Bingo    The Due South Fiction Archive Entry	   Home

 Quicksearch
 Search Engine
 Random Story

 Upload Story

      	  Bingo 
 by Nos4a2no9  

 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  
  

End Bingo by Nos4a2no9 

Author and story notes above.  

Please post a comment on this story. 
Read posted comments.