Disclaimer: I'm a little tired of the disclaiming thing when it comes to due South. I've done my fair share in raising the characters and so have other fangirls. They are just as much ours now as they are anybody else's, I'd say.

Story Notes: This story was a response to the For Richer or Poorer Challenge.

"We should supply Fraser," Frannie said, her face taking on a triumphant look that told Ray she thought this was a real brilliant idea. To make things worse, everybody in the bullpen seemed to think it was a brainwave.

Everybody except Ray, of course.

"Maybe he doesn't want to do it," he grumbled. "Maybe he doesn't feel like being exploited."

"Oh, I don't think he would object to the idea," Huey said. "After all, it's only a date, and it's in a good cause."

He said it with confidence, like he knew Fraser, like they were best buddies or something.

Ray tried to say something like Huey knowing zilch about what Fraser would or wouldn't want to do, but his words were lost in the noises of everybody agreeing with Jack.

***

"I really don't mind, Ray," Fraser said, after Welsh had told him about Frannie's stupid idea and after he'd agreed to go along with it. "After all, it's only a date, and it's in a good cause. I think that raising money to aid disabled children in an admirable cause, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure." Ray had never said he thought it wasn't. It was just...

"What if they want to have sex, Fraser? Have you thought about that? You'd be too polite to refuse."

"Really, Ray," Fraser blurted, looking horrified and embarrassed. A little calmer he added, "I honestly can't imagine myself having sex with someone for whom I wouldn't have very strong feelings."

I can't imagine you having sex, period, Ray thought.

It was a lie, of course. He could, he did imagine Fraser having sex - all the time and very vividly. He had to concentrate hard on thinking of anything else, as a matter of fact. That was the whole point.

He told Fraser he thought that the whole thing was a sexist idea, but the Mountie didn't agree.

"I beg to differ, Ray," he said. "Lieutenant Welsh assured me that there will be a date with a woman to win as well. Gender discrimination is not an issue."

***

So the lottery with human prizes was on. Tickets were sold among the members of the 27th district - and among the surrounding police forces. Once a year, the same group of districts organized charity fund raising parties, and the hosting of this year's thing was in the hands of the 27th. Fortunately, the 24th and the Canadian consulate were lending a hand.

The 24th precinct supplied Detective first grade Lynda Barton as a female date to win in the lottery. When the posters arrived - with pictures of Lynda and Fraser, and a snapshot of a few disabled kids to remind people that this was really all about charity - Ray had to grant it to Welsh that Barton was gorgeous.

He wasn't the only one who noticed. The atmosphere in the bullpen got hot with the Barton buzz fast. Posters mysteriously disappeared, and Ray suspected that they were stolen for personal use. (He so not wanted to think about what the exact details of this use would be.)

His other suspicion involved Frannie. She was uncannily calm about the whole lottery thing.

Imagine Frannie. Being calm. While there was a date with Fraser at stake. This was completely wrong. When he assumed that Frannie already knew she would win all pieces fell into place though.

She had bribed Turnbull, or otherwise manipulated the guy. He was assigned host-slash-notary for the party (and, quelle surprise, it had been Frannie's idea to give him the job).

Renfield Turnbull wasn't the corrupt kind (of course not, he was a Mountie), but he did have a pretty big hole in his bag of marbles (read: he was deranged) and he probably wouldn't even realize it when he was being bribed.

However, he was extremely excited about the lottery, and he seemed to find it necessary to share his feelings with Ray every single time Ray dropped by at the consulate. Once, Turnbull confided in him about the number of tickets Thatcher had bought. "Twelve, Ray, twelve. And all for charity, she said." The constable had sounded very impressed by the kindness of his superior officer.

Ray thought the Ice Queen was a psychic woman. Her hundred and twenty bucks would indeed be `all for charity'. Frannie would make absolutely sure that they wouldn't get the inspector a date with Fraser.

Ray had bought a ticket as well. After all, it was for charity.

It had a hideous pink color. The tickets for Fraser were blue, he had noticed. Jeez. Like Lynda Barton and Fraser were new born babies or something.

The lottery thing sucked big time. Ray tried to talk to Fraser about Frannie's cheating, but Fraser thought it wasn't important. "I'm not to say that I condone treachery as such, Ray, but in this particular case I suggest we let it pass. In view of its charitable cause, it is imperative that the lottery goes well without trouble. And besides, if things went amiss, Turnbull would be devastated. He seems to feel that the success of the event is entirely his responsibility."

***

The party was held on a Friday night. The bullpen was cleared and decorated and filled with people. Full dress was required and the men wore tuxedos. The proverb had it that clothes made the man, but Ray thought it really could do with some specifics. Tuxes were the keyword here.

Fraser looked twice as good as he normally did (Ray honestly hadn't thought it would be possible to look even more perfect than perfect, but Fraser managed it). He looked absolutely stunning.

Huey looked nice, and so did Welsh. Dewey would have managed to look less revolting than his usual self if he hadn't decided to save himself the money of renting a tux and to wear an old black suit instead.

It was a wrong choice. Wearing a tuxedo made even Turnbull look less deranged than usual.

Lynda Barton was breathtakingly beautiful (the picture on the poster hadn't done her remotely justice). The guests went silent as she entered the room to be greeted by a positively drooling Welsh. Even Fraser did a double take (damn).

Soon the men in the bullpen were circling Lynda. Welsh was serving as a sort of bodyguard to her.

Ray was doing the same for Fraser in regard to the women, who all seemed to want to touch him like he was a movie star or Jesus fucking Christ or something. He tried to keep those greedy little hands away from Fraser by touching the guy a lot himself. Not too obviously, of course, just enough to tell the ladies that the Mountie was off limits to them.

Fraser didn't seem to mind his touches. He exchanged pleasantries (was that a word?) with the grabby bitches and stayed close to Ray. Once in a while his eyes met Ray's. Those were unbearable milliseconds that made Ray look away quickly.

Jeez, he had it bad.

At some point during the evening the results of the lottery were revealed. Lynda and Fraser were called to come forward. In a dramatic act that would have fitted the fucking Oscars, Turnbull announced that he would announce the winners. He first opened a blue envelop, with a card inside that read 643.

Frannie shrieked and treated the party guests on a bad imitation of a happy and surprised woman.

Ray concluded that she couldn't act.

After Frannie stopped making those ridiculous happy noises, Turnbull opened a pink envelop and read number 116.

There was no immediate response from any of the guests, and people started to look around and whisper to each other.

Turnbull was visibly nervous. He turned to Welsh who had stepped forward, and Ray could lip read him informing the lieutenant that he was terribly sorry for failing this important assignment.

Welsh patted the constable's shoulder and said to the guests, "All right people, before we decide that something went amiss, I suggest that the gentlemen have a good look at their tickets. The winning number is 1-1-6."

For some reason, Ray felt that Welsh was looking directly at him, that the suggestion was meant for him personally. He reached in his pocket and looked at his ticket. It read 1-1-6.

"It's...it's mine," he said.

"Good," the lieutenant nodded. "That's settled then. Congratulations on your prize, Detective. Ms. Vecchio too on hers, of course. Now, as you know, both dates will take place tomorrow night, and it'll be baseball free dating."

Ray saw him throw a stern glare at Frannie, but she didn't seem impressed.

Lynda approached him to say hi and agree on a place and time to meet on Saturday night.

Fraser just managed to offer him congratulations before he was seized and carried away by Frannie.

Dewey crept up to him and announced in a loud voice that it was a pity he--Ray--wouldn't get the chance to catch up on his baseball tomorrow. Ray considered kicking the guy in the head, but decided not to bother when he realized that Dewey was probably eating very sour grapes right now.

It didn't stop him from dreading his date with Lynda--or Fraser's with Frannie.

***

He was sitting across Lynda at a table at the Divinia, barely noticing her. Imagines of Fraser and Frannie in intimate positions filled his mind, leaving no room for anything else. He felt sick at the thought of Frannie being slick enough to find a way to get into Fraser's pants.

"You know..." Lynda's voice startled him. "This date it a very new experience for me. I never sat across a man who so obviously was thinking of something or somebody else."

Ray shook his head to shift his focus. "I'm sorry. I guess I was a little distracted."

"Oh, really?" she laughed. In a more serious tone she said, "It's your partner isn't it? Constable Fraser."

Ray stared at her in horror. How did she dare to know this? How did she dare letting him know she knew?

He was about to tell her it was none of her business when he realized that part of him craved the opportunity to talk, to finally talk about the subject he hadn't stopped thinking of for six month now.

"How can you tell?" he asked.

"I'm a detective, Detective. It is my job to form solid conclusions based on sketchy information." She smiled at him. "And in this case the information isn't all that sketchy."

"What do you mean?"

"I noticed that you didn't leave his side tonight. Not if you could help it."

"That was just to keep those pawing women off him," he blurted.

"And why did you feel the need to be his bodyguard, I wonder? Constable Fraser is not without muscle power of his own, I'd say."

"No, but..."

He realized that the issue was not to convince Lynda that he didn't have the hots for Fraser. It would be no use to try anyway. He sighed, partly from frustration, partly from relief that he could finally get it off his chest.

"Yeah, I am...he is..."

"You're in love with him."

"Yeah." He was aware that he sounded pathetically hoarse, but it was difficult to come clean about your feelings after months of hiding them at all costs. It also was kind of a shock to hear a stranger putting them into words, but he was glad that she did.

"Yeah," he said again, more clearly this time.

"Yeah," she repeated.

They exchanged smiles, and Ray was just thinking that he kind of liked her when she said, "But you haven't told him. You haven't allowed yourself to see how he feels about you, and as a consequence you are very worried about how cozy he is getting with Ms. Vecchio at this precise moment."

"Did you notice how she...?" He stopped, realizing that Lynda had said several significant things. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to see right through him, and he wasn't sure anymore if he liked her all that much.

"Oh, yes, I have noticed," Lynda nodded. "Subtle she is not. Do you think it'll work in her favor, though?"

From her tone it was clear that she didn't, which was nice.

Frannie was persistent and inventive, however. And Fraser was nothing if not polite. He could eventually run out of ways to reject her nicely.

Lynda stared at him for a couple of seconds when he told her this. Then she said slowly, "Taking into account that you're in love and that your judgment is consequently blurred, I tend to overlook what you just said, but it is greatly insulting to your friend. Do you realize your words imply that anyone who persisted enough could get him between the sheets?"

She looked at him, her head cocked to one side. "From what I witnessed tonight this would be very good news to a lot of people. But if it's true, why haven't you tried to seduce him?"

Now it was his turn to stare at her.

"What?" she said. "Do you really find the idea of Fraser sleeping with you more ridiculous than the notion of him having sex with Ms. Vecchio?"

He didn't answer.

"You do," she assessed. "Why?"

Again he didn't reply. Maybe if he kept silent she would answer her own question.

She didn't.

"Because he's not gay," he blurted after five unbearable seconds.

"Ah."

All of a sudden she reminded him very much of Fraser. He hated her for it.

"What?" he snarled.

She shrugged. "Nothing. I was thinking that he's probably not gay in the same way you're not blind."

For a moment, he thought she even had noticed he didn't see much without his glasses. Then he realized that was not what she meant.

He swallowed. "Are you sure?"

"No, not entirely. I couldn't be after just one night of observation. But I do think the odds are very much in your favor, Detective."

When he didn't react, she continued softly, "What have you got to lose by telling him how you feel? If it turns out that he doesn't reciprocate your feelings, you'll just have lost an illusion. If he does feel the same about you, you can kiss and live happily ever after. Isn't that what you want?"

"It's not that simple," he said. "We're partners. If he doesn't feel the same, he could ..."

"...end the partnership? For a man in love you don't seem to regard the object of your desire very highly. Why would he want to end the partnership? Do you think he would be repulsed by the notion that you love him?"

Ray scowled at her, feeling angry all of a sudden. Who did she think he was? Some goon who needed to be grilled? He turned the table by asking her what the hell she thought she was doing.

"Trying to score my shot of romance, I suppose," she replied. "I'm a hopeless romantic. I hate it when people willingly let chances of happiness slip out of fear of something that will never happen."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she said, "It's a common thing, fear of rejection. And please don't think that so-called `beautiful' people don't suffer from it. I only spoke to Fraser for five minutes tonight, but I didn't need more to know that fear of rejection is at the core of his being."

Ray wished he could say something in Fraser's defense--gorgeous as she might be, he didn't like Lynda Barton one bit--but he found himself thinking that she probably was right.

"He's even more afraid of it than you are," she resumed. "That's why I was glad to get a chance to talk to you tonight. I thought there would at least be a slight chance of you being susceptible to my approach."

She paused. Maybe she expected him to confirm that her `approach' had indeed been effective.

He didn't. He felt tense. And torn.

She gave him a look. "It's obvious to me that he loves you. But if you want him it's your call, Ray."

Oh Jesus. Oh fuck.

He was sensitive to her approach. If she was right, he owed it to himself, and to Fraser, to... But if she was wrong...Oh fuck.

Lynda put her hand on top of his. "It's not that big a risk," she said softly. "And even if it was, isn't he worth it?"

***

Only minutes after he said goodbye to Lynda Ray called Fraser, fearing he would slip back into chicken shit mode if he didn't seize the moment. His heart was pounding so loudly he hardly heard the sound that indicated the phone was ringing on the other end. He counted the tones though, and only came to three, but it was enough to have vivid images of Fraser not being home because he was elsewhere and otherwise engaged with Frannie.

He felt sick with relief when he heard Fraser's voice, and he waited out the Mountie's entire response. He had told Fraser more than once that the consulate had a nice thing called closing hours, and that after five he didn't have to be so formal, but it hadn't been any use.

So he waited semi-patiently for Fraser to inquire how he could be of assistance, and then said, "Fraser, it's me."

"Hello, Ray," Fraser breathed into his ear (and what the hell possessed Ray to think of phone sex right now?). "Are you all right?"

He breathed out slowly to get rid of the phone sex idea and said, "Yeah."

Yeah, he was. He just didn't know what to say next. "How...how was your date?"

"It was... difficult. I had to-" -sleep with Frannie, Ray thought, but Fraser said, "-hurt her feelings."

And, goddammit, she obviously had hurt his. She had left him no other choice than to be impolite (besides sleeping with her, which he hadn't done, thank god). Impoliteness was a major crime in the Mountie book of law; Fraser would feel guilty for weeks.

Next time he saw her, Ray would strangle Frannie.

"How was your date, Ray?"

Huh? Oh. With some difficulty, Ray managed to take his mind off how it would feel to squeeze Frannie's neck. "Nice. Very nice. I need to talk to you. Can I come over?"

"Well, I'm not entirely sure that I am the right person to offer you advice on how to woo Ms. Barton, Ray."

Oh jeez. "That's not what this is about, Fraser. I need to tell you something, okay?"

"All right," Fraser said quietly.

Needless to say, Ray floored the Goat to the consulate. He rang the doorbell hard and braced himself for the sight of Fraser. The Mountie had changed into his regular clothes since Ray last saw him, but that didn't spare him the jolt of the first glance.

"Hi," he barely managed to say.

"Hello, Ray, come in."

They walked upstairs in silence to Fraser's office. The door closed, and Fraser looked at him in anticipation.

Diefenbaker barked just once and sort of under his breath, like he knew something important was up and he'd better not interfere.

Ray had no idea how to start the conversation. After a second, he decided it was best to drop the bomb.

"Fraser, I have feelings," he said.

"Yes, Ray, I know you have."

"You do?"

"Yes, I know you feel very strongly about many things. You're a sensitive man, Ray."

Oh, jeez. Ray wished that when Mounties crossed the border, they came at least with some clues.

"That's not what I meant, Fraser." Fuck, this was difficult. But he wouldn't bail out. Not now.

He started again. "Look, Fraser, did you ever have a declaration of love directed at you?"

"Other than one that was meant symbolically?" Fraser asked softly. "No."

Jeez. He had done that, hadn't he? Ray had once on impulse told Fraser he loved him, and when Fraser had admitted to feeling the same about him, looking like he meant it, he had chickened out and backpedaled as quick as he could, saying he didn't mean it literally but symbolically. And Fraser had looked hurt. (Jesus, Lynda was right, Ray was blind.)

"That's wrong, Fraser. I was wrong. I was a chicken. I thought..."

Okay, cut to the chase.

He took a step closer to Fraser so he was standing in the guy's personal space, noticing that he wasn't unwanted there. He took Fraser's hands, which seemed to be okay too.

Good. Now show some guts.

"I was lying back then. There's nothing symbolic about the way I love you, Fraser. Nothing at all. Among a lot of other things, my love for you is very physical."

Right now, the physical part was overruling all other parts, in fact.

They were standing so close that their fronts (crotches) almost touched. Fraser was breathing unevenly, and his pupils were dilated. Ray's cock was hard--obviously. He was thinking about stopping thinking and just going for it, when Fraser said "Ray" in a strangled voice--and freed his hands, cupped Ray's face, and kissed him.

More, Ray's brain demanded instantly. God, he needed more of this.

Fortunately, Fraser was a great mind reader. His lips were soft and warm and sort of everywhere on Ray's face, but mostly on his mouth.

He opened it willingly to let Fraser's tongue in. The touch felt electric and it melted him, making him feel liquid.

Fraser's tongue moved over the roof of his mouth, his teeth, his lips. Ray feared his legs wouldn't support him for very much longer. He didn't recall ever having felt so fucking much.

He wanted to dissolve into Fraser. It was an amazing but strangely familiar feeling, like part of him had known all along that it would be like this. It made him realize that what they had was a precious thing, a serious thing. That it needed to be handled with care.

This was not something they should do because they were horny (although they definitely were--Fraser too). This was the start of something long term, something never ending, if Ray had his wish.

He wanted to make this clear to Fraser--urgently, even though he wasn't worried that the Mountie would have different ideas.

"Fraser..."

Marriage was not officially possible. Same sex marriages were not legal in Illinois, and they wouldn't be for the next couple of decades. Or centuries. But right now Ray wanted to marry Fraser just as much as he wanted to marry Stella twenty years ago. Maybe more.

"Will you make me an honest man?" It was partly meant as a joke, but his tone made it a fucking serious request.

"You already are an honest man, Ray," Fraser said. "But if you're willing to make me an honest man too, I will. I do." He paused for a second, then he said gravely, "I, Benton Fraser, take you, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, to be my spouse, to have and to hold, from this day forward..."

Ray looked at Fraser's mouth pronouncing those familiar vows that were apparently just the same in Freezerland as in the United States.

"...for better or for worse..." he put in.

"...for richer or for poorer..." Fraser said.

"...in sickness and in health..."

"...for as long as we both shall live..."

Maybe it was Fraser's hypnotizing glare, or maybe it was the mantra thing that reminded him so much of his and Stella's wedding two decades ago. Whatever it was, it made him whisper, "You may now kiss the bride."

Fraser had a go at a concerned look but Ray heard the laughter in his voice when he said, "Well, Ray, that proves to be a trifle difficult. There is no woman involved in this wedding ceremony, as you surely will acknowledge."

"Yeah, Fraser, yeah," Ray muttered, squirming a little to get even better caresses from the broad hands that were roaming his back. "But it doesn't mean we can't have a wedding night, does it?"

"You're quite right, Ray. That is an impeccable inference indeed."

Ray thought that Fraser outdoing himself in his use of big ass words was an indication that he was happy. This `inference' was confirmed by Fraser's starting to nibble his ear with relish.

God, he was good at that.

"My office is not much of a honeymoon suite, though," Fraser said.

Neither was Ray's apartment, but at least it had a separate bedroom. If Ray could find a good porn channel on the tube, Diefenbaker wouldn't mind that he didn't get to watch his parents.

He tugged at Fraser's hand. "If I could, I would carry you over the doorstep, but..."

"You'd hurt your back," Fraser said instantly. "Besides, although of course I have never been married before, and therefore can't claim to be an expert, I'm fairly certain that spouses are carried inside the house, not out."

Ray grinned, feeling real happy. "Don't nitpick on me, Fraser," he said. "Not on my wedding day."

***

As they entered the apartment, Ray gave Fraser a sloppy kiss and gestured in the direction of the bedroom, just to make clear that to him the equation was simple. There were only two par...pari...things in it: `bedroom' and `wedding night celebration'.

Fraser seemed to agree with that, so Ray found Diefenbaker a rewarding movie to watch, and then they closed the bedroom door and started to get out of their clothes.

Suddenly Ray was nagged by comparisons. Stella, Fraser, wedding nights, nakedness, sex. Jesus.

Fraser...Fraser wasn't Stella. But he was beautiful. God, he was so beautiful. Ray felt...no, not embarrassed. Humble.

He hadn't been in awe for Stella's body on their wedding night. It hadn't been the first time he'd seen her naked, or the first time they'd had sex. The sex on their wedding night hadn't been extra special; they had done it plenty before. They did it that night because they were young and romantic, and because they thought that having sex was what you were supposed to do on your wedding night.

But Fraser wasn't Stella. To see Fraser naked, to be naked with Fraser, to see Fraser's erection, made Ray nearly panic. Not because he didn't want this, didn't want Fraser, but because of what it would mean if they...

"Ray." Fraser gently pushed him on the mattress, and as he started to kiss, caress, rub, lick, nibble and suck, the thinking part of Ray's brain shut down, and his senses took over. What was left of him were only nerve ends and--wuss that he was--an endless stream of babbled I love yous. Fraser--already multi-tasking--chimed in very nicely.

It was a wonderful wedding night. Before he fell asleep, Ray thought it was fucking unbelievable that Fraser, who couldn't have that much experience, was so good at sex.

***

He had a dream. He was lying in bed, in Fraser's arms, his head resting on Fraser's shoulder, as an old guy entered the bedroom. He was wearing a Stetson and a serge--in fact, he was in full RCMP dress. A retired Mountie, Ray reckoned.

The guy got nearer to the bed and started to whisper, very loudly, "Benton. Benton! Are you awake, son? Just open your eyes. I've got to talk to you."

Fraser grumbled, then said, "Dad. What are you doing here?"

Huh? Ray thought. Dad? Had his subconscious invented a father for Fraser? Why would it do such a thing?

"Well," the old Mountie said, "it's not unheard of for a father to visit his son on his wedding day to offer congratulations."

"Indeed, wedding day would be the keyword here," Fraser replied. "I'm quite sure that a father attending his son's wedding night is unprecedented."

Ray was amazed by his tone. He had never heard this much sarcasm coming from Fraser, not even when he was talking to Dief.

"Well," Fraser senior said. "If your decision to marry wouldn't have been made on such an impulse, I would have had the opportunity to come earlier."

Fraser sighed. "All right. I'll accept your congratulations. Thank you, dad."

"You're welcome, son," the old guy said chipper. "It's good to see you finally getting settled. In my opinion, a man has to settle when he's pushing forty."

"I'm glad you approve." Fraser's voice sounded pretty aloof.

"Yes..." Something seemed to cross Fraser senior's mind. "Yes, I do. It's just...when a man chooses a spouse the object of his choice is usually a woman."

"Usually, yes," Fraser said--and just left it at that.

Ray felt proud. Of himself, of Fraser. Their choice didn't need to be defended. Fraser knew that.

"Oh, well," Fraser senior said flippantly. "I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. You've always been rather peculiar."

Fraser sighed. "So I've been told."

"Good." The old guy seemed happy they were finally agreeing on something. "Now, what I came here for...Do you love him?"

"Yes," Fraser said. He didn't sound grim anymore. "Yes, dad, I love him very much."

Ray understood the purpose of this part of his dream. It was a present from his subconscious. To hear a lover tell somebody else they loved you added something extra to the directly said I love yous. Made them sound even more true.

"So I take it that you intend to be a good husband." The old Mountie took on a stern tone now.

"Yes, dad, I do."

"It requires effort to keep a marriage healthy; you realize that, don't you? You cannot just pursue your own selfish needs; you have to tend to his as well. It won't do to tell him you're going to hunt for caribou and then disappear for four months."

"That's not very likely to happen, dad. Caribous are not very plentiful in Chicago," Fraser replied, but his tone was pretty gentle. "But even if your example is slightly off, I appreciate you warning me not to make the mistakes you made with mom. And I'll certainly take your advice."

"I'm glad. I'm glad to hear that, son," Fraser senior said. "Because your mother...she deserved better. And your Yank is a good man."

"Yes. Yes, he is." Fraser sounded like he was in love.

"Remember that, when things aren't going smoothly sometimes. And don't forget that when you open the fridge and find the butter dish empty, it might not be him who put it there."

"I won't, dad," Fraser said. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, son. I'll go now. Give the Yank a kiss from me."

Then the old Mountie was gone. He just dissolved.

"Ray. Ray, are you awake?" Fraser whispered.

For some reason--he wasn't sure why--Ray pretended that he wasn't (and he really wasn't, was he? He was dreaming, so he must be asleep).

"My father approves of our relationship," Fraser said softly. "He told me to give you a kiss from him." Ray felt Fraser's lips on his hair. "I love you, Ray."

This was nice too. A declaration of love while you were asleep counted twice, Ray felt.

He thought about his dream (it was a weird thing, to be having a dream and to be analyzing it at the same time). He knew for sure that it meant something significant. Dreams were like hunches, sources of information that the thinking part of the brain couldn't get to.

He didn't understand why his subconscious had come up with Fraser's dad (the man had been killed a couple of years ago and Ray had never met him). Surely there would have been easier ways to get the message through. But he was pretty convinced what the message was: this relationship with Fraser was his second chance for love, and he mustn't spoil it by making the mistakes he made with Stella. He mustn't see Fraser as part of himself. He had to accept that Fraser's needs might sometimes be different from his own.

It wouldn't be easy, but it wouldn't be too hard either. As long as they made sure there always was enough butter in the fridge, they would be fine.

END