Warnings/Explanations:
This story came about when Jules and I had a few minutes to kill one morning and were completely bored. Jules suggested we write a story - she started it, I continued, and this is the as-yet-unfinished result. This story makes everyone out to be affectionate sex fiends. We are perfectly aware that they are written VERY out of character. As well, some parts of this will probably not mesh with canon. Suspend your disbelief and just enjoy the story, eh?

This is a complete PWP, but it's a fun ride. Lots of sex: M/M, M/F, M/M/F, etc... rated NC-17, but not for a while yet. And just about every character will be involved to some degree, in the end – no Victoria, though... at least, not yet....

Dedications:
This story is dedicated, with gratitude, to: Emily B., for her various comments on the rough drafts and willingness to read said rough drafts; Gummi Bears (TM), especially the sticky ones ;-), and their ability to keep (small?) minds occupied; and to boredom in general, and the wonderful things that can sometimes emerge from its vaccuum.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

One day Ray Kowalski, Chicago P.D., walked around the corner of the 27th Precinct that led to his corner office, and found sitting on his desk, a very large, wet, smelly leather boot. He stopped dead, thinking, *Isn't that Benny's boot? What the hell is it doing on my desk?* His question was answered when he spotted Benny's other boot partially sticking out from under his desk. He reached down and yanked at the wayward object, meeting some resistance as he did so. Then he heard it.

"Ray. Ray. RAY."

"Benny?" Ray squatted down to peer under his desk. Constable Fraser was very red, very silent, and... very naked. Ray instinctively straightened his legs, very quickly, and banged his head on the bottom of his desk as he tried to get up. He reeled back, falling, and ended up on the floor, facing Fraser, who had taken Ray's attempted getaway as a chance to rearrange himself in a more... suitable... manner. Thoughts of what he had seen so briefly haunted Ray, but he pushed them aside. Time to get some facts. "Fraser, what the HELL are you doing under my desk?"

"Well, er, um... Inspector Thatcher and I were just..."

"I'm sorry, Ray."

"Sorry?! You're SORRY!" Before Fraser could react to his partner's anger, Ray grabbed his hand and pulled Fraser out from under the desk, to the surprise of everyone. "Does this, people, look like a man who's sorry?"

"Well, it sure looks like a man who's sorry he met you," Frannie snapped, grabbing her jacket from the back of her chair and throwing it to Fraser. He tied it around his waist very gratefully. "Thank you, Francesca," he said fervently.

"Here, come on, Fraser," Frannie said, "you should be able to bum... uh, borrow some sweats off someone in the locker room. Ray's won't fit you, but somebody's should." She led him off to the locker room. As they walked away, Ray heard Frannie ask, "So, uh... what happened?" Ray wondered exactly how Fraser would explain to Frannie. Fraser and the Ice Queen? UGH!!

Ray sat down amid numerous catcalls and hoots to the tune of, "Hey, Vecchio, that desk your new hot spot?" or "You that Mountie's new horse?" Wincing, he shut them out as best he could and set about tackling the case files Welsh had set on his desk last night.

"Ray, could you please give me a ride back to the Consulate?"

Ray, to his credit, didn't burst out until they were in the confines of the GTO. "Okay, I know I didn't want to get the details before, but after that show at my desk, I think I should get the full..." 'Monty' came to mind, but he squashed that thought, "...story. Now."

Fraser shifted uneasily, his discomfort only partially due to the major wedgie he was suffering from. "Well, Ray..." There followed a long moment of uncomfortable silence, during which Ray became even more incensed. "Yeah? Spit it out, Frase."

"TurnbullandIwereinmyofficeengagedintheactofmutuallypleasuringeachotherwithoutouruniforms
presentwhenInspectorThatchercameintomyofficeshesawusengagedandshewasoutragedshepushed
Rennieintomyclosetandlockedthedoorandshetiedmeupgaggedmechloroformedmeandbroughtme
intothePrecinctinabodybagafterpouringabucketofwateroverourheads."

Ray stared at him incredulously. First Fraser and the Ice Queen, now Fraser and Turnbull? RENNIE? This was the last straw. He wanted Fraser, had always wanted him, and by god, he was going to have him. Right now. He dove into Fraser's personal space and captured his lips in a savage, heated kiss. Fraser stiffened, then pulled Ray closer and responded in kind, hands roaming.

The two of them became lost in each other for countless minutes. Neither heard or saw the passenger-side door open. Suddenly, they were doused with freezing water. They spluttered and pulled away, dripping, to be confronted by an embarrassed and irate Meg Thatcher, holding an empty bucket.

"Fraser! Out of the car and into mine, now! That's an order," she snapped, yanking on Fraser's arm. He stumbled out of the car, head down, and slipped into the passenger side of Meg's car. She leaned in the side of the GTO and said tightly to Ray,
"I will thank you not to coerce my officer into any more of these displays." Slamming the door in his face before he could
reply, she slid into her car beside Fraser. Ray put his wet head in his hands and groaned.

Meg slammed her car door hard, venting some of her anger. Starting the car, she drove a few blocks before looking at Fraser.

"I have never been so embarrassed! Bad enough in the Consulate, but do you realize that I got a call reporting you for public misconduct - from Francesca Vecchio? You're lucky she didn't bring you two in to the station!"

"I don't want any excuses, Constable. As a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Force and a representative of Canada in a foreign country, you should..."

"Sir, would you please pull over?" he asked urgently at a lull in her tirade, no doubt when she was pausing to draw breath.

He saw her irritated look. "Constable, unless you have a very good reason..."

Effectively silencing her words, he leaned over and gently pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth opened instinctively, allowing him access, as the familiar and oft yearned-for presence of his tongue explored her wet embrace. All protests and further anger flew from Meg Thatcher's head. She wiggled out from under the steering wheel and moved closer to his body, seeking the warmth he radiated, even when not in that goddamn sexy red uniform.

His hand slipped under her sweet-smelling hair to caress the back of her neck...

Her hand came up to tousle his neat locks...

Ray sped towards the Consulate, anticipating and preparing for a confrontation with the not-so-Icy Queen...

And one lone wolf, looking for the donuts that kept eluding him, jumped on the roof of Thatcher's car and proceeded to
make a LOT of noise.

He hastily reached the car Dief was making a ruckus on; and managed to entice the wolf into the back seat of his car with a half-eaten Caramilk bar from his jacket pocket. Then he returned to the car to placate the occupants, struck by a nagging feeling that the vehicle seemed somewhat familiar.

Bending over to peer through the driver's window, his eyes widened. A scowl appeared on his face and deepened. Abruptly, he strode around to the other side and yanked open the door. "Alright, you two. Out."

"Detective," Meg's suspiciously bright eyes darkened, "what is the meaning of this?"

Kowalski replied calmly as he reached for a pair of handcuffs, "Public misconduct. There's a city ordinance 'gainst it and, you know, people gotta obey the law." Benny didn't miss the wicked gleam in his partner's eyes as he snapped the coil around his wrist and led him and a furious Meg to the GTO.

Oh dear. How would Turnbull rectify this situation? Or... was he still in the closet?

~~~

Turnbull sat back on his heels and glared at the inside of Benny's closet in annoyance. He knew that there had to be a way out of the closet; as soon as he could figure out just how Inspector Thatcher had jammed the door shut so securely, he could be out of there to find Benny.

Benny... the thought of Benny in the clutches of Inspector Thatcher spurred Turnbull on, and he threw himself against the closet door, pounding against it again and again. Finally, it gave way and spilled Turnbull full-out on the floor. He got up, dusted himself off, and grabbed his uniform from where it was (thankfully) still sitting on Benny's chair.

Upon arriving at the precinct, Turnbull hadn't had to say a thing before the officer on desk had seen him. Saying, "Here for
those two Mounties? Go right on back," the officer waved Turnbull through. Mystified, Turnbull proceeded into the back of
the station, only to find himself in the holding cell area. He was about to turn back and tell the officer on duty that there had
been a mistake, when he caught sight of Meg and Ben. They were sitting in a cell, handcuffed together, and were quite
carefully not looking at each other. The arrival of Turnbull perked them up noticeably.

"Constable," Meg commanded, "will you set about getting us out of here as diplomatically and tactfully as possible?"

Fraser spoke up. "And quickly." Thatcher blushed hotly and motioned for Turnbull to comply.

Two hours later, they were still sitting there.

"That, Constable, is an understatement."

~~~

Turnbull had set about his task with the best of intentions. Heading directly towards the lieutenant's office, he was informed that Welsh was away for the afternoon. Feeling rather rudderless, he was intending to go back to the holding cell to seek further instructions from his superiors... when he espied Constable Fraser's friend and partner, Detective Vecchio, sitting morosely at his desk. Ah! That was the ticket!

"Are in the lockup. Yeah, I know." The blond-haired detective drew another toothpick from his drawer and inspected it critically before shoving it between his teeth. "I put them there."

"So's my stuffed beaver," Kowalski cut in. "What's your point?"

Kowalski leaned over his desk, coming dangerously close to the apprehensive Mountie's face. "Can't release them, Rennie," he said softly. "But," he continued with a lecherous grin, "I might agree to... a trade."

"T-t-t-trade? W-what k-k-kind of t-trade?"

"Hmm..." the detective scratched his stubble thoughtfully. Then he really invaded Turnbull's personal space, pressing one bony hip into the Mountie's crotch as he stood, grabbing Turnbull by his lanyard. "You. Me. Storage closet. Any questions?"

Turnbull went white as a snowdrift. "Oh, *my.*"

Kowalski grinned. "Good." He began pulling the unfortunate Mountie through the bullpen. When they arrived at their destination, Kowalski yanked the door open, shoved Turnbull inside, stepped in, and locked the door. "Now... suck me."

Turnbull's mouth dropped open involuntarily in shock. Kowalski grinned evilly. "That's a good start.

Turnbull dropped to his knees in front of Kowalski, unable to quash a tiny shudder at the act he was about to commit, and slowly undid the detective's pants, drawing them down. He stared at the form-fitting boxer briefs, the only protection between him and this distasteful deed.

Ray's eyes were closed, but he had to open them at the distinct lack of activity happening below his waist. "C'mon, Turnbull," he said, "just do it. Here." He peeled down his underwear, and his cock sprang out to greet the Mountie.

Kowalski discovered just how versatile the talents of Renfield Turnbull were in the next minute or so... right up until he muffled
a sob of relief as the diligent Mountie pushed him over his peak.

Turnbull got to his feet as Kowalski refastened his jeans, pleased with the job he had done, and wanting to return to Fraser. "Can I get the Inspector and the Constable released now?" he asked.

"Oh no," grinned Kowalski, placing a hand on Turnbull's shoulder. "Now it's *my* turn."

Turnbull squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that, by some miracle, he and his fellow officers in the holding cell would be instantly transported to the relative safety of the Consulate. It didn't happen.

"Those people," Turnbull gritted, trying not to let out a sigh as he felt his riding breeches being pulled down to reveal his white, standard-issue boxers, "are doing it as part of a loving act!" Thinking of Fraser's stand on the issue, he added, "And I'm sure they *don't* do it until they're married!"

Gritting his teeth, Turnbull thought of the Queen, of his daily reports, of his childhood, of anything but the man at his feet
and the deed he was doing. It wasn't working; he realized it just as Kowalski ran the very tip of his tongue across the head of Turnbull's cock. Turnbull jerked involuntarily, unable to stifle a low moan of intense pleasure.

All right, then, if he couldn't keep his mind off it... what if it was Benny at his feet, intent on pleasing him, intent on loving
him and expressing that love? He saw Fraser's dark head below him, imagined Fraser's full lips on his cock.

Gently, Kowalski pulled boxers and then breeches up. Turnbull adjusted them quickly and, licking lips that had suddenly gone dry, asked in a voice that broke slightly, "Detective, will you free the Constable and the Inspector now, please?"

Kowalski looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "Yeah, a deal's a deal," he said, exiting the closet. He quickly extracted a key from one of his drawers and strode over to the holding cell where Meg and Ben were still sitting uncomfortably. They were at a point where they had nearly decided to find another hairpin or piece of wire to get themselves out.

When Kowalski arrived at their cell door and produced a key, they got up simultaneously and rushed over, arriving just as the door was opened. Kowalski motioned them out, slammed the door behind them, and slapped the key to the handcuffs into Fraser's palm without a word.

"Don't wanna hear it, Frase," he said. "You three just... head on back to the Consulate. I told 'em not to impound the car, so it oughta be out back. Have a nice day." He stalked off without a backwards glance.

As one, Meg and Ben turned to face Turnbull. He quailed slightly under their combined glare. Why wasn't Fraser happy to see him?

"Why did it take you so long to return, Constable?" Meg demanded fiercely.

Meg began to deliver an icy lecture, but she was stopped by Fraser's hand, which drifted over to lay itself lightly on her forearm. "Sir, is it... possible for us to simply leave now?" He gestured at himself inarticulately.

The Inspector took in his mismatched attire, and she coloured slightly; partially from anger at being made to realize logic she
had been to aggravated to see herself, and partially from embarrassment, as she had been staring thoughtfully at her subordinate in an entirely too-familiar manner.

So, she flipped Fraser the keys. "Fraser, drive Turnbull home. It's late. I will deal with *both* of you tomorrow." She could tell he wanted to say something more, but he nodded quickly and left, the younger constable in tow. Meg was left alone by the empty cell, and she strode off quickly to have a word with Welsh regarding their treatment.

~~~

"...and we were *forced* to spend two hours handcuffed to each other while Detective Vecchio had my constable carry out a personal task in exchange for our release. Bartering, Lieutenant, is a long-outdated practice, especially in a profession such as law enforcement. Can you explain your officer's conduct?"

Lieutenant Welsh sighed wearily and leaned back in his chair. He had arrived back at the station not more than ten minutes ago, only to be confronted by this very displeased Canadian. "Sorry, but I can't, Inspector. However, he might be able to tell you himself." He motioned for her to open the door; she did so, and the Lieutenant fired off, "Vecchio! In here!"

A moment later, Kowalski's spiky head appeared at the door. "You bellowed, sir?"

"I did. Get your ass in here." The detective came unwillingly, and he very nearly backed out again when he saw the third occupant of the office. His eyes narrowed, and only Welsh's solid presence kept him from going for her throat.

Kowalski flushed, but refused to back down, especially in front of Meg. "No, sir, I'm afraid I can't," he said quietly.

"Sorry, Inspector... but yeah, I guess that's what I'm tellin' ya," Kowalski said slowly. He wouldn't say anything more, except to offer another muttered "Sorry" when Meg looked at him in angry disbelief.

"Lieutenant?" Meg appealed to Welsh, all the while knowing it was quite useless. Still, her anger refused to let her simply leave the situation as it was.

Welsh shrugged. "If he isn't going to say any more, I can't force him to talk." It was implicitly understood that, while Kowalski couldn't be made to talk, he would have plenty of time to be tight-lipped while on traffic detail.

Meg exhaled slowly and stepped away from Welsh's desk, still seething with anger. "Well," she said curtly. "I suppose that I have nothing left to do here, then. Lieutenant, if you could call me a taxi, I would appreciate it." She stood stiffly, glaring at Kowalski with a gaze full of what could only be described as pure hatred. It was obvious in her eyes that if she could only get her hands on Kowalski, she would find out what had happened and why.

Welsh made a quick decision. "That won't be necessary, Inspector," he said. "I'm sure that Detective Vecchio here would be happy to give you a ride. Wouldn't you, Detective?" he added, making it clear that this was not a request.

"Sure," Kowalski gritted out, pasting a very false smile, almost a grimace, on his face. Out of the corner of his eyes, he glanced over at Meg. She was obviously not looking forward to the ride, but he knew that she was going to spend the whole time interrogating him.

They left the office and walked down to the GTO in silence. Even the first few blocks were driven in silence, and Kowalski was starting to hope that they could get to the Consulate without having to exchange a word. His hopes were dashed at the next red light, however, when Meg turned to him and demanded, "Just what did you think you were doing with Turnbull?"

"None of your business," he replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"None of my business?" Meg said heatedly, her voice rising. "Constable Turnbull is one of my officers!"

"Yeah, and I ain't," Kowalski snapped back. "Thank God for that!" he added.

"Are you implying that I mistreat my officers?" Meg snarled loudly.

"No, I'm sayin' it outright!" Kowalski yelled. "You use Fraser and Turnbull as if they were your own personal gofers, fer Chrissakes!"

"I don't have to listen to this!" Meg said, outraged. She took advantage of the still-red light to leap out of the car onto the sidewalk, and darted down an alley. Kowalski gunned the engine and tore through the light, squealing around the block and beating Meg to the end of the alley. He jumped out of the car and stepped up to face her.

She slapped him. The crack resounded throughout the alley and, for a moment, he staggered with a hand to his cheek, staring in disbelief. She, too, looked at her hand as if she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. Then she balled her hand into a fist and lunged forward to hit him again. He grabbed both of her hands in his, pinning them against her sides. She kicked out at him and he drew her tight against his chest, effectively making her kicks useless.

She twisted her head to glare up at him, her eyes flaring, her lips slightly parted as she panted from the exertion of struggling against him. It came as a shock to him, the sudden realisation of how attractive she was. He became aware of how close they were, of the warm sensation of her breasts pressing against his chest, moving gently with each breath she took. The rest of her body fit snugly against his.

Giving in to his impulse, he bent his head and kissed her.

Finally, she ended their liaison, pulling away from him with a melancholy smile. "Thank you, Detective," she said quietly.

Although certain parts of Kowalski were begging for attention, he still managed a comfortable, wry grin as he pulled open the passenger door for her. "No problem, Inspector. Sometimes a person just needs a good tongue-lashin' to put things back into place."

Thatcher looked as if she would start up in her Ice Queen mode again at that comment, her eyebrows rising and drawing together to a fine point, but the detective laughed. "Relax, Inspector." He picked up her hand and kissed it. "Did I fix the boo-boo now?"

His actions were so absurd and unlike his tough-guy demeanour that she began to laugh. Her companion chuckled quietly as they made the trip back to the Consulate, the tension lessened by far.

As they pulled into the street where the building was situated, Meg frowned into the darkness. "I don't see my car parked anywhere."

Kowalski stopped the GTO by the curb and climbed out of the car, joining her search. "I guess Frase's still driving Turnbull home." He looked at her kindly. "Need a lift home?"

"Uh ... no. No, thank you, Detective." Meg seemed to have forgotten their brief kinship. "I'll just wait here until Fraser returns my car." She turned away from him, fumbling for her keys awkwardly.

Ray cut her off. "I'll wait here," he repeated emphatically. There was no mistaking his intentions at that point; he didn't care whether Meg understood completely or not. It was something he had to make her see, at whatever cost.

She led Kowalski into the grand foyer of the building, then turned back abruptly. "Listen, Detective, I ... ohhh," she exhaled as the American wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers voraciously. There was no hesitation as she parted her lips and pulled his tongue in to explore her mouth, hard and quick.

She stepped forward, aware once she did, she was acknowledging the games they were playing and putting an end to them. Even if it didn't last forever, at least it could last all night; and she would again feel the warmth of having someone lie beside her, sleeping innocently, peacefully in the love that washed the sheets with splendour.

He stepped forward, aware once he did, he was sealing the pact made between them, and pledging his body and heart to her tonight. Wouldn't matter who the next night found him with, or who he had been with the night before. Only tonight mattered, and tonight was going to be beautiful.

~~~

Meanwhile, Fraser, Turnbull, and Thatcher's car were halfway across town. Turnbull being Turnbull, and a rather flustered Turnbull at that, he'd given Fraser incorrect directions to the condo where he lived, and they had temporarily become lost.

"Turnbull, what's the address again?" Fraser asked wearily, becoming rather tired of driving around when all he really wanted was to return to the Consulate and change... he shifted uncomfortably, waiting for Turnbull's response.

Turnbull thought for a moment before rattling off the address, causing Fraser no small amount of worry. He slid the car into gear, somewhat relieved that he at least knew the neighbourhood that Turnbull had named.

Finally, he pulled up in front the building, facing Turnbull with a vain hope that was more than fulfilled when Turnbull nodded.
In a very uncharacteristic move, Fraser all but pushed Turnbull out the door and peeled off.

Fraser exhaled in relief, slowing to the speed limit. Sometimes Turnbull was just a little too much to handle.

He headed back towards the Consulate eagerly.

~~~

At the same time, Meg and Kowalski had somehow managed to make their way up the stairs without having to let go of each other. They were clinging to each other with a ferocity and need that surprised both of them, raining kisses on any exposed
part of skin. Knocking against the door, Meg fumbled behind her and released the knob; they stumbled into the Queen's Bedroom and kicked the door closed behind them. Spurred into action by the desire burning within them, yet needing, somehow, to go slowly, they sank down on the large canopy bed.

Kowalski brushed his fingers lightly across Meg's cheekbones and down her neck to the collar of her blouse, where he started unbuttoning the tiny buttons. Meg, in her turn, was pulling the black jacket from off his shoulders, running her fingers and palms under his t-shirt and across his chest. Removing their shirts, each delighted in touching and tasting the other; but no more, not yet. They continued removing clothes and rejoiced in uncovering more of the other and finding their pleasure spots. The outside world had ceased to have any meaning to them or any impact on what they were doing; they were completely oblivious.

The click the front door made as Fraser entered the Consulate wasn't loud enough to reach the Queen's Bedroom anyway.

~~~

His curiosity finally getting the better of him, he continued up to the third floor and opened the door to the bedroom. The sight that greeted him stunned him into absolute speechlessness.

Meg and Kowalski were stretched out on the bed, wearing no more than their underwear. They were still indulging their needs to caress, feel and taste. Fraser had opened the door on them as they were engaged in a particularly passionate kiss, their
limbs entangled.

At the click of the door, they immediately broke apart; breathing heavily from shock and desire. As Kowalski turned around, Meg's tousled head appeared above his shoulder to see Fraser approaching the bed. Somewhat relieved to see it was only
him, they separated and sat just slightly apart on the bed as he came to stand beside them, silent.

The couple, still flushed, shared a single, wordless look. They nodded slightly, and each stretched out a hand simultaneously. Kowalski grasped Fraser's wrist and began pulling him down to the bed, while Meg's fingers began to undo the drawstring knotted around Fraser's sweats.

Once the two of them had stripped Fraser down to very little, Fraser finally found his voice. "Ray... sir... I don't know if..."

Kowalski stretched a slender hand out to quiet him. "Listen, Frase, it's been a rough day for ev'rybody. This isn't gonna hurt nobody, unless you don't think you wanna be a part... an' you can just leave now and forget you saw anything goin' on here,
if that's how you want it."

"Ray, I never said..."

Meg propped herself up on one elbow. "Benton, what do you want?" Her smoky eyes captured his wide, confused blue ones and held them for a long moment, before casually releasing them.

"You," he admitted quietly. His gaze took in Ray's lithe frame. "Both of you."

Kowalski smiled suddenly, like a beacon in the dimly-lit room. "That's about how I feel, too," he said, capturing his partner's mouth and again tasting his fresh essence. Fraser's fingers moved up to clutch at Ray's spiky blonde hair, even more
dishevelled than usual from his previous activities.

Meg, never one to be forgotten, assisted the men in ridding themselves of what clothing they still sported before quickly shedding her own. Now completely revealed, each person became slightly shyer. The kiss was broken off, and the bed's three occupants looked at each other apprehensively.

"Please tell me that one of you has done this before," Meg addressed Fraser and Ray. They exchanged a glance, then both turned to her with identical expressions of helplessness.

Fraser shifted, caught as he was between the two bodies. "I believe we can teach one another as we proceed," he suggested.

Now Ray was being pleasured in two of his most sensitive zones, and the quivering, agonizing journey to ecstasy was threatening to send him out of commission. He held on, fully aware of every tiny rhythm Meg tapped out on his cock, of every inch of his mouth that Fraser teased with his surprisingly adept tongue. (*What do you mean, surprisingly adept?* a little voice demanded. *You've seen him taste so many things that he damn well better know how to use that thing by now!*)

And he was doing quite well, hanging on by the edge of his nails. Then, as if by communicating through Mountie sign language, Meg squeezed firmly in one long, swift stroke, and Fraser tweaked a heated nipple as he continued to work Ray's malleable tongue. Ray's body bucked as his willpower buckled, and he came all over Meg's cupped hands.

Meg, her fingers clean, decided it was her turn to be in the middle of their sandwich. She slithered around Kowalski's prostate body and positioned herself snugly between the two men. Fraser buried his face in the back of her neck, his hot breath
landing slowly, evenly on her skin. He began to drop small, reserved kisses all over her short hair, her unmarked neck and her beautiful shoulders; and every other part he could conceivably touch.

His hands were removed from her presence. She sighed at the loss, so accustomed was she to feeling them on her body now. Kowalski's hands took advantage of Fraser's absence, sliding down her belly rapidly to toy with the coarse curls some
distance below her navel. Meg shifted so that his fingers dug lower, and her strained breathing almost covered the crinkling noises coming from her other side.

Suddenly, Fraser's dexterous hands grasped her hips. "Proper preparation prevents poor performance," he whispered by way of apology. It was meant for her ears alone, but Kowalski paused in his ministrations just long enough to snort derisively at the Mountie's overly-cautious nature. Meg, torn between the gentle amusement she shared with Ray and gratitude for his actions, settled for kissing her constable deeply while raking her fingers through the detective's hair harder than was necessary. There came a suppressed squeal from Kowalski, but she merely patted his head in mock sympathy.

Tonight wouldn't be the night to shatter his mirrors, though. She would be content with the chance to make love to this complex man. She *would.*

Nipping at his proud jaw, she gave her most guarded gift to him with three words:

"I'm yours, Benton."

His breath wavered in his throat in a moment of disbelieving reverence, and then he entered her as if creeping into a sacred temple. She clung to that moment of heightened suspension, the beginning of a freefall from the highest tower imaginable. He rippled through her still ecstasy by beginning to move, carefully at first; then a sense of abandonment was communicated
through their point of joining as he increased his strokes.

Fraser was as close to losing control as he had ever come. It felt so unique and so overwhelmingly right to be lying here,
making love to this woman and bowing down under the protective canopy of Queen and country. Ah, but it seemed he had a new queen now... one who wasn't as icy as Ray had always thought her to be.

He concentrated on his hips thrusting into her, and her nimble body moving with his... inseparable, or so it seemed. He
focused on the heat colouring her cheeks, her nipples, and the way her lips, echoes of roses, moved silently in affirmation
of the sensations sweeping through her.

Meg's lips were the last image in his mind as he closed his eyes and climaxed. She shuddered, and the world agreed to let her come a second later. Preserving the memory, he leaned down to kiss her mouth, very lightly.

A head of spiky blond hair emerged from where it had been attached to Meg. Ray watched their chests rise and fall, and realized that his heart was beating almost as rapidly. He opened his arms to Meg, and she peacefully snuggled into his warm embrace. On her other side, Fraser was already drowsing, a sated smile sneaking onto his face. The detective nuzzled Meg's hair and dropped several small kisses into it, resigned to the fact there would be no further lovemaking tonight.

"Oh well," he murmured, already feeling sleep reaching out for him. "Guess the famous Mountie stamina only goes so far."