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      	  Leaving a Mark 
 by Keerawa  

 Disclaimer: Fraser and Ray Kowalski belong to Alliance. Which is a shame,
considering.

 Author's Notes: Thanks to my beta readers, sliderella and sparklebutch. I
love how these folks make my writing that much better. 
This story was inspired by the 2007 Kinkathaon at stop_drop_porn.

 Story Notes: Warnings for m/m sexuality, bladeplay, cutting, masochism

 

 They were in Fraser's office, sorting through the stuff he'd leave there
and the stuff he'd take over to Ray's place, when Ray noticed The Look.
Fraser used to get The Look sometimes when they first got together. It was
a "Can I?" look, like he wasn't sure if he should be wanting what he was
wanting, or if he could really have it. Fraser hadn't had that look in a
couple of weeks, and Ray felt his cock perk up. He was looking forward to
finding out just what Fraser had come up with. Guy might not have much
experience, but Fraser had one hell of an imagination. 

 You had to kind of sneak up on Fraser when he was feeling nervous about a
new game, so Ray didn't say a word. He just moved a little looser, brushed
up against Fraser a little more often, and did what he could to wind his
favorite Mountie all the way up without coming across too strong. 

 They worked together to get the heavy footlocker full of Fraser's things
out to the GTO, across town, and up the stairs to Ray's place. Ray had to
let go of his end to unlock and open the door. The sight of Fraser's
muscles bulging in a sweat-soaked t-shirt as he held the footlocker up all
by himself was enough to send Ray's mind straight to the gutter. As Ray
picked his end back up, Fraser nodded to a spot in front of the couch.
They got the thing down on the carpet without any mashed fingers.

 Diefenbaker headed straight for his water bowl and then gave a whine to
show that it was empty. Fraser closed the door while Ray filled Dief's
dish and got a glass of water. He gulped half of it down in the kitchen,
and then walked back to where Fraser was eyeing the living room, looking
for the best spot for his footlocker. 

 Ray handed the glass over. Fraser reached out to take it without looking,
but Ray didn't let go. As their fingers touched over the glass, Fraser
glanced back at him. His eyes flickered down over Ray's body and back up
to his face.

 Ray made his voice soft, a little sultry. "So, Fraser, what'd you have in
mind?"

 Fraser cleared his throat. "Pardon me, Ray?" And now Fraser had that
Other Look on his face, bland and a little tight around the mouth. The one
that said, 'I've thought it through, and I am definitely not allowed what
I want.' Fraser used to have that look all the time; Ray had spent the
last three months trying to get rid of it. Ray let go of the glass.

 "I got a theory. You just sit down and help me test it, okay?" Ray
pointed to the couch. Fraser sat down stiffly on the edge of the seat with
his glass of water, chin at a stubborn tilt. He looked more like a suspect
about to be interrogated than a guy getting ready to talk about some sexy
fantasy. Not a problem. Ray was good at interrogations. And if making sure
Fraser got what he wanted was an Olympic event, Ray's face would be on
Wheaties boxes all over the country by now. 

 Ray stood in front of Fraser, arms crossed across his chest, in his best
'bad ass cop' stance. "My theory is, something in that footlocker of yours
made you think of something new you want to try."

 Fraser leaned forward. "No, nothing new, Ray. However, there are some
familiar activities that hold a great deal of appeal right now. Perhaps we
could..."

 Nice try with the distraction there, Frase. But it's not gonna work.
"Sure, in a bit. You just watch as I get things out, and if anything
springs to mind, you let me know."

 Ray knelt down in front of the couch and held out his hand for the key.
Fraser stretched out along the couch, carefully balancing his water glass
as he reached into his tight jeans pocket for it. Taking the key, Ray had
to force his eyes and mind back to the footlocker. As he unlocked it,
Diefenbaker jumped off his chair and came running over to sniff the
contents. 

 Ray ducked his face where Diefenbaker could see it. "Dief, bug off. We're
busy." 

 Diefenbaker gave a gruff little bark and stalked back to his chair.
Fraser'd had a long talk with Dief about how humans mated in lots of
different ways, and they weren't fighting or angry, but that they
preferred privacy in such matters. Ray was pretty sure none of it had been
necessary, aside from getting through to Dief that he wasn't invited to
watch.

 Ray looked up to make sure he had Fraser's full attention. Then he began
taking items out of the footlocker one by one, laying them on the low
table by the couch. 

 Some old books. A sewing kit. Fraser's service revolver. The cleaning kit
for Fraser's boots and Sam Browne. The scent of the oil brought back some
good memories. A tiny hand-made doll. He'd have to ask about that
sometime. A pinecone. A bowie knife.

 Fraser didn't say a word, but he shifted as Ray picked up the knife,
looking away and putting his empty glass on the end table. Ray was a
pretty decent poker player, and he'd learned Fraser's tells. He casually
unsheathed the knife and held it up to the light. 

 "Good-looking knife you have here, Fraser." 

 Fraser's tongue flicked over his bottom lip. 

 Ray held the knife against his forearm and used it to shave off a few
hairs. "You keep it real sharp, huh?" 

 Fraser was breathing heavier, like he'd been running. 

 Now, there were plenty of things Fraser might want to do with that knife.
They'd tried all kinds of sex together; from blowjobs and straight-up
fucking to stuff Ray'd never dreamed the polite, buttoned-up Constable
Benton Fraser might want. Working their way through Fraser's fantasies had
become Ray's personal project. So what would get Fraser so turned on, that
he wouldn't be willing to ask for? 

 Fraser wanted to cut him. The idea sent blood rushing to Ray's cock.
Oooh, yeah. He was all over that.

 Enough with the sneaky. It was time for the direct approach. Ray closed
the footlocker and moved the few feet to Fraser, still on his knees, knife
in his hand. Fraser's legs opened automatically when he got close, and Ray
slid between. 

 Using both hands, Ray offered the knife to Fraser. Fraser hesitated for a
moment, eyes dark and lost. Then he took it, his hand shaking just a
little. Ray moved right up into Fraser's space, until he could feel the
heat from Fraser's skin.

 "So," Ray said, staring up into Fraser's eyes, only an inch between their
bodies, "I was thinking I'd like to feel that knife on my skin. How 'bout
you?"

 It took Fraser three tries to get a word out. "Yes," he finally
whispered.

 That was great, and hot, but then Fraser decided they needed to talk it
to death. Maybe there was some rule in the RCMP manual said you couldn't
do kinky sex stuff until you'd chatted about it over fucking tea at the
kitchen table. So they talked. They put together what Fraser had read, and
what Ray had heard. 

 It went like this - when and where and how and are you absolutely
certain, Ray? Closed shapes were to be avoided; the skin was actually the
largest organ in the body and what about the infection risk, Ray? 

 Ray drew the line at rubbing alcohol or alcohol swabs. 

 "I survived a dunk in Lake Michigan, Fraser. No germs from that knife or
my own sheets are gonna bug me. I got the immune system of an alley cat."

 Blah blah blah, gross story about an Inuit guy losing his leg because of
an untreated infection.

 "No, I don't wanna hear any more about Staphylo-whatsis! Buzz-kill! This
is sex, not surgery! Besides, do you really want that smell all over me?" 

 Ray knew Fraser got off on how he smelled. He'd stopped wearing deodorant
last month after he caught Fraser sniffing a shirt he'd left on the
bedroom floor. But some smells, like bleach, cigarettes, and alcohol,
bothered the guy. So Ray got Fraser to settle for cleaning with boiling
water. 

 At last they'd finished with the five Ps and could actually get it on. 

 They were in the bedroom. Ray was naked. Fraser was naked. And that was a
great start to any "activity," familiar or not. Naked-Fraser watching
could be the new national pastime. When he noticed Ray watching him,
Fraser stiffened a little to attention, both the guy and his cock. His
body was pale, solid, and proud, with scars from a hard life lived right.

 "...Ray, Ray?" Oh, yeah. 

 "Sorry, Fraser, got kinda distracted there. Bed!"

 Ray jumped onto the bed and rolled face down onto the beach towel Fraser
decided to use to make sure the sheets didn't get bloody. Fraser had the
super-clean knife and a super-clean cloth on a super-clean plate that he
placed on the bed next to Ray. Then he got up onto the bed and crawled
over Ray's legs, sitting on Ray's ass, heavy but nice. He leaned forward
and placed his strong left hand on Ray's left shoulder blade. Ray twisted
to glance back at Fraser. 

 Fraser was looking worried again. "Ray, if at any point you want me to
stop..."

 "Yeah, yeah, I got the safe-word, I know." 'Menthol' was the safe-word.
Ray had never needed to use it. In fact, sometimes Ray wished he had an
unsafe word that would make Fraser push things as far as Ray wanted them
to go.

 Fraser leaned forward, his weight pinning Ray to the bed, and focused on
Ray's right shoulder blade. Ray closed his eyes.

 The first cut was straight across and a couple inches long. The knife
really was sharp; at first he didn't feel anything. Then there was wetness
from the blood, and a sudden sharp pain. Ow. That hurt like a
motherfucker. Ray relaxed his muscles and breathed, letting the sensation
take him to the good place. 

 A cloth dabbed at the blood; quiet roaring pain. A second cut, curving
down and to the left. Ray gasped.

 "Ray? Are you all right? Does it hurt?"

 "Fuck yeah," Ray heard himself say in a dreamy voice. 

 Fraser was sitting back, pulling his hand away. Fraser was stopping.

 Ray tried to pull himself together. "Just a little. It feels good, Frase,
don't stop." 

 And maybe Fraser believed him, or maybe he just heard the begging in his
voice, but it didn't matter. Fraser leaned back in, his hand returning to
press Ray down into the bed.

 Fraser was afraid of hurting him. Fraser just didn't get it. See,
pleasure was there, and then it was gone. But pain, it stayed with you.
Pain throbbed and it ached and it burned. Pain kept going in your body,
and it would add up with all the other pain, and all the other pleasure,
like all the notes coming together to make good music.

 Pain you could feel for minutes, hours, maybe days. A constant low
reminder. You're really here. This thing really happened. Pain leaves a
mark.

 Another curving slash. A short, diagonal cut. Ray was trying to keep
still, he really was. He didn't want to mess with whatever Fraser was
doing back there. But he couldn't help humping the bed. It just felt so
good; with every movement he could feel Fraser's cock rubbing against his
ass. Even with Ray grinding his hips into the bed, Fraser was holding him
down hard enough to keep the rest of him still. It felt great. 

 More cuts, and there was no more space in Ray's head for thinking about
what Fraser was doing. He was just living it, feeling the symphony Fraser
was playing on his body.

 Finally Fraser sat back. The knife hit the plate with a little tink.
Fraser moaned, real quiet. Ray forced his eyes open and looked back over
his shoulder. Fraser was staring at his back. He had the "Can I?" look
again. This time, Ray knew just what he needed. 

 "Don't you wanna taste?" Ray's voice sounded totally stoned, almost
underwater. Fraser's eyes met his, and then he dived down, broad tongue
lapping at the blood streaking Ray's shoulder blade. 

 'So much for sterile procedure,' Ray thought. He almost giggled. Then he
was lost in sensation; the sting of Fraser's lips and tongue on his
shoulder, Fraser's wet cock grinding against his ass, hard and fast. 

 Ray called out to Fraser, half-muffled in the pillow. "Harder.... I wanna
feel you."

 And that was it; Fraser gasped and jerked, his cock pulsing against Ray's
skin. 

 Ray was still hard, and turned on as anything, but spacey as he was, a
nap seemed like a good idea.

 A little later Fraser helped him into sweatpants and walked him into the
bathroom. Ray was still feeling high, and a little unsteady on his feet.
The harsh, bright lights hurt Ray's eyes as he leaned against the sink.
Fraser was looking after him, cleaning the wound. It hurt. Ray's body
wasn't sure if he was at the doctor's or in the middle of a scene, so he
was half-hard. Ray got a look at his shoulder blade in the mirror. It was
kinda gross, all bloody and blotchy, but Fraser had cut some kind of
symbol into his skin. Chinese, maybe. 

 Ray realized, even with all the negotiating, they'd never actually talked
about what Fraser was gonna put there. "Hey, Fraser, what's that mean?" 

 Fraser looked down at the floor, like Ray's linoleum held some great
secret. "Well, that character is used in many different languages and
dialects."

 Ray waited a few seconds, but nothing else was coming out of Fraser's
mouth. "Fraser."

 "Yes?"

 "What did you carve into my back? I got a right to know."

 "Ah..." Fraser glanced up at Ray's face and then away again. "It means
'mine.'"

 "Yeah?" That was kinda cool, actually. "You getting possessive back
there?" And then Ray did giggle, because that was a pun, and a pretty good
one.

 Fraser didn't seem to think it was funny. "Apparently," he said, like he
felt sick about it.

 That was bad. Ray leaned forward and kissed Fraser's forehead. "Fraser -
news flash. I like it."

 That got Ray a smile and a long, tender kiss. Fraser went and got a
little jar from the other room, handed it to Ray. He was all business.

 "This salve will prevent infection and scarring. It should be applied
twice daily. Since you won't be able to reach the cuts yourself, I will of
course assist you."

 Fraser touching him twice a day sounded like a plan, but the rest of
it... Ray tossed the jar back to Fraser, enjoying the burn in his shoulder
as he used his right hand.

 "Find me something else to put on it."

 Fraser sighed a little. "I assure you, Ray, the ingredients I use are
..."

 "Nah, that's not it," Ray interrupted. "Preventing infection is great.
But I want this to scar up, so I can keep it."

 Fraser's nostrils flared. That was all the warning Ray had before he was
being pushed up against the sink and kissed wild and deep, practically
eaten alive. Fraser's hand grabbed his shoulder to pull him even closer.
Ray let out a little hiss at the pain. Fraser groaned "Ray" and then
dropped to his knees, frantically pushing Ray's sweatpants down. 

 Fraser swallowed down Ray's cock, desperate as a drowning man trying for
air. Fuck, it felt amazing. Fraser's mouth was wet and hot, with a sting
of teeth because Fraser was forgetting to be careful. Ray gloried in it,
in Fraser losing it because of him, wanting him, needing him. This was
good. This was greatness. 

 Ray reached back and grabbed onto the sink with both hands to hold
himself up. The fresh ache from his shoulder mixed with the feeling of
Fraser sucking him off, amped it up even more. Ray looked down to see
Fraser's face, eyes closed, lips shining wet, his own cock sliding in and
out between them. Ray was pulled into Fraser's rhythm, swept higher and
higher.

 Just as Ray's orgasm hit him out of nowhere, it came to him. This, right
here. This was the kind of love that leaves a mark.  
  

End Leaving a Mark by Keerawa 

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