Pairing/warning/rating: Fraser/Kowalski, slash, BONDAGE, NC-17

Disclaimer: Ray and Fraser should be mine, but they aren't -- they're owned by Alliance.

Summary: This is a sequel to Moderation Is A Memory.
Fraser freaks in his special way about the things he and Ray did in Moderation Is A Memory. Ray's got stuff on his mind and in his heart, too. And he plans to do something about that...

The most recent additions to the series are always at http://members.xoom.com/verushka70/ but they may be in beta, so read at your own risk...

Thanks to J Hardin for helpful beta-ing, and to everyone who's written me to tell me to keep writing this series.

Where To Begin

I had to leave early this morning, as I had to be on guard duty by 6 AM. I so wanted to wake Ray. And yet I was afraid to wake him. Afraid to look at my sweet Ray and see in his face the memory of all I did to him last night.

In the end, I decided to quietly make a pot of coffee for him, and leave it on -- knowing he would be glad to have it when he woke up, and would turn the coffee maker off. And I left him a short note to say that there was coffee made for him. And that he could use one of my long sleeved Henley shirts if he did not have any clean long-sleeved shirts to wear to work today.

I am no more demonstrative in writing than I am in public, normally. But as it was a private note, and alluded to the events of last night without actually directly addressing them, I signed it, "Love, Benton".

How hard that was. And how ashamed I am that it was hard to write. It is so easy to think and feel. And not even that hard to say. Why was it so hard to write? Again, this ridiculous superstitious belief of the power he'd have over me... if he knew how completely my soul belongs to him, now more than ever.

I must somehow free myself from this irrational fear. Even if there were any question of Ray having power over me, he certainly is willing to give like for like. He grants me more power over his pleasure than any lover I've had -- or than he has over mine. All right, so I've only had one other lover besides Ray... It's still true. And there is no comparison between them. I must remember that.

He repeated many times last night how "mind blowing" it was... and how much he loved me. In murmurs after we both had brushed our teeth, with his soft, sunny smile at me, looking away shyly. In bed, as we lay there awake, but with the lights out, talking. And again when I could not talk about it, and drew him wordlessly into my arms.

Ray was so loving and sweet afterward. That must mean it was all right. Right?

I have never done such things to a lover. Ever. Had never, until recently, even considered doing them. My private musings on such things, when I allowed them -- or could not control them -- had always been abstract, more or less. More when I considered the acts themselves, from a detached intellectual perspective... less when I actually pictured two people doing such things, one of them restrained or bound. But never was either person anyone I knew -- or myself.

And now I can see nothing but those acts we did last night. In all the poignant and frightening detail of everything I did to Ray. His wanton beauty. His lovely cock and testicles, bound and flushed with blood. His so-very-satisfying struggling. His pleading and begging for release: for my permission and granting of his orgasm. His helpless dependence on my co-operation for his gratification. His utter loss of control and extreme vocalization when I finally unbound his genitals and his orgasm overcame him. He sounded like an animal, at times. Other times almost like a baby.

I did that? I fastened the cuffs, I locked them, I shackled his wrist, and wound the chain around his other wrist and the crossbar of the bed frame? I forced my organ into the mouth of a restrained man, my Ray? I bound his genitals with a tie?

I can not stop thinking about this, even as I try to push it out of my mind. The surge of excitement when I think of it is only equalled by... my sense of unreality.

And how pleased I was to hear his moans, his begging, and the clinking, metallic sounds of his futile struggling. How pleased I was to know that I was both the cause of his pleasurable torture and his salvation from it. And how shocked I was to realize the apparently bottomless well of deviant eroticism in me.

I did all those things. And I thought of others, many others, while I had him there that way. I don't know what has shocked and frightened me more, when the distress cut through my reverie today -- the fact that I did all those things, or the fact that Ray liked them. Loved them. Wants to do them again.

I both pray and fear he will want me to do such things to him again. Soon. And more of them....

Yet I dearly wish there were someone besides Ray with whom I could speak about this. But there is no one. Certainly no one here at the Consulate. But not even anyone I can think of at the 27th. Probably a number of them could refer me to other people I could talk to, on a paid professional basis.

But I am not even sure what I would like to say -- or hear. Or where to begin. 'I bound, restrained, and blindfolded the person I most love in the world. Then I sexually teased and tormented him until he was beside himself, and finally I anally penetrated him whilst untying his genitals, which I had tied with a necktie. Am I normal?' Who could be expected to take that at face value? Without all of the other moral associations that go along with such a confession?

And why bother asking such a stupid question? I've known my entire life that I'm not "normal." I've resigned myself that I never will be. Up until recently, I think I rather smugly thought that my "abnormal" behaviour was morally superior -- that if everyone behaved as I do, our world would have so many less problems. That was a good enough reason to continue my "abnormal" behaviour in the world.

But now? When Ray is not with me, I secretly fear I really am the "freak" that Ray has so often said I am. And that I didn't even know it until just recently. Except, ironically, I don't believe he meant I was a freak in this specific way... he meant I was a freak with my moral superiority.

Naturally, I hadn't realized the extent to which I assumed my nature to be inherently better than others'. Not until these recent events and behaviours proved it rather inherently worse, or at the very least, more bestial, than others'...

But then I balk at that, as well. Were I to actually hurt Ray... actually inflict injury without his permission or consent, without regard for his well-being or pleasure -- then, yes, that would be inherently worse. Or at least no more inherently better than the unthinking ways in which humans inflict pain -- whatever kind of pain -- on each other for their own personal gratification.

But that is not the case. I injured Ray, but it was unintentional. And it was with total regard for his pleasure. Bestial, it may be... all right, it is. But inherently worse than others' typical behaviour, or typical sexual behaviour? When all I sought to do was prolong and increase Ray's arousal so as to make his final release that much more earth shattering? What is "worse" about that? Were it not for having injured his wrists, would I regret anything about it?

I get myself tied in knots thinking these thoughts and trying to logically separate the threads. I suspect there is no logic to be found in either my thoughts or behaviour -- by their very nature, they are emotionally driven. And I'm no stranger to the fact that emotion can render logic powerless. My emotions tell me that everything I did, I did because Ray wanted me to. And because it would -- in the end, anyway -- please him... very much. Which it did.

But aside from all the things I did to stimulate and arouse Ray to a fever pitch... my emotions also tell me that among the most pleasurable aspects of the experience, for me, was my total control over Ray's body. The feelings of possession and ownership and... all right, domination of Ray. The pleasure of knowing that his pleasure was mine to give or take away or twist in virtually any direction I chose. The pleasure of inventing methods for provoking more intense response from him than he has ever given me before. The pleasure of knowing that I could leave him struggling, helpless, awash with lust and the need for release -- and deny it. The pleasure of ...taking him. In any way I chose. The pleasure of knowing he was mine. Voluntarily. To do with as I pleased.

It almost tangibly filled my heart and soul with a warmth, comfort and tenderness such as I have never known. But I have already felt so much warmth, comfort and tenderness with Ray before this, more than I have ever known with any other human being. To have more is akin to heaven.

And though it manifested physically in arousal, desire, and the acts themselves, it was a stirring pleasure undeniably mental and emotional in nature.

That, in itself, is disturbing.

And yet, something whispers to me that I have always been this way. That I simply did not know it. Until my possessiveness over Detective Patterson pulled Ray's complementary pleasure in being taken from latency into overt desire.

And the idea that I might always have been this way... that is more disturbing than anything else.

I've made no headway in trying to understand these things, complex and intertwined as they are. I had hours of guard duty during which I meticulously tried to think things through. And still I made no sense of them. If anything, I am more confused than before.

The only thing that rises clearly over and above the confusion is that Ray loved it. And I loved doing it to him. And if we both find it mutually satisfying, if we both cannot wait to do it again... what is the harm in that?

So long as no one finds out. My underlying desire to confess this deviancy to someone, anyone, is ill-advised. No matter how tempting unburdening these confusing thoughts might be, it is best that it stay between only myself and Ray. And unburdening myself like that is unlikely to ever happen, anyway. My natural reticence about such matters precludes truly discussing it with anyone other than Ray... and even that seems more than I can do, at times.

Now that Turnbull is here to stand guard, and I can attend to paperwork, I cannot concentrate. Several times now, I have drifted off from the paperwork I am supposed to be working on. The black print swims and blurs on the white page and all I see is a vision from last night superimposed on the page.

Ray. My Ray. Arms stretched out, bound to the frame of his bed with his handcuffs and the leg shackles. Helpless. Restrained. Spiky ash blonde hair, tufts going this way and that. That rather florid tie blindfolding him. The other tie... binding him... there.

It is going to be a very, very long work day.

* * *

I am fortunate to be let off work around tea time today. This provides an excuse for not leaving immediately for the 27th precinct. I would normally go there right after work -- I do almost every day. But-- but-- I am afraid my behaviour of last night will be writ large upon my face. I know it is an irrational fear, but it has seized me several times in the course of my work day. I am delaying...

"More tea, Sir?"

"Thank you, Turnbull."

"You're welcome, Constable."

I should call Ray. But I can think of both far too many things to say -- which I can not say in front of Turnbull or Inspector Thatcher -- and of nothing to say.

The telephone rings. Constable Turnbull answers it.

"Why certainly, Detective. He's right here."

I nearly drop my teacup. It's Ray. I put the tea cup down. Turnbull, affably unobservant as ever, does not notice my nervousness -- I think. I take the phone from him.

"Hello," I say, too brightly.

"Frase."

It is Ray. His voice is low and -- I must be imagining it -- secretive.

"Yes, Ray?" He's angry with me. He's angry about last night. He regrets it. He wishes we hadn't done it.

"I been thinkin'... maybe you better not come over to the precinct today."

My heart sinks.

I knew it. I should never have done any of it. No matter how much he wanted me to. Ray is impulsive, I knew that. I should have known he would not really want what he thought he wanted. I swallow before speaking, unsure what to say. Finally I decide to be more or less truthful. Prevaricating can be stressful.

"That thought had occurred to me, too, Ray," I begin.

"It's not what you think, Frase. You sound... weird. I just meant... I just meant..." He trails off, voice getting quieter. And then he speaks just above a whisper. The normal background sounds of chaos in the 27th come through the phone as well.

"I just don't know if I can handle it, Frase. I been... I been thinking about you all day. All freakin' day. Thinking about everything we, we did... I can't get anything done. I'm, like, I go to look at a report, and halfway through it I forget what just I read, because I stopped thinking about it and started thinking about you again. It's terrible... But I like it. I feel so... good." His voice is almost a purr.

He speaks in a rush and when he stops, I am speechless. My head is empty. All I can think and feel is a great sense of relief, a giddy feeling of doom averted.

"You there, Frase?" he whispers.

"Yes, Ray," I say, turning away from Turnbull, even though he seems oblivious and is doing a seek-a-word puzzle in today's Sun-Times.

"I hope yer not mad at me for asking you not to come down here." He is still speaking barely above a whisper.

"No, Ray. No. I, uh, I had, the thought had occurred to me as well... I have been... similarly distracted. All day."

"Ya have?" The relief in his voice is obvious.

"Yes, Ray. Very much so."

"Oh, thank God. I thought I was the only one freaking out. I mean, it's good, it's good, I just... I haven't felt like this since, I dunno, seems like since I lost my virginity...."

"I... yes, that is probably an accurate description," I say. I feel a slight pang, as I always do when I think about how I lost my virginity. I push Victoria out of my mind. This is now, and it's Ray. And he is nothing like her.

I hear someone else's voice in Ray's immediate background. In an almost teasing sing-song tone... Francesca.

"Who's the girl, Ray?" her voice comes dimly through his phone.

"No girl, Frannie, just MYOB, 'kay?" he says, in a normal -- and flippant -- tone.

"Whatever you saaayyy..." I hear her voice once more. Then Ray's.

"Look, I gotta go. If you wanna just go over to my place, well, you got your keys. I... hope you'll be there when I get outta here, Frase." The desire and intensity of his voice stirs my penis.

"I will," I reply immediately, without even thinking. Ray. He needs me. Wants me. Like no one else has wanted me ever before.

"Oh, and, uh..." he trails off, back into the near whisper.

"Yes, Ray?"

"I wore your shirt today, Frase," he says very quietly.

"I... I'm glad," I breathe into the phone, imagining my Henley wrapped around his perfect, lithe torso and wiry arms. It is as if I am embracing him by proxy while I'm on the phone with him, from elsewhere in the city.

"Me too. See ya after five."

There's a click and then silence. I replace the phone slowly, as if moving through cold maple syrup.

Ray. My Ray. Distracted. By me. Thoughts of me. Of what... what I did. What we did.

I can not wait to see him.

* * *

Oh, man. I gotta get outta here. I have to see Frase. I wanna see him so bad, but if he walked in here I don't know what I'd do. I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to hold back, and that would be a Very Bad Thing right here in the middle of the precinct...

I'd wanna throw myself at him, and then throw him to the floor, and have my way with him. My God. Who would ever think Dudley Do-Right had it in him to be so... so... so kinked? I sure as hell had no idea! But it just makes me think we're really... on the same wavelength. It's like we're two peas from the same pod. No, that's not right... It's... it's... we're matched like this too. A duet. He has what I want. I have what he wants. He can do what I like. I can do what he likes. We can play each other...

But, the only thing is, I don't think he's totally comfortable with it. I mean, he's comfortable enough to do it to me, but... he sounded freaked for a minute there on the phone. I wish I could get across to him that it's only as bad as he thinks it is, and since he's not hurting me, it's not bad, it's good.

But he's so proper. I bet he thinks we're way off the deep end here. I don't think we really are, compared to stuff I saw when I was working Vice. But he doesn't know that. I don't think. I wish I could get that across to him... Well, maybe I'm freakin' out for no reason. Maybe he's not freakin' out and I just imagined that sound in his voice on the phone.

But, but, he did say he was getting just as distracted as me... so if he's not freakin', he's at least... well, obsessing... in a good kinda way.

God, I haven't felt like this since when me and Stella were first married. But... this is so far beyond anything with Stella ever was. Not that that was bad, but, Stella was... Stella. She was in charge. And that, that was okay... in its way. But it feels so weird with Frase. Weird and cool. He's the one doing things to me, and workin' me over but good... but, but, I feel like I'm in charge. Weird. But cool.

If I can sneak outta here maybe half an hour early...

"Detective!"

Uh-oh. Welsh.

"Uh, yeah, Loo?"

"Is the Schweiger case done? I want all those threads tied up nice and neat with a bow." He's standing in the doorway of his office, lookin' at me.

"Uh, no, not quite, sir..."

"See that it is by five." Oh, man!

"By five? Aw, come on. I'm never gonna finish that up by then... I still gotta get ahold of the, the accountant, he's still outta town, but he has the only copies of the--"

"No later than noon tomorrow, Detective. On my desk."

"Yessir." I know when to agree with someone when they've just cut me a break... But, cool! Then maybe I can sneak outta here early...

* * *

I'm not sure if he'll want pizza or not, but... well, I thought it might be nice if I cooked something.

And, besides, I can't sit around in his apartment doing nothing. I'll go mad. He'll get angry if I clean and mess up his "organization" of his CDs and sports magazines.

Hence, the bow tie pasta and jar of pasta sauce in the bag.

And I thought it might be a good idea if I purchased some... aloe vera gel. For... his wrists. I can massage it into them later.

Oh, how can this be happening? I don't understand. I'm happy. Almost deliriously happy. I hurt him, damaged his flesh -- flesh I love more than anything in the world, but for his soul -- and I'm happy about it! And he's happy about it! And the Lord only knows what will happen next.

I put my key in the lock to his door and it makes me realize how much he's given me. How dare I doubt him? How can I be so foolish as to fear writing "Love, Benton" on a note to him? I'm terrible. He's given me keys to his apartment. But that pales next to what he's most recently given me: total control. Over him. Obviously, he wouldn't do that with anyone he didn't trust implicitly and love wholly. And I'm such a wretch as to still worry at his hold on me...

I put the water on for the pasta, and go to use his bathroom.

I can't help it. I walk past the bathroom and go into his bedroom. I look at the bed. He didn't make it, of course; he never does. If it gets made, I made it. Or sometimes he'll throw the blanket across it so that Dief doesn't track anything onto the sheets.

Now that I am in here again, the memory of all we did last night comes back -- only this time, not merely visually. I remember the sounds he made... and the smells.

I walk over to the bed. I feel foolish but I can not help myself: I bend down to look at the bed frame. To see if it is scratched. A faint, lingering scent of Ray's sex, and his sweat, wafts up to my nostrils. I sit on the edge of the bed, and am compelled to reach for the two pillows. I hold them to me and bury my nose in the pillowcases. They smell like Ray. I feel myself becoming hard.

I fear I will crush him in my arms when he walks through that door.

There are faint, but not very deep or noticeable, scratches on the bed frame at the points where Ray's wrists were cuffed and shackled to it.

That's enough of this. I was going to the bathroom... and so I shall.
 
 

* * *

Somethin' smells good... one of the neighbors must be cooking Italian. I have my keys out and ready for my door before I even get to it, because I just have to get in there and get to Fraser. Man, I'm hard already. I don't know what's going on with me... but I love it.

I put my key in the door, and just as I'm turning it, he opens it.

Oh, God. Fraser.

I throw myself at him, just like I wanted to all day.

"Fraser, Fraser, Fraser!" His mouth. So perfect and red and mine. And hungry, hungry for me, too... he's kissing me back hard, up against the wall where I pushed him so I could kiss him and feel him and press my cock against him.

He kicks the door shut. "Ray... oh... Ray," his lips move under mine. And I'm undoing the buttons on this flannel shirt, why does he always gotta wear things with buttons, things that are so hard to get him out of... I give up and go back to thrusting against him.

"Fraser! You have no idea how long this day took to end!"

"I do, actually... it was a very long day for me as well."

I untuck his shirts. Open his pants.

"Ray..."

"C'mon, Frase... Let me suck you. I just wanna lick you all over and make you come."

"Ray, you left your keys in the door..."

"So?" Mmmmm. Hot Mountie skin. He always keeps so much of it covered up.

"They're in the outside of the door..."

"Oh. Well, shit. How'd that happen?"

"I, uh, I, you put them in the door, I heard you and opened it, then you ...attacked me, and I kicked the door shut... forgetting your keys were in it."

"Well, damn."

"Ray." He gently pushes me a few inches back from him. "Are you hungry?"

"Oh, you bet I'm hungry, Frase," I tell him, kissing him again. So level-headed... 'cept I know he's really not. Not when he's blindfolding and handcuffing and shackling me... and tying my cock and balls up in a silk tie. That's not level-headed or Mountie-like at all. It's hot.

I can feel him smile under my lips.

"Okay, okay, Frase," I say. I step back. God, he's gorgeous. What the hell he's doing with me, I'll never know... but he is. Amazing.

I open the door, look around the hall. No one there. My keys are still in the door. I take 'em out and pocket them, and shut the door. I lean back against it and look at him. I messed up his hair. He doesn't even care. Pants open, shirt untucked.

"Frase, I love you."

"And I... you, Ray." He smiles. That careful little I'm-not-good-at-talking-about-this-stuff smile.

"I know. I don't know why, but you do. Freaky. Cool."

I wanna throw myself at him some more but somethin' makes me hold back, and stay leaning up against the front door.

He hesitates, and then he comes to me. Meets my eyes. He looks a cross between scared, hungry and sweet. Slips his hands into my jacket, pushes it up and off my shoulders. He's kissing me slow, long, hot the whole time. I lean forward into his arms and let the jacket fall behind my feet. He untucks my shirt, his shirt, actually. Pulls it out of my pants slow and sexy. Slides his hands around my waist to the front, pulling the shirt out all the way around. He pulls back a little and I open my eyes.

He's lookin' at me, shy and blushing, looking at me wearing his shirt. Sticks the tip of his tongue out the corner of his mouth and slides it across his bottom lip quick.

"I toldja. I'm wearing your shirt."

"It... it's big on you."

"I know, I'm a skinny rat."

"Nonsense. You're... you're beautiful."

I just wanna throw him down and have my way with him. He's so fine and so sweet and so good to me. I jump across the little space between us and slip my hands around his hips, down onto his perfect ass. I cup his butt cheeks and pull them tight to me. He's hard and I'm pressing my hard-on against him.

"Fraser. Yer really hard."

"I am. You, too."

"Yeah. Let's do something about that."

"All right..." I cut him off with a hard kiss and knead his ass. His arms go around me, hold me tight. Then they're moving, pushing my pants down a little. Freedom for my dick. I do the same thing to him.

"Fraser, man, all I could think about all day was you... an' everything we did... and how good it was. Ya freakin' blew my mind." Whisper it into his neck, kissing it, licking it. I wish I could climb into his skin, he feels so good and I just want him so bad.

"I believe I blew my mind, as well," I hear him say. Sounds happy.

"Tonight I wanna pay attention to you. You make me feel so good."

"It was all for you, Ray." Murmurs it, right in my ear. Making me get shivers down my spine.

"I know. But tonight it's gonna be all for you," I tell him.

"Ray... you don't have to," he whispers. But he sounds like he wants it.

"I know. But I want to, Frase. I want to." I kiss him again, softer, trying to relax him. His mouth feels so good. He kisses so right. Moves his lips under mine -- I feel him smile while I kiss him. He lets my tongue-tip into his mouth. I slip my left hand up from his ass and around to his stomach. I push away from him a little, on the left side, so I can stick my hand in his pants and stroke that gorgeous Mountie cock through his boxers.

He moans. Oh, yeah.

I keep strokin' him. He keeps kissin' me. Shorter kisses. His arm around my shoulders, the other one holding my cheek. He's kissing me now, instead of the other way around... And he's trying to tell me something in those kisses. Intense, but short. Like they're drawing me in. Like he's pulling me down the hall. I open my eyes, look around. We haven't moved. But his hips are moving. Thrusting at me. The same rhythm as his tongue in my mouth. Pushing in and then retreating.

I stop stroking him. His breath all comes out in one snort, almost like Dief. I feel it on my cheek.

"Frase?" I whisper.

"Yes...?" He asks, pressing his forehead to mine. Closes his eyes. I open the waistband of his boxers, slip my hand in slow and gentle. Circle his gorgeous cock with my hand. So hot, so smooth.

"We don't have to do stuff like last night all the time."

"Oh." Like he wasn't sure. Oh, Frase!

"I don't want you thinking you have to do that. Or that you have to do anything. But any time you wanna do stuff like last night... you just let me know. Okay?"

"Yes, Ray." He kisses me again when I start moving my hand, stroking up and down on his cock. I kiss him back and then press my cheek against his.

"And, Frase?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Didja... you ever think about letting me do things like that... to you?"

I feel him breathe in sharp. His hips seem to tremble or something, but he thrusts hard into my hand.

"No," he finally whispers.

"Okay," I whisper back, going slow. Still strokin' him. "But... so... whaddaya think about that now?"

"Now?"

"Yeah, now," I whisper into his ear.

"I... I don't know..." He's whispering real quiet now... but thrusting hard, all the same.

"Ya think you might, ya might like to try a little bit? Not like last night. I mean, not completely... just a little... a lot less... maybe just handcuffs..."

"Ray..." He's clutching me harder.

"Wha..." He plasters his mouth on mine and thrusts, thrusts, thrusts.

He wants it? Doesn't want it? I dunno. I pull away a little bit, whisper into his parted lips. "We don't have to. Don't worry. I just want to show you... how good it feels. What it felt like for me. Just a little bit."

"Oh." He kisses me again, sweet and gentle.

"But it's okay. We don't hafta. I still wanna ravish you right now on my bed, plain old ravish, if that's okay with you."

"It's okay with me," he says, quiet, pulls back. I can feel the heat coming off him. I'm hungry but I wanna feel him, skin on skin, more than I wanna eat.

"Let's go..." I say, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the little hall, through the living room, and down the other little hall past the bathroom to my bedroom.

We get in my room, and he sits down on the bed. I turn on the little lamp and shut the blinds. Both of us got our pants open. I sit down next to him and he turns to me. Hugs me tight, pulls back, kisses me hard. Hand in my pants now. Stroking me. Yeah.

So I stroke him too. Nice. We're both jerkin' each other and it's nice. Not super hot, but feels good and he's kissing me. Strong, urgent. Yeah, I think he wants it.

I push him backwards, to lay down on the bed, still stroking him. He lets go my cock, and lays back. Sometimes when he looks at me when I'm ravishing him, he looks so... so... I can't describe it. I don't wanna say grateful, that's almost it but that just isn't right.... He's, like, grateful, mixed with surprised, or amazed... I can't understand why he doesn't see how I can be so crazy about him. What's not to be crazy about? He can sure be stubborn when he wants to, but he's nothin' like that in bed. And he's just so... so... good to me. That would be enough, but he's so freakin' gorgeous... I don't understand why he is amazed. I'm more amazed he's with me.

And now he's laying back on the bed, looking at me. Not doing anything, just kind of waiting for me to ravish him. And he has that look on his face.

I push down and kick off my pants and briefs and then lay down and roll on my side. I throw my leg over his thighs. His feet are still on the floor. I slip my hand up under his shirt, stroking his chest. Kiss him gentle and slow cuz I just can't help myself.

I push his pants down to just above his knees, and then push them the rest of the way down to his ankles with my foot. I leave his boxers on. Then I bring my knee back up over him. Rub it against his cock in his boxers. He pushes up against it. Kisses me back harder.

I pull back a little. "C'mon, Frase. Get all the way on the bed."

"You, too," he smiles, that little pleased smile. We scoot all the way onto the bed.

Now I finish undoing the rest of his buttons. And of course he's got another shirt under the flannel one -- another Henley. Like the one I'm wearing. I push it up and stroke his stomach.

"Yer so fine, Frase," I whisper, looking at him, pale smooth skin, his cheeks brushed with fire, his lips wet and red and parted a little. I move my hand down and stroke his cock through his boxers. Watch his lips press together and his stomach move cuz he inhales. His chin juts up into the air a little when he starts thrusting up at me.

"Yeah, yeah..." Giving me his cock. Mmm. Love it.

I sit up and give him a hand up. He sits up too, then, and I pull his flannel shirt off. Then I grab the hem of his Henley, and he puts his arms up, like a kid. So I pull up on the hem and pull it off him and mess up his hair while I'm doing it. I love to mess up his hair. He looks so outta control like that.

He's almost all naked -- and there's no hiding that huge hard-on in his boxers and they're sticking up cuz of it. I rip his Henley off my body. Then I stroke him through his boxers, and stroke my hand up to his chest again. Push him back down onto the bed and slowly pull the waistband of his boxers open. Pull them down to his knees. That gorgeous cock. Beautiful balls. I just wanna eat him up.

I kiss him deep and hard while stroking him. I pull his boxers the rest of the way off. Then I get on all fours to climb on top of him and really get down to work. Kissing him the whole time. Then I pull back a little and stop kissing him. He opens his eyes.

"Ray?"

"Frase, can I do something? Nothing major. Just... what you did the first time, with me." I squeeze his wrists. "Can I hold your wrists? That's all. Is it okay? Any time you want me to let go of them, you tell me to stop. And I will. How does that sound? Do ya... ya think it'd be okay for me to try that?"

He hesitates.

"All right," he whispers.

His eyes are so blue, so clear, looking into mine. He looks almost like a little boy, like we're kids and I'm making a serious promise he wants to believe but isn't sure he can.

I feel a pang in my chest. It hurts that he isn't sure he can believe me. I know he says it's not from anything I've done, but I can't help wondering, thinking of all the times I've let him down. Like with Warfield and his goons. I can't undo that stuff, I know. But... I can try to make it up to him. Like now. Let him see -- and feel -- how much he can believe me.

I kiss him again, long, slow, thorough. And then start moving my mouth slowly down his jaw line. Over his Adam's apple, his neck... kissing his collar bone. Kiss down his chest to first one nipple -- gotta suck it -- and then to the other -- which I also gotta suck. I feel his arms tense up, like he wants to move 'em... But he doesn't say anything. His hands clench into fists and I can feel his stomach trembling while I'm kissing down from his nipple to his navel. I kiss it, lick around it, lick in it -- he squirms a little and a big sigh bursts out of his lips. Real gentle, but just enough so he'll know my teeth are there, I bite the bottom edge of his belly-button,  just barely scraping my teeth across it. He squirms more and moans a little.

Yeah.

Then, it's hard to control myself and not rush right to the head of his cock. But I don't. I kiss down the line of dark hair that goes from his navel to the base of his cock. I kiss all the way to his cock and then I kiss all around it, but I don't kiss it. I kiss his balls and lick them and suck them each into my mouth, one by one. He spreads his thighs apart to help. My lusty Mountie, is what he is. I know he shows the rest of the world that do-gooder side -- not that this is a bad side, or that there even is a bad side to him. But I get to see the lusty, sexy side of him that no one knows about.

So after driving him nuts with licking and sucking his balls, I kiss down his thighs. I'm still holding his wrists and they bunch up again, and he whispers...

"Ray..."

"Hmmmm... ?" I reply, nuzzling his thighs, kissing into his inner thighs, making them spread apart more.

"This is ...very arousing."

"It's supposed to be," I breathe on his cock. There's a drop of precum just pearling out of the head. I lick it off, tasting the salt, feeling his wrists jerk in my hands.

"Oh, Ray, I'm not sure how much more I can stand," he whispers.

"Frase," I stop licking or doing anything to speak. "Don't I normally suck you off like this?"

"In what way do you mean?"

"I mean, the only difference here is I'm holding your wrists, right? Everything else is the same. Well, not exactly the same, but I've done this kinda thing to you zillions of times. You've almost always been able to stand a lot of it."

"Oh." He thinks about that for a while, so I go back to nuzzling his thighs apart and lickin' him under his balls, between his balls and his ass. He won't bring his knees up, so I can't get any further down with my tongue... but I'm okay with that. I just lick more.

"I... I see what you mean, Ray," he whispers again, this time a little louder.

"But do you feel what I mean?" I ask him.

"I think so--"

I suck the head of his cock into my mouth and he just gasps, doesn't finish what he was saying. His wrists stiffen up and his arms try to move, but I don't let 'em go. I just hold 'em and suck the rest of his cock into my mouth. Well, most of it anyway.

He's thrusting and panting and moaning and it's so good to hear. I just wanna make him moan and pant and come really good. He's squirming and thrusting his hips. I get a good suction going and then he starts relaxing... everything but his hips, which move with my mouth.

But just when I'm really concentrating on sucking his cock -- strong, fast, regular -- that's when he rips his wrists outta my grip and almost jerks away from me.

"Ray..." he says, half-up on his elbows.

"Fraser, what's... what's wrong?" I don't get it. Things were goin' great, then...

"I don't know. I'm... I'm sorry, I don't think I can..." He shakes his head.

"Okay, okay," I tell him. "It's all right. You don't have to." He looks like he feels bad. I try to hide my disappointment and hope I do a good job. I don't have to do this. And if he doesn't want to, I shouldn't. I won't. He's not like me, I remind myself. He might not like the things I like.

"No... no."

"No... no, what?"

"No, it isn't all right," he says, sounding miserable. He's getting soft. Damn.

"It is all right, believe me. Okay? It's fine. It's great. Anything with you is great, Frase. C'mon, lemme suck you more."

"Oh, Ray. I'm... I wish that I could let you... I want to. But..." he doesn't finish, looks away from me. "I really do want to... I just can't seem to..." He lays completely flat on his back, and rubs his eyes.

I don't say anything. I don't really know what to say. I'm getting more than a little confused. He wants to. But he doesn't want to. He can, but he can't.

"Frase, you don't sound too sure about this," I start. Just gonna talk slow and relaxed. "And that's okay. Let's just skip all the fancy stuff tonight. Maybe we'll try it another night. We can still go crazy on each other tonight. I can still go crazy on you."

"Oh, Ray," he sighs, looking up at the ceiling.  "I want to try it."

"I don't want you to," I say, sharper than I meant. He looks at me. I stroke his thigh. "Sorry. I mean, I want you to -- but only if you want to. I don't want you to do it if you don't really want to."

"You don't sound entirely convinced of that, yourself, Ray." That's my Mountie. Just lay it on me, Frase.

"Fraser..." I interrupt. "Look, I'm telling you it's okay if we don't, it's perfectly fine, it's great. Please," I add. Trying to get across to him why we shouldn't do it if he's not really up for it. "Don't make me feel liking I'm forcing you. I don't wanna do it unless you really want to. And you don't. And that's okay! I'd rather not do it at all, than do it an' be sorry because you didn't like it, or you felt shanghaied into it. Okay?"

"But I do want to do it, Ray. I just... feel somewhat... " He trails off.

"Frase, look, if it felt okay, you'd be okay with doing it, right? All right, so it doesn't feel okay, so you're not okay with doing it. And that's fine. I'm telling you. It is fine, it is great. I don't need all the other stuff. It's great, it's unbelievable, when it's just you and me."

"I get this strange feeling of panic after a certain point," he tells me. Like I didn't say any of the stuff I just said. And I don't know what to tell him about that.

"It's okay, Frase," I finally reply slowly. "I, uh, I had that panicky feeling last night, too. A kind of 'oh, shit' feeling. I think it partly goes with the territory."

"It's more than that."

"Oh." Now I have no idea what to say. "Well," I begin slowly. "Even if it is, all that means is you're just not in the mood for it right now. Maybe never." I shrug like I don't care. "Right? Okay. So, moving right along..." I nuzzle his thigh again.

"Oh, Ray. I'm so sorry."

"Frase, dammit, don't be," I say. I've had enough and climb all the way on him and lay on him. I slip my arms around him and look in his eyes. And then I kiss him, sweet and gentle, and keep kissing him and kissing him until I feel him relax under me.

"Ray. You're so very good to me, Ray," he whispers when I pull back a little.

"Get out, Frase. You're the best," I tell him. Kiss him again.

"No, really. You are the best, Ray." Feel his lips move under mine.

"Okay, so we're even." I kiss him again. "Just lay back and I won't hold your wrists or anything. Just let me just plain ol' do you like I usually do. How's that?"

"But... but I wanted to..."

Now I'm getting a little frustrated. Give it up, Frase. Okay, fine, you can't handle it. Whatever. Stop trying to. But instead, I just say:

"Frase... if it don't fit, don't force it." Look him straight in the eye, like I mean it.

"It... but it does fit. Sort of. I think... I know this doesn't make any sense, Ray. It is ...difficult to explain." He looks back at me, sad, sexy, stirred up.

"So don't explain. Just lay there and let me do everything and your hands can and should go anywhere on my body they want to, Frase," I reassure him.

"But... but I feel like I need to do this."

I sit up, starting to get real frustrated and confused now.

"Fraser," I start slow, trying to think hard before I say stuff. "If the reason why you feel like you need to do this is because you think I want you to, then don't. I don't want you to do anything you don't wanna do. I don't need you to do anything but let me make love to you. Okay? Now, please. Can we get back to where we were?"

He looks at me with that surprised, grateful look. A little sad.

"Of course, Ray. I'm sorry."

"Stop bein' sorry, Frase. I'm not," I tell him, and kiss him, and kiss him, and kiss him. Until he's relaxed again. Then I slide my mouth down his jaw again, back down his neck, across his chest from nipple to nipple, sucking them. I keep going down, down his stomach, to his navel, lick around it again, kiss down the trail of hair from his navel to his cock... It's mostly soft now, but seems like it's getting hard again. I kiss all around it, like I did before... kiss his thighs, lick and suck his balls. His cock starts to get harder. I push his thighs farther apart again. I brush the top of my head over his balls, tickling them with my spiked hair.

"Oh... oh, Ray... that's so... it feels so ...unusual."

I smile, head still bent so the top of my head can rub between his legs, tickle and tease him. Then I start kissing again, kiss a line up his thigh back to that beautiful cock... I kiss up the shaft to the head, lick it a couple times, and then suck it into my mouth again. Frase exhales like a whale blowing out his blowhole.

So I go to town again. Get the rhythm right, strong suction, good speed. He'll be coming pretty soon.

And then I feel his hand slip under mine, where I put it to prop myself up over him while I'm sucking him. Like he's trying to get me to hold it. He pushes it between my palm and the bed, until his wrist is right under my palm.

I stop sucking him and look up. But when I look up, he's looking up at the head of the bed. Behind his head are the vertical brass bars that connect to the long crossbar. He puts his other hand up, above his head, and grips one of the bars. Then he looks back down at me. Blushes deep.

"Try... try it this way, Ray," he whispers, and wriggles the wrist that's now in my hand.

"You sure?" I ask him.

"Yes. I... You hold this one..." He jerks his wrist in my tightening grasp. "...I'll hold this bar. It's almost... almost the same thing."

"Oh. Right. Okay," I say. My heart's beating faster. It's such a simple, little thing. But it... it freaks me out. Maybe he really does want to try it. And this way, if he feels like his hands have to be free, he has one free. And he can use it to free the other one if I get distracted.

So I go back to sucking him off again. I know what I'm gonna do. Funny, I didn't realize 'til just now, I haven't fucked him in... well, it must be weeks. Hmmm. Whatever; tonight he's gonna get the works. Everything I can do with my mouth and one hand... which is actually a lot cuz I'm just so talented this way, heh.

And, after about five more minutes of supersucking, I elbow his thighs farther apart and pull up on his one knee a little bit. Oh, yeah. He bends his knees. I take the opportunity to go below again and suck on his balls... and go lower still, and lick his perfect, tight little hole. He jumps and squirms and his wrist gets fat with tension in my hand, but he doesn't try to jerk it away. And I don't hold it too hard. This is a lot to concentrate on anyway!

But I do have my other hand free. I stop licking his ass and stick the first two fingers of my left hand in my mouth, get 'em real wet. I glance up at him, but he's got his eyes squeezed shut. And he's gripping that brass bar like there's no tomorrow -- almost white-knuckled.

The only thing I don't like about giving him head like this is I can't watch his face when he comes. But it's okay. If I drive him nuts enough, I'll know it from his wrist. I go back to sucking him off, strong, slow sucks, up and down, real regular.

Under his balls, I slide my fingers down. I stroke the tight little ring of muscle with my fingertips. It's wet, they're wet, he twitches, his wrist tenses in my hand. I stick just the tip of my finger in. His hips jerk and so does his wrist, but not as much as before and not as much as his hips. Like he's trying to control how wild he goes. Oh, that's no good. He's got to go completely nuts. Even if he rips his wrist outta my hand, I don't care. I said tonight would be all about him and it's gonna be.

I push the rest of my finger in, slow and steady. Still sucking his cock, slow and strong, stroke stroke stroke. He bucks under me, his wrist bunches. But he doesn't try to get out of my grip.

I pull my finger out just about all the way. Add the second finger. Push them both back in, really slow and steady like before. He practically flies up off the bed, but hanging onto the brass bar must be helping, because he doesn't break free from me.

Then I just go to town. I speed up my sucking, so it's strokestrokestroke and match my fingering rhythm to it. Tighten the suction. He's trembling, shaking. Growling, I realize, noticing the noise he's making for the first time. But I got other things to think about, now that he's loosened up a little. Three fingers.

He explodes, a wild moan coming from him. I'm in midstroke, so he squirts some in the back of my throat, and some right on my tongue. I just keep sucking and start swallowing. Fuck, he's coming like a bull or something. And loud. He's never loud... but tonight, for some reason, he is. Moaning, gasping, saying my name.

When he's spent, I slowly pull my fingers out and take my mouth off, real gentle cuz I know he's extra sensitive now.

Still holding his wrist though. And he's still holding that bar.

I pick up his wrist and slide under his arm.I lay my head on his stomach and pull his arm over my shoulder by his wrist. He's still breathing real fast. But that'll slow down pretty soon.

We don't say anything. But in my mind, I'm seeing trippy things. Imagining Fraser laid out like me, like I was last night... me doing to him the things he did to me...

No, no. Better not get ahead of myself. I'm still holding his wrist, and he seems okay with that. And that's good enough for now. It's great. It's ...like he's really, really mine. And he's not going anywhere.

If he wasn't breathing so hard, I could fall asleep. But then I think I do, because it's not until I feel him stroking my hair that I realize I zonked out for a minute. And then I realize he must be doing it with the hand that he was using to hold the bed frame, because I'm still holding his other wrist. Just not like I was before, 'course. Loose enough for him to slip it out of my grasp. Loose and just enough to know it's there.
 
 
 
 
 
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