Author's Website: http://cmshaw.slashcity.net

Disclaimer: Blame Canada! Blame Canada! And blame Trille, too -- she's Australian, but blame her anyway. These characters used to be Alliance's, but I doubt they'd acknowledge them now even if they did recognize them.

Author's Notes: As you might guess, this rises from the depths of the Bindlestitch list. Irene posted a link to this picture of a Mountie doll:
http://www.billyworld.com/closet/in_closet/billyscans/mac_cosmetics.jpg
and Trille looked at it, caught a plot bunny, and smacked me over the head with it. *Ouch*, Trille, ta *ever* so much.

Story Notes: Sawdust, riding crops, tight uniforms, handcuffs, marmalade. Kink. And m/m NC-17 slash -- but, like, *duh*.

Part I: What We Have Here Is A Failure To Communicate

"Tell your partner he'll be next!" the malfeasant yelled as he threw Ray out of the car.

"Ow," Ray said, although it came out more like a grunt because of the gag in his mouth. Why the hell did the consulate have such hard steps anyway? Shit, one minute he's undercover in the east side lumber yards wondering what the hell you can do with sawdust that's so illegal, and the next he's bouncing into the Canadian consulate, discovering that it had damn well better be illegal to tie a cop up if there was sawdust under the ropes around his wrists. His arms felt positively raw.

"Detective Vecchio!" said a woman's voice over his head -- great, the Ice Queen, just what he needed to make the day perfect. "Well, don't just stand there!" Thatcher snapped. "Pick him up and get him inside."

Fraser, or someone in the bright red uniform, anyway, grabbed him around the chest and hauled him indoors. Ray knew that smell; it wasn't Fraser, it was, it was -- wait a minute, how the hell did he know what Fraser smelled like? Jeez, Vecchio, get a life. Get laid more often, ya hear?

It was the accelerant that crazy lady used to blow up his car, that's what that smell was. Ray twisted around and managed to land with a thump on the carpet on his back. Ow. Okay, okay, not the arsonist, it was just Thatcher's interior designer with the perfume. Ray whacked the back of his head against the floor for good measure. Really, they could untie him any time now, that'd be just great.

Why was the interior designer in uniform? And it didn't even fit him right, definitely too tight across the chest -- oh. Well, check out the Ice Queen gettin' it on in uniform. That was pretty damn kinky. Not that the dog collar was part of the real uniform -- at least, not that Fraser had ever told him --

Okay, now they really could untie him, right now, thanks. Before Thatcher got any ideas about that riding crop she was waving around and before Ray had to find out just what sort of equipment it took to make a bulge like that in the poofy riding pants.... Right. Nevermind. Did this guy absolutely have to sit over his legs to get at the knots -- and please, please, please God, Ray did not want to pop a boner just because a guy in a skin-tight Mountie uniform was sitting on him -- well, shit. Thanks so much, God.

"Sven," Thatcher said severely, "is there a problem with those knots?" She slapped that riding crop against the leg of her boots for emphasis.

"Oh no, ma'am -- I mean, no, sir. They're quite secure."

Hey! Hey hey hey! Ray began flopping around, trying to dislodge the Ice Queen's pretty blond boy-toy, but dammit, the ropes really were pretty secure. And wiggling really did not help calm him down, which might be a problem soon since his jeans were a lot tighter than those poofy Mountie trousers.

"Sven," Thatcher said, "please go back upstairs and fetch the item I left at the foot of the bed."

"The one with the spikes?" Sven asked.

Spikes?!

"At once, 'Constable'," she snapped.

Ray flipped over as Sven got off of him and -- damn, how the hell did he get those trousers so tight over his ass? And quite an ass it was -- okay, focus, let's get out of these fucking sawdusted ropes. Somehow.

"Is everything all right in here, sir?" Fraser asked. Fraser! Ray turned around again and saw Fraser standing in the doorway at about the same time that Fraser saw him. "Ray! Ray, are you okay?"

Ray wanted, very badly, to ask if he fucking looked okay tied up on Thatcher's office floor -- and all because Fraser, being Fraser, had gone around yesterday talking about unions and shit at the lumberyard where he was supposed to be undercover -- but of course he couldn't, since he was gagged. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure what he wanted the answer to be.

"He's fine," Thatcher growled.

Fraser's eyes got wide. "Oh!" he said. "Oh dear. I'm terribly sorry, Ray, I didn't realize that you-- well, I'll just be going now."

"Mmph!" Ray yelled, shaking his head frantically.

Fraser tugged at his ear. "Ah," he said. "Are you, well, inviting me to stay, Ray?"

"Mmph!" Ray shrieked.

Incredulous, Ray watched as Fraser turned to Thatcher and gestured toward her riding crop. "Sir, if I may?"

Part II: Never Underestimate The Importance Of Body Language

"Ray, I'm so dreadfully sorry," Fraser said again. "Very, very--"

"Fraser, shut up," Ray said.

Fraser bit his lip and bent his head over Ray's arms again, where he was smearing some sort of cream over the rope burns. With the sawdust washed away Ray could enjoy the way Fraser's hands were warm and gentle on his skin. It was a nice contrast to the sting from earlier -- although that had been a bit exciting too.

"Ray, I wish you would allow me to explain," Fraser said, in that tone of voice which implied that Ray should be the one apologizing for not letting Fraser apologize to him.

Ray wasn't in the mood. "Explain what?" he demanded. "Explain how you tried to jump me in front of the Ice Queen and Sven the perfume guy? What are you gonna say to explain that, Frase'?"

Fraser rubbed his eyebrow with the back of his hand. "Inspector Thatcher's comments did lead me to believe that you were merely playing a game," he said. "I never intended to actually hurt you. I would never--"

"I am not talking about that!" Ray yelled. He jerked his arms free and stood up to pace across Fraser's tiny office/bedroom. "Dammit, Fraser, this isn't about the kink. I like the kink, okay? Kink is good. Kink floats my boat here."

"Oh," Fraser said.

"I'm talking about -- argh!" Ray waved his hands in the air and tried again. "How long have I been waiting for you to do that? How long, Fraser, huh?"

Fraser opened his mouth.

"And when you finally -- finally! -- do something," Ray continued, "you make your god-damned move in front of Thatcher!" He glared at Fraser, whose mouth was still open. "Your timing sucks," he said.

"Oh," Fraser said. He wiped his hands on his trousers, then rubbed his eyebrow again. "I see."

"What do you see?" Ray growled.

Fraser looked up at him. "I see that my superior officer is not here now," he said. "Perhaps I could make up for my earlier lapse of judgment." Just like that, he leaned forward and snagged Ray's handcuffs out of his pocket, jingling them suggestively.

Ray took his handcuffs and held them up, considering it. So Fraser liked it that way -- well. Well, well, well. Ray started to grin. "You think you can make up for that?"

Fraser licked his lips and said, sounding very earnest, "I would very much like an opportunity to try, Ray."

Ray licked his own lips. "Okay," he said. "Okay, take off your shirt."

"You mean my tunic?" Fraser asked.

"All of your shirts," Ray said. "Every shirt you've got on, take it off."

Fraser could do a strip-tease like nobody's business, it seemed.

"Wow," Ray said, once Fraser was bare to the waist. "Right, that's good." He'd had a plan here, hadn't he? "Lie down on the cot. On your back," he said. "Hands up." Fraser lifted his arms over his head, still with a small smile on his face, and Ray crawled onto the cot to kneel over him and cuff his wrists to the bar across the top of the cot. Fraser's hands curled up, empty, as Ray snapped the handcuffs closed, and Ray bent down to press a kiss against one palm. Fraser's fingers stroked gently along his jaw as he did, so Ray deepened the kiss, tonguing the thin creases across Fraser's palm and then sucking lightly at the base of his thumb.

Fraser sighed happily. Ray nipped down the underside of Fraser's arm, scraping his teeth against the tender skin and enjoying the way Fraser shivered and got goosebumps. He had nice collarbones, too; Ray licked them for a while, then sat up to catch his breath.

Fraser's eyes were very dark and not quite focused, and he was breathing deeply, in and out, carefully. Ray smiled and stroked Fraser's jaw with one finger, but Fraser just looked at him. It made Ray's whole body hurt with lust. Pulling back, he took a look around Fraser's office. There was a tray sitting on his desk where apparently he'd been having tea while working, with jam and biscuits, no less. How very...Canadian. Ray could work with that.

He grabbed the jam jar and twisted off the top, then stuck his finger in and took an experimental lick. Tangy. Yeah, that'd work well with clean and sexy. He took the knife, too.

"Ray, that's a butter knife," Fraser said.

Ray rolled his eyes. "I know what it is," he said. "What's this?" He held up the jar.

"Marmalade," Fraser answered, and Ray waited for a dissertation on the history and production of marmalade. Nothing. He grinned at Fraser, who stared back with what looked an awful lot like impatience.

Ray licked the butter knife clean, making sure that Fraser could see him do it, and dipped it into the jar. Carefully he spread a good helping of marmalade onto the dark skin around Fraser's right nipple, which pulled tight as he worked. A little bit spilled over onto the smoother areas of Fraser's chest, and Ray stuck the knife into the jar, which he set on the floor, and neatly licked up the extra. Then, very slowly, he began sucking Fraser's nipple clean.

The nub of it was hot and stiff in his mouth as he worked his tongue around and around, pausing now and then to lick just the tip of the nipple. Fraser was moaning now, tiny little bursts of sound every time he breathed out, and his body twitched as he tried to pull his arms down but came up hard against the handcuffs. Ray lapped at Fraser's chest around the nipple, tasting the salt of his skin and the tartness of the marmalade, and Fraser began rocking his hips upward, obviously trying to rub against Ray where he sat over Fraser's thighs. Ray held himself just a little too far away, and Fraser groaned, but kept rocking.

Ray sucked Fraser's nipple into his mouth and held it tightly between his teeth as he fluttered his tongue across it. Fraser gasped for breath, cried his name, struggled wildly against the handcuffs, called his name again and again, and Ray regretfully lifted his mouth up and let Fraser's skin go. He blew softly across it and felt Fraser shudder underneath him.

Sitting back on Fraser's thighs, Ray inspected his work. Fraser was a sight. His skin was flushed from the waist up, his lips were red where he must have been biting at them, and tears brightened the corners of his eyes as he panted raggedly, looking like he was hanging from his cuffed wrists as he lay draped across the bed. There was an impressive tent in the loose fabric over his crotch and his hips kept twitching under Ray's thighs, as if he were trying and failing to hold them still. Ray adjusted himself in his far-too-tight jeans and leaned down to retrieve the jar of marmalade from the floor.

Fraser whimpered in the back of his throat, and Ray paused, knife in hand. "You good?" he asked gruffly.

Fraser swallowed and nodded.

Ray spread marmalade across Fraser's other nipple, stroking his skin gently with the flat of the butter knife. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and leaned down again to pull this nipple into his mouth and tongue it clean. Fraser was already trembling. Ray brought a hand up to press flatly over the nipple he'd already reddened, feeling it peaked against his palm, and licked with hard, fast strokes across the other nipple. The nub of it was hard, and he scraped his teeth over the tip.

Fraser moaned his name in a choked, heavy voice. Ray bit down on the taut flesh, lightly and then harder, sucking as he did so, and Fraser heaved upward desperately and wailed. Ray slid his hand down between Fraser's legs and Fraser ground himself into it frantically, and then Fraser was coming in long shuddering waves and sobbing in relief. Ray held him tightly, feeling each spasm pass, and pressed kisses against his shoulders.

When Fraser was done, Ray reluctantly sat up and worked his key ring free of his pocket. Fraser sprawled bonelessly, eyes closed, and his hands fell heavily back onto the cot when Ray released them from the cuffs. After a minute, though, which Ray used to kick off his boots and lose the jeans at last, he rolled onto his side and flexed his fingers and wrists slowly. By the time Ray was completely naked, Fraser had opened his eyes again and was fumbling with the snap of his trousers. He smiled at Ray, pushed his pants down to his knees, and rolled onto his stomach, saying in a soft, dreamy voice, "There are condoms in the upper right-hand drawer of my desk if you want them."

Ray wanted. Looking at that ass, Ray most definitely wanted. He rolled one onto himself and stumbled back to the cot, almost falling over Fraser's sweat-slicked body. He nuzzled the back of Fraser's neck briefly and ran his hands down Fraser's sides to his ass, and then, holding Fraser open, he leaned forward and pushed, and slid right in. He could feel Fraser's muscles trembling with exhaustion around him, and he pushed a little harder, slid in a little further. It was just so good to feel Fraser under him, hot and sweaty and loose and willing, it was just so right that Ray felt his hips jerk forward and realized he was coming right away. His toes curled up and his skin felt like it was on fire and that was it, that was it, that was what he wanted and he got it, he got it. He got it.

Afterward, Ray threw away the condom and Fraser tugged at the laces of his boots until he managed to get boots and trousers off, leaving them in a sticky pile by the foot of the cot. Ray climbed back into bed, wrapped his arms around Fraser's middle, and kissed his mouth slowly and thoroughly. Fraser stroked his hair, and he rubbed Fraser's back, and they dozed off together.

Part III: Frankly, My Dear, I Don't Give A Damn

Something on the second story hit the floor hard enough to rattle their ceiling. Dimly, Ray thought he heard Thatcher shriek.

"Don't worry about it," Fraser said sleepily in his ear. "She gets carried away sometimes, but it's better not to interfere."

"She never gets carried away with you, does she?" Ray asked.

"She's never actually invited me to join in," Fraser said.

"That's, oh," Ray interrupted himself with a yawn, "that's probably for the best."

"Agreed," Fraser mumbled, and then they really were asleep.