m/m relationship, no explicit sex, rated PG

WARNING: IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THE NOTION OF TWO MEN IN A LOVING RELATIONSHIP THAT INCLUDES SEXUAL INTIMACY, DO NOT READ THIS.

All characters in this story are the properties of Alliance. This story is intended only for the private entertainment of fans, and may not be reproduced in any form except for this purpose. No profit is made or sought in the writing of this story, nor is it permitted to use this story for any profit-making purposes.

A heartfelt "Thank you kindly" to everybody who have made their stories available on the "net." They have been a source of great inspiration, and I've enjoyed reading them very, very much.

Note: There's two separate yet closely inter-related pieces in here, called "Annoyance" and "The Air I Breath." I considered posting them separately, but decided that if you read one, you'll probably be interested in reading the other.

Annoyance

by Irene Pinsent

You are the most annoying man in the world, and I could never deny you anything you wanted.

You'd nag me, cajole me, hound me, haunt me, stay in my face, always reasonable but always persistent, citing logic, duty, human decency, sense of justice, obligation to truth, wielding them like a sledgehammer, badgering me with laser-fine precision, until I give, inch by unwilling inch, retreat, step after reluctant step, into whatever molasses of inconceivable human absurdity you have ordered up for the day, running desperately after you, grabbing you when you trip, holding you when you slip, catching you when you fall, all the time my heart pounding in my mouth for fear that next time I will be too late.

Why do I let you do this to me? How can I stand this a moment longer? Yet everytime you turn your back to me, start walking away, or worse, running away, into yet another crazy, totally unfathomable situation, single-mindedly pursuing one of your addlesome noble causes, I start running, gripped by fear. I cannot think, not of the thousand reasons why I shouldn't be doing this, not of the hundred things I could be doing instead, not of the several dozen nasty consequences that would fall on my head because of this, because I simply cannot let you go, not by yourself, not on your own, not alone. My heart stops beating, my breath freezes in my lungs, and I have to start running, just so I can keep living.

Yet, despite the fact that you will put yourself through the wringer, crawl through shit up to your neck, jump into the deepest and hottest parts of hell, with me trailing you the whole length along for the ride, for any sorry excuse for humanity that happens to cross in your path, trying to get you to agree to something nice for yourself, a little extra luxury, an innocent indulgence, is harder than budging the Rocky Mountains with a golf club.

Come on, Benny, I say. It'd be nice. I know you'd like it. Hell, you know you'd like it. Dief'll love it. God knows you deserve it.

It's too expensive, Ray, you say, I can't afford it.

I said I'll pay for it, I say.

You shake your head. Not vigorously, but with crisp, definite movements, like you always do. It's excessive, Ray, you say. There's no reason for you to do this.

I want to, isn't that reason enough? I say.

You just look at me, calmly considering my face, leaning casually against a corner between the refrigerator and the cupboards. Ray, you say, I know you love me, but that's not reason for you to do this.

My mouth drop open, my eyes bulge widely, I cannot believe what I heard, and even worse, I cannot reconcile your calm, casual demeanor with the wild bomb of a statement you just dropped.

Wha-wha-what did you just say? I manage to stammer.

You smile at me, cool as a cucumber, and say, I said, even though you love me, that's not...

Hold it right there, I roar into your face. I love you?!?!? You're telling me that I love you?! Whatever makes you think such a thing?!?

You manage to look befuddled, like you can't see quite where the uproar is coming from. Why Ray, you say, I'd think it was fairly obvious.

Obvious! I shriek, You are saying it's obvious to you that *I* love *you*? Well, explain it to me, because it's not so obvious to *me*!

Ray, Ray, Ray. You say, holding a hand up to press on my arm like you always do when you are trying to calm me down. You lean forward conspiratorially, like you always do when you are trying to talk to me about something important, something private, even though there's nobody but the two of us here and there's no need to be discreet. Just think, you say, consider the facts.

I look at you expectantly, and you look at me expectantly. Finally, I give in and say, what facts.

Well, you say, cocking your head a little, like you always do when you are concentrating, what about the fact that, since I met you, I've endangered your life 40, or was it 41, times, ruined countless articles of your clothing, caused you to almost lose your job at least a dozen times, got you shot, got you seriously injured by a booby-trap I failed to detect, made you blow up your car, failed to keep your other car from being blown up, in the process causing the death of a fellow officer, trashed your house, caused you to fall under suspicion of murder and robbery, and almost jumped bail, thus almost causing you and your family to lose your home, and you are still not only talking to me, but as far as I'm able to ascertain, you consider me to be your best friend?

You look at me intently through your fingers, on which you have been counting your misdeeds.

Oh, I say, pushing away from you and taking a deep breath, those facts.

You nod solemnly.

There's a sinking feeling growing in my stomach as I realize that you are right, as always. For some irrational reason, that irritates me. Your being so right, and so calm, about this. Telling me that I love you in the same tone of voice you would have used to say that the sky is blue. But that's exactly it, isn't it. My loving you is a fact, just as the sky is blue. And that just makes it so much more damn annoying, to have you point it out to me like this. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, inhaling this revelation with the air. Then I spin, rounding on you, trapping you into that corner of the cupboard and refrigerator where you've been standing. You look a little startled at that, which pleases me no end.

So, I love you, huh? I say, edging into your personal space, crowding you into the corner.

You manage to get hold of your calm again. Yes, you do, you say.

Ah-huh, I say, pushing ever so slightly forward, and what about you?

Me? You try to look innocent, and don't quite succeed.

Yes, you. I poke a finger into your chest, Benton Fraser. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Do you love Raymond Vecchio?

You look down. I see your throat tighten, you swallow convulsively, your lips twitch, you fidget with your hands. Finally you look up, and I can tell your mouth must be dry, from the way you keep licking your lips and swallowing. When you speak your voice sounds hoarse, and it halters, threatening to break. I think that should be obvious, you say.

Say it, I say. My mouth has gone dry too.

You open your lips. They tremble, no sounds come out. I lean in closer, put a hand on your cheek.

Say it, I say.

I-, you lick your lips, I love you, Ray, you manage to get out.

The warm growing feeling rising in my stomach surprises me. I smile, happy and unabashed, like a child who has just been told he can have the entire cake to himself. Gently I brush my thumb against your lips.

How? I ask.

Your eyes flicker in surprise. How? you murmur against my thumb. Your tongue flickers against it for the barest moment, sending shivers down my spine.

Yes, how, I say.

You just look into my eyes, not sure what I want, begging for some help. I relent.

Well, for instance, I say, would you die for me.

Your lips turn down, accompanied by your eyes, as you genuinely seem to reflect over that question. Yes, I believe I would, you say, your voice back to a matter-of-fact tone. But then something else strikes you. A glimmer of amusement comes into your eyes, and it's in your voice when you say, but you would be upset at me if I do.

I laugh. You are so right in that assessment. I lean closer into you, sliding my hands onto your shoulders, feeling your hands slide loosely over my hips.

But you'd do it anyway, I say.

You think about that for the barest moment before bursting into giggles. I chuckle. I clasp your chin in my hand and hold it up so I can look into your eyes.

Benny, I say, you know I'll die for you, don't you?

You look back into my eyes, and nod.

And you'll let me, even though you'd wish it was the other way around?

You think about that, then nod again, albeit reluctantly.

So, I say, leaning forward, until our lips are almost touching, our breathes mingling in each other's mouth, you going to let me get the microwave oven for you?

As you wish, you whisper, your lips brushing against mine, and I catch them with my tongue, our lips close on each other, and we are together, tasting each other, holding each other, loving each other.

You are the most annoying man in the world, and I love you, even though some days I could just strangle you with my bare hands.

The Air I Breath

by Irene Pinsent

You are the air that I breath, the sky over my head, the wind that blows through my hair, the ground beneath my feet.

I turn, and you are there. I extend my hand, and whatever I need, you hold out to me. I call, and you come. I run, and you run, aside me, behind me, around me, always getting there when I need you, or at least you'll die trying. You grab me before I trip, steady me before I slip, catch me before I fall.

Even when you complain, there's warmth in your voice, even when you don't believe me, you trust me, even when you are reluctant, you never waver, even when you are annoyed, you won't refuse me. I run, knowing you'll be beside me, face a gun, knowing you have me covered, make a promise, knowing you'll keep it, walk into a store, knowing you'll pay. Everything I am, you uphold, everything I hold dear, you treasure, everything I have, you protect.

I bask in the light of your gaze, thrill in the sound of your voice, drawing your love like a blanket around me, sheltering me from the cold. Your love supports the ceiling over my head, the floor beneath my feet, the walls around my room. It fills the air in my room, holds me through the night, carries me through the day. When I need you, you'll be there, as the sun will rise in the morning, as the rain will fall from the clouds, as the river will flow into the sea.

What possesses you to make such an offer, I can't fathom. It's totally gratuitous, unnecessary, extravagant. I refuse, but you persist. You come up with a dozen rationalizations for it, some of it quite clever and others completely silly -- Dief will love it, indeed -- but the truth remains, that it's not necessary. I'm amused by your enthusiasm, irritated by your disregard of logic, and at wit's end for a way to deflect your not-so-coherent arguments.

I want to, isn't that reason enough? you say.

Ray, I say, I know you love me, but that's not reason for you to do this.

You round on me, totally taken aback. Your mouth falls open, you stare at me as if I had just announced that the moon is made of cheese.

Wha-wha-what did you just say? you stammer.

I realize that I have managed to deflect your attention from one argument, only to end up in another, far more serious, one. But I cannot help being amused at how surprised you are, how the voicing of such a simple, fundamental truth can throw you so much off balance.

I said, even though you love me, that's not... I start, but you cut me off.

Hold it right there, you say, your arms waving around widely to punctuate each sentence. I love you?!?!? You're telling me that I love you?! Whatever makes you think such a thing?!?

Oh, sometimes you are so stubborn, resisting the truth lying so plainly in front of your nose.

Why Ray, I say, I'd think it was fairly obvious.

Obvious! you shriek, pacing furiously now in the small kitchen. You are saying it's obvious to you that *I* love *you*? Well, explain it to me, because it's not so obvious to *me*!

Ray, Ray, Ray. I say, trying to calm you down, just think, consider the facts.

I look at you, waiting for an answer, and you look back at me, waiting for me to elaborate. Finally, you say, what facts.

I quickly consider several approaches in my mind. I decide on one that isn't particularly pleasant, but it will be easiest for you to grasp, and it will get the job done.

Well, I say, what about the fact that, since I met you, I've endangered your life 40, or was it 41, times, ruined countless articles of your clothing, caused you to almost lose your job at least a dozen times, got you shot, got you seriously injured by a booby-trap I failed to detect, made you blow up your car, failed to keep your other car from being blown up, in the process causing the death of a fellow officer, trashed your house, caused you to fall under suspicion of murder and robbery, and almost jumped bail, thus almost causing you and your family to lose your home, and you are still not only talking to me, but as far as I'm able to ascertain, you consider me to be your best friend?

Oh, you say, your ire deflating, your furor wiped out, those facts.

Carefully, I nod. My tactics are working, so far. You half-turn away from me, shoulders sagging, your face contorting into a resigned grimace. As I watch, your face relaxes, your eyes close, your face turns up toward the ceiling, revealing the mesmerizing stretch of your throat. Suddenly, you spin, and I find myself boxed into the corner, between the cupboard and refrigerator, where I have been standing. Startled, I look into your eyes, and find them blazing straight into me.

So, I love you, huh? you say. Outwardly, the tone is calm, almost conversational, even amused, but I hear the edge in your voice, challenging yet somehow plaintive.

Yes, you do, I say.

Ah-huh, you say, inching just so slightly forward, crowding me further into the corner, and what about you?

I manage to keep my face straight, but inwardly I squirm. Must every single detail be spelled out for you, I wonder, must everything be spoken out loud in order for you to feel the reality of it?.

Me? I say.

Yes, you, you say, stabbing a finger into my chest. Benton Fraser. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Do you love Raymond Vecchio?

Your eyes bore into mine, your body presses closer, sensuous, drawing me in, every inch of you intent on seducing from me the words you want to hear. I try to speak, but I can't find my voice. My mouth has gone dry. The closeness of your body makes me dizzy, light headed. I wonder if there are sub-atomic particles exploding in my ears, or perhaps I need to get my hearing checked.

I think that should be obvious, I manage to get out.

Say it, you say.

How can your mood switch so abruptly from one extreme to another? One moment you were in almost total denial of your love, now you lean over me, insistent on drawing me to you, demanding nothing less than my total surrender to your love. I try to speak, but I can't. You lean in closer, raise a hand to gently cradle my cheek.

Say it, you say.

I draw on the gentle encouragment of your touch, give in to the warm seductiveness of your fingers.

I love you, Ray, I finally manage to say, though by now I can hardly breath.

Your thumb brushes softly across my lips.

How? you ask.

I have no idea what you want. How? I ask back. The taste of your thumb filters into my mouth. I know now, if I didn't know already, if I didn't know long ago, I can't deny you anything you want.

Yes, how, you say.

I still don't know what you are asking. I look into your eyes, searching for a clue.

Well, for instance, you say, would you die for me.

My mind fills with images of you, standing in the path of oncoming danger, a bullet, a speeding car, a lunging knife, anything... And I know I will step in, push you out of the way, take whatever deadly threat that is meant for you onto myself.

Yes, I believe I would, I say. But then a image of you, bent over my body, screaming at me for being a total fool and the most annoying idiot, pops into my mind. But you would be upset at me if I do, I add.

That makes you laugh. You gather me into your arms, and I relax in your embrace, enjoying the comfort of being held.

But you'd do it anyway, you say.

I realize the truth of that, and I start laughing. You lift up my chin with your hand and look into my eyes.

Benny, you say, you know I'll die for you, don't you?

Oh, that never is in doubt. Wordlessly, I nod.

And you'll let me, even though you'd wish it was the other way around?

How can I not? I love you. No matter how much I wish... There always is danger inherent in our work. I can no more stop you than you can stop me.

Slowly, reluctantly, I nod again.

So, you say, leaning forward, until our lips are almost touching, our breathes mingling in each other's mouth, you going to let me get the microwave oven for you?

I give in. I still don't know why you want to give it to me, but all of a sudden, that you want to seems like reason enough.

As you wish, I reply, moving my lips against yours. Your tongue flickers out, you close your mouth over mine. My mouth fills with your taste. I surrender, losing myself in you, taking you into me, claiming your love.

You are the air that I breath, the sky over my head, the wind that blows through my hair, the ground beneath my feet. You are the rain that soaks the parched earth of my soul, bringing me life where it was barren before.