Five things that are better with Fraser in the mix	The Due South
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      	  Five things that are better with Fraser in the mix 
 by china_shop	

 Author's Notes: With much thanks to sageness, brynnmck and sprat for
beta. For the Five challenge on ds_flashfiction, and for Sage for her
birthday, with love.

 

 1. Before Ray stood in the doorway of the bedroom, jacket in hand, and
looked around--really looked--for the first time in weeks. He'd had a long
day of paperwork and inter-agency meetings, and he just wanted to get out
of these clothes and into slouching-around sweats, but instead he found
himself channeling his Ma. He stooped to pick up a rumpled pair of pants
from the foot of the bed. "Jesus Christ, Kowalski, is this a thrift store
or a bedroom?" he yelled back down the hallway.

 Kowalski peered out of the kitchen, beer in hand. "What's your beef?"

 "You heard of closets?"

 Kowalski grinned. "The clothes kind or the other kind? The you-and-me
kind?"

 Kowalski had yanked Ray into the supply closet at the 27th a couple of
days earlier, and kissed him before he gave him that tip about the
Lonnegan case. The reminder of that brought a reluctant smile to Ray's
face, but he still gestured at the bedroom. "I can't find the floor in
here."

 "And you call yourself a detective," said Kowalski. "As a general rule in
any given room, the floor is on the bottom."

 "You know what I mean." Ray frowned at him. "It's one thing to tear your
clothes off in the heat of the moment--"

 A gleam entered Kowalski's eye and he took a step closer.

 "--but you gotta pick them up sometime," finished Ray, and then found
himself with his arms full of Kowalski, who apparently couldn't discuss
anything with him without it leading to sex.

 Not that Ray was complaining.

 After Ray stood in the doorway and narrowed his eyes as Kowalski stripped
off his t-shirt and dumped it in the laundry hamper in the corner, and
Fraser made the bed. "You finally got domesticated, Kowalski, is that it?"

 Fraser glanced up quickly from his hospital corners, his mouth already
open to smooth things over, but Kowalski spoke first, sauntering toward
Ray, his naked chest pale gold in the lamp light.

 "It's all a matter of rewards," he explained, taking Ray's hands and
putting them on his own hips. "With you--you reward bad behavior." He
leaned in and kissed Ray, dark and hot. "It gets you going. But Fraser
here, Fraser rewards good behavior."

 Ray met Fraser's careful gaze and then looked back at Kowalski. "So
you've changed your focus, is that what you're saying?"

 Kowalski grinned and pulled Ray's shirt free of his pants. "Nah, I just
changed my strategy." He kissed him again until Ray was hard, digging his
fingers into Kowalski's back, and then Kowalski murmured in his ear, "You
should see the mess I left in the kitchen."

 2. Before Ray woke up in the dark and when he reached out, there was no
Vecchio--just warm rumpled sheet where Vecchio should be. Ray rubbed his
eyes and dragged himself upright, checking the time on the bedside
clock--3:42. His shorts were crumpled on the floor beside the bed, and he
pulled them on, went through to the living room where Vecchio was watching
The Wizard of Oz with the sound down low.

 "Okay?" Ray asked, blinking against the Emerald-City-saturated light.

 Vecchio grunted, and Ray suppressed a sigh and sat down beside him.
Dorothy was singing. Ray leaned his head back and let his eyes fall shut,
and hovered on the edge of sleep.

 "Go back to bed," Vecchio told him gruffly.

 Ray rested his head on Vecchio's shoulder. "I'm good."

 After The first time Vecchio got insomnia after Fraser moved in--or the
first time Ray noticed, anyway--Ray had worked ten days straight and
crashed like a train wreck. He felt around in the bed, half asleep, and
started hauling himself awake, and then the mattress tilted.

 A warm heavy hand landed on his shoulder, pressing him down. "Go back to
sleep, Ray," said Fraser, and kissed him softly.

 Ray slumped back, exhausted and grateful, but he didn't do that, didn't
go to sleep until he heard their voices murmuring from the living room.
Fraser and Vecchio. And then everything faded away.

 *

 The second time, Ray woke up with Fraser pressed against his back, his
leg between Ray's calves, and an empty space in front of him again, where
Vecchio belonged. Ray struggled out of bed, barely getting a sound out of
Fraser, and padded into the living room. Sylvester Stallone was shooting
someone on the TV, and Vecchio and Dief were sleeping side by side on the
couch.

 3. Before "Get in the car, Kowalski." Ray tightened his hands on the
steering wheel.

 Kowalski loomed over him. "I'm driving." The sun was harsh behind him, so
all Ray could see was an angry black shape and Kowalski's teeth glinting.

 "You drove yesterday. You drove yesterday, the day before and all of last
week," said Ray.

 "Yeah, well, in case it's escaped your notice, it's my car!" Kowalski
tried to open the door, but Ray jammed the handle before he could succeed.

 "I can't stand being chauffeur-driven today, okay?" He angled his head
up, serious. "Please."

 Kowalski's shoulders stiffened and he swung his arms up, clasped his
hands on the back of his neck. Ray could see him working it through.

 "Fine," he said at last. "You drive. But you owe me."

 "Whatever." Ray waited till Kowalski was tucked up in the passenger seat,
all belted in, and then he looked over. "Thanks."

 Kowalski was all stiff prickles and taut angles today, but he softened a
little at that. "What're you waiting for--a police escort?"

 Ray snorted, and then they were both laughing, and the sun stopped
glaring like the desert and just shone like on a normal Chicago summer's
day.

 After "I'm driving," said Ray, lifting the keys out of Kowalski's loose
grasp.

 "Whatever." Kowalski was so busy explaining the changes around the 27th
to Fraser, he barely noticed until Ray was in the driver's seat. He
stopped for a second, then, blinking, and then shrugged and went around to
the passenger side and let Dief and Fraser into the back, still talking a
mile a minute. Fraser kept up his end of the conversation too, asking
after Welsh and Mort and the others.

 On the road, Kowalski sat sideways, talking to Fraser over the seatback,
reaching over to ruffle Dief's ears. "Ain't that right?" he said to Ray,
and Ray glanced at him and grinned, no idea what the question was.

 4. Before By ten p.m. there were half a dozen empties, the wreckage of
Chinese takeout, and a watched DVD piled on the coffee table, and Ray
couldn't make his leg stop jiggling.

 He looked at Vecchio, content and half-asleep on the couch beside him. 

 "What did we do last Friday night?" Ray asked. "And the Friday before
that, and the Friday before that?"

 Vecchio frowned for a moment. "We had dinner at Ma's two weeks ago."

 "Jesus!" Ray sprang to his feet and started pacing. "I'm not even forty
yet and my life is nailed to a rut in a coffin." He grabbed his jacket. "I
have to get out of here."

 He took the stairs three at a time. 

 Vecchio caught up with him in the parking lot. "Where are we going?"

 "You don't have to." Ray stepped into his path and stopped him. "Look,
it's okay. You've had a long week. I get that. And I'm not going to do
anything stupid. I just have to live a little, or you might as well check
me into a rest home now."

 Vecchio shrugged. "Where are we going?" he asked again.

 They went to a bar in Boystown, which was too hot and too loud, and the
drinks cost a fortune. Vecchio seemed grimly determined not to bitch about
it, though, and they danced for a couple of songs until Kowalski gave in.
"Fuck it," he yelled in Vecchio's ear over the club mix of Losing My
Religion. "Let's get out of here."

 Outside the bar, in the warm night air, he slung his arm around Vecchio's
shoulders and waited till Vecchio met his gaze. "Thanks."

 After "So--we got plans tonight?" Ray leaned on the counter and slurped
at his coffee. It was too hot to drink properly unless he waited, and Ray
was not a waiting-for-coffee kind of guy. He just wasn't.

 "As a matter of fact, Mrs. Atwood offered me three tickets to a community
theater production of Gilbert and Sullivan's Iolanthe. I believe she's
cast in the title role, though I'm not sure how her back injury will
affect her singing." Fraser looked from Ray to Vecchio and back. "I don't
suppose--"

 If you didn't know him, you'd never have known he was teasing.

 "Can't," said Vecchio. He got up from the table and put his plate and mug
into the dishwasher. "We already got plans." He pointed at Fraser. "The
three of us, that is."

 "And those would be?" Fraser asked, with his most innocent look, though
the corner of his mouth twitched and Dief cocked his head and let his
tongue loll out, eloquently. 

 "Bed," said Vecchio. "Seven-thirty at the latest. I'm thinking we all
need an early night."

 "Now you're talking." Ray grabbed him and kissed him on the lips. He
turned to do the same to Fraser, and they all cracked heads `cause Fraser
and Vecchio were halfway to kissing, too.

 "I'll be sure to bring a first aid kit." Fraser laughed softly and rubbed
at his temple.

 "Great, we can play doctors and nurses," said Vecchio, and kissed him
properly this time. "I'll bring a picnic. We can make a night of it."

 "Leave the music to me." Ray grinned at Vecchio's groan. "What?"

 5. Before "Fuck, yeah, just--" Ray grabbed Kowalski's shoulders. There
was nothing else to hold onto, and Christ, he needed some kind of an
anchor.

 Kowalski's hands were in Ray's pants, stripping him and stroking him, and
Kowalski's mouth was pressed open against his neck, and in the
refrigerator behind Ray, bottles clanked together and something was
rolling back and forth under the onslaught, and Ray didn't give a fuck,
because he was coming, Holy Mother of God, he was coming--

 Before Kowalski looked down at him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes and
opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but apparently Ray's
mouth on Kowalski's dick had stolen all Kowalski's words, and if Ray had
known it was this easy to get Kowalski to shut up, he would've done it
sooner. Much sooner.

 "Fuck," Kowalski managed, his hips hitching forward, his dick rubbing
across Ray's tongue, against the roof of Ray's mouth. 

 Ray shoved him against the wall and sucked harder, and Kowalski hissed
and said, "Door. Still open. Jesus!" And came in Ray's mouth, pulsing and
bitter and salty.

 Before Kowalski ambushed him when he stepped out of the shower. "Mmmm,
you're all clean," he said, and licked his way down Ray's chest, stopping
to bite Ray's nipple and then continuing down. His hands were greedy and
reckless, and one of them was holding a condom, and Ray--who'd been five
minutes away from falling asleep on his feet--surrendered helplessly. 

 "Yeah, okay," he said hoarsely. "Do it. Fuck me."

 And Kowalski did, with both of them blended into one skin-colored shape
moving faster and faster behind the condensation of the mirror in a
flat-out race for the finish line.

 Before "Here?" Ray pushed Kowalski away and turned his head in the dark
of the supply closet, as though he could see the stacks of stationery and
toilet paper. "Kowalski, that's fucked up. We're cops, we play by the
rules. Save it till we get home, okay?"

 "I know, I know. I just--" Kowalski's hand was already on Ray's dick
through his slacks, shaping him.

 "Oh, fuck, that feels good." Ray pushed him against the door and kissed
him hard. "Stop it."

 After Fraser ambushed Ray before he'd got his coat off. 

 "You're late," he said, pushing Ray against the wall and sniffing his
neck.

 "Had to schmooze," said Ray.

 "So I can tell." Fraser licked delicately from his ear to his collar.
"Cigars." He slid his tongue across Ray's lips. "Whisky."

 "Just a little," said Ray faintly, tugging Fraser's hips closer.

 "Hey." Kowalski came out of the living room. "Hey, stop that." But he
didn't pull them apart. Instead, he stood beside them and kissed first
Ray--sensuous kisses that tasted of coffee--then Fraser. He pulled back
and scraped his teeth over his lower lip. "I thought the plan was to make
it to the bedroom this time," he murmured, shuffling them down the hall.
"Come on. Dief's visiting Mrs. Garibaldi, so you don't even have to drag
your ass outside afterward, for once."

 Ray grabbed Kowalski's shoulders, steering him ahead, and then got
distracted by the pale curve of his neck. He stopped them both, bent
forward and bit lightly below his ear. "Forget the wolf, Kowalski," he
murmured. He ran his hands deliberately down over Kowalski's chest to his
waist, feeling the heat of his skin through his t-shirt, pulling him back
against Ray's hard-on. "Get your head in the game."

 "Game," repeated Kowalski, breathlessly, and rubbed back against him.

 Fraser cleared his throat, and when Ray looked at him, he pointed to the
bedroom door. "I believe our destination's in sight."

 Kowalski snorted. "Just over the next ice field. Where have I heard that
before?"

 Fraser's smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, and Ray met his gaze,
thrilled like he always was, whenever he stopped to think about it, that
he could have all of this. Both of them. "Bedroom," he said, and gave
Kowalski a shove toward the doorway.

 "And that's three for three." Kowalski used his commentator voice, and
winked at Ray. "We have consensus." He went to the dresser beside the
bedroom window and pressed a switch on the boom box, and a weird vibrating
sort of music--like something underwater--started playing.

 "What is that, Kowalski?" asked Ray. "We're doing it to whale songs
tonight?"

 But Fraser's cheeks were pink and he started laughing. "Throat singing,"
he said, and pushed Kowalski onto the bed. "Where on earth did you get
it?"

 Kowalski pulled him on top of him. "Brought it back with me from Canada."

 Fraser's amusement blended into heat, and Ray sat on the bed beside them,
watching them kiss, their lips gleaming and wet, pressing together,
sliding over each other. A glimpse of Fraser's tongue. Kowalski's stubble
made a scratching noise against Fraser's chin. Ray pressed his hand
against his cock, moved and hungry.

 Kowalski broke the kiss and stripped Fraser's blue cotton sweater over
his head and dropped it on the floor. "Never actually listened to it
before." He slanted a heated sideways look at Ray. "Got distracted."

 Ray carded his fingers through Kowalski's gel-stiff hair, then slid off
the bed and knelt beside it so he could get in on the action. It was hard
to swallow around the lump in his throat. Kowalski kissed him, deep and
sexy, and when he pulled away, his lips were reddened and his eyes were
dark and sultry. 

 "Couldn't throw it away, though," he continued throatily, still holding
Ray's gaze.

 Ray gave him a soft smile. "I know what you mean." In the attic at his
Ma's house there was still a carton that contained a standard issue RCMP
Stetson with a bullet hole through the crown. "But I'm not fucking to the
sound of gargling Eskimos."

 Kowalski grinned and waved his hand toward the stereo, apparently too
comfortable where he was--on the bed, half under Fraser--to move. Ray
couldn't blame him.

 "Ah, fuck it," Ray said. "Move over." He pulled off his tie, unbuttoned
his cuffs, and then lay on the bed beside them. "I hope someone remembered
to buy more condoms," he observed to the room in general.

 They'd used the last two last time.

 Fraser moved into his arms. "I was a boy scout," he said solemnly, and
brushed his lips across Ray's.

 "If only Baden Powell could see you now," said Kowalski, crowding up
behind Fraser, pressing him closer to Ray, and reaching across to cup the
side of Ray's neck.

 Ray groaned, the combined body heat of the two of them going straight to
his dick. "Christ, one of you--someone--fuck me. I got to--" 

 His dick was throbbing in time to the ridiculous music, and he had his
arms full of the men he loved.

 "I'll flip you for it," Kowalski murmured in Fraser's ear, and Fraser
laughed low, his eyes shining. 

 Ray cuffed the back of Kowalski's head. "Show some respe--oh."

 Fraser had pushed his leg between Ray's thighs and was rocking forward,
and every move was turning Ray on more until he could barely see or hear
or think--he was just sensation and color and heat, and Fraser's hands and
mouth, and Kowalski behind him now, unfastening his pants, rubbing his ass
with his long fingers. And there was skin--his own and the others'--and
Ray's head was a kaleidoscope of gratitude and love for this crazy life he
led, these men who gave him everything he needed and wanted--

 Fingers pushed into him, opening him up, and he gasped against Fraser's
mouth.

 --everything he could dream of asking for, everything and always.

 *

 A long time later, all of them finally naked and spent, Ray wiped the
sweat from his face, the come from his chest. "So, I--" He cleared his
throat, which was sore from groaning and shouting. "I know I said I'd
bring the picnic, but I--"

 Fraser's hand landed clumsily on Ray's chest and silenced him. "Proper
preparation," Fraser said, unsteadily, and pointed toward the nightstand. 

 Kowalski turned his head to look, with obvious effort. His chest was
spotted with bruises where Ray and Fraser had tag-teamed him, holding him
down and sucking hickeys across his skin while Ray had teased him with
strokes just this side of too gentle.

 There was a paper bag beside the bedside clock.

 Kowalski snorted with laughter and lay back, flinging his arm across the
pillow above his head. "Pemmican?"

 Ray shook his head. "And if we're still hungry afterward, we should drink
a glass of water. It expands in your stomach," he said, elbowing Fraser in
the ribs. "You're joking. That's our Friday night dinner?"

 "Yes, Ray." Fraser raised up on his elbow and leaned over him. He pressed
the ball of his thumb against Ray's lower lip, tenderly, and mischief
lurked in his eyes. "I'm joking. There are steaks in the fridge."

 Ray laughed and Fraser kissed him again, while Kowalski lay beside them,
watching and murmuring encouragement, and all their limbs tangled
together.

 END  
  

End Five things that are better with Fraser in the mix by china_shop 

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