Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.

Author's Notes: Written for the "something gets it" challenge over at ds_flashfiction.

The fight's the same. The fight's always the same. Or at least it's a fight we have a lot. If we're not fighting about Ben being too thickheaded to carry a gun, we're fighting about Ben being too uptight to let me eat my chicken fried steak in peace without any snarky comments about my arteries, or we're fighting about Ben's obsessive need to pick up every piece of clothing that hits the floor even if they're hitting the floor because we're ripping them off to get naked so we can have sex.

We didn't fight this much before the sex, and we didn't fight this much while we were having sex up in Canada, but as soon as we got back to Chicago we started fighting a lot. Probably because we live together now and don't have any neutral corners to go back to. I mentioned that one time and one time only, because when I said it he assumed I meant that I wanted him to move out and he got all huffy and I'm terribly sorry if I'm intruding on your personal space, Ray, and it took almost an entire day of me holding him down and making him come until he stopped being huffy and realized that I wanted him to stay.

The sex is good. The sex is greatness, amazing, better than anything else in the world. We don't stop being competitive when we hit the sheets (or couch, or laundry room, or that out-of-the-way janitor's closet in the basement of the precinct), but it works for us there. After all, there's nothing wrong with two guys trying to see who can hold out the longest, who can make the other one come the hardest, trying to make every time that much better than the last. Bed is one place where we really get along.

Not that we always fight, because we don't. Sometimes we can go weeks and we're in this groove, this perfect crime-fighting, cock-sucking, snuggled-up-watching-hockey-on-TV groove. And then Ben walks in between two goombahs holding AK-47's and says, "Pardon me, but I'm afraid I can't allow you two scumbags to riddle one another with bullet holes so I'm just going to walk into the line of fire as if my skin was made of lead and ask you to be really stupid and surrender your weapons, thank you kindly." And, fine, that's not exactly what he said, but it might as well have been.

"You have got to think, Fraser!" I usually call him Ben, but when I'm pissed it's right back to Fraser, like how I know I'm in trouble if my mom calls me Stanley Raymond. I'm cleaning out the turtle tank and Margo's cowering in the corner because I'm ripping out the old lettuce and stuff kind of hard, and once when I did that I accidentally flipped her out onto the floor. She was fine, though. I mean, that's what the shell's for, right?

"I do think, Ray," he says as he puts the last of the dishes away. I never do the dishes when we're fighting because I tend to break things. "I deduced that while Mr. Sacco and Mr. Vanzetti were, indeed, in an apparent standoff, in reality they-"

"In reality they were two gangsters with fucking automatic weapons aimed at each other, ready to shoot, and you just fucking waltzed into the middle of the room like you always do."

"Don't be ridiculous, Ray, I don't always do anything. To say that someone always does something is to imply that they never do anything else."

"In this situation, you always get yourself almost killed," I snap as I fill Margo's dish with pieces of lettuce and potato and a few chunks of the ham we had for dinner. She edges forward a little bit but doesn't go for the food until I yank my hand out of the tank and snap the lid down tight and weight it with a few rocks so Dief can't nose it open and steal her dinner, which the shameless furball has been known to do.

"I didn't-"

"You got a fucking bullet wound in your leg to prove it!"

His lips are pressed together tight. "It's just a scratch," he says as he crosses his arms over his chest, dishtowel still in one hand.

That is it. I am going to scream. I am going to scream or I am going to strangle him, so I turn around and close my eyes and start counting to ten. I get to ten and I still want to strangle him so I count to ten again and concentrate on breathing slow like the anger management counselor I got assigned to after I kicked that guy in the face taught me.

"Besides, Ray, they weren't automatic weapons, they were semi-automatic weapons and-"

That's it. I do start to scream. I don't even got words, I'm just screaming like some fucking nutcase, like the nutcase I am for falling in love with him. "Fraser," I say once I got my words back, "you are just...and then you...and I don't even..." I'm panting hard and he's just standing there in the kitchen with a dishtowel in one hand and that patient look on his face like he could just stand there all night and watch me lose my shit, and that makes me want to strangle him all the more because if we're fighting, I don't want to be the only one who's pissed off.

I stalk towards him and grab the first thing I see off the counter, which happens to be a statue of Kokopelli that my mom sent me from Arizona. According to Fraser, he's not just a musician and a trickster, he's a pervert, too. I don't think my mom knew that when she sent it to me.

"You," I say, jabbing the statue towards Fraser, "have a bullet hole in your thigh and you tell me it's just a scratch?"

"Well," he says, cracking his neck, "perhaps the word 'gouge' would be more apt."

"And you," I jab the statue at him again, "you tell me it makes a fucking difference if the guns were automatic or just semi-auto?"

"Well, of course there's a difference. The rate of fire is considerably-"

I scream again and raise the statue up over my head. "I swear to God, Fraser, you keep this up and I will smash this thing to pieces."

He clenches his jaw and just looks at me like I'm insane, which I am.

"I mean it, Fraser. You say you're sorry or the horny trickster god gets it."

"I didn't mean to frighten you, Ray," he says softly, and that's a little better, at least. "The situation was perfectly safe."

"You got a gouge in your thigh, Ben."

He cracks his neck again and flicks his thumb across his eyebrow. "Yes. Well. Perhaps I did err just a bit when considering Mr. Vanzetti's willingness to shoot an officer of the law."

I set the statue down on the counter next to the sink and grab the front of Ben's shirt in my fist. "You gotta stop doing that," I say. I'm still pissed, but the screaming, strangling part of it has passed and now I'm just tired. "You say you worry about what I eat, worry about my arteries, but you're the leading cause of high blood pressure in my life, Ben. If I'm gonna have a heart attack, it's going to be because you scared the ever loving shit out of me one too many times."

He's standing up straight the way he does when he's being dressed down by one of his Mountie bosses, and that's not what I want at all. I don't want him to think he's in trouble over this, I want him to fucking stop it.

"You gotta carry a gun, Ben," I say, letting go of his shirt and smoothing the material down with the palm of my hand. It's shaking a little bit, but I don't think he notices.

"As you know, Ray, I'm not licensed to-"

"I can get you a damn license."

"That may well be, however-"

"We're not having this fight again. You carry a gun or no more liaising."

And, shit, that was the wrong thing to say because his back gets even straighter and the muscle in his jaw twitches.

"Fuck," I say, because when Ben gets frosty with his perfect posture and tense jaw and hard eyes, there's no getting through to him, and that's not what I want. "I didn't mean it to come out like that. I know I'm not the boss of you. I just...I can't do it. I can't take thinking you're dead one more time. Because that's what I thought, Ben. I thought you were dead and I couldn't breathe, couldn't see anything but all the blood-"

"Well, most of that was raspberry cordial, as you well know."

"I know it now, but I didn't know it then. I thought you were bleeding out."

"Don't be-"

"You tell me not to be ridiculous and I will pop you in the head because I fucking loving you, Ben, as difficult and crazy and stubborn as you are."

He takes a deep breath. "What was that?" he asks, his voice real soft.

"You're difficult and crazy and stubborn," I say, running my fingers over his cheek. "And I'm in love with you."

He closes his eyes tight as if it hurts him to hear. He takes a deep, shaky breath.

"Come on," I say as I step closer to him so that our hips are pressed together. "You knew that. I tell you all the time."

"You've never...that is, I hoped..." His arms come up around my waist and he pulls me close. "You've only said it when we..." He doesn't finish the sentence, but he's blushing so I know what he means.

Stella always said that anything you say during sex doesn't count, and I guess Fraser thinks the same way.

"Yeah, well, I meant it then and I mean it now," I say. I wonder why I've never said it except in bed. It's not like I've ever been shy about saying it, not when I mean it. Maybe it's just that we spend so much time having sex that I figured I said it enough. "Love you, Benton Fraser."

He kisses me gently. "And I you, Ray."

I pull his head down to rest on my shoulder and press my cheek against his hair. It still smells a little bit like raspberry cordial. We stand there pressed together like that for a long time. Dief whines, and he's maybe asking to go out and maybe asking for dessert, but we ignore him and just go on holding each other.

Finally, Ben pulls back just a little bit, just enough that we can look at each other. "I'm a man ill suited to compromise, Ray," he tells me.

"Tell me something I don't know."

"It's difficult for me...to think of another person besides myself. I've never before had that luxury."

"Luxury's a nice way to put it."

"It is," he says in that way of his that lets you know that he believes what he's saying 100%. "Loving you," he reaches up to touch my mouth with his fingertips, "being loved by you in return, it's more than I ever dreamed of. I don't...I'm not trying to undermine that, I'm just..."

"Doing what you always did before."

He nods.

"Yeah, I know. I am, too, mostly, only I've had practice in living with somebody else, so, OK, I got an idea. You know how up in Canada I had no idea what I was doing at first, so you taught me everything I needed to know to stay alive?"

Ben nods and strokes my back right between my shoulder blades.

"Now that we're living together, you're the one who has no idea what to do, so it's my responsibility this time to teach you everything you need to know. That sounds fair, right?"

"More than fair," he says.

"So now, what we have to do is compromise. Both of us. That's the way compromise works. Nobody gets exactly what they want, but we both get something that's still good, and lots of times it turns out the compromise is better than what you wanted in the first place."

He kisses me real soft, but I can feel the heat behind it. I know I have to talk fast because when Ben gets in the mood he's not interested in anything else.

"So here's what we do," I say as he kisses my neck. "We get you a gun license. You don't have to carry, you just get a license so it's legal if you ever have to use one. That sound OK?"

"That sounds lovely, Ray," he says, his hands slipping beneath my t-shirt.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Gun license. Won't carry. Just in case." He punctuates each sentence with a kiss on my shoulder, my collarbone, over my nipple. Then he drops to his knees and rubs his face against the front of my jeans, and even I don't know what the hell I was just talking about.

He backs me up until I'm leaning against the counter and I brace my hands on the edge of it as he rubs me through my jeans until I'm so hard it's killing me. Then, finally, he pops open the buttons on my fly and I groan and grip the counter tighter as he wraps his fingers around my cock and strokes it a few times. He pulls my jeans down to mid thigh and pushes my t-shirt up out of the way, and then his mouth is on me and I can't remember what we were just fighting about, let alone what the last words out of my mouth were.

Ben is goddamn amazing with his mouth. He didn't start out that way, which surprised me. He started out kind of average and sloppy, which is still pretty damn good if you ask me, especially since he'd never gone down on a guy before in his life. But with a little practice he went from average to good to amazing to Holy-Jesus-fuck-I-think-you-just-sucked-my-brains-out. He does this twist with his head at the end of every stroke, and some fluttery thing with his tongue that I've tried but just can't perfect.

And he watches me, listens to me, knows every sensitive spot that drives me crazy, knows just how hard to press his knuckle behind my balls, knows just how gently to use his teeth on my shaft.

He's got me pressed up against the counter and he's sucking me slow, making me whimper and I don't even care because, fuck, you're allowed to whimper and cry out when you're getting a blowjob the way Ben gives them. My eyes are closed and my head is dropped back as I grip the edge of the counter and gasp for breath, arching my hips as much as I can against the pressure of his hands holding me still.

He moans and not only can I hear it, I can feel it on my dick and all the way through me. I force myself to open my eyes and tip my head down, because the best part isn't even the tongue flutters or the press of his knuckle, the best part is how into it he gets. I'm slack-jawed as I watch him, watch him take my cock into his mouth, his lips wrapped tight around it. His eyes are closed and his lashes are dark against his pale skin. He moans again, pulling another moan from me, and I can see the corners of his eyes crinkle like he'd smile if he could.

That's the thing that gets me, how happy he seems when he's sucking me off, how it's like the best gift anybody could ever give him. He thanks me sometimes, like I just let him suck my cock as a favor to him.

He smiles around my cock and opens his eyes and looks up at me and that's it, I'm gone, Ben with my dick in his mouth, looking into my eyes with an expression like there's nowhere else he'd rather be, like nothing is hotter than sucking me, his hand snaking down between his legs to stroke himself because it turns him on so bad. That's all I need and I'm coming, gripping the counter so hard my knuckles are turning white, moaning and gasping for air.

Then I slump against the counter and hold on tight because it's not over. He keeps his mouth on me, keeps sucking me until I'm mostly soft again, and when he finally pulls back, he hums like he's never been that satisfied in his life. If I hadn't just come I'd be rock hard again, just from that noise.

"Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom," he says as he slides my jeans down past my knees, down to my ankles so I can step out of them. How he can talk in full sentences, I have no idea.

I pull my t-shirt off, let it drop on the kitchen floor and start to follow him to the bedroom. My legs are trembling. I stop halfway there, turn back around and go to the kitchen where I pick up my t-shirt and jeans from the floor. Ben's looking at me, amused, as I walk into the bedroom and throw my clothes in the general direction of the hamper.

"Compromise, Ben," I say, thankful when I make it to the edge of the bed and can take the weight off my legs.

He smiles at me as he slides into bed. "Compromise," he says, before pressing my knees to my chest and fucking me for so long that I get hard and come again and end up twisting the sheets in my hands begging, Please, please, please.

It's late when I've regained enough strength to sit up and look around. The apartment's dark and Ben's picking the covers up off the floor and straightening them out. The bandage on his thigh glows in the dim light coming through the window.

"Scared the shit out of me," I say, reaching out to grasp his thigh. I run my thumb over the edge of the tape.

"Just now?" he asks.

I squeeze his thigh and shake my head. He winces a little bit, and I wonder if he's taken the pain pills the doctor gave him. Probably not. I slide to the edge of the bed and let my legs hang over the side, pull him close to me. "So, here's the deal," I say, running my hands from his waist down his hips to his thighs and back up again. "You try your best not to walk in front of anybody with a gun, and I'll try to eat more tofu."

I can barely see his face, but I can tell he's smiling. "All right, Ray. And I think you'll find it not only an ecologically responsible form of protein, but quite tasty as well, when properly prepared."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, leaning forward and kissing the middle of his chest. "Get your properly prepared butt back into bed."

It's quiet as he gets into bed next to me and pulls the covers around us. I can hear a few cars on the street, but there's not even any honking or sirens. "Goodnight, Ray," he says softly as he nuzzles his face into my hair. "I...I love you."

I smile and hook my leg over his. "Love you too, Ben." I can feel his skin heating up, can imagine just what the pleased flush looks like on his face and down his chest.

He drives me crazy and I have never wanted to throttle anybody as many times as I've wanted to throttle Ben, not even Stella and I've known her something like ten times as long as I've known him. I know the peace we have won't last, that in a day or a week or a month one of us will do something that drives the other one absolutely insane, but I'm OK with that. I'm OK with that because I think that if we keep on working on it, if we keep working to keep what we got that in the end, we'll make it.