Disclaimers: They belong to Alliance and quite probably Paul Haggis as well. Anyone named after a sheep's stomach has got to be a pretty generous guy so I'm assuming he won't mind if I borrow them as long as I put them back unharmed and slightly dazed.

F/K (duh), M/M (double duh), NC-17 (now we're talking), and oh you might learn something about modern physics theories. Like I know anything about 'em. Sorry. You know as well as I do how Fraser is. Even Erotic Character Studies should be Educational.

This is for Andre, Betty, and Kellie, who suggested I write this, and LaT, who provided the impetus for the NC-17. Amazing how much beta work Kellie, Betty, and LaT managed to do on a PWP it was extremely helpful, as always. Special thanks to Kellie, who provided a great deal of . . . position coaching and was quite . . . enthusiastic about F and K's choice of position herein.

Soundtrack: It's All Been Done, BNL; Flying, Blue Rodeo; Star Me Kitten, REM; From a Million Miles, Single Gun Theory. What else?

And if anyone can give me a heads up next time Buckaroo Banzai's on . . . my copy's gone missing since I moved.

Subatomic

© 1999 AuKestrel

"I don't understand the car. It's not necessary to test the hypothesis, or, technically, necessary for interdimensional travel."

"It's cool, Ben. It's cool. Buckaroo's a . . . an iconoclast." Sideways glance, self deprecating grin. "No prefab lab testing for him."

"Ah."

"You laughed! You laughed, Frase!"

"'Sined. Seeled. Delivered.' Oh, my."

"I don't get that, but at least you laughed. So is that what it'd look like? How many dimensions are there, anyhow? They kinda lost me with time being the fourth. Well, not really I mean, I get that but the first three are easy; and everyone knows time. Anything after that is hard to wrap your head around."

"Naturally, Ray. For two reasons. One is that the first three dimensions are natural, occur in everyday life, are easy to experience on a non-mathematical level. And everyone is familiar with the concept of time; the concept of it as a mathematical fourth dimension isn't, to us, much of a stretch, although of course it was when it was first postulated. At any rate, the existence of anywhere from ten to twenty six mathematically provable dimensions has been posited."

Ray sighs loudly, dramatically, as he reaches for the remote control and presses the pause button.

"That, of course, depends on whether you are an adherent of the superstring theory or the chaos theory."

"Chaos? Okay, I like that, let's go with that."

"Ah, yes, well, the problem there, Ray, is that in chaos theory one can have an unknown and infinite number of dimensions, and they need not be proven mathematically."

"So?"

"I tend to be more comfortable with a concept that is based in fact."

"Yeah, but, mathematically speaking, they haven't even proven E=mc squared."

"Ah, no, but the work done so far would seem to indicate that its delightful simplicity is concomitant with its probity."

"Fraser. I bet you're talkin' dirty in Canadian. Oh, like that colour on you. Nice. Anyway. Fact. Mathematical fact for the existence of an 8^th dimension?"

"Well, no, not yet. In fact, just as Newton had to invent calculus to prove the theory of gravity, it's entirely possible that a whole new field of mathematics may have to be invented in order to prove the existence of each additional dimension."

"And you sound like that's something to look forward to. I bet you liked long division and square roots on paper. This is your superstring stuff? I like the chaos thing. I bet you don't have to invent mathematics for that."

"In a way, no."

"That's the butterfly flapping its wings in Texas causes a hurricane in Guam three weeks later, right?"

"That's exactly right, Ray. How did you "

"Hey. I saw Jurassic Park. So what's wrong with it, theory wise?"

"Personally?"

"Well, Fraser, I only see two people here. And the wolf."

"Ah. Diefenbaker tends to lean towards the chaos side of things as well."

"You don't say."

"Sarcasm becomes you, Ray."

"I know."

"At any rate, I find chaos theory much too pat. Everything happens for a reason, even seemingly unrelated occurrences."

"Fraser, our daily lives are fucking examples of chaos theory in action."

His words have an instantaneous and unexpected effect. He notices, as is his wont in all things sexual, immediately.

"And there's another . . . fucking . . . example."

"That is an involuntary nervous response . . ."

*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*

He's so damn cute when he's turned on and embarrassed. We ain't been doin' this long enough for it to be old hat. I don't know if it ever will be, for me, anyhow.

"Back to superstring, Frase. Tell you what. Every time you make sense, I'll unbutton a button. There are only five. That's not asking too much, even from a Mountie."

"Ah, the movie, Ray?"

"It's a five day rental, Fraser."

"This is the third day and we haven't gotten past first twenty minutes."

"Your point? Come on, superstring. They didn't cover that in Jurassic Park, even in the book."

He's watching my fingers at my waist, mouth opening . . . wait for it, wait for it . . . tongue. Oh yeah. I unbutton one button just to see his face. Even better. Another tongue curl. Shit. He better talk fast, the jeans are starting to get tight. Painfully tight.

"Fraser."

"Ah. Yes. I believe superstring was first postulated as follows: that what appear to be physical particles are in actuality the ends of strings."

"Whoa." Unbutton another one. It made no sense to me but so what? He gets it. It's making sense to one of us. "You mean, geometrically?"

"No, physically."

"Well, that's only three dimensional. You are talking about quarks and stuff, I assume. 'Hark, hark, the quark, the quintessential quark.(1)'"

"Yes, among others. It's not three dimensional, though, Ray, if the particle is the end of an infinite string and that string is tied into an infinite loop with all the other strings. Hence the existence of at least ten dimensions."

My brain isn't firing on all cylinders so it's not his fault if that didn't make sense. I unbutton a third button.

"Ten dimensions?"

"At least. Hyperspace is another superstructure entirely."

"Ten dimensions." Hyperspace? Only the Mountie could come out with that like it's a known theory and not a wacko sci fi idea.

"Ah. Yes. Well, some time before the big bang, the universe split "

"Why?"

"Good question, Ray. It's quite possible that one might have to resort to chaos theory for that explanation. At any rate, the universe, which was ten dimensional, split into two pieces: our four dimensional world and a six dimensional world that is so small and condensed that the only way we can prove its existence is through its impingement on our four dimensional world."

Okay, that almost made sense and he gets points for not using multi-syllabic words until the end when he got going. Button number four.

"How do we see that impingement?" I don't want to be interested, I don't want this to make sense, I wanna fuck him silly, but . . .

"The strings . . . vibrate. So the movement of subatomic particles, in this theory, where, you understand, the particles are the ends of strings looped and tied together, are actually vibrations of the strings."

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray."

"They're unhinged."

"Well, it's true, the theory has a few technical problems . . . "

"I'd say."

"Your last button is still buttoned."

"You don't get a button for loopiness, Frase."

"What do I get a button for, Ray?"

"Tongue. You get a button for . . . tongue. Or hyperspace. Your choice."

Tough choice. Wars for a minute. I know he's dying to get into the extra dimensions of hyperspace . . . but instead of talking about geometric rolls he goes with tongue roll. There we go. Last button.

"I like your tongue."

"Why's that, Ray?"

"It's broad and strong and flat and it sucks just right . . ."

Professor Mountie to Sex Maniac Mountie in point six seconds. Impressive time. Impressive tongue.

"Jeez, Fraser, oh God, give me a sec to get my jeans down . . ."

Raises his head, mischief in his eyes. "Time is an illusion, Ray."

"Reality is an illusion, Frase."

He demonstrates reality with an expert flick of his tongue he's a fast learner and my God does he get points for enthusiasm across the top of my cock before losing me in the illusion that my brains are being sucked out of my groin. Hot, wet, hard, fast . . . hands pulling at my jeans, me helping, can't stop himself from cupping my balls on the way down.

You'd think I'd learn by now to just get undressed after dishes. What, do I really think I'm gonna sit side by side on the couch with Benton Fraser and his incredible mouth and watch a fucking movie? Hasn't happened so far. If it's not quantum physics it's modern surgical approaches to neurological diseases with forays into gene therapy. At least we've both learned to lose the boots first thing.

Pull that mouth up to mine, put my own tongue to work while our hands work together on his jeans. Laws of physics, whatever, but why're they always so much slower to come off than to put on?

We're still figuring out what turns the other guy's crank, but he's figured out enough about me to know that teeth on neck works. Works. . . good. I almost buck us both off the couch. "Jesus, Frase!"

He just smiles, wolflike, and pushes my right arm up, shirt with it, buries his nose in my armpit, licks. He'll lick anything, anywhere. I've had to start taking showers when I get home from work, after I get dinner on or while he's working on it; nothing seems to bother him, but white bread Comet Clorox mom, it bothers me. And when I say anywhere, I mean it. Guy licks mud, for Christ's sake, and has an oral fixation to boot. Not that I'm complaining. Teeth, again, behind my armpit this time, and that's it, buck us both off the couch, over and onto the floor, where I land on top of him with grunts from both of us.

"Maybe we should just start out on the floor," he says, grinning.

"Maybe I don't need a coffee table either. You came this close to hitting your head that time."

"I have a hard head, Ray."

"I love it when you talk dirty in American, Frase."

Another grin, another manhandle, another roll and he's on top of me again, coffee table shoved way over by the TV now with an efficient Mountie foot. And another kiss mmmmyeah, so hungry, it's hard to get through the hours at the precinct sometimes without feeling his mouth on mine. Restrained myself so far but so help me God one of these days when that tongue comes out because he's being goofy and knows it I'm gonna drag him into the can and detonsil him.

"Jeans . . . all the way off, Frase . . ." He raises up for a second, finishes kicking them off, pulls his shirt off too, then mine while he's at it. That's it, that's where I wanted to be, skin to skin, all the way, haven't figured out yet which I like better, him on me or me on him, both ways work all the way to heaven and back, hard floor or bed. Bed.

Raise my head to bring up bed just as he dives for a nipple. Never thought of nipples before, for guys, with guys, but that oral fixation comes in handy for finding out new stuff about myself, and him. It feels so good, so intense, I can't handle it for too long, pull his head off, hands in his hair.

"Bed?" I manage, brain only producing monosyllables, and easy ones at that.

He rolls again, me on top of him now, and thrusts up between my legs, his dick slipping along my ass, his chest arched. Can't say no to that invitation, and he can put up with a whole lot more tongue on his nipples than I can, he likes teeth too, so I bend over and go for it while he moans, arches, and thrusts some more. It's funny how fast he goes from Science Guy to Cave-mountie.

Few more minutes of that and he's moaning a lot, thrusting more. I roll us again, hard to do, he's got at least twenty pounds on me and he's not helping much. I manage to get us onto our sides, stroke our cocks together a few times before I give up the fight with my horny self, who wants everything, in every way, all at once. I slide down to lick right between his legs, have to kinda curl sideways to fit between his body and the couch. Start with his balls, already tight and high, I love the way he tastes and smells, loved it right from the start. I love the stuff at the top of his cock, lick that next and he shudders, rolls onto his back again, goes almost limp, he gets a little catatonic sometimes. I don't think he knew what sex could really be like; I'm makin' sure he knows it now, as far as I can.

"Ray . . ." Moves his hand, slow, down to my ass.

That's Mountie-ese for, "I'm close, suck me off." So I stop teasing, open wide, relax my throat, take him in. He rolls back onto his side, pushing in. I'm getting so good at this . . . once I even came right after he did, just from sucking him. Blew both our minds.

And he blows mine a second later when he pulls at my ass, trying to unfold my legs, gets me to let go of his cock for a second while we're shifting, pushes my legs apart and then I feel his hot wet mouth swallow my cock. " God, Fraser what the fuck?"

"Mmmm," he says around me. Mountie-ese for "Don't stop, please." Yeah, please. He's Canadian. Takes me a few seconds to get my head together, who knew he'd think of this? Wanna see his face when I tell him it's called sixty-nining and why the hell didn't I think of this sooner? Guy and a chick, yeah, two guys, wow.

One knee goes over my head to hit the floor on the other side, pushing me onto my back a little, and my mouth opens on autopilot to slurp him in again. He's got good leverage, good position, I remember to relax my jaw and he starts fucking my mouth, hot flesh, smooth as silk, musky Mountie cock . . .

He's no slouch with that mouth on me either, never has been, incredible rhythm, up and down, working me with his tongue and one hand, the other around my ass . . . finger moving down my ass, circling, probing . . . Jesus, it's so not fair that he was so close and he still makes me come first! He's not far behind; I hardly have time to get my breath, stop moaning around his cock I didn't let go, I got it together better than that before he stiffens and jerks fast and just splashes it down my throat, feels so good, tastes so Fraser.

*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*

"Hey, Frase." Hand warm on my thigh, breath warm on my groin, idle caresses.

"Yes, Ray."

"If those strings are all looped together and tied together, how's that different from the butterfly in Texas?"

I raise my head to look at him, my hand slowing in its own idle caresses on his back.

"I look forward, should we ever meet a superstring physicist, to your ensuing conversation."

"Yeah. You know any?"

"If you want one, I'll find you one."

More silence, a warm kiss on my hip. "Hey, Frase."

"Mmmm."

"If all those subatomic particles are connected, then when one vibrates, they all do. Right?"

"Eventually. In theory."

"So in theory we just gave the universe an orgasm?"

"On a subatomic particulate level, perhaps."

"Hey, Frase."

"Yes, Ray."

"I think I know how the universe got split in two."

*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*8*

1 - This line is from a poem, 'Hark, Hark, the Quark,' published in Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine, in its late seventies heyday. Unfortunately I have no idea who the author is nor do I know the rest of the lovely, hilarious poem. Pack rat, yes, I am. Disorganised and frequently moving, sadly, that as well.