New DS Fic - The Other Side of Snow
Who says WIP's never get finished!
Title - The Other Side of Snow
Pairing - F/K
Size - 19K
Rating - wait, do we not do this anymore? uhm, ok. How about:
Rated CCOATPC (Clothes Come Off And Then People Come)
Summary - estrella has pms and everyone has to suffer. or, you know, angsty-ish post cotw fic.
This is the story that I started and stopped and then started again about a thousand times since this past August. Thanks to brooklinegirl who never let me completely forget about it, and lalejandra for the kickass beta. You guys rock.
The Other Side of Snow
snow
n 1: precipitation falling from clouds in the form of ice crystals
*
Every time it snowed in Chicago, Fraser would look out the window and wish for home. The snow just wasn't the same there - it never had that pure, clean feel, and it was never piled up so high against his door that he had to chop his way out with a shovel, smiling and laughing the entire time.
When Fraser was small, snow was something that was just there. His grandmother would bundle him up and send to go help his grandfather work outside, and when they were done Fraser would make snowballs and play catch with the dogs, or build himself a snow fort at the edge of his grandparents' property.
As Fraser got older, he began to recognize the danger of snow. Getting trapped out in the wilderness in the middle of a blizzard, being hurt and scared and not able to make it into town quick enough for help. The snow was beautiful, but dangerous - and when Fraser left Canada, he was surprised at how much he missed it.
It didn't snow in Chicago - not really. The short periods of snowfall that sent everyone into a state of panic wouldn't have registered as even a blip on the radar where he was from. And no one appreciated it in Chicago. They all hauled out their shovels and snow plows, trying to get rid of it as fast as it had fallen. No one saw the beauty, the silence, the cleanliness that Fraser saw -- and before long it was pushed into piles on the edges of curbs, the white tinged a dirty grey from exhaust and street debris.
Fraser would stand at a window and his chest would tighten with longing, because all he wanted was to be surrounded by the same snow they were all trying to make disappear.
As much as Ray said he was, Fraser could tell he wasn't truly prepared for the snow the way it was in the Territories. Every day, Ray woke up and stumbled to the window, rubbing his eyes and blinking into the blinding whiteness.
"Jesus. You guys sure get a lot of snow up here," he'd say.
Fraser would just nod and agree as he made his way into the kitchen to fix Ray's coffee. "That we do, yes."
Before Fraser had to go back to work at the RCMP, he and Ray spent most days indoors, curled in front of the fire, their hands moving slowly over each other's bodies. Everything was new then - the way Ray's skin felt pressed against his, smooth and hot. Ray's mouth against his throat, the way Ray's teeth would drag slowly across his skin. Fraser would knot his hands in Ray's hair and hold him there, Ray's mouth pressed against him, and he bit back all the things he wanted to say - all the things he wanted to ask - and just twisted his head and kissed Ray as deeply as he could.
When Fraser’s leave was over he was granted his request for a posting in the Territories. The night when he got home from his first day back at work, there was a snowman standing by the door of the cabin, rocks in his head for eyes, and Fraser's oldest scarf twisted around its neck.
"I see you've been busy today," Fraser had said, taking his boots off by the door and placing them on top of the newspaper Ray had laid out for him.
Ray had turned around from where he stood at the stove, stirring a pot of stew, and grinned. "I figure, if I'm gonna stay here I might as well make myself useful."
That night, Ray took him to bed, and he covered Fraser's body with his, and whispered in Fraser's ear how he didn't want to go back to Chicago, he wanted to stay here, in Canada, with Fraser.
Fraser wondered why, and for how long, and how come, but Ray was kissing him, his hands work-rough against Fraser's skin, and all Fraser could say was "Yes," and "Of course," as he kissed Ray back.
It was like living on borrowed time. Ray had stayed, but there would come a time when something would get to be too much for him, and then he'd leave. The snow, or the solitude - Fraser wasn't sure which it would be, but it would be one of those things for certain.
Every day before Fraser left for work, Ray promised him that he wasn't bored, and that he'd find something to do. Fraser would make his way to work in the snow - and for the first time in his life it wasn't something beautiful and captivating, it was the thing that was going to send Ray over the edge. It was the thing that was going to send Ray back home - back to Chicago - and Fraser found himself, for the first time in his life, wishing for ninety-degree days and green grass under his feet.
He'd get home at night, and Ray would have dinner ready and a tale of how he'd spent his day. One day it was a pile of firewood that Ray collected from outside and stacked just outside the door so it was easier for them to get to at night. Another time it was how Ray fixed the broken down snowmobile that Fraser had bought but never used. Fraser would nod and smile in all the right places, all the while bracing himself for the words he knew one day he’d hear.
"So, Fraser, I've been thinking..."
"See, Fraser, the thing is..."
"Fraser, we need to talk..."
Before they went to bed each night, Ray would go outside and see to the dogs, and Fraser would wander aimlessly around the cabin, and, nine times out of ten, when Ray got back to the house he'd push the door open and say something about the snow.
"Nasty out there, Frase," he’d say. Fraser would clench his hands into fists and feel his breath get caught in his chest. "You do not want to go out there again, let me tell you that much. No siree." Ray would take off his jacket and slap his gloves together, little clumps of snow falling to the hardwood floor. "It's snow like this that makes me wish for a sandy beach and a lounge chair, you know? Maybe one of those big fruity drinks with a hot pink umbrella in it, or something."
Fraser would just paste a smile on his face and nod, trying to remember the way Ray's cheeks got so pink from the cold. The way he would clomp his boots on the mat in the same rhythm every single night, before taking them off, his socks pulled loose and dragging on the floor. The soft thwap Ray’s jacket would make against the floor as it missed the chair Ray aimed it at every night, and the slightly sheepish smile Ray would give him as he’d walk over and pick it up, before hanging it on the back of the chair.
He'd close his eyes when Ray would kiss him, his fingers cold on Fraser's face, but his mouth warm where it pressed against his, and Fraser would think, "Remember this. Don't ever forget this."
Because one day Ray was going to leave, and the only thing Fraser would have left would be his memories and the snow.
*
They're almost done eating when Fraser leans back in his chair and smiles across the table at Ray.
"I hadn't realized there was a produce shipment to the grocery lately," Fraser says. Fresh fruits and vegetables were usually hard to come by, so whenever they came in, Ray would make a small amount of meat for the two of them, and all the vegetables he could possibly cook.
Ray stabs another forkful of spinach, and eats it, quite obviously not enjoying it. "Yeah, well. Jim down at the market gave me a call and said when to expect them. Figured I'd cook 'em up before they went bad."
"Jim down at the market, you say?" Fraser asks, standing up to take his plate over to the sink. "That's quite an arrangement you have with him, if he calls you whenever they get their shipment of fresh produce."
"Eh, it's nothing," Ray says, casually. Too casually? Or is Fraser overanalyzing? To distract himself, Fraser turns on the water at the sink and rinses his dish. "I take a look at his Jeep whenever it starts making any type of weird pinging noise, and he calls me when the fresh broccoli and spinach gets here. It's a fair trade."
"It is, yes. I'll have to see what I have to trade him with, when I need to get the information for myself." There's a little bit of food stuck on the corner of his plate, and Fraser scrapes at it with his fingernail.
Ray is quiet for so long that Fraser has to turn to look over his shoulder to make sure he hasn't left the room. He's still sitting there though, with an odd look in his face, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"Ray," Fraser says, nodding his head toward Ray's dish. "Would you mind bringing me -"
"Why would you need to get the information yourself?" Ray asks, interrupting Fraser mid-sentence.
Fraser looks back at the sink. "Well." He clears his throat. "Not that I would need it myself or anything -"
For about a minute, the only sound is the water running in the sink, and then Ray says, slowly, "Holy fucking shit."
Fraser turns to look at him again; Ray's eyes are hard and angry, and he has the fingers of one hand digging into his other arm. "I don't fucking believe it," Ray says, his voice low and rough.
"Ray, your plate -"
"Fuck the plate, Fraser." Ray stands up from his chair so quickly that it falls over backward and crashes to the floor.
Dief yelps and jerks his head back from where he was lying in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Ray, what are you -"
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Fraser just stands there, and then Ray's hand is on the faucet, twisting off the water, and his fingers are in Fraser's arm, digging in tight as he pushes Fraser around so his back is against the counter.
Ray is standing there in front of him, breathing so hard he looks almost as if he’s hyperventilating, and the longer Fraser watches him, the angrier Ray seems to get. "What do you think I'm doing here?" Ray asks him quietly, taking a step even closer.
There's a right answer and a wrong answer to this - Fraser is sure of it. He thinks of all the reasons he always thought Ray had stayed with him for: because he was tired of Chicago? Because he needed a break from work? Sometimes, on a day when Fraser feels particularly happy with himself, he would let himself think that Ray was still in Canada because he enjoyed spending time with Fraser - but that is a rare and special thought, to be savored for the few moments before reality crashes back in.
Ray wants an answer though, and he most certainly doesn't want the, "I don't know," that Fraser finally manages to say.
It's as if he's slapped Ray, the way Ray's head snaps back. The way he takes a visible step away from Fraser, the look of betrayal on his face.
"You don't know," Ray finally manages to get out, after opening and closing his mouth a few times in silence.
Ray turns and walks away then, and when Fraser takes a step to follow him, Ray holds a hand up and stops him. "Don't. Just -" Fraser wants to reach out, wants to touch him, but Ray's entire body seems to be vibrating in front of him, and Fraser's afraid that if he touches Ray, he'll snap.
"I am not going to do what you want me to do, and get all pissed off and leave," Ray says thickly, as if he's measuring every word precisely and carefully. "I will not do that. But I swear to god, Fraser, if you come near me right now, I will beat the living shit out of you."
Fraser swallows and nods his head. "All right, Ray."
When the bedroom door closes a minute later, Fraser doesn't follow.
*
Fraser must have fallen asleep on the couch, because when he wakes up, he's in the living room, and Ray is kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Ray -"
"Shut up," Ray says, and then his mouth is against Fraser's, and he's kissing him - god, it's like Ray is punishing him with his mouth, he's kissing him so hard, forcing Fraser back down into the cushions, pushing his body on top of Fraser's, covering every inch of him. "You're such a dumb fuck," Ray murmurs, but his voice is softer than his words, and Fraser reaches out to run his hands along Ray's back.
"I'm sorry," Fraser says quietly. "I just -"
"You just don't know why I'd stay here, and you don't believe I'm not gonna wake up one day and be like, 'Oh fuck - it's cold here,' as if I didn't know that already, and run out to buy a one-way ticket back to God Knows Where, USA." Ray's fingers are unbuttoning Fraser's shirt, and he shivers as Ray slips his hands underneath the soft flannel. "You think this is all temporary, and that one day all the caribou stories and snow are gonna send me around the bend, but I have to tell you, buddy, it's not happening."
Fraser reaches down and pulls on the bottom of Ray's t-shirt, and then they're struggling to get it up and over Ray's head before tossing it onto the floor. Ray's skin is warm and soft, and Fraser pulls Ray closer, kisses his shoulder and shudders as Ray turns his head to lick the shell of Fraser's ear.
"I love the snow, Frase. I love the caribou stories." Ray's body is moving slowly against his. Fraser pushes up, feels his erection press against Ray's hip, and suddenly, the only thing Fraser wants is to have Ray out of his clothes, to feel every inch of Ray's skin against his. To taste Ray in his mouth and feel Ray’s hands on his body. He wants to take a breath and breathe Ray's air, and when he breathes it out he wants Ray to breathe it back.
He pushes Ray's pants down; they're flannel with an elastic waistband, and the only problem they have in getting them off is when they get caught on Ray's erection. Fraser's jeans are a bit trickier, but after a few minutes every stitch of clothing they had on is in various piles on the floor, and Ray is shaking above him, his body curling around Fraser's as if he can't get close enough.
Ray slides a hand up Fraser's throat and leaves his fingers there until Fraser can feel his heartbeat pulsing against Ray's fingertips. Ray is looking at him as if he can see everything - as if he can see it all - and Fraser doesn't know if that thrills or frightens him.
"You don't want me to go, but you think I'm gonna anyway," Ray says, but his voice is sure: this isn't a question.
Fraser nods once, and Ray's fingers on his throat press down harder.
"I could fucking kill you for thinking that." Ray's voice is thick, but Fraser isn't worried, because he knows Ray's not angry - he's hurt - and Fraser closes his eyes and tilts his head back.
"Ray - please -"
It's not nice or sweet when Ray kisses him; it's brutal and angry. Fraser's lips feel bruised, every place Ray's hands touch his skin feel burned, and when he feels Ray's erection, hot and hard and slick line up next to his, Fraser bites his lip and tries desperately not to come.
"You listening to me, Fraser?" Ray asks through clenched teeth. His head is pulled back, away from Fraser's face, and all Fraser can think about is how strong and angry and beautiful Ray is - how he's never seen anything more breathtaking than Ray, right now, at this moment.
"I fucking love the snow,” Ray grates out. “And do you know why?"
Fraser closes his eyes and shakes his head against the cushions of the couch.
"Look at me," Ray gasps, thrusting hard against him. "Open your fucking eyes and look at me.
"I fucking love the snow, because you love the snow, Fraser," Ray says when Fraser finally manages to open his eyes. "I love every frozen fucking flake out there, because you love it. Are you getting that -"
Fraser reaches up and knots his hands in Ray's hair, pulling him down to keep him from talking - to keep him from saying anything else. Ray moans and pants against his lips, but Fraser just keeps pushing; pushing his tongue into Ray's mouth, pushing the words back to being unsaid. Ray stiffens a second later, and then he's moaning, loud and long into Fraser, and coming all over Fraser's hip.
Ray's lips look swollen and bruised when he pulls away, and Fraser lets his hands fall from Ray's hair to rest on his back. Ray smiles then, and dips his head, licking a line from the base of Fraser's throat up to his jaw, his teeth biting gently before he moves down Fraser's body.
At the first touch of Ray's mouth to his erection, Fraser squeezes his eyes shut and groans, thrusting his hips up, pushing the head of his cock between Ray's lips. "Yeah," Ray says quietly, his long fingers curled tightly around the base, jacking Fraser slowly, letting his mouth move just a little bit at first - taking just the head in, giving Fraser time to settle in, to slow down.
"Relax," Ray says, his tongue swiping across the head again, before licking down the length, all the way until he was licking where his fingers were wrapped around Fraser's cock. "We got all the time we need."
Fraser flexes his hands - he wants something, needs something to grab onto. He slams one fist into the back of the couch, and the other flexes wildly in the open air, until Ray wraps his fingers around Fraser's wrist and guides his hand to the top of Ray's head. "Here," Ray says thickly. "Show me what you want."
All he wants - god - all he needs is to just - Fraser needs to let go. He needs to push and he needs to come and he needs Ray to be with him through all of it. He needs Ray to stay with him. To laugh with him and sleep with him and to never not be there.
Ray's mouth is wet and hot, and he grunts as Fraser moves faster - thrusts harder - there isn’t anything that Fraser could give Ray that Ray won’t take - that Ray doesn’t want, and the thought of that - God. The thought of just being able to take and live and not think or worry. To just enjoy his time and his life and not wonder when -
Fraser’s close - so close - that when Ray drops his other hand down, trails it down under Fraser's balls and around - when his finger just lightly presses against...that...spot...
That’s all Fraser needs and then he’s tightening his fingers in Ray's hair and coming hard in Ray's mouth. Ray swallows greedily, his fingers gripping Fraser's thighs, his low moans and murmurs vibrating around Fraser's fading erection.
By the time Ray crawls up Fraser's body, every part of him feels ripped out and lying there in the open. His body - his brain. There is nothing that Fraser has that Ray doesn’t know about. Nothing that he owns that Ray hasn’t taken for himself to hold, before giving it back to Fraser, only now with his - with himself - all over it.
Ray's head is heavy on Fraser's chest, and Fraser lets his fingers card through his hair slowly. When Ray speaks his voice is so soft Fraser barely hears him.
"I know that you're never gonna believe me, you know," Ray says quietly.
Fraser's hand freezes. "What?"
"About me staying," Ray clarifies, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore, or upset. He sounds resigned. Fraser isn’t sure which is worse.
"Ray, I do believe -"
"No, Fraser, you don’t." Ray pushes up so he’s leaning on his elbow. He looks down into Fraser's face. "But I figure that's all right, because now I can spend my life proving you wrong."
Fraser bites his lip. "Ray," he says softly.
"It's all right," Ray says, kissing the corner of his mouth. "One day when we're both eighty, I can bring this night up, and maybe then I'll kick your ass."
"All right, Ray," Fraser smiles a little, and Ray puts his head back down on Fraser's chest.
"Besides," Ray says, his voice getting quiet and sleepy sounding. "It's kinda fun up here. Animals and hunting and all the snow. Why would I ever want to go back?"
Fraser thinks of green grass and take-out Chinese food and twenty four hour drive-thru. He thinks of Ray's car permanently in storage, and a good policeman doing nothing all day but building snowmen and cooking stew.
Ray presses his lips to Fraser's throat as he settles into sleep, and Fraser lies awake and looks up at the ceiling. He never answers Ray's question.
Title - The Other Side of Snow
Pairing - F/K
Size - 19K
Rating - wait, do we not do this anymore? uhm, ok. How about:
Rated CCOATPC (Clothes Come Off And Then People Come)
Summary - estrella has pms and everyone has to suffer. or, you know, angsty-ish post cotw fic.
This is the story that I started and stopped and then started again about a thousand times since this past August. Thanks to brooklinegirl who never let me completely forget about it, and lalejandra for the kickass beta. You guys rock.
The Other Side of Snow
snow
n 1: precipitation falling from clouds in the form of ice crystals
*
Every time it snowed in Chicago, Fraser would look out the window and wish for home. The snow just wasn't the same there - it never had that pure, clean feel, and it was never piled up so high against his door that he had to chop his way out with a shovel, smiling and laughing the entire time.
When Fraser was small, snow was something that was just there. His grandmother would bundle him up and send to go help his grandfather work outside, and when they were done Fraser would make snowballs and play catch with the dogs, or build himself a snow fort at the edge of his grandparents' property.
As Fraser got older, he began to recognize the danger of snow. Getting trapped out in the wilderness in the middle of a blizzard, being hurt and scared and not able to make it into town quick enough for help. The snow was beautiful, but dangerous - and when Fraser left Canada, he was surprised at how much he missed it.
It didn't snow in Chicago - not really. The short periods of snowfall that sent everyone into a state of panic wouldn't have registered as even a blip on the radar where he was from. And no one appreciated it in Chicago. They all hauled out their shovels and snow plows, trying to get rid of it as fast as it had fallen. No one saw the beauty, the silence, the cleanliness that Fraser saw -- and before long it was pushed into piles on the edges of curbs, the white tinged a dirty grey from exhaust and street debris.
Fraser would stand at a window and his chest would tighten with longing, because all he wanted was to be surrounded by the same snow they were all trying to make disappear.
As much as Ray said he was, Fraser could tell he wasn't truly prepared for the snow the way it was in the Territories. Every day, Ray woke up and stumbled to the window, rubbing his eyes and blinking into the blinding whiteness.
"Jesus. You guys sure get a lot of snow up here," he'd say.
Fraser would just nod and agree as he made his way into the kitchen to fix Ray's coffee. "That we do, yes."
Before Fraser had to go back to work at the RCMP, he and Ray spent most days indoors, curled in front of the fire, their hands moving slowly over each other's bodies. Everything was new then - the way Ray's skin felt pressed against his, smooth and hot. Ray's mouth against his throat, the way Ray's teeth would drag slowly across his skin. Fraser would knot his hands in Ray's hair and hold him there, Ray's mouth pressed against him, and he bit back all the things he wanted to say - all the things he wanted to ask - and just twisted his head and kissed Ray as deeply as he could.
When Fraser’s leave was over he was granted his request for a posting in the Territories. The night when he got home from his first day back at work, there was a snowman standing by the door of the cabin, rocks in his head for eyes, and Fraser's oldest scarf twisted around its neck.
"I see you've been busy today," Fraser had said, taking his boots off by the door and placing them on top of the newspaper Ray had laid out for him.
Ray had turned around from where he stood at the stove, stirring a pot of stew, and grinned. "I figure, if I'm gonna stay here I might as well make myself useful."
That night, Ray took him to bed, and he covered Fraser's body with his, and whispered in Fraser's ear how he didn't want to go back to Chicago, he wanted to stay here, in Canada, with Fraser.
Fraser wondered why, and for how long, and how come, but Ray was kissing him, his hands work-rough against Fraser's skin, and all Fraser could say was "Yes," and "Of course," as he kissed Ray back.
It was like living on borrowed time. Ray had stayed, but there would come a time when something would get to be too much for him, and then he'd leave. The snow, or the solitude - Fraser wasn't sure which it would be, but it would be one of those things for certain.
Every day before Fraser left for work, Ray promised him that he wasn't bored, and that he'd find something to do. Fraser would make his way to work in the snow - and for the first time in his life it wasn't something beautiful and captivating, it was the thing that was going to send Ray over the edge. It was the thing that was going to send Ray back home - back to Chicago - and Fraser found himself, for the first time in his life, wishing for ninety-degree days and green grass under his feet.
He'd get home at night, and Ray would have dinner ready and a tale of how he'd spent his day. One day it was a pile of firewood that Ray collected from outside and stacked just outside the door so it was easier for them to get to at night. Another time it was how Ray fixed the broken down snowmobile that Fraser had bought but never used. Fraser would nod and smile in all the right places, all the while bracing himself for the words he knew one day he’d hear.
"So, Fraser, I've been thinking..."
"See, Fraser, the thing is..."
"Fraser, we need to talk..."
Before they went to bed each night, Ray would go outside and see to the dogs, and Fraser would wander aimlessly around the cabin, and, nine times out of ten, when Ray got back to the house he'd push the door open and say something about the snow.
"Nasty out there, Frase," he’d say. Fraser would clench his hands into fists and feel his breath get caught in his chest. "You do not want to go out there again, let me tell you that much. No siree." Ray would take off his jacket and slap his gloves together, little clumps of snow falling to the hardwood floor. "It's snow like this that makes me wish for a sandy beach and a lounge chair, you know? Maybe one of those big fruity drinks with a hot pink umbrella in it, or something."
Fraser would just paste a smile on his face and nod, trying to remember the way Ray's cheeks got so pink from the cold. The way he would clomp his boots on the mat in the same rhythm every single night, before taking them off, his socks pulled loose and dragging on the floor. The soft thwap Ray’s jacket would make against the floor as it missed the chair Ray aimed it at every night, and the slightly sheepish smile Ray would give him as he’d walk over and pick it up, before hanging it on the back of the chair.
He'd close his eyes when Ray would kiss him, his fingers cold on Fraser's face, but his mouth warm where it pressed against his, and Fraser would think, "Remember this. Don't ever forget this."
Because one day Ray was going to leave, and the only thing Fraser would have left would be his memories and the snow.
*
They're almost done eating when Fraser leans back in his chair and smiles across the table at Ray.
"I hadn't realized there was a produce shipment to the grocery lately," Fraser says. Fresh fruits and vegetables were usually hard to come by, so whenever they came in, Ray would make a small amount of meat for the two of them, and all the vegetables he could possibly cook.
Ray stabs another forkful of spinach, and eats it, quite obviously not enjoying it. "Yeah, well. Jim down at the market gave me a call and said when to expect them. Figured I'd cook 'em up before they went bad."
"Jim down at the market, you say?" Fraser asks, standing up to take his plate over to the sink. "That's quite an arrangement you have with him, if he calls you whenever they get their shipment of fresh produce."
"Eh, it's nothing," Ray says, casually. Too casually? Or is Fraser overanalyzing? To distract himself, Fraser turns on the water at the sink and rinses his dish. "I take a look at his Jeep whenever it starts making any type of weird pinging noise, and he calls me when the fresh broccoli and spinach gets here. It's a fair trade."
"It is, yes. I'll have to see what I have to trade him with, when I need to get the information for myself." There's a little bit of food stuck on the corner of his plate, and Fraser scrapes at it with his fingernail.
Ray is quiet for so long that Fraser has to turn to look over his shoulder to make sure he hasn't left the room. He's still sitting there though, with an odd look in his face, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"Ray," Fraser says, nodding his head toward Ray's dish. "Would you mind bringing me -"
"Why would you need to get the information yourself?" Ray asks, interrupting Fraser mid-sentence.
Fraser looks back at the sink. "Well." He clears his throat. "Not that I would need it myself or anything -"
For about a minute, the only sound is the water running in the sink, and then Ray says, slowly, "Holy fucking shit."
Fraser turns to look at him again; Ray's eyes are hard and angry, and he has the fingers of one hand digging into his other arm. "I don't fucking believe it," Ray says, his voice low and rough.
"Ray, your plate -"
"Fuck the plate, Fraser." Ray stands up from his chair so quickly that it falls over backward and crashes to the floor.
Dief yelps and jerks his head back from where he was lying in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Ray, what are you -"
"You really don't get it, do you?"
Fraser just stands there, and then Ray's hand is on the faucet, twisting off the water, and his fingers are in Fraser's arm, digging in tight as he pushes Fraser around so his back is against the counter.
Ray is standing there in front of him, breathing so hard he looks almost as if he’s hyperventilating, and the longer Fraser watches him, the angrier Ray seems to get. "What do you think I'm doing here?" Ray asks him quietly, taking a step even closer.
There's a right answer and a wrong answer to this - Fraser is sure of it. He thinks of all the reasons he always thought Ray had stayed with him for: because he was tired of Chicago? Because he needed a break from work? Sometimes, on a day when Fraser feels particularly happy with himself, he would let himself think that Ray was still in Canada because he enjoyed spending time with Fraser - but that is a rare and special thought, to be savored for the few moments before reality crashes back in.
Ray wants an answer though, and he most certainly doesn't want the, "I don't know," that Fraser finally manages to say.
It's as if he's slapped Ray, the way Ray's head snaps back. The way he takes a visible step away from Fraser, the look of betrayal on his face.
"You don't know," Ray finally manages to get out, after opening and closing his mouth a few times in silence.
Ray turns and walks away then, and when Fraser takes a step to follow him, Ray holds a hand up and stops him. "Don't. Just -" Fraser wants to reach out, wants to touch him, but Ray's entire body seems to be vibrating in front of him, and Fraser's afraid that if he touches Ray, he'll snap.
"I am not going to do what you want me to do, and get all pissed off and leave," Ray says thickly, as if he's measuring every word precisely and carefully. "I will not do that. But I swear to god, Fraser, if you come near me right now, I will beat the living shit out of you."
Fraser swallows and nods his head. "All right, Ray."
When the bedroom door closes a minute later, Fraser doesn't follow.
*
Fraser must have fallen asleep on the couch, because when he wakes up, he's in the living room, and Ray is kneeling on the floor in front of him.
"Ray -"
"Shut up," Ray says, and then his mouth is against Fraser's, and he's kissing him - god, it's like Ray is punishing him with his mouth, he's kissing him so hard, forcing Fraser back down into the cushions, pushing his body on top of Fraser's, covering every inch of him. "You're such a dumb fuck," Ray murmurs, but his voice is softer than his words, and Fraser reaches out to run his hands along Ray's back.
"I'm sorry," Fraser says quietly. "I just -"
"You just don't know why I'd stay here, and you don't believe I'm not gonna wake up one day and be like, 'Oh fuck - it's cold here,' as if I didn't know that already, and run out to buy a one-way ticket back to God Knows Where, USA." Ray's fingers are unbuttoning Fraser's shirt, and he shivers as Ray slips his hands underneath the soft flannel. "You think this is all temporary, and that one day all the caribou stories and snow are gonna send me around the bend, but I have to tell you, buddy, it's not happening."
Fraser reaches down and pulls on the bottom of Ray's t-shirt, and then they're struggling to get it up and over Ray's head before tossing it onto the floor. Ray's skin is warm and soft, and Fraser pulls Ray closer, kisses his shoulder and shudders as Ray turns his head to lick the shell of Fraser's ear.
"I love the snow, Frase. I love the caribou stories." Ray's body is moving slowly against his. Fraser pushes up, feels his erection press against Ray's hip, and suddenly, the only thing Fraser wants is to have Ray out of his clothes, to feel every inch of Ray's skin against his. To taste Ray in his mouth and feel Ray’s hands on his body. He wants to take a breath and breathe Ray's air, and when he breathes it out he wants Ray to breathe it back.
He pushes Ray's pants down; they're flannel with an elastic waistband, and the only problem they have in getting them off is when they get caught on Ray's erection. Fraser's jeans are a bit trickier, but after a few minutes every stitch of clothing they had on is in various piles on the floor, and Ray is shaking above him, his body curling around Fraser's as if he can't get close enough.
Ray slides a hand up Fraser's throat and leaves his fingers there until Fraser can feel his heartbeat pulsing against Ray's fingertips. Ray is looking at him as if he can see everything - as if he can see it all - and Fraser doesn't know if that thrills or frightens him.
"You don't want me to go, but you think I'm gonna anyway," Ray says, but his voice is sure: this isn't a question.
Fraser nods once, and Ray's fingers on his throat press down harder.
"I could fucking kill you for thinking that." Ray's voice is thick, but Fraser isn't worried, because he knows Ray's not angry - he's hurt - and Fraser closes his eyes and tilts his head back.
"Ray - please -"
It's not nice or sweet when Ray kisses him; it's brutal and angry. Fraser's lips feel bruised, every place Ray's hands touch his skin feel burned, and when he feels Ray's erection, hot and hard and slick line up next to his, Fraser bites his lip and tries desperately not to come.
"You listening to me, Fraser?" Ray asks through clenched teeth. His head is pulled back, away from Fraser's face, and all Fraser can think about is how strong and angry and beautiful Ray is - how he's never seen anything more breathtaking than Ray, right now, at this moment.
"I fucking love the snow,” Ray grates out. “And do you know why?"
Fraser closes his eyes and shakes his head against the cushions of the couch.
"Look at me," Ray gasps, thrusting hard against him. "Open your fucking eyes and look at me.
"I fucking love the snow, because you love the snow, Fraser," Ray says when Fraser finally manages to open his eyes. "I love every frozen fucking flake out there, because you love it. Are you getting that -"
Fraser reaches up and knots his hands in Ray's hair, pulling him down to keep him from talking - to keep him from saying anything else. Ray moans and pants against his lips, but Fraser just keeps pushing; pushing his tongue into Ray's mouth, pushing the words back to being unsaid. Ray stiffens a second later, and then he's moaning, loud and long into Fraser, and coming all over Fraser's hip.
Ray's lips look swollen and bruised when he pulls away, and Fraser lets his hands fall from Ray's hair to rest on his back. Ray smiles then, and dips his head, licking a line from the base of Fraser's throat up to his jaw, his teeth biting gently before he moves down Fraser's body.
At the first touch of Ray's mouth to his erection, Fraser squeezes his eyes shut and groans, thrusting his hips up, pushing the head of his cock between Ray's lips. "Yeah," Ray says quietly, his long fingers curled tightly around the base, jacking Fraser slowly, letting his mouth move just a little bit at first - taking just the head in, giving Fraser time to settle in, to slow down.
"Relax," Ray says, his tongue swiping across the head again, before licking down the length, all the way until he was licking where his fingers were wrapped around Fraser's cock. "We got all the time we need."
Fraser flexes his hands - he wants something, needs something to grab onto. He slams one fist into the back of the couch, and the other flexes wildly in the open air, until Ray wraps his fingers around Fraser's wrist and guides his hand to the top of Ray's head. "Here," Ray says thickly. "Show me what you want."
All he wants - god - all he needs is to just - Fraser needs to let go. He needs to push and he needs to come and he needs Ray to be with him through all of it. He needs Ray to stay with him. To laugh with him and sleep with him and to never not be there.
Ray's mouth is wet and hot, and he grunts as Fraser moves faster - thrusts harder - there isn’t anything that Fraser could give Ray that Ray won’t take - that Ray doesn’t want, and the thought of that - God. The thought of just being able to take and live and not think or worry. To just enjoy his time and his life and not wonder when -
Fraser’s close - so close - that when Ray drops his other hand down, trails it down under Fraser's balls and around - when his finger just lightly presses against...that...spot...
That’s all Fraser needs and then he’s tightening his fingers in Ray's hair and coming hard in Ray's mouth. Ray swallows greedily, his fingers gripping Fraser's thighs, his low moans and murmurs vibrating around Fraser's fading erection.
By the time Ray crawls up Fraser's body, every part of him feels ripped out and lying there in the open. His body - his brain. There is nothing that Fraser has that Ray doesn’t know about. Nothing that he owns that Ray hasn’t taken for himself to hold, before giving it back to Fraser, only now with his - with himself - all over it.
Ray's head is heavy on Fraser's chest, and Fraser lets his fingers card through his hair slowly. When Ray speaks his voice is so soft Fraser barely hears him.
"I know that you're never gonna believe me, you know," Ray says quietly.
Fraser's hand freezes. "What?"
"About me staying," Ray clarifies, but he doesn’t sound angry anymore, or upset. He sounds resigned. Fraser isn’t sure which is worse.
"Ray, I do believe -"
"No, Fraser, you don’t." Ray pushes up so he’s leaning on his elbow. He looks down into Fraser's face. "But I figure that's all right, because now I can spend my life proving you wrong."
Fraser bites his lip. "Ray," he says softly.
"It's all right," Ray says, kissing the corner of his mouth. "One day when we're both eighty, I can bring this night up, and maybe then I'll kick your ass."
"All right, Ray," Fraser smiles a little, and Ray puts his head back down on Fraser's chest.
"Besides," Ray says, his voice getting quiet and sleepy sounding. "It's kinda fun up here. Animals and hunting and all the snow. Why would I ever want to go back?"
Fraser thinks of green grass and take-out Chinese food and twenty four hour drive-thru. He thinks of Ray's car permanently in storage, and a good policeman doing nothing all day but building snowmen and cooking stew.
Ray presses his lips to Fraser's throat as he settles into sleep, and Fraser lies awake and looks up at the ceiling. He never answers Ray's question.