Absence of Reason   I was drunk. That might work. Nope, sorry. Don't
remember a thing. I was completely smashed. Why? What happened?

  Stanley Raymond Kowalski chewed his lip as he considered this option.
The Mountie would know he was lying, but would never call him on it and
that would double the guilt.
 
 Can't let this go any further. It would interfere with our working
relationship. Don't want to damage the working relationship.
 
  Now that sounded even better. The Mountie, being who he was, would put
the job before anything else, right? Unfortunately, there wasn't really a
working relationship, since Fraser was his actual partner.
 
 This really isn't my scene. I just wanted to see what it was like.
 
  Ray snorted. Even he didn't buy that. He knew his experience had been
pretty obvious and it was way too late to play the virgin now.

 I'm still in love with my ex.

  Nah. He wasn't sure if it was even true anymore, and it made him look
like a schmuk.

 All that was really left was the truth and Ray preferred to avoid that at
all costs. It doesn't matter how you feel about me or how hot you are in
bed, this thing is never going further that some fun in the sack. You're a
good guy and I like you all right, but I got enough problems of my own
without putting up with the embarrassment of being with someone who can't
form a sentence without stuttering; can't move from A to B without
tripping and can't follow a simple order without looking like a complete
idiot.

  How could he possibly say that? Although he had no desire for a
long-term relationship with Renfield Turnbull, he didn't want to inflict
any pain on the man either. The truth would definitely hurt too much.

 So what was left? Maybe it would be best to just forget the whole thing.
Yeah. Never bring up the most memorable night of sex he'd had since
college and hope that Turnbull eventually forgot about it as well.

 Turnbull wouldn't forget, though, and Ray knew it. The Mountie had been
carrying a torch for him for some time and was so incapable of hiding
those feelings that plenty of people at work knew about it. There had been
a few jokes cracked, but nothing particularly malicious was said. Everyone
in the two-seven liked Turnbull--in a dumb dog kind of way.

 Can't say I was drunk. Can't use the work excuse. Can't use the "I'm
totally straight" excuse. Can't blame the ex-wife. And definitely can NOT
tell the truth. What's left?

 "Ray?"

 A concerned voice jolted Ray from his reveries and his heart sank when he
saw the angular face peering through the driver's window. "Hey," was all
he could manage at the moment.

 "The Consulate is closed, Ray," Turnbull informed him apologetically.
"Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser had to meet the Minister of Trade
at the airport and--"

 "Yeah, I know. Fraser told me. I came to see you." Oh damn, oh damn, oh
DAMN. That hadn't come out right at all.

 Turnbull's smile was immediate and overjoyed. "Thank you, Ray," he looked
briefly disconcerted. "No, not thank you . . . you haven't actually done
anything . . . well, you *have*, but . . . " Turnbull's face growing
redder every minute. "That is, 'thank you' may not be the correct response
to--"

 "Get in the car," Ray finally said in exasperation. "I'll give you a ride
home."

 "Thank you, Ray," Turnbull walked around the front of the GTO, banger his
knee on the bumper as he went.

 Ray winced in sympathy, even though Turnbull seemed more embarrassed than
hurt. He made it into the car without further incident and Ray pulled away
from the curb.

 "I was hoping to talk to you, Ray," Turnbull began hesitantly. "I didn't
want to impose by calling you..."

 This was a big mistake. "I need your address, Turnbull."

 "...so I was happy to see--what? Oh, that's right. You've never been
to--that is, were at your place when--"

 "The address, Turnbull," the words with more roughness than Ray intended.


 Turnbull was immediately contrite. "It's 3092 North Foster Avenue."

 "Forest Glen?" Ray asked in genuine surprise.

 "It's a converted carriage house," Turnbull said happily. "I was very
lucky to get it."
 
 "A carriage house? As in horse and buggy?" This place must be ancient.

 "Yes. It needed some repair work, but the landlady said if I kept the
place up she'd give me a break on the rent..." Turnbull's voice trailed
off and he looked at Ray shyly.

 Ray gritted his teeth in frustration. What right did Turnbull have to
look shy when just two nights ago Ray had him flat on his back, his legs
drawn up to his chest and--Ray abruptly cut off that train of thought when
he felt a stirring in his groin.

 "I was wondering..." Turnbull was talking again. "That is, if you don't
have any plans...if you would like to join me for dinner."

 The memory of Turnbull giving anything asked of him--and more--was a
difficult one to banish and Ray gave up trying. What difference is one
night going to make, anyway? "Sure. Why not?"

 Turnbull smiled, his heart in his eyes.

 See? You're making him happy. Nothing wrong with that. Ray ruthlessly
blocked the wave of approaching guilt by recalling that the Mountie was as
adept with his tongue as he was inept at everything else.

 He'd just have to tell Turnbull some other time. What was that old
saying? Never put off 'til tomorrow what you can avoid altogether.

 

 ********

 Turnbull actually had the nerve to apologize for the mouth-watering
stir-fry he served, much to Ray's disbelief and annoyance. He, of course,
had to assure the Mountie delicious and was rewarded with one of
Turnbull's brilliant smiles.

 Throughout dinner Ray vented his emotions about anything that had annoyed
him during the course of his day, from a rookie that messed up a case to
bad coffee. Turnbull was sympathetic to the tiniest complaint and never
once mentioned how his day had gone. Nor did Ray ask. Turnbull seemed
happy that Ray was there at all, and Ray decided that was good enough.

 He turned down Turnbull's offer of a tour. "What is this? The White
House?"

 Turnbull apologized for suggesting it and Ray immediately regretted his
sarcastic words. The guilt he felt did nothing to improve his temper. He
sat at the table while Turnbull washed the dishes, Turnbull's urging to
make himself comfortable. He didn't want to become acquainted with any
part of the apartment--except maybe the bedroom.

 Ray glanced around the apartment until his eyes came to rest on a
painting. More specifically, on the corner of a painting, and when the
initials "RJT" caught his eye, he quickly averted his gaze. He didn't want
to know whether Turnbull was a talented painter or what sort of subjects
the Mountie painted--that would be too intimate.

 Instead, he focused on the broad-shouldered figure at the kitchen sink.
Before long, the play of muscles beneath the white t-shirt and black jeans
pushed all other thoughts from his mind save one.

 Did Turnbull have to wash those dishes now?

 In the next moment, Ray was on his feet with his arms around Turnbull's
waist and pressed along the length of Turnbull's body. "Can't you do that
some other time?" he murmured, stretching slightly to bite down on a soft
earlobe. He smiled when a shudder ran through the muscular form.

 "If you like," Turnbull replied demurely.

 "I like," Ray slid his hands under Turnbull's t-shirt and traced the
well-defined abs. "I'm ready for that tour now. Let's start with the
bedroom." He felt rather than heard Turnbull's sigh, and it didn't feel
like a happy one. "Is that a no?" Ren turned in his arms and lowered his
head slightly. Ray was more than happy to meet him halfway, thrusting his
tongue into the warm mouth as soon as he got the opportunity. Ray lifted
the white t-shirt higher for better access to that warm silken skin.
"Bedroom," he rasped in Turnbull's ear.

 Ren nodded as best he could with Ray's lips and tongue investigating the
hollow of his neck and began taking stumbling steps towards the bedroom.

 Ray didn't bother glancing around Turnbull's room. He was too busy
helping the Mountie remove their clothes. Ray gave him the tiniest push
and Turnbull willingly fell back onto the bed. Ray settled on top of him,
moving his attentions from Ren's neck to the broad chest while he moved
luxuriously against the big body.

 Ren's hands kept moving along the length of the detective's wiry body,
from the spiky blond hair were the long, gentle fingers massaged his
scalp, down his back to his ass. The grip tightened as the Mountie began
to thrust against the body above him.

 Ray wasn't ready for things to end so quickly, though. He levered himself
on his arms and slid down the length of Turnbull's body, smiling when he
felt Ren draw in a long breath. The sigh was abruptly cut off with a gasp
when his cockhead was covered with a warm, wet mouth.

 The long-fingered hands clenched and unclenched in the sheets as Turnbull
writhed with pleasure. Ray's touch became lighter and lighter until Ren
was ready to scream with frustration. He tried to thrust upwards,
mindlessly searching for more contact, but Ray's hands on his hips held
him firm.

 Then the touch stopped altogether and Ray was leaning over him with a
devilish smile on his face. "What do you want?" he whispered, one hand
reaching down to cup Ren's balls. "You." The blue eyes were wild. "You,
Ray."

 Ray hesitated a moment at the fierce longing in Ren's voice. "How do you
want me?" He stroked the skin beneath Ren's balls.

 Ren stared at him in desperate confusion. Then he closed his eyes and
moaned as Ray's fingers moved between his butt cheeks.

 "Like this?"

 Ren pushed against the slick finger, making its entry easier.

 "That's a definite yes." With a wicked grin, Ray pushed another finger
and leaned down to kiss Ren, swallowing another moan. He was more than
ready now and shifted over top of the larger man, gently pushing Ren's
legs up.

 Ren drew his knees to his chest, opening himself fully to the detective.
Ray's precum provided all the lubrication needed for him to enter the
tight passage. Ren shuddered, then wrapped his long legs around the slim
hips, holding Ray deep inside him. Ray leaned forward, trapping Ren's
straining cock between them as his began to move slowly inside him. He
levered himself up on his arms so he could watch Ray's rapt expression. 

 "Ray...Ray...Ray..." The name was like a mantra as Ren thrust upwards
against Ray's belly, keeping perfect time with the smaller man's
movements. Then, as if sensing Ray's intense gaze, the blue eyes opened
and locked with green.

 Mesmerised, Ray found it impossible to look away, even though there were
emotions in those silvery-blue depths he didn't want to see. He didn't
want to know that Ren's feeling for him went far, far beyond a crush, and
those eyes made it painfully obvious. Closing his eyes, Ray began moving
faster and pumping harder.

 Rather that being discomfited, Ren met him thrust for thrust, his head
thrown back in complete abandon, his fingers digging into Ray's back hard
enough to leave bruises. They were bruises that Ray wouldn't notice until
the next day--all he was aware of was pounding the willing body beneath
him to completion.

 A hoarse cry signalled the end, and when he felt the warmth of Ren's
release against his skin, Ray plunged recklessly towards his own.

 

 ********

 Ray wasn't sure how long he lay sprawled on top of the Mountie. He just
knew he felt too good to bother with anything so trivial as moving. The
soothing fingers running through his hair had him practically purring and
when he rubbed his cheek appreciatively against the broad chest it rested
on, a soft sigh told him Ren was equally content.

 Sweaty and sated, Ray dozed briefly, thinking how nice it would be to
fall asleep in such a comfortable place. No doubt in the morning he would
wake up to more great sex and--if dinner was any indication--one helluva
breakfast.

 Ren shifted slightly and murmured something indistinguishable. When the
muscular arms wrapped around him, Ren realized this was too much...too
good. So good that he'd nearly forgotten he had no intention of getting
emotionally involved with a klutzy junior Mountie.

 Abruptly, he pushed himself up and off the bed, carefully avoiding the
other man's startled expression.

 "Ray?"

 Ray ignored him as he searched for his shorts.

 "Ray, what's wrong? What are you doing?"

 "I'm getting dressed."

 "Yes, I see, but...why? Are you leaving already?"

 "Yes," Ray snapped.

 There were several moments of silence, then-- "Ray, you seemed...well, I
was hoping..."

 "Look, if I don't leave now, I'll wind up staying until tomorrow
morning."

 "I'd like that, Ray."

 Ray gritted his teeth against the wistful entreaty and pulled on his
jeans. "Yeah, well, I can't." As he was pulling on his shirt, he heard Ren
leave the bed. Don't come here, he willed. Then he opened his eyes, unable
to help staring at a body that would be the envy of any decathlete. Jesus,
get back under the covers or we'll be at it again.

 Ren stopped inches away from Ray, who thought the Mountie might start
undressing him again. Ren didn't lay a hand on him, though. Instead he
leaned down slightly and kissed him so sweetly that it was all Ray could
do not to throw him back down on the bed to demonstrate what kisses like
that would get him.

 Ren drew back first, giving Ray a smile that was as tempting as his kiss.


 "I gotta go," Ray insisted roughly.

 "All right," Ren's smile didn't fade.

 Ray gave him a gentle shove. "Go back to bed. I know my way out." Then he
turned and left the room as fast as he could without actually running.

 

 ********

 Ray drove home on automatic pilot, wondering how he was going to handle a
situation that was rapidly getting out of hand. He knew there was no way
he was going to stop sleeping with Turnbull; he just wondered how he was
going to keep doing it without the Mountie getting any weird ideas about
love.

 It had been easy in college. Although the men he slept with hadn't
exactly been strangers, there had been no strong feeling involved--except
maybe lust. In the police academy he'd had to be a little more careful,
but the basics had been the same. In his mind, love was reserved for
women--more specifically, Stella. With men it was about mutually
satisfying and really hot sex.

 Turnbull just didn't think that way, Ray knew. Turnbull thought in terms
of love and romance and giving yourself to one another. Already, that was
a little more than Ray wanted to know about the man. If Turnbull could
only stick to a casual "hey-how's-it-goin'?" in public, things would be
great, but Turnbull wouldn't. Turnbull would look at him with those soft
puppy-dog eyes and that adoring smile and everyone would know what was
going on between them.

 Ray wasn't so concerned with people knowing what he was doing as much as
he was with whom. If Turnbull was something of a joke among their
co-workers, what would that make him? He'd had his fill of jibes and
snickers as the result of Stella's blatant snubs to put up with the
possibility of more.

 He wondered if there was anyway to get this across to Turnbull.

 He doubted it.

 End.
 
 Disclaimer: They aren't mine, yadda, yadda, yadda, I'm just borrowing
them for awhile. Please don't sue me.

 Victoria Bishop
 June 1998
 bishop@mb.sympatico.ca