Disclaimer
The characters in this story are the property of Alliance Communications. This story is a parody of due South characters and as such is protected under copyright law... unless the characters were portrayed deliberately as a couple in the show, and somehow I don't think anyone at Alliance wants to argue that in court.

Author's Note
This story requires some explanation... First time stories are some of my favourites, to read or to write. But the universe I normally try to envision, and in which my "Collage" series is set, is one where slash and canon can co-exist without inconsistency or discontinuity. This necessarily limits the number of possible 'first time' scenarios to one per couple, isn't always easy, and it also - for me anyway - leaves a lot of the really slashy stuff off-limits if there's something later in canon chronology that precludes it. I started messing around with the idea of writing as if canon ended at an earlier point; then it occurred to me that I didn't have to take off necessarily from the end of a given episode. I could just ask myself, 'well, what if things happened a little differently?' and go from there. As I began following some of these 'what if's, I realised that even very small changes could radically alter what followed them. This is the first of what may [or may not] be a series of stories that start with that question, and one of those little changes.

At the end of Victoria's Secret, while Fraser is pursuing Victoria onto the train platforms, Ray stays in the terminal with the money, and by the time he has it all back in the case and in Transit custody, Welsh, Huey and Gardino have arrived and the four of them make it to the platform together just as Fraser is making a fateful decision. What if Ray had decided he couldn't wait for their backup to get there? (I decided to have the uniform show up perhaps a little sooner, too. I hope I identified him correctly...)

What follows, of course, veers sharply from the course of canon, and I do not recommend reading it if you haven't seen Victoria's Secret. But, what the hell. I love "Letting Go" and especially "North", but this story just won't let me alone.

Key
emphasis, italics
/thoughts not spoken/

Rated NC-17 for graphic description of lovemaking between two men.

Ray Vecchio hit the main terminal of the train station, Fraser at his elbow. Before they could even scan the crowd for Victoria, shots were being fired at them, and they dove for cover as the cavernous room filled with the screams and shouts of civilians. After the three shots, there was a pause; they looked in the direction the gunfire had come from, and caught a glimpse of what might have been Victoria's rapidly retreating back. Scrambling up, the two crossed the glossy expanse of floor to where a crowd was gathering around the spot Victoria had fired from. There was money on the floor, Ray saw, spilled out of a suitcase, and bystanders grabbing handfuls of it. "Put it down, put it down," Ray ordered, "Put it down!" Finally he brought his gun back down - he'd pointed it at the ceiling once they'd lost sight of Victoria - and the last of the erstwhile moneygrabbers backed off.

"You wait for them," Fraser said to him, meaning the backup Ray had already called for, "I'll go after her." And he was off, heading through the terminal at a trot. Ray stooped down toward the spilled bills and began piling them back in the case. His heart was pounding, adrenaline making his blood sing. They had the rest of the money now for evidence, he told himself, and momentarily they'd have Metcalfe in custody, too. He kept listening for sirens, but he couldn't hear any, and he tried to tell himself it was the acoustics of the thick-walled, cavernous station. Another crowd was starting to gather around him and the money, larger this time; he could see them in his peripheral vision, edging closer, closer. He put another stack of money in the case and turned around, half-rising from his crouch. The people were crowding one another, straining for a better view./Damnit, where is our backup?/

"Get outa here!" he snarled, sweeping his arm at the onlookers in a gesture intended to be menacing. They moved back a few paces, then one pointed beyond Ray and the group dispersed. Ray looked. A uniformed Transit officer was approaching. Not getting up, Ray showed his badge. "Chicago PD," he said. "This money is stolen property, and it's evidence. We have backup on its way."

The guy got down to help him pick up the rest of the bills. "There were shots fired?" he prompted.

"Yeah," Ray said, "that's our suspect, Victoria Metcalfe, 5' 9" or so, dark hair. My partner went after her." Suddenly Ray realised, really realised that Benny had gone after her unarmed, and that she had a gun. Not that he hadn't done that before; but he'd never been after a suspect with as much motive to kill him before either. A sudden flush of heat went through his body as his adrenal gland kicked into overdrive. "Listen," he repeated to the uniform, "there's PD backup coming, tell them we're pursuing the suspect, and make sure this money gets tagged."

"You're going after the suspect too?"

Ray was already moving. "My partner doesn't have a weapon," he called back over his shoulder. "I can't wait..."

Both breathing hard, they stood facing one another. Victoria brought Ray's gun up, pointing it at his chest. "Pick them up," she said.

He shook his head, a small movement but no less firm for that. "I can't do that."

Her hand holding the gun rose until she was aiming at his face. "You son of a bitch, you set me up, I should've shot you." Behind her the train began to move, slipping slowly down the tracks.

Wanting to smile at the irony of her words, Fraser answered her instead, saying the words he'd held inside himself for eight years. "And I should have let you go." To his disappointment, he didn't immediately feel unburdened, nor less attached to her, even as she had him at gunpoint. Her aim slipped down to his throat, but she didn't seem to react otherwise.

"Well, you're going to this time," she said.

He gave another small shake of his head. "Sorry." And slowly, steadily, gently, he brought his hand up, covering hers on the gun, and taking it from her unresisting fingers. She looked surprised, but didn't struggle, and looked surprised by that, too. As her arm moved back to her side, she made a questioning, shruglike gesture, as if to ask, what are you doing, what am I doing, what's happening between us.

"Then shoot me," she said at last, "'cause I'm gettin' on this train." Their eyes met and held for a timeless moment. /Why is it never the right time for us?/ he wondered, a too-familiar thought by now. But he made no move to stop her. "No?" she questioned once more. "Okay." Raising her arms, she caught the rail at the entrance to the last car as it passed, and she was aboard. He knew his duty required him to stop her. Or let her go. If he just stood there... An image came to his mind, unexpected, of a loose thread on his jacket, and his hand closing around it, jerking sharply.

"Victoria!" he shouted, running further up his platform, trying to get parallel to the moving train. Her head turned toward him. "Drop your weapon, Victoria, it's over." As he ran, he kept his own gun up, ready to fire if necessary.

"She's not armed, Ray," he heard Fraser say. /Damnit, you were in the terminal with me, you know she is!/

"Yes she is, Benny," he yelled back, not bothering to look, "she has a gun!"

"No, Ray, I disarmed her. Look, Ray!"

Grudgingly, he took his eyes off her long enough to see what Fraser was waving at him - the butt end of a revolver. The Mountie was chasing the accelerating train now, too, and catching up faster than Ray was. He was struck by a sudden recollection of watching Benny running after him in the Riv's rearview, jacket and flannel open over his bare chest, glare from streetlights and neon bathing his pumping chest with a lurid cast. His body flushed with another wave of heat. Which one of them was Benny running for now? "Victoria, get off that train and surrender!" he shouted. Pushing himself hard, he sprinted up near the end of the platform, past her position, and stopped, sighting for a shot at her. "Get off the train now!"

"Ray!" Fraser called, sounding frantic. "She's not armed, Ray!" /Like I don't know that. Like I don't know what you mean is, don't shoot her. Like I don't know why./ His molars hurt where his jaw was clenched too tightly.

Ignoring him, Victoria called to Benny again. "Come with me, Ben!" she repeated.

He had time to make his shot if he had to, so he took another look at the train, and at Fraser, gauging how fast each of them was moving. By the time Fraser reached the end of the platform, he might be able to make one of his typical insane leaps onto the back of the last car, but there was no way he could reach Victoria now. One way or another, the train was leaving the station with her on it. "This is your last chance, Victoria!" he called, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. "Get off that train!" He sighted along his arm. Since the morning he'd heard Benny had called in sick to work, since he had gone to check on him only to find him healthy and half-dressed, with a woman - Victoria - in his apartment, an unexpected fear had taken up in Ray's thoughts: that he would lose Benny, first to her love, then to her revenge. He wasn't about to let her come between them now, for either reason, or whatever weird combination of the two motivated her.

"Ray, no!" Benny pleaded. "Ray, she doesn't have a weapon!"

"Benny, don't get in the line of fire," he answered, hoping he sounded calm. "And don't you dare get on that train!" To Victoria, as the train brought her to the closest pass of where he stood, he snarled, "Didn't I tell you I'd kill you if you hurt him?"

"Ray, stop!" Fraser hollered, and something made him break his line-of-sight on Victoria and look. Benny had the revolver pointed in his direction, and was slowing down enough to take aim. He was so shocked that he let the gun in his own hand drop to clatter on the concrete.

"All right, Benny, let her go," he said, shoulders slumping. /He's probably right./ Unexpected movement caught his eye, made him look back up; the Canadian was sprinting again, still trying to catch the train. "Benny, no!"

"I'm sorry, Ray," he answered without turning.

"Benny, don't leave me!" That seemed to make him falter, just the littlest bit, but he still didn't stop, and he seemed to be gathering momentum for the leap he'd need to make to catch the train. Everything was happening so fast. In another moment he'd be gone. Panic surged in Ray's chest. /I'll never see him again.../ "Benny, I love you!" he shouted with all the breath in his lungs. Fraser's head turned, and Ray could see shock, confusion, indecision, on his face.

"No!" Victoria shrieked. "Come with me!" Fraser skipped and skidded to a stop at the very edge of the concrete, nearly losing his balance. "Come with me... I love you!" she repeated once more; her voice drifted back distorted by the train's still-increasing velocity, her last words almost lost in the rush of displaced air. Still poised on the lip of the platform, Fraser was on the verge of motion, but Ray couldn't tell yet whether it would be to turn back, or to leap down and chase the train in its tracks. If Victoria was still looking out from the side of the train, her figure was indistinguishable from it by now. Perversely, even the desire to see her pay for what she'd done - and tried to do - to them couldn't stop him from being pleased at the prospect of never seeing her again. His gaze flicked back to the motionless Mountie.

Slowly Fraser straightened, to full attention. He stood so upright Ray had a sudden, absurd mental image of the red serge, the symbol of readiness to right any wrong at a moment's notice, being hidden beneath Benny's civilian clothes, like Superman behind the facade of 'mild-mannered' Clark Kent. He turned to face Ray, opened his mouth to speak.

"Vecchio! Fraser!" They both started at Lt. Welsh's voice, heads turning back toward the terminal end of their respective platforms. "Where's Metcalfe?" he continued; Huey and Gardino jogged alongside, flanking him.

Swallowing to wet his throat, Ray managed to make his voice work. "She's on the train, sir," he said, with a wave behind him into the darkness. "We couldn't stop her, but Fraser did manage to disarm her-"

"And there is a large quantity of stolen diamonds," Benny added, "back there on the platform." Ray blinked. Welsh nodded to the two detectives with him to see about collecting them, then headed towards the far end of the platform himself. Without more than the briefest eye contact between them, Fraser and Ray moved to meet him halfway, Fraser making an effortless-appearing hop from the platform he was on to theirs.

"Sir, they may be able to call ahead to the next stop and catch her there," he said, forcing himself to shift his focus to his commanding officer. Welsh just looked at him, hard, till he dropped his gaze. Benny's head turned towards him, and he glanced up into those blue eyes. It took the clearing of the lieutenant's throat to return their attention to him.

"I'll see about arranging that, Detective," he said, his gravelly voice no harsher than normal. "And I'll look forward to your report on what happened up here. Right now I want both of you to go home."

"Yes, sir, I'll do that, sir," he responded automatically. Welsh ambled back towards the stairwell, and Ray took the opportunity to retrieve his gun from where it had fallen and holster it. "Come on, Benny, I'll give you a ride home," he said, straightening, not trusting himself to make eye contact. A hand interposed itself before him, holding out another gun, the one Fraser had taken from Victoria. Ray knew he should have felt more disquiet at recognising his own 'backup' handgun, but other feelings drowned that concern out. Keeping his eyes down, he took it, watching the hand go back, dig in the pocket of the leather jacket, present a fistful of something. He held out his other hand, palm up, and it was filled with bullets. A twitch of his wrist, and he looked into the empty chambers of the revolver. His gaze moved from the empty gun to the bullets, back and forth, then drifted up to Benny's face.

"I couldn't have held a loaded gun on you, Ray." His expression was Mountie-earnest, his blue eyes blazing in the dimness. Ray wanted to cover his own eyes with his full hands; he settled for putting the back of an arm to his forehead, shielding him from the look Benny was giving him.

"Come on," he repeated, heading after Welsh without looking back. It was going to be a long, tense ride to Fraser's apartment.

"Ray..." he began, then stopped, not knowing what to say. The hand that still held the steering wheel was white-knuckled, the other fisted in his lap. "Ray, I, I'm not getting out unless you come upstairs and talk to me."

The detective took several deep breaths. "There's nothing we hafta talk about tonight, Frasier," he said, voice tight.

"Ah. I see. I see, then we'll talk here." One thumb smoothed his eyebrows. "Ray, when you - what you said-" In a single rapid movement, Ray pulled the keys out of the ignition, the door open, and himself out of the car. Closing his mouth, Fraser followed, the two doors closing with a sound like echoes in the deserted street. He picked up his pace to walk at Ray's side as they entered the building. Walking together was normally so natural for them, the effortless settling into one pace; now he was having to work just to keep from being left behind, and the movement of Ray's body in his peripheral vision, jarringly out of sync with his own, was disconcerting. They took the stairs two at a time, still missing one anothers' rhythm. /No, that's innaccurate. I am failing to match my pace to his. He is showing no interest in my pace at the moment./ Ray reached the door of 3J a half-step ahead and straight-armed it, his other hand swiping at the knob to loose the catch. Entering the dark apartment hadn't slowed him at all; he swung around the opened door, and only when his trajectory brought him up against the wall beside one of the windows did he stop, his back to the door, and to Ben, who closed it behind them with a soft click. One arm braced against the windowframe, Ray stood staring at the cold panes, rigid with tension.

Out of some instinct, perhaps, Fraser stayed out of the direct route between Ray and the door, circling around through the kitchen where he dropped his leather coat over the back of a chair, and then approaching him from an oblique angle. Even in the dark, and from across the room, he could see the tension increasing in Ray's body as he came closer. The correlation was so strong he could almost feel a heaviness to the empty air separating them, forcing him to press his body against it, through it. Finally, when Ray was almost shaking - when they both were - he stopped, still paces, arms'-lengths away. He reached one hand out toward Ray, feeling the same resistance. "Ray..." he said softly, trying to keep the questioning tone out of his voice. It would do no good to push, now.

Though he wouldn't have thought it possible, Ray's shoulders tightened further, and he drew a long breath. Either for a sigh or in preparation to speak, Fraser surmised. He waited, but Ray didn't say anything, and in fact didn't seem to be letting out his breath, or taking another. Concerned, Ben shifted, folding his outstretched arm with the other across his chest, and opened his own mouth to speak. Ray beat him to it.

"I thought I was never gonna see you again-" The words came out in a rush, leaving Ray literally gasping for air; as soon as he'd taken another breath, though, he continued, as if once he'd started talking he couldn't hold the words inside anymore. "I never thought you'd-" Another rapidly indrawn breath, almost a sob, interrupted the sentence. Ben started toward his friend, but again Ray's body language stopped him. "I never thought you'd stay because..." Having resumed his sentence, Ray seemed to have found fault with it. "I didn't think anything I could say would make you stay, Benny, I'm-" Another sob caught him, but this time he kept talking through the spasming of his throat. "I'm- sorry, Benny- I- I know you- love her, I- I- didn't mean to-"

It was impossibly hard, yet the only thing that felt right to do, crossing the small space that still separated them, resting his hand on Ray's shoulder like half of an embrace, bringing the fingers of his other hand gently to Ray's lips to still the words fighting sobs for release. Aside from turning slightly towards him, away from the wall, Ray didn't react as his crying quietened. "No, Ray, I don't love her. I, I thought I did, I thought she loved me; even when I knew she didn't, or if she did she hated me just as much... I, I still thought I did."

Was this what Ray had felt, this inability to stop, once he'd begun talking? Ray's wet eyes were closed, his head bowed, his lips resting against Ben's fingers, his chin drawn tight to forestall more sobs. "It wasn't until... until the platform, when I heard the rage in her voice, ...and she hesitated, before she could say - say it..."

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he tightened his grip fractionally, blinking rapidly to assuage the stinging of his eyes. "I, I suppose even when I could admit to myself that she didn't love me, I, I thought she could love me, forgive me, that we could- that I..." he let the sentence trail off, and lowered his hand from its too-intimate contact with Ray's mouth, draping it loosely against his elbow instead. Ray's hand drifted forward, just brushing his waist. It was no more than the sketch of an embrace, yet the minute contact felt more intense than any touch he could remember passing between them. "Ray," he whispered.

After an uncomfortable moment, Fraser choked out, "I'm sorry, Ray, I-" before his throat closed and he was stifling a sob of his own. Not thinking, Ray started to take a step forward, intending to comfort him, but checked the motion, ending with his foot merely shifted a little before him. /He looks miserable. Do I look that bad?/ Certainly his eyes felt as sore as Fraser's wet, reddened ones must.

"Benny, you don't have to-" he let the words stand, as if the end of the sentence would communicate itself without his having to say the words. And apparently it worked; the other man's face registered comprehension, though some confusion remained, manifesting in the form of a line between his brows. Letting out a long breath, Ray brought a hand up to massage his temple. The gesture reminded him of Benny without his being sure why.

"I mean, I..." He trailed off, uncertain, never having talked about these feelings. But if not with Fraser, then with whom; and if not, why not? If nothing else, they were still best friends, and Ray owed him the truth, especially now. After another deep sigh, he began again. "I've had... feelings... about guys, I dunno, for a long time, it's just something I'm used to, used to hiding it, used to ignoring it, used to pretending it's not there. I mean, did I ever make you feel like, you know, like I felt... that way... before?" A silent shake of his head was Benny's answer, though his expression had changed to one Ray couldn't read. "So, it's uh, it's okay, we can just go back to the way things were, it's okay, really." Funny how his voice and his composure came back to him when he needed them to take care of Benny.

"Ray?" It was practically a whisper, the roughness betraying how raw Fraser's throat must be. Clearing it with some difficulty, he looked up, his blue eyes oddly bright in the dim light from the window, burning at Ray with a strange intensity. "How, how long?" As Ray had, he left the end of his sentence unspoken, but as before it was clear between them.

"Aah, I dunno. ...Remember when we were after Gerard?"

Benny's lips twisted, and he sucked the lower one into his mouth, his head bowing; then he straightened, looking directly at Ray. He had the strange sensation Benny was looking into him, seeing something that was never visible on the surface. "Ray, I, I never thought, I never dreamed that you might want me, too."

/Too?/ Suddenly Ray couldn't find a coherent thought in his head, nor form a new one, and he could barely concentrate on staying upright, especially with Benny standing so close... /Too?/ He moved unseeing to the nearest place he could sit, no longer trusting his legs to keep him upright. It was only when Benny came hesitantly over to stand trembling before him that Ray realised he was sitting on the bed.

Then Ray's head tilted slowly up, the green eyes seeking his. Ben met his gaze steadily, while one thumb curled under to graze Ray's palm in an encouraging caress. Not shifting his attention, he pulled their joined hands a bit toward himself, barely a centimetre, as if to bring Ray to stand with him, but without stepping back to make room enough. The tip of Ray's tongue slipped across his dry lips, and Ben couldn't suppress a sudden intake of breath. Ray gave a tiny smile, the corners of his mouth and eyes drawing up minutely. His eyebrows twitched, querying, as he shifted his legs, folding one and then the other up under him, onto the bed.

Drawn by their linked hands, Ben moved onto the mattress beside him. One of Ray's hands slipped out of his to support them as they settled facing each other. With his now-freed hand, Ben cupped Ray's cheek, watching his eyes close as he tilted his face into the caress. The long-lashed green eyes opened again as Ray's hand came back up. Ray traced the line of his jaw, the outlines of his lips, and now Ben's eyelids slid closed. He stroked Ray's mouth with his thumb, not moving the rest of his hand, learning the shapes and textures by touch alone.

Slight shifting of the mattress beneath them forewarned him that Ray was leaning toward him, and he began to move forward to meet him, when he was stopped by a pair of soft, hot lips parted over his own. He opened his mouth, but Ray was touching him lightly, one lip and then the other against each of his, the corners of his mouth, the divot above. Ben returned the soft caresses, his lips grasping gently at Ray's, one hand sliding to the elegant neck while the other tightened in Ray's grasp. Rushing blood and panting breath heated both their faces as they explored one another, their kisses somehow all the more intimate for what they weren't. Then Ray's head tilted against his head, and that full lower lip stroked between his and along their length, followed by just the tip of Ray's tongue, barely touching him. A moan rose from his throat to be lost in Ray's as he fit their mouths together and delved in with his own tongue. When it met Ray's, a soft sound came from him as well, and with sudden urgency their clasped hands came apart to find a shoulder or a broad back and hold them closer. Ray's other hand was in his hair now, his own at the nape of Ray's neck and the small of his back, and they pressed their bodies together, both up on their knees.

Something firm and throbbing pressed against his thigh, as he felt his own erection against Ray, his slender hipbone sharp even through Ray's pants and his own. He moaned again, louder, and felt the vibration of Ray's answering moan in his lips, his tongue, his chest where each touched Ray's. Now Ray's long fingers were running restlessly up and down his back, stroking his shoulders and thighs; he unclenched his own hands to return the caresses. The heat where their bodies met was intense, like a Chicago summer, burning away any thought of cold even here in his apartment where it was always comfortingly cool.

But that was no longer what he wanted. He wanted Ray's fire.

One of Ray's hands had come to rest on the back of his head, guiding their kisses. Delving under the thick trenchcoat, his own hands swept around Ray's thighs again, circling the narrow buttocks, squeezing the firm flesh and pulling their groins flush once more. Their hips bucked together, and another, louder moan came from Ray's throat. Ben released his partner's enthralling mouth to trail his lips and tongue down from Ray's jaw to where his pulse leapt, lingering over his adam's apple and each hollow, tasting salt and the scratchiness of stubble. Fascinated, Fraser nuzzled further along Ray's neck. When the wet exploration moved behind his ear, Ray wrapped both arms tight around Ben's shoulders, groaning and kissing his hair.

Suddenly their balance shifted, and they were falling gently to the bed, Ray mostly beneath him. He lifted his head, but before he could do more than meet Ray's eye, there were hands in his hair again, drawing him down for another long kiss. Ray twisted and wriggled his way out of his long coat, then pushed it carelessly off the bed. They rolled half onto their sides, legs sliding against each other until their erections brushed together again, gasping each others' breath away.

Reaching between their chests for Ray's buttons, his hand bumped another, and they broke their kiss long enough to share a quick chuckle before Ray shifted his attention and his mouth to Ben's throat, and it was his turn to moan. Tie in one hand, shirt placket in the other, he worked at Ray's clothes blindly, feeling his own opening to Ray's touch. Ray finished first, running a palm along his abs and up the side of his chest, pausing to circle a nipple with light touches, drawing a gasp.

His own hands suddenly jerked apart, and he realised he'd finished unbuttoning Ray's shirt, though he had no recollection of doing so, only of Ray touching him. Moving the fabric aside, he pulled up the white undershirt and slid his knuckles over the fine, soft hairs on Ray's chest and abdomen, returning to brush a peaking nipple. Breath gusted in his hair as Ray responded with a long sigh. Those so-lovely fingers trailed upward, working his flannel shirt off his shoulders; he set about returning the favour, easing the wool jacket, silk shirt and cotton tee off as he squirmed out of his own top. Folding them one-handed, Ben lay the expensive garments gingerly on the side of the bed, and couldn't help but smile when Ray pushed them to the floor along with the discarded flannel, the pile landing atop the outflung coat. Hands freed again, Ray reached for him, drawing his head down and kissing that grin away.

"Oh, Ray," he moaned as their mouths came apart momentarily, stroking the shadow-roughened cheek and running the tip of one finger just inside the waistband of Ray's pants. Ray's hips bucked up against him, tongue thrusting into his mouth to silence him again. The hand that had been kneading his buttock inched teasingly around his thigh, splaying over his hipbone, lightly touching his erection where it stood out under the thick denim. Another noise escaped him, possibly a whimper; he could feel his throat vibrate with it, but the sound was lost in the rush of blood pounding in his head. Then the hand closed over him, and he groaned, hearing a deep rumble like the creaking of an enormous tree moved by the north wind.

Almost immediately the blue eyes were focussed on him. "...Ray?"

"I - I don't know if I can do this," he whispered. His idle hand came up from his lap to rub his temple and screen him from that intense gaze.

"Ray?" the question came again. Fraser propped himself up on one elbow, started to sit up further but apparently thought better of it.

"I..." he began, then realised he didn't know what he wanted to say. He shook his head mutely. Benny was watching him, he could tell, could just see at the edge of his peripheral vision that his face was turned towards him, could feel the blue eyes still burning into him. Bringing his other hand to his head, he ran them both over his face, then over the crown of his skull, ending with them clasped at the back of his neck, head bowed. Clearly visible in his lap was proof that part of him, at least, could go through with it. If he could just get a deep breath or two, maybe he could think straight, but his lungs didn't seem to want to obey.

The voice was so soft he wasn't sure, at first, if he had really heard it. "What are you afraid of, Ray?" He squeezed his eyelids tight. It was a good question; he had wanted this, hadn't he? /Wasn't that me shouting back at the train station? Wouldn't he be far away from here right now if I hadn't bared my heart to him?/ His heart and his dick were pounding, his pulse loud in his ears; he shook his head again to clear it. Ever so lightly, Benny's hand came up, just touching his tricep, lingering, soothing. Another question came while he was trying to figure out the answer to the first: "Have you ever done this before?"

Without conscious decision his eyes were open, meeting Benny's. Something must have showed in them, because the other man nodded once, then moved his hand to Ray's shoulder, fingers kneading the tight muscles there. /My body knows when to give in/, he thought, bemused, as he started to relax, his hands releasing one another and slipping to his lap. The massaging moved to the back of his neck; a long, low moan accompanied the touches, utterly beyond his control. /I'd forgotten how stressed I was.../ His bowed head bowed further, until his forehead was practically in his lap, and the broad fingers were still seeking out and dispelling every last knot of tension, to the continuing accompaniment of his groans and gasps.

Finally, when he thought al dente pasta would stand up straighter than he could, the deep massage eased to a slow stroking up and down his bent back. His breathing evened again. Then it caught in his throat at Benny's next words, and the tone of his voice.

"My, Ray. I had no idea you were so... flexible."

His head came up from his knees. Benny wasn't breathing hard, or even especially flushed, anymore; yet somehow, the way he sat there, he looked very, very much aroused, like he could barely hold himself back. The pink tip of his tongue rested against the corner of his mouth, as it often did when he was thinking. Ray had thought he was turned on - even, or especially, after that neck rub - but the lust flooding his limbs flared suddenly. He gasped, and the muscles and tendons in Benny's throat worked.

"Ray, I... we don't have to rush this now, that is, I- well, if you're un-"

A thumb covered his mouth, cutting him off mid-babble, followed immediately by Ray's mouth. Fraser's lips opened under his, but he pulled back.

"I want you," he said, the words terrifying and at the same time oddly easy to say. Those blue eyes - he'd always thought of blue as a cold colour, but now that pale blue was pure heat - focussed on him with almost frightening intensity, the wide pupils amazingly dilating further. "I want you right here, right now, on this bed, in your arms... oh my God, Benny, I want you..." The steadiness of his voice was thoroughly unexpected. He reached for the fly of the well-worn jeans. Obligingly, Benny leaned back again, his eyes closing as the buttons opened. Ray stole a kiss, dipping his tongue teasingly in, out; then he slid off the bed to remove the boots, toeing free of his own shoes. Benny helped him ease the denim down, sat back up and brought his own hands to Ray's belt.

Fingers that had lingered on his clenched shoulders flew swiftly over the catches and fastenings and Ray's dress pants dropped around his ankles. He skimmed out of his socks, Benny doing the same, then rejoined him on the bed. He couldn't help but smile at the contrast of his dark silk boxers with the no-doubt-RCMP-issue starched white boxers. Both pairs were pulled out of drape by their contents. Laying back down, Ray slid his arm around those broad shoulders, attached his mouth to Benny's collarbone, and took the cotton-covered groin in his hand. Benny gasped his name. His fingers touched the softness of scrotal flesh, while a throbbing hardness pressed into his palm, the thin cloth separating their skin doing little to diminish the sensation. With just his thumb, he stroked up and down the length of the fabric-enclosed shaft.

Whispering his name again, Benny reached out and slid a hand up his thigh, into the leg of his boxers. One finger circled the point of his hipbone, then trailed down into the crease where his leg met his body. Ray's eyes closed, and he went still, concentrating only on not squeezing Benny too hard as that single finger teased over the fine hairs on his scrotum, drawing a tickling curve from where his balls hung within up to the base of his erection. Then the hand withdrew, only to hook its fingers in the boxers' gathered waist. "Ray," he said again, again softly, but something about his tone made the Italian raise his eyes to the face that was again ruddy with lust.

They were both naked, now. With a caressing hand on his partner's chest, he encouraged Ray to lie back down, then joined him, one leg sliding between the lean, dark-haired ones. Arms coming around one another, they found each others' mouths again and dove in for a long, wet, thrusting kiss; then they shifted closer, and their erections came in contact, skin to skin, for the first time. Ray was gasping and moaning as they stroked against each other, thighs flexing; he was probably being just as loud, if he could hear himself. He eased a hand from Ray's back down between their bodies. Finding the point of contact, Ben closed his hand around the two shafts, pressing them together. Both their erections slid against his hand, and against each other, Ray's circumcised penis unfamiliar, almost exotic, against his foreskin. /I wonder if he feels the same way about mine./

The last scrap of detachment he'd been musing with vanished as soft, slender fingers twined with his, wrapping around his hardness and Ray's own. A soft cry, almost a whimper, came to his ear with a gust of hot breath. He thought he might have answered in kind. But then Ray's tongue was trailing behind his ear, hot and wet and nuzzling, suckling his throat. Hips bucking beyond his control, he tightened his grip on Ray's neck. Tiny droplets of sweat inched down his back, Ray's leg muscles flexed against his own, a fold in the bedspread pressed into his knee, hairs on Ray's chest made his skin rise in goosebumps; he could feel touches on every part of his body, yet the disparate sensations came together in one unified perception of pleasure.

Ray imitated the caress he'd used earlier, drawing strong, delicate fingers across his swinging sac, and his world went white.

Bringing his wet hand up to his mouth, Ray licked his thumb, tasting musk and sweet-saltiness, then sucked it clean. Without even looking, he could feel those blue eyes on him, watching. He closed his own eyes, knowing it would be too much to see desire bare in Benny's eyes. /Wondering what I taste like/, he figured; the images that conjured made him gasp, and his still-throbbing hardness leap. The rest of his fingers went into his mouth en masse, his tongue working over the sticky skin, then down between them to scoop up more.

That must have been too much for Fraser, because he made a low sound, almost like a growl, and slithered down between Ray's legs. A mobile tongue chased dribbles on his thighs and belly, while callused hands held his hips down. Ray raised his knees as Benny's spread and slipped under his legs, his posture opening, his whole body imploring. The wet, teasing, tasting touch moved over him, exploring different textures, breath hot, almost steamy on his skin as Benny inhaled and exhaled deeply. A nose nuzzled against his swollen balls, sniffing intently. His lower lip slipped between his teeth; he bit down on it, only to release it a moment later when the wet touch returned, following the teasing snuffling upwards.

Benny leaned forward, and took him into his mouth. "Oh!" /Oh my god/ was what he would have said, but he was beyond speech by the first word. Hands grasping at the thick hair, he bucked up, and up. Hot and wet he knew to expect from this, Angie had done it sometimes. Everything else was a shock, burning down his nerves like a wildfire: the clever tongue rasping against his glans, the gentle suction drawing him in, the feel of the back of Benny's throat cushioning him. Something grabbed him, pulled, and he realised it was Benny swallowing. He felt spasming start deep in his groin; his balls were about to go right back up inside his body. Then the exquisite embrace of swallowing muscles closed around him again, milking him gently. Letting out a soft wail, Ray let his orgasm overcome him.

When he remembered to open his eyes, and his vision cleared, Benny was kneeling above him again, his expression an odd combination of anxiety and contentment. "I love you, Benton Frasier," he said, feeling deliriously happy.

"I love you too, Ray," he said. Their noses were touching. "I love you, too."