Temptation Waits Walking into the station house set every nerve in Ray's body on edge.
He was not the same man who'd walked out of here a few days ago.
He had changed so completely that he was sure it was written all over him.
Didn't matter that his clothes, hair, and face were the same. In
the very core of him, a change had taken place and he still wasn't sure
how he was going to work his schedule around it. What kind of cop
couldn't investigate during the daytime?
"Vampire Cop" sounded like a television show or a B-movie starring some
former kick boxer. It did not sound like a life. Or the life
Ray used to have, anyway. It did sum up his current situation quite
well, but he was dealing with the changes as best as he could.
Ray had come to wrap up the last of his paperwork on the drug ring he'd
helped to bust while he was undercover. Between the extremely solid
case they'd built and his undercover status, he most likely wouldn't be
called to testify in court, which was a huge relief. He was still
learning the ins and outs of this vampire business, so he hadn't yet figured
out a way to move about in the daytime without becoming a crispy critter.
He would have asked Trevor, but the son of a bitch had skipped out after
giving Ray a quick rundown of life as a bloodsucking fiend.
Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad, once he got past that avoiding the
sunlight thing. He was faster, stronger, could see perfectly without
his glasses, and never had to go to the grocery store unless he ran out
of coffee. At times he wondered if he might be in some sort of shock
that made the whole thing easier to take. If so, he hoped he never
snapped out of it because he'd probably lose it in a big way. On
the bright side, those padded, rubber rooms in the loony bin didn't have
windows, or at least Ray didn't think so.
Settling at the desk he shared with another detective, Ray finished
up his reports, being extra careful to make sure that every detail was
accurate and spelled right. He didn't want to be called back to work
because he didn't cross a 't' or dot an 'i'. He had time off
coming and he was taking it.
Lieutenant Jacobs readily agreed that Ray deserved a break, which immediately
put him on guard. He squirmed in the uncomfortable wooden chair and
stared at his boss. "What's the catch?"
The lieutenant smiled sheepishly and rubbed his hand over his thinning
grey hair, and Ray recognized that he was about to be talked into something.
"Well, you're being considered for a special assignment. It'll be
your decision, of course, but we have decided you're the best man for the
job."
Ray let out a long breath, and looked down at his hands. He appreciated
the compliment but knew it was not given freely. He had to ask.
He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he did have to ask about the assignment.
It would be expected, and on rare occasions Ray tried to do what was expected
of him, if for no other reason than to keep people off balance. "So
what's the job?"
"The FBI has handpicked one of our local detectives to go undercover
in a certain Las Vegas crime family because of his uncanny resemblance
to one of that family's more influential members. It will be a dangerous
assignment, and the brass has decided that to keep that detective's cover
intact here in Chicago, another cop will take his place. That would
be you."
For a moment Ray sat stunned. This seemed like a perfect opportunity
for advancement, yet all he could think of was—"Would I have to change
shifts? Because I've gotten so used to working nights that I don't
want to change."
Lieutenant Jacobs looked nonplussed, as if that was the last thing he
expected Ray to ask. He shrugged his broad shoulders and said, "I
don't know how flexible they want to be with this. If the guy works
days, you may have to do it too. Look, Ray, I'll have to talk to
the Captain and get back to you. It'll be a couple of weeks until
the switch anyway. Nothing is finalized yet."
"Okay then. Do I still get my time off?" Ray slid to the
edge of the chair and planted his hands on the arms in preparation for
standing. He was anxious to get moving again. He had another
place to go tonight, and he wanted to get it over with.
"Yes, of course. I'll call you when the final details are ironed
out."
Ray nodded and made his escape from the office. He went back to
his desk and cleared out anything personal, for some reason he couldn't
quite pinpoint. It just seemed like the thing to do, so he did it.
He walked out of the station with a much lighter step than he'd gone
in with. He would be getting the distance that he so desperately
needed right now.
Although the cold air of approaching winter didn't bother him,
Ray pulled his jacket close around him as he stepped into the alley.
It was purely an instinctive reaction, ultimately useless as a protective
measure. He'd had a life altering experience that had begun in an
alley quite similar to this one. If there were any other options,
he wouldn't be here at all, but he had run out of supplies. He had
to go stock up again, and all he had was a contact name and directions
to a secret place behind a butcher shop.
For a moment, Ray paused and almost went back to the street. He
was tempted to just take what he needed from some passed out wino or junkie.
They wouldn't even miss it. He didn't have to go into an unknown
situation just to get some blood-to-go. But he needed to explore
all his options, and all things considered, this seemed a much safer alternative.
His paranoia had already been fairly well developed by his years as a cop,
so it could only be heightened by this vampire business.
He wasn't ready to give up that caution yet, so he kept one hand inside
his jacket on the gun in his shoulder holster as he trudged down the dark
alley. The second gun was a comforting weight in his boot.
The department frowned on back-up pieces—too tempting to drop one next
to the dead body of a formerly fleeing suspect—but most cops Ray knew
had them anyway. And Ray was still a cop. He may have to remind
himself occasionally, but he was.
The door was nondescript heavy steel, painted dark brownish red that
blended with the brick of the building. A person of average night
vision would probably walk right by without noticing its presence.
On one side of the door, discarded boxes and bits of ripped cardboard teetered
in a precarious pile, and on the other side, large wheeled trashcans, one
of them filled with nothing but glass bottles, sat undisturbed in a row.
The scene struck Ray as queer—the scavengers should have made off with
the bigger boxes for shelter and the glass to sell for recycling.
Ray realized he'd seen no homeless people in the area at all, but this
was the type of neighborhood that should have been crawling with them.
Very queer.
Taking a deep breath and blowing it out sharply, Ray cracked his neck
and knocked on the door, hitting twice with the side of the fist, not the
knuckles. A small panel in the door slid open at eye level and a
deep male voice said, "State your business."
"Trevor sent me. Said to ask for Len." Ray spoke calmly
as if his insides weren't twitching like a speed freak in a police lineup.
The panel slid shut with no reply, and the door remained closed.
He wondered for a moment if he'd failed some kind of test, but then he
heard the scrape and click of multiple locks being unbolted.
"Welcome, brother." A large leather-clad man with very short grey-speckled
brown hair greeted Ray with a friendly smile, and surprise kept him from
taking an instinctive step back. "I can tell by your accent that
you're not new to town, so you must be just...new."
Ray cleared his throat and attempted a smile. "Yeah, Trevor sent
me."
"You said that already. You mean Trevor made you. Hah!
That boy's got no control." The man stepped back and motioned Ray
inside, then frisked him impersonally. He held up both of Ray's weapons
and said, "I'm Roland, and I'll be keeping these until you leave."
"I'm a cop. Ray K—" Ray started to show his badge, but the man
was already moving away toward a set of stairs.
"Pleasure to meet you, Ray. Follow me." Roland spoke over his
shoulder as he led Ray down the stairs to a hallway lit only with a couple
of small wall lamps. Opening one of the three doors that opened
off the hall and ushering Ray through, he continued, "Len will fix you
up."
"Thanks," Ray murmured absently, as he found himself in a room that
could have passed for any liquor store, except that most of the stock was
refrigerated. Three walls were lined with glass cases, filled with
bottles of various sizes, some single and some in six packs. In the
middle of the floor, two sets of shelves stood, holding bottles of wine,
rum, vodka, scotch, bourbon, and a few more exotic looking liqueurs.
The fourth wall held the door and checkout counter, where a nondescript
bald man waited with a smile that could have shown patient friendliness
or the fake interest of a really good salesman. Ray couldn't read
the man as well as he thought he should.
"Have a look around," the man offered in an indistinguishable European
accent. "When you've got what you want, I'll ring you up. Cash, charge
or debit cards only. No checks."
Ray nodded and circled the room, inspecting the contents of the different
cases. None of labels on the bottles gave any indication of what
was truly inside, but small cards affixed to the front of the shelves gave
the contents—some were purely the blood of one animal, with breeds of
cow and pig being the most common types, but most were blends. Ray's
tastes were too new to be specific, so he finally settled on a couple of
six packs of the same brand that Trevor had given him, and took them over
to the check out.
"So you're one of Trevor's, yes? I'm Len, by the way. Don't
think I introduced myself earlier." Len rang up Ray's purchases on
a state of the art computerized register, presenting him with a total not
much higher than real beer would have cost him. Ray handed over cash,
and the storekeeper gave him his change with a smile. "You ever need
anything just give me a call. I've known Trevor for a long time in
a lot of different places, and while he's great at giving birth, he's a
failure at child rearing."
"Giving birth?" Ray had a vision of men having babies that was
so horrifying his testicles tried to crawl up into his abdominal cavity,
but he shook it off as ridiculous when Len explained.
"Turning new vampires. He likes to make them, but usually loses
interest and leaves them to fend for themselves. One time in Mazatlan,
must have been around 1923 or '24, he neglected to tell the girl what he'd
done and she wandered right out into the sunrise, not knowing any better.
Burst into a spectacular conflagration, she did. It was all the townspeople
could talk about the next night and as soon as I heard, I asked him about
it. He shrugged and said that he'd forgotten to mention it."
Len shook his head and sighed. "Well, obviously he's doing better
these days if he gave you my card."
"Yeah, he told me a lot of...uh, stuff," said Ray, wondering how in
the hell the girl couldn't tell what had happened to her. Since he
was in no mood to hear that particular name again, Ray changed the subject
with a more general question. "Anything else I need to know?"
"Do you have a job?" Ray nodded as Len pulled a business card
from a holder on the counter and held it out. "Doctor Swenson can
provide you with medical documentation regarding the allergy to sunlight
you have suddenly developed. He's a well-respected doctor and researcher.
He's also one of us. Call him and tell him I referred you.
He'll see you as soon as possible."
"Thank you." Tucking the card away in his jacket pocket, Ray gathered
up his sack and headed for the door. "It's been an experience, but...um,
I gotta go."
"Yes, okay. Come back any time. And stay out of the sun!
Heh heh."
Ray stepped out into the hallway just as Roland came out of the opposite
door. Ray looked past the other man and got a quick impression of
smoke, pale golden lights, and quiet music. "Hey, Roland. What's
in there?"
The big man shut the door firmly behind him and answered, "That's the
lounge. It's for our people to have a place to hang out away from
mortals. Ordinarily, you'd be more than welcome to stop by for a
drink, but there's a private party tonight."
Ray's curiosity about anything grew in direct proportion to that object's
unavailability, but he held his questions and promised himself he'd come
back soon. He let Roland escort him to the door and give back his
guns, which he quickly checked and returned to their proper positions.
As he walked back to his car, Ray cradled his bag to his chest and wondered
what to do next. He'd been so preoccupied with work and 'grocery
shopping' that he'd not made any plans for the rest of the night.
The image of the Mountie floated through his mind, and for the first time
all week, Ray let it settle instead of chasing it away.
Benton Fraser of the RCMP, Ray rolled the name silently over his tongue.
He still remembered the man's address. He could go by the place,
maybe catch another glimpse of the man who'd captured his eye—and other
parts— so firmly a week ago. Ray had thought of the Mountie often,
wondered what his story was, but he hadn't asked around his division or
tried to find out about the detective the Mountie had been with that night.
He'd planned—wanted— to ask, but he didn't want to draw any attention
to himself or his interest in the Mountie. Ray had tried not to think
of the man at all, but the thoughts had crept up on him when he was distracted
or asleep.
Oh yeah, sleeping was the worst, because Ray had never learned the knack
of controlling his dreams. Nearly every time he closed his eyes,
he saw the Mountie or even more often heard his voice. So smooth,
so polite, it soothed Ray's nerves and made his heart race at the same
time. That couldn't be good, could it?
The dreams always started with the voice, then progressed quickly to
sweaty bodies rolling around in Ray's bed. He'd have Mountie Fraser
naked and slicked up so nice, whimpering-eager for Ray to fuck that undoubtedly
perfect ass. The dreams usually slowed to a virtual crawl at that
point, where each moment would last a lifetime. Every time, Ray would
come but hold Fraser back so that he'd still be ready to go when Ray pulled
out and rolled over onto his back. Ray would then spread his legs,
raise his knees, and let Fraser do the one thing that Stella never could.
Fuck him until he passed out. And while the pleasure was intense,
Ray always woke up feeling disappointed that he never got to see Fraser
come. Not once.
Unlocking his car and stowing his package in the backseat floorboard,
Ray sat in the driver's seat, considering his options, and came to a quick
decision. Maybe he'd drive by there on his way home after all.
Fraser's apartment wasn't that far out of his way, a couple of miles at
the most.
There it was, 231, and Fraser's apartment was right about— Ray scanned
the third floor until he saw a set of windows that appeared lit by candle
or lantern light—there. He wondered whether the Mountie had forgotten
to pay his electric bill or if maybe he was getting romantic with his honey.
There was one way to find out. Ray went behind the buildings across
the street from Fraser's, and found a fire escape. He quickly climbed
to the roof of the pool hall and went over to the front so that he could
see right into Fraser's apartment. His view was aided by his position
being at a slight diagonal, which gave him a wider angle of the apartment
than being straight across the street would have. The man apparently
had no curtains, and his shades were rolled all the way up to the top of
the window, further clearing Ray's view.
Ray had been right about the light. The apartment was lit by a
small lamp and Coleman lantern, which the Mountie seemed to be using to
read a small leather bound book. He was sitting on a narrow bed with
his back propped against the wall and his long legs stretched out in front
of him. With the red uniform hanging neatly on a hook on the wall,
Fraser was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Even dressed casually
and lounging on his bed, Fraser looked neater than Ray did when he was
dressed up to go to court.
Ray was both relieved and confused that the soft light wasn't for seduction
purposes. He wanted Fraser to himself, yet a guy that good looking
couldn't possibly be unattached. He had to have a girl—or boy—friend
somewhere. Maybe his sweetie was out of town or they had a fight
or something. No way was this prime specimen of a man just walking
around loose. With a face like that, he probably got offers every
day.
Ray could think of plenty of things to offer him. Unfortunately,
those things weren't necessarily something the guy would want, especially
if he was the straight arrow he appeared to be. Hell, half the things
Ray might offer would be illegal in all of Canada and a good portion of
the Midwest.
Ray was jolted out of his thoughts when a big white and grey wolf-looking
dog walked into view inside the apartment. It leaped onto the bed,
putting its paws on Fraser's chest and tilting its head in silent communication.
Fraser set the book carefully aside and appeared to speak a few words that
made the dog jump to the floor. It went to wait by the door while
Fraser swung his legs over the side of the bed and put on a pair of boots.
"Taking the doggy for a walk, huh?" Ray watched the subject of
his stakeout pull on a leather jacket, set the Mountie hat on his head,
and leave the apartment with the dog, appearing on the street a couple
of minutes later. "Don't mind if I tag along, do ya? No, of course
not. You'll never know I'm here."
The dog seemed to be in no hurry to do its business. It wandered
down the sidewalk sniffing at every little thing, stopping for a pat on
the head from a child whose mother pulled him away sharply once she got
a good look at the dog. A few words and a smile from Fraser had her
changing her attitude in no time. Ray figured the woman would eventually
give him the kid if Fraser kept giving her that smile. It was polite
and trustworthy and hotter than hell. It was a smile that wrapped
itself around your insides and squeezed painfully tight while you thanked
it for the experience, and Ray wanted one of his own. He wanted the
Mountie to smile at him like that just once.
He took the rooftops back to the street where he'd parked, preferring
not to have to deal with any people at the moment. When he got to
his car, he checked to make sure everything was where it was supposed to
be and then drove home to make an appointment with the doctor that Len-the-bloodseller
had told him about.
The sun was just going down three days later when Lieutenant Jacobs
called Ray back to the station house. Since he'd been up for a couple
of hours, Ray was already dressed, fed, and ready to go.
When Ray was admitted to his boss's office, he found two other men waiting,
middle aged men cut from the same cloth as Jacobs. Lieutenant Jacobs
quickly introduced Captain James Alvarado, who would be coordinating the
undercover effort, and Lieutenant Harding Welsh, who would be Ray's new
shift commander.
After handshakes and greetings and nice-to-meet-you's were passed around,
everyone took a seat and Jacobs pushed a tall stack of files to the middle
of his desk. "Detective Kowalski, we've reviewed the paperwork from
your doctor, and we ran into a slight problem." The lieutenant nodded
to the captain, who took over.
"The 27th doesn't have a second shift of detectives. As you may
know, some precincts have them and some don't, largely due to budgetary
constraints and perceived need. But after careful consideration,
it has been decided to give the 27th precinct a second shift." Captain
Alvarado looked at Welsh and then back to Ray and explained, "At first
there will only be you, your...uh, unofficial partner, and another pair
of detectives on this second shift. You all will be working under
Lieutenant Welsh for the time being because the current budget cannot support
another shift commander."
When Ray finally spoke, it was to address the main thing that had snagged
his attention during the Captain's speech. "My unofficial partner?
What's that all about?"
Alvarado and Jacobs both looked at Lieutenant Welsh with identical I'm-glad-it's-you-and-not-me
smiles on their faces. Ray started to get nervous. What kind
of guy was he replacing? They didn't have detectives in K-9 units,
did they?
Welsh took the top file off the stack and handed it to Ray. "This
is the detective whose life you will be taking over. And this is...his
partner. More or less." He placed another file in front of
Ray. "We know that it's a bit unorthodox, but they do solve cases—"
Ray was vaguely aware of the lieutenant's voice continuing to speak,
but he didn't understand another word the man said. His whole world
had narrowed to a three by five black and white photograph paperclipped
to the first page in the folder. Ray had only seen the man a few
times, but he recognized him right away. This was the cop from the
alley that night. The balding guy in the flashy suit and green Buick.
He closed his eyes and swallowed down the sick certainty that hit him.
He didn't have to open the other file because he knew exactly what, or
rather who he'd find inside.
Silently panicking at what they were asking of him, he stared at the
page in front of him until the picture began to blur. He took a deep
breath and tried to look outwardly calm, but inside he was shaking so hard
he wondered why his teeth didn't rattle. He glanced over the vital
statistics next to the photograph, and then looked up at his lieutenant.
"Why do they want me for this job? I don't look anything like
this...Raymond Vecchio."
While it was the Captain that answered, Ray kept his eyes on his current
boss, who was serving as his lifeline right now. "We didn't find
anybody suitable who did, so we decided to go with our best undercover
man."
Ray almost snorted at that because he didn't believe it for a minute.
The grave looks on the faces of the three older men dissuaded him from
voicing his contention. He could not argue with his superiors on
something like this. Anything else he could, but not this.
Sitting in a small, overcrowded office in an uncomfortable chair, Ray
suddenly started to believe in predestination, or fate, whatever.
He knew this was what he was supposed to do, even though the reasonable
part of his mind told him to just stand up, throw his shield on the desk,
and walk out. He could even refuse the assignment without quitting
altogether. He could tell them thanks but no thanks, find someone
else. But he couldn't.
Without so much as glancing at the second file, Ray nodded at his boss
and then at the other two men. "All right, I'll do it. When
do I start?"
"You've got nearly two weeks until you have to step into Vecchio's shoes."
Lieutenant Jacobs shoved the rest of the files toward Ray, and said, "You'll
not be working any new cases, but you will have Vecchio's case files to
study and a few people to talk to. I'll give you a list of names
and numbers and what their relationship to Vecchio is. It will be
up to you to figure out what questions to ask."
Jacobs smiled at him with an almost paternal gleam in his dark eyes.
"Ray, I have every confidence that you can do this."
Ray smiled for the first time since he'd walked through the door, and
nodded. "From your mouth to God's ear, Lou. I hope you're right."
Ray took home two large boxes of files. They were divided into
two groups: cases that Vecchio had worked before Fraser, many of which
were still open and cases that Vecchio had worked after Fraser, most of
which were closed. He set the boxes on his dining table and left
the apartment. He was technically on his own time so he was going
to do what he wanted before he got to work.
And right now he wanted some coffee.
The Dale Restaurant was a smallish, brightly-lit diner, and the coffee
was surprisingly good. It was, not coincidentally, also in the Mountie's
neighborhood, which paid off as Ray was stirring sugar into his second
cup.
Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio walked in and sat down in a booth
by the wall, still carrying on with their conversation. Ray turned
slightly so that he could watch them from the corner of his eye, as he
unashamedly listened to them.
"Yeah, Benny, it does sound great. I almost wish I was going with
you."
"Well, Ray, you know you're more than welcome to come—"
"Almost! I said almost." Vecchio laughed, but spoke with
a warmth in his voice that was far too obvious to Ray's sensitive ears.
"You'll have a great time being alone in the wilderness, and seeing all
your Inuit and Mountie buddies. I guess Dief will go completely wild
having all that room to run."
"He misses the wilderness terribly. Wolves are not city creatures."
Ray wondered if Vecchio could hear that Fraser was not talking about
his dog...or wolf, whatever, as clearly as Ray could. The longing
in the other man's voice almost broke his heart, but the realization that
Fraser was leaving Chicago, at least for a while, hit even harder.
Throwing some bills on the counter next to his cup, Ray stood up to leave.
When he got to the door, Ray paused and looked back at Fraser to fix
the image of him in his mind. Instead of the fancier red uniform,
the Mountie was wearing a serviceable brown one that made him look much
more real, less superhero-ish. Ray decided he liked it much better
because, although the red one was sexy, the brown uniform made Fraser look
touchable yet very tough. And sexy, of course, but the man really
couldn't help that. Hell, even those ridiculous Dr. Denton-looking
long johns had been sexy when Fraser wore them. Ray had never had
any particular uniform fetish, but it was never too late to develop one.
He just hoped he'd have a chance to do so.
Almost laughing at the bizarre turn his thoughts had taken, Ray walked
out into the night. He had stacks of work waiting for him, and mooning
around after his future partner was not going to get it done. He
had to fight the urge to hang around long enough to see if Fraser went
home alone or if Vecchio went with him. The thought that the two
men might be more than friends sent an irrational bolt of jealousy through
him. Just because Ray had felt a strong attraction from the first
moment he'd heard his voice didn't mean Fraser belonged to him—in any
way, shape or form.
They were strangers. Fraser was a stranger. A stranger that
Ray would have to pretend was his friend and partner. He had no idea just
how he was going to pull this off.
Ray put off opening the last file until he had memorized or at least
familiarized himself with all the others. It had taken him days to
make it through the boxes of files, but he'd resisted the siren call of
the one file that he'd kept separate, lying in the middle of his coffee
table like an untouchable centerpiece.
He'd picked up bits of Fraser from all over Vecchio's cases, but now
he was faced with the complete story. Or as complete a story as one
could get from official words on official paper. He knew there was
so much more than ever got written down. Some things could not be
written down, either officially or not. Words would not do them justice.
With a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Ray sat at his desk, turned on the
reading lamp out of habit, and flipped open the last file. He fell
headfirst into the story of a man who came to a city thousands of miles
from home. Came to a city that was cold and unkind and utterly alien
to him just to find the men who had murdered his father. He'd brought
those men to justice at great cost to his career, and had stayed in Chicago
to catch even more bad guys. Along the way, he'd gained the devoted
friendship of Raymond Vecchio and the respect of the Chicago Police Department.
Ray closed his eyes and wondered how on earth he could pull this off.
This 'assignment' was starting to feel more like a kamikaze mission.
Maybe going up in flames was part of this whole destiny thing he'd so recently
begun to believe in.
After taking a moment to settle himself, he started over at the beginning.
He had to admit this made for a more interesting read than most of the
books on the best sellers list.
When he got to the part about Victoria Metcalf, Ray took down the small,
framed picture of Stella and him at the dance competition from the top
of his desk. Seeing the way they were smiling into each other's eyes
didn't hurt quite as much now as it had right after she left. Her
leaving had just about killed him, but he'd held that picture every night
for a month while he missed her too bad to cry about it. Now he could
smile and be glad that as much as she'd hurt him, Stella had never tried
to deliberately make him suffer. She had never turned evil and tried
to destroy him. Strange thing to be grateful for, but there it was.
He almost felt like calling her on the phone and thanking her, except that
she wouldn't appreciate being woken up at four a.m. for anything less than
a life or death situation. There weren't going to be any of those
as far as he was concerned, not anymore.
He could feel himself beginning to let go of Stella. He'd known
all along that it was over and it was time to move on, but he hadn't felt
it yet. He wondered if he ran into Stella right now how he'd react.
Would he get that longing ache to have her back? He'd loved her longer
than he hadn't. All of his adult life had been connected with Stella,
and when she'd left he'd been completely at sea. How could he be
just him when he'd been a part of Ray-and-Stella for so many years?
But he'd done it. For months, he'd kept reaching for her in the middle
of the night, and expecting her to just be there at other times.
Eventually he had stopped doing that, and now he was starting to build
a life for himself that was not conditional on getting Stella back.
He'd even been out on a few dates. The very idea of dating anyone
but Stella had been completely foreign at first, but he'd slowly gotten
used to the idea. He hadn't quite worked up to dancing with another
woman, though. That was his and Stella's thing, and he couldn't do
it with just anyone yet.
Maybe that's why it had been easier with men— there were no expectations
of the type of romance he'd shared with Stella. He'd really only
experimented a bit, going to bars and fooling around a little, until Trevor.
He'd done things with Trevor that he'd only dreamed about, and the physical
part had been surprisingly easy, even if part of his own reactions had
been emotionally jarring. Things had eventually fallen into place.
He wondered if that was a by-product of the weirdness they shared or if
he could have the same thing with another man. A man like Benton
Fraser, for instance.
Ray told himself that he had to stop thinking like that. The man
was probably straight as a stick, his closeness to his partner and terrible
luck with women notwithstanding. He shook his head regretfully, and
returned Stella's picture to its rightful spot. He closed up the
file and was not really surprised to notice that daylight was seeping in
around the very edges of the curtains. Good thing he kept them closed
all the time or he might have been a crispy critter by now.
Standing up for a good spine popping stretch, he decided to go to bed.
He'd go over the files again when he woke up this afternoon, and then start
doing interviews.
That morning Ray dreamed of blood. Rivers of blood, oceans of
it. So much blood he was drowning in it. So much blood it ceased
to have meaning, like a word repeated over and over becomes nonsensical.
The maroon color that surrounded him started to bend and twist, lightening
and morphing into the brighter vermilion shade of the distinctive red serge.
Fraser was there and Trevor had him. Trevor's arm was wrapped around
Fraser's middle, his hand clenched around the Mountie's throat. Ray
froze in panic, muscles locked in conflict. He wanted to save Fraser,
but he didn't want to hurt Trevor. He felt pulled and torn in opposite
directions.
Ray's fangs dug into his lower lip until his own blood flowed over his
tongue, and down his throat. It was like the kisses he shared with
Trevor, thick-slick and nourishing. Intensifying his hunger rather
than feeding it. Ray closed his eyes and felt soft lips on his, an
impossibly hot mouth burning him. The kisses tasted of sweetness
and something wild. He opened his eyes and stared at Fraser as Trevor's
laughter filled his ears. He reached out his hands, ready to lunge
at Trevor and take Fraser from him, but the blood returned in a big, sweeping
wave that knocked him off his feet. As the blood washed him away,
he could hear Fraser calling for him, calling for help, and Trevor still
laughing.
Ray awoke with a start. The thirst burning the back of his throat
was almost unbearable. He hadn't been this hungry since that very
first night. He dragged himself from the bed and went to the kitchen.
Feeling much too hungry to be picky, he popped open a bottle and drank
the contents cold. He still wasn't satisfied, but it was enough for
now.
After a long hot shower, Ray sat down at his desk and started to read
through the files again. Images from the nightmare kept drifting
through his mind, distracting him from his task. He couldn't concentrate
on memorizing all these names and places and crimes when his mind kept
drifting. He finally closed his eyes and tried to remember all of
the details of the dream that he could. Maybe piecing together the
parts would make some picture that would give him a clue about the dream's
meaning.
Or maybe there was no meaning in it at all. Maybe it was one of
those wacky vampire things, and he should just forget it. It was
definitely a vampire thing since the main ingredient was blood, but what
was Fraser doing there? Did he have some inner fear that Trevor would
take Fraser from him? The idea seemed pretty far-fetched considering
Trevor had disappeared weeks ago. There was no reason to believe
that Trevor knew anything about Fraser.
Ray opened his eyes and let out a frustrated breath. He wasn't
getting anywhere this way. It was just a dream and brooding over
it wouldn't do any good. He also wasn't going to get any work done
sitting around here like this.
After feeding and watering his turtle, Ray fixed himself a warm mug
of blood and sipped at it as he looked over the list of people he was supposed
to call. The liquid nourishment just wasn't quite as satisfying coming
from a cup as it usually was. Although it had been rather horrifying
overall, the dream had reminded Ray how much better human blood was, especially
coming straight from a live warm body. That thought should be as
disgusting as anything but for some reason it wasn't—which puzzled Ray
but didn't worry him too much. He was adaptable and that's what made
him good undercover. He took advantage of the good breaks he received
and worked around the bad ones. Not always successfully, but enough
to get by.
Deciding to start at the top and work his way down, Ray called Mrs.
Vecchio and asked if he could come that evening to ask her some questions
about her son. She already knew about the impending charade so she
readily agreed. After politely avoiding the dinner invitation, he
wrote down the directions to the house and hung up the phone.
After knocking on the door of the comfortable two-story house on Octavia,
Ray smiled politely as a comfortably middle aged lady answered. "Good
evening, Mrs. Vecchio. I'm Ray Kowalski."
"You're not Italian." Mrs. Vecchio smiled as if she hadn't meant
to blurt that out and said, "Well, I knew your name, of course, but I thought
perhaps your mother...?"
"No. Uh...I'm sorry, ma'am." Ray suddenly felt bad for disappointing
this woman, whom he didn't even know. He followed her inside, where
she went straight to the kitchen.
"But you're such a polite boy. Your mother must be very proud."
Ray shrugged and sat at the table where she indicated. What could
he possibly say to that? He really didn't want to talk about his
parents, hadn't wanted to think about them at all in the last few weeks.
But he continued to make his absent mother proud with his good manners
as Mrs. Vecchio introduced her two pretty dark-eyed daughters and her not-so-pretty
son-in-law.
As the last one of the younger Vecchios drifted back to whatever they
were doing before his arrival, it hit him that he would have to pretend
to be a part of this family for an indeterminate period of time.
For an only child, mostly estranged from his parents, this was disconcerting
to say the least.
He accepted a cup of coffee and pulled out his notebook. "Now
Mrs. Vecchio, I'd like—"
"What's this Mrs. Vecchio? You'll call me "Ma" if you're supposed
to be my Raimondo. Are you sure you wouldn't like to have a little
something to eat, Ray? There's minestrone left over from supper.
Let me fix you a bowl."
"No, please, I couldn't." The very idea turned his stomach.
"I just ate before I came."
"But you're so thin!" Mrs. Vecchio shook her head at him and pushed
the sugar bowl a little closer. "Are you Catholic?"
"No, I'm not—"
"Granted, my son doesn't go to Mass nearly as often as he should, but
he does go with the family on occasion. You're welcome to come along
anyway—it certainly won't hurt."
Ray wasn't actually sure about that, but he'd test it out on his own
some night. Either way, he couldn't be going to any Sunday morning
services. He thought about giving Mrs. Vecchio the sunlight allergy
story, but decided to save it for later, using it only if it was really
necessary. The lady didn't seem to need much in the way of replies
from him, so he ignored the questions he'd scribbled out and just let her
talk.
"You really don't look at all like my son. They didn't have a
policeman who looked more like him? Well, I'm sure you're a very
good policeman, and you're a handsome boy, but... It's just
strange, isn't it?"
Ray nodded and shrugged. He'd wondered the same things himself,
but he was committed to the job now, so he couldn't let it matter at this
point. He had to go on as if it did make sense. It was the
only way he could get though this assignment—not unlike the rest of his
life.
For the next couple of hours, Mrs. Vecchio talked about her son, the
schools he went to, the church he was baptized and confirmed in, sports
he was good at, how he treated his sisters, and anything else she could
think of. She told him so many stories about all of her children
and other relatives that by the time he walked out of the house, Ray almost
felt like he actually was a Vecchio.
Sitting in the silence of his car, Ray laughed quietly to himself.
This would certainly be the most interesting assignment he'd ever had.
On his way home, he found himself driving down West Racine. He
looked up at Fraser's dark windows as he passed, and shook his head at
the vague longing he felt just to see the man. As if catching a
glimpse of a figure in red serge would suddenly make everything feel right
again. The clothes didn't even matter. He'd be happy to see
Fraser in the brown uniform, the flannel and denim civvies, or nothing
at all. That last option squeezed the breath from his lungs and tightened
his shorts.
Ray had to quit thinking that way, because he would be working with
the man very soon. He couldn't go around in a constant state of arousal.
Not only would it be extremely uncomfortable, the Mountie was bound to
notice that his partner popped a woody every time he walked into the room.
He only had a few days until he had to start work at the 27th and only
a few days after that Fraser would be back from his vacation.
Tuning out the sounds of uniforms coming and going and Jack Huey arguing
with his new partner, Ray shuffled through the piles of papers and folders
on Vecchio's— his desk. The one file he needed was nowhere to
be found. He'd already checked the file cabinet, so that left...
"Elaine! Hey, good, you're still here. You got that stuff
on the Docklands?"
The Civilian Aide handed over some folders before the question was completely
out of his mouth. "I was just about to drop it by on my way out the
door."
"Thanks. See ya tomorrow." Ray smiled and winked at her
and went back to work, cross-referencing details of a couple of cases he
was almost certain were connected. He'd been working what looked
like a simple hit-and-run, when something about it had twigged a memory
of a warehouse robbery that Vecchio had been working right before he left.
The trail was already cold but he didn't have anything else pressing at
the moment.
"Ray!" The sound of the voice that Ray hadn't heard for weeks
except in dreams brought his head up and before he realized what he was
doing, he was on his feet, smile in place, stepping into the last untouched
vestige of Ray Vecchio's life.
"Fraser! Buddy!" Trying to control his less noble impulses,
Ray threw his arms around the man in red for a quick welcome home hug.
"It's good to see you. Did you have a good time up there in the Northwest
Areas?"
"You mean 'Territories'?" Fraser asked with a slightly stunned
look on his face.
Ray walked back to his desk, started to gather up his files into some
sort of order, and kept talking, mostly to fill the silence. "Wilderness,
huh? Me, I leave the city I come down with this skin condition..."
Fraser interrupted politely, "I'm sorry. I'm looking for Detective
Ray Vecchio."
"Yeah. You talked to Welsh, right?"
"Well, yes for just a moment, but—"
The lieutenant should have explained things already so what was the
deal here? Ray glanced around at the dwindling evening traffic of
the squad room, and said, "Then quit kidding around, Fraser. You
know who I am."
"I assure you I am not kidding around."
"It hasn't been the same around here without you. I mean— look
at history and what do you have? Duets—" Ray started to give a rap
on partnership that was half carefully chosen references and half free
association, but the sight of another Mountie stopped him cold. "Wait
a minute. Nobody told me there'd be two Mounties. That just
screws up the whole a-partnership-is-a-duet dynamic."
The two men in matching red serge uniforms were looking at him but talking
to each other. The older one said, "There's something not right about
this one, son."
"Well, he's not Ray Vecchio as he claims to be." Fraser spoke
in a low voice, out of the side of his mouth, as if he didn't want anyone
to notice he was talking to the man next to him. Ray was beginning
to think all those heroic deeds had shaken something loose inside the man's
head.
"Ah, one Yank's much the same as another." The older man stared
at Ray thoughtfully through narrowed eyes. "No, I can't put my finger
on it, but there's something off about him."
Feeling impatient with being treated like an inanimate object, Ray said,
"Well, he is not deaf, and who are you calling 'off', huh?"
Fraser appeared quite taken aback as he asked incredulously, "Do you
mean...you can see and hear this man?"
"Sure. He's there. I see him. You're there.
I see you." Ray shrugged in puzzlement at the bizarre question.
"What's the big deal? Can't you see him?"
"Yes, but I'm usually the only one who can."
"What? Why?"
"He's been dead for two years." Still wearing a stunned look,
Fraser continued to speak very quietly. "This is my father, Sergeant
Robert Fraser."
Ray lifted his hand to offer a handshake, but what Fraser had just said
sank in and he dropped his hand back to his side. He took an instinctive
step back and tilted a sideways look at the old man standing just behind
Fraser's shoulder. "I've been talking to a ghost? A ghost?
Well, hell."
"It would appear so, yes." Fraser nodded and glanced from his
father to Ray.
This was just too freaky weird. Ray staggered back a few feet
and fell into his chair. The old man couldn't be a... Ray didn't
believe in... Then he laughed under his breath. A month ago, he
hadn't believed in vampires either. Okay, so not only did he have
to work with a guy he had a...a lust-thing for, he also had the man's dead
father hanging around as a chaperone. "Wonderful. That's
just freakin'...wonderful."
Ray didn't quite know how to proceed from here. He'd been prepared
to hide his real life from his new partner and live Vecchio's as much as
he possibly could, but now he was beginning to wonder if he might be able
to tell Fraser the truth. The ghost of his dead father was still
hanging around so maybe having a vampire for a partner wouldn't be too
much for him to handle. Ray'd have to take it slow, though, and get
to know Fraser a bit more personally first so he could predict the Mountie's
reaction to the news.
As Ray sat there, something warm and slightly damp touched the back
of his hand, snuffling the skin and snapping his attention to the Mountie's
pet, who'd just made its appearance. Ray's whole body tensed but
he held his hand still and let the wolf get used to his smell. "Hey
there...Dief...old buddy."
The wolf let out a sharp yip, and flopped down on the floor with a whine,
rolling over to expose his throat and belly. Alarmed, Ray looked
up at Fraser and asked, "What'd I do?"
"He's showing submission. He's never— That's just an odd thing
for him to do...especially under the circumstances."
"Well, could you make him stop? It's weirdin' me out, here."
"Diefenbaker...Diefenbaker! You can get up now." Fraser
spoke to the wolf with calm exasperation, then pinned Ray to his chair
with bright blue eyes. "He knows when things aren't as they should
be."
Ray nodded slowly. "You did talk to Welsh, didn't you?"
"We said hello, and then he said he was busy with the IRS but he'd talk
to me later."
"Ahh, there's your problem. You need to go talk to him now.
Let him explain why I'm Ray Vecchio."
"But you're not—"
"Fraser! Just go talk to Welsh." Ray made little shooing
motions with his hands then turned back to the piles of paper on his desk.
As Fraser walked off to presumably find the lieutenant, Ray noticed that
his father stayed behind, watching him with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.
Ray tried to ignore the old man, but after a few minutes, he snapped, "Don't
you have somebody else to haunt, Mister...uh, Sergeant..."
"Call me Bob." He gave a surprisingly friendly little smile.
"And no, not at the moment."
Ray narrowed his eyes and thought about trying to get rid of him, but
how could he get rid of a ghost? The man would just keep coming back,
wouldn't he? Maybe he should try to use the situation to his advantage.
He glanced around to make sure no one would see him talking to an empty
space beside his desk. "So uhh...what's it like? Being...?
"Dead? Not too different from being alive, except that I can't
eat, can't feel as much, can't talk to anyone but a few other dead people
and Benton—and now you. I can't work, can't...oh. In short,
it's actually nothing like being alive." He gave a nonchalant shrug.
"But what can you do, eh?"
"Well, that would be the sixty-four thousand dollar question, wouldn't
it?" Ray could certainly get behind the idea of making the best of
whatever situation a man found himself in.
"Existentially speaking, you mean? Oh yes, I suppose so."
The ghost Mountie continued to look at Ray with mildly suspicious interest,
but Ray couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment so he went
back to work until the live Mountie came back.
"Well...Ray, I'm fully apprised of the situation now, and I apologize
for my earlier confusion." Fraser gave Ray a smile and little nod
to let him know he was in on the replacement scheme.
"Well, that's good to know, Fraser, old buddy. Now you wanna give
me a hand on this case tonight? I thought we could go poking around,
talk to a few—" The ringing phone interrupted him and he snatched it up,
saying, "Ray Vecchio."
The raspy voice on the other end of the line said, "It's a shame you
left your electric blanket on, but at least your whole family will stay
all toasty warm."
"What're you talking about my family? Who is this?"
"Never mind, Detective Vecchio. Tell your friend in red that he's
next." And then, incredibly, Ray could hear the distinctive sound
of a match striking...and it all clicked into place.
He pushed the disconnect button and called the Vecchio home. "Frannie,
get everyone out of the house. Come on, Frannie, I don't have time
to argue. Just do it, okay? We'll be right over."
"Ray, what is going on?" Fraser's voice, crisp yet concerned,
soothed Ray's rattled nerves.
"I think someone just threatened to burn down my house."
"You mean the Vecchios' house?"
"Yeah, my house, Fraser. Get with the program." Grabbing
his coat, Ray headed for the door and said, "Let's go see what's what."
"I am 'with the program', as you say. I just wished to be perfectly
clear on exactly which house was in danger," Fraser clarified, as they
ran downstairs and out the door to the back lot where a green Buick Riviera
sat waiting.
"Now why am I not surprised?" Fraser asked, and Ray started to answer
then realized it was probably one of those questions that didn't have an
answer.
As soon as they got into the car and took off, Dief put his paws up
on the back of the front seat as if to get a better view, but one sideways
glance from Ray made the wolf lie down on the back seat.
"You have the most amazing effect on him," Fraser said, as they squealed
around a corner. "There was a stop sign back there."
"We're going to a fire, for crying out loud." Ray shrugged.
"So where'd Bob go?"
Fraser looked at Ray with exquisite surprise etched on his features.
"Did you say 'Bob'?"
"Yeah, your old man. That's what he told me to call him.
He's not gonna be hanging around everywhere we go, is he?"
"He comes and goes. Do you often see ghosts?"
Ray considered that for a moment, and came to the next logical question.
Would he be seeing ghosts all over the place now? That would get
real old real fast. "No, he's my first. Do you?"
"No, he's it." Fraser didn't get a chance to say anything else,
because they were pulling up in front of the house. The small front
yard, which was lit by every porch light on the street being on, was a
minor chaos of Vecchios and various neighbors talking excitedly among themselves
and milling around.
Francesca rushed up to Fraser, grabbed his hand and pressed it to her
chest. "Feel my heart, Fraser—it's going a hundred miles an hour.
We caught an arsonist."
Ray stepped in between his pretend sister and his new partner.
"Your heart's fine, Frannie. What do you mean you caught the arsonist?"
She frowned at him and said, "She's up on the porch with Ma. Now,
Fraser—"
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted by a shout from Tony.
Ray's fake brother-in-law waved his arms and yelled, "Hey, she's getting
away!"
Ray turned to see Ma waving a cast iron skillet at the retreating back
of a dumpy figure, which was moving at a surprisingly quick pace toward
an old blue van parked on the street. Police sirens could be heard
in the distance, getting closer, but the suspected torch had already gotten
into the van and was pulling away. Ray ran for his car, yelling for
Fraser who was running after the rapidly disappearing vehicle.
He slowed the car down enough for Fraser to open the door and jump inside.
"Okay, Fraser, what's the deal here? You can try to burn down my place
of employment. You could burn down my bowling alley, even my dance
hall, but not my place of residence. That's going too far."
Even though he didn't actually live there, Ray was incensed. It was
the thought that counted.
"It could have something to do with a previous case, a copycat or someone
out for revenge. We need to go back over our shared history and see
what fits this scenario."
Ray broke off his mental shuffling of old cases when he suddenly remembered
something. "The voice on the phone said you were next."
"Yes, we seem to be heading toward my apartment building, but surely,
she knows that we will get there in time to stop her from actually setting
fire to the building."
"Who knows? Maybe she's unhinged."
"Well, that's always a possibility, or perhaps she's got something else
in mind..." Fraser's voice trailed off as the van slowed down to a crawl.
Out of habit, Ray hit the horn several times and instantly regretted
it as smoke started to pour into the car's interior. "Fraser..."
Ray didn't like the panic in his voice, but he couldn't seem to do anything
about it. Hell, he felt panicky. "I gotta pull over.
I don't care if she gets away."
"No, you can't, Ray. There're too many people around."
"The car's gonna blow, Fraser."
"It is very, very rare for a car to actually blow up, Ray, just—" the
explosion cut off his next words. Coughing lightly, Fraser pointed
through the smoke and encroaching flames and said, "That way. The
lake they call Michigan."
Ray darted a glance through the fire-framed darkness and said, "Lake
Michigan?"
"Yes, the lake they call Michigan."
"Lake Michigan."
Ray shook his head and drove for the water, ignoring both Fraser and
Bob, who had just popped in, saying, "Well, this is exciting. The
yank's doing okay so far, son."
The car flew over the edge of the dock and plunged into the inky waters
of the lake, which extinguished the flames. Ray felt a bolt of fear
unlike anything he'd experienced since the night he'd been changed.
His success in the water after his one attempt at flying notwithstanding,
he still didn't consider himself a swimmer. The water rushed in through
the open windows and closed over Ray's head before he could even get his
bearings. He started to struggle, kicking his feet, blindly trying
to get free of the sinking car, but a hand caught his flailing arm and
settled him down enough to open his eyes.
It was too dark to see anything, but he could feel Fraser looking at
him, willing him to calmness. Ray shook off Fraser's hand and squirmed
around until he could slide out the window. He kicked off the car
and his head immediately broke the surface. He sucked in a deep breath
and flailed around, in what could be called swimming only by someone rather
vaguely familiar with the concept, until he grabbed hold of a support post.
Climbing up onto the dock, Ray looked around frantically for Fraser and
the wolf, and let out a strangled sigh of relief when he saw them scrambling
up ahead of him.
Fraser hit the boards and jumped to his feet, and Ray could see a middle
aged blonde closing in on him with a gun in her hand. He stumbled
upright and seconded Fraser's demand. "Put the gun down."
"Zoltan Motherwell is a fine painter, a great artist." The woman
aimed the gun at Fraser's chest. "And I'm carrying on his work."
"I said put the gun down." Ray didn't stop to consider what he was doing,
just stepped in front of Fraser a second ahead of the bullet that slammed
into his chest, spinning him around. The burst of fire in his flesh
was followed by a blessed numbness as he sank to the ground in what felt
like slow motion. In the dreamlike stillness, he watched Fraser take
the gun from the woman and tie her hands with the little rope thing from
his uniform. The tingling prickle in his chest let Ray know that
the wound was already healing, but he'd need blood to replace what he'd
lost.
The thought of blood spurred him to action. Climbing painfully
to his feet, he pulled his overcoat close around him and thought that he'd
never get away with the lie he was formulating if there were more working
streetlights in the area and his clothes weren't so dark. Fraser
turned around and appeared shocked to see Ray on his feet.
Ray grinned and tried not to look in Fraser's eyes as he said, "I'm
okay. I'm wearing a vest."
"Very...ahem, very clever, Ray." Fraser smiled with what looked
like genuine relief, and then cocked his head to one side. "Here
come the police."
They stood there and looked down at the woman on the ground, and Ray
thought about asking her why she was doing all this and then decided he
didn't care. He just wanted to go home and feed. The hunger
was growing, radiating up from the closing hole in his chest. He
could feel his teeth itching, beginning to lengthen and sharpen.
He couldn't allow it while he was working.
Secure in the knowledge that Fraser had the suspect more subdued than
Ma had, Ray wandered off a little way and stared out at the crash debris
floating on the water. For just a moment he felt bad for the real
Ray Vecchio, but it passed quickly. He glanced over his shoulder
to make sure that Fraser wasn't looking and then slipped his hand inside
his coat. He rubbed his fingertips over his wet shirt, just above
his right nipple. The skin was almost smooth again underneath the
small hole in the cotton, but it still ached a little. He pulled
his hand out and stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking off the traces
of blood tainted by the taste of lake water.
"Ray." Fraser's voice had him spinning around to face the man
framed by the flashing blue lights of two police cruisers. "Are you
all right?"
Ray crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling fingers hard
against his sides. His fangs were slightly distended so he nodded
and gave Fraser a close-mouthed smile. As they walked over to the
squad cars, Ray could feel Fraser giving him a concerned look out of the
corner of his eye, but he kept his own gaze fixed firmly on the uniformed
officers loading up the would-be arsonist for transport to the station.
The officers in the other car offered to take Ray and Fraser home so
they could change into dry clothes, and the two wet men were quick to take
them up on the offer. When they reached Ray's apartment building,
Fraser got out right behind Ray and said to the cops, "Thank you kindly.
I'll catch a ride with Detective Vecchio."
Ray stood on the sidewalk uncertainly, not really wanting to invite
his new partner into his home, but having little choice in the matter.
Fraser looked at him apologetically and said, "I'm sorry if I was presumptuous,
but I wanted to make sure that you're okay."
Ray sighed and ran his tongue over his teeth, which felt more normal
now. "Come on in."
As they went up to Ray's apartment, Fraser said, "I thought you said
you lived with the Vecchios?"
"Officially, on paper, not in reality." Ray unlocked his door,
keeping his face averted. The hunger was starting to return and he
was afraid Fraser would be able to see it somehow. The man seemed
too perceptive for Ray's comfort.
"So what is that getup? Wool? I'll bet it don't feel too
good when it gets wet, huh? I can find something for you to put on."
Ray was aware the he was babbling, but couldn't seem to stop trying to
fill the silence. "Yeah, I can do that. Have a seat.
Keep the wolf away from the turtle. Don't want some reenactment of
Wild Kingdom in my living room."
"I assure you that Diefenbaker will not harm your pet, Ray." Fraser
remained standing in the middle of the room and it occurred to Ray that
the Mountie was certainly too well bred to sit on someone's furniture in
wet clothes.
"Yeah, well he's got his nose pressed against the terrarium like he's
scopin' out lunch." Not giving Fraser time to reply, Ray went into
his bedroom and shuffled through his closet, picking out his baggiest pair
of jeans and a long sleeved shirt that had always been too big on him.
He hesitated by the dresser, unsure if he should offer underwear.
Wearing another guy's shirt was no big deal, but wearing his shorts was.
Some deeply buried charitable streak told Ray that it'd be cruel to make
Fraser go commando, probably against the Mountie rules—Thou Shalt Always
Be Properly Attired, Even In Thy Nether Regions. With a shrug of
mild defeat, he pulled out socks and a pair of boxerbriefs and took them
into the living room.
Shoving the bundle of clothes into Fraser's arms, he pointed toward
his bedroom door and said, "Bathroom's through there."
"Oh, you didn't have to go to any trouble. I could have waited
until I got home." Fraser looked down at the clothes and then back
up at Ray and then smiled politely. "Thank you kindly, Ray."
"No problem." Ray tried to smile back, but the hunger was making
him notice the pulse in his wrists, the empty growling of his stomach,
and, most strongly, the smell of wet wool and wet Fraser. The combination
was making his head spin lightly, and he couldn't relax until he heard
the bathroom door click shut, giving him a brief moment of privacy.
Ignoring the wolf who'd abandoned staring at the turtle for following
Ray around, he went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of blood.
He twisted the top off and downed the cold contents in a few long gulps,
shuddering at the temperature-affected taste. The effect was almost
immediate. His limbs started to loosen and his stomach settled down,
until he felt almost right—still wet and cold but whatever passed for
normal in his world.
Carefully rinsing his bottle out, Ray dropped it into a trashcan under
the sink and went into the bedroom. He listened to the faint rustling
sounds of clothes being changed behind the bathroom door and fought back
a wave of arousal. He couldn't be thinking about getting the Mountie
naked right now, not while he was right in the next room getting... naked.
Ray closed his eyes and took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and then
cursed quietly under his breath because it hadn't helped at all.
He was getting hard—in his bedroom—just knowing that a few feet and
one thin slab of wood was all that separated him from Fraser changing clothes.
Going over to his closet, Ray stripped off his coat and bloody shirt
and threw them both inside on the floor. He inspected his chest and
there was only a small red spot where the bullet had hit him. He
hadn't felt it go out his back, so it must have still been inside him.
He suppressed another shudder when he wondered if it would stay in there
or if it would come out somehow, the particulars of which he refused to
let his mind contemplate. He heard the doorknob make the peculiar
little clinking noise that signaled it was being gripped in preparation
for turning and grabbed a clean shirt off a hanger. He rammed his
arms through the sleeves and pulled the front together just as Fraser stepped
into the room. He pulled out a pair of pants and held them casually
in front of his crotch.
The shirt he'd given Fraser was an unfortunate shade of green, but the
pants fit closely enough to make Ray's mouth water. It was official—
Fraser managed to look edible no matter what he was wearing, and maybe
for the first time, Ray fully grasped the enormity of his assignment.
He'd thought the dodging-people-who-knew-Vecchio part was going to be difficult,
but he hadn't counted on the mind-blowing proximity of one Benton Fraser.
And he'd be with him every single blessed day. Yippee, lucky me,
thought Ray with fatalistic acceptance.
"Make yourself comfortable, Fraser. I'll hurry it up so we can
get on back to the station." Ray hoped he sounded more concerned
with professional matters than wanting to get this man out of his place
as soon as possible. He quickly got his dry clothes on and went back
into the living room to find Fraser sitting at attention on the couch,
looking around with polite interest. The guy didn't even have the
decency to look as tired as he must surely be at this hour of the evening
after travelling all day to get here.
Fueled by his recent feeding, the low thrum of arousal, and the excitement
of the evening, Ray himself was humming with energy. He rushed over
to the closet in the foyer and pulled out a jacket, saying, "Come on, Fraser,
pitter—"
Fraser interrupted him, saying quickly, "Are you sure you weren't injured,
Ray? I could have sworn I smelled blood on your clothes."
"Heh. That's a good one. What are ya, a bloodhound?"
Ray shook his head as if Fraser was making a joke. "Like anyone could
smell anything over the stench of lake water."
"No, I...oh, never mind. You're sure you're all right?"
"Right as rain. Now let's get moving." Ray hustled Fraser
and Dief out of his apartment and down to his own nondescript dark sedan,
which was not nearly as flashy and memorable as the Riviera, the remains
of which were most likely being pulled out of Lake Michigan right about
now. Assuming someone had bothered to call a salvage yard.
Again he felt a twinge of regret on behalf of the real Ray Vecchio, who
by all accounts had really—almost pathologically— loved that car.
Ray had a nostalgic flash of longing for his old GTO, surely passed on
to some other guy by now. No reason for dad to hang onto it, he thought
wistfully as he drove over to Fraser's apartment.
As he had at his own apartment, Ray felt hesitant about going into the
building and into Fraser's personal nest. He just knew that all this
non-professional contact was going to throw gasoline on fantasies that
were already burning out of control. He had a whole whack of problems
to deal with without adding this growing obsession with his new partner,
but his body didn't seem to be getting the message because here he was
following Fraser up the stairs and trying not to notice how his pants fit
Fraser's ass. Very nicely, a traitorous voice in his brain pointed
out.
Telling the voice to shut up, Ray fixed his eyes on Diefenbaker and
tried to think calming thoughts about furry little woodland creatures,
who did not wear big hats that should have looked silly, but somehow didn't.
Fraser gathered up some fresh clothes and told Ray he'd only be a minute
before leaving the apartment again for the bathroom down the hall.
Ray looked around at the sparse furnishings and wondered how anyone could
live without a television and a stereo. Those were necessities, weren't
they? A brief draft of cold air broke off his thoughts and he looked
around to find Bob Fraser's ghost watching him again.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing. Just trying to figure you out."
Ray snorted. "There's nothing to figure out. Just leave
me alone and we'll get along fine. Fraser doesn't need you to protect
him."
"Certainly not, but he frequently benefits from my advice and experience."
"Yeah? Well, what does that have to do with me?"
"If I figure you out, I can advise him on appropriate courses of action
to deal with you."
"Deal with— Look, old man, I don't need..." Ray broke off with a sigh
and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "I am not gonna argue
with a ghost. That is crazy, even for me."
"What's crazy, Ray?" Fraser asked interestedly. He stood
just inside the door with Ray's neatly folded clothes in his hands.
He was dressed like a lumberjack, a sexy lumberjack that Ray wanted to
fuck senseless.
Ray started to point at Bob, but he'd disappeared again, so Ray shook
his head and said, "Ah, never mind."
"As you wish. I'll return your clothes once I've had them cleaned."
Fraser put the stack of clothing on the kitchen table, and Ray immediately
picked them up.
"Nah, don't worry about it. I'll just go ahead and take them now."
He cradled them in one arm as they went back down to the car, where he
laid them on the back seat. He told Diefenbaker to stay off them,
because he didn't want to lose Fraser's scent yet. If Fraser saw
anything odd about Ray's actions, he kept it to himself.
After they'd finished up at the station, Ray dropped Fraser off at his
apartment and went back to work. He only had a couple hours left
on his shift so he used the time to review some files, but his mind kept
wandering in the Mountie's direction. He finally gave up and went
home.
Afraid of having another drowning-in-blood dream, he put off going to
bed until he couldn't hold his eyes open another minute. He was dead
to the world the second his head hit the pillow.
This time the dream started slowly with Ray walking down a darkened
city street. There were no lights anywhere and he could hardly see
three feet in front of his face, but he could hear—things skittering
behind him on clawed feet, odd dripping sounds that filled him with dread,
the flapping of wings that didn't sound at all bird-like... He could
feel eyes watching him from all sides and they didn't feel friendly...or
human. He couldn't remember where he was going, but he knew he had
to get there so he ignored his discomfort and picked up his pace.
Walking became a jog, which quickened until he was running full out.
He ran as fast as he could until his lungs burned and his legs felt rubbery,
but he didn't seem to be getting any closer to his mysterious destination.
A flash of red appeared at the corner of his vision and he turned toward
it, but stopped moving when he realized it was no longer there. He
spun around in a circle and yelled, "Fraser...Fraser...Where are you?"
His voice echoing back to him twisted in on itself until it sounded like
cruel laughter chattering at him out of the darkness. Another flash
of red at the corner of the eye, but when he spun again it was gone.
Feeling crushed by the feeling of utter isolation, Ray started walking
again, hoping to run into people, somebody, anybody, just so that he wasn't
alone anymore.
A voice whispered at him out of the dark, but he couldn't make out the
words. It sounded... wrong... dangerous, but he couldn't tell if he
should be afraid for himself or Fraser. The worry and anxiety twisted
his insides until it didn't matter what he was afraid of or who he
was afraid for, just that he was scared, too scared to scream, too scared
to run. He could only stand there and listen to the mumbling whisper
grow louder but no more intelligible. The voice scratched at his
ears and he still didn't know what it was saying, and that pissed him off
even as it terrified him, and finally a scream broke loose from his aching
throat and the words echoed back at him: "Fraser... mine..."
But he couldn't tell who spoke them, if it was him or the voice of the
other. And before he could figure it out, he woke up, slicked with
sweat, blood dripping down his throat from a dozen cuts on his tongue and
lips. He swallowed the thick liquid and gasped for breath, wishing
with all his heart he could go back to those sex dreams. They'd only
been frustrating.
He rolled over and looked at the clock. It was a few minutes after
noon. He could go back to sleep—an unfavorable prospect to be sure,
or he could call the Consulate and see if Fraser was in yet. That
is, he assumed Fraser's schedule had been adjusted to allow for his later
nights, working with Ray. If not, he'd feel really guilty for keeping
him up so late. He wouldn't stop doing it, but he would feel bad
about it.
Picking up the phone, Ray dialed the number from memory. He had
to go through the cheerfully confusing labyrinth that is a conversation
with Turnbull before he finally got to hear Fraser's voice. Ray found
himself smiling in the quiet dimness of his room as Fraser's crisp, professional
greeting turned warmer when Ray identified himself.
"How are you today?"
"That's what I was calling to ask you. It's not everyday you ride
a flaming car into Lake Michigan."
"That's true. It's not everyday one gets shot in the chest either.
You avoided my question."
"Oh, I'm just dandy, Fraser. You avoided mine too."
"I'm quite well, Ray. Perhaps a bit confused...ah, well, that's
not important. Was there anything else I could do for you?"
"No. I'll let you get back to work."
"I'll see you at the station later."
"Want me to swing by and pick you up?"
"That would be very thoughtful, Ray. Thank you."
"It's nothing. Can't have you wandering all over town after dark
dressed like a big red target for all the scumbags out there. See
you later." Ray hung up the phone and rolled onto his back.
While he was contemplating what he could do to fill the hours until it
was time to pick up Fraser, he relaxed into a dreamless sleep.
"Look, Fraser, I don't know how you do things up there in the Great
North Wilderness, but here in Chicago, when a guy points a gun at you,
you duck. Okay? You do not say, 'please hand over that illegal
weapon, young man, before I dazzle you with stories of Eskimos and references
to the queen'." Ray jerked open the car door and shot a glare at the source
of his frustration. "Next time you're gonna get capped, and I don't
wanna have to do the paper work."
"They're Inuit, Ray, not Eskimos. That's actually sort of a derogatory
term. It means 'eaters of raw flesh' and I believe that it originated
with—"
Ray held up one hand to interrupt Fraser, who stopped talking and looked
at him calmly over the roof of the car. Considering what all he'd
learned from working with Fraser, Ray said, "Are you gonna go all Discovery
Channel and give me a piece of history here? Because I'm sure it's
all fascinating as hell, but the point is, you're going to get yourself
killed. Don't you get that?"
"Ray, I do know what I'm doing, you know. That man didn't want
to kill me. He was just frightened and angry." Fraser spoke
in that aggressively reasonable tone of voice that he was prone to using
after he'd scared a couple of years off Ray's life, and it astounded Ray
how often he'd heard it in just one short week. At the rate they
were going, Ray would need every bit of the survival advantage of having
an unnaturally long life. "You secured his weapon and he's on his
way to jail. I don't see why you're upset."
"I'm not upset," said Ray, quickly. "And what kind of law enforcement
officer doesn't carry a gun?"
"Well, I think you are," Fraser replied. "And I told you that
I don't have a license."
"No, I'm not. Who do you think you are, Sheriff Andy Taylor?
If so, I will not be your Barney Fife."
"What are you talking about, Ray?"
"Nothing. Just get in the car." Ray got behind the
wheel and waited until the wolf was inside before starting the engine.
As soon as Fraser shut the door, Ray pulled out into the street.
"You know, you've been on-duty for nearly six hours without a break.
Maybe it would improve your mood if you stopped for dinner."
"I'm not hungry, and there's nothing wrong with my mood. I'm completely
cool."
"You're never hungry."
"Sure, I am."
"You never eat anything."
"Yes, I do."
"When? I've never seen you."
Ray tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to sound casual,
and not as scared and irritated as he felt. "I eat before I go to
work, and after I take you home. Fraser, what is your problem?
You think I'm one of those ana-ano- real skinny teenage girls or something?
Do I look like a supermodel to you?"
"Well, no, but you do have the cheekbones for it. All I'm saying
is that I'm concerned about you. Eating disorders are not limited
to teenage girls."
Ray ignored the cheekbones comment, because the warmth it sent curling
through his belly was too distracting from the conversation. But
he knew he'd be thinking about it later, after Fraser was gone. "Look,
I'm a grown man, I am not disordered, and I can take care of myself."
"Well, isn't that what I said about myself a moment ago?" Fraser's
voice went up a skeptical notch and Ray had to hold onto his resolve to
stick to the subject.
"Whether I have a sandwich or not is not the same as a guy pointing
a gun at your head. That's a whole other not-getting-killed thing,
and that's what you should be concentrating on."
"Speaking of concentrating, Ray...You just missed our turn."
Ray made a noise like the sound Diefenbaker made when someone tried
to deny him a doughnut, and hooked a U-turn in the middle of the street.
He ignored Fraser's indignant squawk and made another turn onto the street
he'd missed. He stayed quiet until he pulled up in front of Fraser's
building.
"Ray, I'm sorry if I upset you—"
"I'm not upset," Ray quickly assured him again with an indignant tone
of his own.
"—or made you angry," Fraser continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.
"With all new partnerships, there's an adjustment period where both parties
have to get to know each other and each other's idiosyncrasies."
"Did you just call me an idiot?"
"No, no, idiosyncrasies." He enunciated the last three syllables
very clearly. "It means personality quirks."
"Oh, I knew that. Well, I got them, all right." Ray nodded
and decided to give Fraser something back. "Maybe you had a point,
and I'll feel better after I have some dinner."
It wasn't exactly an apology, but Ray could tell Fraser accepted it
anyway, because as he said a polite goodnight, he smiled an I-knew-you'd-agree-with-me-eventually
smile that on a lesser man would be smug and insufferable. On Fraser,
it was a knee-melter, and Ray responded accordingly by getting all flustered
as he muttered a quick goodnight. Calling into the station to say
he was taking his dinner break, but would be available by cell phone, Ray
drove over to the butcher shop.
As he got out of his car, he caught a flash of red in the corner of
his vision, but when he turned there was no one around. The street
was quiet except for a cab turning onto a cross street. He surveyed
the area once more without anything grabbing his attention, so he wrote
it off as general paranoia caused by the weird dreams he'd been having
and went on his way.
Walking down the alley just as cautiously as he had the very first time,
he wondered if he would always be jumpy about this place and these vampire
things he had to do sometimes. Or would he someday settle into this
new power he seemed to have? Most of the time he tried not think
about it—never forgetting that he could jump twelve feet straight up
in the air or break a man's neck with a flick of the wrist if he wanted
to, but never actually doing it either. Good thing, because it
would be hard to explain to Fraser. Ray was supposed to be the normal
one and leave the superheroics to Fraser.
The panel in the door slid open as soon as Ray knocked, and the now-familiar
deep voice barked, "State your business."
"Hey there, Roland, the bar open tonight?" Ray asked.
"Sure. Come on in, brother," said Roland, as he always did, which made
Ray wonder if he had trouble remembering all names or just his.
Stepping inside the dark hallway, Ray handed over his weapons without
waiting to be frisked and went down the stairs without an escort.
He wasn't exactly a regular, but by now he was a known quantity.
The bar wasn't very busy tonight, the few patrons either clustered in
the booths along the walls or sitting at the bar, leaving the tables empty.
Ray took a stool at the end of the bar where he had a good view of the
door and nodded a greeting at the bartender, who walked over and asked
if he wanted a beer with a flirtatious smile.
"No, I'm on duty tonight, Scottie. Just came in for a little break,
maybe have a snack." Ray looked over at the big old-fashioned Wurlitzer
jukebox and thought about dropping in a few quarters, but decided to wait
until the current set finished playing. Right now it was in the middle
of a Spanish-sounding song he didn't recognize with lots of classical guitar,
but it was nice. It reminded him of some of the music he and Stella
used to dance to.
"Got some fresh A positive, just came in today. Want a taste?"
Scottie licked her lips and gave the simple question lascivious overtones,
even though Ray knew she didn't mean it, being devotedly married to Roland.
"It was donated voluntarily, wasn't it?" Ray always had to double
check.
"Of course, you know I run a clean place." She leaned forward
and said, "Did you know that if I wanted to, I could have this room full
of donors? Voluntary-get-off-on-having-their-blood-sucked donors.
They're out there, Ray. Some of you guys pay them, but most of the
time you could get it for free." She moved down the bar a bit and
came back with a shot glass. "Here. Give this a try."
Ray lifted the glass and took a slow sip. It was perfect body
temperature and had the special indefinable thing that screamed "human"
to his excited taste buds. He finished it off and nodded. "Oh
yeah, that's...that's good. I'll take a tall one."
"I thought so." Scottie slid a full pilsner glass in front of
him and then wiped at the bar with a damp rag, and gave Ray that "Pour
your heart out. I'm listening" look that he usually found so irritating
in bartenders of either gender. "What's up with you?"
Ray almost laughed because that was the problem, wasn't it? Things
being up at the most inconvenient times. But he couldn't tell her
that so he shrugged and said, "Work. My new partner's got some kinda
psycho death wish and it's driving me nuts."
She stopped any pretense of cleaning the bar, propped her chin in her
hand, and looked at him with interest. "Really, is that so?"
"Nah, not really. He just...he's just got the crazy idea that
people are good and kind deep down and all he's got to do is talk to
'em instead of giving 'em the kick to the head that they deserve."
Ray shook his head. "The really crazy thing is that most of the time
it works. He gets people to do stuff they wouldn't normally do."
"Is that what's bothering you? Afraid he'll get you to do something
you don't want to do?"
"No, I don't...I don't think so. Maybe it's just the opposite."
"He doesn't know about the—" She held her forefingers up to her mouth
in pretend fangs. "Does he?"
"Are you nuts? He's pure and good and...and...Canadian, for Pete's
sake! No way am I gonna tell him." He cracked his neck and shrugged
some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I got enough to deal with,
what with his dad's ghost popping in all the time when I least expect it.
Asking nosy questions, criticizing my police work."
"Who's your partner— Hamlet?" Scottie asked with the easy amusement
of someone who long ago ceased to be shocked by anything.
"Nah, I told you he's Canadian." Ray took another long sip from
his glass and sighed. The blood really was good, much better than
the stuff he usually drank. His thoughts started drifting into territory
he usually tried to avoid—the attraction to human blood, straight from
a warm live body. The idea of donors was new to him although, with
as many different kinds of fetishes and kinks as there were in the world,
he couldn't be too surprised. If you looked hard enough, you'd find
someone somewhere who got off on anything you could think of, no matter
how seemingly strange it was.
Ray wondered how easy it would be to find a donor—not that he'd ever
do something like that. He was just curious, that's all. Was
it always a sexual thing, with actual sex involved? Or did the vamp
just take a little nip and then go on about his business? It was
an intriguing thought and maybe he'd try it someday. But not tonight,
he thought, glancing at his watch. It was time for him to get back
to work.
Sliding the bartender some bills, Ray stood up and said, "Thanks, Scottie.
Be seeing you."
"Take care, Ray. And hey, give your partner a chance. Any
guy that hangs out with his dead father's probably not all that excitable."
Ray nodded and smiled, but inside he was cursing pushy women who gave
their unasked-for opinions and tried to match make even if they didn't
know that's what they were doing. He frowned briefly as he realized
that shouldn't make sense, but it did and that was just another example
of how confused he was over this whole thing with Fraser.
Ray had known all along he couldn't get involved, and he'd thought
he was resigned to that, but now he was caring whether the guy was putting
himself in needless danger. And any gun to the head was needless,
in Ray's opinion. It's not like Fraser would bounce back like Ray
could. The man was only human.
Even though his thoughts were whirling around and around the Fraser
situation, Ray noticed the second he got that prickly 'somebody's watching'
feeling on the back of his neck. He wondered if he was being followed,
but a casual glance back down the alley revealed nothing and no one.
He concentrated on making his steps as silent as possible and he thought
he heard a very quiet shuffling rustle. The sound—whether real or
nightmare-remembered—sent a chill down his spine.
Steeling himself for any possibility, Ray drew his gun and spun around
all in one lightning fast move. He scanned the alley carefully, paying
close attention to the darkest shadows and the potential hiding places
by the trashcans and dumpsters. He saw nothing, not even the obligatory
stray cat that would've jumped out if this had been a horror movie.
He stood there for another long moment watching the alley and then turned
toward the street and gave it the same thorough once over. But still
nothing seemed out of place, so he got into his car and went back to work.
Ray had been awake for about an hour and was taking a stroll through
the wasteland that was afternoon television. He stopped clicking
on "Sailor Moon", just as he heard a knock at the door. He walked
quietly to the door and looked out the peephole, fully prepared to ignore
it if the visitor was a salesman or some other person on the unwelcome
guest list.
It was Fraser. Ray chose not to be surprised or irritated over
this unexpected visit, although he could have been either or both.
Fraser had a way of short-circuiting those kinds of reactions—on the small
scale—just by being. It was disconcerting, but Ray discovered that
he was getting used to it.
Opening up the door, Ray stood back so that Fraser and Diefenbaker could
enter. Leaning down to give Dief a rub behind the ears, he said,
"Fraser...what brings you here in the middle of the day? Shouldn't
you be at the consulate by now protecting that little patch of Canadian
soil from invasion or something?"
"I took a break and decided to walk over and see how you were doing."
Sarcasm was just so useful at times like these, thought Ray. "Oh
my goodness, you take breaks? It's not against the Invincible Mountie
Code?"
"No, regularly scheduled breaks are known to reduce stress and provide
a more efficient work environment."
"But you take them?" Ray asked skeptically as he motioned Fraser
into the living room.
Fraser wore an expression that bordered on sheepish, as he ducked his
head and said, "Um, well, not usually, no. I also wondered if you'd
like to go out to lunch with me."
Ray froze and lost all interest in friendly teasing. He stared suspiciously
at Fraser, who looked back at him with mildly interested curiosity.
But there was something in his eyes...talk about disconcerting, Ray thought,
but all he said was, "I already had lunch."
"Well, you could come anyway and keep me company. Diefenbaker
is not the world's best conversationalist, and most restaurants won't let
him inside anyway."
"Not the ones you'd want to actually eat in. No offense there,
fur face." Ray gave the wolf another scratch behind the ears before
he wandered off again.
"So you'll come with me?" Fraser asked in that of-course-you-will
tone that he got when he thought he was being more reasonable than whoever
he was talking to.
"No, I can't. I got things to do— uh, I don't want to miss my
show." Ray waved at the TV in what became a half-hearted motion when
he remembered where he'd left the channel.
"You don't want to miss...a show about big-eyed young girls in very
short dresses? Really, Ray."
"Hey, I'm not a pervert. That is quality Japanese animation, my
friend, featuring the struggle between right and wrong, cosmic battles
between good and evil, and uh... there's a talking cat."
"And girls in very short dresses."
"I thought you Mounties didn't notice that kind of thing."
"Well, being a Mountie doesn't mean I'm blind."
Ray couldn't believe he was having this conversation with the only guy
who could have given Dudley Do-Right a run for his money in the obliviously
good category, but it was much better than the conversation they could
be having.
"Who do you think is hotter, Sailor Mars or Sailor Mercury?"
"Really, Ray. I barely glanced at the set," said Fraser, reminding
Ray of his third grade teacher, who had given him that same look every
time he squirmed in his seat—which had been so often that he got real
familiar with the look.
"That's what I thought." Ray nodded and went over to the terrarium
and pulled Diefenbaker's muzzle away from the glass, looked at him straight
in the eye and said, "Leave the turtle alone."
Dief flopped onto the floor with a whine that sounded apologetic, making
Ray wish his human companion were half so easy to deal with. "Can't
you do something with him?"
"He seems to listen to you as much as he listens to me." Fraser
stepped closer to Ray, head tilted slightly, eyes intense, as he said,
"And I'm very curious about that. Have you always had this way with
animals? And is it the same with all animals or just dogs and wolves?"
"What? You think I been hanging out with other wolves?
Yeah, right." Ray snorted in disbelief. "I don't know why he
likes me. I didn't do anything but slip him a treat or two at the
station. He loved those Twinkies that Vecchio left behind, but if
that's all it takes to gain his undying affection, that is one cheap wolf."
"Hmm. That may be." Fraser glanced at Dief and then back
at Ray, but the intensity didn't fade from his eyes until he blinked and
said evenly, "So if you aren't available for lunch, how about an early
supper before your shift starts?"
Ray laughed to cover his uneasiness and said, "What are you doing, Fraser?
Asking me out on a date or something?"
Frowning briefly, Fraser appeared to consider the question before he
said, "No. I just thought—"
"Yeah." Ray told himself he was not disappointed, because he'd
never expected it anyway...right? Right, so... "Well, I've got plans
tonight anyway."
"What about this weekend? Will you be free then?"
"Maybe. We'll see then, okay?" Ray walked around Fraser,
making his way toward the front door in what he hoped was a casual manner,
when that was the last thing he felt. "Between the walk over and
the time we've been gabbing, I guess your lunch hour's about over, huh?"
Fraser glanced at his watch and nodded. "Yes, I should be returning
to the consulate."
"Pick up something on the way."
"Yes, I'll do that. Ray..." Fraser stopped in the small entrance
hall and looked Ray square in the eyes. "I know that we haven't known
each other for very long but, nevertheless, I hope you know that if you're
having a problem, you can come to me. Even if you just need someone
to talk to."
With some sadness, Ray realized that it never would have occurred to
him to make such an offer, not to Fraser or anyone else. He had to
wonder how Fraser could do it and make it sound so easy. "Trust me,
Fraser, you do not wanna take on the job of being my therapist or—or
father confessor or whatever."
"I just want to be your friend, Ray," Fraser said, with quiet sincerity.
"Hey, we're cool. We're buddies, right?" Ray tried out a
cheerful smile, but it faltered quickly. He gave up and ran a hand
over his mouth and said, "I'll come by and pick you up before I go to work,
okay?
Fraser nodded. "Thank you, Ray. Diefenbaker, let's go."
Diefenbaker gave Fraser a long look and then walked back toward Ray,
circling him once before sitting down beside him. Fraser sighed,
but spoke patiently. "Dief, come on. It's time for us to go."
Ray would have sworn it looked like the wolf shrugged his shoulders
before lying down across Ray's bare feet. He tried to step back out
from under the pile of fur, but Dief just moved with him. Finally
Ray looked up at Fraser with a shrug of his own and said, "He can stay
if he wants."
"Are you sure? He may have to go out."
Ray hadn't considered that, but he was sure he could work around it.
In fact, this could be an opportunity to allay whatever suspicions Fraser
seemed to be having. "We'll manage."
"If you're certain."
"No problem. Better get going before the Ice Queen sends a hit
squad after you."
"For being late? I hardly think that Inspector Thatcher would—
Well, maybe she would."
"Fraser, was that a joke? A joke about your superior officer?"
Ray clicked his tongue and shook his head in mock disappointment.
"You must be a bad influence," Fraser said very seriously. Then
he smiled, put his hat on, and walked out the door.
Ray stared after him for a moment then looked down at Dief. "Well,
wolf, it's just you and me. Let's go see if Sailor Moon's still on.
You like cartoon girls in short dresses? No? Maybe we can find
you some Road Runner. That more your speed?"
After watching cartoons to the point where even Diefenbaker was bored—which
didn't take all that long, Ray remembered that he was almost out of clean
shirts. He checked his pocket change for quarters and took an overflowing
laundry basket down to the basement.
When he ran into his landlady on the stairs, Ray had to spend a couple
minutes assuring her that the dog was just visiting. The woman still
seemed suspicious, but eventually gave in and went back to whatever it
was she did all day. Ray could count on one hand how many conversations
he'd had with her, and he thought that this one might qualify as the longest.
What did that say about him? And why was he even thinking about it
now? Maybe it was Fraser's influence. It was probably only
a matter of time until he was compulsively holding doors for people and
rescuing kittens from trees.
Dief investigated every inch of the laundry room while Ray loaded up
the washers then sat down on a rickety straight chair someone had left
behind about forty years before, from the looks of it. The wolf came
over, laid his head on Ray's knee, and looked up at him adoringly.
Ray shook his head and gave Dief a good neck scratch. "What do you
know about me, huh? What do you see that makes you like me so much?"
Dief made noise in his throat that Ray couldn't interpret, so he kept
talking.
"And just what does your human think, hmm? That's what I oughta
be worrying about. Fraser's sharp and he doesn't give up. I
knew that just from reading his file. What kinda freak jumps onto
moving cars and leaps out windows all the time? And that tasting
thing..."
Ray shuddered and then grinned down at Dief as another thought struck
him. "If he wants to put something in his mouth so bad, I could think
of something much better than dirt off the street. I'd much rather
have him licking on me than a rock or something."
Dief closed his eyes and whimpered, making Ray chuckle and ask, "Too
much info for ya, fur face? Well, too bad, 'cause it's true.
When I'm not having the nightmares, I have these wet dreams that would
make your hair stand on end—well, maybe not yours, but it does mine.
But you really don't want to hear that part, do you?"
Diefenbaker walked over to the doorway and gave a very un-wolf-like
yip and then turned as if waiting for Ray to catch up.
"What do you want? You wanna go out?" Ray stood up and sighed,
"How we gonna do this? I can't go outside with you. I'm not
even sure I can open the door so you can go out by yourself."
He followed Dief up to the ground floor and instinctively shrank back
when he saw the rectangles of sunshine coming through the sidelights and
stretching across the floor, as if reaching directly for him. Watching
Dief run eagerly toward the door, Ray quickly considered which of the few
people in the building he'd ever spoken to that would do him a favor.
He remembered there was a kid—he glanced at his watch—that should be
home from school by now. Ray didn't know which apartment he lived
in, but he thought it was on this floor.
Walking slowly down the hall, Ray stopped at each door and listened
carefully until he heard music—Metallica, he thought. He knocked
at the door and waited until it opened up a crack and a creaky adolescent
voice said, "Yeah, what do you want?"
"Ray Vecchio. I live upstairs. I was wondering if you'd
do me a favor and take my dog out for a walk."
"I don't do favors."
"It'll only take a couple of minutes... I'll give you a buck."
"Ten."
"Two." Ray stared into the one brown eye peeking out at him and
tried to do that compelling thing that Trevor had done on him.
"Seven."
Since compulsion didn't seem to work, Ray fell back what he knew best.
He looked over the top of the boy's head, sniffed and said, "Five,
and I won't tell your Mom you've been smoking her cigarettes. Mmm...menthol,
nice."
"Oh, all right," the boy grumbled and opened the door wider. He
stepped out into the hallway with a suspicious look and said, "Up front."
Ray pulled two singles out of his wallet. "Bring him down to the
laundry room when he's done and I'll give you the rest."
The boy took them without getting too close. "You're not some
kinda perv, are you?"
Ray patted his pants pockets until he found his case, flipped it open
to show his badge and said, "No, I'm a cop doing his laundry. And
even if I was a perv, I probably wouldn't just tell you. His name's
Diefenbaker—don't ask— and he's deaf so look him in the face when you
talk to him."
Ray looked down into Dief's eyes and said, "Go do your thing.
He'll—What's your name again?"
"Roger."
"Roger'll open the doors for you, so don't run off or nothing, okay?"
"You don't expect him to answer, do you?" Roger watched Ray like
he was the kind of nutcase that was more funny than scary.
"No, of course not. He's a dog, for crying out loud. Go
on, before he takes a whiz on the floor." Ray could have sworn there
was a knowing look in Dief's eyes as he turned to follow the kid to the
front door.
Ray went back downstairs, moved his clothes over to the dryer, and sat
down to watch them spin. He let his thoughts spin too, until he was
lulled into a calmer state of mind regarding Fraser. The man was
his partner now, and Ray had to treat him as such— and hope like hell
that Fraser got over his suspicions before he figured out what really made
Ray tick.
Ray was packing up his clothes to take back upstairs when Dief came
strolling in with a big wolfy grin on his face. Roger came in right
behind him and immediately held out his hand. Ray gave him three
more bills and the kid muttered something that might have been "thanks"
as he stuffed them in his jeans pocket. "You ever need me to take
him for a walk and, you know, I don't have nothing better to do..."
"Well, he's not my dog, but if he's ever visiting again, I'll keep it
in mind." Ray watched as the kid nodded and walked away, then gathered
up his stuff and went back to his apartment, with Diefenbaker staying right
by his side.
For the next week, Ray and Fraser fell into a routine of working and
talking casually, gradually getting to know each other better. Fraser
didn't bring up the subject of dinner again, but he did come over to Ray's
apartment on Saturday afternoon because Diefenbaker wanted to see him.
That was what he said and Ray had no reason to call him a liar, no matter
what he wanted to think of Fraser's motives.
Ray wanted to think there was something a little extra friendly in the
smiles that Fraser had started to give him with increasing frequency.
He wanted to think there was something special in the way that Fraser found
ways to touch him, even though he was rather reserved with the rest of
the people they came into contact with on a nightly basis. He wanted
to think Fraser looked at him a little longer and more intensely than strictly
necessary. He wanted to think all those things, but he knew it was
a bad idea. And in the history of bad ideas, the worst was his stubborn
attempts to get closer to Fraser when common sense told him to stay cool
and removed and just do his job.
Tonight they were on stakeout, relieving a couple of day-shift detectives
outside the office building of a suspected murderer. Ray personally
thought the guy was more likely to be lying on a beach in Brazil than skulking
around his former place of employment. But it wasn't his case and
maybe the other cops had information they weren't sharing. He didn't
care, because he had Fraser there to break the monotony of sitting in a
car for hours until his butt fell asleep. Dief had the right idea
of staying home in Fraser's nice comfy bed.
Fraser was telling Ray a story that had not been in his files.
It was about a plane crash in a remote forest, the hunt for a desperate
escaped killer, and the way Ray Vecchio had taken care of an injured Fraser.
Ray listened to the story with a sinking heart. The real Vecchio
sounded heroic enough for Fraser, a really dedicated friend. And
what was Ray Kowalski? Just a freak who'd never be good enough pretending
to be the guy who was. That was very nearly more fucked up than the
whole bloodsucker thing.
"After all that, it was quite a while before I felt like going on another
vacation," said Fraser in conclusion.
"Yeah, I can understand that." Ray nodded and stared out the windshield
at the empty street. "So you and Vecchio were really close, huh?"
"Yes, best friends. That was part of your briefing, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't tell the whole story, does it? He took
a bullet for you, and you'd have done the same for him, right?"
"You took a bullet for me too," Fraser reminded him. "And it was
after a much shorter acquaintance."
"Yeah, well, that wasn't the same, was it? I didn't really take
a bullet. The vest did. No bloodshed."
"Hmm. I'm not so sure about that, Ray." Fraser gave him
a curiously gentle smile.
"Ah ha. You've finally caught on, have you, son?" Robert
Fraser spoke from his customary place in the back seat. Ray was sure
he hadn't been there a moment before, but then the old man was prone to
making sudden entrances. Scaring Ray by popping up out of nowhere
was probably the biggest fun the ghost ever had.
Fraser kept his eyes on Ray as he asked, "Caught on to what, Dad?"
"What makes him so odd. You've figured out his secret—that he's
been dead, but he's not quite anymore. He's undead."
At that, Ray had to speak up. "Anyone who's still breathing is
'undead', as in 'not dead'. I thought that would be obvious to a
coupla smart Mounties like yourselves." He continued to stare out
the window as if bored by the whole conversation, but inside he was nowhere
near as calm. His stomach was clenched into a hard knot and his chest
felt tight, like he couldn't take a deep breath if he wanted to.
"I think he means 'undead' in the traditional vampiric usage, Ray,"
said Fraser, in an oh-so-helpful-explanatory voice. "It is often
believed to have begun with Vlad Tepes, also known as Vlad the Impaler,
in fifteenth century Romania, but vampire legend is in fact much older
than that. Stories of vampires have been recorded all throughout
history. It would not seem unreasonable that the myths were based
in some bit of fact."
"You are both stark raving looney tunes. And I don't have to listen
to these fairy tales anymore." Ray opened the door, hoping the other
two men couldn't see how his hand trembled on the handle. "I'm gonna
take a walk around the building because, you know, I do have a job to do
here."
As he walked away, Ray focused his hearing back on the car and heard
Fraser say, "Are you happy? You spoke too soon, and now he's never
going to trust me."
"Son, you don't want to get mixed up with his kind."
"Yes, I do. His kind? What sort of talk is that?
His kind?"
Fraser's indignant voice faded away from Ray's awareness as other sounds
took its place. Sounds of scuffling, grunting, and cursing came from
a narrow breezeway between two buildings just ahead of him. Ray knew
the sounds of a fight when he heard one, so he pulled his gun from its
holster and held it at the ready as he approached. He turned the
corner and announced, "Chicago P.D. Hold it right there. Hands
where I can see 'em."
The words were standard and it was a good thing because when he heard
the growl coming from the guy on the right and saw the fangs glinting in
the orange tinted streetlights, Ray's cop brain switched off and his other
nature took over. His own teeth lengthened and sharpened so fast
his mouth ached as he lowered his gun and walked closer. He looked
at the man crumpled on the ground but couldn't see any blood. He
sniffed deeply and...ah, there it was. Just a trace calling to him
with its sweetness.
The man on the ground was moving and groaning, so Ray knew he wasn't
dead, but he didn't know if he was human or not, which was information
critical for making decisions about medical care. The vampire was
still standing over the man, watching Ray closely.
Ray showed his fangs in identification and said, "What's going on here?
Is he human?"
The vampire sneered down at the man on the ground and said, "Not even
close. Why don't you stay out of this? I'm going to kill him
one way or another, and it's not like you're going to arrest me for it.
I've seen you in Scottie's bar. You're just like me."
"No, I'm not. Why'd you want to kill this guy?" Ray heard
Fraser come up behind him, but didn't turn to look as he realized that
the cat which had started to sneak out of the proverbial bag a few moments
ago was now flying out claws first.
"Because he tried to cheat me, didn't you, George?" He nonchalantly
kicked the man on the ground in the ribs. "He said he would sell
me his sister, and then tried to pass off a street hooker. I've got
to keep my standards, don't I?"
"You tried to buy his sister?" Ray looked incredulously at the
vampire and then at George. "You were gonna sell your sister?"
"Sure, he was. He'd get the money to pay off his bookie and I'd
get a steady fresh supply." The vampire licked his lips and grinned.
"Yum yum."
"You sick fuck," Ray shook his head in disgust "Why don't you
just find somebody who likes having their blood sucked?"
"I like the extra tang that fear adds. It's all so much better
when they squirm and beg." The vampire shifted on his feet, subtly
moving closer to Ray as he asked, "Don't you agree?"
"No." Ray put his gun in his holster since it wouldn't do any
good anyway, and took out his handcuffs. "You can't go around buying
people like—" The words got cut off when the vampire suddenly darted past
Ray, knocking him back into Fraser, who steadied him before turning and
running after the vampire. For a moment, Ray hesitated over running
after them or checking on the injured man. He settled for asking,
"Hey, you sister-selling-son-of-a-bitch, you gonna be all right?"
"Yeah," George groaned and pulled himself up to a sitting position.
"That fucker was really gonna kill me."
Ray didn't bother to answer, just turned and ran in the direction the
vampire had taken. As he got closer to Fraser, Ray closed his
lips over his teeth and tried to remember not to run too fast.
He and Fraser were right in step as they followed the vampire around a
corner, but when the vamp leaped up onto a fire escape, Ray put on a burst
of speed and got there ahead of Fraser.
Shoving the cuffs he still carried into his jacket pocket, Ray grabbed
the bottom rung of the dangling ladder and scrambled up two floors before
looking back to see Fraser climbing up several feet behind him. He
glanced up in time to see the vampire disappear over the edge of the roof,
so he used more of his preternatural speed to climb up the next three levels.
He didn't bother to check on Fraser's position, instead taking off over
the roof.
As he rounded the side of an air conditioning unit, a fist came flying
out of the darkness and slammed into his cheek. He rolled his head
with the punch and brought his hands up to hit back, but the guy was already
dancing away and saying, "This is stupid. You and me, we should be
on the same side."
"No, no, I'm nothing like you. I won't be." Ray steadily
followed the vampire across the roof and tried to figure out what the hell
he was going to do when he caught him.
Stopping by a pile of discarded construction debris, the vampire snatched
up a piece of wood and lunged at Ray, who ducked and stumbled back, falling
onto his back in the pea gravel. A sharp point raked across his cheek
and down his throat, jaggedly ripping the skin open as Ray rolled over.
He ignored the excruciating pain and gush of blood and brought his foot
up to catch the vampire in the stomach, holding him back as he grabbed
the board and twisted.
Pained shock crossed the face of the vampire as he looked down at the
impromptu stake sticking out of his chest. Ray couldn't say he was
any less surprised as the man crumbled to ashy dust all over him.
He blinked the dust out of his eyes and swallowed hard.
"Ray...Ray...Ray! Are you all right?"
Fraser's voice penetrated the sticky haze that seemed to have enveloped
Ray and he shook his head slowly. "I...I don't know. Did you...did
you see that?"
"Yes, Ray. I saw and heard the whole thing." Fraser spoke
in the overly calm voice one uses with scared children or people in shock—both
of which Ray felt like at the moment.
Ray looked up at a suddenly wavery Fraser and said faintly, "You know.
You s— 'spected before, but now... you know."
"Yes, Ray, I know." Fraser knelt beside Ray and pressed something
dry and soft to his aching throat. "You seemed to have lost a lot
of blood even though the wounds on your face and neck have already started
to heal."
The world spun around his head as Ray tried to get his tongue to work
again. "That 'splains...wet...sticky..." Then the darkness closed in on
Ray and he fell into it willingly.
Ray resurfaced to the feel of a warm rough hand on his cheek...smacking
him firmly and briskly. His mouth opened before his eyes, but all
that he could come up with was, "Ow, quit it."
"Sorry, Ray. I just needed you to wake up. We've got to
see if you can stand up and move on your own," said Fraser, sounding more
like a nurse than a Mountie.
Ray tried to sit up, but even with Fraser's strong hand on his back,
it was a chore. He slumped against Fraser's side in defeat and said,
"I can't. I gotta...I need..."
After a charged moment, Fraser asked matter-of-factly, "You need blood
to replace that which you've lost?"
Ray nodded weakly. "I'm sorry. Can you go—"
"No need to apologize for your nature, Ray. We are what we are,
and fighting it just leads to pain. Great amounts of pain."
Though Fraser may have been trying to sound philosophical, Ray could hear
ragged threads of old hurt and heartbreak in his voice. He wondered
fuzzily if Fraser was thinking about Victoria or Vecchio, but before he
could turn it into a truly nagging question, he heard the distinctive sound
of ripping Velcro.
Ray opened his eyes and looked up to see that Fraser had taken off his
hat and was now opening up the jacket part of his uniform, revealing a
white henley and a long stretch of pale throat. Ray could practically
see the life pulsing within that throat, making the hunger claw its way
to the front of his addled consciousness. Saliva flooded his mouth
as his tongue pushed eagerly against the back of his fangs. He could
hardly believe that Fraser would offer, would even consider...
Of course, Ray wanted it, wanted Fraser, but Fraser was volunteering and
that was not a possibility that had ever occurred to him before.
They seemed to be at a rather bizarre turning point, but he had no time
to fully grasp how big it was because Fraser bent over him, pushing his
throat against Ray's mouth. He'd dreamed of this, but here Fraser
was just giving it up with a hint of excitement lurking in his aggressive
practicality. "You have to do it, Ray. It's the only way to
get you off this roof before sunrise."
Ray barely had time to wonder just how long he'd been out before nature
took over. His mouth opened wide as he sank his teeth into Fraser's
skin as gently as he could. The fangs slid in as smooth as a needle
in an apple, and a tiny grunt in the back of Fraser's throat sent a bolt
of heat to Ray's groin. As Ray got his first exquisite taste, Fraser's
arms went around Ray's body more fully, holding him instead of simply holding
him up.
As the blood poured over his tongue, hot, sweet, and indescribably vital,
Ray started to get flashes of Fraser's life. A young boy with blue
eyes that Ray would know anywhere played with a darker boy and a girl with
short black hair and a mischievous smile. A tall young man proudly
put on red serge for the first time. Snow, a disjointed bit of poetry,
loneliness and more snow, a wolf, icy water, tears and candles, a burning
pain in his back, falling, falling...
Ray's cock hardened, pounding and thrumming as arousal and growing bloodlust
combined in a primal urge, but the sound of Fraser's gasping breath and
frantically beating heart—coming from under him— pulled Ray back from
the brink. He was scared that he'd taken too much without even knowing
it. He took one last lick up the side of Fraser's throat, cleaning
him with a little cat bath. He could feel the holes closing under
his tongue, and thought that was cool and very convenient. For a
moment, he wondered if he could lick and heal any injury or just those
little ones he made himself. Then he opened his eyes again and his
own breath froze in his chest as he saw that he had ended up on top of
Fraser at some point, his legs straddling one of Fraser's, his erection
trying to dig a hole in Fraser's thigh. He was slightly reassured
by the fact that Fraser was still holding onto him.
Lying back on the roof, Fraser's head was tilted to one side, his eyes
were closed, and a purely blissful smile curved his lips. Ray was
certain it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and that wigged
him out so much he rolled out of Fraser's arms and sat up a couple of feet
away. The unmistakable smell of spunk immediately drew his eyes to
Fraser's crotch, where a damp spot was just barely visible on the front
of his dark pants.
Opening his eyes and following Ray's stare, Fraser glanced down at himself
and sighed as he looked back at Ray unapologetically. "That was...amazing.
Truly one of the most pleasurable experiences of my entire life.
Thank you, Ray." Polite verbosity aside, his voice sounded drugged
and Ray wondered if he'd have the same opinion when he sobered up... or
whatever coming down from being fed on was called.
"Shut up, Fraser."
"There's no call for rudeness, Ray."
"I know and I'm sorry, but don't you understand what I just did to you?
That...that was..."
"I volunteered, and you took only what you needed and no more.
I feel fine, more than fine, actually. Did you know that the human
body—"
Confused by how well Fraser was taking all of this, Ray interrupted
him with an impatient frown. "Don't spout facts at me, Fraser.
Please. You can get all Encyclopedia Britannica on me as soon as
we get indoors, okay?"
"As you wish, Ray." Fraser looked at his watch, straight up at
the sky, and then toward the east. "We have twenty-six minutes to
get you home."
Ray climbed to his feet, still feeling weak and shaky. He needed
more blood, but he'd have to get it from a bottle. It pissed him
off that nobody had warned him about this particular little free-bleeding
side effect. They were all 'stay out of sun' and 'don't eat anything',
but not one mention of 'hey, you can lose a pint of blood from a papercut'.
He'd gotten more than a papercut and was definitely a couple quarts low.
Either Fraser was very strong or Ray hadn't actually taken that much
blood from him, because he was remarkably steady on his feet as he helped
Ray across the roof and down the fire escape. As soon as they touched
the ground, Ray remembered why they'd been out here in the first place.
"The stakeout. Aww jeez, I forgot all about it."
"I took the liberty of borrowing your cellular phone and calling Detectives
Huey and Dewey to come and take over for us. Detective Huey called
back half an hour later to say they had picked up the suspect and were
taking him in for booking."
"No," Ray groaned. "That's just great. I'll never hear the
end of it."
"I also went to check on the man who was attacked, but he was gone."
"That figures. Ungrateful son of a bitch." Ray grumbled
and then realized that if the man had actually done what the dead guy said
he did, then Ray would have been tempted to ram a sharp object through
his chest too. So on reflection, it seemed a good thing that the
little weasel had run away.
The walk back to the car seemed about a dozen times longer than it had
during their earlier chase, and when they reached it, Ray leaned against
the side of the car for a moment. Digging his keys out of his pants
pocket, he handed them to Fraser and asked, "You can drive, can't you?"
Fraser smiled mysteriously. "Sometimes."
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Here, let me get your door."
Ray let Fraser open the door and strap him into the passenger seat.
Fraser drove slowly, obeying every traffic rule even when the streets were
all but deserted. Finally, sitting at their fourth straight red light,
Ray snapped. "Just go already."
"The light is still red."
"There's nobody coming from any direction, and I'm gonna be a crispy
critter if I don't get home soon."
The light turned green and Fraser cautiously accelerated through the
intersection. "It'll be all right, Ray. Trust me."
"Please don't say that, Fraser. In the movies, any time somebody
says 'trust me' the whole thing goes to hell."
"Real life is seldom like the movies."
"Mmm hmm. Tell me about it when I'm not in danger of making like
the human torch."
"We'll make it, Ray. Tr- uh, try not to worry."
"The crazy thing is, I do trust you Fraser. I dunno know why.
I have no idea what you're thinking or what you're gonna do about what
you saw tonight...what I did to you and...and that guy. But I know
you'll do the right thing...because that's what you do. Right?"
"I certainly try to, but I have done...some things...of which I'm not
proud. I have hurt people, and I've disappointed them. I hope
it will be different with you."
"None of us are perfect, Fraser. Why don't you quit expecting
yourself to be?"
"It's not about perfection. It's about duty and honor and friendship
and love, and how those things sometimes conflict."
Ray ignored the tremor in his stomach, which could have been some unnamable
emotional response or just the hunger from blood loss, and focused on the
easiest part of the equation. "Duty and honor aren't just words to you,
are they? You really believe all that stuff."
"Yes, I do, and sometimes a person's duty is not as clear cut as strictly
following the letter of the law."
"What does that mean? You're not gonna arrest me for staking that
guy back there?"
"No. It was clearly self-defense, but in any case, this would
not be a matter for the courts. This...these people are playing by
a different set of rules, and I'm not sure yet what they are." Fraser
looked over at Ray for the first time since the conversation had turned
serious, and appeared to flip the mental switch between Mountie and regular
guy. "We're here, Ray. In plenty of time, I might point out," he
said, rather smugly in Ray's opinion.
Ray grinned and said, "Still gotta get inside though."
Fraser got out of the car, ran around the back, and jerked Ray's door
open. Ray had unsnapped his seatbelt so all Fraser had to do was
brace him with a hand under his elbow as he got his feet under him.
Ray walked into the building under his own steam, but he stumbled a few
times going up the stairs. Each time he did, Fraser put a hand on
his back or around his arm, just quick little unobtrusive 'I'm here if
you need me' touches.
Once inside Ray's apartment, Fraser went directly to the bathroom to
get a wet washcloth while Ray went into the kitchen and filled up his biggest
coffee mug with blood and popped it into the microwave. Fraser came
back as Ray removed the cup and took a long satisfying sip. The sound
of a politely cleared throat made Ray nearly jump out of his skin.
"Jeez, don't sneak up on me like that," Ray said, licking off a splash
of blood that had sloshed out of the cup onto his hand. He glanced
up to see Fraser standing on the other side of the breakfast bar watching
him closely—not repulsed, as Ray would have expected but more like mesmerized.
When Fraser's lips parted so that Ray could see the tip of his tongue caught
between his teeth, Ray felt a bolt of lust that curled his toes.
He took another sip of blood that should have been calming but wasn't since
Fraser continued to watch him like he was a bug under a microscope.
When his frazzled nerves stretched unbearably thin, Ray set the cup down
and snapped, "What?"
Fraser walked around the end of the counter and silently started to
wash away the dried blood on Ray's face. The cloth was warm, damp,
and slightly rough on his suddenly sensitive skin, and Ray suppressed a
shudder of longing for the sensation to go on and on, all over his body.
Even though he knew it was another of those Bad Ideas that he seemed to
excel at lately, he couldn't take his eyes off Fraser's face. Seeing
his own fascination reflected back was as staggering as it was arousing.
Since he was standing only inches away, Fraser's breath shivered across
Ray's cheek as he said in a near whisper, "Remarkable. Your skin
is completely unmarred." He lifted his hand and traced the tips of
his fingers lightly over Ray's jaw and down his neck. "How does it
feel?"
"Fantastic," Ray said, letting out a long breath. "I mean, it...it
doesn't hurt anymore."
"That's good." Without taking his eyes from Ray, Fraser reached
over and turned the water on in the sink and rinsed out the cloth.
When he brought it back, he ran the hot cloth over Ray's neck and seemed
to pay special attention to the hollow between his collar bones.
Licking his lips, he said, in a voice gone husky, "You'll have to remove
your shirt, Ray, so I can clean the blood from your chest."
Although his body was urging him to strip naked right there, Ray swallowed
hard and caught Fraser's hand in his, taking the cloth and tossing it in
the sink. He forced himself to take a step back, and was surprised
to see disappointment in Fraser's eyes before he looked down at the floor
and scratched an eyebrow with his thumbnail. It was a habitual gesture
that Ray'd seen him do a hundred times, but for the first time it made
him look forlorn and needy. Before he could talk himself out of it,
Ray put his hand on Fraser's shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Thanks,
Fraser. For everything you've done and for not freaking out and calling
me a monster."
Fraser's head came up quickly and he said, "I would never—"
"Maybe not, but there's been plenty of times I thought it myself, so
what should I expect, huh?" Ray shook his head and took his hand
away. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your—
your..." He rolled his eyes in exasperation and finally said, "you being...well,
you."
Fraser smiled in return and Ray thought he saw the beginnings of a blush
before Fraser turned to the sink, fished the cloth out and started to rinse
it out again.
Ray picked up his cup, drank the contents, and then set it back down
with a decisive little thump. He tried to sound brisk when he said,
"I'm gonna go take a shower. You want me to get you some clean clothes?"
This time, Fraser was definitely blushing as he wrung out the cloth
and draped it over the edge of the sink. "Ah, no thank you, Ray.
My tunic covers... I should be getting home."
Ray really wanted to figure out which was the real Fraser. Was
he the shy man who blushed and stammered because he'd come in his pants?
Or was he the brazen man who practically insisted on having his blood sucked
and then politely thanked Ray for the experience? Just how innocent
was this guy? He was like half Clark Kent and half Superman—all
the time. "You could stay if... if you wanted to."
"I do. I have a lot of questions to ask you. But Diefenbaker
will need to go out soon."
"Why don't you take my car? You can bring it back this evening."
"Thank you kindly, Ray. But I think the walk would do me good.
Maybe the cold air will clear my head." Fraser walked back around
to the living room and picked up his hat. "Will you be all right?"
Ray shrugged. Would he? He had no idea. The night
had been extremely eventful and he was still trying to figure out what
all of it meant and how he felt about what he'd done. The killing
of another vampire seemed to pale in comparison to what all had happened
between him and Fraser. How would that change their relationship?
How did he want it to change? Suddenly realizing that Fraser was
still patiently waiting for an answer, Ray said, "I'll be fine. Go
get some sleep. Give Dief an extra pat on the head for me."
"If you're sure you're okay." Fraser walked to the door.
"Goodnight, Ray."
Ray grinned and gave him a little wave. "Good morning, Fraser."
"Ah yes, so it is." Fraser closed the door quietly behind him,
and Ray poured and heated another cup of blood before going to take his
shower.
"Clear his head? What does that mean?" Ray muttered to himself
as he peeled his T-shirt off and tossed it in the wastebasket. His
outer shirt had been a loss too, but he thought he could clean the jacket.
At the rate he was going, pretty soon he'd have no clothes left.
He dropped his pants and stepped into the shower, turning the cold water
on first. "I bet 'clear my head' is Canadian for 'figure out how
to avoid you for the rest of my life'. He's probably nursing a big
ball of regret, wondering what the hell he was thinking to get involved
with such a freak. Oh yeah, like he had any choice in the matter.
Poor guy comes back from vacation to find some guy he's never seen before
pretending to be his partner and he's gotta go along with it? It's
crazy, and I don't blame him for running—if that's what he does."
Ray stopped talking to himself and turned on the hot water. Neither
the cold nor the attempt at distraction had done anything for his leftover
arousal. He'd been hard the whole time Fraser was in his apartment,
and had tried desperately to ignore it, hoping it would go away.
It hadn't, and now it was reaching the painful point where he had to do
something or risk serious injury.
Bracing one hand on the shower wall, Ray rubbed the other over the bar
of soap and took his cock in a slick grip, stroking slowly at first as
he remembered the taste of Fraser's blood. Theoretically, all blood
should taste the same and probably would to a normal person, but it didn't
to Ray. There were subtle differences, and Fraser's was more to his
personal taste than any he'd tried so far. Ray could drain him dry
so easily, licking up every last delectable drop. His hand picked
up speed, sending soap bubbles flying. He pictured the look on Fraser's
face after the drink and decided that he wouldn't have to hold him down
or tie him up, unless Fraser himself insisted. But that might be
fun too—they both had handcuffs and Fraser had that convenient little
rope thing on his uniform... Jerking erratically a few more times,
Ray came in a pink-tinged stream that was immediately washed away.
That was probably how it should be, Ray thought as he realized how creepy
his thoughts had gotten while he was jerking off. It was just fantasy,
right? He'd never actually want to tie up Fraser and suck out all
his blood. He'd have to be completely out of his mind to do something
like that, and the thought scared the hell out of him. He wasn't
going nuts, was he? As long as he knew it was all fantasy, he was
probably all right. That's what he told himself as he turned off
the shower and got ready for bed. He told himself firmly and repeatedly
until he believed it.
When night fell and Ray hadn't heard from Fraser, he began to wonder—not
worry—just wonder what was going on with him. He wondered if Fraser
was so freaked out by what all had happened the night before that he couldn't
even speak to Ray. Ray had thought about calling him at the consulate,
but had decided to let him have whatever space he needed to deal with everything.
That didn't stop him from wondering why Fraser didn't call him though.
Calling the consulate got him Turnbull's voice on an answering machine
advising him to call again during regular business hours or to page the
given number in case of an emergency and, of course, to have a nice evening.
Because it wasn't an emergency, he hung up the phone and took a jacket
out of the hall closet. Since Fraser didn't have a phone, Ray would
just have to go over to his apartment to talk to him.
In the middle of putting on his jacket, Ray opened the door and almost
walked into Fraser's raised fist. He jumped back and Fraser immediately
apologized.
"I was just about to knock on your door, Ray."
"Yeah, I figured you didn't come over to punch me out. That wouldn't
exactly be the best way to do it—waiting for me to just walk into your
fist."
Dressed in tight blue jeans, navy blue henley, and a leather jacket,
Fraser seemed more solemn than usual as he nodded and said, "You were going
out. I can come back some other time."
"No. No, I was..." Ray nervously rubbed his ear and continued
sheepishly, "I was coming to see you."
"We need to talk."
"Yeah, I guess so."
After a moment of just staring at each other, Ray and Fraser both spoke
at the same time:
"May I—"
"You wanna—"
Ray moved out of the doorway and stepped back into his apartment, and
Fraser followed. After a couple of tense moments where they stood
in the middle of the room and pointedly didn't stare at each other, Ray
told Fraser to take off his jacket and have a seat on the couch.
He took the chair across from him so they could maintain a little distance.
"So where do you wanna start?"
Fraser had his cop-face on, as if this was an interview where he had
to get information out of a witness who may or may not trust him with the
truth. "Did you know that man? The one that you killed?"
"No, he said he'd seen me around, but I'd never noticed him before."
Ray must have put more emphasis on 'him' than he meant to because Fraser's
next remark was not quite a question. "But there are others here
in Chicago. You have seen others like him."
Ray nodded slowly, wondering where this was going. "Yeah.
Why?"
"I'm simply curious. I'm interested in the entire subject, but
mostly your experiences."
"You don't wanna go hunt them down or nothing, do you? Become
like that Van Helsing guy in the movies, stalking graveyards and mausoleums
with a bucket of holy water and a big pointy stick ready to wipe us all
off the face of the planet?"
"No, Ray, a systematic execution of genocide is not in my plans.
What kind of person do you think I am?" Fraser asked incredulously, and
Ray thought there was some amusement lurking in there too, but when he
answered he was dead serious.
"A good one, Fraser. The kind who wants to serve and protect the
rest of the good people."
"I think you're a good person, Ray. Even if you don't often seem
to be aware of it."
Ray smiled for the first time all day and shook his head. "We're
not all like the creep up on the roof. I've met some nice...umm,
vampires. Whoa, that's kinda hard to say out loud without sounding
like a complete lunatic."
Fraser seemed to catch himself at the edge of a laugh. Instead
he gave his eyebrow a habitual rub with his thumb and asked, "How long
has it been since— How long have you been a vampire?"
Ray felt a chill walk slowly and precisely up his spine at the casual
way Fraser used the very word that gave him so much trouble, but with some
effort he shook it off. "Not long. A month or so. The
first time I saw you—" He broke off, appalled at what he was about
to reveal—what he was revealing. "I don't really wanna talk about
that night."
Fraser nodded and said "I understand" even though he looked just the
opposite. He tilted his head and gave Ray that penetrating look he
was so good at. "Did you choose this life? Or did somebody
do this to you without your consent?"
"So I guess I'll talk about it anyway, huh?" Ray leaned back in
his chair and looked at the ceiling trying to read some easy answers written
across the dull off-white surface. When nothing appeared, he sighed.
Fraser made it sound like an assault or a rape or something. "I don't
really remember a lot of the details, but I never felt...like I was victimized...you
know, afterward. I asked him 'what did you do to me?' but I think
I was just freaking out in the stress of the moment. I accept responsibility
for my own part in it. I let it happen. Hey, maybe I asked
for it. I don't know. Sometimes I wish I could remember more
clearly, but then other times, I think it's best not to remember too much."
"Did you know the person who did it or was he a stranger?"
Ray sat up straight in his chair. Was that a hint of jealousy
in Fraser's voice? Ray thought he must surely be mistaken—mishearing
or misunderstanding what was really there. "He...he was a stranger,
but it was weird—I felt like I knew him when it was done. His name
was Trevor. I haven't seen him since."
"Did you and he...?" And just like that, the curious investigator
faded away in favor of the man who blushed faintly and stammered when talk
turned to sex, so Ray knew what he was getting at, but he didn't say anything
right away. He wanted to see if the brazen 'suck my blood' Fraser
would show up too. "What I mean is...when this...Trevor...did this...took
your blood, was it... Was it a sexual experience?"
"Was it good for me? Judging by the state of my clothes when
I got home, I think so, but I told you the memories are a little vague
in spots." Ray looked at Fraser carefully and detected some of that
excitement he'd noticed before, on the roof and in his kitchen. "Does
it bother you to be turned on by the bloodsucking thing, Frase? It
gets you all hot and bothered, but it shouldn't, is that it?"
"This is not a new occurrence, being attracted to something that might
be bad for me. What comes of it...well, I hope the results won't
be the same."
Ray stood up, walked over to the couch, and sat down next to Fraser.
"It doesn't have to be bad for you. You just have to trust me not
to take too much. Just like you did on the roof."
"About what happened on the roof, Ray, I have a confession to make."
Ray watched Fraser swallow hard and shift his gaze so that it didn't quite
meet Ray's anymore, before he said, "I could have carried you."
Ray squinted and tried to catch up with what Fraser was saying, or rather
what he was implying. "You could have..."
"Picked you up, carried you down to the car, and brought you home or
taken you to that butcher shop I followed you to one night—I assume that's
where you get your blood from?" He tilted his head questioningly
and Ray nodded, taken aback and oddly pleased that Fraser had done the
same thing to him that he had done to Fraser. "No, I offered my blood
because I wanted to know what it would feel like... to have someone drink
from me." Fraser finally made direct eye contact as he said very
earnestly, "I liked it, and I want to do it again."
"Huh." Ray's mouth fell open and he started to feel warm all over.
"Well, Fraser, you are just...full of surprises. You got layers and
kinks and...and—" He waved his hand around in search of the right word
or phrase, then gave up. "—and I don't know what all."
Fraser looked down at his hands clenching on his knees and muttered,
"I've shocked you, haven't I?"
"Yeah, but I'll live." Ray started to grin. "You're a freak
like me. Well, not like me, but just as freaky."
"I'm terribly sorry, Ray. I shouldn't have presumed—"
"Oh no, no no no." Ray was almost laughing now from sheer relief.
"This is greatness because now I don't have to make my big plea—which
would have been pitiful, bordering on pathetic and humiliating— for you
not to reject me because of what I am. You get it, don't you?
You really get it."
"Well, I want to." Fraser replied with a sly smile, and Ray could
see some of his own relief shining back at him. To finally get a
secret desire off your chest and have it accepted as no big deal was a
freeing thing, and that's what he could see in Fraser.
"So does that mean you...uh...wanna...?" Embarrassed that now he was
the one stammering over the subject, Ray licked his lips, surprised and
aroused when Fraser's gaze followed the quick movement of his tongue.
"Yes, I do," Fraser said in a voice just this side of breathless as
he leaned forward and met Ray's mouth with his own.
Ray closed his eyes and parted his lips for Fraser's tongue, still slightly
stunned at how easy it was to get what he'd wanted so badly and yet had
nearly written off as impossible. But he wasn't going to waste time
wondering and worrying at this point. He had better things to do
than think, like pouring every bit of himself into this first slow kiss,
like exploring Fraser's mouth and absorbing his taste. Fifty years
from now, providing he was still alive, Ray was certain he'd remember this
moment with the perfect photographic clarity that he remembered the other
important firsts in his life both good and bad.
When Fraser's hand rose to cup the back of his head, Ray realized that
he was holding himself stiffly away from Fraser's body as if he was afraid
of being too forward. He almost laughed at that notion—he could
stick his tongue halfway down Fraser's throat, but couldn't wrap his arms
around him? Reaching out slowly, he slid his hands across Fraser's
shoulders and cradled his face as he gently sprinkled kisses across his
cheek.
Making a gruff sound in the back of his throat, Fraser tilted his head
back at an angle, baring one side of his neck in a gesture so trusting
and needy that Ray felt his teeth immediately lengthen and sharpen, aching
to plunge deep into the pale tender flesh displayed so temptingly.
But he couldn't. He had to cool it, not get carried away, and above
all, make sure he and Fraser were on the same page here.
"Fraser, are you sure about this? If you just want me to take
a drink, I can...you know, without...doing anything else."
Fraser opened his eyes and stared at Ray intently as he said, "Anything,
Ray, everything. I want it all." Then he ran his hands down
Ray's torso to the waistband of his pants, slipping his fingers inside
to tug at the edge of Ray's shirt.
Ray sucked in his breath and his stomach at the same time, sending Fraser's
fingers deeper inside his pants. "Oh...okay, then... Uh, maybe
we should go...ooh. Mmm, yeah..." Realizing he was babbling, he gave
up on talking and grabbed Fraser's hand, urging him to his feet and leading
him to the bedroom.
Somewhere between couch and bed a switch occurred and Ray found himself
being pushed down onto his own bed. His first instinctive response
was to push back, shoving Fraser off him so he could be on top, but he
resisted. He'd been on top with Trevor and it hadn't really...well,
it had been good, but not the kind of experience he wanted to have with
Fraser. He couldn't treat Fraser like he did Trevor, because Fraser
wasn't as strong and couldn't recover from that kind of roughness.
And there was that little difference in how he felt about the two men.
Fraser had somehow, in the relatively short time of their acquaintance,
become his best friend, while Trevor... Ray still wasn't sure what
Trevor was, besides a ship that passed in the night—or crashed into him.
Whatever, he'd come and gone and, most importantly, had stayed gone.
Fraser would probably come and go too, so Ray had to take full advantage
of what time he had with him, and if that meant rolling over and giving
up anything Fraser asked for, he'd be glad to do it. And with that
thought in mind, he tilted his head back and arched his body up into Fraser's,
their erections meeting through layers of clothing that Ray wished would
magically disappear. Unfortunately, they had to stop and remove them
the conventional way, but they kissed and touched the entire time they
stripped, so while undressing might have taken longer than usual, it was
much more fun.
By the time they were both naked, Ray was so hot he thought he'd explode
before they even got to the bloodsucking part. There was a matching
urgency to Fraser's kisses, yet at the same time, he appeared to give every
kiss his full, undivided attention, carefully working around the fangs
as if he'd been doing it forever. He seemed to be memorizing Ray's
mouth, his taste, his scent, the feel of his body, memorizing all of him
as if there might be a test later. It was incredibly arousing to
be the focus of that kind of attention, and Ray felt his hunger growing,
burning at the back of his throat and making his cock leak against Fraser's
stomach. And it wasn't just the general need for blood that he woke
with each evening, it was a definite need for Fraser. He wanted
another taste of him so bad, he could hardly breathe. But Fraser
was holding him down and kissing him with that intense deliberation, and
Ray couldn't find the strength to make him stop.
While Fraser moved down Ray's throat and nipped at his collarbone, Ray
choked out a moan and then managed to say, "Fraser...please..."
"What do you want, Ray?" Fraser whispered between nibbles.
"Anything..."
"I wanna suck you, Fraser." As soon as the words were out, Ray
realized how they sounded, but that was okay because he wanted to suck
him there too. However, the blood would have to come first so he
could get the fangs under control, otherwise it wouldn't be a fun time
for Fraser.
"Yes..." Fraser sighed against Ray's open mouth, flicking his tongue
over Ray's fangs while avoiding the sharp points. "Yes, Ray, do it.
Do it now." And he turned his head and presented his neck to Ray.
"Okay." Ray thought hard and fast for a moment and then said,
"You'll have to let me up first."
Fraser immediately rolled off him and apologized. "Oh yes, terribly
sorry."
"Nah. 'S okay, just trying to get more comfortable—for both of
us." Sliding one arm under Fraser's shoulders, he took one of Fraser's
hands and placed it on the back of his own head. He smiled in approval
as Fraser's fingers instantly threaded into his hair, and said, "Give a
sharp pull if you start feeling weak or want me to stop for any reason."
Nodding and closing his eyes, Fraser turned his head toward Ray and
settled more comfortably on the pillow. Swallowing nervously, Ray
reminded himself to stay in control and ducked his face into Fraser's neck.
He breathed his fresh scent in deeply and licked at Fraser's smooth throat.
He could feel the pulse beating against his tongue, strong and steady—if
just a bit fast—calling to him as surely as the low moan that slipped
from Fraser's mouth. He slowly ran his tongue down the length of
Fraser's neck, then at the base he paused, took a deep breath, and sank
his teeth in.
Fraser's hips rose off the bed and Ray reached down and took his cock
in a firm grip, stroking gently in a rhythm that picked up speed as he
lapped up the warm blood streaming from the two small holes in Fraser's
neck. The taste was intoxicating and his head started to spin as
Fraser moaned and squirmed beneath him, bucking his hips. He pushed
his erection deeper into Ray's grip, encouraging him to jerk harder and
faster, while he humped his own aching, throbbing cock against Fraser's
undulating body.
Feeling Fraser start to tense, Ray pressed his closed mouth tight against
the tiny wounds and squeezed Fraser's cock. He was rewarded with
a warm gush of come over his fingers that pushed him over the edge.
He thrust hard against Fraser's hip and then froze, as every muscle in
his body seemed to clench in pleasure. Licking Fraser's throat until
the bleeding stopped and the holes started to heal, Ray pulled away and
brought his sticky hand to his mouth. As he licked it clean, learning
the bittersweet taste of Fraser's come, the man in question watched, his
burning gaze locked on every darting movement of Ray's tongue.
When his hand was clean, Ray used it to unclench Fraser's fingers from
his hair. He rubbed the cramps out of them and then laid them gently
on Fraser's chest with a grin. "Feeling okay?"
"Mmm hmm... Quite so, Ray. Thank you."
Ray snickered at the drugged sound of Fraser's voice and said, "Are
you ever not polite?"
"I'm sure there must be some times, but I can't think of any at the
moment." Fraser smiled and blinked lazily. "I really can't
think of much of anything at the moment."
Ray propped himself up on one elbow and looked at Fraser carefully.
The holes in his neck were almost gone, and he was a bit paler than usual,
but otherwise his eyes were bright and alert and he looked just fine.
"Are you really okay, Fraser?"
"More than okay. For the first time in a long time, I feel...wonderful."
The surprise in Fraser's voice sent a little pain through Ray's chest,
but he just nodded and said, "Yeah. You know, uh...you're not what
I expected."
Fraser put his hand on Ray's shoulder, running the tips of his fingers
over the lines of the tattoo there. There was something so unbearably
sad in his eyes that Ray felt compelled to explain, if not outright apologize.
But first, there was something else he had to know. "Fraser...I just
fucked you—well, sorta—so why am I still calling you by your last name?
That sounds so impersonal when we're both naked."
"Most people here do." Fraser shrugged as if it made no difference
to him. "Ray Vecchio called me Benny a lot, but no one else does."
"Benny? I don't think so. Sounds like a—" Because he wanted
to be fair to Vecchio, he swallowed back the insult that first sprang to
mind and finished, "—a pet name."
"I...I never thought...hmm." He shook his head and continued to
touch Ray, rubbing his arm and shoulder, patting his chest soothingly.
"My friends back home call me Ben."
"I could do that... if it's okay with you?" He waited until Fraser
nodded and smiled, and then said, "Back home, huh? Do you think about
it a lot? Going back up north?"
"Sometimes I miss it. It's hard not to. Things...people
are very different here."
"Yeah, I guess they are. Not many guys like me up there in the
Northwest Areas."
"Territories, and there certainly aren't. If there were, I never
would have left." Fraser gave Ray's arm one last squeeze them moved
his hand over his own body, rubbing at the drying spunk on his hip.
He lifted his fingers to his face, but just before he put them in his mouth
he looked at Ray in surprise and said, "It's pink."
Ray shrugged and said, "Don't ask me. It's from the blood, I guess."
He could see Fraser digesting that thought with narrowed eyes, turning
it over and analyzing it as he licked his fingers and smacked his tongue
against the roof of his mouth. "Interesting. There's a more
metallic taste than one expects to find in semen. Higher iron content,
I imagine."
"Do I want to ask how much semen you've tasted?"
"Do you want me to ask you the same question?" Fraser gave him
a wide-eyed look that didn't even come close to innocent.
Ray smirked back. "You get me hot when you talk sassy, Fra— uh,
Ben."
"I noticed...something happening." Fraser gave Ray's growing erection
a playful stroke.
"Oh yeah, that reminds me of something I wanted to do, once I got my
regular teeth back." Ray rolled over and slithered down Fraser's
body until he reached his cock. He blew a stream of air across the
head and watched it twitch. "Uh huh, there's some life down here,
all right."
He flicked the tip of his tongue into the slit and was tickled when
Fraser made a gurgling sound and grabbed his ears. He shook the grasping
fingers loose and took Fraser's cock between his lips, letting it slide
slowly over his tongue while he carefully kept his teeth covered.
No more biting tonight. No, this was all about sex—plain old human
sex. And it felt so good. He didn't even worry about losing
control—much—because he'd done all right the first time. Fraser
was safe with him, and it seemed as if they both knew it now, where before
they'd only been hoping.
Ray tried to shut his brain off and just make Fraser feel good, but
he couldn't as his worry suddenly returned full force. What the hell
could Fraser have been thinking to allow Ray to do that? He'd taken
such a huge dangerous chance. Ray could have, he could have, oh
man, he could have actually...the impossible-to-articulate thought made
his stomach lurch and twist and he had to pull back. He wrapped his
hand around Fraser's slick cock to lessen the shock as he removed his mouth
and laid his head on Fraser's thigh. He breathed deeply for a moment
and didn't say anything when Fraser stroked his hair and breathlessly asked
what was wrong. He had no idea what to say, because he wasn't sure
he could put a name to the feelings that were darting around inside him
at the moment.
This was not like anything he'd ever experienced, not even with Stella,
and that thought really weirded him out. He had to calm down before
he had a full-blown panic attack. This was Fraser, right? Everything
would be okay because it was Fraser—Ben, not Stella. It was Benton
Fraser, his partner and friend and now...lover, who made him this crazy
with mixed emotions and a desperate longing that could finally be fulfilled...
Ray lifted his head and looked up to see Fraser watching him with soft
blue eyes gone dark with lust. Ray grinned and winked. "Sorry
'bout that. I'm good now." Then he lowered his mouth over Fraser's
cock and swallowed. Fraser's strangled moan made Ray hum with pleasure
as he slid his lips up and down the length and fluttered his tongue against
the more sensitive head. He licked and sucked until his jaw ached
and he felt Fraser's body starting to tense, his cock swelling, and his
balls drawing close to his body. And then he was catching Fraser's
come on his tongue and swallowing the essence down quickly, so that he
could move back up and look Fraser in the eyes before he kissed him.
Ray froze with his mouth just a breath away from Fraser's, when he felt
as much as heard, "Everything, Ray."
"No." Ray closed his eyes at the disappointed confusion on Fraser's
face and pulled away. "What I mean is...I don't think it would be
a good idea. I might...there was this one time that I..." He sighed
and said very slowly and seriously, "I don't want to hurt you."
"But you want to make love with me," replied Fraser, taking Ray's erection
in his hand and squeezing lightly. "You do want to, but you're
afraid."
"Hell yes, I'm afraid. I told you, I don't want to hurt you.
I could lose control and bite you again or...or get too rough or—"
Fraser interrupted him with a firm shake of his head and said, "No,
Ray, you won't. It's not in your nature." And then Fraser spread
his legs wide and tugged Ray between them. "Now, Ray. You can
do it. It'll be just fine."
Even though Fraser was right about what he wanted, Ray tried to resist
one more time. "Fr—Ben, please..."
"You can do it, Ray." Fraser stared at him so intently that Ray
wondered if he knew that compulsion trick of Trevor's. It would irritate
him to no end if Fraser could do it and he couldn't, and that was what
it seemed like when Fraser said, "I know you can. Do it."
Ray couldn't look away from Fraser, but he reached out and fumbled in
the bedside table until he came up with a squeeze bottle that he took on
faith was lube. The cool gel on his fingertips reassured him and
he applied it liberally to both himself and Fraser by feel alone.
When Fraser lifted his hips and said, "That's enough, Ray. I'm
ready," Ray finally looked down at his hand guiding his cock slowly into
Fraser's ass. Seeing part of him disappear into Fraser was the most
amazing thing, and then Fraser grabbed his hips and pulled hard.
He barely got his hand out of the way before he slammed into Fraser's body,
and it was so tight—virginally tight—and hot, an inferno that was burning
him up and he never wanted to leave...ever. He thought he could die
happy and complete right here in Fraser's grip, and then the urge to move
came over him. He pulled almost out and then pushed back, and again
and again, pumping like the pistons of a well-tuned engine. Fraser
met every thrust with equal force until Ray had to dizzily wonder just
who was getting fucked here. And then he couldn't think at all, he
could only move and breathe and feel, until he was overwhelmed by a sweeping
orgasm that left him shattered and gasping for breath against Fraser's
chest with strong arms wrapped tightly around him.
After a few recuperative moments, Ray raised his head slightly and said,
"Don't you dare say 'I told you so', Ben."
"Wouldn't dream of it, Ray," replied Fraser with a satisfied smile.
"Okay then, just so you know..." Ray forgot what he was going to say
as yawning became more important than talking. Just as sleep crept
over him, he noticed that Fraser was still holding him tightly.
Sitting at the table after a brief trip to the all-night market, Ray
sipped from his mug and watched Fraser eat a sandwich. He felt a
brief flash of envy that he washed away with a mouthful of warm blood before
asking, "Have you ever loved someone so much that you couldn't even think
about it? It was so big that when the other person left you were
completely empty?"
"I thought I did." Fraser met his gaze levelly and added, "But
I realized later that I wasn't as empty as I thought."
"Well, I was. I knew it and I don't ever want to feel like that
again, Fraser. I don't think I could handle it."
Fraser sipped at his milk and then set it down next to his plate.
He looked at Ray as if he understood what he was saying, but just had to
argue it anyway. "Why are you so certain that loving someone leads
to being hurt?"
"Doesn't it? Hasn't that been your experience?"
"Yes." Fraser turned his head away, looking toward the windows,
as if he wanted to remove himself from the memories but couldn't quite
do it. "Yes, it has."
"Look...I'm sorry." That sounded so lame, and Ray wanted to smack
himself for being insensitive, but just because the truth hurt sometimes
didn't mean they didn't have to face it.
Fraser surprised him by turning back with determination radiating in
a nice little I'm- gonna-get-my-way-about-this wave that put Ray's back
up out of habit if nothing else. "But I'm not convinced of either
the futility of love or the inevitability of pain. I have to think—believe—
that it doesn't always end badly."
"Yeah? Well, you're either a fool or the most optimistic person
I've ever met," Ray snapped, uncaring whether he was being fair or not.
"It's not foolish." Fraser gave him a frustrated frown and insisted,
"Millions of people love and fall in love without getting hurt."
"And millions get their hearts ripped out and handed back to them."
Ray was feeling plenty frustrated too, but he didn't know if it was more
with Fraser or himself. Just who was he trying convince here anyway?
"Yes, but you don't have to assume you'll be one of them." Fraser
took Ray's hand from the tabletop and held it tightly. "Can you trust
me enough to believe you won't be?"
Ray snorted, but he didn't pull away, instead he squeezed Fraser's fingers
back just as tightly. "Trust you? I don't even trust myself
most of the time."
Fraser looked him in the eye, almost pleadingly, as he asked, "Will
you at least give it a try?"
"I'm not sure I know how." Ray covered the lower part of his face
with his free hand and looked at Fraser over his fingers for a very long
moment, shuffling and reshuffling all the stuff he'd been through lately
and thought about what a remarkable man Benton Fraser was turning out to
be. That first impression of him had gotten Ray's attention, but
hadn't even hinted at the depths under the red serge. He was very
glad that he'd gotten a glimpse of the real man behind the facade, and
he was even more glad that Fraser seemed to accept the real him, all of
him— the cop, the vampire, the man. He moved his hand from his face
to Fraser's, touching his cheek as he said, "So this trust thing... can
you teach me?"
Permanent Midnight III
by Amy B
I'll tell you something
I am a wolf but I like to wear sheep's clothing
I am a bonfire, I am a vampire
I'm waiting for my moment...
—from Temptation Waits by Garbage
But not tonight. Ray wasn't quite ready for it yet, so he remained
on the roofs, just following and watching as Fraser and his dog made their
way down the street, after a few blocks turning around and heading for
home. Ray continued to watch as the man and dog returned to the apartment.
The dog promptly curled up and went to sleep, while the man stripped down
to light red long johns and climbed into bed. When he picked up the
book and started to read again, Ray decided he'd had enough for one night.
He was about to move from the realm of harmless fantasy to the land of
self-torture, and he really wasn't up for that on a windy roof where he
might be interrupted at any moment. He'd save it for later when he
was tucked into his own bed, where he could jerk off in comfort and privacy.
Part Two
