Seven Sins Challenge Response
Thanks very muchly to the lovely and fabulous lynnmonster for betaing this for me. 1616 words, F/K, and all seven sins:
Seven Sins Ray Kowalski Committed On His Way Home
by Ekaterinn
1. Pride
Ray thought, this way I can get it outta of my system. Have an adventure, overload on Fraser, and go back to Chicago alone, hungry for city life and other everyday guy lusts.
Only it hadn't quite worked out that way. Frase had stayed in Canada, all right, but they had known that going in, even if neither of them had said a word. But the romance, the obsession, whatever hell it was, hadn't worn off for Ray. Ninety-six days of living close to Fraser's sweat and smell, and his wildly dangerous, bizarre, and irritating ways, hadn't stopped Ray from wanting to fuck him.
But on the ninety-seventh day, he boarded the plane that would carry him south. Staring out the window, he spent the whole flight watching Canada disappearing beneath him. Ray had too much riding on his plan to give up now. He'd go back to Chicago, alone, and he'd make it work, dammit.
Yet as the days went by, Ray found that he couldn't get the feel of the wilderness out from under his skin, and he couldn't get Fraser out of his head.
2. Sloth
It was fall when he got back to Chicago, and the comparative warmth made him sluggish and slow. Ray drew out his paperwork as long as possible, looking for an excuse to stay in the squadroom. He spent less time at the gym, unwilling to work through the sweat and the pain. He lingered at coffeshops when he was supposed to be working on a case, rereading Fraser's extraordinarily polite letters.
After three months of this, he quit the force. What was the point of being a cop, if he couldn't be a great one, the best, like he and Fraser had been?
He left for Minnesota, where his cousin Mike got him a part-time job in a garage. Ray spent his days fiddling with other people's cars and sleeping. He hadn't bothered to give Fraser his new address, but his letters arrived anyway, forwarded by someone back in Chicago. Frannie, maybe. Ray left them unopened, piling up on the counter of his new apartment.
3. Lust
January woke him, startled him into life with freezing winds and falling snow. Ray suddenly became aware of his body again. He'd gotten thin, way too thin. Losing muscle, losing ground since he wasn't chasing after Fraser anymore. His hair had grown long, brushing against his face, wispy without the gel. And his dick woke up too, growing hard at random moments, reminding him that he hadn’t gotten laid in months.
So he shaved his head, and went out dancing. At the club, he found a chick who giggled and told him to call her Mindy as she pressed up against him. She was pretty, blond hair and green eyes with high, perky breasts. They went back to her place, and his dick was thrumming, going yeah, yeah, yeah. She shucked her layers of clothing - and his - quickly, rubbing up against him as she pulled him into her bed. Her body was soft, soft - all winter-pale skin and warmth. She bucked up into him, eager, and he went with that, settling into a rhythm, liking the feel of her skin against his own.
Except - he thought about how Fraser's skin would be rougher, if it was Fraser moving beneath him, pushing him on, his wide hands digging into Ray's shoulders. And then he came, collapsing on top of Mindy, hurting so much inside that the physical release didn't even matter.
4. Gluttony
The next morning, he took his pile of letters from Fraser, all of them, opened and unopened, with him to the diner across the street. He drank four cups of coffee, ate five pancakes and two pieces of pie, and stared at the pile, trying to write his own letter.
Dear Fraser,
I'm sorry I haven’t written in a while.
Well, it's been kinda weird in the U.S. of A.
I quit the force.
I'm living in Minnesota now, it's colder than in Chicago.
I'm fucked up, how are you?
I miss you.
I love you.
He tore up every single try, saying "Fuck, fuck, this is so fucking stupid, Kowalski." Ordered another piece of pie and reached for Fraser's letters instead, consuming his words, his courtesies, the increasingly desperate ways he asked Ray to write him back, get in touch with him somehow.
5. Envy
There'd been a phone number in one of those letters, and Fraser had written I am at the outpost three or four times a week. If you want, you can call me there, Ray. It took about a week, but one night Ray found himself in front of the phone and knew that he had to make the call. In a few seconds, he was talking to Fraser.
"Ray?" Fraser's voice sounded uncertain, disbelieving.
Ray's was quiet. "Yeah, it's me." He ran his fingers though his hair, which was growing back prickly and short now.
"How are you?"
"I'm, I'm different. You know me." He laughed, ridiculously nervous. Didn’t want Fraser to know about his leaving the force, or Minnesota, or anything. Not yet. "So, tell me, how's life up in the armpit of the North? Catch any poachers lately?"
Fraser hesitated, Ray could tell that he wanted to chide Ray for not writing, to ask him questions which Ray couldn't, wouldn't answer - but to his relief, started on one of his long stories instead.
Ray listened, nodding in time to Fraser's easy voice, making appropriate noises in the pauses. He was really just enjoying the sound of Fraser talking, his measured tones, his Canadianisms. Squinting his eyes, he wished hard that he could be up there with Fraser, just to hear the stories, to be close to him. Wished to be a Mountie, a Canadian, hell, a snowmobile-repair guy (which is basically what he was now, anyway), just to have the excuse to be in the middle of the arctic wild, close to Frase. 'Cause the longing was worse when he couldn't hear Fraser, see him, touch him, and the plan failed a long time ago. Fraser fell silent, and Ray opened his eyes to see the dirty dishes in his crappy sink.
6. Wrath
He drove, fast, faster. All the self-disgust, all the hate, the pure fucking need that Ray never was able to rid himself of - all that turned into this anger that drove him forward, drove him North. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard they hurt, but the pain didn't satisfy him. The Interstate was twisty, casually cruel in the last days of winter, and Ray didn't stop until he reached Canada.
7. Greed
He got to Fraser's cabin somehow. The journey between the Canadian border and the subartic had passed in a blur of snow and Tim Horton's coffee. But now he was here, standing in front of Fraser's door. Ray pushed it open and looked around. No Fraser, but there were books and clothes, and over there were some pictures, carefully arranged. He walked over to the table a picked up the first one. It was him and Frase, arms around each other, grinning like idiots. Ray bit his lip and set it down slowly.
"Ray?" Fraser had came in behind him, looking shocked. "What are you doing here?" His lips quirked oddly, as if he couldn't decide whether to be pleased or worried.
Ray turned around. "I - " he began. But he couldn't finish. He had no words, no fancy tricks, he had nothing, nada, nein, zilch. Only this overwhelming need. Grabbing Fraser by the shoulders, he brought his lips to Fraser's, kissing him hard. He poured all the frustration of the past few months, the way that he wanted Fraser, the way that he needed Fraser, the way that he loved Fraser into it.
And Fraser's mouth opened up beneath his, letting him in, letting him have everything. His back arched in surprise, and he dove deeper into the kiss, fighting with Fraser's tongue, feeling the heat rise from somewhere inside of him, and he wanted it all, yeah.
Fraser broke his kiss, his eyes wild, his hair all messed up. He looked beautiful. "Ray." he said.
Ray shook his head, real quick. "No talk. I've waited too long for this." He pressed against Fraser again, letting Fraser feel his hard-on through his jeans. Fraser swallowed hard, and nodded. They got rid of their clothes fast after that.
And Ray was greedy, oh so greedy. He wanted every piece of Fraser's body, the nipples, the belly, the left thigh, and the right arm. Fraser seemed content to let him squirm around on top of him on the bed, kissing Ray where he could as Ray tasted every inch of Fraser's skin. Fraser made interesting, drawn-out noises like grrr and ahhhh and arghhRay! when he picked just the right spot to lick or bite.
Then he reached the prize, the big canoodle. Fraser's cock. It glistened in the cabin light and Ray swallowed it down. It was heavy and salty and it felt so good in his mouth. He slid his mouth up and down it, slow, savoring every moment. Fraser gasped, and gasped again, making a new sound: ohohoohohohoh. And the sensation of Fraser shuddering, and then coming, the warmth spurting into Ray's mouth, was enough to drive him over the edge, and he groaned, physically sated but wanting still more.
As he dozed off to sleep in the cradle of Fraser's hips, he felt Fraser's hand curl around the back of his neck, and knew he would have it, whatever he needed.
Seven Sins Ray Kowalski Committed On His Way Home
by Ekaterinn
1. Pride
Ray thought, this way I can get it outta of my system. Have an adventure, overload on Fraser, and go back to Chicago alone, hungry for city life and other everyday guy lusts.
Only it hadn't quite worked out that way. Frase had stayed in Canada, all right, but they had known that going in, even if neither of them had said a word. But the romance, the obsession, whatever hell it was, hadn't worn off for Ray. Ninety-six days of living close to Fraser's sweat and smell, and his wildly dangerous, bizarre, and irritating ways, hadn't stopped Ray from wanting to fuck him.
But on the ninety-seventh day, he boarded the plane that would carry him south. Staring out the window, he spent the whole flight watching Canada disappearing beneath him. Ray had too much riding on his plan to give up now. He'd go back to Chicago, alone, and he'd make it work, dammit.
Yet as the days went by, Ray found that he couldn't get the feel of the wilderness out from under his skin, and he couldn't get Fraser out of his head.
2. Sloth
It was fall when he got back to Chicago, and the comparative warmth made him sluggish and slow. Ray drew out his paperwork as long as possible, looking for an excuse to stay in the squadroom. He spent less time at the gym, unwilling to work through the sweat and the pain. He lingered at coffeshops when he was supposed to be working on a case, rereading Fraser's extraordinarily polite letters.
After three months of this, he quit the force. What was the point of being a cop, if he couldn't be a great one, the best, like he and Fraser had been?
He left for Minnesota, where his cousin Mike got him a part-time job in a garage. Ray spent his days fiddling with other people's cars and sleeping. He hadn't bothered to give Fraser his new address, but his letters arrived anyway, forwarded by someone back in Chicago. Frannie, maybe. Ray left them unopened, piling up on the counter of his new apartment.
3. Lust
January woke him, startled him into life with freezing winds and falling snow. Ray suddenly became aware of his body again. He'd gotten thin, way too thin. Losing muscle, losing ground since he wasn't chasing after Fraser anymore. His hair had grown long, brushing against his face, wispy without the gel. And his dick woke up too, growing hard at random moments, reminding him that he hadn’t gotten laid in months.
So he shaved his head, and went out dancing. At the club, he found a chick who giggled and told him to call her Mindy as she pressed up against him. She was pretty, blond hair and green eyes with high, perky breasts. They went back to her place, and his dick was thrumming, going yeah, yeah, yeah. She shucked her layers of clothing - and his - quickly, rubbing up against him as she pulled him into her bed. Her body was soft, soft - all winter-pale skin and warmth. She bucked up into him, eager, and he went with that, settling into a rhythm, liking the feel of her skin against his own.
Except - he thought about how Fraser's skin would be rougher, if it was Fraser moving beneath him, pushing him on, his wide hands digging into Ray's shoulders. And then he came, collapsing on top of Mindy, hurting so much inside that the physical release didn't even matter.
4. Gluttony
The next morning, he took his pile of letters from Fraser, all of them, opened and unopened, with him to the diner across the street. He drank four cups of coffee, ate five pancakes and two pieces of pie, and stared at the pile, trying to write his own letter.
Dear Fraser,
I'm sorry I haven’t written in a while.
Well, it's been kinda weird in the U.S. of A.
I quit the force.
I'm living in Minnesota now, it's colder than in Chicago.
I'm fucked up, how are you?
I miss you.
I love you.
He tore up every single try, saying "Fuck, fuck, this is so fucking stupid, Kowalski." Ordered another piece of pie and reached for Fraser's letters instead, consuming his words, his courtesies, the increasingly desperate ways he asked Ray to write him back, get in touch with him somehow.
5. Envy
There'd been a phone number in one of those letters, and Fraser had written I am at the outpost three or four times a week. If you want, you can call me there, Ray. It took about a week, but one night Ray found himself in front of the phone and knew that he had to make the call. In a few seconds, he was talking to Fraser.
"Ray?" Fraser's voice sounded uncertain, disbelieving.
Ray's was quiet. "Yeah, it's me." He ran his fingers though his hair, which was growing back prickly and short now.
"How are you?"
"I'm, I'm different. You know me." He laughed, ridiculously nervous. Didn’t want Fraser to know about his leaving the force, or Minnesota, or anything. Not yet. "So, tell me, how's life up in the armpit of the North? Catch any poachers lately?"
Fraser hesitated, Ray could tell that he wanted to chide Ray for not writing, to ask him questions which Ray couldn't, wouldn't answer - but to his relief, started on one of his long stories instead.
Ray listened, nodding in time to Fraser's easy voice, making appropriate noises in the pauses. He was really just enjoying the sound of Fraser talking, his measured tones, his Canadianisms. Squinting his eyes, he wished hard that he could be up there with Fraser, just to hear the stories, to be close to him. Wished to be a Mountie, a Canadian, hell, a snowmobile-repair guy (which is basically what he was now, anyway), just to have the excuse to be in the middle of the arctic wild, close to Frase. 'Cause the longing was worse when he couldn't hear Fraser, see him, touch him, and the plan failed a long time ago. Fraser fell silent, and Ray opened his eyes to see the dirty dishes in his crappy sink.
6. Wrath
He drove, fast, faster. All the self-disgust, all the hate, the pure fucking need that Ray never was able to rid himself of - all that turned into this anger that drove him forward, drove him North. His hands gripped the steering wheel so hard they hurt, but the pain didn't satisfy him. The Interstate was twisty, casually cruel in the last days of winter, and Ray didn't stop until he reached Canada.
7. Greed
He got to Fraser's cabin somehow. The journey between the Canadian border and the subartic had passed in a blur of snow and Tim Horton's coffee. But now he was here, standing in front of Fraser's door. Ray pushed it open and looked around. No Fraser, but there were books and clothes, and over there were some pictures, carefully arranged. He walked over to the table a picked up the first one. It was him and Frase, arms around each other, grinning like idiots. Ray bit his lip and set it down slowly.
"Ray?" Fraser had came in behind him, looking shocked. "What are you doing here?" His lips quirked oddly, as if he couldn't decide whether to be pleased or worried.
Ray turned around. "I - " he began. But he couldn't finish. He had no words, no fancy tricks, he had nothing, nada, nein, zilch. Only this overwhelming need. Grabbing Fraser by the shoulders, he brought his lips to Fraser's, kissing him hard. He poured all the frustration of the past few months, the way that he wanted Fraser, the way that he needed Fraser, the way that he loved Fraser into it.
And Fraser's mouth opened up beneath his, letting him in, letting him have everything. His back arched in surprise, and he dove deeper into the kiss, fighting with Fraser's tongue, feeling the heat rise from somewhere inside of him, and he wanted it all, yeah.
Fraser broke his kiss, his eyes wild, his hair all messed up. He looked beautiful. "Ray." he said.
Ray shook his head, real quick. "No talk. I've waited too long for this." He pressed against Fraser again, letting Fraser feel his hard-on through his jeans. Fraser swallowed hard, and nodded. They got rid of their clothes fast after that.
And Ray was greedy, oh so greedy. He wanted every piece of Fraser's body, the nipples, the belly, the left thigh, and the right arm. Fraser seemed content to let him squirm around on top of him on the bed, kissing Ray where he could as Ray tasted every inch of Fraser's skin. Fraser made interesting, drawn-out noises like grrr and ahhhh and arghhRay! when he picked just the right spot to lick or bite.
Then he reached the prize, the big canoodle. Fraser's cock. It glistened in the cabin light and Ray swallowed it down. It was heavy and salty and it felt so good in his mouth. He slid his mouth up and down it, slow, savoring every moment. Fraser gasped, and gasped again, making a new sound: ohohoohohohoh. And the sensation of Fraser shuddering, and then coming, the warmth spurting into Ray's mouth, was enough to drive him over the edge, and he groaned, physically sated but wanting still more.
As he dozed off to sleep in the cradle of Fraser's hips, he felt Fraser's hand curl around the back of his neck, and knew he would have it, whatever he needed.