Parts of this have been posted before, but I'm reposting it now as a whole
- or at least as a series of interconnected snippets. Minor spoilers here
for Flashback, Burning Down the House, Strange Bedfellows and Spy vs. Spy.


Rating: NC17 

Warnings: m/m sex, voyeurism, bondage, prostitution 

While this is erotica, this series is also a serious exploration of how we
cope when the distance between what we want, what we can have and what we
do have becomes immeasurable. All I'm doing is tracking Benton Fraser's
journey, as a moral human being, through this emotional and ethical
minefield. You may not like his answer; I'm not even sure he does. 

Colin's my invention; Alliance created the rest.   

*** 

Make Believe 

by Jaime Arundel 

*** 

Part 1: Fraser 

Benton Fraser lay on his back, his eyes squeezed closed as he concentrated
on the feel of the cock inside him. He didn't need his eyes open; he could
see his lover's eyes perfectly in his own mind, the way they got wider and
greener as he pumped into Ben's ass, that smug little smile as he came.  

Ben felt the cock inside him spasming and arched his back, bearing down on
it, trying to tighten his ass muscles around it, to intensify his
partner's pleasure. He was so focussed on the small breathless sounds his
lover made as he came that his own orgasm took him by surprise. He bit
down on his lower lip to keep from screaming aloud as his body convulsed
around its own centre, that wonderful, aching void that was filled with
the other man's cock. 

He didn't open his eyes as he lay back, arms flung out, and lowered his
feet to the mattress. Distantly, it seemed, he felt the spent cock slide
from his anus, heard the slick sound of lubricated latex as the condom was
removed. He lay, body relaxing into post-coital languor, the cheap motel
sheets wet under his back. He ran one hand through his sweat soaked hair
and heaved a great sigh of relief to be lying slack-limbed and spent, all
the accumulated tension momentarily dissipated from his body. 

He felt the bed sway and dip as the other man shifted to the side and
stood up. After a few moments, he heard the crash of urine in a toilet
bowl, heard it flush, heard water running briefly in the sink. Footsteps
returned to the room, but he kept his eyes closed, as if by simply not
looking he could drag out the perfect moment, the one brief, flawless
instant of suspended time when the body rests in the surcease of orgasm
and the mind is quiet. 

"Hey, you really dug that, huh man?" 

Reluctantly he pried his eyes open, forced himself to make the requisite
responses to the beautiful stranger who lounged against the drab motel
wall-paper. 

"Yes," he said. "I ... dug it." 

"You wanna do anything else, man? Cause like, I'm good for another
go-round, you want it." 

"No, thank you." Slowly he swung himself into a sitting position, let his
bare feet touch the ground, feeling the rough nubbins of
industrial-strength carpeting against his soles.  

He ran his hand through his hair again, knowing that he was probably only
making it more dishevelled. The other man looked at him a little
anxiously, seeming reluctant to leave. But Ben was hanging on to the
threads of his own politeness, suddenly desperate to be alone in the
sleazy room. He felt his cock move sluggishly against his thigh,
momentarily sated but only too willing to have another ... what was it?
... another go-round. 

"You sure, eh?" 

For a moment the Canadianism, so foreign-sounding against the Midwest
accent, spun him into a void of longing. How clean, how cold, how
unforgiving his home country was -- and how he missed it. 

He made himself get to his feet and moved slowly across to the chair where
his jeans lay in a crumpled heap, along with his t-shirt and underwear.
Fishing into the pocket, he pulled out the $100 bill and held it out. 

The other man reached out one dark, elegant hand and took it from him
gently. Ben expected him to pocket it and leave, but instead he stared at
it, raising troubled brown eyes to meet his own. "C'mon, man, you paying
me for the whole night. What you want me to go for? You done liked it,
man, you know you did." 

He nodded, taking in once again the slim, well-shaped figure of the young
hustler. He was a perfect milk chocolate brown, his hair shaved nearly to
his scalp, his big hands dangling from bony wrists and arms on a frame
that had been meant to be bigger and heavier. Ben recognized the signs of
childhood malnutrition. The boy was beautiful and his cock was half-hard
again already and, for reasons Ben didn't want to think about, he wanted
to stay. 

"I'm sorry," Ben said. His apology was sincere but he saw the tremor that
went through the boy's body as he recognized its finality. "Do you have
some place to go?" 

"'S early, man. I go back on the crawl, huh." He was turning, sorting his
clothes, pulling them on too fast, his fingers fumbling with zips and
buttons. Ben stood silently, watching him work the transformation from
needy, naked child to street-tough punk. The hard-toed boots, the oversize
khaki pants festooned with chains, the worn leather jacket ... 

He crossed his arms against his chest, hugging himself, as he watched the
youngster slump into the hard vinyl armchair to lace his boots. For a
moment he wondered what his father -- what *Ray* -- would say if he knew
that his son -- his friend -- paid strangers for sex. Long ago, in a land
that seemed far, far away, before he'd come to Chicago, he'd thought that
men who bought sex were sleazy and exploitative. He hadn't changed his
mind. 

"See ya 'round, man." 

Ben nodded, watched the door shut behind him. The click of the lock
mechanism echoed in his ears. At once, the stillness of the empty room
descended on him and he shivered suddenly, before turning to crawl back
into the bed. The sheet was still damp where he'd lain sweating on it as
the boy fucked him into oblivion and the covers smelt of sex and warmth
and human contact. His cock moved against his thigh again, swelling
slowly. 

He let his right hand drift down to it and closed his eyes and remembered
... green eyes, bulging with pleasure, that smug little smile, the sound
of Ray's overloaded breathing in his ear, his name on Ray's lips, Ray's
cock deep in the empty space that was himself ... 

He pleasured himself slowly in the motel room, remembering Ray's
love-making, the feel and taste and smell of Ray's body on his own,
remembering what had never happened ... 

*** 

"Earth to Fraser!" The words were accompanied by the stiff rap of an index
finger on the top of his skull. Startled, Ben turned to the man sitting
next to him in the car. It took him a moment to pull his mind back to the
present and when he did, the wrongness of the situation flooded into him.
Wrong smells in the car ... new plastic and some sort of fabric
preservative; wrong sounds on the radio playing softly in the background.
Worst of all, wrong man sitting next to him. 

"What is it, Ray?" he asked, turning to look at his new partner. Or should
that be fake partner? It wasn't even that he didn't like Kowalski. He has
right from the beginning. Liked his brashness, his energy, his bizarre
sense of humour. But he's not the man he's supposed to be. 

Even as he half-listened to Kowalski's response, his mind was replaying
Ray's last words to him, sifting them again and again for every nuance of
tone and content. "As a friend." And again, "as a friend." 

He shifted and imagined that he could feel the crinkle of cardboard
against fabric from the postcard carefully buckled into the breast pocked
of his uniform. Over his heart. It was a strange gesture for him; he was
not usually given to sentiment. Pain, yes, but not sentimentality. Pain he
was familiar with, knew - as much as anyone can - how to cope with. 

"What's with you today, Frase?" And the impatience in his normally
good-humoured friend's voice dragged him fully into the present.  

"I ... didn't sleep well last night." It was not entirely a lie; just
nine-tenths misdirection. After all, he could hardly tell Stanley Raymond
Kowalski, aka Ray Vecchio, that he spent half the night in a cheap hotel
room with a male hustler whom he picked up precisely because he didn't
look anything like Ray Vecchio, the real Ray Vecchio. Or that it didn't
work and that the instant he closed his eyes the young man's image had
instantly been replaced with the one so familiar from his fantasies. 

"As a friend." He had that, at least. Had had it even from that terrifying
day when he'd finally confessed the true nature of his feelings to his
friend. Because he'd been hit on the head and spent an entire day
listening to Ray as to a stranger and hearing nothing but love in the
voice of this man who insisted, paradoxically, that there was nothing
between them. Even though his body had been suffused with need from the
moment he opened his eyes and found the green-eyed stranger staring down
at him, concern writ large on his striking features. 

"Ya know, Frase, you can tell me what's bothering you." Ray Kowalski
shifted in his seat, so that Fraser could see the concern in the other
man's blue eyes. "It's not like I'm gonna freak or somethin'. After all,
you put up with all my cr... all my concerns about Stella." 

That was true. It had in a way been a fine distraction both from his own
thoughts and the disturbing possibility that his mental state might be
revealed by the psychologist's tests. And he had little faith in his
current mental state, between the shock of Ray's disappearance, his
feelings of loss, and the more bizarre eccentricities of his mind, which
seemed to insist on making his father's image ... ghost ... whatever it
was ... stranger with every passing day. 

He looked out at the darkening sky. Surely their perpetrator would put in
an appearance soon and he could escape from this Ray's all too perceptive
scrutiny. 

He could confess, of course. He doubted that Kowalski would be
particularly bothered to discover that his apparently uptight Mountie
partner had homosexual feelings for another man. If anything, his fears
were rather otherwise, that despite his apparent obsession with his
ex-wife, Kowalski was showing signs of an unwelcome interest in him 

He wasn't as naive as he pretended to be. It was merely his first line of
defence in a world that insisted on judging him first and foremost by his
appearance. He could recognize attraction when he saw it and he was
disturbingly aware of Kowalski's increasing attentions to him ... the
pizzas in Ray's apartment, the coffees after work, the get-togethers at
The Green Man, where the bartender served Ray bizarre herbal concoctions
that the other man pretended to disdain. 

Of course, they could just be keeping up appearances. No doubt Ray
Vecchio's file had contained the information that, as Francesca had once
put it, he and Ray were joined at the hip. A sudden slacking off of
relations could arouse suspicions ... so perhaps Kowalski's apparent
interest in him was indeed purely professional. 

"Well, Frase? You gonna say somethin' or am I just talkin' to myself here.
'Cause, ya know, I can do that. I can hold a perfectly good conversation
with myself an' you can go back to brooding or meditatin' or whatever the
hell it is you're doing there."  

Oh dear. "I'm sorry, Ray. I just seem to be somewhat distracted today.
It's nothing ... really." 

*** 

He walked slowly down the street, only half-looking at the various figures
slouched against walls or perched on the hoods of decrepit automobiles. 

He'd promised himself he'd never do this again and he'd managed to keep
that promise for ... months it felt like, although in reality it was five
weeks and two days.  

And now he was back, unable once again to sleep. Ray was in Nevada
somewhere, impersonating a mob boss named Armando Langostini. It was the
most information he'd ever had about Ray's undercover assignment and it
terrified him. Why had Ray done it? Why had he abandoned his family ...
and his friends ... to do something so inherently risky? 

He'd spent hours on the cot in his office. Every time his eyes had drifted
closed he'd seen images of Ray at the mercy of the Mafia, images of
torture and violence and death. He'd seen them so clearly, in such precise
detail, that he was actually afraid to sleep, frightened that he'd dream
it, in that realistic mode some dreams take on, and that he'd believe the
dream and it would somehow come true. 

For a man not given to superstition, he'd managed to spook himself to a
quite remarkable extent. Not even an attempted visit to his father, whose
office was empty and cold, had calmed his spirit. 

He needed distraction. He needed comfort. He needed Ray. 

A horn blared at the far end of the street and he looked up. The young man
he was searching for was right there, just across the next alleyway,
leaning against a wall amongst a group of similarly dressed youths. A
transvestite walked by, swaying on her high heels and made some comment to
the young men. They whistled and cat-called, but she was still smiling
when she passed by Ben, giving him a look that was little short of
incandescent. 

He stood there, feeling scorched and breathless. One hundred metres, that
was all. One hundred metres, some money for a hotel room, and he could
bury himself in his fantasies. He could taste the relief on his tongue,
feel the need in his body, in the tripping of his heart and the throb of
his penis.  

The boy had enjoyed it. He'd wanted to stay and do it again. He had gone
with Ben initially for the money, but he would have stayed for free. He
wasn't unwilling ... he wasn't. 

Ben swallowed hard, feeling the hot scald of unshed tears against his
eyelashes. He turned in the darkness and walked back the way he'd come.   

***  

Part 2: Colin 

Even this late in the evening the brick of the wall was still hot from the
long summer's day; the sky still held the faintest hint of daylight as 

Colin shifted position, leaning back against the wall, legs crossed at the
ankles, thumbs hitched into his belt loops so that his long dark hands
were spread splay-fingered around his groin.  

The night air throbbed with the city's dark pulse: sirens somewhere in the
distance, the insistent pulsing of a boombox further down the alley,
voices raised, a man's and another shriller -- a woman? Colin couldn't
tell.  

He wiggled a little with boredom, yawned, moved his skull against the
rough brick to scratch the persistent itch at the back of his scalp.  

"Wanna smoke?"	

"Sure." He reached for the cigarette that Tyler offered, giving the
younger boy a quick grim. Tyler hunkered down, skinny ass on his heels,
and Colin reached down to run his fingers through the dirty blonde dreads.


He took a puff on his cigarette and grinned. "Think you some sort of home
boy, huh, Ty?" 

"More 'n you." 

"Least I a nigger." He ground the butt under the heel of his boot and
grinned again. It was a favourite game, one they used to occupy their time
when business was slow. He hunched in his jacket, feeling the sweat
trickle slowly down his spine. Too fuckin' hot.  

"Hey," Ty said, nodding up the alley. "Comp'ny." 

Colin looked where Ty had indicated and caught his breath. Coming towards
them were two white men, both in their late twenties, early thirties, the
one with spiky hair gesturing wildly while the man in the stetson
listened. 

Even from the far end of the alley, Colin could see the amusement in the
second man's posture. He swallowed hard, remembering an unseasonably warm
May evening, a hotel room, and a man spread-eagled for his pleasure, cock
hard against his belly as Colin fucked his tight ass. 

"Ty," he hissed. "Leave these guys 'lone, huh?" 

"Why?" 

"Jus' do it, man" 

He didn't know how, but he knew that this man was not in this alley
looking for a pick-up. Not this time. This one wasn't the type to hunt in
pairs; hell, he didn't really seem like the type to hunt at all. 

Colin kept his eyes on the ground as the two men passed, deep in
conversation. The man's head was bent towards his companion and he was
laughing softly at something the blonde had said.  

Colin caught the reply. "Well, you do have to admit it is evidence, Ray." 

The blonde's response caught Colin off-guard. It was a fucking good thing
he'd kept his head down, he figured, or he'd have blown the man's cover
for sure. What the hell was the moron doing walking through a notorious
cruising spot with a cop in tow? Did he want to give himself away? Surely
he wasn't a cop, too? But he'd been talking about evidence, in that lovely
deep voice that Colin still remembered in his dreams. Maybe a lawyer. 

They were on past now and Ty was looking up at him curiously, one hand
digging insistently in his crotch. Shit, the little fuck better not have
crabs again! Hadn't he been through the safe sex thing with him often
enough? He was drawing breath for a rant, when a hand on his shoulder made
him jump. 

Looking up, he found himself staring into blue-grey eyes shaded by the
brim of a stetson. He wanted to look away, but couldn't.  

The man's companion was staring at him. "Fraser. Hey, Fraser, what's going
on? What d'you want with the kid?" 

Colin didn't know what to do. All his impulses were screaming at him to
duck and run. They were cops. They were the kind of guys who got their
kicks beating up on faggots, especially fag hustlers. Ty was whimpering at
his feet and he knew the kid had to be carrying again. Fuckin' little
fool! How many times did he hafta tell him, anyway?  

"Fraser! Fraser! For chrissakes, Frase, what's the matter with you? You
want the kid run in or somethin'? He don't got nothing to do with the case
... Fraser!" 

Fuck, they had to have been standing here looking into each other's eyes
for what, like an hour or something. Colin shuddered under the intensity
of that gaze, feeling it almost as an assault. Whatever was in the man's
eyes, Colin couldn't read it, only knew that he was reeling from their
stare and the proximity of that well-remembered body. How many times had
he jerked off remembering that one fuck? One out of hundreds, and his body
wanted to relive it even while he cursed himself for a fool.  

He was eighteen years old, fer chrissake. Too goddamn old to be gone on
some john. Some guy who'd humped him and paid him and never wanted to see
him again. Too old, too weary and too wise to believe that some
queered-out version of Pretty Woman was going to come true for him.  

He stared into the man's eyes, watching his friend's frenetic gesturing in
his peripheral vision. The scuffed toe of his boot found Ty's haunch and
dug into it. "Take off, Ty," he hissed. 

Ty came out from under them and took off down the alley, doing, for once,
what Colin told him. He didn't need to be hassled by the cops for hustling
his skinny under-aged butt. Not with whatever it was that was bulging his
pockets. 

The blonde made as if to take off after him, more out of habit than
conviction.  

"No," the man said, firmly, and the blonde circled back, his arms still
waving. 

"You wanna tell me what's goin' on here, Fraser? 'Cause, like, I got
better things to do than stand here watchin' you have a staring match with
some street kid." 

"Are you all right?" the man asked, all his concentration still on Colin. 

Colin found himself nodding. Then shrugging. "Yeah. I guess." 

"You're sure?" 

"Yeah." Leave it, he thought, still staring into those beautiful eyes.
Leave it before I say something you don't want your cop friend to hear. "I
. . . I been thinkin' 'bout you." Oh shit! Too fuckin' late now. Colin
cast one desperate glance at the man's friend and saw the look of
amazement on his face and watched it turn into something else. 

"Sorry," he whispered.	

The man shook his head. He brought one hand up and touched it very gently
to Colin's cheek. "I've ... thought about you, too." He looked over at his
friend, for the first time, and smiled ruefully. 

"You know this kid, Fraser?" 

"Yes, Ray." 

"How come?" 

"We . . . had sex once, Ray." There was something in the man's face that
Colin couldn't interpret, defiance maybe, or something else. 

"Christ, Fraser! I mean the kid's fuckin' jailbait. Are you out of your
tiny Canadian skull?" 

"Probably." Colin wanted to protest that he was an adult, but something
kept him mesmerized, just watching the interaction between the two men. 

"Alright, alright! It's your goddamn life, Fraser. But next time, tell me,
huh? I mean I'm supposed to be your best friend and I don't even know
you're a ... you're gay." 

"I'm a faggot?" Fuck, the guy actually looked amused. "You've got a short
memory, Ray. I bet you don't even remember where you were born." 

"Don't you start that with me again, Fraser! I'm warning you . . . ." 

"Understood, Ray." The man, Fraser, turned back to Colin and regarded him
solemnly. "Would you like . . ." 

Oh shit! "Yes!" 

"I didn't finish what I was saying," he said, looking a little stunned.
Colin thought he was maybe just now realising that he'd come out to his
cop friend. And that he was here in a filthy alley with an eighteen year
old whore. What he'd told his friend about him could get him in big shit
with the cops. But Colin didn't care now. He was going to have this man
again, if it killed both of them. 

"Whatever," Colin said, stunned by the strength of his own need. 

"Come on, then." 

"You're out of your mind, Fraser. What is it with you and strays,
anyways?" 

"Where are we going?" He followed without a second glance, wondering if Ty
could see them, hoping the boy would remember what he'd taught him. 

"My place." 

"Where's that?" 

"The Canadian Consulate." 

"We're gonna fuck there?" intercut with the blonde, Ray's, "You're not
gonna fuck him there!" 

"No." 

"I don' understand." 

Fraser swung around suddenly, pulling Colin into a strong embrace. Colin
inhaled soft leather and soap as a mouth descended on his own, tongue
tickling against his lips. A long kiss and not chaste at all. A promise. 

"Not there and not now. But soon." 

Ray was shaking his head at the two of them but Colin saw no disgust in
his eyes. He was still trying to catch his own breath. "You're a strange
man, Fraser," Ray said and Colin found himself echoing the sentiment
exactly. 

"I did something wrong, Ray, and now I have the opportunity to make up for
it. I intend, if my young friend will allow it, to make restitution for my
behaviour." 

"Why? What did you do?" There was concern as well as curiosity in Ray's
voice and Colin found himself rejoicing that Fraser, like Ty, had a friend
who cared about him. At the same time, he'd grasped that there was likely
to be some gap between the promise of that sweet kiss and its fulfilment. 

"I allowed myself to become something I should not have been. I allowed
myself to behave badly . . . . I need to make up for that. And I will . .
. to?" His brows raised inquiringly. 

"Colin," he muttered, his heart still pounding. This was too much like a
fairy tale to be real, wasn't it? Too much like make believe? 

"To Colin." 

They were at a car, and Fraser was holding the door for him and he was
standing, staring, frozen. And then there was that touch again, gentle on
his arm and he slid into the car and knew that whatever happened, it would
be different, it would be better.   

***  

Part Three: Ray 

Gawd, what a day it had been! Stanley Raymond Kowalski, Ray to his friends
and colleagues, rubbed the back of his neck, twisting his head in a futile
attempt to erase some of the tension. With a sigh, he stepped out of the
car. At least it was over. He had two whole days off.  

On the other hand, he had three tickets to the Hawks' game and a friend
with no phone. Hell, if he was gonna fork over a couple of the best
tickets in town to Fraser - and the kid, too, if he wanted - then Fraser
could at least have the decency to be reachable. Or even to live in a
building with an elevator. In maybe even a decent neighbourhood. 

With a sigh, he stepped over the trash heaped in the corner of the alley
and made his way over to Fraser's new apartment building. Despite all his
offers to help him find a decent place, somehow Fraser had ended up in yet
another rat trap. 

Not that Ray had ever seen the previous rat trap. 

But if Frannie's accounts were to be believed, he was starting to
sympathize with the real Ray Vecchio. The Mountie really was the most
irritating man in the world. 

The most bizarre, too, sometimes. Not that Ray had been particularly
surprised to discover that his new and highly irregular partner was gay.
No, nobody could be that bad with women and still be straight. 

It was kind of weird to think that a guy with such a rigid moral code
would pick up a hustler. And fuck him. And move in with him. Ray didn't
want to think about what that implied, if anything. And knowing the
Mountie, it could mean anything from fucking the boy senseless every night
to chastely overseeing his homework.  

Ray reached for the door, only to freeze in mid-gesture. Through the
cracked glass of the entrance way, he could see that what passed for a
lobby was hip-deep in junkies. Not the first time. No way he was going to
wade through that lot! He thought about calling it in, but it was about as
useful a gesture as attempting to dam a river with a fishing net.  

He shrugged, turned, walked back past his car, down the alley to the fire
escape. A little help from a convenient (and empty) trash can got him up
to where the ladder was fastened at first floor level. From there it was
an easy stroll up the stairs to Ben's fourth floor apartment. 

It wouldn't be the first time he'd resorted to going in through the
window. Given Fraser's penchant - now *there* was a word Fraser might use,
he grinned - Fraser's penchant for windows instead of doors, it was kind
of appropriate, anyhow. 

He'd spent so much time running around with Fraser that he wasn't even out
of breath when he reached the top of the fire escape. He bent down to
reach for the edge of the window frame and stopped dead. From where he was
standing, he had a very clear view into Fraser's bedroom. Too clear. He
didn't think he wanted to see what he was seeing. But he couldn't somehow
move away, or even shut his eyes. 

Oh my Geezus!  

There was a figure slouched in a battered leather armchair, naked except
for a red Mountie jacket, framing a muscular and very bare chest. Legs
lolled, one over an arm of the chair, the other lazing out across the wood
floor. The Stetson was pushed back from his head, almost dislodged as the
head was tilted back in ecstasy.  

Ray didn't think he'd ever seen anything more decadent. 

Between the figure's legs, another body knelt, this one completely naked;
that is, unless you counted the gleaming metal of the cuffs that held his
hands behind his back. His head was working rhythmically as he sucked on
the cock that sprang so eagerly from between sprawled thighs. 

Ray's mouth went dry. For a second he had to close his eyes - and then he
had to open them again to confirm that what he thought he saw was real:
Benton Fraser, naked, bound, on his knees, giving what looked like one
hell of a blow job to a black street kid.  

As Ray watched, the boy's lips parted and he said something Ray couldn't
hear. One long dark hand came forward and tangled itself in Ben's hair,
guiding him. At the same time, the boy's hips began to pump upwards, so
lazy and unhurried it was hard to reconcile it with the arousal in both
men's faces. 

Ray felt his own cock stiffen as he watched Colin deliberately sliding his
hard dick backwards and forwards between Ben's lips. He watched Ben's
cheeks hollow as he applied suction, saw the pink tip of his tongue snake
out to caress the shaft as it was pulled away. Gawd, it was hard to
believe Vecchio had turned this down.  

Carefully, wary of Fraser's exceptional hearing, he eased the zipper of
his pants down, rubbing his cock through the tightness of his briefs. 

Colin moved suddenly, sitting more upright in his chair. The Stetson fell
unnoticed to the floor as Ben shifted, trying to shuffle closer. His
sucking barely faltered, but now Colin put both hands at the back of Ben's
head and began fucking his mouth in earnest. 

Ray shifted so that he was kneeling, legs apart on the fire escape. He
pulled his cock free of the waistband of his briefs and ran two fingers
lightly along it. He was almost dizzy from his feelings, shame and arousal
making a potent cocktail in his belly. He licked his own lips, wondering
what it would feel like to have his partner's beautiful mouth stretched
around his cock.  

It didn't matter, because he'd never find out. The man in that room, the
one making slow, unbelievably hot love with an eighteen year old boy, was
in love with his namesake. But Ray Vecchio was straight. Arrow straight.
Oh, Ben had said he'd been sympathetic, even supportive, urging Ben to try
and find friends in the gay community. A true friend, but never a lover.
That was what Ben had told him, that night when they'd first picked the
kid out from amongst the hookers and hustlers and pimps. 

No, Ben loved Ray. Who wanted to spend time with him but didn't love him.
And he, Ray's replacement, loved his ex-wife. Who loved him but couldn't
bear to be with him. What a fucked up lousy world it was! 

And then there was the kid, who looked right at the moment like he'd
reached the seventh stage of paradise and was headed straight for Nirvana,
do not pass Go, do not collect $200. What in hell did Ben intend to do
with the kid? Other than giving him what looked like the best head Ray had
seen this side of 'Deep Throat.' 

Knowing Ben, whatever it was, it wasn't going to be straightforward. No
wham, bam, thank you kid for Fraser. He just wasn't the type. 

Both men were moving in frantic synchronicity now. Colin's movements had
slewed Ben around far enough that Ray could see his thick cock, bobbing
anxiously between his thighs. His balls looked so tight that Ray could
feel their ache deep in his own groin. Ben's hands were fiercely clenched,
tugging the short chain of the handcuffs tight against his back. And all
the while Colin's cock plunged in and out of those willing lips, as Ben
worked to give the kid everything he needed.  

All Ray had to do to feel that hot, moist friction was close his own eyes.
But to do that he would have had to stop watching the two of them and he
doubted he could do that right now to save his soul. 

He fisted his dick roughly, pounding his cock into his hand with short,
abortive thrusts of his hips. The hard metal slats of the fire escape hurt
his knees. He swiped his left hand roughly over his face, feeling stubble
and sweat. It was hard to keep quiet like this, when he needed so much. 

One of the boy's hands untangled itself from Ben's hair and moved slowly
up his flat abdomen, fingers spread flat across the sweat-sheened skin. He
tossed his head impatiently as he shoved at the thick red serge, exposing
a peaked nipple rising from an aureole the colour of bitter chocolate. Ray
licked his lips again at the sight of the boy slowly fingering that small
nubbin of flesh into hardness, imagining the explosion of sweetness in his
own mouth. 

He struggled to keep his eyes focussed, watching as the boy's mouth fell
open. He writhed on the chair, rubbing himself against leather and red
serge, rubbing his dick against Ben's tongue and lips. Ray could see the
strain in his face as he struggled to hold back his orgasm, prolonging the
moment when he had to surrender to Ben's mouth. 

Colin's chest was heaving and Ray saw him struggle to speak to Ben. When
Ben continued to suck and suck, more and more frantically, Colin tossed
his head once against the armchair, gritting his teeth; the hand in Ben's
hair tightened, dragging Ben roughly inch by inch down the thick dark
cock. Ben curled his tongue around the plump glans, trying desperately to
tease it back into his mouth.  

Ray squeezed hard on his own cock at the sight, torn between wanting to
see Ben drink the kid's cum and the knowledge that it wasn't safe. He
couldn't believe how out of control Ben was or how arousing he found it to
see his friend like that.  

He felt his own cock spasm against his palm, jism flowing between his
clenched fingers and dripping onto the metal slats beneath him. At the
same time, his eyes feasted on the sight of Colin's dark hand wrapped
around his beautiful cock, pumping his opalescent cum over Ben's cheeks
and chin, dribbling down onto his neck and chest. Red serge fell over his
dark wrist, dark skin butting up against Ben's pale cheek and red lips,
white cum pearling from the black velvet glans... the colours alone so
erotic that Ray could scarcely hold in the moan that battered behind his
closed lips.  

Colin subsided back into the armchair, motionless save for the erratic
rise and fall of his chest. Ben knelt before him, looking up, his lips
still parted. As Ray watched, his tongue crept out, drawn by the
unbearable temptation of taste, but Colin must have been expecting that,
since even in the extremity of his orgasm, he'd let none of his cum fall
within reach of that agile pink tongue. 

Ray had known from the start that the boy felt something real for Fraser,
but the tenderness of his care for the older man was shocking. In its own
way it was just as arousing as the erotic scenario that had just unfolded
before his eyes. He sat back on his own heels, automatically reaching into
his pocket for tissues to clean the stickiness of his own semen from his
fingers. Though he tried to stifle it, his own breath was coming in great
panting gasps. 

And Ben just knelt, his tongue running along his lower lip, his head up,
eyes devouring the boy slouched in boneless satiation in the armchair. His
cock was arched up, nodding against his belly with each shaky exhalation,
a sticky thread of precum tautening each time it wavered away. He had to
be hurting but he seemed content to wait, hands momentarily relaxed in
their shackles. 

Finally Colin moved, sitting up. The red uniform tunic fell forward,
momentarily hiding everything from Ray's sight, save the motion of that
one large hand, as it dragged tenderly down the side of Ben's head,
caressing cheeks and jawbone. A dark thumb pressed against his lips, slid
briefly inside, to be suckled and tongued.  

Then Colin twisted out of the chair, sliding to his own knees behind Ben.
He shrugged out of the overlarge jacket and brought it round between them.
For a minute, he let the bunched material catch there, while he pressed
himself against Ben's back, humping him, the red cloth slipping and
catching between them as he thrust slowly back and forth. He let his head
fall forward onto Ben's shoulder, his tongue drawing a moist path along
collarbone to neck before trailing upwards to toy in the damp curls
flattened against the base of his skull.  

Teeth flashed as Colin nibbled gently at Ben's earlobe. Then he was
drawing back, shaking the folds of cloth out from between them. He draped
Ben's tunic around his shoulders, letting the fronts fall loosely down his
chest and onto his thighs. Crushing himself tightly against Ben's back, he
wrapped his hands around Ben, playing them across the serge, rubbing it
against Ben's skin, teasing his nipples with the rough weave. Big black
palms flat against red cloth, chafing it across sweat damp skin, teasing
Ben until he was frantic.  

Ray watched Colin grinning down the length of Ben's body, careful to make
sure that he twitched the cloth over Ben's cock at intervals, sometimes so
fast that Ben couldn't react until the sensation was already over, then
back again, to drag luxuriantly along the length of his dick, catching on
the tender head before lifting away. From the look on Ben's face, Ray
thought he was close to fainting from the heady combination of too much
stimulation and too little. 

Did Ben get off on this always, being so helpless before such provocation?
Ray couldn't see his manacled hands, but he knew from the corded muscles
in his arms that he was tugging and twisting against his restraints. Was
it always like this, Ben held in thrall to this exotic creature? Or was it
Ben who was the exotic here, his strange passions drawing from Colin
exactly what he needed most? 

He closed his eyes for a moment, praying that it wouldn't last much
longer. His spent cock stirred sluggishly between his damp thighs,
struggling to match pulse for pulse with the arousal that beat behind his
eyes. It would hurt to come again so soon. 

Ben was struggling in Colin's grasp, his hips thrusting his cock wildly
into the air. He looked like something a Greek god might have created,
playful and cruel at once, a paean to wildness and beauty and lust. And
still Colin would give him nothing more than the random touch of serge,
dark now where Ben's weeping cock had dampened the fabric. 

Ben was keening against the twin touches of fabric, light on his cock,
crushed roughly against his nipple. Colin's teeth nicked their way down
his neck to the thick muscle at the juncture of neck and shoulder. He
palmed the cloth around and around Ben's nipple as he licked and sucked at
the exposed flesh of his neck, tongue dipping down into the hollow at the
point of his collar bone, trailing back up along the straining tendons of
his neck. 

Ray could see Ben's lips moving and was sure, though he couldn't make out
the words, that Ben was begging for something, anything, to release him
from his torment. He ran one finger lightly over his own over sensitized
cock, wincing as heady gusts of arousal pulsed across overloaded synapses.


Surely it had to end soon. Oh please. And he didn't know if he was begging
for Ben's sake or his own.  

Colin dropped the cloth he'd been teasing over Ben's cock, brought his
hand up to Ben's mouth, fingers skimming open lips, dipping in to
tantalize, withdrawing before Ben could wrap his tongue around them. Back
in again, and out, and in again, mimicking what Colin's cock had so
recently done to that hot, wet mouth. 

Ray groaned. 

Colin took his gleaming fingers from Ben's mouth, leaning over to whisper
something in Ben's ear. Ray couldn't see what Colin was doing behind Ben's
back, but guessed from the desperate toss of Ben's head and sudden heave
of his chest, that Colin had slid his fingers into Ben's ass. Ben's hips
were thrusting frenetically, pushing back against Colin.  

Ray could barely stand to watch those knowing eyes, brown and gentle,
laughing over Ben's shoulder as Colin drove him relentlessly onwards,
hurtling out of control towards some erotic crescendo of unimaginable
proportions. 

Sweat trickled down Ben's abdomen, darkened the cloth of his tunic. His
head shook incessantly back and forth, lips open, drawn back, tongue
thrusting against his lower lip in rhythm with his gyrating hips. And
still Colin worked behind him, leaving his purple, swollen cock swaying
and nodding against his belly. 

Some change in Ben, some minute alteration in the bowing arch of his neck,
tendons strained white against already pale skin, must have alerted Colin.
All of a sudden, his left hand dropped away from its steady teasing of
Ben's nipple, gathered a great handful of red serge, folded it around his
swollen cock, and squeezed hard. For one instant, Ray could see the purple
head robed round with red serge, the slit oozing dampness down onto
Colin's cloth-covered fingers. Then Ben was coming, pulse after pulse of
semen arcing out to splatter on the wooden floor. 

Ray looked down, his eyes closing briefly in relief. With some difficulty,
he worked his tender, still-swollen penis back into his briefs, fought the
zipper of his jeans shut.  

When he looked up again, Colin had released Ben's hands and the cuffs lay
abandoned on the floor, metal and semen glistening in a stray band of
sunlight that lanced across the floorboards. The two men were lovingly
entwined, Ben's hand curved around the back of Colin's head, kissing him
with astounding tenderness. It was a tableau so poignant that Ray couldn't
bear to watch it. 

He crept as quietly as he could down the fire escape, wincing at each
creak and scrape of the rusty treads. He would come back again once he
could face them. In the meantime, he needed time to compose himself, get a
bite to eat, perhaps jerk off in some diner's rest room.  

Ray shook his head at his own perversity. It was hard to understand how
he'd been so compelled by the sight of the two men fucking... making love,
whatever it was they'd been doing. And so utterly unable to watch them in
the tender, exhausted aftermath of their love. Why was the feeling so much
harder than the act? 

He thought about Stella and about Ray Vecchio and knew that he would never
understand why love was not enough. 

*** 

THE END 

*** 

j_arundel@innocent.com