Two Very Different People	   Two Very Different People

 by Alison

  

 Author's website: http://uk.geocities.com/asylum_girluk/love.htm

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 Two Very Different People 

 This is so not gonna work. I mean, look at him. Uptight, moral,
tight-assed. Canadian. Okay, so he may the most gorgeous thing I've ever
set eyes on, but that's something I'll just have to deal with in my own
way, since from what I know of him so far, I don't see him letting me
anywhere near that pretty ass of his anytime soon. That's the least of my
problems. It's what your right hand's for. 

 And then there's me. Moral, I guess, in my own way, but definitely not
tight assed. Or Canadian. Plus, I don't look anything like the guy I'm
replacing. I'm not Italian. And I'm sure as hell not bald. Nose is
smaller, too. My eyes aren't green... 

 "Vecchio? Are you listening to anything I'm saying to you?" Lieutenant
sounds pissed, so I guess that means he's been talking to me for quite a
while now, and I just haven't been hearing him. It's always like this when
I start a new gig; getting used to another guy's name, another guy's
identity. 

 "Sure I'm listening," I reply. "I just didn't hear you." 

 Welsh groans and leans back in his chair. "I was warned about you," he
mutters. "But I didn't believe them. Nobody can really be like that..." he
looks at me again. "Can they?" 

 "Absolutely not," I grin at him, and he blinks. I like this guy; first
impressions are good, and I'm a big believer in first impressions. He's
big and bluff, but nothing gets past him, and according to the reports
I've heard, he's loyal to his men. I could work with him anytime; as
Vecchio or as myself. 

 "So this Mountie," I say, looking down at the file in my hand. "I've
heard a few things about him that I don't - that can't be right. Nobody
can be like that." 

 "I can assure you, Detective, that everything you read in there is
gospel." Welsh kinda smiles. 

 "No," I say, shaking my head. "The leaping, the bounding, the general
jumping about. The licking things, the getting shot by his partner -
twice." I look down again. "The wolf?" 

 "Especially the wolf," he assures me, and smiles that weird smile again. 

 "And I have to work with this guy like he's normal?" I ask. 

 "Oh, no," says Welsh. "I don't think that we can seriously consider
Constable Fraser to be normal, or at least not in any of the usually
accepted meanings of that word." 

 "Oh." I look at the photo which dominates the first page of the report.
He really is something. Lust at first sight. 

 "He's good at his job, Vecchio." Welsh leans forward, serious and stern.
"He doesn't conform, but that doesn't take anything away from his
abilities as a cop. Get that into your head, okay? From what I know of
you, you don't exactly play by the rules either, so I hope you realise
where he's coming from." 

 "I guess," I mutter, standing up. "If we're done, Lieutenant, I need to
go and look through a couple of case files, okay? It's my first day
tomorrow and I don't wanna fuck up." 

 Welsh glances at his watch and raises one eyebrow at me. "It's late," he
says. "Sure you don't want to leave this until tomorrow?" 

 "Nah, I like to be word perfect when I start a new gig," I answer. "Looks
kinda suspicious if I can't remember stuff." 

 He nods, and I can see the approval in his eyes. I'm glad. I want to
impress this guy. I take the nod as dismissal and leave his office. The
squad room's nearly empty at this time of night, so I make my way over to
Vecchio's desk and sit down, wriggling a bit to try and get comfortable.
Chairs are weird; sit in one long enough, even if it's just plain old
hardwood and it takes on the shape of its owner. And Vecchio's ass is
bigger than mine. 

 I put the folder on the table and open it again, looking at that photo.
Somewhere, up in the wilds, this poor bastard is getting ready to come
back and see his buddy Vecchio. And instead he's gonna get me. 

 Christ, but he's something to look at.  

 I hear an unfamiliar voice call my name and every muscle in my body
tenses up. This is it, always the most difficult part of a gig; meeting
the guy's partner. I don't know him, not even after studying that fucking
file every night for two weeks. There's nothing but bare facts in there,
nothing about the man that I'm going to meet right now. I swing round. 

 Christ. Good Christ and all his dancing angels. For just a second I
really do forget to breathe and it's only when I hear my heart pounding in
my ears that I force the air back into my lungs and take a couple of steps
forward, slinging one arm around his shoulders. 

 Good Christ.  

 By the end of the first day, one thing's real clear. He's a snarky
bastard. And he's loyal to a fucking fault. Oh, that's two things. And
just being near him gets me so hard I can hardly sit down. Three things,
then. 

 By the time he's finished mooning over that card from Vecchio we're in
the Chinese and just about ready to dive into the food. I watch him as he
picks up his chopsticks and starts to eat. He keeps touching the pocket of
his jacket where he's stashed the card, as if he's trying to connect with
Vecchio, trying to find out where he is, what he's doing. I'd be touched
if I wasn't so busy wishing I was that jacket; then it'd be me he was
stroking, not dead cow. 

 "So what does he call you?" I ask, a bit too loud, and smirk as he jumps
slightly before he looks up. 

 "Who?" he asks. 

 "Him," I reply, nodding at Fraser's chest. "Vecchio. It's the little
things that'll make this work, you know? Me getting your name right, you
knowing what kind of food I like most, that kinda stuff. So what does he
call you?" 

 "Fraser, mostly," he answers, real quiet, hand going to his chest again.
"Benny, sometimes." He looks up but doesn't say anything. I get the
message though. //That's what * he * calls me. You don't have permission
for that.// 

 "So I'll stick with Fraser then, I guess," I say. "That works." 

 He nods, and we sit in silence for a coupla minutes. I'm just about to
say something witty when I feel something damp and disgusting against my
leg, and I jump up so fast that I catch the underside of the table with my
knees and end up on my ass, face to muzzle with the wolf. 

 "Oh Ray, I'm sorry!" Fraser stands up and rushes over to help me get up. 

 "I'm sorry," he says again, brushing me down a little more thoroughly
than seems strictly necessary. "Diefenbaker seems to have taken a distinct
liking to you, and he's very demonstrative." 

 "Demonstrative, yeah," I mutter, "good word." I glare at the wolf, and
the wolf just grins. Go figure. 

 "Come on, I'll give you a ride home," I say, pulling away from Fraser's
ministrations. "It's getting late, and we got an early start in the a.m.
Bad guys to nail ..." Nail's not a good word for me to be using around
Fraser, not right now. 

 "Indeed, Ray," he agrees, and he looks at me in a way I don't understand.
I can't name that expression in his eyes. I stand stock still in the
restaurant and just gaze at him, losing myself in him, and it's not until
I feel my upper body begin to sway towards him that I realise I'm in
serious danger of making a complete dick of myself. 

 I glance away, and when I look back, his expression has changed. He looks
like Fraser again. Ice cool, Mr Reliable. Wish I could figure out what
that other look was, though.  

 I drop him off at the Consulate, watching him walk up the steps. He
should look ridiculous in those pants, but he doesn't. Even after only a
day, they're just part of him. He turns at the top of the steps and half
salutes me. I nod at him and pull away before I can do anything to
embarrass myself. I reach down and put my hand on my super hard cock,
pressing down. Christ, I feel like some kind of horny teenager. 

 I mean to pull my hand away, but somehow it decides to stay where it is,
and I don't have the will power to fight it. It's the first day, how the
fuck am I going to be able to keep hiding this? In an alternative
universe, I'm currently pounding into Fraser, making him sweat and scream,
but in this one, I'm just a lonely cop who's going home to jerk off to a
fantasy about his new found partner who isn't really his partner. Jesus,
life sucks sometimes.  

 The next morning, as I stand in front of the mirror, trying to decide
whether I really need to shave, I realise what that look was, and it just
about knocks the wind out of me. It's the same look staring back at me
now; it's lust and it's loneliness and it's need. 

 Christ, but he must miss Vecchio. And I'm supposed to replace him.  

 "He's probably at the Consulate, Lieutenant," I mutter. "Where the fuck
else is he going to be?" 

 "You mean where the fuck else is he going to be, since he's not in your
back pocket?" snaps Welsh, and I shrug, sinking further into the couch. 

 "Hey, I'm supposed to be getting to know him," I say defensively. "I
don't spend any more time with him than Vecchio." 

 "Which is why you should invite him to dinner, Detective." Welsh glares
at me, and I feel my shoulders begin to hunch up. "You can cook, can't
you?" 

 "It all depends what you mean by cook," I reply. "I know what the stove's
for, if that counts." 

 "Look," Welsh collapses into his chair, and I wince. One day that chair
is so going to give out when he does that. He's a big guy, and that's an
old chair. 

 "Look," he says again, "I've been watching you two. It's been a coupla
weeks now, and you don't seem to be getting on real well. You're together
all the time during the day, sure, but you seem to be apart at the same
time." 

 How poetic. 

 "Not true," I answer. "He's a weird guy, but he's an okay guy as well. I
guess we're still looking for the spark." 

 "How much time do you spend together away from the job?" he asks, and I
wonder whether I should answer that truthfully. We're never
a-fucking-part. 

 "We do see each other socially," I say, real formal, and I catch the
glare he shoots me, but I don't see how else I can put it. We do. We spend
practically every waking hour together, and it's hell on toast for me,
because as each day passes, I want to jump him more and more. I want him
underneath me, on top of me, in me. I want him, in those perfect clothes
of his, on his knees in front of me, looking up at me while I force my
dick into his mouth... 

 I cross my legs, and pull my attention back to what the Lieutenant is
saying. 

 "He been to your apartment yet?" 

 "Erm... not officially," I say. We won't mention the little case of B&E
that went on while I was spending the day in a crypt. 

 "Vecchio, will you stop sliding around the issue!" Welsh snaps, and I
jump. I really gotta start paying more attention to what people say to me.
Stop drifting off into fantasies about ... stuff. 

 "Okay, sorry," I reply. "No, he hasn't been to my apartment. Yes, I can
cook. Do you mean I gotta combinate the two?" 

 "Well, you could try combining them to start with and we'll just take it
from there," Welsh says. Funny, I thought that was what I just said. Oh
well. 

 "Why do I gotta do it at home though?" I ask, introducing just a touch of
whine into my voice. 

 "Because it's obviously not working you going out to eat, is it?" snaps
Welsh. "The Mountie spends his life on duty, and when he's in public, he's
got a rod the size of Alberta up his ass. Maybe in private, where he can
relax - if he knows how to relax - you can talk over a few issues, find
this 'spark' you mentioned." 

 "I think I'm being measured," I say, almost to myself. "I think he's
comparing me with Vecchio all the time, and I think I'm losing out. Those
guys were so tight." 

 "Oh yes, they were," replies Welsh, "But Vecchio's not here now, and it's
up to you to fill that gap. Don't get me wrong, Vecchio was an okay guy,
but he's not irreplacable." 

 I shrug. I'm not so sure. Dinner. Me. The Mountie. Oh sweet Jesus, help
us both.  

 It's not so bad, not really. A lot of, "This is very nice, Ray," and
"Thank you, Fraser," goes on, but no real silences. Actually, with Fraser,
it's very difficult to have silences; you end up wishing for a silence to
appear over the horizon. Where's a silence when you really need one? 

 ".....so what I'm saying, really is very simple," Fraser pauses to take a
breath and I force my eyes open. 

 "Stop." I hold up one hand and he obediently shuts his mouth again and
rests his hands in his lap. 

 "Thank you," I say, standing up and starting to clear the dishes. "D'you
know, Frase, I've never heard anyone talk like you." 

 "What do you mean?" he asks, all big, innocent eyes. 

 "You use so many words," I answer. "You use way more words than you have
to. Why is that, do you think? Was it so lonely up in the wilderness that
you had to talk to yourself all the time?" 

 The very tip of his tongue appears and touches the corner of his mouth,
and I just about drop the dishes. He has to know the effect that has on
me; he may play the big, dumb innocent with everybody, but that act don't
work with me. It's been two weeks; plenty long enough to see him in
action. 

 "I like that," he says, and I blink at him. 

 "Like what?" I stutter. 

 "Frase," he answers. "I like the way you make my name sound." 

 I don't know what to say to that, so I nod toward the stereo and he gets
the hint, standing up and walking over to check out the cds. I loiter for
a while by the kitchen, drinking in the sight of his peachy ass pointing
toward me, and then shake myself and get on with the domestic stuff. It'll
be good for me, take my mind off what's standing in the living room,
almost in reach. So fucking close, but I think I gotta take it careful,
because I'm not gonna risk throwing this one away. 

 I hear music start in the living room - mellow blues; he's got good taste
in music. I put the dishes in the sink, moving slightly to the sound, then
I realise that someone's watching me, and I turn around. He's leaning
against the counter watching me, half smiling. 

 "What?" I say, and he shakes his head. 

 "This is nice," he answers softly. "Just being here in your apartment,
alone." 

 I feel my heart start to speed up, and I nod, turning away from the sink
so that I'm facing him. Blood is rushing to my dick, but I don't try and
hide myself, and I see his eyes slide down my body and stop. Just being
looked at by him is like being stroked, caressed, and I feel myself
reacting, my hips moving by themselves, but I don't look away from him. 

 I can see his breathing start to get deeper and his eyes change; they get
bigger, darker. One of us is going to have to make a move soon, or we'll
spontaneously combust. 

 Just as I think that, he pushes away from the counter and crosses the
space between us. I get another look at his face, intent and focused, and
then he's there, in my space, his hands holding my head. I open my mouth
to say something stupid, but then he kisses me, and I can't think of
anything. 

 He kisses like a fucking madman. His tongue's so far down my throat I can
hardly breathe, and his hands are holding my head so I can't move. He
presses against me until I can feel the edge of the sink bruising my back,
but I don't try and stop him. I've got my arms round him, hands trying to
find some purchase on that stupid jacket - sorry, tunic. I can't find
anything to hang on to, so I let my hands drop to his ass, cupping it and
squeezing, forcing him even harder against me, his cock hard and
demanding. 

 Just as I think I'm gonna die of suffocation, he pulls back, mouth
bruised and eyes wild. He doesn't let go of my head and just stands there
looking at me, his hips moving against mine. I can feel him trembling, and
this close I can see the faint line of sweat on his lip. Before I know
what I'm doing I lean forward and run my tongue through it, tasting it,
tasting him. 

 He groans and pushes me against the sink again, running his hands up the
inside of my shirt, burning a path as he trails his way up my stomach. I
buck and whimper as his thumbs rub over my nipples, and he smiles at me,
pushing my shirt further up until it's bunched under my arms. Then he
lowers his head and begins to lick where his thumbs have been, sucking
until I'm almost past pleasure and into pain. 

 "Oh Jesus, please," I whisper, resting one of my hands on the top of his
head. The other makes its way towards my dick, desperate to come, needing
to come. But he stops me before I make contact, and raises his head. 

 "No Ray, don't," he mutters. "That's for me. It's all for me now." 

 I can't speak, I just can't. I don't have the right words for this. If I
said what's in my head, he'd just look at me; I don't know him well enough
yet to show him that side of me. 

 //Fuck me, Fraser. Fuck me into oblivion. Make me feel as if I've been
born again with you. I want to learn everything about you, what you like
to do, what you like to have done. Make me die, and let me live again. // 

 "Please..." is all I say out loud. 

 He stands up straight, pulling me away from the sink, then leans in to
kiss me again, still hard, still demanding. So fucking good. He pulls me
out of the kitchen towards the bedroom, and I go with him, but I don't
stop kissing him. I start to pull at his clothes, trying to find some way
in, and I guess Lady Luck's on my side tonight, because suddenly the
jacket - tunic - gives, and I can get my hands inside, pulling that idiot
vest out of the way and finally ... * finally * ...getting my hands on
that smooth flesh of his. So hot. So fucking perfect. 

 After that, things begin to speed up. He lets me go long enough to get
his clothes off, knowing that I'd have no chance with those boots. I do
the same, but get naked a lot faster than him, so I get to watch the
striptease. Nice. 

 I go to him and lower my head, kissing that smooth chest of his, teasing
him the same way he teased me, putting my hand on his dick .. so hot, so
desperate for me! I drop to my knees in front of him and kiss his hips,
his belly, his legs, teasing his ass with my fingers, then as soon as I
feel his hands on my head forcing me towards his dick, I stand up again,
trailing my tongue up his chest and neck, then kissing him, listening to
his whimpers of pleasure. 

 I back him up until his knees connect with the edge of the bed, and then
follow him down, lying on him, fucking * revelling * in him. 

 I take his hand and push it between our bodies, watching his face as he
touches my cock, hard and aching with need. 

 "Touch it, Frase," I whisper, leaning forward until my lips are brushing
his. "Come on, you know what to do." 

 He reaches up with his free hand, and pulls my head down to his, kissing
me so deep that I see stars. I feel him take hold of me, not hard, but
sure not gentle either, and begin to move his hand on me, teasing me,
keeping me just this side of release. I move my hips and his grip tightens
fractionally. There's no sound in the room, the CD's stopped, and a
different kind music has taken its place; harsh breathing, whispered
instructions, names panted on the very edge of hearing. 

 He shifts slightly under me, relaxing his grip, and just as I'm wondering
what he's doing, he's back, but it's different this time. After I second I
laugh with what breath I've got left, and he smiles up at me, wild and
hot, our dicks lined up in one of those big, practical hands of his. 

 "You feel so fucking good," I gasp out, looking down at him. He gives me
one of those smiles again and tightens his hand around us until I make a
noise that could probably be described as a whimper. I know that I'm gonna
come, and I want - Christ, I want to - but if I come then it's over, and
that's not a good thing. 

 I whimper again when I feel the fingers of his other hand, sliding down
my back towards my ass, slipping between my cheeks and teasing my hole.
Too much. Just way too fucking much for a mortal to stand, and I feel my
back hollowing as I thrust into his hand for the last time, coming over
his hand and belly. 

 Somewhere, a long way away, I hear him gasp out my name and realise that
not all the stickiness I feel belongs to me and I'm glad, deep down glad,
that I made him come with me, so that we get this feeling together. 

 When I finally focus again, I realise that I'm lying on him, sweating and
sticky, but more relaxed than I have been in what seems like years. He's
stroking my hair real slow, and I like that; makes me think that he maybe
doesn't want to just fuck and leave. 

 "Okay?" he says, real soft, and I nod against his chest. I can feel his
heart beating slower and slower; he's heading for sleep real fast. So'm I
and that means it's gonna be real disgusting when we wake up. 

 "Shower?" I manage to mutter, but he snorts, not answering, and I haven't
got the energy to speak again. If he wants to be disgusting, I'm not gonna
argue. I get to sleep with the Mountie; I get to watch him wake up. I may
just have died and gone to heaven. 

 I lie there and listen to his heart slow down and his breathing deepen,
and I begin to smile. I want to laugh, not smile, and I bite down hard on
my knuckle so that he doesn't wake. 

 "Ray?" Should have known. 

 "Yeah, Frase?" 

 "What's funny?" I feel his hand stroke down my back and I push into that
touch, wanting more. 

 "What's funny?" he says again. 

 "Nothing's funny," I reply, speaking into the darkness. "It's perfect;
it's more than perfect. I knew we wanted the same thing, and I was
planning this big seduction scene tonight so that you wouldn't feel guilty
about getting naked with me, and all the time you had this plan." 

 "Did I?" he asks, stroking again. This time I push myself up and rest my
chin on my hands. 

 "Oh yeah," I answer. "You had all this planned. We were both planning
seduction tonight, weren't we?" I shake my head. "And all the fucking time
I only had to ask!" 

 He grunts what might be a laugh, and his hand doesn't stop moving down my
back. 

 "When did you plan this seduction, then?" he asks, all bright eyed
interest. 

 "About the time I saw your picture for the first time," I say. "What
about you? When did you plan yours?" 

 "When you turned around on my first day back," he answers, and he sounds
real serious. I look at him; well at the shape of him; it's kinda dark and
my eyes don't see so good. 

 "What?" I finally croak. "Christ no, Frase. You were so far gone on
Vecchio that you didn't even know other people existed, and certainly not
me. What I saw most of that first day with you was resentment." 

 "No, Ray, no," he says, stroking my back again like he's trying to gentle
me. "I was never 'gone' on Vecchio. I miss him as my friend and my first
point of contact in Chicago; I don't think that will ever change. But you
... I could no more part with you now than I could cut out my own heart." 

 And somewhere, real deep inside, something begins to wake up. Something I
put to sleep a long time ago maybe thinks it's time to come back to the
surface. Don't know about that; it's too early to say where this is going,
but those few words do more to calm me down than anything else could. 

 Needy, me? Oh yeah, believe it. But this time, this one time, maybe I've
done something right, read the signals right. 

 I stay quiet and I listen as his breathing starts to even out and his
heart slows down. This is good, I like this. Lying here, draped across
this near-stranger, is where I want to be. I snicker again when I remember
that the first thing I thought about him was 'tight assed.' Maybe I'll get
to find out someday real soon. I stretch out a little bit more, covering
most of his body with mine. 

 I don't plan to move until morning. 

End Two Very Different People by Alison: Dickon1485@aol.com

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