Disclaimer: Is anyone with the power to sue me actually reading this? If so, don't bother. I'm not making money; I'm losing it.

Author's Notes: I have to thank my two beta readers, Berty and LuciferoftheCircle, to whom I am eternally grateful. This would have had a lot more commas in it if it weren't for them. But I stand by my Oxford commas. They're my friends.

Story Notes: This is for Sam80853, just like I promised.

They'd told him Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP was unconventional. They'd warned him that he was an oddball, that things around him didn't always follow normal patterns, that Benton Fraser said one thing (let's follow the proper courses of justice), and did another (let's drive a burning car into a freakin' lake). They'd told Ray to expect the unexpected.

They hadn't told him that Benton Fraser might be gay and might have a thing for skinny, blond, Polish detectives, and that he'd get his first clue when the man crawled into his bed in the middle of the dark night, sucked him to hardness, rolled a condom onto him, and then sat down on his dick.

No, they sure as hell hadn't mentioned that.

But then... things did have a tendency to go ass-backwards with Fraser around. At least when it came to the two of them.

Normal partners, you meet, exchange grunts of hello or whatever, maybe mention family if you've got them to mention, maybe go grab a burger or something during lunch, but otherwise, pretty much start off as two strangers thrown together for ungodly reasons. You don't know each other, you don't care, and let's get the job done. Maybe if you've got a halfway friendly groove going after a few weeks, or months, you start to move in the direction of friends, invite your partner over for Saturday BBQ with the missus, if you've got one, or get together to watch hockey or baseball or whatever on days off. Maybe have a beer to unwind after the day's up. And then, after about four years or so, you find yourself introducing them as your friend before you introduce them as your partner, get to think of them in those terms. That's generally when things get tricky, `cause when your best-friend gets shot at, it's hard to keep a cool head, even under the best of conditions. There really was a reason why partners didn't become friends all that often and definitely not easily.

Him and Fraser? Two whole seconds before he had his arms around the man, like they'd been best buddies since preschool. And even though that was technically his fault, it should have tipped him off from the get-go. Partners just didn't move that fast. It wasn't normal.

`Course after a year and some partnered with the guy, Ray'd gotten pretty used to the swing of things. Nothing about Fraser was normal. Fucking him sure wasn't. Unconventional, yeah. Unexpected, hell yeah. He'd just been sleeping, minding his own damned business. Long day, really long day. He'd nearly gotten shot again, stupid-ass kid with a gun, at least she'd been a crappy shot. He'd dropped Fraser off at the Consulate, come back to his apartment, taken a long, long hot shower, and then passed out, barely under the sheets, bare-assed naked and still kinda wet and pruney. Dark, silent, locked apartment. That was normal.

Next thing he knew, he was fucking his partner in the dark. Fraser was riding him like he was one of those twenty-five cent horse rides outside the supermarket. Ray couldn't see him, not really. Just a dim outline of the man rocking on him, head dipped down toward his chest, but he knew it was him. Big, wide hands on his chest. Heavy damned body astride him. Hot, tight ass around his dick. And the tiny sounds coming from his partner, little gasps and moans, tiny muttered Ray's. He knew it was Fraser.

And there wasn't much he could do, really, other than go with it. That really was the rule when it came to Fraser, he'd figured that much out after a year and a half. If in doubt, just go with it. Fraser hadn't killed him yet. Taken him pretty damned close to the edge, but he always pulled him back just in time. He trusted Fraser with his life.

He trusted him with his dick too.

Good thing, considering where it was.

And so Ray went with it. Put his hands up on Fraser's hips, bucked up into him, counter-pointing the rhythm Fraser had going, murmuring, then saying, then maybe yelling, yeah, yeah, yeah. Fraser. So good. Fuck, yeah. Oh... Ben.

Fraser went wild. Like suddenly, all that outside propriety just vanished, like a snake shedding its skin, and what was left was a desperately hungry animal. He'd heard somewhere that wild animals only attacked humans when they were starved, and that fit, right there, fit like he fit inside Fraser. His partner, his self-contained, polite, courteous partner was starved. And he didn't mind feeding him. Not one bit.

Especially if he got a piece of the meal too.

He wrapped his hand around Fraser's hungry, impolite dick and treated it to a five-star dinner, suit and tie, white linen napkins, hundred dollar wine, and even that wandering guy with the violin. He had Fraser coming like a fucking train, all over him. He got Benton Fraser's come on his chest, on his chin, on his mouth, probably in his hair. Crme de Fraser. Rare delicacy, that.

But Fraser didn't stop moving, other than for a second's shiver and groan, he kept rocking, harder, faster, deeper, and then he was saying in a quiet, insistent voice, urging him, commanding, "come, Ray, please, now, give it to me". And it tweaked something in Ray, something that had been pushed to the back of his mind, something that was waking up with an appetite. Fraser wanted him. And he wanted Fraser back. He thrust up, groaning fit to bring down the house, neighbours would hate him in the morning, but yeah. Coming like it might be the last time he could, like it was all he had in the world.

And afterwards, it was like Fraser had killed him, he could have sworn. He was weak and limp, like a sleeping kitten, boneless and slithery, couldn't even consider lifting his arm or his head, couldn't make his mouth work enough to ask what the hell had just happened, though, really, the answer was freakin' obvious. "Why" was a better question.

Fraser just sat for a moment, breathing, and then slowly unstraddled him. Took care of the condom, cleaned him up nice and thorough with a warm, damp cloth, tucked him up in the blankets, put his clothes back on, and then leaned down toward him, eyes reflecting the little light in the room, and Fraser whispered right into his ear, breath hot against his flushed skin, "Thank you, Ray."

And that was it. That was it. He left the apartment and courteously locked the door behind him.

And the next morning, he had bruises on his hips, finger scrapings down his ribs, the taste of Fraser on his lips, and one hell of a spinning head. That and the idea that maybe his partner was gay. And maybe his partner liked him like that. And maybe that was okay. Maybe that was more than okay.

And maybe he'd invite Fraser over for pizza and see if tomato sauce tasted even better on his partner's tongue.