Author's website: http://www.trickster.org/kass/

Disclaimer: Boys are theirs, words are mine.

Author's Notes: In response to the masturbation challenge at the livejournal community ds_flashfiction. Thanks to Sihaya Black for beta.

Story Notes:

Understand, I spent a long time wanting Fraser. I was surprised the first time I got a good look at him, because let's face it, nobody told me being Vecchio was going to involve partnering with a Mountie who was built like Superman, not that you'd know it under that uniform. But I figured it out pretty quick, and it made me crazy. I wanted to feel all that pale skin, to pinch his nipples pink and skim my fingers over his thighs and smack his ass until he was struggling under my hands.

Wasn't long before it was more than just that, though. I doubt I'll ever know anyone else as honorable as Fraser, or as wicked funny either. All the rock-solid reliability Stella turned out not to have, he's got in spades. And sexy, man, even when he's sad or angry or pissed-off. Some people are only hot when they're happy, when they're laughing or flirting, but not Fraser. Either I wanted to kiss my way into his smile, or I wanted to lick away his tears.

But wanting something's only fun if you have a chance in hell of getting it. And for a long time I didn't think I had that chance. No proof I was his type, right? Even if he did swing that way, which I wanted to think he did but I knew I was probably making shit up, no reason to think he'd go for me. I didn't want to make an ass of myself the way Frannie does, so I didn't ask. I looked, but I didn't touch.

Didn't touch him, anyway.

Touched myself plenty. Lying in bed at night with my boxers kicked down around my knees, one hand on my dick and the other rubbing my balls. Sometimes, when I couldn't get to sleep, I did it with a fistful of lube, like it was his mouth on me, his fingers pushing their way inside.

Once, when he showed up at the station on a Saturday in jeans and a t-shirt the rain had stuck to his skin, I had to duck into the men's room and bite my lip to keep from panting out loud while I took care of things with my hands jammed down my shorts. Desperate, and kind of sad, but I came like nobody's business.

Fraser likes that story. One night, maybe two weeks after we started dating, going steady, fucking, whatever the hell this is, we were lying in bed having one of those "what's the weirdest place you've ever gotten yourself off" conversations. He named a few places up in Tuktoyaktuk, and I told hm igloos only counted as weird if they were my stories, since he practically grew up in one. He got kind of huffy and said then surely most of Chicago was offlimits for me. That's when I said, "Yeah, but what if I could've gotten caught?"

Which got him interested, so I had to tell him about my men's room adventure. I'd just sucked him off maybe fifteen minutes before, so I didn't figure on making it especially erotic or anything, I just wanted to see his face turn red. Hearing about it must've turned his crank something fierce, though, because next thing I knew he was pinning my arms to the bed and grinding against my hip and whispering "Is this what you wanted? Hm?" right in my ear, which just about set me on fire.

Now every time we're at the station and I go to take a leak, I can feel him watching me walk out the door, checking me over when I walk back to the desk. Like maybe he thinks I'm getting in a little self-loving action to take the edge off until we can get home and do it for real.

One of these days I'm gonna follow him into the men's room and push him into the handicapped stall and stick my tongue in his mouth to keep him from making a sound while I get one hand into my shorts and one hand into his. Every time I picture it I swear all the blood in my body drains straight into my dick.

Sometimes I think about it when we're necking on the couch, and Fraser bumps up against the stiffness at my crotch and pulls away long enough to murmur, "What?" against the side of my neck. I don't want to spoil the surprise when we get our chance, so I just grin and keep going, thinking wait 'til I get my hands on you.

(766 words)

End Hands On by Kass: kass@trickster.org

Author and story notes above.