Author's Notes: Many thanks to China Shop for a fantastic early beta, and to Dessert First for hand-holding and a lot of great suggestions, and to Zabira for another early read-through. None of these lovely ladies have seen the fic in its current form, and so any remaining mistakes in the story are my own.

"B42, G46, I29, G12, O9-"

The announcer's voice droned like the dull buzz of a fly. It made Ray want to swat at things. The rec center was hot, and even though someone had opened all of the doors and windows to the summer night, there wasn't enough of a breeze to cancel out the stifling air inside the hall. Tiny fruit flies hovered around his can of soda and stuck to the rim; Ray watched them die a slow death trapped in the sugary syrup residue, and grimaced. Ugh. That was a lousy way to go.

He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose and squinted down at his Bingo card. They'd been here for two hours already and Ray hadn't even completed a single line, much less a whole card. Fraser, of course, was juggling between twelve different cards and had already won four games. He was also helping Mrs. Muskowitz find her numbers, and listening to Paul Pootuguk's rambling story about the family of otters who'd made some kind of den in the bottom of his kayak. And, because he was Fraser, doing a damn good job of all of it.

"I11, N22, B19-"

"Bingo!" Fraser called out, and everyone around them groaned loudly, then laughed. Yeah, Fraser was a bingo master. Everybody knew it, but everybody was happy to play with him anyway. It turned out that friendly competition was a whole lot friendlier when there were Canadians involved.

It was a pretty full house tonight. The proceeds from tonight's game were supposed to help the Resolute Flyers buy new equipment, and the one thing that usually got everyone in the Fort out on a hot summer's night was a chance to support the local kid's hockey team. Fraser had even given him a speech about it when Ray had suggested they could play hooky for once and avoid the overheated rec center.

"I'd make it worth your while," Ray'd told him earlier, while Fraser had been finishing off the supper dishes. Ray had pressed him back against the kitchen counter and looped his arms around Fraser's neck, then pushed his groin up against Fraser's just to make sure Fraser got the message. "We could practice that rumba I showed you."

Fraser's eyes had fluttered closed and he'd sighed, thrusting back against Ray almost reflexively. Ray kissed the side of Fraser's neck where the skin was soft and sweat-dewed because of the steam from the sink. "Or, y'know, do something else."

When Fraser spoke his voice was low, a little hoarse. "Now Ray, it's important to do our part and contribute to the community." Which was a sad and unoriginal variation on the speech Fraser gave every time he needed an excuse to go out and play bingo at the rec center. Ray suspected Fraser just liked using the dauber.

"But I would certainly, ah, do my best to make it up to you."

Ray grabbed a new card from the stack in the middle of the long table, and tapped his foot on the floor, drumming out the chorus of "I Wanna Be Sedated" while he waited for the announcers--Pauline Johnson and the Rev--to reset the machine and start a new round. He leaned over until his shoulder was brushing Fraser's, and whispered, "I'm dying here, Frase. It's way too hot. How much longer?"

"Two more games, I should think," Fraser whispered back, bumping shoulders companionably. Which made Ray want to grab Fraser and shake him. Yeah, yeah, he knew this was Fraser's idea of a hot night out on the town, bingo and otter stories and probably ice cream at the truckstop to finish things off.

It was a weird replay of those early days with Stella when he was twelve, except they'd gone bowling or swimming instead of playing bingo, and there hadn't been so many old people around. And if someone had told Ray that falling in love with his (male) partner and moving up to Fort Resolution and pissing off everyone (his parents, mainly) and giving up his career and city living (bad guys and pizza delivery) would be so much like the dating scene when he was twelve, well, Ray would probably have run screaming in the other direction.

Not that dating Fraser was juvenile, or anything. Ray was getting a lot more action than he had back in grade school, that was for damn sure, it's just that everything they did was weirdly wholesome. White elephant sales in the church basement every weekend in the summer, dances at the Veteran's Hall on Saturday night, hockey games on Tuesdays, and during the nice-weather months there were always picnics and baseball games and--God help him--horticulture meetings, where Fraser served tea and talked about the best way to grow greenhouse roses with the local schoolteacher and the town's two librarians.

When they went home after the picnic/dance/garage sale, or said goodnight to Betty and Marge and Vince (who was desperately in love with Fraser, but also no threat whatsoever, given the fact that he was sixty-five years old and stuttered and blushed every time Fraser said a single word to him) Ray would close the door, lean back against it, and say, "Thanks."

He knew why Fraser did it, all the hockey games and horticulture meetings and bingo nights. Partly it was because that kind of community involvement was part of his job as the ranking RCMP officer in the Fort. Fraser had to make nice with all the Mrs. Muskowitzes and Paul Pootuguks and Marges and Vinces and Betties in the town because that's what he was here for: to be the guy other people are willing to talk and listen to. But Fraser also did it for Ray.

The hundred or so Fort Resolutionites sweating over their bingo cards in the rec center tonight weren't exactly comfortable around Ray, at least not at the beginning. For a while Ray had been really worried. People weren't overtly rude or violent or anything, and no one ever said anything when he went into town to shop or look for work. But people knew he was with Fraser, with him in that way, and there was a strain of anti-Americanism (or anti-queerism) he knocked up against every so often. Just a little chill that crept into people's voices, no big deal, but it made Ray stick pretty close to home those first few months in the Fort.

Fraser, of course, had noticed that he wasn't exactly fitting in. Which was kinda ironic, because Fraser himself wasn't exactly about to run for chair of the town's social committee. But Fraser had known most of these people, or people just like them, for his whole life. He knew how to deal with them. And like everything else, once Fraser put his mind to it he Got Shit Done. He started dragging Ray to bingo nights and baseball games and it got a little better. People smiled at him on the street, chatted with him at the town's little general store. Waved at him when he drove by in his battered old pickup truck.

So Fraser's promise to "make it up" to Ray wasn't really meant as an apology, or a consolation prize for going with him to play bingo on Saturday nights. And Ray's "thank you" to Fraser afterwards...well, that was just Ray being polite.

"O34, N11, G23..."

The fly glued to his can of grape soda was officially dead. Ray was half-tempted to give it a real funeral--peel it off the can and drop it inside to float in the leftover soda like a burial at sea--but he decided that was probably pretty morbid and just a little bit gross. It looked like his luck was changing anyway, since he had half his card filled out by now, and there was probably only one more game to go, like Fraser said.

And then they could go home, and say, "Please" and "thank you" in private.

Yeah, that sounded good. Fraser was always pretty excited when they got back from bingo night, at least in his low-key Fraser way. Last month, after winning about sixteen consecutive games, Fraser's eyes had gone dark and hot the second they stepped through the door. Ray had been yammering something about doing some part-time security work for the local band office as they came inside, but he'd broken off the second Fraser wrapped his big, warm, slightly sweaty hands around Ray's shoulders and drawn him close for a long, slow, sweet kiss. Fraser'd licked Ray's lips, trailing his tongue over the sensitive skin until Ray moaned and opened his mouth and let Fraser in. He'd kissed Ray for a while, keeping the heat on simmer, teasing him a little with the hot, slow movements of his tongue.

And Fraser was a multi-tasker, no question about it. He'd run his hands through Ray's hair, gently massaging his scalp and making Ray's whole head tingle, and slipped under Ray's t-shirt to run his fingers along his spine, hitting all of Ray's hot spots along his back, forcing him to arch up against Fraser, their hips rubbing together, erections flush against one another but still separated by two layers of frustrating, unforgiving denim.

After enough teasing (which, God, Ray could kill him for sometimes) Fraser had dropped to his knees on the braided welcome mat and worked Ray's jeans open with a practiced flick of his thumb. And then he'd wrapped his whole hand around Ray's cock. The sudden heat and warmth of Fraser's palm had made Ray gasp. So did the sight of Fraser looking up at him, gaze steady and certain, eyes locked to Ray's as he slowly began to stroke.

"Yeah, fuck, yes," Ray had murmured, biting his lip. He'd sagged back against the door, the wood grain rough against his fingertips, and waited for the first hot brush of Fraser's mouth on his dick.

Fraser had incredible timing when it came to blowjobs. He'd always start with his hand, using even, measured strokes to ramp Ray up, getting his engines running without overdoing it. And then, when Ray was just about ready to die of waiting, Fraser'd lower his head and lick gently at the tip of Ray's cock with one quick swipe that would make Ray's vision go a little blurry. Ray could never fight the urge to thrust forward into the cool air, instinctively seeking Fraser's mouth, but Fraser liked to draw it out a little first.

He licked up in a long, agonizing stripe, curved his mouth over the head of Ray's dick, and then alternated with a stroke of his hand. It drove Ray wild every single time. Even though the pattern wasn't particularly complex (Ray couldn't handle complex, not at that exact second) it took everything to another level. Made Ray's knees go a little wobbly, too, and just before he started to sink to the floor, Fraser had taken pity on him, taking him in, his mouth soft and hot and so damn good.

Ray knew the script--Fraser's make-it-up-to-me blowjobs followed a routine, sure, but not in a boring way--and at that point he'd known it was time to let go of the door, his fingers slightly stiff from pressing so hard against the wood grain, and thread his hands through Fraser's hair. His fingers were rough and demanding but Fraser never seemed to mind. He made some kind of approving noise deep in his throat and sucked Ray down a little further as Ray rubbed his palm over Fraser's scalp, half-massaging, half-directing as he begin to fuck Fraser's mouth. In and out, in and out, as fast or as steady as Ray wanted.

It made something flutter in his chest, this absolute trust Fraser showed to him in that moment. He knew that Fraser would do anything for him. And yeah, the feeling was mutual, but the rush of love he felt for the guy when Fraser was down on his knees, one hand wrapped around Ray's dick, the other rubbing Ray's thigh, always caught him a little off-guard. The intensity of this thing between them scared him sometimes, and it made all of the boring, normal stuff he and Fraser did together during the day seem almost surreal.

"I'm gonna-" he'd huffed in warning. Not that Fraser ever listened. Ray had made a fist in Fraser's hair--not painful, Fraser assured him afterward, even though Ray had held on pretty tight--and thrust once into his mouth, fast and hard, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a sharp, broken cry. The sensation of coming in Fraser's mouth, in feeling Fraser open up and let Ray in, swallowing him down, holding him through it, always made Ray feel a little light-headed. That was love, he'd think. That was love.

Fraser had licked him clean with careful movements of his tongue, aware that Ray was still pretty sensitive right after he came. Which was another one of the million or so reasons why Fraser was Ray's favorite person in the world: some things Ray just didn't have to explain. And then Fraser had stood, and wrapped his arms around Ray and kissed the side of his neck, lips gentle, his touch feather-light as he stroked Ray's back. Reason one million and two.

"Ray? Ray? Ray?"

Ray blinked and shook out his shoulders, glancing around. The room was emptying out, the older folks shuffling out to their cars, some of them pausing at their table to say goodnight. Fraser nodded at each of them politely, his attention still fixed on Ray. Ray stared back for a few seconds, and then grinned at the blush that stole across Fraser's face. Oh yeah. Fraser knew what he'd just spent the last ten minutes daydreaming about, no question.

He looked down at his card, and quickly connected a bunch of the empty spaces with his pink dauber. He held the card up for Fraser.

"Hey, Fraser, look. Bingo!"

Fraser glanced at his card, and his lips twitched.

"I'm not sure that counts, Ray." But he couldn't quite hold it together, and Fraser broke into one of his happy, doofy smiles. He even blushed a little, which made Ray grin back. Maybe there was something to the whole Fraser-style dating scene after all.

Ray glanced around the rec centre. The rest of the crowd had finally cleared out. The hard-on he'd encouraged with all that blowjob-related musing had mellowed a little and it was probably safe to stand up. He really shouldn't be thinking about this stuff in public.

He turned toward the exit, and saw Fraser carefully folding and tucking the heart-shaped bingo card away in his jacket pocket.

Reason number one million and three.

Ray looped his arm around Fraser's shoulders as they left the rec centre and headed for home.

THE END