Expiration Date
by lamardeuse

Rated:  NC-17

Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski

Warnings (highlight to view):  explicit sex

due South Flashfiction challenge:  One Night Stand

He was so sure fucking Fraser just once would be a good idea.

Biggest mistake of his life.

See, they’d finished with their adventure, and said goodbye, big hug, a coupla tears, okay, doneski, thank God, because Ray’d never been much for words, and the ones he was trying to hold back were suffocating him, sticking in his throat and cutting off his air supply.  And then Ray boarded the plane to civilization and Fraser was left behind waving on the tarmac like one of those war brides from those cheesy old movies his mom liked.

As the plane banked south, he took stock.  A half hour and two bags of airplane peanuts later, he came to the conclusion that he was fucked, but that it wasn’t likely a permanent condition.  Sure, he didn’t know who he was anymore, or even what he was, because somewhere between one ice floe and the next he’d realized he was probably in love with the freak, but that was no big deal, right?

He’d get over it.

Right.  He’d only loved one other person in his entire life, and it had almost killed him to carve that out of himself, so of course all he’d have to do was snap his fingers, and the memory of Fraser’s warmth and voice and goofy, one-crooked-tooth smile and heart would just melt away like the spring thaw.

Three months later he was still waking up surprised and more than a little disappointed that an electric alarm clock was waking him up instead of Dief’s tongue, and how bad was that, that he was pining for dog slobber.

Then he got to the station and Frannie nearly deafened him with her excited squealing, and it took five and a half full minutes to decipher that Fraser was coming back.  Not forever, just for a visit—there was some kind of international cop conference being held in Indianapolis next week, and he’d arranged a couple of days to swing by the old neighborhood.

He considered handcuffing her to the chair to get the rest of it out of her, because he was feeling sick and confused and ecstatic and pissed off and horny and empty all at the same time.

Fraser was coming back.

Fraser hadn’t told him.  Hadn’t called him.

Fraser.  Jesus Christ.

Ray walked right into Welch’s office without even bothering to knock.


“Ray!  My God!”

Ray nodded once, his muscles so tight he was afraid Fraser could hear the creaking in his bones as they cracked under the strain.  Something on his face must have given Fraser a clue, because his goofy, one-crooked-tooth grin faded, and he stepped aside to let Ray into the hotel room.

It was pretty nice, even for the Hilton; obviously Fraser’s new CO wasn’t as tight with the money as the Ice Queen had been.  You could tell it was classy because the bed was huge and you couldn’t even see the TV, which was probably hidden tastefully in that cherrywood cabinet against the wall.

Fraser’s voice came from a place close by his right ear, like he was afraid to walk the extra five feet and face him. 

“What are you doing in Indianapolis?”

“I’m a cop,” Ray said shortly.  “This is a cop conference.”

“But I checked the roster and you weren’t—”

Fraser never finished the sentence, because suddenly Ray spun around and pushed, sending Fraser stumbling back into the fancy cabinet.  Ray heard a muffled clunk from inside, but couldn’t be bothered to worry about what he’d broken.  His palms slapped the wooden doors as they bracketed Fraser’s head.

Fraser didn’t even twitch.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he rasped.  “Were you even gonna see me while you were there?”

Fraser did twitch a little then.  “I was sure Francesca would pass on my—”

“Pass on, yeah, fuck that,” Ray spat, his hands balling into fists against the cold wood.  “You couldn’t even call me?”

Fraser opened his mouth, then closed it.  Opened it again.  “I’m sor—”

“And do not say you’re sorry, either,” Ray growled.  “I don’t want to hear that polite bullshit.”

Fraser’s eyes narrowed then, and he shifted restlessly against the prison of Ray’s body.  “Are you going to ever let me finish—”

“No,” Ray said, right before his mouth slammed into Fraser’s.


Yeah, it was twisted logic, but he’d worked it out on the I-65 between Gary and Indianapolis, so it was bound to have some holes.

One night.  He’d show up at Fraser’s hotel, and if Fraser didn’t punch him or thank him kindly and boot his ass out, they’d fuck for one night, all night.  Use up all the love in one night, because Ray’d taken way too long to use up everything he felt for Stella, and he couldn’t do that to himself again.

Except it didn’t work out that way.

There were a hundred reasons for it, but the one that really cinched it, the grand slam home run, was that Fraser wouldn’t turn over.  He was passive about nearly everything else, letting Ray do whatever he wanted to that big, beautiful body, but he dug in his heels—literally—on that one.

So when Ray finally sank into Fraser’s sweet, tight ass, those eyes were staring up at him with—well, he didn’t know at first, because he was concentrating on an inch of skin covering Fraser’s right collarbone.

“Look at me.” 

It wasn’t a request, or even an order.  It was like if Ray didn’t, Fraser would die right there, of one of those mysterious causes you always read about but never believed.

But when Ray did look at him, he could see it plain as day on Fraser’s face.  He was in agony, his expression showing nothing and everything, closed off and bleeding out at the same time.

Ray wondered if he were looking in a mirror.

“M’I hurting you?” Ray grunted, as he pulled back slightly and eased back in, until his balls pressed against the solid curve of Fraser’s ass.

Fraser reached a hand up to Ray’s face and caressed the stubble he found there.  Alarmed at the scratch of fingertips against his cheek, Ray looked down and saw the places on Fraser’s chest that had been rubbed raw by it.  Rubbed raw, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Yes, you’re hurting me,” Fraser whispered.  “Because you’re hurting yourself.”

“Oh, Christ,” Ray gasped, and his hips pistoned helplessly, one, two, three, and as he poured himself into Fraser’s welcoming body, he knew his attempt at logic had flopped big-time.



That voice could say his name in a thousand different ways, reflecting the multitude of ingredients that could go into it.  Shock and surprise were the biggest flavours this time, but there were other ingredients in there, too.

Ray didn’t have to see the look on his face to know that there was mischief bubbling inside of him, and laughter fighting its way out, and dark, dangerous I’m-gonna-rip-your-clothes-off-as-soon-as-I-get-you-in-the-door promise simmering under the outraged surface.

It was lucky he didn’t have to see the look on his face to tell all that, because right now Fraser’s face was kind of hidden behind the wad of snow that clung to it, courtesy of Ray’s flawless aim.  The anti-fog coating on the new glasses was a godsend, it really was.

He was so sure fucking Fraser just once would be a good idea.

Biggest mistake of his life.

It hadn’t been a good idea.  It had been the best damned idea he’d ever had. 

And if ‘just once’ had turned into ‘once—or twice—a night’, well, he wasn’t going to worry about the wording.  He’d never been much for words anyway.


January 2004

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