Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's Notes: Orinally started as a response to the "One Night Stand" challenge on ds_flashfiction, but it went over the time limit *and* the word count! Many thanks to Justacat for yet another excellent beta.

Story Notes: Post-COTW

My nose was smushed up next to the stapler, but I didn't care as long as no one made me open my eyes or lift my head. The after-hours noises of the station hummed around me, and even though it was work, it was actually kind of soothing after the shitty day I'd had.

I heard footsteps approach my desk and stop. Nobody bellowed my name or even cleared their throat pointedly, but the feet didn't move away. Whoever it was was awfully patient. Must be Fraser. No dog-nails clicking against the linoleum, though, so the fur-face must not have come with.

"Lawyers are EVIL," I informed the top of my desk.

A gravelly chuckle coated my ears with honey and slid right down my spine.

"Tell me about it," an unfamiliar voice with a British accent said, like it was some kind of private joke between the two of us.

My head snapped up and some guy I'd never seen before was standing there, obviously waiting for me. Nice clothes, deep plum-colored button down shirt and expensive-looking slacks. I might've taken him for a lawyer himself except for the rough-looking stubble on his jaw and the wholehearted agreement in his eyes.

Four words out of his mouth and he was already the most interesting person I'd met since I'd gone back to working under my real name.

& & &

"Wesley Windham-Price" he introduced himself, and I saw something less than total confidence flash across his face. Didn't think it was the same kind of thing as when I had to introduce myself as Vecchio, though. Whatever. Maybe he just realized the whole mouthful was a little much.

Turned out he worked with lawyers, in some big multinational firm called Wolfram & Hart, and he and his colleagues had had the same kind of day I did, using all available fingers to plug up the leaks that were sprouting all over the Brodeur case. I should have guessed, really -- that sucker turned around and bit everyone in the ass. What had initially seemed like a regular robbery-homicide turned into pure weirdness from start to finish, from the bag of diamonds left not ten feet from the body to the dissolution of said corpse into a puddle of orange goop once it had been exhumed.

Apparently his firm was working on our side of things, which I guessed he thought would surprise me but I'd never heard of Wolfram & Hart so I had no expectations.

"I was told that you had the original witness statement here. Our copy," he covered his eyes here, like the light was just a little too much for him at the moment, "Our copy was, erm, irreparably mangled by an overenthusiastic administrative assistant."

"You've got a Turnbull, too?" I asked. He obviously had no idea who I was talking about, but got the gist of what I meant and nodded ruefully.

"I suspect we do. Her name is Harmony, but it probably ought to be Discord." There was that cozy shared-joke thing again. "At any rate, I was hoping to be able to make a xerox here? I have all the requisite paperwork."

He offered a handful of legal papers, which I glanced over but I honestly didn't see any problem with running off a few copies of some probably useless statement he technically already had anyway. I sighed and looked for the files he needed myself, since anyone still here obviously had better things to do than try to decipher Frannie's filing system.

Finally found the stuff for the Brodeur case under "D" for "Devil." Don't ask me why.

& & &

"Thank you for your help, Detective," he said. He put the copies I'd made him in his briefcase and did something weirdly complex with the lock. Kind of sounded like he was muttering, too. Maybe it was a complicated combination.

He glanced around the station and checked his watch. He was obviously getting ready to leave, but he looked kinda fidgety, not relaxed the way a guy who was finally done with a crappy day should look.

I knew how he felt, I was wound up and worn out myself, so I told him, "Call me Ray."

That got me a smile, and I realized I didn't want him to leave just yet.

"Listen, you want to go get a cup of coffee or a beer or something?"

& & &

He didn't smoke, although he had a smoker's raspy voice. It was too bad, because I was willing to backslide a little for a nicotine rush, but he had none to share.

We'd ended up going to a slightly seedy bar in my old neighborhood. He kicked my ass at darts even after I put on my glasses. He was really good, and I could practically see his spine unbending after he'd won a couple of games and drunk a few pints of really dark beer.

Things got really fun, though, when we partnered up and wiped the floor with the cocky local kids who challenged us.

I'd had a few beers when we first got there, but I wouldn't have been okay to drive if I'd had any more, so I'd been sticking to club soda the last couple of rounds.

After we finished teaching those two punks what real dart-playing looked like, he thanked me for my time, as if I hadn't needed this at least as much as he did. There was something still pinched-looking around his eyes, like maybe he wasn't quite ready to go back to an empty hotel room yet.

Before I'd checked with my brain, I heard myself inviting him back to my place. "We could pick up some more beer on the way, or I've got a bottle of Grey Goose in the freezer. And if we get snockered, you can always crash on the couch."

"That sounds wonderful," he said, the tension around his eyes letting up with his smile.

"You haven't seen my couch," I grinned back.

& & &

We got back to my place and before we even got our coats off, I offered him a drink. I wasn't surprised when he opted for the vodka, so I poured us each a shot.

I handed him his glass, and up close, I noticed a faint line of scar tissue crossing his throat. Maybe that explained the voice. I also noticed the warmth of his fingers brushing against mine as they lingered when I handed him his drink.

We clinked glasses and I downed mine. I took off my jacket and hung it up in the hallway, then ducked into the bathroom.

"Turn on the TV if you want," I hollered before closing the bathroom door. I could hear the varied sounds of channel-surfing until he settled on the rebroadcast of a hockey game we'd both missed. The volume was down pretty low, so I could also hear the noises of him moving around and taking his jacket off. And some noises a little bit like the ones I make when I take off my guns and cuffs, although I hadn't noticed him carrying.

I felt my eyebrows creeping higher and higher at the ongoing clatter and clink of what had to be an awful lot of hardware for someone who worked in a law firm to be wearing hitting the coffee table.

I pulled my ear away from the bathroom door -- guess I'd been a little more curious than I'd thought -- and pissed like I'd gone in there for. It was none of my business, really. And I was willing to bet that everything would be out of sight by the time I got back out to the living room.

& & &

Sure enough, when I got back to the couch, all I saw was Wesley -- and his coat -- draped over it. He looked really good stretched out all casual like that.

I grabbed our empty glasses to take them into the kitchen for a refill. Then I set them back down on the coffee table and fetched the entire bottle out of the freezer instead.

"Figured I'd save myself a couple of trips . . . that is, if you want another?"

"Please," Wesley said, and that smoky voice made my body think he was asking for something else entirely. I swallowed a little thickly and reminded myself that it wasn't his fault if his tone seemed to promise naked, sweaty things, and poured another for us both.

I sat and we clinked glasses again, and he said, "To Brodeur." I must have been looking at him like he had two heads, because he explained. "Well, I curse this case on a daily basis, but it has been responsible for one of the most enjoyable evenings I've had in far too long," he said.

"I am all over that," I told him, and saluted him with my glass. "To Brodeur."

We drank, and our glasses thunked down onto the table at the same time. I didn't want him to get uncomfortable, so I turned my attention to the TV and settled back into the cushions.

At least, I tried to focus on hockey, but my attention kept drifting back to the guy sitting on the couch next to me. He didn't look like he was fascinated by the Hawks getting slaughtered, either. If I wasn't mistaken -- and it could have been my dick doing my interpreting for me -- I was pretty sure he was paying more attention to me than he was to the game.

Just to be sure, I stretched and let my arms fall down to rest along the back of the couch. Not the classic junior high move. A distant cousin of it, at worst. If I was reading him wrong, he'd probably move away, or lean forward, or something, and I could just let my arms fall back down. He didn't move away though. Instead, he leaned towards me a little as he reached out and poured us each a refill.

He pressed my glass into my hand (which was still resting on the back of the couch) and faced me. I shifted so that I was looking at him as we knocked back our third shots of the night. He took the glass back in the hand that already held his own -- large hands, I noticed -- and leaned waaaay into my personal space as he put them down.

I figured that was a clear enough signal for me, so as he straightened up I slid my hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder.

"If you don't want to sleep on the couch, there's room in the bed," I told him, hoping I didn't sound too hopeful.

"That sounds even better," he said, and clicked off the television.

& & &

He followed me into the bedroom, which I probably should have cleaned but I had no idea I'd be having company of the bedroom kind. I tossed a couple of shirts into the closet and then Wesley stopped me with a hand on my arm. He started unbuttoning his shirt with his other hand and I just watched him.

He had some nice fur on his chest, and one of his nipples was showing where his shirt hung open. I wanted to lick it, so I leaned forward and did.

Wes hissed through his teeth and tightened his hold on my arm. Seemed like he liked that, so I licked him again, and gave the little nub a light nibble. He kind of squeaked and pushed me away, only to start attacking the buttons on my shirt. I helped him by undoing the ones on the bottom as he worked his way down from the top.

Pretty soon our hands met, and I shrugged out of my shirt. He just looked at me, so I decided to take his off, too. He was tall, and lean, with long, ropy muscles. In fact, he was in even better shape than the way he looked in his clothes suggested; he had the physique of someone who worked his body hard.

I'd had hours and hours of fantasies about Fraser. And the hours and hours we actually spent together, at work and outside of it, didn't make it any easier for me to deal with the wanting I felt. Sometimes -- a lot of the time, actually -- I felt like I was ready to go out of my head with Fraser Fraser Fraser, so it was nice to be with somebody completely different. I didn't even have to second-guess myself about using Wesley as a Fraser-substitute. Sure, they both had precise diction and a natural reserve, but there was no confusing the two. No guilt about off-hours fantasizing, either, and no painful lunges of the heart -- just heat and taut skin under my hands.

It felt good.

I looked at Wes, looking at me, and I realized I'd licked him and nibbled on him, but we hadn't kissed. A lot of guys don't do that, even if they do other guys, but I didn't think he'd be like that. In fact, he seemed a lot like me -- kind of hungry for affection. I wondered why on earth he was single, much less lonely. He seemed pretty fantastic to me.

That wasn't the kind of thing you came out and said to your one-night-stand, so I just planted one on him and kissed him as convincingly as I could.

His lips were soft and really delicious. His tongue licked the roof of my mouth and I couldn't help rubbing up against him a little.

Wesley made a rumbling noise in his chest and pulled me flush against him. I could feel that he was as hard as I was. His kisses turned frantic and he was practically chewing my lower lip until he moved down to my neck. He latched onto a tendon there, and I knew I was definitely going to have a mark later. I couldn't be bothered to care.

I rocked up against him and he dropped into a crouch, fumbling with my belt buckle and biting at my chest. He was biting like it hurt, like he wasn't used to doing this without being angry.

I could go with that, although what I really wanted was to make him feel the way I did when I realized he wanted to hang out with me. So I wove my fingers through his hair as he unbuckled and unzipped me, and tugged him back upright as soon as he was done.

I kissed him again and ran my hands down his sides trying to slow him down. The gesture was a lot like I imagine gentling a horse would be, although I wouldn't know. Between my trying to keep the kisses slow and the way I was stroking his sides and back, Wesley seemed to be getting into the groove with me. I'm not a dancer for nothing, and I found a more comfortable rhythm for the both of us. Comfortable, and a little comforting. Yeah. That was definitely the way to go.

If I hadn't been so hard, it would have been kinda soothing when his warm hands started mimicking mine and petting me back. As it was, though, it just made me even hornier. I let go of him long enough to push off my jeans and shorts, and then I cupped him through his pants.

He pushed into my hand and I tightened my grip around the solid length of him. He rested his forehead on my shoulder for a moment, and then reached down and moved my hand aside. Okay, he wanted out of his pants, too. Fair enough.

In a moment, he was naked, and his cock looked as insistently needy as mine felt. It looked damn tasty, too.

I gave into temptation and dropped to my knees. I sort of walked on my knees up to him -- I would have felt stupid actually trying to crawl, but there was no harm in giving him a little show, was there? I let my hands brush his legs on my way up to his hips and then grabbed on.

"God, Ray," he rasped, and didn't that just sound fantastic?

I hoped to make him say some more stuff in that breathless tone and licked off the precome that he was already leaking. I felt his hand drop to the top of my head, and I took that as encouragement. I licked my way down one side of his shaft and up the other, then let my tongue wander around that spot right under the head that always drove me crazy.

Surprise, surprise, it worked for him, too. I let the thrust I got in response push him past my lips and partway into my mouth. He was salty and musky, and I chased the taste, running my tongue around the mouthful I'd acquired.

When he tried to buck forward again, I held his hips still. That got me an even louder groan, and I realized he liked not being able to move. I could definitely work with that.

We were obviously not going to have time for anything fancy; it had been awhile for both of us, I think, and we'd both had hellaciously long days already. So I held him still and slid my lips down his cock until the head touched the back of my throat. I started sucking and pulled back almost all the way, then slid my mouth down again.

I got a strangled noise, which was even better than I'd hoped for, and let go of his left hip so I could wrap my hand around the base of his cock. I braced my forearm across his pelvis to keep him from moving and used my hand to jerk the part I couldn't cover with my mouth. I thought about maybe releasing his hips altogether and using my other hand on his balls -- maybe a knuckle pressing up behind them, too -- but I could tell by the extra swelling of his dick that he was close, and he was enjoying the immobility too much for me to let go. I settled for sucking him even harder and letting my tongue go crazy as I moved up and down his length as fast as I could.

"Ray -- Ray!" he warned me. I pulled all the way off of him and jacked him until he came all over my chest.

I stayed down there for a second, just reveling in the satisfaction of a job well done. We weren't finished yet, not if I had anything to say about it, so I was more than pleased when Wesley pulled me up and pushed me towards the bed.

His lungs were heaving a bit and his face was a little flushed and sweaty as he flopped down onto the bed next to me. His eyes, though, they practically burned me up when he cupped my cheek and said, "You beautiful, beautiful man."

He kissed the corner of my mouth and promised, "I'm going to make you feel so good," and I didn't doubt him for a moment.

I shivered a little with renewed wanting. His hand trailed down my chest, gathering some of his own come on the way. He started rubbing it onto the head of my cock and then proceeded to give me the most expert hand job I'd ever had. He added little nips to the bitemarks he'd already made on my torso, which stung a little warmly but were full of all the playful affection he'd been missing earlier. All I had to do was moan and thrust up whenever I was inspired, and in a matter of about two minutes I was adding my own come to the mess on my chest.

It didn't even occur to me to be embarrassed about going off like a rocket until later, and not even then, really. Who cared? I'd been waiting a long time in general and a long time that night, so I was entitled.

I turned onto my side and faced Wes, who still had his hand resting on my stomach. I scooted a little closer to him, reached down to grab the sheets gathered at the foot of the bed, and pulled them up over us both. He looked as satisfied and tired as I felt, so I gave in to the last impulse troubling me and brushed my lips against that scar slicing across his throat.

"God, Ray," he whispered, and I heard the thick choke of the words in his throat. I worried that I'd gone too far until he tucked his nose into my hair and said, "Thank you."

"No problem," I breezed back. "Set the alarm for whenever you want. I have the day off tomorrow."

"Bastard!" was the last thing I heard before I fell asleep smiling.

& & &

The first thing I heard when I woke up was the sound of the key in the lock.

The red digits on the alarm clock helpfully informed me that it was after one p.m. Shit shit shit shit shit.

Why today of all days? I asked myself and the universe at large.

Sure, normally it was worth it, giving up a little of my privacy so that Fraser could have a key. I wanted him to feel at home here. I wanted to give him a home, because even though he wasn't living in the Consulate any longer, that barren little shoebox he'd moved into was nothing like cozy. Plus, it always added a little extra something to my solo sessions knowing that, if maybe tonight was the night, Fraser could let himself in and walk in on me calling his name or something. That would certainly let the cat out of the bag. Not that it would ever happen, but it made everything a little bit more exciting, a little bit more potentially real.

The universe didn't answer me back, so I figured we still weren't on speaking terms. I snatched up a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on, hopping into them as I pulled on the first shirt I found.

I heard Dief galloping inside, so I hurried the rest of the way into my clothes as fast as possible. I would have waited to fasten the shirt up properly but I did not want Fraser coming into the bedroom -- which he would do, since I'm sure he couldn't conceive of me lingering in bed this late unless I was sick or something -- as clearly fucked about in as it was and reeking of the little party we'd had last night.

I skidded out into the hallway in my bare feet, slamming the bedroom door behind me. Fraser was facing away, closing the door and locking it behind him. He turned and started at the sight of me, which I didn't blame him for because I must have looked strange, careening in with no warning and looking completely wrecked.

His gaze dropped and focused on my chest -- oh shit -- which was covered in bites and bruises.

I tugged the shirt closed and cleared my throat while I started buttoning it up.

"Morning, Fraser. What's up?" I asked in the most normal-sounding tone I could manage.

His eyes were huge, and they were still staring at my chest even though I'd finished with the buttons and there was nothing more to see.

I tried to make light of the situation. "Sorry I didn't know you were coming over. I had company last night and haven't gotten around to cleaning up yet."

A serious "Ah" was all I got in return. But then he visibly shook himself and asked, "I take it the young lady has left, then? I have no pressing business, after all, and I could certainly --"

"No, no, Frase, you stay. In fact, why don't you put on some water to boil?"

I was sure I still smelled. Before he got too close I excused myself and ran to the john where I cleaned up with a damp washcloth as quickly and thoroughly as I could.

I caught myself grinning into the mirror in spite of the morning weirdness, and I realized everything was going to be okay. I'd gotten laid. Fraser wasn't freaking. In fact, he obviously thought I'd been with a woman, so I guess I didn't have to deal with the big reveal right now after all.

I'd almost told him the truth about my flexible preferences a thousand times -- I must have thought about doing it at least once a day since we left on our adventure -- but the timing was always wrong. At first, I didn't want to make him uncomfortable because we were going to have to share sleeping bags sometimes, no two ways about it. I wanted to spare him that, even though at worst I figured he'd be all proper and stoic. By the time we came back to Chicago, my feelings for him were so strong that they were all tangled up with the rest of it, and somehow it seemed like any confession of what I am would be as good as a confession of how I felt.

At any rate, I'd always expected I'd be able to pick my moment. Looked like I'd dodged a bullet this morning, although maybe this was the opportunity I'd been looking for to clue him in without spilling the whole can of beans.

Or maybe not.

I joined Fraser in the kitchen and found he'd already made me a cup of coffee, just the way I like it. I sipped it and asked Fraser about his day yesterday. I zoned out a little but I relied on my automatic Fraser-filter to pick up the relevant details and make the appropriate responses while I drifted.

I distantly heard a click as the answering machine flipped on -- I'd forgotten I'd turned my ringer off yesterday to make sure I got the chance to sleep in uninterrupted. I ignored it until the beep at the start of a message sounded and some premonition made the bottom drop out of my stomach.

That lovely, warm, chocolatey voice purred over the speaker and I knew I was sunk. Wesley sounded even more like sex on a stick than usual, his dry intonation colored with unmistakable intimacy as he greeted my machine.

"Good morning, Ray. Good afternoon, technically, I know, but I certainly wouldn't be out of bed yet if it wasn't necessary. Anyway, thank you for such an enjoyable evening. Unfortunately I left a knife at your place, and it's quite irreplaceable -- I suspect it's under one of your couch cushions. Perhaps I could drop by the station to pick it up later if--"

I finally came to my senses and grabbed the phone off the hook, silencing the speaker.

"Hey Wes," I said, cradling the phone between my ear and my shoulder and turning away so I couldn't see Fraser.

"Uh-huh. Lemme check," I set my coffee down and found the knife trapped between a seat cushion and the back of the couch. It was beautifully made and pretty wicked-looking. Even though I didn't know a heck of a lot about knives in particular, the etching on the blade alone would have made it special.

"Hoo-yeah. This is definitely it. Sure, I can bring it over when I swing by later. I dunno. By three at the latest? OK, see you then."

I pushed the disconnect button on the handset and stared at the phone in my hand.

When I finally looked up to see Fraser looking completely shell-shocked, heat prickled over my face. Guess I didn't get to pick my moment after all. I waited for him to say something, but he wasn't making a sound. I knew I was probably pink-faced, because my skin felt all sunburnt and itchy. I hated it, but there was nothing I could do other than brazen it out.

Fraser was still practically catatonic, and I knew I had to say something to salvage things. This was not even close to any of the ways I'd imagined telling him, but I had to make it right. We were a duet, as partners and as friends, and I would never ruin that if I could help it.

"So, uh. That was Wesley. If, uh, if you want to come by the station with me, you could probably meet him."

"No," he said -- barked, really. I looked at him in surprise.

"Huh?" I asked, not really sure I'd heard that right.

He shook his head and said apologetically, "That is, yes, of course. If you're certain."

His voice sounded kind of ... off. Not good. But at least he was coming along and didn't look like he'd be fleeing in disgust anytime soon.

"Okay, buddy. Well, I definitely have to shower before we go, so feel free to watch TV or whatever."

Fraser looked at the couch doubtfully and suggested that perhaps he'd better take Dief for a walk and meet me back at my door in an hour.

"Works for me," I told him, only a little disappointed that he didn't feel comfortable enough to stay. A little privacy after the rollercoaster of the last half-hour would actually be pretty welcome. And then maybe we wouldn't have to talk about this at all.

& & &

Back at the station, Wesley picked up his pretty-but-nasty knife, and I introduced him to Fraser. I got a knowing look from Wes when they were shaking hands, which was weird because I was sure I never mentioned anything about Fraser or how I feel about him.

Fraser awkwardly excused himself, which was a little odd, too, because he's normally so good at that bland politeness thing. But it gave me and Wes an opportunity to say a nice goodbye, and we sneaked a hot little kiss by the water cooler before he left. He gave me his card and sounded like he meant it when he said he hoped we'd keep in touch. I actually meant it when I said I'd like that.

Once he was gone I searched out Fraser and Dief, hiding in the break room. "Ready to go?" I asked them, and Frase nodded and grabbed his hat.

We got into the car and just sat there in the parking lot.

Suddenly, Fraser gripped my forearm really friggin tight, and I snapped my head around to look him in the eyes for the first time since that little bomb dropped back in my apartment. He was staring at me really steadily.

"Ray, you -- he," Fraser cleared his throat and started over. "It appeared to me that . . . Mr. Windham-Price was returning directly to LA. Is that correct?" he asked.

"Well, yeah," I told him. "He was just in town to clean up some of the details on the Brodeur case."

"And he's not going to . . . stay?"

"Why would he? He lives in California, Frase. He's got no reason to stay here any longer than he has to."

Then I see something like pity cross Fraser's face, and I realize he's got entirely the wrong idea.

"Oh! Hey, don't worry about me. I don't do casual, you know that, but . . . He was just, he was just a good guy, and he was really lonely. We both were. So. I mean, it wasn't random, and I think we might even keep in touch, but we're not like . . . we're not. We aren't seeing each other or anything."

Fraser's face hadn't entirely lost that pity-look, which I did not need after a night of great sex and an afternoon of exposure.

"It was just a one-off. Between friends, I guess, but it was comfort and fun and don't pity me, OK?" I scrubbed a hand down my face and pinched the bridge of my nose. I didn't need a headache on top of everything else.

"Ray," he said, thankfully keeping all traces of compassion or whatever out of his voice. "Don't you -- don't you want more than that?"

I laughed. I mean really, what could I do?

"Yeah, Fraser. Of course I want more. Not with him, he's not a stranger but I don't really know him all that well. Don't need to, not to know that he's a good guy, and not to know that he's not the one for me." I said. I didn't want to say too much, but I couldn't risk saying too little. "Anyway, I don't always get what I want."

"If I might be so -- well. If you would forgive me for asking such a terribly personal question after barging in on you today and --"

"Fraser!" I interrupted him. "I keep telling you, barge away! That's what the key is for, you dumbass. It's not like this is the kind of thing I do, like, ever. Besides, you might have found out a little more about me than you already knew, but I should have told you already anyway."

"Why didn't you?" he asked, after a moment of quiet.

He would have to ask the hard questions, wouldn't he? I sighed.

"I didn't think you'd freak. Not too badly, anyway," I avoided the question and plowed ahead, hoping he wouldn't notice. "But, see, it's good that you know now, and it's all because you used the key the way I've been telling you to! Seriously, Benton, you should feel at home there. You're not . . . you're not just some guest."

"Thank you kindly, Ray," he said, with genuine pleasure. "But about that. If, as I was asking, you could forgive me for prying, particularly after the day you've had so far, I would very much like to know: What do you want?"

How could I have forgotten how persistent he was? "I want lotsa stuff, Fraser." I made a conscious effort to relax my deathgrip on the steering wheel. "Why? You've got everything you ever wanted already, so you figured it was time to start on me?"

He just looked at me in that way he does whenever I'm being particularly idiotic.

I could keep ducking the question, but there was no way Fraser wouldn't know that was exactly what I was doing. I didn't want to keep anything from him anymore, anyway, so it looked like there was no way out but through.

"I want a duet, okay? What I really want is a partner at home and in bed that suits me like the partner I have at work." There -- let him chew on that, I thought.

"How much?" Fraser demanded.

"How much what? I want it a lot, okay? I want it more than anything else. I want it so fucking much that I'm humiliating myself and sitting in a parked car here with you instead of shutting up like a normal person." I was nearing full rant mode. "I want it so much that -- what, can't you even let me fucking finish?"

Fraser was shaking his head and holding up his hand for me to stop. Freak.

He finally dropped his hand when he had my full attention. Control freak, I amended silently.

"How much like the partner you have at work?" he asked.

Ohgodohgodohgod. I sucked in some air but I still felt light-headed. Was he asking because he wanted to know or was he asking because he wanted to be the answer?

"Exactly," I managed to get out, my voice even rougher than Wesley's. "Exactly like my partner at work."

I heard a whoosh of escaping breath from Fraser and a scrabble as Dief dove into the foot well of the back seat. I closed my eyes like the chickenshit I am and waited. The creak of leather told me Fraser was moving, but not what he was doing. The first touch of his hand on my cheek had me gulping, and when his fingers wandered down to the pulse jumping at my throat I had to look.

Fraser was looming over me, his pupils large and focused intently on my face.

"Me, too, Ray" he said, "Me, too," and brought his fingers up to trail over my mouth. My tongue came out to lick the pads of his fingertips automatically, and then I sucked his index finger into my mouth.

"Ray," he said, and pulled his hand away only to replace it with his mouth. I was being kissed by Fraser. I was being thoroughly kissed by Fraser. I was being thoroughly kissed by Fraser in the parking lot of the 2-7, and I had to stop him even though that was the last thing I wanted to do.

I put my palm against his chest and pushed a little, and managed to wrench myself away. "Fraser, Fraser, wait," I panted.

"What?" he asked, looking very put out. And disheveled. It was a very good look for him.

"We can't do this in the parking lot."

He didn't seem to be tracking, and looked like he was about to kiss me again.

"Whoa, whoa, wait!" I told him.

"Why?" he asked, and dammit if he wasn't whining.

"Because we're still practically at work, you dingbat. Now get over to your side of the car and buckle up before I jump you."

Fraser complied with surprising speed, and looked back at me expectantly.

"'Pitter-patter,' Ray," he said.

I snorted at him.

"That's my line," I told him.

"I decided to appropriate it. You don't mind?"

Did I mind? Hell, no. I thought it was cute. Wasn't going to tell him that, though. Besides, I thought there was something that needed clearing up.

"Fraser. What I've been trying to tell you, with the key and everything. What's mine is yours -- you know that, right? Anything you want."

"Ray, please. Take us home."

I knew he finally meant "home" the way I did. Not just a place to stay, but home-is-where-the-heart-is kind of home.

"Understood," I said, and floored it.

End Wesley One Night by lynnmonster: lynnmonster@lycos.com

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