Author's webpage: http://persweb.direct.ca/tweek/bent.html

This is for Dawn, the only friend of mine who watches the show *and* likes Ray V. (Don't be sad, Ray V. fans: I only have three friends.)

One Man's Kink
by Mallory Klohn

Ben had a thing for Ray's neck.

It wasn't something he was obvious about-- god knew, the Mountie was a model of restraint-- but not for nothing had Ray made detective.

Sure, he'd been a little slow on the uptake; months had passed, in fact, before he'd noticed that Ben had no problem making eye contact with him as long as he was wearing a tie or a turtleneck.

And ugly as it was, the truth was that he hadn't even noticed it then.

Elaine had just sidled up to his desk one day, smirking rudely. "Hey, Ray, you get lucky last night?"

He'd glared at her. He'd been working double shifts for over a week. His clothes were rumpled, his cheeks were stubbly, and he had bags under his eyes that he was halfway sure were actually some kind of freaky eye socket tumors.

"No, Elaine, I did *not* get lucky last night. Do I *look* like I got lucky last night? Because maybe if somebody shot me in the *head*, I'd a been lucky last night--"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Vecchio, I just meant I noticed that Fraser's been staring at your neck. I thought you maybe had a hickey and he was trying to be *nice* about it."

"Do you *see* a hickey on my neck, Elaine?" he'd said grimly.

She'd squinted at him. "Nope. And I never will, with that attitude."

"Yeah, yeah. Get lost, will ya? I think Fraser's bench-pressing caribou in the evidence room."

Ray had watched Ben carefully after that. The Mountie wasn't avoiding eye contact so much as he was focusing his attention elsewhere. A very specific elsewhere.

The next day was hot, and Ray had worn his shirt open at the throat, just to see. By the time they'd left the precinct for lunch, he'd understood exactly why women got so bent out of shape when men stared at their breasts.

It was beyond him to explain how anybody could become obsessed with somebody's *neck*, though. With eyes, mouths, legs, and a whole array of wonderful, magical secret parts in between, necks rated low in Ray's own opinion; he never thought about them at all unless he was sucking on one. There was a lot you could do with a person's head, even, but the *neck*?

Ray reached over Ben's lap and popped open his glove compartment. "I'll just be a minute, Benny, you don't mind, do ya?"

"I could have looked for it myself, Ray," Ben chided him.

"Yeah, and I woulda spent the next half hour listening to why I'm doomed to eternal hellfire for chewing gum that's been sitting in the sun for--"

Ben looked stricken. "Oh, Ray, that's not the same gum you bought when--"

"See? I don't wanna hear it," he said, plunging one hand inside. "Damn, I'm sure I put it in here."

"Perhaps if you told me what you're looking for..."

"What are you, my valet? I'll find it."

He said nothing, and Ray smothered a sigh. He wasn't really looking for much of anything but an excuse to wave his neck under Ben's nose, but he figured he'd either have to come up with something to be looking for soon or get back to his side of the car.

He'd no sooner told Ben what he was doing than he'd realized what it would mean for him: just as his neck was exposed to Ben's ogling eyes, Ben's whole body was *right there*.

That wasn't how Ray wanted to play the game.

It was a stupid mistake, but it was too hot to think, and he'd been sitting too close to Ben for too long.

*How is it even statistically possible that _I_ get sent out on surveillance on the hottest day of the year, year after year? Animal Control buys ad time to talk about locking _dogs_ in hot cars, for Christ's sake. Who's looking out for Ray Vecchio and his weird friends?*

"Ray, have you considered the possibility that... whatever you're looking for... isn't there?"

Ray grunted, braced himself against the seat, and started rummaging with his other hand. As he did so, he felt a bead of sweat dribble out of his hair and down the side of his neck. Ben sighed explosively, and Ray turned to look up at him, all innocence.

"Something wrong, Benny?"

The Mountie glared quietly. "Would you like something cold to drink?"

"Yeah, sure, that'd be--" Ben was out of the car and striding down the street before Ray could finish.

To begin with, Ray had been happy to let Ben run with his latest pair of scissors. With his new outlook on the situation, he realized that Ben *had* made some small effort to explain himself once, although Ray hadn't known it at the time.

It had been something about the sex appeal of ankles in the nineteenth century, but he'd lost Ray at roughly the same time that the words "You know, Ray, in the Victorian era..." had passed his lips, which unfortunately for them both was his opening line.

"I know all about ankles, Benny," Ray had said. "They go in the small of your back, ya know?"

That had been the end of *that*.

Ray regretted that now, now that he knew about Ben's little problem. There were whole avenues of conversation that they'd never go down, and all because Ray had hoped, foolishly, that he might hear the *short* version for once.

He considered himself to be a resourceful man, though; there were other ways to tease his friend without actually coming out and saying "So, Benny, you wanna go get a sandwich, or just take a bite outta my neck?"

Arching his back extravagantly, Ray stroked his throat with the root beer can Ben had given him. "Oh, god, that feels so good..."

"It'll warm up if you do that," Ben said, staring resolutely out the passenger window.

"I don't care," the detective groaned, rolling the can across his neck. "Ohhh..."

"You know, Ray, until recently, it was possible to contract aluminum poisoning from drinking beverages out of cans."

Ray shot him a look through hooded eyes. "Sure, Benny. And how much soda are we talking about here? I mean, what's the Mountain Dew of Death, ten thousand, or ten thousand and one?"

"I'm sure it's nothing that high," Ben said confidently.

"Don't try to weasel outta this, Fraser, I wanna know. You'd have to drink them all in, what, a week, to get sick like that? Do *you* know somebody who drinks that much soda?"

Ben snatched Ray's root beer from his hand and gave him his own can of Mountain Dew. "It's still very cold," he explained. "You seem to need it more than I do."

"Thank you, Benny," he grinned. "If I didn't think I'd give myself chromosome damage, I'd stick it down my pants."

Ben choked on the root beer. "Actually, Ray," he coughed, "cold is much better for your... chromosomes... than is warmth. This is why many fertility specialists recommend wearing loose pants to men who are trying to get their wives with child."

"I was just-- aw, forget it."

In the weeks that followed, Ray acquired a startling array of new casual shirts, and took to rubbing his neck idly whenever Ben launched into another Inuit story. When the Mountie gave him several neckties in honor of Louis Riel's birthday, Ray didn't bother to check the date; his best and worst suspicions were confirmed.

But what kind of sick bastard went around staring at a guy's neck?

Ray himself was a big fan of the male stomach. He'd put in long hours contemplating Ben's nipples, his ass, his cock, his legs, his back-- thoughts of how Ben might look when he came could take up a whole afternoon.

When he tried to turn his mind to somewhat less smutty sexual pursuits, though, the one image that kept coming back to him was that of himself, looming over his friend-- who was suddenly and conveniently naked and sprawled out on Ray's bed-- and dropping wet, sucking kisses along Ben's stomach.

Ben would gasp, he'd decided. His hands would hold Ray's head in place as if Ray were giving him head. And his stomach would ripple, but he wouldn't be laughing...

Four hours into his shift, Ray finally scraped the bottom of the barrel. "So, Benny. You got three hours to live. What are you gonna do?"

Ben blinked. "Oh, you're speaking hypothetically."

"I dunno about that," Ray said moodily. "It's so fucking hot, I think the *sidewalk's* sweating right now."

"Why don't you run the air conditioning for a while?"

"No *way* am I wasting my battery on that scumbag."

"You won't be able to arrest him if you're in the hospital with hyperthermia, Ray."

Ray scowled. "Hey, Vecchios do *not* get hyperthermia, all right?"

"Frasers do," said Ben.

He looked at the Mountie. He'd been so focused on torturing Ben (and so sure of his friend's invulnerability) that somehow he'd never thought that the heat might be bothering Ben just as much as it bothered him. And yet, the proof was there, in the sheen of sweat on his face, the way his shirt stuck to his skin, in the way he squirmed in his seat, as if hoping to catch a stray breeze...

A shameful part of Ray had assumed this had something to do with the sexual potency of his neck.

"Jeez, Benny, why didn't you *say* something?"

"You'd already said all there was to say."

"So what? I'm a windbag. You don't gotta die of sunstroke so you can sit here answering a bunch of stupid questions."

Ben smiled faintly. "I liked the one about the desert island."

"You want me to call you a cab or something?"

"That's quite all right, Ray."

"You wanna take a walk?"

He eyed the detective sternly. "What would *you* do if you only had three hours to live?"

Ray ticked off his itinerary on his hand. "Call my bookie, declare my love to Angelina Jolie, eat a stuffed-cheese pizza, and... uh... pop Jerry Falwell a sweet one," he grinned. "Right in the goolies."

Ben looked offended. "Ray, that's horrible!"

"Aw, come on, Benny, I'm gonna die anyway." Ben shook his head. "Okay, okay, Mister Wonderful, you didn't say what *you'd* do."

The Mountie seemed to give the matter serious thought. "Well, I suppose I'd make peace with my loved ones, make arrangements for the legal distribution of my personal effects--"

"Uh-uh, Fraser, it's a hypothetical, remember? You gotta pick something selfish," he said with satisfaction.

Ben frowned. "Would I be sick, in this scenario?"

"You get hit by lightning," he said impatiently. "And you know it's gonna happen because you blow all your money on the Psychic Friends Network," he added when Ben opened his mouth.

"Being struck by lightning needn't be inevitable, Ray. There are perfectly sensible precautions you can take--"

"*It's magic lightning*," Ray said impatiently. "Ming the Merciless has singled you out to test his new magic lightning machine."

The look Ben gave him was loaded with dark speculation about his mental health. "Ray. Who is Ming the Merciless, and what possible grudge could he have against me?"

"Benny," said Ray with false warmth, "if you don't just answer the damn question, I'll *invent* the magic lightning machine and kill you myself."

"I'm sorry."

Ray pretended to go for his gun.

Ben held up his hands. "That won't be necessary, Ray, I assure you."

"It's *getting* necessary--"

"No. Ray." He frowned thoughtfully. "Given the flexibility of the scenario, I suppose I'd spend the time making love."

*I shoulda thought of that.* He knew an opportunity when he saw one, though. "Woo-hoo! Did you have somebody in mind for this, Romeo, or were ya just gonna plant yourself in the middle of the street wearing a sign that says MOUNTIE WITH THREE HOURS TO LIVE LOOKING FOR BRIEF BUT MEANINGFUL RELATIONSHIP?"

Ben shook his head fondly. "I don't know where you come up with these things."

Ray was starting to feel a little insulted by the whole thing. He liked to think he had more to offer the world than just his neck. He'd been told more than once that he had nice eyes, for example. Words had been exchanged over the quality of his ass. Long legs, a nose with "character"... even his baldness had been the subject of no small amount of admiration. And yet, day in and day out, Ben fixated on Ray's neck as if he'd never seen one before.

Ray wasn't too proud to exploit this weakness any way he could, but that didn't mean he wasn't developing a complex about it. When he caught himself just as he was about to ask Elaine if she thought he had kissable lips, he knew it was time to turn the screws.

"It's not Frannie, is it?"

"It doesn't matter," Ben said quickly. "I don't know why I said it."

Ray poked him in the shoulder. "Because you *meant* it, Fraser."

"It wouldn't be... kind... to make love with someone, even knowing I was about to die."

"What if, hypothetically, I mean, you could do it with somebody who didn't care if they ever saw you again?"

Ben grimaced. "Hypothetically, I wouldn't want to make love with someone like that."

"So there *is* someone," he said smugly.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to, Benny, it's all over your face. You already got your deathbed fling all planned. I shoulda known."

"Is this an appropriate discussion for a stakeout?" He looked like he was about to run off again, this time in search of something that was only available in the wilds of Greenland.

"I didn't mean nothing, Benny."

"All the same..."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it." Ray thought carefully. "Okay, how about we--"

"There he is," Ben said, leaping out of the car.

After that, what with the car wrecks, the garbage truck, the shootout, the fistfight, the fruit carts, the parade, the religious fanatics, and, eventually, the arrest, the only spare thoughts Ray had were concentrated on a profanity-enriched inner tirade about the life of a man who has to conduct a high-speed pursuit in the middle of dying of heat exhaustion.

"Look at this, will ya, Fraser?" Ray waved his ruined shirt in his friend's face. It was barely recognizable as a garment; torn wide open in the back and missing a sleeve, it reeked of just-turned bananas and something vaguely meaty. Ray had caught Dief chewing on it when he'd come out of the shower, but it had been too late for his shirt long before the wolf found it.

"That's... your shirt, I take it?"

"Yeah, if you wanna call it that. What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I think disposing of it would probably be best, Ray. Unless you'd like me to try to mend it..?"

Glaring, Ray crossed the room to Ben's window and tossed the shirt out. As dramatic gestures went, it was somewhat lacking in grandeur; the shirt failed to find a good breeze, and fluttered harmlessly to the steps of the fire escape.

Ben sighed. "Was that really necessary?"

Glumly, the detective slumped into a chair. "Did *you* want that thing in here, stinking up the place?"

"I suppose not..."

Something in Ben's voice made Ray look up at him, and then down at himself. *Oh.* Shirtless as he was, the towel he'd slung around his neck looked much whiter than white against his skin. Fighting a smile, he said, "What's with you?"

"You have a... smudge."

Thoughtlessly, he said, "I just took a shower, Benny. No *way* do I have a smudge."

"You *do*," he insisted. "It's just a little smudge, but-- well, here." He bent toward Ray and stroked a thumb along the back of his neck. Given that the smudge had to be microscopic, Ray decided that Ben took much longer to wipe it off than was strictly necessary.

"Did you find anything?" Ray squeaked.

Ben presented his thumb. "You see?"

He made a show of squinting at it. "What, you got x-ray eyes now, Fraser?"

"No, I--" he stared at Ray's chest. "Would you like to borrow a shirt?"

"It's too hot," he complained. "If I load up on your flannel, I'm gonna spontaneously combust."

"Actually, Ray--" Ben broke off, looking utterly thwarted.

Ray grinned. "You don't got anything on spontaneous combustion, right?"

"Apparently not."

His eyes were still fixed on Ray's chest. He looked absorbed, almost angry. Ray was relieved. It had something to do with the ankles. Ben had been fixated on his neck because it was the only exposed flesh on his body. Now, if only he could think of a reason why he had to remove his pants...

"Benton Fraser at a loss to contradict me," Ray said, stretching lazily. "This is some kinda special day."

The Mountie's eyes darkened further. "You're displaying yourself," he accused.

"Yeah, and *you* keep staring at me like you just got outta jail. So what?"

Ben flushed and turned away. "You noticed."

"*Noticed*? I got people down at the precinct think I'm getting a goiter, for Christ's sake."

"I had no idea," he muttered. "Well, that's not strictly true, I did have *some* idea, but you seemed so oblivious to me that I-- that this--" He cast Ray a helpless look.

"Fraser, I spent the last three weeks practically cavorting about the countryside with sausage rings around my neck, trying to crack you."

Ben looked chagrined. "Ordinarily your interrogations tend more toward..."

"Violent confrontations?"

"Well, no. I wouldn't describe them as violent confrontations so much as..."

Ray nodded. "Browbeating and pistol-whipping?"

"Let's just say you don't favor subtlety," he said generously.

"Yeah, well, don't change the subject."

"What *was* the subject?"

"Oh, don't even *try* that with me, Fraser. Don't even try." Ray began pacing the room. "So, you got this thing about my neck. Is this a general kinda detached 'I never noticed how freakishly long Ray's neck is' thing, or..."

"It's *not* freakishly long," he said reproachfully. "Your neck is--" He swallowed hard, scrubbing his neck viciously with one hand.

"What?"

"Lovely," he said quietly.

Ray decided it was the wrong time to tell him that nobody said 'lovely' anymore. "So what the hell is your problem? Because I gotta tell you, Fraser, people don't just go around staring at other peoples' necks in America. You either decide you like the whole guy or you buy a comic book."

Ben looked embarrassed. "I do."

"You do what?"

"I like you. All of you. I'm very sorry, Ray, I never intended--"

"Forget it, Benny," he said magnanimously. "The point is, you gotta *say* something, you know? You sit there spouting off for hours about every little thing, and then the first time something *important* comes along--"

"You seem to have conveniently forgotten *your* part in all of this."

"Ah, my part, schmy part. Who cares?"

"Since I'm the one who's been characterized as an idiot, *I* do," he said, stepping closer.

Ray rolled his eyes. "I didn't say you were an idiot. Did I say you were an idiot?"

"It amounts to the same thing."

"You're too patient for your own good, Benny," he said, matching Ben careful step for careful step now.

Ben shook his head as if to clear it. "What... what about you?"

Ray had expected Ben to put up more of a fight. He wasn't disappointed by Ben's apparent surrender so much as confused by it. Apart from Ray himself, Ben was easily the most stubborn man alive. "I thought you needed time to adjust," he said lamely.

"To-- what? The idea of having homosexual leanings? I've known you for *years*, Ray. How long do think it takes?"

"Oh, come on Fraser, you haven't been leering at my neck this whole time. You're so..."

Ben took another step forward. "Naive?"

"No. Just--"

"Wholesome?" he said, stepping closer still.

Ray couldn't tear his eyes away from Ben's face; he felt like he'd been hypnotized. Some crazy impulse told him to run! now! But his saner side was mesmerized by the sight of Ben Fraser in the full flush of arousal. "You're getting warmer," he squeaked.

Ben raised a brow.

"You grew up in the smallest town in Canada!" he said, exasperated. "I bet it didn't even *qualify* as a town. It was, what? A roadside turnout?"

"I'm surprised that you know so little about small towns, Ray," Ben said, taking yet another step. "Winter lasts for up to nine months in the north. Most people have nothing better to do than drink, make love with other people's spouses, and gossip about it on Monday morning. People get divorced, people get stabbed--"

"And sometimes," Ray said dramatically, "people are gay? Do you *know* how much trouble you could get into, lumping gays in with the alcoholics and murderers?"

Ben stayed where he was. "In a small town, one scandal is much the same as another. Ultimately, it's all part of the same landscape."

"Oh, god, I feel like I'm watching educational programming in hell."

"The same dynamic is at work in closeknit communities like yours, Ray," the Mountie continued patiently. "How often have you told me bizarre tales about people in your neighborhood whom you've never met?"

"Aw, I make most of that up," Ray scoffed. Ben's jaw dropped. "What, you think we really have a Mrs. Ravioli on my block?"

"I-- how did we get off on this tangent?"

Ray opened his arms wide. "Welcome to my life."

Ben took a step back. "I think--" He raked his hair and let out a long breath. "Please don't mistake my intentions, Ray, but I'd like you to leave."

"Gimme a kiss first," he demanded.

"I beg your pardon?" If Ray had claimed to be a werewolf, Ben could have looked no more surprised.

"You heard me, Benny. Lay one on me. A kiss. A smooch. A lip lock. A--"

"I understand, Ray; I just don't know what purpose it would serve."

Ray grinned and struck a pose next to Ben's refrigerator. "You don't?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," he said, blushing.

For all his objections, he continued to advance on Ray until they were nearly chest-to-chest. It was as though Ray had some kind of magnetic pull on his friend that was beyond his formidable self-control.

Ray had never had a magnetic pull on anyone before.

"Don't you want to?" he purred.

"Ohh, I want to," Ben breathed, staring at Ray's mouth. "But you tend to be somewhat..."

"Pushy?"

Ben's breath was humid against Ray's neck, now so tantalizingly within range of his mouth, that mouth, that perfect mouth. His hands flexed on Ray's hips. "I would have said enthusiastic," he murmured.

"Tell you what, Benny." Ray arched his back and tilted his head to one side. "You just do whatever makes you comfortable."

"You're shameless," he said with satisfaction.

"Are you still kicking me out?"

"Mm... not yet."

Ben bent his head and licked Ray's neck: a long, leisurely lick from collarbone to ear that seemed to last for hours. He took a moment to suck on Ray's earlobe before venturing down to his throat, along his jaw, and up to the other ear, just kissing and licking and sucking, never making a sound. Ray shivered; it seemed like Ben had been thinking about this for some time, planning it down to the last detail. He should've expected it, maybe he even had, but he wasn't prepared for it to be so...

"Benny," he sighed dreamily.

"Wait," Ben said, mouthing Ray's Adam's apple. "Say something *now*."

"Ohh," he gasped, "you are one sick puppy, Fraser."

Ben made a contented noise before moving his explorations down to the hollow of Ray's throat, his hands kneading Ray's chest, stroking his nipples, making him squirm. Then, abruptly, Ben let him go, breathing hard.

"You have to go."

"Benny, you can't just go sucking on a guy's neck like it's your two o'clock feeding and then boot him outta your apartment."

He knew he was whining, but he didn't care. He could barely stand; he doubted he could walk. And he needed Ben's mouth on him again like he needed any other basic human requirement.

"We're not thinking clearly," Ben said reasonably. "It's been a long day. I don't want it to happen like that."

"You're nuts!" Ben opened his mouth to reply, but Ray cut him off. "No, no, you're *not* nuts, you're sick. You're a *sadist*, Fraser. *Look* at me!"

His eyes darkened. "That's how this all started," Ben reminded him. "Please, Ray, if we're clearheaded--"

"Benny," he said defeatedly, "some things weren't meant to be done with a clear head."

"I can't apologize."

"Ah, I don't want you to," he sighed, waving a hand. "I'm just..."

"I understand."

Ray looked at him, then; really looked. He knew he looked a little seedy even on his best days. His father had left him the house, an attitude problem, and ten a.m. shadow. Ben, on the other hand, could spend the weekend on a whirlwind tour of Rollercoasters of the World while constantly being hosed down with acrylic paint and pencil shavings and still come out of it looking like he'd just finished up with Hair & Makeup.

Now, though, his hair was mussed, his mouth was swollen, and his shirt looked like it had been rolled up in a ball and left on the fire escape for days. Ray preferred not to think of how he'd have felt if Ben had still looked April Fresh after the big neck-sucking.

"So, goodnight," Ben prompted him, gently tugging him toward the door, shoving him into the hallway, and shutting the door in his face as politely as possible.

"Yeah, goodnight," Ray said snidely. "God bless. For Christ's sake, Fraser, I'm not even wearing a *shirt*!" Ben opened the door, handed Ray a shirt, and closed it again.

Ray could feel Ben watching him expectantly before he even looked up to meet his friend's gaze. "What? I got a stain or something?"

"I was just thinking..."

He grinned. "Oh yeah?"

"Your eyes take on an unusual... intensity... when you're shooting at someone."

"Well, I gotta tell ya, Benny, you get into a life-or-death situation, I hope you're gonna feel a little tense."

Ben looked startled. "Do *I* look like that?"

"You? You look like you're trying to get it over with in time to get home for the big eleven o'clock recap on the weather channel."

"I do not," he said, looking affronted.

"You do too. You could be fighting a yawn for all the tension in you."

He looked away. "I don't know where you got it from, Ray, but you have this idea that I'm impervious, and I'm not. I'm just... not."

"Okay, okay, so you're pervious. You're helpless. You're a weenie. I fear for my life with you as my backup. You happy now?"

Ben frowned. "If you feel that way--" he broke off with a yelp when Ray reached across his desk and pinched the Mountie's ass.

"Yeah, you got buns of dough, there, Benny," he grinned. "I don't know how you make it outta bed in the morning."

"Was that really necessary? Anyone could have seen."

Ray gave him a look. In one of those moments that seemed all too rare to him, everyone who should have been in the bullpen was somewhere else.

"Still," Ben continued doggedly, "it's hardly appropriate to... uh..." Ray snaked his hand up the inside of Ben's thigh, squeezing gently every few inches. "Or rather, if you're going... to..." His voice turned harsh, then. "Don't. God, *don't*," he said," scrambling off the desk.

"I guess I'm *kinda* sorry..."

"Lieutenant Welsh is coming."

"What are you, the Six Million Dollar Man?" There was really no point in questioning Ben, though, and he knew it. Less than a minute later, he heard the lieutenant's bellow for himself.

"This is unfortunate," said Ben.

"Getting ginger ale when you wanted 7-Up is unfortunate, Benny. This *blows*."

"You seem rather preoccupied with soda lately, Ray."

"Childhood trauma," he explained.

"Ah." He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.

"I'm kidding, Fraser."

"Of course."

Ray glared balefully at the thick stack of files on his desk. "I'm gonna die of natural causes before I get through with this," he grumbled.

"Nonsense, Ray. With both of us working on it, we should be able to finish in no more than four or five hours."

"Yeah, that's great, Benny, thanks. You're really giving me hope, here." He sipped his coffee angrily. "I'm telling you, Fraser, I think we should just sneak outta here and make like we never saw it."

Ben sighed. "Ray. We've been here for over an hour."

"So we lingered over our Cheetos," he said. "Never made it to my desk." He leaned toward his friend conspiratorially. "Come on, nobody has to know. We'll run. I'll leave my cell in the men's room, we--"

"Vecchio, it's about time you got back," Lieutenant Welsh called across the bullpen. "Did you take the Constable to see the Pennsylvania Dutch?"

"Good evening, Leftenant," Ben said heartily, coming to his feet.

"Oh, for god's sake," Ray muttered.

"I understand that our extended absence may seem unusual, but I assure you that we have a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"I'm sure you do, Constable, but I don't have a lot of time right now."

"It'll only take a moment, sir," Ben assured him, gesturing toward Welsh's office. "If I may?"

"Vecchio?" Welsh said weakly.

"Ah, you'll like this one, sir. It's got everything: true love, medieval intrigue, pirates, sword fights--"

"Now, that's not true in the strictest sense," said the Mountie, "although I admit there is a certain element of the swashbuckler to the whole affair--"

Welsh backed away slowly. "That's enough. Go home. Both of you. And Vecchio, I want you in here first thing tomorrow, no excuses. *And* I want your report on my desk by ten o'clock."

"How do you *do* that?" Ray demanded when Welsh was safely in his office.

"Do what?" Ben said blankly.

Ray threw up his hands. "Are you hungry, or what?"

"It really wouldn't be wise to consume a meal this late in the evening," Ben chided him, stroking his eyebrow thoughtfully. "Unless you intend to stay up all night, which again isn't a truly healthful decision, what with the ordinary workaday stresses of your job--"

"Benny!" Ray had never yet interrupted his friend with a hissed *Will you for Christ's sake just shut the hell up?*, and he wasn't about to start.

"Ray," Ben said heavily.

"One cheeseburger isn't going to kill you. Ah-ah-ah," he cut in when Ben opened his mouth again. "I don't give a rat's ass about Jimmy Knock Knees in Upper Heart Attack who choked to death on a bad McChicken when you were ten, so don't even think about it."

Ben glared at him sullenly.

"In case you didn't notice," Ray went on sarcastically, "We're entering into an exciting new phase of our relationship. A sexual phase," he elaborated, clearly enunciating every syllable. "I'm thinking we could eat the cheeseburgers, then work off the calories and forget the shame of it all at the same time. Are you still with me?"

"That's not very romantic, Ray," he sulked.

"Yeah, well, we can't all be Barry White Sultans of Seduction like you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I got one word for you, Benny: *Nosferatu*."

The Mountie blushed. "There's no need to be--"

Ray scooped up the heap of files, dumped them in his desk drawer, and leapt to his feet. "I'm leaving now," he said. "You wanna stay here all night, go right ahead."

He didn't look back on his way out to see if Ben was following him, but then, he didn't have to. If their friendship had taught him anything, it was that the Mountie couldn't sleep nights unless he knew that all of Ray's pencils were sharpened and all his pens were capped.

It was a weird way for a guy to shine his love on somebody, but Ray took whatever he could get.

By the time he made it to the Riv, Dief was with him, apparently having decided that he was better off staying with the guy who'd brought up cheeseburgers than with a man who timed himself as he ate to make sure he didn't make a glutton of himself in the twenty-minute period before a body knows it's full.

"Forget it, man," Ray told the wolf. "You know what he's like. Soon as I whip out my Little Debbie Swiss Rolls, he pops up outta nowhere, moaning about your delicate digestive system. You think I care about your delicate digestive system?"

Dief had already lost interest in him, forsaking their conversation for a crumpled Arby's bag on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, story of my life," he grumbled. Ray got in the car and turned on the radio. *Emmylou Harris makes it all taste good.* He blinked. *What the hell does _that_ mean?*

He was a pathetic slob, and he knew it. It could be hours before Ben finished doing his sacred duty, but Ray would wait. He would always wait. Ideally, he wanted to take Ben back to his hovel and suck all the polysyllabic words out of his vocabulary, but just going to bed *anywhere*-- with or without his friend-- was starting to sound like Xanadu to him.

It had been a typically long, typically strange day, and Ben had been typically reasonable about everything. It was starting to get on Ray's nerves. Was it really too much to ask that Ray not be the only one who could think of things he'd rather have done with his evening? Ben couldn't let it slide even once. The law wasn't just the Criminal Code to him; it was every goddamned rule of etiquette, it was company policies, it was the twisted crap Ray was sure he made up on the spot...

*Oh god, maybe he really _is_ insane. Maybe he's one of those guys who go home and put mouse traps on their nipples because they forgot to wash their hands before lunch.*

"I always gotta go for the psychos," he muttered.

The passenger side door swung open and Dief leapt into the back seat. "Ray!" Ben said, dropping gracefully into his own seat, looking pleased.

Ray sighed. Even after all this time, more often than not, Ben sounded for all the world as if it had never occurred to him that Ray might wait for him. The sun rose and set, and when Ray said he was leaving, Ben put on his walking hat.

"It's about time," he griped. "What happened, you couldn't leave without cleaning all the guns in the evidence room?"

"You've been waiting no more than fifteen minutes," Ben assured him.

"Fifteen minutes I'll never have back," said Ray, starting the car and swerving into the street.

"With thee conversing I forget all time; all seasons, and their change-- all please alike." In the darkness of the car, his voice sounded husky and sexy and not at all like the robust superhero voice Ray was used to. "John Milton," he added, as if this would mean something to Ray.

Ray grinned at him. "You deserve a break today. Ronald McDonald."

He nodded solemnly. "Understood."

"You know what I like about you?" Ben shook his head. "Your nose."

"My... nose?"

"Yeah. You're this big guy, right? You got a big voice, big hands, big *whatever*, and you got this little button nose."

"I'm hardly a *giant*, Ray."

"You're bigger than me," he said.

"I may be more... substantial..."

"Bigger," Ray muttered around a mouthful of fries.

"Be that as it may, I'm no stronger than you, certainly no more capable than you--"

"Hey hey hey, I didn't bring it up 'cause I wanted you to stroke me, Fraser. I'm just saying, you got a button nose and I like it, all right?"

"Of course, Ray."

Ray had taken pity on Ben and foregone the dubious charms of over fifty billion sold for a quiet diner somewhere in the no man's land between his house and Ben's apartment. It was a good idea; for a man who had such deep-seated philosophical objections to eating a meal any later than six p.m., Ben certainly had made short work of his cheeseburger.

As he watched his friend diligently masticate his coleslaw, Ray's thoughts continued the downward spiral they'd begun while he'd waited for Ben in the car. Sometimes his mind took unforeseen turns into places he'd rather not have gone. He always felt vaguely cheated when this happened; finding out that things were much worse than he'd thought they were was bad enough without it happening in the privacy of his own head.

One minute he was admiring Ben's dexterity while the Mountie cut his pickle into bite-sized pieces, and the next, he found himself thinking about how it was Ben who'd put on the brakes when things had started to get sweaty in his apartment. Ben who'd started pulling all the weird assignments at the Consulate. Ben who'd objected to having dinner with him. Ben who was either dying of starvation or clearly and obviously stalling while he carefully pared slices from the aging cantaloupe wedge that had only been put on his plate as a garnish anyway.

There were probably thousands of explanations for his behavior, but Ray could see only one.

"You don't wanna do this, do you?" he accused, pointing at Ben with his fork.

Ben looked puzzled. "On the contrary, Ray; it appears that I had more of an appetite than I imagined."

"Not-- not--" he waved his hands helplessly. "Hey, if you eat that parsley, I'm outta here, I swear to god." Ray gave him the package of crackers that had come with his soup. "Here. Don't forget to take the plastic off."

"Thank you kindly," he beamed.

He looked exactly the same; that was the worst part. He'd gone after Ray's neck like a deer at a salt lick, and when Ray looked in the mirror, he saw a man who'd been licked by the best. A man whose most valued friendship had taken a sudden, surprising, stupefying turn. A man who finally saw that there was maybe more to life than living and dying and putting up with a lot of bullcrap in between.

Ray couldn't ask him again. He'd almost popped a heart valve doing it once.

"I like your hat," Ben said.

"What?"

"The hat you wear in cold weather. Well, it's really more of a cap, I suppose, or a toque." He met Ray's eyes and smiled warmly. "I like that hat very much."

"You like my hat."

"Yes."

"That's great, Benny. That's really... great."

"I've offended you."

"No, no," Ray said, "I'm really glad that my *hat* does it for you. I mean, as long as I have that hat, I know I'll always be... thirty-five... to you."

"Ray." Ben gave him a look full of reproach. "I'm sure you realize that it's not the hat that interests me so much as the way it looks on you."

Ray stared at him for a full minute before he could speak again. "You sure got some weird kinks, Benny."

The awkwardness Ray felt in Ben's apartment that night was something he hadn't felt in his friend's company since the day they'd met and Ray had referred to the murder of Ben's father as "the dead Mountie thing".

Which had been pretty fucking awkward, as he remembered it, even if Ben had been his usual courteous self about it. (Ray had noticed that Ben's usual courteous self had the power to make innocent people feel like the Antichrist. More than once he'd thought about asking Ben if he'd ever explored his passive-aggressive tendencies.)

He'd been on dates that had turned out this way, the evening more or less at an end and the question of the finale up in the air. Maybe they'd end up in bed together, maybe they wouldn't, and if they did, how, and when? Ray understood why some men turned to working girls when he had dates like those. He'd always secretly yearned for a woman who would just say to *hell* with the coffee, unzip his pants, and say, "All right, let's go."

It was different with Ben, though. This was the first time to beat all first times, a first time that would determine the course of a friendship that had surpassed even the strangely political friendships of his childhood, when you could forge an unbreakable bond with someone by trading sandwiches with him over recess.

This kind of pressure, Ray didn't need.

For better or worse, Ben seemed to be aware of the dynamics of their situation himself. He'd given up on the coffee early on, and had taken to pacing the apartment, making sure his trunk was arranged just so, adjusting the wick in his lantern, shaking out his rug. Every so often he would look to Ray and smile faintly, then go back to placing his eggs in a uniform position in the refrigerator tray or banging the dent out of one of his Sierra cups.

Sighing, Ray stood up and shrugged into his jacket. "Look, Benny, I'm just gonna go home, all right?"

"No."

Ray blinked. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he said, putting away the Sierra cup. "After all that's happened between us, I never imagined that there could be a situation in which I would feel..."

There was a decision to be made, here. If Ray went home, that would be the end of it. They'd keep putting it off, and putting it off, and then one of them would get kidnapped or shot or brainwashed or something and they'd just forget about it.

If he stayed, he had about four minutes to do something, *anything*, before Ben launched into some bizarre story about the raven and the raven, thus destroying what little was left of Ray's bad intentions.

It had to be him, too. After years on guard duty at the consulate, Ben was an expert at standing around doing nothing. He just stood there, staring at Ray with a look on his face that was somewhere between apprehension and anticipation. Ray would have to decide, about this, about everything, because no matter how Ben behaved in his daily life, he clearly had no faith in himself about this.

Ray took off his jacket.

"You're staying, then," Ben said.

"Looks like it," Ray replied, unbuttoning his shirt.

"You're... undressing?"

"That's what I like about you, Benny: you don't miss a thing." Ben didn't move, but Ray didn't let that stop him; he hung his shirt over the back of a chair, sat down, and took off his shoes and socks. Ben just watched, eyes dark, mouth open just slightly. When Ray's hands came to the button of his pants, Ben swallowed audibly.

"Okay," said Ray, "we're talking full frontal nudity, here." Ben was silent. "Blink twice if you're fine."

"I'm..." He set his jaw and stumbled across the room to Ray. "Please," he said, covering Ray's hands with his own, "allow me." He kept his eyes on their hands like lives were at stake.

"You look like you're headed to a public caning," Ray said softly.

Ben's head shot up, and when their eyes met, he crushed Ray to the wall with a whimper, catching his mouth in a bruising kiss.

Ray had time to think "Holy crap!" before he lost the power to form whole sentences entirely. Ben might not have kissed as many people as, say, Madonna, but he seemed to be intent on making up for lost time. Ben kissed with passion and desperation and a great deal of honest, animal lust. Ray had been kissed passionately or desperately or lustfully in the past, but never before had he been the recipient of all three.

Now was not the time to wonder what would've happened at Donna Lamonica's house that time if he'd just taken off his pants instead of bringing up the death penalty, though.

Before he knew what was happening, his pants and boxers were in a tangle around his knees and Ben was stroking him roughly with one hand while trying to take off his own clothes with the other.

"Wait," Ray gasped when Ben pulled back to take a breath. Ben fastened his mouth to Ray's neck with a happy groan. "Jeez, Benny, slow down a minute." He pulled himself together enough to grab Ben's wrist. "Come on."

"*I need you*." He said it like he'd been holding it back all his life, at considerable cost to his peace of mind.

"You got me, man, I'm not going anywhere."

Ben let him go with a sigh, resting his forehead on Ray's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't be," said Ray, quietly unbuttoning Ben's shirt. "This is all right. I mean, it's great." He eased the shirt off Ben's shoulders and went to work on his pants. "I just don't want it to be over before we get started, you know what I mean?"

He stepped out of his own pants and stood back, watching Ben expectantly. As soon as understanding dawned on him, he stripped off the rest of his clothing, then bounded forward to catch Ray close again.

"Benny!" he squeaked.

"You're not going anywhere," Ben murmured. "That's what you said."

"Well, I'm not."

"So there'll be time enough to take time next time." With smooth, deliberate movements, he began a sort of dance with Ray, swaying against him, making sure their cocks connected solidly every few seconds. "I'd like to answer your question now."

"When..." his eyes fluttered closed. "Oh... when did I ever ask you a question?"

"A name," Ben sighed against his ear, his hands sliding down Ray's back to cup his ass. "If I had three hours to live."

Ray mustered up enough contrariness to snort. "Me, right?"

Ben froze.

"You all right?"

"For an Italian, you're not very romantic, Ray."

"You keep saying that," he said. Ben was silent. "Oh, what, because we're a passionate people, we must be romantic? Did Al Capone strike *you* as the Last of the Red Hot Lovers, Benny?" He bumped his cock against Ben's hopefully. Ben never moved. "Aw, jeez..."

"Let's not talk," Ben said decisively.

"I been waiting three *years* to hear that from you, man." Grinning happily, Ray buried his hands in Ben's hair and tugged him in for a long, hot kiss.

Ben's hips began moving again, twisting with him as he steered Ray toward his bed. His hands were everywhere; no part of Ray's body was safe. He approached sex the same way he approached the rest of his life: with a peculiar combination of youthful enthusiasm and mature experience. Growing up hadn't spoiled his innocence; it had only made him seem slightly perverse.

He backed Ray against the bed and knocked him down, falling on top of him with a grateful moan.

"Ray, I love you."

Ray giggled. "No way."

"I suppose it *is* rather... apparent." He propped himself up on his elbows, regarding Ray solemnly.

"Aw, don't go getting all bent outta shape," Ray said, parting his legs to cradle Ben's hips. "You know I love ya back."

Ben settled on top of him and kissed him again, using one hand to hold his head in place while the other snaked down between them to stroke Ray's cock. "I want..."

"Anything, Benny," he gasped. "You name it."

He released Ray's cock and slid his hand down further, till he was prodding Ray's opening with one careful finger. "Have you ever..?"

"Coupla times, yeah."

Ben blinked. "*Really*."

"Yeah, *really*. You think I'd yank you at such a delicate moment?"

"Of course not," he said.

Ben's finger was inside him, gently massaging his prostate while he licked Ray's earlobe. His asking Ray about his experience, while exceedingly polite, was clearly a formality.

Ray squirmed beneath him. "I'm just gonna assume that you got something around here somewhere, some lotion or something."

"I do," he said, looking pleased.

"But you'd have to get up to get it."

"I would." He looked down at Ray in consternation. "I don't suppose you'd consider--"

Ray didn't have to look down at him. "Nooo."

"Of course." Sighing heavily, he withdrew his finger from Ray's ass and climbed off the bed.

Smiling contentedly, Ray closed his eyes and stretched. "This bed ain't so bad," he said. "I'm not saying I'd wanna have my coma here or nothing--" He broke off with a gasp when Ben landed on the mattress beside him, his hand already busily preparing Ray's ass.

"Jeez, Benny, would it've killed you to warn me or something?"

"Sorry, Ray." He knelt between Ray's legs, stroking the detective's cock with his free hand. "I wish you could see the way you move."

"You're the acrobat, buddy," he gasped. "God, I thought you didn't want to talk."

"I'm enjoying this," he said, smiling. "Watching you struggle to pay attention."

Ray moaned softly. "You're a sadist. Didn't I say?"

"You did." Ben withdrew his hand again. He slung Ray's legs over his shoulders. Then he blinked. "Your ankles don't come anywhere *near* the small of my back, Ray."

"Keep thinking, Benny. You'll figure it out."

Ben pushed inside him slowly, his breath coming out in shallow pants. Ray watched raptly as Ben's eyes fluttered closed and his face contorted in pleasure.

"I wondered what you'd look like," he gasped. "When you came."

"Ray," he said dreamily. "Oh, *Ray*..." He began to thrust slowly, gripping Ray's thighs, whimpering sexily.

Ray took his cock in one hand and began stroking himself in counter-rhythm with Ben's thrusts. Gradually he pushed harder against Ben's cock, and Ben thrust harder in response, till the bed was thumping against the wall and both men were moaning incoherently, keeping up the act of fucking without conscious thought.

Ray enjoyed himself, but he enjoyed this more. There was no past here, no future, no present, even, just the profound physicality of sex, just Ray and Ben, without their similarities or differences or shared history or anything but the need that drove them.

He opened his eyes, then, and saw Ben straining over him, his fine features taut with passion, flushed and sweaty. Ben looked down at him, at his face and his chest and his hand on his cock, and he stiffened, moaning brokenly.

"Ray," he rasped, "it has to be now. *Now.*"

"I thought... he had... all night."

"Ray, *please*." His thrusts grew more erratic by the second.

Ray let go, bucking hard, coming harder, his voice breaking on Ben's name.

Ben came with a moan, collapsing on top of him before he was even done.

"Fellatio," he said weakly, after they'd caught their breath.

Ray grinned. "Right now?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ray," he said, spooning up behind the detective. "I'm spent."

"Yeah, you sure are, Benny."

"I meant, in order for my ankles to rest comfortably in the small of your back, you'd have to be in a position to perform fellatio on me."

"You sound like you just solved a complex math problem, Fraser."

Ben kissed the back of his neck.

The end, goddamn it.