A Man and a Half    A Man and a Half by Trixie Belden

  

 This is slash fiction, which portrays explicit sex between men. If youre
not interested, or you shouldnt be, you can leave now. 

 Usual disclaimers; dont own the characters, just like to play pretend.
There may be a story out there that takes advantage of Frasers Scottish
heritage, but I havent read it. So I thought Id go for the (to me)
obvious. 

 This is my first attempt at publishing slash. Id like to thank Mitch for
beta-reading and friendly support. 

 (Asterisks indicate thoughts.) 

 I welcome feedback at: belden_trixie@hotmail.com. 

 Pairing: Fraser/Vecchio
 PWP, NC-17 

 A MAN AND A HALF
 By Trixie Belden 

 Ray Vecchio looked determinedly in the rear-view mirror of the Buick
Riviera, lifted his chin and adjusted his tie. Opening the door, he
unfolded his long frame from the car and glanced at the well-lit doorway
of the Canadian Consulate. Music spilled onto the street, and couples in
fancy dress were entering the building. 

 As a rule, although he liked to wear nice clothes, Ray disliked formal
receptions. But Fraser had invited him, and--Ray admitted ruefully--what
Constable Benton Fraser asked of Detective Ray Vecchio, Constable Benton
Fraser usually got. Why exactly that was so, Ray did not pause to
contemplate as he shut the door of the Riv. Ordinarily, when Fraser asked
him to one of the frequent parties hosted by the Canadian government for
visiting dignitaries or on special Canadian themes, the Mountie gave as
his excuse the fact that there might be eligible and interesting women
there for Ray's delectation (he never seemed to be interested in the women
himself). But Fraser had long since stopped making that claim, and it
hadn't escaped Ray's notice that Fraser simply wanted Ray at his side when
he had to face such social occasions. In fact, the Mountie was at Ray's
side most of the time, these days. 

 Ray couldn't even remember what this shindig was in honour of-- something
about bagpipes and Robbie Burns Day. As he headed into the elegant
ballroom, Ray just prayed he wouldn't be forced to eat any haggis. 

 Fraser wasn't immediately visible, but the theme of the party was
confirmed by the presence of a trio playing lively Celtic music and a
noticeable quantity of plaid around the room. 

 *Maybe I should order a good shot of Scotch* Ray said to himself grimly
as he faced an evening that stood a good chance of turning out to be
rather dour, penny whistles or no. It was their Scottish Presbyterian
heritage, he surmised, that had made Canadians such a polite, restrained
bunch. That was Benny's lineage, all right, he realized suddenly. His name
wasn't Fraser for nothing. So this evening must be special to the guy. Ray
grinned. A chance to recite poetry and get misty-eyed over damp cottages
and sports that involved sweeping rocks with brooms and tossing telephone
poles. 

 "Hey, Ray," said Jasmine, approaching in a green frock that Ray had to
admit was very fetching. "How are you?" 

 "Great, Jasmine--nice dress," Ray replied to the consular assistant.
"How's the party going? Seen Fraser?" 

 "Oh, yes--he's been the hit of the evening so far." Jasmine grinned
impishly. 

 "Our Benny, the life of the party?" Ray raised his eyebrows in amusement.
"What, did somebody slip him some Glen Fiddich and now he's got a
lampshade on his head? I always knew that buttoned-up stuff was just a
put-on." 

 "No...I don't think he's had anything to drink, as usual. But he's not
exactly buttoned up. I mean, it isn't every day we get to see Constable
Fraser in a skirt." 

 Ray gulped. Fraser in a skirt? He'd seen Fraser in a skirt, when he'd
gone undercover as a schoolteacher. Ray was reminded that Ben's
fearlessness and nonconformist streak sometimes resulted in some rather
un-buttoned-up behaviour. Ray's face got a little hot when he remembered
dancing with Ms. Fraser--and the incongruous but oddly captivating feeling
of being so close to somebody who was at once alluringly feminine and as
large and powerful as a-- well, as a muscular, six-foot male Mountie. It
had unnerved him. Was Fraser reprising his role as Ms. Fraser? He looked
around him- -it wasn't a costume party-- 

 "Ray!" The detective had barely gathered his wits to respond to Jasmine's
laughing remark when he noticed she'd gone and Fraser's voice was calling
to him. He turned toward the voice and gulped again. There was Fraser
striding confidently in his direction, grinning like an idiot, in full
formal Highland regalia--a funny hat, a sash of some sort, crisp white
shirt, knee socks--knee socks?--and--Jasmine hadn't lied--a kilt, in red,
green and white plaid. 

 "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Fraser!" Ray said, wide-eyed. 

 Fraser kept smiling. He seemed rather--relaxed. "What is it, Ray?" 

 "Well, you're always full of surprises, aren't you?" Ray snorted.
"Although I don't know why it should surprise me when you find some new
way to be totally weird." 

 "If you're referring to my clothing, Ray, it's not weird at all. It's
perfectly normal Scottish garb. I am of Scottish descent, after all."
Fraser quirked one corner of his mouth. "This is the Fraser tartan," he
said proudly. 

 "It's a dress, Fraser!" Ray smirked. "I can see your knees!" 

 "Something wrong with my knees?" Fraser raised an eyebrow innocently and
put his hands behind his back. 

 "Of course not!" Ray sputtered. "It's just--it's just--" 

 "It's just different, Ray. Styles of clothing are culturally determined,
and it is by no means rare for men to wear what you call a dress in many
parts of the world." Fraser leaned forward and put his mouth near Ray's
ear, and his voice was low and rumbly. "You'll get used to it, I promise."


 Ray could feel Fraser's breath on his neck, and he blushed. He'd been
doing that a lot lately around his partner, at the most inopportune times.
Come to think of it, so had Fraser. He turned toward the bar. "Whatever
you say, Benny. I think I'll get a drink." 

 Ray seldom drank alcohol, in fact, but he suddenly felt the need for some
artificial courage. A sense of anticipation made the hair rise on the back
of his neck, and he couldnt shake it. With a glass of Scotch firmly in his
hand, he returned to Ben's side, and they watched the partygoers together
for a while. "So what's with the socks?" Ray muttered. 

 "They're part of the regimental costume," replied Ben. "It's cold in
Scotland, and wool socks are a necessity. And I'm carrying a dirk--that's
a dagger--in one sock, just as you carry an extra gun. All the parts of
the outfit are quite functional, as a matter of fact," he continued
cheerily. "There's the sporran, which is a sort of purse, if you will--" 

 Ray wrinkled his nose. 

 "--and the wool fabric of the jacket, kilt and bonnet are quite
water-resistant. I took the jacket off earlier because it's rather warm in
here." He slid a finger under his shirt collar. 

 Ray had to agree; his armpits were feeling damp and beads of sweat were
forming on his upper lip. He wasn't at all sure it was the room
temperature that was causing these reactions, however. He tried to hide
his discomfiture with a sarcastic remark. "So I'm standing here with a guy
who's wearing a skirt, a bonnet and knee socks, and carrying a purse, not
to mention something called a *dirk*. And you think the transvestites down
on Rush Street are strange." 

 Fraser smiled indulgently. "Ray, highland dress was worn by the bravest
of warriors--it's not at all feminine. In fact, women weren't allowed to
wear the kilt. It's said--" and he leaned again toward Ray's ear, his
voice suddenly low and conspiratorial "-- that a man in a kilt is a man
and a half." 

 "So--where's Inspector Thatcher?" Ray choked out, then belted back a
mouthful of Scotch. His effort to change the topic only resulted in his
sputtering out the liquor that had gone down the wrong way. 

 "Are you all right, Ray?" Fraser patted his back several times with the
flat of his hand, his biceps very noticeable around Ray's shoulder. His
face was too close, and the detective walked down to the end of the bar
where there was a pitcher of water. Fraser followed him, making
tut-tutting noises as Ray coughed and tried to clear his throat. That end
of the bar was empty of people, and in a corner of the room where the
lighting was considerably more subdued. Ray seemed to calm down some, even
though Ben still had his hand on Ray's back, rubbing in barely detectable
circles as he helped the man get his breath. 

 "Sorry," Ray croaked. "I just--I just--" 

 "Does my clothing make you nervous?" Ben frowned a little. 

 "No, no, no--well, yeah, it does, a little," Ray whispered. "It's
just--embarrassing standing with you around all those people, I-- Geez,
Benny, I don't know why, it just is." 

 "Well, we can stand over here where nobody is watching us," Ben said
nonchalantly. 

 Ray's stomach did a flip-flop. *Us? Is there an us to watch?* 

 "Although nobody else seemed particularly shocked by my attire," the
Mountie continued. "Mind you, quite a few women--" at this Fraser chuckled
and cocked his head boyishly "--have asked me the usual question..." 

 Ray was practically standing behind the bar now, partly sheltered by a
bushy ficus benjamina, as though he were trying to fade into the room
decor. "What question is that?" he asked hoarsely. 

 "Well, what exactly I'm wearing under my kilt, Ray." At that Ben removed
his hat and placed it on the bar. His hair was damp and slightly wavy
around his ears. He beamed as he turned back toward his friend. Not for
the first time, Ray wondered if God had ever before made a face as
beautiful as this one. 

 Now that they were far from the scrutiny of the crowd, Ray looked Fraser
straight in the eye. There was a long pause as Fraser returned his gaze, a
question hovering between them. Ray cleared his throat. As he held the
Mountie's blue eyes, Ray's mind was flooded with thoughts and images from
the past several weeks of their friendship. Prolonged looks; secretive
smiles; furtive touches that might mean nothing; odd double entendres that
could have been simply Fraser being dumb--or not. More than once Ray had
told himself that something was building up between him and his partner,
but he couldn't be sure, couldn't take the chance he was wrong, wasn't
sure he wanted to be right. It had been a long time since he'd been with a
man, or even wanted to. Why did Fraser reawaken desires he'd thought were
long dead? 

 And what about Fraser? Was he really flirting with him? Could it be that
all that naivete, all those innocent questions and suggestive comments
were not innocent at all? That Fraser was just waiting for Ray to wake up
and smell the coffee? As those eyes looked into his, both men's smiles
died away. 

 "Benny..." Ray began, lowering his eyelashes for a moment. 

 "Yes, Ray?" Ben had suddenly turned away and stood facing the roomful of
guests, Ray behind his right shoulder, his mouth close to Ben's ear. The
Mountie's voice was so low Ray could barely hear him, but he could feel
his presence like a force field. 

 "So...what are you wearing under the kilt?" Ray swallowed hard and held
his breath as he waited for the response. 

 Ben turned his face slightly to the right and said, for Ray's ears only,
"What every Scotsman wears--his pride." 

 Ray felt an unmistakable twitch between his legs, and suddenly the weeks
of wondering what he was feeling for the Mountie turned to clarity. All he
needed now was to know--for certain--how Ben felt. He was overcome with a
sudden resolve to get to the bottom of all this innuendo and coyness. 

 "Okay if I ask another question?" Ray muttered, staring straight ahead
with a fake smile plastered on his face for the benefit of anyone who
might glance in their direction. 

 "Yes, certainly," Ben whispered back. The hissing quality in his voice
caused a shiver to travel from Ray's ear to the base of his spine. 

 "Are you teasing me?" 

 "In what sense?" 

 "You know what I mean," he breathed. "Don't fool around here, Benny. Why
did you want me to know you have nothing on under there?" 

 Ben had the grace to blush--Ray could see it on the back of his neck,
even in the shadows. The Mountie licked his lips and his eyes darted
around the room. The music was loud and many couples were dancing. There
was no one within five metres of the two men. Ben smoothed his eyebrow
with his thumb, and then dropped his right hand to his side. Somehow, Ray
knew at that instant that he should move his left to the same spot. Ben's
little finger twined ever so slightly around Ray's. The touch was barely
perceptible, and yet it hit Ray like a lightning bolt. There was his
answer. 

 Ray coughed. "Whaddya know, my shoes undone. I--I gotta bend down and tie
my shoe." 

 Still Ben didn't speak, but he stroked Ray's finger with his, up and
down, in response. 

 Ray waited until the frisson had passed through them, glanced around the
room, then dropped to one knee. He was panting a little; he put one hand
on his Gucci shoe and, ever so slowly, placed the other on Fraser's sock.
Fraser's right hand brushed gently across the shoulder of Ray's suit and
rested lightly there. That was all the encouragement Ray needed. He ran
his hand up Ben's leg, over the bulge where the knife was hidden, until he
reached the back of his thigh. From where Ray knelt, the view was wickedly
ambiguous. The knee socks and the hem of the kilt gave him the sinful
sensation that he was feeling up a teenaged Catholic schoolgirl. Yet the
solid calves, the iron-hard thighs he knew were beneath the skirt--which
belonged to his partner, a man he trusted with his life--took his breath
away for distinctly different reasons. 

 As his fingers rested on the back of Ben's knee, he felt rather than
heard the Mountie sigh and then shiver. He was terrified that someone
would see, but almost certain that nobody could. His hand inched beneath
the hem of the kilt, as far as he dared go, slowly, agonizingly slowly,
his fingers blazing a trail on his friend's warm skin. He saw Ben's
shoulders rise and fall and heard an intake of breath and a long
exhalation through his nostrils. As Ray's long fingers moved higher, he
extended them around Ben's leg, between his thighs. Not wanting to push
his luck, he stood up slowly, dragging his hand lightly up between Ben's
legs as far as it would go without lifting up the kilt on either side.
When he reached his full height, he reluctantly removed his hand, but
placed it on the small of Ben's back, where it couldn't be seen. 

 Ben turned his head toward him almost shyly, his own phony smile still
displayed on his flushed face, and Ray kept staring straight ahead. 

 "Tell me to stop, Benny," the detective said unsteadily. "Tell me you
don't want me to touch you." 

 "I can't tell you that," the Mountie whispered. He smiled back at the
room, lifted his eyebrows and waved at somebody on the dance floor.
Turning back to Ray, he drew in a ragged breath. "I want you to...I want
it. That isn't a surprise, is it?" 

 "No," Ray exhaled slowly. "No, not really." *Although I wasn't exactly
expecting you to make a pass at me in the middle of a diplomatic
function.* 

 Just then Inspector Thatcher, also clad in highland dress, walked in
their direction. Ray placed both hands front and centre and smiled at her.


 "Detective Vecchio, so glad you could come," she said brightly. 

 *Yeah, right* Ray thought. Aloud, he thanked her for the invitation. 

 "Doesn't Constable Fraser look simply--" the woman stumbled in her usual
inarticulate way "--well, I mean to say, doesn't he look-- authentic?" 

 "The real McCoy," Ray nodded his head seriously. 

 "Thank you, Sir." Ben nodded, too. The two men looked like a couple of
car window ornaments, their heads hinged at the neck. 

 "Enjoy yourselves!" said Inspector Thatcher with enthusiasm before she
turned to greet a politician she had spied. 

 Ben didn't miss a beat. Still smiling, eyes cast down modestly, lashes
almost brushing his cheeks, he whispered over his shoulder, his voice an
odd combination of hesitant and commanding: "Touch me." 

 It was all Ray could do to keep from groaning. Part of him couldn't
believe this was happening, after the weeks of confused expectation. Part
of him couldn't believe it was happening here, of all places. Part of him
wondered what the hell had been in the Scotch, and whether Ben had had a
nip or two himself. Still standing just behind and to the right of Ben, he
put his left hand on Ben's ass, squeezing slightly through the wool
tartan. Ensuring that nobody was looking, he dropped his hand and scooped
it beneath the kilt. His fingers met heat, fine hair covering smooth, damp
skin. When he felt Ben shift his feet just slightly farther apart, he knew
he wasn't going to get out of the room without great embarrassment. 

 Sliding his middle finger up and down the crack of Ben's bare ass in a
room full of people was just about the most erotic thing Ray could ever
remember doing. He thought of what it would be like to bend the Mountie
over the bar and nail him right there, in front of all the party guests.
His overheated cock strained against his trousers, and he shifted a bit
farther behind Ben and pressed the hard length against the other man's
hip. Then he slid his finger through Ben's legs toward his balls. Ben
jumped, and Ray knew he'd gone too far, considering where they were. 

 "Gotta get outta here..." Ray breathed beside Ben's head, hardly able to
stop himself from touching his lips to his friend's neck. His heart
racing, he removed his hand from its hidden target. 

 Ben waited until he knew his kilt was in place and turned to face Ray.
Looking for all the world as though he were about to launch into an
analysis of the latest Bulls game, he pounded Ray on the back in a
friendly, manly manner. Ray coughed a bit, brought his fist to his mouth.
Still smiling, Ben bent to Ray's ear. His voice was like melted butter.
"Meet me in my office in five minutes, he whispered. You can pretend
you're going to the washroom at the top of the stairs." 

 Ray just nodded as Ben grabbed his tartan hat from the bar, turned on his
silver-buckled heel and headed toward the staircase. Ray watched his
friend walk away and up the stairs, mesmerized by the sight of his butt,
the neat white shirt tucked into the kilt around his trim waist, the
pleated fabric swaying around his hips and thighs. Lately he'd taken to
watching Benny's backside quite often, and it looked just as good in a
dress as in jodhpurs or even jeans. A few times he thought he'd caught
Benny looking at *his* ass, and wondered if he'd imagined it. Now he knew
his suspicions were correct, and the tattoo inside his chest beat harder. 

 *Benny and me. Right here, right now, in the Consulate.* 

 Ray's mouth was very dry. He picked up the remains of his Scotch and
walked slowly along the bar, careful to face away from the crowd, willing
his erection to settle down. He made some small talk with the bartender,
took a last swig of his drink and asked the woman for a glass of water.
Had five minutes passed? Benny was waiting for him upstairs...*waiting for
him!* Waiting for him to-- The thought made the colour drain from his
face, and he gulped some water. Taking a deep breath, he managed to walk
unobtrusively toward the stairs and ascended two at a time. Let everybody
think he just had to pee in a bad way. 

 Someone was leaving the men's room as he approached, so he ducked inside
for a moment, stood with his back against the wall and closed his eyes,
breathing deeply. He stuck his head back out into the hallway. No one was
in sight; he headed for the door he knew led to Ben's office. It was open.


 When he entered, the expansive and well-appointed room was dark, and he
waited for his eyes to adjust. Off to one side, a broad shaft of moonlight
beamed through the window, shedding a dim glow on Ben's desk--and on Ben
leaning against it. Ray hesitated at the door and they looked at one
another for a long moment. Ben had removed his shoes and sporran, and was
rolling up his shirtsleeves, his eyes never leaving Ray; the sight of his
pale forearms in the moonlight made Ray dizzy. 

 "Lock the door," was all Ben said, and Ray obeyed. When had Benny become
so forceful? Ray liked it, but he needed to take back some control. He
strode across the room to stand before Ben. The two men just stared hotly
at each other, their chests rising and falling audibly. 

 Ray finally spoke, his voice low and husky. "How long have you wanted
this?" 

 "A long time," Ben whispered back, still not breaking eye contact. "I
couldn't wait anymore." 

 "Benny, I--" Ray hesitated. 

 "What?" The Mountie's voice was soft and soothing. He lifted one hand to
touch Ray's cheek. 

 Ray sighed. "We've never done this before--I feel like it should be
special and romantic, planned a little, in a bed--that kind of thing. Or
maybe--maybe we should talk about it first." He took a shaky breath. "But
to tell you the truth--" he laughed nervously, "right now all I can think
about is your ass under that kilt--" 

 "That's alright," Ben reassured him. "It's okay." He ran his fingers down
the side of Ray's neck. "That's why I wore it." 

 Ray's eyes widened, and Ben raised his eyebrows in answer, a little grin
lighting up his face. Ray's hands were trembling, but he managed to place
them lightly on Ben's hips. 

 "Turn around," he growled, and spun his partner till he was facing the
desk, where he could lean on his hands. Ray stripped off his suit jacket,
toed off his shoes, loosened his tie, dropped to his knees and wrapped
both arms around Ben's legs. He pressed his face against Ben's behind,
sighing deeply. "Oh, God, Benny..." His hands moved to the hem of the kilt
and he lifted it so he could place his head where he wanted it to be. Ben
shuddered and spread his legs farther apart, offering himself to Ray so
brazenly, Ray stopped breathing for a second. Then he began to caress
Ben's bare buttocks with both hands, and to run his mouth along the backs
of his thighs. The kilt flopped onto his head and he reached up and, as
carefully as he could with clumsy fingers, tucked the hem into the
waistband, leaving that gorgeous ass exposed to him in the moonlight. He
touched it everywhere with his face, then began to lick the warm, soft
skin. Sweat moistened the cleft of Ben's ass cheeks, and his scent made
Ray's head spin. 

 At the feeling of Ray's tongue caressing him, Ben groaned and rotated his
neck sensuously. "Ray, I want--" he stammered. 

 Ray stopped his ministrations long enough to murmur, "What do you want?" 

 "I--I want you to--touch my penis." 

 Ray reached around in front to grasp the thick, straining cock that was
leaking fluid against the wool tartan, and rubbed the wet head with his
thumb. He continued to worship his partner's ass while he stroked his
cock. Ben gasped loudly, and Ray marvelled at what was happening. He
should be worried that this was a big mistake, but not only was he too
excited to think straight--the trust between them was palpable. Somehow he
knew that, no matter what happened, everything would be okay. Benny
wouldn't do this on a whim. 

 Ben was thrusting into Ray's palm now, and Ray became emboldened at the
man's unexpected abandon. "Not so fast, sweetheart," he admonished, and
took his hands away from Ben's cock. At Ben's whimper, he used both hands
to spread his friend's buttocks. A few drops of sweat fell to the floor;
Ray couldn't tell if they came from his face or from Ben's bottom.
Tentatively he inserted his tongue as far between the cleft as it would
go, his hands filled with Mountie ass, kneading it, so hard and soft at
once. 

 "Oh, Jesus, God," cried Ben as Ray licked and licked the salty, musky
cavity. 

 Stopping for breath, Ray gave a low chuckle. "Language, Benny-- you've
been hanging around me too long. I'm a bad influence." 

 "Sorry, I--ohhh!" 

 "S'okay, babe," Ray had replaced his tongue with his middle finger and
slid it toward the puckered hole of his dreams. He reached for Ben's cock
and gathered some pre-cum between his thumb and forefinger, then applied
it to Ben's anus. He gently pushed one finger past the tight muscle and
twisted it from side to side. To his amazement, Ben's powerful legs began
shaking, and he put one arm around his waist to keep him from falling
over. "You like that?" 

 "Oh, yeah...uh-huh!" For once, the Mountie was rendered inarticulate. 

 Ray grinned, sat back on his heels and began to remove his tie with one
hand, the other still exploring Ben's asshole. He leaned forward for a
moment, long enough to apply more saliva with his tongue, and soon was
able to push in a second finger. When he'd flung his tie onto the floor,
he again began to run his face all over Ben's butt. "Oh, man, I've wanted
this ass for so long," he breathed against the pale skin in the darkness. 

 "Y-you've got it now," Ben rasped. 

 Ray slowly stood up, supporting Ben as he did so, keeping his fingers
moving gently inside the other man's body, sliding his face up the finely
muscled back until he reached his neck. 

 Ben shivered at the touch of Ray's breath so close to his face. "Tell me
what you want to do to me." 

 Ray licked Ben's ear as he continued to slide his fingers in and out of
Ben's hot opening. Then he bent down a little and with the other hand
reached under the front of the kilt to grasp Ben's cock once more. "What
do you want me to do?" 

 "I want you..., Ben gasped. Any part of you...on any part of me." 

 "Well, that can be arranged." 

 Ben gave a small cry as Ray removed his hands and stepped to one side, so
that Ben could see him in the dim light as he undid his pants and pulled
them off along with his underwear, then rolled up his sleeves. Ben's
glazed eyes were only half open in a grimace that looked almost like pain,
but he was clearly enjoying his first glimpse of Rays dark, thick penis. 

 *I can't believe he's this turned on--with me* Ray marvelled. He smiled
at Ben. "Unlike you, I didn't come prepared. Too many clothes." Wearing
just his cream-coloured dress shirt and dark brown socks, Ray moved back
behind Ben and pressed his now rockhard cock against Ben's ass, so
conveniently bare beneath the kilt. He reached in front again to touch
Ben's cock but found the Mountie's hand was already there. Firmly he
placed his own hand over Ben's and together they stroked the blood-hot,
stiff flesh. Ray's own stiffness found a home between Ben's buttocks,
quite slick now with sweat, and he began to move up and down in that
wetness, rising just a little on his toes with each upward stroke. 

 Gradually they found a rhythm that increased the tempo of their
breathing. Every few minutes, Ray realized with a jolt what he was doing.
He couldn't believe he'd gotten under that kilt that had so startled him
not half an hour earlier, that he was rubbing his hard-on against Ben's
bare ass, holding him in his arms, Ben so willing and hot, his juicy prick
in Ray's hand... 

 "Fuck, I want you," Ray spoke on an outgoing breath. 

 "Yes...fuck..." Ben inhaled sharply through his teeth. 

 "I can't, Benny, I can't," Ray sighed. "I don't have any protection, and
we'd need more lube than just some spit. Unless..." 

 Ben was silent for an instant. "I was prepared," he half-laughed,
half-growled, "but not *that* prepared." 

 "Some Boy Scout you are." Ray put his tongue in Fraser's ear and then
trailed it down the side of his neck. 

 Ben sighed. "I don't know what I thought...would happen...I just
hoped...Oh, Ray, keep doing that..." 

 "Its okay, I like it just like this. Your ass feels great." He pressed
harder against Ben, nearly forcing him onto the desk, but Ben pressed
back. "Only problem is...I'm going to shoot...all over your nice Fraser
tart--Ahhh, that's incred--ahhh...not yet..." 

 Ben closed his eyes and swallowed, then took his hand reluctantly from
his cock and began fumbling with the button at his side. In a few seconds
he'd unwrapped the kilt and tossed it over the desk. Now both of them were
clad only in socks and shirt tails. Ben rebraced his arms on the desk and
pressed his ass back against Ray. 

 Suddenly Ray wanted to make this more personal, and he hoped fervently
that Ben wanted the same thing. "Let me look at your face, Benny, please,"
he breathed, and turned his partner in his arms so that they were staring
into each other's eyes. In that instant they both seemed to give in to the
fact that this was something more than just hot sex in a semi-public
place. Then Ben's tongue was in Ray's mouth and all Ray could hear was the
sound of warm, frantic nasal breathing and wet, wet lips and tongues, and
his blood pounding in his ears. He reached down to push their shirts out
of the way so their cocks could touch and for a second or two he thought
he'd pass out. Ben held on to him, his hands pressing hard against Ray's
scalp, holding his head protectively as though it were something precious.
Their slick cocks twitched and duelled; Ben pulled his mouth away finally
and touched his forehead to Ray's; sweat was pouring from his face now; he
swallowed dryly, and his hands shook as they cradled Ray's chin. 

 Ray didn't know whether to come or burst into tears. His feelings were so
intense that he just kissed Benny again, lightly. "Benny, I--you--I
mean--we--" he started, panting and kissing between syllables. 

 "I know, Ray. I know." It was too soon to say the words but it wasn't too
soon to feel them. 

 Ray knew he couldn't stand up any longer, and Ben seemed to sense that,
as well. 

 "Over there," Ben gasped. He took Ray's hand and led him to a leather
chair. He stripped off his shirt and laid it on the seat, then sat down
and pulled Ray on top of him, spreading Ray's legs so that he was sitting
in Ben's lap, his knees on either side of him. Shakily Ben undid the
buttons of Ray's shirt and pulled it from his shoulders, his eyes widening
as he uncovered Ray's hairy chest. Ben hugged Ray tightly and rubbed his
face over the soft, dark chest hair, so different from his own smooth
body. 

 Their cocks were still touching in this position, but it was easier to
get their hands down there, and soon they were stroking each other
intimately, slowly, trying to prolong the ecstasy while looking into each
other's eyes. 

 "You are so beautiful, Benny," Ray whimpered. 

 Ben blushed. "I was thinking the same thing about you. I've never wanted
anybody this much. I want to see you--see you finish..." 

 "You wanna watch me come, babe?" 

 "Yesssss..." 

 "We can come together like this. And watch each other." 

 Both men surrounded both cocks with their hands, and it was like igniting
a brush fire. Ray bounced a little on Ben's hard thighs and then their
mouths were locked together as though they never wanted to let go, kissing
with a passion matched only by the heat in their groins. 

 Ray broke the kiss first, but continued frantically rubbing their velvety
erections together. "Benny, you don't know--you don't know what you do to
me--" 

 "Shhh," Ben soothed, "just let go for me. Let me watch you. Oh, God, oh,
God...yes, yes, *yes*--" 

 "Now, oh, please, Benny, don't stop, don't stop--yesss--I'm gonna-
-I'm--*now*!," Ray shouted, and Ben had the foresight only to put one hand
over Ray's mouth as the two of them exploded together, hot, sticky fluid
jetting onto their chests and dripping onto Ben's now sweat-soaked shirt. 

 It took more than a few minutes to calm down; soft, gentle kisses and
languid stroking of backs and sides helped bring their heart rates and
breathing back to something like normal. Ray gazed down at his partner's
spent cock and chuckled into Ben's mouth. 

 "A man and a half is right," he murmured. "You weren't kidding." 

 "Ah, well, what can I say...I'm glad you approve." Ben gave Ray one of
those lopsided grins he loved so much. "Although I wasn't aware you had
such a large sample with which to make a valid comparison." 

 "Touche," Ray grimaced a bit. "But...there really haven't been many.
Would it bother you if there were?" 

 "Not particularly," Ben sighed and looked Ray straight in the eye. "I
trust you. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me. Besides, how do you
know I haven't, as they say, been around the block a time or two?" 

 Ray started to say something, then stopped. He gently pushed the wisps of
Ben's sweat-damp hair away from his face, and began again. "Well, until
recently, I would have said, pull the other one, Benny. I had you pegged
as the primmest Scots-Canadian this side of Loch Ness. But, especially
after tonight--I'm beginning to think it's a bit of an act." 

 "It's not an act, Ray, I'm just--somewhat private until I get to know
someone very well." 

 "Mmm-hmmm. And just how many men have you got to know this well?" 

 Ben looked down disingenuously and licked Ray's nipple. "One or two.
Well, three, actually. And, as you know, a woman. But there was just one
man I got to know quite a bit better than this." He inhaled deeply and
went nose to nose with Ray. "As well as I'd like to get to know you." 

 There was a moment of silence as they gazed at one another. Ray broke it
with a sigh. He was fairly certain that Ben felt as he did, but he needed
to be reassured. "Benny, I don't wanna spoil the mood or anything, but I
have to ask you--do you mean that? Are you gonna pretend like this never
happened tomorrow?" 

 Ben looked alarmed. "No, no, Ray, I wouldn't do that--can't do that--is
that what *you* want?" 

 "No. I think this is--special. I've seen it coming for weeks." 

 "You knew I was going to wear a kilt with no underwear and seduce you in
the Consulate?" 

 "Is that what you did? Yeah, I guess you did." Ray laughed softly. "Nah,
I just felt like there was some kind of chemistry between us--always has
been, I guess. But I couldn't be sure. I wanted this to happen, though. I
just didn't want to make a big fool of myself and misjudge the situation."


 "You didn't. And fortunately, I didn't, either. It seems we're on the
same wavelength, then?" 

 Ray just nodded, a dopey grin on his lips. Ben kissed him deeply then.
Soon they realized their damp skin was rapidly cooling and began looking
around for their clothes, and some tissues to clean themselves off.
Luckily Ben had brought an extra white shirt--in case someone spilled red
wine on him, he claimed, to Ray's amusement. 

 As they dressed, Ray asked nonchalantly, trying not to reveal just how
much the response meant to him, "So, can I drive you home later on?" 

 "Of course," Ben replied as he fastened the kilt around his waist. He
stopped and looked at Ray intently. "Will you--I mean, would you like
to--" 

 Ray held his breath and stared at his feet. 

 "Ray, look at me." 

 The detective lifted his head, his eyebrows arched. 

 "I'd like it if you'd--if you'd spend the night with me." 

 Deep breath. 

 "Please." 

 Ray walked over and wrapped his arms around the Mountie. "I thought you'd
never ask," he whispered in his ear. 

 They kissed, and were almost embarrassed by the sweetness of it. *Funny
how you can practically fuck a guy's naked ass on his desk and not be
embarrassed,* Ray thought, *but get a little mushy and you want to hide
under the desk.* 

 "Thanks," Ray said as he pulled away. 

 "For what?" 

 "Thanks for taking a chance. I don't know when I would have got the
nerve." 

 "I'm a Mountie, Ray. We al--" 

 "Don't say it!" 

 "Understood." 

 end. 

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