Disclaimer: I own a Fraser T-shirt, does that count? No? Okay, I own no characters nor wolves contained herein, neither do I the idea of the show itself.

Author's Notes: Dankeschoen to Minim (who originated the idea), Theo (who pointed out that it's a little AU), Shay (who said nice things), Nestra, and Shrift (both of whom answered stupid questions. Nicely).

Story Notes: Doesn't *exactly* fit into the timeline of CotW. So, I've slipped an extra night in before the mall scene.

He had known they would hit it off... just exactly as they had. Both good men, both fine police officers, but both insecure about their identities -- how could their meeting under the same name have been anything but tense? He counted them all lucky that it hadn't exploded into violence. Still, he hadn't expected his own reaction to the sight of them staring at each other, posturing like bull moose in mating season. They'd backed down, both willing to defer to his authority, and he'd sternly tamped down the swell of pride he felt -- alpha of his own small pack, even if Ray Vecchio needed to insult him to save face.

There was a confrontation, inevitably, in his absence. He'd heard the story from various concerned observers, all eager to see how the situation between the two would work itself out. He wished he could have seen for himself, although of course he would have been forced to interfere even before Ray's -- Ray Kowalski's physical gesture.

He could imagine it, though, Ray Vecchio's attempt to project his ownership of the space by needling Ray Kowalski, and Ray Kowalski's always volatile nervousness exploding to sweep the desk clear of paperwork...

and hard though he tried to continue the story with Francesca's interference, he found himself unable to force his mind to the course. It would much rather imagine the two uninterrupted, facing off against each other over the detritus of Ray's casework. There would be a moment, certainly, a pause where they simply glared, eyes glittering -- both men well knew the value of a hard stare. But then, a flurry of motion, and after... maybe Ray Kowalski face down on the desk, maybe Ray Vecchio, arm twisted behind his back, upper body flat on the wood. Ray Kowalski leaning over him as though to press the point home. And Ray Vecchio, unable to lose face, would regain it verbally: "Oh, this is what you're into, Stanley?"

And Ray Kowalski, unwilling to be further baited, pressing his body against the length of Ray Vecchio's, molding the cradle of his hips to Ray Vecchio's ass, whispering, "Maybe. But don't worry, Ray. I'll let you top next time."

At this point, of course, his willful imagination, having gained his cooperation, balked at the impossibility of their... continuing where they were. Even in pure fantasy he could not conceive of any further action. They would let go, straighten up, glare at each other but turn away.

But later, perhaps, in an alley near the police station, or near Ray's apartment, Ray Kowalski would suddenly find his own face flush against a hard surface, with Ray Vecchio leaning in with all his weight, sneering, "I believe this is my dance?" A hand thrust down the back of Ray's pants, finger running determinedly down the cleft between his buttocks, rubbing around the anus, making him clench and gasp, getting brick dust in his mouth...

"Quiet, Stanley," Ray would hiss in his ear, drawing his hand out to grip Ray's hips firmly. "Don't want to wake the neighbors, do we?" And then Ray's hips would grind hard against Ray's back, pressing his erection against the wall. Ray would grunt, and bite his lip against the sound, and so give tacit agreement, conspiracy, submission.

Ray's tight jeans would be peeled down around his thighs, his hips yanked outward and legs spread to give a more stable base, and Ray's fingers, slippery and forceful, would push inward... not hurting, but working steadily together and apart, in and out, while Ray grimaced with the effort of keeping quiet as he angled his hips further out and up. Finally, Ray would draw apart his own well-pressed slacks and slick up his own erection, and push slowly but steadily into Ray until he came to rest flush against his buttocks.

Ray would let out a sigh and a whisper, "Oh, yeah, Stanley."

Ray would reach down for his own erection and flash his fierce grin. "Whatcha waiting for, Vecchio, an engraved invitation to my ass?"

"Well, it does add a touch of class, but I guess I'll do without," drawing back and pushing back fully, and then again, more and more quickly.

"You've got a nice sweet ass, Stanley."

"Yeah? Can't wait to try yours."

Then nothing but grunts and bitten-off sounds as their bodies worked quickly against each other, industrious in pursuit of climax, Ray pushing hard enough to make a smack as they came together, and Ray pushing back to meet each thrust, stroking in the same rhythm, his face constricting to a snarl as he came closer. Ray's features would twist in a grimace as he approached his own climax, grunting louder and finally setting his teeth in Ray's shoulder to muffle his shout as he jerked in orgasm, holding on long enough for Ray's final burst of frenetic pulling and thrusting to produce a splatter of semen against the wall and a bloody bitten lip.

They hung against each other, panting heavily, while he thrust a few final times into his spare handkerchief, screwing up his face to prevent any sound from escaping, and came, hips arching up from his cot. Then the lean lines of both bodies slipped away like smoke, leaving only the darkness of the consulate ceiling and Dief's whuffling breath.

End Getting On by Hel Virago: lorelei_fic@hotmail.com

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