Sizzle	Sizzle

 by anonymous co

  

 

 Disclaimer: Disclaimer: Aren't mine, don't own 'em, thought they were
cute and might like 
to have some fun. Besides, talk about subtext. This is JiM's fault, and
Bone's. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: 

 

  Sizzle ***  

 Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowed For Audra, epiphanies and
declarations 

 Sizzle 

 So, like the story says, there was this guy who was kind of looking for
his true love.... 

 I knew I liked Maggie. I liked her a lot. I even liked kissing her, but
the thing was, I didn't like it a lot, like I thought I would. It was a
nice friendly kiss, nothing wrong with it, and she smelled good, and I
figure she'd probably feel pretty good if we got to know each other that
well, but it didn't have any of that jolt, ya know? 

 I mean, I don't care how old a guy gets, there's still that moment, that
first time about to kiss someone new, a little sizzle, a little shakiness,
and just a little bit of sweat on the palms. Chemistry. 

 It didn't happen. 

 Fraser took over then, and walked her to the cab, and I went back into
the precinct feeling a lot like somebody hit me in the head with a brick. 

 Maggie smells a lot like Fraser. Not the same, she's a woman, for God's
sake, but a lot like. She talks a lot like Fraser. Probably even thinks
the same way, mostly. 

 A lot more human, though. I mean, she was upset over her husband, she
kinda crossed over the line a little and nearly got herself in trouble
with the RCMP. 

 On the other hand, though, I know the story about Fraser's dad now, and
the brass in Canada doesn't like Fraser much, Welsh said. Maybe I'm being
too hard on Fraser. 

 So I'm feeling pretty weird about not having the right reaction to Maggie
and I tell myself that's because she's too much like Fraser, it gave me
the buddy vibe, right? And I'm okay with that, even if I'm a little
disappointed, and Fraser comes in after sending Maggie off in the cab and
we sit and talk some about the case, and it's the end of my shift, and I
say, "Wanna grab something to eat, Fraser?" 

 And he says, "That would be fine, Ray, I'm a bit hungry." 

 So off we go, pitter patter, to get dinner-Chinese this time, naturally,
he can read the freaking menu, and I'm not talking about in English--and
I'm not even thinking about Maggie any more, at least not worrying about
it. 

 Sure, he talks about her a little. 

 "So how did you figure out that she was your sister?" I ask him. I
sometime think that Fraser's mind works different than other people's.
Like Sherlock Holmes or something, the dog didn't bark in the night or
whatever. 

 "I put some things together, that's all, Ray. I knew that her mother and
my father were very close after my mother died, and I discovered that
Maggie's putative father had died one year before she was born." 

 I can't figure him out. "But Fraser, that's not proof." 

 He goes a little red. "Well, er, then I came across some, ah, information
from my father that more or less confirmed it." He coughs. Bright red. "In
his journals." 

 I can't figure out what the blush is about. Reading his dad's journals?
He reads 'em all the time, I thought. Or maybe it's just admitting that
he's got a baby sister who got started on the wrong side of the blankets. 

 The waiter brings us our tea and I lean back, thinking about it. "I bet
that seems strange, Fraser, finding out you got a sister." 

 He smiles at me, just smiles, and there's real happiness in that smile.
Knocks me back, I have to tell you; haven't seen that kind of smile on
Fraser's face too often. "But strange in a good way, Ray." 

 Oh, yeah. "How old were you when your mom died?" 

 The smile fades a little and he picks up his tea. "I was six." 

 Nice going, Kowalski. I could kick myself for real. Without thinking
about, I reach out, pat him on the arm. "Sorry, buddy, didn't mean to make
you think about it." 

 "No, it's fine, Ray. It was a long time ago. I was young enough that I
didn't understand at first that she was gone forever." One corner of his
mouth lifts up. "I kept thinking if I behaved really well, she'd come
back." 

 Really nice going, Kowalski. My throat hurts like I'm the one lost his
mom, and I can just imagine this little kid trying so hard to be good so
that his mom will come back. Maybe it explains a lot about Fraser. 

 Why in hell would anybody do that to their kid? 

 He gets brisk then, like he's shaking that off. "And my father was gone,
quite a bit, so I ended up with my grandparents. I'm afraid they weren't
altogether sure what to do with me." One of his normal grins again. "It's
good to have family again, I must admit." 

 I'm really not sure what to say, so I just nod, take a sip of the tea.
The waiter brings the first course, and I reach for the fork, only there
isn't one. 

 "I need a fork," I tell the waiter. 

 "Chopsticks," the waiter says and points. 

 "Fork," I say. 

 "I can show you how to use them," Fraser offers, when the waiter gives me
this stone face. 

 "Am I going to actually get anything to eat if you teach me to use
chopsticks?" I say it kinda snarky, but if anybody could teach me that,
I'll bet it's Fraser. 

 He laughs a little. "If I have to feed you myself." 

 Okay, serious freakout moment, there's something I like about that, and
that's worse than kissing Maggie and not getting that sizzle. I stare at
him for a minute, really unsettled, and the monkey part of my brain says,
yeah, yeah, yeah. 

 I'm nodding before I know it, the monkey part is driving for a second.
Fraser moves to my side of the booth and reaches around me to show me how
to hold the damn things. I do have some idea, but I'm going on automatic
and I let his fingers shape mine over the wooden sticks. "The trick," he
says, "That most people miss, is that you don't need to move the bottom
stick, you hold it steady." He guides my hand over to the dish and shows
me how to do it, guides my hand to my mouth, and I can smell Fraser and
his arm is around me because I'm righthanded and he's on the outside of
the booth, and his hands are....his hands. 

 On me. And now, yeah, now I get a sizzle. I open my mouth for the bite
and his hand grazes my face, and I'm in some pretty deep shit now, I
almost forget to take the bite. 

 I have a sizzle for Fraser. 

 I mean, I know I love the guy. Even when I want to strangle him or punch
him in the face, which I'll never do again. I just never thought-maybe
that's the problem, I just never thought. 

 We repeat the lesson again, and I get another bite, and I'm dying here,
my jeans are too tight, and he's like totally radiating heat, I swear to
God, he is. A third bite and he lets go of my hand, and while that's
probably a good thing, it also is a bad thing, because... 

 The things you figure out about yourself when you're getting close to
forty. It's a bad thing because I like his hand there. 

 A lot. 

 So I try it by myself and it's working, I'm doing fine, and he just beams
at me, all that happiness again and boy, it's hard to concentrate on food
with that smile. 

 Am I stupid or something, I didn't see this coming? Never let myself have
a clue, must be, like when things were going bad with Stella, and how come
my using chopsticks is making him so happy? 

 No, wait, I get it, it's not that, it's that I let him teach me. My heart
feels like it does this flip-flop thing. "Thanks, Frase," I tell him, and
my voice sounds funny, kind of hoarse. "You made it easy." 

 Oh, fuck, that's kind of a declaration, isn't it. I didn't think again,
opened my mouth, and he's looking at me, and there's a little line between
his eyebrows. Not like he's mad, but like he's trying to figure out what I
meant. 

 I'm in some deep shit now. I mean, I don't really know for sure how the
Mountie's going to take this piece of news, and before he figured out
Maggie was his sister, he was just as interested in her. In that
purehearted respectful of women Mountie way. 

 Easy, Kowalski. I take another bite, smile at him. The smile erases that
line and he smiles back, happy again. I reach across the table and pull
his plate across before he can move, and he doesn't say anything, just
laughs a little, and reaches across for his own chopsticks. 

 How lame can a guy be, falling down the rabbit hole over chopsticks, for
Christ's sake? 

 I don't know how the hell I make it through dinner, but I do. And then I
say, casual like, while I'm wrestling the bill from him, "Wanna hang out a
little, Frase? I picked up some of that tea you said you liked." Right
there, that should have told me something, I had to go to five stores to
find it. Jesus. 

 What a maroon. 

 He looks pleased at that. "Thank you kindly, Ray, that would be very
nice." 

 Well, I have been kinda snarky this week to him, what with Maggie, but he
gave his fair share, too. Maybe I'm not normal after all. What am I
thinking, of course I'm not normal. 

 I'm getting a sizzle from Dudley Do Right. 

 I'm fucking doomed no matter how this turns out. 

 So, we get to my apartment, and I find the tea, and put on a saucepan of
water to heat, because I don't have a teakettle. He takes of his tunic and
follows me in, and he's got the sleeves of his Henley pushed up, and
Christ, even that is giving me a sizzle. 

 I've seen him like this, jeez, a lot, and it never did this before, and
that's even scarier. Because it means that maybe, just maybe, it's not
just my dick. No, I know it's not just my dick, I know I love the guy. I
just never expected to figure out that I love the guy. 

 We all know how well my last adventure in love turned out. Maybe I should
just shoot myself in the head now. 

 Fraser's reading the label on the box of tea. "I can't believe you found
this," he marvels and gives me that smile again. 

 I oughta punch myself in the head. My knees actually wobble, and I put my
hands on the counter like I'm waiting for the water just so he doesn't
notice they're shaking. 

 "Well, ya know, I was in the store and saw it, so I grabbed some." I
shrug, really casual, like it was no big deal, and the wattage in that
smile goes up again. 

 He knows I'm bullshitting him, I swear he does, because then he laughs a
little. "It was very thoughtful, Ray." Serious look. "And for whatever
it's worth, I like your hair. It suits you." 

 Where did that come from? Oh, wait, yeah, the experimental hair comment I
made. My face must be going sixteen different shades of red right now, I
feel hot and turn to the cabinet to get out some mugs. Coffee, I think,
and decide to do the whole nine yards thing, yeah, and maybe dump about a
pound of sugar or chocolate into it. 

 "Ray...Ray....Ray!" 

 He's said it a couple of times before I get my head out of my ass and
hear him and I whip around embarrassed to find him practically on top of
me. "Yeah, Fraser, I'm right here." 

 That line is back between his eyebrows again. "Are you all right?" 

 Well, what the fuck. "Yeah, Fraser, I'm good." And then, before I can
stop myself or get sane or whatever, I say,
"IloveyouFraserandit'snotsymbolic." Like a machine gun. 

 He's looking more puzzled than anything else, not upset or pissed or
anything. Which is a relief. God. That's out of the way. Now I just have
to figure out how to feel about feeling the way I do. 

 Or something. 

 That line gets deeper, like he's thinking, and then, whoa, those eyes go
pretty wide, and I realize he's just now translated that machine gun
chatter into English and it's sinking in, and oh, fuck. 

 His face gets a lot red and he looks at me, that laser vision thing when
he knows I'm bullshitting him only he doesn't think it's funny. "And I
you, Ray. Not symbolically." 

 And I'm standing there like a doof staring at him. 

 I mean, I knew the guy loved me, he's saved my ass, I've saved his, he's
worried about me, I've worried about him. He stood behind me, with me, on
Beth Bottrelle, he was there for me when all the guilt and shame and anger
came out. 

 But not in my wildest dreams-maybe he didn't get it. "I mean, I really
love you, Fraser," I tell him, and I gotta be redder than he is, I feel
like I fell asleep under a sunlamp. 

 "I know, Ray." Although he is pretty red. "And I really love you." 

 He doesn't get it. I can't believe he gets it. "No, Fraser," I tell him,
kinda irritated with him now, "I love you like this...." Nobody said I was
sane. I take one step forward, slide one hand around the back of his neck,
and lay one on him. Serious I'm going to fuck your mouth with my tongue
sorta kiss. I don't want him mistaking it for anything brotherly at all. 

 Oh, holy shit, he gets it, he definitely gets it, the Mountie is all over
that, and his tongue is down my throat and his hands under my shirt in New
York second. 

 Can we say sizzle, boys and girls? Can we say it loud? 

 I should be freaking out. I'm standing in my kitchen with my partner, and
we're swapping spit and let me tell you, I thought those hands were good
on chopsticks, what he's doing with those hands should be illegal in
Illinois and in Canada. 

 Damn Mountie thinks he's going to take over what I started, I don't think
so. I pull away, and damn me, I'm gasping. "Oh, you get it," I say
stupidly. 

 He's gasping, too. "Didn't you want me to?" Confused. 

 Me, think ahead? Nope. So I plaster myself against him again and my hands
go up to yank those suspenders down, and we end up getting tangled in them
and he makes this funny sound like that's pissing him off, yanks us both
free and starts steering me toward the wall. 

 Pushy Mountie. I keep starting and he keeps taking over, and damn, I push
him away long enough to get some air into my lungs. "Um." Jesus, the man
is hot, flushed and panting and looking all messed up with his Henley half
out of his pumpkin pants, and his hair out of place. Did I do that? I must
have. "Um. In there." 

 His nostrils flare. "In there?" 

 Couch, I think. Then, no, bed. Bedbedbedbedbed..... 

 "Bedroom," I say. 

 I swear to God, he growls. 

 Fuck me, I like growling, too. I'm all over him like white on rice,
yanking at buttons and pulling at the Henley and he steers me backward
again, stopping now and then to lick me, bite me, kiss me. 

 I'm not sure I can remember my own name, honestly, and I can't believe we
aren't tripping over Dief, but we make it to the bed, and Christ, we're
practically tearing at each other's clothes and those fucking boots, God,
those boots. 

 He has to bend over to get them off, those fucking laces, and I am up
again, all over him, kissing and licking the back of his neck, rubbing my
face in his hair and feeling those silky strands catch on my stubble and
he feels so goddamn good I can't believe it. 

 So, Kowalski, how long you been wanting to do this? 

 It feels like forever, even though I finally just figured it out less
than an hour ago. 

 He's making these sounds in his throat, like he's really pissed off at
those boots, and then he's done, he pulls them off and wow, he turns and
jumps me. I bump my forehead against his nose, and his elbow whacks my
ribs, and neither one of us seems to give a shit, it's mouth to mouth
buddy something. 

 Of course, we both still have pants on. He's working on mine and I'm
working on his and finally I just shove him away and gasp, "Look, you do
yours, I'll take care of these." 

 "Excellent idea," he tells me and gets up again. Strips those pants off
so fast you'd think they were on fire, and maybe they are, but I just sort
of stop moving, staring at him. 

 God, he's fucking gorgeous. When did I decide my partner was gorgeous?
Beats the hell out of me, but I'm up on my knees, not even thinking about
jeans, and before he can get back on the bed, I'm touching him, boy, am I
touching him. 

 Got my hands full of Mountie cock and balls, and he groans, lets his head
tilt back. I lean in, like I'm hypnotized, and taste him, just my lips
around the head, my tongue stroking across it. 

 My fucking jeans hurt, and I still can't tear away from it, he's making
these sounds that are driving me nuts, I want more of those sounds, and he
tastes good, and even if I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I know what
feels good to me, and I'm trying some of that on him. 

 His fingers start combing through my hair, all the way to the back of my
neck, and then again, like he's trying not to just grab me and fuck my
mouth. 

 Fuck my mouth. Just thinking that makes me ache worse. I want that cock,
I want it in me, I want him to feel me from the inside out, and I can't
decide what's scarier, loving him or wanting to be fucked. 

 But even though it's scary, it's good, and I let his cock slip free of my
mouth, lick up his belly and he tips me backward and starts wrestling with
my jeans. "Ray," kiss, "Ray," lick, "Ray," nip, "Ray." 

 Not exasperated for once. Hot. Husky voice. 

 Okay, I'm not like a babe in the woods, I know nipples are supposed to be
sensitive, even a guy's nipples. But what he does to my nipples should be
illegal internationally, and I really don't want to hurry things, I want
this to last, and I can feel myself getting closer and closer to the edge
from what he's doing to my nipples and the weight of his body and the cock
pressing into my hip. I don't know how the hell he manages to do that
while getting my jeans off, I really don't, but hell, maybe they teach
Mounties how to multitask. 

 And then, the scariness is outweighed by the fact that I have got to
know, I have got to feel him, and maybe I've been hanging around with him
too long, because I'm obviously unhinged, and I don't think I have
anything in this apartment except, maybe hand lotion, and I still don't
care, I have got to have him. 

 "Don't, don't," I gasp and somehow manage to flip us over, probably
because he's narrow focused on my erogenous zones. "Want you." Gee, that
was eloquent. Hand lotion, where the fuck did I put the hand lotion? I
squirm over him and hang over the side of the bed, rummaging in the
nightstand drawer, oh, yeah, that's right, I do have something, I got some
Astroglide, little tiny bottle, a while back. Nice stuff, really slick,
not as sticky as hand lotion. 

 He makes this sound, like he can't figure out what he was doing wrong, so
I grab the Astroglide and fling myself back at him, licking the roof of
his mouth, checking his tonsils and molars and sucking on his tongue. 

 I guess that's reassuring, because his hands go down to my ass to pull me
snug against him, and he rocks his hips up, and I do not want this, I want
him, and I finally break away. "You," I say, and then I'm totally lost,
because Benton Fraser might know what 'fuck' means, but I can't see him
ever saying it, and I'm not sure he wouldn't be turned off, given the fact
that the man seriously says darn when he's upset. 

 He's blinking at me, chest moving up and down pretty fast. "Me," he says,
like he's trying to jar my brain into working enough to tell him. 

 Sign language. I'm going on sign language. Or machine gun scatter. I grab
his cock and straddle him. Nobody ever admits that the first time is
awkward. Exciting, and embarrassing, and awkward, and he's going to have a
bruise on the bridge of his nose from my forehead in the morning. I'm just
glad I didn't whack it hard enough to break it. "Iwantyouinme." 

 Everything just stops. He's staring at me with very wide eyes. 

 Oh, shit. I'm cold all over, looking at him. 

 "Ray," he says softly, and touches my mouth with one finger. "Are you
sure?" 

 Okay, I can breathe again. I nod, but my heart is still banging hard. 

 And all of a sudden, it's okay, he pulls me down and rolls me over, and
then we're starting all over again, long kisses, and we're going a little
slower now, and yeah, it's sensational and he knows where to put his
hands, and I hope I'm doing okay, and everything feels so good. Slower,
but good, so good, and I think, he's learning my scent, and that makes me
throb, and then, he's learning my taste, and that makes me throb harder.
By the time he takes the lube from me, I am firing on every nerve I own,
and so ready, I swear, even though I don't know what the hell it's going
to be like. 

 That Mountie believes in proper preparation, I'll say. First he just
teases me with a slippery finger, and those kisses, Christ, long, drugging
kisses and if I have a life outside of this room, I can't remember what
the fuck it is. I don't think my brain is working any more, I'm focused on
three places: his mouth, my dick, and his finger. 

 I'm whimpering, by this time, into his mouth, against his throat, and
that finger finally slides in, slow enough to let me relax for it. He's
stroking it inside me and then he hits a spot I knew about, but never
felt, and it's like he's stroking my cock from the inside out. I think I
even shoot a little, that's how intense it feels, and he keeps that up for
a while along with the kisses, and I'm fucking losing my mind. 

 I know I can't talk any more, but I'm making some pretty interesting
noises. Nobody ever, and I do mean ever, not even Stella, ever did this to
me. I'm not sure I'm going to survive Fraser's intense focus, honestly,
but hey, I'm gonna die happy at least. 

 Like one of those rats with the electrode in the pleasure part of their
brain. 

 Somehow, he's gotten another finger in without much strain, although it's
so weird, so fucking hot, to feel full this way. He multitasks like
nobody's business. 

 "I'm gonna," I gasp, because I don't know that I can stand much more, and
the bastard slows way down, and I'm hanging there, just waiting for
another one of those strokes inside, only he doesn't give me one. A third
finger, working lube in, and it's a little cool, which could be a good
sign, could mean he's getting past his patience, too, because I sure as
hell want him to hurry up before I die in the middle. 

 More lube, I swear, and I'm babbling like a loon, begging and pleading,
and then he shifts me over, which I don't get at first, gets me all nicely
arranged with one pillow under me, kinda on my stomach, kinda on my side.
Then I feel the press of him against me and he feels...well, let's say he
feels pretty fucking big and hot and for a minute, I panic, brain all the
way gone, and he kisses the back of my neck. 

 "Relax a little, Ray. Push down against me, and if you want me to stop,
if I hurt you, I will." Husky voice. Not quite as controlled as he wants
to be, and for some reason that calms me down. Maybe knowing that he'd
rather pour gasoline over himself and set fire to it before hurting me
helps, I dunno. 

 Thick and hot, and yeah, it burns, and he reaches over me for my left
hand, laces our fingers together. "Tell me," he whispers, and keeps
filling me up, and now I'm freaking, but I don't want him to stop, so I
turn my face into the sheet. My fingers squeeze his, hard and he stops for
a minute until I push back against him, and that's a little better, I can
handle that a little better, and he lets me. 

 And then he's all the way inside, and he's right up against me, hot skin
and the tickle of the hair around his cock, and I take in a couple of deep
breaths. 

 His fingers are still slippery and he takes hold of my cock, just holding
it, stroking one finger across it, and I'm a little embarrassed because
I'm not really hard any more, not all the way. 

 Warm kisses on the back of my neck and my body changes its opinion. It's
scary as hell, it's like breaking apart and dying and not dying, and being
whole again. And it's also starting to feel good. He's not even really
moving, but it's starting to feel good, and then he does move, little tiny
movements of his hips against me, and then, whammo, he hits that spot
again and it really is like breaking apart, and I'm hard in his hand again
and his fingers tighten around me. 

 Slick sounds from his fingers, and maybe from his cock, he used enough
lube to do six virgins, believe me, and he's moving deeper and smoother,
and I'm pumping into his hand, and I'm crying, swear to God, I'm crying,
because...I dunno, because nobody ever treated me like this, not Stella,
and sure as hell not the handful of casual bump and runs I've had before
and after Stella and I were married. Nobody's ever been this careful or
tender or, hell, focused on me, and I guess I didn't know I wanted it
until now. 

 I don't want him to know I'm crying, it's gonna freak him out, and I
don't want that to happen, I really don't want this to end, even though I
know it has to, I'm not quite that loopy yet. Fraser's kissing my throat
and my neck, since I've got my head turned and I pull our joined hands up
against me, and his arm tightens. 

 And then it's like a roller coaster ride, starts out slow and then you
take the big loop, and I'm bumping back against him, and he's thrusting
harder and deeper and sucking hard at the side of my throat and let me
tell you, when that control goes, it's sweet, so sweet, and it's me doing
it to him, and him doing it to me, and it never lasts long enough, dammit,
and I'm crying and moaning and coming and calling him Ben. Ben, Ben, Ben,
and I like to think that's what sets him off, like some kind of symbol of
how we got from Chinese food and chopsticks to this, and he groans, groans
out my name, RayRayRayRayRay, only this is a really new tone, this
is....something I can't describe. 

 Something that makes me almost feel like I'm coming again, only I can't
be, for God's sake, I'm a guy, and I'm not a really young guy either. 

 And then I'm just crying silently, because I really, really don't want to
freak him out, but I swear, the Mountie is a freak of nature, he's holding
on to me bewildered and a little upset. "Ray?" Strike that. Really upset. 

 "You," I manage to say, "You." And then have to swipe at my eyes. "I'm
okay, honest, Ben, I'm okay." 

 Stupid jerk. 

 He kisses me, licks the tears off my face, and if you gotta cry, which I
personally hate to do, the best remedy is to have your own personal
Mountie licking them up. He's so fucking good, he makes me a better
person, and maybe that's why I fell for him like a dope. No, not like a
dope. Might be one of my smarter moves, actually. 

 "Did I-" he starts to ask, still worried. 

 "Nope, you didn't, it was good, it was better than good, Ben. It was just
different. Way different." I wish I could find the words. "It was
amazing." 

 Some of the worry eases. "Are you sure?" 

 "Am I sure it was different or am I sure it was amazing?" Yeah, can't
keep a Kowalski down, I'm already smarting off at him, and then he's
really relieved. 

 "Either. Both." 

 "Both, yeah, I'm sure." I lean up and kiss him. "I'm gonna have to sit on
my hip tomorrow, but it was worth it." 

 He blushes. Man turns me inside out like that and he blushes. I lean up
again and kiss him and he shifts, pulls out. 

 "I think I'm a junkie," I tell him. "For your mouth." 

 "My mouth isn't a controlled substance, Ray," he tells me, but I can hear
something in his voice that makes my bones wanna melt. Of course, I did
just come my brains out, so maybe that's it. Nah, it's that tone. Happy
tone. Happy Mountie. 

 "It oughta be," I tell him and it's been a long day, I yawn. "And what
you can do with those hands oughta be illegal. Your fellow Canadians knew,
they'd never let you cross the border south and come to Chicago." 

 He blushes again, kisses me back hard. Settles down beside me and somehow
manages to get the blankets arranged so they're on top of us, not
underneath. "That's very silly, Ray." 

 "Nope." I wrap myself around him and he settles my head on his shoulder
like....like we've been doing this for years. We both need a shower, this
place is gonna smell like a hooker's crib in the morning...well, maybe
not, two guys after all. But it's gonna be ripe, and right now, it feels
too good to just lie here with him. 

 Wow. With Fraser. Who just fucked my brains out. Who knew he had it in
him? Heh. I had it in me. I tell him this, and he laughs and blushes.
"Tell me a story, Fraser." I say and stretch my arm out across him. Weird,
being with someone broader than you are, even if we are about the same
height. His arm is around me nice and snug. "Tell me a Fraser story." 

 "A Fraser story?" He sounds confused. 

 "A story about Benton Fraser, about you. Things you did when you were
growin' up, stuff like that." I mutter, because I am getting sleepy. All
the shit we've talked about over the last year, I didn't know about that
lonely little boy tryin' to be good so God would give him back his mom.
Fuckin' breaks my heart. Makes me mad at myself. 

 He's quiet for a minute. "You know," he says, sounding kinda shaky, "I
don't think anyone has ever asked me to do that before." 

 I sure as hell haven't. "'Bout time, then," I tell him and my throat gets
tight again. "'Bout time I did, for sure." I lean up, stare at him and his
eyes are too damn bright. Hard to use that L word without doing the
machine gun thing, but he deserves to hear it right. "I love you, Benton
buddy. And not any of that symbolic shit, either." 

 That gets me pretty soundly kissed for a couple of minutes, oh, yeah,
he's all in tune with that, and then we settle down again. 

 "If I doze off, don't feel like I'm ignorin' you. You just set off a
nuclear strike, Ben, and I'm fadin'." 

 He laughs a little. "If I go to sleep while I'm telling you, Ray, the
same is true." 

 I smile against his skin, totally stupid from happiness. 

 The last thing I hear is his voice, getting as drowsy as me, and it feels
right. 

 Righter than right. 

 So, like the story goes, there was this guy who kinda looking for his
true love in the wrong places, but he found him anyway. 

 Lucky bastard. 

 Finis 

End Sizzle by anonymous co: JimPage363@aol.com

Author and story notes above.