The first time Ray asked, Fraser was startled and did not respond. Their first several lovemakings had been, while not silent, at least devoid of meaningful conversation. Mostly there had been sighs and affirmations ("Yeah, just like that, yeah") from Ray and the occasional groan from himself, embarrassing after the fact because Dief had laughed at him for the better part of a morning.
So when Ray said, "Tell me what you want," Fraser said nothing. What did he want? He wanted Ray, of course. In as many different ways as his imagination could fathom. Fraser responded with touch, stroking the length of Ray's lean chest, taking hold of Ray's penis, and Ray closed his eyes and hummed happily, and the question wasn't repeated.
But that wasn't the end of it. Ray was pushy--Fraser liked that he was pushy, and suspected Ray knew it--and he kept asking. "C'mon," he said one night in their bed in the dark. "You're the word guy. I like to hear you talk. Tell me what you want."
"I want to touch you." The words came out almost too fast.
"Yeah?" Ray's voice lifted, encouraging.
"I--wait, lie this way," and Fraser tugged Ray around to rest alongside him, his back to Fraser's chest, so that Fraser could cradle him in his left arm and have his right arm free to ghost gently along Ray's body. "I want to feel you."
Fraser loved the way Ray's body started out completely pliant against his, and slowly grew tenser, pressing against him as he rolled Ray's nipples between thumb and forefinger, shuddering as he reached down to clasp Ray's erection, finally jerking almost away from him, struggling into his hand.
Tell me what you want. Once asked, the question lodged in Fraser's mind. He thought about it while walking Diefenbaker in the mornings; he thought about it in the shower. Sometimes, shamefully, he thought about it while sitting at the Consulate waiting for the phone to ring.
He could answer the question with words now. He could name the things he wanted to do to Ray--touch him, lick him, suck him--and knew Ray would let him do anything, anything at all.
But he couldn't ask Ray to do things to him. The words simply would not leave his mouth.
He could pull Ray's hand where he wanted it to go; sometimes, in the dark, he could whisper "your mouth," and Ray would comply; but he couldn't seem to ask for anything explicit.
Lack of explicit fantasy was hardly the problem. He'd had months to dream up scenarios, in excruciating detail, before he'd even known Ray was interested. Even now there were images he couldn't think about without becoming uncomfortably erect. But they went beyond anything he and Ray had tried, and although he wanted--desperately--he knew he couldn't speak the words.
After the fact, Fraser wasn't sure what had possessed him. One Saturday morning while Ray was at Pep Boys, he'd gone out and bought the length of nylon rope; had cut it into pieces, carefully melting the ends so they wouldn't fray; had coiled it and hidden it under his side of the bed, beneath his rucksack. He was surprised, that night, that he'd managed to sleep, knowing the evidence of his desires was hidden beneath him.
The next time Ray asked the by-now familiar question, Fraser reached under the bed and pulled out the ropes.
And then he panicked. Would Ray be disgusted? Was bondage beyond the limits of what he could ask Ray to do? What if Ray didn't understand, and he had to explain...?
But Ray just said, "Ahh," and took the lengths of rope, and next thing Fraser knew Ray was pushing him back onto the bed and kneeling over him, lifting one hand to fasten the cord around his wrist. When both wrists were secured, Ray bent over the edge of the bed and fumbled a moment around the bedframe.
"Betcha you know better knots than I do, but this oughtta work." Ray was tightening the ropes around Fraser's ankles; his tone was light, conversational. Fraser felt his heartrate spike.
Ray knelt back between Fraser's spread thighs, surveying his handiwork. For an instant Fraser closed his eyes, unable to bear Ray's gaze. If Ray didn't like--if at this moment Ray decided he couldn't--
Ray gave a low whistle. Fraser opened his eyes; he couldn't help himself.
"Fraser, this has got to be the hottest thing I've ever seen." His voice was husky.
The realization that this was actually happening, that Ray had bound him and was apparently delighted about it, jolted through him like an electric shock. Fraser shuddered, though his body couldn't move much, spread-eagled as he was. Somehow that made the shiver last longer, as if the motion that couldn't express itself in his body were ricocheting around inside.
Ray bent, as if to kiss him, but instead licked a steady line down his neck to one nipple. Fraser took a deep breath and tried to relax.
After worrying the nipple a moment with his teeth, Ray moved back. "Hold that thought, I'm gonna get something."
Something like fear rippled along Fraser's spine. He hadn't imagined Ray getting anything. What if he didn't like what Ray was planning? But somehow his penis was growing even harder. He might have complicated feelings about relinquishing control, but his body was nothing but excited.
When Ray returned, Fraser breathed the woody scent of whisky. Bourbon, from the smell of it. The bed dipped as Ray climbed on and knelt over him.
A finger dipped in whisky painted over his nipple, and Fraser inhaled hard. It was cold, colder than cold, the air evaporating the alcohol was tingling and icy and oh God Ray was licking now, warm hot mouth removing the cold sting. Ray pulled back; Fraser was breathing hard; Ray chuckled.
The other nipple received the same treatment. Then Ray fingerpainted lines along Fraser's thighs, lines of wet cold, and Fraser bit back a groan into a murmur.
When Ray dribbled the cold liquid at the base of his erection, Fraser's body jerked--and went nowhere. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that the ropes were chafing his wrists, but he didn't care.
Ray's laugh was low; had Fraser been able to move, it would have made him squirm. "This what you wanted?"
Fraser nodded, feeling the flush heating his face.
Ray clicked his tongue reprovingly. "Still not talking?"
A wet finger traced a line back to his anus and Fraser was startled into gasping.
"You're gonna have to say something." Ray's finger circled for an instant, either teasing or waiting for Fraser to tell him to stop.
But Fraser didn't tell him to stop. Didn't want him to stop.
And Ray's slick finger pushed inside, breaching the muscle, and Fraser moaned. His body jerked again, but went nowhere.
"This what you wanted, Fraser?" Ray pulled his finger halfway out and then pushed inside again, twisting his hand a little.
Fraser managed a yes. He could feel sweat forming in his armpits, exposed to the air by the way Ray had tied him.
"You wanted me to tie you up, you should've said something before now." Ray's voice was slightly strained; Fraser looked down and saw that Ray was stroking himself with his left hand, in time with his thrusts into Fraser's body. He had to look away and bite his lip to fight back the climax that threatened at the sight; this was too terrifying, too good, he couldn't let it end so quickly.
Then two fingers were pushing inside him. Fraser didn't mean to moan again, but the sound came out of him anyway.
"Yeah? Yeah?" Ray sounded breathless, close to his own orgasm. "You like that?"
Maddeningly, his fingers left Fraser's body and stroked teasingly up over his balls. Fraser felt his muscles spasming, missing the feel of Ray's hand inside him.
"Ray...please..."
"Ask nice," Ray said. He crawled forwards, reaching over Fraser to the bedside drawer where they kept the lubricant--untouched until now. Fraser heard the tube pop open, smelled the gel as Ray coated his fingers.
This was torture: bound to the bed at his own request, body straining and thrumming from Ray's ministrations, being made to ask Ray to return his fingers to Fraser's anus, to thrust them inside of him again. God, having to ask. His whole body seemed to be running hot and cold, and he was hyper-aware again of the knots at his wrists and ankles, and he wanted it so badly.
"Your fingers. Please." His voice cracked. The desperation in his voice both horrified and thrilled him.
In the grey dark he could see Ray clutching the base of his own erection with one slippery hand, apparently to keep himself under control. "Like this?"
Ray brushed a feather-light touch along Fraser's penis and down over his balls, and Fraser bit his lip. "Lower." He closed his eyes.
He felt the fingertip press, teasing, barely into his anus and back out again. "Ask nice," Ray whispered.
"Fuck me." The vulgar words burst out like waters too long dammed.
"Yeahhh," Ray murmured, his fingers twisting inside again. With the lube they went deeper, and Fraser felt himself panting, trying to twist and squirm further onto Ray's hand. Ray's strokes grew faster, harder.
"C'mon," Ray crooned, and Fraser squeezed his eyes open to see Ray stroking himself, to see Ray's right hand disappearing between his spread thighs, and it was too much: the feel of the ropes and of Ray's insistent fingers inside him, the sound of Ray's left hand slapping up and down. Fraser bit back a shout as his climax hit, his whole body trying to shudder with the pleasure but only succeeding in tightening the ropes. He was dimly aware of Ray's exultant cry and the spatter of Ray's semen over his thighs.
Ray didn't speak as he pried loose the knots, nor as he rubbed circulation back into Fraser's hands and feet, nor when he went for the warm washcloth to wipe them both clean. When he came back to bed he settled on his side and pulled Fraser close.
"That was okay, yeah?" Murmured into the hair behind Fraser's ear.
"Oh, Ray, very much so." He could feel Ray grin as he pressed a small kiss there.
"Good."
There was a brief lull. Fraser floated, half-giddy, and listened to their combined breathing.
"How long have you wanted--"
"...That?" Fraser felt himself blushing faintly. Amazing, that after what they'd just done, he could still blush at the thought of it. "Well, throughout my adolescence and young adulthood it never occurred to me that ropes were anything but...utilitarian. They're essential gear for any kind of rescue mission, not to mention critical for lashing gear onto sleds. Though I learned to tie knots with walrus sinews, which are traditional--"
Ray squeezed him tight, then let go.
"Ah.Yes. " Fraser cleared his throat. "I happened to run across a store which sells...leather and other accessories, during my early months in Chicago."
"Really?" Amusement colored Ray's tone. "I wouldn't have figured you for stopping into a leather shop."
"It wasn't intentional," Fraser admitted. "But among the posters on the walls was one of a man...bound, much as you just bound me."
"And the image stuck with you." Knowingly.
"It did." That was an understatement, but Fraser expected Ray knew that.
"Huh."
Another pause, and Fraser was just approaching the edge of sleep when Ray spoke again.
"I got some ideas for next time."
Despite the sleepy languor filling his limbs, Fraser felt a frisson of anticipation. "Next time?"
Ray nuzzled at his shoulder. "You just say the word," he said, and gave Fraser one last squeeze, and rolled away to his side of the bed.
Sleep came fast. When it claimed him, Fraser was still smiling.
The End