Surfing

Constable Benton Fraser reflected on the statement Ray had made in the bathroom at the precinct. Fraser had been splashing his face with cold water, preparing to play high stakes poker -- very high stakes: murder, betrayal -- with Denny Scarpa, a.k.a. Ladyshoes . . . and a few other high stakes players.

Lying on his bedroll on the floor, Fraser looked up into the darkness, seeing in his mind's eye the ceiling he knew was there but couldn't actually see. He remembered Ray's expression. As worried as Ray ever looked, he had looked more so than usual at that moment. He had opened his mouth to say something else, then shut it.

What are you trying to tell me, Ray? Fraser had thought. But that had not been what he said. He had wondered, though, at idle moments since then. Wondered if Ray was merely warning him about Denny's feminine wiles. Or if Ray was communicating something more. Whom he could trust. Whom he could count on.

'Whom' being, of course, Ray Kowalski.

He'd come crashing into the poker game at exactly the right moment, crashing through the skylight, as if attuned to Fraser's slightest movement. As if he had known -- as Fraser had, instinctually -- when it was going to get out of hand.

As when Kowalski had gunned the motorcycle's engine and crashed through the warehouse window where Fraser and Quinn were being held at gunpoint, Fraser's heart contracted with what he supposed was gratefulness. But then, in the midst of all that excitement, time had (as it sometimes seemed to in such situations) slowed to a crawl. And he had looked across the room at Ray, just as Ray flashed him a look -- and his heart had contracted with more than gratefulness.

There'd been naked fear on Ray's face, but it wasn't for himself. He had a job to do, criminals to catch and subdue -- but still he stopped to look at his partner. As those milliseconds ticked slowly by, Fraser watched the expressions on Ray's face change -- each wiped off by the next, like a wave following a wave.

The intense worry and concern that wrinkled his brow were slowly replaced by a weary relief. And then a look of hunger overtook his face for a moment, until it changed into an expression of naked longing.

Fraser froze momentarily: deja vu. He had seen that expression before, under much calmer circumstances. He could only suppose that in the midst of the danger and violence, enough of his lizard brain was occupied so that his cerebrum could finally interpret that look correctly.

Does Ray want me?

By the time that thought was seared into his consciousness that look of longing had been replaced by a calm but sad expression. And then Ray's head was turning away ever so slowly, gun held aloft, prepared to shoot. The slow-motion tableau began to speed up again. The last thing Fraser noticed was the somehow comical yet endearing look of Ray's ears sticking out in his profile as viewed from the back, as they seemed to when his hair had recently been cut.

Of course, Ray's growing concern for him and increasing attentiveness had touched Fraser. Ever since-- ever since the trouble on the Great Lakes freighter, Ray had allowed glimpses of his concern, his worry, his attentiveness to spill out. Fraser wondered if it were intentional or unconscious on the detective's part. He suspected it was unconscious -- that Ray wasn't even aware of it. Yet the Mountie realized Ray had let more and more spill out, post-buddy-breathing.

It is peculiar, he reflected, that I am apparently the object of Ray's affections more than any other person in Ray's life currently. More than Stella, Ray's ex-wife. She certainly had her reasons, of that Fraser had no doubt . . . but he did wonder what on earth was so terrible about Ray that had made it impossible for her to stay married to him.

Perhaps there was simply more tolerance of quirks and odd behavior among men. To Fraser it was ironic that Ray's marriage had just ended, while he, at about the same age as Ray, had yet to even embark upon an engagement.

And had begun to admit to himself that it was seeming very probable he never would.

In quiet moments, the comfortable, calm warmth Fraser felt between himself and Ray Kowalski began to seem both a simple joy -- and an impenetrable prison. It ain't broke, as Ray said, so don't fix it.

But in weak moments, Fraser admitted to himself that the nerve he had always so lacked with women was doubly paralyzed with Ray. In weak moments, he knew that calm, comfortable warmth wasn't enough for him. Yet no situation, no circumstance, no external force arose to push them from that comfortable, safe realm, into the next step.

And only an external force -- or Kowalski himself -- could do it. Fraser could not. He could think about it. He could envision it. But when the thoughts and the visions of how he'd like things changed welled up in him, his mouth went dry, his throat closed, his limbs froze and his mind panicked. And he never did or said anything, though he cursed his cowardice for days afterward.

What were you trying to tell me, Ray?

--------------------

Kowalski started awake at a sound. What sound he wasn't sure, but he was sure something had snapped him out of his food coma. Sitting quietly on his sofa, watching TV, he'd nursed a beer until he was dozing. Which was too bad, since he'd slept through most of this episode of the X-Files, and this was one he hadn't seen.

He cocked his head and listened.

The low knock came again.

That's what it was, he thought. Who could that be? And how'd they get in here without ringing the bell and getting buzzed through the intercom by me?

Maybe it was a neighbor.

He still had the shoulder holster on... might as well put the gun back in it. Just in case. Who knew what was going to happen. You had to watch yourself these days.

He holstered the gun as he stood up from the couch, rubbing an eye. He strode to the door, realizing he'd fallen asleep with his boots on.

"Who's there?" he asked gruffly, when he reached the door.

"Hello, Ray," came Fraser's voice. The detective relaxed immediately and smiled involuntarily. He reached for the doorknob and opened the door.

"Fraser! Long time no see!"

"I believe, Ray, that actually it's been less than twenty four hours."

"Long enough," Ray shrugged. "C'mon in." He let Fraser in, and shut the door behind them. The Mountie, in civilian clothes for once, preceded him down the short hallway to his living room.

Fraser's gaze swept the room. Box turtle, television on, a fine coating of dust on everything, dishes in the sink, CDs laying out by the stereo. He noted the way the crease in Ray's living room rug wasn't as deep as it had been. Ray must not be "clomping" around his living room as much as he had been around the time they'd first met. The landlady had said she could be hypnotized by Ray's "clomping". But apparently Ray no longer whiled away his spare time with nervous dancing.

With a mixture of satisfaction and wistfulness, Fraser sighed. He looked affectionately at Ray. The wrinkled T-shirt, the rumpled afghan blanket on the sofa. He'd awakened Ray, and the detective was never more attractive than when he was rumpled, half asleep, and trying to wake up. It just made you want to tousle the tousled hair more, Fraser reflected. Something he could never make himself do, came the afterthought. He sighed deeply.

"What's up? Anything wrong?" Ray asked seriously. The Mountie held his Stetson in his hands, and played with the brim.

"No, no... I was just... the consulate just seemed very... very quiet, tonight."

"Know whatcha mean, Frase. I fell asleep right in the middle of this episode of the X-Files, and I never saw it before. Now I have no idea what happened, even though I know how it's ending." He shook his head. "You want a-- you want some juice? Bottled water?"

Ray smiled inwardly. He'd never keep stuff like that in his house, normally. Stella had, but Stella was long gone. It just happened that he'd still had some ancient bottled water -- not even sure it was still good, though how water could "go bad", Ray wasn't sure -- in his apartment the first time Fraser had come by looking for him. And the Mountie had declined everything Ray had offered. (Coffee -- cold but nukable in the microwave; coffee -- instant; Kool-Aid -- from powder and cold tap water; Ovaltine -- for vitamins; beer -- for relaxation). But he'd accepted the bottled water. Fizzy water.

So Ray kept a supply on hand. Not much. A few bottles. He rarely drank the stuff himself.

"Ray, doesn't it seem a little... stuffy in here to you?" The Mountie said, wrinkling his nose.

"No," Ray began, taking offense initially... but then he sniffed and thought, hmmmm, maybe it is getting a little ripe in here. "Well, here--" he stepped across the room -- "I'll open a window."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

"The bachelor life, Fraser. Dunno what to tell ya."

Fraser still stood in the middle of the living room, hat in hand.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, yer here. Why doncha take off your coat and stay a while? We can watch some TV."

"Oh, yes, of course," the Mountie said, slightly embarrassed.

The detective looked more closely at the Canadian while he removed his leather jacket.

Fraser in denim and flannel. All American boy next door lumberjack, Ray thought. Except he wasn't American, he was Canadian. Liable to lick anything, at any time. Then Ray flushed on the heels of that thought. Whoops. Giving the game away to Mr. All American... zip it. He gave Fraser a goofy smile when the Mountie looked at him curiously.

"Where shall I put my coat?"

"Oh, anywhere. Here, gimme it." Ray took the coat Fraser held out to him, then strode into the kitchen. This open floor design made all rooms easily accessible from all other rooms -- well, except for his bedroom. He threw Fraser's jacket on a chair, just as he'd thrown his own. He unholstered his gun and set it on the kitchen table. Not for the first time he thought, if I had a kid, that would be a bad place to put my gun. But it was such a routine thought that it was more an afterthought, these days. No use beating that dead horse again.

'Sides, there was only one person besides Stella who invaded his dreams, whose image was in his eyes before they opened in the morning, who had replaced Stella in all those places. And he was a guy. Ray's seed would fertilize nothing, spilled on the Mountie's flesh... Ray shuddered.

He tried to shake off that image. Get a grip. He'll figure out your perverse thoughts and back off from you faster than he even backs away from Frannie. Cool yer jets. It ain't happening. He's just good to look at, and a good pal. Anything more than that, you're gonna send him screaming from the room, never to return. You want that?

"Juice? Water?" he called to Fraser, looking in the open door of the fridge a moment later.

"Water is fine, Ray," the Mountie called back. "Unless you've got any tea..."

Damn! and he'd meant to get some herbal tea, though it wasn't going to be bark tea, he thought. But he'd forgotten to get any the last time he was at the store for groceries. Which had been a while ago, considering 1) he never cooked and B) he ate out the one or two meals a day he ate.

"Sorry, Frase, just juice and water. I forgot to get tea for you."

The Mountie noted the "for you" and shifted his weight. He set his hat down on the coffee table, trying to find a spot without dust or coffee mug rings. He settled for moving a magazine, finding a clean spot where the magazine had been, and leaving his hat there.

Turning, he looked across the breakfast bar between the living/dining area and the kitchen, to see Kowalski carrying a bottled water and a beer, on his way back.

"Here ya go, Fraser. It's pretty cold, it was in the back."

"Yes, thank you, Ray," Fraser smiled at him. Ray paused, smiling back happily as he handed the bottle to the Mountie. And then they both just stopped, and looked at each other...

What the...? Ray's smile faded slightly. What kind of a look is that?

Ray certainly looks... Fraser's thoughts trailed off, just noting the half-up, half-down look to Ray's hair, charmingly mussed from nodding off on the sofa. His eyes roved down the length of the lithe arm extended to him, bottle in hand. The wrist, delicately boned, was nonetheless steely. He took the bottle, and, troubled by the way he was noticing everything
about Ray -- and couldn't help himself, couldn't stop looking -- he looked slowly back up to meet Ray's eyes.

The detective almost seemed to sway back from Fraser. The constable held himself still, not wanting to give any impression but an utterly neutral one. But neither one actually moved his feet.

Ray blinked at him. "What's wrong witchoo?"

"Wrong? What c-could be wrong, Ray? Not a thing is wrong. Everything is just ... ship-shape," Fraser's words tumbled out, too fast and too cheery.

"Uh-huh. Well, then. Okay," Ray said, obviously unconvinced, but apparently not alarmed. "Well, you just tell me when you're ready. I know you like to hide yer cards 'til you got reason to show 'em."

How odd, Fraser thought, that Ray should be thinking about cards, when he himself had just been thinking about what Ray had said about Ladyshoes and her card-shark-like -- or just shark like -- ways. He wondered briefly --
then banished that thought -- if this were a manifestation of their bond, that they would both be thinking of the same thing at the same time. The way very close friends... and couples... sometimes finished each other's sentences, or knew what the other was going to say before it was said.

"Well, anyways, have a seat. The news is on, but I've got over a hundred channels. Maybe I'll actually get lucky and find something decent to watch on one of them," Ray said, waving Fraser over to the sofa.

It was more a love seat than a sofa. Stella had, Ray had dully informed Fraser a while ago, gotten the sofa and a matching chair. Ray got the love seat and the La-Z-Boy recliner.

The two men's moves around the coffee table mirrored each other's, as they came around it from different sides. But they both settled in comfortably. Ray slowly kicked off his boots, the last one being harder to get off with his other foot, than the first had been. Fraser resisted the urge to reach down and just pull it off the detective's foot. Typical Ray, preferring to do it with his feet, rather than bend over and take it off with his hands. Finally he got the last boot off.

But Ray noticed Fraser looking down. Do I have holes in my socks? he wondered. He propped a foot up on the corner of the coffee table, and examined it. No holes. He looked back at Fraser quizzically.

But the Mountie's eyes were directed carefully at the television screen, and his mouth received the bottle of fizzy water.

Ray tried not to stare. He'd seen enough reporters stomping all over crime scenes to know they wore tons of makeup, the men as well as the women. But he'd never seen any man except Fraser with such naturally red lips, not red from being chapped, but a natural, healthy red. Set against the creamy paleness of his face, Ray had noticed it more often than any other guy's mouth, he realized.

Then Fraser turned to look at him, quizzically, and he looked away, blushing. Goofball. What the hell are you doing? Don't creep him out and scare him away. This, this closeness, this is all you get. Don't blow it.

"Here," Ray said softly. "Find somethin' you wanna watch," and he handed Fraser the remote.

Fraser smiled gratefully. He managed to turn the TV off, the VCR off, the TV back on and the tuning from cable to manual. But eventually he was changing channels, after Ray returned the station tuning to cable -- as it should be.

"Now you're doing the most common exercise in the nation," Ray joked.

"The most common?"

"Channel surfing."

"Ah."

Ray somehow felt comfortable with that "Ah". It seemed like everything was right when that "Ah" came out of his partner's mouth. Fraser held the remote in his right hand, which rested on his thigh. Ray nodded at the screen.

"Just keep going until you find something you like, and we'll watch it. There's nothin' else on that I wanna watch," Ray added.

"All right."

Fraser surfed, stopping for thirty seconds or more at each channel.

Ray suppressed a desire to snatch the remote back from Fraser and surf at the more rapid pace he was used to.

But finally, after the 10th channel where Fraser paused for over thirty seconds, he sat up, he dropped his coffee-table-propped foot to the floor with a thump, and burst out, "Fraser!"

"Yes, Ray?"

"Fraser, you're totally not doing this like a guy is supposed to. You're supposed to surf through these channels, stopping for less than a second on each one. You're s'posed to just look at the visuals! Not actually listen to the program! That's how guys locate what they wanna watch, ya know. Visuals!"

"Oh." The Mountie paused. "But how will I know if there's anything interesting about it at all, if I don't listen to it, and if I don't see more than a second?"

"It's television -- how interesting could it be?"

"Well, Ray, it could be quite interesting. I'm led to understand that Discovery channel has quite the programming for nature and science television..."

Ray shook his head. He leaned across the love seat, bridging the small gap between them. He put his right hand over Fraser's right hand, the hand that held the remote control.

Nothing had happened. Nothing noticeable. But as soon as Ray's hand settled on the Mountie's warm hand, suddenly the air pressure in the room seemed different.

Ray's eyes slowly moved up to Fraser's face from their hands. Their eyes locked.

"I was just gonna... y'know, show you how ta... really surf," Ray said carefully, not breathing.

"By all means," Fraser said, as if he wasn't getting enough air. Neither of them had moved a millimeter. "Please show me," he added, his voice dropping.

Ray Kowalski felt an embarrassing and distressing stirring at his groin at the sound of the burr in Fraser's voice. 'Please show me'... I could show you lotsa things I been thinking, if only you really meant that.

"Like this..." he said, moving nothing but his hand. He wrapped his hand around Fraser's, which was wrapped around the remote. Ray suddenly realized he'd put his left arm up on the back of the love seat, behind Fraser. Oh, Christ! Like I'm makin' a move on him or somethin'!

Well-- a dry part of his brain poked --aren't you?

Am I? What the hell am I doing? Why isn't he stopping me? Running away?

His thumb nudged Fraser's out of the way just enough to reach the Channel Up/Down buttons. Now it lay beside Fraser's, over the web of flesh between the Mountie's thumb and index finger. He clicked the Up button rapidly, but with a definite rhythm.

They both saw in each other's shining eyes that the television screen dutifully flickered every third of a second.

"See?" Ray said softly, barely moving his mouth. "Like that." He exhaled slowly, and felt the Mountie's hand burning beneath his. Felt the warmth of Fraser's thigh under both their hands.

"I see," Fraser said, his eyes never leaving Ray's.

Ray broke the contact first. He reluctantly released Fraser's hand, and then leaned back, ramrod straight, drawing his arm back over his own lap. He belatedly realized that his pants felt tight and almost reached down to scratch his crotch and rearrange himself, almost reached down to pull his pants away from him and spread his thighs, to give himself some room. He drew his left arm down from the back of the love seat as well. His eyes swivelled to the TV, but they saw nothing of what was on the screen. Fraser's red mouth moved hazily before his mind's eye.

Fraser looked cautiously at the television, and then at Ray, moving only his eyes. He inhaled slowly, taking in Ray's posture -- straight as a whip, yet oddly passive, palms upturned in his lap. He looked down to Ray's lap, but then felt the hot blood seeping up his face to his hairline. His pants, his lap, that isn't -- that isn't--

"Fraser," he heard Ray croak.

"Yes, Ray," he automatically responded in a dry monotone.

"Fraser..."

"Ray."

The detective looked from the TV to the Constable, back, back again. Finally he slumped, curving his spine, slouching his shoulders, and closed his eyes.

"Sorry," he began in a tight, apologetic voice, eyes still closed -- he couldn't look at Fraser right now. "I, uh, I dunno what that was. I was just being, ya know, woo-hoo, crazy, like a--"

"Were you?"

Just those two words. Phrased not accusingly, not demandingly, not in an insulted or offended or huffy or angry manner, those two words left Ray stammering. His squeezed his eyes shut harder, to see stars, and tried to speak.

"I-- I was showing you--"

"That's fine, that's fine, if that's all it was--" Fraser hurriedly continued, not seeing the change in Ray's demeanor because he himself was looking away.

"No, it wasn't just-- I mean--"

"It's all right, becau-- what?"

"Huh?"

Both stopped. Ray cautiously opened his eyes, still slouched, feeling lower than a dog. He shifted his eyes nervously to the Mountie's face.

There was such an open longing and surprise in Fraser's face, that Ray was almost stunned. Fraser? All-American lumberjack guy? Not angry? Not offended? Not insulted? Not running away, like from Frannie, not stumbling over his tongue or his feet in a supersonic backtrack?

His eyes must have grown big, because Fraser's eyes widened.

"Ray?" the Mountie half whispered. "Did you... mean to... ?"

"Yeah," Ray answered, wonderingly, half guiltily. He looked down at the remote still gripped in Fraser's hand -- the knuckles whitening -- and looked back up at the Constable's face. "Yeah, I guess I..."

"Oh." Was all Fraser could get out. They stared at each other, half aroused, half terrified. Ray looked helplessly at Fraser.

"Was that... okay?" he asked, adding quickly, "Say the word, and we'll never-- I mean--"

"Yes, Ray," the Mountie's mouth moved slowly, and Ray's eyes swept down to that perfect mouth, that mouth he'd looked at so many times. So many times he'd realized why he'd kept looking at that mouth, why he couldn't keep his eyes off it sometimes. But he was all alone in that sentiment. Or so he had thought. But apparently, he wasn't, and the shock coursed through him. As did the arousal.

"You mean I..."

"Yes."

"I didn't even finish what I was going to say," Ray pointed out quietly.

"I know." The Mountie paused for a long moment. "You..." he looked Ray over, shyly averting his eyes, even as he let them rove everywhere he'd surreptitiously let them rove so many times before, wondering if Ray noticed, wondering if Ray cared. "You didn't have to finish what you were saying, Ray," he added at last, his eyes coming back to Ray's. "What ever you were going to say, the answer is ... Yes."

"Oh." Now it was Ray's turn to be quiet. He sat a moment, looking away from Fraser, digesting that. The answer is yes? Whatever I was going to say? Do I even know what I was going to say? What was I going to say? Oh, okay. I think I was going to say... "I was gonna say, you mean I, I can, uh, can do that again?"

"Yes."

"And... more than that?"

"Yes."

Ray paused, blindly looking at the inane images of an overworked mother and mud covered children on the television.

"Fraser," he began, then stopped.

"Yes, Ray."

Kowalski hardly dared breathe. The advertising image on the TV changed to show a multicolored bottle of laundry detergent. Ray licked his dry lips, lips dry because he'd been breathing through his mouth, like you breathe when you're trying not to make any noise, he thought... He shook it off, and took a deep breath.

"Ray? You were...?"

"I was gonna say... you said I can do that again," the blond detective began haltingly. "And then you said Yes, I could do more than that."

The Mountie nodded, watching Kowalski's upturned palms curl in as his fingers made fists. Worried, Fraser thought. He's afraid of something.

Without realizing it, he dropped the remote on the love seat between their thighs, and put his hand on Ray's left shoulder.

"But--" Kowalski bit his lip, still looking at the television and not Fraser. The Mountie glanced at the TV. Another advertisement, this one for a car with sleek, shiny, aerodynamic lines.

"But... could you do that? To me? I mean-- would you? And more?"

The Mountie nodded. Then he realized Ray couldn't see him nod if he were looking at the TV. So he spoke quietly.

"Yes, Ray. I could do that. And more."

"Oh," said the detective. He exhaled forcefully, as if he'd been holding a lungful of breath far too long under water.

Ray's shoulder warmed Fraser's hand. He felt the detective's body shift in his tentative grasp. It no longer slouched, but it was no longer ramrod straight.

"So... so lemme show you some more surfing..."

"Okay..." They scooted closer together, still watching the TV, still not looking at each other.

Fraser released Ray's shoulder, and withdrew the remote control from between their thighs. This time Kowalski turned to face him.

They were close now.

"Let's watch this," Kowalski said thickly, looking briefly at the TV, and clicking purposefully through channels until they reached a nature show.

He leaned forward and dropped the remote on the coffee table.

"Fraser..." Ray said, turning to look at him from over his shoulder.

Fraser looked from Ray to the television. He looked back at Ray from the nature program. "Ray."

Then the blond detective leaned back, leaned in, and pressed his mouth against the Mountie's. Against those red lips he'd watched for so long, thinking he'd never know what they tasted like.

Now he knew.

Knew the slight tang of sweat on Fraser's upper lip, knew the warmth and wetness of his mouth, knew the smell of snow that came off Fraser, even in a heated apartment.

He felt Fraser's mouth surrender to his, felt Fraser's coiled muscles relax, felt the Mountie sink back into the sofa.

Oh, yeah.

He reached up to hold Fraser's head. A hand on either cheek. That roughness, that five-o'clock-shadow... so good. Sandpaper under his lips, then slick wetness. He kissed the Mountie's red lips again, then around them, then the lips again. They parted under his.

Fraser lay back, still as a stone, and received Ray's tentative, gentle tongue. He already felt drugged. His head spun. And yet a gladness tightened happily around his heart.

---------------

The smell of cotton denim, without fabric softener, came to Ray's nostrils. It was tight on his partner's thighs. That cottony smell -- he had unbuttoned several shirt buttons and pressed his face into the white cotton T-shirt, inhaling reverently.

Now that it was happening, now that Fraser was in his arms, now that he was touching Fraser in ways he'd fully visualized in dreams or in the dark, awaiting sleep... he couldn't believe he had waited this long, deprived himself for so long of the Mountie's mouth, skin, muscles.

They sprawled on the love seat, half laying and half sitting, and Ray was a bundle of nervous motion. Fraser thought it was rather like lovemaking with a hummingbird might be. He wanted Ray to slow down, but then everything Ray did felt so good.

At this moment, Ray was half lying on him, propped up on his hands, and grinding his pelvis and hard cock into Fraser's. Both men were painfully aroused, yet were still modestly clothed. Fraser's shirt was open, Ray's T-shirt half up his chest, but both still had pants on.

The nature program had changed and it was now a documentary on volcanoes.

Only by the changing of the program was Fraser aware of the amount of time that must have passed.

Once more that blond head dipped to kiss him. Once more he opened his mouth. Only this time he sucked lightly and was rewarded with Ray's eager tongue.

Fraser's hands settled on Ray's angular hips and buttocks. He pulled the detective's pelvis to his tightly, breathless from kissing.

Ray kissed him harshly back. At first, they'd been so tentative, those kisses. Now Fraser hungrily anticipated Ray's wildness, knowing the detective would have far more nerve than himself, far more follow-through. He knew Ray would lead him only where he wanted to go.

Fraser felt the lips pressed against his curve into a smile as that lovely, tantalizing tongue retreated. If that was what Ray did to a mouth with his tongue... The Mountie flushed with excited images he barely dared to visualize. Images of Ray, Ray's mouth, Ray's tongue... on far more sensitive areas of his body...

The mouth pulled away just slightly, Fraser relinquishing Ray's bottom lip with only slight disappointment.

"Fraser," came Ray's voice, husky with desire.

"Yes, Ray," Benton Fraser murmured.

"Fraser, let's... can we..." he trailed off, fingering the buttons on Fraser's shirt that were still buttoned.

"Certainly."

"Okay."

Ray sat back, off Fraser, and they both sat up. A brief look at each other, and then Fraser was clumsily unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, while Ray was quickly free of his T-shirt.

He moved to shove Fraser's shirt off him, down off his shoulders, down his arms. His ardency only increased Fraser's arousal -- if that were possible. Ray quickly peeled his partner's T-shirt up over Fraser's head and shoved it, too, down off his shoulders.

Fraser, his wrists tangled in the shirts and sleeves behind his back, was immobilized by the lean, hard body thrust against his, the mouth sliding moistly down his neck -- raising goose bumps -- the nips and bites on his shoulders. The breeze from the open window -- now chilly where it had previously seemed refreshing -- cooled the moist spots on his neck and shoulder. Strong hands gripped his thighs, massaging them, and a warm, wet mouth encircled one nipple.

He arched his back involuntarily. He felt half mad with voluptuous feeling.

The insistent massage of his thighs was making his knees quiver. Among other things.

"Ray--" he gasped. "Please--"

The tousled blond head came up. "Huh?"

"I'm stuck."

"Oh. Sorry," Ray ducked his head sheepishly, then pulled back and helped the Mountie get his wrists and sleeves untangled. The shirts finally came off. Both men felt the next waft of cool air from the window.

"Window--"

"It's chilly--"

"I'm closing it." Kowalski stood up from the couch, swaying on his feet. He felt light-headed. He realized his jeans were unbuttoned, and just slightly unzipped, yet still felt tight. He hitched them up and strode to the window, slamming it shut with the urge to quickly be back on that sofa with his partner. Lickety-split, he was back standing next to the love seat.

"Ray--"

"Yeah?"

Fraser looked up at the long, lean length of his blond partner. The tight gladness around his heart seized him again, and he could not speak. Kowalski's eyebrows screwed up in a question. Fraser answered the only way he was capable at the moment.

He drew Ray down to the love seat with him, with rather more force than he'd intended: they bounced. The blue glow of the television highlighted the delicate bone structure of Kowalski's face. The cheekbones, the tender hollow at Ray's temple, at his throat, and the fact that they were finally -- finally! -- really within his reach, moved Fraser so much he trembled.

"Ray," he breathed.

"Fraser," came Ray's hoarse response.

The Mountie ran one hand slowly up Ray's smooth, cool chest.

"I'm built like a chicken," Ray whispered, inhaling abruptly, thrusting out his chest. "Wishbone," he added, pointing at his sternum.

"You're not, Ray," Fraser responded, shaking his head vigorously. "It isn't a wishbone."

Ray rolled his eyes and grunted, exhaling explosively, deflating himself.

"Then I'll make a wish on it," the Constable breathed. He fingered the hardness of Ray's sternum. He felt the heavy throbs of Ray's heart shaking his chest.

Ray threw his head back, exultant. Fraser was his, his. The Mountie's gently inquisitive touch raised the goose flesh on Ray's body and he felt his erection swell further. He leaned his head forward again, looking at Fraser.

The Mountie's mouth hung open slightly, in a reverie. Just passing his hand over Ray's body was more than he had ever allowed himself to imagine before now. He had slid down on the love seat while they'd caressed each other. From this position, he could look up into Ray's face.

The detective ducked his head. He opened his mouth and slowly, so slowly placed it over Fraser's. Fraser closed his mouth slightly but Ray gently slipped his tongue inside. A shy tongue greeted his own, and he slowly sucked it into his own mouth. It was as if the Mountie had never done this before, and yet he must have. But his tongue was hesitant, delicate, tentative -- and yet curious, the tip passing over Ray's palate, his teeth. As he withdrew it finally, Ray increased his suction, just a little, just to give his partner a little resistance, just to scrape it lightly with his teeth... just to let Fraser know he liked having it in his mouth.

Their mouths parted, panting. Fraser looked briefly at Ray, trying to focus. He felt drugged with the loveliest drug that existed: pleasure. It was a rare indulgence for him, used as he was to denying his carnal desires, and depriving himself of other luxuries. But it was beginning to dawn on him that he was helpless to resist the sensuality of this man, this man who had once said to him about lewd and lascivious behavior, "I'll try anything." Fraser's mind whirled. Anything? As in, nothing was outside the realm of possibility?

In the midst of that thought, the Mountie realized his partner was up on his knees on the love seat. Ray pressed the excited mound of his erection against his chest. Fraser felt Ray's hands behind his head, on the arm of the love seat. Felt the extreme heat and firmness pressed against him. Ray ground it against him and Fraser's arms instinctively went around his partner's legs. He felt the backs of Ray's thighs through the loose denim. The firm, small buttocks, flexing under his tentative caresses, flexing as Ray thrust his bound erection against him rhythmically.

He pressed his ear against Ray's stomach and heard his heartbeat, strong and fast; heard his stomach and intestines gurgling. Fraser realized he wanted to see the beautiful, sensuous angles of Ray's slim hips -- the ones whose sauntering gait had mesmerized him more times than he'd been willing to admit.

But then Ray was pulling away from him, sitting back down on his haunches. His hair, "up" as usual, was now very tousled. A slow exhaling sigh of desire puffed out of Ray. He propped his hands on his thighs.

Across a narrow, warmth filled space, they regarded each other. Fraser realized his chest was almost heaving with panting and excitement. With an almost delirious effort, he breathed slowly and deeply, bewildered and aroused and trying to calm himself.

"Fraser," came the voice at last, and Ray's hand reached across the space to cup his jaw. The Mountie closed his eyes and leaned into the cupped palm.

"Ray."

"I dunno where this is goin' but I got a pretty good idea."

"Yes."

He heard a movement, and then Ray's mouth captured his again, briefly. It kissed along his jawline. Ray held his head and nibbled at him maddeningly. When Ray's ticklish lips reached Fraser's ear, the blond detective moved his hands to Fraser's waist, and struggled with the button and zipper. Finally, he pulled away and looked down, tugging at the Mountie's fly. He looked back up at Fraser.

"We should... we should stand up," his voice quavered. He slid his legs out from under him and put his feet down on the floor. He grabbed Fraser's hand. "C'mon," he whispered shyly. He pulled Fraser up from the love seat.

The two stood and regarded each other a moment. Then they came together again and this time the dark head dipped toward the blond. The Mountie slid his arms around Ray, feeling the wiry muscles in Ray's back. The detective meanwhile unzipped the Mountie's jeans completely. The loosening of the tight cloth caused Benton Fraser to sigh with relief as he pressed his mouth to Ray's. His partner responded with an eager kiss. He felt the impatience in Ray, as those nervous fingers fidgeted with his belt loops.

"C'mon," Ray said breathlessly again, his mouth moving under Fraser's. He drew the Mountie's hands back around to his front, pressed them against the hard lump in his own jeans. Fraser almost jumped back. It was hot. Hot and very hard. He gently stroked Ray's hardness through his jeans... and soon, Ray was doing the same to him, as they kissed.

"Jeeze, Fraser, you're drivin' me nuts--"

"The feeling is mutual--"

"Come on," Ray said, his voice a mixture of plaintive, lusty and frustrated.

"Ray, I--"

"Huh?"

"I don't know quite how to say this," the Mountie began, pulling back and trying to catch his breath.

"Just say it, then."

"I-never-did-this-before--" The words burst from Fraser, and he flushed. He didn't suppose Kowalski could see his blush, the room being dark except for the TV. But he still felt embarrassed.

"S'okay, Fraser, me neither--"

"I mean, I did, with a woman--"

Ray picked up on the singular article -- a woman -- but he didn't care, and just hugged the Mountie around the hips. "I know what you mean, Fraser. Neither one of us knows how... this goes. We're equal here, I think."

"Yes," Fraser answered softly.

"So we're just goin' with our guts. Gut feelings, I mean."

"Yes."

"Okay then."

Their eyes shone as they looked at each other. And then Ray backed away, and began to slide Fraser's unzipped jeans down off his hips.

The angle and hardness of Fraser's erection at first prevented a slow stripping of his jeans. Ray readjusted his grip and the jeans... and then down they came, to the middle of Benton's thighs, which tensed and relaxed with every ticklish
move. So did his flat stomach and belly, and Ray watched the tender play of muscles, as he slowly slid the jeans down to the Mountie's ankles. He wanted to prolong this moment, this delicious unveiling. And so he would not look at Fraser's arousal, not fully, until he actually had drawn the jeans off, leg by leg, as the Canadian stepped out of them.

Then he looked, and Fraser's cotton boxers bulged beautifully, the tent peaking close to the waistband from the angle of his cock to his body. Ray glanced up at Fraser, who blinked, and then Ray determinedly grasped the waistband, stretching it away from the Mountie's hips. Now he could slowly disengage the sticky cock from the boxers -- managing to touch only the waistband. It sprang out. Ray bent over and pulled them down to Fraser's knees, then his ankles... then off.

"Mine," he whispered shyly, taking Fraser's hand and bringing it to his zipper. The Mountie looked down, and hesitated. Then he undid the top button and unzipped them, but he did not take them off.

"Down," Ray motioned to Fraser, huskily declaring the next step.

The Mountie nodded mutely, stepping close to him. Ray instinctively slipped his arms around the Mountie, and Fraser pressed that lovely hardness against him just as instinctively. The grinding friction aroused Ray even more.

Fraser pulled back, Ray's arms tightening, until he realized Fraser wanted room to move. The shifting shadows in Ray's spiky hair, the jump of muscle on his stomach -- in the pulse at his temple -- caused Fraser's smoldering arousal to flare. He went down on his knees, and slowly unpeeled Ray's jeans. Ray stepped out of them, and Fraser stood unsteadily, too shy to remove the detective's briefs.

Ray pulled Fraser tightly against him. He thrust a thigh between Fraser's, mindful of his testicles, and wrapped his arms round his muscular frame, stroking up the strong muscles of Fraser's back, and then down to his round, muscular buttocks. With a rough tug, he yanked his partner's pelvis against his, bumping him. Then he loosened his grip. Then he did it again. And again. And again.

And finally, Fraser could take it no more, and felt positively bestial as he made Ray's mouth his, as he thrust against his friend... and Ray ground against him, holding them tightly together at the hips.

Ray slid his arms up and around the Mountie, stroking his back, feeling the hard muscles bunch and relax under his touch. He could hardly breathe, so hard was Fraser kissing him... but he didn't care, didn't care at all. Who needs breath? Fraser would just breathe it into him if he needed it. Like he did before.

Fraser drew back slightly, panting.

"Oh, Ray," he said, as a glance at his partner's mussed hair and slick mouth caused a surge of emotion in his breast.

"Fraser." Kowalski leaned forward for a soft and wet kiss. They caressed each other, feeling muscle and bone, lightly grazing flesh with fingernails.

Kowalski was mischievously trying to get his briefs down, while the Mountie maintained a constant pressure against him, trying to prevent it. The detective felt the points of Fraser's hips, the dimples above his buttocks, and wanted more.

And Fraser smiled that innocent, almost awestruck smile at him, and Ray was powerless to resist. He dove back down for another hard kiss, holding Fraser to him with one arm, while roughly shoving his brief downs with the other hand. This time the Mountie helped -- broke from the kiss, thrust his partner away just long enough to get the briefs off, as Kowalski fairly danced out of them.

Then they ground their cocks against one another. Fraser again moved his mouth slowly down, kissing Ray down the side of his neck, his collarbone, his chest and lingered a while on each nipple. He could hardly bear to look further down, at the length and hardness and moisture of Ray's cock.

Ray's hands were in his hair, on his shoulders, on his back. Caressing. Stroking. Taking a deep breath, Fraser finally looked down at Ray's cock. In the light of the television, he could see a shining strand of pre-ejaculate, stretched the short distance between Ray's lower abdomen and the tender head of his cock. As if he were a puppet, as if someone else were controlling his limbs, he brought his hand to it and stroked it. Ray arched against him and moaned.

"Ray..."

"What..."

"The love seat..."

"It's too small. C'mon." He grabbed Fraser hard by the wrist, and dragged him down the short hallway, past the bathroom, into his bedroom. The Mountie paused, causing Kowalski to halt, and closed the bedroom door. In the dim illumination from the street lamp outside Ray's window, he saw Ray look at him quizzically and with some exasperation.

"No one's home but me, Fraser."

"I'd feel better about it."

"Whatever."

And Ray drew Fraser to him, another fierce kiss took Fraser's breath away, and Ray's arms reoriented both of them. Ray urged him backward, inexorably, until the backs of Fraser's knees were against the bed, and the Mountie could hardly breathe, so occupied were his lips, his tongue.

He heard a guttural groan as if from a distance, and realized it had come from him. His eyes flew open just as Ray pulled back.

"Lay down," he breathed, eyes shining, mouth wet.

Fraser silently gave a brief nod, and sat on the rumpled sheets of the unmade bed. They smelled relatively clean, though, and he was thankful for that. Actually they smelled like Ray. A verdant, tangy scent, with a musky male undertone.

Ray sat next to him and hugged him to him. His heart leapt into his throat, though, and he felt himself trembling.

"You okay?"

"Y-yes--"

"Yer not okay, are ya?"

The Mountie took a deep breath and with a great effort, stilled his limbs.

"I'm just... nervous, Ray. That's all."

"Me too."

Fraser sighed with relief.

"I thought you-- well, it seemed like you--"

"Like I know what I'm doing?"

"Yes."

"Yer kiddin', right? I have no idea what the hell I'm doin'! I just know what I like. What feels good."

"Ah."

"You know it too."

"Know what?"

"What feels good," Ray said, and leaned in for a kiss, a kiss that traveled down Fraser's neck, to his shoulder, his tensed biceps, his nipple-- just as Kowalski's hand closed on his cock.

He jumped.

"Shh, shhhh. Feels good, doesn't it?" Ray murmured against his chest. With his other hand he firmly pressed Fraser's shoulder back.

Slowly, Fraser's back unbent, and he lay back on the bed, his feet still on the floor. He felt helpless, helpless and yet so completely hypnotized, immobilized by the strong, tight strokes that pulled pleasure from the very root of his being. It made the top of his head feel... fizzy.

Ray was kissing a slow trail down his chest now, kissing his hip, and he twitched involuntarily.

"Ray..."

"Fraser..." came the hot breath on his thigh.

"Don't, Ray, I might..."

"Don't worry, Fraser. Don't worry," Ray murmured, and nuzzled the head of his partner's cock.

The Mountie tucked his stomach in, involuntarily, almost doing a sit-up. He inhaled sharply at the sensation.

Ray sat up.

"Get on the bed all the way, Frase," he said, his voice fuzzy.

Wordlessly, Fraser scooted back onto the bed, lifting his feet, and stretching out parallel to the bed. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he folded them behind his head.

Ray continued to sit. The light from the street lamp outside his window was dappled from the movement of tree branches. Fraser, incapable of speech, simply raised his eyebrows. Why is Ray just sitting there? This is probably as far as he wants to go... yes, yes, of course.

"Fraser..." came the hoarse voice from his partner. "My God, you're..." he paused, swallowing. "You're so fuckable," he finished, his throat tight.

Who woulda ever thought...? Ray wondered, looking down on the milky flesh of his partner, the long, thick, hard shaft, the perfect torso, the narrow waist and hips, broad shoulders... He swallowed again. What the hell is he doin' in bed with me?

The Mountie felt the rush of hot blood from his chest up to his hairline. He'd been complimented before. But the way Ray put it... well, it seemed so coarse and unrefined and yet... sincere. Heartfelt. He could hardly believe Ray's hands, the ones he'd admired in an offhand way, had been all over him. It all seemed so unreal, so strange that the mouth he'd only half consciously dreamed of, the thin upper lip, the thicker lower lip... had been on his mouth, been on his chest, his nipples, touched him there--

He leaned up on his elbows and cleared his throat. "Lie down, Ray. Next to me," he said quietly, and extended his hand to Ray.

Ray took his hand and Fraser slowly drew his partner to him. The blond head was above him now, their arms crushed between them. Fraser felt the heat of Ray's body, the silky ticklishness of the hair on Ray's legs and at his groin prickling him in a rather delightful way.

Ray dipped his head once more to that perfect mouth, those red lips, though he couldn't see the redness any longer in the dimness of his bedroom.

Fraser's in bed with me. In my bed with me, he marveled, tasting the Mountie's lower lip and catching it in his teeth. The elbow he was leaning on as he half reclined on Fraser was beginning to hurt. He slid it down until his head was propped on his hand, and released Fraser's hand.

The Mountie held his hands at his sides, and looked quietly at him. Ray met his gaze, and stroked his free hand down his partner's well-muscled chest, to his navel. He lightly poked Fraser's innie navel, and the Mountie jumped. Ray couldn't restrain a smile. Apparently, Fraser wanted to do this, but still he was jumpy.

He traced the smoke signal line of hair trailing from Fraser's navel down to the beautiful cock. Of course, Ray thought, everything about him is perfect, even his cock. He lay his head down on Fraser's chest, and the Mountie dragged his hand up from between them to lay it on the back of Ray's neck. Ray closed his eyes, and stroked his hand down to Fraser's thick shaft.

"How do you like it?" he whispered, grasping his partner's cock tightly. He watched the play of muscle on Fraser's stomach and lower abdomen. It was a heady feeling, to play Fraser this way.

"How do I... like what?"

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"C'mon, Fraser, don't tell me you don't know what I'm talkin' about."

"Well, Ray, actually, I really have no--"

"I mean, jerk off. How do you do it? How do you like it?" the words rushed from Ray's lips.

"I, uh..." Ray heard Fraser's voice as much through the Mountie's chest cavity as through his own ears. "It's usually a means to an end, Ray," Fraser finished awkwardly.

"A... means to an end? What's that supposed to mean?" Ray asked curiously, but didn't move to look at Fraser. He sensed the Mountie's hesitation, and began firmly stroking Fraser, long, hard, tight strokes, from where the curly hair nestled at the root of his cock, to the now slippery tip.

"I... ah... usually... it's for a... purpose... That is... to release endorphins... when I can't sleep..."

"You jerk off for your insomnia?" Ray murmured.

"Ah... yesss..."

"Is that the only time you jerk off?"

"Uh... usually... yes..."

"Fraser!" Ray was shocked. He knew that Fraser lived deprived of many luxuries, but this was a simple, delicious luxury that didn't require any equipment, any partner, or any special occasion. "Well, how often do you have trouble falling asleep?" he asked slyly, jacking harder and faster.

"Ah... oh... well... maybe every... every other night..." came the Mountie's excited but sheepish voice. Ray felt it vibrate through his head, as his head rested on Fraser's chest. Fraser must have momentarily remembered he had a hand, since he started slowly stroking the very short hairs on the back of Ray's neck. The detective felt a ticklish prickle on his scalp.

"Oh, so you've got a lot of trouble with insomnia, huh?" he whispered.

"You... could say... say that..."

Ray smiled to himself. Fraser might be the perfect man, a walking encyclopedia, and hardly ever makes mistakes... but he's as human as the next guy.

"I think I know something a lot better for that," he said, and slid down on the bed.

"Do... you..."

"Yep. Move down." Ray swung his hips and legs up to the head of the bed.

The Mountie obediently slid farther down toward the foot of the bed. It was a Queen sized bed, roomy enough for two tall men.

Ray lifted his head and looked at Fraser, who was pulling a pillow down to put under his head. Oh, so now he thinks he's gonna get used to this, Ray thought with a mental chuckle. Well, he's not used to this, he finished the thought.

And he squeezed the base of Fraser's cock fiercely as he bent his mouth to take in the head.

Fraser jumped and arched so violently at the first sensation of lips, mouth, tongue, Ray pictured a cartoon cat, upside down with its claws in the ceiling. He pressed his other hand down on Fraser's heaving stomach and held him down while he sucked, lightly at first, with shallow strokes.

I'm gonna blow his mind, he thought. Oh yes I am. I don't know how to do it, but I know what I like.

And he lengthened his movements, to take more and more, and covered his teeth with his lips and mercilessly scrape-sucked Fraser's shaft for all he was worth.

The man beneath him writhed and bucked, moaning and gasping incoherently. Ray felt hands tight on the back of his neck, tight in his hair.

Behind his eyelids, the Mountie saw roiling colors, so tightly did he have them closed. He felt buffeted by waves, moving towards a crest, and then back down into the valley between the peaks. The waves were rising.

And then, slowly, he felt them calm. He opened his eyes, and though the constant friction of Kowalski's tight strokes buzzed through his brain, he looked down, to see Kowalski looking shyly across the span of his torso at him. The corners of his eyes glistened, as if with tears.

"Ray... my God."

"Good, huh?"

"Mmmmm."

Ray smiled devilishly and wiped his eyes with his other hand. He stopped stroking Fraser and the Mountie took the opportunity to catch his breath.

They lay sprawled on the bed, Kowalski perpendicular to Fraser by now, panting for different reasons.

Fraser stroked Ray's back, and was surprised to find it slick with sweat. But then, of course it's sweaty, he thought, chagrined. He was... working hard.

"Auugh," Ray said, sitting up and throwing himself down alongside Fraser, their heads together again. "Whew."

"Ray... that... that was amazing."

"The freak is freaked, huh?"

"One could say so..."

"Good," Ray smiled, crossing his hands behind his head. He was still catching his breath. I didn't think I could do that, he thought to himself. But it was cool.

"Ray, you... you haven't... I mean, I haven't..." Fraser stammered, embarrassed.

"What?"

"Well, I-- you-- you've done all the work, so to speak," he added, sheepishly.

"Oh, that." Ray paused. He honestly didn't think Fraser was up to doing much work of his own, except possibly on himself. "That's okay, Frase. Don't worry about it. 'Sides, you didn't come."

"No, I..."

"Yet."

The Mountie blushed again, thankful that they were in semi-darkness. At the rate his blood had been entering his face all evening, it was a wonder, he reflected, that he had any for an erection...

"Frase."

"Yes."

"I guess you never... fooled around like, uh..."

"Yes?"

"Fooled around here..." Ray said, and stroked his hand down to Fraser's still hard, still very erect cock. The Mountie instinctively thrust up at Ray's hand, but the detective moved his hand below, squeezing Fraser's balls briefly. He moved his hand below them, into the cleft of Fraser's buttocks. With the tips of his fingers, Ray stroked lightly across the tight, sensitive opening. "Here," he repeated quietly.

The Mountie shivered, his thighs twitching. He shut his eyes fiercely and swallowed a couple of times before answering. "No, Ray."

"Never?"

"Well..." Fraser hesitated, his face absolutely burning. Why must Ray make him discuss this? he lamented inwardly. It was so embarrassing!

"Oh, so you... kind of did."

"Kind... of."

"By yourself?"

"By myself? Heavens no!"

"Hey, I'm just askin'. So it was with the woman..."

Fraser paused, taking a breath to explain. But before he could say anything, Ray continued.

"I usedta... with Stella... I mean, she liked it, but it was like pulling teeth to get her to do it to me... I guess she was pretty squeamish. Dunno why she wasn't squeamish about me doing it to her, but..." Ray trailed off wistfully.

"Oh," Fraser said, exhaling with relief. Perhaps it wasn't appropriate for Ray to be discussing his sexual habits with Stella, but... at least he knew now that he and Victoria weren't completely debauched wantons for doing all the things they'd done.

"So you... you ever done that?"

"Uh... in a manner of speaking, yes."

"Not that much, huh?"

The Mountie shook his head, then realized Ray couldn't see him because his eyes were closed. "No," Fraser admitted.

"S'okay," he whispered, stroking Fraser between the legs, behind his balls. "Just relax."

Fraser really didn't think he could relax, but he willed himself to take a few deep breaths and loosen his limbs.

"Ray, I think you need--"

"Don't worry, Fraser, I got some." Ray continued his caresses, pressing harder. He opened his eyes. "Hey," he said, and leaned over to kiss Fraser.

The Mountie turned toward him to meet him halfway. He felt faintly ridiculous as he bent his knee and raised his leg somewhat, but Ray... that was the nice thing about Ray. He was so... nonchalant, so unaffected.

Their lips met, they tasted each other. The kiss deepened and then Ray brought his hand up. He momentarily pulled away, and licked his first two fingers. Fraser inhaled apprehensively. And then Ray took his mouth again, and he felt Ray's gentle, slippery strokes, moving deeper.

It was odd, the Mountie thought vaguely, letting the sensations seep into him, loosening his spine. It was terribly erotic. It was so embarrassing. It felt so good. He'd forgotten. It was not something he had ever thought to do again. And now he wondered why...

They took turns drawing each other's tongues into their mouths, gently biting each others lips. Fraser continued to relax. Ray continued to deepen the penetration of one of his fingers. Soon Fraser was sighing deeply and clutching Ray to him.

"Hang on," Ray whispered, and swiftly moved off the bed, to the bedroom door. Fraser looked after him, faintly disappointed at the end of the caresses. Ray opened the door and walked out, turning immediately right. Fraser heard a door open, and then a wide beam of light came from the little hallway. He heard rummaging.

In the sudden brightness, he was almost blinded. Then, just as his eyes were adjusting, he saw a brief glimpse of Ray's naked body, his arm extended over head to pull the chain of the hall fixture, something in his other hand, at which he was peering.

He looks faintly ridiculous, Fraser thought as the dark descended on him again and he saw only the afterimage of Ray Kowalski before his eyes... Perhaps it's only me who feels there's something vaguely silly about a naked man walking around with an erection... they tend to bobble when you walk.

The bed shifted as Ray sat down next to him again.

"Lotion," he whispered.

"Oh."

"I toldja not to worry, Frase."

"Right."

He leaned forward again, and kissed the Mountie's chest.

"Fraser..."

"Yes?"

"Would you... would you touch me?"

The way he said it, it was almost imploring. Fraser suddenly felt very greedy and unchivalrous.

"Oh, certainly, Ray, I am terribly sorry--" he began, sitting up.

"Ooof. Fraser, those were my teeth. They may not be my original teeth, but I'd like to keep 'em."

"Sorry, Ray," Fraser ducked his head. Now Ray lay under him, still holding the bottle of lotion. A faint scent of vanilla and coconut came to Fraser, a lovely exotic scent. He took the bottle of lotion from his partner and set it closer to the other side of the large bed.

"S'okay, Frase," Ray sighed, stretching and yawning. "Late night... wonder what time it is?"

"11:27 PM, Ray."

"That early? I coulda sworn we'd been here for hours."

"Well, we have."

"Only a couple."

They were silent a moment, and then Fraser stroked down Ray's chest to his belly. "It seemed like hours to me, too," he agreed softly.

Ray grinned up at him. Then his grin faded to a sublime look of pleasure as Fraser at first hesitantly, and then firmly, grasped his erection.

The head was extremely slippery, and Fraser felt terrible for a moment. How aroused Ray must have been, and he'd lain here like a mute puppet. He stroked Ray with a tight grasp and evenly paced rhythm. But as the detective exhaled through clenched teeth, Fraser though, Oh, dear, that's not right at all. He doubled his speed and the muscles in his forearm bunched. With his other hand he stroked Ray's chest and stomach gently and slowly. It was somewhat like that brain twister, where you were supposed to rub your stomach in circles while simultaneously patting your head, but he willed himself to get both right and maintain the speed and rhythm of both hands.

After a few minutes, Ray had the sheets bunched in his fists at his sides. Panting and writhing, he almost whimpered. "Frase..."

"Shall I... shall I stop, Ray?" Fraser asked uncertainly.

"No... Yes... mmmmmm...."

"Is that a--"

"Okay, okay, okay..." Ray said, and grabbed Fraser's stroking wrist.

"Sorry, Ray."

"Don't be sorry, Fraser," Ray panted. "It was great."

"Would you like me to..." The Mountie paused, somewhat flustered. He didn't want to say it... so he leaned over, gesturing shyly with a toss of his head.

"Oh... yeah. That would be great," Ray said gratefully. But there was a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"What, Ray?"

"Nothin', Fraser, nothing." But he smiled and shrugged. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to." His expression got conspiratorial. "But you do, don't you..." he purred.

For the umpteenth time, Fraser felt his face grow hot. This maddening person! Stanley Raymond Kowalski is so, so, vexing at times. He clearly derives pleasure from embarrassing me.

"Ah, it's okay, Frase. Hey, I wanted to, didn't I? So you're not the only one." He lightly punched Fraser in the arm. "Don't be so uptight."

Fraser sighed, a mixture of relieved and bedeviled. Ray reached up and stroked his cheek. "It's okay," Ray repeated. Fraser nodded.

Ray drew him down for a kiss, and he again put his hand on Ray's hard thickness, petulantly deciding for the moment that he would tease Ray. The quiet exhalation of breath that came from Ray urged Fraser on to further licentiousness.

There is a tightening of the scrotum, he remembered, which draws the testicles up to the body -- sometimes into the body -- at the height of arousal. By encircling the scrotum between the testicles and the body, at a width too tight for the testicles to slide up through, and pulling them slightly away from the body, one could deter this drawing up of the testicles... prevent release... prolong the stimulation.

So, he slid his mouth down from Ray's mouth, to his chest, his belly, kissing slowly all the way down. Still stroking Ray at a slow measured pace, he felt the body near his vibrate with excitement, and dipped the tip of his tongue in Ray's fairly flat -- yet still definitely an "innie" -- navel. He was rewarded with a quiver that ran the length of Ray's torso.

And then he gently grasped Ray's testicles, tightening his hold just above the testicles themselves. He very gently tugged on them, until the skin between his hand and Ray's body was just barely taut. He held them snugly. And then he moved his mouth slowly down from Ray's navel to his erection. With his other hand, he stroked his partner's very hot and hard organ... and finally gently mouthed the head.

Ray moaned and arched up to him reflexively. The positive feedback further inspired Fraser, and he began more actively applying pressure and suction. It was awkward trying to do that and stroke him at the same time, but as Ray's moans grew louder and more prolonged, he assumed he must be doing all right. And, abashed, he realized that he was deriving quiet a sense of excitement and power, himself, from this act, from wringing moans and gasps from his partner...

"Fraser..." Ray whispered hoarsely.

Fraser paused in his movements and took his mouth off Ray. This inspired what could only be described as an excruciated moan from Ray.

"Yes, Ray," he whispered back.

"Finish me off or let's go back to what we were doin'... I can't take much more of this. It's been a long time..."

"Alright. Yes, I too, haven't done this... well, I've never done this, but in terms of--"

"Fraser!"

"Understood."

He released Ray, and as he sat up fully, the detective sat right up and fairly attacked him. Suddenly Ray was all over him -- his tongue was in Fraser's mouth, and his hands were on Fraser's cock and balls. He threw his weight against Fraser, and the Mountie went down on the bed, this time with his head at the foot of the bed. It is oddly like wrestling, Fraser thought, except that wrestling was never this pleasurable...

He grasped Ray tightly, unintentionally gripping his partner's arms so hard, he only belatedly realized it was hard enough to bruise. But Ray himself was stroking Fraser feverishly and the Mountie felt ready to burst again. Abruptly Ray slowed, and moved off to his side. He still kissed Fraser, and Fraser's numb lips attempted to respond.

Ray leaned over him and grabbed the bottle of lotion. He put the lid in his mouth, twisted the bottle, and opened it. The hand he'd been stroking Fraser with came up, and he poured lotion into his hand, at the tips of his upturned fingers, rather than into his palm. Intent on what he was doing, Kowalski didn't notice Fraser's tense inhalation of breath. He screwed the lid back on with his mouth, and dropped the bottle of lotion behind them.

The coconut and vanilla scent reached Fraser again, a most intoxicating scent... or was it simply the sensuality of this whole experience that fogged his mind? He felt drunk...

And then Ray elbowed his thighs apart, and again he felt helpless to resist. His knees naturally rose as his thighs came apart and his stomach tightened. Ray slathered the cool lotion on Fraser's sensitive opening and the Mountie gasped at the temperature shock.

Then Ray was kissing him again, and simultaneously stroking the orifice. Fraser had thought the sensation terribly arousing before... and it was again. But now, Ray moved his mouth slowly and hotly against Fraser's, and very very slowly penetrated him with one finger. It felt wondrously erotic, and Fraser felt he must be levitating. But, no, Ray still lay half on him, and he was still on the bed.

For a moment, a brief sliver of memory pierced him, of Victoria and he, doing this to each other, he slack jawed and punch-drunk with pleasure.

At the moment his brain could only hold onto one aspect of that memory: the mutuality. He reached around Kowalski and felt around for the lotion. There it was. Kowalski, paused, taken aback, and leaned slightly away. He watched as Fraser took the bottle and opened it with his teeth as he himself had done, his eyes widening.

And then Fraser dipped his first two fingers into the bottleneck, one at a time, and put the top back on with his teeth... and sought the cleft in Ray's buttocks. He found the tight hole and began rubbing circularly, gently but firmly. Ray lurched against him and he tossed the bottle aside as the detective's mouth seized his own.

For how long they mutually excited each other, Fraser did not know. He knew only that he felt himself rapidly ascending towards the heights of pleasure, as if on a spiral staircase from which he would leap, and gladly, into an abyss.

Ray must have sensed his increasingly uncontrollable spasms and he slowed his strokes. By now he had two fingers in Fraser and was working the third in. The Mountie was delirious and felt his head spinning but he continued to pursue Ray's penetration. His concentration seemed split between only two points: everything in his groin and pelvis, and the tips of his fingers. He thrust them into Ray, and his blond partner thrust against him automatically, voicing a guttural moan.

Ray began withdrawing his fingers almost entirely and then deeply thrusting them in again, repeatedly. All three of them. Fraser felt pierced, nurtured, and pinned down simultaneously. He felt that if Ray thrust against him again, the simple friction in addition to the penetration would send him spinning over the edge.

Suddenly Ray stopped moving completely. Fraser half sobbed with the sudden cessation of the motion, the pleasure, and stopped caressing Ray.

"Fraser..." Ray huffed, catching his breath. "Can I... can you... would you... roll over...?" He lifted his head from Fraser's chest and looked at the Mountie, sweat trickling down both sides of his face from his temples. He was half on Fraser, half on his side.

Without a word Fraser turned beside Ray and pressed his stomach to the bed. Ray pushed himself up on his knees, and sat back on his haunches. Fraser heard his ragged breathing and then he felt Ray's hands on his buttocks, sliding sideways round his hips, urging them up and back, pulling him onto his hands and knees.

And then Ray pressed his hardness into the cleft of his partner's backside, and Fraser knew it was right. He breathed slowly and evenly. Ray prepared him with his hand, and then he felt the heat and hardness and girth of Ray entering him.

Ray felt as if he'd been running for two days, and yet like he would love to keep running forever. He felt the tight muscular ring close around the head of his cock, and pressed in further, slowly. He didn't want to hurt Fraser, but he didn't want to stop. He further vented his partner's buttocks, widening the approach as much as possible. And thrust again.

Fraser moaned. The voluptuous pierced feeling suffused his entire body, and he felt Ray slowly and relentlessly push in, slowly, but not stopping. The pleasure mixed with the slight pain of stretching to accommodate the girth of the base of Ray's cock. And Ray was in. And it was right as rain.

Ray trembled with restraint, and pulled out very slowly, not wanting to tear or hurt his partner. But he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep from going into a frenzy. He wanted to fuck, and he wanted to fuck his friend hard and fast until they both came in a feverish explosion.

Finally after four long in and out strokes, it seemed Fraser was opened to him, fully and completely. Ray gradually began to increase his speed. The heat, the delicious tightness, and the intense friction rapidly built the tension in his chest, his fingers, his tightening balls. He banged his hips against Fraser's firm buttocks, maintaining the speed and breadth of his strokes. They moaned like beasts in heat.

Their voices slowly ceased as their speed and excitation peaked, a decrescendo into wordless gasps. Ray felt the soft jets of liquid begin to rise out of him. He spurted into Fraser. A languid tranquility overcame him as his strokes became slower, wringing every last bit of pleasure he could.

Moments before Ray came, Fraser felt the relentless pounding in his backside puncture his self-control, and his hand snuck to grasp himself. As each stroke hit bottom and withdrew, Fraser stroked himself in a matching rhythm. The rush of sensation quickly overtook him. As Ray's thrusts became frenzied, Fraser hung his head, his lips quivering, and hammered his cock. Some dim part of his mind chided his animalistic loss of control. But that was silenced as the warm umbrella of orgasm descended on his brain.

Ray's thighs were shaking, he felt he could no longer hold himself up, his cock was hypersensitive. He fell forward onto Fraser, who surrendered under him and fell onto his stomach. Ray was glued to him, still inside him. The two men felt each other's bodies shake in competing rhythms from their hearts, as they raggedly caught their breath.

Funny, Ray thought, his heartbeat is exactly the opposite of mine.

Odd, Fraser thought, his heartbeat is in perfect counterpoint to my own.

Moments, hours, days later, it seemed, Ray stirred, feeling the tightness loosen as his cock grew flaccid. He withdrew it and shuddered, and rolled over onto his back next to Fraser. The sweat that had been trickling from his back to his front now began a ticklish trickle from the front of his body to the back along the sides, under his armpits, between his legs.

The Mountie's head was turned away from his, but he felt his partner's hand searching between them for his hand. He gratefully squeezed it and did not let go.

If anyone had told me, Ray thought, too tired to complete the thought... ten months ago... I'da never believed 'em.

In the dark warmth of the room, Constable Benton Fraser knew that it was but a momentary illusion that all was right with the world... And yet, all was right with the world. He turned his head and rested his other cheek on the blanket, looking at Ray's profile as the detective's breathing normalized and then softened sleepily.

So this was what you were trying to tell me, Ray.