When Ray and Fraser decided to stay in Canada -- which is to say, when Fraser refused to move back to Chicago despite Diefenbaker's pleading, and Ray refused to leave Fraser since it was the first time he was getting laid regularly since before him and Stella split up, not to mention Ray thought maybe he might be a little bit in love, maybe, only a little bit -- Ray thought it was gonna be easy.

Maybe not easy. Maybe just not hard.

But he couldn't find a job, not anywhere, no matter how hard he tried. Nobody needed a mechanic. Nobody needed a bartender. Nobody needed a security guard. The oil fields in Norman Wells were always looking, but Ray wanted Fraser to keep talking to him, especially while they were fucking, because listening to Fraser, who was always all about pemmican and the Inuit stories and the fish and that shit, say things like, "Fuck me, Ray" and "I love you, Ray" and "Harder, Ray, har -- ahhh, aaahhhh, AHHH". Well, probably Fraser wouldn't say those things to him anymore if Ray started working for the oil rigs, and probably Fraser wouldn't fuck him anymore either.

The only place that would hire him was the Pentecostal church, and Ray didn't feel too good about the idea of working there.

"You don't have to have a job, Ray," said Fraser -- several times.

And Ray always said, "Fraser, I ain't a cop no more. I ain't nothing no more. I gotta have something to do."

And Fraser always said, "You can do me, Ray," which was a real clever way, Ray thought, to change the subject.

*

Ray spent yet another Saturday playing with the dogs and turning over the dirt in the garden and thinking about writing down all the stories he's got from being undercover.

When Fraser came home, Ray had dinner waiting -- grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and he tried making doughnuts for dessert, but Dief ate all the dough and he couldn't get the oil hot enough, or maybe he was doing it wrong, but he had some ice cream anyway.

Ray had put bacon and tomato and extra cheese into Fraser's sandwich, and put cheese and bacon on top of his soup, and made sure there were extra crackers, and a big glass of milk and a big glass of water. Which he didn't do because he was the wife or anything, but because the look of pleasure on Fraser's face every time he came home and Ray had something for him that was more than just Ray's body, especially something Fraser knew Ray knew he really liked, well. That was good. It made Ray feel good. Warm inside, in his stomach and his chest, and it was totally different from the tingles he got when he did something nice for Stella. The tingles were "Will she like it? Has she stopped liking it since last time? Is she still gonna love me?"

The warm feeling was good and -- it was just good. Ray didn't wanna analyze it.

"This looks wonderful, Ray." Fraser took off his jacket and his shirt and his boots and sat down in his undershirt and brown uniform pants and drank half his glass of milk in one swallow. Ray watched his throat move and felt his dick twitch.

"Yeah," said Ray.

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser.

Ray waited until Fraser had finished half the soup and half his sandwich and drank some of the water and had told two stories about litterbugs before he slid out of his chair and onto the floor under the table.

Dief whined; Ray heard the door as Dief left, and then he unzipped Fraser's pants.

"Ray," said Fraser. "Ray."

"Shh," said Ray.

"Ray," said Fraser. Ray pulled Fraser's pants down as much as he could, and unbuttoned his boxers, and pulled out his dick. Fraser was hard, almost, not quite. Ray took him all the way into his mouth, and he fit perfect. That was how Ray knew, every single time, that this was right, that Fraser was what Ray wanted, that even though he had no job, he was supposed to be here in Canada, under their table.

God, Ray figured, wouldn't have made Fraser's dick fit so well into his mouth if it wasn't supposed to be there.

Fraser sighed, and Ray pulled up, licked around the head of Fraser's cock, ran his tongue under the foreskin, and felt Fraser shudder under him.

Fraser pushed back away from the table a little, and looked down at Ray, and Ray looked up at him and said, "This don't make you my sugar daddy, Fraser."

Then he bent his head back down as Fraser's body shook with laughter, and worked one of his hands under Fraser's dick to push against the skin behind his balls. What he'd wanted to say was, "I could suck your dick forever and never get bored," and probably Fraser realized that.

*

It ended on a Wednesday. Ray had spent the day greasing the tack and talking to Old Mrs Pasaraba over at the general store. He didn't get home in time to make supper -- by the time he got back to the cabin with the dogs and the mail and the sugar cookies in the shape of cars, which Ray particularly appreciated since there wasn't really a place to drive the GTO on the fucking tundra, Fraser was already home with his boots off, stirring a pot of something that smelled pretty good.

Ray took a shower, really, fast, and put his jeans and boxers back on even though they were dirty, because all he'd really wanted was to get his sweat off him, and he put on a t-shirt, a thin one, and he went barefoot.

Fraser liked to look at his feet, which Ray didn't get, but okay, what Fraser wanted, Ray would do, just because.

They ate dinner and then they ate cookies, and Fraser talked about his day and the constable who'd just been assigned to the outpost who didn't like having hike around, and he stared at Ray the whole time. He stared at Ray in a way that made Ray's toes itch and his mouth water and his stomach turn over so that he had a hard time eating. Ray stared back at him, and he didn't know if that made Fraser's stomach turn over and his toes it and his mouth water, but it made him breathe faster sometimes.

Ray thought maybe Fraser let his breathing speed up just to let Ray see the effects, because normally nothing made Fraser breathe funny, not even smoke, not even being under eight million tons of water inside a sinking ship.

After dinner, Fraser went and took a shower while Ray watched television. Which was pretty amazing, since Fraser didn't watch television and yet when they moved into the cabin right outside the town limits of Fort Good Hope, there was a satellite feed and a big enough television and a special generator just for the television. That right there was Fraser's version of the tomato soup with cheese and the sandwich with bacon and tomato and extra cheese.

Ray kept his ears open for the shower turning off, and then he kept his ears open to listen to Fraser get dressed, and then he heard a drawer open, which he wasn't expecting. When Fraser walked back into the living room, Ray craned his neck and looked up at him. Fraser looked down at him. Ray looked up at him.

Ray put the TV on mute, and turned a little.

"Ray," said Fraser.

"Fraser," said Ray.

"Ray." Fraser stopped and opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I want you to fuck me," said Ray thickly.

"Yes," said Fraser. "Yes."

He put down the remote and climbed over the side of the couch onto Fraser and slid down his body and pushed their mouths together. Fraser's mouth tasted like minty toothpaste. Ray thought: I want your mouth to taste like me.

He pushed at Fraser's shoulders and leaned against the back of the couch, but Fraser stayed still, and Ray frowned.

Fraser shook his head slightly, and took Ray by the shoulders and turned him around, and unbuttoned Ray's jeans with one hand from behind him. Ray's knees went weak. He braced himself on the sofa with his arms, which made him bend forward, pushing his ass into Fraser's cock.

He moved his hips against Fraser's cock as Fraser pulled his jeans down, his boxers, kept them around his ankles, kept his legs together. Fraser's fingers weren't slick with lube when they ran over Ray's ass; Ray closed his eyes and swallowed hard and buried his face in his hands on the top of the couch.

Fraser's tongue swept over his skin, down, first to his balls and then up, and in, and Ray dug his fingers in the couch and locked his knees so he wouldn't fall. Where his shirt brushed his dick, it was overwhelming. Fraser's fingers were tight on Ray's skin, pulling his ass apart, opening him up for Fraser's eyes and tongue.

Ray kept a list of things he loved about Fraser, and most of the list was also the things Ray hated, like Fraser's ethics and his dedication to justice and his perfect memory for hockey games and his patriotism, but some of the list were things that Ray really loved, like Fraser's focus, and Fraser's tongue, and Fraser's fingers, and Fraser's dick, and the way Fraser had a little pot belly thing happening when he laid on his side, and the hair where Fraser's ass met his thighs, and the way he humped the bed when Ray fucked him with three fingers and half a tube of lube, and his little giggle when Ray touched his ass every single time, like it tickled.

And his timing. He always pulled away before Ray could come, always, like he knew Ray could only take five minutes, or thirty.

The snap of the cap of the lube always made Ray's hips jerk.

The lube was cold, but Fraser massaged it into Ray's skin, making him wet, making him ready, and Ray panted, "Come on, Fraser, come on, I don't wanna wait, I want you now, come on, now, come on, now --" until Fraser pushed his dick against him, pushed into him, and Ray was full, Ray was full, and they were --

Fraser liked to fuck Ray for hours. Sometimes he had Ray lay on his back and pull his knees up to his chest and they would kiss while Fraser was inside Ray for long minutes, their tongues fighting, Fraser making sure that Ray knew -- well, maybe that wasn't what he was doing, but Ray used to do that to Stella, just stay perfectly still inside her while they made out, and it was always to make sure Stella knew who was inside her.

This is my tongue, Ray would think at her. This is my dick. This is me inside you.

When Fraser did that to Ray, Ray would think: This is Fraser's tongue. This is Fraser's dick. This is Fraser inside me. This is my life.

And then it didn't matter so much that he couldn't find a job, that when he bought fresh fruit to surprise Fraser, it was with money from his savings, that when he got a hole in his jeans, he had to patch them instead of buying new ones.

"Pay attention," said Fraser in his ear. "Ray. Ray. Ray."

"Fraser," said Ray, his voice cracking. "Please, I can't --"

Fraser's hips moved slow, in, out, in, out, one hand on Ray's back under his shirt and the other, Ray figured, guiding his dick.

"Please, please," begged Ray, "please, I need you, Fraser, come on, fuck me, fuck me --"

And Fraser did, leaning up over Ray's back and lining them up, and moving faster and faster, and every time he slammed into Ray, Ray felt noise leave him, sharp noises that he didn't know how he made, right from his throat, and Fraser's hand came up to pull at his nipples, never touching Ray's cock, not once, but he didn't need to, because Ray's cock was bouncing against his belly and rubbing against his shirt. The faster Fraser pounded him, the closer they moved to the couch, until Ray was hanging over the back, all the blood rushing to his head, his dick hitting the upholstery, rubbing against the scratchy fabric, and it didn't feel good, but it didn't hurt, and maybe it did feel good -- or maybe what felt good was Fraser's mouth on his neck, biting, licking.

"I love the way you smell," said Fraser, "I love --"

"I -- used -- your -- soap," said Ray, words breaking on every thrust, and he started thrusting back against Fraser as much as he could, which wasn't much at all, because he was hanging over the back of the fucking couch, and he couldn't even imagine what they must look like, totally lewd and perverted, two perverts fucking each other in the living room in broad daylight almost.

Fraser moved his hand down Ray's stomach to Ray's cock, pulling at his balls, and between that and Fraser's dick, and the couch, Ray was coming, groaning, moaning, maybe he screamed a little, and Fraser was still fucking him, sharp, short strokes, over and over and over, and Ray wasn't sure if he could open his eyes, or if he could see anything, and it sounded like Fraser was talking.

Ray pushed his hands into the couch cushions and tried breathing as Fraser fucked him, and tried listening.

Fraser was saying, "You are going to be a civilian consultant, Ray. Payday is every second Friday. I arranged for direct deposit. You'll be reporting to me, and I'll expect you to keep up with your paperwork --"

Ray's dick slid in the wet on the couch from where he came all over it, slid in the wet of Fraser's hand where he'd come all over it, and he was coming again, inside his ass, like a girl would, and his eyes were tearing, and Fraser bit his neck and groaned, and Ray felt like an animal.

His knees were still locked when Fraser pulled away. Ray could feel come sliding out of him and dripping down his legs. Maybe he couldn't feel it sliding out. But it was dripping.

He sagged down onto the couch, and Fraser kind of sagged on top of him and then pulled away.

"Ah, Ray," said Fraser, and that was on Ray's list, too, the way Fraser could always form complete sentences that expressed complete thoughts -- during sex, after sex, when he wanted sex.

"Ah, Fraser," said Ray shakily.

"I'm sorry about your jeans."

Ray laughed a little, and slid down, the friction from the couch burning his chest a little until he hit the floor and laid on his back and kicked his jeans off.

He stretched out and looked over at Fraser, who was stretched next to him, his dick soft on his thigh.

Ray wanted to lean over and swallow it, but he knew better. He'd tried it once, his mouth overriding his common sense, and it hadn't tasted good, with the lube and the -- everything.

Fraser's head turned, and Ray thought: Ben.

"You got me a job," said Ray. He felt a little sleepy. The floor was hard and cold, but he could sleep there.

"Yes," said Fraser, and smiled. "I didn't want to tell you earlier, just -- well, frankly, in case it didn't work out. But you are more than qualified, and --"

"I love you," said Ray.

"And I you," said Fraser, and Ray leaned over and kissed him, just a soft kiss on his mouth. Fraser made a noise and kissed him back, and swiped his tongue over Ray's lips.

"You taste like me," said Ray. "I like that."