Fraser and Ray have been talking about a particular kind of fantasy roleplay scene for a long time; it's just a matter of working out the details so they both feel safe about doing it.

Fraser likes Ray's hands--likes them a lot. When Ray figures out how much, he gets determined to give Fraser everything he's looking for down to the very last inch, if that's what Fraser wants.

It's hopelessly selfish, but Fraser can't resist; Ray's just that good with his hands.

"What the hell is this, an Austen novel?"

Ray was thinking about it whenever they fucked, thinking about that hot, desperate look on Fraser's face the last time, like when Ray wrapped his fingers around Fraser's wrists, he got something, understood something that Fraser had never shared before with anybody ever.

"Iowa," Ray repeats. "Fucking Iowa. We're trapped in Iowa."

"Oh, you just like saying Iowa," I say, raising my paper again.

Fraser lowered Ray's arms slowly. "It's hard to imagine disliking libraries," he said. "Some of my fondest childhood memories involve libraries."

Ray braced one hand on the beer-soaked bar. "What you got over there? Terrorists? Killers? Mad bomber?"

"Olga," Fraser said inexplicably.

I am not the only person here who wants a do-over.

"I'm the one wearing the dress, if you'd deign to notice."

Fraser/Kowalski -- NC-17 -- 41K
Ray thinks about making a mark

"Not that one," Ray said. "And no way. Not that one. You got a transistor loose or something?"

Detective Vecchio wished me to forward the following two (2) inquiries, firstly "Dief or carpet?" and second "Belgium or Bulgaria?"

He also wished to inform you that he will be away from his desk a great deal due to some bucolic bulls (I may have misheard, but was unable to question Det. Vecchio as he had already disconnected).

Fraser/Kowalski, NC-17
It's why he could sit in the middle of a camp of Mounties, eating a bowl of God-is-this-polar-bear-stew and say, hey, buddy, got an idea. Let's go get that Hand of Franklin. I cannot think of anything more unlikely, so I'm pretty sure we'll find it.

by pir8fancier

Close enough. Ray moves four inches to the right and tries again. "This entire--thing. Trip. Adventure. *I know what this is*." "And that is?" "I've been kidnapped."

Fraser/RayK, AU, NC-17. A widowed policeman meets a Canadian Mountie in Chicago.

I open the door. The good news is that there's not a chick hiding out. The bad news is that there is a three-year-old boy with brown hair sitting on the toilet.

"Hi," the boy offers brightly.

"I can explain," Fraser says hastily.

SUMMARY: When undercover assignments, a bent ray, and body glitter become mutually inclusive...

"Just--the Mountie love fest. It's everywhere. It's like disco. It sucks."

"Ten years. Wow. "

by kat Allison

Co-authored with Alanna and Starfish. Sometimes parents really do know best.

Finally: This is the continuation of "Real Boys (A Chip Off the Old Blog)," the short piece originally posted under the "genre" challenge as a riff on Philip K. Dick's dystopia. I've posted the whole thing in its entirety here just for tidiness' sake.

by doll_revolution
BOOKS: Ice Storm: A Historic Record in Photographs, ISBN 0771061005
Looking North: Royal Canadian Mounted Police Illustrations: The Potlatch Collection, ISBN 189043454X

Skilled Worker Self-Assessment - Page One

"I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father--"

"Sh." Ray cups Fraser's chin in his hand and rubs Fraser's lips with