In the Dark-Fraser's POV	  In the Dark-Fraser's POV

 by MR

  

 Author's website: http://unhinged.0catch.com

 Disclaimer: You know the drill. If someone knows of any way I can do this
and make money, feel free to contact me.

 Author's Notes: 

 Story Notes: 

 This story is a sequel to: Sex 

 

 The first time Ray suggested it, I didn't know how to react. 

 We'd only been lovers for a few months. The relationship was still in the
"move slowly, get used to each other, get used to what you're doing"
stage. Neither of us had a great deal of experience with male/male sex, so
it was rather like trying to figure out where you are by looking at a map.
It can tell you what's around you, what's ahead and what's behind, but
there is no arrow that points to a dot and says YOU ARE HERE. 

 I do remember it had been an exceedingly bad day at the precinct, one of
those days, to quote Ray, "That make me wanna slap someone, ya know?" We'd
been gifted with a visit from Internal Affairs (or as Ray refers to them
"Infernal Affairs"), Assistant DA Stella Kowalski (always a low point),
and a witness that refused to crack. The last caused Lt. Welsh to send Ray
home early, as he'd come perilously close to finally carrying through on
his repeated threats to kick the man in the head. 

 The situation didn't improve any outside. The GTO wouldn't start, which
meant Ray had to get out and look under the hood and tinker with it for 15
minutes (did I mention it was sleeting?). When it finally started and we
got out of the parking lot, we discovered the City crews had yet to salt
the streets; attempting to go any faster than 20 mph resulted in an
automobile ballet on ice. We did, in fact, some perilously close to being
involved in a major accident (we would've been in the middle of it if we'd
arrived a minute sooner). Ray called it in and then got out to see if
anyone was hurt or needed help, and I followed. 

 As it turned out there were no injuries to the drivers or passengers,
though two of the cars would need extensive work to be drivable again. The
problem, it became clear, was that (A) The sleet had changed to heavy
snow, and (B) Ray (and I) were not the only ones who'd had a bad day. By
the time the police and ambulance crews arrived we'd been forced to
restrain both drivers and, in Ray's case, disarm one as well. The
gentleman was carrying a loaded .45 (unlicensed and unregistered), so it
took another half hour for us to disengage ourselves from the squad cars
and combatants and get back on the road; which was, to use a phrase my
grandfather was fond of, rapidly going to Hell in a handcart. 

 What should've been a 15 minute drive ended up taking nearly 45 minutes,
and by the time we pulled up in front of our apartment Ray was literally
vibrating in one spot. 

 "Fraser," he looked at me, blue eyes wild, "I'm gonna kill someone." 

 I assured him that he wasn't, at least not if I could prevent it, and
managed to get him upstairs, where we were greeted by an irate
Diefenbacher who wasn't interested in my explanations as to how this was
NOT a good night to go for a walk. 

 In the end I took him outside for ten minutes and watched him sniff
around the fire hydrant in front of the apartment building. Chicago snow,
when it first falls, is almost like being home again. By the next morning,
I knew, the snowplows and traffic and city crews would've converted the
pristine frozen whiteness to a dense gray sludge, which would freeze and
refreeze for several weeks. 

 Only when I came back inside with Dief and took off my coat did I realize
Ray was still standing in the exact same spot I'd left him. 

 "Ray?" I said, understandably concerned. 

 He turned and looked at me, and there was something in his eyes that was
simultaneously frightening and exhilarating. The next thing I knew he had
me plastered against the front door with his body and was whispering in my
ear. "Frase, fuck me! Come on and fuck me, okay? I need it! I really need
it bad!" 

 Somewhere in the back of my brain something wild and possibly dangerous
was pushing its way forward. I remember trying to sooth him, but it was
like trying to fight a gale force wind. That voice, soft and incessant,
refused to stop. 

 I'm still not sure how we made it from the front room into the bedroom. I
have no remembrance at all of getting undressed. The only thing I remember
clearly is the look on Ray's face when I penetrated him; the mixture of
pleasure and pain almost made me stop. I would've if he hadn't grabbed my
arm, shaking his head. "No way, Frase! No way you are gonna chicken out on
me now, you understand? Do it, Fraser! Do me!" 

 It was terrifying. Terrifying, liberating, and all consuming...I'm not
sure there are enough adjectives in the dictionary to describe how Ray and
I made love that night. Whatever had been clawing at the back of my brain
finally broke free and, as Ray would say, I went for it. Wholeheartedly. 

 In the aftermath (that's how I'll always think of it), as we lay curled
together, sated and spent, I realized Ray's lip was bleeding. Had he
bitten it himself? Had I? I couldn't remember, and the inability to
remember brought on a panic that would've overtaken me if not for Ray. 

 Ray, being Ray, seemed to sense what was troubling me and shook his head.
"Uh huh. No fucking way you are gonna apologize for anything you did,
Benton Fraser. You understand that?" I nodded. "You didn't hurt me, okay?"
I touched his lip, my fingertip coming away stained with blood. "A side
effect," he murmured, and for the first time I realized how relaxed he was
now. Gone was the nervousness and jumpiness of earlier. He was totally
calm. 

 Almost casually, he wiped his mouth on his pillowcase, then leaned
forward and kissed me. "Thank you." 

 "For what?" The panic of earlier had receded now that I'd realized we
were both of us intact, if a bit bruised. 

 "For giving me what I needed. For not being afraid of the dark." 

 It amazes me sometimes that I managed to survive 37 years without knowing
Ray Kowalski existed. I wonder, sometimes, what my life would've been like
if Ray Vecchio hadn't gone undercover, but I can't seem to visualize
anything but what I see now: Ray and I as one, together forever. 

 "Hey." I glance up from my journal at Ray, who's casually lounging in the
bedroom door. Stark naked, I might add. "What's a guy gotta do to get some
action around here, huh?" 

 I smile at him and close the book. "Ask, Ray. All he has to do is ask." 

 FIN 

End In the Dark-Fraser's POV by MR: psykaos42@yahoo.com

Author and story notes above.