Fraser sat on his cot, rubbed his hands on his thighs for a moment, laid down, took a breath, sat back up. His eyes ghosted over towards the closet and...no. No. Absolutely not. The very thought of it was ridiculous.

It had, of course, seemed like a good idea at the time. Not that he was making excuses. He was just acknowledging that at the time he hadn't been thinking clearly. He wasn't proud of the fact that he'd been so impulsive, but that didn't change the fact that he had been.

What had he been thinking?

It was partially Turnbull's fault, and...no. No, that was not what he wanted to think about. Definitely not who he wanted to think about. He was being absurd. It was late, he was tired, and the sensible thing to do was to sleep.

Fraser stretched back out on his cot, allowed his hand to rest lightly on his stomach. If his fingers moved over the soft cotton of his t-shirt, surely it was only because he had a slight itch just over his third rib. And another on his collarbone. And another on his nipple and, no.

No, he was certainly not thinking of doing anything...indecent. Not in his office. Of course, it was only his office during the day. At night, it was his bedroom, and surely no one could fault a man for taking a little pleasure in his own bedroom of all places.

He turned and looked at the closet again. It really was Turnbull's fault. He'd been going on and on for the better part of a week about the wonder of internet shopping, how easy and convenient it was for one to purchase absolutely anything one desired, in the comfort and privacy of one's own home.

Of course, he'd been discussing embroidery supplies and not...other things.

No, Fraser couldn't fault Turnbull for his own weakness. Turnbull used the internet to purchase craft supplies. It was Fraser himself who, overcome with curiosity one night, had logged on to see just what kind of anything was available online.

It was his own fault-and his own libido's fault-that he'd allowed himself to even browse that website, let alone purchase something from it. He'd been embarrassed almost as soon as he'd hit the "confirm order" button. That, and slightly grateful that Ray had convinced him to open a checking account in an American bank and had taught him the wonders of the debit card.

Not that he was thinking of Ray in any way while looking at such...salacious materials. No, he was merely thankful that Ray had taken the time to introduce him to such a convenient way to handle his finances.

The embarrassment he felt when ordering the item paled in comparison to the complete and utter humiliation he'd felt when he received it. He'd walked into the Consulate after a long afternoon of interviewing witness after witness and Constable Turnbull had just...handed it to him. A small, plain cardboard box with his name clearly printed on it.

"Package for you, Sir," Turnbull had said cheerfully as he handed it over. "The return address gives no indication as to its origin, but the postmark is from Michigan."

And he'd taken it from Turnbull's hands before he realized what it was, before he had even a moment to prepare himself.

"Were you expecting a package, Sir, or should I notify the bomb squad?"

He can't even remember what he'd sputtered, what explanation he'd given as he assured Turnbull that no, the bomb squad was not at all necessary. After his hasty explanation, he'd hurried to his office, opened his closet door, and shoved the package, unopened, out of sight beneath his winter long johns.

And there it had stayed, untouched, for several weeks. He'd never even opened the package to inspect its contents.

Fraser considered that for a moment. Ridiculous, really, to be so afraid of an inanimate object. He was curious, that was all. Curiosity was a large part of the human condition, and it could do no harm for him to merely look at that thing.

He got up and cracked his closet door, making sure his father wasn't there, before he opened it fully and reached up to retrieve the box from its hiding place. He used his knife to carefully cut the tape that held it closed and...Styrofoam packing peanuts? That was completely unnecessary. It wasn't as if the thing was breakable or...he paused for a moment, then raised one of the packing peanuts to his mouth. His tongue darted out to taste it. They were the biodegradable cornstarch kind. That was all right then. He let his tongue touch it again. They were actually quite tasty, and-oh, he was getting distracted.

He reached into the box, grasped his purchase, and pulled it out.

Oh.

Oh, dear.

It was one thing to imagine such a thing, it was quite another to hold it in his hand. Seven inches of hand-molded black silicone with a flared base. It had been more expensive than some of the other models, but in his research he'd discovered that silicone was worth the extra cost, since not only did it retain body heat in what, the articles assured, was a most pleasurable way, it was also extremely durable and easy to sanitize. Not to mention that it had been made in a small workshop where each item was made by hand. It wasn't just the fact that anything handmade was more than likely of a much higher quality than machine made counterparts, it was the principle of the thing. It was very important to buy from small businesses instead of large corporations and...oh.

He backed up and sat down hard on his cot. He owned a dildo. The realization hit him hard. It wasn't something he could ignore, not when he had the sleek, black, undeniably phallic item in his own hand. He squeezed it. It was firm, yet yielding. He could feel it warming in his palm.

He set the box at his feet and reached in to it only to make sure that the bottle of lubricant he'd ordered wasn't leaking. It wouldn't do to have leaking lubricant, after all.

And he only removed his clothing because it was late Spring, and quite warm, and he would surely be unable to sleep if he left his t-shirt and boxers on.

He looked from the dildo, to the lubricant, and then back again. Silly to purchase a thing and not use it. That would be a waste of money, and he was nothing if not thrifty.

Of course, it was equally important to be prepared. Never let anyone say that Benton Fraser skimped on proper preparation. Getting his fingers slick with the lubricant and touching himself there, well, it was only prudent. It wasn't as if he was reveling in the sensation of his own fingers teasing his entrance, slowly, slowly pressing inside until his breath caught in his throat and his legs fell open of their own accord, giving himself more room to maneuver. If his fingers curled and sought out that small button of exquisite sensation deep inside, well, that was only because it would further relax him and ease the introduction of his new purchase.

After another few moments of...relaxation, he withdrew his fingers and reached for the toy. He slid his fingers up and down its length, not at all wondering how it compared to the proportions of another man. He wasn't thinking about any man at all, let alone Ray.

He pressed his lips tight together, didn't allow himself to make a sound as he felt the cool silicone press against his entrance, press further, harder, until suddenly his body opened and allowed it inside. He felt strangely full, flexed around the burning ache and...oh. Oh, my.

He arched his head back and bit his lower lip and the sensations running through him were perfectly normal. It was perfectly normal to shudder so, to feel a line of tingling fire in a V from his nipples to his groin and then back, further inside him, deeper than he'd ever before known.

It was a biological fact that no matter one's orientation, stimulation of the nerves of the anus and surrounding regions was pleasurable to most men and when he slid the toy further inside him, then out again, then back inside, well, he was merely taking advantage of the thousands of nerve endings and not thinking about anything in particular. Not thinking of what he couldn't have. He was definitely not pressing up on his heels to lift his hips and allow deeper penetration while thinking of...

"Ray."

The name escaped his lips unbidden, made him shudder.

"Ray. Yes. More."

His eyes fluttered shut and he fought it for a moment. He was merely engaging in a completely normal private activity, and-

He tipped his hips up, cried out from the sharp stab of pleasure the new angle caused. Yes, that was Ray. That was Ray inside him, Ray's...Ray's cock. Yes. His cock, his cock thrusting deep into Fraser's ass. Ray's cock inside him, Ray's body over his, covered in a sheen of sweat, smelling of skin and musk and sex, his eyes dark, his breath hot against Fraser's cheek.

Yes, that was quite...Fraser slid his free hand over his chest, brushed his nipples with his fingertips, pinched, twisted slightly. His own cock was hard, aching for his touch but he slid his hand up instead, over his throat, over his mouth, his tongue sneaking out to taste the skin of his palm. He'd be hard, of course, he'd be aching hard but Ray wouldn't let him touch. Ray would pin his arms above his head, kiss him roughly, whisper, Not yet.

He'd cry out, whimper unselfconsciously as his hips jerked up to meet every thrust. He'd beg, "Please Ray, please Ray, please, I need, I have to..."

But Ray wouldn't let him touch. Just feel it, Frase. Just feel me inside you. Just let go and let me fuck you. Yes, that's what Ray would call it. Fucking.

And Fraser would struggle, but only because it felt so good when Ray held him down. And he wouldn't be able to stop the wanton cries that escaped his lips, wouldn't be able to stop himself from panting, "Fuck me, fuck me, God, Ray, fuck me..."

His climax was intense, coming from deep at the base of his spine and blossoming into white heat that flooded his entire body in the span of a second. He was trembling and crying out and sobbing and then nothing, nothing but warm darkness and floating and soft aftershocks that shook him even as he drifted into a sated half-sleep.

He opened his eyes to the darkness of his office, smelled the sharp tang of his own release in the air, could feel it cooling on the skin of his stomach, his chest, his chin. The thing to do was clean up, of course. That's what one did after one made a mess, but Fraser found himself rather unwilling to do anything but lay where he was and shiver at the giddy joy that burned through him.

His once concession to clean up was to ease the dildo slowly out. He sucked in a deep breath as he did so and winced as he felt the now-warm silicone leave his body. The sudden emptiness felt as odd as the fullness had at first.

He knew he should get up, wipe himself off, get dressed, but he didn't. Instead he just rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, letting himself drift towards sleep.

Besides, it would just be silly to clean up and put everything away when there was a very good chance that some time during the night he would get the urge to do it again.