Dream Challenge by Tara Keezer (3)
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ds_flashfictionTitle: September 6, 1997
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: Hard R (which begs the question — if it’s M/M, is it even possible to have Soft NC-17?)
Summary: Fraser takes his own advice.
Notes: This follows Breathe; 1,450 words. Also, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
malnpudl, without whom, this ficlet would suck the big one (and I’m not talking about the fun kind of sucking).
Personal Journal of Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP
Current Posting: Canadian Consulate, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America
September 6, 1997
I dreamt of Ray last night, which was hardly a surprise, given our activities in his apartment. What was a surprise was that the dream culminated in my ejaculating whilst still asleep — though upon reflection, perhaps I should have expected it. Ray’s description of his dream had been quite —vivid. Certainly, it was detailed enough to suggest a scenario for my own subconscious several hours later.
In my dream, Ray and I were in the far north, making love inside an igloo. I suspect the igloo was a reference to my father’s confession that I was conceived in one. Thus, it makes sense that I would associate being in an igloo with having sex.
Perhaps I should start this record from before we went into the igloo. Ray and I had been caught in the cold, both of us alone, both of us ready to die. There’s little of symbolic interest in that detail. Whether in the Arctic or here in Chicago, we are both in danger and at risk should we remain on our own. Ray’s position as Detective Vecchio requires the cooperation of all who know “him,” and my own position in this country requires contact with one who can help steer me through cultural mores and standards, lest I endanger my position at the consulate (and thus endanger the fiction of Ray Kowalski as Ray Vecchio).Above the Arctic Circle, of course
Analysis is all very fine and well, but if I continue at this pace, I’ll still be entering the dream into this journal come nightfall. All things considered, I believe I will delay interpretation until I’ve written it down as completely as possible. This will, I believe, allow for a more natural —
Oh dear. I hadn’t realized I could be so determined to avoid anything, let alone my own dreams. Perhaps a period of meditation will help me focus on the process and allow me at last to describe last night’s dream.
~*~*~
I feel much more relaxed and in control.Meditation truly is
~*~*~
Ray and I were in the far north, quite alone and quite cut off from others. We were standing perhaps ten metres apart, and though we should have died quite quickly, given that we wore apparel more suited to Chicago’s summers than the Arctic’s winters, neither of us was in particular distress. The wind was blowing loudly, so I called out to him that we needed to get in out of the cold. He looked at me as if he couldn’t understand a word I’d just said.
As I started to explain again, I looked down and found all the tools I needed to build an igloo. I picked up an ice cutter and walked toward Ray, but he backed away a few steps, failing to understand my intent. I stopped and decided to build the structure right there, not wishing to frighten him into running off.
In the manner of dreams, the igloo was built between one thought and the next. I called to Ray and told him to come in from the cold. He shook his head, though I could see he was curious. I called out again, telling him we would both be safe inside, but he yelled out, “No.” Twice more, I importuned him, and with the last request, he finally started walking toward me.
His fear was great, but I could see that he was beginning to suffer from the wind and blowing snow. Ray came toward me and the igloo, dragging his feet at first and then, at last, running. It seemed to take forever as I waited for him at the entrance, but when he reached me, he had a look of such pure determination that I wondered at how long it took him to come to me.
I ushered him inside first and followed immediately. Though we had nothing when the dream started, the interior of the igloo was warm with lantern light, and there were various furs scattered on every available horizontal surface. I blinked, then, because Ray stood up (an impossibility in a real igloo, of course), and he was quite suddenly naked. I stood as well and discovered that I, too, had lost my clothing at some point.
We stared at each other, and though the distance between us was less than a metre, it might as well have been the width of an ocean for all the movement we made. I glanced down and saw that he was erect, his glans coated with clear seminal fluid which glistened in the erratic glow of a great many candles (which had replaced the single lantern). He pointed toward my penis, which was also erect and wet, and then he stepped toward me.
It was a monumental step, one that shook me to the core, and I could do no less than to take a step toward him in reply. We reached for one another at the same moment, our bodies fitting perfectly together, much as they had last night. I held him close as our lips met, and once again I tasted Ray.
His mouth held a subtle hint of coffee, which was overlaid by the slightly stronger taste of a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread and the much stronger taste of a well-aged dill pickle.Messerman’s Deli, I believe, was the source of Ray’s lunch yesterday, as it’s
~*~*~
These delaying tactics of mine are simply unacceptable. Perhaps another brief meditation will help.
~*~*~
I soon lost track of Ray’s taste, delighting instead in his personal aroma. There really is no single word to describe Ray’s scent on any given day. A mixture of Chicago, shampoo, hair gel, engine oil, pizza, chocolate, coffee and dried sweat typically combine to create an odor that is both intense and unexpectedly pleasant by the time evening rolls around. Even had he not confessed his dream to me last night, I fear I would have found it difficult not to bury my nose in his hair.
That same aroma was strong in my dream, and I pulled Ray even closer, so as not to allow any of it to escape. I was, I admit, rather greedy at that point, but as no one else was present to enjoy Ray’s scent, and it was, after all, simply a dream, I sated myself at his neck, his armpit, his groin. Nowhere on his body where odor could accumulate was safe from my nose —nor from my tongue, as it turned out.
His skin tasted as wonderful as his scent promised, and even better, it provided a range of texture from rough (his hands — workman’s hands) to incredibly smooth and soft (his belly, just above the pubis). The whole time I acquainted myself with his skin, Ray writhed on the furs, his desperate murmurs urging me onward until he begged me to take his penis into my mouth. I was incapable of ignoring him, and though I have no particular memory as to the specifics of how his seminal fluid tasted, I do remember feeling as though I would —
~*~*~
It’s excessively warm in here this morning. I can think of no other reason for — well. That’s neither here nor there.
Goodness. I hadn’t realized it was quite so late. Diefenbaker must be more than ready to go outside for a bit.
~*~*~
The walk helped, though after reading through what I wrote this morning, I note that my office is still extremely warm. I’ve opened the window to help moderate the temperature.
~*~*~
The act of tasting Ray’s most intimate length of flesh was a remarkable experience. Warm and solid, Ray’s penis had a silken feel, both on my tongue and fingers. His personal musk wafted up to greet me as I engulfed him in my mouth. He shuddered as I pulled up slowly, maintaining an even suction all the while. I didn’t fully release him, choosing instead to swipe my tongue around his glans once and then once more before swallowing him down again.
Despite our relative positions, I felt quite surrounded by Ray. There was nowhere I could escape him, nor he, me. I could have remained in that enraptured state forever, but it wasn’t long before Ray requested — insisted on — demanded —
His exact words were, “So help me god, Fraser, if you don’t start f —
~*~*~
Well. That was embarrassing and rather messy.
I’ve told Diefenbaker that he can cease and desist all commentary about self-control, particularly in light of his behavior with regard to food. Thank goodness the Consulate’s washer and dryer are in good working order.
Author: Tara Keezer
Rating: Hard R (which begs the question — if it’s M/M, is it even possible to have Soft NC-17?)
Summary: Fraser takes his own advice.
Notes: This follows Breathe; 1,450 words. Also, many thanks to
malnpudl, without whom, this ficlet would suck the big one (and I’m not talking about the fun kind of sucking).Personal Journal of Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP
Current Posting: Canadian Consulate, Chicago, Illinois, United States of America
September 6, 1997
I dreamt of Ray last night, which was hardly a surprise, given our activities in his apartment. What was a surprise was that the dream culminated in my ejaculating whilst still asleep — though upon reflection, perhaps I should have expected it. Ray’s description of his dream had been quite —vivid. Certainly, it was detailed enough to suggest a scenario for my own subconscious several hours later.
In my dream, Ray and I were in the far north, making love inside an igloo. I suspect the igloo was a reference to my father’s confession that I was conceived in one. Thus, it makes sense that I would associate being in an igloo with having sex.
Perhaps I should start this record from before we went into the igloo. Ray and I had been caught in the cold, both of us alone, both of us ready to die. There’s little of symbolic interest in that detail. Whether in the Arctic or here in Chicago, we are both in danger and at risk should we remain on our own. Ray’s position as Detective Vecchio requires the cooperation of all who know “him,” and my own position in this country requires contact with one who can help steer me through cultural mores and standards, lest I endanger my position at the consulate (and thus endanger the fiction of Ray Kowalski as Ray Vecchio).
Analysis is all very fine and well, but if I continue at this pace, I’ll still be entering the dream into this journal come nightfall. All things considered, I believe I will delay interpretation until I’ve written it down as completely as possible. This will, I believe, allow for a more natural —
Oh dear. I hadn’t realized I could be so determined to avoid anything, let alone my own dreams. Perhaps a period of meditation will help me focus on the process and allow me at last to describe last night’s dream.
~*~*~
I feel much more relaxed and in control.
~*~*~
Ray and I were in the far north, quite alone and quite cut off from others. We were standing perhaps ten metres apart, and though we should have died quite quickly, given that we wore apparel more suited to Chicago’s summers than the Arctic’s winters, neither of us was in particular distress. The wind was blowing loudly, so I called out to him that we needed to get in out of the cold. He looked at me as if he couldn’t understand a word I’d just said.
As I started to explain again, I looked down and found all the tools I needed to build an igloo. I picked up an ice cutter and walked toward Ray, but he backed away a few steps, failing to understand my intent. I stopped and decided to build the structure right there, not wishing to frighten him into running off.
In the manner of dreams, the igloo was built between one thought and the next. I called to Ray and told him to come in from the cold. He shook his head, though I could see he was curious. I called out again, telling him we would both be safe inside, but he yelled out, “No.” Twice more, I importuned him, and with the last request, he finally started walking toward me.
His fear was great, but I could see that he was beginning to suffer from the wind and blowing snow. Ray came toward me and the igloo, dragging his feet at first and then, at last, running. It seemed to take forever as I waited for him at the entrance, but when he reached me, he had a look of such pure determination that I wondered at how long it took him to come to me.
I ushered him inside first and followed immediately. Though we had nothing when the dream started, the interior of the igloo was warm with lantern light, and there were various furs scattered on every available horizontal surface. I blinked, then, because Ray stood up (an impossibility in a real igloo, of course), and he was quite suddenly naked. I stood as well and discovered that I, too, had lost my clothing at some point.
We stared at each other, and though the distance between us was less than a metre, it might as well have been the width of an ocean for all the movement we made. I glanced down and saw that he was erect, his glans coated with clear seminal fluid which glistened in the erratic glow of a great many candles (which had replaced the single lantern). He pointed toward my penis, which was also erect and wet, and then he stepped toward me.
It was a monumental step, one that shook me to the core, and I could do no less than to take a step toward him in reply. We reached for one another at the same moment, our bodies fitting perfectly together, much as they had last night. I held him close as our lips met, and once again I tasted Ray.
His mouth held a subtle hint of coffee, which was overlaid by the slightly stronger taste of a ham and cheese sandwich on white bread and the much stronger taste of a well-aged dill pickle.
~*~*~
These delaying tactics of mine are simply unacceptable. Perhaps another brief meditation will help.
~*~*~
I soon lost track of Ray’s taste, delighting instead in his personal aroma. There really is no single word to describe Ray’s scent on any given day. A mixture of Chicago, shampoo, hair gel, engine oil, pizza, chocolate, coffee and dried sweat typically combine to create an odor that is both intense and unexpectedly pleasant by the time evening rolls around. Even had he not confessed his dream to me last night, I fear I would have found it difficult not to bury my nose in his hair.
That same aroma was strong in my dream, and I pulled Ray even closer, so as not to allow any of it to escape. I was, I admit, rather greedy at that point, but as no one else was present to enjoy Ray’s scent, and it was, after all, simply a dream, I sated myself at his neck, his armpit, his groin. Nowhere on his body where odor could accumulate was safe from my nose —nor from my tongue, as it turned out.
His skin tasted as wonderful as his scent promised, and even better, it provided a range of texture from rough (his hands — workman’s hands) to incredibly smooth and soft (his belly, just above the pubis). The whole time I acquainted myself with his skin, Ray writhed on the furs, his desperate murmurs urging me onward until he begged me to take his penis into my mouth. I was incapable of ignoring him, and though I have no particular memory as to the specifics of how his seminal fluid tasted, I do remember feeling as though I would —
~*~*~
It’s excessively warm in here this morning. I can think of no other reason for — well. That’s neither here nor there.
Goodness. I hadn’t realized it was quite so late. Diefenbaker must be more than ready to go outside for a bit.
~*~*~
The walk helped, though after reading through what I wrote this morning, I note that my office is still extremely warm. I’ve opened the window to help moderate the temperature.
~*~*~
The act of tasting Ray’s most intimate length of flesh was a remarkable experience. Warm and solid, Ray’s penis had a silken feel, both on my tongue and fingers. His personal musk wafted up to greet me as I engulfed him in my mouth. He shuddered as I pulled up slowly, maintaining an even suction all the while. I didn’t fully release him, choosing instead to swipe my tongue around his glans once and then once more before swallowing him down again.
Despite our relative positions, I felt quite surrounded by Ray. There was nowhere I could escape him, nor he, me. I could have remained in that enraptured state forever, but it wasn’t long before Ray requested — insisted on — demanded —
His exact words were, “So help me god, Fraser, if you don’t start f —
~*~*~
Well. That was embarrassing and rather messy.
I’ve told Diefenbaker that he can cease and desist all commentary about self-control, particularly in light of his behavior with regard to food. Thank goodness the Consulate’s washer and dryer are in good working order.
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