Author's website: http://www.geocities.com/elves_on_speed

Disclaimer: Det. Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Chicago P.D., - Cst. Benton Fraser, RCMP, - and everyone else in Due South belong to Paul Haggis and Alliance Atlantis.

Author's Notes: I'm British, so my grammar and spelling may be different from yours. :-)

Story Notes: Set after the end of Season 2.

ENCOUNTERS, Part 1

by
elf boy

Saturday night and Roscoe's was packed beyond recognition. Through the thick of the crowd, the man at the bar was still watching him, ever since Ben had come in. That had been almost two hours ago.

As not to arouse suspicion, Ben Fraser turned his eyes away from the stranger and started watching a group of young lesbian women playing pool. He wouldn't have the opportunity to be in a place like this for at least the next fortnight, as Inspector Thatcher had insisted on sending him on holiday leave to the Territories. Ben found country music most enthralling, but also, Roscoe's reminded him a little bit of home.

To celebrate this special occasion - and rather out of character - Ben had got himself a bottle of good Canadian beer. He looked around. If he imagined the two arguing drag queens at the one end of the bar to be teenage girls, he could almost picture himself in one of the Yukon taverns, that his friends used to haul him off to on their free weekends. Going back north filled him with excitement - he hadn't been home for almost two years now.

Ray Vecchio had been disappointed at his departure, and considering how well they worked together, Ben was not enthusiastic about leaving his partner for such an extended period of time. Already Ray was loudly complaining of having to cope all alone with his workload, but that was just typical for Ray to make a big fuss. That, Ben noted with a sad smile, he would miss too. Maybe Ray didn't even know how much.

Again, he turned his attentions back toward the man at the bar. Ben determined his vital statistics: mid-to-late thirties - even though he looked younger - slight build, rugged good looks. His unruly blonde hair hadn't seen a comb for a while and he squinted frequently. Ben extrapolated, that the man probably owned regular spectacles, which he was too vain to wear in a homosexual establishment.

Abruptly, Ben was pulled from his thoughts. The man had noticed and was raising a bottle at him. Ben smiled back and modestly lowered his eyes. When he briefly looked again, the stranger flashed him a nervous grin.

Tonight Stan felt like a caged animal, it hadn't been this bad in a long time. The only reason he had come to Roscoe's was that he was dying for a fuck with a guy, not because he liked country music. In fact he hated it. But at least Roscoe's usually guaranteed for him to pick up a man without making much of an effort.

His hands were shaking. With some difficulty, Stan fumbled open another pack of cigarettes. The second one this evening. Nerves. It was always the same, he'd see a guy he liked from across the floor, chat him up, suck him off in the men's room or even take him home. The next morning he'd feel like someone had drained all the blood out of his body. The three years since his divorce hadn't been easy, even though it had been a good thing to end that charade of a marriage sooner rather than later. Stella was stronger in this respect, a lot less needy than he was.

Things had been going fairly well since he'd earned his detective badge. He'd been transferred to District 11, Violent Crimes Department, plain-clothes job - the kind of career he had wanted. The fact that he was a good cop helped, three citations in nine years, not every police officer had that to show for themselves. Everything had been peachy, until a couple of months ago, Stan had cruised a guy who turned out to be Internal Affairs. What happened after that had almost cost him his job and his sanity. The IA guy had been trying to take out an ecstasy smuggling ring, steered by several corrupt CPD officers, targeting the gay scene. Stan had messed up one year's worth of undercover work. The worst thing was not being called a fag every time he walked into the lunchroom. Not even the fact that when he was out on the scene, he couldn't be 'Ray Kowalski' anymore, because every cop in town knew his name and what he had done. Heaven knew how many gay people worked in law enforcement, and that in a city as big as Chicago. His first name didn't exactly make him a guy magnet, but at least just being 'Stan' was more inconspicuous.

No, the worst thing had been crawling in the dust in front of his superiors, reassuring them over and over again that something like this would not interfere with his work. 'Don't blow it again, Kowalski', Lieutenant Halstrom had said to him. That was something superiors normally said to bad police officers, not good ones. Pretty fucked-up, that being a good cop didn't just mean that you did your job well. And it made him even more paranoid than he already was.

With a heavy sigh, Stan turned his attention back to tonight's 'victim'. The man who sat across from him in the booth, red-and-blue plaid shirt with the bottle of Moosehead, didn't look like an IA guy. No, this one definitely wasn't a cop, Stan could tell. For starters, a real Chicago cop wouldn't be drinking this overpriced Canadian dishwater. The guy had to be from outta town. And he looked pretty hot, not that drained look that you usually get with cops, after they'd been on the force for 15 years. Stan was incredibly horny tonight, like he hadn't been in a long time. Ah, but hadn't that been his downfall last time around? Then again, sometimes you have to take a risk, even if you've been burned before, right? While Stan's mind was still weighing the pros and cons, the bulge in his pants had already made an unmistakable decision. He headed for the dark hallway in the back, preparing for the kill. Tonight he was gonna score.

When Ben finally composed himself, intent on approaching the bar, the stranger was gone. He made his way through the back of the tavern, down the narrow corridor to the washroom, half looking for the man who had so suddenly disappeared, half resigning himself to the fact that he had missed his chance. He wasn't very successful when it came to matters of a sexual nature. More lack of practice than lack of confidence, although a bit of the latter played into it, too. Ben pondered upon this so much, that when he came back out of the washroom, he almost didn't see that the man was waiting - for him, Ben - lightly touching his arm as he passed. Surprised, he took the invitation, turning toward him with a curious expression.

"Hey...," was all the man said, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall.

"Hello."

"I'm Stan...," the stranger began.

Ben extended his hand. "My name is Benton."

Eager to skip such formalities, Stan grabbed Ben's shirt and slowly pulled him behind the vending machine. "Been watching ya all evening."

In the near darkenss, all that Ben could sense, was the stranger's warm breath on his face. And his body responding in quite an obvious way.

Stan chuckled. "And I was starting to think ya weren't interested. Seen ya round Roscoe's couple times before."

"I'm actually Canadian. I first came to Chicago..."

"Ah, uncut...", Stan interrupted him, lightly brushing the front of Ben's jeans, "I'm very much into that..."

Ben gradually responded, returning the caresses. Mesmerised, he leaned in until their lips met, giving a relieved sigh. This was why he had come here, to find physical closeness and comfort with another human being. Too long since he had been in Mark's arms, or Victoria's arms or anyone else's arms for that matter.

"Buddy...you and me, whaddya say? My car's parked out the back," Stan hands didn't leave Ben's body, not even for a second. Their lips met again and soon Stan's hands were elsewhere, around Ben's neck, under the shirt and to his back. "So fuckin' hot, doing it in the car, dontcha think? Can do ya quick," Stan traced his fingers along Ben's cheek. "Can make ya come in record time." The promise made Ben shiver. There was only one thing on his mind now and he was still fighting it. Self-control.

"Thank you very kindly," Ben whispered, "but I'm not sure that your vehicle would be a very comfortable place." As a police officer he couldn't possibly let himself commit a lewd act in public and thus risking the reputation of his country, the Consulate and the RCMP. Either they would stay here in the darkness and relative safety of a gay bar, or this wasn't going to happen at all.

"Please, wanna touch you...more," Stan wouldn't let go of Ben's arms. He sounded desparate - as desparate as Ben was feeling.

A few more minutes and it would all be over. What was there to lose? Still torn between constraint and arousal, he unzipped his denims, felt fingers snaking around his hard dick. The next thing he knew, Stan was on his knees and had him in his mouth. Ben heard Stan make small moaning noises, which vibrated all the way up his belly. His head started to swim, not being used to such an attack on his senses. He gripped the vending machine like a drowning man, sqeezing his eyes shut and gasping for air. "Oh dear Lord..."

Stan suddenly resurfaced, popping the first two buttons on his 501's. Breathing heavily into Ben's mouth. "I'm all hard...all for you, buddy. Whaddya say we go in the men's room? I know it smells funny, but...more privacy."

Obviously Stan was expecting him to somehow return the favour. This man was indeed serious. "No...I can't...I should really...," Ben was suddenly at a loss with words. Here he was, almost gone, and still fighting it. Trying not to come in the stranger's hand.

Ben pulled away with difficulty, rearranged his front, and covered the jeans as well as possible with his shirt. Feeling a pang of guilt, he tried not to look directly at Stan. This was not how he had wanted it to end. Something had struck a chord in him, Stan's determination, honest friendliness and his raw passion. "Listen, I'd like to meet with you again, if that would be alright."

"Yeah," Stan said, "I'll give ya my number." He fingered a scrap of paper from his wallet and scribbled down his cell phone number. Folding the note in half, he stepped closer and brushed his lips against Ben's ear. "Don't forget to call me." One last smouldering look and Stan was gone.

"I will, I promise," Ben quietly responded. He put the piece of paper in his back pocket and left Roscoe's. A twenty-minute cab ride back to his apartment on West Racine and he would be able to finish off what Stan had started.

TO BE CONTINUED...

End Encounters, Part 1 by elf boy: elves_on_speed@yahoo.co.uk

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