A post-CotW journal entry
Jun. 17th, 2003 10:17 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
jenboo.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionjust a little over the limit at 1030 words, but since it's supposed to be a journal entry, I was loath to edit it.
From the journal of Benton Fraser
April 17, 1998
Ray and I have reached the rebuilt shell of my father’s cabin, having abandoned our pursuit of the Hand of Franklin. Certain developments that I have refrained from commenting on here made adequate shelter a more urgent need than the completion of a journey, a quest that was largely an excuse for us to remain together. I understand that now.
I had never realized the extent to which both of us sublimated our true selves during our working partnership. Not until six nights ago when Ray reached over and kissed me for the first time.
It happened during dinner. I had fed the dogs while he heated a tin of stew over our campfire. We were tired from a long day of running hard, but there didn’t seem to be any more tension in our interaction than any other day. We were quiet as we ate, stealing glances at each other and smiling when we caught each other at it. It was no different than any other night making camp. Except Ray put his spoon into his bowl of stew, set the bowl down in the snow, put a hand to my wind-burned cheek and whispered “Fuck it” right before he pressed his lips gently to mine.
Then he sat back and watched and waited.
I had been stunned into inaction. I had, in my most private moments, thought about a casual kiss over a meal, as we passed each other in Ray’s apartment, as I got out of his bed in the morning to ready myself for the day. But I had never in my wildest dreams thought that it would indeed happen.
He let me percolate for a moment or two before he said anything more, thinking I have no idea what. Then he called my name, softly, his voice so full of vulnerability that I was shaken into action because I couldn’t allow doubt to cloud what he had so bravely done.
I set my bowl of stew next to his, reached over and returned his kiss in kind.
“Thank you kindly, Ray,” I whispered into his mouth.
Which led us directly to this moment. Ray is still sleeping on the nest of sleeping bags, camping pads and blankets we rigged as a bed. Neither of us was too keen on trying to share the twin-sized mattress on its rickety iron frame. We’ve been too active for that to be safe. Diefenbaker has taken full advantage, thinking I’m sure that some change in Pack order has taken place because the humans are sleeping on the floor while he enjoys the bed.
As I look at Ray now, he is more at peace than I have ever seen him. I suspect my face mirrors that peace, for I know I have never felt so peaceful. It is as if a large piece of myself has been returned to me after a long absence.
We have precisely nine days left of our leave, of which we will make the most, I have no doubt. But there are also things that must be discussed, choices that must be made about our future. I have no idea how to broach the subject, but it must be done while we are in the privacy of our remote little haven for I fear the discussions would be lost in the bustle of everyday routine once we are back in Chicago.
It seems that the weight of my stare has been enough to waken Ray, because now he is smiling drowsily at me from his pillow. He asks me if I’m planning on returning to Chicago with him. I assure him that I wouldn’t want it any other way. I find that as much as I have enjoyed my time here with Ray, I also miss the city and the friends I have made there. “Greatness,” he says, lifting himself from the covers and strolling over to me, wrapping a blanket around himself to keep the chill off his golden skin.
April 17, 1998 – evening
My entry was interrupted by a very determined Chicago detective and I was more than happy to oblige him. He claimed to be hungry and then proceeded kneel between my thighs and fellate me with abandon. When he’d wrung the last shudders from me, he moved in closer, straddled my lap and wrapped the blanket around both of us. “Move in with me?” he asked. I asked him if he was concerned about appearances and he shrugged and replied (and I quote directly) “Who gives a flying fuck?” Which clued me in to the fact that he most assuredly didn’t.
I expect that I will be neglectful of this task for the next nine days. I plan to take full advantage of the time we have left and while I don’t see this writing as wasted time, I have the feeling that there will be little of note to record here that wouldn’t be pornographic in nature. Our plans are to leave this small shack no more than is absolutely necessary, to make up for lost time as we plan our future together. My new assignment was waiting at the post office when we came through town on the way to the cabin. Ottawa has accepted my request to be assigned permanently to the Consulate in Chicago. I had planned on returning no matter what the outcome of our adventure, having no expectations that this would ever coalesce between us. It turns out to be a happy accident for which I will be forever grateful.
It seems that supper is ready and truth be told, I am starving. For food, for his touch, for his taste, for everything. I will eat my supper because I know I need the calories and then I will return the favor he so graciously gave me earlier. I have begun to look forward to the heft and weight of him in my mouth, the bitter, salty flavor of him when he comes.
And so I close this book on this day, for the first time in my life looking ahead with delight on my future.
From the journal of Benton Fraser
April 17, 1998
Ray and I have reached the rebuilt shell of my father’s cabin, having abandoned our pursuit of the Hand of Franklin. Certain developments that I have refrained from commenting on here made adequate shelter a more urgent need than the completion of a journey, a quest that was largely an excuse for us to remain together. I understand that now.
I had never realized the extent to which both of us sublimated our true selves during our working partnership. Not until six nights ago when Ray reached over and kissed me for the first time.
It happened during dinner. I had fed the dogs while he heated a tin of stew over our campfire. We were tired from a long day of running hard, but there didn’t seem to be any more tension in our interaction than any other day. We were quiet as we ate, stealing glances at each other and smiling when we caught each other at it. It was no different than any other night making camp. Except Ray put his spoon into his bowl of stew, set the bowl down in the snow, put a hand to my wind-burned cheek and whispered “Fuck it” right before he pressed his lips gently to mine.
Then he sat back and watched and waited.
I had been stunned into inaction. I had, in my most private moments, thought about a casual kiss over a meal, as we passed each other in Ray’s apartment, as I got out of his bed in the morning to ready myself for the day. But I had never in my wildest dreams thought that it would indeed happen.
He let me percolate for a moment or two before he said anything more, thinking I have no idea what. Then he called my name, softly, his voice so full of vulnerability that I was shaken into action because I couldn’t allow doubt to cloud what he had so bravely done.
I set my bowl of stew next to his, reached over and returned his kiss in kind.
“Thank you kindly, Ray,” I whispered into his mouth.
Which led us directly to this moment. Ray is still sleeping on the nest of sleeping bags, camping pads and blankets we rigged as a bed. Neither of us was too keen on trying to share the twin-sized mattress on its rickety iron frame. We’ve been too active for that to be safe. Diefenbaker has taken full advantage, thinking I’m sure that some change in Pack order has taken place because the humans are sleeping on the floor while he enjoys the bed.
As I look at Ray now, he is more at peace than I have ever seen him. I suspect my face mirrors that peace, for I know I have never felt so peaceful. It is as if a large piece of myself has been returned to me after a long absence.
We have precisely nine days left of our leave, of which we will make the most, I have no doubt. But there are also things that must be discussed, choices that must be made about our future. I have no idea how to broach the subject, but it must be done while we are in the privacy of our remote little haven for I fear the discussions would be lost in the bustle of everyday routine once we are back in Chicago.
It seems that the weight of my stare has been enough to waken Ray, because now he is smiling drowsily at me from his pillow. He asks me if I’m planning on returning to Chicago with him. I assure him that I wouldn’t want it any other way. I find that as much as I have enjoyed my time here with Ray, I also miss the city and the friends I have made there. “Greatness,” he says, lifting himself from the covers and strolling over to me, wrapping a blanket around himself to keep the chill off his golden skin.
April 17, 1998 – evening
My entry was interrupted by a very determined Chicago detective and I was more than happy to oblige him. He claimed to be hungry and then proceeded kneel between my thighs and fellate me with abandon. When he’d wrung the last shudders from me, he moved in closer, straddled my lap and wrapped the blanket around both of us. “Move in with me?” he asked. I asked him if he was concerned about appearances and he shrugged and replied (and I quote directly) “Who gives a flying fuck?” Which clued me in to the fact that he most assuredly didn’t.
I expect that I will be neglectful of this task for the next nine days. I plan to take full advantage of the time we have left and while I don’t see this writing as wasted time, I have the feeling that there will be little of note to record here that wouldn’t be pornographic in nature. Our plans are to leave this small shack no more than is absolutely necessary, to make up for lost time as we plan our future together. My new assignment was waiting at the post office when we came through town on the way to the cabin. Ottawa has accepted my request to be assigned permanently to the Consulate in Chicago. I had planned on returning no matter what the outcome of our adventure, having no expectations that this would ever coalesce between us. It turns out to be a happy accident for which I will be forever grateful.
It seems that supper is ready and truth be told, I am starving. For food, for his touch, for his taste, for everything. I will eat my supper because I know I need the calories and then I will return the favor he so graciously gave me earlier. I have begun to look forward to the heft and weight of him in my mouth, the bitter, salty flavor of him when he comes.
And so I close this book on this day, for the first time in my life looking ahead with delight on my future.
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no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 10:35 am (UTC)And April 17th is my anniversary, so thanks for that!
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Date: 2003-06-17 07:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 11:13 am (UTC)Great story!
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Date: 2003-06-17 07:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 11:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 11:50 am (UTC)Diefenbaker has taken full advantage, thinking I’m sure that some change in Pack order has taken place because the humans are sleeping on the floor while he enjoys the bed.
:-)
no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 07:52 pm (UTC)When I realized there must be very little in the cabin and that Fraser wouldn't have invested in anything more than a single bed, I knew Dief was going to sleep comfortably. :oD
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Date: 2003-06-17 12:38 pm (UTC)And I have to agree that only Fraser could write "fellate me with abandon. and have that sound so... lovely *g*
Thank you for sharing this.
::big happy grin::
no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 01:25 pm (UTC)Oh, delightful. You've captured Fraser, all right, as has Ray, I see. Thanks so much for this terrific [journal] entry.
no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 07:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-17 08:07 pm (UTC)I really struggle with Fraser sometimes. This weekly challenge writing has really helped alot!
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Date: 2003-06-17 05:31 pm (UTC)This is SO Ray. *sigh*
Very sweet. I like the idea of Fraser using a journal to work out his own thoughts, just like dad.
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Date: 2003-06-17 08:16 pm (UTC)Thanks, darlin'! And can I say I *live* the icon? Beautiful!
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Date: 2003-06-18 04:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-18 07:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-06-18 04:46 pm (UTC)I don't think Ray could ask for more with *his* cup of coffee, either. ;o)
I love that pic, btw. It makes me think of fall mornings when I used to live on the beach...a cup of coffee and a walk on the deserted, misty sand. *sigh*
no subject
Date: 2010-05-29 02:42 am (UTC)