Bedtime Stories  

 m/m situation 

 Greetings! If there's anyone out there like me who's tired of all this
festive frivolity, hope this takes your mind off it. Standard disclaimer
'cos I don't want to be put in jail! It wasn't me, officer! M/M
relationship though nothing too squirmy - unfortunately. 

 BEDTIME STORIES 

 by Laurie Taylor 

 ltaylor@provider.co.uk 

 "And the restaurant's number is beside the phone." Maria Vecchio finished
her list of points and took a moment now that the chaos had stilled to
properly regard her baby-sitter. "And you're really sure about this?" 

 "About what, ma'am?" Benton Fraser, for all that he was dressed in
checked shirt and jeans, still looked like he was on guard duty outside
his consulate building. 

 "About baby-sitting - and enough already with the 'ma'am,' okay?" 

 "Yes." A shuffle. "I mean, yes, I'm sure about the baby-sitting." 

 "Maria," the woman supplied helpfully. 

 "Yes," Benton repeated. He fidgeted for a second before cranking up a
smile for Ray's sister. "Have a good evening, Maria." 

 It was like pulling teeth! How Ray put up with Benton's painful manners
was a complete mystery to her - especially given her brother's notorious
lack of patience yet the two seemed the perfect couple. "Thanks. Ray won't
be long. Good night." And with another measuring look, Maria made her
exit. 

 Fraser permitted himself the slightest sigh of relief then spun guiltily
as a small voice called, "Ma?!" He ran promptly up the stairs to find a
pyjama clad four year old standing in his bedroom doorway. The child
looked positively angelic with his teddy tucked under his arm and his blue
eyes sleepy - Fraser was not privy to the hour long tantrum thrown not
five minutes before his arrival when the angelic one had objected to his
ma leaving him. 

 "Ah, hello there, Peter." Benton stood towering over the child for a
second then decided to kneel to his level. "Your parents have gone out for
the evening. I'll be looking after you." The boy remained staring at him
so Ben tried, "I'm ... Benton." 

 "Yeah, I know. My uncle Ray hangs out with you every night. You wear that
daggy uniform." Peter tugged at Benton's hand and pulled him into his room
whilst Ben wondered whether the adjective 'daggy' was a compliment or not.
"Ma said you're gonna read to me." 

 Fraser sat gingerly in the child's chair by the bed but Peter was patting
the duvet imperiously. "No! Here! I've got to see too." 

 Fraser sat as instructed, smiled what he hoped was a bright yet
unpatronising smile and flipped the book open. "'Ansiluag and the Flag,'
chapter one." He remembered sitting bolt upright at the table reading this
very book outloud as a child whilst his grandmother corrected his
pronunciation - with the aid of a thimble rapped against his skull. He'd
spent the last four weekends methodically hunting through each and every
one of Chicago's libraries for a copy, finally unearthing this battered
offering in an 'As New' store over on the South side. Ben began to read
the first chapter to the boy and indeed to Diefenbaker who had wandered
over to ensure the book dealt with his lupine cousins accurately. He had
just turned the first page, to resounding silence, when Peter squirmed
restlessly. 

 "Lemme see the pictures," he demanded in that patented 'heel, Rover'
voice of the Vecchio clansmen. 

 "There aren't any pictures, Peter." 

 The child's big blue eyes travelled from the boring text to the Mountie's
keen expression. "Oh," he said and snuggled down against Benton somewhat
sulkily. Not understanding the source of his charge's discontent, Fraser
read the second page. 

 "Not like that!" 

 "I'm sorry?" 

 "You've got to give each person a different voice. Uncle Ray does the
coolest Daddy Bear voice." 

 "Ah," said Benton and wondered who Daddy Bear was and why Ray should find
it necessary to anthropomorphise him. He started again, this time trying
to give Atsiluag a distinct accent. Quiet for another half page then Peter
was stirring again. "Is he the hero?" 

 "Atsiluag? Well he was a great man certainly, a shaman. That is a
witchdoctor." 

 "Cool! Could he turn people into frogs and stuff?" 

 "Not that I know of," Benton replied beginning to think reading to
children was not as easy as he had thought. He'd just got to the bit where
the Hudson Bay Company came to Atsiluag's area when Peter spoke again. 

 "Does he fight 'em??" 

 That floored him. "I'm sorry?" 

 "The hero - he fights the bad guys, right?" 

 "Oh, well - " 

 "Are there any wild animals in the story?" 

 "I think there may be a beaver - " Ben stuttered confused by the leaping
logic. 

 "Are there any shoot outs?" 

 "Well - " 

 "Magic spells?" 

 "Well you see, Peter, it isn't really that sort of story - " 

 "Oh," said Peter with elaborate distaste. He yawned. 

 Not knowing what else to do, Fraser assayed a smile and continued the
story. 

 "I'm hungry." 

 Ben was beginning to draw parallels between Peter's insistent behaviour
and that of Diefenbaker when the wolf was at his most annoying. He laid
the book down carefully though and assumed a concerned expression. "Oh
dear," he said "what did you have for supper, Peter?" 

 The youngster shrugged a carbon copy of Ray's lopsided shrug. "Don't
'member. I'm hungry now, uncle Ben!" 

 Exchanging glances with Diefenbaker and recalling a vague rule of his
grandmother's about not eating after eight, Fraser tried to placate the
boy with a glass of water. Peter threw his teddy into the corner with
vicious anger at the suggestion and pursed his lips just like his uncle
did when asked to take a shoplifting case. 

 "Ma always lets me have something if I want it - so there." 

 A blink. "Are you sure?" It seemed an unusual policy for a mother to
pursue but surely Peter wouldn't lie. He searched the boy's cherubic
expression. "Very well. What would you like?" 

 "Ice cream!" 

 "Ice cream," Ben repeated aghast whilst Diefenbaker gave his own lupine
exclamation. 

 "Ma always lets me," and Peter's guileless eyes were filling with tears.
"I want my ma!! Don't wanna stay with you anymore - you're horrible!" 

 The wailing became louder and louder. Oh dear, thought Benton with some
despair, now what do I do? He knew Maria had left her contact number
downstairs - he'd memorised it anyway - and he was very tempted to abandon
all dignity, call her up and plead for her to come home before her
offspring made himself sick. 

 "I don't love you anymore!!!" 

 "Well now, Peter, that's not a very nice thing to say." Lucy, the sweet
little girl from 2L hadn't acted like this! "Look, why don't we talk about
this." Always sensible to treat children as equals, Benton remembered the
psychology book he'd rented and read yesterday saying. 

 "You're not gonna hate me anymore?" 

 "Of course not!" 

 "Okay then." Peter sniffled a few more times, blew his nose loudly - Ben
hastily donated his handkerchief at this moment when the youngster began
applying his sleeve. "So I can have some food?" 

 "Well - " 

 "You promised you wouldn't hate me!!" 

 Oh dear. It looked like he'd been outmanoeuvred. Ignoring Dief's loudly
expressed opinion about his adequacy as a baby-sitter, Fraser went
downstairs, filled a plastic bowl with a modest helping of ice cream and
trotted up the stairs with it. Peter guzzled the dessert greedily, licking
the bowl clean with his tongue just to see how far he could push his luck.


 "Shall we continue?" 

 "Sure," Peter beamed and arranged himself in Ben's arms, poking and
prodding the mountie until the best position had been reached. Fraser read
the next four pages gingerly, half expecting another demand or
interruption but slowly relaxing as his charge remained beatifically
silent. He had, he observed with surprise, contracted quite a headache.
Downstairs there was the sound of a door crashing open. Peter, who had
been yawning incessantly for the last page and a half - through tiredness
obviously - immediately became more animated. He shoved the covers back,
ignored Fraser's half formed enquiry and trotted to the top of the stairs.
Ray was just sliding out of his coat. 

 "Hey! Uncle Ray, come and tuck me in!" demanded the detective's
relentless nephew. 

 "Sure kid, I'll just drop my life for you," Ray replied gruffly but he
was springing up the stairs in less than a minute. Ben met him at the
bedroom door. The two smiled at each other whilst Peter continued his
stream of demanding babble, their eyes locked together. 

 "Good evening, Ray," Fraser said and smiled somewhat shyly. 

 "Hey, Benny, how's things," came the breezy reply but as they were pulled
back into the room by Peter, who was jumping up and down in their faces
and shrieking for attention, Ben felt his hand being given a swift
squeeze. "Okay, okay, we're here! I kinda need that arm, Petey, do you
wanna let it go?" 

 Satisfied that he was once again the centre of attention, the youngster
clambered back into bed and organised the grownups imperiously, one on
either side of him. It was then that Ray spied the empty bowl and he
frowned his best policeman's glower. 

 "Peter," he began ominously. 

 "Yes, uncle," said the little one meek as a mountie. 

 "Have you been eating after supper?" 

 The boy turned soulful eyes at Fraser who, coughing his discomfort at his
own complicity and moved by the boy's timidity, immediately jumped to his
defence. "Ah, well, I believe the culpability rests with me, Ray - " 

 "Yeah sure," Ray dismissed, still frowning at Peter, "he knows very well
that he mustn't eat once he's been put to bed. Don't you, Peter?" 

 "Guess so." 

 Ray held his nephew's gaze for a second as though judging whether he was
truly sorry then he picked up the book Ben had been reading and his lips
twitched. "Good story, huh?" 

 "Kinda long," Peter sniffed with no diplomacy at all, "and there are no
sword fights." 

 "None!" Uncle Ray exclaimed, matching his nephew's tone exactly. "What's
with you, Fraser? No sword fights?" 

 "Well, Ray, I didn't think it was appropriate - " 

 "Tell you what," Ray was saying to Peter, neither listening to the
Canadian, "we'll read a proper story, okay? Show uncle Ben what he's been
missing." 

 "Cool!" whooped Petey bouncing enthusiastically on the bed but it was
Fraser's response that Ray heard. 

 "I'd like that, Ray. No-one ever read me a bedtime story." 

 For a moment there was silence. Peter, oblivious to the adults'
conversation - which had nothing to do with him and was therefore of no
interest - was ferreting through his shelves looking for a good violent
story; Ray, however, was gazing into his lover's eyes with such tender
compassion. He reached over and gently stroked Ben's cheek. "I'm so sorry,
Benny." 

 "It's all right now, Ray," Ben replied and turned his attention to Peter
who, having found a book, was currently swinging on his shoulders. Brisk
to cover his rocky emotions, Ray snagged the book, ordered Peter back
under the covers and made himself comfortable against the headboard,
urging Fraser to do likewise. He opened the fairy story anthology, flicked
through for a moment and stopped at Little Red Riding Hood. A pause then
he studied Dief's forbidding expression and decided not to risk it. 

 "Okay, here we go. Goldilocks - that acceptable to you, Dief?" 

 Fraser had never experienced anything like this. Whether his mother had
read bedtime stories to him, he could not remember; his memories of her
were sketchy, more impressions than finite memories - the way she smelt,
the clothes she wore, the feel of her hand encompassing his - but he knew
with a wistfulness no grown man should feel that his grandmother had never
drawn him close to her, like Ray was doing with Peter, had never selected
such frivolous books as fairytales and had never adopted that intimate,
secretive tone Ray was now using which seemed to invite you into this make
believe world and made you feel safe and warm and cosy. He broke out of
his reverie, sternly berated himself, and concentrated on Ray's narration.
He vaguely recalled the story of Goldilocks. True he had never had it read
to him nor had he thought to research it for himself later, beyond a
cursory study of folktales and their meanings, but he had gleaned the gist
of the young woman's adventures just as he had gathered the salient points
of handgliding without ever experiencing the thrill of actually being up
there soaring through the sky. Ray's narration was - superb. Unfettered by
notions of propriety, he was giving the story his all. Arms gesturing
wildly and voice booming, quavering or lisping as he swapped unerringly
from one character to the next, he had young Peter, Dief and Fraser on the
edges of their seats. It was like being in a theatre but so much more
intimate because as he drew out the yarn, describing the haunting forest
in a Twilight Zone whisper, the cop was playing directly to his three
listeners, drawing them in with his mesmerising eyes. 

 "Oh please, don't hurt me!" Ray squealed as Goldilocks, clutching his
head with terror. 

 "GRRRRRRR! A girl! I hate girls! Trespassing in MY house like that!"
Daddy Bear roared and Ray's hand fastened round Peter's arm like a claw. 

 "AAAAAAAHHHHH! Let me go, let me go!" 

 "Quiet!" And now Ray's voice dropped chillingly as Daddy Bear said,
"Fetch your biggest pot, ma, we're not having porridge for breakfast
anymore!" 

 "What are we having, pops? What!" squeaked Baby Bear excitedly. 

 "Roast Goldilocks!" 

 Oh, thought Fraser, how odd. He couldn't recall hearing about that bit.
In Hansel and Gretel he recalled some mention of an oven - but he couldn't
remember similar culinary reference in Goldilocks. Nor could he remember,
though Ray was surely correct, the climatic showdown involving a field
cannon, several extra if expendable bears and Ma Bear suing Goldilock's
family for unlawful entry, stealing and arson. Ray shut the book with an
audible snap and the bedroom seemed to sigh out its relief. The detective
grinned at his sleepy nephew whose eyes were as round as saucers and whose
teddy was clutched tight. 

 "There you go kid," he said and kissed his forehead. It was with some
reluctance, now that the moment was past and the adrenaline rush was gone,
that he forced himself to look at Fraser. He shrugged his sideways shrug.
"That's all folks." 

 Ben smiled like a new dawn. "Thank you kindly, Ray," he said meaning
every word of it. 

 "You're very welcome, Benny," Ray said and glanced down at his now
sleeping nephew with surprising tenderness. He'd make a fine father,
Fraser thought and was surprised at the surge of jealousy he experienced.
"Come on, let's go." 

 The detective was already out the door but Fraser paused, picked up the
fairytale book, touched it wonderingly like the child he never was should
have done and carried it out with him. His lover was already down the
stairs so he crept into their bedroom, secreted the book by his side of
the bed and hurried away down the stairs. Ray was raiding the
refrigerator, the irony of committing the same crime as his nephew
apparently passing him by, when Ben found him. The cop glanced at the
hovering mountie, tugged at his arm until he moved much closer, kissed his
forehead on the way to the pickles. 

 "Hungry?" 

 "Not for food, Ray," Ben replied and smiled shyly at his own temerity. 

 Ray grinned and touched his cheek, moved again by the man's incorruptible
sweetness. "I love you." 

 "I know," and he did because Ray told him nearly every hour. He shuffled
nervously, wanting so much to be able to return the compliment but unable
to form the words. 

 "It's okay, Benny," Ray murmured kissing him gently, this time on the
lips, "I know you love me - even if you don't." 

 "It's not that I don't love you. I just - I just don't know what love is,
Ray." How could he say he loved Ray when the emotion was so foreign to
him? Strong arms wrapped round him and he was pushed back against the
refrigerator as Ray's tongue plundered his mouth, hot and demanding,
whilst his hands kneaded his chest. He gave in to the love, melting under
the man's knowledgeable touch, mirroring where he could, awash with the
pleasure of knowing he could be himself with his lover. Eventually Ray
pulled away with one last savouring kiss. "Come on, Benny, it's way past
your bedtime." 

 The bedroom was dark, a cosy, clingy darkness that seemed to caress. Ray
locked the door carefully and joined Benny in bed. 

 "Ray, are you sure about this?" 

 "About loving you?" Such tenderness as the detective kissed his forehead.


 "No, about doing - it - here. In your bedroom. Peter's only across the
landing. Is it wise? Ethical?" 

 "Ethical?" Ray fumbled for the light, "what the hell - look, Benny, we've
been through this. We told Ma and the girls about our relationship. Maria
knows you sleep in here some nights. She's cool about it." 

 "Oh dear." That meant Maria had reservations. 

 "Cool, Benny! It means happy. We're discreet, we keep the door locked.
Stop worrying." 

 "Really?" 

 "Really!" Ray was wriggling on top of his lover, hands very busy indeed.
He found a delectably sensitive spot at the collarbone and settled in to
suckle. Ben groaned his pleasure and stroked Ray's back, kneading the
flesh like a cat. Travelling down the pale twitchy expanse of Ben's chest,
Ray caught sight of something bright and gaudy by the bed. He frowned and
then laughed in delight. "What is this, Benny?" 

 Focusing his eyes with some difficulty, Fraser felt his cheeks redden.
"Ah. I believe it's Peter's fairytale book, Ray, I - " 

 Ray's eyes were dancing with mischief but with some warmer emotion too as
he caught on. "You want me to read you a bedtime story, lover?" 

 Ben met his pure gaze. "Yes please, Ray, very much." And he handed him
the fairy story anthology. Ray, however, was shaking his head as he
settled against the headboard drawing Ben deep into his arms. 

 "Don't need a book, Benny, not for this story." He took a deep breath,
kissed Ben's soft hair and began, "Once upon a time, there lived a mountie
and a cop - " 

 The End 

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