Author's website: http://freespace.virgin.net/jodie.mouse

Disclaimer: they are borrowed.

Author's Notes: this is my story 'Close' extended, revamped and re-written to actually finish it properly.

Story Notes: erm, there is a slight kinky bit in this. it doesn't involve blood though ;)

Kowalski loves Vecchio. There I've said it. Think I should carve it into my desk or summat.

Dunno how it started. May be it was when he called me `Stanley' for the first time. I tried to cover it but it really turned me on. Don't ask me why. Silly things do. Like the way his ass looks when he bends over. Or when he eats something -- don't hafta be a banana or anything phallic. Jus' seeing him put something in his mouth gives me a raging hard on.

Then I start thinking `bout his mouth tasting stuff and if I'm not careful I almost come there and then in my jeans.

You get the picture how I am 'bout him?

It didn't help feeling this way about the guy in our day to day stuff.

Welsh partnered us. Some kinda cosmic joke yeah? But the joke was on me. I was falling for him, falling hard, and I could understand all that crap Fraser told me about him. I mean Vecchio is bent -- may be not in the sense of the word that I would like -- yet Fraser Mr Holier Than Fucking Thou had a thing for him.

A very B-I-G thing for him. And Frase, well being Frase was always too chicken to do something about it. Too chicken to do anything about loving someone after what happened with that Victoria chick I s'pose.

But he'd fuck me. I say `fuck' because there was always something quick, fervent, animal about the sex we had. He'd hammer me until I was blue because I wasn't Vecchio.

After our adventure Fraser stayed up North to look after the moose or whatever he does up there, and I get Vecchio. Vecchio. And I feel like some high school girl with a silly crush.

In awe of this guy who had the mountie, who had Fraser tied up in knots.

It wasn't good when I wake up in the basement trapped with Vecchio after being hit over the head by a bad guy. Vecchio is sitting there looking at me. I stagger up, go to the door and try it. Locked. Locked very tight.

"Already tried that."

"Wha 'bout..." I say scanning my eyes over the room, spotting a vent in the wall.

"Nah, Kowalski. Nothing. No way. I had a good look while you were out cold."

I sink to the ground. In a locked room. Alone. With Vecchio. If the bad guys weren't going to do me then my hormones sure were gonna.

"Anyone know we're here?" I ask.

Vecchio shrugs.

"May be Huey and Dewey will come look for us." he says.

I choke back a laugh. Those two couldn't even find their own underwear.

"Shit. Fuck. Shit."

"Language Stanley." says Vecchio with a smirk on his face.

"It's jus' I don't like small places...gives me that thing."

Weren't exactly a lie. A few minutes, let alone hours, in a small place alone with Vecchio an' I think my brains might fry.

"Claustrophobia." he says.

I feel like replying `Nah, a raging erection' but manage to bite my tongue in time. I run my hand through my hair.

"Calm down -- it's no good getting stressed, Ray."

I look at Vecchio. He must mean it `cos he practically never calls me Ray. I must look like a person on the verge of having a mental breakdown. I certainly feel like it.

Vecchio gets up and comes over to me, starts rubbing my shoulders. I should really tell him to get off but...my cock is gettin' frisky.

Then he starts kissing my neck. I sigh and lean back into him.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because I want to." he whispers in my ear.

First he pulls off my jacket and then he slips off my shoulder holster and puts it on the floor. I pull off my T-shirt and hear him gasp.

We kiss.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I ask.

Vecchio nods helping me with my T-shirt, tugging it from my body.

"But the bad guys might come back."

Then he is kissing me again and to be quite honest I don't feel like arguing. I don't feel like anything `cept perhaps feeling him inside of me. Don't care it isn't the best place. In fact I think my thoughts have bypassed my brain and gone straight to my cock...'cos I'm not thinking at all...at least not with the part of my body I'm s'posed to think with...

Cold air on my groin and then his mouth is on me. Swallowing me. I grow inside him, getting bigger and bigger. So much, so intense...feel so dizzy.

And then I wake up. My head aches like I've been hit.

"Jeez." I say, trying to sit up.

I rub my head and wince. Feel the bump coming up already. The one on my head and the one in my trousers.

I feel like I've got that French thing -- what is it again? Dj vu. Doing things again like in that film. Yeah I'm trapped in the same moment doomed to re-live it again and again.

I stop trying to sit up `cos it ain't gonna happen.

"Nice to see you're awake Sleeping Beauty." Vecchio snaps sarcastically as he leans over me.

Then his eyes change, next thing I know he's helping me stand up. Looking at me `cept I'm having trouble focussing on him.

"Can you count my fingers Kowalski?" he asks waving his hand in front of my face.

"Dunno. I was never that good at math."

I feel kinda dizzy. I hear Vecchio swear -- his arms are around me -- the cold ground beneath me. Cold ground beneath. Vecchio's saying something. Can't make it out. Then his hands are all over me, all in my pockets, my jacket, my jeans.

So tired. Want to sleep...

When I next open my eyes everything is white. Whiteness. Squeeze my eyes closed against how bright everything is.

"Kowalski?"

I turn my head -- very slowly -- `cos it feels like elephants have been playing football inside my skull. Squint at where the voice is coming from.

"Vecchio?"

"They did quite a job on you."

"Wanna go home."

Vecchio nods at me. Gets up I s'pose to ask the doctor.

I try and work out what was real and what wasn't amongst those hazy half-dreams I had. I manage to stop myself from asking Vecchio when he came back whether he really gave me a blow-job or not. I thought asking him such a question in front of the doctor might get me more time in here when I desperately wanted out.

And I'm wondering if Fraser was wrong -- I'm wondering if Vecchio is bent in more than one sense of the word.

The doc gives me a look over and the green light to leave.

We drive in silence back to my apartment. Part of me demands to know if the blow-job was real or just the result of being whacked by bad guys. Since when do macho Italian-American cops who've played with the mob suck cock anyhow? It must've been quite a blow to make me think Vecchio might even consider sucking cock. The irony of that last sentence does not escape me by the way.

Surprising how coherent I can be after being hit over the head if (possibly imagined) blow-jobs are involved.

How do you work something like this into a conversation without getting a bloody nose? Hey, Vecchio, good blow-job...Hey, Vecchio, did you really give me a blow-job or was it just my fevered imagination...Hey, Vecchio, how do you feel about guys?

The elevator isn't working again so we take the stairs. I stumble up them finding my feet don't know what they're doing and that it takes to long for the signal to get from my brain down there to my toes. And then I'm floating. My feet off the ground, dangling, Vecchio has me cradled in his arms like he's carrying me over the bridal threshold or something.

It feels nice. Sort of reminds me of when I was kid and my Dad used to carry me like that when I was sleepy. Except this wasn't my Dad -- this was Vecchio. I snake my arms around his neck and hold on as he wobbles up the remaining stairs. And I'm beginning to feel sleepy as I hear him unlock the door to my apartment.

When I next wake-up I'm in bed, naked beneath the sheets.

Vecchio is slouched in the armchair that I normally use as a laundry basket, head resting on his arm, fast asleep.

I look at him and smile.

Yeah. He definitely sucked my cock.

I throw the sheets off the bed and shake Vecchio awake. He looks up at me. I pull him to his feet.

"Come to bed." I say.

He nods and follows me under the sheets. We hold each other. Nothing ever felt so right before.

I sigh as Vecchio pulls me close and kisses the back of my neck.

Vecchio loves Kowalski? Vecchio lusts for Kowalski? Does it matter which it is? I am so far gone that I will gladly take any scrap this man offers me. And I despise myself for that. Absolutely despise myself.

The next few days are kinda weird `cos my head is still knotting itself back together I s'pose. So everything seems kinda -- blurred -- at the edges. Like in those old films when they'd go for the close-up. My dad told me they used to smear Vaseline on the camera to make it blurred like that.

So that was how everything looked all sort of misty and soft. Vecchio -- Ray -- brought me breakfast in bed.

Ray washed me in the shower, said he wanted to make sure I didn't fall or flake out.

He made the most mouth watering food. Pasta -- with all sorts of different Italian names I couldn't even begin to repeat.

And there was no sex. No sex. Which began to make me wonder if I did imagine the whole thing after all. And we went back to work and everything seemed like it was before. `Cept during this time Vecchio had moved in. Didn't ask. Just did, and it was such a gradual thing I didn't notice until one day I noticed the sharp suits in the wardrobe and the food in the fridge.

I couldn't really hold this against him I suppose. I mean isn't it what I wanted?

Still no sex.

Then he brought it home, all boxed up. I didn't know they gift wrapped stuff like that. He placed it in my hands.

"It's for you, I want you to wear it." he says pinning me with those green eyes of his.

I pull the tissue paper away, and the ribbon, open the box. Feel like I'm getting that dj vu thing again.

My throat goes dry. Did I know that this would be what he'd get me? I stare at the ring of leather. Pull it out. Like a leash, a dog collar, he wants me -- oh god he wants me to be...

The leather feels warm under my fingers even as the chain, the silver chain feels ice-cold as it skims across my arm. The collar has studs in it and a very sturdy buckle. I imagine wearing it. Imagine kneeling down at Ray's feet, wearing the collar, him holding the chain, twisted around his hand. Hauling me to my feet.

"Here, let me..." Vecchio says, his voice snapping me out of my daydream.

And as I watch him unbuckle the collar and place it around my throat I know it isn't me here. This isn't Ray Kowalski. This is someone else. Someone else. I feel the leather tighten around my neck as he closes the buckle. I wonder what my new name is.

Ray tugs on the chain.

"Strip." he says and I do.

I do because I will do anything for him. Anything to have this love and adoration bestowed upon me.

"When you wear the collar your name will be Slut."

I nod. I understand.

Ray pulls on the chain, and I follow him, a few steps behind to the bedroom.

End That Deja Vu Thing by Jodie Louise: jodie.mouse@virgin.net

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