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      	  In Extremis 
 by Berty  

 Disclaimer: Still not mine. I know, I can't believe it either!

 Author's Notes: With thanks to missapocalyptic for her beta and her
insight, and to Cimmie for her comments and a second beta. All remaining
errors are mine.

 Story Notes: Written for the Get Fraser Laid challenge.

 

 Fraser is reading by the light of his desk lamp. It's late - later than
he would normally still be up, but today was a difficult day, and his mind
won't stop. His over-analytical brain keeps replaying key moments, trying
to divine clues that probably aren't even there to be found. If he could
stop it, he would - he knows it's doing him no good at all to entertain
such self-serving thoughts.

 Dief gets up from Fraser's cot, makes an unhelpful remark, and trots out
of the room, his claws clicking on the marble floor of the foyer. Fraser
ignores him and turns the page. He hasn't taken in a single word of the
last five pages, he knows, but the familiar weight of a book in his hand
is soothing; unlike his unquiet mind, struggling to understand Ray's
recent erratic behaviour. 

 Fraser stops pretending, closes his eyes and scrapes a thumbnail over his
eyebrow.

 The noise, when it comes, isn't subtle. It's not the sound of someone
trying to go undetected; it's the sound of someone in a hurry. Fraser sets
down his book and pads out into the cold hallway in his socks.

 The front door to the consulate is still shut, but that is where the
muffled thumps and scratches are coming from. Fraser clicks on the
overhead light and walks to the door, pulling they keys from his pocket.
As his hand reaches out, the door swings violently open forcing him to
take a step back, and the figure of a man falls in through the doorway. 

 "Hello, Ray." Of course he knew that chances were that it would be Ray.
Who else would be breaking into the Canadian consulate so ineptly at
midnight on a cold, wet, October Tuesday?

 The figure straightens up, using the door to balance him and turns to
Fraser. He looks terrible, almost manic.

 "What happened?" Fraser asks quickly, reaching for his partner's elbow,
but Ray shrinks away from his touch, scowling at him. Startled by the
response, Fraser moves back again and waits.

 Ray is drenched, his beige raincoat dark with water. His hair is
plastered to his head, his eyes are puffy and he's fidgeting, shuffling
and avoiding Fraser's gaze. For a man who has just broken in to get to
him, Ray doesn't seem to be very comfortable in Fraser's company.

 "You said anytime, Frase," Ray explains finally looking at him, but it
comes out defensively as if he expects to be challenged on it. His voice
sounds raw.

 "And I meant it, Ray."

 Ray nods once and looks at the pool of water forming at his feet. He
makes no move into the building - no move of any sort, other than the
nervous twitching of shoulders, feet and hands. He looks like some kind of
tremendous debate is going on within him, tearing at his reason and
leaving him adrift. It pulls him first one way, then another, and Ray's
restlessness is surely a symptom of that disquiet.

 Behind Ray the sickly glow of sodium street lighting casts its
yellow/pink tinge on the falling rain. Fraser only has his Henley on and
the wind is uncharacteristically frigid for this time of year. Ray must be
cooling very fast in his soaked clothes. Fraser doesn't want to interrupt
his friend, but as the seconds segue into minutes and Ray still shows no
signs of coming to a decision, Fraser feels he has act.

 "Ray, why don't you come in and we can discuss...?"

 "You said anything... if I ever needed anything, that I could come to
you. Did you mean that too?" Ray says fast and loud, like he was just
waiting for Fraser's voice to prime him.

 "Yes," Fraser replies simply. He doesn't need to qualify it; he's past
believing he could deny Ray anything in his power.

 Fraser wonders if he can approach Ray yet without a negative reaction
from his tense friend. Just as he's about to risk it, Ray closes the
Consulate door, locking it behind him. With the air of a condemned man he
turns and closes the gap between them, his eyes still cast down. 

 Now he's closer, Fraser can smell the torment on his friend. Ray is a
mixture of cold rain and whiskey and tears.

 "I don't want you to ask questions or try and talk me out of anything,
okay? I just want yes or no, can you do that?" Ray's voice is low and
tight like he's squeezing it out through a throat that's too small.

 "Ray..."

 "Can you do that?" Ray snaps again and there is the slightest twist of
his hip and shoulder back towards the door - not a warning Fraser thinks,
but an indication of how hard this is for Ray; how finely balanced his
resolve is.

 "I'll do my best," Fraser concedes.

 "Thanks." A glance up at him from under rain-spiked lashes confirms the
deep gratitude Ray feels at that expression of trust, and Fraser has a
terrible suspicion that he might live to regret it.

 "Let's go to your room," Ray says quietly, but he waits for Fraser to
lead the way.

 As soon as the door is shut, Ray sheds his sodden overcoat. Fraser takes
it and hangs it on the back of the door. He goes to his closet and
rummages for dry clothes and a clean towel. 

 "Ray, it would be a good idea if you..." He looks up from his pile of
clothing and Ray is standing there in just his jersey shorts with a look
on his face that is part defiance, part fear and part hope.

 "I want you to fuck me."

 Fraser can't stop the shock of arousal that Ray's words evoke, but
somehow everything else seems to come to a standstill. His mouth is still
shaping the next word of a sentence he may have started millennia ago, and
the towelling material in his hands is suddenly sharp and rough against
sensitised skin. He drops it onto his desk.

 Ray stands waiting; his pale skin looks slightly ethereal in the
inadequate light from Fraser's lamp. Fraser knows he shouldn't stare so
openly, but he can't seem to take his eyes off Ray. And perhaps that's
what Ray wants or why else would he be standing there so openly, so
bravely?

 Ray clears his throat in a gesture that betrays the uncertainty his
actions are masking. "Do you have a... like... moral problem with that?"

 Somehow Fraser shakes his head.

 "Okay, good. What about a physical one? Can you... you know...? Do you
think you can...? Ahhhh, fuck it." Ray runs a hand through his hair,
sending it into random damp spikes.

 Fraser's eyes are mesmerised by the stretch of skin over ribs and the
flow of muscle in Ray's upper arm. The dim light in his office emphasises
the shadows in the hollow of Ray's clavicle, his throat, his hip. Loose at
his side, his wrist is encircled with those strange, idiosyncratic beads,
his only adornment other than the tattoo. 

 Fraser's skin has become too tight and tingling hot. He's grounded by the
sound of Ray's voice, tired and beaten. 

 "Can you get it up for me, Fraser?"

 For the first time a hint of a blush creeps from beneath Ray's jaw and
onto his cheeks. But his eyes, wide and scared, hold Fraser's. His
partner's courage is breathtaking, making a coward of him. Fraser would
never, ever have had the nerve to actually go to Ray and ask for what he's
been wanting for such a long time now.

 "That's not a problem, Ray." Fraser tells him quietly, and thrills a
little when Ray's eyebrows register his understanding. 

 Ray blinks twice, then nods. He bends and fumbles in the pile of clothes
at his feet, and retrieves a bottle and a small cardboard box; both look
brand new. He puts them down at the side of Fraser's cot, then quickly
slips out of his underwear and lays down stiffly on the precisely made
blankets and sheets.

 Fraser's heart is aching. This isn't how it should be. He wonders if Ray
had downed the whisky at home as some kind of resolve or if he stopped on
his way here in a nameless bar for some Dutch courage after buying what he
needed at an all night pharmacy. Either way, Fraser knows Ray isn't drunk
- he hasn't come here on an inebriated whim. The alcohol was to calm him
enough to do something he'd obviously already decided on.

 The question is why.

 Why does he want Fraser to fuck him?

 Fraser said that he would not ask questions. He said he would not try to
talk Ray out of this. He said he would do his best to give Ray what he
needed. Which is worse? To break those assurances or to give in to Ray's
request and pray that the consequences don't destroy them both? 

 It would be easy - so easy - to make love to Ray right now. He's
beautiful, stretched out on Fraser's pathetic, lonely cot like so many of
Fraser's dreams before now. Slim and strong, pale and flawless in the low
light; Fraser had no idea how close his dreams were to the reality of
Ray's body. He's not covering himself, his legendary attitude won't allow
Ray to be anything but truthful tonight, Fraser knows. Yet, Fraser can see
he's not hard, his penis lies, soft and heavy against his thigh.

 There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea and there is no good way
to do this. Fraser has the impression that Ray is hanging on by his nails
over a drop into nothing, and that the bravado that has carried him here
is his last chance - a kind of do or die.

 Ray waits for Fraser to choose. 

 If Fraser asks why, Ray will crumble - he can feel it. Only God knows how
long he has been winding himself up for this. Could Fraser really be so
arrogant as to assume he knows what Ray wants better than Ray does? Is
this for his benefit? If he says no, will Ray go and find someone else to
do this for him?

 Fraser feels his options slipping away, one by one as Ray quietly waits
for his answer. He's terrified that the option he wants most to be the
right one is also the one that he's finding no way out of. Is that his own
preferences skewing his logical processes or is that really the best way?

 Fraser realises that ultimately none of this is up to him. He'll do this
because Ray asked him to and because... ah...God... because he's wanted to
love Ray for so long. If Ray gets up afterwards and Fraser never sees him
again, all he'll have is the hope that Ray remembers that he made Fraser
say he'd help before he told him how. Ray knows longing and how it can
make you act uncharacteristically, Fraser hopes Ray can extend that
knowledge beyond himself and into what he's about to do.

 Fraser undoes the buttons of his Henley, watching Ray's eyes watch his
hands. He pulls the cotton shirt over his head and lets it drop. He
unbuckles his belt, slowly, waiting for Ray to tell him to stop, but his
friend stays silent. He pops the buttons on his jeans - the noise of the
material is startlingly loud in his silent office. Before he slides them
off his hips, he twists and bends the lamp closer to the desk, casting the
tiny, soulless office deeper into shadow.

 As he stoops to pull off his jeans and socks, Fraser notices that Ray is
hardening slowly. Ray's head is rolled to the side, one hand on his belly,
one behind his neck. Ray can't miss that Fraser is very hard already, his
gaze flicks from Fraser's groin to his eyes, then away.

 Fraser longs to ask Ray if this is really what he wants - he needs to
hear those words from Ray's lips. He longs to tell Ray what this is to him
- he's not doing a favour for a friend here - this means something so much
more to him. He's desperate to hear why Ray would want this now. Why this?
Why now? Fraser would give much to understand what Ray hopes to learn from
this experience. But to ask Ray any of these would be to question his
ability to make his own decisions. It would prove to Ray, once and for all
his erroneous belief that Fraser doesn't trust him.

 With his mind spinning, Fraser steps close to the cot. Ray's eyes track
him now, openly staring as he takes in Fraser from top to bottom
repeatedly. Ray is still silent, giving Fraser no opportunity to speak in
the guise of a response to an enquiry.

 Fraser pushes his boxers over his hips, easing them over his erection and
gritting his teeth as the cool air passes over his hot skin.

 Ray's eyes widen and Fraser wants to just take Ray in his arms and rock
him, tell him he won't hurt him. Tell him this is too fast. Tell him that
he has only to say it and they can stop. 

 "How?" Fraser grunts. It's all he is allowed to say.

 "O... o... on my knees. Hands and knees." Ray looks terrified, but his
penis is becoming stiff and engorged. How can he want this and hate this
at the same time?

 Fraser thinks he might just suffocate from the look of innocence on Ray's
face. He's never done this before, Fraser's sure of it. The condoms, the
lubricant and Ray rolling onto his belly - Fraser's certain Ray has got
all this knowledge from locker room ragging or more likely an internet
site. Gay sex for beginners. How homos do it. 

 If Ray had only said, trusted Fraser not to react badly, he could have
shown him something else. He could have shown him where love fits into the
sum. Fraser's sure that Ray's heard guy + guy = a dick up your ass and a
mouthful of pillow. Ray is expecting this to hurt - he's expecting to be
penetrated, Fraser to come and it all being over; rutting not loving. Why?

 When Fraser runs a gentle hand down Ray's spine, his partner almost leaps
off the cot. His muscles are all tensed, screwed up into hard knots of
stress. His skin is still cool from the soaking he got and he's trying to
control bouts of trembling which Fraser thinks are more to do with nerves
than the cold.

 There's no way Fraser is going to touch him anywhere below the waist
until Ray is less terrified; he couldn't bear to hurt him and as tense as
he is, there's no way Fraser could do anything but.

 He kneels between Ray's legs, ignoring the ominous creaking of his cot.
Fraser thought his friend was as wound up as he possibly could be, but Ray
goes totally rigid as he settles.

 Fraser's throat is full. He struggles not to speak. He desperately wants
to ask, "Why are you doing this?" "What are you trying to prove and to
whom?" With slow, unthreatening strokes, Fraser begins to work across
Ray's shoulders; firm hands, constant pace, not moving onto the next area
until the skin beneath his fingers is warm and looser. Fraser runs a hand
up into the short, soft hairs of Ray's head, rubbing at his neck and
memorising every swell of muscle, every angle of bone.

 Fraser is very careful as he leans over his partner that his penis
doesn't touch Ray's back. It isn't difficult as the erection he's
sustaining is high against his belly thanks to the proximity of the naked
man beneath him, who he happens to be in love with. Fraser's hands are
gentle, but his teeth are gritted to the point of discomfort holding back
the words that are crowding his throat. He wishes he could put his teeth
where his hands are, he wants to feel Ray's smooth flesh against his lips
and tongue; he wants to taste him, mark him, make him hiss with the
pleasure/pain of it.

 Ray's shivers are lessened and his shoulders are lower, more relaxed. He
rocks very slightly against the cot and Fraser smiles a little, knowing
that Ray's growing erection is what is making him move over the blanket
like that. Sweet friction.

 He said he wouldn't try to talk him out of it, and he hasn't, but Fraser
didn't promise not to talk at all and he wants to keep Ray as relaxed as
possible.

 "Ray?"

 "Fraser, we agreed. No questions, no arguments."

 "I'm not arguing. I want to tell you what I'm doing, is that okay?"

 If Fraser can explain his actions to Ray, then maybe he can keep him
focussed on his voice rather than Ray's horrible expectations of the act
itself.

 "Uh, yuh. That's fine, Frase." Nerves are beginning to creep back into
his voice, so Fraser rubs a hand up and down his back as he snags the
lubricant from the floor. 

 "We're going to go slowly. I'm going to use my fingers to..."

 "Open me. Yeah, I know."

 Fraser is glad Ray seems to have read something that discussed the need
for preparation and not simply a bare bones account. He feels Ray flinch
when he snaps open the top of the bottle. He pours a goodly amount onto
his fingers, working it on his own skin until it's warm.

 "I need you to..."

 Ray rises onto his knees without waiting for the rest of the sentence.
The erection he'd been working against the blanket while Fraser rubbed his
back is fading fast. Ray drops onto his elbows and buries his head between
his hands.

 Without thinking, Fraser leans forward and presses a kiss on the small of
Ray's back, causing his partner to jump again.

 Ray cranes his neck to the side. "Fraser, you don't need to... I'm not
expecting..."

 Defiantly, Fraser kisses him again, soft, whispering kisses against the
patch of short blonde hairs in the dip above his buttocks, first one side
of his spine and then the other. He rubs his mouth back and forth, feeling
the delicious prickle of the hairs against his lips. "I'm going to touch
you now," he murmurs into Ray's skin.

 Cautiously, Fraser brings his lubricated fingers up to Ray's entrance and
places a single finger in the crease. Ray's shivers intensify again, so
Fraser ghosts his finger back and forth over his hole, depositing the
slipperiness and accustoming Ray to his touch in so intimate a place.
After several passes, Ray's breathing begins to even out again. 

 "Are you ready?"

 "No!" Ray grits. "Damn it! Yes, I'm ready."

 "Relax, Ray. I'm not going to hurt you." 

 Ray lets go a shuddering breath and Fraser times his pressure
accordingly. As Ray exhales, Fraser pushes his fingertip into him.

 Ray's body tenses at the incursion, his muscles try to expel the
pressure, but Fraser just waits for Ray's next breath and pushes in
further. 

 Ray groans, quiet and low as Fraser pushes past the bands of muscle, a
little further with each breath until his knuckles rest against Ray's
buttocks.

 Ray is tighter than Fraser even imagined. His finger is already numbing
from the intense squeezing heat inside his partner. Ray is panting into
his hands, trembling.

 "Ray, I'm going to move my finger back and forth to relax the muscles a
little before I add a second finger." He doesn't reply, so Fraser begins
to work Ray's hole. Already he needs more lubricant, so he drizzles more
onto his fingers, rubbing it into his friend. He twists his wrist,
changing the angle of penetration. Ray shifts a little on his knees and
Fraser slides a second finger alongside the first on his next push. Ray's
head jerks up for a moment before he buries it once more into his hands.

 His partner is silent as Fraser progresses from two to three fingers,
twisting his hand in a screwing motion to loosen the reluctant muscles.
Fraser is using every trick at his disposal to keep from ejaculating just
watching his fingers slide in and out of Ray. Fraser knows that if he
stretched a little further he could reach Ray's prostate gland, but Ray's
erratic breathing reminds him that this is probably the first time Ray has
ever had anything inside him like this and digging around blind would more
likely traumatise him further than give him the jolt of pure lust he
himself experiences when touched there.

 "Ray, you're as open as I can manage with your current state of anxiety."
Even as he says it, Fraser can feel Ray's body clamp down around his
fingers. "If you would let me touch..."

 "No," Ray says quickly. "You can't touch my dick. I don't want... I just
want your cock in my ass." 

 "If you would allow me to bring you to orgasm, I can assure you the
relaxation afterwards would make for..."

 "No!" Ray twists to look over his shoulder at Fraser. His face is flushed
and miserable and Fraser's heart leaps into his throat. This is not the
way this should happen. Whatever had made Ray believe that he wanted to
have penetrative sex with him was obviously misguided and just plain
wrong.

 "Ray..." Fraser's voice is breaking, hollow and pleading. He takes his
fingers from his partner's body.

 "Please, Fraser. Don't make me explain. I just... I just... I need this,
okay?"

 "You hate it," Fraser blurts and bites his lip at his own failure to stay
quiet.

 "Doesn't matter. I'm asking you, Fraser. You said you'd... please, Frase.
Do it. Do it now."

 "Will you tell me why?"

 "Afterwards?"

 "If you won't tell me now."

 "I'll...I'll try, okay? Afterwards. Please, Fraser, just..." Ray wiggles
his hips and lets his head drop forward signalling that the conversation
is over and it's time for action.

 Fraser's erection has waned and his own hand is only just enough to bring
it back sufficiently to get a condom on and the lubricant doesn't help at
all. Of course, he's aroused, how could he be otherwise with Ray's smooth,
beautiful buttocks, hitched up ready for him. But each time he closes his
eyes, he can see Ray's face when he fell through the consulate door
earlier tonight - determined, unhappy, frightened.

 He positions himself between Ray's thighs and lays his chest against his
back. His forehead lies on the skin between Ray's shoulders and he
breathes in the scent of him; warm flesh, sweat, soap. His penis swells at
the familiar aroma. Daringly, Fraser lowers his lips onto that sweet skin
and sucks the taste of Ray from it. Ray shivers and Fraser is harder than
ever, he can feel the moisture at the tip of him within the confining
latex sheath.

 Fraser kneels up and presses closer. He guides himself to Ray's opening,
feels the catch as his penis finds the right spot and holds himself there.
With shaking fingers, he traces patterns on Ray's back.

 "Ray, try to relax. Try to let me in," he murmurs, but when he presses,
the angle is all wrong and his erection slides away between Ray's cheeks,
eliciting a small sob from Ray.

 His tremors intensify as he lines himself up again, a firm hand around
his shaft. Ray shifts on his knees, bringing his hips higher, trying to
help achieve his objective. Once more Fraser presses forward. He's right
this time, he feels the give, but Ray is rigid, clamped tight and Fraser
can't make any headway without a vicious thrust of his hips.

 "Ray," his voice is shaking. "You have to trust me. If you want this, you
have to relax and let me in. I'm not going to hurt you, but you have to
relax."

 Ray pants and Fraser can feel him trying to loosen the muscles. It's
making a difference, and with a subtle roll of his hips, Fraser feels the
first ring give and he's inside him, just. Ray throws his head back and
groans hard. Every single muscle in his buttocks tightens and Fraser has
to bite his tongue to keep from yelping. It's too tight, too much; he's
being gripped in hard, unyielding heat. He can't move, forward or back.

 "Fraser!"

 "Relax, Ray. You have to breathe! Bear down, I'll pull out."

 "No! In," Ray growls.

 "I can't, Ray. I can't push in. I'll hurt you!" He can hear his own panic
in his voice.

 "I want you to hurt me!" Ray spits.

 Fraser is frozen in horror as he feels Ray take a deep breath beneath
him, and exhale on a shout as he forces himself back onto Fraser's penis.
The muscles all give at once and Fraser shouts, "Fuck!" as he feels
himself sink deep into Ray's body.

 For a moment Fraser can think of nothing but the overwhelming sensation
of Ray's body around him. He's squeezed from all sides, captured in the
wet heat of him. He can feel the stretch of muscles unused to being forced
this way. He can feel a pulse, but he's so closely held within, he doesn't
know if it's his or Ray's. It's so tight, so close, but he fits and they
are joined perfectly.

 As Fraser's wonder abates somewhat, he can feel Ray shuddering beneath
him, struggling to stay on his hands. He's keening deep in his chest,
words jumbled with moans.

 "God, oh God. Ben. Ughhhh. Jeezus, you're so fucking huge, you're
splitting me. Ahhhhhhh. Don't move, Ben. Ugh. Don't you fucking move."

 Through his distraction Fraser recognises a name he hasn't heard used for
a long time. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he repeats over and over.

 Ray stops groaning and starts breathing, fighting to keep it even. Fraser
can feel his tremors from within and without as he tries to get past the
pain. He slides an arm around his chest, helping Ray to stay on his hands
and knees, and breathes apologies into Ray's spine with every exhalation.
Slowly, Ray's settles.

 "Shhhhhh." Ray is whispering to him now, his voice only a little shaky.
"I'm okay."

 "Hurt you," Fraser croaks.

 "No, Frase. I hurt me," Ray clarifies between breaths.

 Slowly, Fraser becomes aware that Ray is moving his hips, so, so
slightly, feeling him, learning the shape and size and stretch of him.
When Ray clenches his muscles experimentally, Fraser groans and thumps his
head down onto Ray's back again.

 "Move, Ben," Ray commands. He sounds almost curious. 

 They both hiss as Fraser eases back the tiniest fraction, and pushes in.
"Need to..." Fraser moans.

 "... go slow," Ray agrees.

 Fraser begins to rock his hips, tiny, incremental twitches, while Ray
twists and stretches, panting with each thrust. Fraser is sweating,
resisting the urge to shove as hard as he can. As Ray adjusts it becomes
easier, Fraser can shift position, change his angle, make it feel better.

 Ray lets out a started moan and Fraser listens to him, listens to what
Ray's body is telling him. He wasn't expecting this, Fraser realises
through a haze of sensation.

 "Ben?" a whisper.

 "It's okay. I've got you. I'm going to make it good for you," Fraser
explains, spreading his knees a little wider and rolling his hips.

 Ray catches a breath. "Ahhhh."

 "Good?"

 "Yeah, but... s'not supposed to be good, Frase. Ahhh!"

 Fraser is lost in the awareness of Ray's hole closing on him with each
sigh. It's all he can do to stay on his knees. The heat of him sliding in,
the ache of him pulling out - it makes him stupid with sensation. He tries
to anchor himself with hands on Ray's hips, fingers spread wide.

 He feels the moment Ray stops thinking and starts feeling - it's like the
last barrier is broken down and with Fraser's next thrust he goes deeper
than ever before. They both cry out and Fraser understands that he's close
now, very close.

 Leaning down once again over Ray's back, Fraser takes an unsteady hand
and runs it around his partner's skin, feeling it's smooth heat become
short hairs, not so coarse as his own. Finally his hand encounters what he
was hoping for. Ray is hard again, his hot, heavy penis and testicles
exposed between his spread thighs. Fraser rubs the backs of his fingers up
the length of Ray's penis.

 Ray moans. "Oh God, Frase. I said not to..."

 Next time Fraser runs his short nails from root to tip - the lightest
pressure, barely touching him at all. Ray's arms stretch from where they
cradle his head and flail, looking for something. They land heavily on the
end of Fraser's cot and he grips on tightly.

 "O God. Oh my God," he murmurs.

 Fraser grazes the pads of his fingertips slowly down the underside of
Ray's erection. The muscles in Ray's arms and back ebb and flow as he
flexes and moves at the overwhelming sensation, and Fraser has to bite him
then. He's delicious, spare and lean, salt slicked with sweat. Fraser
holds the flesh gently between his teeth and sucks it into his mouth.

 "Oh!" Ray breathes as Fraser ghosts his fingers over his glans then back
down the shaft, between thumb and finger, so gently, too light even to
tickle. He cups Ray's testicles, feeling them tighten against his body.

 Ray is moaning constantly now. Fraser keeps up with the teasing,
maddening touches, never giving Ray enough friction to finish him. Ray is
pushing back into every measured thrust of Fraser's penis, interspersing
his incomprehensible moans with profanities. Fraser straightens his back,
pushes Ray's spread knees a little further apart and thrusts up hard.

 "Ben! God! That's it, right there! Oh my God. Like that. Fuck, just like
that!"

 Fraser hears him and obliges, angling each thrust into the tightness the
way that makes Ray curse and arch his back. Fraser's own release is
practically upon him, only held back by bitten lips and closed eyes. He
pushes in and holds as deep as he can.

 "Ben..." Almost pleading.

 "It's okay. You're there. I've got you." 

 Ray is shaking apart beneath him and Fraser finally, finally takes a firm
hold on Ray's shaft and squeezes. Fraser kisses his shoulder blades as Ray
huffs out a startled "Huh!" and comes. 

 Ray just seizes up, stilling completely as the first pulse hits the
crumpled blankets, before his hips buck, and it's all Fraser can do to
move with him. The throbbing in Fraser's fist is strong, swelling Ray's
penis still further.

 Fraser feels the contractions of Ray's orgasm in the gripping heat within
him, and this pulls his last shred of control away. Fraser moans and lets
go. He shoots deep within his partner's body, Ray's slick tightness
pulling at him, dragging every tremor, every shuddering drop from his
jerking penis. And Ray groans as he takes it; perfect, courageous Ray,
brilliant, beautiful, brave Ray who moves with him like they'd done this a
hundred times before.

 They slump to the cot in a sticky tangle of arms and legs. Fraser gently
pulls out and rolls onto his hip, pressing kisses and murmuring nonsense
into Ray's damp hair. Ray is breathing hard, trying to regain some
composure.

 As they settle, Ray rolls onto his side, facing away from Fraser on the
narrow cot. Fraser works an arm beneath his neck and throws the other one
over Ray's chest, holding him tightly to prevent the distance he can
already feel forming between them. It's not a sexual action; it's not even
possessive, it's just... necessary. Fraser knows that he could lose this
before he's even had a chance to understand it. 

 Fraser listens to the sound of his heart beating and the rain outside
hitting the window. He's startled when Ray begins to talk, still slightly
breathless but with a gritty determination. 

 "You can't get pissy or talk to me like I'm retarded or anything, okay?" 

 Cautiously Fraser nods against Ray's back, unsure whether he has the
capacity to reply coherently yet. 

 It takes a minute for Ray to continue. He swallows convulsively. "The
thing is... the thing... is..." Ray has slipped from sated and calm into a
state of nervousness in an instant. He hunches his shoulders and fidgets
with his hair. "I came to talk myself out of being in love with you," Ray
admits roughly. 

 Fraser doesn't move. He has no idea what to say to that. 

 Ray's hands come up and close over Fraser's fingers, holding him like
he's afraid Fraser is going to pull away. "I'm not gay," he blurts. "I was
married for fifteen years, for Chrissakes! I've never been seriously
interested in guys - I may have noticed a few in passing, but what guy
doesn't?" 

 Fraser doesn't feel qualified to answer, but hugs against Ray's back to
signal that he's heard, hoping he'll continue. 

 "Then you come along and bang! Instant fucking mid-life crisis. I thought
it was a Stella reaction, you know? Like a polar opposite thing - she was
blonde and female, and you're dark and a guy. I could've understood that,
if it was just a phase - you know, like a 'who needs women anyway?' thing.
But it didn't wear off. It didn't... God, I need a cigarette."

 Fraser squeezes his fingers and he composes himself. "So it got worse and
worse. And it hit me... I wasn't interested in you... I was falling in
love with you. I had all these reactions to you that I'd only ever had for
Stell before, you know? Like romantic shit and dreaming about you and
being jealous when you were getting cosy with some woman or something."

 Fraser smiles against Ray's back and understands exactly who he means.
The irony that he himself was attempting to sublimate his own increasing
need for Ray's presence is not lost on him.

 "So I kind of freaked there a little bit. Made up all these bullshit
excuses to be an asshole to you, so you'd get pissed with me and tell me
to fuck off."

 "Not very likely, I'm afraid, Ray."

 "You came close on the boat, there, Frase."

 Fraser's chest aches a little at the mention of their adventure on the
Henry Allen, when it had seemed for a while that their duet was indeed
doomed. Now he understands Ray's irrational behaviour, he realises he
could have handled it better, if he'd seen what was right under his nose.

 "So when that didn't work, I had to think of something else," Ray
continues quietly. "Like I said, I'm not gay. I've never...done...
stuff... with a guy before. When I thought about two guys together, well,
it made me uncomfortable. I'd dreamed about kissing you and you touching
me, and I was sorta okay with that, but the full deal? No way."

 Poor Ray, Fraser thinks. He himself has had a long time to come to terms
with his labile sexuality and while it hasn't always been an easy thing
for him to accept, at least he hasn't had years of prior conditioning to
overcome. As far as Fraser knows, Ray comes from a strictly traditional
background, and that, added to his notoriously homophobic profession, must
give him a very shaky place to be embracing his personality shift from.

 "Besides, I'd kinda begun to notice you noticing me and I thought that
maybe you were... maybe... thinking about me... and... you know. It had
all just been in my head, before and now it seemed like a possibility that
you..." Ray trails off, sighs and scratches his forehead on their joined
hands.

 Fraser loves the way that Ray loses his vocabulary when he becomes
emotional. Words are not Ray Kowalski's friends, for all that he claims to
be a poet 'on the inside'. But Fraser is pressed against Ray's back, their
sweat cooling between their skins and he can feel the twitching of muscle
and the hitch of breath that betray Ray's distress. He puts his lips on
Ray's neck.

 "So I figured if anything could sort out in my head that I wasn't meant
to be queer, it was doing what I was most afraid of. Knowing it was gonna
hurt. To like, either do it and hate it, or to not be able to go though
with it at all. Or, my personal favourite, have you kick me out on my ass
for being a sick bastard."

 Ray falls silent, his body goes perfectly still, and Fraser takes his
mouth away from his nape and waits.

 "It seemed like a good idea at the time," Ray finally says.

 And here's the rub. 

 "And now?" Fraser asks quietly. He tries to keep the trepidation out of
his voice, but somehow, spooned up behind his confused partner, smeared
with his sweat and lying in the cold, damp stain of his ejaculate, he
seems to have lost the ability to dissemble.

 "I was right. It fucking hurts," Ray mutters and shifts his hips a little
as if to illustrate his point. "But, I guess, as I just came like
something off the launch pad at Cape Canaveral, that my bod is pretty okay
with that."

 "It's a big decision to make, Ray." Fraser's mind is screaming at his
mouth to shut-up, but when has that ever stopped him from doing the right
thing?

 "Yeah, Frase. Thanks, I know that. I kinda figured that bit right about
the time I started jerking off thinking about you." His voice is
sarcastic, but Fraser knows Ray better that to let his tone indicate what
he really means. This is something it is going to take him some time to
come to terms with, despite him having just leapt in with both feet in his
characteristic, impetuous fashion. And Fraser resists the urge to ask him
about the "jerking off" part. For now, anyway.

 "Would you like to...that is... Will you stay?" 

 Ray cranes his neck to look over his shoulder at him. 

 Fraser is holding his breath. Has he overstepped the mark? When Ray said
he was 'in love' with him, did that mean love as he understands it or some
'Ray' version of love that he hasn't yet heard the rules of?

 "Two guys in one cot? Does that work with the sleeping thing?"

 "Ah. Not comfortably, no. But I can make up bedrolls on the floor."

 "I've already got that badge, Frase," Ray says turning to the wall and
curling back into Fraser's body. And although the words were glib, the
smile that went with them was one Fraser recognises. A small smile, like
the first day they met and Fraser asked Ray to eat with him; shy, pleased
and almost surprised.

 Fraser swallows his sigh of relief. Ray's not going. If Fraser has his
way, Ray's not going anywhere for a long, long time. "You can call me Ben.
If you'd like. That is, I noticed that while we were... you called me by
my... Well, you can. If you want to."

 "'Kay," Ray says in a blanket muffled voice.

 "I'll just be a moment." Fraser edges off the cot, grabs the towel and
his wash bag, and retreats to the bathroom. Looking at himself in the
mirror under the unflattering overhead light, Fraser can't help grinning
at his reflection. He disposes of the used condom, washes himself and
brushes his teeth. They never got around to kissing in Ray's haste to
prove how heterosexual he was. Fraser puts that at the top of his list of
thing to rectify.

 He clicks off the light and pads back toward his room, switching off the
hall light as he goes. He pauses to ask Diefenbaker what he thinks he's
staring at and Dief tells him - in some detail. The wolf has an uncanny
knack of being there to say 'I told you so' and an extensive knowledge of
profanities. Fraser stiffly wishes him goodnight and returns to his
office, firmly shutting the door in the face of lupine smugness.

 Ray has already unrolled the thin pads onto the floor and is collecting
every blanket Fraser possesses to make them comfortable in the small floor
space available. Fraser notices that he has pulled his shorts back on, and
is moving carefully, wincing when he bends. But when Ray notices Fraser
noticing, he gives him an honest and rather rueful smile. 

 Fraser clicks off his desk lamp and they lie down side by side as they
have done on occasion before, but the circumstances preclude the easy
banter that usually accompanies such an exercise.

 The silence lengthens, and although it's not uncomfortable, Fraser wishes
he knew what Ray was thinking. Such a polar shift in outlook must be
giving Ray plenty to think about, and Fraser would like to help him, if he
can.

 "So..." Ray says quietly over the sound of the rain, "I thought Mounties
didn't swear."

 Fraser recognises a delaying tactic when he hears one, but he's feeling
indulgent. He rolls onto his side and lets his hand softly fall onto Ray's
chest.

 "Only in extremis, Ray," Fraser murmurs, and smiles as a warm hand closes
over his own.

 Fin

  
  

End In Extremis by Berty 

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