The One with the First Date
Title: The One with the First Date
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Turnbull/Kowalski
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for getturnbulllaid prompt 11. Turnbull/Kowalski - Ray offers to take the gang from the consulate out for the evening, but Fraser and Thatcher don't make it at the last minute. 2227 words. Many thanks to llassah for beta.
This is the first in "The One where Turnbull Gets Knocked Up," an mpreg series by myself and lipstickcat. The first five stories are mpreg-free porn if your heart is so puny as to not have room for a little pregnant Turnbull action.
Ray ran up the stairs to the Consulate and went in, banging the door shut behind him.
"Hey Turnbull. You guys ready?"
"I'm afraid, Detective Vecchio, that there may be a slight hitch in this evening's plans."
"Hitch? What hitch?"
"Ah, Ray." Fraser bustled in, still in uniform and definitely not in 'hanging out with the gang' casual wear. "I'm terribly sorry, but it appears there has been a breakdown of communication about the arrival of the president of the..." Fraser kept talking, but it sounded like French which sounded like Greek to Ray. Shooting a quick look at Turnbull, who looked placid as ever, Fraser finished, "It appears we are needed here and won't be able to attend the game after all."
"That sucks, Fraser. We'll do it another time, though, huh?"
"Actually, Detective Vecchio, I may still be available this evening," Turnbull piped up.
"Really?" Ray shuffled his feet back and forth. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your duties or anything. Thatcher and Fraser probably need your help." He shot a pleading look at Fraser.
Fraser took a couple of moments to reply, casting a glance at Turnbull and then back over his shoulder, then replied, blandly, "That's a wonderful idea, Turnbull. I'm sure we'll be able to muddle along without you this once. Ray?"
Ray shot Fraser a death glare, biting back his protest at the hopeful looks from both Fraser and Turnbull.
"Fine. Great. Come on, Turnbull. Let's get going. These guys have work to do."
"I'll just be one moment, Detective Vecchio," Turnbull said breathlessly, speeding from the room.
"That's not buddies, Fraser."
"I apologize, Ray. But he's been odder than usual today and, frankly, I don't think I could take his presence during what is proving to be a very trying evening."
On cue, Thatcher bellowed from her office, "Constable Fraser! Where are the flowers for the Queen's Bedroom?"
Fraser excused himself, colliding with a returning Turnbull on the way. In trying to keep them both from falling, Turnbull managed to get tangled up in Fraser's lanyard. Blushing wildly, he babbled, "Oh, I'm sorry! So very sorry, Constable Fraser. Just let me..."
After some struggles, Fraser managed to pull free, and with a curt reassurance to Turnbull and another apologetic glance at Ray, he backed hastily out of the room.
Turnbull had apparently done a Superman-style quick-change, and looked completely unlike his normal Mountie self in jeans and a t-shirt. Still blushing, he turned big puppy-dog eyes on Ray. "Shall we go, Detective Vecchio?"
Ray's life sucked.
**********
At the stadium, Turnbull bought Ray beer and a hot dog and tried to urge more food on him. Eventually Ray had to say, "Turnbull, this is your first Chicago ball game, right? Watch the damn game and stop trying to make me puke."
Turnbull jumped out of his seat and cheered at the slightest provocation. Ray was embarrassed at first, but it was kind of cool. Especially when he was cheering for the right side.
**********
Back in the car, Ray asked, "So, do you want me to drop you back at the Consulate?"
"Actually, Detective Vecchio, I'd prefer a ride back to my apartment, if that's convenient for you."
Turnbull gave Ray directions and kept on talking. Ray didn't pay much attention until he noticed that Turnbull was looking at him expectantly.
"Uh, what?"
"Constable Fraser tells me that you have a pet turtle, Detective Vecchio. As a matter of fact, I have a present for him, if that's not too presumptuous of me."
"You have a present for Terence?" The car veered slightly as Ray turned to stare. He'd thought he'd built up some resistance to Turnbull's goofiness by this point, but apparently not.
"Well, it's just a little thing, but I saw it and thought of him. Perhaps you could come up and collect it?"
Shaking his head, Ray replied, "That's okay. I mean, it's nice of you. Maybe you could bring it to the Consulate and I could pick it up there."
Turnbull was quiet for the rest of the ride. As they were pulling up outside his apartment building, he turned to Ray again. "Do come up, Detective Vecchio. It won't take a minute and I'd be so happy to know he got his present as soon as possible."
Ray sighed and parked the car. "Just for a minute."
Turnbull's apartment was incredibly clean, of course. And kind of homey. There were doilies on the furniture and framed pictures on the wall. Turnbull took off his shoes and set them neatly by the door while Ray looked at a picture of a bunch of people on a frozen pond... curling?
"Isn't that wonderful? It's one of my prize possessions, a signed David Stratton Watt limited edition print."
Turning around, Ray discovered that Turnbull was standing really close to him. "Yeah, it's great. So, um, the present?"
Turnbull took a deep breath and leaned even closer. Ray backed away quickly, and went to look at some of the other pictures. After a moment, Turnbull turned to him, bright as ever.
"Would you like a beer, Detective Vecchio? I have Old Style as well as several fine Canadian choices."
"Nah. I should hit the road."
"Please? Just one quick beer."
Damn, Turnbull really could do the big-eyed Mountie thing even better than Fraser.
"Fine, a quick one. Old Style." Ray sat on the couch, his legs spread. He looked for the remote. Not finding one, he looked for the TV. "Turnbull," he called. "Where's your TV?"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I don't have one. I generally watch at the Consulate, when I get the opportunity. I do apologize." Turnbull came back into the living room and handed Ray a frosty glass of beer, then sat next to him on the couch.
Ray drank, aware of Turnbull watching him.
"Would you like a blow job, Detective Vecchio?"
Ray choked and beer went everywhere; a fine mist covering the coffee table and wetting Ray's t-shirt.
"Oh my." Turnbull got up and bustled about, finding a dishtowel to mop up the mess.
Ray had to bat Turnbull's hands away as he tried to dry Ray's front.
"What the fuck, Turnbull?! Did you just offer to blow me?"
Beet red, Turnbull nodded.
"Do you even know what a blow job is?"
Turnbull met his eyes, looking startled. "Is that the wrong term? I believe it means fellatio."
Canada was trying to kill him. This could not be normal, even up north. "Um. Yeah. What... why did you...?"
"I think you're very attractive, Detective Vecchio. And I understood you were not involved with anybody currently and hoped we might come to a... a mutually beneficial arrangement." The last was said on one rushed breath.
Ray's brain hurt. "You want to be fuckbuddies?"
"Oh, yes," Turnbull said fervently.
Ray jumped up and began to pace. "This is not normal! I don't even know you. And you work with Fraser, which is just weird. And nobody comes out and asks these things! They just, you know, get you drunk and go for it!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd stay long enough to become inebriated."
That was too much. Ray shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, snickering. Suddenly, there was a big, solid presence against him and a soft mouth against his. He started to protest, but opening his mouth turned out to be the wrong move, as Turnbull moved in with hot, slick tongue.
Damn, Turnbull could kiss. Ray would have thought he'd be sloppy or overly tentative, but he was both hungry and weirdly precise, sucking and kissing Ray in some secret Canadian way designed to get maximum response in minimum time.
Ray put his hands on Turnbull's chest to push him away, but Turnbull grabbed his wrists and pulled them around to his ass. Clutching automatically, Ray pulled Turnbull forward, feeling his ass flex as he leaned in, pushing Ray against the wall. Ray realized Turnbull's hard cock was pushing against him a couple of seconds before he realized his own erection was rubbing right back. And, whoa, when had he started kissing, too?
Turnbull was touching and groping him, rubbing his cock through his jeans. Ray pulled his mouth away, gasping.
"It doesn't have to mean anything. I just want to. Please let me." With that Turnbull was down on his knees, working Ray's jeans open.
Ray leaned against the wall, staring down at his own jeans and boxers being pulled down around his hips, at his hard cock in Turnbull's hands, at Turnbull's eager face, at Turnbull's mouth closing over his cock. Then he wasn't seeing anything, 'cause his eyes were closed tight and he was moaning.
He should stop this. This wasn't right. Instead, he rocked his hips forward slightly and opened his eyes again, stunned and turned on by the sight. Turnbull wasn't fooling around; he was sucking greedily, his cheeks hollowed. God, his mouth felt better than, well, a hell of lot better than Ray's hand. Turnbull's tongue stroked firmly up the underside and everything was pressure and suction, making Ray's legs weak as his cock grew even harder.
Turnbull moved one hand off Ray's hip and wrapped it around the base of Ray's cock. He shifted the other hand around to Ray's ass, feeling Ray up, then pushing gently, encouraging Ray to move. Damn. Ray couldn't resist, and his hips jerked forward again. He looked down to see Turnbull's lips meet his fist, Ray's whole cock covered by wet, firm heat.
"Fuck!" Ray closed his eyes again. That was going to get him off too quickly, and he wanted this feeling to last as long as it could.
As he rocked in and out of Turnbull's mouth he moved his hands from where they'd been pressed against the wall and buried his fingers in Turnbull's hair. It felt good. Everything felt good.
Turnbull moaned and the vibration pushed him closer to the edge. "I'm close," he rasped.
Pulling off, Turnbull made eye contact, his hand moving in strong, short strokes. Then he took Ray back inside his mouth, slipped his hand from the base of Ray's cock back to his hip and sucked him in deeper, and then deeper still.
"Holy shit," Ray gasped, watching.
Turnbull swallowed and Ray's cock was all the way in. He thrust helplessly, fucking Turnbull's throat.
"Shiiiiiiit." Ray's orgasm wrenched out of him, and he saw stars and bright colors and Turnbull's mouth. Turnbull pulled off, sputtering slightly, his hand working Ray's cock through the last of it.
Ray closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall, shuddering. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the sounds of their heavy breathing.
"I'm sorry if that was overly forward of me, Detective Vecchio." Turnbull sounded hoarse and Ray glanced down at him. He was sitting back on his haunches, his thigh muscles straining his jeans. He looked shy, which was a really weird expression for a guy with come on his chin and, Jesus, a pretty fucking impressive hard-on in his pants.
Ray felt like shit. Turnbull was too strange, and that blow job was too good. He considered, just for a moment, doing up his jeans and getting out of there. Because he could, because this was Turnbull. Turnbull would feel whatever sort of horny, crappy way Turnbull felt when he didn't get his, but he'd be smiling and normal (well, normal for Turnbull) at the Consulate and they'd never talk about it. Hell, they'd never talk.
"Shut up, Turnbull." He knelt, pushing Turnbull onto his back, then went for his zipper, Turnbull helpfully wiggling out of his jeans and boxers. "Fair's fair."
Ray licked his hand, making Turnbull moan. Then he grabbed Turnbull's cock and began to stroke slowly, lightly. "Take off your shirt."
Fingers clumsy, Turnbull unbuttoned his flannel, then pulled it off.
"Your other shirt, too"
Turnbull obeyed, pulling his undershirt over his head. He was lying there butt naked, with only his socks left on. Ray was impressed. Turnbull was gorgeous; long and well-muscled, his cock thick in Ray's hand.
"Damn. Look at you."
Turnbull smiled this shaky smile with his red, swollen lips, and Ray felt kind of ill at the unexpected beauty of it. He bent his head and licked the head of Turnbull's cock. It jerked in his hand and against his mouth. He grinned, then opened wide and slid his lips down.
Turnbull let out this big, gasping sound and came, sudden and hard, filling Ray's mouth. He smirked a little on the inside while he swallowed and sucked, then pulled off and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Thank you," Turnbull said, sighing.
"Sure. You, too." Ray stood, fixed his clothes back in place. "So, I'll see you?"
"Of course. Have a pleasant night, Detective Vecchio."
Ray had one hand on the doorknob. "Hey. You can call me Ray."
"Thank you, Ray." And even though Ray was on his way out the door and Turnbull was left naked and sweaty and alone on the floor, Turnbull gave him another of those heartbreaking smiles.
Ray shut the door firmly behind him and went home.
***
Continued in The One with the Second Date
Author: slidellra
Pairing: Turnbull/Kowalski
Rating: NC-17
Notes: Written for getturnbulllaid prompt 11. Turnbull/Kowalski - Ray offers to take the gang from the consulate out for the evening, but Fraser and Thatcher don't make it at the last minute. 2227 words. Many thanks to llassah for beta.
This is the first in "The One where Turnbull Gets Knocked Up," an mpreg series by myself and lipstickcat. The first five stories are mpreg-free porn if your heart is so puny as to not have room for a little pregnant Turnbull action.
Ray ran up the stairs to the Consulate and went in, banging the door shut behind him.
"Hey Turnbull. You guys ready?"
"I'm afraid, Detective Vecchio, that there may be a slight hitch in this evening's plans."
"Hitch? What hitch?"
"Ah, Ray." Fraser bustled in, still in uniform and definitely not in 'hanging out with the gang' casual wear. "I'm terribly sorry, but it appears there has been a breakdown of communication about the arrival of the president of the..." Fraser kept talking, but it sounded like French which sounded like Greek to Ray. Shooting a quick look at Turnbull, who looked placid as ever, Fraser finished, "It appears we are needed here and won't be able to attend the game after all."
"That sucks, Fraser. We'll do it another time, though, huh?"
"Actually, Detective Vecchio, I may still be available this evening," Turnbull piped up.
"Really?" Ray shuffled his feet back and forth. "I wouldn't want to take you away from your duties or anything. Thatcher and Fraser probably need your help." He shot a pleading look at Fraser.
Fraser took a couple of moments to reply, casting a glance at Turnbull and then back over his shoulder, then replied, blandly, "That's a wonderful idea, Turnbull. I'm sure we'll be able to muddle along without you this once. Ray?"
Ray shot Fraser a death glare, biting back his protest at the hopeful looks from both Fraser and Turnbull.
"Fine. Great. Come on, Turnbull. Let's get going. These guys have work to do."
"I'll just be one moment, Detective Vecchio," Turnbull said breathlessly, speeding from the room.
"That's not buddies, Fraser."
"I apologize, Ray. But he's been odder than usual today and, frankly, I don't think I could take his presence during what is proving to be a very trying evening."
On cue, Thatcher bellowed from her office, "Constable Fraser! Where are the flowers for the Queen's Bedroom?"
Fraser excused himself, colliding with a returning Turnbull on the way. In trying to keep them both from falling, Turnbull managed to get tangled up in Fraser's lanyard. Blushing wildly, he babbled, "Oh, I'm sorry! So very sorry, Constable Fraser. Just let me..."
After some struggles, Fraser managed to pull free, and with a curt reassurance to Turnbull and another apologetic glance at Ray, he backed hastily out of the room.
Turnbull had apparently done a Superman-style quick-change, and looked completely unlike his normal Mountie self in jeans and a t-shirt. Still blushing, he turned big puppy-dog eyes on Ray. "Shall we go, Detective Vecchio?"
Ray's life sucked.
**********
At the stadium, Turnbull bought Ray beer and a hot dog and tried to urge more food on him. Eventually Ray had to say, "Turnbull, this is your first Chicago ball game, right? Watch the damn game and stop trying to make me puke."
Turnbull jumped out of his seat and cheered at the slightest provocation. Ray was embarrassed at first, but it was kind of cool. Especially when he was cheering for the right side.
**********
Back in the car, Ray asked, "So, do you want me to drop you back at the Consulate?"
"Actually, Detective Vecchio, I'd prefer a ride back to my apartment, if that's convenient for you."
Turnbull gave Ray directions and kept on talking. Ray didn't pay much attention until he noticed that Turnbull was looking at him expectantly.
"Uh, what?"
"Constable Fraser tells me that you have a pet turtle, Detective Vecchio. As a matter of fact, I have a present for him, if that's not too presumptuous of me."
"You have a present for Terence?" The car veered slightly as Ray turned to stare. He'd thought he'd built up some resistance to Turnbull's goofiness by this point, but apparently not.
"Well, it's just a little thing, but I saw it and thought of him. Perhaps you could come up and collect it?"
Shaking his head, Ray replied, "That's okay. I mean, it's nice of you. Maybe you could bring it to the Consulate and I could pick it up there."
Turnbull was quiet for the rest of the ride. As they were pulling up outside his apartment building, he turned to Ray again. "Do come up, Detective Vecchio. It won't take a minute and I'd be so happy to know he got his present as soon as possible."
Ray sighed and parked the car. "Just for a minute."
Turnbull's apartment was incredibly clean, of course. And kind of homey. There were doilies on the furniture and framed pictures on the wall. Turnbull took off his shoes and set them neatly by the door while Ray looked at a picture of a bunch of people on a frozen pond... curling?
"Isn't that wonderful? It's one of my prize possessions, a signed David Stratton Watt limited edition print."
Turning around, Ray discovered that Turnbull was standing really close to him. "Yeah, it's great. So, um, the present?"
Turnbull took a deep breath and leaned even closer. Ray backed away quickly, and went to look at some of the other pictures. After a moment, Turnbull turned to him, bright as ever.
"Would you like a beer, Detective Vecchio? I have Old Style as well as several fine Canadian choices."
"Nah. I should hit the road."
"Please? Just one quick beer."
Damn, Turnbull really could do the big-eyed Mountie thing even better than Fraser.
"Fine, a quick one. Old Style." Ray sat on the couch, his legs spread. He looked for the remote. Not finding one, he looked for the TV. "Turnbull," he called. "Where's your TV?"
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I don't have one. I generally watch at the Consulate, when I get the opportunity. I do apologize." Turnbull came back into the living room and handed Ray a frosty glass of beer, then sat next to him on the couch.
Ray drank, aware of Turnbull watching him.
"Would you like a blow job, Detective Vecchio?"
Ray choked and beer went everywhere; a fine mist covering the coffee table and wetting Ray's t-shirt.
"Oh my." Turnbull got up and bustled about, finding a dishtowel to mop up the mess.
Ray had to bat Turnbull's hands away as he tried to dry Ray's front.
"What the fuck, Turnbull?! Did you just offer to blow me?"
Beet red, Turnbull nodded.
"Do you even know what a blow job is?"
Turnbull met his eyes, looking startled. "Is that the wrong term? I believe it means fellatio."
Canada was trying to kill him. This could not be normal, even up north. "Um. Yeah. What... why did you...?"
"I think you're very attractive, Detective Vecchio. And I understood you were not involved with anybody currently and hoped we might come to a... a mutually beneficial arrangement." The last was said on one rushed breath.
Ray's brain hurt. "You want to be fuckbuddies?"
"Oh, yes," Turnbull said fervently.
Ray jumped up and began to pace. "This is not normal! I don't even know you. And you work with Fraser, which is just weird. And nobody comes out and asks these things! They just, you know, get you drunk and go for it!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd stay long enough to become inebriated."
That was too much. Ray shut his eyes and leaned against the wall, snickering. Suddenly, there was a big, solid presence against him and a soft mouth against his. He started to protest, but opening his mouth turned out to be the wrong move, as Turnbull moved in with hot, slick tongue.
Damn, Turnbull could kiss. Ray would have thought he'd be sloppy or overly tentative, but he was both hungry and weirdly precise, sucking and kissing Ray in some secret Canadian way designed to get maximum response in minimum time.
Ray put his hands on Turnbull's chest to push him away, but Turnbull grabbed his wrists and pulled them around to his ass. Clutching automatically, Ray pulled Turnbull forward, feeling his ass flex as he leaned in, pushing Ray against the wall. Ray realized Turnbull's hard cock was pushing against him a couple of seconds before he realized his own erection was rubbing right back. And, whoa, when had he started kissing, too?
Turnbull was touching and groping him, rubbing his cock through his jeans. Ray pulled his mouth away, gasping.
"It doesn't have to mean anything. I just want to. Please let me." With that Turnbull was down on his knees, working Ray's jeans open.
Ray leaned against the wall, staring down at his own jeans and boxers being pulled down around his hips, at his hard cock in Turnbull's hands, at Turnbull's eager face, at Turnbull's mouth closing over his cock. Then he wasn't seeing anything, 'cause his eyes were closed tight and he was moaning.
He should stop this. This wasn't right. Instead, he rocked his hips forward slightly and opened his eyes again, stunned and turned on by the sight. Turnbull wasn't fooling around; he was sucking greedily, his cheeks hollowed. God, his mouth felt better than, well, a hell of lot better than Ray's hand. Turnbull's tongue stroked firmly up the underside and everything was pressure and suction, making Ray's legs weak as his cock grew even harder.
Turnbull moved one hand off Ray's hip and wrapped it around the base of Ray's cock. He shifted the other hand around to Ray's ass, feeling Ray up, then pushing gently, encouraging Ray to move. Damn. Ray couldn't resist, and his hips jerked forward again. He looked down to see Turnbull's lips meet his fist, Ray's whole cock covered by wet, firm heat.
"Fuck!" Ray closed his eyes again. That was going to get him off too quickly, and he wanted this feeling to last as long as it could.
As he rocked in and out of Turnbull's mouth he moved his hands from where they'd been pressed against the wall and buried his fingers in Turnbull's hair. It felt good. Everything felt good.
Turnbull moaned and the vibration pushed him closer to the edge. "I'm close," he rasped.
Pulling off, Turnbull made eye contact, his hand moving in strong, short strokes. Then he took Ray back inside his mouth, slipped his hand from the base of Ray's cock back to his hip and sucked him in deeper, and then deeper still.
"Holy shit," Ray gasped, watching.
Turnbull swallowed and Ray's cock was all the way in. He thrust helplessly, fucking Turnbull's throat.
"Shiiiiiiit." Ray's orgasm wrenched out of him, and he saw stars and bright colors and Turnbull's mouth. Turnbull pulled off, sputtering slightly, his hand working Ray's cock through the last of it.
Ray closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall, shuddering. The apartment was quiet, except for the hum of the refrigerator and the sounds of their heavy breathing.
"I'm sorry if that was overly forward of me, Detective Vecchio." Turnbull sounded hoarse and Ray glanced down at him. He was sitting back on his haunches, his thigh muscles straining his jeans. He looked shy, which was a really weird expression for a guy with come on his chin and, Jesus, a pretty fucking impressive hard-on in his pants.
Ray felt like shit. Turnbull was too strange, and that blow job was too good. He considered, just for a moment, doing up his jeans and getting out of there. Because he could, because this was Turnbull. Turnbull would feel whatever sort of horny, crappy way Turnbull felt when he didn't get his, but he'd be smiling and normal (well, normal for Turnbull) at the Consulate and they'd never talk about it. Hell, they'd never talk.
"Shut up, Turnbull." He knelt, pushing Turnbull onto his back, then went for his zipper, Turnbull helpfully wiggling out of his jeans and boxers. "Fair's fair."
Ray licked his hand, making Turnbull moan. Then he grabbed Turnbull's cock and began to stroke slowly, lightly. "Take off your shirt."
Fingers clumsy, Turnbull unbuttoned his flannel, then pulled it off.
"Your other shirt, too"
Turnbull obeyed, pulling his undershirt over his head. He was lying there butt naked, with only his socks left on. Ray was impressed. Turnbull was gorgeous; long and well-muscled, his cock thick in Ray's hand.
"Damn. Look at you."
Turnbull smiled this shaky smile with his red, swollen lips, and Ray felt kind of ill at the unexpected beauty of it. He bent his head and licked the head of Turnbull's cock. It jerked in his hand and against his mouth. He grinned, then opened wide and slid his lips down.
Turnbull let out this big, gasping sound and came, sudden and hard, filling Ray's mouth. He smirked a little on the inside while he swallowed and sucked, then pulled off and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.
"Thank you," Turnbull said, sighing.
"Sure. You, too." Ray stood, fixed his clothes back in place. "So, I'll see you?"
"Of course. Have a pleasant night, Detective Vecchio."
Ray had one hand on the doorknob. "Hey. You can call me Ray."
"Thank you, Ray." And even though Ray was on his way out the door and Turnbull was left naked and sweaty and alone on the floor, Turnbull gave him another of those heartbreaking smiles.
Ray shut the door firmly behind him and went home.
***
Continued in The One with the Second Date