Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers apply.

Author's Notes: Written for the LiveJournal stop_drop_porn community. Many, many thanks, kittens and sparkles to china_shop for beta.

"Ray?"

Fraser's voice wakes me out of confused dreams of fur and snow and Christ knows what else, because it turns out that I'm actually rubbing myself against him. He sounds kinda...

"Ray, are you...?"

"M'wake, Frase. M'sorry, dreaming." I squirm to try and put some space between us, because, Jesus. But there's nowhere to go in this tiny tent because our packs are shoved in behind me and Fraser's pressed up in front of me. It's pitch dark in here, so I got no clue as to how badly I'm freaking him out. Except he sounds sort of nervous and sort of something else.

"Ray, do you need...?"

Yeah, I need. Boy, do I need. I'm so freaking horny I could explode. Have been for days, but there's not a lot of opportunities to take care of things when you're bundled up like the abdominable snowman. What Fraser does to take care of things, I dunno. Maybe he's got some secret Inuit ritual. Maybe he doesn't get hard-ons. Maybe...maybe that's something else hard and hot pressed up against my hip there.

"Frase?" I whisper.

Doesn't matter that there's a couple of layers between us - I've got a pretty good idea what's up, and I'm hoping that Fraser's got his Inuit ritual going, because the idea that he's shaking with the effort of not rubbing up against me has got me harder than I could've imagined. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the fuck down.

Fraser's voice sounds hoarse, right next to my ear. "Ray, can I...?"

Which is when I realise that somehow I've got my hand down between us, stroking him through the scratchy wool of his thermal underwear. How the hell did that happen?

"Yeah, yeah," I mutter, because really, when you find yourself molesting someone, it seems only fair to let them molest you back. And his hand's trembling a bit as it slides inside my thermals, but it's hot and tight as he wraps it round me, and good, so good. The pressure is just perfect. And I'm pushing into his grip and thinking...thinking nothing, really, except "yeah!" and "Christ!" and "I'm gonna come," which I think I say out loud, so he can't say I didn't warn him, but still it takes me by surprise when I do, the shivers going right through me, and then I'm dazed and panting into his shoulder.

"Ray..." It's almost a moan, and I unclench my fingers from his longjohns, fumbling the buttons open enough to get my hand in there, behind the damp patch where he's leaked through the fabric. The damp and heat and that's Fraser's cock pull me up short. Part of my brain is going nuts, trying to work out what's going on. I mean, it's pitch black in the middle of nowhere, we stink like sweat and smoke and dogs and leather, which should be gross but somehow it's not. And sure, we haven't seen another person in nearly a week, other than Delmar, but why am I jerking off my best friend? Am I just so horny I'll give anything a try? I think about Delmar and know that's not it.

And while this is going on in my brain, my hand is busy on its own, closing eagerly around Fraser's cock, and all my confusion is drowned out by how right it feels, how good I want to make it for him.

"Ray, please..."

Fraser's hand is sticky as it covers mine, squeezing tighter. His other arm is trapped underneath me, curving up around my shoulders and pressing me into his chest. I can't breathe properly. My heart feels like it's going to burst.

"Is that good?" I ask, moving our hands faster, harder, and the damned camping gear is poking holes in my back as Fraser rocks into me.

"Yeah," he pants in my ear. "Yeah. Good, Ray..."

And he groans like it hurts, and he's coming all over our hands, and I'm thinking I wish I could see.

Our breathing slows down, and his arm around me relaxes enough that I can shove him back off me a little. The tent is humid and we'll probably have frozen to death by morning, but right now I can't get worked up enough to care. He tugs my hand up and I feel his breath on my fingers, and then his tongue - Jesus! He's licking his come off my fingers. He's licking both of us off our hands. His tongue slicks over my palm, between my knuckles. It's hot and wet, and makes me shiver, not just because of how it feels, but because of what that means.

"Put anything in your mouth, Frase?" I manage, shakily.

He stops, and I'd bet all the air in Canada that he's blushing, even though I can't see it.

"Ah," he says.

"S'okay," I say, "I get it." 'Cause I do.

"Ray?"

"Shut up, Fraser." And somehow in the dark my lips have no trouble finding his.

[end]