Author's website: http://trickster.org/res

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Author's Notes: Happy birthday to Fox! Thanks to Cesca for beta.

Story Notes:

Whisper

by Resonant

For Fox, with birthday wishes

It was quite a while before Ray knew whether Fraser was noisy in bed or not.

Not that he didn't get plenty of chances to find out. Every day, twice a day, middle of the night, any time he wanted, any time they got close enough to touch. Like Fraser'd spent the last twenty years frozen in a block of ice and was determined now to be warm every second he could.

Which probably wasn't that far from the truth, actually.

So he knew Fraser liked it early and often. Liked it surprisingly hard and fast. Would -- no surprise here -- put his mouth anywhere. Kept his eyes open most of the time. Wasn't crazy about doing it in the shower. Had to be restrained from doing it in the car. Could almost be teased into doing it outside.

But whether Fraser made any noise, Ray had no clue, because he himself never shut up.

Ray was never going to win any prizes for knowing a lot of words, and his bed talk wasn't what you'd call creative, but it was enthusiastic, and there was lots of it, mostly on the order of "Ah, god, fuck, fuck yes, like that, faster, just there, almost, yeah fuck yeah Fraser!"

Fraser seemed to like it. First time he blew Ray, he kept shaking Ray's hands out of his hair, and when Ray finally panted, "Am I grabbing you? What?" Fraser said irritably, "You're covering my ears."

He had a point. If you actually listened in bed, which Ray used to be able to do every now and then, you sometimes heard things that surprised you. He'd had a buttoned-up girl, one time when he and Stella were off again, who used to try to talk dirty -- eyes clenched shut, seconds from coming, going, "F-fuck me, put -- put your --"

And then there'd been a girl who used to freak him out by gasping, "Love you, love you," as she came, even though the rest of the time she assured him she did no such thing, and proved it by fucking two of his friends in one week.

Which made him really curious about what he'd hear if he could manage to shut up for a minute with Fraser. And he did know how to keep his mouth shut -- otherwise he would have gotten Stella kicked out of her dorm room, not to mention lost his gym membership.

But it was different with Fraser. Harder, somehow, to stay in control. Harder to think about anything but oh yeah, so good, Fraser, Fraser, Fraser!

What it took, finally, wasn't any kind of crisis or anything, but really good tickets to a really bad Hawks game, forty minutes of such total fuckheadedness that you had to wonder if they were on drugs, followed by sixty seconds of daredevil moves that -- well, whatever. Point was, Ray yelled himself hoarse, and came home ready for action, and finally got to hear what kind of noises Fraser made.

Quiet ones, turned out. All "Ray, yes, yes, so good," just as sweet as you please, in barely audible whispers.

So nice that it was worth it for Ray to try to tune in every now and then, and any time he could manage to control himself enough to shut up, there it would be, Fraser whispering, "Yes, yes, perfect, Ray." It was nice. He liked it.

He'd thought maybe Fraser would get louder on their adventure. But even out in a tent in the middle of a hundred miles of nowhere, with nobody to hear them but the dogs, Fraser whispered.

Sometimes Ray yanked his chain about it. "You spend your formative years trying to get off in the same room with Granny, that it? Maybe in Mountie school, trying to be quiet so the guy in the other bunk doesn't hear his name?" But Fraser would say, "We can't all share your verbal agility, Ray," and go back to retying harnesses or whatever.

It was pretty amazing, when you thought about it, him and Fraser talking about sex in broad daylight. But by then they were talking about all kinds of stuff. Vecchio taking off, and Fraser's dad, who wouldn't take off, and some chick who'd nearly killed Fraser by taking off and then coming back and then taking off again.

Everything but what they were going to do when spring came.

Ray really didn't think he could live up here for good. But it didn't matter, because sooner or later, Fraser was going to give in and go back to Chicago. Ray believed that. He might not do it right away, but after a couple months all alone on the tundra, he'd start thinking about central heat and takeout pizza and having somebody to share a bed with, and he'd change his mind. All Ray had to do was leave him alone about it and not push.

Toward the end, when they started seeing cabins, and then settlements, and then villages, Ray started thinking about his own lonesome bed back in Chicago, and he got more and more tempted to beg. But the most he'd let himself say was, "Gonna miss the hell outta you, Fraser, you know that."

And Fraser would say, "And I you, Ray, but we'll find ways to see one another." And then they'd talk about vacations. Fraser coming down in the fall. Ray going up to the cabin for Christmas -- "but you gotta put in a couch for me, Fraser, 'cause not all of us can relax in a kitchen chair." Maybe canoe the boundary waters sometime. Another big adventure a few years down the road.

For the long haul -- well, Fraser would change his mind if Ray left him alone about it.

Back home in Chicago, after a long day of trying to remember to call his new partner Kidman and not shorten it to "kid," Ray would jerk off slowly and think about Fraser's hands, Fraser's mouth, Fraser's ass. Fraser's scruffy face in the tent, Fraser's newly cut hair on guard duty. And his words would be an irritable mutter in the empty bedroom -- "Yeah, more, fuck, fuck, Fraser."

He liked to imagine Fraser doing the same thing alone in his cabin. Whispering.

Summer passed. Fraser wrote letters, long deep ones that said all kinds of things he never managed to say out loud. Ray wasn't much of a writer, and besides, he kind of needed to hear Fraser's voice, and to hell with the phone bills.

Fall passed. Fraser couldn't make it down to visit. Ray upped the number of calls, even though he had to talk to Fraser at the station, since there wasn't a phone in the cabin.

Winter started, and then Ray was on the plane on the way up. He spent the whole flight picturing how he could shove Fraser into the airport bathroom and blow him against the wall. But when he actually saw him, looking just like always except maybe a little thinner, it was so strange he could hardly even kiss him, just put a hand on his shoulder and hold on, a little too tight.

There wasn't a couch after all, and it suddenly occurred to Ray that that would have been a hell of a lot of money for Fraser, and he flinched a little when he thought about the twelve hundred dollars worth of plane tickets crumpled up in the pocket of his leather jacket.

The cabin was just like he remembered it, weird shadows from the fire and the lamps, the heavy pressure of a hundred miles of silence. Threadbare curtains carefully mended with Fraser's tiny stitches. Nest of bedding in front of the fire. He could hardly take his mouth off Fraser's long enough to make a sound, had to fill up with the taste of him, the smell of him, the familiar rhythm of his breath and his heartbeat.

Fraser was saying nothing at all, just watching him with eyes so wide and dark. Trying to take him in, too.

And it was real, finally, not just his hand and his imagination, and he was pushing in, first time in months, pushing past resistance that didn't used to be there, back in Chicago. Fraser's hands went tight on his hips when he tried to pull back, so he didn't, just slid in slow, watching Fraser's eyes, seeing that it hurt and that Fraser wanted it anyway. At first looking for a signal so he wouldn't hurt him more than he had to, then just watching, because they were Fraser's eyes and he hadn't seen them in way too long. He started to rock, slow at first and then faster, and Fraser's eyes fell shut and then came open again, and Fraser whispered, "Stay."

Ray closed his eyes and shoved, like he could get any closer, and Fraser kept going: "Stay -- stay with me -- Ray -- I need you to --" until finally there wasn't anything but this, Fraser's voice and his heartbeat and his pale strong body and his eyes that saw Ray clearer than anybody ever had, and --

"Yes," Ray said, and came.

• end -

End Whisper by Resonant: resonant8@sbcglobal.net

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