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It all started with a kiss.
Not an actual kiss, per se, but a sharing of breath. Of life. Under the water, on board the sinking ship, with his lungs feeling as if they would burst. In that hazy moment between consciousness and unconsciousness, lips had pressed against his. Had locked against his. And breathed life back into him with an intensity that was almost sexual.
And he couldn't stop thinking about it.
At first he'd thought he'd imagined the quasi-sensual act, what with the fear of near-drowning and the lack of oxygen. He'd asked him about it, after they'd surfaced, wondering if the whole thing had been a hallucination. But the other man had just looked at him innocently, saying that he'd learned the technique during his training. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if anyone could have done it.
Granted, Benton Fraser was not just 'anyone'. And he, Stanley Raymond Kowalski, knew better than to read too much into things. But the memory of that act -- and his own fervent reaction to it -- wouldn't go away. Since then he'd tried to push the images out of his mind, but the harder he pushed the more insistent they became. Even on the Canadian ship, when he'd kissed the blonde cadet, it was more to burn away the memory of Fraser's mouth on his than any real attraction between himself and the girl. And when he saw Thatcher initiating similar actions with the constable -- and felt a sudden, surprising twinge of jealousy -- he knew that he wouldn't be able give up their partnership. He would decline the transfer and hope that Fraser would decline his. When he told him he was staying, and heard the mountie's response that he too would remain in Chicago, he felt a shiver of anticipation run through him. He'd heard things about the real Vecchio and his partner. He wondered how much of it was true, and if the mountie might be convinced to share his affections with another Chicago cop.
And this Chicago cop could be very, very convincing when he wanted to be.
Kowalski had been thinking about it for the past week, considering how best to proceed. The answer was deceptively simple. Even after all they'd been through on the Lakes, he still didn't know how to swim. He was also kind of rusty on lifesaving techniques, come to think about it. He should brush up on his CPR. That breathing-for-the-drowning-guy maneuver might come in handy someday too. He'd have to get someone to teach him that 'kiss of life' thing, as well as give him those swimming lessons he'd just decided he needed.
Ray smiled to himself, contemplating how lucky he was to know someone perfect for the job. He'd never find a better teacher than Constable Fraser.