Disclaimer: the characters are not mine - if they were Ray would wear more leather

Author's Notes: With much trepidation, I bring you the sequel to Learning How - which would not have been possible without the glorious beta, Sihaya Black, who will never wear a redshirt (a tip of the helmet, may your windmills ever spin). Without her assistance, advice, patience, and spell-checker, I would have posted a one sentence addendum or a 4000+ word soap opera (with words and lyrics by Barry Manilow, Gilbert and Sullivan, or Andrew Lloyd Webber, depending on which draft I was working on).

Story Notes:

This story is a sequel to: Learning How

"I'll teach you."

Easily three of the most humiliating words Fraser had ever had directed at him.

It had been two days since that conversation - and he'd been hiding in the consulate ever since. Of course Fraser knew the mechanics of it, he was not a virgin. //Near enough, Benton. Other than Victoria, you can count your sexual encounters on one hand and still have enough digits left for a full salute.// It wasn't that he didn't now how, it was more that he - well, he couldn't.

So many variables made it impossible. For one, there had been no private place to carry out such activities. From his grandparent's traveling library, he'd gone to Depot, to Barracks. He'd heard the fumblings in the dark, smelled the aftermath, and could not imagine anyone acting so indecorous, so revealing in public.

Certainly, there was no privacy at the consulate. The soundproofing was inadequate, and Inspector Thatcher or Turnbull had no qualms about walking through a door which had no lock regardless of the time of day - or night. And Inspector Thatcher might not approve of him living at the consulate, but she had no qualms about phoning at odd hours with her usual litany of requests.

Perhaps he could somehow keep them out, but what was he to do about his father? Locks had proven wholly ineffective against his ghost, as had walls, ceilings, and most of the laws of physics. And if what his father claimed was true, Robert Fraser was regularly visited by his own mother. The idea of attempting such a thing, knowing that at any time he might be seen by his father and grandmother... How could he - indeed, how could anyone - perform under those circumstances?

Fraser had read books that explained the basics. It was only natural that he'd research what he'd been trained to think of as aberrant behavior. He'd tried several of the recommendations. He had found the meditation exercises useful although it was more likely to put him asleep than arouse him. He meditated a great deal.

The techniques discussed in most manuals were beyond his ability, even if he were physically capable of some of the contortions depicted. He could not imagine indulging in anything that involved pain, multiple partners, or man-made implements.

Reliving past experiences or relying on printed or visual material had proven no more propitious. Unfortunately, the mere thought of Victoria was enough to render him impotent. The classics he'd been permitted to read as a younger man were surprisingly short on pertinent details, while the videos he'd seen in the course of his law enforcement career had shown a marked lack of respect for the participants.

But of course he did have fantasies. There was nothing sexual about them, but the idea that he could care for someone who cared for him in return was a hope he held dearly. He had no frame of reference for that fantasy, but the literature was far more extensive.

He focused again at the window and was mortified to see his father standing behind him. He was unable to find his voice, but could only stare at their reflection.

Bob Fraser had the same grin on his face as always, as though he knew what his son was hiding and was amused by it. "Not even a hello for your old man, Benton?"

Fraser lowered his eyes, shook his head no.

"Buck up, son, all you've done lately is hide in your room and brood." The senior Fraser walked over to the cot and sat down. Underneath, where he had been hiding for most of the last two days, Dief let out a low growl - he didn't approve of people who upset his human, particularly dead people.

"What do you want, Dad?" Fraser's voice was rusty.

"I want to know why you're hiding - it's very unbecoming, son, not to mention unprofessional." Bob bounced a bit on the cot. He knew it aggravated the wolf.

"Unlike your behavior, which is never anything but." Fraser replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"You don't need to take that tone with me, son, I'm entitled to enjoy the afterlife anyway I want."

"But did you enjoy your actual life? I rarely saw any evidence of that - of course I rarely saw you, so that could explain it." Fraser sighed.

"Of course I enjoyed it. Granted I missed your mother terribly, but I had good friends, a great job, and all the snow I could handle. God, I loved being a mountie!"

Fraser wondered if his father realized his son was not on that list. "What about me, Dad? Where did I fit in?"

"Where you should have, of course. My mother and father had the care of you, and I knew you'd be in good hands."

"But I wanted to be with you." Benton had never verbalized that before. "I wanted us to be a family."

"We've been through this, son. Barracks life was no place for you, and it all turned out for the best." He stood up and slapped his hands on his chest. "Yes, I'd say you turned out just fine."

"Fine? You think this is fine!" Fraser gave a watery laugh. "I live in an office. I am thousands of miles from anything or anyone familiar to me. I was raised by two people who did everything to suck the joy out of my life, and the only meaningful conversations I have with my father are held with his ghost."

Robert Fraser squinted at his son. "Are you criticizing my parents, Benton? It wasn't easy for them, having their lives disrupted by a six year old. They did their best - raised you just like they raised me."

"My existence is proof to the contrary. You met mom. You married, had a child, had a life."

"For God's sake, Benton, tell me all this brooding isn't about that woman again - didn't she do enough damage?"

"The damage was done well before I met Victoria, Dad. She simply took advantage of it." Took advantage of a man desperate to touch anyone, to feel anything.

"And I suppose this `damage' is my fault." Strong emotions were impossible for Robert Fraser, but he could be irritated, and he was. `You wanted to be a mountie, boy."

"I wanted a family, Dad."

His father walked to the closet and opened the door. "We all have choices in life, Benton, and sometimes you can choose to have a second piece of pie." The door slammed shut behind him.

His choice. He had rarely been in a position where his choices mattered. But it was different now. He could choose.

He reached for the phone and dialed Ray's number.

It was after dinner Sunday night, and by now, Ray hadn't expected the phone to ring, except for maybe Welsh to call and say Fraser had transferred to Outer Mongolia. He had checked his globe bank, and that was as far away as Fraser could go without moving to the space station. Maybe Fraser would like Mongolia - it had snow, though the horses looked like they ran funny. Ray didn't know why, but he didn't think he'd get the chance to ask Fraser about it.

//Hey Frase, why do Mongolian horses run funny?//

//I'll be certain to find out when I get there, Ray. //

Yeah, he'll be gone. Couldn't have said anything stupider even if I'd thought about it. Of course if I'd thought about it, I would've bit my tongue first and just shut the hell up. But no-o-o, I had to be the funny guy, Mr. Comedian, and now I've lost him for good.

And that hurt, more than he expected. He didn't know what else to do or say without making it worse. And that made it worse, because the only thing he could think of was to tell Fraser the same kind of truth Fraser told him. He wasn't sure he could do that, wasn't sure he could tell Fraser just what got him flying solo.

//The best thing about jerking off, Frase, is that you can think about anybody when you do it. When I first started I used to sometimes think about Stella, sometimes about Steve McQueen. Now sometimes I think about you.//

And Fraser'd be fitting one of them funny horses for a saddle and teaching Dief to lip-read Mongolian.

So when the phone rang and it was Fraser saying he was on his way over, Ray didn't say much except OK.

Ray was expecting Constable Fraser, RCMP. The Fraser who showed up was quiet instead. All Ray could do was take his hat, lead him to the couch, offer him tea. Fraser looked like what he really needed was a stiff belt of something but Ray thought he'd corrupted the mountie enough.

Fraser spoke first. "Ray, what you said about my grandparents..."

"I was outta line, Frase, and I'm sorry."

"But it was the truth - it was wrong to teach a boy that sex was something dirty, something to be ashamed of." Fraser didn't look like he was finished so Ray decided to keep his mouth shut this time. "I'm sorry Ray. It is so difficult to talk about this, and yet there is so much you need to know. I'm not certain I can..."

"How about - how about I lose the lights, like in the car?"

"That may help." Ray turned off everything except the string of chili peppers, then sat next to Fraser on the couch. "I suppose it would be best to start at the beginning..." And he told Ray everything.

"So it's not that I don't know how, Ray. I just haven't been able to - to complete the transaction."

Ray let out the breath he'd been holding for what seemed like hours. No wonder Fraser wore the red uniform. By the time he got out, the urge to have a good time would be long gone. "But you want to, right?" Ray had to be clear on that.

Fraser nodded. "You must think me hopelessly backward." Fraser did guilt better than his mother. Ray just hated guilt.

"Nah, naive, maybe. I could go with naive." Ray decided. "But being naive doesn't make you bad, Frase, it just means you need to learn some more."

"And you'll teach me?" Damn it, Ray knew Fraser would bring that up. Guess it wasn't the end of True Confessions yet.

"I said I would, but I need to tell you something first, because maybe you won't want me as a teacher." Ray glowed red under the lights - funny how he always thought it was cute when Fraser was doing the blushing.

"Ray, there is no one else. I couldn't possibly-"

"Sometimes, all the time lately, when I jerk off, I'm thinkin' of you." The words came out in a flood, beyond Ray's control. And now he knew what Speechless, Totally Dipped, What the Fuck Did You Just Say!Mountie looked like. And he really hated the idea that it was gonna be his last memory of Fraser.

Surprisingly enough, Fraser didn't leave. Didn't seem freaked, or furious, or thoroughly pissed or anything.

"Me? You think about me? I mean, like that, about me?"

Resigned more than scared, Ray gave him a simple answer. "Yeah."

Fraser shook his head then fell silent. Ray couldn't read Fraser's body at all, and that was kind of weird.

"Is it because of the way I look, Ray?" Which proved to Ray that the oblivious mountie act was an act, sometimes.

"Well, yeah, some of it, but not all of it. I mean you're beautiful, but you're just so, there's just so much of you, you know?" Fraser didn't know, and Ray could tell. "Listen Frase, the sheer Fraserness of you makes you better than most people, better than me." Ray sighed, worn out, and unable to see an end to this that didn't suck. "It wasn't something you said or did that made me feel this way, OK? It isn't your fault, and you don't have to want me back."

"What I want- What do you want, Ray?"

"Frase, I just said-" Fraser's hand shot up.

"No, Ray. I mean what do you want? Out of this, out of us?" Fraser licked his lip.

"What I want... I want to make you happy, Frase. I want you to give me the chance to make you happy."

"But you already do. You cannot understand what it means to me to know there is someone I care for who cares for me... My God. Is that all there is to it? Two people who want to make each other happy?"

"If you're lucky, yeah." Ray stopped, then had to be honest. "It also helps if there's a lot of really good sex."

"Ray!"

Fraser at his most scandalized, Ray at his most sheepish, both of them smiled. They were shaky smiles, but still.

Fraser brushed a hand across the soft spikes of Ray's hair, gently curved it along the warm nape of his neck. "Teach me."

Just as gently, Ray leaned in and covered Fraser's lips with his own. "I will."

And he did.

End Lessons Learned by chesamus: chesamus@charter.net

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