No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
Fraser stood mutely, watching numbly as the doctor switched off the life support machines. Ray's life escaped in a rasping breath, and it was over.
Victoria was waiting for him in the hire car, and he was strangely glad for her company.
"I'm sorry about your friend," she offered.
He said nothing, grimly silent as he started the
engine and pointed the car north.
There was nothing to keep him in Chicago anymore.
She studied him as they
drove , not speaking, there were no need for words
between them. The deep gash
down the side of his face marred his beauty, struck
by flying shrapnel, what he
thought might have been the wing mirror, when the
Riv had exploded. Dief had
been killed outright. Had he not turned back to get
his hat, he too would have
died in that fiery steel coffin.
The snowstorm had blocked out all light, obscuring their path behind them as they reached the cabin. They were trapped here, for better or worse. In the flickering glow of the fire Fraser made, two bodies joined again and again in animal fury. He caught up her hand, kissing the fingertips, then snapped Ray's handcuffs around that wrist, then the other, looping the chain through the metal post of the bed. Her lips pouted invitingly, excited.
Kneeling beside her upon the bed, he touched the tip of the barrel of his service revolver to her lips. She took it in her mouth, her tongue circling the tip, sucking slightly.. He trailed the gun slowly down, between her breasts, across her abdomen, down to stroke her clitoris with the cold metal, sliding the cold hard steel barrel inside her. moving it up and down. She arched, moaning softly in pleasure.
"You want this, don't you?" he asked quietly.
She sighed, her head tilted back in answer, and he calmly pulled the trigger. Her eyes stared lifelessly towards the ceiling in surprise as he leant forward and kissed her still warm lips, pushing her tongue back inside her mouth, almost tenderly.
"You killed my lover, you bitch, " he hissed in her dead ear.
He pulled a burning log from the fireplace and thre it onto the bed, watching it catch the sheets alight; a bright orange funeral pyre. Without bothering to dress, he took the gun and walked out into the snow. Just barely over the roar of the blizzard came the crack of the revolver.