Ray's hand trembled a little as he unlocked his apartment door. Only someone who knew him as well as I did would see it. "I didn't wanna say nothing, but I'm kinda glad they sent me home after all the damned questions. I'm a bit tired." He smiled down at Dief, who circled his legs closely in an attempt to comfort.

I could see Ray's fatigue, but I also saw that today's events still had him too keyed up to rest. Even as adrenaline faded, Ray's odd constitution still fired higher than it should. Eventually he would crash, but he would wear himself out more than necessary to reach that point. I had to do something.

As soon as he closed the door behind us, I caught him in a desperate embrace. "It's okay; it's okay," he whispered as he removed my Stetson and set it aside to stroke my hair. "I'm fine; I'm all right. See, I'm here in one piece. Banks and me, go figure, right?"

Still trying to comfort me at his own expense. I kissed him feverishly, needing to feel him, solid and alive, in my grasp. He responded with reciprocal ardor and immediate arousal, if not the hungry desperation I showed. I could taste the salt of old, nervous sweat on his skin and smell gunpowder on the side of his face, forcibly reminding me of the sight of him pressed against a glass door with a gun barrel pushed into his temple by the madman who'd taken him and 24 other people hostage. While I could do nothing. I could find no way in, and none of the police officers would let me take over negotiation duties. In fact, they kept me under guard as soon as I rushed to the bank to stop me from taking action.

Ray had managed to surreptitiously switch on his cell phone and dial the precinct at the beginning, giving the police an alert and the opportunity to get information on the situation. Listening to Ray trying to calm and unofficially negotiate with--due to the man's hatred of police, Ray had claimed to be a mechanic--the gunman had been torture. Realizing that the unhinged hostage-taker in question had no demands the police could use for leverage, instead wanting nothing aside from the rush of power he could gain from terrifying and killing a small crowd of strangers, had been even worse.

The ordeal had ended only when the SWAT team found a clear opportunity to shoot the gunman. And I, who had dedicated my life to finding peaceful means of resolving problems, had cheered inwardly.

One civilian--Michael Lopez, a security guard with a wife and two young children--had been killed, and him at the very beginning as a way for the gunman to make a "point" along with his initial announcement. But considering the cache of weaponry the police had seized from the body, it could have ended far worse. That it hadn't could only be attributed to Ray. When we'd reached him, he'd been checking on the other hostages' conditions. He'd made light of the danger he'd been in, concerned for us, that we'd worried.

I knelt in front of him, unzipped his jeans, and freed him from his boxers. I knew what I needed.

"Ben, you don't have to--"

"I want to, need to," I murmured into his skin and nearly smiled at his shiver.

I took him in and suckled hard, as if for essential nourishment, and he moaned. He leaned on me heavily, as if he needed me to remain standing, which warmed my heart and left me concerned all at once. The taste and length of him along my tongue, the heat of him, confirmed that he was still alive. That he was mine. Trouble often stalked him, but he truly could take care of himself when I couldn't be there to do it for him.

I could feel him holding himself back, trying not to hurt me. Worrying too much. When I stroked his perineum, he cried out and instinctively thrust harder in orgasm, hitting the back of my throat. Once I finished milking him, I regained my feet and kissed him deeply.

"Let me... do something for you, Ben," he gasped.

"I don't need anything right now except to get you into bed." Truthfully, I was only half-hard, too worn out by three hours of obsessive worrying and four more hours of waiting for the authorities to be done questioning him. What I'd done had been for love, comfort, and repossession, not sex.

Ray gave me a drowsy, loopy smile. "Bed, huh?"

"Sleep."

"Spoilsport." But he yawned. Success.

Diefenbaker already waited on Ray's bed. Although he'd initially found our trysts entertaining, he'd eventually started to leave the room when he saw us becoming involved. Ray toppled onto the bed and pulled me down with him. Ignoring my uniform, no doubt wrinkling ever more by the second even as its accoutrements dug into my body in places, and our boots on the sheets, I simply pulled Ray in close.

He kissed and stroked me in slow waves. "Sleep, Ray," I whispered into his skin.

"No fun." He sounded charmingly like a sulky, overtired child.

"I'm too tired. Wouldn't you like to sleep *with* me, Ray?"

"All right, guy, all right. Love you," he murmured with a sweet smile.

"And I, you, Ray," I whispered back. Even if I couldn't always be there to protect you.

Even if the thought of losing you terrifies me.

*********************THE END************************

More Viridian5 stories can be found in The Green Room at http://members.tripod.com/~drovar/viridian/
Fandoms represented: due South, Hard Core Logo, X-Files, the Buffy the Vampire Slayer movie, Two Guys and a Girl (was Two Guys, a Girl and a Pizza Place), Once a Thief, Angel, X-Men, Doctor Who