tight with his eyes closed, and he would get the picture. And shut up.

"Scorned and alone, the raven gave up on the sparrow and went in search of the wild geese instead. He came upon them just as they were about to fly away and he asked two wild geese to marry him."

Two. Of course. Fraser couldn't even tell stories about normal birds.

"Fraser." Ray keeps his eyes closed and inhales and exhales loudly through his nose, hoping Fraser will look over, realize he's trying to sleep, and shut the hell up.

"He offered to fly with them but they told him he couldn't, because they would be flying over the open sea, where there were no icebergs to rest upon. They could float, you see, but the raven could not. The raven didn't heed the warning. He planned to rest as he sailed through the air. And so he married them, and he flew away, chasing after the geese as best he could. But before long-"

"Fraser. I'm trying to sleep, here." It had been yet another long, frigid, exhausting day and the one thing that had kept Ray going was the comforting thought that he would have at least 8 hours of rest and warmth and sleep.

"You have to hear the ending, Ray, it's worth it, I promise. Before long, the raven began to feel tired. He began to drop behind the geese."

Ray glances sideways at Fraser's profile, barely visible in the dim glow of moonlight through their tent. He has that story-telling face on. The one where he seems to be looking at something far in the distance, and not just the roof of the tent.

"He called to them that he needed to rest, and something to rest upon. He told them to come and float on the water, side by side, so he could-"

Ray suddenly jerks up onto his elbows, "Fraser, I swear to God, if you don't shut up and let me sleep, I swear to God, I'll-"

"What, Ray?" And wow, Ray thinks, Fraser's voice goes from story-teller to pissed off and sarcastic in 0.5 seconds. He turns to look at Ray, staring with his eyes all intense and his lips pulled tight. "You'll what, hit me?"

That's low. And Fraser knows it. Ray can see his nostrils flaring, though he's trying to keep all still like usual. Maybe this adventure wasn't such a great idea. It's day three and he's about to kick Fraser in the head. What two guys wouldn't drive each other nuts out alone in the middle of nowhere like this? What kind of chance is there when it's him and Fraser?

"No." Ray tries to keep a threat in his voice all the same.

"What, then?" And now Ray realizes that the stupid story wasn't just Fraser being clueless like usual. Fraser wasn't just off in his own little Inuit world. Fraser was pissing him off on purpose. All day he's been taking orders from Fraser without so much as a grumble. Because what the hell does Ray know about staying alive up here without freezing your bits off? And now, Ray would bet anything that Fraser's looking for a scrap. A little of their usual back and forth.

Ray sniffs, thinking fast. If Fraser wants to play this game, fine. But Ray's gonna win.

"The geese floated side by side and the raven-"

"Oh, no you don't," Ray moves so fast Fraser doesn't even have time to flinch. He flips onto his side, half onto Fraser, and mashes their mouths together. It's not really a kiss. More like what you would think of as a kiss when you were nine years old; closed-mouthed, noses scrunching together, a point made.

Ray holds himself there for 1… 2… 3 seconds and pulls away. Fraser lies there looking dumbstruck, eyes wide, mouth open. Ray drops onto his back and barely resists doing a little victory-dance-style wiggle in his sleeping bag because the tent is blissfully, finally, quiet.

And that's what Ray wanted. Right. So. He closes his eyes and tries hard to keep still, not to show that he's breathing just a little fast. Because - nine year-old kiss or not - he just threw himself on top of Fraser and pressed their mouths together. And that was-well. Kind of exciting. Maybe Fraser will tell another stupid story in the morning and he can-

"Hey!" Ray shouts when, all of a sudden, just like that, Fraser is on top of him, straddling his middle, grabbing both his wrists and pinning them to the ground on either side of his head. Fraser's sleeping bag is pulled tight like a strap across Ray's belly where Fraser's knees stretch it out over him. Ray can barely breathe.

Fraser looks down at him with something Ray can't help but think of as a mischievous grin. Mischievous? Fraser? Right. Ray twists his hips and pulls on his arms to dislodge Fraser but he doesn't budge. Instead, he starts lowering his head, slowly, grinning that fucked up grin the whole time.

Oh, God. It takes no time at all for Ray to get hard as a fricking rock. He can tell himself they're just messing around, just playing a game of chicken. Except his dick recognizes this scene from too many fantasies to be fooled. And if this is a game of chicken, why would Fraser hold him down so he can't get away?

"Fraser," Ray whispers. Why is he whispering? "Fraser, what're you-"

And then Fraser's mouth comes down on his and it is so totally not any nine year-old kiss. Well, Ray didn't kiss like that when he was nine-all hot and wet and heavy. And so hard, he can feel it everywhere. His brain may not be firing on all cylinders at the moment, but he's pretty sure he's never been kissed quite like this. Ever.

Fraser bites down slightly on Ray's lower lip and Ray groans, loud. Fraser licks the places where his teeth just were and the raises his head, looking down at Ray with his eyes drooping closed, like the lids are heavy.

Ray tries moving his arms again-no give. He pushes up with his hips but can't even feel anything through their two sleeping bags and long johns and who knows what. He looks up to see Fraser moving in again and this time he's going to be ready. This time he's rolling out the welcome mat. Hello, Fraser's tongue, won't you please come in and join me for some bark tea?

And Fraser's getting that message. And his tongue is sending its own message straight to Ray's dick, which he would have sworn 15 minutes ago was permanently frozen. Ray has a moment of being grateful for the layers. Because no one's told him the rules of this game. It could end with his dick in Fraser's mouth or it could just be that Fraser's trying out new ways to render him incapable of interrupting those fascinating tales. It's Fraser, who can tell?

Fraser pulls his mouth away slowly, like he doesn't want to. That's fine with Ray but when he tries to chase Fraser's mouth, lifting his head off his pathetic little camping pillow, Fraser pulls away. Their eyes lock as Fraser slowly sits back on his heels. He holds completely still for a second, watching Ray, and then slowly lifts his hands off Ray's wrists.

After a flash of intense frustration -what? that's it? you're going to leave me like this, you bastard?-Ray gets it. Fraser's still sitting there, watching him, and Ray's hands are still up next to his head. The Mountie is asking him a question. And Ray knows the answer to this one. Yeah, buddy. Yours for the taking. He keeps his eyes locked on Fraser's and stretches his arms up behind his head, crossing his wrists and wrapping his fingers around them.

All that happens at first is that Fraser's breath gets fast and heavy. Ray can see his chest moving up and down and he can hear it, the stutter that happens from Fraser trying to keep it quiet. Ray bites his lip and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long. Fraser suddenly starts squirming, a quick little shimmy and turn and he's out of his bag. Ray's biceps are twitching. He wants out, too, and he wants into those long johns, dammit. But his own fingers tighten around his wrists and keep him from grabbing for Fraser, for something. Fraser's holding him down, and he's not even using his hands. Ray just knows that this is what he's supposed to do. Fraser has something in mind and Ray trusts the crazy freak.

Fraser's moving fast. He's got both of their bags unzipped now and he's spreading Ray's out and lying down on it, draping his own bag over both of them. Some part of Ray's brain knows he's a little colder now, not all bundled up, but the only parts of his brain that really count right now are the ones paying attention to Fraser's hands-starting to unbutton the front of Ray's long johns-and Fraser's face-nuzzling into the side of Ray's neck, nipping at him, licking, breath scorching hot on Ray's skin.

Ray squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to make any noises that sound too stupid. Fraser's getting down to the lower buttons now and his hand brushes over the head of Ray's dick. Ray's breath comes out in a shudder and he hisses it right back through his teeth a second later when Fraser does it again. He wants Fraser's hand on him, he wants it so bad. This teasing is going to kill him. Or maybe make him cry. Fraser palms him over the cloth and rubs the tip with his thumb.

"Wet," he whispers, low and dirty, in Ray's ear. Yeah, Ray's been leaking for a while now but that would be fine if Fraser would just get on with it already. And he does, finally, he does, but slow, way too slow. He slips his hand under the fabric and ghosts his fingers over the length of Ray's dick, letting out a heavy breath into Ray's neck like Fraser's the one getting touched. Which is pretty great, Ray can admit. Fraser is really into this. Which is the only promise Ray really has that Fraser's not just going to tease him for the rest of his sad little life. And maybe, just maybe it means that Ray's not the only one who had ulterior motives for this so-called adventure.

So he lets Fraser know he is really into it too, pushing his dick into Fraser's hand, trying to get some more friction, more pressure, just more. And it works, praise the baby Jesus. Fraser pushes himself up and moves under the sleeping bag that covers them, sliding over between Ray's legs and pushing them apart. Ray can't see anything but the Fraser-shaped lump under the bag but suddenly he can feel a whole lot. Fraser is pulling his long johns open and down, wrapping his hand around his dick and oh, God, wrapping his lips around the head.

Ray's fingernails dig into his wrists and he pushes his head back into the pillow trying, trying not to push his hips up into that hot, wet mouth. He can't quite keep still and Fraser moves his hands to Ray's hips, thumbs sliding along the creases where his legs meet his groin. It's so good. Fraser knows what he's doing and Ray can hear him making happy little humming noise from under the blanket. Ray stops trying to keep himself quiet, not fighting the "God, yeah, Fraser, oh God," or the even the girly little whimper that happens when Fraser moves a hand behind his balls and presses.

Ray is in this, he's loving this, but he just wants, needs to touch Fraser now. This is too weird, not being able to see him, not having his hands free to reach for him. His hands are cold now, stranded above his head, and down where Fraser's mouth is on him is burning hot. He groans in frustration before he remembers that he's the one holding himself down, here. His shoulders burn when he pulls his hands apart and reaches under the blankets, slipping his fingers into Fraser's hair and just leaving them there, warming them and feeling Fraser's head moving up and down on him.

Ray tightens his fingers and pulls gently, urging Fraser up and off him. He grabs for Fraser's shoulders and pulls again so they're face to face. Fraser's hair is a mess, his lips are puffy and they shine in the sparse light. Ray is struck dumb for a minute by this, by Fraser looking mussed and undone and by the way he's looking at Ray like Ray's caribou stew and Fraser hasn't eaten in a week. Like, God, like he needs Ray, needs him.

Ray moves so fast, Fraser makes an 'oof' of surprise when his back hits the ground and then Ray is on him. He's pulling open Fraser's buttons as fast as he can and then he's kissing him and then it's back to buttons again. Fraser's hand come up and hold his face, and it helps, it calms him down just a little and he can get those buttons open and Fraser's body heat comes pouring out. He doesn't stop with the buttons, but pushes the top off Fraser's shoulders, tugs it down past his waist and Fraser does the same to his.

He knows that Fraser is gorgeous. He knows that. Everyone knows that. But this is something else. This is Fraser naked and almost blue in the moonlight, his thick, uncut dick leaking on his stomach, his hands reaching for Ray. This is something Ray never thought he'd see, never even dared to hope for. This-it hits Ray like a ton of bricks-is all he really wants.

He lays himself down on Fraser, skin to skin, and kisses him. Fraser moans like crazy, grabs his ass and presses their groins together. Ray's dick slides right up along Fraser's and they both moan this time, together, tongues in each other's mouths. They get moving then, pushing and rocking together, finding a rhythm that is great, is greatness, that feels just like dancing.

Ray knows Fraser's close when he stops kissing, leans his head back and starts whispering. No Inuit stories now, that's for sure, nothing but "Ray. Ray. Oh. Ray." Ray snakes his hand between them and holds on to both of their dicks together. It makes Fraser shout a little and then Fraser puts a hand on them too and Ray's brain is shorting out. It's a mess of sensation, his hand, Fraser's hand, Fraser's dick, all this skin, the heat of Fraser's neck where his face is buried, he can't tell what's what, but it's all good.

Fraser makes a loud sound and his fingers dig into Ray's back, all his muscles going tense and still and Ray feels the wet heat on his belly. He waits Fraser out, watching his face, waiting to feel his muscles let go and then he kisses him. In his head, he's talking, you're so goddamned beautiful, I never seen anything this hot before, you're never getting rid of me now, buddy, never, but it's all coming out as kisses-deep, wet kisses.

And then Fraser's hand is wrapped around his dick and he's working him, hard and fast. His hand is all slicked up now with his own come and just that thought would be enough to send Ray over the edge but he's got that and he's got Fraser's hand and Fraser whispering at him, "Ray, come on. Come on." Ray's whole body jerks hard and he's spilling all over the place and Fraser's with him, like some kind of scout sex guide, stroking him through it, a hand on his back, kisses in his hair.

When the orgasm lets him go, he flops down, half on top of Fraser and Fraser's arms come up around him. Fraser doesn't have to tell him that they can't just fall asleep. They're wet and the sleeping bags aren't zipped together and Ray doesn't want to freeze to death now, not when things are just getting good. But he's taking a moment here, and Fraser seems to be doing the same. Ray closes his eyes and thinks about this crazy night. He remembers the story that, weirdly, started the ball rolling.

"So?" he mumbles into Fraser's shoulder.

Fraser turns his head a little toward Ray. "So?" he repeats.

"So what happened to the crow?" Ray knows it was a raven, but what good is a chain if you don't yank it?

"Ah. He was a raven, Ray." Ray grins against Fraser's skin. "And, well. The geese floated side by side like he told them to. And the raven lay down across them and fell asleep. But when his wives saw the other geese continuing, flying farther and farther away and they shook the raven off and flew after them."

"Nice." Ray shifted so he could look up at Fraser's face. "What happened to the raven?"

"He fell into the water, sank, and drowned."

Well. That story sucks. Poor little raven, Ray thinks, chasing after chicks, ditched by the sparrow, dumped by the geese. "Hey," he squints at Fraser, "Am I the raven? Is that why you're telling me this story? Like, without you, I'd be drowning in the snow ocean?"

Fraser's eyes go all wide and he rolls on his side to face Ray. "No, Ray. It's an origin myth. The soul of the raven broke apart and became the mollusks known as sea ravens."

"Sea ravens." Fraser's face is in sincere mode. "So, you weren't trying to, like, tell me something?" Something like, don't get too comfy, I'll be flying away soon?

"Ray, no. No." He swallows hard and Ray waits for it, whatever's coming next, he can tell it's hard for Fraser to say. "I won't leave you, Ray."

"Yeah?" he asks and Fraser nods. Ray's heart is racing because Fraser naked in the moonlight was greatness but he knows that what he wants most of all is this, is Fraser, every long and chilly day and night. What he wants is for Fraser not to leave. "Promise?" he asks.

"I promise." Fraser answers. And Ray may be a total sucker, but he believes it.

Current Mood: accomplished

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

fearlessdiva.livejournal.com

So, so nice. I love the pacing and the depth of this story. It turned out really well. Yay!

There's a typo in the paragraph that begins "Ray tightens his fingers a pulls gently, urging Fraser up and off him." It should be "and" there not "a".

And, um, aren't you supposed to tag somebody?

::hugs you::

From:

fearlessdiva.livejournal.com

Nevermind about the tagging. I = dumbass.

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