Disclaimer and Warnings: dueSouth and its characters belong to Alliance
and Paul Haggis. No copy right infringement is intended. This story
contains scenes of explicit m/m sex. Sap as usual.
Ablutions
by Cheryl Barnes
It wasn’t the first time Fraser had dragged him into a dumpster
and it wouldn’t be the last.
Ray Kowalski fell through the rotted cardboard box, his boots slicing
open the plastic lining surrounding several days worth of garbage. Gooey
slop drenched everything from his thighs down. Fetid odors surged up
and over him, assaulting his nostrils with as much force as a high caliber
weapon.
Behind him, Fraser cried, “I found it!” and hopped out of the
large cubical container before Ray had a chance to spin around and glare
at him. Ray scrambled after him, accepting Ben’s chivalrous hand
as the Mountie hoisted him out.
Ray found himself, foul and ill smelling, in front of the hot, stinking
dumpster in the back enclosure of the Canadian consulate. Fraser didn’t
even have the grace to look rumpled, standing there holding a bent and
twisted metal box, his red dress uniform as clean and tidy as if it had
just come from the cleaners.
“Quick, Ray, we need to get this to the lab as soon as possible!”
Ben virtually glowed over his find of a plethora of wires and connection
boards. “Once this is analyzed, we can catch the terrorist who
made the bomb threat.”
“You ain’t getting your man right now, Fraser.” Ray gagged
on the garbage smell. “I’m not taking you anywhere in my car
like this!”
As if Ray’s condition just dawned on him, Fraser blinked. “Oh,
I suppose you are a little dirty. It won’t hurt your vehicle more
than what a little airing and a dust cloth will fix.”
“I’m a walking sewer, Fraser! An arctic blast wouldn’t
take out this smell!” He growled at the Mountie.
Suddenly, a long shadow fell between them, and Ray looked up to see the
anxious form of Constable Turnbull hovering near them. The tall man’s
presence always brought him pleasure even though his clumsiness sometimes
caused him annoyance. Right now Turnbull fidgeted nervously with his
hands while his long, irregular face creased with worry. “When
I inquired of your activities, Inspector Thatcher told me you were searching
the disposal unit for a bomb. She had some question about your sanity.”
Ray sighed. “She’s right, Constable. There aren’t any
sane men out here. Just stupid, smelly ones.” He glanced
enviously at Fraser’s pristine figure. “At least some of us
are filthy.”
“I - I just didn’t want another one of my stupid mistakes to
get you killed,” Turnbull stuttered in true anxiety. Ray knew
Turnbull had reason to be upset. In this past week alone, he had witnessed
Turnbull break an expensive vase, destroy a computer monitor, and burn
a file of security codes. Yesterday, when he had popped in to pick up
Fraser, the Mountie had run the heavy duty vacuum cleaner into the reception
desk, knocking off the recently delivered package, tripped over the electrical
cord, and ended up falling heavily, feather duster and all, on the wrapped
box. The package had been smashed into beyond salvaging. In the confusion
and embarrassment that followed, it had been swept up and thrown into
the trash. It wasn’t until the terrorists had called that Fraser
had make the connection with Turnbull’s accident.
Despite all that, something inside Ray twisted to see Turnbull’s
eyes burning in self recrimination.
Turnbull’s eyes didn’t leave the mess of wires in Fraser’s
hands. He stuttered, “Is that the bomb?”
Fraser was edging toward the security gate and path that would lead him
to the GTO. “It might very well be, Turnbull. We’re taking
it to the lab now.”
“Not in my car,” Ray repeated, more firmly.
Fraser protested, “But time is of the essence, Ray. We need to
move now, to catch our villain red-handed.”
Before Ray could utter another barb, Turnbull interjected, surprisingly
suave and smooth. “If I might suggest, sir, maybe you could take
Detective Vecchio’s car and deliver your find to the laboratories.
I’m sure the detective could call and expedite your arrival. In
the meantime, we could offer Detective Vecchio the - uh- ablution facilities
adjacent to the Queen’s bedchamber.
Ray stared uncomprehendingly at Turnbull. “Ablu -- what?”
“The Queen’s lavatory?” Fraser whipped around
to stare at the taller Mountie in amazement, his voice sharp.
Turnbull nodded hesitantly, his face the color of his tunic.
Ray scowled, not understanding what was being exchanged between the two
officers.
“Very well, then,” Fraser said, briskly. More quietly, he
explained, “Turnbull is offering you the opportunity to take a shower
in the consulate, Ray, so your vehicle will not become soiled with Canadian
grime.”
Ray plucked a drying particle of paper toweling from his t-shirt. “I’m
just so all over that idea.”
Fraser still appeared uneasy and rubbed a thumb down his right eyebrow.
“And I may make use of your automobile?”
“Oh, by all means, Frase. Piter Patter, go at her.”
Fraser sighed in relief. Ray called in Fraser’s impending arrival
on his cell phone even as he fished out his keys for the GTO . Reluctantly,
he handed them to Fraser, but decided there was less danger for his ebony
baby from the Canadian’s driving than from his clothes.
Fraser disappeared in a flash of brass buttons and scarlet as soon as
he snatched the keys from Ray’s hands.
Ray glanced up at Turnbull. The Mountie looked at him with his usual
mixture of apprehension and concern. Blonde hair glinted in the sun,
drawing attention to his fair skin and shy eyes. He wished he could
remove that look of consternation.
He shrugged under his distasteful clothing. “So, do I get washed
off or not?”
That seemed to startle Turnbull out of his reverie. “Oh! Detective
Vecchio, would you mind removing your shoes and socks before we enter?”
Ray understood. No sense in deliberately tracking foul slime over Canada’s
best carpets. He was determined, though, to remove this sense of formality
between them. As he bent to ease off one sloshy shoe and soaked sock,
he said, “Call me Ray. After all, you know I’m not the real
Detective Vecchio.”
There was a surprised silence and Ray glanced upwards. Turnbull was
decidedly unhappy. He said quietly, “I know. But I wouldn’t
want anything I do to endanger the real Detective Vecchio’s life.
If his lo . . . friend should die, Constable Fraser would be . . . .”
Turnbull’s voice trembled, “ . . . devastated. . .”
So Turnbull knew about Fraser and Vecchio and was comfortable with it.
More than comfortable, concerned enough to care about their safety and
happiness. Maybe Turnbull, handsome Canadian with the finely toned musculature
of a horseman, could find some interest in this stringy, gangly body
of a Chicago cop.
He gulped air at the thought of Turnbull’s attention on his body.
He sought Turnbull’s downcast eyes. “I know what Vecchio means
to Fraser. Calling me Ray won’t upset any apple carts.”
In fact, it would butter his muffin if he could hear the tall Mountie
say his first name.
Ray was rewarded with a shy smile and blue eyes that meet his differentially.
“Only if you call me Renny, Ray. At least, away from Inspector
Thatcher.”
“Don’t worry. The Ice Queen won’t hear anything but proper
protocol from me.” He held up the contaminated footwear. “But
in the meantime, can we make me smell less like a sewage plant?”
Renny grinned and opened the back door for him to enter.
Not too many minutes later, Ray found himself entering the luxurious
and gaudy bathroom attached to the ornate bedroom on the top floor of
the consulate building. While he gawked at all the gold accents, brilliant
curly-cues, and rich marble inlays, Renny made himself busy. First,
he draped large Turkish towels over the white carpet for Ray to stand
on, then drew the bath water in the huge porcelain tub. Ray didn’t
care how cold or hot it was, all he wanted to do was get the slop off
his skin. As he peeled himself out of his clothes, Renny appeared with
a large garbage bag. Ray didn’t want to foul the room any more
than he had to and put each article of clothing into the plastic container
without any prompting. As he slid out of his briefs, he thought he caught
a glimpse of a hungry look from the Mountie, but Renny bent too quickly
to pick up the carpet protecting towels.
“Into the tub with you,” Renny instructed as he bound the
top of the bag together.
Ray didn’t need the reminder, all too glad to hide a swelling portion
of his anatomy.
It was all he could do to keep from drawing attention to himself as Renny
hovered over him for a second, pressing a thick, terry wash cloth and
a bottle of shampoo into his hands. Then, abruptly, thankfully, Renny
was gone.
He could relax, now that Renny was out of sight. He didn’t know
when he had started falling for the oversized boy scout. There had come
a time when Fraser hadn’t been the first face he searched for when
he went to the consulate. His looks could compete with Fraser’s,
with a body just as fit and developed. Canada certainly knew how to
grow ‘em. Ray had wondered if there was any interest on the part
of the large, lumbering Mountie, but each time Ray found himself alone
in Renny’s presence, the Mountie had managed to mangle or break
something.
He picked up the wash cloth, spread it thick with soap, and rubbed briskly
at his shoulders and arms, watching the grime ooze and drift away.
Incompetence like that usually annoyed him, but somehow in Renny’s
case, it just made him all the more endearing. In each incident this
past week, he had patiently helped the Mountie sweep, clean and repair
all the broken things as much as he possibly could. However, even Ray
couldn’t shield him from the sharp edge of the Ice Queen’s
tongue. Any more than Vecchio had been able to shield Fraser, the other
Mountie had tried to reassure Ray when he had voiced his desire to kick
Thatcher in the head.
He scrubbed whatever it was caked in his hair, having no desire to inspect
the gunk that dissolved into the bath water. He’d have to hurry
if he was to finish before Renny got back. He didn’t want to have
to explain why the time away from him hadn’t improved the condition
of his body.
He was, in fact, out of the tub with a towel wrapped around his middle,
the water draining away before the Canadian returned with a few articles
of clothing draped over his forearm.
“Oh? Out already?” To Ray’s surprise, Renny threw the
clothes down on a chair and practically laid his head on Ray’s shoulder.
He could hear Renny’s audible sniff, and he was reminded of Fraser’s
habit of sniffing and tasting everything . For one wild second he wished
that Renny would taste him.
Renny’s nose and lips curled in disgust as they came away. “But
you still stink, Ray!”
Ray’s heart sank. Well, that kinda blew any plans to see if Renny
was possibly interested. And it was all Fraser’s fault, leaving
him stranded, nude except for a towel and a desirable Mountie at hand
and him not able to do anything about it because of his smell.
Renny’s eyes were shinning, however. “Never fear, Ray.”
Ray watched him warily as the Mountie moved to the cabinets and pulled
out a jar of pastel colored salts. “Just the thing. This will
make you smell better.”
He protested before thinking. “No, way! I’m not about to
be mistaken for gardenias.”
The Mountie froze, his lips pouting. Yes, actually drooping in disappointment.
“Won’t this be better than reeking of yesterday’s onions?”
Ray didn’t know if it was the plea, the appeal in Renny’s eyes,
or the disgusting whiff of onions that did float by his nose as he moved
his head, that decided him, grudgingly, to give in. “Oh, all right.”
Happy now, Renny turned, wiped out the traces of grime in the large tub,
and while the tub was filling with more water, tapped in a generous portion
of the purple granules. The warm steam spread the fragrance of lavender
through the room as Ray allowed the towel to drop and slipped back into
the tub.
Ren reached across him to retrieve the wash cloth Ray had left crumbled
up in the far corner. His lips inches away from Ray’s, he whispered.
“I apologize that there wasn’t anything more . . .” He
hesitated and it was all Ray could do not to close the distance between
them. “manly. The lavender was chosen with the Queen in mind.”
To be this close to Renny, Ray would have poured in a gallon of Passion
Flower.
Ren didn’t leave the room this time. Ray watched as he brought
out a tray of cleaning supplies and began to spray disinfectant on any
surface Ray might have touched. He paused only to remove his red tunic
as the hot, steamy water obviously made working in the serge uncomfortable.
As Ray rewashed himself, he admired the movements of the man’s broad
shoulder muscles under the thin, white shirt and suspenders.
Suddenly, he was desperate to talk with the Mountie. About anything.
“It wasn’t your fault, Ren.”
The arms in the act of cleaning the large mirror paused before Ray heard
a muffled. “What wasn’t my fault, Ray?”
He turned and Ray was sorry to see the look of apprehension and expectation
of blame on his long features.
“The vase,” Ray said firmly.
“The vase?” For a second, Renny seemed genuinely puzzled as
he set the disinfectant down, and stripped the rubber gloves off his
hands. Then recollection dawned. “Yes, it was. The Ming was a
very important piece, a collector’s item from the P.M’s personal
collection. It was here on loan.”
“It should have been put in a safer place.”
“I suppose they thought enclosing it in a shatter proof case would
be insurance enough. I didn’t mean to swing the broom handle so
hard that it would knock the casing off the wood and send it flying through
the room.”
“Yeah, to land at my feet in splinters. I shouldn’t have come
into the room so quietly, Renny.”
The Mountie turned his eyes down, then up. “I was trying to keep
you, a guest of the consulate, from seeing the broom out and being used,
Ray.”
Pieces were starting to fall into place. Maybe, his Atlas was interested.
Ray continued. “Was that what you were doing when you destroyed
the computer?”
Ray watched closely as Renny came closer to the tub. “I was standing
on the desk, trying to knock a few dust webs from the air vents. I knew
you were coming. I didn’t want you to see us less than our best.”
He could see Renny swallowing hard, the throat muscles contracting up
and down. “So as soon as you saw me, you got so nervous you had
to kick the stuffings out of the monitor?”
“Uh -- I just didn’t expect you at that moment. Constable
Fraser seemed to think it would be a few minutes longer before you would
be present.”
Ray tapped a finger against the side of the tub, commanding Renny’s
presence there. Renny dropped to sit cross-legged at that position,
heedless of any dampness that might have escaped from the tub to the
carpet. “But how did you manage to set fire to the security file.”
Renny’s face turned bright red. “I was lighting some incense.
I wanted the room to have a pleasant fragrance when you stopped by to
retrieve those files you needed for your states attorney. When I saw
you, I’m afraid my hand shook so badly that the flame landed on
the one place it shouldn’t have.”
Abruptly, he moved past Ray, not meeting his eyes. “Here, let me
wash your hair for you.” He grabbed the bottle of shampoo Ray had
used previously, and before he could protest, the cop found his hair
being lathered with care. He could feel the trembling in the Mountie’s
hands as the fingernails scrubbed gently about his scalp. His hair was
rinsed with an attachment he had failed to see earlier. A towel dried
his head quickly and Renny moved back, commenting that since Ray’s
toes looked like prunes perhaps it was time to quit the water.
“I’ve been ready to come out for a while now, Ren,” Ray
said quietly.
Renny apparently heard the meaning in his words, and refused to meet
his eyes. Instead, he held a large towel for Ray to wrap around himself
before he turned and picked up the clothes he had been carrying earlier.
Ray heard the familiar babbling in his tone, now recognizing it as a
retreat, an attempt to hide what his actions had made so obvious.
“These clothes should fit you. I found these downstairs, when I
put your clothes in the washing machine. I apologize for the cut of the
material, but since you don’t have any clothes stored here like
the other Detective Vecchio . . .”
Ray laid a hand on Renny’s arm, stilling his movement. “Vecchio
had clothes stored here?”
Renny was very nervous. “Uh, yes. Constable Fraser and Detective
Vecchio’s activities often resulted in the need for the detective
to change into fresh apparel.”
Ray moved closer to Renny, next to the man’s collarbones prominent
under the thin white shirt. He prompted. “Activities?”
“Sometimes Constable Fraser would lead him into something messy,
and other times . . .”
Ray stroked the long jaw. “And other times?”
“They would get playful.”
“Like this?” Ray cupped the back of Renny’s head and
with a slight tug pulled his face down to met his. He kissed him.
A split second later, Renny’s mouth opened under his and Ray found
himself enclosed in powerful limbs. He held Ray as if he expected Ray
to break under his touch if he pressed too hard.
He leaned back. “I’m not a Ming vase, Renny. I’m not
even a monitor, but you can burn me all you want.”
The Mountie’s face split in a goofy grin and Ray was all over him
like chocolate on a dipped banana. Somehow, Ray found himself on the
floor, the towel discarded like a peel, and the Mountie’s broad,
gentle hand stroking his chest and hips.
“If I had known this is what I would get, I would have jumped in
your garbage sooner.” Ray teased Renny’s ear with a tongue.
He shivered as Renny went exploring his neck with his lips.
“I think all the times you helped me sweep broken things up would
have given you the hint, Ray.” Renny pulled back slightly. “You
were always in the presence of Constable Fraser. I couldn’t say
anything to you when I thought someone might . . .”
“Might figure out that I wasn’t me? Cause of those two? They
can cut their own steak.” Ray wanted to undress Renny, to find out
if the Mountie’s skin were as smooth as his lips. He managed to
dig the white shirt out of the waist band but the taller man wasn’t
giving him the chance to do much more.
The broad hands found his shaft and he bucked at the jolt of nerves stimulated
beyond anything he had anticipated. He groaned. This is where he wanted
Renny’s hand. He managed to worm the white shirt up further as
Renny shifted to bring Ray partially in his lap.
Ray’s head rested on Renny’s chest. He found a silvery pink
nipple, so pale it was unlikely it had ever seen direct sunlight. He
sucked on it and heard the answering groan and the Mountie’s hand
tightened. The hand began to stroke up and down his cock, from the base
to the head. He sucked the nipple more intently, and gripped the firm
chest on which he rested harder for balance.
Then he was there. Ray turned his head fully into Renny’s chest
to dampen his cry of joy. Renny! He cried his lover’s name several
times, moaning in the pleasure, reveling in the hot liquid splashing
on his belly.
He felt himself being laid down on the carpet and the smooth feel of
the Mountie’s tongue on his chest as Renny licked his way down to
his groin. He could feel as well as hear a soft croon on the Mountie’s
lips. He wasn’t a bit surprised that the Mountie was singing at
a time like this, Suddenly, it occurred to him his Mountie was still
involved in his favorite activity -- cleaning! Only this time, he was
the item being cleaned. Ray certainly approved.
Relaxed and lazy, he let Renny continue his licking until he decided
it was time to butter his lover’s muffin, too. He turned and found
Renny’s mouth, kissing those swollen lips with all the passion he
could muster.
Abruptly, there came a polite knock on the door and it swung in. Fraser’s
voice preceded him, “We got our man, Ray. It was --”
He stopped short, obviously taking in the scene before him. Ray looked
up at him with hazy eyes, knowing that he was stark nakers and Renny’s
midriff very exposed.
“Oh, dear.” Fraser started to withdraw.
Ray managed to gather his wits together. “Frase, wait!” He
struggled to sit up and grabbed at the discarded towel. He refused to
let Renny wriggle out of his grasp, however. He held him closer, to
calm him. “You caught him? The bomber?”
Fraser kept his eyes ahead. “I didn’t catch him personally,
Ray. They identified the signatures from the explosive device with someone
on record and the 4th precinct picked him up. It didn’t take much
to find corroborating evidence in his domicile. We’ll need Constable
Turnbull to make an identification of the courier.”
Ray swung to his knees, wrapping the towel around him. He helped Renny
roll his shirt down. Carefully, he took Renny’s long face into his
hands and whispered, “Everything is all right.”
Renny looked back at him with some hesitancy, then smiled as well. Together,
they scrambled to their feet and faced Fraser. The Mountie’s face
had been carefully schooled not to show any expression, but Ray could
see the red tint on his face.
Ray moved to stand directly in Fraser’s line of vision and captured
his gaze deliberately. “Frase, I’m glad you caught your man.
It might have been a sticky beginning, but I caught mine, too.”
Fraser’s eyes flickered between them, a beginning of a smile curling
his lip. “I’m happy for you, Ray.”
Ray slipped an arm protectively around Renny, who was standing as stiffly
as if on guard duty. “Seems like Vecchio isn’t the only cop
who needs a Mountie.”
Fraser hesitated before saying, “Turnbull, I approve of your choice
of venue.”
Ray scowled at Fraser, answering even though the comment had been directed
at his lover. “Huh?”
“The consulate comes equipped with several showers, Ray, most of
which would have been more appropriate to wash off your - ah - brush
with refuse. In fact, I would have suggested the one in the basement,
next to the washing machine.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t let Ray shower there!” Renny’s
face was a perfect sketch of mortified horror.
“Uh, why not?” Ray looked between the amusement dimpling Fraser’s
smile and his lover’s bright red face.
Renny studied the carpet. “Because you are the best of Chicago’s
finest and you don’t deserve any less than the best Canada has to
offer.”
Suddenly, Ray saw something that Renny hadn’t even realized about
himself. Renny’s expressions of affection were always ensconced
in cleaning -- from sweeping the vase off its foundations, to washing
his hair, to licking his groin (feeling a wave of heat rise through his
chest), and now airing his soul, allowing Ray to see how much he meant
to him.
Ray kissed Renny’s cheek. “I got the best Canada has to offer.”
He meet Renny’s surprised and delighted eyes. “Thanks for
letting me wash up with the best towels and all, but Renny, those ablu
- ablu -ablu. . .”
“Ablutions, Ray, to be immersed in water.”
“Right. I don’t hafta have the royal treatment, ya know.
I can ablution anywhere.”
“Anywhere? I have a nice tub at home . . .” He stopped,
too embarrassed to go further.
“Anywhere.” Ray grinned encouragement at him.
Renny glanced nervously at Constable Fraser, “Sir?”
Ray wondered what he could have to say to Fraser.
“Yes, Turnbull?”
“There is a very nasty disposal unit next to my apartment.
Do you suppose you could take Ray there the next time you feel the need
to examine compost closely?”
Ray was glad Fraser left the room before he gave the Mountie the answer
he deserved.
The End
Ablutions
by Cheryl Barnes
June 1999
ccbarnes@kih.net
or
duestar@hotmail.com