Disclaimer:

Author's Notes: This is my response to the livejournal ds_flashfiction Voyeurism Challenge, which was: "Have someone(s) watching someone(s) else. The other person(s) can or can't know he/she/they are being watched."

Story Notes:

I know that most people don't think I'm that good of a detective, but I passed the exam on my first try, and you don't do that on good looks alone.

And hell, one of the things that drives most cops is that they want to know things. At least that's true for me, so I don't really care what the hell they say about Fraser the Pure, straight guys just do not go into bathroom stalls with other guys, privacy be dammed.

I mean, they just don't.

So I try to talk to Huey, and Jimmy the Uniform, and Spinoza out of Vice, and they all kind of grin like they're waiting for the punch line. Except there isn't any, and the smiles bleed off their faces, and I get the pitying looks, and Huey puts his arm over my shoulder and tells me how wrong I am.

I get the whole spiel- Victoria the Bitch, and Janet and maybe even Tracy, and my god, Dewey, he blushes when Frannie talks to him. It's just not possible, they say.

They don't seem to have any problem believing it about Kowalski, though.

Still, I know what I know, and what? They don't have bisexuals up in Canada?

So one night I come in real late, and drill holes in all the stalls, and set up those little cameras they're always advertising in my email. And they work real well, let me tell you, although god forbid I should ever see Welsh pissing again.

But, one time. . .well, it was all wet, open mouths, and hands framing and ecstatic face, and suction and heat and lust, quick strong thrusts, short and sweet and powerful. It was fast and messy and hot as hell.

I had expected that -- I mean, two guys in the same stall, what do you think? But I didn't expect the thumb gently tracing swollen lips, the laughter, the slow languid, kisses, the hands stroking gently down the spine.

Or the comfort, the. . .rightness of it all.

I watched it two, three times, and I felt kind of scummy. It's not just something they do; they're in love, I think.

This morning, I burned the tape in the station wastebasket, and it set off the sprinklers, and I let everyone tease me without saying a damn word. Like I said - I'm the kind of guy who likes to know things. And now I know. That's good enough for me.

End Dewey Thinks So by Doll: space___monkey___@hotmail.com

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