Trouble in Paradise

First Published: February 4th, 2006
Rating: R
Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Word Count: 1,153

Summary: Fraser is Ray's Man Friday, and Saturday and Sunday. Hell, every day of the week...

Ray wiped sweat out of his eyes with the back of his hand for the third time in as many minutes. The temperature inside the cabin was high enough without adding the physical labour he'd been doing. He'd removed his shirt an hour ago, but stubbornly refused to lose the jeans. So what if he'd been wearing them for nearly 3 weeks solid?

He looked down at the flies, now held closed with one of Fraser's bootlaces and sighed. He knew why he was doing it. Why he was clinging onto conventions. If he took a knife to the jeans and turned them into more sensible cut-offs, it would be like admitting that they were really marooned here. It would be like admitting that he didn't believe they could ever be rescued.

Still, their temporary cabin was coming along nicely. It had four walls, a floor and a roof. Fraser was currently attempting to make the roof waterproof in case of another tropical storm like the one that had ripped over the island on their first night here. Ray remembered huddling under a banana palm leaf with Fraser, shivering and hungry, wondering if they would survive the night.

They had come a long way since then. The cabin was no longer just a shell. From the wreckage of the plane they had managed to rescue more than just the essential survival supplies. Fraser had built them a bed complete with a mattress stuffed with dried grass. There were even drapes hanging from the window, thanks to a rescued trunk full off fabric samples.

They had a makeshift kitchen, a couple of seats from the passenger section to sit on, fishing poles, even an outside shower apparatus. There was plenty of game and fish to be had, an abundance of fruit. Everything they could need to survive for the rest of their days if rescue didn't come.

Ray picked up his discarded t-shirt and used it to wipe the back of his neck. He sat down on the bed and moved the heavy drapes aside, hoping for even a tiny breeze to cool him down. But there was none to be had.

"Is everything all right?" Fraser's voice filled with soft concern made him turn towards the door.

"Yeah, Frase. Everything is fine. I was just taking a break. It's too fucking hot to be working."

He watched Fraser walk across the room, sweat glistening on his bare shoulders and chest where the blue plaid shirt hung open. He'd long since cut off the sleeves but like Ray, he had resisted the urge to mutilate his jeans.

"It's too hot to be breathing, in fact," Fraser smiled, crawling onto the lumpy mattress and leaning in for a kiss. "Perhaps we should take a shower?"

Ray felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

This thing between him and Fraser was still very new, still very strange to him. There were certain aspects he struggled to accept.

He was fine sleeping beside Fraser, he was fine holding him, touching his face, his hair, his hands. He could kiss Fraser until they asphyxiated, and more recently he'd discovered that he was totally cool with Fraser giving him a blowjob.

But all of these things had to just happen, with no thought, no forward planning. An out and out invitation made him retreat. He had to assume it was a type of denial.


Fraser was on all fours, gently nibbling at Ray's chin while he waited for an answer.

"I um, I..."

Fraser began to withdraw, perhaps sensing Ray's hesitation. He never got angry, he never pushed Ray into doing anything he didn't want to do, but Ray could tell that his lack of enthusiasm hurt Fraser badly. And it wasn't as though he hated what they did. Far from it. He often caught himself checking out Fraser's ass when he was in the shower, or just watching the ripple of muscles moving under smooth sun-bronzed skin as Fraser chopped wood. But he'd never had the guts to instigate anything himself.


Seeing that hurt look in Fraser's eyes galvanised him into action and he moved quickly, capturing Fraser's face between his hands. He bent his head, kissed Fraser's slightly parted lips, ran his fingers through his hair, listened to his startled gasp of pleasure.

Drawing back, he watched Fraser's eyes blink open. "Hey Mountie, can you teach me that thing you do with your mouth?"

Fraser frowned. "You mean buddy breathing?"

"Nah, the other thing," Ray smiled, running one finger down the open edge of Fraser's shirt.

"Whistling?" Fraser dead-panned.

"Close," Ray grinned, hooking his finger behind the button of Fraser's jeans and popping it open. "Blowing is definitely involved in both actions."

Fraser's eyes grew wide. "Why Ray, are you asking me to teach you fellatio?"

The sound of Fraser's zipper coming down seemed to echo from the walls. Ray tried not to think too much about what he was doing. Three weeks marooned on this God-forsaken island and he'd never even put his hand on Fraser's dick. Fraser had brought him off more times than his poor frazzled brain could remember. There was still hope of a rescue, but as every day went by Ray found it harder and harder to remember why he gave a shit about that.

"No Fraser, I'm asking you to teach me glass blowing," Ray growled, slipping his fingers inside Fraser's jeans and wrapping them lightly around his dick. And there he sort of froze because this was Fraser, and that was his dick and oh, God, this was really weird.

Fraser was breathing deeply, his eyes half closed as he clutched tightly at the thin white sheet. "I'm afraid I have... little experience with glass... blowing," he gasped, rocking his hips forward, pushing his dick through the circle of Ray's fingers. "But it can't be that hard to learn."

Hearing Fraser trying to maintain his composure whilst clearly losing it helped Ray to sidestep his heterosexuality's last stand and he shoved Fraser onto his back, covering the big, smooth body with his own. Up till now, he'd always closed his eyes and let Fraser do wherever he wanted. He had been a less that active participant. He was ready for more. He was ready to lead. He was so very ready.

"Fraser?" he whispered, licking his way down Fraser's chest and abdomen, tasking the tang of salt and sweat and that underlying flavour that was all Benton Fraser.

"Yes, Ray," groaned out on a released breath.

"You're unhinged."

And before he could mentally talk his way out of it, Ray carefully freed Fraser from his jeans and took him tentatively into his mouth, just as Fraser was replying.

"Understoo... oo...oo...ood!"

The next morning, Ray got up early, caught a couple of fish for breakfast and was cooking them over the stove when Fraser got up.

"Ray?" he said blearily, "what happened to your jeans?"

Ray looked down at the frayed cut-offs exposing his long legs and grinned. "Guess I'm in for the long haul my man Friday."

Fraser's answering smile lit up the four walls of their cabin.

The End




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