Author's Notes: For Estrella. Happy birthday, my sekrit girlfriend! It blows my mind that I've only known you for seven months. Can that even be possible? *hearts on you bigtime* I only cheated here a little bit, in that I think you've seen the start of this fic, but it was a good set up for awkward messy sex. *smooches* Lynnmonster is a veritable beta goddess and I love her dearly
It's the sound of the wheels, or the narrowness of the bunk, or something, but I can't get comfortable. I wrestle with the blankets, sighing.
"Ray, are you certain you don't want to switch bunks?"
Fraser's voice comes from above me out of the darkness, and I sigh again. "No, Frase, I told you, I had a traumatizing experience with a top bunk when I was a kid."
"If you're certain."
"Yeah, I'm certain." I blink into the semi-darkness. The shades on the windows of the train don't seal all the way, so there are flashes of light coming in as the train barrels along the tracks. "Fraser."
"Why a train, again?"
There's a pause. "You didn't specify the means of travel for our return trip. This seemed both economical and educational."
I grimace to myself. "Economical, sure, fabulous." Not that we're the ones paying for it, but there's no arguing that with Fraser. "Educational?"
"Why, the scenery! The experience. I thought you could get to know a little more of Canada this way."
"I know all I want to about Canada." Dammit. That came out wrong. What I meant was, for me, Fraser freaking encompasses Canada. Fraser is all things Canadian. Times, like, ten. Plenty.
The rhythm of the wheels suddenly sounds loud, filling the silence following my goof-up. I rub at my eyes - dammit. I'm not really tired, not anywhere near tired, though I should be, after the past couple of days. Traveling with a prisoner is never a fun thing. Traveling with a prisoner with Fraser, who insists on being polite to said prisoner? Even more annoying. It's not just "keep him quiet, get him there, dust off your hands, and head back," oh no.
It's "chat with the felon about the historical significance of pine trees" and "Ray, can't you be more polite to our guest" when he's not a guest, Fraser, he's a prisoner and a criminal and -
Yeah. Not a fun time.
I can't get settled down. Fraser's probably up there lying like a corpse, probably going to sleep right now, and here I am so wired that I'm trying to figure the best place to bum a cigarette at one in the morning on a moving train. Maybe that's what it is - the train deal. Being on this train, the sound of the wheels and the wind keeping me awake, my brain darting back and forth, and I just am not going to be able to sleep.
I stretch up and thump at the bottom of his bunk. "Hey Fraser."
"Yes, Ray?" Huh. I was wrong. He sounds completely awake. Cool.
"I ever tell you about the last time I was on a train?"
"Were there Mounties and rogue terrorists involved?"
"Um." Freak. "No. It was our honeymoon. Stella 'n me."
"Ah." He doesn't sound particularly interested, but he also doesn't sound like he's gonna shut me down. I figure he's too polite to fall asleep while I'm talking, and all I want right now is to not fidget my way through the night by myself.
I twist over onto my side and watch the lights come flickering under and around the window shade. "Yeah. We couldn't afford a big fancy trip back then, but I figured I could take her on a train to Niagara Falls and it would be - like, romantic, you know?"
"Yes." His voice in the darkness is earnest. "You, of course, took the train to the Canadian side, correct? It's the best view of the majesty of the falls."
Like I fucking remember which side we were on. All things Canadian weren't quite as important to me back then. "Sure," I say, going for the same serious tone. "The, uh, majesty of 'em. That's what we where there for. Well, that, and -" I nod to myself in the darkness. Not that he can see me, but any guy in the world, even a thick-skulled Canadian, knows what you do on a long, romantic train-ride honeymoon.
There's just quiet for a minute from up above me and I'm aware, suddenly, of the motion of the train, the rhythm beneath me.
"You must have been very happy then." Fraser's voice sounds almost wistful, like he's really thinking about what it must have been like for us.
"Well. Yeah. I mean, we were real young, and real poor, and too stupid to care about having no money."
"Not stupid," Fraser said quietly. "In love."
I scratch my head. "Yeah." I sigh. "We were." It seems like forever ago, I think because then, it was easy to be in love. Less baggage. More hopes. "Potential, you know?" I lean sideways out of the bunk a little, making sure Fraser is listening. "It was about potential back then. We didn't have it all mapped out, but that was okay, because we thought we had it good no matter what."
"Yes," and his voice sounds hollow. "That must have been a good feeling."
"Not really. I mean, it was, then," I amend. "It's just, hindsight makes it look a whole lot less - clean. Clear. Something."
He's quiet again, and I'm thinking that he must have drifted off, but then, "You were lucky to have it when you did. Lucky for life to be clear, or at least seem clear, even if only for that moment."
Not everyone gets to have that, is what he's not saying. I never got to have that, is what I bet he'll never even let himself think.
Man. That has to suck. To never even get that chance. To never have that moment of sheer happiness, where you're entirely sure that whatever happens, you're gonna be able to handle it, because you're with the one you love. That "you and me against the world" feeling.
That sucks, because the guy sure deserves to be happy, but most of the time, he just seems lonely. Even with me around. There's a whole world of difference between a partner - even a friend - and someone who you can trust with your entire life.
I lie there looking at the bottom of his bunk for a while, the train rumbling beneath me. Potential. A probability. Or possibility. Something powerful, anyway. I can feel my heart beating as I swing my legs over the side of the bunk and stand up, leaning on the edge of his bunk to peer at him. I think, again, that he's asleep, but he opens his eyes almost immediately and looks at me. Not even startled; I wonder if he's ever been surprised by anything.
I shut him up by leaning in and kissing him.
I'm at a weird angle, so my lips land sort of crooked, and I have to stand on my toes to reach him. And it only lasts for a second, because the train pulls into a turn and I'm thrown off-balance and stumble away. Still, I can taste him on my lips.
I get back in bed and lie there, my heart beating fast.
Five seconds. Ten. There's a rustle and a squeak and then he lands on the floor beside my bunk. He's standing at attention, and wore just his boxers and t-shirt to bed, like me, so all I can see are his knees. This doesn't work very well, communication-wise, so he bends to peer in at me. He looks confused. "Ray, what was that?"
"We-elll," I say, swallowing dryly, drawing a total blank. Then, fuck it, I lean up on one elbow and kiss him again. A little longer this time, and he even kisses back for a second before pulling away, shaking his head. "Ray. Listen to me."
I stay leaning there on my elbow, waiting patiently for him to finish.
"You, ah. You kissed me," he says carefully.
It's funny, 'cause I know what he's trying to do here, be all serious and stuff, but he's breathing kind of fast, like he's trying very hard to not freak out.
"Uh-huh," I say, and put my hand on the back of his neck, and pull him closer. This time, when the train jerks again, it works to my advantage, jolting him off balance and sending him sprawling half of top of me in my bunk. He bangs his head against the top bunk as he falls in, and he looks down at me in the dark, his weight heavy and good on top of me, and says, "Ow."
"Hey, you okay?" I reach up to feel for a lump on his forehead, and he nods his head, then shakes his head, and then he's kissing me again. Like it's something he can't help, making out with me. In my bunk. The blanket is bunched between us, and I like being pinned down by him. He's kissing me all soft and intense, and I push my hands up under the back of his shirt, and press my tongue into his mouth.
This makes him pull back so sudden I'm lucky I don't get bitten. "What? What?" I ask breathlessly.
He's looking down at me, and there's a shadow across his face, so I can't really see him. His voice sounds strained when he says, "Why? Why did you kiss me?"
Oh, for the love of - "I wanted a better train memory," I explain irritably. I snake a hand behind his neck and try to tug him down, but he resists. His body has gone tense against me, and not in a good way.
"Oh," he says stiffly, and makes like he's gonna move away.
All right. He needs this spelled out "It's more than that, though," I say, holding him in place.
He's not relaxing, but he's listening. I should be glad I get that, at least.
"It's -" Fuck, he's gonna make me say it right out. "I've been thinking about - this. Kissing you. A lot, lately."
That's not a line - it's the complete truth. I have been. Been thinking about kissing him, and what his mouth would taste like, and what he would do, if he would let me or what. Mostly, in my fantasies, he lets me. And mostly, in my fantasies, I push him up against the nearest surface, be it the wall or my desk or the hood of my car, and kiss him till he's wild for it, before I get on my knees to find out what his cock tastes like, too.
And then I'd blink, and bam, fantasy would be over, and I'd have missed half the conversation and have to ask Fraser to repeat something, or worse, a few times, have to ask Welsh to repeat something, and I'd end up looking like a complete moron, having to ask five or six questions just to follow the conversation, because most of my blood would still be in my dick at this point instead of in my brain.
Point is, I have been thinking about this, but mostly I just push it aside, because, yeah, sure, I'm great at reading body language, but he has this weird Canadian body language that tells me nothing. Sure, he's easy with me, more relaxed and sarcastic than he is with anyone else, and sure, he pushes the personal space issue (not that I'm complaining about that), but there's never anything that lets me know for sure whether he wants anything more than that. The way I figure it, he has enough with Thatcher and Frannie and Elaine all over him - I'm not gonna go and hassle him, too.
Only I guess I kinda just did. But... it's not "scared" that I'm getting from him, here. It's "suspicious," and I'm betting it's him holding back from what he really wants to do. And maybe I'm getting better at reading Canadian, because I don't think he's sorry I kissed him. I think he just wants to know that it's not a cheap thrill. But even more, it looks to me like he's looking for an excuse to back off. Like if I can disappoint him right up front, it'll just be a time saver for him. Well, fuck that.
"Fraser, this is not a new thing here." I'm looking at him intently, trying to will him to believe me. "We're good, you and me, we're really good, and I bet we'll be good at this, too." Already this is even better than my fantasies have been so far, because yeah, okay, I still want to blow him up against a wall sometime, but having him on top of me here, both of us jammed in my narrow bunk, is a whole world better than anything my imagination could have come up with. Every time he breathes, he's moving a little against my dick, and even here, now, trying so hard to pay attention and convince him that this is something more, not less, my hips will not stop moving, hitching up a little of their own accord every now and then.
Deep breath. Watch him. Because the reason why it's better is because it's more than just sex. This is Fraser, here, and he's basically daring me to give him a reason to trust me.
His eyes study me. "Sexual release," he declares. "That's all it is. It builds up, and you just look for the nearest..."
"No!" Jesus Christ. "You're not getting it, are you, Fraser?"
"Well, no," he says, looking confused again. "But neither are you, and I think that must be why you felt compelled..."
"Fraser! Listen to me!" I grab his shoulders, and make a very serious effort to ignore my cock, which is, by the way, pressed up tight between us and enjoying that very much, "I kissed you because I fucking like you. I mean I like you, like you." Fucking hell. Grade school, much, Kowalski? "I - want you." And now I'm sounding like a bad romance novel. Great. There's just no cool way to say this stuff.
Fraser blinks, still looking at me, and he seems to be under complete control of his hips. Dammit. "But you were talking about Stella, and then..."
"Yeah," I growl. "I made out with her. On a train. And I wanted to make out with you. On a train." I run a hand through my hair and sigh, sagging underneath him. "It's good with us, Fraser, it's really fucking good. The buddies part, I mean, but - I just thought -" God. I am such a dork.
"Oh," Fraser says, looking down at me. He still got this kinda cautious look, but then - yes - he shifts against me, and I can feel how hard he is. "So you wanted -"
"You," I say fiercely, and lie there, looking up at him, till he says, "Oh," again, quietly, and lowers his head (fucking finally) and kisses me. Soft at first, like before, but then his tongue is licking up against my lips. I open up right away, and I can't stifle the groan that seems to come from my soul when he pushes his tongue into my mouth. I got an idea of what he tasted like when we were kissing before, but this is different, this is something completely different. All I can taste is him, and he tastes unbelievably good, and if this tastes good, imagine what his cock would taste like.
Jesus. I feel ten times harder than before. He moves so he's covering me completely, and my hips are out of my control, because I can't stop moving, want to feel him, really feel him against me. I'm trying to get the damn blanket out from between us, but when he pulls back to drag it out and fling it to the floor, I curse out loud and try to pull him back down on top of me. He's resisting, and I'm panting up at him, suddenly furious, until I realize he's just trying to get enough space to wrestle his t-shirt over his head. "Yeah, okay," I mutter. "That's good, yeah," and I tug on it to help him get it off and he's struggling out of it, and flinging it to the floor with the blankets and, "I - oh Christ."
God, yeah, skin was a good idea, a great idea, his chest broad and bare, and I run my hands across it, still in that state of being crazy-happy to get to touch him. But he has an even better idea, and pushes my shirt up under my arms, and scootches a little down the bed so he can tongue my nipples. And, okay, you know, I'm not usually much of a nipple guy, but I'll tell you, that's mostly 'cause women don't know what to do with a guy's nipples and Fraser - most definitely - aw, hell - does. He really, really, honestly does, licking at them over and over, and then - fuuuuck - using his teeth on them, not too soft, just hard enough to make me choke, and gasp, and jerk up hard against him.
"Fraser," I'm saying, "Fraser," and god, I'm fucking desperate for him. "C'mere, c'mere," because, sure, yay, nipples, but I want his mouth again, I want his goddamn mouth again. He slides back up my body, and fuck, that feels good, nudging my legs further apart as he goes. I'm trying to find a way to spread as wide as I can in the narrow bunk, bracing one foot up against the wall, flailing with my other foot, the one on the outside, trying to find a foothold on the bunk.
Fraser, thank god, smart man that he is, grabs hold of my leg and lodges himself between my thighs, and he's gasping into my face, his hair a mess. "Ray," he says breathlessly, "God, Ray," and as much as I want to hear what he has to say, I can't seem to stop talking.
"God, Fraser, yeah," I gasp as he moves against me. "Gonna get you back to my place, god, gonna do this right," I'm arching up so I can get a clean shot at his neck, run my tongue down it as he buries his head in my shoulder and thrusts his hips hard against me. "I want to suck you," I say into his skin, my hands looking for a grip on his back. "I want to taste you," I explain, and he's shuddering against me desperately.
"Wait a second, Ray," he gasps, lifting himself up on his elbows, which only brings his cock hard up against mine. "God, I just - I just - " He takes a deep breath, like he's trying to steady himself, and I think I should maybe let him get himself together, but instead I'm saying, "Kiss me," and he does, dropping down to do it, moaning against my lips. His whole body is shaking, and I mutter desperately, "You okay? You okay?" but my hips just keep jerking up, and up, and he yanks himself away from me and says in what sounds almost like his annoyed tone, "Yes, just - god. Give me - a second..."
And he grabs my hands, yanks them up above my head, and that feels fucking incredible (my brain telling me I shouldn't like being pinned by him, but god, I do, I really fucking do, it gives me something to struggle against, and fuck, his weight on me feels good), and he holds me there, gasping and trying to glare down at me. "Stop moving, I want to - I want - god," he says, as I shift against him again and again. His eyes close, and my legs are spread open wide, and as his hands clutch tightly around my wrists, his hips twist, thrust, slam against mine, and he gasps, and shudders, and comes right there on top of me.
This is so crazy, this is so un-fucking-believable, seeing that, watching that, seeing him just totally fucking lose it, his face just open and reckless and just taking what he wants. He shudders again, and drops himself against me, loosening his hold on my hands. All his weight is on me, and it's damp between us, and I'm still so very fucking hard and horny and wanting him. And goddamn, here he is. Right here on top of me, so turned on he just lost it and came all over me, and sometimes, I just fucking love my life.
Which is why, when he lifts his head slowly from where he collapsed against my neck and looks at me all messy and dazed, I'm grinning at him. "Sorry," I say, not even making an effort to sound sincere.
He narrows his eyes. "Uh-huh." Then, quicker than I thought would be possible in such a tiny space, he slides down me, and yanks my boxers out of the way, and sucks my cock into his mouth. "Jesus fucking Christ," I gasp, and flail, looking for a handhold on the sheets, 'cause if I get my hands on his hair, I'll yank it out of his head. God, do it, Fraser, yeah. Geez, he sucks like a pro. I'm hanging onto the sheets for dear life and fucking the hell out of his mouth, or trying to, but his hands are firm on my hips and holding me down, and oh yeah, that's turning me on just like his pinning my hands did.
Maybe I got some bondage fetish I didn't know about before now.
Think about that later, 'cause right now his mouth, god, his hot, hot mouth, is on me, sucking me, then he's pulling back, his mouth running down the underside of my cock, and he's - fuck - ducking lower to run his tongue over my balls, which are tight up against me because I'm this fucking close to coming. "Fraser," I gasp, struggling against his hold, "God, fuck, Fraser, you - I -"
He moves back up and sucks me deep into his mouth, his throat, and again, and again, and ohfuck ohfuck, I'm gonna - "Jesus - Fraser - I -"
I come, my whole body shaking with it, and I can feel his mouth working against me as he swallows, and swallows again. My god.
Why the fuck didn't my fantasies have Fraser on his knees?
I'm a limp, boneless wreck under him, and as he moves up next to me again, I can practically feel satisfaction radiating from his body. We don't really both fit here, wedged together, him smushed up against the wall, one of his legs between mine as I twist awkwardly onto my side to face him - but it's good, it's fine, I'm not letting him go for anything. Even though the damp boxers tangled between my legs are gonna get real uncomfortable real soon.
I open my mouth, but he beats me to the punch. "Is that a better train memory for you, Ray?" he asks like he's all concerned.
I roll my eyes and shove at him, which, given that he's already up against the wall, leads to me almost knocking myself backwards off the bunk. His hand is at the small of my back, tugging me towards him even as I'm flailing for a handhold. Smooth, that's me. "Well, yeah, sure," I respond, when I'm solid on the bunk again. "But it wasn't about that, though, you know."
He watches me quietly. Gonna let me hang myself here, Fraser?
"It's way more than that." I'm grasping for words here. "It's not just the sex, either, although - wow, I think it might be okay if it was, because that was unfuckingbelievable -" I pause to give him an admiring look, and he nods his head.
"Thank you, Ray."
"...but it's not, I mean, it's you and me. This is you and me, and it doesn't have to change -"
He raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, so yeah, this changes things some," I amend quickly. "It's just that it's you and me, only better, right?"
"I hope so," he says, and sure, it's cautious, but his hand is still warm on my back, holding me close, so I'm thinking he wants this to be okay, and it will be. It is. He just doesn't trust that yet. I can't blame him, because you never know, really, but you gotta try. You gotta give it a chance. My body is thrumming with it right now - potential. It's not a sure thing, but it's not a bet you pass up.
"Me too." I grin at him. "'Cause I've been having fantasies about this for ages now." I'm kind of teasing him, but my heart is beating fast again, waiting for him to say something back.
He blinks at me. "Fantasies?" he says, and his voice is rough, and oh yeah, we're on the same page here, we're on the exact same page here.
"Yeah," I say, trying to move closer when I'm already pressed up tight against him head to toe. "Fantasies," I whisper against his lips. And then I'm kissing him at the same time as I'm trying to wriggle out of the sticky, tangled boxers, which is just as tricky as it sounds. But that's okay, because Fraser's got a hold on me, and I don't think he's letting go anytime soon.
End Train Job by brooklinegirl
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