Author's Notes: Written as a gift for brooklinegirl. Crazy love and many thanks to malnpudl and omphale23 for beta.

When Ray goes out looking for it, he finds it. Easy with guys; he's easy, they're easy, everything is easy except the hurry and the risk. He's down on his knees, in control, talented, top of the world for those quick minutes.

This guy is dark and skinny and pretty, and Ray makes him shake, makes him swear and grab Ray's head before he comes.

When it's his turn, he keeps his face towards the street. He wants to close his eyes, wants to focus on the mouth on his cock, the rush and heat of it, but he knows better. Still, it's good. It always is.

***

This guy wants to fuck him, leans against him, bulky and a little drunk, grabbing his ass and breathing raunchy sweet nothings in his ear. Ray snarls at him, doesn't turn around, and the guy sucks him off sulkily.

Ray doesn't fuck in alleys. He's too smart for that. And alleys are all he has, these days.

***

Usually, Ray looks guys in the eye, waits a couple of beats too long, gets them looking and tilts his head. Easy.

He's earned a little easy.

He's rattled, though, wired from the bust and how it almost went south, and he can't make eye contact, but this guy follows him outside anyway. It's raining, but that's probably a good thing. Keeps the street quiet. Ray hunches his shoulders against it and turns to face him. He's big and broad, a little soft around the middle, but has good hands. The hands were all Ray noticed inside, blunt and strong and clean.

"Here?"

"You have a better idea? Here."

The guy shrugs and pushes Ray against the wall, reaching for him with those nice hands. Water drips off the roof above them, slides down Ray's neck and under his shirt. He's cold, but he warms up soon enough.

***

This guy is hungry for it, confident and needy and ready, and when he works his pants down and begs Ray forgets that he doesn't fuck in alleys. He fumbles with the rubber, but manages, and then it's push and pull and harder and God he's missed this.

That was dumb. He doesn't go back to that bar.

***

It shouldn't be such a shock. Fraser had been working himself up to something all day, on the job, in the car, and now, in the safety of Ray's apartment. Still, it rattles him when it comes: "I'm worried about you, Ray."

He knows what Fraser means--Fraser's the best detective Ray knows--and he's jumping inside, thinking don't fuck with this, don't, but he keeps it cool enough, saying, "Yeah? I'm good," around the stir-fry in his mouth.

Fraser doesn't buy it. Fraser's city-dumb, but he's no idiot. His forehead wrinkles, and he pokes his unpronounceable food with his chopsticks. "Hm."

"I'm getting by," Ray insists. "There's worse things."

"You're putting yourself at risk of worse things. It's dangerous."

Ray can't help it, snickers, pointing at Fraser, pointing at himself, miming explosions, guns. Fraser takes a minute but twitches his mouth up, acknowledging the joke. Ray wipes a hand across his face, sobers, and says, "I can take care of myself."

Fraser's face doesn't smooth out, and Ray knows he's seconds away from a lecture on sexual health and societal norms and he really, really doesn't want to hear it. "I know, I know. I just. It's dumb, right? Really, really dumb. But this is what I got. And I am fine." He says the last real steady, keeping his eyes on Fraser, making him get it as best he can.

Fraser could go any way here, and most of them would suck for Ray. The sigh is a bad sign, but when Fraser reaches out and puts his hand on Ray's shoulder, squeezes and lets his hand drop, Ray feels like a champion. He can have this. His partner, the job, the sex. He's got it all.

***

The next time Ray glances towards the street, hands on broad shoulders, he sees flannel. Familiar flannel. His dick is out of the guy's mouth fast enough to risk permanent damage.

He catches up with Fraser on the sidewalk. Easy, 'cause Fraser wasn't hiding. "No, Fraser. Fuck you! You said you were--" cool with this, not going to freak, not going to fuck everything up.

Ray's got a fist pulled back and Fraser doesn't even flinch. "I'm just making sure you're safe, Ray," he says stubbornly.

He shakes out his hand, slaps it against his thigh, tries to gather his scrambled thoughts. Fraser just stands there, solid and steady and completely out of place. "I love you, right? You're my partner. But this, I need this and I can't have it if you're going to--" chaperone, the word is chaperone, but it won't come and Fraser doesn't need to hear it anyway.

Fraser's face softens just a little, but he doesn't back down. "I'm not trying to interfere with your activities," Ray snickers at that, but Fraser pushes on, "but my presence may limit its attendant risks."

Jesus. The last thing Ray needs is a babysitter while he's getting off. He knuckles his forehead before glancing back down the alley. The guy is gone, and so is Ray's hard-on.

He doesn't take Fraser home; it's too far away and too normal. They find a diner, empty except for them and a scruffy guy and the waitress, and she's working on her homework at an empty booth. Ray drinks his coffee, Fraser his milk.

"What about dating?" Fraser asks out of nowhere, like Ray'd be Duh, I shoulda thought of that one!

"Yeah? Detective Vecchio, the hot relationship prospect of Halsted Street?"

Fraser frowns. "I hadn't considered--"

Ray waves a hand. "It's not just that. It's that, yeah, but it's also that, just, things are good, you know? Maybe I've been down for so long I forgot what good was, but this is working. I got the job, I got you, I got...that. I'm good. I don't need you to mess things up worrying about me. I don't do it that much. I'm fine."

When Fraser just looks at him thoughtfully over his milk, Ray'd like to think Fraser gets it, but he knows better.

***

Fraser is a stubborn tail, but he's not sneaky. Ray ditches him pretty easy.

His bad luck, though, that that's the night he could have used somebody watching his back, let him know about the beat cops rattling cages. He sits in the dark a long time, willing his heart to slow down, telling himself that they didn't recognize him, that it's fine.

***

Fraser won't stop looking at him. Out of the corner of his eye, thoughtful like.

Ray twitches, glances around, like somebody is lurking in the backseat to hear him. "I'm not a slut, you know."

Wrong thing to say, maybe, because then he has to put his head down on the steering wheel and wait for Fraser to work through sputtering indignation and apologies and god will he ever let Ray get a word in?

"Sorry," Ray says when he winds down, then, "I mean, how do you handle it?"

Fraser looks out the window, and Ray can't see much on his face. "Solitarily."

"Yeah. I don't like that much."

There's a pause before Fraser says, "Me neither."

***

The guy at the bar is drinking tea. Definitely not Ray's type. But tonight he won't shake, and Ray isn't going to get any action with him tagging along.

Ray's had enough. He puts his body between Fraser and the rest of the room. This isn't a scene place, but it's busy enough, and Fraser stands out. "What, you want to get your rocks off?"

Fraser frowns, tilts his head. "I don't--"

Reaching down, Ray grabs himself and lifts. "Rocks, get it? Rocks off?"

"Oh, I understand," Fraser says, then, slowly, "Really, Ray, that's an excellent idea. Can we?" He has that startled, proud look he gets when Ray solves a tricky case, finds the clue that even he'd overlooked.

Ray nearly shits himself, nearly gets pissed, nearly doubles over laughing. He has to reach out and hold Fraser's shoulder down when he starts to get huffy, starts to stand up. "Well, gee, Fraser. You think?"

***

After all that, it would have been typical of Ray's luck for him to go impotent, or Fraser to not get off on guys after all, or it to be like making it with his brother.

But Ray's luck changed with Fraser, had from the first day, if you looked at it right, kind of squinted and had crappy vision to start with. Fraser's still Fraser in the sack, focused and weird and better than just about anybody, and Ray can't believe his luck, to be sweaty and come-smeared in his bed, in his apartment, with the guy he loves best in the world wrapped around him, snoring into his neck. He's got an arm around Fraser's shoulder, and he's sore from the workout and he's just about ready to start counting his blessings when the phone rings.

Fraser lifts his head, blinking, and Ray twists for the phone. After grunting at Welsh and getting the phone back in the cradle on the third try, he turns to find Fraser already awake and alert.

"If Mr. Johnston is finally talking, we need to be there. The next shipment is due in this morning."

"Bat ears," Ray mutters, and starts hunting for his pants.

"Convenient, actually," Ray can hear the smile in Fraser's voice, "to save you the time you'd normally spend picking me up. We should have thought of this months ago."

Yeah, he had a point there.