Livia
Copyright July 26-28, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time
Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex
Pairings: Ray Kowalski/Ray Vecchio, Benton Fraser/Renfield Turnbull
Disclaimer: "due South," with its related characters and themes, belongs to Paul Haggis and Alliance, not to me. I make no money from this venture.
Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and Paul Gross.
Wherein Benton Fraser's vocabulary fails him; Ray Kowalski's tub is full of socks; and Ma Vecchio goes postal over an OFC.
Notice: You may assume that everything from the series happened except that Ray Vecchio did not marry Stella and leave for Florida; he's still working at the 27th precinct, partnered with Ray Kowalski.
Ben stayed quiet, for once. He knew that Ray needed to talk, so he'd be a friend and listen.
"I mean, he's great with kids. His sister's kids. He likes kids. I know he likes kids. And he knows I've always wanted kids, it's not some big woo-hoo shock there, I've always been real clear on, 'Hey, I want kids.'"
"Yes, Ray."
"So he should expect me to want to get kids. What, did he think that I'd just want kids forever and never try to have any? Since when am I the sort of person who just sits around and pines quietly? I want it, I'm going to get it. I don't sit on my hands and whimper."
Now there was an interesting image. Ben was courteous enough to replace the picture of Ray in his head with one of Ren. Oh, very nice.
"So where does he get off being pissed at me? He likes kids, I like kids, I want kids, he knows I want kids, and it's not like I'm just saying I want kids, I'm saying I want kids with him. Not like we can, you know, biologically or whatever, I'm just saying that whatever kid we get however we get it, it's ours, together. Because he'd be a good dad. And so would I."
"I'm sure that you would, Ray."
"Hey, really? Cool. Good. 'Cause I was sort of thinking... Turnbull's good with kids, and you're good with everybody, so you could baby-sit. You know, just sometimes. Unless you don't wanna, if you don't wanna just say so, I don't even have any kids yet so what am I going on about?"
Ben could see, hear, feel Ray's increasing agitation. He said, in all sincerity, "I would be happy to baby-sit your children, Ray, and I am certain that Ren would enjoy it as well."
"Well, great. Greatness." Ray was a deflated balloon.
"Is anything else troubling you, Ray?"
"What? I'm not here for therapy, Fraser, I'm just driving you home."
"Yes, Ray."
"Can I... Can I just say something? It's nothing you don't know, and I don't want you to say anything back to me, but I gotta just say it, so I can get it, you know, just so I can say it out loud."
Ray looked terribly embarrassed. Ben said, "You may say anything that you like, Ray."
"You know part of Stella leaving me was 'cause I wanted kids and she didn't."
Ray had said that he shouldn't say anything in response, so he kept quiet. He wanted desperately to be able to reply, to reassure Ray, to explain that Stella and the other Ray were not similar people, that Ray's marriage to Stella had had other problems besides the one mentioned, that - - oh, dear, he wasn't quite sure what to do now.
"Thanks, Frase," Ray said, stopping the car in front of Ben's building. "See you tomorrow."
"Yes, Ray, tomorrow. Thank you for the ride." He got out of the car and let Diefenbaker pass. "Ray," he said, leaning into the car again, because he knew that Ray was unhappy, because he thought that Ray might like to have a friend, "would you like to come inside with me?"
"No thanks, Frase. Better get home."
"All right, then." He closed the car door and let himself into the building.
When he entered his apartment, Diefenbaker walked ahead of him straight for the bedroom. One guess where Ren was, then. Diefenbaker had at first considered Ren with suspicion, not quite trusting the...how to put it delicately...the unique Mountie. Now Diefenbaker was very fond of Ren, about as fond as Ben was, it seemed. Diefenbaker, of all of Ben's steadfast friends, had been with him the longest, and having Diefenbaker's approval was important to him. Ray and Ray approved, as well, and though part of him suspected that they were surprised by his choice, they also seemed to believe that Ren was, of anyone on the planet, best suited to him. They both were, as Ray would put it, Mountie freaks.
"Good evening, Diefenbaker," Ren's voice said from the bedroom. "Yes, thank you. Yes, I was just about to begin dinner. I'm sorry, Diefenbaker, but you know that I refuse to handle marinara sauce in my uniform."
Which meant that Ren was changing. Which meant that Ren was either getting out of or into clothing. Which meant that Ren was half-dressed, or half-undressed, which meant-
Ben walked into the bedroom quickly. Ah, yes. How...delightful.
"Good evening, Ben," Ren said. "I was just about to begin dinner. Oh! Oh, dear. Ben, Diefenbaker is looking forward to the meal, and it would be rude of me... Oh, oh my, Ben, please don't do that, you know...I...oooohh."
"Good evening," Ben said against the warm silk of Ren's abdomen, licking the ridges of muscle. Ren always quivered quite nicely. It was amazing, he thought, how he could completely dismiss someone saying "Please don't do that." In the past he'd been appalled by people who disregarded the clearly expressed wishes of others, especially in sexual situations where going against someone's consent meant rape. However, he often found himself calmly ignoring Ren's protests. He knew that Ren could overpower him if he did go beyond boundaries, but that was no excuse; having the emotional or psychological upper hand was more important than having the physical one, and he was Ren's superior at work as well. And being married made no difference; husbands raped their wives with a frequency he'd rather not contemplate. So why did he ignore Ren's protests? Perhaps it was a matter of ego. He believed that Ren didn't mean them; or, at least, that if Ren meant them, that he knew what was best for Ren and he really should, in Ren's best interests, override those protests and keep going until he had Ren hard and panting, flushed and begging, spread out and naked and beyond any word of protest.
Diefenbaker whined.
"It's all right, Diefenbaker, he'll be finished momentarily and then I'll get you something to eat," Ren said.
At that Ben raised his head, fast, and pinned Ren with a look. Ren smiled at him with that perfect blend of cluelessness and happiness that never failed to stun visitors to the Consulate.
"Would you rather I let you go?" Ben asked, and he knew that there was, in the sarcasm and sharply wounded pride, an undercurrent of anger in his tone, and he didn't know why it was there.
"No, this is fine," Ren said. "I just don't like to keep Diefenbaker waiting."
"Then by all means," Ben said, leaving the bed, "go and make dinner."
"Well, all right," Ren said, rising with a definite grace that came from being familiar with his own strength.
Ben's physique was one of necessity; as long as he knew that he could do his job, could run across rooftops and hike across the Yukon and carry caribou or a gunshot victim, he was satisfied. But Ren's body, Ren's body was powerful and complex. Ben hadn't felt power until he'd felt those thighs wrap around his waist and squeeze.
Which just gave him all sorts of unclean thoughts.
But it was too late; Ren was dressed again, barefoot in jeans and a flannel shirt, walking out to the kitchen area followed by Diefenbaker. Ben liked it that Ren went barefoot a lot. He liked Ren's feet. Ray Vecchio had nice feet, and Ray Kowalski had lovely feet - - long toes, high arches, graceful feet - - but something about Ren's strong feet, pale and solid and capable, and the glimpse of naked ankle bone, made the contrast of strength and vulnerability fascinating, and he was hooked, snared, trapped. Caught. That was the amazing part; he'd had women, men, and more women interested in him, flirting with him, looking at him, trying to get him into their hearts or their beds, for a long time now, sometimes what felt like a very long time, and some had been quite persistent, and some had been fine people, intelligent, attractive, interesting people. But all he had to do was look at Ren's ankles and his heart sped with love and desire and protectiveness and love again, always love, always for Ren.
Amazing.
He knew all of the deterrents, knew them by heart - - he's too young for you, he works with you, he works under you, he's a man - - but not one could stand in the face of what his mind, his heart, his entire body went through when Ren, standing barefoot in the kitchen at the sink, spoke to Diefenbaker and tossed him a smile.
He'd heard, at some point in his life, that sexual relations lost their flavor once a couple married. In time, as familiarity grew, the passion left a relationship.
Well, it hadn't happened yet. It was early, after all, so maybe later he would stop lusting after Ren like a...like a...well, he couldn't even think properly in this state, so he'd go with the obvious simile: like a crazed nymphomaniac. Maybe later. Maybe several hundred... thousand...years from now.
"Finished momentarily." That was rather insulting to his lovemaking techniques, he thought. The rush towards orgasm was rather demanding, at times, and he understood why some people preferred hasty climactic sex. He, himself, preferred to take his time, to enjoy and savor every moment, every touch, every pulse. Now Ren was suggesting that he was someone who had quick sex. Or someone with premature ejaculation problems. Which he quite definitely was not, thank you kindly.
He should offer to help with dinner. They took turns at this duty, yet often found themselves sharing the chore. Ren was, to put it simply, a better cook than he. (That sort of thing was taking some getting used to. He'd spent his life being the smartest, the fastest, the strongest, the best at anything and everything. Then he'd come to Chicago and found himself among these people being challenged, on occasion even being bested. It was unnerving.)
Maybe that was why Diefenbaker liked Ren. Ray fed him, but Ren's food was of the finest quality, and Diefenbaker was highly cultured. At times. Demanding and spoiled, anyway.
He glanced at the easel in one corner by the window. The easel was draped, and he knew better than to peek. Ren would show him when the time was right. Once, early, he'd make the mistake of being nosy and he'd gone through Ren's sketchbook. The first four sketches had been still lifes from the Consulate, and the last four were of Diefenbaker. Those eight sketches had bookended some of the most erotic artwork that Ben had ever seen, and every last one had involved him. Which had taught him that 1.) he needed to respect the privacy of others and 2.) he had a new sexual position that he wanted to try.
One that he wouldn't mind trying now.
He really needed to get a grip on his libido.
Ren served dinner. He cleaned up after dinner. About to make some tea, he reached for the teakettle; before his fingers reached it he was spun about and Ren was in front of him, kneeling, opening his jeans. Dear lord he got hard quickly. Oh that felt good, that felt wonderful, that felt like...oh...but it wasn't, it wasn't quite, he needed more, he needed to do that to Ren, he needed to feel that closeness, he needed-
"It's all right, Ben, you may have it in a minute," Ren said, and swallowed his cock.
Ren knew. Of course Ren knew. And Ren was making him wait, on purpose, to drive him crazy, because driving people crazy was what Ren did best, it seemed.
He came, so mad at Ren that he was more in love than ever. And then he dropped to his knees and pushed Ren and Ren was lying on the floor and he was over Ren, kissing, hot and hungry, reaching down to open Ren's pants, sliding down Ren's body, putting his mouth to Ren's erection. Here, yes, this was what he needed. To bury his face in this evidence of heat and need, to feel wanted, to feel at home. Where it tasted like Ren.
Ren tasted good everywhere. Smelled good. Felt good. Looked good. Sounded good, those little whimpering sounds from deep in the back of Ren's throat, those many different ways that Ren said "oh." There was the "oh" of surprise when Ben first pounced, there was the "oh" of comprehension when he knew what Ben wanted, there was the "oh" of my that felt good, there was-
Ah, yes, there it was, that was a good one, the "oh" of "ooooohhh" that meant that Ren wanted to come but was refusing to because Ren was a stubborn little so-and-so who wanted to make Ben work harder.
He remembered Ren being a pain earlier and ending their session. He considered taking his revenge by leaving Ren there lying on the floor moments away from orgasm. That would be cruel, and Ren was, it would seem, trying to make it up to him for earlier. Really, he should make them both happy and let Ren come in his mouth right here and right now like they both wanted.
Should he?
He mused, lapping around Ren's cock. It was tempting in both directions. He sucked at the head meditatively. An "oh" broke into his thoughts, the "oh" that meant that Ren was directly on the verge and about to collapse into the abyss.
That "oh" made up his mind. He backed away quickly, rising, closing his pants, grasping the teakettle. He focused quite deliberately on filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. When he raised his gaze finally he found Ren sitting on the sofa, reading.
That was one of the problems in being with Ren.
Problems? With being with Ren?
Well, all right, then, not a problem, exactly, but certainly a...quirk, for lack of a better term. (His vocabulary kept failing him tonight. Perhaps he'd do well to concentrate less on the physical. All right, not physical, admit it, Ben, sexual.) Ren was confounding and bewildering at work, but just as much so in their personal life. Ren could seem to turn on and off sexually just like...flipping a switch, he supposed, to use a common simile. Not that much was common about Ren. Ben knew, of course, that there was a time and a place when sex was appropriate and just as equally times and places when sex was entirely inappropriate. When he had sexual urges at inappropriate times - - say, for instance, when he was at work and he was handing Ren a file and Ren gave him that happy-to-serve smile and he, well, just wanted to be served, or, rather, serviced - - he stifled them, he repressed them, he denied them, because they were, as mentioned, entirely inappropriate. So, yes, Ben was quite familiar with controlling his desires. Yet he couldn't quite master them as well as Ren seemed to be able to master them.
He was impressed, on that front, by Ray and Ray. The two of them worked together all day long, all week long, and were entirely professional. They knew their duty and they stuck to it. They could separate their personal and professional relationships; they could slip easily into what Ray would term "cop mode" and sublimate their desires. He didn't find it unhealthy. As a matter of fact, it seemed entirely necessary.
Ah, yes, the tea.
It was a comforting ritual. By the time he handed Ren a mug and took a seat on the sofa, he was feeling perfectly content. He located his place in his latest library loan and then immediately put the book down again to answer the door.
"Ray, what a pleasant surprise. Come in, please."
"He's driving me nuts! Hey, Turnbull. Benny, I'm gonna kill him, and I don't want to kill him, but he's driving me nuts, I swear to God, I don't know what I'm going to do with him."
"Ray is upsetting you?"
"Yes he's upsetting me! Of course he's upsetting me. Wouldn't you be upset if you had big blue eyes giving you that look all the time?!"
"What look?"
"What look - - Benny, you're the one he got it from! It's that look, the one that says, 'Ray, I understand, it's all right, you don't have to give me what I desperately want, I'll just sit here like a martyr because you're a selfish bastard, I don't blame you for a second.'"
"Ray, I'm sure that I've never accused you of being a selfish...anything."
"Your eyes do. And so do his! He keeps giving me that look! And he won't talk to me, and you know what he's like when he won't talk, when he won't talk that doesn't mean he's hurt, that means he's dying inside, and you know it's all my fault!"
"Ray, could you explain the situation a bit more concretely?"
"He's got this idea in his pretty blonde head that he wants to adopt kids. I think he wants at least as many as the Waltons. And don't give me that look, I know you don't know who the Waltons are, that's not the point, Benny."
"Yes, Ray."
"He wants to adopt kids. I can't adopt kids, Benny. You try to adopt kids, when you're two gay men, that means everybody in the whole country starts talking about you, and I don't want the whole country calling me a faggot. I don't want the whole twenty-seventh precinct, the whole Chicago Police Department, coming down on my ass. I don't want to end up fired. I sure as hell don't want to end up dead. That's what's going to happen. It's going to happen to me and it's going to happen to him. So then our whole lives will be ruined, and who knows if we'll get a kid anyway, I don't think Illinois does that, and he's going to hate me, and I'll probably hate him, and everything'll be ruined."
"Ray-"
"I don't want to ruin his life, Benny. And I don't want him to ruin mine."
"Ray loves you. He's trying to understand."
"He doesn't understand that once people know we're gay our lives are over?"
"He's not thinking on that path, Ray. He's thinking of the immediate problem, which is that he wants kids and you don't. If you could explain your thoughts to him, perhaps you could work out a solution, or at least come to some level of understanding."
"He thinks that's what it's about? Just I don't want kids?"
"Yes, Ray." There, now. Ray would explain the situation to Ray, and the two would discuss it, and everything would work out just fine.
"Okay, Benny."
Something was wrong.
"I'll see you later. Bye, Turnbull. See you, Dief."
"Ray-"
The door closed.
Something was wrong. Ray's reaction had been...off, hadn't it? It had a tone of someone walking to the gallows, in that, "Okay, Benny." It had sounded like, "Okay, Benny, if that's how it is, then I see what I have to do, no matter how badly it hurts." What could Ray be thinking? Had he said something wrong, something that Ray had misunderstood?
"Your tea's cold," Ren said.
"Yes, thank you kindly," he said absently.
There was a hand on his; he was being tugged and turned. He found himself on Ren's lap. Ren was warm and broad and just about the best place to be. He still wasn't sure, even after they'd done this several times, how Ren could stand it. After all, he wasn't exactly lightweight. But Ren pulled him down and held him close. He rested his temple on Ren's shoulder, breathing gently against Ren's neck, gazing off across the room. He was in his sock feet, not his boots, so it was all right that he had his feet on the sofa.
"They're very much in love, Ben."
"Love can't fix everything."
"Well, no, of course not. For some matters one requires a strong adhesive or a dash of salt. But in this instance, I believe that they will work out their problem, given time and support."
His brain was still stuck on the dash of salt. He had the uncanny feeling that this was how Ray and Ray felt in conversations with him. He shifted slightly, feeling entirely cosy, sure that he could fall asleep here. He'd waken with a crink in his neck at the very least, and it wouldn't be at all comfortable for Ren, but he was tempted nonetheless. Still, he really ought to get up to urinate and brush his teeth, not to mention that Diefenbaker needed to be walked once more.
"Why don't you go for a walk with Diefenbaker?" Ren asked.
Mind-reading. How interesting. Not even unpleasant. Perhaps it was a sign of how well Ren knew him, and it was wonderfully reassuring to believe that Ren knew him well, that he was understood. "Would you like to join us?"
"No thank you."
He rose, pushing aside the accompanying sense of reluctance, and found his boots. Diefenbaker waited at the door. He stopped by the sofa and kissed Ren. Oh dear lord that was good. He moaned a little, pushing his tongue into that hot, wet mouth, sliding his hand along the back of Ren's neck, feeling the slick slide of tongue against tongue, feeling the silken caress of skin under his hand.
Diefenbaker whined impatiently.
"When you return," Ren said against his mouth. He growled softly and kissed Ren again, then backed up a bit, met Ren's eyes. Ren ran a thumb over his wet bottom lip and smiled a little. He ran his tongue over his lip and watched Ren's eyes track the movement. He knew that Ren had touched him there on purpose, to make him do that. Licking his lips wasn't a nervous habit, exactly, because it occurred at various moments, but he wasn't always aware of his intent to do it until after it had happened.
"When you return," Ren promised, soft, watching him.
He nodded and left with Diefenbaker, forcing himself away from Ren. He really needed to get a grip on his libido. Marriage couldn't be like this, could it?
Well, every relationship was different. He had two best friends and two partners, both Chicago detectives, both named Ray, both named Ray Vecchio in a sense, and his relationships with them were very different. Because the Rays themselves were very different people, and he responded to their differences. So his marriage wouldn't be like his parents' marriage, and it wouldn't be like the Rays' marriage, and it wouldn't be like Ray's parents' marriage or Ray's parents' marriage, either. He hoped to God in Heaven that it wouldn't be like Ren's parents' marriage. Ray Vecchio's parents were bad enough. Ray's father, at least.
Best not to dwell. The point, if he remembered it correctly, was that he couldn't put a label on what a marriage should be like because each marriage was unique. He and Ren certainly were unique, so it only made sense that their marriage would have its own blend of idiosyncracies.
He wondered briefly what Ray had gone home to do. To explain to Ray? He thought not, and he was disturbed. Well, he'd see them tomorrow, and perhaps then he could figure out what was occurring between them.
He wondered briefly what Ren was doing now. Sitting there reading, perhaps. Painting, although the sun had set long since. Ren could work in artificial light just as well, it would seem. Painting what? He'd seen some of Ren's artwork, but not all of it. He was certain that if he asked to see the rest Ren would show it to him, but if Ren wasn't offering then he didn't want to intrude. He understood that art often could be a very personal and intimate expression, and while they were married, their relationship wasn't incumbent upon Ren exposing every last nerve ending.
He liked Ren's nerve endings. He liked to excite them.
Oh dear.
When they reached home again some time later, Ren was not in sight. The living room light was on, but the rest of the apartment was dark, and Diefenbaker was padding back to the bedroom. Which meant that Ren was in the bedroom in the dark. Asleep? At this hour? Well, it was getting late, he had to admit. He removed his jacket and hung it up neatly, then went back to the bedroom, letting his eyes adjust.
Ren. In bed. Facedown, arms up, hands by the pillow. Sheets covering everything below the waist. Naked otherwise. Exposed, those broad shoulders, that strong back, those muscular arms. Beautiful.
Sex sex sex sex sex.
They were married. He was allowed to admire his own husband, wasn't he?
Ren was asleep. He was certain of it. Therefore, it would be terribly rude if he awakened Ren. He was quiet as he removed his clothing and went into the bathroom. He was quiet once more as he crept back into the bedroom in his boxers, leaving the apartment in darkness, front door locked, Diefenbaker in the corner of the bedroom. He laid down beside Ren, slipping under the covers. He could look, yes, but he had to keep his hands to himself or risk waking Ren, which would be wrong no matter how tempting.
He remembered that soft, low promise: "When you return." Yes, he had looked for sex, but he could hardly be disappointed with finding Ren naked and asleep. It was a beautiful display, besides which, it spoke of the intimacy of their relationship, familiar and erotic and trusting. Also, it suggested to Ben that Ren had, perhaps, come in here intending to be naked and awake for his return, so that they could begin on that "When you return" moment without delay.
He shifted closer on the bed, resting his hand on the middle of Ren's broad back, his body near Ren's solid warmth. He closed his eyes, inhaling gently, at peace here.
No more lousy apartments. No more cot in his office. A real bed, a real home, and someone to share it.
He was just drifting easily off to sleep when he felt Ren move. His eyes opened again immediately; Ren's head had turned on the pillow and they were eye-to-eye.
"You're here," Ren said. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. I apologize."
"I'm glad you did."
"Shall I go back to sleep, then?"
"What would have happened if you hadn't fallen asleep?"
Ren shifted, lying on his right side, left hand creeping over Ben's hip. Ren frowned. "You wouldn't be wearing any clothing, for one."
Ben got rid of his boxers and settled in again.
"You would be making love to me," Ren said. "Right now." Ren was leaning closer, lashes lowering, eyes dropping from Ben's eyes to his mouth, hand tightening on Ben's hip, and he felt a tiny puff of heat against his lips before Ren's lips pressed against his, and he yielded, opened, and Ren entered his mouth. It was less an invasion and more of a possession. Strong capable hands urged him against the hard bulk of Ren's body. He was pushed onto his back; Ren was over him, on him, hips grinding against his. Ren had said that he would be making love to Ren, but thus far Ren had been the aggressor, and he wanted that, wanted Ren to make love to him.
But Ren was a man of his word, and Ben knew that Ren would hand over the reins at any moment. Ren did, rolling them over, drawing gently on Ben's tongue, legs spreading.
Ben wanted to be penetrated, but he didn't think that anyone could resist this invitation. He certainly couldn't. He reached for the lubricant and noticed, at that cue, Diefenbaker leaving the room. Diefenbaker hung around sometimes, usually ignoring them, but whenever one of them picked up the lubricant Diefenbaker was gone. Whether they offended Diefenbaker's sensibilities or the wolf was being courteous enough to give them privacy, he wasn't certain.
Ren took the lubricant from his hand and a warm hand on the back of his neck pulled him back to Ren's mouth. The hand left him, but Ren's mouth was compelling enough that he felt no desire to move away from it. He remained, kissing Ren, resting on his right elbow, left hand sliding down Ren's ribcage. Then he felt slick fingers pressing against him. He opened his eyes in surprise; Ren stopped kissing him and said, "Is this what you'd like, Ben?" as one finger pushed into his body.
That question was hardly fair. He felt his legs spreading, his body opening as though he were some cheap slut. Ren was kissing him again, which was incredibly distracting from the other very real sensation of being penetrated.
He wasn't going to ask how Ren knew that he wanted to be made love to, and he wasn't going to ask where Ren had picked up this lovely new habit of nibbling just slightly at his lower lip, and he wasn't going to ask Ren to roll them over because that might sound as though he were impatient, and even though Ren's comment earlier about him being finished momentarily had been meant as completely inoffensive and facetious, it had made him temporarily self-conscious.
Ren's fingers left his body. He knew what came next. There it was, one slow, deep, loving kiss, the one that melted his every last nerve. Ren looked deep into his eyes, then wordlessly moved out from beneath him and came around behind him. He positioned himself on his hands and knees, head lowered, eyes closed, waiting. One strong arm came around him to comfort and support. Then there it was, the penetration, the possession.
After that, well, everything was a blur. Heat and motion, fullness and stretching, thrust after thrust. It always ended too soon - - oh, it took long enough, Ren rode him thoroughly - - but it could have lasted for days and still ended before he was ready to let go.
He came over Ren's hand. His body was more fond of Ren's hand than of his own, despite a long-established intimacy with the latter.
He'd lived a rather solitary life in the way of sexual relations. He knew that there were rumors about his potential lovers - - Meg Thatcher, Janet Morse, Denny Scarpa. His response: Oh please.
There had been Victoria, of course. For many reasons, various and obvious, he no longer was attracted to her in any way.
And there was Ren. Who was, needless to say, Victoria's opposite in every imaginable way.
His...infatuation? Dark infatuation, then, with Victoria had included a dark passion, yet she had never called to his body as Ren did.
Thanks to his and Ren's talent for preparation, they kept a regularly changed cloth by the bed for the cleaning of sexual by-product. Clean and resting comfortably, Ben gazed across the room into the darkness. Their legs were twined, and Ren's arms embraced him as he rested his temple on Ren's shoulder once more. He'd learned that various parts of Ren's body made quite comfortable pillows.
"They'll be fine, Ben." Ren pressed a kiss to the top of his head, fingers ghosting over his skin. "Get some sleep."
"Something's wrong with Ray," he disagreed.
"I know."
"They've been together longer than we have."
"Not terribly long in either case."
True enough.
"You need your rest if you're to deal with them in the morning."
Quite true as well.
Come morning, Ben was confident that Ray and Ray would be fine. He wasn't certain that his confidence in the world was unrelated to the love bite on his neck, but he felt confident all the same. He fulfilled his consular duties and walked with Diefenbaker to the 27th precinct.
Ray was there, but Ray was not in sight.
"Good morning, Ray."
"Yeah, Fraser, it's a real good morning," Ray said an odd tone. It sounded as though Ray were too worn out, worn down to feel depressed.
"Ray, what's gone wrong?"
"I told him no."
"You told whom no? Ray?"
"I said no. Because I did that before, with Stella. Am I supposed to be flattered, Frase? Is it a compliment that even after the relationship's shot to hell and everybody leaves that they're all still hot for my body?"
He tried to puzzle out what Ray was saying.
"But I told him no. I made that mistake with Stella, and I'm not making it again. If he wants to leave he can leave, but I don't want pity sex."
"Leave, Ray?"
"He's gone. Called in sick today 'cause he's moving back home. Back to his family."
"You're his home and family, Ray."
"Do I look Italian to you? That's his family, Fraser. I'm just the guy he married and left."
Ray was moving out of the
apartment, leaving Ray. Something had gone wrong, terribly, terribly
wrong.