Surface	 Surface

 by Kalena

  

 Author's website: http://internettrash.com/users/livia/kalena/keyhole.htm

 

 Author Notes: For Judy, the Goddess of all good things PG. Thanks for the
tapes! 
Thanks to JiM and Ness for handholding, and Livia for making me a
beautiful page. Warm beta gratitude to Kit Mason. Any vestige of plot you
can scrape out of this is by way of the Bad Angel Mandalee. 

 

 

 

 Fraser was back from his visit to the Northland. Well, it wasn't very far
north, just over the border at Niagara Falls, but it was still inside that
big empty outline map of Canada. And right now he wanted to know less
about Canada than ever before. Canada was the place where Fraser's new
girlfriend lived, and he didn't want to think about that at all. 

 But he couldn't help it, sometimes. 

 It all started at the liasing thing they did for the Niagara Falls
PD--no, detachment. It was cheaper to import the two of them than to send
the whole detachment, cops and civilians, on a booze cruise to Chicago.
They did their day's work on Friday, and Ray was thinking food. Friday.
Fish. Sea bass would be tasty, and he wanted to go eat someplace decent on
Canada's tab. 

 Looking up, he did a real live double take at how close Fraser was
standing to--a woman? Dressed in civilian staff uniform, she had dark
curly hair and a big open laugh and didn't need high heels to look Fraser
in the eye. Ray had as much appreciation for a woman in uniform as the
next guy; usually more, if the next guy was Fraser. But this was
ridiculous. Five thirty on a Friday night, and some woman had cornered his
partner. 

 It was annoying, that's what it was. Ray wanted food, and Fraser looked
like he was digging in for the long conversational haul. They'd be lucky
to get out at midnight. Ray was just about ready to go over and break it
up when Fraser offered the woman his arm, and she tucked her hand in his
elbow. The two of them came his way with a matching long-legged stride. It
was almost a clip on the jaw when Fraser announced, "Judy has graciously
consented to show the two of us her fine city." 

 Blink. 

 He eyed Judy for signs of possibly fainting, in case they needed the EMTs
before dinner, but she seemed weirdly normal about it. Was Fraser losing
his looks? 

 "Hello, I've heard all about you," she said with a smile, and offered her
hand. Instead of dialing Canada 911, he shook hands and made nice. 

 They all three of them sat in the revolving restaurant of the Skylon
Tower, stupid name that sounded like pantyhose, and Ray saw a whole
fuckload of water go downriver while Judy and Fraser traded childhoods.
They tried to get him talking, too, but having the world turn was kind of
making him queasy. 

 He watched the restaurant lights ricochet off their matching white
Canadian teeth, and tried to look interested in what they were saying
until he couldn't anymore. The mist rising from the falls came all the way
up to the windows, almost, and somehow his vision was going like that,
too. He was more tired than he thought. His glasses were back at the
hotel. 

 He made his excuses and left before dessert. 

 Fraser came back to the room after midnight. 

 Ray wanted to tease him about it, and he would have, but he couldn't come
up with anything even remotely funny, so he just pretended to be asleep. 

 Fraser stayed the weekend. Ray left for Chicago Saturday morning.  

 Ray honestly did wonder what it was that women saw in Fraser, that they
fell all over him. He had magazine looks and sterling character out the
wazoo, but there was no . . . zing. Not that Ray got much zing from other
guys, but he knew zing when he saw it. He didn't get how a big handsome
guy like Fraser could be so sexless, but there it was. There was Turnbull,
but Turnbull was just plain weird. Not to mention the Ice Queen, about as
sexless as a beautiful woman could get, so it had to be a Mountie thing. 

 Not that they didn't have their passions; yeah, Turnbull with his feather
duster and the Ice Queen looked like she was headed up the career ladder.
He'd seen that somewhere before. And God knew Fraser had his passion for
truth, justice and the Canadian Way. But Ray was pretty sure it wasn't the
same. 

 Never did a woman strike sparks off of Fraser. The guy was wet wood in
the campfire of life. The only thing he could think was, they just dreamed
of messing up his hair. He tried to imagine Fraser all messed up and
panting for it, but it was so unFraserish that he just laughed. 

 Judy was nice, even if she didn't seem like Fraser's type. But then, who
the hell knew what that was? He spent more time ducking out on women than
checking 'em out. 

 Even with that Morse woman, he seemed more interested in her pack of
brats and whether she could hogtie a buffalo than in her good looks and
charm. Good thing, too, since the charm was mostly not happening. Ray
should have known that smooth wouldn't count. Lady Shoes? She thought she
had Fraser snowed. Hell, Ray thought so too. In the end, Fraser had all
the cards. 

 One thing for sure, this one was what she looked like: All-Canadian, no
rap sheet, no matching DNA. Maybe she really was just what the doc
ordered. 

 For Fraser, maybe. 

 Not for Ray. 

 For Ray, Fraser's girlfriend thing was not all that great. No boring
igloo stories. Never mind what Ray used to think about them, not having
them turned out to be not a plus. 

 Especially since he had to hear stories about what the two of them did in
Fraser's native habitat. And not even much of that. Frase was really
sticking to his job at the Consulate; Ray figured he was pushing for a
promotion or at least a transfer to the right place. They didn't hang out
like they used to. 

 Worse yet, unless they were knee deep in a case together, Fraser was
mooning. Walking around with that little uptwist to the corner of his
mouth that said he was looking at something good, and it wasn't the Sears
Tower. 

 Sure, Ray'd been there, took out the mortgage. He shouldn't spit on the
guy's parade. 

 But he wanted to. 

 "Fraser? Fraser. Fraser." He looked down at the sidewalk as it passed
under their feet. The sidewalk was paying more attention. 

 "Yes, Ray?" 

 "Look, since we have half the day off after throwing Vernon in the can,
why don't we go over to Wrigley Field and catch a game? Cubs are in town."


 "Yes, of course." 

 Uh huh. "Then afterwards, we could go over to Rush Street for a few
beers, pick up some chicks, uh, have an orgy." 

 "A very wise notion." 

 "Fraser!" 

 "I'm sorry, Ray, what were you saying?" 

 Never fucking mind. "Nothing." 

 Fraser's distraction left a big, gaping hole in Ray's life, and it
wouldn't go away. It followed him around like some kind of . . . big
gaping thing, waiting to suck Ray in. He wandered around lost on the
weekends, hanging in the park with Dief or flipping channels. He had
friends, right, so what was his problem? 

 Well, he knew friendly people, anyway, lots of people who would be glad
to pound a few beers with him and shoot the shit, or catch a movie. Unless
they were trying to avoid him, the way people had been trying to get out
of his way at work the last few weeks. 

 At work, he twitched every time the phone rang, and some days he could
hear every phone in the goddamn precinct. That stupid prick Dewey had to
call him on it, too, sneaking up behind him, poking his ribs to watch him
jump. 

 "A little nervous, there, my man?" 

 "Ain't your man, sweetcheeks. Want some?" He leered, Dewey pushed, he
pushed back, and then Huey walked in between and put the Vulcan neck grab
on his partner. 

 "Break it up! This isn't a day care center! Let's go, we've got work to
do." Dewey went along, he didn't have much choice, after an exchange of
hand signals. 

 During one of the rare moments of silence in the bullpen, this time after
he'd blown up about something so stupid he couldn't even remember it,
Frannie asked him did somebody lick his lollipop, and everybody hooted.
After that, he started collecting Tootsie Pops and jawbreakers along with
the dirty looks. There was a new pile on his desk every morning. It was
always gone by clockout. 

 Days went by like walking through water. Every step was more work than it
ought to be, getting out of bed was almost more than he could stand, and
the days felt like weeks. When he finally slogged through another eight or
eighty hours, he didn't want to do anything when he got home. Wasn't
really hungry, although he shoved food in his face regularly anyhow.
Didn't even want to watch tv, just stared at it with his mind as blank as
the screen. 

 Frannie was good. She ragged on his attitude and dragged him to the mall.
It was a sure cure, she said. He didn't ask for what. There were three
silk shirts hanging in his closet, so he knew that wasn't just a bad
dream. 

 Sunday nights were such a relief that he wove and ducked around the
apartment, throwing shadow punches at the dirty dishes, and Monday morning
was like waiting for Christmas, but then when they met for lunch, Ray
couldn't shake the feeling that half his friend was still up north. They
were together, but Ray was still mostly alone. 

 They had to find a new place to eat. The food at DeLillo's was really
going downhill. Half the time now, his lunch tasted like something Fraser
would eat off the sidewalk. 

 It was just no good. He was up, down, he was all around. There had to be
some better way to let his best friend go. 

 He knew he couldn't hold on to Fraser forever. Hell, he didn't want the
guy to be alone. He wouldn't wish that on anybody. Just that with Fraser,
Ray wasn't alone. Fraser stood like a great big stop sign between him and
the rest of the world; they were buddies. The best. 

 Sure, working with Fraser was like he checked yes on the form that said,
"Do you like to be recklessly endangered?" But they were great together.
They got more done without capes than any other partners in Chicago. He
knew he could count on Fraser. The man pulled his nuts out of the fire
more times than he threw them in. It hurt to know that sometime soon he
wouldn't be around anymore. Hurt like hell. 

 If only there had been something, anything he could do to make Fraser
happy enough to stay in Chicago. But he just couldn't see his friend
giving up the chance to go back to Canada to a woman he loved. Not when he
was the only guy around who sometimes looked as lonely as Ray felt. 

 Ray counted on their Monday lunches. It was the last thing he could hold
on to, except for a deck of Vecchio ID. In his mind, his
best--only--friendship had already gone north with the caribou. He
clutched at lunch like the tag end of a tattered kid's blanket, until the
Monday his partner didn't show. 

 Ray waited through two cups of unchocolatized coffee before he decided to
get his ass in gear and go find the man. Getting ditched pissed him off.
But it could just be something that couldn't be helped, after all. Nobody
was more dependable, if you could keep him away from those day-to-day time
sinks like kidnappers, drug dealers, and international terrorists. 

 Maybe he wasn't in town at all. 

 Ray couldn't help hoping there were drug dealers. 

 It was better than thinking that maybe Frase took an extra day off, was
still up in Canada, still with Judy, that maybe they were celebrating,
maybe congratulations were in order. 

 He kept an eye open all the way to the Consulate, in case there was a
flash of red in the pedestrian crossing with some old lady. When he
sauntered in, trying to look cool and collected instead of on red
alert--at least he didn't slide in on his knees screaming this time--his
buddy was sitting right up at the front desk. What the fuck was wrong with
this picture? Well, wrong for sure was the way Fraser looked straight at
him without even seeing him. Meaning he was pretty far away, but he didn't
look like he was in Canada, or if he was, he wasn't happy about it. 

 People are like houses, mum always said. You got your suburban split
levels, your genteel old Naked Ladies. Whatever happened over the weekend
had turned Fraser into a burned-out building, and what was left was shaky,
like the smoldering timbers could give any minute. Smoke still drifted
across his empty eyes. 

 Serious bad in Canadaville. 

 "Hey." 

 "Ray! Oh, I didn't see you come in." 

 No shit. "Lunch?" 

 "Pardon me. The time seems to have gotten away from me. I do apologize." 

 Another long look pretty much convinced Ray that the man hardly knew what
day it was or who was Queen this week, either. 

 "Why don't we head out now? You look like you could use something to
eat." Hell if he knew what Fraser could use, but food seemed like a start.


 "Thank you, but I'm not very hungry." 

 Hungry? He looked more like zombie. He looked, Christ, he looked a lot
like he had on Mort's table, waxy and gray, and Ray's stomach slid one
step to the left. If that woman had done this, he was going to have to
kick her in the head. 

 "That's fine, that's great." He jittered, resisted the temptation to
crack his knuckles. "Meet you for dinner, then." 

 "I'm sorry. I really can't." More tinny wind-up voice, more zombie face. 

 Fraser wanted space. He needed time for the salvage operation. Fix what
could be fixed, bulldoze the rest. He thought he had to do it alone. Screw
that. 

 Space wasn't the final fucking frontier, goddamn it, it was just
something in between two people. Between Ray and what he wanted. What he
might not get if he couldn't make it across that space. Even though he
could hear her screaming, "Don't push me, Ray," that twist of anxiety made
him push. 

 "I'll pick you up at six." 

 He turned around and walked out.  

 The takeout was in the car with him when he pulled up to the Consulate.
No way was he taking any chances that Frase would wiggle out of this one,
and it didn't sound like anything he'd want to talk about in public.
Fraser must have had a change of heart, because he was just walking out
the door. He still looked like a candidate for his own funeral. Again. 

 "Where's the furbag?" 

 "Sulking. Well, he was, anyway. I told him I'd had quite enough of his
personal comments, and he declined to come along this evening. He claimed
that he wanted to go home with Turnbull. Really, he just prefers
Turnbull's cooking. He's making bruschetta all'aglio, braciolini and
crostoli." 

 "Man, you let a wolf save your life, and he deserts you for crostoli." 

 Fraser stared out the car window. "Get it, deserts?" No answer. All
right, can the humor. Nothing was going to lighten up this disaster,
whatever it was, so he might as well roll with it. Better roll right now
before Fraser changed his mind and jumped out of the car. Not that moving
cars stopped him. Ray pulled away from the curb with a chirp of rubber. 

 They ended up not eating anyway. Fraser, after pushing around his
quesadillas and refried beans for a while, just got up and wandered around
the apartment. He picked up Ray's grandmother's milk glass chicken, the
one that was always full of candy when Ray was a kid, opened it up, and
gazed into it like he was trying to read the secret message inside. Then
he looked out the window for a while. Then he stared at the turtle, who
stayed mum just like the chicken. 

 Ray scraped the plates into the garbage and put on some water for tea. 

 Then he sat down on the couch. "Fraser, spill. Come on, you know I'm
going to drag it out of you sooner or later." 

 Fraser went statuesque, just like in front of the Consulate, except he
was facing the wall now. He stared silently for almost as long as Ray
could stand it. 

 "I . . . Judy and I . . . we won't be seeing each other any more." 

 "What? Why?" 

 "She said--" he coughed, then spoke in a rush, "she said that I wasn't
all there." 

 Ray exploded off the couch. "That crazy bitch! What's wrong with her,
Fraser? Why, I oughta go right up there now and clean her cuckoo clock!"
He stopped short, seething. Shit, there was nothing he could do to fix
this, and he knew it. 

 "Ray, it's all right." The slump of his shoulders said it was all wrong. 

 "Whaddya mean, 'all right'? That--that--woman--needs her head examined!"
Kicked. "Good Lord, she could have had you, and she threw that away?
That's grounds for lockdown at Read Mental right there!" 

 Fraser smiled sickly. Seeing him try to put a good face on it made Ray
want to punch something. Hard. He stalked to the counter and boiled a tea
bag instead. 

 "I'm sure she doesn't need hospitalization, but thank you for your
championship, Ray. Sadly, she was right. It was my fault. I . . . wasn't
always truly with her. Often, I was distracted by other things, ah, things
here in Chicago." 

 Jeez. Even with a woman, the Mountie was still a Mountie. Remembering the
way life was lately, though, Ray could almost work up some sympathy for
Crazy Lady. Being around Fraser when the man was thinking about something
else, so close and yet so damn far, was tough. He and this chick had more
in common than he'd have thought. 

 "Look, don't you think things would change once you moved up there? You'd
have your job up there, and Dief, nothing to worry about back here." 

 "I'm afraid it simply wouldn't have worked." Fraser made his way
carefully over to the couch; Ray almost went to help. He sat down like he
needed oil. "I didn't--I didn't love her, Ray. Not really." 

 Yeah, right. "It'll work out when you find the right person." Could he
get any more desperate? What the hell did you say when there was nothing
you could say? "When it's the one you want, the one you need, you'll
know." 

 "Oh, I know, Ray." Fraser turned to face him, and to Ray's horror he saw
the last of the smoking timbers come crashing down. "There are things I
want that I can't have in this life. Without them, I just wanted to have
something. Someone." He cleared his throat, his voice dying down to a
whisper. "I thought I could have what other people have. I think she was
my last chance." 

 Other people, like normal people, like not Fraser. "What? You're saying,
what, you don't think somebody can love you? Like, how you need to be
loved?" 

 If he couldn't dig this out of Fraser soon, they'd need Jaws of Life to
pry his chin out of his chest. 

 "It's personal, Ray." 

 "Personal, my friend, is where it's at." He shut his mouth and stared and
tried to wait it out. 

 Finally, Fraser spoke, barely moving his lips. "It's not just love that I
want. I need . . . a particular kind of satisfaction. Please, Ray, let it
go." He drew a shuddering breath. The red of his face would've stopped
traffic on Wacker. 

 Not regular love, but some other kind. Ray hit the back of his couch with
a thump. 

 Fraser wanted something bad. He wanted something bad bad. Wanted
something so bad that he couldn't, he wouldn't . . . Oh, Jesus. Was Fraser
crying? 

 Ray's mind went blank, and he blurted, "Fraser. You're . . . you're a
pervert." Bright color pictures splashed on the blankness, and he wished
they hadn't. They weren't nice pictures, but they fit together. 

 Sometimes his bullheaded partner looked a whole world of pissed-off,
right before he smoothed over with plaster-of-Mountie. Sometimes Fraser
was way more stressed out than Ray could understand. He ran from any woman
who seemed to like him, unless she was tough as nails. 

 Fraser wasn't shy about women, he was fucking trying to protect them! Was
there a bad guy duking it out with the good guy inside that hard Canadian
head? Everybody had a dark side, but what would be a dark side to Fraser?
For all Ray knew, he could be half an Oreo. 

 "I know you've been in women's clothes. Regular weird stuff, it doesn't
bother you. It's gotta be something really different." 

 There were so many things out there from the harmless to the nutso; some
of that stuff made his skin crawl, and now they were all playing on the
back of his eyelids. Fraser. Lust. What did Fraser lust for that he
wouldn't take? 

 "Rubber dresses, golden showers, 'I Love The Dead'?" 

 "Ray." 

 "Worse than that?" He could hardly bear to think of Fraser in the same
city with some of the things in his mind. The soundtrack got louder, more
discordant, blaring in his head. "Prostitutes. Little kids. Whips and
chains." He couldn't stop the movie, scenes flashing by of the perverse
shit he'd seen, nasty sex gone bad. Blood. Pain. His empty stomach tried
to climb out his throat. 

 "Oh, God, Frase. Do you wanna . . . hurt people?" 

 "Ray!" Fraser's voice reached him at the movies and he grabbed onto it
like a lifeline, letting it haul him out. "Stop. It's not like that." 

 "Then what!" 

 "I'm not a monster." 

 The perfect skin was unnaturally white in the muted early evening light
straggling in through the window blinds. A tear track slashed down his
cheek like a scar. 

 He watched uncomprehendingly as Fraser sank to his knees on the floor
next to Ray's feet. For a second he thought Fraser was asking forgiveness
and then it was a proposal, and who was gonna wear the dress? 'Cause he
didn't look good in white anyway, and there was something about Fraser on
his knees that made Ray itch, made him shift uncomfortably on the couch. 

 One of those broad hands rose up in slow motion toward his face. He
reached out to stop it, to ask why, who the hell knew what for, because
the next thing he knew Frase had his hand in a gentle grip and pressed a
kiss into Ray's palm. 

 He could feel the scratch of evening beard against his fingers, the faint
moisture between the lips on his palm, and Fraser's too-fast pulse
thumping his fingertips. Completely thrown, he could only make a funny
noise in his throat. Fraser looked up over the heel of Ray's hand, and
Ray'd never seen that look on his face, scared and hungry like a kid out
on the street. 

 He'd have given fucking anything to take that look away. 

 So he didn't move, didn't say anything when Fraser kissed the tips of his
fingers, one by one, when his warm breath puffed singing telegrams up the
blue vein at the inside of his wrist, or when Fraser carefully bit down on
the thick pad of muscle at the base his thumb, a rise and shine for every
freakin' nerve he had. This was not buddies, this was way beyond buddies,
holy shit, it was two years, and nobody ever sucked on his fingers before.


 As he looked down on his best friend's dark head, Ray was torn. His mind
demanded an explanation while his body yelled out for more. When he
watched his knuckles disappear between Fraser's lips, thoughts and senses
exploded in flaming wreckage because the last time his fingers had been
pressed together in a place that warm, that wet was inside Stella. 

 Fraser's mouth. His fingers. Fraser and sex. This was his Fraser on sex.
That was what all those women wanted, that closed-eyed blissed-out glow
and the little moans humming on his skin. Now he knew, understood the
draw, wanted to see . . . more. It surprised him so much that he jumped a
little, pulling away, and his fingers made a soft wet sound as they came
out. 

 He heard another little cut-off noise, but maybe it was his imagination.
He could only see the top of Fraser's bent head as his partner stared at
the floor. He just sat there counting the hairs, trying to file the
evidence; hell, he needed a new jacket for it, or maybe a whole new file
cabinet. 

 Finally, Fraser looked up. He'd straightened out his face, but there were
sad crinkles around his eyes that Ray had never seen before. 

 "You have your answer now, and I have mine." His voice was almost
perfectly normal. "You know, it's funny, but the man was right. The world
really did end with a whimper." His mouth stretched from side to side, but
it was nothing like a smile. "I'm sure you'll understand if I ask that we
not speak of this." He was up on one knee and ready to get up, walk,
amscray. 

 "Don't even think about it!" Ray shouted. "This man says you are not
walking out of here!" Ray grabbed Fraser's elbows, shoving his left foot
down for leverage, but all the weight shifted at the same time as Fraser
tried to get up, and the resulting whump left them both flat on the couch.
He'd been landed on by Fraser before, but this knocked the stuffing out of
him in a whole new way. 

 He squirmed under the pressure of a ton of hard body, and it freaked him
a little 'cause he'd never been laid on with intent by anybody bigger and
heavier than he was and Fraser had intent all right, but intent to what? 

 "Get off of me!" He gulped with relief as most of the weight was levered
up, but it was only lifted onto Fraser's elbows. They were still up close
and personal, though, so close that he could smell the bay rum. Fraser
wore aftershave? At least it was taking his mind off the pressure settled
on his crotch. 

 The face above his was bigger at upside-down eyeball level. Fraser was
looking at him all wide-eyed, like he wasn't sure how he got there. Maybe
that was true, but he wasn't getting up to leave, either. Ray's own eyes
crossed as that straight nose came closer and closer, and then he
scrunched them shut, not sure he was ready to see what came next. 

 Fraser was pushing his face against Ray's cheek, learned that from Dief
or something, shushing him with indistinct sounds. He stayed there, and
they nuzzled each other until Ray relaxed with a sigh, wrapping his arms
around his partner. There was a lot to hold on to. 

 Fraser was touching his hair now, like he couldn't quite believe
it--patting the spikes with his palm, then brushing his hand back and
forth over the top of it. Fraser was giving his hair the troop review,
running a fingertip along the scalp and stopping in places to pull gently
along a clump of hair from root to tip. It made his whole body light up,
all the way down to his toes. 

 God, he missed that so much. He missed being touched, now, more than he
missed her. Not being touched after almost a whole lifetime of Stella, all
the way back to holding ice cream hands, made him feel like a ghost even
more than being Ray Vecchio. At least Ray Vecchio was a real person.
Stanley Ray Kowalski didn't have anybody to show him where the inside
started and the outside stopped. 

 He carefully peered up into the bigger-than-life face above his, straight
into the open, waiting eyes. He saw a National Geographic special just
like that once, Blue Planet, and didn't it figure Frase would be out in
space? There wasn't a whole lot of air or gravity around here, either. He
could tell by the way his hands were floating around all by themselves
along flannel-covered ribs, and by how hard it was to catch his breath. 

 Pulling away from the eyes, he tried to get a grip, but since his whole
view was full of economy-size facial features, the next thing he got stuck
on was the mouth. Which was in the middle of lip-licking. He watched,
fascinated. What always looked like an open mouth before was now looking a
lot like an open invitation. 

 Come as you are. 

 Bemused, he snaked his arms up under the cotton-fuzzy chest. Fraser must
have caught an elbow in a sensitive spot; he tried to move away but Ray
was faster. Catching a couple handsfuls of hair, he brought Fraser back in
for that RSVP. 

 The guy had a big mouth, like that was a surprise. There was just more
than Ray was used to. It was like his first kiss all over again, all noses
and teeth and a little fumbly and confusing. Confusing 'cause what was he
doing kissing his freaky partner, a man who made him nuts and threatened
his life, why was he horizontal with Fraser? 

 Then his taste buds kicked in and it was more like his first beer, smooth
with an edge and straight to his head, and he never trusted commercials
but this time he went with it: why ask why? 

 And so there they were, swapping spit like they were hormone-enhanced,
and jesus did it feel good, tongue on tongue, so good it was almost scary.
But there was nothing to be scared of--nobody could get pregnant, and if
they didn't come together nobody would get pissy about it--unless that
really was a pistol Fraser was packing. 

 He had to say it, he just had to. But when he looked up again, "Are you
happy to see me?" dried up and tumbled away. He could see it all now,
Fraser's hair mussed by Ray's hands, face flushed, mouth open, eyes
closed. He looked . . . crazy with it, as lost here with Ray as Ray was
while Fraser was gone. Looking up at Fraser was like looking down the
abandoned mineshaft in the ghost town they went to when he was a kid. 

 The need in him went so deep that Ray couldn't see the bottom. Shit,
Fraser had his own black hole he carried around with him. 

 It hit him like a slug in the chest, slamming the air out of his lungs
and making him dizzy. This was it. This was what Fraser wanted, what would
make him stay. He knew it like it was tattooed across that broad forehead.
Maybe it had been, all this time, and Ray just hadn't been looking. God
knew Ray was available. 

 No more wondering where his next friend was coming from. He could make it
happen, and it sounded . . . good. He could keep Fraser. He could do it.
Something big and cold living under Ray's ribs since way before the
divorce started to melt away. 

 Fraser's eyes opened, and he was trying to say something. The guy hadn't
said a word so far or hardly made a noise, like he was afraid if he made
the wrong noise they'd both disappear in a puff of dust. 

 "Ray, I . . . I want . . . to be with you . . ." 

 It ripped Ray's guts out to hear him stumble over words. 

 "Shh, it's OK. I want to be with you, too." And he did. Right now it was
the only thing he wanted. "We're all right, it's all OK." 

 Fraser looked like he wasn't sure, or like nobody ever said stuff to make
him feel better. Maybe nobody ever had. That went on the list. First, he
had to get Fraser's attention. So he leaned up and laid another one on
those pretty red lips, wet and slow and soft. 

 "Let's go, Frase." 

 "Where?" 

 He didn't look so much worried anymore as dazed, and that was good. Keep
him that way. He got a real charge out of that; he was flying high just
from being in control for once, and that wasn't nice, but it was
satisfying. 

 Christ, Fraser was his. Right now. Not as a favor, not as a duty. He
wanted it, here, now, with Ray, so bad he would risk everything--their
friendship, life as they knew it. That blew his fucking mind. 

 Unresisting was a new look for the man who didn't hesitate to put his
life on the line, as long as there was a weapon in some miserable
bastard's hand. A friend with a boner, hey, that made him nervous. Ray
wanted to see those barriers down, smashed all to hell. All he had to do
was figure out how. 

 "We're headin' to the bedroom, buddy." He had to make his point with a
little push. 

 It was worth it just to see those glazed eyes work so hard to focus. Ray
wasn't sure his partner even understood the words. He pushed and pulled
until they were both pretty much upright and at least moving in the
bedroom direction. 

 When they got there was when Fraser came back from la la land. 

 Ray knew how agile those hands were--could whittle The Last Supper out of
Irish Spring--still, it amazed him how fast they could get a shirt and
jeans off somebody who wasn't really a whole lot of help. He was actively
trying to hold Fraser in one place, trying to hang on to something safe.
Kissing was his specialty, it was familiar--not like whatever else was
going to happen here. 

 The nudge of Fraser's fingers tugging at his fly made his hips hitch
forward all by themselves for more, and that zipper noise he always
thought was so sexy almost deafened him. Fraser stripped himself on
automatic pilot, his eyes never leaving Ray's face. They were asking him
for something, but even with no clothes on he wasn't exactly sure what. 

 He had to get results here. It was a big fucking deal, this deciding to
screw your partner. Kinda cold, and that wasn't his style. He shifted his
weight from foot to foot, scrambling to get his act together. After
dragging Fraser into the bedroom, now was not a good time for second
thoughts. 

 It ought to be all the same, everybody had the same number of lips and
fingers--but the reality was different. Bigger, for one thing. Kind of
overwhelming, all that bone and muscle. He thought he'd just naturally
know what to do, where to start, but he didn't. He only knew how to use
his fists on men. 

 Maybe it was time to get out of the car and ask directions. 

 "Um." Pause. "You ever done this before?" 

 "I've had dreams." That voice, he'd never heard Fraser talk like that
before, low and rough and coming from someplace dark. He shivered. 

 "Frase, help me out here. What do I, can I. . ." He trailed off. 

 "Will you do something for me?" That watchful face was all eyes, that
sandpaper voice all sex. 

 "Yes." No questions asked. Ray held his breath. 

 "My name," lick of that bottom lip, "is Benton." A long look. There were
the sparks. "Call me Ben." 

 "Yeah, sure . . . Ben." For three letters, Ben was a motherbig name. It
filled up his mouth. It was like lovers, more than kissing, more than
everything else. 

 "Say it again." 

 That voice rubbed all over him, making his skin crazy. 

 "Ben. Ben." He was croaking around the lump in his throat. 

 Then those I split logs in the Yukon arms were around him and that bare
body glued up against him. It was a relief and a reward and he couldn't
sort out what else. They were moving. He was moving backwards, following
because Fraser was leading. They weren't quite in sync, awkward and
bumping and rubbing for more. The brush of curly hairs and soft skin on
his long-ignored cock was about enough to send him through the roof.
Fraser--Ben--backed him right up against the bed, holding him tight and
easing him down when his knees buckled. 

 Ben was on his knees on the floor again. Ray's itch was back even
stronger, but now it was hotwired to his groin. He'd thought he couldn't
get any harder. Wrong again. Ben's lips along his chest had to be leaving
welts; he tingled everywhere they'd been. He couldn't help the moan that
washed through him when he felt teeth skate a nipple. He reached out to
steady himself, holding tight to those sturdy shoulders. 

 Without warning, Fraser leaned into his lap and swallowed him like a shot
of cheap tequila. Oh, God, oh shit, it was way too much after way too
long. He almost screamed when that wet, warm mouth sucked in the head of
his cock and slid down the shaft. He lost all control when those lips hit
bottom, jerking and yelling as his partner sucked. He'd never come so hard
so fast, and it left him stupid. He flopped back on the bed, panting,
fingers wound in that heavy hair, holding Fra--Ben's head on his stomach. 

 When he could think in words again, right after wow came oh, shit, what
now? 

 It was time to put up or shut up, keep Frase or throw him back, and Ray
didn't have a fucking clue. 

 Wait. There was one thing he could probably do; he had plenty of
experience. 

 He scrunched himself up to sit against the headboard, shoving pillows
behind him. Spreading his legs, he said, "C'mere. I can take care of you."
At the shocked look, he backed up quick. "No way, not that! Forget that!
Come over here and sit down." He hoped he didn't look as uncertain as he
felt. Just for good measure, he pulled Fraser down to sit facing away.
This would be a lot easier if he couldn't see those wide eyes tracking his
every move. 

 It was kind of a nice view, really. Wanting a better look, he clicked on
the the mostly worthless bedside lamp, the one you couldn't hardly read
by, and found out there really was a good use for it: it made Ben's skin
glow, a halo around him on the darker room. It was really . . . nice. His
long fingers splayed against that broad back looked right at home,
somehow. 

 For all the time he spent watching Fraser's back, he didn't have much
chance to look at it. He took his time now, skimming his fingertip down
the tiny rollercoaster of Fraser's backbone, trying not to think about the
scar, following the path of muscle as it firmed around bones. That was
what held Fraser together. The magic of genetics and wildly woolly outdoor
life, all neatly tucked into a Mountie suit. 

 Ray wished there was something so simple that could hold him together. 

 He ran his hands along the traps, using some pressure this time. Whoa.
The guy was stiff, and not just where Ray expected. His shoulder blades
could pass for the friggin' Canadian Shield. He gave the shoulders a
gentle shake and said, "Relax, willya?" Digging his thumbs in along the
edges, he worked until he felt the landscape ease up some. It was a
familiar rhythm of long practice, kneading and smoothing and shaping. 

 After a while they were both floating, and he'd have thought that Fraser
was falling asleep except for the quiet happy noises coming out of him. He
pulled back, fixing that bulk up against him, started to work down the
front, and realized for the first time that Fraser--Ben--had, well,
breasts. Not round and bouncy; more like flat and firm. But still. He
palmed and squeezed them a little. Ben groaned like a dying man, his head
falling back, mink coat hair tickling Ray's shoulder. 

 There were neat dusky nipples that he tweaked, pinching just a little to
hear Ben make little sounds back in his throat. It was a trip to coax
those sounds out, to hear the pleasure and watch it cross his face, light
chasing shadow. 

 He smoothed one hand down across those late-night infomercial abs, closer
and closer to the final destination. OK, this was it, this was for all the
money. He could do it. Gingerly, he cupped his hand around Ben's erection
and curled his fingers tight. 

 Ben came right up off the bed. "Ah! Ah, ah!" 

 For the first time, Ray knew exactly what that meant. 

 Jerking another guy off was all sorts of strange; it was how familiar it
was that made it freaky. The throb of blood under that tender skin, the
hardness underneath, the slick he was squeezing out--all the times he'd
looked down the slope of a chest to see his fingers wrapped around a hard
cock, it was his own chest and his own cock. 

 He'd never even thought of what it would be like to look down at his hand
around somebody else's. It was like being one of those optical illusions
that was full of birds until another look made them fish, and then they
turned back. Like he ought to be feeling the pull of his hand on himself. 

 Ben's hips were rolling with the steady strokes, and his moans echoed
through Ray's chest. Ray's half-hard cock was snuggled up in the valley of
Ben's spine, and liking it better all the time. He could feel their sweat
mixing around him and easing the way. 

 "Ray." A whisper from alongside his ear; a tongue and a hot breath
sneaking into it. 

 "Oh, Christ!" He shivered at the invasion. "Yeah, Ben, you want
somethin'?" He smiled, loving this, loving to be skin-tight, looking to
hear Ben say something sweet. Guys did that, when they were just about
there. 

 "Ray," so low he could hardly hear, even with that mouth pressed up
against his neck. ". . . fuck me." 

 Goddamn, he hadn't even been sure Fraser knew that word, much less it
would pass his lips. Maybe only Ben used that word, kind of like multiple
personality. They'd be heads and tails, for sure, and only one guess who
got to be the tail. It wasn't hard to tell them apart--Ben was the naked
one. Then the meaning dribbled in. His hand just stopped, fingers
clenching. Ben gasped, and he loosened his fingers a little. 

 "You serious, here, hey, I tried that once, didn't work, hurts." Wasn't
Stella's idea in the first place. He couldn't even remember why he thought
it sounded so sexy, back then. "Don't wanna hurt anybody. No way, no how."
Now Ray was the one who was babbling. Fraser was rubbing off on him. Oh,
man! He was just plain losing it. 

 "It won't hurt, Ray." The rasp in his voice said loud and clear he didn't
care either way. 

 This was Ben's party. Better to know now if he couldn't bring the
presents. "OK. Just--just--hang on a minute, OK?" 

 He leaned back and rummaged in the bedside table drawer for the KY he
used on himself sometimes. He already knew that spit was not gonna do it
for this adventure. When he finally found it under the pile of junk in
there and looked up again, it was Porn-o-vision. 

 Ben was kneeling, ass up--it was an awesome ass, too, rounded and
muscular, just crying out to be grabbed onto, held, fucked--sliding his
fingers into himself, getting ready. It was the smuttiest, strangest, most
brain-melting thing he'd ever seen in real life, and it was right there.
In front of his face. 

 It totally eliminated the idea that maybe he couldn't get it up for his
partner. Nope. Not just friction after all. And it was way, way too hot in
here--stifling, he could hardly breathe. He was dripping with sweat and he
hadn't moved a muscle. Wasn't sure he could. He just--watched. And
listened. Mainly he was hearing his own heartbeat bang in his ears and
Ben's harsh breathing; he couldn't really be hearing long wet fingers
moving slowly in and out. 

 Strained words broke into his trance. "Ray. Ray. Please." 

 Ray started in surprise, licking the salt from his lip. Oh, yeah. Time to
join the party. No rubbers, why the hell would he have any? All that
asking women out was just bullshit, and even if somebody had gone out with
him, he just couldn't do it on a first date. He couldn't put his dick in
somebody he didn't even know. Although--he was doing it with Fraser, and
it looked like there were still questions there. 

 He should probably say something. "Fraser, Ben, I don't have any, um,
condoms." 

 "Ray!" 

 "Yeah, OK, I got it." T-minus ten seconds here. He smeared himself up and
rubbed a dollop against that tiny space those fingers just left. Ben
shivered but held his ground. At least you couldn't get a ticket for
breaking the law of physics. Only Fraser could explain how this was going
to fit, and Ray wasn't in any shape to listen. 

 He put a not-too-steady hand on Ben's hip, used the slippery one to aim,
pressed the tip of his cock into the right spot, closed his eyes, and
pushed. 

 Holy mother. 

 His determination not to hurt anybody almost evaporated right there. As
soon as he was a heartbeat into that tight, slippery heat, everything else
fell out of his head. Only a gut-deep moan, wow, he felt that, brought him
back. Fuck, get with it, Kowalski. Deep breath, take it easy, "--you all
right, there, Ben?" 

 "Y-yes. Please, continue." 

 Please, continue? If he was using real words, then Ray wasn't doing it
right. Guys did this for fun, there had to be a way to make it good.
Touching, Ben liked to be touched, everybody liked that, sure winner. And
that perfect ass was perfectly touchable, so he slid his palms down it as
he tried to move into that resistance. Oh, beautiful, the feel of those
heavy muscles filling his hands. 

 He was moving farther in, and he couldn't believe it. Sometimes he'd
wondered what Ben looked like naked, just that they were so different, and
hey, the guy was built. Now he knew. He was under the uniform, under Ben's
skin, and Ben wanted him there. He was inside, and wanted to stay there
forever. 

 Oh, God, it was good, just so damn good as he felt himself sliding in all
the way. "You're beautiful, Ben, you feel incredible," he crooned as he
leaned over to lick at the gleam of sweat on the rope of muscle alongside
Ben's backbone. Ben tasted just as good on the outside as he felt from the
inside, salt against his tongue and he wanted more, so Ray licked up with
long strokes as he rocked his hips gently. He felt Ben shudder beneath
him. 

 The way was easy now, slick and easy all around him, pushing slow up to
the hilt and leaning back. That alone would have made him come if he
hadn't just. Now, there was so much more he wanted. So much to touch, so
much to taste, and it was all right here, waiting. He let his hands roam,
trying not to miss a square inch of that fine skin or a curve of muscle,
sucking and nipping in time with the gasps of his partner. 

 He had to make sure. "What do you want, Ben?" His voice cracked. "I got
it, all for you, give you anything." 

 A caught breath. "See you. I want to see you. Want you to see me." 

 "Sure. We can do that." He gave the strong back one more caress and
carefully pulled out, hating the loss. He was repaid big time when Ben
dropped gracefully, rolled over and stretched out, reaching up for him.
The sight of his pink face, eyes dilated and dreamy, nailed Ray right
where he lived. Oh, God, Fraser . . . wanted. 

 Just like Ray. 

 He followed the pull of Ben's hands down to kiss that wobbly smile. Ben
was born to kiss. His in-and-out tongue move could start forest fires, was
doing a dandy job on Ray. A surprise of lust flared in his insides, and
Ray let it burn. He pressed his on-top advantage, licking deeper, holding
Ben's twisting body down, getting off on using his strength, ignoring the
wordless pleas. 

 He moved on down, sucking and biting at the stubbly jawline, making his
way to the vulnerable white skin below. Long hard licks up Ben's corded
neck had both of them moaning. 

 "If you want me to beg you again, I will." Needy, naked Ben. 

 Fuck. That turned Ray's crank so hard. He sank his teeth into the firm
flesh just above a nipple. 

 "Ray!" 

 "Pull your knees up." He almost got Ben's foot in his ear, but it didn't
matter. They were together again and he was inside and there was nothing
in between them, no space, not even air.  

 When he woke up, nobody was there. 

 Could have been the empty that woke him up, or just that he'd had eight
hours of unbroken sleep for the first time in weeks. 

 Empty. Not right, not good. Reality check: 5:21, Tuesday morning, The
Morning After, and Hurricane Fraser had already blown out of here, leaving
him asleep like a bad pickup. His arms were clenched across his chest,
fingers leaving prints on his arms, missing that big warmth. 

 Wait. Wait. Settle down. Think about it. 

 They could let it go. Whatever it was. What the hell was it, anyway? They
weren't together, not that way. Fraser could--would--let it go. What had
possessed him to think that fucking Fraser would keep the guy around?
Well, the look on the man's face. Right before he said what he said. 

 Yet, Ray knew damn well that Fraser could just say no. He could walk away
and use that incredible brain to never think about it again. If he did,
there wouldn't be a damn thing Ray could do about it. There were good
reasons, and then there were Fraser reasons: unfathomable, unarguable, and
thick as a brick. Shit, the man was on his way back to normal. 

 Ray rolled out of bed and landed on his ass with a thump, blanket and
all, lurching for yesterday's socks. If Fraser got to the consulate before
Ray got to him, he wouldn't have a chance. Fighting off the blanket and
hauling on his jeans--where was that other fucking sock?--he knew what
would happen. Last night would be history. Write it down, stick it in a
book. 

 One nobody would read, ever again. 

 He found his keys in his jacket pocket, dropped the keys, groped under
the refrigerator for them, didn't bother to lock the door as he slammed
out. Even crackhead B&Es were asleep at this hour. 

 After he floored it out into the street--burned a year's wear off the
directional tread Hoosiers right there--he realized he hadn't even looked
to see if there was any traffic. There wasn't a whole lot even in Chicago
at 5:26 on a Tuesday, but not good to get killed in a stupid-ass car
accident outside his apartment on the way to find the rest of his life. He
put the cherry on top for safety, thinking if they were awake they'd at
least know enough to get the hell outta the way. 

 He wanted to go eighty, but he had to watch the damned alleys. Who knew
when Fraser would take a short cut, or take off after some criminal?
Finally, finally, about three blocks from the Consulate, Ray spotted his
partner on the sidewalk. He'd seen the man walking by himself lots of
times, but for some reason Fraser had never looked more alone. 

 Ray about pulled a muscle rolling down the passenger side window. "Hop
in, I'll give you a ride." 

 "Thank you, Ray, but I'd rather walk." 

 That did it. He didn't have time any more to argue it out from the
goddamn car window. He hit the gas a little and drove ahead into the next
alley cut, blocking Fraser's path. Fraser made a course adjustment, going
to walk around the rear end of the car, but Ray jumped out, actually
managing for the first time to back him up. The guy moved away from him
like he was poison. Terrific, the only one who could make the Mountie back
off was now Ray. 

 "I need to talk to you, and if you don't come quietly, I'm going to yell
it all out right here on the street!" 

 "Very well. In the alley, then." 

 At least it was conveniently right there. "After you." 

 Ray tried not to think about Fraser and alleys. The two just didn't have
a good history. He had no idea what he was going to say, as usual. The
best defense was to get offensive, he had a good handle on that one
already, but all that came out was what was sticking like a needle in his
brain. "You left." Christ. What a loser opening line that was. 

 "Yes, I felt it important to get ready for work." 

 "Fraser, are--are you gonna come home? I mean, back? Tonight?" Jesus,
that was pathetic. He could hardly talk. 

 "Thank you for . . . what you did last night. I'm very grateful." 

 So, no answer. Or was that the answer? He wouldn't look Ray in the eye,
and he for damn sure wasn't dripping gratitude. Not that Ray wanted any,
but his partner looked tired, sad, almost angry. 

 Everything was all mixed up. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Fraser
was supposed to be happy. Now there he was with that freeze-dried Mountie
face on, the one Ray never wanted to see again. The hard set of his
features flickered oddly in the flash of the rotating red light. 

 "Whaddya mean, uh, grateful?" This was not looking good, so far. Christ,
he'd hoped, he'd counted on his partner being with him on this one. 

 "I know you've said that you'll do anything, and I'm honored that your
willingness extends to . . . comforting me." 

 "Is that what it was?" He scrubbed his palm nervously against the outside
seam of his jeans. 

 "Yes, Ray. It was a gesture of real kindness." He sounded like he was
going to gag on it. 

 "Ben!" That got him a straight look, full of pain and dismay. "Don't look
at me like I'm taking your name in vain! If I wanted your goddamn
gratitude, I'd--well, shit! I don't know what I'd do, but taking my
clothes off and grabbing your dick is not it!" 

 "I'm not under any illusions in this situation. Please, don't make things
any harder than they already are." 

 "The only thing I wanna get hard is you, you dumb Canuck! Why are you
arguing with me about this?" 

 "I took advantage of your kind nature and your own need for physical
contact, and we had sex. You seem to want to continue on that basis, but I
assure you, it wouldn't be a good idea." 

 Supercilious fucking Mountie. That was a word he'd learned since Fraser. 

 There was some truth to what he said; Ray had wanted Fraser to feel
better. He'd screwed the man's brains out hoping just for that. He was not
going to let this get away just because his partner was messed up. He
couldn't let it go wrong. He rolled up and down off the balls of his feet.


 "Basis, what basis? Did you ever stop and think that what you think is
not the right basis? Did I stand up and say, 'Hey, this is a mercy fuck?'"


 The bitterness in Fraser's voice startled him. "You didn't have to." 

 "Oh, yeah?" Great, down to rug rat already. Getting nowhere. He shook
himself down, trying to shake off the frustration, but it wouldn't go.
"Look, I can't prove it, Fraser. I can't prove what you are to me. I tried
that for twenty years and it didn't work, and in the end it didn't matter.
You gotta trust me." 

 "I trust you with my life." 

 "But not with your heart." 

 Fraser shook his head slowly. "I'm not even sure I have one to give."
Then, without any warning, he came out with his own big-bucks question. 

 "Why did you have sex with me, Ray?" 

 His jaw came loose. He had to work it a little from side to side before
he could answer. "You can stand there and ask me that?" 

 "I'm afraid so." 

 "Because. I. Because." He honestly didn't have an answer. It was too big,
that why. It stretched all the way from there to here, in a choppy, broken
line of surprises and circumstances. 

 "What am I to you?" Fraser was on edge, clearly exasperated at Ray's
dogged pursuit and lack of explanation. "What do you want from me?" 

 That was easy enough. He'd always known the answer to that one.
"Everything. I want everything you got." 

 "Well, that seems new. I've never noticed that about you before. And,
Ray?" He pinned Ray under his gaze, eyes narrowed. "I notice everything
about you." 

 "Give me a break, I didn't know myself until yesterday!" Fraser's
look--jesus, did he sharpen his buck knife on that look? "Well, I knew,
but I didn't know know. How the hell could I be expected to know something
like that?" It was easy to see that he hadn't been nearly convincing
enough. The bitch of it was, Fraser wanted to be convinced. He was sure of
it. 

 He had to bluff it out, but man, this was a tough audience. After
everything he'd done all this time, why should his partner need so much
convincing? Wasn't it obvious whose side Ray was on? 

 "All right, smart guy. Just tell me one thing. Why would I? Why would I
do something like that? Just to make you happy? Why would I follow you all
over hell and back, why would I make love with you, if I didn't--" 

 Out of the mouths of Rays. Oh, shit. Deep shit. He was in serious trouble
now. It really was too big, it was the lake they call Michigan. He was
under water. Sinking fast underneath him was a formerly burning car, the
swirl from its sinking trying to pull him down, and somewhere up there was
something to breathe. He'd been under water from day one. He was finally
coming to the top at last, been sucking water for months, a year, dammit,
couldn't he get some help here! Fraser knew he couldn't swim! 

 All the blood left his head in a big rush, and he was vaguely surprised
and relieved not to see it pooling on the ground at his feet. He was
shaking. He had to sit down. He sat down right there in the alley, in the
gravel and trash and leftovers of everybody who passed by. He propped his
elbows on his knees and rubbed his face. 

 A big warm body, cozy with flannel, came up behind him and sat down too,
legs on the outside of his. Big warm arms circled his chest and held on.
He grabbed them like a life preserver. 

 "Don't go back, Ben. Just don't go back." 

 "To work?" The surprise was clear. 

 "To normal, OK? Don't go back to normal." 

 A snort came from behind him. Then, insanely, a giggle. 

 No. No. Not even. Fraser did not giggle. Ray turned his head, staring in
amazement as the years fell off Fraser's face like calendar pages in those
old movies. He was laughing now, big old guffaws that went right into Ray
and started him laughing too, that goofy way it did when you didn't even
get the joke. 

 They rocked back and forth and laughed their fool asses off. Fraser fell
over backwards, pulling Ray with him, and he let his head bounce up and
down on Ben's chest, and that was pretty funny, too. They held on tight to
each other, giggling up at buildings sticking into the sky. They howled
like goofs and made pig noises when they snorted air, which only made them
laugh again. 

 This was definitely Ben here and not Fraser; he'd never seen Fraser laugh
like this, or at all, really, and he wondered if anybody else had ever
seen Ben laughing. Then he wondered if anyone else had ever seen Ben. 

 "Um, Ben?" He wiped the tears off his face, still smiling, listening to
the occasional choked noise underneath, feeling happiness rattle around
inside him. "Was there anything funny about what I said?" 

 Ben pushed them both back up to sitting. "You were presuming," he was
still choked up a little, "that there was anything normal about me to
start with. Certainly that's a unique viewpoint, one that I can
appreciate, but I'm not really sure that I could find normal from here." 

 "You got a sextant. You got a compass." That pulled another one of those
beautiful smiles, and a squeeze. 

 "Even so, it could be difficult. Besides, I, well, I like it here. Well,
not here, precisely. It's quite uncomfortable to sit on the ground this
morning." 

 "Oh, hey, sorry." Embarrassed, he moved to get up, but was tugged back
down. 

 "Don't be." The warmth of Ben's voice almost made up for the fact that
Ray's ass was freezing onto the cold, cold ground. 

 "So, Ben, you got any ideas about this relationship stuff?" 

 It took a minute to get an answer, and it was soft and wistful. "I've had
dreams." 

 "Good. Then we can work it out together. 'Cause I have a feeling it could
take a while. Let's go get breakfast. You hungry? I'm starved." 

 But they sat there for a few more minutes anyway, while out on the street
the traffic picked up and the early morning brightened around them. 

End Surface by Kalena: Kalena@mninter.net

Author and story notes above.