Heat    

 Hi---this is my attempt to write a DS story with the "new" Ray...I don't
know if anybody's written anything yet or not, so here goes! (whew!) I do
like the new Ray, although he's not really Ray (sorry if that's a
spoiler), and even though I love David Marciano, I do think Callum Keith
Rennie is just so cute that I wanted to write something about him and
Fraser. 

 A couple of asides: I invented an alternate history for Kowalski, to
explain the dance chart he has on the floor of his apartment. I also
paired him with Fraser, so this is an M/M story, natch.  

 (btw, feel free to email me with comments--thanks!) 

 Heat (c) 1997, JoAnne Soper-Cook 

 The small apartment was quiet, dark, the only illumination being a long
beam of light emanating from the half-closed bathroom door. The man in the
bed shifted, clasped his hands behind his head and waited. Damned
inconvenient, a freak snowstorm like this, but---a smile slid across his
face---there could possibly be interesting developments, you never knew.
For all that Fraser was so buttoned-up, there were depths in him just
waiting to be plumbed. *And one thing I'm good at is plumbing*, Kowalski
thought. 

 Stanley Kowalski, better known as Ray, and who, through a vast labyrinth
of undercover intrigue, was known to the outside world as Ray Vecchio. But
he wasn't Ray Vecchio, not really--- just a useful facsimile while the
officer in question pursued the most important case of his life. Still,
Kowalski reflected sleepily, it was a role into which he fit easily, if
not always comfortably. 

 "Excuse me, Ray, but I wonder whether you would prefer the light left on
or off?" Fraser, framed in the doorway, naked except for his boxer
shorts...*Damn*! Now that was truly beautiful...but Kowalski pretended to
be unaffected. It wouldn't do to move too soon and give the game away, now
would it? 

 "Yeah, Fraser, leave it. Just in case I need to get up, I don't want to
be stubbin' my toes or something. Leave it." He watched, from underneath
the fringe of his dark blond lashes while Fraser negotiated the distance
from the bathroom to the bed. It was cold in the apartment, despite the
heat. The chilly wind that lashed Chicago seemed to seep into the walls,
shivering between the cracks in the outside masonry. 

 "Ray, are you sure about this?" Fraser hesitated, the blanket clutched in
his fingers. The pale light from the bathroom played across his face, did
wonderful things to his blue eyes, that beautiful mouth... 

 "Yeah, get in already, I'm freezing." Some discussion had ensued earlier,
during the harrowing ride home, whether it would be more prudent for
Kowalski to attempt the dangerous drive to Fraser's own apartment, across
town, or whether Fraser should stop here. After much deliberation
(needless deliberation, Kowalski thought) it was decided: and here was
Fraser, burrowing under the blankets and trying to make himself as small
as possible. "You know, you can take up some more of the bed, I don't
bite. No need to be crouchin' there on the side or something." 

 There was a small shifting movement, and Kowalski felt Fraser's foot
touch his own---the foot leapt back as if burned. "Fraser, it's alright.
Just relax, would you? Jesus..." There had also been discussion, in a
roundabout way, about whether the two men were comfortable with this.
Fraser protested that he was fine with it, told Kowalski some Inuit story,
and lapsed into silence. 

 There was silence now, and without realising it, Kowalski fell gently
into a soft well of sleep. He was dreaming, dreaming of dancing, of the
days when he danced, when it was his whole life, before the liquor-store
and that bullet in the back... 

 He awoke suddenly, in utter darkness, a nightmare whimper dying in his
throat. 

 It was really cold, now. And the bathroom light had gone out. "Christ---"
He sat up, wrapped his cold fingers into his armpits. 

 "What is it, Ray?" That quiet voice beside him in the darkness, calm and
assured. God, wasn't Fraser afraid of anything at all? 

 He forced his voice to work, override the fear. "The storm-- the
snowstorm, the power's gone out." He shivered, wrapped his arms around his
naked torso. "Probably cut the power to the boiler,that's why there's no
heat." 

 A hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

 "Yes, I'm alright!" Angry,now. "Dammit, what's---" He discerned Fraser's
expression, the Mountie's gentle concern, was chastened by it. "I'm
sorry---dark makes me a little jumpy." 

 "I see." 

 "No, you don't see, Fraser." He laughed bitterly, wondered why the
darkness so often pressed him into a confessional mood. "And it's not
about that bank robbery and me...peeing in my pants." 

 "Ah." 

 There is was again, that maddening certainty. How the hell 

 did Vecchio put up with this guy? "Whatta you mean, 'Ah'? Christ! How'd
Vecchio put up with you, anyway?" 

 "I'm sorry." Something else in his face now, some new emotion, what was
it? "Perhaps we should get under the covers and keep warm. I'm sure the
building manager will have the heat back on in no time." 

 He drifted for awhile in the warmth, edged closer to Fraser's body...he
was warm, this Mountie, and Kowalski wanted some of it for himself...he
was warm, so warm...and whose arm was this, around him? 'It's alright,'
his mind whispered, 'it's alright.' 

 "What about the liquor store?" Fraser's soft voice, close to his ear,
Fraser's warm breath, stirring the hair at the side of his face. 

 "I didn't say anything." Eyes open in darkness... 

 "Yes, you did, Ray. You said something about being shot in a liquor
store." Fraser shifted so he was looking at him, blue eyes wide in the
darkness. "And tell me, why do you have a dance chart on the floor?" 

 Kowalski felt the laughter, bubbling up from his chest, whispering in his
throat. "You're not going to quit till you find out, are you?" 

 "If you mean I'm persistent, yes." 

 "Fraser, you and Vecchio---" He wanted to ask it. "--You know there's
rumours around the precinct, I just wondered---" 

 "We were--are--very close." 

 "Hm." He was sleepy, maybe he should sleep, but if there was this much
snow, he wouldn't get in to work tomorrow, so it was okay to sleep in, be
awake now and sleep late tomorrow... 

 "Ray, I think I should tell you---" 

 "Yeah?" His whole body was taut, every cell listening. This was
important, he wanted to know this. 

 "Ray and I...well, we were rather more than friends..." 

 And this was something... Kowalski raised himself slightly on one arm,
peered down at the Mountie. "You telling me that you and him were...?" 

 Fraser hesitated before answering, and in that moment, Kowalski saw a
million dark emotions chase themselves across the Mountie's face. "We were
lovers." 

 He felt himself blushing, inexplicably, in the darkness. There was a
pause, a space of silence, while outside the wind screamed and raged,
buffetting hard snow against the windowpanes. "I see." He swallowed hard.
"Fraser, that day in the crypt, when I asked if you---" 

 "---if I thought you were attractive. Yes, I do. Very much." 

 He could breathe again, thank God. "Okay." What to say next? "Okay." The
storm was building, he could hear it, shrieking outside the small
apartment, while they lay cocooned inside, safe in their warmth. 

 "You're a dancer, aren't you?" Fraser's hand slid gently against his
shoulder, testing the texture of his skin. "What happened?" 

 His throat tightened; this was dangerous territory, he couldn't talk
about it, that wound was too raw... 

 And Fraser's mouth, warm against his shoulder, a single point of heat in
a cold and Dantean universe... "I got shot. In the back. I wasn't even a
cop then, I went into a liquor store to get a bottle of wine, me and some
friends, we were celebrating, we'd just got parts in this big musical, you
know, a real paycheck for a change---" His throat closed together; he
couldn't talk about this. 

 "I'm so sorry..." Fraser's mouth, a point of heat, pressed against his
neck, and Kowalski turned his face and kissed the Mountie, tasting him,
the warm, clean taste of him. He moved so that he could take Fraser into
his arms, feel the broad expanse of that muscled back underneath his
palms. This was good, so good; this felt like being healed, a miracle... 

 He spoke again, when his mouth was freed, whispering, his face close to
Fraser's... "I went into this liquor store and there was a robbery in
progress, and I dunno, he didn't like the look of me, and me, you know
what a coward I am, I ran---" 

 "---you aren't a coward---" 

 "And he shot me in the back." 

 Fraser's fingers, probing for the tiny scar and finding it, in the curve
of his back, close to the spine. Another lingering kiss, hands moving in
the darkness, an increase of heat despite the storm that swirled and
shrieked outside. 

 "...it messed me up, really bad. I tried rehab but it wasn't enough, they
couldn't fix my back, and...it was all over." He smiled, a lopsided smile.
"That's when I decided to become a cop." 

 He took Fraser's face between his palms, kissed him almost savagely,
fingers grasping the back of his neck, his tongue slipping effortlessly
between the Mountie's parted lips... 

 It was warm, warmer than it had ever been. He lay back, felt the covers
being pulled off him, the cool air caressing his chest, turning his
nipples to small, hard pebbles...he felt a warm mouth, sliding on his flat
stomach, sliding lower, and he realised that he was powerfully aroused,
wanting this. 'Do you think I'm attractive?' 'Yes, very much so.' 

 

 There was nothing but this; his brain stuttered into silence, his long
fingers moving to the back of Fraser's neck, sliding into his dark hair.
His back arched, hips rising up to meet Fraser's mouth, as he was
swallowed whole, engulfed in heat... 

 Lips, sliding on him, drawing the length of his cock into heat; lips,
fluttering on his swollen cockhead, drawing sensation, tugging him
inexorably over some invisible precipice... "I just want you to love me,
like you loved him..." Whispering, not realising, but whispering...hands
sliding on the Mountie's broad, naked back, hips arching up to meet that
mouth, again and again...other hands, cradling his buttocks, fingers
sliding between the cleft of his ass, caressing him, as he gave himself up
and climaxed powerfully... 

 "Do you want this?" Fraser was positioned at his entrance, supporting
himself on his arms. "If you've never done this---" 

 "I have--" Whispering, hoarsely, needing this. "I have." 

 And Fraser coming into him gently, between his parted legs; Fraser's body
cradled by his spread knees, till he was buried deep inside. "I don't want
to hurt you..." 

 "You're not hurting me!" Do it, he thought...please, do it...incredibly,
his cock was getting hard again, wanting Fraser... 

 He wrapped his legs around the Mountie's waist, pulling Fraser tight
against him, wanting all of Fraser, more than he could possibly give. The
cold prickled his skin, and he drew himself tight around the core of heat
that penetrated him. 

 Bodies clasped together in the cold, moving slowly, Fraser riding him,
thrusting deep into his guts. 'This is a dream,' he thought, 'this isn't
possibly happening' But it was inextricably real: lying here in the
freezing cold, giving pleasure to this man, and being pleasured in return;
it was almost as good as dancing... 

 "Benny..." He pressed his mouth against Fraser's neck, turned his face
and kissed him deeply, as Fraser grunted and came, his back arched, eyes
closed, pressed into him, their skins sliding together... 

 'I could love you,' he thought, and wondered what had happened to the
cold. 

 "What did Ray call you? Did he call you Fraser, or Ben, or Benton, or
Benny?" Lying in the Mountie's arms, warm, comforted. "I'd like to know,
just so---" Just so I don't remind you by calling you the same thing that
he did, just so I don't make it more painful than it needs to be. 

 He wondered if what had happened here would ever happen again. 

 And Fraser kissed him, tenderly. "You can call me whatever you wish," he
whispered, and Kowalski saw that the Mountie's blue eyes were wet with
tears. "Ray used to call me Benny." 

 And there was heat, in the midst of a terrible cold. 

 The End