Feedback: funhapjoy@yahoo.com
Pairing: RayK/Fraser implied.
Disclaimer: Due South and its characters are owned by Alliance Production.
Rating: Slash m/m discussed

Summary: I was bemoaning the fact that my RayK muse didn't speak to me, when he reached out and stole my sweet potato fries.

Beta?reader: Pollyanna who is my life saver, and is earning the name Cruella.  Evil beta has been scaring me with wonderful creepy X-files and Highlander Tales ... /hmm, cute kid who is thinking of adding the name Morticia to the long list of Pollyanna's  nicknames./
Dedicated: To Jonah.
No one was hurt in the production of this tale ... okay so some people may have pulled a groin because they were laughing so hard, but that is like another story.

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The sex was good.  It was greatness, but I didn't love him for that.  I mean, the first couple of times I kept thinking, <<Is that all there is?>> Here we were, two novices trying to figure this out.

What'd you looking a' me like that?  You think I'm an expert? Ha!  I'd been panting after Stella since I was in short pants and boy scout here was saving himself for Ms. North Wind, Arctic Freeze, Tundra chick ... //shakes his head// ... Where was I?  Oh yeah. The first few times we did it, I kept thinking <<people actually do this?  Like often? Why?>>

I mean he kept slipping out. He'd put too much grease on himself.  You know, so's not to hurt me.  So after a few times we just kind of gave up.  I mean, I love him and he loves me, so the sex is lousy.  At least we tried.
 
You're probably thinking, <<how'd it get from lousy to great?>>

A few months passed and here we were fooling around, like usual, and suddenly it just clicked.  This time he didn't slip out. This time it didn't hurt.  This time I didn't feel my ass go numb, you know.

Now?

Now we do it three times a week, maybe four.  I even orgasm a few times ... //chuckle// ... I've got you thinking, <<He's an ideal lover?>> Well yeah.  He holds me, you see.  He puts Smarties in my coffee.  He dances with me until dawn.  He lets me sleep in on the weekends.  He talks to me, but doesn't expect me to talk back.  I mean chicks always want guys to be chatty. Share your feelings, and all that bambo yambo.  But with him, he accepts my silence as my way of sharing, you know.   And the best thing is he lets me mess up his Mountie suit.  He looks like a debauched angel when I'm done with him.

So the times we do it, well they are special because they are a bonus. A prize.  Mind you, I wish he'd bottom a bit more, not that I mind, you know, but just now and then I would like to be in him that's all.  So hey, can I have more of your french fries?  Oh, sweet potatoes.  So can I?