Author's website: http://www.mrks.org/~rowan

Disclaimer: All things Due South belong to Alliance/Atlantis, the
clearly delusional stuff is mine.

Author's Notes: This little, er, interlude, wasn't part of the
original plan. My imagination got hijacked on the subway by a Poetry in
Motion poster (PiM is a rockin' public works project, originally
sponsored by the NY MTA, but I think it's been expanded to public
transit systems in other cities now) featuring Sharon Olds' Primitive
(quoted in its entirety after the story.) It was so them, it knocked me
out, and I just had to rip it off. Everlasting gobstopers of thanks to
Beth H. and Starfish for beta, and to Kellie for general issue sagacity.
For Bethski, a true partner in crime (or at least bad judgment!)

Story Notes: Reading SG I: The Switcheroo and SG II: Misdirection
will help you with the setting/universe here. Takes place directly
following Misdirection.

This story is a sequel to: Shell Game II: Misdirection

I feel the cool air that comes in with them first, like it's stuck in Dief's fur. By the time I twist around on my knees to look down the hall, there's a wolf tongue in my ear.

"Dief!" I'm half laughing and trying to not poke the furmonster with the screwdriver in my hand as I grab at the door to steady myself.

"Hello, Ray."

Hearing that voice puts a little catch in my chest, and I look past Dief's head to take in the view. Hello. And wouldn't it just make my father proud, to know how much I'm getting to love the view from my knees.

Perfectly filled out jeans, hiking boots, and the red and black buffalo plaid jacket, open over a white henley. Between this and the Stetson, man, the butch woodsman fantasy is going number one with a bullet. I'm half hard already.

Then he smiles and holds up a brown paper bag that smells like dinner, and now my dick is just about strangling in my jeans. Because we didn't talk on the phone today, didn't make any plans. But twelve hours after he left here this morning, Benton Fraser is at my door with Thai food and a shy smile, and I know I'm getting laid again tonight.

"Got the lock fixed okay?"

"Yeah, uh, yeah," I manage, waving towards the shiny new cylinder with the screwdriver. Real eloquent. Try and get to my feet without stumbling, but I can't tear my eyes away from Fraser's face. His smile widens into a grin, and he reaches out the bag-free hand to grab my elbow, steadying me.

"Good. Nice work," he adds, nodding, but he's not looking at the lock, he's looking into my eyes. I lick my lips, then he licks his, and I shove the door open so we can get inside before I jump him right there in the hallway.

Take the bag out of his hands to set it on the counter while he removes the Stetson. When I turn around, he's out of his jacket too, standing there by the bar looking suddenly a little uncertain. But I get that. I do.

Last night almost seems like it could have been a dream. Us being together that way, touching, kissing (so much kissing -- my mouth waters every time I think about it.) All those walls tumbling down, so fast, until it was just hunger and need setting in and taking over. Close my eyes and I can feel being tangled with him in my bed. How easy we fit together, not all elbowy and separate.

But now, today, here we are with all these damned clothes on again, and there's no road map. Nothing that tells us how we're supposed to go from being not-kissing-people to kissing-people when there isn't, oh, you know, any big emotional trauma handy.

"So, uh..." Struggle to find conversation while I rummage for plates, and wind up pulling the ones we used this morning for pancakes out of the dish drainer. "Things go okay today?"

"Yes." Fraser nods, looking at me like this isn't the conversation he wants to be having, but he doesn't know how to get there either. "Fortunately, there was nothing out of the ordinary."

"Get any...um..." Turn back around with the dishes and lose my train of thought because my eyes are drawn right to his hands. Shiver with the memory of those hands on my body, touching, stroking, holding. Force myself to look up to his face and it's the same story, except this time with his mouth -- God, that mouth -- traveling across my skin, leaving flames and ashes behind. And then, yeah, his hands and his mouth together, ganging up on my cock, blowing me away...

Feel the plates slip in my hands, almost drop them. Fuck! Get a grip! Turn away again, concentrate on the counter. Bag. Food. Yeah, dummy, chicken with basil, rice. Not complicated, here. Open carton, dish food. Open, dish. Breathe, think, talk. "Uh, sleep? Did you, uh, manage to sneak in a nap?"

"I, um, yeah. I did, actually. On my lunch hour."

Glance up to see if Fraser is scratching his eyebrow, which he is. Think he's a little pink too. This is sad. This is very sad. So I'm not sorry for the interruption when Dief decides to let out a long whine, and looks up at me with an expression I can only describe as wounded.

"What?" I ask, before it occurs to me that I only got two plates. Me and Fraser, Fraser and me. Two. Kind of have that on the brain. "Oh, right. Sorry, buddy."

I'm half waiting for Fraser to start lecturing the wolf on rudeness or grandiose expectations or something like that. But when I return from the cupboard with the stainless mixing bowl that's Dief's when he's here, I find Fraser crouched down beside the furball, scratching his ears.

"It's okay with you if Dief has some?" I ask, unsure.

"Hm? Yeah, sure. There should be enough."

"Really?" And yeah, that sure is disbelief in my voice, and Fraser hears it, because he looks up at me from the floor, expression a funny cross between amused and resigned.

"I seem to have an unfortunate reputation for being somewhat of a killjoy, don't I?"

"Well, yeah, no, I mean..."

Fraser laughs and looks back at Dief, who groans like he knows better than to express an opinion, before sticking his muzzle out to lick Fraser on the chin.

"It's all right, Ray. I know." And he gives Dief one last pat before standing up again and wiping his wolf-fur-and-spit covered hands on his jeans. He's being good humored about it and all, but suddenly, Fraser's seriousness makes me ache and feel hollow. I'm almost desperate to kiss him.

I hand him a plate instead.

We eat in the living room, mostly in silence, but I haven't had anything all day, not since the pancakes this morning, and I don't think Fraser has either. The food is good, spice a rush -- peppery, a little chili, sweet, weird basil.

Look at Fraser, sitting there next to me, and try to remember if I ever told him this was my favorite or if he just figured it out on his own. He glances my way and does a slight double-take when he realizes I've been watching him. Then he cracks a small, crooked smile.

Fraser-flirting.

Take a slow, deep breath, and tell myself there's plenty of time. I don't actually need to launch myself over there right this second, throw everything on the floor, and tear his clothes off. It's a mighty fine idea, a good option to be sure, but there is another choice. I can take the dishes away first. Right, right, yeah, that's good, because even with Dief to vacuum, flying chicken and basil might not be the best thing ever, and hell, it might startle Fraser and we definitely don't want that. But he'd better not do that little smirk thing again.

Lean forward and point casually at Fraser's plate, which he's balancing on his knees. "You done with that? Want any more?" Asking is kind of a formality though, because I'm already up and yanking the plate away from him.

"No, no thanks, Ray, I'm fine," he says, a definite laugh in his voice and I make sure not to look back to see if he's smiling on my way to plunk the dishes in the sink.

"So, uh..." I search around the kitchen for one of those stupid little hand towels I'm always losing because they're too damned small to keep track of.

"Are you doing all right?" he asks, and his voice is back to serious, and laced with concern, so I know he's talking about Beth Botrelle and the tears-and-snot fireworks show I put on in the car in front of her house last night.

Look up and see he's twisted around to face me, leaning his chin on his arms resting crossed against the back of the sofa. Henley clings to him nicely, not too tight, but following over the curve of his delts and biceps. Whoever was responsible for outfitting the RCMP with these shirts deserves some kind of national award. Award, which granted, they might have to take away again for the uniform pants, but... he's not wearing those tonight.

"Yeah, I'm good," I say when I can force myself to consider Fraser's actual question for more than half a second. "Had a lot of time to think today. I mean, I still feel guilty as hell for my part in that mess. But I'm glad too, you know? She's lost a lot of time, but she's still here, we weren't too late."

Fraser nods thoughtfully, agreeing. "No, we were not too late."

He gets up from the sofa and goes around to get Dief's long-empty bowl to put in the sink. Comes to stand behind me at the counter, puts his hands on my shoulders, squeezes reassuringly. And suddenly it's hard to be near him again -- wanting him and loving him, and not knowing what to do with it.

"I'm sorry I didn't call you today," I start, wandering back out towards the living room, all the while debating how I'm going to explain that I just didn't want to risk freaking out on him. Getting all psycho and ahead of myself when I don't even know what the hell we're doing here yet.

"Actually, I'm glad you didn't." He follows me out of the kitchen, but stands a few feet away. Averts his eyes. "It was difficult enough having to be at work without the additional challenge of further...."

Please, oh please...

"Distraction?"

He nods, staring down at the floor, and I can tell he's blushing. So... maybe we're kind of, sort of, in the neighborhood of being on the same page after all. Maybe I'm just being stupid and putting carts behind horses or whatever. Yeah... maybe...maybe. Cross the few steps separating us, and I'm finally ready to get down to the business of kissing him, when he looks back up at me, stopping me in mid-lean.

"I've been thinking about you all day." His voice is rough, and then he's kissing me, startling me out of my daze, and pushing so hard against me I have to hook my fingers into his belt loops to keep from losing balance.

Whoa, fuck. Hell yeah. This is how we get back to being kissing-people.

I push back, leaving one hand parked on his hip while I reach up to tangle my other hand in his hair, messing it up because I know I can. I'm allowed. Another one of those freshly expanded Fraser-privileges, and I'm all up for taking advantage.

Steer him backwards to the wall outside my bedroom door, where we hit with a thud and a groan as he goes with my tugging hint to tilt his head a little so I can kiss him better. Deeper. Press my weight against his body, press my tongue into his mouth, as many points of contact as possible. He's so hot, so damned hot, can feel it soaking through me, like liquid. Nudge my knee between his legs, let him feel what he does to me, let him know how much I want him.

"Been thinking about you, too." I intend that to be a breathy whisper in his ear -- sexy, smooth, Ray-on-the-prowl, but wind up laughing a little at the half-truth of it and feel compelled to add, "okay, maybe not just thinking."

Fraser laughs softly at my 'confession' so I mutter, "Like all you did on your lunch break was nap," and lean in to give his neck a lick.

"Busted," Fraser chuckles in a surprisingly good impression of me, and I wonder if he's even aware of rolling his head to the side to give me better access to his throat.

"You're not a killjoy, Frase," is what I want to say to him, "you're a freak, and a goofball, and I love you so much." But the words never make it to my mouth. Got his scent in my nose now, filling my head, and the little brain has taken over for the duration. God, he smells good, makes me crazy, want to bite him.

"Mmm, Ray," my name slips out of his mouth wrapped in a moan, and I realize I am biting him. Not just biting, really going to town, biting and sucking, pushing against him again, hard, desperate, and he shifts to follow my weight, sliding his thighs open wider to make room for me. Yeah, that's it, come on. Lift my knee to rub between his legs and he closes his eyes, head dropping back against the wall. He's breathing hard and flushed, so beautiful, so goddamned beautiful, and I know, know, know it won't be enough until my cock is buried inside him.

"Will it flip you out if I tell you how badly I want to fuck you?" The question comes out a harsh pant in his ear, and he answers with a groan that sounds a hell of a lot like no. Pull back, unsure. "Yeah?"

A single, definite nod. Eyes still closed. "Yeah."

Last damned sock gone, and sneaky Fraser, grabs me around the waist while I'm still hopping on one foot. 'Oof' of surprise turns into 'mmm' of kiss as we tumble down onto the bed.

Fresh laundry smell hits my nose and I can't help remembering my momentary hesitation at the washing machine this afternoon, hovering there with the cap full of detergent. Been so long since these sheets had any come-stains but my own. Figured maybe that was a weird thing to feel nostalgic over, and went ahead pouring the soap, but oh, man, not even once, in all the times today that I stretched out on the sofa, closed my eyes and pulled on my dick, thinking about last night -- did I dream we'd be doing this again so soon.

And more than just soon. Better.

Lying side by side, kissing, stroking, but easy, some of the urgency from the living room blunted off by the sureness that everything I wanted was going to happen.

I've been thinking about you all day.

The intensity of his voice, his eyes... Yeah. Fraser came back here tonight, for me, for this. And feeling his erection pressed against my leg, I'm glad that we've both been jerking off today. I want this one to last.

Use my shoulder to give him a nudge, pushing him down onto his back. Slide over, on top of him, careful not to catch his cock, or knee him in the nuts as I get us rearranged. He lets out a throaty, contented little sigh when my weight settles in to all the right places, arms coming up to wrap around my back.

Nip my way back into his mouth, where his tongue meets mine, teasing, tasting, stroking. And I almost smile realizing I just made a solid move into the driver's seat, so Fraser's gone aggressively shotgun -- taking over the kissing as automatically as he'd own the map on a road trip.

And God, he can kiss. I wonder if it's disloyal of me to have been just a little bit surprised by how well. No, not by how well, I never doubted that. By how raw. Shift my weight a little onto my forearms so my hand is free to caress his cheek, feeling his heated skin. Break off from the kiss and pull back just a little to be able to look at him better. Hair over his forehead is starting to curl some, sticking out here and there from when I ruffled it up earlier. Makes him look younger. Less serious.

He hides so much away. Hell, even I got to believing he was a little bit of a stiff. Realize now, from the other side of experience, that a lot of it is just that Fraser's not sexy, not in the teasing, vampy, give-you-a-little-show way I'm used to. Not the way Stella was, I am, most people are. Even now, when I know that he wants me, it's hard to read his signals. Until I look closer, until I get inside his mouth, feel his hands and his body -- what they're saying. What they want.

No, no sex-y, just sex. Open, frank, totally in the moment. Honest in a way I've never known from anybody else but him. Amazing.

"Ray? Is everything all right?" Eyes worried, little quiver in his kiss-bruised lips.

"Yeah," I say, but my voice sounds rough, so I soften it with a smile. "Perfect." Smooth his hair off his forehead, feeling the tension there go, then ease myself back down to his mouth.

Let him kiss me, tell me, the only way he can, that he needs this as much as I do. Let him tell me that words fail him, too -- no matter how many of them he knows.

Let him tell me he loves me.

And that, the sudden certainty of it, the relief, the joy, floods me in a heavy surge I think is going to bust right out of my skin. Can't hold it all, contain it. Don't want to.

Want him to know too, want to share. Want to get inside him, be inside him, can't get close enough now. Thread my fingers through his hair, lean in harder with a little hip thrown in, and take the kiss away from him. Plunge my tongue deep into his mouth, and I feel him respond, hands tightening across my back, cock rubbing more deliberately against my thigh.

It's time. Time. Break off the kiss, measure my breathing, and watch him to make sure this is still okay. A wordless nod, a quick flick of tongue, and eyes wide, he looks to me to drive.

"Hang on a sec," and I sit up enough so I can reach the bedside table. Fumble around a little to get the top drawer open, then grope my way back, over the stack of bills and whatever the hell else I swept in there before Mom's last visit.

There.

Pull out the little bottle and give it a quick squint just to make sure that it's actually the right stuff, and that there's nothing embarrassing on it, like an expiration date. Lube selection was usually Stella's department, she had it down to a science: thick gel for ass play, silicone for toys... don't even remember how I wound up with this one. Anyway, sounds like it'll work. Note the line on the label about 'safe to use with latex condoms', yadda yadda, and figure even though we discussed it last night, that was just blow jobs.

"Frase, you know, uh... the Surgeon General and all, we're supposed to, uh..."

He shakes his head, a solid 'no'. "Just you."

Swallow. Exhale. Reach down to grab my cock -- steady, boy. Nod, okay. Concentrate on opening the flip top, squeezing some out, running the slippery stuff across my fingertips. Get down between his legs, weight on my elbows, and run one finger along the crack of his ass until I find the opening.

"Have you ever..."

"No." Quiet.

"You sure you want..."

"Yes," he says, just a whisper now, "please."

Feel the slight give at the same time as his indrawn breath, and wiggle the finger just enough to slip the tip inside. Smooth, hot, and the pulsing squeeze of muscle around my finger makes my cock twitch and drip with anticipation. Yeah. Oh, yeah. This is what I need.

Want to taste him then. Shift my weight so I can stroke his cock with my non-lubed up hand (vague intrusion of memory -- Stella making a face and complaining the stuff was bitter.) Fraser moans and thrusts up into my fist. Feel his own leaking start to pick up - definitely want a taste of that -- and I pull his dick back towards me for a nice juicy suck while I press the finger deeper.

He moans louder and bucks up, thrusting into my mouth probably harder than he meant to -- think the finger took him a little by surprise. Sounds like a good surprise though, so I keep going, sucking him slowly, gently massaging the finger inside him, loving his sounds, the rock of his hips. Slip a second finger up his ass, working more lube inside him, and the way he grinds against me -- just can't help urging him along when he responds so strongly, so freely. Easy to get lost in this, feeling him give himself up, tasting more pre-come on my tongue every time I swallow.

"Ray, please... not yet," Fraser pants, fingers tangling through my hair, tugging gently to get my attention. Whoa, wow. Really did get a little lost there. Let his cock slip out of my mouth, gently withdraw my fingers from his ass, and look up to see him sitting up part-way, braced on one elbow, eyes shut tight. "You...I want you."

Then he opens his eyes, and God, I've never seen them so hot, not even on a chase. For a moment I forget to breathe, and the panicky part of my brain begins to wonder if I really know what I'm getting myself into. He sits up the rest of the way, then reaches for me, wrapping a hand around my wrist and pulling me close. He kisses me hard, tonguing me deep, pushing me past control. And I realize, of course I don't know what the hell I'm getting myself into. This is Fraser I'm with -- and that means it's going to be scarier, and wilder, and more beautiful than anything I could imagine.

Actually have to shove him off me a little to get him to release my mouth. He pulls back, with a confused, disappointed sound in his throat he must've picked up from the wolf, and I can sense the question in his body, wondering if he's done something wrong.

"No, s'okay," I whisper, "I just want to get, uh, behind you. I think it'll be easier." His eyebrows do the 'ah' thing, and he lies back down, this time on his stomach, turning his head on my pillow so he can face me.

Lean down to give him a kiss, and he returns it sure and strong. If he's nervous about doing this, he's damned well not showing it. Sit back up to grab the other pillow from next to Fraser's head. It's kinda skimpy, so I fold it in half, and pat Fraser's hip to get him to lift up so I can slide the pillow under there. Let my hands stroke over his ass a moment, thinking about all the times I let him go up stairs ahead of me so I could enjoy the view. Never thought we'd be here, doing this.

Reach behind me to find the bottle of lube again, flip it open, and gloop a pretty good puddle into my cupped palm. Glance up to see how he's doing, and find Fraser looking at my hands, wetting his lips, and waiting, I realize, to watch me lube up my cock. Jesus. Some day, I will be able to look him right in the eye and do this, get off on it like crazy, I'm sure. But for now, I close my eyes and slick myself down, sneak in a squeeze to head off any disasters, and just concentrate on being calm. Wait a few extra beats for good measure before opening my eyes again.

Fraser's still watching me intently, hunger easy to read on his face, and he nods to let me know he's ready whenever I am. And oh, am I ever ready. Settle myself in between his legs, and slipping into this position with him sends a surge of excitement through my entire body, like every nerve and muscle knows what's coming next.

Key with Stella was going slow. Slow, slow, and super gentle. Repeat that to myself over and over as I place one hand on the small of Fraser's back to steady myself, and use the other hand to guide my dick. Slow, gentle. Try to be steady, pushing just hard enough to get the head of my cock inside him. He gasps and tenses momentarily, so I wait there, holding up as best I can, trying to listen to his body over the pounding in my veins, instinct to fuck urging me forward, needing to get in there.

Finally, just when I think I can't stand it anymore, Fraser's body relaxes with one long exhale, and he nods against the pillow, letting me know it's okay to go on. Slow as I can, pausing to breathe, sink my cock deeper, feeling him open, taking me. Close my eyes against the sweet, tight pressure, and slide the rest of the way in.

"Okay?" I whisper, trying to keep the shakiness out of my voice, and succeeding very little. Another nod against the pillow, and I begin, again slowly, to move. I'm fucking him as gently as I can, but I feel Fraser keep adjusting, shifting restlessly beneath me, and for another one of those panicky moments, I'm afraid he's just being polite with me now. Generous. Doing it for me.

"Ray," he says after another couple of strokes. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he's measuring his words carefully, and I steel myself for the disappointment I know is coming. He wants to stop, we have to stop... "I think it might be better if I..." and a big shift, I barely manage to stay with him as he moves up onto his knees.

"Fraser, what're you..." But before I have the chance to register the change in position, he's pushing back against me, harder, hard, shoving my dick way up inside him, up to my balls.

"Oh, that's much better," he purrs. Purrs. And I think my life as I know it is about to end.

What a way to go.

Fuck, yeah. If this is how he likes it, I never want to be anyplace else. Moving easy now, he's all opened up and with me, meeting me, rocking back into me, stroke, after stroke, after stroke. Pleasure in, pleasure out, starting to build, and I dig my fingers a little harder into his hips, trying to hang on as we pick up the pace.

So sweet, so fucking sweet, humming in my veins, and I'm lost for what feels like an endless moment. Lost to anything but grunts and pants and smacking skin. Lost in myself, but with Fraser too. Reach around for his cock, let him thrust into my fist with the momentum of our bodies. He's so hard, so damned hard, balls tight, leaking like crazy, I know he's about to come.

"Ray...God!" And he's coming, gushing, spurting gobs of come all over my hand, slamming himself back against me. Feel the spasms in his body all the way through him, rippling through him, squeezing his ass down onto my dick, and that is a pressure I just can't take.

Fraser's wild orgasm tears away whatever shred of sanity and control I have, and all that's left is an animal. A fucking animal, ramming into him, over and over, following some blind drive to bury myself, plant my load deep and hard.

Feel it coming, building, turning me inside out. "Fraser--" His name comes out of my mouth, almost a sob, like he could do anything to help me. He can, he does, giving me his body to pour myself into, and I come with a cry, holding on tight and pumping, pumping, pumping, everything I've got, until I collapse, exhausted, across his back.

"Ray," he whispers, voice soft and hoarse, as he gently eases himself out from under me, and pulls my jelly-limbed body down next to him on the bed. I manage to spoon around him, burying my face in the back of his neck, feeling the silk of his hair against my nose.

Lay like that a while, listening to our breathing return to normal, fighting the sleep I feel slipping over me. Don't want to just pass out here now. Well, yeah, I do, but I shouldn't. Need to make sure we're good, okay, first. Need to know Fraser and me are on the same page, because this was big. This was amazing, and I can't remember the last time I felt so... free.

Try and think for a minute, what I should say to him. Nothing stupid like, gee, that was great, because, well... duh. Maybe I should make sure he was planning on staying over again tonight. Yeah. Shower with him this time, maybe I can get him to sing some more pirate songs.

Know I'm grinning like an idiot, but whatever, there's no one here to see. Hug my arm tighter across his chest, plant a little kiss on the back of his neck. Lick my lips, get ready to speak, and realize that his breathing hasn't just returned to normal. It's gone suspiciously regular.

"Frase?" I ask, shoving up onto my elbow to see for myself even though I know he's already asleep. Well, huh. And even though I'd love to take credit for wearing him out, I know he's been running on empty the last couple days -- working his regular shift at the Consulate, and burning the midnight oil to help me on the Botrelle case -- not to mention getting no sleep at all last night. Never really thought about how many times he's done that for me, because of me.

He shifts a little, snuggling down into the pillow and turning over onto his back. Goddamned beautiful guy. Can't resist, draw my hand lightly across his jaw, tracing that perfect line. Man, he is out, and I realize the only times I've really seen him sleeping before have been work-related -- protecting someone, watch-sleep -- not all relaxed and cozy like this.

This is better. Much, much better.

Haul my ass out of bed to go over to the closet, up on tiptoe, rummage the top shelf for a blanket. Don't want to risk disturbing Prince Charming there to yank the sheets out from under him, but I still feel like I need something to pull over me, over us. Something to cuddle us in, keep the world out, at least for a few more hours. Debate a detour to the bathroom to mop up a little, but fuck it, I'm tired and... I don't really want to wash this away. Not yet. Climb back in beside him, and unfold the blanket over us as undisruptively as I can -- although I doubt an oompah band would disturb Fraser now. Drop my head onto the pillow, and wiggle in closer, loving the warmth, the presence of him in my bed.

Close my eyes, settle my shoulders, and smile catching my body try to match his breathing. Finding his pattern, automatically, inhale, exhale, easy.

Lined up... evened out...

...there.

-FIN-

Rowan F., 2002

Primitive
I have heard about the civilized,
the marriages run on talk, elegant and
honest, rational. But you and I are
savages. You come in with a bag,
hold it out to me in silence.
I know Moo Shu Pork when I smell it
and understand the message: I have
pleased you greatly last night. We sit quietly, side by side, to eat
the long pancakes dangling and spilling, fragrant sauce dripping out,
and glance at each other askance, wordless, the corners of our eyes clear as spear points laid along the sill to show
a friend sits with a friend here.

--Sharon Olds

End Shell Game 2.75: Distraction by Rowan F.: rowan@mrks.org

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