Author's Website: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/cara/caraindex.html

Disclaimer: All hail Alliance. May they reign benignly, ignoring our existence. In the case of lawsuit, please observe the moths flying out of my empty pockets. Thank you.

Author's Notes: This bit of silliness was written for Jerome.

Story Notes:

Ray Kowalski entered the men's room at the 2-7 just in time to hear a brisk zip and see Fraser turning away from the wall, looking immaculate and serene. Well, hell.

It wasn't like he had a complex or anything, or even an obsession... but one thing he did have was a bigger dick than that strutting banty rooster Dewey. Huey put the fear of God into him and he'd never stand next to the man at a urinal again. Welsh was packing a beer can; thick but too short to get much of anywhere. No chance to check out the real Ray Vecchio short of asking Frannie, which wasn't happening, no fucking way. But mostly he'd stacked himself up against everybody at the precinct and done OK.

Except Fraser.

Ray whipped it out and directed a stream at the top of the nearest urinal, whistling.

He'd catch Frase one of these days. You couldn't hide forever.

Got him this time. Ray strolled down the hall, ignoring Fraser's discreet attempts to redirect him. Fraser hesitated at the door and then went in, Ray hot on his heels. "That coffee goes straight through ya, huh, Frase?" Ray whipped it out and went to town. A stall door clicked shut behind him in answer.

Well, shit.

Literally. Ugh! He took a hike.

In spite of the setback, Ray pursued his campaign diligently. It was becoming a point of honor; one of these days he was going to sneak up on Fraser halfway through the deed and that'd be that. Heading in there with him wasn't the answer; Fraser was a cagey bastard and Ray suspected he used the stalls just for pissing any time that happened.

He kept trying.

Stall. Stall. Stall. Wall, too late again, and Ray muttered and upped his coffee intake. Fraser started going at the consulate instead, and Turnbull earnestly assured Ray that it was a single-occupancy unit, but that he could share in an emergency. That was OK, though. It turned out Turnbull only had about a half-centimeter on him, and that was from the foreskin.

If he wanted, Ray could make a catalog of all the bathrooms he'd nearly caught Fraser in. That little Chinese restaurant where Fraser liked to go and jabber nonsense syllables with the owner, it had stalls but they didn't latch good and one swung open one day but Fraser's uniform tunic made a nice skirt over his lap and he had his trousers pulled up most all the way to the bowl. There were other guys in there that time and Ray couldn't keep staring and waiting for him to stand up and get them back on.

There weren't any stalls in a couple of places, and Ray started steering Fraser toward them on purpose, even tried loading the Mountie up with soda pop or tea first, but Fraser seemed to have a bladder of steel and nothing doing.

Ray stomped into the latest in a long line of public bathrooms and slammed the door behind him, snatching out his dick. His own strategies were going bad on him; he'd already been twice since they came to the sports bar to watch the game, and Fraser was still out there sucking down Canada Dry. Fucking man looked like he hadn't taken a piss since he was sixteen and wouldn't need another one till he turned sixty.

Ray sighed, tilting his head back-- watching that TV on the wall gave him a crick in his neck. He glanced in the mirror in front of his eyes and saw Fraser there, standing just inside the door, watching him.

"Whatcha want?" he asked gruffly.

"I know an Inuit treatment for overactive bladder, Ray, if you need--"

Ray swore briefly but creatively, effectively silencing the Mountie, and he flipped himself dry and packed himself into his jeans and fastened up without letting Frase get a look at his goodies. Fair was buddies.

"Let's just go home, okay?" Ray finished his tirade, turning to face Fraser wearily.

"Isn't there something you wanted?" Fraser widened innocent eyes at him, stepping forward, his hand at the buckle of his jeans, and Ray blinked, wondering if his eyes had freaked out on him or something.

"Yeah," he managed, faintly alarmed by the glitter in Fraser's eyes and the loose-limbed, easy grace of his stride as he prowled forward. Fraser's tongue moistened his lips and he tipped his head toward the single unoccupied stall, a clear challenge.

"This the only way I'm gonna find out what you're packin'?"

Fraser nodded, his lips quirking upward slightly.

Ray grinned suddenly, feeling wolfish. "You knew the whole time, dintcha?" Fraser just nodded, his eyes hot, and Ray followed him in.

It turned out that stalling wasn't so bad after all.