Disclaimer: This is not an original story. The characters starring belong to a bunch of people who have my eternal gratitude.

Author's Notes: Courtesy to Heuradys for the oven dish.

Story Notes: There are a lot of RayK/Fraser fics on this archive (and on the Internet in general). I applaud this, because said guys are my all time favorite pair. About my second favorite couple there is far less footage, though. This story is my contribution to the small collection.
Pairing: Turnbull/Fraser

"I'm sorry, buddy," he says.

The constable doesn't reply at first. I can't see his face, but I'm certain that it doesn't show his feelings; he is undoubtedly wearing his Mountie Mask, as Ray would call it.

When he finally speaks, he says, "She's going to hurt you, Ray."

He is right, of course. Attorney Kowalski isn't known for her ability to invoke happiness in her erstwhile husband. Sadly, this has never cured him from his addiction to her. (As addictions go, I believe).

The constable is also manipulating. He doesn't want Ray to "try again" with his ex-wife as she - for unfathomable (but to Detective Kowalski nonetheless delightful) reasons - suddenly has deemed worthwhile, and his motives are not devoid of self-interest. Perhaps in part he even wants the attorney to hurt Ray, thus rendering him susceptible to comfort of a physical nature. (I haste myself to say that I might do the constable great injustice by assuming this. It is very unlike him to want to see anyone suffer, especially Detective Kowalski. I might very well be just projecting.)

Ray snorts mirthlessly. "I know. I must be crazy".

His voice becomes louder when he says, "But God - twenty-five years, Fraser! Twenty-five years I've been in love with her. From the moment I first saw her. The fights, the divorce, it all didn't help. I just never recovered. And now she wants me back."

Despite his obvious compassion with the constable he clearly sounds happy and hopeful.

There is a pause in which, I imagine, the constable's Mountie Mask drops as a consequence of the detective's tone. Quickly, Ray says, "Shit, Fraser, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ..."

Another pause. There is no need for the detective to finish his sentence; the constable will know what he's trying to convey nonetheless.

"You know I love you, Fraser."

This is by no means exaggeratedly put. Detective Kowalski loves Constable Fraser as much as any man who is not inclined to homosexuality could love another. Probably more, because he is Ray Kowalski, and a very special man.

It adds a great deal to the constable's frustration, I believe. And it's quite easy to understand why.

Besides incredibly attractive, Ray is a warm and generous man who expresses his emotions freely. I have witnessed his demeanour towards the constable on several occasions and with a fair amount of envy. The winks, the smiles, the frequent affectionate touches, they all would cause a lesser man than Constable Fraser to imagine that Ray would enjoy making love to a member of his own sex if only he decided to try. (I'd like to add that despite my envy of the constable I don't mean to complain, and I certainly don't mean to blame Ray. I, also, have been on the receiving end of his blinding smile, on more than one excruciating yet delightful occasion. I do not only envy Constable Fraser, I empathise with him as well.)

"And I you, Ray."

I cringe. If his dispassionate tone is any indication of the magnitude of his pain, my fellow officer is in agony.

"Damn it, Fraser," Detective Kowalski says frustrated. "If I could choose the person I'd fall in love with, I'd instantly choose you."

"Ray, please."

"Yeah, right, sorry. Not very helpful," the detective mutters.

"No, Ray."

There is a pause. An awkward one, I feel.

"Well, then, I'm off," Ray says. "See you at the end of the month, Fraser."

He is about to go on holiday with the attorney for three weeks. She decided they would go on a cruise to Acapulco. Dear Lord, one would almost hope that there is a crime committed on board for Ray to solve. He will be bored to death otherwise.

"Goodbye, Ray," the constable says gravely.

There is a shuffle of feet, and I leave my spot at Constable Fraser's door to hurry to my desk. They mustn't find me eavesdropping.

It is conduct unbecoming a Mountie to listen at doors, but the wellbeing of one's fellow constable is of greater importance than obedience to unwritten rules. There wasn't a doubt in my mind about that when I heard Ray talking in the constable's office.

When Ray approaches me, I'm apparently absorbed in a DXS/24 form.

"Hey, Turnbull," he greets me. "I'm off now."

"Have a save trip, Detective," I return, looking up.

"Yeah, thanks," he says. He lingers at my desk. "Could you keep an eye on Fraser for me?"

"Certainly, Ray," I promise.

He smiles at me. It's not a radiant smile - his current mood doesn't allow for those to appear on his handsome face - but it nonetheless curls my toes. "Thank you, Turnbull."

"You're welcome, Ray."

I look at his back as he leaves. There is no bounce in his step. His thoughts must be more with the constable than with Attorney Kowalski. I find this strangely satisfying.

I don't speak to Constable Fraser immediately. I wait till four o'clock to go to his office and invite him to dinner.

He declines at first, but I play my trump well, if a little manipulatively. "Detective Kowalski specifically requested me to keep an eye on you, as he phrased it, sir."

The constable looks shocked. "Did he tell you why?"

"No, sir," I say truthfully. "But I take it he suspected you might feel a little lonely while he is on holiday. After all, you are used to seeing him almost daily."

"I assure you that I will be fine, Turnbull," he responds.

But I am not willing to let him off the hook, so to speak. Playing stubborn is a game in which I excel. I can even win it from Constable Fraser.

"I intend to make Coniglio Arrotolato. I was thinking that you could help me prepare it," I say.

He sighs. He knows when to give up. "Very well, Turnbull. Thank you."

We meet in the lobby at half pas five - the constable has changed his serge for regular clothes - and I drive my fellow officer and his wolf to my apartment.

Diefenbaker is told to walk himself, I change my clothes, and then Constable Fraser and I make our way to the kitchen to start preparations for dinner.

The room is rather small, and we are both men of large build. We try to avoid touching each other, so our movements are bound to be a little restricted. By the time Diefenbaker presents himself the rabbit is stuffed and sits in the oven, however.

We don't talk a lot during the evening. My conversational skills seem to have left me, and the constable's demeanour isn't helpful in redeeming this.

He's very silent, which saddens me for two reasons. First, I believed that talking about Ray would be cathartic for him. Second, and more selfishly, I had hopes that hearing Constable Fraser talk about Ray would serve to fill the void in me that the detective left when he took off to Acapulco for three long weeks.

After dinner we watch a game of curling. The constable tenses beside me when he notices the resemblance between the skip of one of the rinks and Ray Kowalski. But he doesn't say anything about it.

The evening passes in an awkward atmosphere, and I silently apologise to Ray for not being able to lighten the constable's mood (as he clearly hoped the effect of my "keeping an eye" on his partner to be).

As the curling game has ended (the blond skip and his rink have won) the constable stands, thanks me for dinner and announces that he is going home.

Walking him to the door, I feel as though I have failed an important assignment.

With his hand on the door knob, he turns towards me. I don't think that my reaction is entirely my own idea. I don't wish to put the blame on Constable Fraser (if there is one to put), I just feel that without the glint I notice in his eye I would never have dared to give in to the impulse I didn't even know could be invoked in me.

I put my hands on his shoulders, pull him towards me, and press my lips against his. He responds immediately and with great force. We kiss for quite a while, with a rage that obviously is directed at Ray Kowalski. How dare he still be in love with his ex-wife? How dare he whisk off to Acapulco with her? And how dare he not reciprocate the constable's feelings? (Or mine.)

I have never been kissed like this before. I have never kissed like this. Tongues and teeth and lips are used as weapons meant to force to submission. I never knew that anger could be so arousing.

When we finally stop to take a breath, Constable Fraser has already opened most of the buttons of my shirt. I grab his shoulders again and steer him backwards to my bedroom, closing the door with the heel of my left foot. Forcefully.

We both disrobe swiftly. The constable finishes just before I do. He lies down on the bed and my breath hitches as I look at him. I never imagined him without clothes (it has always been only Ray to me) but he is of exceptional beauty.

I kneel beside him on the bed and wrap my fingers around his erection. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. I know what he is doing, and I move my hand as lightly as possible without allowing the touch to become too shallow to be effective.

Ray has very delicate hands. If he would masturbate the constable he wouldn't be rough. I look at my bare wrist and I regret not wearing a bracelet. (Ray does, and it is very fetching on him - feminine in a way that is arousing to me. Which is odd, because women never manage to "turn my crank", to use a Kowalski-ism.)

I concentrate on Constable Fraser, who seems to have relaxed under my hands. I think it's time to intensify the motion.

His eyes are still closed, but he squirms a little and bucks his hips as I move faster and exert a bit more pressure. His breathing quickens as I use my thumb to caress the corona and to rub pre-ejaculate around the head - only very lightly. I feel him tense. He's almost there.

"Ray!" he cries out as he arches his back and ejaculates.

After a while his breathing becomes more regular, but when he opens his eyes he looks horrified. It grieves me to be the cause of it. (Could he really have forgotten that it was me, not Ray, who masturbated him?)

"Turnbull," he says. "I apologise profusely to you."

"It's quite all right," I assure him, relieved that he doesn't appear to find me offensive after all. I manage not to add "sir". That would be uncalled for under the circumstances.

I use the tip of the sheet to remove most of the semen from his abdomen and my hand.

He gestures me to sit on the edge of the bed and kneels between my legs. My penis twitches in anticipation. He bends over and takes it in his mouth.

Dear Lord in heaven.

I knew of course that the constable had the ability to master anything to perfection to which he set his mind. I just never imagined this applied to the act of fellatio as well.

It doesn't take him long to bring me to orgasm. He swallows everything I spill.

I feel dazed and drained when he pulls back, but as is becoming a good host I stand and make my way to the bathroom to get a wash cloth. He cleans himself and hands it back to me.

In the bathroom again, I rinse the cloth and am about to use it on myself when I reconsider. Washing away Constable Fraser's saliva suddenly would seem an act of blasphemy to me.

I leave the wash cloth on the edge of the sink and return to the bedroom, expecting the constable already to be in an advanced state of dress and eager to leave my apartment. He is still in the nude and lying on my bed, however.

I don't understand.

He notices my confusion, and says, "It hardly would further the cause of our consoling arrangement if I would leave at this juncture, would it, Turnbull?"

I assume that he's right. I linger at the side of the bed, though. It is a single bed, and we are both large and broad shouldered. How are we going to be able to sleep?

"It'll be all right,' he says. "We both have experienced far less comfortable sleeping arrangements than this, haven't we?"

He pats the mattress, and I lie down next to him. We are both on our sides, but it's pointless to try not to touch. I feel quite tense. This is very awkward. Breathing normally is difficult.

After a short while of sheer agony on my part, he does something that startles me to no end. He puts his hand on my cheek, very gently, and smiles. "Renfield," he says.

And then he kisses me.

It's a close mouthed kiss; light, but unmistakably deliberate, and quite slow. It is entirely different from the previous kisses I received tonight. It is devoid of anger. And it is truly meant for me.

The constable releases my lips and cheek to turn off the light. Shifting towards me, he presses my back on the mattress, rolling half on top of me. He rests his head on my chest, and remarkably soon his breathing becomes slow and regular. It is astounding in fact, considering that the pounding of my heart must be quite painful to his right eardrum.

I heave a deep sigh, hoping that the rising of my chest won't wake him. I castigate myself for being so fickle. All of a sudden I am no longer certain who the more beautiful man is: Detective Kowalski or Constable Fraser. The solid warmth of the constable's sleeping body feels shockingly pleasant in my arms.

He stayed. He stayed with me.

Dear Lord, this is terrible. I mustn't think these thoughts.

The constable's breath caresses my nipple and I clench my teeth. I'm absolutely certainly that I won't be able to sleep at all tonight.

I will have ample time to curse myself.

And Canadian consolation.

END