due South: A Buck and Change 10	 Warnings: R M/M Oh, really cringe
inducing lyrics. And when Ray started on that second song I just couldn't
bring myself to stick lyrics on the Promises list.  I *really* can't swear
this falls under the erotica label. Kinky? Definitely. 

Promises: Well, I don't think I can make any about this episode. Sorry.
But some of you might actually *like* the songs. Might remind you of Ray's
voice in North, eh? Hey! Watch it! You're supposed to throw otters, not
bolos! Yikes! Turnbulli's incoming! (Ask Buffy's twin, Katrina. *She's*
responsible for the frozen Turnbullis.)  Quiz by the ever delightful
Laurie Taylor. Ltaylor@provider.uk  Beta Reading by Dy.  And a dedication.
~To Del~   A Buck & Change  - Ep 10   or The Meal by Mitch Hudson 

*Something* had to be done. This was getting to be a regular thing with
Frobisher. Saturday at the beach, Saturday at the park, or Saturday at a
movie. Ray lowered the binoculars and scrubbed his palm against his
forehead. His vantage point on the hill overlooking the almost-deserted
beach was perfect. An hour ago he'd lay down on the grass, propped himself
up on his elbows and began the stakeout. The weather was still too cool
for swimmers but he saw the occasional beachcomber wander past his mother
and the guy who kept bringing her out here. They were listening to some
kind of music, he caught snatches of it in the breeze every once in a
while. 

"Hmm hmm," Ray peered through the binoculars as he began to hum the tune
he thought he heard, "hmm, secret . . .*aye* gent man, secret *aye* gent
man, they've given you uh numbuh an taken way your name-" He stopped,
suddenly alerted by their movement. 

They were getting food out of the basket now. Sandwiches? Or would she
have brought some of Frannie's meatloaf left over from last night? Surely
she wouldn't have made something special just for this picnic, something
special for *him*. If meatloaf was good enough for her own children then
it was *certainly* good enough for that Mountie. Probably had no taste
buds anyway. If Benny's cooking was anything to judge by then all Mounties
must be trained to survive on pemmican, stew, or . . . rice! He remembered
being with Benny at his father's cabin, waiting on an ambush and nothing
to eat in the place but bags of rice. He chuckled at the memory, not at
all concerned that the sound would be overheard by the two at the base of
the cliff. The roaring waves would more than drown out any sounds he might
make. 

Ray peered through the binoculars again. Pollo! She'd made Petto di pollo
in--he focused a bit-- in salsa di lattuga. He swallowed and shifted lower
to press his empty belly against the grass. Maybe skipping breakfast had
been a mistake. He could hop in the Riv and buzz down the lake shore road
to that little hamburger place. He'd only be gone twenty minutes, tops.
They were busy eating. So . . . yeah. He'd risk it. 

Ray tucked the binoculars back in their case and rolled over. A dark
silhouette startled him. 

"Hello, Ray." 

"Benny! Jeeze! How many times I gotta tell you? Stop *doin'* that!" Ray
complained as he slumped back to the ground and stared up at Benny's
towering form. 

The Mountie stepped over Ray's prone body straddling him with a foot on
either side of his thighs. "I'd like to ask you what you're doing here,
Ray, but it's patently obvious, I'm afraid." 

"Then if you know what I'm doing why don't you let me get back to it?" Ray
felt his heart thudding against his undershirt. Benny had really
frightened him this time. Now his lover was, well, it looked almost like
glaring. If anybody else were standing over him looking down with that
kind of an expression on their face Ray would have described it as
glaring. 

"I'm afraid," Fraser began as he knelt on one knee, "that it appears all
to clearly that you are engaged in an illegal activity." He touched the
zipper talon of Ray's light jacket. 

Ray felt the instant heat that flooded his body whenever he was lying
under his lover. "Something illegal?" he asked, his voice growing husky.
"And if I am, what are you planning to do about it? He shifted his grip on
the binoculars case, freeing his right hand so he could stroke up Fraser's
arm. 

"My plan, Ray, is to--" He stopped as Rays wandering hand reached his
shoulder and slid over and down his chest. "My plan is to stop you, and--"
Ray found the tiny nub of Fraser's left nipple. "Stop that, please." 

"Ah, Benny. You really want me too?" Benny tugged his jacket zipper down
and Ray grinned. He slid his hand down lower, finding the zipper of
Benny's jeans. 

"Yes, please. And I'm afraid I must insist on borrowing," Fraser leaned
down and ran a hand around Ray's waist to the back, "these," he finished
as he puled out Ray's handcuffs. 

"Here?" Ray asked with equal alarm and delight. He glanced around quickly
as Benny snapped the cuffs on his wrists. "You are just full of surprises,
you know that?" 

"I'm afraid that you're mistaken, Ray." Fraser hauled the lithe man easily
to his feet and steered him to the Buick Riviera parked a few yards away. 

"Oh. *Not* here. Well, I can live with that," Ray said cheerfully as he
allowed the Mountie to tug him along. He began to hum a different tune and
as Fraser pushed him firmly into the passenger seat Ray burst into song.
"Hurt so go-ood. Ohu baby, make it hurt so goo--" 

Fraser slammed the Riv's door much harder than necessary and glared
skyward as he marched to the driver's side. He opened the door and Ray's
exuberant, yet slightly off-key voice greeted him like a gale force wind.
Stoically the Mountie climbed in, for once grateful that Diefenbaker had
chosen to remain at the apartment. He needed no further witnesses to
*this* bit of humiliation. 

"--Love don't feel like it should, you make it, hurt so good, da da da da
*da*, da--" 

"Ray!" Fraser whipped his eyes back to the road, mortified at his own
angry tone. But the song was . . . horribly . . . suggestive. "I fear
you've misunderstood my intentions--" 

"Oh, *that's* for sure, Benny." Ray grinned at him and moved his cuffed
hands up Fraser's right thigh to the target he'd barely touched earlier.
"Apparently," he continued, oblivious to Fraser screeching to a halt at
the edge of the two lane road, "I think there's a lotta things I used to
misunderstand about you--" 

He stopped mid sentence as he realized Benny was getting out. His lover
opened the passenger door, hauled him out and in one swift motion shoved
him on his side in the back seat. Ray grinned up at him. 

Fraser accidentally allowed a scowl to flash across his handsome features
before he slammed the door and resumed his seat behind the steering wheel.
Once in the flow of the increasingly congested traffic his lover launched
into song again. Under *any* other circumstances this would have delighted
the man. To see Ray participate in any activity that brought him pleasure
was Fraser's ultimate joy. But this . . . "Oh, dear." 

"I-iiii, should'a realized a lott'a things before, if this is love you
gotta give me more, give me more, give me more, hey hey hey! Oh oh,
I-iiiii . . . " 

Fraser gritted his teeth as Ray released the latch on the passenger seat,
tilted the seat-back forward and pushed a shoeless foot between the V
opening. The detective's voice rose and warbled as he probed his toes at
Fraser's hip and up over his thigh. "Ray!" He tried talking. "No use." He
shook his head. "Is this some type of hideously secret American torture
technique, Ray? Murdering popular music by assaulting persons with it?" 

"gotta give me more-- Huh? Yeah, Benny." Ray grinned and changed tunes.
"*Born* in the U S A, I was *born* in the U S A, I'm a long gone . . . " 

That elegant sock-clad foot snaked its way into Fraser's crotch. He
clutched the wheel and drew his knees tightly together. Ray's dexterous
toes plundered the deep creases of denim and pressed into erotic crevices.
Fraser's palms became damp. Fraser caught sight of the twenty-seventh
precinct house and almost cried with relief. As he hauled the *born* in
the U S A man from the back seat Ray's rendition cut off in mid-syllable. 

"What the *hell*- Benny! What the hell are we doin' here? Hey! Stop it,"
he commanded as Fraser began forcing him to the entrance. 

"Come along quietly, Ray or I shall be forced--" 

"Are you nuts?" Ray jerked and managed to free himself but only
momentarily. The Mountie lunged at him and scooped him up over his
shoulder. 

"Benny! I'm ordering you--" 

"Hey Fraser." Detective Huey called a greeting as he met the Canadian on
the stairs to the squad room. "Hey Vecchio," he addressed the man's rump
as they approached him. "I see you've finally found a good use for the
Mountie. But it seems kinda extreme just to save wear and tear on one
sock. Where's you shoe--" He stopped and stared as Fraser passed him.
Huey's eyes felt as if their aim was instantly glued on the handcuffs Ray
wore. He had no doubt who had placed them there. 

Ray twisted his head around, trying to glare at Jack. "You just gonna
*stand* there, Huey? You gonna let some *foreigner* humiliate one of
Chicago's finest while you just stand there and gape?" 

"Ray, Detective Huey is in no position to interfere with my activities.
And as to *humiliating* you, frankly I think you've done a remarkably
thorough job of that all by yourself." *** 

"-- and Detective Vecchio followed the couple to a secluded spot along the
shore today. He observed them from a secluded location using these," he
paused and held up the items in question, "binoculars which apparently he
*borrowed* from me without my knowledge or consent." Fraser placed the
offensive object on Lieutenant Welsh's desk and crossed his arms as he
switched his disapproving gaze to the one-shoed detective. 

Ray slumped a little more defiantly on Welsh's couch and tried to generate
a scorching laser beam from his eyes. Benny never flinched. 

"Thank you, Constable. I must admit, Vecchio, this is the first time I've
ever had one of my officers hauled in under arrest by his own partner.
*Unofficial* partner, that is. I do have one minor question, though." 

"Well, if you expect an *answer*, then you'd better ask your minor
question of *Fraser*," he said frostily, *bitterly* frosty. 

"An excellent suggestion, Detective. Oh, Constable? I need the names of
the "stalkees" for the report. I'd like to have *all* the facts straight
before I--" and he paused to flash a gleam at Ray's frozen face, "have the
distinct pleasure of placing Detective Vecchio back in that holding cell
where you first found him. When I think of how much simpler my life would
be if he'd *never* gotten out of there . . . " 

"Ah. The, as it were, victims' names, sir?" Fraser ran his thumbnail
across his right eyebrow. 

The lieutenant shifted his triumphant gaze to the Mountie and that gaze
lost it's unequivocal victorious light. His gravelly voice lost it's note
of glee as he repeated, "The names, Constable." 

"I believe, sir . . . the persons in question are, sir . . . a Mrs. Sofia
Vecchio of Chicago Illinois and a Sergeant Frobisher, sir. Of the Royal
Canadian Mounted Police, sir." 

Welsh sank back in his desk chair. His whole demeanor deflated as he
looked forlornly at his detective. He shook his head and turned to the
Canadian. "Constable Fraser, Mrs. Vecchio is--" he began sadly, then
bolted upright. "Frobisher?" he demanded. "With that lovely woman?" 

"Yes, sir," Ray growled the words through clenched teeth. "Sergeant *Buck*
Frobisher. With *my* mother." 

Welsh spared a brief glance at Fraser as he rose ominously from his desk
chair. 

Fraser swallowed and backed up a few short steps as the imposing gentleman
rounded the desk to stand toe to toe with him. 

"Constable," he said in a low voice, "would you happen to be in possession
of Detective Vecchio's keys?" He held out his hand. 

"Y- yes, sir." Fraser hastily dropped the key ring in the man's blocky
palm. 

"And perhaps his shoe?" 

"No sir." He gave that quick little shake of his head, a half turn to the
left, then a snap to the right. 

Welsh motioned for the detective to hold his wrists out and he unlocked
the cuffs. After he dropped them and the keys in Ray's hands he turned
back to Fraser. "Perhaps you and I need to have a little *discussion*
concerning your recent actions, Constable. You won't mind--" He whirled
back to his office door as Ray slipped out. "Detective Vecchio!" he
bellowed. 

Ray slid to a stop three feet from his launching point. He lurched back to
the opening and peered around the doorjamb. "Sir?" he responded, his
eyebrows raised. 

"You've forgotten something." Welsh fished the binoculars off his desk and
tossed them to the detective. 

Fraser opened his mouth to object to the lieutenant *loaning* his
binoculars out but at further thought decided to keep his objection to
himself. As Ray launched himself from the doorway Fraser heard snatches of
*another* tune. He identified it as "Secret Agent Man" as performed by the
singer, Johnny Rivers. Ray seemed to have altered some of the words and
Fraser flinched as a particularly loud phrase emanated up the stairwell. 

"Odds are Buck won't *live* to see to- *morrow*, Yeah, I'm a . . . Secret
*aye* gent man . . . " 

"Oh dear." 

"Yes, Constable. Oh dear is right. Now let's have that little talk, shall
we?" The lieutenant shut his office door and closed the blinds. ~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

The end. Tune in . . .  yad yada . . .  next episode . . . A Buck & Change
11 or An Invitation to *Revenge* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Cuffs R Us quiz department, under the Management of Ms. L. Taylor is
delighted to bring you another of their titillating and mind expanding
quizzes. Please, enjoy. Questions: 

1 What illegal activity was Ray engaged in when Ben found him?	 a
Poisoning pigeons in the park?	b Stalking his mother?	c Licking maple
syrup off Sgt. Frobisher?  2 What was like a gale force wind? 

3 The detective's ______ rose and _____ as he probed his _____ at Fraser's
hip and up over his thigh. 

4 What was greater; Ray's humiliation or Ben's ire at the interview with
Welsh? (Protractors may be used.) 

Do not attempt to answer question three. Under no circumstances should you
try to write on two sides of the paper at the same time. Do not attempt to
sit this exam: in zero gravity in the back of a car in dire straits in the
middle of sex. ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ Answers: 

1 B 

2 Ray's exuberant voice. 

3 Voice, warbled, toes. 

4 3X47(k)>77/4r3e(55%X742.20)0405<9.5=888 

(For the American translation of the phrase, "sit an exam" please contact
Ms. Taylor.) ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ 

Disclaimer: This story is written for the private entertainment of fans.
No infringement of any copyrights held by Alliance Communication, CBS,
CTV, or any others is intended. This story is not published for profit,
and the author does not give permission for this story to be reproduced in
any form. The author makes no claims on the characters or their portrayal
by the creation of this story. Mitch_H@hotmail.com
geocities.com/soho/lofts/5843/mh-fict.htm