Disclaimers: Due South belongs to Alliance.

Pairing: BF/RK

Rating: NC17, bondage, m/m

This is a companion piece to Verushka's series; put it where you want it, or let it stand alone.

Thanks to VK for inspiration, discussion, and feedback.

********

TURN ABOUT

J Hardin

January 2000

He doesn't know I'm gonna do this. We haven't talked about it. I mean, I've been thinking about it, how the only way he's gonna know what it's like is to experience it. But I don't know how to bring it up, so I decided to just do it.

I let him go in the apartment first, close and lock the door while he shrugs out of his jacket. As soon as the sleeve comes off one arm, I'm there, clicking one handcuff around his wrist, stripping the jacket off his other arm, locking down the cuff around the other wrist. Smooth as if I'd practiced it.

There. I step back a step, breathin' a little fast. Adrenaline pumping already. I don't think he'll fight me, now that the cuffs are on, but gettin' 'em on was the tricky part.

He turns, eyes wide, surprised, something else. Scared, a little, maybe. Maybe mad. Maybe I should have said something instead of just going ahead. I stare back at him. My heart's racin'.

My heart is racing. I try to read his face, half-shadowed as it is. Apprehension. Desire. Determination. Love.

He said he liked what we've been doing. When I doubted, he assured me again and again. He liked it. Wanted to do it again.

So why is he doing this? Is it revenge, after all? I test the handcuffs that bind my wrists behind me. An automatic but foolish gesture. They are, of course, secure. He is a professional.

I wait for him to explain, and try to control my breathing. I tell myself it is having my hands confined behind me that makes me feel so off balance.

Gotta keep him off balance, keep him from thinking. That's half the problem, him thinkin'. Thinking gets him all tied up in knots, so he's afraid to trust his feelings. Or mine.

I shrug out of my coat, toss it at the couch. Grab his belt and tow him toward the bedroom.

"Ray."

"Yeah, Frase?" No point in not answering him, he'll just worry. Don't want him to worry. Do want him to--to let go and--feel.

"Ray, I'm afraid I don't understand..." His voice trails off.

I push him against the wall--not rough--rub up against that big, solid body, and kiss him. Slow. Deep. Hot. Not rough. He doesn't need rough like I do. Just bein' con-constrained, not in control, will blow his mind. At least, that's what I'm hoping.

"Nothin' to understand, Frase," I whisper. I lick that soft spot right beneath his ear. "I just want to make you feel good."

I kiss him again, soft and deep. Stroke his hair, his neck, while I kiss him, cause he's got a thing about my hands, likes me to touch him. An' God knows I like to touch him. First he's passive, just letting me do what I like with my tongue. So I up the ante a little bit, reach down between us and start rubbin' the bulge in his jeans. He moans into my mouth, and his shoulders move. I think he was gonna put his arms around me, pull my hard cock harder against him. Forgot the cuffs were on.

I forgot. For an instant the things Ray did with his hands and mouth made me forget I'm restrained. Now that I remember, something perilously close to panic sweeps through me, and it takes every ounce of self-control I can muster not to fight and strain against the metal bands around my wrists. I know it would be useless, that I would only injure myself. I know this near-panic is foolish. I am safe in Ray's hands.

And yet...

And yet...

Before I can ponder the situation further, Ray pulls me into the bedroom. He turns me to face the wall and runs his hands down my sides, down each of my legs, as if he were searching me for weapons. As if I were a prisoner in his custody. Kneeling behind me, he reaches around to tug at the laces of my right hiking boot, loosening them, then he pats my calf.

"Lift up, Frase," he says.

I could stand firm. I could demand that he stop playing his games, that he release me immediately. I could do those things. Instead I lift my foot, balancing precariously while he tugs the boot off in a single motion. My sense of being off-balance is intensified when I put my stocking foot back on the floor, a good inch lower than my booted foot.

But Ray is tugging at the laces of the left boot, then patting my leg to signal me to lift my foot. I do, and he removes that boot also, tossing it carelessly aside. Then he stands, and slips his arms around me from behind, hugging me quickly.

"Love you, Frase," he whispers, and kisses my neck.

Then his long fingers grope at my waist, unbuckling my belt, unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans, and one hand slips beneath the denim to stroke and squeeze my organ through the crisp cotton boxers.

I feel …aroused. Threatened. So light-headed that I must close my eyes, swaying unsteadily.

Whoa. He sways, and I steady him with my free hand. With my other hand I keep right on with what I'm doing. I slide it down his firm belly and under the waistband of his boxers so I can put my hand on that gorgeous cock. His breath catches and he just can't help making this needy little sound. Yeah, Frase--just feel it--

"What--" His voice cracks. He swallows and tries again. "What are you doing, Ray?" He sounds breathy, hoarse. He's got his eyes closed.

"I toldja." I lick his ear, give his earlobe a little suck. A little shiver runs through him in response and he pushes into my hand. "I just want to make you feel so good--" I give his cock one last squeeze, then push his jeans down his thighs, past his knees, to his ankles.

I've been thinking about how the heck to get that flannel shirt off him. He can just ask me; I can't wait to get naked for him. But I just have this feeling that if I ever let him outta these cuffs, I'll never get them on him again, and then he'll never *know*, and it feels really important that he does know. What it's like. How completely fuckin' mind-blowing it is. He needs to know that.

So, okay, I think I got it figured out. I unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves. Then I reach around and unbutton the front of his shirt, and kiss his neck while I'm at it, to give him something else to think about.

He's talking. Trying to be logical.

"Ray." I'm happy that my voice sounds so normal. "You don't have to do this."

"What?" His warm lips move against the back of my neck, and his fingers move against my wrists.

"Well, I presume your intention is to apply some of the, ah, techniques I've used when we, when

I--"

"Yeah, when you--" Warm lips, hot breath, caress of his tongue. I shiver. He strokes my tumescing organ, rendering me momentarily speechless, and slips my flannel shirt off my shoulders, letting it slide down my arms.

"Well, " I try again, "to apply them in order to demonstrate to me how pleasurable you found--"

I break off involuntarily, inhaling sharply when he nips at the curve of my trapezius near my neck, then draws his tongue wetly over the pinnae of my ear. For the moment all I can say is his name in a moan of pleasure.

He moans like he can't help it, and quick, I've got the right cuff off, the sleeve stripped down his arm and off, and then the cuff snapped back in place. The only reason I pulled that off is 'cause he's so distracted by me playin' with him, and by havin' the cuffs on in the first place. I halfway expected to wind up with the damn things on me; he's usually a couple of steps ahead of me.

I'm lucky another way, too: there's no damn henley under this shirt. Maybe they're all in the wash. He's a sight right now, with his jeans tangled around his ankles and that red plaid shirt hanging off one wrist behind him.

Yeah, a beautiful sight…

I'm sure I'm a foolish sight, two-thirds undressed, flushed and mussed and unable to move.

I try once more to reason with him. "Ray, truly, I understand that you--that you find our recent, er, activities extremely--fulfilling--"

"Oh, you got that right." He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes. "Back up, okay? An' be careful--don't let those jeans trip you."

"Ray! I'm telling you, there's no *need*--" I'm feeling--something. Desperate. Angry. He's not listening to me. He's just pushing, gently and steadily, and I have to shuffle my feet in tiny backwards steps to keep from falling. For the first time since we entered the apartment I can clearly see his face. The mischief there is but a transparent mask for his intensity of purpose.

The bed catches me behind the knees and I sit heavily. There must be a way that I can explain to him how unnecessary it is for him to demonstrate this. If his reactions hadn't made it clear enough, I would be entirely happy to take his word on it…

He kneels on the bed behind me. I hear the click of the locking mechanism and feel the metal ring fall away from my left wrist, and dare to hope for a moment that the joke is over. But, unwittingly, I merely assist him by turning toward him, unbalancing myself just enough to make it easy for him to pull me onto my back and fasten my still-cuffed right wrist above my head to the brass headboard. Moving purposefully, he yanks my jeans off over my feet and strips the shirt off my left arm, turning both garments inside out in the process, tossing them to the floor. Some part of me is, absurdly, annoyed by his carelessness.

I lie on my back on Ray's bed, stripped to my underclothing, one wrist handcuffed to the bedframe. I stare at him, wondering what comes next, and try to control my pounding heart.

He's layin' on the bed in just his boxers and undershirt, his right hand cuffed to one of the bars of the headboard. Hair mussed, eyes big, lookin' half scared and half excited and one hundred percent fuckable. He does that thing with his tongue, just touching it to his lower lip, and God, I don't know how I'm gonna hold it long enough to take him where he took me.

I grab a handful of ties from the tie rack in the closet. Don't care if they're good ones or ones I wouldn't be caught dead in. Throw 'em on the bed, then sit on the bed near his shoulder. Put a hand on his chest. His heartbeat is steady. Strong. Fast.

"Ray--"

"Shhhh--" I lean over to kiss him--that mouth, warm, wet, sweet, made for kissing. "It's okay."

"But Ray--"

Something in his voice. I pull back to look into his eyes. They're dark, about half pupil. Anxious or turned on? I can't tell. I think maybe he can't tell, either.

I sit up and take his free hand, and pick up one of the ties. Casual-like, I wrap it once around his wrist, tie a plain single knot. He jerks, just a little, as the silk tightens, makes a strangled little sound. I wrap the ends of the tie to the back of his wrist, tie a single knot. He doesn't jerk this time, but his breathing is a bit faster. I smooth the silk in my fingers, so it will lie flat against his skin, bring the ends back to the inside of his wrist, tie a third knot. Once more, the last one, at the back of his wrist. Then, gently, I move his hand toward the end bar of the headboard.

He jerks back out of my hands, biceps bunching. "Ray." His voice shakes a little. "Ray, I--"

I run a soothing hand down his bare arm. "What's wrong, Frase?" I ask, even though I think maybe I know. "Don't you trust me?"

Do I trust him? My brain is flooded with adrenaline, making it hard to think. Of course I trust him. As a partner. As a friend.

I blink, try to focus, try to slow my breathing. I can't read his face. He sits beside my prone body, his expression carefully neutral, his eyes veiled by those thick blond lashes, and gently strokes my arm.

Of course I trust him. He's my partner. My friend. My best friend.

My--lover.

My breath catches, as if there is danger in that admission There is danger in trust. And yet I know Ray would never hurt me. And yet--

He sighs, and I feel his fingers at my wrist, tugging loose the last knot. "Guess this wasn't such a good idea, huh?" His slender shoulders slump.

Part of me is desperately relieved. But I know that something in our relationship will be irretrievably lost if I let him continue.

"No!" I break into a sweat as I force myself to gasp the word.

He looks up, doubtfully. Defensively. "Frase--if you don't want this--"

"Ray, please--" I close my eyes, take a breath. "I trust you," I whisper. "Go on."

His long, slender fingers curve around my hand. "Frase. You don't gotta do this. I just thought--I wanted you to find out how good--how beyond good--you're making me feel. Wanted to try to make you feel that good, but--"

"Ray--" I can't reach for him, with my other arm handcuffed to the bed, but I can squeeze his hand in mine. "Ray, please. Look at me." He looks at me from beneath the thick fringe of lashes. I'm shaking, and I can feel the sweat on my forehead trickle back into my hair. I don't think I've ever been so terrified in my life, but I force myself to speak. "I love you. I--I trust you. Please --continue with what you were doing." Ridiculous words, given my situation...

Ridiculous words. Ridiculous man. Ridiculous, beautiful, turned on, freaked out man. God, I love him so much.

Slow, so he can change his mind, I stretch his arm toward the edge of the headboard. He watches me, his eyes almost all pupil by this time, and does that nervous thing with his tongue, but he stays still while I wrap the ends of the tie around the shiny brass bar and tie a neat square knot. He doesn't say anything. I don't say anything. Right now I'm as scared as I've ever been, and the only time I've been more turned on is when he's doin' this to me. I want to do this right so bad--

I pick up another tie from the slithery little pile, and climb over him to the other hand, the one cuffed to the other side of the bed. Don't want marks on him. I unlock the cuff, replace it with the tie, then sit back.

That peak in his boxers says he's turned on, but--I can see the little tremors chase themselves along his stretched-out arms, see how irregular his breathing is. I stretch out alongside him, push his undershirt up under his arms, rub his bare chest. Kiss him, sweet as I can. "It's okay, Frase," I whisper. "It's okay. I promise."

He promises me it will be all right, and then he blindfolds me. My resolve nearly crumbles. True, I have often passively let Ray have his way with me, but I had use of my hands, use of my sight. Now my choices have been taken away from me, my ability to act, my--control.

I have enjoyed controlling Ray. As much as it shames me afterwards, I have enjoyed it. Reveled in it. Can I bear to allow him to control me?

I trust you, Ray. I trust you.

Perhaps repeating it to myself will make it true.

He's moved again. His long fingers brush my skin as he tugs my boxers off. My erection thrusts up from my body, trembling and oh-so-vulnerable. Ray closes one hand gently around the shaft. I jump. He draws the foreskin back and closes his warm, wet mouth over the head, giving it a gentle suck. I moan, an abject sound that startles me.

Then warm hand and warm mouth both are gone, and I feel Ray shift his weight toward the foot of the bed. Cool, slick fabric circles my ankle, once, twice. He draws my foot toward the corner of the bed and secures the tie. When he repeats the process with the other leg, I am spread-eagled, spread wide, and there is very little slack. The only part of me I can move voluntarily is my head. I cannot move, cannot see, can hear only the frantic beat of my own heart. I bite my lip to keep from begging Ray to stop, to let me go--

I *will* trust him...

I dunno if he can do this. My gut tells me he's more scared than excited. Bein' in control of things --especially himself--is his thing. Maybe this is too much to ask of him, to trust me this much.

Should make me mad, that he doesn't trust me, and it does, but not at him. I'm mad at all those people who hurt him bad enough to make him like this. It blows my mind a little bit to think that he loves me, but at the same time he's so afraid of me.

I pull my t-shirt over my head and toss it on the floor, and skin out of my jeans. Then I lie down beside him. He jumps. His head whips around toward me. I throw one leg over his nearest thigh and an arm across his chest. He's shivering and sweating and generally working himself into a state.

I kiss his cheek and his shoulder, and start rubbing his chest, slow, soothing. "Shhh," I whisper. "It's okay, Frase. It's okay. You're safe." I plaster myself up against him, and keep rubbing, soothing little circles over his stomach, his chest, wherever I can reach without having to move. I'm not trying to get him excited--he's doin' that just fine on his own, but the wrong way, stressed instead of aroused. Right now it seems more important to try to get him to relax. Maybe if he can feel safe in his body, he can feel safer about his heart.

I lie here immobilized and blind, and I cannot stop trembling. Intellectually I know Ray will not hurt me. I know that I have given him great pleasure. But I am exposed and vulnerable, and I cannot stop it when my muscles contract, as if in seizure, to strain against the ties that bind me. It takes me an effort of will to loosen them, and then the trembling begins again.

I have seen men break horses this way. Not the RCMP, of course: they use the most humane methods to train their black mounts. But I have watched men rope a horse, force it to lie on its side, and secure it so it cannot rise or move. The animals jerk and tremble and sweat, just as I am doing at this moment. Eventually they realize that they have no choice but to lie there, to accept any and every touch. When freed, they allow themselves to be touched, bridled, saddled, but I have never seen one of these horses rise calmly. Their eyes are always edged with white. They have learned. They are resigned. But they are not calm.

I am a man, not a horse, and presumably possessed of the power of rational thought. I have the rational thought that Ray, whom I love and who loves me, would never hurt me. I have the rational thought that he wishes to share with me some of the intense pleasure he has experienced at my hands. I have the rational thought that I am as safe here as I could be anywhere in the city--safer, actually, since I am in the hands of someone who loves me deeply. I have the rational thought that if I asked him to, Ray would release me immediately.

These rational thoughts comfort me not at all. They make not a whit of difference to my irrational fear-- terror, almost.

I don't know if I'm doin' the right thing. He told me in words to go on, but his body is shoutin' STOP. If that don't change soon, and I mean real soon, I'm callin' the whole thing off. God, if he was afraid to trust me before, I don't even want to think how he'll feel after this. I'll have really fucked us up.

I can't think about it. Too scary--makes me feel almost sick. Instead, I just keep petting him, talking to him, stupid stuff, whatever comes into my head. Push my fingers into that soft, thick, sweaty hair.

"You're so beautiful, Frase. Your hair's so soft. You know what it's like?" I keep stroking through it, lifting it away from his sweaty scalp to help cool him off. "Stella used to have this blouse made outta silk. Sand-washed, they called it. It was real heavy and soft, just like your hair…"

That's the kind of stupid stuff I'm whispering to him. I smooth my palm over his forehead, wiping away sweat. Stroke his cheek. My thumb brushes his lips. They move a little, part. I stroke my thumb over his lower lip, and he touches it with his tongue. I'm not sure what's going on--but I'm hoping it's good.

Hesitantly, he pushes his thumb between my lips, into my mouth. I taste the bite of salt, the warmth of Ray, and--I suck his thumb. It is at once infantile and erotic. Ray must find it so as well: I feel him harden against my hip.

Beside me, he shifts just a little, raising himself on one elbow. I feel the brush of his soft, spiky hair against my jaw as he places a tentative kiss near my collarbone. Another by my ear. A third at the corner of my mouth.

I suck his thumb.

He's sucking my thumb. I'm about half-freaked, 'cause it's so freakin' weird, but--under me his body feels different. Still not relaxed, but not so tense he shakes, like before. I dunno what to think. It's so weird, but it's turning me on--his hot, wet mouth, the velvet muscle of his tongue pulsing against my thumb, like it does against my cock when he sucks me.

No, I'm supposed to be turning him on here. Is it okay now? Watching him, I kiss him, soft little kisses. I pay attention to his body. Maybe--maybe this will work…

He gives my thumb a last hard suck, then lets go. I move my thumb, and he whispers, "Kiss me, Ray."

"Kiss me, Ray." I beg. I need the reassurance of his mouth. No one has ever kissed me the way Ray does, sweet and deep and from the bottom of his soul. I need him to make me believe.

His chest against mine, his hands on either side of my face, then his mouth. Yes. His tongue in my mouth. So sweet. So fierce. My Ray. The clouds of panic part, and I remember how much I love him. I teeter on the brink a moment longer, then throw myself from the cliff.

"More."

Whoa. Did I hear that? Or did I just think I heard it 'cause I want it so bad? That raw, shaking voice--was that Fraser?

"Ray, please--"

It was Fraser. I swallow. Lift myself off him a little. Wish I hadn't blindfolded him so I could see his eyes. Lick my lips, then whisper, "Frase. You sure--?"

"Yes. Ray. Oh God, just--" All he can move is his head. He does, restless. "Please. More. Please--"

Simple words. Suddenly I hear what he's not saying: //Hurry, before I change my mind, before I completely lose it, before I start begging you to let me go.//

Okay. I started this. I got him into this. He's had the guts to ask me to go on. So now I gotta, gotta go on, gotta make it so good for him it blows the top of his head off.

"Okay." I kiss him, hot, hard. "Okay, Frase. More it is."

I asked him for more. To continue. And now I don't know why. I find I can barely think. My body has almost stopped trembling, but I am tense and alert. Deprived of vision, my other senses strain. I find I can hear Ray's slow, deep breathing; it is slightly irregular and I think he's trying to calm himself. I can smell myself--the acrid fear sweat and musk of arousal. I smell Ray's arousal, as well, a familiar and desirable odor that excites me further, despite my fear. They say that scent is the oldest, most primitive of the senses, the one most directly connected to our base emotional responses…

Why doesn't he touch me? What is he thinking? I can feel his weight on the bed nearby. The mattress dips sharply, so he must be sitting; if he were lying down, his weight would be distributed over a greater area. Anxiety and curiosity war for primacy inside me. Fear wins and I must again test my range of motion--which is extremely limited--and the security of my bonds. They are unyielding, and I settle back, breathing hard.

I am a hunter. I thought I knew the trick of waiting. Yet now every nerve seems to crackle with energy stored to fire the synapses…

I don't know where to start. Six feet of naked Mountie spread-eagled on the bed is like a smorgasbord of all my favorite food. And every inch is so tempting. He ain't a skinny guy, like me, and bein' stretched out that way shows how really solid he is. Every muscle under that pale satin skin seems stretched and defined, in his thighs, his arms and chest--

I get distracted by the lattice of muscle along his ribs, under his arm, and run my fingertips over them. He makes a little sound and jumps a mile, or would, if he wasn't tied down. His head turns in my direction, and that flat, taut belly starts to move a little faster. Man, he's wired.

I get on my knees and lick where I just touched him, suck that soft, soft skin. Nuzzle up into his armpit, something you wouldn't want to do with some people, but this is Fraser. Lick on out, along the between biceps and triceps. The skin under my tongue is so thin and fine that I stop to suck here, too, soft, so as not to leave a mark. I feel his biceps ball up, see his hand fist out of the corner of my eye.

Just as I'm thinking I'm going to have to give up on this after all, I get an idea. Finally.

I straddle him on my hands and knees, kiss him, hard, hot, tongue down his throat. Pull back to whisper, "Don't worry. It's gonna be fine."

Then I start working my way down his body, using hands, lips, tongue, teeth, doing everything I know makes him nuts. His cock, which had started to wilt some, hardens up.

That's good. I give it a little lick from base to tip, and start working my way down his right thigh.

The more excited I make him, the wilder he gets, jerking and straining against the ties. I wish I thought he was just, you know, *excited*, but I think the closer he gets to shooting the closer he gets to losin' it.

"Ray!" I hardly recognize it as his voice. "Ray, I can't--"

I reach down, wrestle with the knot a second, cause it's gotten tight with his pulling on it, and then--his right leg is free.

I cannot bear this. Ray lifts me to the edge of frenzy, again and again, and I--I cannot touch him, I cannot guide the caresses that inflame me, I cannot--control. Myself. Or him. I can only wait in the darkness for his next touch, his next unexpected, delectable touch, which will fall like a brand on my skin and almost stop my heart with the intensity of the desire it provokes. And I cannot-- I must-- I need--

He lies between my legs, my legs which he has spread wide and secured so that I must allow him there. His mouth is so hot on my thighs, my abdomen, and I strain against my bonds--toward him or away from him, I cannot tell, and it makes no difference since my efforts are useless. I feel him shift, and one long fingered hand slides down my right thigh, over my knee, along my shin. They close around my ankle in a caress and then his touch is gone.

But a moment later, the tension in the adductors of my right leg is also gone. He--has he released my leg? I'm almost afraid to test it, but his hand is back, beneath my knee, lifting slightly. Urging me to bend the joint, draw my foot up. To make myself more open to his touch. The thought takes my breath--I cannot--

But I do, and I feel his breath, and then, oh God, the wet, hot caress of his tongue…

I shift a little bit, so I can lick and kiss the space behind his balls. With his knee to one side like it is, I can reach his ass now, so I start licking his tight little hole. He moans, his body tenses. I stroke the thigh of his free leg to quiet him and keep licking.

He jerks again, his hard cock jerks, and this time I pull gently at his balls, pulling them away from his body. He moans, moves his head and his free leg, but I hold on until he's not so close to the edge.

Then I leave his ass and start working my way back up his body. Stick the tip of my tongue in his navel. He jumps. He feels so good under my hands, tastes so good--I could never get tired of this. His nipples are rosy little nubs on his broad chest, and 'course I have to lick 'em and suck 'em and take them between my teeth, first one and then the other, and suck harder until he groans. Then I can lick his throat, where there's just the faintest rasp of stubble, and kiss his Adam's apple, and lean up farther to lick his ear and suck his earlobe.

His breath bursts out of him in a cry--no words, just a sound, desperate and wild--but I'm ready for him. I put my thumb in his open, panting mouth.

He's real still for maybe a second. Then he starts sucking. And while he's sucking my thumb, I reach over and free his left hand.

He goes still again. Turns his head. "Ray?" Tentative. Scared.

"Shhhh." I take his newly freed hand and put his thumb in my mouth. Suck it. He takes me by surprise, groans and almost comes then and there. I barely catch him in time. We kinda hang there, both panting, me pulling his balls away from his body and him not quite whimpering.

Never thought a Mountie would whimper.

It takes a few seconds for him to edge back, but finally he does. I think about tying up his cock and balls, the way he does to me, but I'm afraid that if he's freaked now, that'll really do him in.

I slide my tongue along his thumb and say, "Frase?"

"Yes, Ray." Voice barely under control.

"Can you hang on?"

"Y-yes, Ray." Doesn't sound too sure.

"I could--you know--tie you up. Like you do me."

"No!" He's real sure about that. I reach out and pat his stomach.

"Okay, it's okay. I won't. You just--you just hang on, okay?"

"All right--"

The man has amazing control when he wants to, but these aren't exactly normal circumstances. I'll have to keep an eye on him, I think. Then I get back to business.

I take his thumb in my mouth again, suck it, then each finger in turn. Tongue the lines of his palm. Then carry his hand to my dick, which is really happy for the attention. You wouldn't think the Mountie'd be awkward at anything, except maybe dancin', but he handles my dick like he's never held one before. I close my hand around his, encourage him to give a few strokes. He gets it, tightens his grip, it feels like heaven. In fact, my dick's a little too happy about it; I have to move his hand away before I lose it.

Gently but urgently, he moves my hand away from his erect penis, and I feel--bereft. Not only because I want the feel of the thick, weighty shaft across my palm, the silky caress of the taut, hot skin, but because in my hand he trembles and throbs, and I hear his breathing become harsh. I imagine the pearl of pre-ejaculate that forms at the tip, and it makes me glad to think I put it there. To touch him, to stroke his erection, is to touch control; I'm no longer a body responding helplessly to stimuli.

I grope for him, still blind, and find his arm, but then his mouth is on the inner bend of my right elbow, sucking and tonguing, and my fingers clench, too hard; I feel them dig into the lean muscle of his arm. To have both hands free--

But with a scrape of his teeth across the base of my thumb, he leaves me bound, and I feel him move, quick and certain, across my body. Then the brush of his hands at my ankle, and my left leg is freed.

Surely he will free my hand next, unbind my eyes. I raise my left hand to pull away the blindfold.

But his fingers close around my wrist. "Don't, Frase. Not yet, okay? Please?" His voice is husky.

I must-- I cannot-- I--I need--

My heart begins its wild pounding again.

Five, six heartbeats before he nods and says slowly, shakily, "As you wish, Ray."

I lie on top of him and kiss him, then slide down his body to nestle in between his legs and suck his cock. His body goes taut, arching up as I swallow him right down to the base, but I've got his balls again and he can't come.

Now I get serious, sucking for all I'm worth, doing everything I know he likes. My aim here is to drive him completely nuts, and I think I might be getting close. He's thrusting and grunting, and when I take my mouth off his cock, he groans. But it's just to lick his ass, get it set, so when I go back to sucking his cock I can push two fingers into his ass.

He just about bucks me off him and grabs my hair with his free hand. "Ray!" Wild voice, shaking, on the edge--of lust or panic, or both; I can't quite tell. He probably can't either. "Ray, let me go! I can't--I--" It fades off into a wild moan as I get my thrusting and sucking synched up.

His cock is incredibly hard, throbbing, beating like a heart. His head's thrown back and his thighs and ass are clenched nearly as hard as his cock. He's past moaning. And I'm still sucking, still not letting him come. I get another idea.

I let go his cock, slide my fingers out of his tight ass, but don't let go of his balls. I kiss his sweaty stomach and lay my head on it, waiting for his thighs to stop shaking and his gasping breaths to slow down a little. When I'm pretty sure he's not gonna shoot, I finally ease up the death grip I've got on his balls and sit up.

"Ray--" It's pitiful to hear a Mountie whimper.

"Wait just a sec, Frase," I tell him, and run my fingers through that thick hair. "We're almost there."

Quick as I can, I untie his right hand, but I still don't let him take the blindfold off.

"Wait, okay?" I ask. "Can you get on your hands and knees? That's good--"

I guide him onto his hands and knees in the right place, and then I slide underneath him. Look up at him. Can't believe how freakin' gorgeous he is, even flushed and sweaty, with a tie wrapped around his head. His hair's beyond mussed, curling, approaching experimental. I could lay here and look at him for the rest of my life, I think, but he'll freak if I keep him waiting much longer. Those fine arms and shoulders are starting to quiver again, and his iron-hard cock is drooling all over my belly.

Now it's I who straddle him on all fours, my hands outside his shoulders, my knees between his thighs. Without the aid of my vision to balance me on the mattress, I feel tottery and unsteady. The uncertainty makes my impending orgasm recede a little, but I am still achingly hard and anxious for release.

Ray steadies me. His long fingers bite into my triceps and he grips my hips with his knees, his calves a long, muscular warmth against my thighs. I shift cautiously until I feel I have my balance. Then his legs move; I feel his knees slide up along my sides. They stop just below my arms. Ray releases my arm with one hand, stroking it reassuringly, then I feel him reach between us. I have to bite my lip to retain my control when he takes my erection in his hand, but I cannot hold back the moan that forms in my throat as he guides the head to the hot, sensitive depression of his anus. It is wet and slick with sweat.

"Come on, Frase," he whispers. "Come home."

I can't describe the sound he makes when I guide the head of his cock to my hole. It's kind of a groan, kind of a sob. He just hovers there, panting, with that hot velvet head pressed up against me, like he's forgotten what to do next.

So I help out, wrap my legs around him and lift up, inviting him in. I keep hold of his arm with one hand and stroke him with the other, through his sweat-soaked hair, down that broad slick back, onto his gorgeous ass. I press, just a little. He makes another of those sounds and starts to push in. One long, slow, steady push, until he's so far in I can feel his balls against my ass. Oh yeah. I almost forget this is for him. He feels so good inside me, hot and so hard, pulsing like a heartbeat.

But it's like he's stuck again. I can feel his triceps and the muscles in his back quivering. For about the millionth time I'm regretting the blindfold cause I can't tell what's going through that Mountie head…

I raise my head, put my lips against his, and whisper against them, "Frase? Y'okay?"

He doesn't say anything, but he pulls partway out, real slow, slides back in the same way. I think maybe he's still feeling a little off balance, so I go back to steadying him with a hand on each of his arms. He pulls out again, a little farther, then pushes in. Does it again. And again.

Pretty soon he's got a good rhythm going and God, it feels so good. My cock's throbbing, hard and oozy, and I really wanna jerk myself, but I need both hands for Fraser and fuck, he feels so fuckin' good inside me I just might come without touching myself--but I got one more thing to do--

I am nearly at my climax when Ray reaches up and pulls off my blindfold and suddenly I can see his face and his desire--tenderness--God, his love, which is only for me. And I discover that, freed now, I am more out of control than when I was so securely bound. The sky falls, the earth shatters, and it is his face, bright with love, that I take into the darkness with me….

Holy shit. He comes and comes and *comes*, sobbing and pounding into me like he wants to climb inside me. Then he collapses, like someone cut his strings. Boneless, but small muscles twitching, like his cock, which is still inside me and still kinda hard.

"Ray," he whispers. "Ray, Ray, Ray." Just my name, over and over. I wrap my arms and legs around him and hold him tight.

I lie on my back in Ray's bed. We have showered and eaten, touched a little, gently, and spoken hardly at all; Ray, I think, because he is happy, and I--

Until tonight I had thought of him as mine. My friend. My lover. My Ray. Mine to possess. *Mine.*

I didn't understand that I am equally and also his.

Tomorrow I may rail against this strange new discovery. Tonight I am at peace, glad and grateful.

He is stretched out against me, one long leg thrown over mine, one arm thrown across my chest, his head on my shoulder. I feel the soft brush of his damp, tufty hair against my cheek. If I turned my head, I would smell the faint, clean smell of his skin, the fresh scent of his shampoo. He is a warm and loving presence in my arms, the usual hum of energy that emanates from him temporarily abated by physical satisfaction.

Thinking him asleep, or nearly so, I whisper into his hair, "I love you, Ray."

I feel him grin against me. He whispers back, "An' I, you, Frase." And embraces me tightly.

His.