"You're doin' it again, Fraser!"

The Mountie jolted. "Ray?" he asked as innocently as only a Mountie could.

"You were doin' it earlier and now yer doin' it again."

When this garnered a confused look from Fraser, Ray sighed. "That... that thing... with your..." Ray gestured wildly, trying to indicate that Fraser had been fidgeting with his hair quite peculiarly for several minutes.

They were sitting in the lunchroom of the 27th Precinct, finishing off what masqueraded as a couple of hamburgers. Throughout lunch, Ray had been quietly watching Fraser, but he was starting to get vibes or something.

"What are you saying, Ray?" Fraser was blushing. Which was weird.

Ray grinned. "Look, Frase. You have Mountie hair. Mountie hair is perfect. It's tidy. It's sleek. It's never out of place. Although after all that messin' you've been doin' with it, it's kinda..." He reached over, but just before his fingers touched the dark bangs, he quickly withdrew.

Fraser frowned and raised his hand to the top of his head to find a tuft of hair sticking out ramrod-straight from his forehead. "Oh dear." He quickly pushed it down with more force than strictly necessary, ignoring the funny looks he received from the next few tables.

"So, what's up? Aside from both our hairdos, that is?" Ray was milking the joke for all it was worth.

Fraser avoided his eyes.

"Come on, Fraser, you can tell Uncle Ray."

That got Fraser's attention. "Uncle? Ray, I need hardly point out that you are far too young to be my uncle or, for that matter, to be considered an uncle-like figure of..."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're gonna talk my ears off about it." Ray shook his head and picked up his half-full mug of coffee, swirling it around. He glanced into it, finding it thick and viscous with M&Ms.

"I apologize, Ray. But there really is nothing 'up' that I would wish to tell you about."

Ray looked into a pair of impossibly innocent blue yes. "Ya know, Frase. From anyone else, that would sound... dirty. Or at least odd. But I guess 'odd' is your middle name." He rose and picked up his jacket, ready to go back to work.

Fraser rose as well. "In actual fact, Ray, my middle name is Benedict. Well, that is one of them."

Unperturbed by Ray shaking his head, he continued while following his partner down the corridor and back to Ray's desk, the both of them accompanied by Dief. "There is also Andrew, Robert, Montgomery, Harvey..."

"Harvey?" Ray stopped and turned so suddenly that Fraser crashed into him. Ray was smirking. "Like the big white rabbit?"

"Excuse me?" Now it was Fraser's turn to be confused.

Ray explained. "There's this movie with Jimmy Stewart and he has this buddy and he keeps talking to it."

"You mean to 'him', surely."

"No, Frase. I mean 'it'. Now shut up. This is my story here."

"Right you are, Ray. Please, continue." Fraser went into his at-attention stance.

"Anyway, he has this buddy he calls Harvey, only Harvey is a giant white rabbit and invisible." When Ray saw Fraser's confused look, he quickly added. "To everyone but him. You see, *he* can see him as I can see you."

"Ray, why are you comparing me to a giant white rabbit?"

"Forget it, Fraser! Geez, if a story doesn't include inkchook-thingies and seals and blubber, you don't get it, do ya?"

"I think you're being unfair, Ray," Fraser said, sounding a little hurt. "You must admit that a man talking to an invisible rabbit is a little bit odd."

"Ha! See? Odd!" Ray declared triumphantly before picking up the pace towards his desk and an afternoon's work. "That's why I told you about it. I thought you could... ya know... identify with it." And as an afterthought, he said with a quick glance and cheeky smirk back at Fraser. "Harvey."

"Harvey?" Huey exclaimed from his desk as Ray and Fraser passed him. "Like Jimmy Stewart's rabbit?"

Fraser once again wondered if perhaps the reason he tended to feel out of place here in Chicago was because he had some large gaps in his knowledge of popular American culture.

"Same one," Ray muttered under his breath.

Lt. Welsh came out of his office. "Vecchio, where's that file I asked you to work on this morning?"

"Getting there," Ray responded, reaching for a manila folder peeking out from underneath a pile of papers on his desk.

"Well, get there now!" Welsh ordered grouchily and disappeared again into his office at the back.

"I should go and leave you to it," Fraser offered. "You appear to be quite busy."

"Yeah, sure. Uh, Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray." Fraser fingered his Stetson.

"I still want to know why you were twirling your hair before."

"Right you are." There and then didn't seem a good place or time or bring it up, so Fraser quickly muttered an apology for running off. "I'll tell you later, Ray."

"Okay." Ray's eyes followed the Mountie and his wolf out the doors of the 27th until they was entirely out of sight. Then, he shook his head and plopped down in his chair with a sigh, reaching for the dreaded file. "Freak," he muttered, but an affectionate smile curled his lips.

They'd decided to go for some Mexican later that evening, so Ray picked Fraser up outside the Consulate close to 9 pm.

"Good evening, Ray. You're late," were Fraser's first words when he climbed into the GTO.

Ray didn't turn to face him immediately. "Yeah, well. Punctuality isn't everything."

"Considering that you told me you were going to pick me up at 8 pm, I don't believe 'unpunctual' even comes close."

Ray's head snapped around and he found himself confronted, or rather confounded, by Fraser dressed in a pair of black leather pants, a white T-shirt and a light brown suede jacket. And was that 'Obsession' he detected in the air?

"Fuck *me*!"

"Pardon me, Ray?" Fraser's voice cracked.

Ray coughed nervously, his eyes roving down Fraser's body, lingering a little on his legs, and quickly coming back up. "Yeah, I guess you'd be kinda uncomfortable waitin' in those, Fraser buddy. Sure they're not gonna snap?"

"I don't follow, Ray." Fraser looked a little flushed.

Probably hot in all that leather, Ray figured. "Geez, Fraser. Those pants!"

"You don't like them." Fraser looked a little dejected. "If you want me to, Ray, I will go back inside and change."

"No!" Ray exclaimed, reaching to grab Fraser's arm before he could rush out of the car. "I mean, there's no need. I don't care what kind of pants you're wearing." And for emphasis... "Your pants are of *no* interest to me, buddy. I do not dislike or *like* your pants."

"Certainly not, Ray."

"Right." Ray reached up to loosen the collar of his T-shirt - not questioning why his T-shirt would be too tight around the neck - and started up the car. "It's late anyway. You told me so. So let's just go."

"Yes, Ray."

As Ray pulled out into the street, he couldn't resist asking, "Uh, you wearin' perfume, Fraser?"

"Just a little, Ray."

"Right." Ray snorted. "And the Queen's just a little English."

Fraser smiled, but not in Ray's direction. He was looking outside, watching the city lights flash by.

Those same lights once in a while reflected off the glossy leather of the Mountie's pants, just brightly enough to distract Ray temporarily. 'I shoulda made him go back and change...' he told himself.

Feeling kind of scruffy next to glamour-boy in his own worn denims, sloppy but comfy pale blue shirt and gray T-shirt, Ray entered the 'Hacienda' a step ahead of Fraser.

The pleasantly spicy mix of onions, fried peppers and warm tortillas actually overpowered Fraser's, um... perfume, and Ray was kinda relieved about that. Since they'd driven away from the Consulate, he'd been developing a bit of an obsession for 'Obsession'.

"Where d'ya wanna sit?" Ray asked, only to find Fraser already headed past him and walking towards the table furthest from the 'action' and, incidentally, the other folks in the place.

"Oooookay," Ray conceded, following the Mountie's lead obediently and telling himself that he would *not* be caught checking out Fraser's leather-clad butt on the way there. It wasn't as if Fraser wasn't already getting plenty of stares from around the place.

"Is this alright, Ray?" Fraser asked cautiously when they settled in.

"Yeah, sure. So long as they don't mind us just plopping down here without checking."

Fraser smiled and picked up the menu, quite unperturbed. "You needn't worry about that, Ray. I have reserved this table by phone in advance."

"You did what?" Ray was astonished. How on Earth had Fraser wound up booking the dimmest, most remote table in this place? And... he had booked ahead?

"I thought it cautious, considering it's a Friday night and this is a very popular restaurant." Of course, as always, it was all perfectly reasonable. Damn Mountie logic.

Ray settled back, deciding not to think too hard but instead enjoy the soft candle light and the rhythmic, sensual music coming from the bandstand.

They ordered their meal shortly after and Ray was just beginning to think he'd read too much into the table-thing earlier when he noticed Fraser staring - yes, staring - at him from across his lime punch.

"What? Fraser, you're freakin' me!"

"I am?"

Ray straightened up in his seat a little. "What are you lookin' at me like that for?"

"Like what, Ray?" Fraser's eyes were an even softer shade of blue in the dim lighting, and it didn't bode well.

"Like you... like I... um..."

"How did you get on with that urgent file earlier today?" Fraser asked as out of the blue as a bolt of lightning shooting from a clear summer sky.

"Huh?"

"The file Lt. Welsh requested from you this afternoon. Did you finish it?"

Ray shook himself. "What the heck does that have to do with..." He realized he was being unnecessarily rude, but Fraser had him on edge bit time. "Yeah, I did. It's on his desk."

"Ah. He will be pleased."

Pause. Long pause, in fact, because just then, the waiter brought their food.

"Thanks, Jesús." Ray grinned.

"Enjoy your meal, Señores," Jesús said, returning the smile.

"Gracias," Fraser said politely, spreading his napkin across his lap. And Jesús left them to it.

Ray had already started digging in. Nothing like Chicken Enchiladas after a long day at work.

Fraser watched the gusto with which Ray ate and smiled. He was much more restrained than his partner, who never did anything slowly, as he sampled the bean salad. "This is quite delicious. How about yours, Ray?"

"Mmmphh..."

"Never mind." Fraser smiled. He picked one of the bread stick from the basket in the center of the table and started nibbling on it.

"You not hungry, Frase?" Ray asked, noting that the Mountie was eating even more politely than usually.

"Not really, Ray." Fraser took another bite rapidly as if to reassure Ray.

"You okay?"

Fraser nodded, warmed by the concern in his friend's eyes. "Of course, Ray. I'm certain the cause of my lack of appetite is the mint chocolate tarts Turnbull made earlier this afternoon. I may have... over-indulged."

Ray grinned as if that really pleased him. "You mean you stuffed yerself with sweets."

"I did not *stuff* myself, Ray," Fraser said a little indignantly. "But Constable Turnbull's tarts very nearly qualify as a national treasure and they're rather difficult to resist."

This seemed to amuse Ray even more. "Who'd 'a thought. Somethin' to take away that Mountie restraint. I can just imagine the two of you, politely pushing a plate of tarts back and forth, none of ya wanting to grab one first... and then, when no one's looking, you're both all over them." Ray chuckled.

Fraser wanted to protest, but unfortunately, Ray's description of the scenario was not that far from the truth. "Well, perhaps..."

"I knew it!" Ray beamed. "So, there are actually limits to a Mountie's restraint?"

Fraser looked up from his plate where he had been pushing a few beans and strips of bell peppers back and forth. His eyes were narrowed, but not the way they would be if he were angry. He just looked really... focused.

"There are indeed, Ray," he said.

Ray gaped at him. He knew he was gaping, but he couldn't help it. Had Fraser's voice just dropped? And why was he lookin' at him like that? "Hnnh..." he muttered for lack of something better to say.

"You seem surprised?" Fraser challenged.

"Uh... yeah. I mean, I just can't really imagine ya just sorta... pouncing on something, just 'cause you really want it." Ray had a sudden flash of a sleek black panther pouncing on *him* across the table. Damn those leather pants!

Fraser smiled. "Well, I wouldn't say *pouncing*, Ray. But if you are asking me whether a Mountie can have... desires stronger than the need for order and discipline, then..."

Ray grabbed at that collar of his again. He did *not* need Fraser telling him about desires and stuff. He downed a large dose of the punch, thinking how he had to find out a bit more about this.

"So..." Ray swallowed. "What does a Mountie do instead of pouncing?"

Fraser smiled softly and Ray's eyes were fixed on his lips. "He bides his time, Ray."

"He bites his..." Ray let out a harsh laugh. "Okay, Frase. You nearly had me there. That's got nothin' to do with desire! If ya can wait around, then trust me, ya don't really want it."

"Patience is a virtue, Ray."

"Why did I know you were gonna say that?"

Fraser tilted his head, giving Ray a quizzical look.

"What?" Ray asked with a nervous chuckle.

"Ray, are you telling me that you don't believe something truly worth having should be approached carefully?"

Ray looked utterly confused. "You mean... proper preparation and all that?"
When Fraser nodded, he added in an awed tone of voice, "Damn, Frase, you gotta get me some of those tarts!"

Fraser bit his lip. It was amazing how slow on the uptake an intelligent man like his partner could be. Perhaps it was time for a slightly less subtle approach.

"If you would like to come home with me later, Ray, I would be more than happy to give you some."

Blinking once, twice... no, it was still Fraser sitting there. Which could only mean he had either heard wrong or his mind was cruisin' down the gutter in a speedboat tonight.

"Ray?"

"Yeah, okay, Fraser. That'll be great."

Fraser smiled. "How is your dinner?"

Change of topic. Good. Ray didn't even care that the question had already come up and had been answered. "It's... great, Fraser. How 'bout yours?"

Instead of a reply, Fraser lifted another breadstick to his mouth and parted his lips, inserting it a fair way in. He watched Ray's eyes widen as he let it slide back out, suckling on it. "Very nice, Ray," he murmured, before taking a bite off the front.

"Good. That's great, Fraser." Oh boy... Ray shifted uncomfortably, glad that for an instant, Fraser was looking away, over at the band in the far corner. If he didn't know better... if he didn't know that this was his straight-laced partner sitting across from him, he'd think that... no! It wasn't possible. Fraser damn near dropped his hat when Frannie so much as looked at him. He just wasn't capable of flirting. This was creepy.

"Pod people..." Ray murmured.

"Excuse me?" Fraser turned and Ray jumped.

"Nothin'. Geez, Frase! That hearing of yours... I'm gonna have to worry about thinkin' too loud around you." Oops.

Fraser's smile could only be described as mischievous - Mountie or not. "Is there something on your mind which, if brought out into the open, could cause you embarrassment, Ray?" he asked.

Ray's eyes narrowed. Okay. If this was some kind of weird Canadian thing, he'd call Fraser's bluff in no time. "Maybe," he said. "Why don't ya try and get into my head. See what you can find?"

Assessing him intensely, Fraser licked his lip. An action which caused Ray to flush right up to the roots of his hair. "Hmm."

Rolling his eyes and laughing nervously, Ray kept looking at Fraser. "Found anything yet?"

Fraser shook his head slowly. "You're making it impossible, Ray. Why don't you try and focus on a single thought that commands your full attention?"

Ray smirked and looked at Fraser intensely, now determined to derail the Mountie. "That's what I'm doin', Fraser. Just can't seem to think straight, that's all."

Okay, that did it. Ray had the pleasure of watching Fraser blush so bad he couldn't even hide it in the dim light. "Okay there, Benton buddy?" he asked when Fraser nearly knocked over his glass with a nervous twitch of his hand.

"Uh, yes, Ray. Thank you kindly." Fraser quickly pushed the glass further towards the center of the table, clearing his throat.

Ray grinned. This 'roasting a Mountie over an open fire' thing had something.

He reached across the table and picked up one of the breadsticks. "You don't mind sharing, do ya?"

Fraser shook his head, slowly regaining his composure. He watched with barely contained interest as Ray gave the stick a similar treatment to his own earlier. He watched the sensuous lips close over it and, with Ray shamelessly closing his eyes even, he watched them glide down the entire length of it, as far as it could fit into Ray's mouth.

"Mmm, you were right. These are great." Ray smiled, snapping the stick in half and actually eating one end of it. "Never had one before, but now you're introducing me to it, I think it's right up my alley."

Fraser nearly spat out the punch he had just begun to sip. His eyes watered up and he swallowed hard.

'Gottcha!' Ray thought triumphantly for a moment, before he realized that while it was fun to watch Fraser squirm, this wasn't helping him one bit in finding out what the Mountie was up to. And damned if after all these months, he wasn't fast running out of patience. 'Okay, Kowalski,' he told himself. 'Tone it down.'

Ray managed to put Fraser at ease by starting up a normal conversation, and by the time they'd finished their meal, Fraser was back in his earlier, slightly smug mood.

"Are we having dessert, Fraser?" Ray asked.

Fraser smiled. "Have you changed your mind about my invitation?"

"The tarts?" Ray asked, a couple of butterflies starting to party in his stomach.
  
"Uh... yes."

Oh yes, he was blushing! Ray grinned. "No way am I missing out on those, Frase!"

"Whenever you're ready, Ray."

"How 'bout now?"

Fraser nodded and Ray managed to get Jesús' attention so they could pay for dinner.

Entering the Consulate, Ray asked cautiously. "Is the coast clear, Fraser?"

Fraser raised his eyebrow. "Which coast, Ray?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Ray explained. "Is the Ice Queen around?"

"Ah!" Fraser nodded understandingly. "No, Inspector Thatcher went off duty several hours ago. I believe she is spending the evening at the opera."

"Great," Ray said a little too enthusiastically. But if the Mountie was all smoke and no fire, he might as well find out now. Best time - all alone.

"Detective Vecchio!" came a very ardent exclamation from down the hall.

Growling softly at Fraser, Ray turned to find Turnbull sliding happily towards him across the painted floor.

Hang on. Sliding???

"What's up, Turnbull?" Ray asked, his eyes moving down the big guy and fixing on his booted feet, now ridiculously covered in a layer of... paper?

"Turnbull, what are you doing?" Fraser sighed. "Why are you wearing footwear made from our top grade waxed baking paper?"

Ray looked at Fraser in awed amazement.

"Well, Sir. I had some time on my hands earlier and I thought that..." Turnbull beamed at Ray even while he was explaining himself to Fraser. "I made a discovery."

"This should be good." Ray snorted.

Turnbull missed out on the tone altogether, nodding eagerly. "Well, you see, Detective Vecchio..."

"It's Ray! Quit calling me Detective Vecchio."

Turnbull blushed. "Yes, Ray. You see, we get a lot of visitors with dirty shoes coming in here, especially now that we are headed towards the cold season again."

"Mud and slush?" Ray suggested.

"Yes." Turnbull's face grew serious. "It wreaks havoc with the polished floors. And while I was in the process of wrapping up my chocolate mint tarts to store them away, I realized that the waxed paper would make excellent shoe-covers." He beamed proudly. "In fact, the smooth surface even polishes the floor."

Ray bit his lip, turning away quickly and busying himself with the removal of his coat. No good. Turnbull slid around him in an instant, did a damned elegant half-turn and landed with one knee hovering dangerously low to the ground. He offered a helpful, groping hand.

"Fraser!" Ray whined.

Fraser came to his rescue, taking the coat from his fellow Constable. "Turnbull, considering that you are in fact unable to walk in your invention, do you suggest that our visitors are to *glide* from room to room?"

Turnbull nodded, his enthusiasm dampened significantly when he realized that Constable Fraser was about to find drawbacks to what he himself considered an excellent plan.

"And who would pay for the knocked over vases? The dented furniture? The broken limbs? The..."

"I see your point, Constable Fraser."

Turnbull looked so despondent that Ray actually felt sorry for him. "Uh, Turnbull. About those tarts of yours..."

"Yes, Ray?" Turnbull's mood immediately did a 180 degree turn.

Ray gave him a smile. "I was wondering if..."

"Say no more!" And Turnbull was off again, skating down the hall.

"So this is why you Canadians keep snatching up all the medals at the Winter Olympics." Ray chuckled.

When he didn't get a response, Ray turned to find Fraser running his thumb along his eyebrow. "He means well, Ray."

Ray chuckled. "Yeah." He moved forward, tugging at Fraser's arm. "Come on. Before he slides back out here with the tarts and they go flyin' all over your Royal carpets."

"Oh dear!" Fraser was quick to follow Ray who, in turn, was following Turnbull to what he presumed to be the kitchen.

"Wow!" Ray exclaimed when he entered the room at the back end of the corridor.

Turnbull stood, beaming and holding a large round plate with cakes, smack in the middle of the biggest goddamn kitchen Ray had ever laid eyes on. He couldn't help but examine the oven which was at least twice the size of his own at home.

"What do you cook in that? Whole reindeer?"

Fraser groaned. "Moose, Ray."

"Wee!" Ray shrieked. "I was kidding!"

Fraser suppressed a grin. "I know, Ray. And no, we don't cook moose in there. Or in anything, for that matter."

Ray breathed a sigh of relief. "You had me going there for a moment, Frase."

The muttered 'I wish' was just a little bit too quiet to catch Ray's attention. Turnbull, however, perked up, looking at Fraser in astonishment.

"Thank you, Turnbull. You can go home now."

"Are you certain, Constable Fraser?" Turnbull said, sporting a very suspicious look.

Fraser's eyes narrowed and his pose left no doubt that he was as certain as he was ever going to get.

"Right. Of course." Turnbull passed the plate to Ray and quickly scurried away. Before he reached the door, he turned once more. "You don't want me to make you some hot chocolate? I'm sure Detec... Ray would love to try some. It's delicious with the tarts..."

"Turnbull!" Fraser made a valiant attempt at growling, something which bemused Ray no end.

"Right. Well, then..." Turnbull threw one last longing glance in Ray's direction before saying goodnight.

"Nighty night, Turnbull." Ray waved to him playfully, sending Turnbull's heart bouncing right up into his throat.

"Goodnight, Turnbull." Fraser was already busying himself by pouring two glasses of milk.

Once Turnbull had left, Ray laughed out loud. "Chocolate tarts *and* hot chocolate? I'm beginnin' to see why Turnbull's so..."

"Big?" Fraser suggested, holding the milk out to Ray.

Ray shook his head. "No, more like..."

"Hyper?"

Ray grinned, sipping some of the extremely rich milk and setting the glass down on the table immediately. "Geez, is this Canadian, Fraser? You sure it's not butter? Well yeah, hyper, too."

"What else?" Fraser asked, taking one of the tarts off the plate in Ray's hand.

"Sweet." Ray took great pleasure in the fact that Fraser's face dropped.

"You think Turnbull is *sweet*?" Fraser asked suspiciously.

"Sure he is." Ray broke off a tiny piece of the cake and sniffed it. "Real minty, this."

"Why would you find Turnbull sweet, Ray?"

"What do you care, Fraser?"

"I don't care at all. Why would I?" Fraser cleared his throat.

Ray grinned, munching on the remainder of his cake. "Exactly." Time for the heavy artillery. "I think I might take him out to dinner one night."

Fraser dropped his tart, but Ray managed to catch it, handing it back to him with a triumphant grin. "Hey, careful there, buddy."

"You're going to ask Turnbull out on a date, Ray?"

Ray looked like innocence incarnate. "Nah, not on a date, Frase. Just..." He shrugged. "Out to dinner, ya know?"

"But that is..."

"Where have we just been, Fraser?"

"Out to..."

"See?" Ray beamed while Fraser blushed scarlet.

"We're partners, Ray. That's different."

Ray suppressed a giggle. "Maybe I wanna be partners with Turnbull too, Fraser."

"Ray, that's just silly. You know that I'm the official Consulate liaison with the Chicago police department."

Ray set down the plate and sipped some more of his milk. Time to be merciful. "Don't get your long-johns in a twist there, buddy. I was just having you on."

"You mean..." Fraser's color returned back to normal.

Ray's bright grin said it all. Fraser knew he'd been baited and there was no way out now. Not that he was really looking for one.

"See, I got sweet things right here." Ray picked up another piece of tart and inserted it in his mouth, but his eyes never left Fraser's.

"You mean the tarts?" Fraser asked, knowing full well how unintelligent that sounded.

"What else?" Ray lied, taking a step closer to him.

Fraser took a step back.

"Why were you twirling your hair this afternoon, Fraser?" Another step.

This time, Fraser didn't move. "Um..." He cleared his throat.

"And what's with the pants?"

"They're just.... pants, Ray." Fraser blushed.

"Uh huh. And why the perfume?" Another step. "You don't wear perfume, Fraser. Not ever."

"It's aftershave." Fraser gulped down the last of his milk, so quickly in fact that a thin stream of it leaked from the corner of his mouth.

Ray blinked, hypnotized by the white trickle. "If you lick that away, Fraser, and then tell me you were just protectin' your clothes from stains, I'm gonna pop you one."

Fraser took a deep breath and licked at the milk. Then, he gave Ray a slow, inviting smile, even though his heart was beating so hard against his ribs that it hurt. "I couldn't care less about my clothes, Ray."

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

Ray grinned. "Why d'ya lick it?"

"Why do you think?"

Another step. No more steps left.

"I think you've been flirting with me, Mountie."

Fraser closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling Ray's scent - cinnamon, chewing gum, ocean, Ray. "Ray!"

"And I don't think you'll be happy 'til I take you up on the offer."

"Are you going to?"

"You bet your sweet Mountie ass I'm gonna."

"Language, Ray."

"Yer right. Enough with the talking."

Ray's fingers were in Fraser's hair and a breath later, his lips were on Fraser's.

Fraser had been asking for it, of course, but when it came, his knees buckled as though someone had kicked them away from under him.

Ray seemed to have anticipated that, because he had Fraser pushed back against the table in no time at all.

A leather-clad butt hit the table-top and Fraser clutched at Ray's shirt, holding on for dear life. "Ray..."

"Shhhh..." Ray murmured against Fraser's mouth, flicking out his tongue and tickling the corner of it. "Milk... missed some..."

"Raaaaaaay..." Fraser grabbed him around his waist and drew him forward, parting his own legs accommodatingly.

Leather. Bulge. Fraser. "Mmmm... closer." Ray bumped against Fraser, over and over. The bumping turned into a sliding, then a grinding. "Ya couldn't have started with the flirting earlier, could ya?" Ray moaned.

"Earlier?" Fraser gasped, nipping at Ray's bottom lip.

"Yeah, Frase... somethin' like... day one?" Ray's hands tugged Fraser's T-shirt up and out of the way, sliding underneath it to touch warm yet shivering skin.

Fraser's head fell back and instantly, Ray took the offered Adam's Apple and suckled.

"Oh, dear Lord!" A gasp. "I d... d... did, Ray!"

"Huh?" Ray's fingers were crawling all over Fraser's smooth chest, softly upwards, and then back down with a hint of nails.

"I... God! Did, Ray..."

"Shoulda said somethin'." Ray had pushed up the T-shirt, his mouth fastening on the creamy pale skin.

Fraser moaned. "I... groped your calf that day, Ray, as well as your inner thigh."

Ray snorted, the resulting buzzing sending a shiver through Fraser. "Shoulda groped higher. And besides, you were lookin' for the firestarter."

"That would have been... oooooooh... inappropriate! And no, the firestarter was secondary on my mind."

Ray stepped back, to Fraser's very displeased growl.

"Yer growling." Ray grinned.

"I am not."

"Are too."

"Ray, please..."

Oh yeah, nothing like a begging, pleading Mountie-look. Fucking irresistible.

"We could have done this months ago, Frase."

Fraser sighed, feeling the loss of Ray's body heat like some form of Medieval torture. "Why didn't *you* say something, Ray?"

Ray grinned. "What, ya mean like 'I love you, Fraser'?"

Fraser gasped. "But... Ray, you claimed that you did not mean it like... *that*."

"Body language, Frase. I keep tellin' ya. I've been doin' the body language thing all along. Couldn't exactly grind you into the nearest wall and be specific right then, could I? Geez, imagine Welsh and the Duck Boys, they'd have gone down like dominos."

Fraser reached out to Ray. "Who would have cared?"

Ray chuckled. "Gotta teach you about the body language thing, Fraser."

"Please do, Ray!"

Ray smirked. "Now, huh?"

"Yes!" No more than a husky gasp, because Ray was moving closer again, his scent and heat coming back, drifting into Fraser's own body and filling him up with need. "But... Ray?"

"Hmm?"

"Enough with the talking!"

Ignoring the laugh, Fraser pulled Ray forward roughly, one hand sliding to the back of Ray's right thigh and drawing it up until the knee was on the table beside him.

Taking the hint, Ray climbed up, pushing Fraser down on his back with a grin and crouching over him. He looked down into those eyes - he'd never seen them looking like that before - all dark and hot. Not even when Fraser had been mooning over some chick. This look was special. Just for him.

Fraser reached up with one hand, his palm cupping Ray's cheek.

Ray leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

"Ray..." Fraser whispered, his hand moving down the slim column of Ray's throat with his thumb trailing the centerline. Then, he drew him down for another kiss.

"Oh dear!" Turnbull swore. He stopped dead barely 10 blocks away from the Consulate. He considered for a moment whether he could go without it just this *one* night. But he had been forced to finish reading his romance novel the night before at such a good point...

The tall, dashing hero - Count Reynaldo de Torro - had been about to rescue the blond, blue-eyed Lady Raylene who, despite her charm, wit and cunning, had become trapped in a Welsh castle with - as Turnbull grouchily recalled - a handsome dark-haired knight by the name of Sir Bentolot. There, she had to survive by pretending to be a spoilt Italian Baronessa. It was fiction, of course, for otherwise, no one would have mistaken the beautiful and exciting Lady Raylene for the ferret-faced, arrogant Baronessa di Velcro.

Turnbull sighed heavily. No, he simply had to find out what would happen next. If he could manage to slip back into the Consulate through the side entrance, Constable Fraser and... he sighed again... Ray... would not even know he had come back.

He hurried back, fumbling for the side entrance keys in his coat pocket on the way.

Fraser's hands were under Ray's T-shirt, moving over the hot, silky skin like a trail of fire. Ray's shirt had long since wound up on the kitchen floor, along with Fraser's suede jacket.

"Mmmmmm... Fraser!" Ray moaned, impatiently tugging off first his own, then Fraser's T-shirt. When he lowered himself down again and their bare skin touched, it felt like an explosion.

"Ray!" Fraser croaked, his fingers digging into Ray's flanks before they moved down... down past his partner's slender hips and to his buttocks, where he squeezed, crushing Ray's groin against his own.

"Fuck!" Ray groaned, latching onto Fraser's neck and biting the tender skin. Hard.

Fraser squealed.

Renfield Turnbull's sharp Mountie hearing picked up on the sound well before he had so much as inserted the key into the side entrance door. It sounded... desperate. And it sounded like Constable Fraser.

"Ray!" he wailed, hurriedly shoving the key in and rattling it. "Silly thing, *fit*!" he muttered, his palm growing sweaty. Was Ray in danger? Had someone broken in and was holding Ray and Constable Fraser hostage? Perhaps the Constable was made to witness his partner's torture?

That did it. The key turned and the lock snapped open, an instant before Turnbull had been about to kick down the door. It occurred to him, suddenly, that perhaps to simply burst in would put Ray in considerable danger.

Gathering all his self-control - thankfully, he had a lot of it, being a Mountie - he let himself into the Consulate as quietly as he could manage. Then, he tip-toed down the back corridor and towards the kitchen, from where he had heard the Constable's squeal.

It was awful. They must have been attacked and overwhelmed while they had still been in the kitchen, eating his tarts without a care in the world!

And the kitchen... long knives... scissors... skewers... cheese graters... Turnbull slapped one big paw over his own mouth to prevent the shriek from escaping him. 'Keep going, Renfield,' he told himself bravely. 'Ray needs you!'

"Shh... Fraser..." Ray chided, grinning against Fraser's neck. "You're real cute when ya squeal, but we don't want the neighbors joinin' in."

"Do that again?" Fraser requested breathlessly.

"Nah! Got somethin' better for ya," Ray promised, his hand sliding in between them - resisting the temptation of Fraser's smooth stomach and belly button - and moving underneath the waistband of the leather pants.

Fraser held his breath. He couldn't help it - the pants were becoming so tight and Ray's fingers... there... Finally, the button snapped open and a very determined hand slid right in, pushing down the zip in the process, and covering his hot arousal firmly.

"Ooooooh!" Fraser's head snapped up and for an instant, he stared wide-eyed into Ray's face.

Ray grinned. The next moment, he bit his lip because Fraser's head flopped back down, hitting the table-top hard. "Shit, Fraser! Don't knock yerself out! If you get amnesty or somethin', I gotta start all over again with the body language! And how am I gonna explain *this* to ya?"

Turnbull was in extreme distress. It sounded as though someone had just been hit. If anyone was hurting his Ray, he would kill them!

Creeping along the corridor, he stopped at the broom closet and reached inside for a weapon. After discarding the telescopic feather duster, the vacuum cleaner hose and the mop he pulled out, he finally found something suitable - a blanket. He could throw it over the assailant's head and disorient him!

Outside, a limousine pulled up to the Consulate.

"I need to go over some papers. I'll call you when I'm ready and you can take me home," the passenger said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Git these *off* already!" Ray growled, sending a shiver over Fraser's body. As hot as the Mountie looked in leather, those pants were a nightmare to peel off him.

"Scissors!" Ray exclaimed with determination.

"Oh no! Not the scissors!" Fraser moaned, loud enough for Turnbull to hear the words clearly.

"Monsters!" Turnbull muttered. "Sick, horrid fiends!" He sneaked up to the kitchen door which stood open about an inch, dragging the blanket after him. He pushed at the door lightly so the gap would afford him some view.

And it was *not* the view he had anticipated.

"Oh yeah!" Ray declared triumphantly when he finally managed to wrench Fraser's pants down to his mid-thighs.

For an instant, Fraser was tempted to let Ray get to what they both knew he wanted to get to, but then it occurred to him that he himself would be missing out on something.

He reached and grabbed Ray by the edge of his pants and yanked him upwards.

"Fraser!" Ray protested, but when he realized what the Mountie had in mind, his broke into a grin, looking down into eyes which were smoldering just as much as his own.

Fraser had a much easier job getting Ray's pants down, and once his hands were on the bare, smooth, finely-muscled flesh of Ray's cheeks, he drew him down again.

A sigh of contentment escaped them both as their groins came into contact again, this time unrestricted.

Turnbull was chewing on the back of his hand. He was currently being treated to the singularly desirable sight of Ray's naked behind as it gyrated rhythmically in midair a mere 15 feet or so away from him. He could have done without Constable Fraser's hands on it, and especially, without the rest of Constable Fraser underneath, but at least Ray was not in any... distress.

The front door opened and closed softly. The late-night intruder crept across to the front desk, mindful of her subordinate who was doubtlessly asleep in his tiny back office at this hour.

However, when she peered towards the back of the corridor, she saw a tall figure there and a light coming from the kitchen, to say nothing of the noises! Was that a *groan*?

She frowned and reached below the reception desk, searching for and finding the baseball bat she knew to be there. She had no idea what had prompted Turnbull's sudden interest in baseball, but right then, she was grateful for it.

Sneaking up to the tall figure, she held the bat up high, ready to strike when she realized who it was. "Turnb... mmmph!"

Turnbull was quite proud of the speed of his reaction. He could tell from the uninterrupted goings-on on the kitchen table that the Inspector's outcry had not been heard.

Thatcher struggled, but found herself pulled back against Turnbull and facing the kitchen. Now she, too, got the view. Her eyes widened and she would have gasped, had Turnbull's big hand not still covered her mouth.

"Mmm..." she moaned, turning her head up and back and looking at him pleadingly.

He bent down and whispered, "Please, Inspector, don't make any noise."

She shook her head, making noise being the last thing on her mind. All she wanted was to get back to the show.

Turnbull removed his hand very, very slowly. He knew he was being insubordinate, restraining the Inspector in this way, but if he would not be allowed to keep watching, he would simply die.

Meg Thatcher took a deep but soft breath, nodding at him briefly before turning to look into the kitchen. Turnbull was nearly two heads taller than her, so they didn't get in each others' way at all as they peered into the half-lit room.

Meanwhile, Fraser had - in typical Mountie efficiency - managed to strip the rest of Ray's clothing off entirely, leaving his partner naked and utterly exposed to view.

Mindless of their audience, the two men on the table clutched at each other, their hands roaming over each others' heated flesh while their mouths kept meeting for more deep, intense kisses.

"Ray..."

"Fraser!"

"Ray..."

"Fraser!"

"Ray!"

"What?" Ray came up panting, a thin trail of saliva leading from the center of his bottom lip to Fraser's right nipple.

Fraser's eyes were glued to the sight and he licked his lips. "I want to..."

"Yeah?" Ray grinned devilishly. "What d'ya want, Benton buddy?"

"I want to... um..."

Ray's eyes positively sparkled. "Whatever it is you want, you only get it if ya ask for it."

"Ray!" Fraser moaned, flushing bright red. He knew how ridiculous that was, of course, considering their current... positions, but putting this sort of thing into words was *not* a forte. "Please..." he pleaded, hoping that would somehow suffice. No such luck.

"Nuh uh, Frase. Can't have any misunderstandings here. I mean, do you wanna play 'Go Fish' or take Dief for a walk or go get Turnbull back to join us or..."

Out in the hallway, someone gasped. This was followed by someone else's suspicious glare.

"I want to suck you, Ray!" Fraser's voice held urgency and he bit his lip.

"Woohoo!" Ray beamed brightly. "See, ya just had to ask."

He was about to crawl upwards to position himself above Fraser's face when an evil glint appeared in his eyes. "Nah, come to think of it, I wanna suck you too."

And before Fraser had even followed Ray's train of thought, his nimble partner had done a 180 degree turn and was straddling him backwards, his flushed arousal appetizingly positioned above Fraser's moist lips while his own erection was given a brief, tender little tug before it was engulfed by the most sensual mouth he had ever felt on any part of his anatomy.

Fraser's deep groan was very nearly drowned out by those of the peeping Toms outside.

This time, Meg Thatcher used her own hand to gag herself, biting down hard on her knuckles while her eyes threatened to pop right out.

Turnbull's eyes were fixed on Ray's face - the look of total rapture as the lovely blue eyes opened and closed alternately, the rhythmic motions of his lips on Constable Fraser's... uh... And for a moment, he darted a quick look at Ray's hand, tenderly stroking up and down the inside's of the Constable's thighs, doing a little patting motion each time the Constable jolted or shuddered under his ministrations. And Turnbull sighed resignedly.

Fraser surprised himself. He had never done anything like this, but it seemed that simply to mimic Ray caused his partner, his friend, his... lover... he smiled around Ray's erection... the most exquisite pleasure, if Ray's suppressed whimpering and moaning were anything to go by. He raised his hands to steady the slim hips above him, using his thumbs to draw tiny circles on the soft skin of Ray's upper thighs, causing a shiver which left him feeling... incredibly in love.

Ray moved faster, using every trick in the book he'd never bothered reading. Of course, it figured that Fraser knew exactly what he was doing. Proper preparation and all that... Wondering in a moment of hysterics how high up the blowjob from heaven featured in the Mountie Manual, he gave it his best, and something about the heat and increased tension in Fraser's tasty cock told him he was doin' it right.

Fraser moved Ray upwards a little, giving himself a moment's breather. "Ray... I'm going to..."

Ray gasped out, "Come? That's why we're doin' this, Ben." He was panting heavily, eager to get back to business.

Fraser smiled. "You don't mind?"

Instead of a reply, Ray's warm, moist and luscious mouth sank down on him again, sucking harder than before, his tongue snaking out and massaging each throbbing vein and lapping up each leaking droplet.

"Oh god!" Fraser groaned. He had his answer, and in a rare display of competitiveness, he began to race Ray to the finish line, drawing the twitching length in his mouth as deeply into his throat as he could, swallowing salty sweetness as fast as it touched the tip of his tongue.

"Mmm..." Ray moaned, his fingers clawing at the soft skin of Fraser's inner thighs. Apparently, it wasn't hurting, because a moment later, he felt the sudden spasm, followed by a shot of warm, spicy fluid against the back of his throat. But he kept going, and he kept swallowing until there was nothing left, and that's when he felt it himself.

"Fraser!" he called out, forgetting all about the 'Ben' thing as his back arched and his head was thrown back and his seed filled Fraser's mouth and was swallowed eagerly.

Thatcher's eyes darted back and forth between the trickle of white on the Detective's chin and her favorite Constable laying back panting, satisfied and...

She swallowed, suddenly wondering how Turnbull was doing. When she looked up at him, she realized he looked almost sad. And yet, he was flushed, breathing heavily and looked rather heated. Well, he wasn't exactly Fraser, but... he was tall, handsome, looked great in the uniform...

Turnbull noticed the searching gaze and returned it absently. He wasn't too surprised about the turn of events, but it still stung. In spite of that, he noted for the first time that the Inspector was not entirely unlike Ray - much smaller than him, pretty, a little choleric without ever truly being hurtful to anyone...

"Turnbull," Meg whispered.

"Yes, Inspector?" he whispered back.

"Upstairs. Queen's Bedroom. Now!"

 "But... the Queen's... oh!!" His eyes widened in comprehension.

Meg was already halfway to the stairs, and being the dutiful officer of the law Turnbull was, he followed obediently.

Fraser had drawn Ray back against himself and turned him in his arms, holding him close.

"Worth bidin' yer time for?" Ray asked softly.

"Worth every minute, Ray."

"Mmm..." Ray agreed.

When they heard something like a giggle from upstairs, Ray jolted, but Fraser drew him close again, his hand stroking over his hair tenderly. "What's that?" Ray asked. "There's someone in the building, Ben."

"Yes, that would be Turnbull."

Ray's head snapped up. "Turnbull? But..."

"He returned approximately 8 and a half minutes ago."

Ray flushed. "How do you know?"

"Because he was standing right outside the kitchen door, Ray."

Making a funny sound, Ray rose to one elbow, looking down at Fraser. "He was watching us?"

"Yes, Ray. I thought you knew."

"Have I got Mountie ears, Ben?"

Fraser smiled. "No, Ray. I'm sorry."

"Hmm..." Ray's eyes narrowed and promptly, Fraser began to fidget under the scrutiny. "Somethin' else you're not telling me?"

"Well..."

Ray growled softly.

"I believe Turnbull was joined by Inspector Thatcher a little over 4 minutes ago."

"Oh no!" Ray groaned, his head falling forward heavily against Fraser. "Turnbull *and* the Ice Queen were watchin' us?" he mumbled against the broad chest.

"Yes, Ray."

Ray's head snapped up again. "And you never said!"

"I do apologize, but Ray... I did not wish to interrupt our... encounter."

Ray grinned. "Figures that I should fall for the kinkiest Mountie around."

"Well, I'm not sure about...mmph!" Fraser was silenced by Ray's lips closing over his own.

Upstairs, amidst the sounds of ripping fabric and panting breaths...

"Was that the Consulate's telescopic feather duster I saw down in the corridor, Turnbull?"

"I apologize, Inspector. I will tidy it away first thing in the morning."

"No. I want you to go downstairs now. Quietly! And bring it back with you."

Pause.

Then... an excited squeal. "Yes, sir!"