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      	  Clothes Make The Man 
 by Morgan Dawn and Muriel Perun  

 Story Notes: This story first appeared in the fanzine "Hawk & Handsaw"
Feb. 2004 and is still in print. 

 

 

   Fraser paused at the squad room door and looked around cautiously.  
The room, cluttered with desks and papers and permeated by a faint, musty,
antiseptic smell, was inexplicably empty.  He stepped into the room,
curious.  By the time all the arrests had been made, he and Ray had
completed their undercover operation at a very early hour of the morning,
but, still, that did not explain the emptiness.  Then he heard laughter
down the hall and relaxed.  The squad was celebrating in one of the
interrogation rooms. Probably a birthday. He wove his way across the room
with more confidence, picking the shortest path to Ray's desk. The
polyester pants chafed uncomfortably with each step and for the thousandth
time since he had first put them on at Ray's urging, he wondered why used
car salesmen couldn't sell used cars in something more comfortable.  And
something less gaudy, he mentally added, looking down at the
red-and-white-checkered polyester shirt.    He had asked Ray that very
same question, only to be told that it was an American tradition, and if
he was really serious about going undercover and if he had any hope of
catching the car thieves and if he had any understanding that "partners"
meant you really trusted your partner and didn't constantly interrupt him,
then he'd better shut up.  So Fraser had.  But that left him sweating
lightly, rummaging for the paper bag that held his spare Mountie uniform. 
He knew Ray had put it somewhere when they had changed at the station
before going undercover.  The evening had started out with Fraser in his
standard-issue brown uniform, but after rescuing Ray from the lake, it had
been soaked. After they had apprehended the car thieves, Ray had insisted
that he change back into his "undercover" clothes rather than drip on the
Riv's seats while driving back to the station.  Ray hadn't seemed to mind
the dripping when Fraser had pulled him from the water, but it seemed
easier to duck into the dealership men's room and change than to have an
argument.  The interrogation room door swung open and voices came boiling
out into the hall, through the swinging doors, and spread through the
squad room.  It had been a birthday celebration, as evidenced by the
officers and police aides filing back to their desks with small paper
plates holding pieces of cake.  They wielded plastic forks that they waved
erratically as they gestured and laughed.  Fraser wondered briefly what it
would be like to have his own birthday cake.  His grandparents had always
told him that pemmican pudding and a good book were more than enough to
celebrate his entry into this world.  Now that he was grown, Fraser felt
it would be somehow disrespectful to try to find out otherwise.  Huey
nodded in greeting across the room while taking a bite of the moist cake. 
Eyes averted, Fraser pulled open another drawer and winced at the tangle
of old socks, men's toiletries and paper bags.  He plunged deeper into the
drawer until he felt the contours of his lanyard and yanked on a bag.  
 Another burst of laughter pulled his attention back to where Huey and
Dewey were talking to a red-headed officer.  The man said something and
the group turned in unison to smile at Fraser.  Fraser smiled back, stood
up, and walked past them, carrying the bag of clothing.  "Heading for the
lockers?" Huey asked, still grinning.  Politely, Fraser stopped. "Well,
yes. I am going to change.  I understand that it is important to
immediately re-establish your identity after an undercover assignment."
 The red haired officer sniggered. "Christ, who dressed you? The girls on
North Avenue?"  Dewey nearly choked on the piece of cake he was eating.   
 "No, no," Huey replied.  "Vecchio pulled together that particular
ensemble."  "Ha, I hear he's quite the clothes man.  Armani suits with
shoulder pads a mile wide.  Like a three-headed Italian Stallion," the
unfamiliar officer offered, rolling his eyes.  This set off another round
of laughter.    Fraser caught the gist behind the joke and hesitated. 
While Ray's clothing did border on the extreme from time to time, it
wasn't as bad as they were making it sound. Nevertheless, Fraser wasn't
sure that Ray would appreciate him defending his wardrobe.  He nodded
again politely and turned to leave, only to collide with something small,
soft and indisputably Elaine. Her plate arced upwards and landed squarely
against his chest.  "Oh my God, Fraser!  Oh - my - God!  I am so sorry,"
she squeaked.  "Let me, just let me - wait here.  Oh my God," she said and
ran off, leaving Fraser holding the plate and fork against his own chest.
He could feel the icing oozing through the thin fabric.  He remained
completely still, afraid that if he moved too quickly, it would slide even
lower.  Behind him, he could hear a loud coughing sound and then Huey
gasped, "Oh my God, Fraser.  Did you --  did you see Elaine's face?"  "She
nearly wet her pants," Dewey replied in an awed and strangled voice.
 "Don't move Fraser, she'd kill us if you weren't here when she got back. 
You've just made her day." "Hope she brings a towel.  Although the way she
looked at him, she'd probably be happy to lick him clean."  This set off
another round of choking and gasping.  Fraser turned bright red.  The
conversation really wasn't appropriate, although he had to admit that
Elaine did have an odd look in her eye when she ran towards the ladies
room.  "Oh look, now he's turning red. If Elaine doesn't hurry, he'll
match that red suit he wears."  "Like a giant red lobster, from head to
toe."  More heads turned and the laughter increased, rippling across the
squad room and down the hall.  Fraser stood frozen with embarrassment.
 "Don't you guys have anything better to do than stand around gossiping
like a bunch of fairies?"  Vecchio's voice rang down the hall.  He had
been parking the car and had to circle the lot several times before
finding an empty spot.  His glare grew exponentially as he approached the
knot of laughing men...men who were suddenly sporting innocent
expressions, but Vecchio was not fooled.  He ripped the plate out of
Fraser's hands and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. The fork clattered
to the ground. Before Fraser could bend over to pick it up, Vecchio was
steering him through the crowded hall towards the men's locker room.  
 "Christ Fraser, why do you let them do that to you?"  Fraser shook his
head and then they were through the doors.  Out of the corner of his eye
he thought he saw Elaine trailing after them, clutching a wad of moistened
paper towels.  "Do what Ray?  I didn't let them `do' anything.  I think
they were able to do `that' quite well on their own."  Fraser stood by as
Ray reached the locker first and opened it with a few brusque twists of
his hand.    "How can you expect to be taken seriously when you insist on
wearing a red suit with baggy pants everywhere you go?  It's not like it's
required."  "Well, it is when you are on guard duty, Ray," he said,
opening the paper bag and looking inside.  "And also for ceremonial visits
from the Queen.  And -"  Ray yanked the bag from Fraser's grasp and tossed
it on the bench. "Fraser, remember what we discussed before this
assignment. Tell me you remember what we discussed."    Overbalanced by
the heavy boots inside, the bag of clothes slid off the bench to land on
the floor with a clunk.  Fraser winced.  That was no way to treat a dress
uniform.  "We did discuss the value of listening to one's partner's
assessment of clothing appropriate to a specific case," he replied primly,
"but that was while we were undercover, and in a milieu that you are
admittedly more familiar with.  I don't think you are an expert on the
RCMP's rules and regulations as they pertain to uniforms."  Ray stared at
him steadily.   "My shirt is ruined.  Take it off."  "That was what I was
planning on doing."  "Fine."  The silence hung awkwardly between them
while Fraser retrieved the bag and pulled out his tunic.  It was like
waving a red flag at a bull.   "Dammit, Fraser," Vecchio started up
again.  "You know I'm right.  Why can't you even try to fit in?  We're
here and this is Chicago.  Do you like them laughing at your taste in
clothes?  Is that it?"  Fraser looked down at the uniform and shook his
head.  "Ray, they weren't laughing at the suit exactly. They were laughing
at..." and then he stopped.  How could he tell Vecchio that they had
started off by laughing at an outfit that Ray had so carefully selected? 
One that Fraser had now ruined?  He looked up and saw Ray's eyes soften,
apparently misunderstanding what Fraser was trying not to say. "Oh hell,
Fraser. I didn't mean that.   They weren't really laughing at you.  It's
just a guy thing, you know."  Ray's words made Fraser feel even guiltier. 
"I'll pay for the cleaning bill" was all he could think of saying.
 "Forget the shirt, Fraser. I have dozens like that at home. Besides, it
was too big for me anyway."  He stood back and eyed his partner
thoughtfully.   "I know what'd cheer you up. Let's get a few outfits for
you.  Ones that won't make you look so - baggy and bright.  There's a
men's shop I go to that might have something that'd suit you."  "That's
not necessary, Ray, really.  You don't have to do this."  "Oh, come on
Fraser.  We're friends, aren't we?"  Fraser nodded hesitantly.	 "And
friends help each other. Tell each other truths, the kind of truths other
people won't tell you.  And I am telling you, as my partner, you gotta do
something about the clothes."  Right now, Fraser doubted that he himself
would qualify as a good friend. If he couldn't tell Ray the truth about
the squad room banter, how could he tell him he believed he was more
effective in his own clothes, using his own methods, no matter where he
might be situated?  But the look in Ray's eyes pulled him out of the
station and into the Riv.  He did insist on putting on his uniform again,
watching Ray eye him disapprovingly while retrieving his own suit from the
locker.    Ray parked in a red zone and got out of the car.  "Uh, Ray?" 
Fraser climbed out slowly, leaving the door open.  "Yeah, Benny?"  "I
believe this is a no-parking zone."  "So it is, Benny."  "Aren't you going
to move your car?"  Ray looked at him with raised eyebrows.  "Why should I
do that, Benny?  I'm a cop."  "But, uh, Ray"--Fraser cleared his
throat--"this isn't exactly official business."  "Sure it is.  What could
be more official than fixing your wardrobe problem?  If you don't have the
right clothes, Fraser, you can't go undercover.  Look, I'm a plainclothes
detective, right?  Right?"  He gestured outward with both palms up.
 "Yes," Fraser answered with a long-suffering expression as he joined his
hands behind his back.  "Well, can you tell from my clothes that I'm a
cop?  Well, can you?"  Ray gestured down the front of his coat with both
hands.  "Ray, that has nothing to do with parking your--"  "Humor me,
Fraser,  Can you tell?"  "Well, aside from a few minor--  No, Ray," Fraser
answered reluctantly, "I can't tell.  But--"  "Well, Fraser, everyone can
tell you're a cop.  Everyone.  This is an emergency!  If you don't get new
clothes right now--Jesus, it could endanger the public, couldn't it?  Are
you with me?"  "Ray, I seriously doubt that my uniform could endanger the
public," Fraser said indignantly.  Ray shrugged.  "Hey, Benny, be that as
it may, I'm the undercover expert, and I'm taking you shopping.  So this
is official police business.  Anyway, the cops in this neighborhood know
not to ticket my car.  I always shop here."  With long strides, he headed
for the front door of J.F. Logan's Fine Men's Wear, an attractive
storefront a few steps from the corner.  "Whatever you say, Ray," Fraser
replied, following him briskly.  As he reached the door he removed his hat
and tucked it neatly under his arm.  When the door closed behind them, all
the sounds of the city faded away.  Gone were the sounds of rumbling tires
and blaring horns.  The cold wind was stilled.  Inside, all was tranquil
and warm.  The walls were paneled in walnut and a deep burgundy carpet
muffled footfalls.  A distinguished man dressed in an immaculate gray suit
approached Ray with a welcoming smile.  "Mr. Vecchio, how nice to see
you.  What can I help you with this afternoon?"  "Well, you see,
Frederick, it's my friend."  Ray indicated Fraser, just coming through the
door.  "He needs everything, from the ground up."  Frederick nodded sadly
as if he understood the problem in just one glance.  "Size 44 jacket, I
believe.  If you would be so kind as to step over here," he said,
indicating a burgundy velvet curtain, "I shall bring you some selections."
 Ray took Fraser's arm to lead him into the dressing room while speaking
confidingly into his ear.  "You see, Benny?  They know me here.  They'll
take good care of us.  You'll see."  On the other side of the curtain they
found a spacious dressing area with mirrors on three walls and a pair of
brocade loveseats.    Ray sat in one and stretched his arm out along the
back.  "So, Benny, you wanna get ready?"  Ray looked at him expectantly.
 "Ready for what, Ray?"  "Ready to try on clothes.  Ready for Fred to
bring you some stuff.  Come on, you know how this works, right?  The guy
brings you the clothes, you try them on.  So you have to strip down
first."  "I realize that, Ray, but I didn't anticipate that I would have
to remove my clothes in front of anyone."  "Just me."  They looked at each
other for a moment.  Ray sighed dramatically and rose.  "I can't believe
you.  All right, Fraser, I'm gone.  Just make sure you come out and show
me everything you try on, okay?"  He stood on the other side of the
curtain, leaning against the wall with folded arms and a long-suffering
expression on his face.  When Frederick returned, he was carrying a gray
suit with a blue shirt, a black leather belt, and a tie with gunmetal gray
and deep blue patches.    "Hey, nice," Ray said appreciatively.  "No
offense, but I think you have to hand these in.  My friend is a little
shy."  "Modest, Ray," came Fraser's voice from the other side of the
curtain.  The clothes were handed in through the curtain, and a few
moments later, Fraser emerged wearing them.  Ray gave a low whistle. 
"Bingo.  Jesus, that looks good.  I can't believe this, Benny, but I think
we got it in one shot.  Now all you'll need is a couple of jackets and
some shirts and pants, maybe some turtlenecks.  You know, stuff you can
wear for everyday."  He stopped talking suddenly and looked closely at
Fraser's face.  "Uh-oh.  What's the problem, Fraser?"  In fact, Fraser was
looking immensely uncomfortable.  "Uh, Ray, I don't want to offend
anyone.  These clothes are quite fine.  It's just that...  Well, I..."
 Ray threw up his hands.  "You don't like them.  Go ahead, just say it."
 "I just don't think they suit me."  "I have some other selections that
might suit," said Frederick with a reserved air.  Ray watched him go. 
"Look, you see?  You offended him."  "I'm sure he isn't offended, Ray. 
It's impossible to be offended by someone's personal taste."  "Let me tell
you something, Fraser, I'm offended all the time by your personal taste,"
Ray said angrily.  "It offends you?"  Fraser looked surprised and hurt.
 "All the time."  "I find that most irrational, Ray."  "Now I'm
irrational?" Ray asked, leaning forward aggressively so that his face
advanced on Fraser's.  "Are you calling me irrational?"  "At times you
are," Fraser said stubbornly. 	 "Great.  I take you shopping, I try to
improve your work performance--I heard how they laughed at your uniform in
the precinct, don't think I didn't--and you call me irrational.  Someday
you'll thank me for this, Benny."  Frederick returned with a dark gray
suit that was cut differently than the first.  There was a white shirt to
go with it.  Then there was a brown and gray suit with a cream colored
shirt, a navy blazer with gray slacks, and so many suits in different
shades of gray and blue so that Ray started to lose count.  "So, was it
the brown you didn't hate, or was it the blue silk and linen?"  He mopped
his head with a handkerchief.  "Strictly speaking, I don't `hate' any of
them," Fraser said.  "None of them feels...right.  It's hard to describe."
 After a few more tries, Frederick announced that the store's supply of
size 44 regular jackets and 34 slacks was exhausted.  He retired to allow
them to hash it out between them.  "Holy mother of god," Ray said
disgustedly.  "Who the hell are you, the princess and the fucking pea?"  
 "I'm sorry, Ray.  I just couldn't..."  He paused.  "Actually, I have an
idea.  We passed a store on the way here that might have something
appropriate."  "Oh, yeah?" Ray asked suspiciously.  "You don't mean Brooks
Brothers, do you, because I don't shop there."  "No, it was called Western
Emporium, I believe."  Ray swung around to look at him incredulously. 
"Tell me you didn't just say that.  Tell me I didn't just spend three
hours helping you to find some decent clothes, and all the time you wanted
to go to Western Emporium."  Fraser started to speak but Ray cut him off. 
"Because you know who shops at Western Emporium, don't you Benny?  I'll
tell you who shops there.  Every blue collar guy in Chicago.  Every guy
who wears jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the construction site.  I
can't believe this."  "It's simply a matter of preference, Ray," Fraser
said reasonably.  "You see, I don't really care about clothes.  Animals
don't wear clothes at all, and I think--" "You think we should all run
around buck naked?" Ray snapped.  "Don't say anything else.  Just get
dressed."  Ray stalked out towards the street.  "If you're lucky, I'll
wait for you in the car." Fraser dressed quickly, leaving the clothes he
had tried on hanging neatly on their hangers.  Before leaving the store,
he sought out Frederick and said, "Thank you kindly," supplemented by a
grateful smile.  Somehow he got the impression that Frederick was not very
pleased with his morning's work.  Ray was still sitting there in the Riv
with the motor running, tapping impatiently at the steering wheel.  Before
Fraser even closed the door he pulled away from the curb.    "Welsh is
gonna kill me.  There's a ton of shit I was supposed to take care of
today, and one of them is the expense account for our little undercover
job.  Dammit, I don't think Welsh is gonna spring for the car.  I'll be
lucky if he doesn't make me pay the city's costs for hauling it out of the
lake."  He shook his head.  "Christ, I've been up all night and my brain
is fried."  "Four hundred dollars is a bit excessive for an expense
account, Ray, don't you think?"  Fraser fiddled with his hat, turning it
in his fingers.  "Thanks a lot, Fraser.  That really helps.  You fucking
egged me on."  He made a turn that threw Fraser against the car door.
 "I'm sorry, Ray.  We did rid Chicago of a vicious car theft ring."  "Yes,
we did, Benny," Ray said moodily.  "And we spent too much doing it."
 There was a brief silence.  "Ray?" "What, Benny?" "Aren't we going to
stop at the Western Emporium?" Ray glared at him for three whole seconds
and ran a traffic signal, making Fraser cringe.  "No, Benny, we are not
going to stop at the Western Emporium.  I wouldn't be caught dead at the
fucking Western Emporium.  We are going to your apartment before I go home
and declare this day a total loss and finally get some sleep.  Any more
questions?" "No, Ray, I think that's quite clear."  An icy silence reigned
between them for the remainder of the trip.  Fraser kept sneaking glances
at Vecchio's profile as he drove tensely through the streets.   They
reached Fraser's apartment and sat there for moment.  Fraser cleared his
throat and reached for the door handle.  "I need to use the john," Ray
announced and fell silent again.  Fraser waited for more, but Vecchio
stared stubbornly ahead.   "You're welcome to use the one in our hall,
Ray. And if it's not working, I am certain the Sheltons on the lower
landing will let you use theirs."  "I could use some coffee, too." Ray
added absently.   Fraser did the only thing he could do.  He agreed. 
"Yes, Ray, coffee would be good." Without another word, they opened the
car doors and headed up the stairs.  Luckily, the bathroom on Fraser's
floor was working and it was unoccupied.  Fraser waited quietly in the
kitchen, rotating his hat in his hands, twisting it round and round by the
brim.  Ray breezed past him and started opening cupboards. He pulled down
two mugs, opened a few drawers and then started searching through the
cupboards below the sink.  "Fraser, where's your coffee?"  "I ran out. I
haven't had a chance to restock since we started on the assignment." 
Fraser had thought that they had been talking about the desirability of
coffee in the abstract.  Now that he realized Ray actually expected to
drink some, he knew there would be trouble.  He braced himself for Ray's
reaction.    "Well, then why did you invite me up for coffee when you
don't have any?"  Vecchio was almost shouting.  "Well I didn't actually
invite..." Fraser began and then fell silent. 	 "Don't you start on me
again, Fraser.  First you say you want to clothes shop, then you don't. 
Then you say, `Hey, come up for coffee,' but you don't even have any
coffee.  I bet you don't have any sugar either." Ray's accusatory tone
began to annoy Fraser.  It really wasn't fair if Ray couldn't be bothered
to listen. "No, I don't have any sugar.  Can I interest you in some
rooibos tea?" he asked with more force than he intended. They stared at
each other like strangers.  Ray muttered something under his breath. "Ya
big red popsicle..."  Fraser could feel his face turn red, but this time
it was anger, not embarrassment, that fueled his color.  Ray picked up the
mugs and shoved them back into the cupboard. With his back turned, he
picked up the thread of the argument again. "The nearest grocery store is
ten blocks away; you could at least keep some extra coffee on hand." "In
the Yukon, you have to travel 20 miles to the nearest supply depot and
hand-carry your supplies in." Ray turned precipitously.  "That's the
problem being around you, Fraser. You're weird.  You're always talking
about life in the Yukon when you're in the middle of the U.S.A., and now I
can't even take you clothes shopping.  I'll never be able to shop at
Logan's again." Fraser stood up straighter to answer this injustice with
simple logic.  "You're exaggerating.  I'm certain that if you were to buy
something, they'd be happy to sell it to you, Ray." "You just don't get
it.  It doesn't matter; I'm still stuck with you and your weird clothing.
Why can't you just fit in?" "I'm comfortable with my clothing. I have been
fitting in. And I've been adjusting quite well to the Chicago
environment."  Fraser couldn't understand why Vecchio couldn't see this.  
"Look at this." Ray's voice edged into sarcasm.  He walked over and
grabbed the fabric of Fraser's uniform.  "You have no idea how bad this
looks.  You might as well wander around in your shorts, that's how well
you fit in.  Why don't you just take it off?" Fraser glanced down at Ray's
fist with a bland expression.  "It's a uniform, Ray. It's supposed to
stand out." "Oh, give me a break, Fraser.  You don't have to wear it every
minute of the day."  "I don't." "Prove it.  Why don't you take it off?  Do
it now." "I don't see the point of this." "It's not about the point, it's
about the fact that you're driving me crazy, you and your clothes.  I
can't look at you any more if you're gonna wear that outfit.  If you were
really my friend, you'd take it off." They both paused, struck by the
weirdness of the conversation.  Then Fraser slowly nodded his head and Ray
took a deep breath.  He hadn't realized he had stopped breathing.  "All
right Ray, but I think to be fair you should do it too."  "Do what? Take
off my clothes?  Now you're being silly, Fraser." "Not any more silly than
criticizing my clothing when your clothing..."  Fraser stopped, realizing
he had said too much.    Vecchio's head snapped around and his eyes
narrowed with suspicion.  "What do you mean? You have something to say
about my clothing?"   Fraser shook his head uncomfortably, hoping Ray
would drop the subject.   "What, has someone said something about my
clothing?" Ray persisted. Desperate to distract him, Fraser mutely began
unbuttoning his jacket. "Fraser, stop nodding your head and tell me what
you're not telling me."  Fraser couldn't think of another way to delay the
inevitable, short of lying.  "You were right about the officers not really
meaning to insult me in the squad room.  A `guy thing,' I think you called
it." Vecchio grunted encouragingly. Fraser unbuttoned more of his jacket
and plunged on. "But it was not strictly my clothing they were
discussing.  It was the outfit you had selected." Ray looked puzzled. 
"Well, of course that outfit was meant to be sleazy. You were going
undercover as a used car salesman, for Christ's sake." "You are absolutely
correct, Ray.  But--"  Fraser carefully folded his coat over the kitchen
chair and began fiddling with his undershirt. "Fraser!" "I believe there
was a mention of Armani suits. And something about shoulder pads and a
three-headed Vecchio..." Fraser's voice trailed off. "And...."  Ray's
voice trembled with restraint. "What I don't quite understand is what an
Italian stallion has to do with your clothing choices." The silence
stretched into a painful, thin moment.  Fraser took advantage of the break
to roll the suspenders off his shoulders. "They are so full of shit!"  Ray
exploded, clipping his words angrily.  "I have excellent taste in
clothing. They wouldn't know fine menswear if it jumped up and bit them in
the ass."  Ray's voice edged into a full throated roar.  Fraser removed
his shirt and placed it over the tunic.  He really didn't know what to
say. Ray began pacing, crisscrossing the room, barely noticing that Fraser
was fiddling with the buttons on his pants.  In fact, he seemed oblivious
that Fraser was almost half undressed. "...so full of shit..." he kept
muttering and then Ray turned around and ripped the patterned tie off his
neck, thrusting the silk fabric towards Fraser.  Fraser hesitated, his
hands caught between holding up his trousers and accepting the tie that
Ray so desperately wanted him to have. In the end, the tie won and
Fraser's trousers fell to his knees.   Ray stared a moment as if silently
cataloging the color of his tie as it dangled against Fraser's regulation
white boxers.   Then he stepped closer to Fraser and fingered the tie,
rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.   "Look at this silk tie, for
example.  The simple edged pattern offsets the grays in my suits.  How
could anyone accuse me of having bad taste?  I take care choosing my
clothes.  I--" "Well, Ray, in some cultures ties are perfectly acceptable,
but in Canada our police force prefers a lanyard, both as a decoration as
well as for practical reasons.  And, frankly, Ray, ties are vestiges of an
antiquated 19th century convention and serve no useful purpose." "What
about this shirt?" Ray swiftly unbuttoned the shirt and slid it off his
shoulders, his hand still entangled in the tie.  The garment was quickly
thrust towards Fraser who refused, shaking his head.  "Look at this!  Feel
it.  That's Egyptian cotton, finest in the world.  And the buttons are
hand-sewn."  Ray stroked the fabric lovingly. "I think we were discussing
ties," Fraser said, irritated at having his train of thought broken.  "Or
lanyards, as the case may be."	Ray continued to fondle his shirt without
looking up.  "Will you stop it already about the damn lanyards?" "Studies
have shown that the lanyard has 358 unique uses in everyday situations."
Distracted from his shirt, Ray met Fraser's eyes.  "Name one."  Ray
carelessly tossed his shirt over Fraser's neatly folded pile of clothing.
"The first, most obvious use is as a tourniquet in the field.  It can be
used to bundle kindling together.  It can serve as a replacement boot
lace...." Ray glanced down at Fraser's boots.  "Fraser, the holes are way
too small.  A lanyard's not gonna fit through there."  He laughed meanly. 
"Maybe you ought to do another study."     Without pausing in his
catalogue, Fraser reached lower and unlaced his boots.  As his list grew,
Fraser fell into a rhythm and efficiently removed his boots one after
another and slipped his trousers past his ankles.  These items were neatly
deposited next to the chair and over the seat, respectively.  "...and
let's not forget its use as a snare in catching small game.  And should
that prove unsuccessful, the leather itself has some nutritional value."
"You're gonna eat your lanyard, Fraser?  That's disgusting," Ray said.  He
tugged a loafer free, holding it in one hand as he mimicked gagging
himself with the other.   "Unfortunately, silk is indigestible, Ray, so
that, were you to find yourself in extremis while wearing your tie, I'm
afraid you would starve to death." Ray flushed with fury.  "Yeah?  Well at
least I'd be well dressed when they buried me.  Unlike you, with your red
jacket--your, your yellow stripe down the pants..."  Ray stopped and took
a breath, incoherent in his rage.  "So help me Fraser," he said carefully,
"if you don't stop, I'll..." he gestured vaguely with the fine Italian
leather shoe. 	"Ah," said Fraser, pointing at the ceiling in a gesture of
surprise, "thank you, Ray, for reminding me.  The lanyard can also serve
as a useful weapon in the form of a slingshot."  He nimbly ducked as the
shoe sailed past his head and slapped against the kitchen wall.  Ray
kicked in Fraser's general direction and the second shoe followed its
mate.  He pulled off his socks and threw them, too, but they fluttered to
the floor before reaching the Mountie. "Of course, let's not forget the
symbolic use of a lanyard which I personally have witnessed in my dealings
with certain Inuit ceremonies surrounding rites of passage." "Shut.  The. 
Fuck.  Up."  Ray made as if to cover his ears in horror.  "Do you
seriously expect me to believe they wrap that leather wing-wang around
their little ding-dongs?" "No, Ray, that would be silly.  They actually
use it to keep their hair in place."  Fraser drew himself up in
indignation at Ray's insinuation.  He was wearing nothing but his boxers
and socks, the latter held up by a pair of old-fashioned men's garters.
Ray had already removed his pants, so it was a relatively easy matter to
wad them up and throw them at Fraser.  Fraser caught them with one hand
and deposited them precisely on the kitchen chair.    "You know Ray, we
haven't even begun to touch on the possible law enforcement uses.  For
example, should you misplace your handcuffs, the lanyard can temporarily
immobilize a suspect if it is tied with a sturdy knot." Ray threw his arms
in the air.  "Okay, hold it.  That's it!  Just stop right there.  "Your
list is bullshit, Fraser.  A lanyard is just a glorified leather rope. 
And nobody wears lanyards, Fraser.  Nobody." Fraser frowned.  "Nobody? 
Ray, are you sure you--" "Yeah, Fraser, I'm sure.  Nobody who counts,
anyway.  Old men wear lanyards, old men and little kids.  Boy Scouts wear
lanyards, Benny.  Men wear ties." Fraser's jaw was set and anger gleamed
in his eyes.  "You know, Ray, some psychologists have suggested that the
tie is a compensatory phallic symbol."  "A what?"  "A symbol of the
phallus--the male sex organ--that compensates those who feel--uh, let us
say, inadequately endowed by nature."  When Vecchio opened his mouth no
sound came out, so he tried again.  "I'm not--I mean--I--goddamn it!"  He
swallowed and shook his head, starting over carefully.  "I am not
inadequately endowed.  I am well endowed.  I'm very well endowed."  "As
Freud observed nearly 90 years ago, insisting too much on a point often
means that the speaker believes the opposite."  Fraser fell silent and
looked at him frankly.  Ray stared back, wide-eyed.  "Goddamn, son of a
bitch!" he exploded suddenly.  "Fuck it, Fraser, just fuck it.  You
fucking--oh, shit!"  Panting heavily, Ray tugged his small black briefs
down to his ankles and stepped away from them.  Fraser seemed frozen,
startled.  They looked at each other, dazed, as if their minds had only
just caught up with their bodies.   Ray ran both hands over his face and
shook his head once, hard.  He caught sight of Fraser's feet and pointed. 
"See that?  Nobody wears garters anymore.  Well, no one except for those
guys standing on the streetcorners in Halstead." Fraser looked down,
seeming to have forgotten the fact that Ray was naked and that they had
been stripping in his kitchen.   He opened his mouth, only to shut it
quickly.   A small, hurt expression crossed his face. "I need them to hold
up my socks."  Fraser said quietly. "Oh, man, I'm sorry, Benny."  Ray
suddenly felt as if he had just cursed out loud in church.  He stepped
closer, wanting to make amends.  "Hey, Benny," he said softly.  "Let me
take them off you.  I bet your socks'll still stand up without them."  He
knelt before Fraser could say no.    Working quickly, Ray removed Fraser's
garters.  He stood, and both men looked down at Fraser's socks.  "See,
Fraser?  You don't need those things."  One sock slipped slowly down and
pooled around Fraser's ankle.  "Are you sure, Ray?" he asked.  They looked
at each other for a moment, Fraser solemn, Ray wide-eyed.  "Oh, forget
it," Ray muttered.  Kneeling again, he pulled up the sock and began to
replace the garter.  "Don't bother, Ray," Fraser said, laying a hand on
his head.  "They really aren't very comfortable, and, after all, my boots
can probably hold up my--"  When Ray looked up at him, Fraser's hand
trailed over the back of his head.  "What are you doing, Benny?"  "I'm... 
Ray, you're naked."  Ray stood quickly and looked down at himself as if he
hadn't realized.  "Yeah," he said uneasily.  "Yeah, sorry about that.  
I'll just--"  His voice trailed off as he looked into Fraser's eyes. 
"I'll go put on my--"  Fraser's hand touched his shoulder and moved up
again into his hair.  "Your hair feels softer than it looks," he
remarked.  "I thought it would be somewhat spiky."  "I'm not a porcupine,
Fraser," Ray said curtly.  Seeming to think better of his remark, he
glanced down, laughing sheepishly.  "Sorry.  Listen, Benny, it's good to
see you without your uniform.  Uh, actually, I mean, you really took it
off.  How does it feel?"  "You were right, Ray," Fraser said seriously.
 "See?" Ray said, swiping a hand over his brow.  "You'd be happier if you
wore some different clothes.  Doesn't it feel good to get out of that red
serge?  Is it getting hot in here?"  "Not about the clothes," Fraser
said.  "About your..."  "About my...?"  Fraser breathed out sharply. 
"About your endowments."  He glanced down and then up at Ray's face.  A
red flush crept across his cheeks.    "Oh, those," Ray said softly.  It
suddenly seemed that they were standing very close together.  "It seems
that, in your case at least, the wearing of a tie is in no way
compensatory." "That's good to know, Benny."  Ray put out a tentative hand
to trace the line of Fraser's cheek.  "Benny, you told me you really
didn't care about clothes."  "That's right, Ray," Fraser said, licking his
lips.  "So prove it."  "Pardon me?"  "I'm naked, but you're still wearing
your shorts.  If you didn't care about clothes, then you might...  I mean,
you'd take them off, wouldn't you?  Like you said before, animals don't
wear clothes."  "Understood," Fraser said.  He pushed the boxers down over
his hips and let them drop to the floor.  "Much better."  Ray's voice
seemed huskier now as he brought his other hand up to caress the back of
Fraser's neck.  "You iron your boxers--you starch them, too--but you wear
jeans and flannel shirts instead of something that might look good on
you.  Benny, no one's gonna see your boxers.  But when I saw you in that
first gray suit, oh, man, Benny, it was...  And that blue silk and linen
jacket..."  As he spoke, Ray's voice grew softer.  The fingers of one hand
feathered down the nape of Fraser's neck as the other hand brushed up his
cheek and into his hair.  His lips were now so close to Fraser's that the
Mountie could feel Ray's breath against his mouth.  When their lips
brushed together, Ray murmured in his throat, while Fraser's breath made a
sharp little sound that was almost a gasp.  Ray's hands were at Fraser's
neck and shoulder, bringing him forward, holding him in place, while
Fraser molded his hands around Ray's waist.     Their kissing deepened,
lengthened, and the succulent sound of it filled the room.  Fraser's
tongue pushed into his partner's mouth, tracing the outline of Ray's lips,
lingering just a moment on the fullness of the lower lip before moving
inside.  Ray sucked it, opening to Fraser's touch.  Slipping his hands
around Fraser's back, Ray brought their bodies closer.    "I wish you wore
jeans more often," Fraser said softly, grasping at Ray's ass with both
hands.  "Why?"  Stopping, Ray looked at him in mild surprise.  "Because
the shape of your derriere--pardon my French--would be revealed.  Your
usual pants are so generously cut that one can't really see the contours
of your body."  "There's a reason for that," Ray replied ruefully.  "What
is it?"  "Two reasons.  One, it's stylish, and two, so that no one can
really see the contours of my body.  I'm too thin, Fraser."  Fraser
squeezed him hard.  "No," he said, "you're not."  "I mean, look at you,"
Ray continued, running his hands down Fraser's back to his ass and then up
his flanks to the waist.  "You can wear that dopey uniform and still look
spectacular.  I need expensive tailoring and the best fabric to look, you
know, even halfway decent."  He rubbed his face over Fraser's chest. 
Fraser shivered and pulled him close.  "Ray," Fraser said, pausing to lick
Ray's scalp, "your skin"--cupping Ray's face with both hands, he kissed
his lips deeply, firmly, so that Ray growled in his throat when the kiss
ended--"is all the clothing you need."  "My skin?"  Ray mouthed Fraser's
muscular shoulder, licked along his collarbone and briefly sucked a brown
nipple, making Fraser jolt forward.  "My skin is nothing like yours. 
You're like Michelangelo's David.  You're perfect."  "Then why are you
trying to change me?"  Fraser sounded annoyed.  Ray laughed as he licked
the other nipple.  "You're perfect, but your clothes ain't."  Fraser held
Ray at arm's length and looked into his face, frowning.  "Ray, I'm not
perfect.  I'm a human being with faults and foibles, just like anyone
else."  Ray smiled and stroked his hair.  "Well, Benny, that might be
true, but you've always been perfect enough for me."  Fraser's frown
cleared a little as he cocked his head to one side.  "I have?  Always?"
 "Yeah, always," Ray said, chucking sheepishly.  "Listen, you don't think
I'd go clothes shopping with just any guy, do you?"  He hooked one hand
around Fraser's neck and brought him close, so that he was speaking
against Fraser's lips. "I don't know," Fraser murmured.  He moved forward
and kissed Ray gently.   "I wouldn't try to dress just anyone," Ray
continued, his voice low and intimate.  "You're special...you're not like
anyone I ever met.  And I've wanted to kiss you for the longest time." 
Embracing Ray around the waist, Fraser held him tight.  Ray hummed
appreciatively in his throat and swiveled his hips, making Fraser moan
softly.  "How long?" Fraser whispered close to Ray's ear. "About as long
as we've known each other.  What about you?" "Since I opened the door of
my father's cabin and found you standing there." "Wow," Ray said, amazed,
"Is that what you were thinking?  I never would have guessed.  All this
time, and you never--and I never--"  He shook his head.  "What were we
waiting for, Benny?"  Pulling out of his friend's embrace, Ray kissed his
way down Fraser's chest to his belly.  "Ray, what are you doing?"  "I
gotta pull up that sock," Ray said slyly.  "I left it all untidy.  I know
you hate to be untidy."  When he knelt his face was on a level with
Fraser's cock.  He licked a line slowly from the base to the tip. 
Fraser's body jerked as his hands cupped Ray's sleek head.  "You're
uncut," Ray said, taking Fraser's cock into his hand and holding it steady
so that he could run his mouth up the shaft to his fist and back again. 
Fraser moaned his name.  "Now that kind of tailoring I like."   Ray sucked
it in again up to his fist and made some movements with his tongue that
pulled a deep groan from Fraser, who stroked Ray's head with both hands. 
Looking up, Ray smiled for a second and then repeated his actions.  "This
is something else I always wanted to do," Ray said thickly.  Opening his
mouth, he pushed the tip of Fraser's cock against the inside of his cheek
and rubbed it there, nibbling on it gently with his teeth.  He released
it, and Fraser swayed unsteadily on his feet.  "I used to think about it
all the time, of seeing your face when I did this."  Looking up at Fraser,
he sucked hard, making Fraser cry out and grasp at his shoulders.  "Oh,
Ray," Fraser said breathlessly, "There are some things I've always thought
about, too.  Would you do something for me?  Something I've always
wanted?"  Ray looked up at him wonderingly.  "Sure, Benny.  What is it?"
 Fraser took hold of his shoulders and raised him up so that they were
looking into each other's eyes.  "Would you--I believe common parlance
is--would you `fuck' me?"  Ray's eyes widened and his mouth went slack.  
Fraser looked concerned.  "Ray, did I say something wrong?" "Jesus, Benny,
you want me to have a heart attack?  Warn me when you're about to talk
dirty.  When you're asking me to..."  He swallowed hard.  "You've always
wanted me to...is that what you said?"  Fraser nodded.   "Say it again."
"Fuck me, Ray."   Ray smiled and kissed him hard, and in a second Fraser
found himself being walked backwards towards the bed until his legs hit
the frame and he fell back with Ray on top of him.  Ray pulled away from
their kiss and smiled into Fraser's face.  His eyes looked happy and
excited.    "Hell, yes, Benny," he said fervently, "I'll fuck you.  I'll
fuck you into the middle of next week if you'll let me.  Now, what have
you got around here that's slippery and won't give me a rash?"  Benny
tried to think while Ray moved back to suck his cock.  "I have some herbal
liniment." Ray shook his head.  "Oh, no, Benny, not that horrible-smelling
stuff your grandma used to make.  What else you got?"  "Boot wax?" Fraser
suggested hopefully.  "Try again," Ray said curtly, licking him.
 "Vegetable shortening," Fraser said.  "I suppose there's that."  Ray
bolted into the kitchen and returned in a moment with the small metal
tub.  He was grinning broadly.  "This is the stuff, Benny.  It's hell on
fabric, but it works real good on skin."  "I believe it is not especially
healthy as a foodstuff," Fraser remarked.  "I don't care, Benny.  I'm not
gonna eat it."  "It contains transfat, which was recently revealed to be a
precursor to high cholesterol and--"  "Benny, for god's sakes, I don't
wanna hear about cholesterol right now," Ray said angrily.  "Not just
before we have sex."  "But Ray, I was just--"  "Shut up, Fraser!"  Ray
suddenly turned and snatched something off the floor behind him.  "Here we
go," he said.  "I just thought of a practical use for a silk tie."  He
wrapped it over Fraser's mouth and tied it snugly at the side.  "There,"
he said with satisfaction."  "Mmph bmph," Fraser protested.  "Yeah, I
know.  And just to make sure that you don't take it off--"  He picked up
Fraser's lanyard, removed the slide and neatly tied Fraser's wrists
together before pushing his bound hands over his head.  Fraser offered no
resistance.  Ray looked at him for a minute, stroking his hands across
Fraser's chest, through his armpits and down to his cock.  "That looks
good on you, Benny.  You're probably the first guy in the world to wear a
lanyard and a tie at the same time.  Now, if you don't mind, maybe I can
get back in the mood."  Beginning at Fraser's thighs, Ray began touching
and mouthing his fine skin.   He kissed his way up Fraser's erection and
took it into his mouth.  Fraser squirmed, but Ray held his hips back
against the sheets.  Ray rubbed himself against the velvet of Fraser's
belly while Fraser tried to tell him something.  "You like my tie?" Ray
asked, grinning.  "It kind of keeps the bubbles in the champagne, doesn't
it?"  Taking the shortening container in one hand, he dug two fingers
inside and pulled out a dollop that he smoothed over his erection.  "Of
course, that's not how I usually wear it, but on you, it looks good."
 Kneeling between Fraser's legs, Ray finger-fucked him, starting gently,
and gradually increasing the pace until Fraser's muffled moans never
stopped and he was writhing with need and overflowing with stifled words.
 "Okay, Benny," Ray said breathlessly, pushing Fraser's knees to his
chest.  "I hope you're ready for me."  Fraser nodded, his eyes eager.  Ray
entered him slowly and Fraser moved to meet him, urging Ray on with his
moans of impatience.  Ray cried out as he slid home, while Fraser
whimpered, closing his eyes.  He wrapped his legs tightly around Ray's
shoulders.   "You like that?" Ray asked happily.  "You like that, Benny?" 
Benny moaned indistinctly through the tie.  "Ah, hell," Ray said.  "This
just ain't right."  With a swift movement, he loosed the tie from Fraser's
mouth and the lanyard from his hands.  "Forget it," he said, tossing them
to the floor.  "I gotta hear what you say, and I want you to touch me. But
if you even mention cholesterol again--"  "Fuck me, Ray," Fraser cried
breathlessly.  "That's more like it," said Ray, complying.  As Ray began
to move, Fraser made up for his former enforced silence with his
passionate moans and appreciative comments about what Ray was doing to
him.   "Oh, Ray," he said, "it's so deep.  I want you, Ray.  Please,
Ray." 	Every word out of Fraser's mouth excited Ray more, until he found
a swift, hard rhythm that pleased them both.  Although Ray usually spoke
few words during sex, and those in a low, masculine murmur, Fraser's
uninhibited cries encouraged his own, so that without realizing it he was
nearly shouting his excitement.   "Benny, you feel so good.  Oh, god,
Benny, you're...it's so good, Benny.  I don't know how long I can--"  
When one of Fraser's neighbors banged on the ceiling with a broom handle,
neither even heard it over the sounds of their lovemaking.   They were
both sweaty and panting with need, and Ray's cock was so hard it almost
hurt.  Still he held on because Fraser was so perfect with his messed-up
hair and the sweat sheen on his chest and forehead, the flush on his
cheekbones, and his neglected cock so stiff that Ray knew a couple of good
pulls would bring them both over the edge. Ray put his hand between them
and started stroking Fraser's hardness.  "I've always wanted to see you
like this," he gasped.  "Oh, Benny.  Benny, I'm gonna make you come."
"Ray, Ray, Ray..." Fraser answered.  And then they started to fall, and
they both knew it was coming, so Ray moved faster and Fraser grabbed Ray's
ass in both hands.  With their mouths an inch apart, they cried out in
chorus, coming so hard that neither spoke for minutes afterward.  The
afternoon noises resumed around them: the sounds of traffic, of water
moving through pipes and people calling out and climbing up the stairs. 
The broom handle banged again, four raps in quick succession followed by
one angry thump.  Ray still lay on top of Fraser with his face pressed
against the Mountie's neck.  "This building must be haunted," he chuckled
softly, nuzzling Fraser's cheek.  "Ray?"  "Yes, Benny?"  "Do you think we
were too loud?"  Ray snorted.  "Honestly?"  "Yes, Ray."  "Your whole
apartment building knows we did it."  "Really?"  "Yeah, and maybe the
people across the street, too."  There was a pause.  "Oh, dear."  It was
quiet for a long time, but this was not the icy silence from the aftermath
of their shopping trip.  This silence was companionable, punctuated by the
sounds of lips against lips and soft sighs of contentment.  Finally, Ray
stretched, glanced at the window and sighed.  "It's getting late.  I told
Ma I'd be home for dinner.  Why don't you come with me, Benny?"  "Won't
she mind?" 
  "Nah, my family loves you.  Maybe a little too much, if you get my
meaning.  God, Frannie's gonna kill me if she ever finds out.  So, will
you come?"  "Yes, Ray.  Thank you kindly."  With a last kiss and a caress
of his lips down Fraser's chest, Ray got up and went to the sink,
returning with a wet towel.  They cleaned themselves up as best they
could.  "This vegetable shortening is remarkably persistent," Fraser
remarked.  "And very unhealthy."  Ray chuckled, shaking his head.  "You
just couldn't let that go, huh, Benny?" he said, patting his friend's
chest affectionately.  Rising, he began to sort out the heap of clothing
on the floor.  "So, why do you have vegetable shortening in your house,
anyway, if it's so unhealthy?  You been baking pies or something?  Or were
you planning to have sex?"  He threw Fraser an evil grin. "No, Ray, the
thought never crossed my mind.  I borrowed it from Mrs. Martinez to grease
the door hinge." Ray picked up the container and looked at it.  The trail
of his hasty fingers through the white gunk was clearly visible.  "You
mean you have to return this?" "Yes, of course." Ray took it into the
kitchen and put it down on the counter.  "I think you better buy her a new
one."  "Do you think, so, Ray?"  "Well, yeah.  We used it for sex, Benny. 
What if she wants to cook with it?  Yuck."  "Sex is a bodily function,
just like eating," Fraser said stubbornly.  Ray came out and started
sorting clothes again.  "You win, Benny.  I'm sure not in the mood for a
fight."  He laughed and held out Benny's shorts.  "So, Benny?"  "Yes,
Ray?"  Joining Ray in the center of the room, Fraser took the proffered
shorts and pulled them on.  He picked up Ray's silk briefs and felt the
texture for a second before handing them to his partner.  Ray smiled as he
took them.  "Do you know you're the most irritating man in the world?"  "I
don't know why you say that, Ray.  I merely wanted clothing I could be
comfortable in."   Ray knelt to put on Fraser's socks and garters as
Fraser held up each foot in turn.  He stood to look at his handiwork. 
"Hey, I wouldn't wear what you wear, but I guess your clothes ain't so
bad.  You'd look good in anything."  "Your clothes suit you as well.  They
complement your physique."   Picking up the lanyard and the tie, Fraser
held one in each hand and considered them carefully.  Ray snorted.  "My
physique.  Such as it is."  He pulled on his briefs and socks and
untangled his shirt from the pile on the floor.    Fraser looped the tie
around Ray's waist and pulled him close.  "You sell yourself short," he
said seriously.  "I've always enjoyed looking at you."  Ray smiled and
cupped his hand against Fraser's face.  "Is that so?"  They kissed until
Fraser released Ray and handed him the tie.  Ray looked at it ruefully. 
"This was a nice tie.  I think it's ruined."  Fraser held out his hand. 
"You see, the lanyard isn't damaged at all." Ray looked annoyed.  "Don't
gloat, Fraser.  It's unbecoming." "I'd like to buy you a new tie, Ray." 
Fraser tucked his shirt into his pants and started lacing up his boots.
"Hey, I'd like that, Benny.  Anytime you want to go shopping again, count
me in.  Just as long as it ends like this."  Fully dressed, Ray watched
Fraser buckle on his Sam Browne.  "Maybe it would be better if we didn't
try to buy you any clothes for a while though, Benny.  I just don't think
you're ever gonna see it my way." "Understood.  There is, however, one
more thing I'd like to try on."  He stood and looked at Ray searchingly.
 "Wow, Benny, you're kidding.  You mean there was something you liked? 
Which suit was it?  I bet it was that blue silk and linen.  Or was it the
brown one?  That cream shirt was nice." "No, Ray, I'm afraid it wasn't any
of those," Fraser said, approaching Ray and taking hold of his waist under
his jacket. "What was it, then?"  Ray looked puzzled. "It was you," Fraser
said softly.  "I'd like to try you on." Ray's grin was dazzling.  "You're
on, Benny.  How about tonight?  After dinner?  We'll come back here." "I
don't have any pressing engagements."  They held each other and kissed
deeply.  Ray shook his head.  "That uniform gets in my way.  The belt is
so damn uncomfortable.  How can you stand it?  If we didn't have to go,
I'd rip it off you right now."  "Later, Ray."  Fraser smiled.  "You have
to admit I found a good use for a tie.  Didn't I?" Ray said smugly.  "You
didn't think I could do it."  "You're right, Ray," said Fraser.  "It will
never rival the lanyard, but I can think of one or two other uses for it. 
I'll show you tonight."  The door closed behind them as they walked
through the hall and down the stairs, still laughing.     
  

End Clothes Make The Man by Morgan Dawn and Muriel Perun 

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