New F/K Short Story: Winter Home (R+)
Title: Winter Home
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R+
Wordcount: 1,393
Warnings: Comet
Categories: FT, post-CoTW, post-Apocalyptic
Summary: It's the end of the world as we know it, but Ray feels fine.
Notes: I don't know what's wrong with me today.
Winter Home
By Arrow
It started with a light show that had to be seen to be believed, and if it hadn't meant the end of the fucking world, it would've been awesomely beautiful. But Ray's eyes were filling too fast for him to see.
Fraser stood silent next to him, his head craned back to watch. When the biggest piece hit at last, Ray actually felt the impact, felt the entire continent shudder.
Dief howled.
///
They had supplies. Crates and crates of RCMP rations and fuel they’d found in a truck ditched for some unknown reason outside of Whitehorse. Fraser had been weird about taking it until Ray grabbed him, just gripped him by the back of the neck and stared him down.
They were close to the tree line, and more fuel, and as Fraser had said, oh, so practically, "It's good we were already here, where the animals are conditioned to the cold."
It was true. The rest of the world wasn't as ready for the sun to be blotted out by the heavy curtain of debris that now filled the atmosphere. But up here in the way north, winter lasted long. It would just last that much longer, this time.
It was hard to believe everything they knew was gone. After it calved, and the government finally admitted parts of the comet might hit, scientists said two of the larger pieces could strike North America, one in the mid-West and the other on the eastern seaboard. Most folks had migrated south and west in anticipation of the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the floods, and the coming endless, bitter winter.
Ray hoped Welsh and the Vecchios and the Duck Boys had gotten out. He knew his mom hadn’t; she’d refused to leave her home, and Ray had had no way of getting back to her. After Dad died, she’d pretty much given up anyway.
Fraser was calm. Every day he was this calm, practical machine, taking care of what needed taking care of, stocking up and battening down. Dief disappeared for hours each day and kept returning with rabbits, with badgers. Once he coaxed Ray out to a caribou he'd killed, a big one. Ray tied it to the snowmobile and dragged it back to the cabin along with another load of wood.
They had meat. They had canned vegetables and beans and vitamins. They had wood, and oil, coal, and furs, and a sturdy cabin to survive in.
The only question to Ray's mind was, what the hell for?
///
He started sleeping way too much. Sixteen, twenty hours a day. He could feel Fraser's worry, but couldn't rouse the energy to do anything about it. There didn't seem to be any point.
After a couple of weeks, he woke up one morning and saw Fraser sitting in a chair just staring at him, one of his dad’s journals unopened on his lap. And finally Ray saw the dark circles under Fraser's eyes, and how pale he was. He looked sick. He looked like he was dying.
Ray got up, took a bath, and sat in clean clothes across the kitchen table from him.
"How 'bout we play some poker?"
He pretended not to notice Fraser’s hands were shaking as he picked up his cards.
///
They shared the one big bed to conserve heat. Fraser fell asleep on his back, his arm barely brushing Ray’s. But, always, when Ray started shivering halfway through the night, Fraser would curl around him under the heavy quilts.
By the time Ray really woke up in the mornings, Fraser was always gone.
///
"No." Ray crossed his arms and offered his best glare.
Fraser paused in his packing. “But, Ray, it’s our duty-I need to make sure there isn’t someone else out there we can help-and we have supplies enough-"
"You don’t know that. You do not know that, Fraser. We don’t know how long this is going to go on. The scientists said maybe years."
"The scientists also said it would miss us entirely." They shared a look of familiar bitterness.
"Yeah, well, they were wrong. But I’m right."
"Ray-"
"Fuck duty. Fuck the world, Fraser, except for us. You, me, Dief. That’s it. That’s everything I care about."
He must have said something right, because Fraser stopped packing, and took off his coat.
That night when Fraser got into bed, he curled up right away, holding Ray tight.
///
Outside was depressing, just a dim, gray fog overhead when it wasn’t snowing. Ray went out to forage for wood while Dief hunted beside him; all too often lately Dief came home with his jaws empty. Just as Ray was pointing out what he thought looked like some promising tracks, he heard a gunshot.
They both charged back to the cabin. The only thought in Ray’s head was, no-no-no, God, no, Fraser as he slammed the door open to-a knife, lying in a puddle of blood. Something draped in ragged furs was squirming on the floor and making dying sounds.
Fraser was standing over the stranger with his pistol in his hand and the other one wrapped around his forearm. More blood there, and something frozen and ugly in Fraser’s eyes.
The stranger made a gurgling sound and stopped breathing.
Ray pulled Fraser away, took him out front to the porch and shoved him onto the bench. He needed to-but he couldn’t look at Fraser’s eyes. So he just patched Fraser up, and put his arms around him and held him while he shook.
"I was making him tea. I was making him tea," Fraser repeated dully, "and he tried to-I had no choice, Ray-" Fraser’s face was pressed into Ray’s shoulder.
"Yeah, I know that, Frase."
"It’s different. It’s all different now."
After that, none of them went foraging alone any more.
///
The battery for the radio gave out, but the last time they'd turned it on it was nothing but static, anyway. It was like the outside world had ceased to exist.
Fraser wouldn't let him use the fireplace. The iron stove was much more efficient, took the fuel and radiated heat steady and long. They had two lanterns, but only lit one at a time. In the dim glow of it Fraser wrote while Ray whittled, carefully saving his shavings for kindling.
It was boring. Everything was more of the same. Same books, same food, same, same, same four fucking walls. He'd go stir crazy before another month was out. He told Fraser as much.
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "Perhaps we could...find...something else to do." A harsh blush spread up from the collar of his Henley, and after a couple of very stupid seconds, Ray got it.
Oh.
He could do that. Here at the end of the world, with Fraser. Ray got up. His hands were cold, and he warmed them on the hot skin of Fraser's cheek.
"Ray..." A whisper. A plea.
Fraser's lips were even hotter. Fraser's mouth was an oven, pressed against Ray's chilled lips, against his neck.
On his cock. Surrounding his cock, sucking at it, tongue working hard as if Fraser couldn't get enough of him. Could never get enough. As if he wanted to swallow him inside.
Ray threw his head back and came; and then again, later, when Fraser's cock was deep inside him, assured, just like Fraser. It felt like every time Fraser pushed in, he was proving something. His determination to live, for Ray to live. For love to live.
When Ray opened his eyes again, the cabin looked different. It looked like home.
///
After a long, long time, the sun came out again. Spring thawed the ground and, incredibly, plants long buried began to grow, began to bloom.
Dief frolicked like a pup, spinning to snap at imaginary birds. Ray wondered if there were any real ones left.
Fraser came outside and joined him on the porch seat. He put one hand on Ray's shoulder and said heavily, "I suppose we should head out, start looking for survivors." He looked at Ray, a question in his eyes.
Ray shrugged and pulled out his worn deck of cards. "You still owe me forty thousand air. Want to see if you can win it back?"
Fraser's smile was brighter than the reborn sun.
...................
2008.07.17
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: R+
Wordcount: 1,393
Warnings: Comet
Categories: FT, post-CoTW, post-Apocalyptic
Summary: It's the end of the world as we know it, but Ray feels fine.
Notes: I don't know what's wrong with me today.
Winter Home
By Arrow
It started with a light show that had to be seen to be believed, and if it hadn't meant the end of the fucking world, it would've been awesomely beautiful. But Ray's eyes were filling too fast for him to see.
Fraser stood silent next to him, his head craned back to watch. When the biggest piece hit at last, Ray actually felt the impact, felt the entire continent shudder.
Dief howled.
///
They had supplies. Crates and crates of RCMP rations and fuel they’d found in a truck ditched for some unknown reason outside of Whitehorse. Fraser had been weird about taking it until Ray grabbed him, just gripped him by the back of the neck and stared him down.
They were close to the tree line, and more fuel, and as Fraser had said, oh, so practically, "It's good we were already here, where the animals are conditioned to the cold."
It was true. The rest of the world wasn't as ready for the sun to be blotted out by the heavy curtain of debris that now filled the atmosphere. But up here in the way north, winter lasted long. It would just last that much longer, this time.
It was hard to believe everything they knew was gone. After it calved, and the government finally admitted parts of the comet might hit, scientists said two of the larger pieces could strike North America, one in the mid-West and the other on the eastern seaboard. Most folks had migrated south and west in anticipation of the earthquakes, the tsunamis, the floods, and the coming endless, bitter winter.
Ray hoped Welsh and the Vecchios and the Duck Boys had gotten out. He knew his mom hadn’t; she’d refused to leave her home, and Ray had had no way of getting back to her. After Dad died, she’d pretty much given up anyway.
Fraser was calm. Every day he was this calm, practical machine, taking care of what needed taking care of, stocking up and battening down. Dief disappeared for hours each day and kept returning with rabbits, with badgers. Once he coaxed Ray out to a caribou he'd killed, a big one. Ray tied it to the snowmobile and dragged it back to the cabin along with another load of wood.
They had meat. They had canned vegetables and beans and vitamins. They had wood, and oil, coal, and furs, and a sturdy cabin to survive in.
The only question to Ray's mind was, what the hell for?
///
He started sleeping way too much. Sixteen, twenty hours a day. He could feel Fraser's worry, but couldn't rouse the energy to do anything about it. There didn't seem to be any point.
After a couple of weeks, he woke up one morning and saw Fraser sitting in a chair just staring at him, one of his dad’s journals unopened on his lap. And finally Ray saw the dark circles under Fraser's eyes, and how pale he was. He looked sick. He looked like he was dying.
Ray got up, took a bath, and sat in clean clothes across the kitchen table from him.
"How 'bout we play some poker?"
He pretended not to notice Fraser’s hands were shaking as he picked up his cards.
///
They shared the one big bed to conserve heat. Fraser fell asleep on his back, his arm barely brushing Ray’s. But, always, when Ray started shivering halfway through the night, Fraser would curl around him under the heavy quilts.
By the time Ray really woke up in the mornings, Fraser was always gone.
///
"No." Ray crossed his arms and offered his best glare.
Fraser paused in his packing. “But, Ray, it’s our duty-I need to make sure there isn’t someone else out there we can help-and we have supplies enough-"
"You don’t know that. You do not know that, Fraser. We don’t know how long this is going to go on. The scientists said maybe years."
"The scientists also said it would miss us entirely." They shared a look of familiar bitterness.
"Yeah, well, they were wrong. But I’m right."
"Ray-"
"Fuck duty. Fuck the world, Fraser, except for us. You, me, Dief. That’s it. That’s everything I care about."
He must have said something right, because Fraser stopped packing, and took off his coat.
That night when Fraser got into bed, he curled up right away, holding Ray tight.
///
Outside was depressing, just a dim, gray fog overhead when it wasn’t snowing. Ray went out to forage for wood while Dief hunted beside him; all too often lately Dief came home with his jaws empty. Just as Ray was pointing out what he thought looked like some promising tracks, he heard a gunshot.
They both charged back to the cabin. The only thought in Ray’s head was, no-no-no, God, no, Fraser as he slammed the door open to-a knife, lying in a puddle of blood. Something draped in ragged furs was squirming on the floor and making dying sounds.
Fraser was standing over the stranger with his pistol in his hand and the other one wrapped around his forearm. More blood there, and something frozen and ugly in Fraser’s eyes.
The stranger made a gurgling sound and stopped breathing.
Ray pulled Fraser away, took him out front to the porch and shoved him onto the bench. He needed to-but he couldn’t look at Fraser’s eyes. So he just patched Fraser up, and put his arms around him and held him while he shook.
"I was making him tea. I was making him tea," Fraser repeated dully, "and he tried to-I had no choice, Ray-" Fraser’s face was pressed into Ray’s shoulder.
"Yeah, I know that, Frase."
"It’s different. It’s all different now."
After that, none of them went foraging alone any more.
///
The battery for the radio gave out, but the last time they'd turned it on it was nothing but static, anyway. It was like the outside world had ceased to exist.
Fraser wouldn't let him use the fireplace. The iron stove was much more efficient, took the fuel and radiated heat steady and long. They had two lanterns, but only lit one at a time. In the dim glow of it Fraser wrote while Ray whittled, carefully saving his shavings for kindling.
It was boring. Everything was more of the same. Same books, same food, same, same, same four fucking walls. He'd go stir crazy before another month was out. He told Fraser as much.
Fraser rubbed his eyebrow. "Perhaps we could...find...something else to do." A harsh blush spread up from the collar of his Henley, and after a couple of very stupid seconds, Ray got it.
Oh.
He could do that. Here at the end of the world, with Fraser. Ray got up. His hands were cold, and he warmed them on the hot skin of Fraser's cheek.
"Ray..." A whisper. A plea.
Fraser's lips were even hotter. Fraser's mouth was an oven, pressed against Ray's chilled lips, against his neck.
On his cock. Surrounding his cock, sucking at it, tongue working hard as if Fraser couldn't get enough of him. Could never get enough. As if he wanted to swallow him inside.
Ray threw his head back and came; and then again, later, when Fraser's cock was deep inside him, assured, just like Fraser. It felt like every time Fraser pushed in, he was proving something. His determination to live, for Ray to live. For love to live.
When Ray opened his eyes again, the cabin looked different. It looked like home.
///
After a long, long time, the sun came out again. Spring thawed the ground and, incredibly, plants long buried began to grow, began to bloom.
Dief frolicked like a pup, spinning to snap at imaginary birds. Ray wondered if there were any real ones left.
Fraser came outside and joined him on the porch seat. He put one hand on Ray's shoulder and said heavily, "I suppose we should head out, start looking for survivors." He looked at Ray, a question in his eyes.
Ray shrugged and pulled out his worn deck of cards. "You still owe me forty thousand air. Want to see if you can win it back?"
Fraser's smile was brighter than the reborn sun.
...................
2008.07.17