New F/K Story: All the Space, and Time (NC-17) - Part 1
Title: All the Space, and Time
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 15,422 total
Warnings: Reference to non-con event (Fraser/Victoria). Could be triggery due to this. There are, however, no graphic descriptions.
Categories: FT, post-CoTW, angst up the ass
Beta: The fabulous nos4a2no9
Summary: Fraser had always found it comforting to keep a space around him, a discrete two feet. Very few people passed that boundary. He remembered overhearing his neighbor, Mrs. Gamez, saying once, "I want to give him a big hug, but I'm afraid I will wrinkle him."
No one had wrinkled him for a good, long time-until Ray Kowalski appeared in his life, lunged at him, and crashed into him with a 'Fraser, buddy!' that left him reeling for more than one reason.
A/N: This really is secretlybronte's fault for having that writing party and nos4a2no9's too for being so goddamned supportive and encouraging.
[This story is a sequel to A Small Mercy. It makes sense to read that one first.]
All the Space, and Time
By Arrow
It seemed Fraser had always stood like this-trapped before death, a fly in amber, caught between need and duty.
An anonymous donation had saved her from having the ugly, utilitarian, pauper's plaque. This headstone was granite, carved deeply with the simple facts of her name and the dates of her existence.
Ray didn't know he was here. Perhaps he would decry it-not the act of being here, but the need that prompted it. The same need that'd had Fraser lighting a hundred candles and waiting by the window for a knock that never came.
Why had he fastened on her with such need? He could argue their situation, in extremis, nearly frozen by the cold, made for the kind of romantic saga that had captured his heart in his youth; had taught him to expect eternal love where there was none.
But she had felt it, too. He knew that much. She had been compelled, as was he, the only difference being she was also compelled to hate him for what he had done.
He still couldn't quite forgive himself for following his duty, but he also could not, even to this day, believe he could have acted any other way. He was who he was. He thought perhaps it was that quality within him that caused her to love him in the first place.
And hate him, too, of course. He could name it now-what she had done to him in her revenge, what she had taken.
His shoulders protested, still sore, as he bent and placed the volume of poetry on the headstone before walking away.
///
Fraser had always found it comforting to keep a space around him, a discrete two feet. Very few people passed that boundary. He remembered overhearing his neighbor, Mrs. Gamez, saying once, "I want to give him a big hug, but I'm afraid I will wrinkle him."
No one had wrinkled him for a good, long time-until Ray Kowalski appeared in his life, lunged at him, and crashed into him with a 'Fraser, buddy!' that left him reeling for more than one reason.
It wasn't his Ray, but a new Ray, a very different Ray.
His Ray Vecchio had been close, had dipped into his space in friendship, in brotherhood, in what Fraser liked to think of as Old Country affection-a marker of his Italian heritage.
But this Ray-this new Ray, not yet his, but becoming so faster than Fraser would have believed possible-entered fully into Fraser's space, invaded it like a Hun, and Fraser was deeply surprised to discover he didn't mind. He found he liked it. He even grew to need it.
And then he lost it.
After Victoria-after she came in the night and did her worst one last time before dying-Ray stopped entering Fraser's space. And Fraser understood why-really, who could blame Ray for being tentative, for avoiding touching him, when Fraser himself was uncertain whether he would welcome it, whether he deserved it. He was a changed man, damaged in both their eyes. Perhaps even as much as when he was nearly paralyzed by a misplaced bullet.
Fraser was also grateful for the reprieve. He had, for too long, been hovering on the edge of a dangerous obsession toward his partner, born of Ray's fey good looks and easy manner; of those hundreds of touches, rough and bold and presumptive.
Now Fraser had his space. So why did it feel as if the rooms he occupied were losing air, as if they were shrinking around him?
He needed to breathe.
///
The asphalt scraped hard under his palms, and then he was running again, trying to catch up to Ray, who hadn't waited-why hadn't he waited?
Because Fraser was slow. Too slow. By the time he came around the side of the building, Ray was in a standoff, gun out with his other palm up, entreating. The thief, hardly more than a boy, thin as a rail and with wild black hair, was holding a tiny pistol, the kind a woman might conceal in a handbag.
Tiny, but it could be deadly nonetheless. Ray wasn't wearing a vest today, and Fraser hung back, afraid to disrupt the tableau. He clenched his fists, feeling a wince in the torn skin of his palms.
"-Is what I'm thinking, you know? I mean you don't want to get into a big mess here, kiddo." Ray's voice was utterly calm and even.
"But I gotta take care of Joey! I'm the only one looking out for us!"
"I know. And it's gonna be okay. Just put down the gun before someone gets shot or something. You don't want that on you-believe me. I promise we'll figure something out for your brother."
And just like that the boy was sagging, all parts of him, from his shoulders to the hand holding the gun, all wilting down. Ray stepped forward without haste and relieved him of the pistol.
Fraser felt something move in his chest-it felt like relief, but it was painful, too. He stepped back until he could lean his shoulders against the brick wall.
Ray read the boy his rights and cuffed him gently, then turned toward Fraser. He gave Fraser an odd look, tilting his head. Fraser waved his hand.
Together they all walked back to the bodega, and after taking the clerk's statement, Ray drove them to the station. Once there, Ray had an intense talk with Child Services, but Fraser bowed out, departing with a quick farewell.
Ray didn't need him.
///
Fraser awoke early, as was his custom of late. First light had barely begun to creep through the blinds, making his office appear dim and ugly. He roused himself to dress in a sweat suit and sneakers, and then took Diefenbaker out for a run.
Their daily runs had increased in duration commensurate with his earlier mornings. He thought he had never been in such good physical condition, which made it difficult to understand why he had failed Ray yesterday by tripping over his own feet.
On the last leg of his run, though, his breath grew short. The closer he drew to the Consulate, the more difficult he found it to draw in air.
One month, now. It had been a month, and part of him, the part that cherished duty, that took pride in his place, berated him for his weakness. But the Consulate after hours, when he was alone there with no one but Dief for company, felt a hollow and haunted place.
Perhaps he should move. The thought seemed like an indulgence, and as always when he had such ideas, he wondered what Ray would say.
He picked up the phone without thinking and dialed.
"Yeah?" Ray sounded hoarse. Oh, dear, Fraser had woken him. For a split second he felt too embarrassed to speak; he even thought of hanging up without identifying himself.
"Fraser, is that you?"
Wondering how Ray had known, Fraser cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Ray. I'm sorry to disturb you so early."
"Don't do that, don't apologize," Ray said quietly, with that same unusual patience he'd been showing of late. "What's up?"
"I've been thinking about moving," Fraser said abruptly.
He heard Ray sigh. "Well, it's about damned time, yeah? You want some help finding a place?"
Fraser felt a profound relief, as if he'd been relieved of some duty, absolved of a major sin. "No, that's quite all right, Ray. I just wondered...if you thought it was a good idea."
"Better than good. Hey, I'll bring you the listings at lunch."
"Thank you, Ray." Fraser choked a little. "That would be perfect."
///
The next few weeks were somewhat chaotic, since Fraser had to juggle searching for an apartment appropriately near a park, completing his paperwork, and acquiring American funds-the building manager seemed oddly unwilling to accept the security deposit in Canadian moneys. And then, of course, Fraser had to move. Ray offered to help, but Fraser wanted to do it alone.
He remembered Ray Vecchio griping about his old neighborhood on Racine. This new area was slightly better. Fraser threw away his cot and bought a real bed. The apartment itself had two very large rooms and a tiny kitchen. And a fire escape, which was essential to obtain Diefenbaker's approval.
They both were more content in the new place. The air felt more open; living there, in some strange way, felt like a return to better times.
///
Fraser had taken to jogging with Dief to the Consulate in the mornings and showering and changing there. He arrived early this morning, since it was Tuesday and Ray would be picking him up for a full day of liaising.
Ever since their return, Inspector Thatcher's replacement, Chief Liaison Officer Perry, had been oddly amenable to lending out Fraser's services to the Chicago Police Department, claiming the partnership was "positive PR" for Canadian-American relations.
Frankly, Fraser believed Officer Perry simply didn't know what else to do with him. It would seem odd to put the man who'd been instrumental in recovering a stolen nuclear submarine on simple guard duty.
That notoriety was also useful with the CPD brass, who had started making noises about issuing Fraser a special badge with jurisdictional authority in Cook County. They wanted him to carry a weapon. It had been a long time since he had last done so, but he found he relished the idea of having that comforting weight back on his hip.
He was showered and just tying his tie when he heard the knock at the front door. The Consulate was not yet open to visitors, so Fraser felt all right stepping out in less than full uniform to answer it.
Ray stood on the doorstep, a cup in each hand. "Sorry for the early revelry, there, buddy. I brought a peace offering."
"I believe that's 'reveilles', Ray," Fraser took the cup and sniffed. The deep aroma of strong black coffee made him smile. "Thank you kindly. And a good morning to you, as well."
Ray gave him a grin and followed him back to his office, talking all the way. "It's like I was saying yesterday-Milroy's alibi is crap. Last night I dug up the skinny on his so-called fiancé and it turns out she's imported talent from Vegas-a high-class penthouse girl who works for a guy named Pete Ramsey. And get this-she used to work for the Bookman before he vanished so mysteriously."
The name stopped Fraser dead with one arm in his brown tunic. "Ray-"
"You should give Vecchio a call," Ray said in a rush. "Maybe he knows the connection between Ramsey and Milroy."
"Yes, I suppose."
Ray turned from fiddling with Fraser's stapler to face him. "You suppose? What's to think about?"
"No-nothing." Fraser turned and donned his tunic, straightened his tie, and put on the wide Sam Browne, all the while thinking of the impossibility of speaking to Ray Vecchio. Ray, who knew her, who tried to shoot her. Who carried his own guilt for failing and putting a bullet in Fraser's back instead. How would he react if he knew what had happened later?
It didn't bear consideration.
"Why don't you call him, Ray?" Fraser said casually while he finished with the strap.
"Me? He's your pal, Fraser. Me and Vecchio aren't exactly simpatico."
"Yes, but since this is strictly police business...I'll just call him on my own time." Fraser looked up to check his hair in the mirror and caught an expression of pained concern on Ray's face.
Don't. Please, Ray.
"Does he know, uh, about her? That she's dead, I mean?"
"I don't know," Fraser said abruptly. "Perhaps Lieutenant Welsh-"
"Fraser-"
"To the point-now that we know where Milroy wasn't, shall we endeavor to prove where he was?" Fraser said quickly.
Ray gave a slight shake of his head and stuck both hands in his pockets. But he said nothing as Fraser picked up his hat and waved Diefenbaker toward the door.
///
Ray hung up the phone. "Vecchio says Milroy was deep in Ramsey's pocket-borrowed capital from him for setting up a numbers racket that didn't pan out. So it looks like Ramsey was protecting his investment."
Fraser nodded.
"Vecchio said, 'Tell Benny hey from me. And what, he's forgotten my number?'"
Suppressing a wince, Fraser picked up the case file he'd been poring over. "Parker was killed between approximately ten-thirty p.m. and one-thirty a.m. the next morning. Milroy's last reliable alibi was at the Double Door nightclub around nine-thirty."
"Right," Ray said, then jabbed two fingers at him. "Trixie, that waitress. She said he was doing the big spender thing, like he liked being noticed."
"Precisely." Fraser put down the file and laced his hands together. He could see Ray's mind working a mile a minute, as always-the man had a brain like a meat grinder, meant in the most complimentary sense. Facts went in, and out came a nice steak tartar.
"So Milroy wants to be remembered cross-town at nine-thirty hanging out with his fiancé," Ray made tick quotes, "Denise. He leaves with her, but they had to have split up-" Ray snapped his fingers. "That's it. Unless she came along for the murder-which, doubt he'd want a witness-she must've taken a cab from the Double Door. All we gotta do is get call logs from the cab companies and then take a shot of her with us when we find the right cabbie. Milroy's alibi will be toast."
Fraser couldn't help smiling in satisfaction-at Ray's keen mind, at the boundless enthusiasm the man had for police work.
They ran down the evidence just as Ray had predicted, and Denise crumpled-"Like wet cardboard," Ray said-when confronted about her solo cab ride. The evidence started to mount up. Parker's safe deposit box yielded papers implicating Milroy in a handful of felonious racketeering schemes and warned, in the event of his untimely death, to look at Milroy, who had threatened him physical harm; an eye-witness surfaced when they canvassed Parker's apartment complex-she identified Milroy as the man she'd seen leaving the building at approximately eleven o'clock. As the pieces fell into place, Ray grew even more excited. He practically crackled with energy, and Fraser often found himself having to glance away or be caught staring.
Finally, they had the last puzzle piece: the provenance of the murder weapon, a knife nosed up by Diefenbaker in the bushes behind the building. It belonged to a set originally confiscated as possible evidence from Milroy's kitchen.
They drove to arrest Milroy at the single-room occupancy hotel where he was staying. Ray looked to be on fire, every sinew tight with anticipation. Fraser felt an answering excitement stirring him, the deadened sensation he'd been laboring under for months suddenly scaling away.
The hotel was a sleazy one with no elevator. They consulted the desk for Milroy's room number and were walking up the stairs when Fraser's sharp hearing caught the desk attendant calling Milroy to warn him.
"Hurry, Ray," Fraser said, bounding up the stairs with Diefenbaker just ahead.
"Fraser!" Ray hissed, but the urgency of the chase was in Fraser's blood. Ray was the one with the warrant, but when Fraser leaned an ear against the door he heard the rattle of heavy shoes on metals steps-the fire escape. So Fraser kicked open the door and followed.
It had been forever since Fraser had had the pleasure of chasing a malfeasant up a fire escape and over the rooftops. He was aware, of course, that Milroy might be armed, but the fact had no impact on Fraser's speed or the caution he employed. Nor did Ray's low-voiced, angry threats coming from behind. He saw only the brown-suited man in the black toupee charging desperately away.
They were closing on the gap between two buildings. When Fraser saw Milroy's intent, he had only a second to consider Milroy's height, heaviness and seeming lack of shape before yelling frantically, "Halt! Milroy, you'll never make it!"
Indeed, Milroy's leap was somewhat short of the mark, and he ended up scrabbling desperately for a handhold as he hung over the side of the next-door building. Fraser made the jump easily and struggled to help the man, who was now clinging, bug-eyed with fear, to the curved tiles cemented to the edge of the roof. Just as Milroy lost his grip, Fraser laid himself down and caught his hand. And then the full weight of the man threatened to pull Fraser's arm from his socket.
He felt the double-thump of Ray landing on the roof by his side. Milroy yelled, "Please, God, please don't lemme go, don't lemme go!" He was twisting and kicking frantically, and Fraser felt something in his shoulder strain from the torsion. He gritted his teeth.
Ray yelled, "Hang on!" and suddenly his grip joined Fraser's. Together they hauled the struggling, swearing man up and over the side.
Instantly on his feet, Ray pulled out his handcuffs, cursing furiously. "Do not think of fucking with me, chump," he said as he yanked Milroy's hands behind his back.
The socket of Fraser's shoulder was on fire, and he found he couldn't move for fear it would worsen. But that was stupidity; he knew it. He needed to realign the shoulder before the muscles froze. Groaning softly, Fraser got to his knees and then pulled on his own wrist until the pain stopped with a snapping sensation.
He grayed out a little, and the next thing he knew Ray was crouching next to him.
"Hey, there. What's going on?" Ray's voice was uncommonly gentle, especially in contrast to the way he'd read Milroy his Miranda warning.
Fraser suddenly longed, with all his heart, for Ray to treat him with the same rough and almost antagonistic affection he'd always shown.
"I'm afraid my shoulder was out of joint. It's back in position, now," Fraser explained. He automatically tried to rise by putting his hand down, and paid the price. Cautiously, he rolled to the other side and got to his feet, aware of Ray's hands hovering nearby as if to help.
"C'mon," Ray said, "let's take this turkey to the roasting box."
Fraser hid a smile at the pun and followed.
///
Lieutenant Welsh seemed what passed for overjoyed. "Constable, Detective-much against my will I must confess to being somewhat impressed. Congratulations, gentlemen."
Ray's fierce scowl did nothing to hide how he fairly glowed under the praise. Fraser, too, felt a sense of immense satisfaction at their solving the tricky case.
"C'mon, Fraser. There's a brewski with my name on it down at Hugo's."
Diefenbaker, who'd suffered being left behind for the arrest quite willingly thanks to it being doughnut day at the squad, perked up his chin at the mention of Hugo's, which also, as Fraser recalled, served fish and chips.
And so Fraser ended up ordering double, because there really was no controlling his lupine companion when both grease and fish were involved. Ray did the same, and ordered a beer-Canadian, Fraser was unsurprised to note. Fraser made do with a cup of hot bar coffee, which was quite vile, but better than their tea.
"So," Ray said, knocking his bottle down on the table with a sigh. "Today was pretty great, huh?"
"Yes, I believe justice was served, and quite well."
"Not just that." Ray paused, and then continued strangely, "You seemed better. More on."
Fraser held his breath. It was the first mention Ray had made of Fraser's...mood of late.
"I mean, I'm no Nosy Parker, you know that, Fraser." Ray seemed very intent on his beer bottle. "I'm just saying I think things are getting better for you."
Ray was his friend, Fraser reminded himself, even as his back stiffened. His friend, who had been extraordinarily patient with Fraser's rudeness and distance.
He coughed and forced himself to say cautiously, "Yes, I'm...much happier not staying at the Consulate. And, of course, Diefenbaker approves of the new apartment."
"That's good, Fraser. Real good."
"Perhaps you might come over sometime. I have a television." Fraser winced internally at the somewhat pathetic offer.
But Ray's face brightened. "Sure, yeah. That'd be great. There's a game on tonight-"
Tonight. Well, it was sudden, but surely there was no reason not to have Ray over.
"All right, Ray. Why don't we purchase some beverages on the way?"
Ray grinned wide, but all he said was, "And don't forget the popcorn."
It wasn't until they were settled on Fraser's second-hand couch, beers in hand and a large bowl of popcorn between them, that he realized why this felt so odd yet familiar at the same time. Could it really be he hadn't been to Ray's apartment in months? Not since-well, not for a long while, at any rate.
It was true, and Fraser felt guilty, as if he'd been punishing the one man who deserved nothing but gratitude. Fraser wanted to explain, every time Ray glanced over at him with a smile or offered him some popcorn-it wasn't that he hadn't wished for Ray's company. But seeing himself through Ray's eyes had become too painful.
Ray shouted at the screen, and Fraser realized he'd just missed an important play. The Bulls were up, barely, and every foul counted.
But Fraser was hard-pressed to pay attention to the screen. His shoulder ached with an unkind throbbing, and he was tired. He never slept much anymore, and the day had been long and filled with excitement. Not that unusual for him, but perhaps it was time to admit he was growing older.
Fraser slouched down and rested his stocking feet on the dilapidated coffee table he'd found on the street. It was made of rough, oaken boards, so though it didn't look like much, it was sturdy. He'd been thinking of Ray when he picked it up; Ray, who liked to slam his big motorcycle boots down on his own coffee table.
It was pleasant, finally having Ray here.
Fraser drifted, the sound of the game mixing with a strange, waking dream of Ray acting as a coach in the NBA. He would wear terrible suits and his tie was loose, shirt unbuttoned, nervous sweat in the hollow of his throat as he gestured and yelled rude things at the referees.
Fraser was at the foul line, and Ray was shouting a reminder-"Bloom and close, Frase!" The ball sank in, touching only the net.
"Yeah! One down, one to go!"
"What?" Fraser jolted awake at something heavy landing on his lap. His shoulder throbbed tightly as he touched the wool of his Hudson Bay blanket.
"I said you're nodding off there, Fraser. Do you want me to go?"
"No, no." Fraser didn't want Ray to leave, not so soon. Not when Fraser was finally able to sleep.
"You haven't been sleeping?" Ray sounded a little peeved.
Good Lord, had he said that out loud?
"No, not so well, lately, I must admit."
Ray sat back down beside him. "You want me to...I can sleep on the couch, if you want me to stay."
"I-" Fraser was helpless to say yes, but couldn't force himself to say the polite thing-No, go home, Ray.
"To tell the truth," Ray said slowly, "I think I'm too tired to risk driving the Goat."
Oh, this was a kindness. "Then by all means," Fraser said weakly. He pushed himself to his feet, and his shoulder shouted at him.
"Looks like that hurt," Ray said. "You should put some of that gunk you have on it."
"I'll do that. Let me get you a pillow first."
But Ray followed him into the bedroom, and reached up onto the closet shelf when Fraser opened it. Another kindness.
"Why don't you get your gunk and we'll see what's going on with the shoulder." Ray's voice was gentle, but firm. Fraser looked into Ray's dear face and felt, in that moment, such an overwhelming fondness for the man he was struck speechless.
Ray stared back for a long moment then shook his head as if dazed. "You still have some of that stuff you used on me up north? Remember after my first day tripping over my skis?"
Fraser well remembered that day, and giving Ray a quick rubdown in the tent. He'd tried to be dispassionate, mechanical, but he believed his fingertips still retained the memory of Ray's skin.
"I'll fetch it," Fraser said, nodding.
He located the homemade lineament still packed in his gear bag, and brought it back to the bedroom. When Fraser eased off his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt, Ray's hands were there to help him remove it-a mercy, since Fraser's shoulder really had grown appallingly stiff. With his back to Ray, he used his other hand to reach back and strip off his undershirt.
Ray made a sound from behind him, and Fraser looked over at his shoulder. It was, indeed, inflamed, and showing some slight bruising.
"See, that is why I let you do all the heavy lifting," Ray joked. "You're gonna need to ice that puppy afterward." He turned and left, presumably to fetch the ice.
Fraser opened the jar and applied some of the lineament to his shoulder. The muscle was tender, no doubt about it.
"Okay," Ray said as he came back in and dropped a small bag of ice on the bed, "sit down and let me do the rest." His voice rose in question, and Fraser suddenly became conscious he was half-undressed. Odd, how he hadn't noticed earlier.
But he sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned to Ray, and waited.
He heard Ray take a deep breath behind him, as if he also understood the sudden heaviness in the air. And then there was a light hand on the back of Fraser's shoulder, and with the matter-of-fact nature of Ray's touch, Fraser felt the room expand strangely. He could breathe, with Ray at his back.
Ray continued smoothing the lineament on him gently, but with long, purposeful strokes. "You have an Ace bandage or something?" His voice was low.
"In the dresser, top drawer," Fraser said.
Ray fetched it, and then draped the bag of ice over Fraser's shoulder. Fraser withheld a gasp with some difficulty. Standing behind him, Ray wrapped the bandage around, nudging under Fraser's arm so he would lift it, then threading the bandage under and across his chest, over and then under again. Ray did it all in complete silence, and by the end Fraser was trembling a little-not from pain, but the intimacy of Ray's arm hugging him so briefly, touching him with such care.
"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said, somewhat breathlessly.
"No problemo." Ray sounded a little odd himself. He stepped back and picked up his pillow from the end of the bed. "Well, I guess I'll give that couch of yours a try. Get some sleep, all right? A sleepy partner is a useless partner."
Ray took his pillow and strode away, and Fraser bent to unlace his boots, a delicate process with his arm trussed up. The cold from the ice was now pleasantly dulling the pain in his shoulder. He shucked his boots and his pants and decided to sleep as he was, in just his boxer shorts.
He could hear Ray puttering about in the other room, perhaps undressing, then the sound of the toilet, and the bathroom sink. When the living room light went off, Fraser made his way to the bathroom. On the trip back to his bed, he left the bedroom door open so he would hear Ray's familiar, light snore coming from the other room.
Fraser dreamed that night of the north, a blinding white dream, oddly peaceful.
///
Something had changed that night, because the days that followed seemed easier, warmer somehow. After analysis, Fraser realized it was because the distance between them had been erased-Ray now touched him with the same rough affection he had always shown, punching Fraser's arm when he was being too obviously disingenuous; slinging a casual forearm over Fraser's shoulders when leading him out of the bull pen.
It felt like coming home.
But with the new closeness, a not-unfamiliar tension returned, a tension he had never felt with Ray Vecchio. Sometimes Fraser would lift his head from pondering a case file, his finger rubbing absently at his lower lip, and he would catch Ray's eyes upon him.
It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant by any means. What it signified, however, made Fraser's stomach cringe a little. A tightness that warned him to look away, to stop thinking. He would tremble there, strangely on the edge of white panic, until something happened-a noise in the bullpen, or, once, while sitting on his couch, Diefenbaker's cold nose pressing against his wrist.
Fraser jolted in reaction and jerked his eyes back to the television screen. The special feature they were watching was about an ice mummy-an ancient nomad found embedded in a glacier. His desiccated body was twisted, one arm reaching up over his head.
"We never did find that hand, huh?" Ray said beside him, sounding as if he were determinedly ignoring Fraser's distraction.
"Perhaps someday we should try again." Their adventure had been cut short by unusually cold weather conditions.
"I'd like that. I liked it up there, you know? Stuff seemed...simpler." There was a question in Ray's voice. "Like anything was possible, you know?"
"Yes," Fraser agreed softly. He knew exactly what Ray meant. The tension between them had risen on that journey-the close quarters making it difficult to hide anything at all. It was then Fraser started to understand he perhaps wasn't alone in his attraction, his desire to be closer still.
But the trip had ended suddenly, and Chicago with all its bustle and confusion had taken Fraser's full attention. Settling back in, finding himself on the streets again with Ray-somehow the partnership became more important, once more, than any other considerations.
And then came Victoria, who had ruined everything, every careful glance and tentative step. He was tired to find her ruling him even still.
It seemed now, with Ray next to him on the couch, Fraser could almost taste the snow again, feel the wind and the cold of the tent and the warmth of Ray breathing quietly next to him in the dark.
Fraser had given that up. Had let her come between them-
"I guess I should go," Ray said heavily.
No, Fraser wanted to say. He took a breath to make the denial, but Ray was already standing up and turning toward the door.
But he didn't quite step forward. He stood for a long moment, and Fraser rose hastily, his heart burning.
"Ray, wait. Please..."
Ray slowly turned toward him, letting Fraser see his face at last, and Fraser's breath caught in his throat.
This was what Ray hadn't wanted him to see, had been hiding in furtive looks and behind steady blue eyes, but Fraser saw it now-the love, the care, and a terrible fear. He didn't know the source of that fear, but he couldn't bear the lines pulling down Ray's lips, the awful vulnerability of his face.
Not Ray. Never Ray, like this. Hurting. Fearful. And for Fraser to be the cause-
The long silence between them before been unnatural and wrong, but he had thought it the product of his pride and Ray's care; now he wondered if there weren't something more to it, a barrier of fear unrelated to Victoria's attack.
Attack. Yes, it was an attack, and Fraser was the victim, but could be so no longer. He took two steps toward Ray, bridging the gap between them, between his own fear and his need for Ray. Fraser felt it still like a phantasm-the ghostly pressure pushing them apart. Had it been only within him, or in Ray as well? Regardless, Fraser couldn't allow it, not for what it did to Ray's beautiful face.
Fraser was close now, and Ray's eyes, which had widened at his approached, dipped to half-mast, as if he were once again afraid to let Fraser see. Fraser lifted his hand and touched Ray's pale cheek, felt the stiff brush of his stubble tingling against his palm.
"Ray, is this...what I think it is?"
Ray's lips twitched in an uncertain smile, almost too brief to see. "Yeah, Fraser."
He must have known the doubt that tugged within Fraser, even then, because he swayed forward, tautness in his body as if ready to withdraw at an instant's notice. But Fraser found himself leaning forward to meet him, tilting Ray's head so their lips could meet.
So much blossomed within Fraser at that moment-a dark rose, blood-filled petals opening, yearning-he could almost hear the thunder of his pulse as well as feel it in his lips, in his temples. Ray's mouth was wide and supple, and the burn of his stubble against Fraser's skin welcome as a palpable difference. Ray's arms moved, and Fraser felt Ray's strong hands resting lightly on his hips.
More caution. Fraser was grateful for it, because in spite of the differences in kissing a man, his need was the same, and it was his need that had always terrified him. He had to recognize that now. Fraser needed Ray. Needed this-Ray's lips, moving softly, wetly against his. The clutch of Ray's hands tightening then releasing, as if he kept forgetting his desire to be cautious. His tongue came out to stroke along Fraser's lips, and Fraser had to contain a shudder.
Ray felt it anyway, or must have, because he pulled back. Fraser dropped his hand from Ray's cheek, his palm damp and cooling in the air, already missing the warmth. Ray was panting a little, short breaths that touched the air between them, and his eyes had grown dark.
"Wanted that," he said. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Fraser."
"About as long as I have, I imagine," Fraser said in a shaky voice.
"Yeah?" Ray's eyes dropped.
"Yes. Oh, yes, Ray. Please-" He tugged gently on Ray's arm, leading him toward the couch.
Fraser picked up the half-empty bowl of popcorn and set it on the floor, ignoring Dief's happy pounce in favor of pulling Ray down beside him.
Then Ray was once again close, his lips planting small, lingering kisses, one after another, on Fraser's mouth. It was delightful. Tender. Nothing of what Fraser had expected of his volatile and energetic partner. Fraser tried to return the kisses, but Ray's pattern grew uneven and playful, lips glancing all over Fraser's face, until finally Fraser grew frustrated and caught the back of Ray's head, holding him still.
Ray laughed against his cheek, and then Fraser captured his lips and deepened the kiss. He thrust his tongue into Ray's mouth, and was shocked when Ray gripped it with his lips and sucked hungrily. Fraser felt a vague stirring of desire, and almost bit his own tongue when his jaw closed reflexively.
"Hey," Ray said, but Fraser gripped his arms and pushed him until he was slouched back against the arm of the sofa.
Fraser took a moment to gather himself while Ray's blue eyes stayed on him, waiting.
"Let me...just let me," Fraser said, and when Ray nodded his permission, Fraser bent himself to explore. His tongue rasped against the stubble on Ray's jaw, and he enjoyed the sensation so much he continued, licking until Ray's stifled laugh told him it was perhaps too much, too strange. Fraser targeted the lobe of Ray's ear, teasing it with his tongue before catching it between his teeth.
Ray moaned beneath him and his hips lifted, the heat of his erection pressing against Fraser's thigh.
Fraser lifted his head and looked down at Ray's flushed face and his heaving chest.
"Can you take off your shirt?" Fraser asked.
Ray lunged up and scrabbled off his T-shirt hastily, revealing beautiful, pale skin, unscarred and perfect. Fraser leaned over planted a trail of kisses from Ray's collarbone on down, following the path with his fingers close behind, until he reached Ray's left nipple. Fraser stroked it with his tongue and felt it firm. He lifted his head and blew a puff of air across it until it was rigidly erect, then he sucked it into his mouth.
Ray groaned loudly, his chest reverberating against Fraser's cheek.
"God, Fraser!" Ray's fingers plucked desperately at the back of Fraser's Henley. "Wanna touch you. Take this off."
Fraser drew back, but his hands wouldn't stop exploring. Ray's gaze was unfocused, and he bit his lower lip when Fraser caught his nipple between his thumb and index finger.
"C'mon, take it off," Ray said, his voice somewhat strangled.
Fraser shook his head, suddenly mute.
Some of the haze faded from Ray's eyes, and he frowned. Fraser purposefully let his hand roam lower, until he could press his palm against the solid heat just to the side of Ray's zipper. Ray's eyes fluttered closed and his tongue came out to swipe at his lips. A moment later, though, his eyes opened again, staring somewhat accusingly.
"Let me?" Fraser said hoarsely. "Only let me-" he said again, leaving the rest unspoken. He waited for Ray's puzzled nod, then bent his head and rubbed his mouth against Ray's erection beneath his jeans, the material rough under his lips. Ray moaned something incomprehensible and stilled abruptly, waiting.
Fraser moved downward, outlining the thick shape with his lips but not his teeth, feeling it twitch and harden further.
"Jesus," Ray murmured. "Please, Frase, you gotta-"
"Yes." Fraser took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent overlaid with fabric softener-no wonder Ray's jeans were always so supple, outlining his assets so wonderfully.
Fraser straightened and gripped the top button of Ray's fly, yanking to the side so they popped open in a rapid sequence. He heard Ray moan with relief at the ease of pressure. His next moans had a different flavor, when Fraser reached into the top of Ray's briefs and took Ray's hot, tender erection into his hand. He stroked once, and Ray's hips rose, his body an arc of pleasure.
"Oh, God," Ray said. "Anything, do something-"
This was power, in a strange way. It thrilled Fraser unexpectedly, and with his heart pounding hard, he slid to his knees beside the couch and put his lips over the head of Ray's erection. Ray's cock, in his mouth. Ray's hoarse cries in his ears, sounding like he was undergoing the most delicious torment.
Fraser could do this. He could do this because this part didn't frighten him, even if he wasn't familiar with the mechanics of having a cock within his mouth. He knew at least to keep his teeth carefully covered. He would do no damage-bring only pleasure to Ray. His partner in all things now.
Tightening his grip, Fraser stroked from below quickly while he continued to drift his tongue over Ray's sensitive, tight skin. The flavor of Ray's musk merged with the pre-ejaculate seeping from the tip. Ray's hips jerked, and Fraser pressed down with one hand, controlling him. For the first time in months, Fraser felt his own erection beginning, a welcomed excitement, so long missed. He rose and fell, taking Ray in and letting him slide out again, pressing his lips closed until Ray's cock forced them open over and over again.
Ray's fingers suddenly sank into Fraser's hair and he called out his name-"Fraser. God, Fraser!"-and Fraser quickened the movement of his tongue, coaxing Ray's orgasm into his mouth, easing to a slow milking of Ray's jerking shaft. When Ray let out a low sigh, Fraser stopped and let his softening penis rest within his mouth for a moment before withdrawing.
"Christ on a bike," Ray said breathlessly. "Come up here."
Gladly, Fraser shuffled over so he could meet Ray's lips in a kiss, pressing him down against the cushions in his eagerness to taste Ray's mouth once again. They kissed, and kissed some more, until Fraser felt a strange tingling in his face, a buzzing, and his heart beat too fast, racing in his chest.
Ray pulled back, their lips parting noisily. "Need to breathe...geez."
Oh, yes. Breathing. It hadn't really seemed important.
Putting his hand on Fraser's shoulder, Ray used him as a support to pull himself to a seated position. Their knees collided, and then Ray slid down until he had a leg on either side of Fraser's, trapping him.
Then Ray reached for the bottom of Fraser's shirt, lifting it and saying, "My turn to see the goods." He was smiling broadly, but his expression changed abruptly, and he looked down. Fraser realized he was clutching tightly onto Ray's hands, preventing them from raising his shirt. He tried to release his grip but found he couldn't seem to.
"O-okay." Ray shook out of his hands and leaned back, raising his palms. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
"I...I'm s-sorry, Ray-"
"Hey, no problem." But Ray sounded upset, and he was frowning, dark wrinkles appearing between his eyes. Fraser couldn't bear to see his disappointment, and lowered his gaze. His hands were clenched on his thighs.
He was spoiling this. Ruining the sweet intimacy they had finally found, and couldn't understand the reason for it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Ray had seen him without his shirt on. Just weeks ago, in fact-
"It's no big deal-don't get your panties in a knot, Fraser."
Ray was trying to reassure him. It made it worse, somehow, because this was his fault. But he couldn't-he just couldn't seem to-it was different, now. They were different. Ray was-Ray was staring at him, Fraser could feel it, and embarrassment crawled up his neck.
Ray pushed himself up to sit on the couch, and shifted if he were preparing to stand.
"Don't go," Fraser said. "Please, just give me-"
"Not going anywhere," Ray interrupted him easily, his voice light. "Just grabbing my brewski." He reached past Fraser to pluck the bottle from the coffee table.
Relief swamping him, Fraser rose from his knees and settled back onto the couch beside Ray. Fraser's earlier arousal had died completely, and he felt a hollow ache in his groin. Blue balls, Ray Vecchio had once called the phenomenon, complaining about the sudden disappearance of the beautiful ATF agent he'd fallen for.
But thinking of his old friend just ached like another kind of bruise, another kind of shame.
"So, uh," Ray said, still sounding not at all angry. Which was strange. Fraser knew his odd behavior often inspired frustration in his friend.
"Yes, well." Fraser roused himself to turn his head and look at him.
Ray tipped his bottle at him in a request for him to continue.
"I'm sorry I ruined the mood," Fraser said. "I just wasn't quite prepared."
Ray's smile was wry. "No proper preparation, huh?"
The little joke did much to ease Fraser's embarrassment. "Tragically, no."
"You know, I have seen you naked before, Fraser. Well, almost-" Ray pinked a little and his blue eyes darted away.
"It's different now," Fraser said, not wanting to try to explain why.
"Yeah, I know. Shit." Ray put down his beer and scrubbed his palms over his face. His fingers ended up in his hair, scratching under the spikes. "Everything's been different ever since-" He cut himself off. "Oh. Oh, I'm a moron."
Fraser found himself curling forward, his fists clenched under his arms.
"Whoa. Don't go all Turtle on me, Fraser." He felt Ray's hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, just resting there. "Maybe you shouldn't expect to just hop into the deep end. Paddle around in the kiddie pool for a while-scratch that, weird mental image. What I mean is, why don't we take a time out-"
"No!" The response was visceral-his heart, his gut shouted a denial. He turned toward Ray and put a hand on his leg; clutched at it, really. "I love being with you, touching you-kissing you. I've been waiting for this for so long-waiting for you, Ray. Don't make me stop-"
"Okay, okay, already. Take a Mountie pill." But Ray's grin was a thing to behold. His eyes went soft. "See, for a second there I thought you were just, you know, humoring me."
Fraser's expression must have shown his incomprehension, because Ray shrugged, his eyes dropping. "I thought you were giving me a good time when you weren't really into it yourself. I mean, you had to know I've been wanting this-"
"God. No, Ray. No." Fraser had to kiss him then, kiss away the self-deprecating smile. "It was me, Ray. My fault. I lost the ball."
A snort of laughter. "Dropped the ball, you mean."
"Yes, yes. Dropped the ball."
"But you still wanna touch mine, yeah?"
Fraser felt himself flush.
"Good to know. Good to know." The teasing voice gentled, and Ray leaned forward. Fraser leaned, too, thinking Ray meant to kiss him again-he could never have enough of Ray's lips-but Ray just titled his forehead until their heads were touching. "So, we'll just work on the rest," he said softly.
"Now?" Fraser's heart quailed.
"Next time. Next time, Frase. I guarantee you there is gonna be a next time."
"God, yes." Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray and felt him do the same, holding him tightly.
It was a simple thing, but Fraser thought he had never felt so much love in his life as he did right then, in that moment.
He told himself he would do his damnedest to deserve it.
///
The next day was filled with an uncustomary amount of Consulate work. Officer Perry had to fly to Ottawa for a conference, and Fraser was left holding down the fort with Constable Dailey, Turnbull's replacement. Dailey was a fresh-faced young woman from Toronto who seemed almost tongue-tied in Fraser's presence-he had to assume it was due to his adventures with Ray and the nuclear submarine incident. Fraser tried his best to put her at ease, but finally had to hand her a stack of GRC 3584 stroke E forms and push her, still blushing, toward her desk.
The rest of the day Fraser fielded phone calls and attempted to tear his mind away from Ray-from the sweet sounds he'd made as Fraser held him in his mouth, from the kisses Ray delivered, so much more than delightful. From the upcoming evening, and the possibilities it promised, both of pleasure and perhaps failure.
He couldn't understand how there could be anything Ray could offer him that he wouldn't want to accept, and yet the night before he had refused. Had been intimidated, almost revolted at the thought. Anxious.
Afraid.
He'd been afraid of what his reaction would be should Ray strip him, touch him intimately.
Fear of failure wasn't something he could afford in his working life. To question, to throw doubts on his abilities would lessen them; limit him. Ray, he knew, had a similar philosophy-was gung ho in every endeavor he engaged in, from work to his personal life. He would expect the same from Fraser. He would respect the effort, at least, and so Fraser would try.
The afternoon included a frantic phone call from Officer Perry requesting Fraser gather some statistics he'd neglected to bring with him, and so the time passed all too quickly. Before Fraser knew it, Dief was raising his head at a familiar step in the hallway.
Fraser locked up Officer Perry's office and found Ray chatting with Constable Dailey, whose blush seemed to double when Fraser appeared. Fraser retrieved his hat, they made their farewells, and then Fraser was urging Ray out the door.
"In a hurry there, Frase?" Ray started up the GTO. The ubiquitous toothpick hung from the corner of Ray's all-too-kissable mouth, and Fraser found himself almost as tongue-tied as Dailey.
Ray chattered enough for the both of them on the drive over to Fraser's apartment. He was having a one-sided dialog with Dief about the way he'd been flirting with the Pekinese in 5-F, and mentioned something about the anatomical impossibilities thereof, which made Dief snort in disgust for human small-minded thinking.
Fraser half-listened, the rest of his mind taken up with berating himself for his lack of courage, because the closer they drew to the apartment the more Fraser's palms dampened and itched with sweat.
Ray seemed to be ignoring his nervousness. He pulled off his leather jacket, complained about Fraser's limited cable, and settled down on the couch with a beer he'd taken from the fridge and a pack of chips he'd carried up from the car. Fraser concerned himself with making coffee.
"You should get a turtle like Maximus," Ray said, munching. "You need a pet in here. Dief doesn't count-" Ray grinned at Dief's whine, "-he's a roommate, not a pet."
"I think perhaps I'll get a frog instead," Fraser said, joking, but Ray surprised him by nodding in approval.
"I grew a frog from a tadpole, once. He was great, especially the way it was easy to feed him on flies and stuff from around the house."
"What was his name?"
"Leroy. Leroy the Frog." Ray smiled fondly and tipped back the rest of his beer. He crunched the can in his fist and then lay sideways on the couch, his boots already off.
It was nice seeing Ray so comfortable here, in Fraser's home. But the move was also something of an obvious invitation, and Fraser's nervousness returned.
He forced himself to take his cup over to the coffee table, and then sat on the edge beside Ray's knee. Fraser rested one hand on Ray's thigh. He could feel the damp heat of his palm melding into Ray's leg. Ray was staring up at him, his face open and trusting, his eyes already darkening.
Fraser wet his lips nervously, and then leaned down.
Ray rose up to meet him, a grateful noise escaping from his mouth just as it met Fraser's.
And then Fraser forgot why he was nervous, because this was already familiar-the taste of Ray and beer, and the playfulness of his mouth, his lips. Fraser kissed him until his lower back began to ache, and then he slid to his knees beside the couch, eager to do again what he'd done the night before-take Ray into himself, make him shiver and moan and say Fraser's name in that way unlike any other.
Losing no time at all, he unfastened Ray's jeans and bent to his task. He was getting better at this, he thought to himself as he went deeper onto Ray's cock. But the angle wasn't very good, and the pressure at the back of his throat was a little uncomfortable, so he shifted until he was facing Ray's feet, with one elbow braced on the other side of Ray's hips, trapping the bunching of his open jeans.
When Fraser pushed himself all the way down, until all of Ray's cock was within his mouth and throat, Ray whimpered, a beautiful sound, and came in a series of aborted jerks. Fraser coughed as he pulled away, and wiped the semen from his lips with the back of his hand as he swallowed.
"Christ, you killed me," Ray said. "Even better this time."
Fraser smiled, feeling a little smug. Just then his erection, neglected and trapped within his uniform pants, throbbed painfully. He was fully erect, excited just from kissing Ray and bringing him to orgasm. Fraser suppressed a groan and shifted his knees apart to get more comfortable.
Ray put his hand on Fraser's shoulder and pushed at him until he faced him once again.
"Kiss me?" Ray said, sounding a little lost.
"Gladly," Fraser murmured, leaning down. Ray licked at his mouth, along his lips, tasting himself, Fraser realized, before he thrust his tongue into Fraser's mouth. Fraser rested his elbow on the side of the couch so he could kiss Ray more deeply, kiss him until their taste was one, a mix of beer and Ray's come and the two of them. It was close to heaven.
Ray's hand, which had continued to rest on Fraser's shoulder, slid down to his chest, and he tugged at Fraser's tunic. He broke the kiss.
"Take this off, huh? You're looking like a lobster."
It was rather hot in Fraser's apartment, although he'd never found it so before. Fraser stood to more easily remove his tunic, leaving him in his undershirt, and then sat with his back to the couch to remove his boots. He froze momentarily when Ray touched his bare shoulder, and then Ray's fingers moved to the back of Fraser's neck, pushing into the hair there and sending shivers down Fraser's spine. He let his head drop forward in a silent plea, and Ray's fingers traveled upward, scratching lightly at his scalp.
"You like that, huh?" Ray said, sounding husky and strangely grateful. "I like it, too," he said, and now the sadness was plainly evident, and Fraser understood. He nodded once, to acknowledge the point, but then shook his head a moment later when Ray's hand slid down his side.
"C'mon. You've got to be hurting," Ray said uncertainly.
"Yes, I-" Fraser wanted to reassure Ray. "I need to-" It did hurt. His groin ached with a need for completion, something he hadn't felt for months. But he also felt a sense of dread at the thought of being naked, of Ray touching him there, and he knew as soon as he tried to let Ray do so, the need would slip away like heat through a chink in the wall.
Right now, though, it felt so strong. Without thinking, he put his hand down and covered himself. A gasp escaped him, and he felt Ray twitch behind him, an aborted movement. Ray understood, then.
"Why don't you...?" Ray's breathy suggestion brushed against Fraser's ear. He was close, but not touching. "Touch yourself, Frase. I'm right here."
Fraser shuddered, and under his palm his erection jerked hard at the thought. Close, but not too close. He could possibly do this. If Ray didn't touch him. If he only touched himself.
Fraser's breath heaved a little in his chest as he opened the fasteners on his pants, making enough room to slip his hand in and-God. Pleasure, elusive and dampened for these many months, surged through him. Even handling himself in the shower he hadn't felt any craving for more.
Fraser gripped himself harder and stroked once, pushing his foreskin down and then up again. He shuddered at the sensation.
"God, Fraser," Ray said, and Fraser was brought back to himself with a jolt, the awareness of Ray's eyes on him, of Ray's breath brushing gently against the side of his neck. God, Ray was watching him, watching the movement of his hand inside his pants.
Fraser found the thought incredibly arousing, but a little terrifying at the same time. Adrenaline washed through him, and the next stroke, and then the next, followed without conscious thought, his excitement such that even when Ray rested his chin on Fraser's shoulder, he didn't stop.
Normally he would be appalled at having himself observed in this act, but oddly it felt almost as if Ray was giving him permission to feel excitement, to enjoy this, his touch upon his own body. He panted out Ray's name, and then Ray kissed his shoulder, and Fraser let his head sink back against Ray's warmth, hand moving faster now in short, tight strokes, until finally he reached the summit, and went over into pure, electrifying pleasure.
"Oh, oh," Fraser heard himself crying out, as his long-starved body convulsed with the force of it. His hand now slid smoothly over himself as he made a last few gentle glides over his now-sensitive cock. He felt as if he could melt, his bones and flesh melding into one.
"That was so hot," Ray said, sounding relieved for some reason. Fraser let his head roll to the side, and Ray's lips were close, so he kissed them lazily, barely having the energy to open his mouth to Ray's tongue.
After a while, Fraser became self-conscious about his messy state-pants still half-open with his hand damp and sticky within. He forced himself to stand, his back turned toward Ray, and fasten himself up, and then went to the kitchen for a towel.
Ray was lying there, one hand idly rubbing his belly, the other holding his beer, when Fraser returned, a blush still burning his cheeks.
"Hey, think it's too late to catch a game?" Ray said, his voice perfectly normal. Fraser wanted to laugh with relief, but instead he nodded, and later, after they ordered Chinese food, he pretended not to notice when Ray let Dief steal his pot stickers straight from the carton.
///
End of Part 1. Go on to Part 2.
Author: arrow00
Pairing: Fraser/RayK
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 15,422 total
Warnings: Reference to non-con event (Fraser/Victoria). Could be triggery due to this. There are, however, no graphic descriptions.
Categories: FT, post-CoTW, angst up the ass
Beta: The fabulous nos4a2no9
Summary: Fraser had always found it comforting to keep a space around him, a discrete two feet. Very few people passed that boundary. He remembered overhearing his neighbor, Mrs. Gamez, saying once, "I want to give him a big hug, but I'm afraid I will wrinkle him."
No one had wrinkled him for a good, long time-until Ray Kowalski appeared in his life, lunged at him, and crashed into him with a 'Fraser, buddy!' that left him reeling for more than one reason.
A/N: This really is secretlybronte's fault for having that writing party and nos4a2no9's too for being so goddamned supportive and encouraging.
[This story is a sequel to A Small Mercy. It makes sense to read that one first.]
All the Space, and Time
By Arrow
It seemed Fraser had always stood like this-trapped before death, a fly in amber, caught between need and duty.
An anonymous donation had saved her from having the ugly, utilitarian, pauper's plaque. This headstone was granite, carved deeply with the simple facts of her name and the dates of her existence.
Ray didn't know he was here. Perhaps he would decry it-not the act of being here, but the need that prompted it. The same need that'd had Fraser lighting a hundred candles and waiting by the window for a knock that never came.
Why had he fastened on her with such need? He could argue their situation, in extremis, nearly frozen by the cold, made for the kind of romantic saga that had captured his heart in his youth; had taught him to expect eternal love where there was none.
But she had felt it, too. He knew that much. She had been compelled, as was he, the only difference being she was also compelled to hate him for what he had done.
He still couldn't quite forgive himself for following his duty, but he also could not, even to this day, believe he could have acted any other way. He was who he was. He thought perhaps it was that quality within him that caused her to love him in the first place.
And hate him, too, of course. He could name it now-what she had done to him in her revenge, what she had taken.
His shoulders protested, still sore, as he bent and placed the volume of poetry on the headstone before walking away.
///
Fraser had always found it comforting to keep a space around him, a discrete two feet. Very few people passed that boundary. He remembered overhearing his neighbor, Mrs. Gamez, saying once, "I want to give him a big hug, but I'm afraid I will wrinkle him."
No one had wrinkled him for a good, long time-until Ray Kowalski appeared in his life, lunged at him, and crashed into him with a 'Fraser, buddy!' that left him reeling for more than one reason.
It wasn't his Ray, but a new Ray, a very different Ray.
His Ray Vecchio had been close, had dipped into his space in friendship, in brotherhood, in what Fraser liked to think of as Old Country affection-a marker of his Italian heritage.
But this Ray-this new Ray, not yet his, but becoming so faster than Fraser would have believed possible-entered fully into Fraser's space, invaded it like a Hun, and Fraser was deeply surprised to discover he didn't mind. He found he liked it. He even grew to need it.
And then he lost it.
After Victoria-after she came in the night and did her worst one last time before dying-Ray stopped entering Fraser's space. And Fraser understood why-really, who could blame Ray for being tentative, for avoiding touching him, when Fraser himself was uncertain whether he would welcome it, whether he deserved it. He was a changed man, damaged in both their eyes. Perhaps even as much as when he was nearly paralyzed by a misplaced bullet.
Fraser was also grateful for the reprieve. He had, for too long, been hovering on the edge of a dangerous obsession toward his partner, born of Ray's fey good looks and easy manner; of those hundreds of touches, rough and bold and presumptive.
Now Fraser had his space. So why did it feel as if the rooms he occupied were losing air, as if they were shrinking around him?
He needed to breathe.
///
The asphalt scraped hard under his palms, and then he was running again, trying to catch up to Ray, who hadn't waited-why hadn't he waited?
Because Fraser was slow. Too slow. By the time he came around the side of the building, Ray was in a standoff, gun out with his other palm up, entreating. The thief, hardly more than a boy, thin as a rail and with wild black hair, was holding a tiny pistol, the kind a woman might conceal in a handbag.
Tiny, but it could be deadly nonetheless. Ray wasn't wearing a vest today, and Fraser hung back, afraid to disrupt the tableau. He clenched his fists, feeling a wince in the torn skin of his palms.
"-Is what I'm thinking, you know? I mean you don't want to get into a big mess here, kiddo." Ray's voice was utterly calm and even.
"But I gotta take care of Joey! I'm the only one looking out for us!"
"I know. And it's gonna be okay. Just put down the gun before someone gets shot or something. You don't want that on you-believe me. I promise we'll figure something out for your brother."
And just like that the boy was sagging, all parts of him, from his shoulders to the hand holding the gun, all wilting down. Ray stepped forward without haste and relieved him of the pistol.
Fraser felt something move in his chest-it felt like relief, but it was painful, too. He stepped back until he could lean his shoulders against the brick wall.
Ray read the boy his rights and cuffed him gently, then turned toward Fraser. He gave Fraser an odd look, tilting his head. Fraser waved his hand.
Together they all walked back to the bodega, and after taking the clerk's statement, Ray drove them to the station. Once there, Ray had an intense talk with Child Services, but Fraser bowed out, departing with a quick farewell.
Ray didn't need him.
///
Fraser awoke early, as was his custom of late. First light had barely begun to creep through the blinds, making his office appear dim and ugly. He roused himself to dress in a sweat suit and sneakers, and then took Diefenbaker out for a run.
Their daily runs had increased in duration commensurate with his earlier mornings. He thought he had never been in such good physical condition, which made it difficult to understand why he had failed Ray yesterday by tripping over his own feet.
On the last leg of his run, though, his breath grew short. The closer he drew to the Consulate, the more difficult he found it to draw in air.
One month, now. It had been a month, and part of him, the part that cherished duty, that took pride in his place, berated him for his weakness. But the Consulate after hours, when he was alone there with no one but Dief for company, felt a hollow and haunted place.
Perhaps he should move. The thought seemed like an indulgence, and as always when he had such ideas, he wondered what Ray would say.
He picked up the phone without thinking and dialed.
"Yeah?" Ray sounded hoarse. Oh, dear, Fraser had woken him. For a split second he felt too embarrassed to speak; he even thought of hanging up without identifying himself.
"Fraser, is that you?"
Wondering how Ray had known, Fraser cleared his throat and said, "Yes, Ray. I'm sorry to disturb you so early."
"Don't do that, don't apologize," Ray said quietly, with that same unusual patience he'd been showing of late. "What's up?"
"I've been thinking about moving," Fraser said abruptly.
He heard Ray sigh. "Well, it's about damned time, yeah? You want some help finding a place?"
Fraser felt a profound relief, as if he'd been relieved of some duty, absolved of a major sin. "No, that's quite all right, Ray. I just wondered...if you thought it was a good idea."
"Better than good. Hey, I'll bring you the listings at lunch."
"Thank you, Ray." Fraser choked a little. "That would be perfect."
///
The next few weeks were somewhat chaotic, since Fraser had to juggle searching for an apartment appropriately near a park, completing his paperwork, and acquiring American funds-the building manager seemed oddly unwilling to accept the security deposit in Canadian moneys. And then, of course, Fraser had to move. Ray offered to help, but Fraser wanted to do it alone.
He remembered Ray Vecchio griping about his old neighborhood on Racine. This new area was slightly better. Fraser threw away his cot and bought a real bed. The apartment itself had two very large rooms and a tiny kitchen. And a fire escape, which was essential to obtain Diefenbaker's approval.
They both were more content in the new place. The air felt more open; living there, in some strange way, felt like a return to better times.
///
Fraser had taken to jogging with Dief to the Consulate in the mornings and showering and changing there. He arrived early this morning, since it was Tuesday and Ray would be picking him up for a full day of liaising.
Ever since their return, Inspector Thatcher's replacement, Chief Liaison Officer Perry, had been oddly amenable to lending out Fraser's services to the Chicago Police Department, claiming the partnership was "positive PR" for Canadian-American relations.
Frankly, Fraser believed Officer Perry simply didn't know what else to do with him. It would seem odd to put the man who'd been instrumental in recovering a stolen nuclear submarine on simple guard duty.
That notoriety was also useful with the CPD brass, who had started making noises about issuing Fraser a special badge with jurisdictional authority in Cook County. They wanted him to carry a weapon. It had been a long time since he had last done so, but he found he relished the idea of having that comforting weight back on his hip.
He was showered and just tying his tie when he heard the knock at the front door. The Consulate was not yet open to visitors, so Fraser felt all right stepping out in less than full uniform to answer it.
Ray stood on the doorstep, a cup in each hand. "Sorry for the early revelry, there, buddy. I brought a peace offering."
"I believe that's 'reveilles', Ray," Fraser took the cup and sniffed. The deep aroma of strong black coffee made him smile. "Thank you kindly. And a good morning to you, as well."
Ray gave him a grin and followed him back to his office, talking all the way. "It's like I was saying yesterday-Milroy's alibi is crap. Last night I dug up the skinny on his so-called fiancé and it turns out she's imported talent from Vegas-a high-class penthouse girl who works for a guy named Pete Ramsey. And get this-she used to work for the Bookman before he vanished so mysteriously."
The name stopped Fraser dead with one arm in his brown tunic. "Ray-"
"You should give Vecchio a call," Ray said in a rush. "Maybe he knows the connection between Ramsey and Milroy."
"Yes, I suppose."
Ray turned from fiddling with Fraser's stapler to face him. "You suppose? What's to think about?"
"No-nothing." Fraser turned and donned his tunic, straightened his tie, and put on the wide Sam Browne, all the while thinking of the impossibility of speaking to Ray Vecchio. Ray, who knew her, who tried to shoot her. Who carried his own guilt for failing and putting a bullet in Fraser's back instead. How would he react if he knew what had happened later?
It didn't bear consideration.
"Why don't you call him, Ray?" Fraser said casually while he finished with the strap.
"Me? He's your pal, Fraser. Me and Vecchio aren't exactly simpatico."
"Yes, but since this is strictly police business...I'll just call him on my own time." Fraser looked up to check his hair in the mirror and caught an expression of pained concern on Ray's face.
Don't. Please, Ray.
"Does he know, uh, about her? That she's dead, I mean?"
"I don't know," Fraser said abruptly. "Perhaps Lieutenant Welsh-"
"Fraser-"
"To the point-now that we know where Milroy wasn't, shall we endeavor to prove where he was?" Fraser said quickly.
Ray gave a slight shake of his head and stuck both hands in his pockets. But he said nothing as Fraser picked up his hat and waved Diefenbaker toward the door.
///
Ray hung up the phone. "Vecchio says Milroy was deep in Ramsey's pocket-borrowed capital from him for setting up a numbers racket that didn't pan out. So it looks like Ramsey was protecting his investment."
Fraser nodded.
"Vecchio said, 'Tell Benny hey from me. And what, he's forgotten my number?'"
Suppressing a wince, Fraser picked up the case file he'd been poring over. "Parker was killed between approximately ten-thirty p.m. and one-thirty a.m. the next morning. Milroy's last reliable alibi was at the Double Door nightclub around nine-thirty."
"Right," Ray said, then jabbed two fingers at him. "Trixie, that waitress. She said he was doing the big spender thing, like he liked being noticed."
"Precisely." Fraser put down the file and laced his hands together. He could see Ray's mind working a mile a minute, as always-the man had a brain like a meat grinder, meant in the most complimentary sense. Facts went in, and out came a nice steak tartar.
"So Milroy wants to be remembered cross-town at nine-thirty hanging out with his fiancé," Ray made tick quotes, "Denise. He leaves with her, but they had to have split up-" Ray snapped his fingers. "That's it. Unless she came along for the murder-which, doubt he'd want a witness-she must've taken a cab from the Double Door. All we gotta do is get call logs from the cab companies and then take a shot of her with us when we find the right cabbie. Milroy's alibi will be toast."
Fraser couldn't help smiling in satisfaction-at Ray's keen mind, at the boundless enthusiasm the man had for police work.
They ran down the evidence just as Ray had predicted, and Denise crumpled-"Like wet cardboard," Ray said-when confronted about her solo cab ride. The evidence started to mount up. Parker's safe deposit box yielded papers implicating Milroy in a handful of felonious racketeering schemes and warned, in the event of his untimely death, to look at Milroy, who had threatened him physical harm; an eye-witness surfaced when they canvassed Parker's apartment complex-she identified Milroy as the man she'd seen leaving the building at approximately eleven o'clock. As the pieces fell into place, Ray grew even more excited. He practically crackled with energy, and Fraser often found himself having to glance away or be caught staring.
Finally, they had the last puzzle piece: the provenance of the murder weapon, a knife nosed up by Diefenbaker in the bushes behind the building. It belonged to a set originally confiscated as possible evidence from Milroy's kitchen.
They drove to arrest Milroy at the single-room occupancy hotel where he was staying. Ray looked to be on fire, every sinew tight with anticipation. Fraser felt an answering excitement stirring him, the deadened sensation he'd been laboring under for months suddenly scaling away.
The hotel was a sleazy one with no elevator. They consulted the desk for Milroy's room number and were walking up the stairs when Fraser's sharp hearing caught the desk attendant calling Milroy to warn him.
"Hurry, Ray," Fraser said, bounding up the stairs with Diefenbaker just ahead.
"Fraser!" Ray hissed, but the urgency of the chase was in Fraser's blood. Ray was the one with the warrant, but when Fraser leaned an ear against the door he heard the rattle of heavy shoes on metals steps-the fire escape. So Fraser kicked open the door and followed.
It had been forever since Fraser had had the pleasure of chasing a malfeasant up a fire escape and over the rooftops. He was aware, of course, that Milroy might be armed, but the fact had no impact on Fraser's speed or the caution he employed. Nor did Ray's low-voiced, angry threats coming from behind. He saw only the brown-suited man in the black toupee charging desperately away.
They were closing on the gap between two buildings. When Fraser saw Milroy's intent, he had only a second to consider Milroy's height, heaviness and seeming lack of shape before yelling frantically, "Halt! Milroy, you'll never make it!"
Indeed, Milroy's leap was somewhat short of the mark, and he ended up scrabbling desperately for a handhold as he hung over the side of the next-door building. Fraser made the jump easily and struggled to help the man, who was now clinging, bug-eyed with fear, to the curved tiles cemented to the edge of the roof. Just as Milroy lost his grip, Fraser laid himself down and caught his hand. And then the full weight of the man threatened to pull Fraser's arm from his socket.
He felt the double-thump of Ray landing on the roof by his side. Milroy yelled, "Please, God, please don't lemme go, don't lemme go!" He was twisting and kicking frantically, and Fraser felt something in his shoulder strain from the torsion. He gritted his teeth.
Ray yelled, "Hang on!" and suddenly his grip joined Fraser's. Together they hauled the struggling, swearing man up and over the side.
Instantly on his feet, Ray pulled out his handcuffs, cursing furiously. "Do not think of fucking with me, chump," he said as he yanked Milroy's hands behind his back.
The socket of Fraser's shoulder was on fire, and he found he couldn't move for fear it would worsen. But that was stupidity; he knew it. He needed to realign the shoulder before the muscles froze. Groaning softly, Fraser got to his knees and then pulled on his own wrist until the pain stopped with a snapping sensation.
He grayed out a little, and the next thing he knew Ray was crouching next to him.
"Hey, there. What's going on?" Ray's voice was uncommonly gentle, especially in contrast to the way he'd read Milroy his Miranda warning.
Fraser suddenly longed, with all his heart, for Ray to treat him with the same rough and almost antagonistic affection he'd always shown.
"I'm afraid my shoulder was out of joint. It's back in position, now," Fraser explained. He automatically tried to rise by putting his hand down, and paid the price. Cautiously, he rolled to the other side and got to his feet, aware of Ray's hands hovering nearby as if to help.
"C'mon," Ray said, "let's take this turkey to the roasting box."
Fraser hid a smile at the pun and followed.
///
Lieutenant Welsh seemed what passed for overjoyed. "Constable, Detective-much against my will I must confess to being somewhat impressed. Congratulations, gentlemen."
Ray's fierce scowl did nothing to hide how he fairly glowed under the praise. Fraser, too, felt a sense of immense satisfaction at their solving the tricky case.
"C'mon, Fraser. There's a brewski with my name on it down at Hugo's."
Diefenbaker, who'd suffered being left behind for the arrest quite willingly thanks to it being doughnut day at the squad, perked up his chin at the mention of Hugo's, which also, as Fraser recalled, served fish and chips.
And so Fraser ended up ordering double, because there really was no controlling his lupine companion when both grease and fish were involved. Ray did the same, and ordered a beer-Canadian, Fraser was unsurprised to note. Fraser made do with a cup of hot bar coffee, which was quite vile, but better than their tea.
"So," Ray said, knocking his bottle down on the table with a sigh. "Today was pretty great, huh?"
"Yes, I believe justice was served, and quite well."
"Not just that." Ray paused, and then continued strangely, "You seemed better. More on."
Fraser held his breath. It was the first mention Ray had made of Fraser's...mood of late.
"I mean, I'm no Nosy Parker, you know that, Fraser." Ray seemed very intent on his beer bottle. "I'm just saying I think things are getting better for you."
Ray was his friend, Fraser reminded himself, even as his back stiffened. His friend, who had been extraordinarily patient with Fraser's rudeness and distance.
He coughed and forced himself to say cautiously, "Yes, I'm...much happier not staying at the Consulate. And, of course, Diefenbaker approves of the new apartment."
"That's good, Fraser. Real good."
"Perhaps you might come over sometime. I have a television." Fraser winced internally at the somewhat pathetic offer.
But Ray's face brightened. "Sure, yeah. That'd be great. There's a game on tonight-"
Tonight. Well, it was sudden, but surely there was no reason not to have Ray over.
"All right, Ray. Why don't we purchase some beverages on the way?"
Ray grinned wide, but all he said was, "And don't forget the popcorn."
It wasn't until they were settled on Fraser's second-hand couch, beers in hand and a large bowl of popcorn between them, that he realized why this felt so odd yet familiar at the same time. Could it really be he hadn't been to Ray's apartment in months? Not since-well, not for a long while, at any rate.
It was true, and Fraser felt guilty, as if he'd been punishing the one man who deserved nothing but gratitude. Fraser wanted to explain, every time Ray glanced over at him with a smile or offered him some popcorn-it wasn't that he hadn't wished for Ray's company. But seeing himself through Ray's eyes had become too painful.
Ray shouted at the screen, and Fraser realized he'd just missed an important play. The Bulls were up, barely, and every foul counted.
But Fraser was hard-pressed to pay attention to the screen. His shoulder ached with an unkind throbbing, and he was tired. He never slept much anymore, and the day had been long and filled with excitement. Not that unusual for him, but perhaps it was time to admit he was growing older.
Fraser slouched down and rested his stocking feet on the dilapidated coffee table he'd found on the street. It was made of rough, oaken boards, so though it didn't look like much, it was sturdy. He'd been thinking of Ray when he picked it up; Ray, who liked to slam his big motorcycle boots down on his own coffee table.
It was pleasant, finally having Ray here.
Fraser drifted, the sound of the game mixing with a strange, waking dream of Ray acting as a coach in the NBA. He would wear terrible suits and his tie was loose, shirt unbuttoned, nervous sweat in the hollow of his throat as he gestured and yelled rude things at the referees.
Fraser was at the foul line, and Ray was shouting a reminder-"Bloom and close, Frase!" The ball sank in, touching only the net.
"Yeah! One down, one to go!"
"What?" Fraser jolted awake at something heavy landing on his lap. His shoulder throbbed tightly as he touched the wool of his Hudson Bay blanket.
"I said you're nodding off there, Fraser. Do you want me to go?"
"No, no." Fraser didn't want Ray to leave, not so soon. Not when Fraser was finally able to sleep.
"You haven't been sleeping?" Ray sounded a little peeved.
Good Lord, had he said that out loud?
"No, not so well, lately, I must admit."
Ray sat back down beside him. "You want me to...I can sleep on the couch, if you want me to stay."
"I-" Fraser was helpless to say yes, but couldn't force himself to say the polite thing-No, go home, Ray.
"To tell the truth," Ray said slowly, "I think I'm too tired to risk driving the Goat."
Oh, this was a kindness. "Then by all means," Fraser said weakly. He pushed himself to his feet, and his shoulder shouted at him.
"Looks like that hurt," Ray said. "You should put some of that gunk you have on it."
"I'll do that. Let me get you a pillow first."
But Ray followed him into the bedroom, and reached up onto the closet shelf when Fraser opened it. Another kindness.
"Why don't you get your gunk and we'll see what's going on with the shoulder." Ray's voice was gentle, but firm. Fraser looked into Ray's dear face and felt, in that moment, such an overwhelming fondness for the man he was struck speechless.
Ray stared back for a long moment then shook his head as if dazed. "You still have some of that stuff you used on me up north? Remember after my first day tripping over my skis?"
Fraser well remembered that day, and giving Ray a quick rubdown in the tent. He'd tried to be dispassionate, mechanical, but he believed his fingertips still retained the memory of Ray's skin.
"I'll fetch it," Fraser said, nodding.
He located the homemade lineament still packed in his gear bag, and brought it back to the bedroom. When Fraser eased off his suspenders and unbuttoned his shirt, Ray's hands were there to help him remove it-a mercy, since Fraser's shoulder really had grown appallingly stiff. With his back to Ray, he used his other hand to reach back and strip off his undershirt.
Ray made a sound from behind him, and Fraser looked over at his shoulder. It was, indeed, inflamed, and showing some slight bruising.
"See, that is why I let you do all the heavy lifting," Ray joked. "You're gonna need to ice that puppy afterward." He turned and left, presumably to fetch the ice.
Fraser opened the jar and applied some of the lineament to his shoulder. The muscle was tender, no doubt about it.
"Okay," Ray said as he came back in and dropped a small bag of ice on the bed, "sit down and let me do the rest." His voice rose in question, and Fraser suddenly became conscious he was half-undressed. Odd, how he hadn't noticed earlier.
But he sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned to Ray, and waited.
He heard Ray take a deep breath behind him, as if he also understood the sudden heaviness in the air. And then there was a light hand on the back of Fraser's shoulder, and with the matter-of-fact nature of Ray's touch, Fraser felt the room expand strangely. He could breathe, with Ray at his back.
Ray continued smoothing the lineament on him gently, but with long, purposeful strokes. "You have an Ace bandage or something?" His voice was low.
"In the dresser, top drawer," Fraser said.
Ray fetched it, and then draped the bag of ice over Fraser's shoulder. Fraser withheld a gasp with some difficulty. Standing behind him, Ray wrapped the bandage around, nudging under Fraser's arm so he would lift it, then threading the bandage under and across his chest, over and then under again. Ray did it all in complete silence, and by the end Fraser was trembling a little-not from pain, but the intimacy of Ray's arm hugging him so briefly, touching him with such care.
"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said, somewhat breathlessly.
"No problemo." Ray sounded a little odd himself. He stepped back and picked up his pillow from the end of the bed. "Well, I guess I'll give that couch of yours a try. Get some sleep, all right? A sleepy partner is a useless partner."
Ray took his pillow and strode away, and Fraser bent to unlace his boots, a delicate process with his arm trussed up. The cold from the ice was now pleasantly dulling the pain in his shoulder. He shucked his boots and his pants and decided to sleep as he was, in just his boxer shorts.
He could hear Ray puttering about in the other room, perhaps undressing, then the sound of the toilet, and the bathroom sink. When the living room light went off, Fraser made his way to the bathroom. On the trip back to his bed, he left the bedroom door open so he would hear Ray's familiar, light snore coming from the other room.
Fraser dreamed that night of the north, a blinding white dream, oddly peaceful.
///
Something had changed that night, because the days that followed seemed easier, warmer somehow. After analysis, Fraser realized it was because the distance between them had been erased-Ray now touched him with the same rough affection he had always shown, punching Fraser's arm when he was being too obviously disingenuous; slinging a casual forearm over Fraser's shoulders when leading him out of the bull pen.
It felt like coming home.
But with the new closeness, a not-unfamiliar tension returned, a tension he had never felt with Ray Vecchio. Sometimes Fraser would lift his head from pondering a case file, his finger rubbing absently at his lower lip, and he would catch Ray's eyes upon him.
It was disconcerting, but not unpleasant by any means. What it signified, however, made Fraser's stomach cringe a little. A tightness that warned him to look away, to stop thinking. He would tremble there, strangely on the edge of white panic, until something happened-a noise in the bullpen, or, once, while sitting on his couch, Diefenbaker's cold nose pressing against his wrist.
Fraser jolted in reaction and jerked his eyes back to the television screen. The special feature they were watching was about an ice mummy-an ancient nomad found embedded in a glacier. His desiccated body was twisted, one arm reaching up over his head.
"We never did find that hand, huh?" Ray said beside him, sounding as if he were determinedly ignoring Fraser's distraction.
"Perhaps someday we should try again." Their adventure had been cut short by unusually cold weather conditions.
"I'd like that. I liked it up there, you know? Stuff seemed...simpler." There was a question in Ray's voice. "Like anything was possible, you know?"
"Yes," Fraser agreed softly. He knew exactly what Ray meant. The tension between them had risen on that journey-the close quarters making it difficult to hide anything at all. It was then Fraser started to understand he perhaps wasn't alone in his attraction, his desire to be closer still.
But the trip had ended suddenly, and Chicago with all its bustle and confusion had taken Fraser's full attention. Settling back in, finding himself on the streets again with Ray-somehow the partnership became more important, once more, than any other considerations.
And then came Victoria, who had ruined everything, every careful glance and tentative step. He was tired to find her ruling him even still.
It seemed now, with Ray next to him on the couch, Fraser could almost taste the snow again, feel the wind and the cold of the tent and the warmth of Ray breathing quietly next to him in the dark.
Fraser had given that up. Had let her come between them-
"I guess I should go," Ray said heavily.
No, Fraser wanted to say. He took a breath to make the denial, but Ray was already standing up and turning toward the door.
But he didn't quite step forward. He stood for a long moment, and Fraser rose hastily, his heart burning.
"Ray, wait. Please..."
Ray slowly turned toward him, letting Fraser see his face at last, and Fraser's breath caught in his throat.
This was what Ray hadn't wanted him to see, had been hiding in furtive looks and behind steady blue eyes, but Fraser saw it now-the love, the care, and a terrible fear. He didn't know the source of that fear, but he couldn't bear the lines pulling down Ray's lips, the awful vulnerability of his face.
Not Ray. Never Ray, like this. Hurting. Fearful. And for Fraser to be the cause-
The long silence between them before been unnatural and wrong, but he had thought it the product of his pride and Ray's care; now he wondered if there weren't something more to it, a barrier of fear unrelated to Victoria's attack.
Attack. Yes, it was an attack, and Fraser was the victim, but could be so no longer. He took two steps toward Ray, bridging the gap between them, between his own fear and his need for Ray. Fraser felt it still like a phantasm-the ghostly pressure pushing them apart. Had it been only within him, or in Ray as well? Regardless, Fraser couldn't allow it, not for what it did to Ray's beautiful face.
Fraser was close now, and Ray's eyes, which had widened at his approached, dipped to half-mast, as if he were once again afraid to let Fraser see. Fraser lifted his hand and touched Ray's pale cheek, felt the stiff brush of his stubble tingling against his palm.
"Ray, is this...what I think it is?"
Ray's lips twitched in an uncertain smile, almost too brief to see. "Yeah, Fraser."
He must have known the doubt that tugged within Fraser, even then, because he swayed forward, tautness in his body as if ready to withdraw at an instant's notice. But Fraser found himself leaning forward to meet him, tilting Ray's head so their lips could meet.
So much blossomed within Fraser at that moment-a dark rose, blood-filled petals opening, yearning-he could almost hear the thunder of his pulse as well as feel it in his lips, in his temples. Ray's mouth was wide and supple, and the burn of his stubble against Fraser's skin welcome as a palpable difference. Ray's arms moved, and Fraser felt Ray's strong hands resting lightly on his hips.
More caution. Fraser was grateful for it, because in spite of the differences in kissing a man, his need was the same, and it was his need that had always terrified him. He had to recognize that now. Fraser needed Ray. Needed this-Ray's lips, moving softly, wetly against his. The clutch of Ray's hands tightening then releasing, as if he kept forgetting his desire to be cautious. His tongue came out to stroke along Fraser's lips, and Fraser had to contain a shudder.
Ray felt it anyway, or must have, because he pulled back. Fraser dropped his hand from Ray's cheek, his palm damp and cooling in the air, already missing the warmth. Ray was panting a little, short breaths that touched the air between them, and his eyes had grown dark.
"Wanted that," he said. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, Fraser."
"About as long as I have, I imagine," Fraser said in a shaky voice.
"Yeah?" Ray's eyes dropped.
"Yes. Oh, yes, Ray. Please-" He tugged gently on Ray's arm, leading him toward the couch.
Fraser picked up the half-empty bowl of popcorn and set it on the floor, ignoring Dief's happy pounce in favor of pulling Ray down beside him.
Then Ray was once again close, his lips planting small, lingering kisses, one after another, on Fraser's mouth. It was delightful. Tender. Nothing of what Fraser had expected of his volatile and energetic partner. Fraser tried to return the kisses, but Ray's pattern grew uneven and playful, lips glancing all over Fraser's face, until finally Fraser grew frustrated and caught the back of Ray's head, holding him still.
Ray laughed against his cheek, and then Fraser captured his lips and deepened the kiss. He thrust his tongue into Ray's mouth, and was shocked when Ray gripped it with his lips and sucked hungrily. Fraser felt a vague stirring of desire, and almost bit his own tongue when his jaw closed reflexively.
"Hey," Ray said, but Fraser gripped his arms and pushed him until he was slouched back against the arm of the sofa.
Fraser took a moment to gather himself while Ray's blue eyes stayed on him, waiting.
"Let me...just let me," Fraser said, and when Ray nodded his permission, Fraser bent himself to explore. His tongue rasped against the stubble on Ray's jaw, and he enjoyed the sensation so much he continued, licking until Ray's stifled laugh told him it was perhaps too much, too strange. Fraser targeted the lobe of Ray's ear, teasing it with his tongue before catching it between his teeth.
Ray moaned beneath him and his hips lifted, the heat of his erection pressing against Fraser's thigh.
Fraser lifted his head and looked down at Ray's flushed face and his heaving chest.
"Can you take off your shirt?" Fraser asked.
Ray lunged up and scrabbled off his T-shirt hastily, revealing beautiful, pale skin, unscarred and perfect. Fraser leaned over planted a trail of kisses from Ray's collarbone on down, following the path with his fingers close behind, until he reached Ray's left nipple. Fraser stroked it with his tongue and felt it firm. He lifted his head and blew a puff of air across it until it was rigidly erect, then he sucked it into his mouth.
Ray groaned loudly, his chest reverberating against Fraser's cheek.
"God, Fraser!" Ray's fingers plucked desperately at the back of Fraser's Henley. "Wanna touch you. Take this off."
Fraser drew back, but his hands wouldn't stop exploring. Ray's gaze was unfocused, and he bit his lower lip when Fraser caught his nipple between his thumb and index finger.
"C'mon, take it off," Ray said, his voice somewhat strangled.
Fraser shook his head, suddenly mute.
Some of the haze faded from Ray's eyes, and he frowned. Fraser purposefully let his hand roam lower, until he could press his palm against the solid heat just to the side of Ray's zipper. Ray's eyes fluttered closed and his tongue came out to swipe at his lips. A moment later, though, his eyes opened again, staring somewhat accusingly.
"Let me?" Fraser said hoarsely. "Only let me-" he said again, leaving the rest unspoken. He waited for Ray's puzzled nod, then bent his head and rubbed his mouth against Ray's erection beneath his jeans, the material rough under his lips. Ray moaned something incomprehensible and stilled abruptly, waiting.
Fraser moved downward, outlining the thick shape with his lips but not his teeth, feeling it twitch and harden further.
"Jesus," Ray murmured. "Please, Frase, you gotta-"
"Yes." Fraser took a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent overlaid with fabric softener-no wonder Ray's jeans were always so supple, outlining his assets so wonderfully.
Fraser straightened and gripped the top button of Ray's fly, yanking to the side so they popped open in a rapid sequence. He heard Ray moan with relief at the ease of pressure. His next moans had a different flavor, when Fraser reached into the top of Ray's briefs and took Ray's hot, tender erection into his hand. He stroked once, and Ray's hips rose, his body an arc of pleasure.
"Oh, God," Ray said. "Anything, do something-"
This was power, in a strange way. It thrilled Fraser unexpectedly, and with his heart pounding hard, he slid to his knees beside the couch and put his lips over the head of Ray's erection. Ray's cock, in his mouth. Ray's hoarse cries in his ears, sounding like he was undergoing the most delicious torment.
Fraser could do this. He could do this because this part didn't frighten him, even if he wasn't familiar with the mechanics of having a cock within his mouth. He knew at least to keep his teeth carefully covered. He would do no damage-bring only pleasure to Ray. His partner in all things now.
Tightening his grip, Fraser stroked from below quickly while he continued to drift his tongue over Ray's sensitive, tight skin. The flavor of Ray's musk merged with the pre-ejaculate seeping from the tip. Ray's hips jerked, and Fraser pressed down with one hand, controlling him. For the first time in months, Fraser felt his own erection beginning, a welcomed excitement, so long missed. He rose and fell, taking Ray in and letting him slide out again, pressing his lips closed until Ray's cock forced them open over and over again.
Ray's fingers suddenly sank into Fraser's hair and he called out his name-"Fraser. God, Fraser!"-and Fraser quickened the movement of his tongue, coaxing Ray's orgasm into his mouth, easing to a slow milking of Ray's jerking shaft. When Ray let out a low sigh, Fraser stopped and let his softening penis rest within his mouth for a moment before withdrawing.
"Christ on a bike," Ray said breathlessly. "Come up here."
Gladly, Fraser shuffled over so he could meet Ray's lips in a kiss, pressing him down against the cushions in his eagerness to taste Ray's mouth once again. They kissed, and kissed some more, until Fraser felt a strange tingling in his face, a buzzing, and his heart beat too fast, racing in his chest.
Ray pulled back, their lips parting noisily. "Need to breathe...geez."
Oh, yes. Breathing. It hadn't really seemed important.
Putting his hand on Fraser's shoulder, Ray used him as a support to pull himself to a seated position. Their knees collided, and then Ray slid down until he had a leg on either side of Fraser's, trapping him.
Then Ray reached for the bottom of Fraser's shirt, lifting it and saying, "My turn to see the goods." He was smiling broadly, but his expression changed abruptly, and he looked down. Fraser realized he was clutching tightly onto Ray's hands, preventing them from raising his shirt. He tried to release his grip but found he couldn't seem to.
"O-okay." Ray shook out of his hands and leaned back, raising his palms. "You want to tell me what's going on?"
"I...I'm s-sorry, Ray-"
"Hey, no problem." But Ray sounded upset, and he was frowning, dark wrinkles appearing between his eyes. Fraser couldn't bear to see his disappointment, and lowered his gaze. His hands were clenched on his thighs.
He was spoiling this. Ruining the sweet intimacy they had finally found, and couldn't understand the reason for it. It certainly wouldn't be the first time Ray had seen him without his shirt on. Just weeks ago, in fact-
"It's no big deal-don't get your panties in a knot, Fraser."
Ray was trying to reassure him. It made it worse, somehow, because this was his fault. But he couldn't-he just couldn't seem to-it was different, now. They were different. Ray was-Ray was staring at him, Fraser could feel it, and embarrassment crawled up his neck.
Ray pushed himself up to sit on the couch, and shifted if he were preparing to stand.
"Don't go," Fraser said. "Please, just give me-"
"Not going anywhere," Ray interrupted him easily, his voice light. "Just grabbing my brewski." He reached past Fraser to pluck the bottle from the coffee table.
Relief swamping him, Fraser rose from his knees and settled back onto the couch beside Ray. Fraser's earlier arousal had died completely, and he felt a hollow ache in his groin. Blue balls, Ray Vecchio had once called the phenomenon, complaining about the sudden disappearance of the beautiful ATF agent he'd fallen for.
But thinking of his old friend just ached like another kind of bruise, another kind of shame.
"So, uh," Ray said, still sounding not at all angry. Which was strange. Fraser knew his odd behavior often inspired frustration in his friend.
"Yes, well." Fraser roused himself to turn his head and look at him.
Ray tipped his bottle at him in a request for him to continue.
"I'm sorry I ruined the mood," Fraser said. "I just wasn't quite prepared."
Ray's smile was wry. "No proper preparation, huh?"
The little joke did much to ease Fraser's embarrassment. "Tragically, no."
"You know, I have seen you naked before, Fraser. Well, almost-" Ray pinked a little and his blue eyes darted away.
"It's different now," Fraser said, not wanting to try to explain why.
"Yeah, I know. Shit." Ray put down his beer and scrubbed his palms over his face. His fingers ended up in his hair, scratching under the spikes. "Everything's been different ever since-" He cut himself off. "Oh. Oh, I'm a moron."
Fraser found himself curling forward, his fists clenched under his arms.
"Whoa. Don't go all Turtle on me, Fraser." He felt Ray's hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, just resting there. "Maybe you shouldn't expect to just hop into the deep end. Paddle around in the kiddie pool for a while-scratch that, weird mental image. What I mean is, why don't we take a time out-"
"No!" The response was visceral-his heart, his gut shouted a denial. He turned toward Ray and put a hand on his leg; clutched at it, really. "I love being with you, touching you-kissing you. I've been waiting for this for so long-waiting for you, Ray. Don't make me stop-"
"Okay, okay, already. Take a Mountie pill." But Ray's grin was a thing to behold. His eyes went soft. "See, for a second there I thought you were just, you know, humoring me."
Fraser's expression must have shown his incomprehension, because Ray shrugged, his eyes dropping. "I thought you were giving me a good time when you weren't really into it yourself. I mean, you had to know I've been wanting this-"
"God. No, Ray. No." Fraser had to kiss him then, kiss away the self-deprecating smile. "It was me, Ray. My fault. I lost the ball."
A snort of laughter. "Dropped the ball, you mean."
"Yes, yes. Dropped the ball."
"But you still wanna touch mine, yeah?"
Fraser felt himself flush.
"Good to know. Good to know." The teasing voice gentled, and Ray leaned forward. Fraser leaned, too, thinking Ray meant to kiss him again-he could never have enough of Ray's lips-but Ray just titled his forehead until their heads were touching. "So, we'll just work on the rest," he said softly.
"Now?" Fraser's heart quailed.
"Next time. Next time, Frase. I guarantee you there is gonna be a next time."
"God, yes." Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray and felt him do the same, holding him tightly.
It was a simple thing, but Fraser thought he had never felt so much love in his life as he did right then, in that moment.
He told himself he would do his damnedest to deserve it.
///
The next day was filled with an uncustomary amount of Consulate work. Officer Perry had to fly to Ottawa for a conference, and Fraser was left holding down the fort with Constable Dailey, Turnbull's replacement. Dailey was a fresh-faced young woman from Toronto who seemed almost tongue-tied in Fraser's presence-he had to assume it was due to his adventures with Ray and the nuclear submarine incident. Fraser tried his best to put her at ease, but finally had to hand her a stack of GRC 3584 stroke E forms and push her, still blushing, toward her desk.
The rest of the day Fraser fielded phone calls and attempted to tear his mind away from Ray-from the sweet sounds he'd made as Fraser held him in his mouth, from the kisses Ray delivered, so much more than delightful. From the upcoming evening, and the possibilities it promised, both of pleasure and perhaps failure.
He couldn't understand how there could be anything Ray could offer him that he wouldn't want to accept, and yet the night before he had refused. Had been intimidated, almost revolted at the thought. Anxious.
Afraid.
He'd been afraid of what his reaction would be should Ray strip him, touch him intimately.
Fear of failure wasn't something he could afford in his working life. To question, to throw doubts on his abilities would lessen them; limit him. Ray, he knew, had a similar philosophy-was gung ho in every endeavor he engaged in, from work to his personal life. He would expect the same from Fraser. He would respect the effort, at least, and so Fraser would try.
The afternoon included a frantic phone call from Officer Perry requesting Fraser gather some statistics he'd neglected to bring with him, and so the time passed all too quickly. Before Fraser knew it, Dief was raising his head at a familiar step in the hallway.
Fraser locked up Officer Perry's office and found Ray chatting with Constable Dailey, whose blush seemed to double when Fraser appeared. Fraser retrieved his hat, they made their farewells, and then Fraser was urging Ray out the door.
"In a hurry there, Frase?" Ray started up the GTO. The ubiquitous toothpick hung from the corner of Ray's all-too-kissable mouth, and Fraser found himself almost as tongue-tied as Dailey.
Ray chattered enough for the both of them on the drive over to Fraser's apartment. He was having a one-sided dialog with Dief about the way he'd been flirting with the Pekinese in 5-F, and mentioned something about the anatomical impossibilities thereof, which made Dief snort in disgust for human small-minded thinking.
Fraser half-listened, the rest of his mind taken up with berating himself for his lack of courage, because the closer they drew to the apartment the more Fraser's palms dampened and itched with sweat.
Ray seemed to be ignoring his nervousness. He pulled off his leather jacket, complained about Fraser's limited cable, and settled down on the couch with a beer he'd taken from the fridge and a pack of chips he'd carried up from the car. Fraser concerned himself with making coffee.
"You should get a turtle like Maximus," Ray said, munching. "You need a pet in here. Dief doesn't count-" Ray grinned at Dief's whine, "-he's a roommate, not a pet."
"I think perhaps I'll get a frog instead," Fraser said, joking, but Ray surprised him by nodding in approval.
"I grew a frog from a tadpole, once. He was great, especially the way it was easy to feed him on flies and stuff from around the house."
"What was his name?"
"Leroy. Leroy the Frog." Ray smiled fondly and tipped back the rest of his beer. He crunched the can in his fist and then lay sideways on the couch, his boots already off.
It was nice seeing Ray so comfortable here, in Fraser's home. But the move was also something of an obvious invitation, and Fraser's nervousness returned.
He forced himself to take his cup over to the coffee table, and then sat on the edge beside Ray's knee. Fraser rested one hand on Ray's thigh. He could feel the damp heat of his palm melding into Ray's leg. Ray was staring up at him, his face open and trusting, his eyes already darkening.
Fraser wet his lips nervously, and then leaned down.
Ray rose up to meet him, a grateful noise escaping from his mouth just as it met Fraser's.
And then Fraser forgot why he was nervous, because this was already familiar-the taste of Ray and beer, and the playfulness of his mouth, his lips. Fraser kissed him until his lower back began to ache, and then he slid to his knees beside the couch, eager to do again what he'd done the night before-take Ray into himself, make him shiver and moan and say Fraser's name in that way unlike any other.
Losing no time at all, he unfastened Ray's jeans and bent to his task. He was getting better at this, he thought to himself as he went deeper onto Ray's cock. But the angle wasn't very good, and the pressure at the back of his throat was a little uncomfortable, so he shifted until he was facing Ray's feet, with one elbow braced on the other side of Ray's hips, trapping the bunching of his open jeans.
When Fraser pushed himself all the way down, until all of Ray's cock was within his mouth and throat, Ray whimpered, a beautiful sound, and came in a series of aborted jerks. Fraser coughed as he pulled away, and wiped the semen from his lips with the back of his hand as he swallowed.
"Christ, you killed me," Ray said. "Even better this time."
Fraser smiled, feeling a little smug. Just then his erection, neglected and trapped within his uniform pants, throbbed painfully. He was fully erect, excited just from kissing Ray and bringing him to orgasm. Fraser suppressed a groan and shifted his knees apart to get more comfortable.
Ray put his hand on Fraser's shoulder and pushed at him until he faced him once again.
"Kiss me?" Ray said, sounding a little lost.
"Gladly," Fraser murmured, leaning down. Ray licked at his mouth, along his lips, tasting himself, Fraser realized, before he thrust his tongue into Fraser's mouth. Fraser rested his elbow on the side of the couch so he could kiss Ray more deeply, kiss him until their taste was one, a mix of beer and Ray's come and the two of them. It was close to heaven.
Ray's hand, which had continued to rest on Fraser's shoulder, slid down to his chest, and he tugged at Fraser's tunic. He broke the kiss.
"Take this off, huh? You're looking like a lobster."
It was rather hot in Fraser's apartment, although he'd never found it so before. Fraser stood to more easily remove his tunic, leaving him in his undershirt, and then sat with his back to the couch to remove his boots. He froze momentarily when Ray touched his bare shoulder, and then Ray's fingers moved to the back of Fraser's neck, pushing into the hair there and sending shivers down Fraser's spine. He let his head drop forward in a silent plea, and Ray's fingers traveled upward, scratching lightly at his scalp.
"You like that, huh?" Ray said, sounding husky and strangely grateful. "I like it, too," he said, and now the sadness was plainly evident, and Fraser understood. He nodded once, to acknowledge the point, but then shook his head a moment later when Ray's hand slid down his side.
"C'mon. You've got to be hurting," Ray said uncertainly.
"Yes, I-" Fraser wanted to reassure Ray. "I need to-" It did hurt. His groin ached with a need for completion, something he hadn't felt for months. But he also felt a sense of dread at the thought of being naked, of Ray touching him there, and he knew as soon as he tried to let Ray do so, the need would slip away like heat through a chink in the wall.
Right now, though, it felt so strong. Without thinking, he put his hand down and covered himself. A gasp escaped him, and he felt Ray twitch behind him, an aborted movement. Ray understood, then.
"Why don't you...?" Ray's breathy suggestion brushed against Fraser's ear. He was close, but not touching. "Touch yourself, Frase. I'm right here."
Fraser shuddered, and under his palm his erection jerked hard at the thought. Close, but not too close. He could possibly do this. If Ray didn't touch him. If he only touched himself.
Fraser's breath heaved a little in his chest as he opened the fasteners on his pants, making enough room to slip his hand in and-God. Pleasure, elusive and dampened for these many months, surged through him. Even handling himself in the shower he hadn't felt any craving for more.
Fraser gripped himself harder and stroked once, pushing his foreskin down and then up again. He shuddered at the sensation.
"God, Fraser," Ray said, and Fraser was brought back to himself with a jolt, the awareness of Ray's eyes on him, of Ray's breath brushing gently against the side of his neck. God, Ray was watching him, watching the movement of his hand inside his pants.
Fraser found the thought incredibly arousing, but a little terrifying at the same time. Adrenaline washed through him, and the next stroke, and then the next, followed without conscious thought, his excitement such that even when Ray rested his chin on Fraser's shoulder, he didn't stop.
Normally he would be appalled at having himself observed in this act, but oddly it felt almost as if Ray was giving him permission to feel excitement, to enjoy this, his touch upon his own body. He panted out Ray's name, and then Ray kissed his shoulder, and Fraser let his head sink back against Ray's warmth, hand moving faster now in short, tight strokes, until finally he reached the summit, and went over into pure, electrifying pleasure.
"Oh, oh," Fraser heard himself crying out, as his long-starved body convulsed with the force of it. His hand now slid smoothly over himself as he made a last few gentle glides over his now-sensitive cock. He felt as if he could melt, his bones and flesh melding into one.
"That was so hot," Ray said, sounding relieved for some reason. Fraser let his head roll to the side, and Ray's lips were close, so he kissed them lazily, barely having the energy to open his mouth to Ray's tongue.
After a while, Fraser became self-conscious about his messy state-pants still half-open with his hand damp and sticky within. He forced himself to stand, his back turned toward Ray, and fasten himself up, and then went to the kitchen for a towel.
Ray was lying there, one hand idly rubbing his belly, the other holding his beer, when Fraser returned, a blush still burning his cheeks.
"Hey, think it's too late to catch a game?" Ray said, his voice perfectly normal. Fraser wanted to laugh with relief, but instead he nodded, and later, after they ordered Chinese food, he pretended not to notice when Ray let Dief steal his pot stickers straight from the carton.
///
End of Part 1. Go on to Part 2.