Disclaimer: I own nothing! The characters belong to Alliance and the Pauls. But, oh, how I wish I did own them.

Author's Notes: I've been reading DS fic for a long time, this is my first submission. I love feedback, feel free.

Story Notes: set after seeing is believing episode.

BPOV

At this point it was everything he did that drove me insane. From the tips of his bleached bonde experimental hair to the tips of his scuffed "shit kicker" boots, the man drives me out of my mind.

Here I sit on my cot in my office. The lights are out and I am alone, even Diefenbaker is out around the block tonight. Peace and quiet to contemplate the enigma that is Stanley Raymond Kowalski.

He told me that he loves me today. Of course then he had to add in some asinine statement about how it was symbolic. I let him out of the slip up. I let him back off and we went back to solving the case.

I sit here in the dark thinking about him. About how he wears t-shirts that show off just a hint of the tattoo on his bicep. About how his hair is always so excitable, just like him. About the glasses that he complains about but can't live without. I think they are quite sexy, personally.

My hand slips down my chest and stomach and rests on the waist of my boxers. I can feel that the more I think about him, the more excited I will become. If I am to work with him tomorrow, and I know that I can't stay away, I must do something about this pressure.

My hand dips under my boxers and wraps around my heated flesh. Only, when I close my eyes, it isn't my hand. The hand that I picture is slenderer and has longer fingers. It is slightly tanned and I can almost hear Ray gasping in my ear as he holds me.

Only I can't because it's just my imagination. My imagination has gotten me into a lot of trouble in my life. I first discovered that I was Bi-sexual when I was 14. I had to get up before dawn every morning to erase the proof of my infatuation with Mark before my grandmother awoke for the day. I used to let my imagination run wild with thought of Mark.

Those were the rambling fantasies of a boy; now I have much more detailed fantasies. Ones that involve Ray's hair rubbing on my body; his hands everywhere; his mouth on mine; his breath and words in my ear. With that final thought, I spill into my boxers.

I haven't done this much laundry since I was a teenager. I strip off the sodden underwear and use them to clean myself off. As I fumble around my tiny office/bedroom, I think to myself that,while my fantasies have gotten better my life has gotten worse.

Mark, at least, had feelings for me. I learned a lot about the male body in the summer we turned 15. It was fumbling and clumsy, as only first times could be, but it was real.

Ray will never see me the way that I see him; as an object of sexual desire. He loves me as a friend and nothing more. Though, sometimes, I see something in his eyes that tells me I may not be alone in my feelings.

I lay back on my cot naked, not wanting to bother with clothing for this evening. I would just have to wash it again anyway.

RPOV

Oh shit oh shit oh shit. I really said "I love you Fraser" to him didn't I? Aw man. He's gonna figure it out. He's gonna figure out that I went from friend to "wanna, gotta fuck you" in love and he's gonna pack up his wolf and leave me. Uh, I mean leave town.

Dammit, why can't I get this through my head, he doesn't want me like that. He's straight as an arrow. I'm, well, bent I guess. For so long it was Stella this and Stella that, then Stella left. I had a chance to figure out me.

And I figured out that guys turn my crank as much as girls do. More than girls sometimes. Especially when they're over 6 feet tall with broad shoulders and dark hair. With a slight Canadian accent and the best blue eyes I've ever seen.

Shit.

I'm not gonna sleep tonight. I'm thinking about him in the abr...absr...generally and I'm palming my half-hard cock through my sweat pants. I give up on sleep and strip out of my clothes.

I picture him that day at the crypt, looking at me and he's telling me that he finds me attractive, "very much so." Except we aren't in the crypt, we're in my apartment. There's no one around and I can say what I think of him too.

"Fuck yeah Fraser. Me too." And I'm throwing myself on him and shoving my tongue in his mouth, only I'm not. Reality hits me like a ton of bricks when I realize that I'm alone on my bed, jacking my dick to thoughts of my male work partner that aren't ever going to come true.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, going for simple. Picturing bigger, hotter hands on my body. I lick my fingers and twist and pull at my nipple, pretending that he's here and that's his mouth, biting and sucking on it.

Yeah, my dick, which had wilted a bit with reality, is getting back in the program. I plant my heels into the bed and arch my hips up, fucking my hand and thinking it's Fraser's hand. I'm moaning and weeping his name and a chant of "fuck me fuck me fuck me" and wishing that someone else was here, because I need another hand here.

I let may hand drift from my nipples down behind my balls and press against my opening. I'm thinking it's those big, blunt fingers of his, so the absence of lube is working for me. It's been a while; I want it to hurt a little.

My hand is stripping my cock so fast that I can't even see it. When my first finger is inside of me up to the knuckle, I hit that spot that makes the fireworks go off behind my eyes and scream out for my absent partner.

I arch up off the bed and shoot come all over myself; I just keep coming. It's been too long, and damn my body is glad for the release. I'm panting and lowering my body back down to the mattress.

Fuck I want that man. I would do anything to have him. But the partnership is good; it's greatness and I don't wanna fuck that up like I've fucked up everything else in my life. So this is, okay. Well, it's sad, but really okay.

Besides, if he makes me come like that without even being here, I might just die of coming if he were here.