by Debra Fran Baker
Author's website: http://www.NightRoadsAssoc.com/
Disclaimer: Not my guys.
This story may be printed out for personal use only.
Author's Notes: Thank you, Laura JV and Owlrigh for the beta.
His eyes are blue, too. Sometimes, that's almost enough.
"May I help you, Detective Vecchio?" Turnbull smiled at me from the door of the Canadian Consulate. He had a nice smile. Too bad there was nothing behind it.
"Yeah. Is Fraser in?" I shifted from one foot to the other, kind of dancing in place.
He shook his head. "I'm afraid Constable Fraser is out for the evening. Was he expecting you?"
"Nah. I was just going to ask him if he wanted to have dinner or something, maybe just hang at my place." And maybe I'd get to jump his bones later. Of course, I'd been thinking that since the day we met, and I hadn't done it yet, so that probably wasn't going to happen this time, either. But hope jumps eternal.
"I'm very sorry. As it happens, Constable Fraser is escorting a young lady to the movies tonight."
"Fraser? On a date? Who is he dating?"
"The Honorable Miss Gillingham."
I blinked. "You mean that English chick he had to take to a party last week?" He'd whined about it the entire day. Well, not whined, exactly. Grumbled. He'd grumbled about it. Although, come to think of it, he never said a word the next day. And something in my gut got tight and hard. It felt the same way it felt when I saw Stella dating someone. And it made even less sense.
"The very same...chick, Detective Vecchio." That was weird. I could have sworn I heard Turnbull sound almost snarky, but that was impossible because
Turnbull wouldn't know snarky if it turned around and bit him. "They have...seen...each other two or three times since that evening."
"So, when do you expect him back?"
"I don't." Okay. He was making fists. So was I. And it wasn't because Fraser said nothing about this chick. I couldn't blame her, either. "Okay, Turnbull. I guess I'm just going to head home alone."
"Have a good evening, Detective. I have similar plans."
He sounded empty. I don't mean the way he normally does, but like there was nothing at all inside him. "Ah, what the hell. Want to come over to my place? Maybe even bring of those curling tapes? We can order pizza, have a guys night in or something." I will never, no matter how long I live, forget the way his eyes lit up, like he was a kid at Christmas. How lonely could a guy be? "When does your shift end?"
"It's been over for an hour, Detective." Real lonely. Makes me look like a social firefly.
"Then we got nothing to wait for."
Turnbull insisted on going home to change. Home was not a cardboard box like Fraser said, but it wasn't much more than a closet with a bedroll and a TV. He didn't seem to care that I was standing there watching him take off all that wool and hardware and put on the first set of civvies I'd ever seen on him. It wasn't like the civvies were anything special - just jeans, and not even drive me crazy tight like Fraser's, and a sweater - but he did not look like a Mounties. He didn't even grab his hat when we left, just a cassette from a pile. It wasn't labeled, so I figured it was more curling. I shrugged, sort of mentally. No good deed goes unpunished.
Turned out to be this weird experimental flick some friends of his made, all snow and sunlight and technomusic, with no plot and no acting. Also turned out that I liked it.
"How come you got friends like that, Turnbull?" We did order pizza, and I have to say it was strange eating without a wolf begging for half the pie, and Fraser alternately feeding him and scolding him. Next to that, chatting to Turnbull about college friends seemed almost normal.
"I was actually a film major in University, Detective Vecchio, but my father insisted that I follow the family tradition. However, I kept up with my companions and occasionally help with their projects - for example, I did some of the lighting in the one we just saw. Did you truly enjoy it, Detective?"
"I said I did, did I not? I would not have watched it twice otherwise. Your old man wanted you to be a Mountie? Like Fraser?"
"Actually, my father is a local politician. He wanted me to go on to law school. The RCMP was our compromise." He smiled. He has a nice smile.
"My old man wanted me to finish college, but I wanted to be a cop. Anyway,
I got married real young and needed to help Stella through law school. Felt like I was going at the same time, too." I took a slug of soda.
"I'm glad you were able to be what you wanted to be. I enjoy being a Mountie, but I do envy you and Constable Fraser for being able to follow your true inclinations."
"I sometimes wonder about Fraser. I mean, my dad was nothing special, so maybe I am way off base here, but if he was the greatest cop ever, I'd maybe think twice about being one, too."
Turnbull bit his lip. "Perhaps, Detective Vecchio, we could talk about something other than Constable Fraser? I know I introduced the subject."
"Not a problem." I finished my soda. "There's a Marlon Brando movie starting right about now. Want to watch?"
"Yes. Yes, I would." He smiled again. He also insisted on helping with cleanup, but since that was getting rid of a couple of paper plates and a big flat box, that didn't take long. I got a couple of beers out of the fridge while he was doing that, and offered him one.
"American beer?" You have thought I was offering him...something too disgusting to describe.
I rolled my eyes. "Microbrew. Never saw Milwaukee."
"In that case, thank you kindly." He took the bottle and opened the cap easily. He had nice hands. Hands are not things I normally notice unless they are holding a gun or some other implement of destruction that could threaten me or innocent bystanders. His hands were nice. Graceful. He made opening a beer bottle look like his fingers were dancing.
We took our bottles back to the sofa. He sat down where he had before, on the far right side, while I sat on the far left, like we were leaving room for someone between us.
"You sure you want to watch this movie? I can find something else. Or...whatever."
"No, Detective. Anything would be fine." He smiled again. "I'm having a pleasant evening here."
"You know. You can call me Ray. And I can call you...can call you...what is your first name?"
"I'd like that. Ray. My name is Renfield."
"Really? Is that a family name or something?" I took a pull of my beer.
"Not Ren? Or Rennie?"
"No. Just Renfield."
I thought about. "Yeah. That fits you."
"As Ray fits you."
I picked up the remote. I put it down again. I looked at Renfield, sitting across the couch from me. I thought about the person between us.
"Does Fraser know?"
"Does Constable Fraser know what?" His face went blank.
"How you feel?"
"Must we talk about Constable Fraser, Ray?"
"Yeah. We must. Cause he's right here, and it would be rude not to." I pointed to the empty space.
"I would rather not...but." He ran his hand over his face. "It doesn't matter if Constable Fraser is aware or not. He knows I am homosexual. I know he is not. Therefore, my feelings are irrelevant because he cannot return them." He smiled a little, except it wasn't a real smile. It was one of those smiles that you put on for yourself so you think you're okay even when you're not. It hurt to look at. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I turned on the movie.
We came on in the middle of an ad for a Fred Astaire movie tape series. Fred and Ginger were gliding across the floor. Stella and I did that once upon a time. Turned out to be one of the not many good things in our marriage.
"You aren't bothered that I'm homosexual?" He looked at me. His eyes were not empty, not the way they usually are. What was in them hurt like that smile that wasn't a smile.
"Nah. Whatever floats your boat - especially since my own boat is kind of floated almost the same way, sometimes? And, no. I don't want to talk about Fraser, either."
"I had no idea, but then I've been told I have quite faulty 'gaydar'." He smiled. "Shall we watch the movie, then?"
He looked good when he smiled. "I got a better idea, Renfield, ol' buddy." Okay, my mouth was walking ahead of my brain again, but considering my brain, that's not a bad thing. "I know I'm not Fraser, but there are a couple of things I do better than he does." I shut off the TV.
"Yeah. I make better kielbasa, and I can dance. And right now, I want to dance. With you."
"Excuse me?" He looked at me in amazement.
I stood up and offered him my hand. "Renfield, would you do me the honor of dancing with me? Can you dance?" If he couldn't, this was going to rank up there with the big mistakes of my life. Of course, if he could, that could be true, too.
"There's no music."
"We don't need music." I smiled at him.
"In that case, I would be happy to dance with you, Ray. I'm not very good, but I can follow your lead." He stood up. He was taller than me, but that did not matter. He felt good in my arms. That did matter.
He let me lead. Most taller guys won't, but he did. And he wasn't a bad dancer at all. He was not Ginger, but I was no Fred and we managed - he didn't step on my feet once, like Stella did way in the beginning. And I got that feeling I get when I dance, the feeling I sometimes got when Fraser and me clicked, or when...well, that was about it. When everything was working the way it should and I was flying. I could even hear the music in my head.
And then that music in my head stopped. And Renfield's eyes were blue. Not the right blue, but they were blue. And he was smiling and he felt good in my arms. I don't know what he was thinking, but he bent his head down and I tilted mine up.
He kissed better than he danced. Maybe because I let him lead that time. And he tasted like beer and pizza, and like a guy, and he sounded like a guy and felt like one, and I guess I was in a guy mood. This was no shock since I'd been in a guy mood since that guy we weren't talking about, the one boinking the girl, walked into my life.
It had been too long a time since anyone had kissed me seriously. Maggie did not count. Maggie was now at the status of "friend's sister", and "friend's sisters" do not count. Especially when the one you wanted was the friend.
Renfield, his kiss meant something. I could feel it all through my body. I could feel parts moving that had not moved for another person since Stella left me. Or maybe since Fraser shared air with me, except that that was just reflex. Had to be just reflex.
This was not reflex. This was standing up and saying "hello, I am your penis and I am interested in this person kissing you." And the person kissing me was getting the same message, so this was good. I felt like he was going to eat my mouth, but that was also good.
He pulled away, and I had to moan for a while. "I'm sorry, Ray. I'm not the one you want."
"Right now, you are." I smiled at him.
He smiled back. "As are you."
I do not remember how we got to the bed or how we got naked. It did not seem important at the time - nothing was more important than how his hands felt on my body, and how I could not breathe once he laid me down on my mattress.
"You're scared." His eyes narrowed in confusion and concern.
"I am...I'm okay, Renfield. You do not need to worry about me." Even as I said those words, I started to shiver.
He climbed on next to me and held me close. "Of course I do. We can stop right here and now if you wish, Ray. This...this is more than I've had in a very long time."
I was tempted. I was scared. Men were fantasies. Renfield was reality. He was also warm and I felt good right there. "I want...I want everything. This is good, but more is better, right?"
He kissed my forehead. "Yes. It can be. You have never done this before?"
"Does that bother you? Cause...it's okay if it does." I managed to wrap an arm around him, as far as I could. He was solid like a tree or something under there. "Or if you do not really want a skinny guy with no ass to speak of."
Instead of saying something, he kissed me again. This was better than the kiss before. This was kissing heaven.
"You do want me?"
"Yes. Let me show you. I'll do whatever you want me to." His voice was hoarse, and I could feel him hard like a rock next to me, and I knew what I was going to say.
"Anything you want. That's lovers, right? Be inside me."
"I'll fill you up, Ray. I'll make you happy." I could hear how desperate he was, and I knew why. But it didn't matter. All I could think of was having him, all of him, there. And that was almost enough.
And then I could not think anymore. His hands were everywhere, and where his hands were not, his lips were, or his tongue, or even his teeth, and when I tried to follow his lead, he sometimes made me stop and sometimes just moaned. All my fantasies about men, about...about someone else...nothing was like reality. Renfield was reality, solid and hard and nothing like Stella, and it was all good.
And then he turned me over., and then he fished on the floor where his jeans were, and pulled out something. I had my head on my hands, and my mind was racing, so I had no idea but it didn't matter. When his fingers touched me there, it was like nothing else, it was like magic and starting to dance and stepping up to the plate when you know you can't hit anything.
And then...it didn't hurt. He's so big and clumsy. I didn't know he could be gentle. I did not know anyone could be so gentle, but he was. He got me ready, and even that was good. And then, then he was inside. I felt the condom, I felt the grease, but I mostly felt him - big, hard, insisting that I open up and let him in.
And I did. And he pushed again, and if it hurt, I didn't notice, so I guess it didn't. It was just...I was flying. I was dancing. I was chasing down the worst crook in Chicago with my partner by my side. And it felt so good I didn't stop to think that maybe I had the wrong Mountie in mind.
It just got better and better and felt more and more right, until I wondered what kind of idiot let this go until he was my age, and then it was...big. Huge. Skyrockets huge. Exploding all over the bed huge. And then he filled me again.
A little while later, he cleaned us both up and then snuggled next to me. There was nothing to say, so we didn't say anything. We just went to sleep, and if we dreamed about someone else, it was the same someone else, and that's something, right?
So. We don't do it every night, or anything, and sometimes I find other guys who'll look twice at a funny looking skinny cop and ram him into tomorrow, and I guess he knows where to go, too. But when ever it gets too hard to work with Fraser, he calls me or I call him and we do it. He has blue eyes. It's almost enough.
Copyright 2001 Debra Fran Baker and NightRoads Associate
End Blue Eyes by Debra Fran Baker: firstname.lastname@example.org
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