Fence (Weaponry challenge on ds-flashfiction)
Pairing: Kowalski/Fraser
Rating: NC-17
Size: about 4500 words
Summary: several meanings of the word “fence” applied
Note: This story was after-posting beta-ed by j_s_cavalante. It doesn't have her full approval, but it's better than the original version.
***
To straddle the fence
Fraser had a hobby.
Of course, Ray was completely okay with that. It was perfectly normal for a guy to have a hobby. Fraser having a hobby meant that he was finding his groove in Chicago, that he felt less homesick and all. Ray was all over that.
The thing was that Fraser’s hobby didn’t involve Ray. Fraser had his weekly training sessions and he told Ray very enthusiastic stories about them, but he had them alone, without Ray.
Which was okay, really. They didn’t need to spend every minute of their spare time together. Jeez.
What bothered Ray was that with having a hobby being quite normal for a guy, and with Fraser having found one he liked, what other normal things would the Mountie turn out capable of? If he had a hobby this week, could he have a girlfriend next month?
Or worse, a boyfriend?
See, that was the big thing. If Fraser found himself a girlfriend (or, to put it in a better way: if he finally gave up resisting the pressure from all those women waiting in line for him and let himself be had by the first and/or the strongest) Ray would be hurt (or devastated more like). But he would cope, because if Fraser wanted a girl, there was nothing Ray could do about it. You just couldn’t turn a straight guy queer, could you? Or maybe you could (after all, if somebody had told Ray six months ago that he would now be in love with a guy just as bad as he had been with Stella, he would have laughed his head off) but that didn’t help him much in staying calm at the idea of Fraser walking hand in hand with some stupid sissy.
If Fraser would want a boyfriend, Ray was the first in line. If Fraser wanted a boyfriend, Ray would claim his right to be that boyfriend, goddammit. The thing that bothered him (the thing that made him feel sick, in fact) was the thought that Fraser would want a boyfriend but not Ray.
See, with Fraser it was kind of hard to find out what he wanted. He was very closed off about it. You never knew what Fraser wanted until afterwards, when he got it and you saw that he looked happy. Of course, by now Ray knew that Fraser liked tea - bark tea especially - he didn’t need to watch the Mountie drinking several cups a day to refresh his memory (although he did) but that didn’t get him very far in getting to know what gender lover Fraser would want. Or if he wanted a lover at all.
Most of the time Ray thought the answer to the last question was nope. Fraser didn’t seem to be interested in anybody like that. But sometimes he would look at Ray in a way that got Ray’s heart racing, because he thought the look qualified as longing. And sometimes Fraser would say things that just couldn’t mean nothing.
But at other times Ray saw weird stuff happening between Fraser and the Ice Queen. Stuff that he had come to label as ‘flirting’. It looked ridiculous and it didn’t seem to get the two of them anywhere (thank god) but - after having given it some consideration - he had decided that it must be flirting. Jeez. Apparently, when you wanted to graduate from Mountie school, you had to seriously unlearn your flirting skills.
So, to cut a long story short, Ray didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell Fraser about his feelings. About the longing, the love, the lust. He knew he had to do it some time, because if he waited for Fraser to make the first move - even if Fraser would be all over Ray’s longing and love and lust, which was all but certain - he’d have to wait until pigs were flying. That much he knew.
But he wasn’t eager to get the words out, because he didn’t know how Fraser would react to them. The Mountie wouldn’t run off to the North West Areas screaming - that would be impolite - but maybe he could gradually disappear. How that would look Ray didn’t know, but Fraser was kind of like Superman. Without the ridiculous underpants, but with the crazy jodhpurs. Without the cape, but with the Stetson. Oh yeah, Fraser would find a way to gradually, politely, get rid of him if he didn’t want him, no doubt about that.
So Ray hadn’t said anything yet, but he wasn’t sure how long he could continue not telling. Sometimes he felt like he was going to explode with all the bottled up feelings inside.
To practice the art of fencing
Fraser had asked him to come and watch how he was doing in his first fencing tournament on Saturday, and Ray had said yes. So now he was watching.
Fraser was amazing (yeah, duh). No, really. Ray knew of course that Fraser could do anything. Okay, almost anything. There were just a few things the Mountie couldn’t do. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t be impolite. He couldn’t not tell Inuit stories at the stupidest moments. And he couldn’t dance. Only it turned out that he could. Dance, that is.
Fraser was fucking graceful. Plus, he looked great (what else was new?).
He might have looked weird in his white protective gear (Ray knew it was for protection) but he didn’t. It shouldn’t be a surprise maybe, because Fraser could wear the RCMP clown’s outfit and not look ridiculous, but when he was wearing tight white gear and fencing … damn.
Ray had seen Fraser’s semi-uncovered ass before. When it was clad in jeans instead of jodhpurs and covered by a tunic. But this was different. This was an ass in action. Man, it was …
The swords added something too, of course. Yeah, they did.
Ray knew about this Freud guy. Old guy, dead guy, famous guy Simon Freud.
It seemed that the jury of today’s shrinks was now in on it that Freud’s thoughts were actually a load of crap. Which was good, because the guy had had some really weird ideas about sex. Most of them were phal … phalla … phallalla … Most of them involved dicks. Like when women were really depressed, the reason for it was that they were unhappy because they didn’t have cocks. (In a way, Ray could relate to that. Not having a cock was … well, not a good thought. But then, he did remember feeling jealous of Stella sometimes because she had breasts. To his knowledge, Freud had never said anything about that.)
Watching Fraser cross swords with a different opponent each match reminded Ray of how he’d felt as a kid watching Ivanhoe on the tube. That familiar warm glow in his groin. The equally familiar fear that someone would notice.
He shifted a little on the stand. He had to concentrate on the tournament, so that afterwards, when Fraser had beaten everybody else and asked him “Ray, what did you think of me?” (which he very predictably would do) Ray wouldn’t say “hot” or something stupid like that.
Fraser won the tournament (surprise, right?). When after the last match the referee appointed him winner and the masks came off, Ray saw that Fraser’s opponent was practically still a kid - with blond, rather experimental hair, red cheeks and bright eyes that looked up to the Mountie with much admiration, telling Ray he didn’t mind at all that he’d lost to this man.
Watching the kid made him feel a little sick, but he pulled himself together and when Fraser came towards him and asked “Ray, what did you think of me?” he managed a grin and said with all the ease he could muster, “You were great, Benton-buddy. Come on, I’ll take you home and make you some bark tea to celebrate victory.”
The smile on the Mountie’s face made his toes curl. “Thank you kindly, Ray.”
Jeez.
Fraser changed clothes, they got to the Goat, they got to Ray’s apartment, they got bark tea (Fraser) and beer (Ray), and then Fraser said, “Fencing is a graceful sport, Ray. I think you’d be very good at it.”
Ray nearly choked on his beer. He put the bottle down and looked at Fraser, to see if he meant something by that remark.
Fraser seemed perfectly calm though, so Ray said equally smooth, “Because it’s a lot like dancing, you mean?”
Fraser nodded - with a smile that made Ray feel really bold (and the toes in his boots probably look really weird).
“You wanna fight me, Fraser?” he asked. “Chances are I’d outdo you in the footwork department, you know. Seeing as I am a good dancer and all.”
Fraser seemed to consider this for a moment - but Ray hadn’t suggested a wager so he felt reasonably certain that Fraser would go along.
He was right.
“Well, yes, of course, Ray,” Fraser said. “I like to suggest that we pretend using epee; that is the kind of sword used in this afternoon’s tournament. It’s a relatively heavy device, thick and stiff compared to the foil and the sabre.”
Ray clenched his jaw. Leave it to Fraser to talk dirty and not know it.
“Okay. What do we use for swords?” he said with some difficulty.
“Well, we are both right-handed, so I suggest that we use our right arm and hand - and the tip of our index finger to hit each other.”
“Works with me, Fraser,” Ray said.
“And if we use epees, the rules imply that you can touch me anywhere on my body.”
Jeez. Anywhere? Really, Fraser?
“The aim is to touch, Ray”.
Ray was all over that.
“And at the same time to avoid being touched.”
That was much less according to Ray’s plan.
So basically they would be playing tag without doing the running part. Instead, they would be dancing.
Ray stood from the couch. “Alright, Fraser. Hit me.”
He was good. He was great, in fact. At some point he had Fraser with his back against the wall. He wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened. Because he was a good dancer? Because the aim was to touch and he really wanted that? (Because Fraser really wanted that?)
He braced his hands on either side of Fraser’s head. He was breathing heavy. Fraser was breathing heavy too - and not from the exercise. He was staring at Ray. His eyes looked … dark. He was licking his lower lip. Oh, jeez.
“Fraser.”
It was the ultimate now-or-never-moment. Ray let himself fall forward and thrust his hips to meet …
… nothing.
To avoid, to hedge
“No!”
It was a clear, loud, and to Mountie standards very impolite statement. Ray was taken by the shoulders and pushed away.
“Fraser, wha …?”
After a moment he came to his senses. Sort of. “Fraser, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Ray. I’m going home now. You don’t have to drive me. I’ll walk.”
Ray stared at Fraser’s leaving form. What the hell had just happened?
He felt numb at first. Then he sort of panicked.
He’d lose Fraser. Fraser would slowly disappear on him. Or maybe - seeing as he was apparently capable of being rude - he’d run off to the North West Areas screaming after all.
God, if he’d lose Fraser he’d lose his sense of being. He shouldn’t have lost himself like that in the stupid pretend fencing game. Now he’d spoiled everything.
Filled with self blame Ray paced a lot, drank too much, and still barely slept at night.
Apparently something had changed the next morning however, because when he looked in the mirror while chasing a couple of Advils down to force away the hangover, he saw a miserable but surprisingly determined looking guy blinking at him.
It was time to get off the fence and do something about Fraser. There were risks to take and questions to answer. Ray was ready and willing. (And wasn’t that about time?)
He called the consulate, but Fraser didn’t answer the phone. So now the Mountie had decided to take Ray’s advice and respect the consulate’s closing hours. Great timing. Damn.
Ray decided not to pay Fraser a visit. He might be ready and willing, but he wasn’t desperate (or he wasn’t ready to admit it). The image of himself banging on a closed door was not a good one. Let Fraser simmer a little. (Also, Ray’s breath smelled really bad at the moment. Not a good thing if he got lucky.)
Fraser stayed away from the precinct on Monday. And he didn’t answer the consulate’s phone. Turnbull promised to take any message Ray would leave. Ray called three times. He left one message at five, stating ‘Can we talk? Call me at home tonight’. Turnbull seemed to think nothing of it.
The next morning Ray drove to the consulate. (Needless to say, Fraser hadn’t called.)
Fraser had sentry duty. He didn’t even look at Ray when he got out of the car and passed him. Ray went inside and asked Turnbull when Fraser would be off.
“Constable Fraser will be relieved from sentry duty at noon, sir.”
“I’ll be back then. But don’t tell him that.” (Yeah, like Fraser wouldn’t know.)
The possibility of a problem seemed to occur to Turnbull’s little brain. “Is something wrong, Detective Vecchio?”
Great. Now there was a third party to meddle with things. “No, Turnbull.” Ray sighed. “Everything is fine. Thanks.”
He caught Fraser when the Mountie just got off sentry duty.
“Fraser, we’ve got to talk.”
Fraser turned. With a guarded look in his eyes, Ray thought. “What about, Ray?”
“About what happened on Saturday.”
“Nothing happened on Saturday.”
No, indeed nothing happened. Jeez.
“Fraser …” God, this was difficult. “Are we still partners?” Great. Real pathetic.
“Yes, Ray. Working partners. Certainly.”
Don’t stress that, Fraser. Don’t.
He swallowed. “Wanna come with me as I pay some bad guys a visit?”
Fraser hesitated and Ray crossed his fingers.
“Yes, Ray. I consider it my duty as a liaising officer to accompany you.”
Good.
Bad.
They had been grilling Wilson and Brackett and were on their way to see Thomas, but Ray’s heart wasn’t in it. He was deciding on the direct approach - to Fraser, obviously.
“You know how I feel about you, don’t you Fraser?” he said.
Silence ensued. Good. Fraser wasn’t ducking it by rambling something about good working relationships being based on trust and shit.
“I take that as a yes.” Ray took a deep breath. “How do you feel about me, Fraser?”
Fraser opened the passenger’s door. “Oh look, Ray. That old lady over there needs assistance to cross the street.”
Of course, he then hurried to help.
It was impossible to get anything of a decent answer out of Fraser. Even being bold and very direct didn’t work. Ray should have known; Frannie hadn’t got herself anywhere despite years of hard work.
He grew tired very quickly of himself insisting that he and Fraser should talk, and of Fraser’s clever dodges. Anything served as an excuse for the Mountie; old ladies on the curb, Frannie or Welsh needing him (in entirely different ways of course) the Ice queen entering his office without knocking, Turnbull desperately wanting to share some stupid secret with his fellow officer - even the occasional gun-drawing goon seemed welcome.
Ray felt like a whining kid pretty soon. He decided to turn to more subtle ways of getting the answer to his most pressing question; deliberate touches.
He was used to touching Fraser. It didn’t mean anything - other than, you know, something friendly. He was used to patting the Mountie on the back, slinging an arm around his shoulders, poking a finger into the guy’s chest when he wanted to stress something he was saying.
Ray wouldn’t call Fraser’s reactions ‘promising’ with any degree of confidence, but the Mountie had never seemed to mind the touches before. Now he went all rigid at them, and not in the way Ray intended (although there was no way of really knowing, was there? What with the jodhpurs and the tunic and all). Still, the signals were mixed. Sometimes he thought that there was a delay in Fraser’s pulling away from him like he got burnt. He just wasn’t sure of it.
Ray was back at square one. It was déjà vu all over again. He didn’t know what Fraser wanted.
To sell stolen goods
It was fucking unbearable. It reminded him too much of Stella, of the last awful period of his marriage to her.
It hurt having to read between the lines. To realize that when somebody said “This isn’t working anymore … but I’ll always love you” it meant that they were filing for divorce.
Clinging onto the ‘always love you’ he had worked so fucking hard to make the marriage work again, but Stella had got her divorce anyway.
He couldn’t take it a second time. He had thought he could. He’d thought that losing Fraser was the worst - that he had to avoid, or at least try to delay it at all costs. He had been wrong.
This was the worst. This not knowing. This let’s-pretend-that-everything-is-fine-
even-if-we-both-know-that-it-clearly-isn’t-game. It needed to end.
He talked to Welsh about a possible transfer, informing the lieutenant that he might want one in the near future.
“That would be difficult,” Welsh said. “But if it were a matter of life and death I’d say that it could be arranged.” He glared at Ray. “Is it a matter of life and death, Detective?”
“Pretty sure it will be, sir.”
“Have you tried to talk to Fraser?”
Now it was Ray’s turn to glare.
“Alright,” Welsh said. “Let me know when you know, Detective. Good luck.”
Ray braced himself for his talk with Fraser. Probably his last talk with Fraser.
They were on a stakeout at night, but the usual suspects were no big fish.
“Fraser …” He had prepared this speech - he could do this. “I’ve been walking on eggshells lately, trying to find out what it is you want. It’s not a healthy thing for a guy my age. So I give up. But I need you to say it, Fraser. I need you to ditch me. So I can tell myself that you’re a jerk. That you’re not worth it.” (Ray would have trouble to believe this for the foreseeable future of course, but that was a whole other matter.) “So tell me that you don’t want me. Give back the heart you stole so I can move on.”
Fraser was silent for a very long time. It was uncanny to sit next to a speechless Mountie for several minutes in a row.
Finally Fraser said in a strange soft voice, “I can’t do that, Ray. It would render me heartless.”
“I never thought I’d ever say this, but you already are heartless, Fraser,” Ray said. “Dammit, you-”
Fraser interrupted him. In that strange soft tone he said, “I believe I’m not being clear, Ray. I was referring to the more archaic connotation of the word. ‘Heartless’ used to refer to the state of being devoid of courage or enthusiasm; spiritless.”
Ray might not always be good with words, but he was a quick thinker. “You’d be depressed, huh?” he said.
“Very much so, yes.”
“And you won’t give me back my heart, because if you did, you’d have none.”
“Yes.”
“Because I took yours.”
“Very aptly put, Ray,” Fraser said.
Ray’s heart was pounding so fast, he thought it was going to burst. But he was determined to finish this surreal conversation in style. (Hah, he knew what that meant, ‘surreal’.)
“Your heart is a billion bucks, Fraser. What do you charge for mine?”
“Ray!” Fraser said, shocked. “I’m not a fence!”
To mend one’s fences
“No, you are not a fence,” Ray nodded. “You’re an idiot. A big, stupid, larger than life idiot. You’re Turnbull, in fact.”
“I am not,” Fraser said indignantly.
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Fraser,” Ray said reasonably, “if you’re not an idiot, you would be … what’s archaic for cruel?”
“Fell,” Fraser replied. He paused. “I could also have been blind, Ray.”
Ray looked at him. Yeah, that was another possibility. Fraser’s IQ of a zillion came in handy when it came to solving cases, but it didn’t do much for him where personal stuff was concerned.
“Wanna tell me some more about that, buddy?” he asked.
“I didn’t see that we were … that we are …”
Jeez, you have a real knack for talking about feelings, haven't you, Fraser? Ray thought.
“And then on Saturday after the tournament …”
… when nothing had happened. Yeah, right. Apparently, Fraser was capable of lying as well as dancing.
“And then on Saturday …” Ray prodded.
“I did realize. And I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have told me you loved me. You could have let things happen,” Ray suggested. “Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what, Fraser?”
“Of disappointing you, Ray. I still am.”
“Disappointing me how?”
“If we would allow our relationship to become a closer one, you’d find out …” Fraser stopped. “I’m not perfect, Ray.”
Say’s who? Ray thought. But he knew what Fraser meant. He wasn’t some little brat experiencing his fist severe case of puppy love, goddammit. He was nearly forty. Jeez.
“I know you’re not perfect, Fraser. I know you are passive-aggressive, and stubborn, and not to mention an idiot - and you’re insane, and almost always right for which I really hate you. There’s absolutely nothing in the way of us starting something long-term and meaningful.”
He looked pointedly at Fraser, who seemed to want to retort at first, but then just relaxed.
“I believe our relationship has been full of meaning since the day we met, Ray.” The Mountie was using his you-really-should-phrase-your-sentences-more-carefully-Ray-tone, but his hands were in Ray’s hair, checking its experimentalness. And the look on his face … Jeez, to be the cause of that look. Ray could become addicted to it.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin, placing a hand on Fraser’s thigh, leaning forward. “But it hasn’t included fencing, Benton-buddy.”
To parry and thrust
They started kissing. God. Ray couldn’t wrap his head around how he had been coping with not kissing Fraser all those months. (But he vaguely remembered that it had been bad.)
They stopped in time not to be caught when Huey and Dewey arrived to relieve them - kudos to the Mountie’s bat ears for that.
At the apartment they tried to continue kissing while undressing, but that turned out undoable with the serge and all. Instead, Ray quickly took his clothes off and watched Fraser strip.
Jesus, he was beautiful. Fraser was beautiful under any circumstances of course, but Ray knew now that he was definitely most beautiful naked.
All of him was gorgeous, but especially … It stood out from his body, thick and stiff.
Like a sword.
He sank to his knees and nuzzled it, boosting its ego by telling it repeatedly in soft admiring whispers what a beautiful, beautiful epee it was.
Fraser was touching the back of his head and the nape of his neck with nice, skillful fingers. He didn’t seem to agree with Ray’s labeling, though. “It’s not an epee, Ray, it’s a penis.” he said.
“It’s an eppenis,” Ray replied. He was always willing to compromise. (Okay, not always. Mostly not, in fact. But now he was.)
Then he didn’t say anything for a pretty long time. He pushed Fraser onto the bed and put to practice what he’d learned from the internet about giving head.
He had imagined what it would be like but reality was different, of course. For one thing, the internet hadn’t mentioned how Fraser would taste (great), or how it would feel to close his mouth around his shaft (greatness too). In short, the jury was in on it; reality beat imagination.
Ray tried everything he remembered. Plenty use of tongue. Use it on the head. Move it down the shaft. Then up to the corona, and the frenulum. (Whaddoyaknow, he had read new, expensive words and remembered them. Of course, they were useful words for a change. And they were part of Fraser.) Repeat. Use your hands. Do what feels good. Take it deep into your mouth. Mind the teeth. Breathe through your nose. Suck.
He loved this. Fraser seemed to love it too. He was breathing heavy and making soft moaning sounds. His hands were stroking Ray’s hair.
“Ray.”
Jesus. Ray had heard his name from Fraser’s lips before. Often with impatiently, sometimes with sheer fondness. (And how could he have missed that as a signal?). But never like this. Never horny. He found he liked it.
The hands on his hair came to a halt. “Ray.” Not so horny anymore. “Ray, stop.”
He lifted his head. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
“On the contrary, Ray. It’s delightful, but I don’t want … not yet.”
Oh. Okay. He felt kind of sad to have to separate from that gorgeous eppenis though. He didn’t know what to do next.
He didn’t need to.
He was flopped on his back. Fraser was on top of him.
The weight was nice. And the feeling of skin. And the groin friction.
He put his hands on Fraser’s ass. Beautiful ass. In jeans. In crazy fencing gear. Naked. He knew it was a beautiful ass always. He could feel it.
He ran a finger along the crease between Fraser’s ass cheeks and found a spot.
“Ungh,” Fraser said softly.
Ray rubbed the spot and pressed.
“Ungh,” Fraser said, a little louder.
Ray wet his finger and pressed in.
“Ray.” Ooh yeah, the horny tone was back.
“You like that?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
Ray pressed in deeper.
Fraser liked it. He definitely liked it.
Lube. They needed lube.
“Lube,” he said, stretching out an arm to search for the bottle in the drawer. He had bought it and intended it to be saved for this occasion, but for reasons that really didn’t need explaining at this juncture, some of the lube had already got used on Ray. In Ray. By Ray. (Damn, that juncture tricked him.) But he had some ‘sploring to do right now.
Fraser was on his back already.
God, he loved it. Eyes closed. Back arched. Pressing himself onto Ray’s searching fingers. Moaning.
He was lost in it.
Go figure. Fraser. Lost in something.
Condom, Ray thought.
He got one, put it on, and was about to position himself when Fraser started to behave really strange. He rolled away and made weird moves with his arms.
“What’s wrong?” Ray asked.
“Nothing is wrong, Ray,” Fraser replied. “I can assure you that I’m having a wonderful time. But about an hour ago, in the car, you suggested that we’d fence. That would imply parrying.”
Ray stared at Fraser. Then sighed. Mounties. They were incredibly lovable and all, but completely unhinged.
“Fraser,” he said, keeping the relief from his voice and managing a stern tone. “Listen to me. Lie on your back. Lie still and lift your legs. Leave the sane people in this bed in charge of the sex, okay?
Of course, Fraser was nothing if not obedient.
“Yes, Ray,” he breathed. “Oh god, yes Ray. Yes. Yes, of course.”
END
Rating: NC-17
Size: about 4500 words
Summary: several meanings of the word “fence” applied
Note: This story was after-posting beta-ed by j_s_cavalante. It doesn't have her full approval, but it's better than the original version.
***
To straddle the fence
Fraser had a hobby.
Of course, Ray was completely okay with that. It was perfectly normal for a guy to have a hobby. Fraser having a hobby meant that he was finding his groove in Chicago, that he felt less homesick and all. Ray was all over that.
The thing was that Fraser’s hobby didn’t involve Ray. Fraser had his weekly training sessions and he told Ray very enthusiastic stories about them, but he had them alone, without Ray.
Which was okay, really. They didn’t need to spend every minute of their spare time together. Jeez.
What bothered Ray was that with having a hobby being quite normal for a guy, and with Fraser having found one he liked, what other normal things would the Mountie turn out capable of? If he had a hobby this week, could he have a girlfriend next month?
Or worse, a boyfriend?
See, that was the big thing. If Fraser found himself a girlfriend (or, to put it in a better way: if he finally gave up resisting the pressure from all those women waiting in line for him and let himself be had by the first and/or the strongest) Ray would be hurt (or devastated more like). But he would cope, because if Fraser wanted a girl, there was nothing Ray could do about it. You just couldn’t turn a straight guy queer, could you? Or maybe you could (after all, if somebody had told Ray six months ago that he would now be in love with a guy just as bad as he had been with Stella, he would have laughed his head off) but that didn’t help him much in staying calm at the idea of Fraser walking hand in hand with some stupid sissy.
If Fraser would want a boyfriend, Ray was the first in line. If Fraser wanted a boyfriend, Ray would claim his right to be that boyfriend, goddammit. The thing that bothered him (the thing that made him feel sick, in fact) was the thought that Fraser would want a boyfriend but not Ray.
See, with Fraser it was kind of hard to find out what he wanted. He was very closed off about it. You never knew what Fraser wanted until afterwards, when he got it and you saw that he looked happy. Of course, by now Ray knew that Fraser liked tea - bark tea especially - he didn’t need to watch the Mountie drinking several cups a day to refresh his memory (although he did) but that didn’t get him very far in getting to know what gender lover Fraser would want. Or if he wanted a lover at all.
Most of the time Ray thought the answer to the last question was nope. Fraser didn’t seem to be interested in anybody like that. But sometimes he would look at Ray in a way that got Ray’s heart racing, because he thought the look qualified as longing. And sometimes Fraser would say things that just couldn’t mean nothing.
But at other times Ray saw weird stuff happening between Fraser and the Ice Queen. Stuff that he had come to label as ‘flirting’. It looked ridiculous and it didn’t seem to get the two of them anywhere (thank god) but - after having given it some consideration - he had decided that it must be flirting. Jeez. Apparently, when you wanted to graduate from Mountie school, you had to seriously unlearn your flirting skills.
So, to cut a long story short, Ray didn’t know what to do. He wanted to tell Fraser about his feelings. About the longing, the love, the lust. He knew he had to do it some time, because if he waited for Fraser to make the first move - even if Fraser would be all over Ray’s longing and love and lust, which was all but certain - he’d have to wait until pigs were flying. That much he knew.
But he wasn’t eager to get the words out, because he didn’t know how Fraser would react to them. The Mountie wouldn’t run off to the North West Areas screaming - that would be impolite - but maybe he could gradually disappear. How that would look Ray didn’t know, but Fraser was kind of like Superman. Without the ridiculous underpants, but with the crazy jodhpurs. Without the cape, but with the Stetson. Oh yeah, Fraser would find a way to gradually, politely, get rid of him if he didn’t want him, no doubt about that.
So Ray hadn’t said anything yet, but he wasn’t sure how long he could continue not telling. Sometimes he felt like he was going to explode with all the bottled up feelings inside.
To practice the art of fencing
Fraser had asked him to come and watch how he was doing in his first fencing tournament on Saturday, and Ray had said yes. So now he was watching.
Fraser was amazing (yeah, duh). No, really. Ray knew of course that Fraser could do anything. Okay, almost anything. There were just a few things the Mountie couldn’t do. He couldn’t lie. He couldn’t be impolite. He couldn’t not tell Inuit stories at the stupidest moments. And he couldn’t dance. Only it turned out that he could. Dance, that is.
Fraser was fucking graceful. Plus, he looked great (what else was new?).
He might have looked weird in his white protective gear (Ray knew it was for protection) but he didn’t. It shouldn’t be a surprise maybe, because Fraser could wear the RCMP clown’s outfit and not look ridiculous, but when he was wearing tight white gear and fencing … damn.
Ray had seen Fraser’s semi-uncovered ass before. When it was clad in jeans instead of jodhpurs and covered by a tunic. But this was different. This was an ass in action. Man, it was …
The swords added something too, of course. Yeah, they did.
Ray knew about this Freud guy. Old guy, dead guy, famous guy Simon Freud.
It seemed that the jury of today’s shrinks was now in on it that Freud’s thoughts were actually a load of crap. Which was good, because the guy had had some really weird ideas about sex. Most of them were phal … phalla … phallalla … Most of them involved dicks. Like when women were really depressed, the reason for it was that they were unhappy because they didn’t have cocks. (In a way, Ray could relate to that. Not having a cock was … well, not a good thought. But then, he did remember feeling jealous of Stella sometimes because she had breasts. To his knowledge, Freud had never said anything about that.)
Watching Fraser cross swords with a different opponent each match reminded Ray of how he’d felt as a kid watching Ivanhoe on the tube. That familiar warm glow in his groin. The equally familiar fear that someone would notice.
He shifted a little on the stand. He had to concentrate on the tournament, so that afterwards, when Fraser had beaten everybody else and asked him “Ray, what did you think of me?” (which he very predictably would do) Ray wouldn’t say “hot” or something stupid like that.
Fraser won the tournament (surprise, right?). When after the last match the referee appointed him winner and the masks came off, Ray saw that Fraser’s opponent was practically still a kid - with blond, rather experimental hair, red cheeks and bright eyes that looked up to the Mountie with much admiration, telling Ray he didn’t mind at all that he’d lost to this man.
Watching the kid made him feel a little sick, but he pulled himself together and when Fraser came towards him and asked “Ray, what did you think of me?” he managed a grin and said with all the ease he could muster, “You were great, Benton-buddy. Come on, I’ll take you home and make you some bark tea to celebrate victory.”
The smile on the Mountie’s face made his toes curl. “Thank you kindly, Ray.”
Jeez.
Fraser changed clothes, they got to the Goat, they got to Ray’s apartment, they got bark tea (Fraser) and beer (Ray), and then Fraser said, “Fencing is a graceful sport, Ray. I think you’d be very good at it.”
Ray nearly choked on his beer. He put the bottle down and looked at Fraser, to see if he meant something by that remark.
Fraser seemed perfectly calm though, so Ray said equally smooth, “Because it’s a lot like dancing, you mean?”
Fraser nodded - with a smile that made Ray feel really bold (and the toes in his boots probably look really weird).
“You wanna fight me, Fraser?” he asked. “Chances are I’d outdo you in the footwork department, you know. Seeing as I am a good dancer and all.”
Fraser seemed to consider this for a moment - but Ray hadn’t suggested a wager so he felt reasonably certain that Fraser would go along.
He was right.
“Well, yes, of course, Ray,” Fraser said. “I like to suggest that we pretend using epee; that is the kind of sword used in this afternoon’s tournament. It’s a relatively heavy device, thick and stiff compared to the foil and the sabre.”
Ray clenched his jaw. Leave it to Fraser to talk dirty and not know it.
“Okay. What do we use for swords?” he said with some difficulty.
“Well, we are both right-handed, so I suggest that we use our right arm and hand - and the tip of our index finger to hit each other.”
“Works with me, Fraser,” Ray said.
“And if we use epees, the rules imply that you can touch me anywhere on my body.”
Jeez. Anywhere? Really, Fraser?
“The aim is to touch, Ray”.
Ray was all over that.
“And at the same time to avoid being touched.”
That was much less according to Ray’s plan.
So basically they would be playing tag without doing the running part. Instead, they would be dancing.
Ray stood from the couch. “Alright, Fraser. Hit me.”
He was good. He was great, in fact. At some point he had Fraser with his back against the wall. He wasn’t exactly sure how that had happened. Because he was a good dancer? Because the aim was to touch and he really wanted that? (Because Fraser really wanted that?)
He braced his hands on either side of Fraser’s head. He was breathing heavy. Fraser was breathing heavy too - and not from the exercise. He was staring at Ray. His eyes looked … dark. He was licking his lower lip. Oh, jeez.
“Fraser.”
It was the ultimate now-or-never-moment. Ray let himself fall forward and thrust his hips to meet …
… nothing.
To avoid, to hedge
“No!”
It was a clear, loud, and to Mountie standards very impolite statement. Ray was taken by the shoulders and pushed away.
“Fraser, wha …?”
After a moment he came to his senses. Sort of. “Fraser, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Ray. I’m going home now. You don’t have to drive me. I’ll walk.”
Ray stared at Fraser’s leaving form. What the hell had just happened?
He felt numb at first. Then he sort of panicked.
He’d lose Fraser. Fraser would slowly disappear on him. Or maybe - seeing as he was apparently capable of being rude - he’d run off to the North West Areas screaming after all.
God, if he’d lose Fraser he’d lose his sense of being. He shouldn’t have lost himself like that in the stupid pretend fencing game. Now he’d spoiled everything.
Filled with self blame Ray paced a lot, drank too much, and still barely slept at night.
Apparently something had changed the next morning however, because when he looked in the mirror while chasing a couple of Advils down to force away the hangover, he saw a miserable but surprisingly determined looking guy blinking at him.
It was time to get off the fence and do something about Fraser. There were risks to take and questions to answer. Ray was ready and willing. (And wasn’t that about time?)
He called the consulate, but Fraser didn’t answer the phone. So now the Mountie had decided to take Ray’s advice and respect the consulate’s closing hours. Great timing. Damn.
Ray decided not to pay Fraser a visit. He might be ready and willing, but he wasn’t desperate (or he wasn’t ready to admit it). The image of himself banging on a closed door was not a good one. Let Fraser simmer a little. (Also, Ray’s breath smelled really bad at the moment. Not a good thing if he got lucky.)
Fraser stayed away from the precinct on Monday. And he didn’t answer the consulate’s phone. Turnbull promised to take any message Ray would leave. Ray called three times. He left one message at five, stating ‘Can we talk? Call me at home tonight’. Turnbull seemed to think nothing of it.
The next morning Ray drove to the consulate. (Needless to say, Fraser hadn’t called.)
Fraser had sentry duty. He didn’t even look at Ray when he got out of the car and passed him. Ray went inside and asked Turnbull when Fraser would be off.
“Constable Fraser will be relieved from sentry duty at noon, sir.”
“I’ll be back then. But don’t tell him that.” (Yeah, like Fraser wouldn’t know.)
The possibility of a problem seemed to occur to Turnbull’s little brain. “Is something wrong, Detective Vecchio?”
Great. Now there was a third party to meddle with things. “No, Turnbull.” Ray sighed. “Everything is fine. Thanks.”
He caught Fraser when the Mountie just got off sentry duty.
“Fraser, we’ve got to talk.”
Fraser turned. With a guarded look in his eyes, Ray thought. “What about, Ray?”
“About what happened on Saturday.”
“Nothing happened on Saturday.”
No, indeed nothing happened. Jeez.
“Fraser …” God, this was difficult. “Are we still partners?” Great. Real pathetic.
“Yes, Ray. Working partners. Certainly.”
Don’t stress that, Fraser. Don’t.
He swallowed. “Wanna come with me as I pay some bad guys a visit?”
Fraser hesitated and Ray crossed his fingers.
“Yes, Ray. I consider it my duty as a liaising officer to accompany you.”
Good.
Bad.
They had been grilling Wilson and Brackett and were on their way to see Thomas, but Ray’s heart wasn’t in it. He was deciding on the direct approach - to Fraser, obviously.
“You know how I feel about you, don’t you Fraser?” he said.
Silence ensued. Good. Fraser wasn’t ducking it by rambling something about good working relationships being based on trust and shit.
“I take that as a yes.” Ray took a deep breath. “How do you feel about me, Fraser?”
Fraser opened the passenger’s door. “Oh look, Ray. That old lady over there needs assistance to cross the street.”
Of course, he then hurried to help.
It was impossible to get anything of a decent answer out of Fraser. Even being bold and very direct didn’t work. Ray should have known; Frannie hadn’t got herself anywhere despite years of hard work.
He grew tired very quickly of himself insisting that he and Fraser should talk, and of Fraser’s clever dodges. Anything served as an excuse for the Mountie; old ladies on the curb, Frannie or Welsh needing him (in entirely different ways of course) the Ice queen entering his office without knocking, Turnbull desperately wanting to share some stupid secret with his fellow officer - even the occasional gun-drawing goon seemed welcome.
Ray felt like a whining kid pretty soon. He decided to turn to more subtle ways of getting the answer to his most pressing question; deliberate touches.
He was used to touching Fraser. It didn’t mean anything - other than, you know, something friendly. He was used to patting the Mountie on the back, slinging an arm around his shoulders, poking a finger into the guy’s chest when he wanted to stress something he was saying.
Ray wouldn’t call Fraser’s reactions ‘promising’ with any degree of confidence, but the Mountie had never seemed to mind the touches before. Now he went all rigid at them, and not in the way Ray intended (although there was no way of really knowing, was there? What with the jodhpurs and the tunic and all). Still, the signals were mixed. Sometimes he thought that there was a delay in Fraser’s pulling away from him like he got burnt. He just wasn’t sure of it.
Ray was back at square one. It was déjà vu all over again. He didn’t know what Fraser wanted.
To sell stolen goods
It was fucking unbearable. It reminded him too much of Stella, of the last awful period of his marriage to her.
It hurt having to read between the lines. To realize that when somebody said “This isn’t working anymore … but I’ll always love you” it meant that they were filing for divorce.
Clinging onto the ‘always love you’ he had worked so fucking hard to make the marriage work again, but Stella had got her divorce anyway.
He couldn’t take it a second time. He had thought he could. He’d thought that losing Fraser was the worst - that he had to avoid, or at least try to delay it at all costs. He had been wrong.
This was the worst. This not knowing. This let’s-pretend-that-everything-is-fine-
even-if-we-both-know-that-it-clearly-isn’t-game. It needed to end.
He talked to Welsh about a possible transfer, informing the lieutenant that he might want one in the near future.
“That would be difficult,” Welsh said. “But if it were a matter of life and death I’d say that it could be arranged.” He glared at Ray. “Is it a matter of life and death, Detective?”
“Pretty sure it will be, sir.”
“Have you tried to talk to Fraser?”
Now it was Ray’s turn to glare.
“Alright,” Welsh said. “Let me know when you know, Detective. Good luck.”
Ray braced himself for his talk with Fraser. Probably his last talk with Fraser.
They were on a stakeout at night, but the usual suspects were no big fish.
“Fraser …” He had prepared this speech - he could do this. “I’ve been walking on eggshells lately, trying to find out what it is you want. It’s not a healthy thing for a guy my age. So I give up. But I need you to say it, Fraser. I need you to ditch me. So I can tell myself that you’re a jerk. That you’re not worth it.” (Ray would have trouble to believe this for the foreseeable future of course, but that was a whole other matter.) “So tell me that you don’t want me. Give back the heart you stole so I can move on.”
Fraser was silent for a very long time. It was uncanny to sit next to a speechless Mountie for several minutes in a row.
Finally Fraser said in a strange soft voice, “I can’t do that, Ray. It would render me heartless.”
“I never thought I’d ever say this, but you already are heartless, Fraser,” Ray said. “Dammit, you-”
Fraser interrupted him. In that strange soft tone he said, “I believe I’m not being clear, Ray. I was referring to the more archaic connotation of the word. ‘Heartless’ used to refer to the state of being devoid of courage or enthusiasm; spiritless.”
Ray might not always be good with words, but he was a quick thinker. “You’d be depressed, huh?” he said.
“Very much so, yes.”
“And you won’t give me back my heart, because if you did, you’d have none.”
“Yes.”
“Because I took yours.”
“Very aptly put, Ray,” Fraser said.
Ray’s heart was pounding so fast, he thought it was going to burst. But he was determined to finish this surreal conversation in style. (Hah, he knew what that meant, ‘surreal’.)
“Your heart is a billion bucks, Fraser. What do you charge for mine?”
“Ray!” Fraser said, shocked. “I’m not a fence!”
To mend one’s fences
“No, you are not a fence,” Ray nodded. “You’re an idiot. A big, stupid, larger than life idiot. You’re Turnbull, in fact.”
“I am not,” Fraser said indignantly.
“Are too.”
“Am not.”
“Fraser,” Ray said reasonably, “if you’re not an idiot, you would be … what’s archaic for cruel?”
“Fell,” Fraser replied. He paused. “I could also have been blind, Ray.”
Ray looked at him. Yeah, that was another possibility. Fraser’s IQ of a zillion came in handy when it came to solving cases, but it didn’t do much for him where personal stuff was concerned.
“Wanna tell me some more about that, buddy?” he asked.
“I didn’t see that we were … that we are …”
Jeez, you have a real knack for talking about feelings, haven't you, Fraser? Ray thought.
“And then on Saturday after the tournament …”
… when nothing had happened. Yeah, right. Apparently, Fraser was capable of lying as well as dancing.
“And then on Saturday …” Ray prodded.
“I did realize. And I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have told me you loved me. You could have let things happen,” Ray suggested. “Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of what, Fraser?”
“Of disappointing you, Ray. I still am.”
“Disappointing me how?”
“If we would allow our relationship to become a closer one, you’d find out …” Fraser stopped. “I’m not perfect, Ray.”
Say’s who? Ray thought. But he knew what Fraser meant. He wasn’t some little brat experiencing his fist severe case of puppy love, goddammit. He was nearly forty. Jeez.
“I know you’re not perfect, Fraser. I know you are passive-aggressive, and stubborn, and not to mention an idiot - and you’re insane, and almost always right for which I really hate you. There’s absolutely nothing in the way of us starting something long-term and meaningful.”
He looked pointedly at Fraser, who seemed to want to retort at first, but then just relaxed.
“I believe our relationship has been full of meaning since the day we met, Ray.” The Mountie was using his you-really-should-phrase-your-sentences-more-carefully-Ray-tone, but his hands were in Ray’s hair, checking its experimentalness. And the look on his face … Jeez, to be the cause of that look. Ray could become addicted to it.
“Yeah,” he said with a grin, placing a hand on Fraser’s thigh, leaning forward. “But it hasn’t included fencing, Benton-buddy.”
To parry and thrust
They started kissing. God. Ray couldn’t wrap his head around how he had been coping with not kissing Fraser all those months. (But he vaguely remembered that it had been bad.)
They stopped in time not to be caught when Huey and Dewey arrived to relieve them - kudos to the Mountie’s bat ears for that.
At the apartment they tried to continue kissing while undressing, but that turned out undoable with the serge and all. Instead, Ray quickly took his clothes off and watched Fraser strip.
Jesus, he was beautiful. Fraser was beautiful under any circumstances of course, but Ray knew now that he was definitely most beautiful naked.
All of him was gorgeous, but especially … It stood out from his body, thick and stiff.
Like a sword.
He sank to his knees and nuzzled it, boosting its ego by telling it repeatedly in soft admiring whispers what a beautiful, beautiful epee it was.
Fraser was touching the back of his head and the nape of his neck with nice, skillful fingers. He didn’t seem to agree with Ray’s labeling, though. “It’s not an epee, Ray, it’s a penis.” he said.
“It’s an eppenis,” Ray replied. He was always willing to compromise. (Okay, not always. Mostly not, in fact. But now he was.)
Then he didn’t say anything for a pretty long time. He pushed Fraser onto the bed and put to practice what he’d learned from the internet about giving head.
He had imagined what it would be like but reality was different, of course. For one thing, the internet hadn’t mentioned how Fraser would taste (great), or how it would feel to close his mouth around his shaft (greatness too). In short, the jury was in on it; reality beat imagination.
Ray tried everything he remembered. Plenty use of tongue. Use it on the head. Move it down the shaft. Then up to the corona, and the frenulum. (Whaddoyaknow, he had read new, expensive words and remembered them. Of course, they were useful words for a change. And they were part of Fraser.) Repeat. Use your hands. Do what feels good. Take it deep into your mouth. Mind the teeth. Breathe through your nose. Suck.
He loved this. Fraser seemed to love it too. He was breathing heavy and making soft moaning sounds. His hands were stroking Ray’s hair.
“Ray.”
Jesus. Ray had heard his name from Fraser’s lips before. Often with impatiently, sometimes with sheer fondness. (And how could he have missed that as a signal?). But never like this. Never horny. He found he liked it.
The hands on his hair came to a halt. “Ray.” Not so horny anymore. “Ray, stop.”
He lifted his head. “Why? Don’t you like it?”
“On the contrary, Ray. It’s delightful, but I don’t want … not yet.”
Oh. Okay. He felt kind of sad to have to separate from that gorgeous eppenis though. He didn’t know what to do next.
He didn’t need to.
He was flopped on his back. Fraser was on top of him.
The weight was nice. And the feeling of skin. And the groin friction.
He put his hands on Fraser’s ass. Beautiful ass. In jeans. In crazy fencing gear. Naked. He knew it was a beautiful ass always. He could feel it.
He ran a finger along the crease between Fraser’s ass cheeks and found a spot.
“Ungh,” Fraser said softly.
Ray rubbed the spot and pressed.
“Ungh,” Fraser said, a little louder.
Ray wet his finger and pressed in.
“Ray.” Ooh yeah, the horny tone was back.
“You like that?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
Ray pressed in deeper.
Fraser liked it. He definitely liked it.
Lube. They needed lube.
“Lube,” he said, stretching out an arm to search for the bottle in the drawer. He had bought it and intended it to be saved for this occasion, but for reasons that really didn’t need explaining at this juncture, some of the lube had already got used on Ray. In Ray. By Ray. (Damn, that juncture tricked him.) But he had some ‘sploring to do right now.
Fraser was on his back already.
God, he loved it. Eyes closed. Back arched. Pressing himself onto Ray’s searching fingers. Moaning.
He was lost in it.
Go figure. Fraser. Lost in something.
Condom, Ray thought.
He got one, put it on, and was about to position himself when Fraser started to behave really strange. He rolled away and made weird moves with his arms.
“What’s wrong?” Ray asked.
“Nothing is wrong, Ray,” Fraser replied. “I can assure you that I’m having a wonderful time. But about an hour ago, in the car, you suggested that we’d fence. That would imply parrying.”
Ray stared at Fraser. Then sighed. Mounties. They were incredibly lovable and all, but completely unhinged.
“Fraser,” he said, keeping the relief from his voice and managing a stern tone. “Listen to me. Lie on your back. Lie still and lift your legs. Leave the sane people in this bed in charge of the sex, okay?
Of course, Fraser was nothing if not obedient.
“Yes, Ray,” he breathed. “Oh god, yes Ray. Yes. Yes, of course.”
END