Not my toys, unfortunately never will be. *sigh* I have a cat, but he's nothing like Dief.

Barb G.

barb@slashcity.com

The apartment is already warm, but I don't have the energy to go turn on the air conditioner and the thought wouldn't occur to Fraser even if he actually started to melt. It's nice, though, to lie in bed and feel the sweat gather on my back. I'm alone in bed; Fraser's sleeping on the floor of the living room. Says it's cooler down there. I miss him, but on mornings like this it's nice to wake up without the heat of another body beside me.

I rub my face. I'm awake; there's no denying it any more. I stand up and consider pulling on the boxer shorts but quickly decide against them. Fraser's asleep, but he wakes as I cross the room to the window and turn on the conditioner. When I turn back, Fraser's lifted the sheet as an invitation. I crawl up beside him. "I was thinking..." I start.

He's trying very hard not to make his "oh-dear" sound, so I grin at him. Since we started doing...stuff it's almost impossible for him not to grin back. So he does, and his hand finds my hip. I kinda twist back a little bit and Fraser doesn't know how slippery with sweat my skin is. Suddenly his hand is on a much better place and he takes the subtle hint well.

"So, you were thinking," he says, taking up a rhythm. Fraser pretends he doesn't know I don't like it slow and takes his own sweet time. Up, sweep the tip with his rough thumb, back down again. Gathers my testicles up to rub the really nice spot behind them, and then back up again.

The butterflies in my stomach decide to have a party and the thoughts dry up faster than my mouth. "I...uh..."

"I...uh..." Fraser repeats. "Let's go for the predicate now," he says, and then sticks his finger in his mouth. Like I'm supposed to think with him slowly sucking like that. "It's not that difficult, Ray. Think verb and prepositional phrase," he says around his finger.

I love him, but if my gun were in the room he'd have a bullet hole in him somewhere non-essential. He's smiling at me now. Oh, sure, it looks sweet and non-threatening but I know it's Canadian for "Mwa-ha-ha-ha."

I close my eyes for a second and concentrate on the drunk they brought in to booking the other day. His body odor had been baked in the Chicago heat and the stench of decay had made two rookies sick just walking past him.

It worked. I opened my eyes and grinned at him. "I was thinking," I began again, but before Fraser could open his mouth, I continued and he's too polite to interrupt me. Stick his finger in my butt, sure, but never try to talk over me. "We need to have a fight."

"Pardon me?" Fraser asks.

I got him on the run now, the hand falters on me and I twist my hips to remind him of the task at hand. He almost apologizes for stopping but I start talking again.

"We need to have a fight. I want to try make-up sex."

"Make-up sex?"

"You know. Stella got the fight part down like no one else, but never wanted the sex afterwards."

His hand falters again. "Stella," he says.

"Stella," I say. I reach down under the blanket, but it's really hard to grab his attention again. He pulls away and stands up.

Diefenbaker growls from his corner as he pulls himself up to his feet and pads over to where Fraser stands in front of the air conditioner. "You want me to pretend she never happened?" I ask, pulling the sheet around me even though Fraser's buck-naked.

"No, just don't mention her when we're..." he turns around, and I can't stop myself from looking down just a little bit. Fraser's a little more ticked when I look up again. "I don't mention Victoria."

Oh, so now we're comparing our single notches on the bedpost. "That's because she was an insane homicidal maniac whose only goal was to destroy you," I say.

"And Stella isn't?"

"Stella's not homicidal."

"Are you positive about that?"

I stand up to get into his face, but he can't hold it anymore. He covers his mouth to hide the smile and he starts to laugh. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Is your dander up yet?"

I said it before; I'll say it again. Canadians give weird names to things. His dander's way up, so I drop to my knees, but that puts me around eye-level with the wolf and he's staring at me.

"Bedroom," I say.

Diefenbaker growls at me. "Don't give me that. Bedroom now or it's generic dog-food for a week."

Dief whines and looks up at Fraser, but Fraser's staying out of this one. I look up as well and he's trying not to smile. Diefenbaker whines again and then trots into the bedroom. I hear my bedsprings groan and I know he's on the bed, but it's better than being out here with his front row seat.

"I just argued with a wolf, Fraser," I say.

"And you won," Fraser says, and he's totally serious. "I am very impressed."

"If I start tasting things off the street, take my gun and shoot me. Please."

"I'm not licensed to carry firearms."

"Then beat me to death with the butt end."

"That would still entail carrying it, Ray."

"Oh. Fraser, you do know when I'm talking uh..."

"Figuratively?"

"Yeah, that."

"Most of the time."

"I was talking figuratively."

"I know."

He smiles at me, but I swear anyway. "What?" Fraser asks, alarmed.

"I'm not angry any more."

"We could start over again, if you want."

I sit back down on my heels. "The moment's passed."

But I don't want to waste a perfectly good win over the wolf, and since I'm already down here, I shift forward another couple inches. Fraser jerks against me as I open my mouth, and the phone rings. I'm all for leaving it, but Fraser glances to it and I hate disappointing him. I answer it.

Whoever it is asks for Fraser. I hand the phone over, wordlessly, and Fraser's as surprised as I am. We didn't exactly broadcast that he was staying with me. He takes the phone from me, and then his face kind of goes pale. He takes it, pulling the cord behind him into the kitchen, and I'm trying hard not to feel...ignored. Diefenbaker's messed up the sheets and he growls as I come into the bedroom, but I push him down and start to make the bed. Not that I'm a neat person at all, but if I don't Fraser will and I hate that he serves me.

Fraser takes about twenty minutes. I can hear his low voice from the bedroom, but I'm deliberately trying not to listen. I lay back over the covers, and he joins me when he's done.

I like the weight of his arm over me. The air conditioner makes it so that I don't mind his heat pressing into me. He's kissing my neck, but I know a diversionary tactic when I see one. I'm not going to ask him, though. Not if he doesn't want me to.

It's not make-up sex, but it leaves me all loose-limbed and rubbery. I don't want to cook and we're both on days off, so we go out to eat. He's distracted, though. Twice I caught him not listening to me. I stop talking, but he continues to nod along.

"That bad?" I ask.

"Pardon me?" When he looks at me, he doesn't look me in the eye.

"The...uh...phone call," I say.

He hesitates. "That bad," he says.

"You want to...uh..." Talk about it? Oh, yeah. The words are pathetic in my ear, and I hope Fraser doesn't notice.

He looks away, and the subject drops and rolls under the table.

The next day I get a call even before the alarm goes off. I roll over to answer it and Fraser wakes and slides behind me. It's Welsh.

"Good morning, detective."

I grunt, unwilling to make a commitment. Fraser moves his knee up between my legs, but it's still dark enough that the street lights are on.

"We have a shooting, detective. I would appreciate your presence down by the docks."

I groan again. But Hewey and Dewey quit the week before and they haven't been replaced yet.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I hang up without answering. Fraser rolls onto his back as I pad around the darkened room to find clean clothing to put on; I'm not quite ready for light yet. "Do you want me to come?" Fraser asks.

I shake my head. No need for the both of us to be in a cranky mood. It's not until I'm in the car with the cold air moving over me that I start to wake up. The streets are empty, but then it's just past four. I stop at the streetlights feeling ridiculous, and it's not hard to find where the action is once I get to the docks.

Welsh stands just past the four cruisers with their lights slowly flashing, and an ambulance. There's no hurry on the part of the ambulance drivers, which is always a bad sign. Welsh passes me a cup of coffee as I get out of the car. "What's up?" I ask.

"Three and a half victims," he says.

"Half?"

"They were found in a net. Only one of them had ID, one Mr. Ed Whichen, formerly from Windsor, Ontario. He was the half."

I don't look. Welsh doesn't expect me to. There are other things to look at. I start taking the names down of the few bystanders gawking at the bodies; sometimes the perp is stupid enough to leave his real name. The only other thing to do is to take down the names of the ships docked. The rest would have to wait until sunrise.

The rest of the day wasn't much better. Heat does weird things to people, and there were three different shootings in the slums. One of them walked away with a towel over his ear, but the second one needed surgery and the third needed only the coroner. I hate days like this.

I get back to the apartment sixteen hours after leaving it. Fraser has cooked supper already, but he put it in the fridge. I'm too tired to even heat it up. It's all I can do to shovel the cold fish onto the plate and scoop enough of the wild-rice stuff Fraser makes next to it. Fraser comes into the room as I eat over the sink. He's wearing jeans and a T-shirt, which makes him look...I dunno. Softer. More human.

"That doesn't promote healthy digestion, Ray," Fraser says, but he's smiling. His way of saying welcome home, I guess.

"Right now I don't care about my digestion, Fraser. Welsh had me work through lunch."

He's still watching me. I should be asking how his day went, but I'm too tired to. He seems to know, too. He leans against the counter to watch me eat. It's better when he's there. He's just so...calm. He calms me down just being there. "You couldn't get free?" I finally ask.

"I had...other things to do."

He doesn't want to talk about it. I nod, and go back to my plate. I'm sure I'd notice how good it was if I slowed down enough to actually taste it, but I can't. He takes the plate from me and puts it down in the sink. I could have done that; it was a foot and a half away.

But maybe that's not the point. "I should have freed myself ," he says.

"The Chicago PD isn't paying you," I say. He puts his hand on my hips and pulls me in. Part of me still gets all bristly when he tries to do this...comfort thing, but the smell of him and his warmth in the air-conditioned apartment is...nice. And it's Fraser.

"If you're going to be late, could you call?" he asks. His voice is curious, like he wants to know if I'm in the mood. I'm not. I don't want to fight, not right now; I'm too tired. I drop down to my knees instead and hear him sucking in his breath.

His jeans are easier to undo than the serge. I pull him out, feeling the silky hardness to him. He smells clean; he must have showered once he got off from work. I look up at him. He knows I like the way he smells, and now he only smells of soap. The slippery saltiness on my lips made up for the slightly soapy under-taste though.

I'm tired, though, so it's okay to go slow like Fraser likes it. He takes the back of my head in his hands and guides me. I totally trust him and relax my throat muscles to take him deeper. My nose bumps against his pelvic bone and he holds me there just...breathing. But eventually he can't stand it anymore and his hands move. I close my eyes and just relax as he does everything else. It's slightly uncomfortable, but the sounds he makes make it worth it. He's grunting now, still softly, and his entire body trembles.

I let him pull me up to him and his hands are tight against me, but even as he comes I know he'll never be able to actually hurt me. He shudders for a minute and I swallow, and then he backs away. I'm suddenly exhausted. He helps me up and we go into the bedroom together. I know the heat makes him uncomfortable, but he stays with me and we sleep until the phone rings again.

It's not dark anymore, but it's not light out either. I grope for the phone in the grey light, and my skin is sticky against his. "Yeah?" I ask, and then clear my throat.

"Constable Fraser."

It was Thatcher, but she was supposed to be back in Canada. I clear my throat again. "Hold on," I say. I cover the mouthpiece and Fraser takes it from me. I grab at him, but he doesn't seem to care about appearances. I panic, but only for a second.

"Constable Fraser," Fraser says.

Thatcher's voice is muffled, I can't hear the words but Fraser's not doing anything but agree with her. "Eight o'clock," Fraser says, and then passes me the phone to hang up.

"I thought she was transferred," I say.

Fraser sits up, and he finally smells like him again. I shift over to him. "Who was transferred?" he asks.

"Thatcher."

"What are you talking about, Ray?"

"The phone call?" I ask. I try to keep my voice level, but I don't like this covert Fraser that's replaced mine.

"What phone call?" his face is perfectly calm.

"The phone call...that didn't happen?" I ask.

He nods. "That one. She was."

The phone rings again, and I glance to it. "Is the phone ringing now?" I ask.

"Yes, Ray, it is."

I answer it. Welsh found the other half of the body. Fraser's first in the shower and I don't join him. He's nice enough to leave me all of the hot water. We don't talk as we take off in different directions.

The bottom half of Ed Wichen was found half a mile up-river. No obvious sign of trauma besides being cut in half, which if you ask me sounds pretty traumatic but Mort seems to think the cutting in half happened after death. I don't know; I'm not looking. It's cool down in the morgue, but it's hard to ignore him humming.

"So...uh...how did he die?" I call.

Mort stops. "What's that?" he asks.

"Cause of death, Mort."

"Oh. If I had to guess right now I would say hypothermia."

"Hypothermia? How does a guy dead from cold in July get himself cut in half?" I ask.

The door opens. "My guess would be a hacksaw or perhaps even a chainsaw," Fraser says. I look up and he makes me smile just by being there. My back's to Mort so he doesn't see it, but I seriously want to jump him as he walks in the door.

"Good guess, but I'm afraid our friend here was frozen first. They all were."

"How do you know that?" I demand.

"The tissue damage is fairly conclusive, and the victims all exhibit signs of severe frostbite."

"Frostbite?" I demand. I'm still only looking at Fraser, but he seems to be interested in the body. "It's the middle of a heatwave."

"So it would appear, Ray."

"So why was he cut in half?" I ask.

"It would appear for the contents of his stomach. The organ is missing."

"It could have fallen out when he was in the river," I say.

"It could very well have, but the tract has been cut cleanly. See here?"

I make the mistake to look and then turned around quickly. The coffee I had that morning turned in my stomach. "Um...Fraser...do we got that...thing?" I ask.

Fraser catches on and makes his excuses. Mort cheerfully lets us go, and once outside the green room I feel better.

"Why would they take the stomach?" I ask.

Fraser looks distant for a moment. "Well, there's two reasons, really. One is to conceal the stomach contents, and the other is to remove the stomach contents."

"Do you have to talk like that?" I ask, letting my voice ask the question. I had a lunch break coming up and I was hungry once I was out of the morgue, but I'd rather do Fraser than lunch any day.

Fraser's still distracted. He looks at me and smiles, and in the deserted hall, he squeezes my hand. "Not right now, Ray, I have to do...something. Don't be late after work, you and I have to talk."

"Sure, Fraser. Um...later."

He squeezes my arm and leaves. I grab a dog in the park and finish calling the last of the unions that work the dock. No one saw nothing, but then I wasn't expecting much.

I stand up at five. Welsh glances up to me, "I got a thing," I say. He glances to the clock but nods.

"Go," he says, but he's not happy with it. Tough. I've given the man enough hours this week.

The apartment is dark and I think I'm the first one home until I see the light reflecting off the living room. Fraser's sitting down on the couch looking all serious. "Sit," he says.

The candle flickers and I finally see the two bottles of beer on the coffee table. "You don't drink," I say.

"They're for you," he says.

Oh, shit. I sit down, knowing something is wrong. He passes me the first bottle, already opened. "We have to play...a game," he says.

I get right off the bat that it's not that kind of game. I settle back into the couch. "Yeah?" I ask.

"Twenty questions. You have to guess what I'm working on right now."

"It's...confidential?" I ask.

He nods, relaxing. "Yes."

"And you can't just...tell me."

"No."

I exhale and take another drink. "Thatcher's involved?"

"Yes."

"Is this...personal?"

"No."

"Part of the job."

"Yes."

Fraser's getting frustrated. I put my hand on his thigh. "Okay, hurrying it up here. Uh...top secret but not personal. Security reasons?"

"Yes!" Fraser sits up and I'm sure it has nothing to do with where my hand was.

"Canadian security reasons?"

"Yes," Fraser says, and then seems to notice my hand for the first time. "Oh."

I stop the stroking. "You guys have security?" I ask. I try keeping my voice flat, but it went kinda funny at the end.

"Yes," Fraser snaps. Oh, he's annoyed now. I move my hand closer to the growing hardness and it seems to pacify him.

"Canadian security problems? Like..." I shut up. If I mention fraudulent Canadian bacon scandals he'll probably hit me. Or look at me like I disappoint him and that would be worse. But Canada's a big country; it has to have the same sort of problems. "Uh...assassination attempts on your president?"

"Prime Minister."

"Whatever, yes or no."

"No."

"Bombing? Terrorism?"

"No. No."

I finish my first bottle and reach for the second. "I don't know, Fraser, um..."

Fraser starts to hum. I stare at him. It almost sounds like...the theme song for James Bond. "Spies?" I ask.

Fraser relaxes totally. "Yes."

"Canadian spies? Canada has...spies?"

"Spies that are Canadian. Canada's spies. Yes, yes, yes. Can we move on here or did you want to continue to dwell?" Fraser demands. My hand's dead-weight on his thigh so I move it. Now that he's kind of ticked I don't figure it's the best time to ask for make-up sex.

"Okay, moving on. Canada has spies and one of them is..." I say, hoping the stupid game doesn't have to continue. But Fraser's clean living has done horrible things to my tolerance, and the one beer is already making me slightly spinny. I put the nearly full bottle down. "Fraser?"

Fraser takes a deep breath. "One of them has gone rogue."

"Rogue?" I ask. I bite my cheek to keep from smiling. "A rogue Canadian spy."

"Yes, a rogue Canadian spy. Yes, we have spies and yes, they can go bad. Yours go bad all the time in the movies."

"Okay. What does the rogue Canadian spy want?" I ask. My face is straighter now, and he takes a deep breath.

"He wants to kill the Fisheries Minister at the summit this weekend."

I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood and I know there's going to be a canker sore the next day, but the salty metallic taste in my mouth isn't enough to keep back the snarf. "Fisheries? What does he have against Flipper?"

"Flipper is a mammal, not a fish," Fraser says. His voice drops down a tone and suddenly it's cold in the room. "Eastern Canadians take their fishing rights dead seriously."

"Apparently."

"His father lost everything he had because of over-fishing in the Grand Banks, which is mainly due to foreign fishing boats invading Canadian national waters. He blames Mr. Dwalali."

"The minister."

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

"And this all ties into the vics we pulled out of the lake?" I ask. He's not angry anymore, which is a shame. I put my hand back to where it was and without blinking an eye, Fraser takes hold of it and brings it to the crook of his legs. I freeze; he's not usually this forward, but he's hard under there and I struggle with the zipper. His breath catches, and I have to remind him we're still talking here. "Fraser?"

"Ed Whichen and Harvey Wallbanger are known associates," he finally says. His voice is funny. I love making Fraser's voice go funny. I drop to my knees in front of him, even though on the grand scale he already owes me two, but I figured I'll let this one ride. Not that I'm keeping track of course.

"And uh...the cut in half thing?" I ask. I love the respectable crisp and clean boxers he wears. I bet he goes through them by the dozen; the first sign of wear he throws them out. They taste good to suck on. Fraser opens his mouth to speak, but then freezes. "Turtle got your tongue?" I prompt.

"Not really...I was just hoping it would come to me," Fraser says. He shudders as I work my tongue over the cotton.

"So you don't know," I say.

"Not even a hunch," he says. I reward his honesty by getting down to business. He has a lot to say after that, but he doesn't actually use words. I get the general meaning.

###

Welsh wants to drag the lake for Ed's stomach, and it takes Fraser to talk him out of it. I don't need to hear Fraser talk about the relative probability that the organ had been consumed by aquatic life when it's just before lunch, and neither of them notice me leave.

I pull up Wichen's file, nothing much there. A valid drivers license and an expired pilot's. "Hey...uh...Fraser?" I call.

I can see Fraser through the half-shaded windows, but I hardly raise my voice and he's out the door. "Yes, Ray?"

"Airplanes go really high up, right? Where it's freezing? Like...freeze a body freezing?"

"But Mr. Whichen must have been in the cargo space in order for him to freeze, Ray."

"Someone else could have driven the plane, Fraser. Your...uh...guy."

Fraser nods. He leans over my shoulder to pull up more information. He'd done it before, but this was the first time I could lean back and close my eyes. He was warm; probably too warm, but he wasn't going to complain. I wonder if I could get away with licking the inside of his forearm without anyone seeing, but Welsh comes over and I straighten up. The three other victims' files come up, and Fraser taps the screen. "Here."

One of them was from the Territories. "That means something?"

"This is about twenty kilometres from one of the biggest diamond mines in the North-West Territories. You can hike to it in the summertime. We once took the dogsled down just to try out the new wheel dog. He wasn't quite what we wanted, and--"

"Ya-huh, and..." I say. I try not to interrupt him as much as I did before, but Welsh is getting a little annoyed and it would look weird if I didn't. Fraser shakes his head and then coughs.

"You see, Ray. To smuggle diamonds out of a diamond mine, miners used to swallow them," he says.

"So, detective, constable, do either one of you want to find out why the diamonds were smuggled into Chicago?" Welsh asks.

I look over to Fraser, who is completely frozen. That whole 'cannot tell a lie' thing must get pretty boring after a while. "Why do people normally smuggle expensive jewels into the states? You think we can figure what their evil plan is?" I say.

Welsh gives me a dirty look. "I've authorized your overtime," he says, and doesn't miss the glance I give Fraser. Fraser nods.

We grab dinner at a hamburger joint. "So, what's your guy doing with diamonds?" I ask.

Fraser dips another fry in the ketchup. "Financing something, I would imagine."

"How much does it cost to kill a fisheries minister?" I ask. He offers me the fry. I'm getting good; I don't even look around to see if anyone is looking. It's a fast food french fry, but from his fingers it tastes better. I lick the salty grease from his fingers quickly, and then slouch down lower in the seat.

"I think he wants to make a statement."

"So what are we going to do?"

Fraser exhales, sharply. "So, where would you go if you had rough diamonds to trade?"

I jerk, but the toes against me just move up. Only Fraser could get himself out of his boots without moving a muscle above the table. I slouch lower to make it easier for him. "I may know a guy who knows a guy," I say.

"Let's go then," Fraser says. His foot doesn't stop against my cock. My thighs start to tremble, and I have to lock my jaw.

"Uh-huh," I say, trying really hard not to squirm. Oh, god, even his foot knows exactly what turns me on. "I'm good."

"You're good?"

"Oh, yeah," that last bit comes out more like a moan. Part of me wants to come right there, and the other part knows I'll be pissed at Fraser if he makes me come in my shorts and I have to walk around in it all night. He pulls away suddenly and tosses me his leather jacket. "I'll be waiting for you outside," he says.

I stand up stiffly, but hold the jacket to the front of my jeans as I make my way to the bathroom. Luckily it's one of those single toilets and a locking door, so I lock the door and I lick my palm before dropping my jeans.

It doesn't take more than that. I'm pissed off at Fraser for not being here, but not enough so that when I close my eyes I don't think of him. He hides that sadism too well.

I wash my hands and meet him outside. "That sucks, Fraser," I say.

"Actually, no it didn't, if you remember."

"I have leapt off buildings for you. I have gotten shot at. I jumped out of an airplane without a parachute because of you. Now you have to humiliate me in public."

"You could have told me no," Fraser says. He's smiling. I just shot off, but I feel like a teenager again.

"What was I supposed to say at the time? 'Jeez, Fraser, thanks for putting me in this situation. You go on ahead and I'll just hang with the bad guys and their guns?'"

"Life is full of choices, Ray."

I glance at my watch and sigh. There's still another hour of work, and we don't have time for this. Fraser nods, like he understands. We get into the car, and Fraser carefully puts his hat over his lap. It makes me smile, and I'm still smiling when we get to the snitch's garage.

Johnny looks up, smiling, and then sees Fraser. Damn it, I should have come in alone. "Who's he, Ray?" Johnny demands, standing up. Johnny's a little guy, kind of nervous, but a good guy if a bit delusional, and if looks could kill, I'd be making funeral arrangements for Fraser right about now.

"A mountie," I say, going obvious. "He first came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers, and for reasons that don't need to go into right now has remained attached as liaison...nevermind."

"Red's not his colour," Johnny says, still glaring. "Makes him look fat."

"It does not," I say. I want to say it brings out the blue of his eyes, but it probably isn't the best time.

"Ray, I--" Fraser begins, but Johnny turns his back on him.

"Tell him not to speak."

"Fraser...I'm sorry," I say. Fraser dismisses me with his hands and then steps back. "Okay, he won't speak."

"You cheating on me with him, Ray?"

"Yeah, Johnny, I am. Every night. Now, are you going to tell me about rough diamonds or aren't you?"

"Diamonds?"

"Yeah, rough diamonds. From Canada."

"Canada has diamond mines?" Johnny asks. I put my hand out before Fraser can go on his spiel about the history and legacy of mining in the Yukon, or wherever. "Yeah, they have mines. Diamonds, Johnny, before I smack you."

"Really?" Johnny perks up.

Fraser steps in. "I think Detective Kowalski would really like to know about any fences you might know about that would deal with uncut diamonds, Johnny. If you would be so kind as to..." he begins, but Johnny clams up.

His arms cross over his chest. "Not until he smacks me."

"I am not going to smack you," I say.

"Smack me or no deal."

"Ray, if you would just smack him, we could continue."

"I don't want to smack him," I say. It almost doesn't come out as a whine.

"Then no deal," Johnny says.

It's my turn to glare at Fraser. I cross the floor and Johnny grins at me. I smack him half-heartedly, and he whines in protest so I line up and whack him again. "There. I smacked you. Now the fence or I'll never do it again."

He gave us the address. Fraser's smiling as we leave the garage. "I think you're losing your touch, Ray."

"Shut up."

"I mean, normally you would have had him spilling his intestines within a minute."

"I said, shut up. And it's guts. You spill your guts."

"Guts, right, of course. I'm just saying--"

"Fraser, read my lips. Don't talk."

Fraser turns around. "What was that?" he says. I look up at him, and he takes my head in his hands. "I didn't quite see it."

"Don't talk," I repeat.

Fraser shook his head. "Nope, still didn't see it. Hold on," he says, and then touches the palm of his hand against my lips. "Try again."

"Don't talk," I say again, slightly muffled this time. Fraser smiles and removes his hand, only to replace it with his own lips.

"Okay," he says. I think that's what he says. I love the way his tongue seems to love my mouth. I love the taste of him. But eventually we remember we're still on the street and we break away.

"Wow. You're getting really good at that, you know," I say, wiping my mouth.

"You aren't so shabby yourself."

"Can we...uh...go home now?"

"Home's good," Fraser says. He's uncomfortable, too. It makes me smile.

"Yeah."

He opens the door and goes inside before we say anything else stupid.

At home again, he almost fucks me. I'm on my back in the bed and for a heartbeat he almost gathers up my ankles, but then changes his mind and just lies over me. We've never talked about...it. I mean, I'm good with just friction, I like just friction, but one of these days I'm going to have to beg him to just fuck me. I'm worried it's going to spook him, though, so we'll have to take it at his pace, and if he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to.

I wake up tangled around him, and I'm totally okay with even the way our skins stick to each other. "Hey."

He opens his eyes. "Hey," he says.

Sometimes it's better when we don't talk. Or at least don't talk much. I like how my nose fits into him. With Stella it was always teeth and nose as she laid there, but Fraser seems to just know what I was going to do, but that's okay, I know what he's going to do. His hands come down over my hips. His mouth is wet and soft as he kisses all over my face. I kiss his shoulder, licking the salt from his skin.

It's way too hot under the blankets now. I trace my finger down the line of his chest, nibbling on the skin as I go. His hands do amazing things to my back. Fraser takes a second to reach into the drawer, and when he touches my cock his fingers are slippery.

I hold out my hand, and Fraser squirts out more from the tube. I work it between my fingers. He's already hard, and I want to duck my head under the covers to lick him clean before I ruin the taste with the Vaseline.

Fraser exhales as I climb up and straddle his thighs. His hand moves against me faster; harder, exactly the way he knows I like it. I can't stop my hips from matching his thrusts. I want to tell him to slow down, to let me do this, but I can't even form the words. I'm off and over his belly.

I collapse onto the bed, Fraser takes a moment to do himself, and lies back with me. "What's wrong?" I ask, climbing up to my elbows.

"What do you mean, Ray?"

"Why won't you let me--"

The phone rings. I turn around to reach for the phone, Fraser gets out of the bed. "It's for you," I say. "Or it would be if the phone actually rang." Fraser sits down on the bed so I go have a shower. When I get out, Fraser's dressed and ready to leave. "I'm gonna go see the fence this morning."

Fraser nods. He doesn't tell me where he's going, and I don't ask.

I walk into the fence's garage. He starts ripping up his sheets, but I jump over the desk and grab it from him. "Ah-ah-ah," I say.

"You ain't got no cause," the guy snaps.

"Nope, just happened along as a regular old citizen and here I see you being a very bad boy. What do you know about rough diamonds?"

"Rough diamonds? Hold up a sec. Even if I did...I don't deal with diamonds."

"Oh, look! These VCR's have serial numbers. What do ya think's gonna happen if I run them?" I ask, taking out a pen.

The guy jumps. "Okay, okay! Rough diamonds. Not much trade for them. Worth a lot more polished and cut, but there is this one guy who does buy them."

"Yeah, so give me his name."

"I would...but he's not back from South Africa until December."

"He's not in town now?"

"No."

I start writing down serial numbers. "Wait! Look. I'm telling you I don't know. This guy is really not here. I don't know who else would handle them. I'd tell you if I knew anything else."

"Is that so?" I ask.

"Yes! Yes! Please."

I took down the last number. "That's too bad," I say, and leave.

I spend the rest of the day rattling every cage I know, but no one knows anything about rough diamonds. I go back home at six, and when I stop at the consulate, Fraser's not there.

The apartment is dark. I turn on the lights, and jumped when I see Thatcher leaning against the table. "Fraser's not here," I say.

"I know."

She's dressed in fatigues. "You...uh...want to wait for him?" I ask. She doesn't answer. I go through the fridge and pull out a beer. "Want one?"

"That won't be necessary. Go about your normal schedule, detective."

"Are you sure? This is the time where I usually strip down and howl at the moon with Dief," I say.

"I think you will find that tonight there is a new moon, Detective."

"Well, then, I guess you're safe."

Thatcher's staring at me, so I stare back. I can hear Dief trotting down the hall. The door opens again, and Fraser comes in. He glances to me and then to Thatcher. I put down my beer and the sound almost echoes. "Come on, Dief, let's...uh...let's go for a walk," I say.

Dief growls, but follows me out.

We walk for an hour, and by the time I get back, Fraser's alone. I don't ask. He's already making supper, and I move behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. I exhale, resting my chin on his shoulder. He acts like I'm not there, and I don't mind.

We don't talk business until the dishes are washed and put away. He's lying between my legs using my chest as a pillow. I want him there forever. "What did the fence say?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Back to square one."

"Maybe not."

I wait, patiently. I massage his temples and he takes one of my hands to bring the finger to his mouth. "What do you got?" I ask.

"Officially...nothing," he say. His legs were bent, but they fall open as I run my hand down his chest and belly.

"Uh-huh," I say.

He exhales slowly. "So, if we were to speak...hypothetically..."

I loop my leg around his. "Of course, you could just tell me and then we can have sex."

"That would be much more direct," Fraser say. His breathing quickens.

"I thought so." He leans against me harder, shifting his back to rub me, and I groan.

"He can't find a buyer."

"My guy says the guy that comes from South Africa won't be here until December."

"Yes...Thatcher told me the same thing. They...want me to pose in his place."

Fraser waits for me to say something. I want to tell him not to be stupid and not to risk his neck, but I never would have said something like that before I was sleeping with him. I pull him back closer to me. "I want to be there."

"There is no way you could pass as South African, Ray."

"If I keep my mouth shut I would. Tell them an alligator ate my tongue. I don't want you going in there alone."

"Crocodiles are located in Africa. And I won't be alone."

"I want to go," I say, ignoring my geography lesson. Great. Now I sound like a seven-year-old having a tantrum. Fraser flips around so he's on his belly and I kinda shift down while he pushes up and now he's lying over me. If he thinks his belly over my dick is going to make him win the argument, he's sadly mistaken, but he doesn't argue with me.

"Okay," he says, and he kisses me.

"That's it?" I say, I tilt my head back so he can't reach my mouth. I still want to argue this.

"That's it."

"Well...good."

"I should think so."

"Fraser?"

Fraser goes back to sucking on my neck. Dief was okay before Fraser moved, but now he glares at me and stalks out of the room. "Hum," Fraser says. He unbuttons my shirt and kisses his way down south. All right. I lift my hips up, but he's not hurrying up.

"I..." he sucks on my nipple and then blows on it, and I shake my head. His hand comes down between my legs and cups me gently, and I can't help the shudder. I still want him to fuck me hard against the wall, but this doesn't seem the right place for it. It's better this way, though. I like hearing his breath in my ear as he moves against me.

The apartment is silent except for our breathing. I want him skin-to-skin, but his hand moves down and he presses against me, through my jeans. I buck, even with his weight over me, and then try to push him away because suddenly I'm too sensitive.

When I open my eyes again, he's sitting on the edge of the couch. To anyone else he was sitting pretty properly, but his legs are spread and his head is almost against the back of the couch. He's all but slouching, and it makes me smile.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey," Fraser smiles at me.

"I'm sticky," I say, making a face. He reaches over and runs his hand through my hair. I almost pull away for a heartbeat, and then I lean into it. He moves his fingers to the back of my ears. I'm trying not to get weirded out by the whole thing. I like it, though.

"Let's go to bed, Ray," Fraser finally says.

I watch him strip down. He takes longer than me; I'm already naked in the bed. We don't do cuddling; neither one of us do it very well, but his arm is much better than the pillow so using it only makes sense.

He wakes me up by kissing my shoulder, and once I'm awake I hear the alarm. "Guh," I say, pulling the blanket up over my shoulder, but I've got to get up early if I want to back-up Fraser that afternoon, and Fraser knows it. I drag my ass into the shower, and when I come out, Fraser has breakfast ready.

I wasn't awake to taste it, but I assume it tasted good. Fraser passes me a cup of coffee sweetened just right, and he kisses me with his prickly face on the way out the door.

I drive to work with the windows open and with the coffee, I'm awake. I get in before anyone else and get most of the paperwork done before Francesca comes in. She sits down on my desk and doesn't seem to mind I don't stop working.

"Hi, Ray."

"Francesca."

She's wearing a short skirt and one of those tummy things, and when she crosses her legs I kinda watch her, but it's more for...uh...academic interests. "You busy?" she asks.

"No, I'm filling out these forms 'cause I've got so much time on my hands. What's up?"

"I haven't seen Fraser around much. He busy too?" she continues, ignoring my sarcasm.

"Yeah, he's got a couple things."

"He's still at your place?"

My back bristles. I try to look relaxed, but she notices it. "Yeah, he's staying with me. Why?"

"Ray...my brother...wants to call him. Do you think it'll be okay? I mean, he hasn't talked to Fraser since they moved. He's been kinda busy. Fraser not...annoyed with him?"

"Fraser? Annoyed? Frannie, this Fraser we're talking about. He doesn't get annoyed." I swallow before I continue. I can be big about this; it's not like I have to compete with the guy anymore. "Besides. He and Ray were buddies."

She looks at me, sharply. I look back at her, blankly. Eventually she nods and looks away. "Thanks, Ray."

She walks away, but I don't look up. I've got another ten minutes worth of work, and without interruptions I can finish it. It takes a while to sort it all out for Welsh to find easily, and then I'm out the door.

The new guy's at Fraser's old post. He doesn't even look at me, but the two other guys, not in serge, stop me before I reach the door. "State your business," the first one says. Dark suits, dark ties...sunglasses...Canadian feds. Wow. We export everything now.

"Fraser's expecting me."

"Benton Fraser?" the second one asked.

"No, his first cousin, Wilber. How many Frasers you got in there?" I snap.

Second guy grabs at his jacket, but first guy stops him. Second guy glares at me while he speaks into his collar. Static comes back, but he nods and opens the door for me. "You were never here," he says.

I smile at him my best, 'I'd like to kick you in the head but I'm not because it might make it awkward for Fraser' smile, and walk past him. I can hear the low voices from the meeting room, and the door opens again.

Fraser's not wearing his serge. I walk into the room and the talking dies. Fraser looks up and smiles at me, but the rest of his face stays serious. Two of the guys he was talking to glances at me and leaves the room, and Fraser stands up, nodding to the other two and they follow. The back of the room has been converted to a small armory, and I wonder how many of the weapons are legal.

We're alone in the room, but it still surprises me when Fraser starts to unbutton my shirt. But he's professional about it and he hands me a kevlar vest. I slip it on, velcro it, and button up the shirt again. It's a bit tight, but the shirt still fits.

"Are you wearing one?"

"They're likely to pat me down."

"Fraser--"

Fraser holds out his hands. "I am not going to be without protection."

"These yahoos? No way, Fraser. I wouldn't trust them to shoot themselves in the head if I gave them instructions. I don't--"

"I didn't mean them. I meant you."

That stops me and I have to look away. "Well, I'm a screw-up, too," I mumble.

Fraser looks at me, and I feel...stupid for saying something like that. I almost open my mouth to apologize, but he shakes his head. My shoulders relax. He takes my hand and kisses the ball of my thumb and then lets me go. I want him. Like there, on the desk. But it's not going to happen and I relax enough to take a breath without my cock complaining.

The men come back and I fade to the background. It's time to go. They almost don't let me in the van, but I glare and, as Fraser calls it, get my dander up and they let me in. Frase and I don't sit together, but I sit in the back and watch him.

There's only two of us in the room with him. Me and collar-talking guy. Fraser sits at the table, calmly. I'm staring at my feet 'cause if I didn't they'd start to pace and that wouldn't look good. Collar-guy is looking too serious.

I want to talk to Fraser, even if it's just...babbling. I get a bad feeling going way beyond a hunch. Harvey Wallbanger comes into the hotel room.

He's smaller than what I thought, but there's nothing to describe him with. Medium height, medium build, medium color. Brown and brown. His face is expressionless. It's like someone forgot to go back and give him features. He wears a plain suit, grey, not bargain basement but not expensive either. Vecchio would have known more.

I don't need Vecchio to tell me how wrong this is. The gut feeling intensifies and I take a step closer to Fraser, but collar-guy glares at me and my feet freeze. Fraser speaks; I'm shocked at the accent but I don't let it show.

The positioning sucks. Wallbanger could pull a gun and shoot Fraser dead before either collar-guy or I could help, and I want to strangle the tactical advisor as my universal opinion of feds goes down. Wallbanger brings out a simple brown paper bang, and lets it sit on the table. I can see collar-guy tense, but there's nothing he can do until it exchanges hands.

Fraser doesn't look around. "You," he says. "Bring us some water."

I step forward before collar-guy does. There's a tub of ice next to the sink in the bathroom. I can see their reflection in the mirror but I'm careful not to look as I bring back two cold glasses. Wallbanger passes over the bag, but the alarms in my head go off just before Fraser unfolds it. As he rolls the black jawbreakers into his hand, Wallbanger's reaching for something and I push Fraser sideways. Fraser falls as Wallbanger shoots, and I feel like a fist has slammed into my side. The pain is almost as bad as actually getting shot. I fall over Fraser and I'm vaguely aware as a second fist hits me, but by then collar-guy has his gun out and the sound of a gun goes off in the small room. One shot, two, and that's all I remember.

I come back to Fraser's face, and despite the pain from my ribs, it makes me smile. Fraser's holding my hand, and his palms are sweaty; he must have been doing it a while. "Vecchio wants you to call him," I say.

Fraser nods, and runs his hands through my hair. I'm aware enough to know that there are others in the room and although it still hurts to breathe I shouldn't really be on my back lying down, but it feels good. "I'll call him when we get home," he says.

"Good."

He helps me sit up and get the vest off. It's cold in the hotel room with the air-conditioner on, but Fraser takes a second to finger the bullet holes before giving me my shirt back. I pull it on and he helps me again.

"Why's everyone so glum?" I ask, but I understand the urgency. I shouldn't be there, and I can hear the sirens coming up the street. Fraser herds/helps me hobble to the elevator, and the van whisks us away as the rest of the cops show up.

"Wallbanger had a partner," Fraser finally says as he unlocks the GTO.

"Huh? How do you know that?"

He helps me down like I'm an invalid. "He didn't have the diamonds with him."

"Yeah, so? He could have been double dealing."

"I don't think so. Not with the reputation the South African had. It looks like someone else swallowed the diamonds, someone who made it."

So the fisheries guy is about to be fried again?"

"Perhaps. If the minister isn't the other man's passion, he might just take the money and run."

We get home, and I wince as I try to get out of the car by myself but Fraser's there and he helps me up. Fraser stops just before we get to the security door and turns, but the parking lot's empty. "What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

I unlock the door.

The summit went by without a problem. Fraser and I see the Minister off on the plane and he's off back to Canada. If some ticked-off Canadian fisherguy takes him out it's no longer our concern. I'm stiff for a couple days, but eventually it doesn't hurt to breathe.

I call for Fraser as I unlock the door; he was supposed to be at the station for me to drive him home, but he didn't show up. His boots are by the door, but I know immediately something's wrong. Dief isn't trotting up to me and Fraser's not answering back. I'm reaching for my gun before the stranger comes around the corner, and bang, we're Mexican Stand-offing.

Too many things to say so I start with the most obvious one. "You hurt him and I'll fucking kill you an inch at a time," I say. There's no need to raise my voice; it's a promise, not a threat. There's raw meat still on the floor. Dief must have eaten some of it.

The man steps back. He's dressed in the same style as Wallbanger. In fact, he has the same non-descriptiveness as Wallbanger. Brothers. First cousins at the outside. "You are in no position to give orders right now," the guy says. He speaks with a thick accent, converting all the t's into d's even worse than I do.

"Where is he?" I demand.

He motions the living room with his head. I walk past him, ignoring the gun. Sure enough, Fraser's bound with the twist-tie handcuffs around his wrists and ankles. Dief's beside him, sleeping, not dead. Neither of them look bruised. He's gagged with tape, but he wrinkles his nose at me. I bob my head once, and go to the turtle aquarium.

"What do you want?" I ask, turning around again.

"Drop the gun," the man snaps. He pointed his own gun at Fraser and I let mine fall from my fingers. I kick it away, towards the bedroom door. The guy watches it skitter past, and I wrinkle my nose at Fraser. Fraser shakes his head. I frown, wrinkling my nose again, but his eyebrows almost touch. I walk away from the distraction I was going to make.

"Which one of you killed him?" the man demands.

I go to speak, but Fraser wrinkles his nose again. I stay silent, and it pisses him off. He points the gun back at Fraser, and looks at me. "One bed, two guys. Doesn't take a genius to figure out what's going on here. How about for every wrong answer, I shoot him in the ankle, then the knee, then the crotch, and then in the belly. Which one of you killed him?"

I look to Fraser and he shakes his head. I'm all out of ideas, too. "If I said neither of us, would you believe me?" I ask.

He points the gun to me and chambers the first round. "Last chance," he says.

And then, the world explodes. The door is kicked in, glass shatters, and for the second time, I dive over Fraser. Only this time I'm not wearing a vest and it's for real and I can't believe I'm doing it and I know there is nothing else I would have done. Gunshots fire and I tense my whole body, waiting for the bullet to reach me. Fraser's trying to get me off him, but I'm not budging.

The bullets stop firing at once and someone is pulling me away from Fraser but I don't want to move. I'm either in shock or not been shot and I'm afraid to know which. Competent hands run over me, and when they pat me on the shoulder I know I'm okay. So is Fraser. But he's looking at me like how could I and there's a dead-guy bleeding on my living room floor. The window is blown out and the room is full of SWAT members.

Fraser's cut loose, but they take us to different corners to take our statements. It seems like it takes hours, and by the time the coroner's come and the apartment's a crime scene, I don't want to stay here. Fraser nods when I make the suggestion and he bends down to pick up the sleeping wolf. We leave the last guys making notes to go down to a hotel.

I'm too tired to think, too tired to even shower. I collapse in the bed, and Fraser takes it as his duty to take off my shoes and jeans and spoon up behind me.

I wake up a couple hours later. The alarm clock says it's only two thirty and Fraser's awake behind me. He's trying to fake it, but I know.

"You never did call Vecchio," I say.

"No, I never did."

"What was I supposed to do, Fraser? Let him shoot you? You were tied up, I wasn't. I wasn't going to let him shoot you like a duck in a barrel."

"Promise me you'll never do it again."

"Promise you what? That I won't save your life? Forget it. I'm not doing it."

"Ray...I--" he stops. I stop the words I was going to argue with him with. I turn around so that I can look at him, and our skin is slick from the heat under just the sheet. I can smell us together, warm and salty, and I look at him.

There isn't anything much left to say. I guess sometimes you gotta love someone enough to let them take the bullet. I know it; he knows it...there's nothing else to say. I could kiss him...or I could smack his shoulder. I smack his shoulder. "I thought you were supposed to be the alert one," I snap.

"And your great plan involved what, throwing the turtle at him? Did you think that one up all by yourself?"

"Well, forgive me if it didn't involve tasting something disgusting off the street. I had to improvise."

"Are you implying that there is something wrong with my detection methods?" Fraser snaps.

"Oh, no. I'm sure the bazillion germs you digest every day have a field day in your system. It's not like you're swapping spit with anyone important."

He sits up on his side, and I have to fight with myself not to lick his amazing back. He bends down to pick something up from his clothes, but he palms it. He kisses me then, to make his point, and I'm not done arguing, but I hear a cap flick off and then lube being squirted out.

My dander's up again, but for once he doesn't touch me as he brings his hand down under the sheet. He has to get up off of me and I spread my legs for him. He's gentle; there's more pain than I thought there would be for just his finger but he keeps working the lube in and the pain goes away.

I trust him. I mean, not just with the car or with my PIN number trust, I mean close my eyes and jump if he jumps first. He knows that and he knows me. I don't have to tell him anything.

Like he knows how I want it. He takes it slow as he first pushes inside me. It hurts again, but he lets me get used to it. He waits for my breathing to change...or whatever he does, because when he starts pushing again, it doesn't hurt much at all. Eventually he's flushed against me, and he pulls my legs closer to him for a better grip.

He's not rough; I had imagined make-up sex to be harder. But this isn't really make-up sex and Fraser's warm and gentle with me. They will be other times for up against the wall sex; Fraser's taught me to be flexible. Easy going. I throw my head back as Fraser builds up a little speed. Or maybe that's just easy. It makes me smile. At that particular moment, I don't care about anything.