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      	  Stream of Consciousness 
 by tx_tart  

 Disclaimer: The characters are owned by the usual suspects. This is just
for fun.

 

 The stakeout; the bane of an officer's existence. If one were lucky, one
might have the comfort of an apartment from which to establish a base of
operation. More often than not, though, central command consisted of a
car, cold coffee and greasy takeout. Or in the case of this hot and humid
night, flat soft drinks and inedible Chinese food. 

 When you are partnered with Ray Kowalski, a stakeout also means
conversation. Endless, sometimes maddening conversation. Fraser enjoyed
the spirited exchange of opinions as well as the next man, but where his
partner was concerned, there was quite often no "exchange" involved. 

 Instead, Ray kept up an endless commentary on whatever his restless mind
happened to light upon for more than three seconds. All he required was an
audience; a response was optional. And presently, Fraser's patience with
Ray's chatter had ended about three topics ago. He was really in no mood
for anything than other than getting his duties done so he could go back
home. 

 Back to his tiny room at the Consulate, where the air was imbued with the
smell of ancient books and cast-off furniture and not the tropical
sweetness of Ray's hair gel.

 Tonight, though, Fraser realized that Ray seemed unusually hyper and
restless. It was Ray's way of dealing with tension, as much as not talking
was Fraser's preferred method of dealing with it. All things considered,
the two of them had no business being either partners or friends, but
ninety-five percent of the time, it worked beautifully.

 Tonight was that other five percent.

 "...So anyway, Huey says, what's that smell? And I say, you gotta be
kidding me! Have you met your partner? And he says..."

 "Ray, if you don't mind, my head is pounding tonight..."

 "You trying to tell me I talk too much, Fraser? Because if you're gonna
tell a guy something like that, just say it, straight out. Besides, you
think that's a newsflash? Every year that I was in elementary school, my
teachers would write on my report card, `Ray has the potential to do well,
but he talks too much and has trouble sitting still.'"

 Ray kept talking but Fraser couldn't help but smile a little as his mind
formed a mental picture of young Ray Kowalski, skinny and highly active,
his big blue eyes full of mischief. Would they have been friends if they
had met as children? he wondered. It was an intriguing thought and Fraser
had little doubt as to the answer. He knew he would have been drawn to
Ray, even then...

 "...detention for getting caught lighting up behind the gym and putting a
stink bomb in the vice principal's car. Me and this buddy of mine, Jimmy
Dylan, set a school record for consecutive days in detention, a record,
which I'm proud to say, still stands today..."

 "A magnificent accomplishment, Ray. I'm sure your parents were very
proud."

 "Hey, what's your problem tonight, Fraser?" Ray suddenly sounded as
annoyed as Fraser felt. "You're as grumpy as ...something really grumpy."

 "Good one."

 "Ah, the heat's getting to you," Ray grumbled and shifted away from him
and toward the driver's side door. "Try to make small talk and what
happens? You get your head bitten off," he muttered softly. 

 Fraser rubbed at the tense muscles in the back of his neck. He was on
edge tonight, restless and highly irritable. He was not used to the kind
of heat that had descended over the city for the past several days. If the
daytime temperatures were unbearable, the nighttime temperatures weren't
much improved and the entire city seemed sluggish and ill-tempered. 

 The heat was a factor but it was more than that, Fraser knew. It had to
do with the persistent, heavy ache in his groin. Not that he was
inexperienced in dealing with such a predicament. When in the field, he
had employed a combination of techniques, including meditation, self
hypnosis and negative imaging to quell the needs of his body. And when all
else failed, he resorted to the weakness of autoeroticism and that allowed
his mind to clear for more important matters.

 But lately, the urge, the need of his body for release had become
relentless. He found himself thinking about sex at the most inopportune
times and nothing he did managed to banish the wicked images from his
head. Like never before, he longed to be touched, to be held, to feel the
warm breath of another on his skin. The sharp craving obsessed him night
and day. And on this hot night, his clothes sticking to him in a most
uncomfortable way, Fraser was starting to feel a little bit unhinged.

 "Ray, would you kindly start the motor for a while, so that we can use
the air conditioner?" His voice sounded thick to his own ears and Ray
looked at him quickly, noticing that as well. 

 "Yeah, I can do that." Ray started the car, and they put up the windows
and a blessed cool blast hit Fraser in the face. Fraser closed his eyes
and propped one arm on the dash, leaning in so that the air flowed over
him more directly.

 "You all right?"

 "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" Fraser regretted his stinging tone of
voice immediately. After all, Ray was unaware of what Fraser was feeling.
Ray couldn't help that Fraser was hopelessly and recklessly attracted to
someone unattainable. Ray couldn't know...Ray could never know....that the
touch that he longed for, the body that he ached for belonged to Ray.

 "Come on, buddy, give it up. You think I don't know when something's
bothering you?" Ray's voice. Gentle. Sincere. Ray...

 Fraser swallowed hard. He couldn't let this continue. It was wrong, so
wrong. To make his best friend the object of his basest desires was not
honorable. He sat back against the seat and looked at Ray, feeling as
miserable and as lonely as he ever had in his life. And that was, indeed,
saying a great deal.

 "Fraser, you're freaking me out here. Are you okay? Are you sick?" 

 "Ray..." His throat closed up, his heart was pounding. He had to do this.
"I've decided to request a transfer back to Canada. I didn't know how to
tell you." He was lying. He was going against every tenet and rule he had
ever been taught. This wasn't the start of a slippery slope, this was a
full-fledged mud slide. He watched the emotions play across Ray's
expressive face. Surprise. Hurt. Disbelief. 

 "No." Just the one word came out of Ray's mouth. 

 "Yes."

 Ray turned toward him again, curving one arm on top of the steering wheel
and rubbing his forehead with the fingertips of the other before he looked
at him again, his blue eyes dark and betrayed. "I...I don't understand.
Why? Why now?"

 "I've already been in Chicago much longer than I ever intended, Ray. You
know that it's always been my plan to return home one day." 

 Ray raised his head and Fraser noticed that he was breathing unevenly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know that. One day, some day but now?" His tone was
sharper, angrier. "You could have taken that transfer months ago and you
turned it down. What's changed?"

 Fraser replied without answering the question directly. "You must have
known this day would come."

 "I thought that...well, I don't know what I thought." Ray's face
tightened into a mask of pain. "Was it me? Did I do something wrong?"

 "Good God, no, Ray! You've been...a wonderful friend to me. And a stellar
partner. I couldn't have asked for more from either quarter." He could
have asked, but he would not. He would have never asked...

 "Somebody else, then? Thatcher? Some scumbag we sent up threatening you?
Just tell me, Fraser, and I'll take care of it."

 Fraser closed his eyes briefly against the agony of the deception.
"Please, Ray, stop. You're making this very difficult."

 Fraser could hear Ray breathing, and the sound settled the turmoil inside
him, if only for a while. He absorbed the sound into his body and
memorized it, so when he was back in the North, alone in his cabin, when
night dragged on he could remember the unique timbre of Ray's voice, what
Ray smelled like and how alive he felt when Ray was near. 

 A minute passed and Fraser opened his eyes again. Ray was looking
straight ahead, toward the apartment building that they had all but
forgotten. His long fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles
gleamed white in the street lights. His mouth formed a snarl and Fraser
could see a muscle jump on the side of his face. "A transfer, huh? Yeah,
that sounds about right. Now, you're really using that brain of yours. You
should go back home, Fraser. I mean, you have so much waiting for you
there, don't you?"

 Fraser shook his head and looked out the passenger side window without
answering as Ray flipped open his phone and punched in a number. 

 "Dewey, it's me. We're done here. I'm taking Fraser home," he said,
putting a nasty and derisive emphasis on the last word. Ray closed the
phone and threw it up on the dashboard and the car squealed away from the
curb.

 The silence was as oppressive as the heat and Ray turned up the volume of
the radio, filling the interior with a clamorous racket that Fraser
supposed was intended to prevent further conversation.

 "I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser shouted above the music. "I know I've
disappointed you."

 Ray turned his head, glaring and sneering and baring his teeth.
"Disappointed. Doesn't. Cover it." Each word, short and razor-edged, was
like a physical blow to Fraser's body. Another loss, another crack in his
heart, another hole that was never going to be filled.

 Fraser could see the sweat beading on Ray's forehead and the sight tore
at him painfully. As wrong as it was to let these feelings for Ray consume
him, he was committing a greater sin by lying. To allow Ray to believe
that he was leaving, on some whim, without any warning...Fraser could not
do that, could not betray their friendship in such a grievous manner.

 But what else could he do? The only alternative was to confess all and
risk seeing contempt and disgust from his best friend. The betrayal
stamped into Ray's face was hard enough to confront but rejection, that
Fraser could not bear. It was a selfish decision but nonetheless, one he
intended sticking with. He sat still and looked straight ahead. Ray would
forgive him. Someday. He always did. 

 The trip that usually took twenty minutes took 15, what with Ray
careening through the quiet Chicago streets in an all out effort to get
rid of him. Not one word was spoken between them. Ray was fit to be tied,
his usual manic energy confined to jiggling his legs and moving the turn
signals on and off with such force that Fraser feared it would be snapped
off in the process. After an interminable space of time, they arrived at
the Consulate, Ray bringing the car to a whiplash inducing stop. 

 Fraser picked up his hat off the seat between them but somehow, he
couldn't move further. Ray tapped his thumbs impatiently against the
steering wheel and wouldn't look at him. 

 He had to say something, however inadequate. "I'm sorry, Ray," he said
hoarsely. "I'm very truly sorry."

 Ray's head turned toward him but he looked passed him at the darkened
Consulate, not at him. "Yeah, right. Whatever. G'Night."

 There was little else he could do but open the car door and step out.
Fraser had barely moved out of the way before Ray was pealing away from
the curb, rubber burning as the tires spun. He watched until the car
careened around the corner and until the sound of the motor slipped under
the cover of the other street noise. Then, Fraser went inside. Alone.
Again.

 ~*~*~*~*

 Fraser didn't attempt to sleep. He knew that there was no use in that.
Instead, he found the proper forms required for his transfer and took them
to his desk to begin filling them out in triplicate. He did so in
longhand, printing as neatly as he could with unsteady hands. Sometimes,
there were tasks that required a more intimate contribution, not the
impersonal ink of typewriter keys or a laser jet printer. Leaving one's
life, one's first true happiness behind for a frozen existence seemed one
of those occasions.

 As he moved pen across paper, Fraser recalled his homesickness when he
first came to Chicago, the deep melancholy that would descend on him
during the summer heat and the winter slush. As fond as he was of the
original Ray Vecchio, had he been allowed to, he would have returned home
at the first opportunity. Then, he met Ray Kowalski. And when he had been
given the chance to leave, following their time on the Henry Allen, Fraser
had chosen to stay. With Ray. And he'd done so without reservation. 

 He'd found something in Chicago that he had never had in Canada. There,
even among his fellow officers, he was an oddball, an object of
speculation and even ridicule. But even when Ray called him a freak, it
was with affection, an amusement they shared instead of a joke that was
directed at him, because Ray saw himself as a freak as well. They were
kindred spirits, comrades. In Ray, Fraser had someone he could depend on.
Who was loyal to him for a change, instead of the other way around. To go
back to the solitary existence that would be his in the north, after this,
after knowing Ray, was madness. 

 He stacked the papers neatly in the center of his desk when he was
finished. He'd present them to Inspector Thatcher tomorrow. Fraser clicked
off his desk lamp and without bothering to undress, went to his cot, lying
on his back, grappling with the sorrow that threatened to drown him and
the lust that threatened to scald him. He closed his eyes but all he saw
was Ray's handsome face, the hurt, the anger that Fraser had put there.

 ~*~*~*~*

 A deafening noise split the night and Fraser sat up, confused for a
moment. Through the darkness, and from the light left on in the entryway,
Fraser saw that someone was in the room with him and had just slammed the
door to his office back against the wall. Before he could inquire as to
the name of the intruder, he spoke and Fraser didn't need to ask.

 "Get up, Fraser and start talking or I swear I'll kick you right in the
head!"

 "Ray?" He pushed off of the cot and tried to get to the desk lamp and Ray
was suddenly there, blocking his path. It was then that Fraser caught the
scent of alcohol on his friend. "Ray, are you drunk?

 "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Poor weak, stupid Ray goes out and
gets drunk just because his partner is leaving the country without an
explanation? Yeah, well, I tried to get drunk but I couldn't. I just got
madder." Ray gave him a shove and Fraser felt the back of his calves touch
the cot. "Now, you're gonna tell me what the fuck is going on and I'm not
leaving until I get it out of you!" 

 "Ray, I told you..."

 "It's me, isn't it? You know, you figured it out. That I... I've
wanted..." Ray looked down and away. "Almost from the start. I tried to
hide it, but I guess it didn't work."

 Fraser's heart began to pound. "Hide what? What are you saying?" 

 Ray's hands came up again, grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking
him toward him. Fraser's eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he saw
Ray's face, contorted with anger and perhaps more. "So, okay, you know.
What do you think you're gonna do now, huh? You're just gonna waltz outta
here, the same way you waltzed in? You think I'm gonna let you leave and
break my fucking heart?" Ray's voice broke on the last word and almost
before the words could register in Fraser's slumber dampened brain, Ray's
mouth was on him, kissing him sloppily, his tongue moving into Fraser's
mouth, the iron-like grip on Fraser's shirt preventing either of them from
moving away. 

 Fraser was still but only for an instant. The desperate longing that had
gnawed at him for so long bloomed and expanded and he pulled Ray hard
against him and kissed him back. Fraser put one hand into Ray's blond
hair, moving his lips against Ray's, his eyes closed while the sweetest
feeling he had ever known spread through his body. Fraser didn't want to
move, not now, not ever, not while Ray was at last so close, breathing
into him, making sounds in his throat that Fraser had believed that he
would never be privileged to hear.

 Ray pulled his mouth away and those graceful hands of his went to work on
opening Fraser's pants. Fraser kissed up the side of Ray's neck as he did
so, tasting him slowly, savoring every inch of him.

 "You're not going anywhere, you hear me, Fraser?" Ray demanded thickly,
against Fraser's ear, against his cheek. "I swear, if you make the
slightest move toward the border, if you even think about it..."

 "No, Ray, I won't. I'll do whatever you want." Fraser grunted when he
felt Ray's hand slip passed the waistband of his boxers and close around
his erection, drawing it out of his pants. They looked at each other, with
lust, with intent. 

 "So you...like me?" Ray asked, his hand tight around Fraser's dick,
moving up and down the silky length with torturous slowness.

 Fraser couldn't smile, could barely speak. "That's one...way of putting
it."

 "Get on the cot," Ray demanded gruffly and Fraser, panting and dizzily
aroused, obeyed at once. He had no chance to settle in comfortably when
Ray leaned down, one bent knee on the cot, and took his cock in his mouth.
Fraser groaned out loud at the wet heat that engulfed his aching, tingling
flesh, putting one hand on the back of Ray's head, rubbing those silky
spikes of hair while Ray sucked him and rubbed his tongue on the underside
of his dick in a manner that made Fraser certain that nothing could ever
again feel so good, and his most fervent wish was that it would last for
hours. But, he had wanted Ray for so long, after less than a dozen
strokes, Fraser arched up and helplessly ejaculated into Ray's mouth,
three, four, five times, and then, lay flat, drunk with expended pleasure
and happiness.

 Ray stood up and looked down at him, his handsome face hard with lust.
"Don't move," he said in a low voice that struggled through his uneven
breathing, working on opening his own pants, his eyes never leaving
Fraser's. "Don't fucking move."

 Fraser managed a slight smile. "I won't," he returned, his words slurred
with satisfaction and saw Ray smile in return.

 Ray's erection was big and thick and as Fraser watched Ray stroke it a
couple of times, and felt his own cock start to stir again. Ray stretched
out on top of him, employing some caution as he did so because the
instability of the small cot and Fraser kissed him again, this time sure
and confident, deep and hot. He felt the solid strength of Ray's erection
move against the front of his jeans and he moved his legs apart so that
Ray would have a better spot against which to thrust. 

 "God, I couldn't go another night without touching you," Ray muttered
softly, lowering his head to lick a hot path on the skin exposed by
Fraser's open collar. "Don't you know how I feel, how much I..."

 "I'm so sorry, Ray." Fraser looked into his eyes. "I'll never do that
again. I won't ever leave you." Ray moaned an obscenity and he shoved
Fraser's shirt up to get to his skin, thumbing Fraser's nipple into
hardness, his movements speeding up. Ray never looked away from him or
closed his eyes until Fraser felt the hot splatters of Ray's come on his
stomach.

 Afterward, Ray collapsed on top of him, and Fraser wrapped his arms
around his wiry, muscular body, holding him tightly, securely, lovingly.
"Christ, Frase," Ray whispered against Fraser's shirt. "Damn, that
was...wow."

 "Yes, it was."

 Ray lifted his head. "We almost blew it here. Why didn't you tell me?"

 "I could ask you the same."

 "Hmm, the word `coward' comes to mind." Fraser held Ray's head and kissed
him, again and again. He couldn't seem to stop. Ray's tongue in his mouth,
Ray wanting him. It was almost more than he could process. After a time,
Ray broke off the kiss and Fraser's heart thudded heavily at the smile Ray
presented him with. Wicked, playful, determined all at once. "Hey, slow
down. Let's try it naked next time, okay?"

 Fraser lifted his head and gently brushed his lips across Ray's forehead.
"Whatever you say, Ray."

 Ray laughed out loud. "Oh, so, now you're gonna listen to me. All I had
to do was threaten to kick you in the head, huh?"

 "That and the other thing you did." Fraser's smile faded. "I'm so glad
you had the courage that I didn't. I almost lost you, Ray."

 "No way, Fraser. I'd have never let you go. Don't you know that?" Ray
declared with quiet ferocity. Ray kissed him hard and quick and then,
carefully, untangled himself from Fraser and got to his feet. "As
impressed as I am with the strength of Canadian cots, let's go back to my
apartment, where there's a mattress and even a headboard."

 "That sounds promising, Ray," Fraser replied, rising himself. "But I'll
have to be back here at 7 a.m. sharp. Inspector Thatcher is expecting a
delegation from the Russian Consulate and if I'm late..."

 "Not a problem. I'll just write you a note," Ray replied, looking at him
with a grin as he zipped up his jeans. "Dear Inspector Thatcher, Please
excuse Benton from being late today. He was up all night getting laid.
Yours Truly, Ray Kowalski."

 Fraser chuckled softly. "Don't you mean Ray Vecchio?"

 All humor immediately faded from Ray's expression. "No. I'm Ray Kowalski
with you, Fraser. Do you see that? Is that who you want? Tell me now
before..."

 Fraser realized what Ray was asking and reached out, cupping the back of
Ray's head firmly, looking steadily into his wary blue eyes. "I know who
you are, Ray. I'd have known you anywhere."  
  

End Stream of Consciousness by tx_tart 

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