This story is slash, containing characters who (sadly) do not belong to me
and both happen to be men who want to have sex with each other. I'm not
writing this for any gain other than my own personal amusement. This story
is rated NC-17-RK for sex involving Ray #2.  

 

This is the first installment of a series of stories entitled "One Ray,
Two Ray, Old Ray, New Ray" (with all due deference to Dr. Suess) which
will have something in it to please or offend everyone, including
Fraser/Kowalski pairings, Fraser/Vecchio, and even Vecchio/Kowalski. You
have been warned. 

 

Timewise, the first story takes place right after the season 3 episode,
"Bounty Hunter," and makes fairly heavy reference to events in that
episode.  

 

any comments, suggestions, or complaints can be sent to me at
magik@socketis.net 

 

 

"Not the Real Ray" 

 

 "Frase, you gonna eat that?" Constable Benton Fraser looked up, his face
blank, and Ray repeated the question, pointing at the lukewarm egg roll
still sitting on Fraser's plate.  

 "No, Ray, Please." Fraser pushed his plate across the table, through the
clutter of half-empty boxes of Chinese food. 

 Stanley Raymond Kowalski speared the egg roll through with a chopstick,
staring at his partner thoughtfully as he chewed. Fraser had barely
touched his food, and had been uncharacteristically subdued since they had
left the station. Now he was sitting, aimlessly poking at his box of rice,
not even correcting Ray on his improper use of the chopstick. 

 "Yo. Earth to Fraser. What's with you tonight?" 

 "I'm sorry, Ray, what were you saying?" 

 Stan pushed his own plate back, feeling stuffed. "Have you been listening
to anything I said?" 

 Fraser gave a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, Ray. I've just
been...thinking." 

 "Yeah, I'll just bet. You've been 'thinking' ever since that Janet woman
fluttered her eyelashes at you. What's up?" 

 At first, Fraser didn't answer. Ray recognized this as a sign that
something was seriously wrong; generally the Mountie was quick to respond
to any question, even those that didn't expect responses. This
uncharacteristic silence from Fraser was beginning to get on Ray's nerves;
ever since that Janet woman had shown up in the station, Ray had just been
edgy. Little things were starting to get on his nerves. 

 "Are you finished eating, Ray?" 

 "Yeah, sure. And, hey, Fraser, when it's just the two of us, you could
call me Stan." 

 Fraser stood and began clearing the table. Stan let him work. It was
Stan's apartment, but he had already learned that it was nearly impossible
to stop Fraser from being helpful. Instead, he sat and watched as the
Mountie tried to find space for the leftovers in Kowalski's crowded
refrigerator. The only sounds in the kitchen for a while were the clinking
of dishes and running water as Fraser filled the sink. 

 Finally, Ray couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, look, Frase, if you don't
feel like talking, I understand. But you don't have to do any dishes." 

 "It's all right." Fraser pulled up the sleeves of his plaid flannel
shirt. "We're friends, aren't we?" 

 "Yeah, sure. Partners even." Unable to sit still any longer, Stan went
over to the sink. "At least let me rinse." 

 Obligingly, Fraser made room for Stan. Once again, awkward silence
descended. Not for the first time, Ray was made painfully aware of the
difficulty of the situation he had been put into. 

 As far as the powers that be were concerned, he was Ray Vecchio. He had
stepped, with varying degrees of success, into the absent detective's
loafers, filling every empty hole -- except for one. Vecchio had been
Fraser's best friend, and while the warmhearted Mountie had never been
anything but friendly, there was a certain reservation in him whenever
they were alone together that Stan was suspicious would never have been
there with the real Ray.  

 This was the only place where Stan felt inadequate compared to the real
Ray Vecchio - standing next to Fraser. Ray, no doubt, would have known how
to get Fraser to talk. Fraser, no doubt, would have wanted to talk to Ray.
Kowalski was getting sick and tired of having the real Vecchio shoved in
his face, silently worshiped by Fraser, deeply missed. 

 And while it was within Fraser's power to stand silently and brood,
Stan's ability to keep his mouth shut was not his most developed skill. 

 "I know how it is -- how tough it can be -- when you start thinking about
somebody like that, and then it doesn't go like you think."  

 Fraser glanced up at Stan, then returned his attention to the dishes.
"What are you talking about?" 

 Stan had to remind himself. "You know, Janet. You two seemed -- well -- I
don't know -- like you were getting along okay," he finished lamely.
"Look, I know I'm not your real Ray, but I thought -- I thought, you know,
we'd gotten to be friends." Frustrated, Stan threw down the plastic cup
he'd been drying. "You know, never mind. You don't wanna talk? Fine." 

 Fraser's hand on his arm stopped Stan in mid-spin. "Ray, I--" 

 "And call me Stan, dammit!" Now Stan was shouting. He jerked away from
Fraser's grasp, stalking over to the couch and flopping face down. 

 The sounds of washing continued for a time, and then Stan heard the
cabinets being opened as Fraser put away the now clean dishes. Footsteps
approached, hesitated. "I'm sorry, Stan." He sat down on the edge of the
couch, near Stan's feet. "I didn't realize I was upsetting you with my
reticence to converse." 

 "S'ok." 

 "No, it isn't. My personal unease over the events of the past few days
gives me no right to ignore the effect my actions are having on you." 

 Stan rolled over, tucking himself up to a sitting position. "Fraser, it's
okay, really. You don't have to apologize for feeling bad, and you really
don't have to apologize for not wanting to talk about it. I understand. I
just wish...." 

 "Wish what?" Fraser prompted gently. 

 "Just that we were better friends, is all. That, I don't know, that I was
more like -- that you felt like I was more your friend." 

 "I see." Fraser sighed, his perfect Mountie posture relaxing ever so
slightly. "Stan, you are my friend. And I'm sorry if I've been quiet. It's
not that I don't want to talk to you; I still haven't gotten my thoughts
straight enough to talk about them with anyone. When I do, there isn't
anyone with whom I'd rather discuss them." 

 "Yeah, sure, Fraser." Stan doubted the truth of that last statement, but
wasn't going to argue. "Now, go on home so I can get some sleep." 

 "Understood." 

 Stan watched as Fraser collected his hat, his wolf, and left with a curt
nod and a flash of a smile. With a sigh of his own, he leaned back and
grabbed the newspaper, trying to get the frustrating Canadian out of his
head. 

 

 "Stop looking at me like that, Diefenbaker." Fraser paced back and forth
in the small confines of his office/quarters in the consulate. "I don't
know why I can't just talk to him." 

 "Because you insist on being difficult." 

 The last person Fraser wanted to talk to right now was his father. "Dad,
please."  

 "Please, what?" Fraser Senior, wearing casual plaid to match his son,
took a seat on Fraser Junior's cot, next to Diefenbaker. 

 "Please don't start." Fraser stopped pacing in front of his father,
glaring down at him. "I don't need a lecture right now." 

 Fraser Sr. scrutinized his son sternly. "Weren't you just saying earlier
today that you were lonely?" 

 "Yes I was." 

 "And you just let that beautiful, sturdy young lady walk away. I really
liked her." 

 "That's great, Dad. But you're dead, and not the one who'd be dating
her." 

 Reaching down, Fraser Sr. absently scratched Dief on the head, causing
the wolf to whine happily. "You certainly appeared to be liking her as
well." 

 Fraser fell heavily into the chair behind his desk. "She reminded me of
home. And her children: I liked her children. She made me think about how
nice it would be to have a family. And...." Fraser fell silent. 

 "You're lonely." Fraser Sr. nodded to himself. "You miss the Yank." 

 "Yes. I miss Ray."  

 Fraser Sr. smiled at the extra inflection on the name, reached over to
pat his son on the leg. "I know how you feel. What kind of a father would
I be to not notice when my son was in love?" 

 Fraser's head snapped up, staring at his father. "Dad!" 

 "Can you deny it?" 

 Fraser crossed his arms, looking stubborn. "I don't want to talk about
it." 

 "Well, good. I want grand kids. So no more talk like this. It's time to
seize the day, son. Forget these Yankee cops and chase after that woman." 

 "She was married, Dad. Leave me alone." 

 Fraser Senior stood. "Well, to be perfectly honest with you, son, I'm not
all that sorry to see Vecchio out of the picture. And don't go getting too
attached to this new kid either." 

 Fraser wondered if that had been a meaningless remark, or if his father
had known all along what had really been bothering his son all evening.
"Go away." 

 "Aha. You have really taken to him, haven't you?" 

 "Have I?" Fraser knew how Stan made him feel, but he also knew how easy
it was to mistake simple lust for real affection. He also knew how tired
he was of being alone, and how easy it had been to settle into a
camaraderie very much like he and Ray had shared. It had shocked him
tonight when Stan had seemed so upset, convinced that Fraser didn't want
to talk to him. He was, however, completely able to understand why Stan
felt in competition with Ray; sometimes Fraser himself wondered if he
wasn't just using Stan as a substitute - a placeholder for the absent Ray
Vecchio. 

 "I'm not sure how I feel about him, Dad." 

 "Humph. You think too much, son." And then his father was gone, and
Fraser was once again alone with Diefenbaker.  

 The nice thing about punching bags was that they didn't fight back. Ray
liked them for that; you could look touch without getting your ass kicked
in return. While Ray would never admit it, he didn't actually relish being
beaten about the head and shoulders in the boxing ring. He'd always wished
he were a better boxer - he was pretty sure that would hurt less. 

 "Ray!" a familiar voice called out from across the echoing gym. 

 "Frase!" Ray stopped punching and waited, panting, for the Mountie to
make it over to him. "Glad you're here. Hold the bag for me." 

 Obligingly, Fraser took a firm hold on the punching bag, steadying it for
Stan. He was decked out in his full RCMP uniform, looking even more out of
place than usual in the room full of men in sweats and T-shirts. Ray
returned to viciously attacking the bag. "So, what's up?" 

 "I came to apologize." 

 Ray punched harder at the bag, unwilling to concede this easily that he
couldn't hit hard enough to move the solid Mountie on the other side.
"Apologize for what?" 

 "Last night." 

 "Don't worry 'bout it. It's forgotten." 

 A particularly solid punch, and Fraser had to readjust his stance
slightly, leaning into the bag. That was something. "I still feel as
though we should talk." 

 "So great, talk." 

 Fraser released the bag, walking around it to face Ray. Unprepared, Ray
nearly fell forward as the bag was allowed to swing freely. "Dammit,
Fraser, you can keep holding the bag while you talk." 

 "My apologies. I simply thought we might go somewhere more quiet." 

 Stan rolled his eyes, but started unlacing his gloves. "Kay, fine. If
this is that important to you." 

 Fraser hesitated, seemed unwilling to meet Ray's eyes. "I believe there
are things you deserve to know." 

 "Yeah. Sure. Okay." 

 After a quick shower, Ray was ready to rejoin the outside world. He and
Fraser drove to a nearby grill, grabbed a booth, and ordered burgers. "So
what's on your mind? This about Janet?" 

 "Yes and no." Fraser sipped at his tea; Kowalski tried very hard not to
get impatient. 

 "So, what?" 

 "Patience, Ray." The waitress brought their order and set it on the
table, giving Fraser a quick smile and a wink. Fraser nodded politely,
seeming oblivious as ever to the attention he always got from women.  

 Stan opened the top of his burger. "Can I have your pickles?" 

 "Of course." Fraser handed them over, watching as Ray piled them on top
of his own then slathered the whole thing with catsup. 

 Fascinated, Fraser watched Ray tear a section out of his burger. "So are
you going to talk, or are you just teasing me?" the detective inquired
around a mouth full of food. "Geese, Fraser, usually I can't get you to
shut up." 

 "Right." Fraser stared cautiously at his own food. "You are aware, Ray,
that this much grease content-" 

 "Fraser!" 

 "My apologies." He gave Stan another of his quick, bright smiles. "I was
talking about Janet." 

 Stan took another bite from the burger. "So go on." 

 "You really shouldn't talk with your mouth full." Fraser continued
hastily before Stan could object again. "So about Janet. I didn't love
her." 

 Stan stopped mid chew, waited for Fraser to go on. But the Mountie sat
silent. "That's great, Frase. I'm glad to hear it." 

 "I had thought I might be falling in love with her," Fraser continued,
"for a while. But that was just confusion on my part. I realized...." 

 Stan slapped his palm against the table when Fraser fell silent again.
"You know, for a guy who manages to find a way to work some long, weird
story into every conversation, you really aren't much for explaining
yourself." 

 "Sorry, Ray. I was just thinking a moment." 

 "Yeah, well, sometimes I think you think too much." 

 "Point taken." This time, Fraser's smile seemed a bit less easy. "I only
thought I was falling in love with Janet because she seemed familiar to me
- reminded me of home and family. And because I feel...lonely." 

 Stan reached over and patted his partner awkwardly on the shoulder. "Hey,
I understand. We all feel that way sometimes." 

 "And when you're lonely, it can be easy to try and find someone to fill
the emptiness, to feel things about that person that you wouldn't
otherwise. Especially when the person you really love is far away." 

 It took a moment for Stan to process what Fraser was saying. "You got a
lost love? Wow. I never knew that, Frase. See? We should talk more. How
can I feel your pain if you don't warn me about it?" 

 He had meant for the last comment to lighten the mood a bit, but he could
tell by the pain that flashed across the Mountie's open face that he had
made a mistake. Obviously, this was something that Fraser felt very
deeply, and Stan realized this was probably the wrong time to be making
jokes. "I'm sorry. Look, I didn't mean anything." 

 "Maybe I shouldn't be-" 

 "No, Fraser. We're partners now, and I want to be here for you. Tell me
about this lost love of yours." 

 Fraser's hamburger seemed suddenly deeply fascinating to the Mountie.
"I'm not sure I should-" 

 "Come on, Fraser. You've told me this much." 

 The Mountie's voice was very soft. "Ray." 

 "What?" 

 "No, you misunderstood. I meant - you asked - my lost love - Ray." 

 Stan couldn't move - almost couldn't breathe. His blood was suddenly
pounding against his head; there was a roaring in his ears. Despite this,
for once in his life, he managed to keep his voice fairly low as he spoke.
"So is this what I am to you? Another Ray Vecchio substitute?" 

 Fraser looked shocked, but Stan couldn't tell if that was from the
suggestion itself or the fact that it had occurred to Stan. "Ray, I didn't
mean -" 

 "Call me fucking Stan!" Now, he was yelling. 

 "Language, Stan." 

 "You know what, Fraser? You can just go to hell, because I'm not going to
be your new Ray, and I don't do that kinda think anyway. I'm not like
that!" 

 Fraser was still sitting calmly, despite the fact that all the other
patrons were now staring. "I never said-" 

 "Well I don't care!" Stan jerked to his feet. "I heard what you said -
all that loneliness, and finding someone who reminded you to fill the
void, and how I'm your friend now and - well you can just go be hung up on
him on your own time." He jerked a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and
slammed it on the table, then stormed out before Fraser could say another
word.  

 Fraser had learned quickly upon meeting Ray Kowalski that, while he
exploded into anger at the slightest provocation, the moods were generally
fairly fleeting and given a few hours to cool down, he was usually back to
reasonableness. Generally, food offerings were a good way to speed the
process along, so Ben had a carry out pizza in his hand as he knocked on
the door to Ray's apartment.  

 The door swung open, and Ray was standing there - beautiful Ray, full of
energy and life, and completely untouchable. His face was guarded as he
looked at Fraser, and the Mountie just wanted to reach out and smooth down
the hair that was jutting out at all angles, but he knew that would be a
phenomenally bad idea. Besides that, he still wasn't completely certain
that his feelings toward Detective Kowalski had much at all to do with
Detective Kowalski and not everything to do with the man he had replaced. 

 "I brought pizza," Fraser offered. 

 Ray - Stan, Fraser corrected himself - simply turned to go back to the
couch where he had paperwork spread over everything. But he didn't slam
the door in Fraser's face, so he assumed that was an invitation. 

 "Ray-" a dark look brought Fraser up short. "I'm sorry. Stan." Fraser
couldn't hold back any long. "I do wish you would explain this to me: you
told me before that you go by 'Ray' - went by Ray even before you took
this assignment, and while I respect your right to be called whatever you
wish, I hardly think I can be blamed for not being able to anticipate this
sudden change in procedure." 

 "Yeah, well, maybe I just want to know who it is you're really talking
to." 

 Stan seemed so sullen. Fraser would have done nearly anything to bring
that lopsided smile back to his face. "I'm talking to you." 

 "Are you, Frase? Are you really?" Stan gathered up papers to clear Fraser
a spot on the couch. 

 Setting the pizza on the low coffee table, Fraser sat down on the couch
as far away from Ray as was possible. "I'm sorry." Fraser kept his voice
level, forcing himself to smile. This was shaky ground, and the last thing
Fraser wanted was another blast of Ray's temper. "About earlier." 

 Stan waved a hand at Fraser, then turned his attention to the pizza box.
It always amazed Fraser how such a slight man put away so much food, but
he supposed it was necessary to keep up the nervous energy Ray seemed to
live on. "Look, it's over and done with. I don't really want to talk about
it anymore." 

 "I think we should. I feel as though there have been certain
misconceptions that need to be addressed." 

 "Yeah, misconceptions. Like how about the fact that I'm not gay." 

 "I never said you were." 

 Stan pushed a piece of pizza into his mouth, but didn't let that slow
down his conversation. "What made you think I would want to sleep with
you? I mean, just because I'm not three feet across, like you, and-" 

 "Stan," Fraser interrupted his partner. "I never said I thought you would
be interested." Fraser had barely let himself think about it, hardly
daring to hope. And now, any illusions he might have harbored had been
truly shattered. 

 "Then why did you say all that, about you and Vecchio, and replacements
and voids and feelings?" 

 Fraser sighed and snagged his own piece of pizza. "I think there is
something I haven't expressed clearly. About Ray and me." 

 "Look, Fraser, I don't want to hear the details of you and Vecchio.
That's between the two of you." Another piece of pizza was disappearing
into Stan's soft, expressive mouth. Three was anger in Stan's voice, and
pain. Fraser wished he could figure out the real source of that pain. 

 "Please, Stan, I feel this needs to be said." Stan took another piece,
pulled his knees up to his chest, and settled down into his corner of the
couch. But he didn't say anything to stop Fraser, so the Mountie took that
as licence to continue. "You had asked me what was on my mind, and so I
told you; I meant to imply nothing about our relationship by it. In fact,
I believe you have assumed facts about my relationship with R-with
Detective Vecchio that are not in evidence." 

 The next words were harder, but Fraser willed himself to keep talking -
refusing to slow down and give himself a chance to think. "When I said
that I was in...in love with Detective Vecchio, I didn't mean to imply
that - that we were lovers. I never actually told Ray how I felt." 

 "More information than I needed, Fraser." Stan leaned forward, the
half-eaten slice forgotten in his hand. "Wait a minute. You mean to say
that the two of you never...?" 

 Fraser shook his head. "Never." 

 "Oh." Stan leaned back again, the fingers of his free hand began tapping
on the back of the couch. "Go on." 

 "Thank you kindly." It was a good sign that Stan seemed to be relaxing
somewhat. "I couldn't even tell him. I never had the courage. I can see
how that may be difficult for you to understand." 

 Stan threw his slice back into the box. "What? Why don't you think I
wouldn't understand? What are you trying to say about me and Vecchio?" 

 "Nothing, Stan. I only meant that, since you tend to be such a direct
person...." 

 "I might not understand." Stan stared at Fraser a moment, as though
weighing Fraser's words, then shrugged. "Okay, Frase, go on." 

 "You see, Stan-" 

 "Because I do understand, you know. I've been in situations like that
before, when I didn't say something, so just don't start thinking I
wouldn't understand." 

 Fraser nodded. "I apologize for implying you wouldn't." 

 "Are you patronizing me?" Now Stan was getting really fidgety. An angry
explosion would be what came next if Fraser wasn't careful. 

 He tried to give Ray a disarming smile. "Maybe I should address the real
point here." Fraser was fairly certain he was beginning to understand the
heart of Ray's anger. 

 "And what exactly do you think that is?" Stan was a tightly wound bundle
of energy, ready to lash out at the closest target. His eyes were
flashing; his body was tense. Fraser wondered if there was something very
wrong with him for finding the man so completely attractive when he looked
ready to hit Fraser. 

 He wished he could reach out and take Ray's hand, to stroke the palm
soothingly, to reach up to his face...but he couldn't. Words would half to
suffice. "Ray Vecchio was my very dear friend: I loved him very much. But
that doesn't mean that I can't tell the difference between Ray Vecchio and
Stanley Raymond Kowalski. You're my friend, too. My very good friend." A
low chuckle fought its way up from Fraser's stomach. "Do you think I would
have told you all this if I didn't consider you my friend? You - Ray
Kowalski?" 

 "Yeah, well, I don't know what you would have said or wouldn't. But I
guess I see what you mean. Thanks," he added as an afterthought. 

 The words relaxed Fraser, and he was completely unprepared for the next
outburst. "But we're just friends! That's it, okay? I'm not like that." 

 "Understood." 

 "Good. As long as we understand each other." 

 Fraser actually found himself feeling quite good. The air seemed to have
cleared between himself and Ray, and it felt good to have finally admitted
to someone his feelings for Ray Vecchio. Somehow, just having talked to
Stan about it eased the loneliness somehow.  

 Damn that Mountie! Ray's fist slammed into the punching bag. Damn him!
Another punch. What gave him the right? Another punch. 

 What right did Fraser have to say those things to Ray, to make him think
those things and feel those things? What right did Fraser have to be so
understanding and caring and giving? Not to mention handsome, intelligent,
loyal- 

 Ray focused his attention again on the bag, pummeling it with all the
strength contained in his wiry body. Fraser was loyal all right: loyal to
*his* Ray, the real Ray, the man he loved. He'd never even think about- 

 And neither would Ray. Ray didn't think about things like that. Well,
that wasn't true. Ray thought about things like that. Ray thought about
things like that a lot. The first time Fraser had walked into the precinct
asking for Ray Vecchio, the thoughts that had entered Ray's head were of a
sort that wouldn't even be fit for late night Showtime. But Ray didn't do
things like that - wouldn't, couldn't. He'd given it up long ago. So what
if he still thought about it - alcoholics still wanted a drink, but that
didn't make it healthy. 

 And now that damn Mountie - that handsome, honorable, fuckingly perfect
Mountie - he had Ray thinking like that again.	

 And Fraser loved Ray - his Ray - the real Ray - the not Stanley Raymond
Kowalski Ray. He'd never sleep with Stan. 

 Which was good, because Stan didn't do that anymore. 

 Besides, the last thing he needed was to get involved with another
someone likely to leave him, as Fraser would the minute Vecchio came back.
He didn't need to fall in love again with someone else who would leave- 

 And he didn't want Fraser anyway. 

 Well, he wasn't going to want him. 

 Fraser didn't want Stan. Would never sleep with him. That damn, Ice
Prince would never betray the man who was completely unaware of his
devotion. 

 Fraser probably thought he was too good for Ray Kowalski. 

 Fraser probably was. 

 Not that Ray was even considering.... 

 Oh, shit, he wanted Fraser.  

 "So then what happened with the Seal?" 

 "Why do I feel as though you aren't really listening to me?" 

 "No, really, Fraser, I'm listening." That was a lie, but as long as
Fraser was telling one of his stories, Ray wasn't having to try to carry
his half of the conversation. It was usual for his mind to wander during
these stories; only the direction his mind had been taking the past week
was unusual. 

 Since he had actually allowed the thought of sex with Fraser to enter his
head, it had sunk its barbs into his brain and refused to leave. Now it
was driving him slowly insane, being in such close proximity with Fraser
and his imagination running in overtime. 

 And he was getting hypersensitive as well. Frannie's flirting, Thatcher's
drooling; these were starting to bother him on a deeply personal level. It
was bad enough he had to share Fraser with Vecchio, but those two as well?


 Not, he reminded himself, that he was sharing Fraser. That would first
require that he had Fraser to share. 

 "Ray, I am fairly certain that you aren't listening to me." 

 "Yeah, sorry." Ray stood up from his desk, giving a quick glance around
the room. Nearly everyone on his shift had cleared out an hour ago, and he
was ready to do the same. "C'mon. You wanna grab some food?" 

 It was torture, plain and simple. Every minute he spent with the Mountie
reminded him how much his fantasies had spiraled out of control, but he
just couldn't bring himself to avoid Fraser either. 

 "Let's do that." 

 Ray felt like Chinese, but the first restaurant they stopped at was full
of people. Ray wasn't in the mood to wait, so rather than drive elsewhere,
they settled on carry-out. As they drove back to Ray's apartment with
their boxes of food, Ray was reminded again of the night a week before,
when all this nonsense had began. 

 The tight confines of the hallway only served to make the pounding of
Ray's brain even worse. As he stopped to unlock his door, he could feel
the heat of Fraser standing behind him, could feel the brush of Fraser's
arm against his shoulder blades. God - did Fraser, always stand this close
to him? 

 "Yo, Fraser, you're crowding me. You ever hear of personal space?" 

 "My apologies, Ray." 

 There was that name again - the name that had used to be his - his choice
- his way of asserting his independence from his father. Now 'Ray' was
something he shared with another man - the same way he shared Fraser with
another man - and not just any man: Ray Vecchio. 

 And Stan wanted so much to make certain Fraser was thinking of him - just
him - but he wasn't sure if his first choice would be to punch him or to
kiss him. 

 But then, Fraser took a step back and Stan got his door open; the madness
settled again. 

 Dinner began fairly smoothly. Once again, there were boxes of Chinese
food scattered across Ray's table, with Ray drinking beer and Fraser
drinking tea. But Fraser didn't know his danger, and a discussion of one
of Stan's cases reminded him of a case he and Vecchio had worked together,
and he didn't have the presence of mind to keep from bringing that up. 

 The madness was back. "Are you thinking about him, Fraser? Are you
sitting here, talking to me, and thinking about him?" Fraser only sat
there, looking confused about the sudden outburst. Stan didn't give him a
chance to think. He was up from his chair in on second, on top of Fraser
the next. 

 "You know what?" Stan had Fraser's shirt clinched in his fists, his face
a bare inch from Fraser's. 

 "What's that, Stan?" Fraser's voice was low, careful, the tone of one
trying not to startle a potentially dangerous animal. 

 Stan was not to be placated. "I am going to make for damn sure I'm the
only Ray on your brain." 

 He was unprepared for the fire that took over his mind as he kissed
Fraser. It overwhelmed his senses, his reason. Holding Fraser tightly
against him, he ravished the Mountie's mouth with his tongue. At first, he
was not even aware of Fraser's reaction, overwhelmed by the power of his
own desire. The warmth of Fraser's mouth, the smoothness of his lips, the
perfect teeth, the eloquent tongue - ever sense, every fiber of Ray's
being was caught up in this kiss. 

 When he came up for air, Fraser was wide-eyed and staring. "Ray, I-" 

 "Shut up, Fraser." He dived in for another kiss. 

 "But-" Fraser objected again against his lips. 

 "I said, shut up, Fraser."  

 Mercifully, Fraser did. Talking would be bad. Talking meant explaining,
and explaining meant thinking, admitting. Ray was unprepared to do any of
those things. "But call me Ray again and so help me I'll shoot you." 

 Fraser didn't answer. Instead, he leaned into the kiss. His lips were
soft, caressing, as his tongue ran up and down the length of Stan's. The
kiss was strong, yet gentle, as though he were trying to sooth Stan, to
ease him back from the edge of the madness. 

 Stan was now straddling Fraser, his weight divided between his own feet
and Fraser's chest. The chair was tipping back precariously as Ray pressed
against the Mountie, pushing harder and harder until Fraser was forced to
clutch at the bookshelf behind them to keep from going over backwards. 

 Ray could sense a change in Fraser, a gathering of strength as he shoved
against the shelves, forcefully righting the chair - as a consequence,
pushing Ray back. For an endless moment, there was nothing in Ray's head
but the base instinct of fight or flight, so unsure was he of what Fraser
was going to do next. 

 But Ray had never seen Fraser run from anything, and it looked like he
wasn't going to start now. The Mountie wrapped his arms around Ray,
pulling him back into that sweet, gently kiss. And now Ray's anger was
fading quickly, as it so often did: draining away, leaving him slightly
confused in its wake. 

 Fraser was kissing him; Ray was aware of that fact. Ray had all but
attacked him, and the Mountie had somehow seen fit to kiss him back. It
was what Ray had been dreaming about for days, and was almost impossible
to believe. Lust was beginning to take over, blanketing Ray's ability to
think as effectively as the anger had. He had to either get away or commit
to this. 

 "Fraser, I-" he tried to sit up, to breathe air that wasn't shared. 

 "Shhh." Fraser refused to let him go, and the decision was made for Ray.
As he settled into the Mountie's lap, Ray could feel Fraser's erection,
speaking more clearly than words of how much Fraser wanted this too. 

 Still, for his own sanity, Ray had to give him one more chance to back
down, to stop this, to do the sane, rational thing before the situation
exploded into some out-of-control thing they would both regret when their
brains engaged again. "You wanna move to the couch? Be more comfortable."
There. This would be the point that what they were doing would sink in on
Fraser, when he would pull back confused, stammer some excuse and flee.
Agreeing to move now was agreeing to keep going, to give in to desire, to
toss aside that RCMP purity and get dirty with the street-tarnished
Chicago detective. 

 "All right, Stan." The words were so soft that if Ray hadn't felt
Fraser's lips move against his, he wouldn't have believed he had heard
them. Fraser stood, effortlessly lifting Ray to his feet in the process -
God, the man was strong. Tangled together, they wobbled over to the couch
- both men's individual grace defeated by trying to move still connected
to the other. 

 They tumbled onto the couch and things turned serious. Ray's hands
burrowed under Fraser's jacket and the layers beneath; a thrill ran
through him when Fraser gasped as Ray's fingers found skin. One of
Fraser's hands was behind Ray's head, holding it close while the fingers
of the other hand kneaded Ray's shoulder. Their bodies were stretched out
against each other, rubbing and writing; their legs were tangled together.


 Letting out a groan, Stan arched up against Fraser's fingers as they
moved under the collar of his shirt, exploring the flesh between his
shoulder blades. It was a sensitive spot for Stan, and he moaned again as
Fraser massaged firmly. Deciding he needed access to Fraser's skin, he
began fighting with the polished buttons of Fraser's bright red jacket.
Seeming to sense Ray's impatience, Fraser released his head and with
practiced care opened the garment to Stan's explorations. Stan pulled
Fraser's shirt free, then the undershirt, pushing both up to reveal
Fraser's solid chest and stomach. Once again, he was taken aback by the
gorgeous perfection of the Mountie. He bent his head, running a light
trail with his tongue from Fraser's waistband, over his stomach as it
twitched delightfully at Ray's touch, and up to the hollow where Fraser's
chest met his stomach. 

 Not to be left behind, Fraser pulled at Stan's shirt, and Stan sat up
just long enough to jerk it over his head, tossing it carelessly into a
corner. He bent back down to Fraser, thrilling at the feel of their bare
chests against each other. 

 This was getting to be too much for Stan. He needed to have Fraser now;
foreplay was over. Working a hand in between them, he ran it firmly over
Fraser's hard, fabric-covered cock. Fraser let out a hiss, pressing into
Stan's hand. 

 "Take your pants off," Stan ordered, rolling off Fraser suddenly. Without
looking back to see if the Mountie was obeying, Stan dashed into the
kitchen area; he didn't have any actual lube on hand, but in his lunatic
high school days he'd learned that Crisco would do nicely in a pinch.
Kicking the last remnants of his own clothing off as he grabbed a handful
from the can in the kitchen, Stan returned to the couch. 

 He stopped short, unable to breathe as he came back to find Fraser
stretched out, gloriously naked on Stan's couch. The man was so incredibly
beautiful it was almost frightening, and Stan's head suddenly went reeling
with the reality of what he was about to do. Stan couldn't move, couldn't
think, could only stare at his gorgeous best friend flushed with arousal,
his breathing shallow, his eyes burning into Stan. 

 And Stan was struck with the sudden understanding that what he was
feeling was a great deal more than lust. Those thoughts were shoved back
to the dark corners of his mind from which they had originated. There was
plenty of time to get all angsty about his feelings for Fraser later.
Right now, he juts needed to feel Fraser's tight heat as Stan fucked him
for all he was worth. 

 Fraser welcomed Ray back into his arms, his cock moist with his arousal
against Ray's stomach. Ray smeared his own with Crisco, then worked a
greasy finger gently into Fraser. "You ever done this before?" Fraser
shook his head, and Stan somehow found a reassuring smile. "Well, just
relax and don't worry. I'll-" 

 "I trust you, Stan." Those simple words, spoken in Fraser's smooth voice,
still calm despite his arousal, made Stan's heart pound almost painfully
against his chest. He didn't deserve this supernaturally wonderful
creature from the north. 

 Not that he really had him. Fraser's heart still belonged to Vecchio,
Stan knew. But he had Fraser's body, and for now that would just have to
do. 

 Removing his fingers, Stan pushed into Fraser with all the restraint he
could muster. Fraser's face retained that perfect, serene expression, but
his eyes closed. They flew open again as Ray began stroking Fraser's cock
in rhythm with his own thrusts. 

 "Oh, yeah, Frase, oh that feels good." Stan was thrusting harder now,
stroking Fraser, trying to dredge up every hand-job trick he knew to get
Fraser to cum, knowing he, himself was not going to last much longer. The
whole thing was so frighteningly intense, Stan both wanted it to last
forever and needed it to be over now. 

 It was much sooner to now than forever when Fraser let out a cry and
erupted in Ray's hand. That was the only encouragement Ray needed as he
shot his load inside Fraser. For a full minute, neither man could move,
nor hardly even breathe as waves of pleasure washed over them. Then, Stan
pulled out of Fraser and fell on top of him, welcoming the warmth and
solidity of Fraser's body to bring him back to his senses. 

 Neither of them said a word as they lay against each other. The only
sounds were the ones that came from the street outside. Finally, Fraser
stood, gently maneuvering out from beneath Ray. There was a moment of
panic in Ray as Fraser left his field of vision, but after a moment the
Mountie returned with a blanket that he carefully wrapped around the both
of them. 

 "Good night, Stan." 

 "Good night, Fraser." 

 It seemed such a strange thing to say, but Stan couldn't think of
anything else. In fact, he simply refused to think. Instead, he closed his
eyes, seeking sleep that would push fear and recrimination to the
morning's light.