Author's webpage: http://www.slashcity.com/barb

Author's disclaimer: Not my toys, never will be

Author's notes: Thanks to Amy for a quick beta

Whistling in the Dark

Barb G.

I flick the handcuff over Fraser's wrist bone, and it slides down back to where it was. I do it again, same result. I flick it over a third time and hold it there, and he stops ignoring me.

"Can I help you, Ray?"

"You mean anymore than you already are?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Nope, not really."

"Very well then, carry on."

I slide the handcuff up again and this time it almost stays before sliding back down.

I hate long plane rides.

It's different though, actually being in a chair with a flip down tray and a stewardess coming around offering drinks and magazines, but I'd rather fiddle with Fraser's handcuff than read McLean's. He's in plain clothes, sweater and jeans, and I like it. I really like it. The jeans are soft against his skin. I'm getting distracted.

"Don't you think this is kinda outdated, Fraser? I mean, any hacksaw could cut through it...or your wrist for that matter, there. And if they'd have to do it in a hurry, it'd be faster just to slice the hand off, wouldn't you say?"

"Can we not talk about this, Ray?"

"Not talk about what, Fraser?"

"Cutting off my hand, for one," Fraser says. He tries to yank his hand back, but I put my foot down on the briefcase and his hand snaps back to the arm-rest.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

He looks at me and smiles. I smile back, feeling my ears heat up. 'nough said.

I go back to flicking Fraser's handcuff.

He continues to let me.

We land. There's a light dusting of snow on the ground, even though it's only October, and the air feels chilled. I pull on the sweater I brought, and with my leather jacket over it's enough to push the cold away. Fraser's met at the airport by the Canadian feds in suits and shades, and they unlock his briefcase.

"Who is the American?" one of them asked. I stay back, running my hand through my hair, but it's all staticky from pulling on the sweater and it's all charged and what not. If we were alone, I'd shock Fraser, but for now I have to hang back and look all excess baggagey.

"What American?" Fraser asks.

They all look to me, and that selective seeing thing must be contagious, 'cause the feds look back to Fraser and I'm forgotten about. Fraser leaves them, and I follow him out to the street.

I like Fraser in Canada. He stands taller, breathes deeper, and relaxes more. I wonder if he tastes any different up here. Can't wait to try him. He's still my Fraser, and he's getting back on the plane with me the day after tomorrow, so I'm good with him here.

We stop at a restaurant. Big steaks for both of us. Lots of protein. They're expensive, but not when you put the money back into American funds. Fraser's on expensive account, so between the two of us we can swing my way.

"So uh, Fraser, we got a place to stay tonight?"

"I know a place," he says.

"Oh, you do."

"Yes, I know a place."

Fraser's smiling. A man eating alone turns around, and for a moment I'm going to tell him to mind his own beeswax, but his face is curious. "Are you from Chicago?" he asks.

"What's it to you?"

"I'm from Chicago. Do you know Bob?"

I think about if for a second. "Bob...Bob...with the fungal infection, right?"

The man's confused for a second. "Must be a different Bob," he says, and turns back around again.

Fraser's trying not to laugh. I keep my face straight as the waitress brings us our steaks.

We eat. And eat. And eat. And if I put another bite in me I'm gonna explode, so I push the plate away. It's still half full. Fraser eats slower than I do, more meticulous. I like watching him put things in his mouth, and find myself starting to worry about this fetish I have. I was never one for kinks before, but seeing him in the handcuffs... I'm staring at his wrist and my face is all hot. He sees me, glances down, and he knows.

I want out of there, now. He puts both hands on the table. Both of my hands are on the table. It's too bad we're both wearing hiking boots. The checkered tablecloth hangs down almost half way to the floor.

There are rooms available above the diner, but Fraser wants to walk. I pull my bag over my shoulder and grab a candy from the dish. He grabs his bag and we leave. I hunch down in my jacket, but I'm not cold, not really. I like walking with Fraser, it's been a while since we walked. We fit well together, walk well together. The light snow scrunches under our boots. He brushes against me. Accidentally and all. Oh, yeah, right. I brush up against him, too. He doesn't comment on my lack of co-ordination either.

The candy's a lump in my pocket. I take it out, open it, and pop it in my mouth. I know he's watching me. I smile, and let the candy wrapper drop from my fingers. He stops walking, staring at the almost invisible wrapper against the new snow.

"You just littered, Ray," he says in his reasonable tone of voice.

"I know," I say.

He looks up at me. "Aren't you going to pick it up?"

"Nah," I say.

"I... I'm afraid I am going to have to insist, Ray, that you pick it up."

"You insist, do you?"

"Littering in Whitehorse is subject to a five hundred dollar fine or up to a week imprisonment, Ray. Are you aware of the consequences of your behaviour?"

"Yup."

He looks at me. I look at him. He smiles. "I'm afraid I am going to have to put you under arrest, Ray."

"You do what you gotta do, Fraser."

He looks around, but we're in the middle of a public street. "You have to give me your word that you will not try to escape until we are in the room, Ray."

"And then I can try to escape?" I ask.

"You may certainly attempt to, Ray."

I like the sound of that. He picks up the wrapper before we move on.

He finds a motel that he likes as the sun's setting. The light is weak and it's going to be dark really soon. I look around, the motel looks kinda Batesish, and all the lights are off , but Fraser opens the office door and steps inside. The sun's setting, the office smells like chocolate chip cookies, and the anticipation is killing me. Today's a good day.

My mouth's dry, has been for a while now. Hell, my head's dry 'cause all the blood's somewhere else. He closes the door and moves up to me so that I can smell nothing but Mountie, and my breath hitches. Bottle it up and market it; we'd both be filthy rich. He reaches into my clothes and pulls out my cuffs. They're warm for being next to my body all day, and he runs them down my cheek. "Would you be more comfortable without your sweater on?"

I pull it off, static everywhere. It can't come off with the cuffs on. Fraser takes it from me and folds it neatly before turning back to me.

"I believe the term is, assume the position, Ray."

"Fraser?" I ask.

"Yes, Ray?"

"Do me a favour? No polite Mountie, please? It totally ruins it."

"I see. I'm sorry, Ray."

"What did I just say?"

"Right. I'm...Right. Assume the position."

It's not like I haven't been cuffed before. It's not like *Fraser* hasn't cuffed me before, but this is different. This is... I smile. This is good. I move to the wall, and he removes my shirt.

If he searched a suspect like he searches me, he'd be up on charges. His hands start on my ankles. He would have found my boot gun; hell, he would have found just about everything the way he was moving up my legs. His hands slide up my thigh, ""Anything you say can and will be used against you," You have the right to retain and instruct council, if you cannot provide--"

"In American, Fraser."

Fraser laughs, moving up behind me. He kicks my legs further apart, but careful makes sure I'm comfortable before he continues. I don't mind it a bit, even when he brings my hands behind my back.

The handcuffs click on. They've cooled off some, and the metal's cold against my wrists. I wait. He flicks my handcuffs, up and over my wrist bone. It slides down. He flicks it again.

"Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Would you--" he moves his hands again, and he's over my dick. It's suddenly way too hot in the room and my stomach has fallen out somewhere around my feet. The words dry up and I lean up against Fraser.

He goes back to flicking my handcuff. Up over the wrist bone, then back down again

"What was that?" he asks.

I'm silent. He kisses my neck.

I'm pretty sure perps don't get the kisses, but I'm willing to give up reality for the fantasy. He gets my jeans off and takes me to the bed. He carefully sets me up so that I'm comfortable despite the handcuffs, but I want to tell him that I want the discomfort. I have to remind myself that this is Fraser. He's not going to do it regardless of the game. I guess that's the whole point of loving him.

I move, the chains clank together. I like the sound. Fraser does too. He carefully arranges the pillows. He moves over me, always careful, always gentle, and it's...nice. It's all...nice. He reaches into his bag, I hear a zipper unzip, and he warms up the oil before it drizzles on me.

His finger presses into me, slowly, oh, so slowly. I want to force him to hurry up, but he kisses the back of my neck. "It's out of your hands, Ray."

"I think you're missing the whole point of handcuffs, Fraser."

He kisses me again. "No, I think you are. Relax, Ray, just...relax."

I hate it when he's right. I settle down, accepting it all. His kisses on the back of my neck, licking down the line of my spine. Lower, lower still. Oh, yeah.

He adjusts his body so that it's next to mine. He's warm, his heat's over me so that I feel him even though we're not touching. He pushes inside me. The chains rattle again, and he stops. I relax, he moves again. Oh, yeah.

"That's right, Ray," Fraser whispers. "Just relax. Relax."

I even like the way he talks me through. I'm being selfish, making Fraser do all the work, but I don't care. Not anymore. Especially when he moves his lips across the back of my shoulders and whispers things I'm probably not supposed to hear. I don't say anything, don't want to embarrass the guy, but I'm holding him to what he says. Forever.

He unlocks me just as I'm slipping off to sleep, and I tuck my hands under my chin as I drift off.

*

I wait until Ray's asleep and then go outside. The sky's dancing again. It's like watching green and yellow and red seaweed blowing across the sky. I've missed them. I sit down on the porch, concentrating on just breathing. The ground's frozen, but it hasn't snowed enough yet. The dead would be wandering, according to the Crees, awake and hungry. The left-over meal from the restaurant is in front of me, I open the Styrofoam container.

Nothing.

One last thing to do. I take a deep breath and whistle at the northern lights.

I could have been calling anyone in the area, but the food's left untouched. I whistle until I can't hold my mouth in the right position and my cheeks hurt, but nothing.

"Fine, be that way," I say. The words are bitter, my tone isn't. I don't get up to go back inside.

"That's what I liked about you, son. Your persistence," dad says.

My throat's suddenly too tight, and I take a deep breath to keep the prickling in my eyes from getting any worse. He looks better. Dead, but not really. More like he was when I was a kid. His hair's not so grey; his face isn't so lined. "Hello, dad."

Dad sits down and picks up the half eaten potato. "Hello, son."

I wait until he eats. "So, the Yank," he says.

"Well, yes, the Yank."

"You know, when I said that partnership was like a marriage, I didn't actually--"

"Yes, dad. I understand I took the last leap all on my own."

"He's good for you."

"I'd like to think so."

"You called me back for that?"

"Among other things."

"Such as?"

"Do you have someplace you have to be, dad?"

He settles back down. "I guess not."

We look up to the northern lights together.

The bedside lamp comes on inside the room, and it takes a while for Ray to find his clothes again. He comes to the door, and even the bedside lamp inside the room is enough to make the lights less brilliant. Ray looks down to the empty take-out package and hugs himself more tightly. "Late night snack?" he asks.

"Yes," I say. Dad looks Ray up and down, and tightens his mouth.

"I never thought I'd see you with a Yank, son," dad says, but his tone's not disapproving, either.

"He's a good man," I say.

"Still talking to yourself, Fraser? You haven't done that in a while," Ray says.

Dad looks back to me. "You should go to him, son."

"It...uh...it won't happen again," I say.

"Hey, no prob. I'm just uh...you know, awfully alone in there."

"I'll be right in," I say.

Ray closes the door. Dad stands up. "Well, I guess this is good-bye, son."

"Be seeing you, Dad."

"No, son, good-bye."

I nod. "Good-bye."

He takes the last carrot from the Styrofoam, and disappears.

Ray's back in bed. He shivers as I spoon up behind him, and he moves back so that I'm pressed up against him. "Fraser."

He turns around so his nose is three centimetres from mine. His breath touches my cheeks, and our legs tangle as he shifts. "Yes, Ray?" I say.

He closes his eyes. "Nothing. Just checking."

He's on my pillow. He has a perfectly good pillow unused on the other side of his head, but I decide it's not worth the effort to make housekeeping wash the extra linen.

I close my eyes and sleep.