Disclaimer: Fraser and Ray Kowalski belong to Alliance. Which is a shame, considering.

Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta readers, sliderella and sparklebutch. I love how these folks make my writing that much better.
This story was inspired by the 2007 Kinkathaon at stop_drop_porn.

Story Notes: Warnings for m/m sexuality, bladeplay, cutting, masochism

They were in Fraser's office, sorting through the stuff he'd leave there and the stuff he'd take over to Ray's place, when Ray noticed The Look. Fraser used to get The Look sometimes when they first got together. It was a "Can I?" look, like he wasn't sure if he should be wanting what he was wanting, or if he could really have it. Fraser hadn't had that look in a couple of weeks, and Ray felt his cock perk up. He was looking forward to finding out just what Fraser had come up with. Guy might not have much experience, but Fraser had one hell of an imagination.

You had to kind of sneak up on Fraser when he was feeling nervous about a new game, so Ray didn't say a word. He just moved a little looser, brushed up against Fraser a little more often, and did what he could to wind his favorite Mountie all the way up without coming across too strong.

They worked together to get the heavy footlocker full of Fraser's things out to the GTO, across town, and up the stairs to Ray's place. Ray had to let go of his end to unlock and open the door. The sight of Fraser's muscles bulging in a sweat-soaked t-shirt as he held the footlocker up all by himself was enough to send Ray's mind straight to the gutter. As Ray picked his end back up, Fraser nodded to a spot in front of the couch. They got the thing down on the carpet without any mashed fingers.

Diefenbaker headed straight for his water bowl and then gave a whine to show that it was empty. Fraser closed the door while Ray filled Dief's dish and got a glass of water. He gulped half of it down in the kitchen, and then walked back to where Fraser was eyeing the living room, looking for the best spot for his footlocker.

Ray handed the glass over. Fraser reached out to take it without looking, but Ray didn't let go. As their fingers touched over the glass, Fraser glanced back at him. His eyes flickered down over Ray's body and back up to his face.

Ray made his voice soft, a little sultry. "So, Fraser, what'd you have in mind?"

Fraser cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Ray?" And now Fraser had that Other Look on his face, bland and a little tight around the mouth. The one that said, 'I've thought it through, and I am definitely not allowed what I want.' Fraser used to have that look all the time; Ray had spent the last three months trying to get rid of it. Ray let go of the glass.

"I got a theory. You just sit down and help me test it, okay?" Ray pointed to the couch. Fraser sat down stiffly on the edge of the seat with his glass of water, chin at a stubborn tilt. He looked more like a suspect about to be interrogated than a guy getting ready to talk about some sexy fantasy. Not a problem. Ray was good at interrogations. And if making sure Fraser got what he wanted was an Olympic event, Ray's face would be on Wheaties boxes all over the country by now.

Ray stood in front of Fraser, arms crossed across his chest, in his best 'bad ass cop' stance. "My theory is, something in that footlocker of yours made you think of something new you want to try."

Fraser leaned forward. "No, nothing new, Ray. However, there are some familiar activities that hold a great deal of appeal right now. Perhaps we could..."

Nice try with the distraction there, Frase. But it's not gonna work. "Sure, in a bit. You just watch as I get things out, and if anything springs to mind, you let me know."

Ray knelt down in front of the couch and held out his hand for the key. Fraser stretched out along the couch, carefully balancing his water glass as he reached into his tight jeans pocket for it. Taking the key, Ray had to force his eyes and mind back to the footlocker. As he unlocked it, Diefenbaker jumped off his chair and came running over to sniff the contents.

Ray ducked his face where Diefenbaker could see it. "Dief, bug off. We're busy."

Diefenbaker gave a gruff little bark and stalked back to his chair. Fraser'd had a long talk with Dief about how humans mated in lots of different ways, and they weren't fighting or angry, but that they preferred privacy in such matters. Ray was pretty sure none of it had been necessary, aside from getting through to Dief that he wasn't invited to watch.

Ray looked up to make sure he had Fraser's full attention. Then he began taking items out of the footlocker one by one, laying them on the low table by the couch.

Some old books. A sewing kit. Fraser's service revolver. The cleaning kit for Fraser's boots and Sam Browne. The scent of the oil brought back some good memories. A tiny hand-made doll. He'd have to ask about that sometime. A pinecone. A bowie knife.

Fraser didn't say a word, but he shifted as Ray picked up the knife, looking away and putting his empty glass on the end table. Ray was a pretty decent poker player, and he'd learned Fraser's tells. He casually unsheathed the knife and held it up to the light.

"Good-looking knife you have here, Fraser."

Fraser's tongue flicked over his bottom lip.

Ray held the knife against his forearm and used it to shave off a few hairs. "You keep it real sharp, huh?"

Fraser was breathing heavier, like he'd been running.

Now, there were plenty of things Fraser might want to do with that knife. They'd tried all kinds of sex together; from blowjobs and straight-up fucking to stuff Ray'd never dreamed the polite, buttoned-up Constable Benton Fraser might want. Working their way through Fraser's fantasies had become Ray's personal project. So what would get Fraser so turned on, that he wouldn't be willing to ask for?

Fraser wanted to cut him. The idea sent blood rushing to Ray's cock. Oooh, yeah. He was all over that.

Enough with the sneaky. It was time for the direct approach. Ray closed the footlocker and moved the few feet to Fraser, still on his knees, knife in his hand. Fraser's legs opened automatically when he got close, and Ray slid between.

Using both hands, Ray offered the knife to Fraser. Fraser hesitated for a moment, eyes dark and lost. Then he took it, his hand shaking just a little. Ray moved right up into Fraser's space, until he could feel the heat from Fraser's skin.

"So," Ray said, staring up into Fraser's eyes, only an inch between their bodies, "I was thinking I'd like to feel that knife on my skin. How 'bout you?"

It took Fraser three tries to get a word out. "Yes," he finally whispered.

That was great, and hot, but then Fraser decided they needed to talk it to death. Maybe there was some rule in the RCMP manual said you couldn't do kinky sex stuff until you'd chatted about it over fucking tea at the kitchen table. So they talked. They put together what Fraser had read, and what Ray had heard.

It went like this - when and where and how and are you absolutely certain, Ray? Closed shapes were to be avoided; the skin was actually the largest organ in the body and what about the infection risk, Ray?

Ray drew the line at rubbing alcohol or alcohol swabs.

"I survived a dunk in Lake Michigan, Fraser. No germs from that knife or my own sheets are gonna bug me. I got the immune system of an alley cat."

Blah blah blah, gross story about an Inuit guy losing his leg because of an untreated infection.

"No, I don't wanna hear any more about Staphylo-whatsis! Buzz-kill! This is sex, not surgery! Besides, do you really want that smell all over me?"

Ray knew Fraser got off on how he smelled. He'd stopped wearing deodorant last month after he caught Fraser sniffing a shirt he'd left on the bedroom floor. But some smells, like bleach, cigarettes, and alcohol, bothered the guy. So Ray got Fraser to settle for cleaning with boiling water.

At last they'd finished with the five Ps and could actually get it on.

They were in the bedroom. Ray was naked. Fraser was naked. And that was a great start to any "activity," familiar or not. Naked-Fraser watching could be the new national pastime. When he noticed Ray watching him, Fraser stiffened a little to attention, both the guy and his cock. His body was pale, solid, and proud, with scars from a hard life lived right.

"...Ray, Ray?" Oh, yeah.

"Sorry, Fraser, got kinda distracted there. Bed!"

Ray jumped onto the bed and rolled face down onto the beach towel Fraser decided to use to make sure the sheets didn't get bloody. Fraser had the super-clean knife and a super-clean cloth on a super-clean plate that he placed on the bed next to Ray. Then he got up onto the bed and crawled over Ray's legs, sitting on Ray's ass, heavy but nice. He leaned forward and placed his strong left hand on Ray's left shoulder blade. Ray twisted to glance back at Fraser.

Fraser was looking worried again. "Ray, if at any point you want me to stop..."

"Yeah, yeah, I got the safe-word, I know." 'Menthol' was the safe-word. Ray had never needed to use it. In fact, sometimes Ray wished he had an unsafe word that would make Fraser push things as far as Ray wanted them to go.

Fraser leaned forward, his weight pinning Ray to the bed, and focused on Ray's right shoulder blade. Ray closed his eyes.

The first cut was straight across and a couple inches long. The knife really was sharp; at first he didn't feel anything. Then there was wetness from the blood, and a sudden sharp pain. Ow. That hurt like a motherfucker. Ray relaxed his muscles and breathed, letting the sensation take him to the good place.

A cloth dabbed at the blood; quiet roaring pain. A second cut, curving down and to the left. Ray gasped.

"Ray? Are you all right? Does it hurt?"

"Fuck yeah," Ray heard himself say in a dreamy voice.

Fraser was sitting back, pulling his hand away. Fraser was stopping.

Ray tried to pull himself together. "Just a little. It feels good, Frase, don't stop."

And maybe Fraser believed him, or maybe he just heard the begging in his voice, but it didn't matter. Fraser leaned back in, his hand returning to press Ray down into the bed.

Fraser was afraid of hurting him. Fraser just didn't get it. See, pleasure was there, and then it was gone. But pain, it stayed with you. Pain throbbed and it ached and it burned. Pain kept going in your body, and it would add up with all the other pain, and all the other pleasure, like all the notes coming together to make good music.

Pain you could feel for minutes, hours, maybe days. A constant low reminder. You're really here. This thing really happened. Pain leaves a mark.

Another curving slash. A short, diagonal cut. Ray was trying to keep still, he really was. He didn't want to mess with whatever Fraser was doing back there. But he couldn't help humping the bed. It just felt so good; with every movement he could feel Fraser's cock rubbing against his ass. Even with Ray grinding his hips into the bed, Fraser was holding him down hard enough to keep the rest of him still. It felt great.

More cuts, and there was no more space in Ray's head for thinking about what Fraser was doing. He was just living it, feeling the symphony Fraser was playing on his body.

Finally Fraser sat back. The knife hit the plate with a little tink. Fraser moaned, real quiet. Ray forced his eyes open and looked back over his shoulder. Fraser was staring at his back. He had the "Can I?" look again. This time, Ray knew just what he needed.

"Don't you wanna taste?" Ray's voice sounded totally stoned, almost underwater. Fraser's eyes met his, and then he dived down, broad tongue lapping at the blood streaking Ray's shoulder blade.

'So much for sterile procedure,' Ray thought. He almost giggled. Then he was lost in sensation; the sting of Fraser's lips and tongue on his shoulder, Fraser's wet cock grinding against his ass, hard and fast.

Ray called out to Fraser, half-muffled in the pillow. "Harder.... I wanna feel you."

And that was it; Fraser gasped and jerked, his cock pulsing against Ray's skin.

Ray was still hard, and turned on as anything, but spacey as he was, a nap seemed like a good idea.

A little later Fraser helped him into sweatpants and walked him into the bathroom. Ray was still feeling high, and a little unsteady on his feet. The harsh, bright lights hurt Ray's eyes as he leaned against the sink. Fraser was looking after him, cleaning the wound. It hurt. Ray's body wasn't sure if he was at the doctor's or in the middle of a scene, so he was half-hard. Ray got a look at his shoulder blade in the mirror. It was kinda gross, all bloody and blotchy, but Fraser had cut some kind of symbol into his skin. Chinese, maybe.

Ray realized, even with all the negotiating, they'd never actually talked about what Fraser was gonna put there. "Hey, Fraser, what's that mean?"

Fraser looked down at the floor, like Ray's linoleum held some great secret. "Well, that character is used in many different languages and dialects."

Ray waited a few seconds, but nothing else was coming out of Fraser's mouth. "Fraser."

"Yes?"

"What did you carve into my back? I got a right to know."

"Ah..." Fraser glanced up at Ray's face and then away again. "It means 'mine.'"

"Yeah?" That was kinda cool, actually. "You getting possessive back there?" And then Ray did giggle, because that was a pun, and a pretty good one.

Fraser didn't seem to think it was funny. "Apparently," he said, like he felt sick about it.

That was bad. Ray leaned forward and kissed Fraser's forehead. "Fraser - news flash. I like it."

That got Ray a smile and a long, tender kiss. Fraser went and got a little jar from the other room, handed it to Ray. He was all business.

"This salve will prevent infection and scarring. It should be applied twice daily. Since you won't be able to reach the cuts yourself, I will of course assist you."

Fraser touching him twice a day sounded like a plan, but the rest of it... Ray tossed the jar back to Fraser, enjoying the burn in his shoulder as he used his right hand.

"Find me something else to put on it."

Fraser sighed a little. "I assure you, Ray, the ingredients I use are ..."

"Nah, that's not it," Ray interrupted. "Preventing infection is great. But I want this to scar up, so I can keep it."

Fraser's nostrils flared. That was all the warning Ray had before he was being pushed up against the sink and kissed wild and deep, practically eaten alive. Fraser's hand grabbed his shoulder to pull him even closer. Ray let out a little hiss at the pain. Fraser groaned "Ray" and then dropped to his knees, frantically pushing Ray's sweatpants down.

Fraser swallowed down Ray's cock, desperate as a drowning man trying for air. Fuck, it felt amazing. Fraser's mouth was wet and hot, with a sting of teeth because Fraser was forgetting to be careful. Ray gloried in it, in Fraser losing it because of him, wanting him, needing him. This was good. This was greatness.

Ray reached back and grabbed onto the sink with both hands to hold himself up. The fresh ache from his shoulder mixed with the feeling of Fraser sucking him off, amped it up even more. Ray looked down to see Fraser's face, eyes closed, lips shining wet, his own cock sliding in and out between them. Ray was pulled into Fraser's rhythm, swept higher and higher.

Just as Ray's orgasm hit him out of nowhere, it came to him. This, right here. This was the kind of love that leaves a mark.