Three Lone, Lorn Creatures, a slashfic in four parts

Copyright March 22-July 23, 2000 by Matthew Haldeman-Time

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairing (so to speak): Ray Kowalski/Renfield Turnbull/Benton Fraser

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, at least.

Wherein first names are revealed and used; Ray comes in Canadians and goes to Canada; and Diefenbaker makes three new Scottish friends, however reluctantly.

Notice: This slashfic takes advantage of the standard Turnbull slashfic stereotypes.  Also, I stole a little idea from Audra Morrison Macmann's "Subatomic" with her permission.

"Three" Part Two: Still Learning
        When Renfield got home, he was ready to lock himself in his apartment and masturbate until his palm bled.  He'd almost embarrassed himself publicly; his brain could think of nothing but Ray, both what he'd already done with Ray and what he longed to do.  Between his eager penis and his distracted mind, he'd been more of a mess at work than usual.  He unlocked the door and stopped short.

        Lying across Renfield's sofa in half-buttoned jeans and a T-shirt was Ray, on his back, one hand stroking Donalbain, the other hand holding up Hemingway's The Sun Also Rises.  Ray was relaxed, immersed, and wearing glasses.

        Fleance stalked past Renfield and meowed.

        Ray whipped off his glasses.  "Hey, Ren.  I didn't mean to stay here all day, but I made myself coffee before I was going to leave, and while I drank it I started reading, what was it, the one with Nick Adams, right, In Our Time, and then I decided that maybe I could read more, so...  I know, you probably got stuff to do, so I'll go."

        "If you'd like to finish reading, Ray, you're welcome to stay.  Have you eaten?"

        "Not really."

        "Not since last night?" he asked, alarmed.

        "Well, you know...no, not since last night."

        "Shall I make you something?"

        "Well, if you gotta eat anyway..."  Ray grinned.  "Honest, Ren, if you want me to go, I'll go, no hard feelings."

        "Please, Ray, stay."

        "If I start kissing on you now, I'll never let you get to the kitchen.  So you cook now and then we'll eat and then I'll kiss you all over."

        "That sounds fine, Ray."

        "You blush so pretty.  Go, go, before I grab you.  I'd only mess up your Mountie suit.  Donalbain - - Fleance?"

        "Donalbain."

        "Donalbain and I'll just rest here and let you do all of the work."

        "I prefer it that way, Ray."

        "I kind of got that.  Mm.  Might be nice in bed.  Gotta try that, lying back and letting you take care of things.  Damn, better not get hard with a cat in my lap; that's sorta sick."  Ray shifted around to lie on his side, tucking Donalbain against his chest, adjusting the book again.

        Stanley Raymond Kowalski.  Stan Kowalski.  Ray Kowalski.  Sounds much better than Vecchio.  Looks much better than Vecchio.  Smells better.  Probably feels and tastes better, too, but I wouldn't know that, thank goodness.  I wonder why Constable Fraser doesn't prefer this Ray to the other.  That's love, I suppose.  I can't really see why in this one tremendous area of life I got a better deal than Constable Fraser.  He's certainly winning in every other department.  Although his Ray will love him forever, and mine might leave me within the hour.

        Renfield changed into jeans with a tucked-in button-down flannel shirt over a T-shirt, as usual, with his boots.  Ever since that first time that Ray'd come into his apartment, he'd been self-conscious about being barefoot.  Ray'd seemed pleased rather than displeased, but he felt, perhaps, safer, beneath the protection of clothing and heavy boots.  He went to the kitchen and decided to make something that needed his concentration so that he wouldn't stand around ogling the detective.

        He decided that his cats definitely were ignoring him.  They must prefer Ray.  He didn't blame them.

        Maybe Ray emitted a certain sort of pheremone?

        Why had Stella ever left?  Who was this woman whom Ray loved so?  What kind of life was Ray leading, having been abandoned by his one true love, destined to spend the rest of his life looking for second-best?  What kind of horrendous, misguided fool was Stella to leave Ray?  Renfield tried to imagine what Ray had done to make her leave.  Perhaps it was general incompatibility, but Renfield couldn't imagine not being compatible with Ray.

        They ate, and Ray asked about the Consulate, and Renfield asked how Ray was enjoying Hemingway.  They discussed Hemingway to death and beyond, and Renfield was pleased to find Ray as interested in the subject as he was.  Then they cleaned the kitchen.  Then Ray kissed him too quickly and shimmied across the room to the sofa.

        Ray yanked off his T-shirt and said, "Come on, Ren, I been wanting this all fucking day."  He danced back and took Renfield's hand and pulled Renfield to the sofa.  He laid down on his back comfortably and tugged Renfield down onto him.  Renfield swallowed and followed Ray.  "I'm tough, you won't crush me here.  Nope, wait, come on, you don't hafta wear all of those clothes, do you?  You could take off maybe some of them?  I only picked up the Hemingway with my coffee 'cause I was standing there thinking about how good it would be to grab your arms and hold on and ride like I did last night.  Wasn't that good, Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Come on outta those shirts and let's feel skin against skin."

        Renfield left the sofa and removed his two shirts, laying them on the low coffee table before the sofa.  Then he uncertainly settled himself on Ray again.

        "Yeah, that's nice, that feels good," Ray said.  "Definitely got some sorta trip going on here, lying under my big strong Mountie.  I am such a slut."  He wound his fingers in Renfield's short hair and tugged Renfield down for a kiss.

        Renfield wasn't used to being on top.  He was used to being on his knees, or on his hands and knees, but on top?  It was foreign.  It was good.  Ray's responsive, eager body tried to arch and press up against him, and Ray was lithe and strong, and their swelling erections tried to mate through their jeans.

        Ray broke the kiss and said, "More room, need more room."

        Renfield decided to be uncharacteristically bold - - he was a Mountie, wasn't he?  He turned his head, planted his boot sole against the side of the table, and shoved.  Then he rolled down onto the floor, landing on his back, bringing Ray down on top of him.

        "That's my Mountie," Ray said, amused, pleased, kissing him.  He had a beautiful, warm creature in his arms, an exotic untamed creature, something to be treasured and enjoyed while it lasted.  He felt the creature's fingers down in new territory, opening his fly.  "Gonna make you feel so good, Ren," Ray said, and reached down with two hands at his waistband.  "Lift your hips for me."

        "Ray-"

        "It's gonna feel so good, Ren."  Ray kept kissing him while, first with hands and then with agile feet, Ray stripped him to the ankles.  Ray was still in half-buttoned jeans.  "Ren?"  Ray looked down into his eyes.  "You'll let me give you a blow job?"

        "Ray, are you certain?"

        "Will you let me?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Okay.  If you aren't sure, you just give me a little kick while I'm down there, and we'll find something else to do.  You want me to take my time about it, or you just want a quick one since we're both kind of all raring to go?"

        "You do whatever you like, Ray."

        "Hell, that's no answer.  I'll just wing it."  Ray kissed him, then left his mouth to kiss his neck and rub his nipples.  Ray's mouth found his nipples; oh, yes, oh that felt good.  Renfield was much more accustomed to giving pleasure in bed than to receiving it.  He was strong, but even a Mountie could only take so much, and Ray hadn't even neared the pertinent area.  Ray kissed down towards his navel, then said, softly, breathing across his stomach, "Holy shit, Ren."

        Oh dear.  What had he done wrong now?  He supported himself on his elbows and looked down.  Oh, dear, shouldn't have done that; Ray's face down there, Ray's tongue in his navel, was a sight to see.  Time to faint, perhaps.  No, that wouldn't do; better stay conscious.

        "What's wrong, Ray?"  Was that his voice?  Surely he didn't sound that weak and husky.

        Ray's eyes moved up to Renfield's face but Ray's tongue remained on his skin.  Then Ray answered, stroking his hipbone with lazy fingers, "You know I've never done this before, so don't be expecting anything real fancy.  And a man's mouth is only so big, you see what I'm saying?"  Then Ray ducked down again and ran a fingertip along Renfield's erection.  Renfield collapsed back against the floor in a full-body sprawl.

        "Mountie at my mercy," Ray murmured.  "This is so good."

        Ray's tongue slid up Renfield's erection.  He rolled and tugged and toyed with Renfield's balls.  Then he licked around for a while, getting a feel for the terrain, before giving experimental strokes.  Then he opened his hot, wet mouth and closed it around the head.

        Renfield's fist slammed the floor.

        Ray slid down, taking on more.

        Renfield's booted heels dug into the floor.

        Ray started sucking and stroking all at once.

        Renfield came.

        Ray swallowed and gulped and managed not to choke.  He licked around a little bit more and then settled down on top of Renfield.  "Gotta do that again.  Sorry I don't have technical finesse or anything."  He slid down again and opened Renfield's boots, tugging them off and then pulling off Renfield's socks and jeans entirely.  "My beautiful Mountie all naked and spread out for me."

        Renfield sat up.  Ray kissed him long and hard.  "Ray?"

        "Yeah?" Ray asked, petting Renfield's stomach.

        "Will you please allow me to satisfy you?"

        "How?"

        Renfield swallowed.  "Oral stimulation."

        "You gonna give me a blow job?"

        "Yes please, Ray."

        "Hell, I can't say no to that.  Where do you want me?"

        "Would you mind the bed, Ray?"

        "Let's go."  Ray was up; he hurried to the bedroom and shucked his jeans.  "Have at me," he invited, laying on his back.  "Come up here and kiss me first so I don't feel cheap and dirty.  Not that cheap and dirty isn't fun."  He grinned and pulled Renfield up close, kissing and petting.  "Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?" Renfield gasped, trying to recapture that sleek tongue.  His mouth felt empty without Ray's tongue in it.  How sweet Ray tasted.  Would Ray's semen taste sweet?  In his experience, it tended to be salty and bitter.  He wished that Ray hadn't felt the need to swallow his; he felt guilty for not being able to voice a warning before the flood.

        "Is there anything that you wanna do?  I've been doing the leading.  If you feel like doing something, you go right ahead."

        "I'm very happy, Ray."

        "There isn't anything?  Ah, there, I saw it flicker across your face right there.  Whatever it is, you don't gotta tell me, you just go ahead and do it.  I'll wait right here and you just have at me.  I don't scare too easy."

        Renfield swallowed and kissed Ray.  Then he lowered his head to Ray's neck and inhaled, then swept his tongue up the side of Ray's neck, then inhaled again.  He moved across Ray's neck, down into Ray's shoulders.

        "Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?" he asked, and licked Ray's nipple.

        "Oh sweet mother," Ray gasped.  "Are you licking me and smelling me?  You know, that Mountie tasting thing?"

        "Yes, Ray.  Do you mind?"

        "Sweet Jesus no, don't stop, lick me til I'm all gone.  Especially right there.  Yeah baby, yeah, ah-oh-oh..."  Ray moaned and collapsed.

        With methodical progress, not wanting to miss a bit, Renfield moved down Ray's body.  He licked at the insides of Ray's thighs and Ray's hips jackhammered right off of the mattress, pumping convulsively.  Renfield soothed Ray back down again and eased Ray's knees high and wide.  He eyed his secret goal with hunger but kept himself to the commonly acceptable areas.  He bathed Ray's balls with his tongue and inhaled Ray's scent.  He nosed and licked around the root of Ray's cock before eyeing it speculatively.  He moved in for the kill.

        Ray's hips cleared the bed, the his spine one long arch.

        Renfield tried to calm him down again, to get him to return to the mattress.  Then Renfield placed one muscular arm across Ray's abdomen to secure Ray in place.  He lowered his head and sucked Ray's cock into his mouth and down his throat.  He suckled hard and started to hum.  Ray kicked him and came.

        He hated to leave.  It tasted so good down there that he just wanted to stay forever with his face buried in Ray's groin.  Finally he forced himself away and looked up toward the rest of Ray.

        "Sorry about kicking you.  I didn't mean to.  It's a reflex.  When I get seriously turned on I get muscle weirdness.  Did I hurt you?"

        "Not at all, Ray."

        "God that was so good.  Nobody ever did me like that.  Usually it's like someone's doing me a favor, makes me feel guilty.  But you did it like you really wanted it, like the way I felt when I was doing it to you.  And you did all of this really hot stuff.  You'll teach me how?"

        "If you'd like, Ray."

        "I wanna learn how to turn you like you turn me."  Ray kissed him and didn't stop.  With Drew and Alex, Renfield'd had to clean his mouth before they'd kiss him, on the rare occasions that they kissed him at all.  Ray didn't seem at all disturbed.   Of course, Ray had already had that hot sweet mouth wrapped around, oh yes...  Renfield let Ray pull him down to cover Ray's body again, and his cock was throbbing at the idea of being with Ray, kissing Ray, in his bed.

        "Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "You wanna fuck me?"

        Renfield, shocked, jerked back and fell onto the floor.

        "Shit!  You okay?" Ray asked, sitting up and leaning down to look at him.

        "I'm fine, Ray," Renfield anwered, saying good-bye to the final, last shreds of his dignity.

        "I wasn't, you know, making it an invitation or anything.  I was just asking.  I'm not ready to do that stuff.  I still wanna get better at what we've been doing been doing before I move onto the big leagues."

        "Of course, Ray.  You simply surprised me."

        "I was just thinking, I wanted this to be a two-way street, you know?  But I can't assume that you want what I want.  You want me to fuck you?"

        "Yes, Ray."  This was entirely too embarrassing to discuss.

        "You want to fuck me?"

        Quietly, ashamed, guilty, "Yes, Ray."

        "Great!  Jacking off other guys and sucking cock and getting fucked I've never done, but fucking, I can do fucking.  It's gotta be different with a guy than with women, but I can't go too wrong.  Come on back up here, I wanna kiss you some more.  Hey, do you think that I could try sucking you off again?  I gotta learn how to do it like you do it.  I've never had anybody give me head that good."  He tugged Renfield up over him again, relaxing beneath the Mountie for lazy kisses, rubbing his hips up against Renfield slowly, rhythmically, to some beat only in his head, his swelling erection rubbing along Renfield's.  "Feels so good," he panted.  "Let me come against you like this."  He ended the kiss, clutching Renfield's biceps, arching and pressing from beneath Renfield, pushing himself against Renfield's abdomen in even strokes.  He shoved his shoulders down into the mattress for better leverage, gazing up into Renfield's eyes.  Renfield felt naked, exposed, with this beautiful man's wanton display beneath him.  Renfield watched Ray in fascination, felt Ray clutch and shudder, listened to Ray gasp quick and uneven, felt those hot wet spurts between them.  Then Ray was twining all around him, kissing him, and he wondered briefly why Ray didn't have post-orgasm lassitude.  "On your back, Ren," Ray said, as usual trying to kiss and talk at once, and pushing Renfield's shoulders.  Renfield rolled to his back, Ray riding him over and down, and Ray kissed him thoroughly before shimmying down his body.

        Ray settled down casually, studying his project.  "One cut Canadian cock, coming up," he told himself, stroking it idly.  "Mm.  You gotta relax, Ren, or this won't last long enough for me to enjoy myself."  He petted Renfield's abdomen and thighs reassuringly.  "My big beautiful Mountie Ren," he murmured.  "We're gonna have us some real fun, now.  Can you put your knees up and apart like you put mine?"  Renfield obliged him.  "Thanks.  Good.  Great.  Greatness."  He leaned in and mouthed Renfield's balls.  "Real nice view down here, Ren.  You gotta see this sometime."  He licked his way up and around Renfield's erection, taking his time, his fingers idly stroking the base.  "You're making the coolest noises there.  Let's see what other sounds you can make."  He scratched Renfield's balls gently and took the cock head into his mouth.  Slowly, carefully, he guided himself onto Renfield's cock, easing it towards the back of his throat.  Unlike Ray's writhing, excited reactions to this procedure, Renfield was lying there extremely tense, head tossing, hands fisting, choking.  Ray moved up and down until he thought that he could do it again easily later, then he fisted the rest while he sucked at the head.  Renfield splashed and spurted all down Ray's throat.

        Ray laid down spread over Renfield.  "My come is all over us and the sheets," he said.  "I don't give a fuck."  He settled his face in Renfield's neck and stroked Renfield's ribcage.  Soon he was asleep.

        Ray awoke in the dark.  Something warm and damp was on him.  A washcloth, he decided.

        "Oh, Ray, I'm terribly sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

        "I'm not disturbed.  What time is it?"

        "Eleven twenty-two pm, Ray."

        "Damn it.  I have work tomorrow.  I wanna stay here and play with my Mountie some more.  Didn't mean to fall asleep, really.  Just thought I'd close my eyes for a minute.  Sorry.  What're you doing tomorrow after work?"

        "I'm not doing anything, Ray."

        "You wanna come to my place?  I could pick you up here when I'm finished, and we could go to my place.  I could cook us something cheap and easy, we could dance, we could talk, we could make out all over my sofa and maybe end up in my bed and maybe, you know, end up sorta naked."

        "That sounds like a fine evening, Ray."

        "Sure does.  Okay, I'll come get you when I'm off work.  You're dressed again?  Why are you dressed again?  Come and make out with me."  Ray sat up and squirmed himself half-into Renfield's lap, stroking Renfield's chest and kissing Renfield's mouth.  He put one hand right down the front of Renfield's boxers, groping and fondling what he found.  "Ren, do something for me."

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Pull me close and press me down like the slut I am, then do that whole smelling and licking thing."

        "With pleasure, Ray."  He pulled Ray's strong lithe form against himself, then lowered Ray's back to the mattress, beneath him.  Then he proceeded to taste Ray's delicious body.

        Half an hour later, Ray, said, catching his breath, "Oh, Ren, you're spoiling me here.  Two blow jobs in one night?  I could get used to this, fast.  Nobody's ever licked the backs of my knees before.  Felt kinda nifty.  C'mere, let me kiss and pet my big beautiful Ren Mountie."  Ray hoisted himself up to sit against the headboard and tugged Renfield closer.  Soon they were sitting all pressed and twisted together, and Ray was doing those lewd tongue kisses, and Ray's hands were busy rubbing and tugging and fisting in Renfield's groin, and Renfield came, and Ray just kept kissing and petting.

        "Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?"  He began to move away a little but Ray tugged him close again, not letting him go.  Ray kept touching his torso as though it were an automatic response to having Renfield at hand, as though Ray weren't even aware of the behavior.

        "What's your, uh, preferred position for sex?  I mean, for actual fucking."

        "Excuse me, Ray?"

        "No, I mean, lots of guys do it with one guy on his hands and knees, or bent over a table or something, and the other guy's behind him.  But guys can do it face-to-face, too, right?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "You ever do it face-to-face?"

        "No, Ray."

        "Damn.  Could we?  Could we try it?  I don't want to do it the other way, I mean, it's sort of crude and impersonal for the first time.  Maybe later, you know, when we're established and casual about fucking each other, but to start, could we do it face-to-face?"

        "I would like it very much, Ray, if we would."  Casual?  About doing that with Ray?  Casual about having Ray inside of him?  He couldn't even consider being casual about looking at Ray.

        "Good.  Great.  Greatness."  Ray kissed him again.  "I'd better go.  Back to my place.  All alone in my cold bed.  Damn."  Ray kissed him again.  "Okay.  Where's that washcloth?"

        Renfield retrieved the washcloth for him, and Ray wiped them both before leaving the bed to gather clothing.  Renfield dressed as well, and watched Ray pick up the stereo equipment.

        "See you tomorrow, Ren.  Thanks for letting me hang here all day, even if you didn't know I was doing it, and for cooking and letting me fall asleep on you like a dolt.  I'll make it up to you tomorrow, somehow."  Before Renfield could protest Ray's comments, Ray was kissing him again.  Ray really seemed to like kissing, and Renfield wasn't about to protest at all.  Finally Ray left with a grin.

        Renfield gave himself several stern lectures on what he ought to say to Ray.  However, his mind continually went off in the direction of what he wanted to do to Ray, which was distinctly at cross-purposes to his lectures.  He put on a sweater over his usual button-down and T-shirt, everything properly ironed and tucked as needed, his boots laced firmly.  He was dressed, he was layered, and it would take more than a tug or two to get him naked.  Getting Ray naked often seemed a simple process, but he was determined to look as dressed as possible.  It was rather weak armor, but it was something, at least.  He considered masturbating so that he'd be less easily sexually excited, but judging from experience, nothing would keep him from being aroused by Ray, so he didn't bother.  Some time after six, he heard a knock at his door.  He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened the door.

        "Hey, Ren.  Come home with me.  Hey, Fleance - - Malcolm - - whoever, you just get back there.  It's just me and Ren tonight.  Come on, Ren."

        Renfield closed the door, locked it, and wished that he had his Stetson so that he could hold something in his hands.  On the way to Ray's apartment there was a steady stream of work-related conversation.  They might be America v. Canada, Chicago v. Toronto, detective v. Mountie, but their interests were the same in this area.  They knew the same people, and Renfield was keeping himself familiar with Ray's cases.  Ray, likewise, knew of Ren's workload from experience with Fraser.

        When they got to Ray's apartment, Ray started the stereo - - "Michael Jackson, Iggy Pop, Paul Simon" - - , stripped off shoes and socks, and stared into the refrigerator.  "Let's see.  I can't mess up grilled cheese and tomato soup, can I?  Sit yourself down here so we can talk," he said, pulling out a kitchen chair with his toes.  "Tell me more about the last two guys you were with.  They got names or should I call them Motherfucker One and Motherfucker Two?"

        "Drew Chansidy and Alex Blake."

        "Drew and Alex.  Drew and Alex.  No, I prefer Motherfucker One and Motherfucker Two.  Or the User and the Loser.  Or, let's see..."

        "Really, Ray, you've never met them, you can't-"

        "Oh, you won't talk me about of bitter hatred that easily.  Go ahead, then, tell me more.  Convince me how wonderful they are."

        "I wouldn't necessarily say wonderful, Ray."

        Ray viciously scraped soup from the can, not replying.

        "Drew and I were both freshmen at the same time.  We were assigned to the same dorm room.  I knew that I was gay, but I hadn't told anyone.  There was no one to tell.  I didn't hide it, but it never came up anyway.  After the first few weeks of ignoring me completely, Drew came across a magazine called The Advocate.  Perhaps you've heard of it, Ray?"  Ray nodded into the refrigerator.  "He asked me whether I were gay.  I told him that I was.  He asked whether I wanted to...have sexual relations with him."

        "I'll bet he did," Ray muttered quietly but distinctly.

        "He hadn't been very nice to me, but he was an attractive person, and he was intelligent, and, well, I was young and..."

        "Horny."

        "Yes, Ray, quite.  I'd never touched another person in a sexual way, so it was quite exciting to have an attractive young man ask me for sex.  We started off rather awkwardly, and rather quickly, rather quickly," he repeated for emphasis, "escalated into..."

        "He fucked you."

        "Yes, Ray, quite."

        "And kept fucking you.  Even though he wanted nothing to do with you out of bed."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "And you let him.  Because at least for a few minutes with him you felt wanted, and you liked feeling wanted, so you let him treat you like shit and fuck you without consideration."

        "Yes, Ray."  His voice was even but his eyes were on his hands in his lap.  His normally perfect posture had stiffened to the point of unbending rigidity.  He felt Ray's hands on top of his head and he thought weirdly of the Pope.

        "Drew's an asshole Ren.  He used you.  He didn't care about you.  You deserve better.  You deserve lots better.  Okay?"  Renfield couldn't answer.  "Ren, I want you to say, 'Yes, Ray.'"

        Very quietly, voice shaking, "Yes, Ray."

        "Drew's an asshole, Ren."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "He used you.  He didn't care about you.  You deserve better."

        "Yes, Ray."  Oh, this was hard.

        "You deserve lots better."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Good."  Ray smoothed Renfield's sandy hair and bent to kiss Renfield's soft mouth.  Ray left him for the stove.  "Now tell me about Alex."

        Renfield waited until he wasn't outright crying anymore.  He breathed a little, then said, "Alex was my senior year.  We met on the first day of classes, in the dining hall.  He was attracted to me, and he told me so at our second meeting.  I had felt lonely since Drew, and Alex was obviously attracted to me, so we went to his apartment and..."

        "And he fucked you."

        "Yes, Ray.  He did.  He praised my lovemaking and flattered me, so naturally I tried to prove him correct by using my...'skills'...often, which was his intent all along, one assumes.  After a few encounters he revealed unique tastes."

        "Tell me, Ren."

        His gaze was tightly fastened on his right thumb in his lap.  He squeezed it until it turned red, then purple.  Ray's voice had come from behind him.  He knew that he could talk as long as he didn't look at Ray, as long as he pretended that he was alone and talking to himself.  "He liked bondage.  He handcuffed me, used handkerchiefs on my wrists, my ankles, my eyes.  He tied me up in different places for varying amounts of time, sometimes ignoring me, sometimes taunting me, sometimes having sex with me.  He liked...urination rituals.  What is it called?  Golden showers, water sports?  He urinated on my skin, up inside of me, into my mouth.  He liked to spank me, with his hand, with a hairbrush bought especially for the purpose, with other items.  He liked to have sex with me afterward.  He liked...he liked to whip me.  He tried various articles.  I had welts, and I bled sometimes, but it never scarred.  Sometimes he raped me.  I left him, after we were together for fourteen months.  Four months later, he stopped calling.  I understand that many of the practices that he enjoyed are enjoyed by others.  I also understand that all sex must be consensual and enjoyed by everyone involved."

        "Ren."  Ray was before him again.  "Ren, Alex is a motherfucker.  Alex is a bastard rapist evil loathsome asshole motherfucker who deserves things I can't say.  You hear me?"

        "Yes, Ray."  He sounded desperate; he was crying and couldn't stop.  He could talk about Drew and Alex, he was fine, but then when Ray responded, when Ray wanted him to...  It was hard, it was scary, and he started to cry even though he hadn't cried in such a long time, not since he'd been with Alex.

        "He does not and never will deserve you."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "You should never have anything done to you that exploits you or uses you or hurts you, nothing should happen to you that you don't want.  No one touches you against your will."

        "Yes, Ray."  Weak, shaking.

        "The next person who touches you without your permission gets a foot in the groin and a clear, unmistakable no from you, and a kick in the head from me, and that's the least of it."

        "Yes, Ray."  He couldn't stop sobbing.

        "Remember what I said before, Ren?  If I do anything you don't like, you let me know, and we'll just stop or try something else.  Nobody hurts you.  I mean nobody.  You got it?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        Ray's hands held his jaw; Ray's thumbs stroked his tears.  He kept his blue eyes lowered.  "You ever tell anybody this, Ren?"

        "No, Ray."

        "I'm glad that you could tell me.  Maybe it'll help."  Ray bent and kissed his cheek.  "You just sit here and let me see how much I've ruined the food."  Ray kissed his other cheek and moved away again.

        "Ray, you won't, you won't tell anyone, will you?"

        "Oh, no, of course not, no way."

        He couldn't stand the thought of anyone knowing his humiliation.  He couldn't believe that he'd told Ray.  What must Ray think of him now?

        Ray had always privately thought that a little light bondage sounded fun.  In his mind the point was more the psychological feeling of being held at another's whim than actually being physically incapacitated.  Something like tying Ren's hands to a bedpost with flimsy scarves or something; so that Ren could get free if need be, but so that they could both pretend that Ren was his to enjoy, at his mercy, just for fun.  A light kink, harmless, arousing.  But he had absolutely no desire to piss into Ren's mouth.  And never would he chain Ren down and whip that silken marble back to the point of blood.  He had considered giving Ren some hickeys, and he knew that some people bit each other hard enough to draw blood, but actually standing there and whipping someone?  Someone who didn't want to be whipped?  That was the kicker; that someone got off on hurting someone against the person's will; that was cruel.  That was criminal.  That was illegal.  That was just god-awful horrible.

        "Ren?  When you were in college, did you look like this?"

        "Like what, Ray?"

        "You know, big and strong and wholesome."

        "I have always had this body type, Ray.  I have gained a bit more muscle mass in the past few years, but I looked fairly the same as I do now."

        Well, at least his Mountie wasn't sobbing anymore.  God that had been scary.  He didn't want to see that again ever, or hear it, for that matter.  He wasn't a rough lover, or didn't consider himself to be, in fact he'd been so into kissing and touching that Stella sometimes had told him to get it over with already.  He liked to draw it out, to keep going with what felt good until he had to explode; sometimes, of course, the rush and burn method felt just great, but sometimes the slower, exploratory method worked wonders.  He'd have to be certain that he didn't pin Ren down or anything, or act too domineering.  He liked even give-and-take, but he knew that he'd like to be more dominant sometimes; he also knew already that he wanted Ren to dominate him once in a while, too.  He didn't dare be too dominant now, considering Ren's past; but he also knew that it was hard to get Ren to take the upper hand, since Ren had no experience doing so and didn't seem to think that Ray would like it if Ren took the lead.  That left them in a weird place.  A fun and sexy place, judging from the past few nights, but a weird place, too, with Ren being in charge only at Ray's explicit direction, which meant that Ray was in charge anyway.

        Ray decided that he'd been at the stove long enough.  Time to face the Mountie.  He set the table in a haphazard fashion, finding plates and clattering spoons, then gave them each two sandwiches and some soup.  He got Renfield a glass of water and opened himself a much-needed beer, then sat to Renfield's left at the circular table.

        "Finished The Grapes of Wrath last night.  Couldn't sleep, kept lying there wanting to kiss your thighs, so I got up and read.  When I did fall asleep I had horny dreams and didn't want to wake up, so I was late for work.  I know, being late for work must throw your Mountie sensibilities all into alarm mode.  It's not like I do it on purpose or anything.  Welsh got all pissed but it's a formality by now.  Anyway, so I finished the book last night.  Can't believe they killed Casy.  I really liked him.  Here, eat this, I'm not hungry."

        "You don't eat enough, Ray."

        "I eat plenty when you're the one cooking.  Think your food spoiled me for anything else.  Ren?"

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Can you look at me for a second?"

        Renfield swallowed.  Hesitated.  Raised his eyes to the top button of Ray's shirt.  Raised his head.  Raised his eyes to Ray's chin.  Closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened his eyes to look at Ray directly.

        Ray smoothed a thumb along Renfield's jaw.  "You're a big tough strong Mountie, and you can take care of yourself anywhere you go.  That makes me real proud.  But I'm a kick-ass Chicago cop, and I got your back, Ren.  Anybody messes with you's gotta answer to me.  Now you can go back to staring into your soup again for a while."  He withdrew his hand and returned to his sandwich.

        Renfield ate without speaking and without tasting much of anything.  He ate Ray's sandwich without thought.  When Ray stood to clear the table he started to rise as well, but Ray's hand on his shoulder pressed him down again.  "Plant your butt, Ren.  I got it."  Ray washed the dishes quickly and then sat down on the table, directly before Renfield, naked feet curved over Renfield's hips.  Renfield had noted earlier that Ray's feet had definite, graceful, high arches.  "So, Ren.  Let's just sit here for a minute.  Then maybe we can do some cheesy romantic slow-dancing."  Ray's fingers stroked his face.  "Tell you one more thing, then I'll drop the subject for tonight.  It sounds to me like Drew-bastard and the Alex-monster just wanted you for sex.  I like you for lots of other reasons, too, and I'm with you for more than your gorgeous body.  Okay?  Say it once more, Ren."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Good."  Ray remained quiet for a few minutes.  Renfield wondered what the detective was thinking.  Finally Ray said, "Come dance with me?"

        "Yes, Ray."  As hard as it had been for him to say that before, now he took refuge in the words.  He just put his trust in Ray and followed Ray into the living room.

        Ray put on a new CD and shed his short-sleeved button-down.  In his T-shirt and jeans, he walked back to Renfield.  Since Renfield was still booted, he was at a height disadvantage.  "You wanna lead?"

        Renfield forced himself to speak.  "I would prefer it if you would lead, Ray."

        "Okay."  Ray was standing closer than he had at their last dance.  He knew from experience that being someone's lover, being intimately familiar with someone's body, made that person a better dance partner.  He and Renfield hadn't actually technically had sex, but they were much closer than before.  He rested his hand easily on Renfield's hip and started them off well.  A good dancer could lead any partner, and Ray was a great dancer.

        Ray's best dance partner had always been Stella.  Whether he'd married her for that reason or whether she'd been his best because they were married, he never was sure.  But there was something right about dancing with Renfield, something easy about it, something that fit together.  It was natural and erotic and fun.  And maybe Renfield couldn't lead today, wasn't ready for it, but he knew that someday Renfield would lead, knew that Renfield could lead.  That's what he wanted.  Someone else strong and capable, someone else who knew how to serve and protect.  Renfield was masculine, and strong, and big, and a Mountie.  Stella wasn't those things.  She was smart, and she was tough sometimes, but it wasn't the same as Renfield.  Sure, Renfield had that whole low self-esteem thing happening, but Ray figured that was true of just about everyone.  And that was why he was strong and capable and everything, so he could take care of Renfield while Renfield took care of him.  Equals.  Partners.  You watch my back and I watch yours, like him and Fraser.  Not just in the line of fire, but in life, all the time, 24-7, not just from 9 to 5.

        "You and me, Ren," he said, mostly talking to himself.

        Sure, Stella was his ex-wife, but the important part of that was the ex part.  She wasn't his anymore, so he didn't have to be hers.  And Fraser was his job partner, his best friend, until now the only real person in his life.  He didn't have Stella and Fraser didn't have the other Ray, so he and Fraser were the most important people in each other's lives.  But that was friendship.  This, with Ren, this was something else.  This was that love thing.  Not like with Stella.  Different.  That was infatuation, that was kid stuff stretched too far into the future.  He was older now, he'd done more, seen more, lived more.  Knew more, but maybe not.  So he had Stella behind him, and Fraser at his side, and Ren, where to put Ren?  Right inside of him.  In the metaphor way of sharing a heart and soul and all that, and in the literal way, with sex.  They could go right inside each other.

        But not tonight.  Tonight Ren was way too turned inside out for the hard core sex stuff.  Tonight maybe a little rubbing and stroking, if anything.  Maybe a blow job, maybe not.  Tonight was for soothing sex, not for the earth-shattering stuff.  He wasn't going to light candles and toss around rose petals or anything, but a little slow dancing, a little kissing and petting, a little snuggling, that was all cool with him.

        Where to do the kissing?  Standing right here in the living room?  The sofa?  The bed?  The bed sounded good.  They could get nice and comfortable.  Naked, if they wanted.

        It was weird, how Ren came off as innocent, all that fluster and how seriously he took the job and all.  But the serious part was a Mountie thing, and the fluster was a self-esteem thing.  The guy'd been getting butt-fucked at the tender age of, what, eighteen?, and had been drinking someone else's piss after a whipping by, what, twenty-one?  That sort of thing did stuff to a person.  Most guys would be traumatized, damaged, either in a nuthouse or in prison by now.  But not Ren.  No, Ren was an upstanding, conscientious citizen, smart and dutiful.

        Was Ren ready for a good life with him?  Ren had walked into those last two "relationships" out of loneliness and emotional need.  Was Ren doing the same thing all over again?  Was Ren ready to accept anyone, like before, and it was just luck that Ray happened to be the one there?  What if Ren weren't really interested in him in particular but was just latching onto the closest friendly warm body?  Ren could just be using him, not maliciously, but out of desperation.  The guy had no friends, nobody at all besides Inspector Thatcher, who didn't count, and Fraser, who wasn't exactly spending quality time.

        Ray stopped dancing and kissed Renfield.  "Ren, do you want to kiss first or talk first?"

        "Whatever you prefer, Ray."

        "Talking first would be better, but I think we've had enough heavy conversation for a while.  If we kiss first and then talk, you won't think badly of me?"

        "No, Ray."

        "Okay."  Ray knew that most people thought that with adults, a kiss meant sex, but Ray thought that that notion cheapened kissing.  He happened to like kissing, necking, making out, all of that stuff; he could just kiss and not go into sex and orgasms immediately.  "Let's just sit on the sofa and kiss for a while and see how we feel."  He sat on the sofa, Renfield at his side, and they turned toward each other.  From their position it should have been awkward, but Ray turned a little more and leaned in and suddenly they fit together perfectly, and he kissed Renfield, all gentle and light at first, just to see how it went.

        Fifteen minutes later, Renfield was kneeling on the floor in front of Ray, hands holding Ray's hips to the cushion, face buried between Ray's thighs.

        Ray tried to stop shuddering after he came.  He closed his eyes, trying to pull the pieces of his brain back together.  That was not on the menu.  Shit.  Wow wow wow wow wow, but shit, Ren.  You weren't supposed to do that.  We were supposed to be all relaxed, casual, no big deal, soothing sex, you know, not eating me alive.  What was that you said?  Something about the Alex-monster telling you how good you were so you tried to prove him right?  Damn it, Ren, that's not what this is.  That's not what's going on between us.  You don't gotta prove your worth to me with that incredible mouth.  Can we insure your tongue?

        Damn it damn it damn it.  Gotta think.  Ren escalates things and tries to shove me into the category of Drew and Alex, probably not on purpose but because he automatically places himself in the role he had with them: good for sex and nothing else, and even that at their whim.  But I'm not like them, and he isn't like that.

        "Ren, come up here, lemme kiss you," Ray said, and Renfield obliged him.  He tongue-fucked Renfield's mouth and Renfield's hands tightened on his naked hips, just for a moment.  Not with fear, but with what?  He broke the kiss.  "Ren, I'm ass naked here and you're still wearing everything.  Come to my room?"  Renfield stepped back and let him lead the way; he took Renfield's hand and tugged Renfield along behind him.  In the bedroom, he said, "How about if you just stand still here and let me unwrap my nice imported present?"  He kissed Renfield, then ducked down and squatted to untie Renfield's boots.  He took his time undressing Renfield, in no hurry, kissing and stroking everything before unwrapping it and then after exposing it.  Renfield had a great body.  He finally got Renfield all naked to his satisfaction and said, "Ren, do me a favor?"

        "Yes, Ray?"

        "Sit on the edge of the bed and coach me through a blow job.  I wanna learn how to make you hot."

        "You already do it very well, Ray."

        "Please?  Unless you don't want a blow job.  Just take a seat."

        Renfield sat on the edge of the bed.  Ray grabbed a pillow and set it on the floor, then knelt on it.  Might as well get comfortable.  He settled himself between Renfield's thighs and waited for instruction.

        "I'm not sure what to say, Ray."

        "Tell me what you like.  Tell me what you want.  Tell me what feels good.  Tell me how to touch you.  Tell me how to taste you like you taste me."  He meant every word, but he was beginning to feel like a sex phone guy.  "Am I in the right position, here?"

        "Your position is fine, Ray."

        Ray grinned up at Renfield.  "That's the tone of voice I was looking for, with that expression on your face, like you can't believe how good I'm gonna look between your knees and wrapped around your cock.  Greatness.  Now, tell me what to do.  And I'm gonna be stubborn and make you talk me through it."

        Renfield could see that Ray was sincere.  "Fine, Ray, please touch me."

        "Touch you where?"

        Renfield flushed.  "My...my penis, please, Ray."

        Ray rested his fingertips along Renfield's erection, down by the base, and looked up expectantly.

        He decided to make it as quick as possible.  But he could never ask Ray to put that delicious mouth on him.  So he'd simply talk Ray into stroking him to orgasm.  "Please wrap your hand around the base of my erection, Ray.  Thank you.  Now you may stroke your hand up and down.  A little harder, please, Ray.  A little more - yes, like that, thank you."

        Ray kept pulling and fisting, but said, "Come on, Ren, tell me to lick you.  You're gonna come just doing this and I wanna - - never mind, too late."

        Renfield came.  He collapsed forward a little, and found himself leaning down into Ray, who, oh dear lord, was eating semen from his chest.  He put his hands on his knees for support and watched with a sense of wonder as Ray worked down his body, from his chest down into his groin, cleaning, then came back up again, swirling that hot tongue over his nipples.  Then Ray was leaning up and kissing his mouth.  Ray pushed him to lay back across the mattress, feet still on the floor, and Ray crawled up over him, onto him, lying stomach to stomach, Ray up on elbows, kissing him real deep.  Drew and Alex had never liked kissing this much; they always wanted his mouth on their cocks, or shut tight, or gagged.  They'd trained him to be a very quiet lover; none of those passionate cries or manly orgasmic bellows for Renfield.  It was hard to keep quiet when Ray was the one touching him, but he tried his best, and Ray had seemed to like the noises that did escape.  Ray was completely different from Drew and Alex in many, many ways that he was still learning.

        "Okay, Ren," Ray said, lifting himself off of Renfield and dropping at Renfield's side to the mattress.  "Now we're gonna talk for a minute, and if we finish talking and still wanna go at it, we can, and if we finish and you're all pissed at me, then...we'll see if you even wanna go at it anymore.  I'm gonna start, and you jump in at your leisure.  I've seen you around, at the Consulate, for a while, but I always sorta ignored you.  Totally my fault.  Then I figured that you might know Fraser better than anyone else in town, so I figured that maybe it would be good to be on some sort of passing friendship with you.  So I talked to you, not on some scheme like oh today I gotta talk to Turnbull, but when I had something to say, like the Mrs. Gummidge thing, because I didn't know the answer and I thought that you might.  So we sorta naturally started doing stuff together, and we started spending time together, and it was great, we were friends.  And then I caught myself looking at you, you know the way you size up people when you find them attractive, sort of checking you out.  Which I've done with guys before, checked them out.  And then I figured, hey, you might be gay, and if you're gay and I'm bi, and we're getting to be real good friends, and I'm attracted to you, maybe if you're attracted to me we got something here.  So I figured, why press it, either you like me or you don't, and me trying to make something of it too soon, too early, could fuck up the whole deal and then we might not even be friends anymore.  And I wanted to be your friend, wanted to be able to hang out and talk to you, whether or not there was any sex going on.  So then you said I was beautiful, which nobody ever says, and I thought, hey, maybe...  So I kissed you, and we had to talk about it to figure out who was doing what, and then we kissed again and boy I knew then, the way we were all over each other, and I wanted you, and you wanted me.  The first night was really hot and everything was so exciting and I just couldn't believe it, and then the second night, wow, Ren, everybody came three times, I haven't done that in ages.  And the great part was that we could still hang out, still talk, still be us and have the sex.  So I figure, I finally got it good.  But Ren, I don't know what's going on with you.  Feels to me like you don't got it good.  Feels to me like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, like I'm either gonna walk out and leave you or start hitting you or something.  Number one, okay, I'm not into abusive relationships.  I will not hit you.  I kicked you the other day, but that wasn't on purpose, honest, and you know it wasn't outta anger, that was just me flipping over how good you make me feel.  And I said before that nothing happens that you don't want.  But you gotta tell me that you don't want it.  You gotta say no.  Okay?  I want you to be happy with me like I'm happy with you.  I don't want you to feel like all you gotta do is please me.  You gotta please yourself, too.  It's not about you keeping me happy so I don't hurt you or leave you.  It's about you being yourself, because I like you.  I'm not Drew.  I'm not Alex.  I'm Ray.  I'm Stanley Raymond Kowalski.  When I tell you that I really really really like the tasting thing, or that you give the best blow jobs ever, I'm not saying it so every time I walk in the room you suck my cock.  I'm saying it because it's great and it makes me feel good and yes I want more but that's not all that I want.  I'm not here for sex, Ren, I'm here for you.  I've finished rambling now, I think."

        Renfield was lying on his back, eyes closed.  Certainly not asleep, definitely listening.  Not replying, only breathing with great concentration so as not to cry.  Ray shifted over to lay half pressed against Renfield's side, half across Renfield, soft blonde head tucked at Renfield's shoulder.  They remained there for a while.  Then Renfield said, softly, firmly, "I'm going home."

        For a freak instant Ray thought that Renfield meant Canada.  Then he realized that Renfield probably just meant back to Fleance.  "Okay."  He sat up and remembered that his clothes were in the living room.

        "I'll walk," Renfield said, rising and dressing.  Ray took a moment to admire the sight before recognizing the words.

        "I'll drive you.  Ren, come on, it's miles home, it's dark, it's night, it's Chicago."

        "I am a Mountie of the Royal-"

        "Oh fuck me," Ray muttered, dropping to his back again.  "Ren, I'm not pissed at you, okay?  So maybe you're pissed at me, fine, that's up to you, I guess what I said wasn't exactly soothing, and there's a lot going on here.  But I wanna drive you home."

        "No thank you, Ray."

        "At least come here and kiss me good-bye before you go.  Don't leave me lying here naked and pathetic like this."

        "You aren't pathetic, Ray."  Renfield dropped a cool kiss on Ray's cheek and left the apartment.

        "Oh, fuck me," Ray snapped, and rolled onto his stomach, glaring.

        Renfield locked his apartment door and walked into his bedroom and stripped naked, putting away everything where it belonged, in his closet or hamper.  Then, naked, he went to the bathroom and took a brisk, fierce shower.  He pulled on clean boxers, changed the bedclothes, closed his bedroom door for the first time ever to keep out the cats, and laid down on his back, eyes closed, stiff on the bed, to wait for the dawn.
        Ray rolled to his back.  How had he ruined everything?  He wasn't try to play psychologist with Ren or anything, he just wanted to let Ren know that he wasn't going to treat Ren like shit the way those other guys had.  He didn't want to hurt Ren, he didn't want to abuse Ren, he wanted Ren to feel safe and comfortable and happy with him.

        Well, apparently he'd fucked up royally, like usual.  Ren was gone.  Not forever, right?  Just for tonight, to give them a little breathing room.  Tomorrow they'd talk about it, and everything would be good again.  Normal guys weren't supposed to be into talking things out, discussing feelings, and he knew he wasn't good at that stuff, but normal guys weren't kissing Renfield Turnbull, so normal guys could go take a flying leap and leave him the fuck alone.

        Okay.  Gotta remember to breathe, as he kept reminding Ren.

        Ren wasn't normal guys, anyway, so why'd he have to be?  If his unofficial work partner and unofficial other partner were both freaks, maybe it was contagious and he could be a freak, too.  Ray and his Mounties, freaks to the end.

        Maybe he shoulda fallen for Fraser instead of Ren.  Mighta been easier.  He loved Fraser, he was totally aware of that, and he knew that Fraser loved him, too.  So he loved Fraser, and Fraser loved him, and Fraser was in love with Ray Vecchio, and Ray Kowalski himself was in love with...

        Not Stella.

        Hmm.

        Renfield Turnbull?

        Oh god, don't think about that.  Don't go there.  Just step away from that thought, back the hell away from it, turn, and run.

        At least, apparently, he was over Stella.  He didn't even feel guilty about it.  He didn't really mind.  It was just sorta like, yeah, there'd been some great stuff there, and it had been a huge part of his life, but now it was over.  She just wasn't important anymore.  He was probably fonder of Lieutenant Welsh.

        Okay, yeah, but in a totally different way that had nothing to do with romance and sex.  He felt a lot of things about the Lieutenant, but none of them were sexual.

        And, really, maybe falling in love with Fraser would've made everything worse, harder, not easier, for both of them.  And his friendship with Fraser was so great now that he didn't want anything making it all complicated, at least not more than it already was.  And he had to admit that sometimes it seemed awfully complicated.  But it was the strongest, healthiest relationship he'd ever had.

        And then there was Ren.

        Who'd left him.

        But just for tonight.

        Right?

        Ray walked into the Consulate behind Fraser and Diefenbaker.  He pulled off his sunglasses, eyes seeking Renfield.

        "Good afternoon, Constable Fraser.  Good afternoon, Detective Vecchio, and welcome to Canada."  He was being so polite and warm that Ray's insides hurt.

        "My name is Ray, Ren," Ray replied, hating how cold he sounded, hating how Ren was acting like they were all thrown back in time to before they'd ever come together, like their relationship had never existed or, worse, never mattered, never changed anything, hadn't changed Ray's entire life.  It had changed Ray's life; it had changed the way he thought, the way he saw things, the way he felt, the way he saw himself; he had new experiences, new dreams, whole new ideas he'd never pictured himself enjoying.  Renfield had opened up his horizons intellectually, emotionally, and definitely sexually.

        "So it is, Ray.  How are you this fine afternoon?" Renfield asked with gracious interest.

        "Pretty sucky, actually," Ray said with a viciousness that shocked even him.

        "Ray?" Fraser asked.

        "Come on, Frase, I gotta talk to you," Ray said, heading back for Fraser's office.

        "Certainly, Ray," Fraser said, following.  He sat behind his desk and looked at his unofficial partner.  "You have seemed distracted all morning, but I believed that it would be best not to pry.  Do you wish to tell me what concerns you?"

        "You ever looked into Ren's eyes, Frase?"

        "Constable Turnbull's eyes are blue, Ray."

        "Yeah, but that's not it.  They're real blue.  Really really blue.  There's gotta be some color name for it, I dunno.  And sometimes they get this light in 'em, like he's lit up on the inside and it's just shining out.  I guess you don't wanna hear me say how his eyes look when he's coming."

        Fraser took a moment to figure out what Ray meant, then colored.  "No thank you, Ray."

        "Right.  Well, I told you the other day that he and I've been seein' each other.  I don't guess you two ever mentioned it to each other."

        "No, Ray."

        "Well, see, at first it was friends stuff, hanging out together, and then I figured out that I was interested in him and that he was interested in me, and then we started being more than friends.  I thought that we were headed off into this whole new thing, and then last night I don't know, and now, you saw it, it's back to Detective Vecchio, and he fucking well knows I hate it when certain people call me that."

        "Certain people, Ray?"

        "Well, just you and Ren."

        "Oh.  I hadn't realized."

        "Frase, you never call me that anyway.  You hate it as much as I do."

        "Not for the reasons you believe, Ray."

        "Oh yeah?"  That's it, you idiot, pick a fight with Fraser now.

        "It only hurts me to be reminded of him because he is far from me now.  I do not know where he is nor how he is.  I do not know whether he is safe, healthy, frightened, worried, or even alive."

        "How can you live like this?" Ray asked, horrified yet awed.  "Not knowing would kill me."  They never talked about it, but maybe his talking about Renfield opened up their friendship so Fraser could talk about Vecchio.

        "Because I have to, Ray.  I can't go to him and he can't come to me, not now.  So I wait.  I work.  I have you."

        "You got me," Ray agreed.  "And I got you, right, Frase?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "Good.  Let's get married or something."

        "All right, Ray."

        "We could invite my parents, my brother.  Stella.  Huey, Dewey, Welsh, the Ice Queen."

        "Diefenbaker, of course."

        "Of course!  He could be the ringbearer.  The Ice Queen could walk you down the aisle, you know, to give you away."

    "Why am I in the feminine role, Ray?"

        "Great, a butch Mountie.  Fine, I'll come down the aisle, then.  Where should we honeymoon?  Don't say the Yukon, Frase, pick someplace else."

        "Paris is supposed to be traditionally romantic, Ray."

        "Paris?  I could see that.  The two of us running around the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame cathedral thing and everything.  Why are you looking at me like that?  I saw that look in your eyes, that surprised look when you think I'm gonna be an idiot and I turn out for once not to be.  What, you think that I don't know that the Eiffel Tower is in Paris?  Everybody knows that, Frase."

        "I apologize, Ray.  I must admit that I expected you to pronounce Notre Dame like-"

        "Oh, sure, the Americanized way, like the football team.  I got used to saying it the real way 'cause Ren was telling me about Quasiwhosits and the gypsy girl and everything.  But he isn't comin' on this honeymoon, it's just you and me."

        "Quite right, Ray."

        "So what do we do in romantic Paris?  Run around like goofy tourists?  Learn how to speak French?"

        "It is our honeymoon, Ray."

        "Right.  So we just hang out in our hotel room and have lots of sex."

        "No, Ray."

        "No?"

        "Lots of very good, hot sex."

        "That sounds good to me."  Ray grinned across the desk, delighted.  "So, when we get to this honeymoon sex, is it our first time?"

        "How likely is it, Ray, that the two of us would wait once we'd decided to be together?"

        "Right.  Greatness.  Hey, are we taking Dief on this honeymoon?  And what the fuck was that noise?" Ray asked, turning to the door as Fraser rose.  The two men walked quickly from Fraser's office to see Renfield sitting calmly behind the desk.

        Renfield rose as they approached.  "Yes, sir?"

        "We heard a crash, Constable."

        "Do you see anything broken or disturbed, sir?" Renfield asked.

        Ray couldn't believe it.  He narrowed his eyes.  "Constable Turnbull," he said sharply, and Fraser looked at him.  He kept his gaze locked onto Renfield's blue blue eyes.  "Did you hear a crash within the past few minutes?"

        Renfield couldn't lie, and he couldn't avoid the tone of command.  He'd been trained to obey his superiors.  "Yes, Detective Vecchio."

        "Do you know what made the noise?"

        "Yes, sir."

        "What was it?"

        Renfield paled.  "A vase, sir."

        "It fell?"

        "No, sir."

        "What happened to it, Constable?"

        "I threw it, sir."  He couldn't even bring himself to look at Fraser.  He just stared miserably into Ray's eyes, not wanting to look away like a coward.

        "You threw it?"  Ray seemed startled and thrown off track by this admission.  "You mean you threw it?"

        "Yes, sir.  I will pay for the damages."

        "You always do," Ray said, and then paused, thinking over those words.  "Okay, let's not get philosophical here.  I have to get back to the station.  Fraser, we'll talk flower arrangements later."  Ray pulled on his sunglasses and left.

        "The money to replace the vase will not come from your expenses, Constable," Fraser said.  "As long as the mess is cleared, this incident is at an end.  I expect never to hear of you throwing anything in anger or frustration.  Violence will not solve your problems, Constable Turnbull, is that understood?"

        "Yes, sir, of course, sir."

        "Very good."

        If I hadn't invested all of this time and emotion into admiring you, I would hate you, sir.  If you weren't Constable Benton Fraser, I would hate you with a consuming passion.  If I weren't who I am, I would solve this problem with violence, notably my fist in your perfect face.  Since I'm me, I'll stand here, wait for you to leave, and then try not to cry.

        I can't believe that I cried last night.  In front of Ray.  Not even just a little, not a half-manly sniffle, but real sobs, right out there for him to see.

        I'll bet that Constable Benton Fraser doesn't cry.  And if he ever does, it will be over something masculine and noble, and he'll turn it into something else, like righteous vengeance, and he'll win the glory.  Instead there's me, crying over something absolutely mortifying, sobbing like a child, feeling sorry for myself.

        Typical.

        Fraser resumed his desk and wondered whether he should try to discuss Ray with Renfield.  He came to the conclusion that it would be inappropriate.  He would freely discuss it with Ray if Ray chose to broach the subject again.  Even if he became uncomfortable, if Ray talked he would gladly listen.  Renfield was his subordinate, so it could become slightly awkward, but he did not fear that Ray's romantic relationship with Renfield would interfere with his working relationship with Renfield.  Besides, if Ray was finally getting greatly-deserved happiness with "this whole new thing," he would do whatever he could to facilitate it.

        At home alone that evening, Renfield decided that at least Constable Fraser had finally come to his senses and figured out that the new Ray was an uncontestable improvement over the old Ray.  He'd often wondered how the constable could be oblivious to the new and improved Ray Vecchio's charms.  Neither Ray, clearly, was oblivious to Constable Fraser's charms.  No one was.  And now Ray and Fraser could be happy together, each with a well-deserved, completely wonderful person.  His two favorite people, happy at last.  He should be happy for them.  He should congratulate them.  He should figure out how to eat without vomiting.

        That night, the nightmares came.

        Ray knew that Fraser was different from other people.  Fraser was polite, formal, reserved.  Sometimes that politeness turned too cold, too distant.  Sometimes Fraser's opinionated personality became too rigid, a turn-off.  But not with him, not anymore.  And now it was even better.  Now he had Fraser smiling, teasing, cheerful, sarcastic without the edge.  And they were always in sync, always understanding each other, which was great for their work.  He got Fraser to talk about Vecchio, and he talked about Ren, and they talked about their families, their childhoods, and Fraser told him real stuff, not just those crazy Inuit stories.  They'd turned into best friends somewhere along the line, and now they were acting like it.  Now they were sharing each other's lives.  Fraser had stopped letting people in close; Vecchio had been the first one in a while to do so, and now look had that had turned out.  Ray hadn't really mastered the art, either; except for Stella and suddenly Renfield, he pretty much kept to himself when it counted.  But now, they discovered that it really wasn't that hard after all, that it felt good to know somebody well, to understand and to be understood in return.

        Ray figured that even Vecchio could come back now and not change a thing.

        Renfield watched Constable Fraser and Ray walk into the Consulate.  He and Ray had ended their relationship two weeks earlier.  Two weeks without Ray.  Felt like longer, even if he could still remember the delicious warm weight of Ray in his lap on their first sexual evening.

        He'd noticed how...together...the constable and detective were.  Whether calm, or teasing, or intent on a case, they were completely in tune, completely in step.  Even when one was agitated and the other was trying to calm, they were undeniably together.

        He recalled a line from The Sun Also Rises when Jake was watching Brett with the gay men and saying that she was "very much with them."  Ray was very much with Fraser.  Did that make him Jake?  He certainly was wounded, emotionally if not literally.  He felt literally wounded, sometimes, as though he'd physically been attacked, scarred, and it wasn't healing, wouldn't heal.  Wounded from what, by what?  His entire life.  Every day, maybe.  Certainly by Ray, though it wasn't Ray's fault.

        He wondered whether they made out in Fraser's office.

        He'd slept with Ray once, spent the entire night in bed with Ray.  He'd seen so much, but not nearly enough.  He'd wanted to stare forever, to watch the beautiful-

        Well, he'd never get a chance, and he hadn't done it at the time, so no use brooding over it.  He'd seen a great deal of Ray, and touched a great deal of Ray, and that should more than satisfy him.  After all, he'd never imagined that all that had transpired ever would.  He hadn't considered it possible that Ray would ever voluntarily spend time with him, much less...

        He was sure that Fraser slept with Ray.  That Fraser had seen and touched Ray in ways that he'd never dared, that Ray wouldn't permit with him.

        He glanced up to realize that the constable was coming from the back office.  Ray must still be back there.  Fraser looked as pristine as ever, but that didn't mean that the two men hadn't...engaged in...  "Yes, sir, may I help you?"

        "Constable, you look awful."

        "I apologize if my appearance does not please you, sir.  I will make more of an effort in the future."

        "Have you been sleeping?"

        "Yes, sir."  Well, he had.  That's when the nightmares came.

        "Have you been sleeping well, constable?" Fraser asked, not at all harshly.

        "No, sir."

        "Have you been eating well?"

        "No, sir."  His mouth remembered only four tastes: Ray's mouth, Ray's skin, Ray's semen, and his own vomit.  Anything else was bland and quickly forgotten.  He'd stopped trying to eat, since it didn't result in anything pleasant.

        Fraser looked at him carefully.  He died under that scrutiny.  He knew that he didn't measure up; even on his best days he was worthless in this man's eyes.  "Renfield," Fraser said quietly, "if your condition does not improve I will have to speak with the inspector."

        "Yes, sir."  They couldn't possibly fire him for not eating well, could they?  Although if his job suffered from his lack of sleep, it was possible that he could be in trouble.  He didn't want his job to suffer; his job meant the world to him.  He took his job very seriously and everyone knew it.  It was all that he had.

        Even his cats preferred someone else to him.  Not that he could blame them.

        He wondered about Fraser's sexual experience.  He was sure that Fraser had done everything with Ray Vecchio.  He was certain that Ray preferred Fraser's tasting to his own; perhaps that was why Ray liked it, because it was what Fraser would do.  Ray liked Mounties.  Ray liked one particular Mountie, and he was the closest available one, and easy to get, too.  All anyone had to do to get Renfield Turnbull on his knees was smile.  Ray had probably wanted Fraser all along, but hadn't been able to get Fraser at first, so had settled for the next best thing, the other large Canadian in red, himself.  Only now Fraser had wised up, and now Ray was with Fraser, and he was where he belonged, alone, outside, and-

        -and what had Ray said?  Something about wanting a "passing relationship" with him because of Fraser?  Ray had only spoken to him in the first place for Fraser's sake.

        Maybe he should thank Fraser.  Without Fraser, he'd never have gotten his Heaven.  And he couldn't blame Fraser because he was back in Hell.

        Fraser had gone; he didn't remember seeing the constable leave.  He wondered if Fraser had said anything further.  Lately it was hard to-

        Ray.  Ray was coming out of Constable Fraser's office.

        "Hey, Ren."  Ray leaned across the counter.  "You look like shit."

        His nostrils flared.  His temper flared.

        He'd never thrown anything in anger until two weeks ago.  Now he wanted to do it again.  He didn't like to react with anger and violence; usually they never solved anything.  Also, with his size and especially his training, he could injure someone seriously and quickly, and he didn't dare consider how horrible that would be.

        "Detective Vecchio.  You're wearing cologne."

        "Yeah."

        "You don't wear cologne."  Now he was just being rude and, frankly, he didn't really care.

        "Just today.  Fraser has a little bottle of, um, my cologne," Ray said, clearly trying to talk about himself and Ray Vecchio as one person.

        "Did it work?"

        "Did what work?"

        "Did he fuck you?"

        "You just said fuck," Ray said, staring at him in shock.

        "Drew and Alex made me say it."

        "They...made you?"

        "Yes, but here is hardly the appropriate venue for a conversation of how they did so."

        "Wait, what did you just...Ren, look at me."

        "I am, Detective Vecchio."

        "You think that Fraser's fucking me?"

        "Not at the moment, sir, since he's in his office and you're standing before me.  I dare say that even Constable Fraser is not that well endowed."  I just may get fired for this.

        "You look like shit, you're acting weird, and you're saying insane things.  Are you sick?  You got a fever?"

        "Detective Vecchio, if you have a complaint on my behavior, please direct it to my superiors."

        "Oh, I got a million complaints, but they got nothing to do with your job."  Ray left the building.

        Ray and Fraser ate lunch in Fraser's office the following afternoon, at Ray's request.  He wanted the relative privacy for a discussion.  "Can I ask you real personal stuff?"

        "Is there anything that you have not already asked?" Fraser asked calmly.

        "Yeah.  Trust me, there is."

        "Ask me, Ray."

        "Okay.  Um...I don't know where to start.  Okay, you and Vecchio, I'm guessing that you two did...you know...the whole deal.  Had sex every which way."

        "If I understand you correctly, Ray, my answer is yes."

        "You fucked him and he fucked you."

        "I prefer less crude terminology, Ray, but yes, that is true."

        "Okay.  So...I've educated myself, read instructional materials and all that shit, I know about condoms and lube and proper preparation whatever, and how you gotta do, like, stretching first."

        Fraser waited for more.

        "So, like, that's all fine, I mean, I figure I can deal with it, but what happens if, say, you've never done it before and the guy you're with is sorta big?  I mean...  Can I be totally up front?"

        "All right, Ray."  Hadn't Ray been alarmingly candid already?  What more could be said?

        "I ain't no shriveled dick myself, but I know Ren can handle it."  Physically, at least, if not emotionally.  Ren's experience made Ray confident in that area.  "But Ren's hung like nobody I ever seen.  More than you, just so you know.  And I've never been fucked.  So I'm kinda nervous about maybe it won't work, or it'll hurt like it shouldn't."

        "Patience and preparation should help, Ray."

        "Yeah, but...  I want him to fuck me but I think that if something goes wrong the first time, if he hurts me or if it isn't perfect, he'll never do it again."

        "Ray, I wasn't aware that sex was an issue in your relationship with Renfield at this point."

        "Well, okay, sure, since he hates me and I'm sorta pissed back."

        "Has something transpired, Ray?"

        "He thinks that you and me - - you and I - - are together.  You know.  That we're fucking.  Or at least that you're fucking me, and I'd like to think that it would go both ways."

        "Is he sincere in this belief?" Fraser asked, alarmed.

        "Totally.  You shoulda seen him.  He was talking like...not like himself, at all.  But he's sure you're fucking me."

        "Ray, do you recall the afternoon when Renfield broke the vase?"

        "That's happened about twenty times, Frase.  All right, okay, yeah, I remember."

        "Do you recall what we were discussing when the incident occurred?"

        "Our honeymoon.  Oh, come on, Frase, that was a complete joke.  Ren couldn't have believed a second of it."

        "Perhaps not, Ray, but our manner was friendly, warm, intimate, and affectionate, and we began to speculate on our sexual behaviors."

        "So he started thinking that we were interested as more'n friends?  Like one night I'm with him and the next I turn around and get with you?"

        "Ray, I still do not know what caused the rupture in your relationship with Renfield, nor is it my business.  However, judging from what I do know of Renfield, perhaps it is not a stretch for him to believe that you would quickly leave him for someone else."

        "Especially you."

        "Should I be flattered, Ray?"

        "Yeah, you should.  I think he likes you better than he likes me," Ray muttered.  "So he's spent these two weeks watching us, thinking that I've gone one hundred percent Vecchio.  Then you gave me a dash of that fuck-me cologne, and I guess...Damn it, Fraser, we gotta do something."

        "Ray, what did you just say concerning the cologne?"

        "I dunno, what'd I...  Oh.  Sorry, Frase."  Ray grinned.  "Nothing personal.  C'mon, help me think of how to get Ren back."

        "Could you simply approach him with the truth?"

        "What truth would that be?"

        "That he is mistaken in his perceptions, and that you care for him deeply."

        "Maybe I should just let you fuck me and forget about him."

        "That is not in anyone's best interests, Ray."

        "Dief might like it."

        Fraser seemed surprised, then considered Ray's comment.  "Perhaps he would, Ray, but I do not allow Diefenbaker to dictate my sexual liaisons."

        Renfield was about to leave for the evening when Constable Fraser approached him with a large manila envelope.  "Constable, will you be able to complete a task for me this evening?"

        "Yes, sir."

        "I need you to deliver this personally, Constable, tonight."

        "Yes, sir."  He was being trusted to do this?  Constable Fraser's mood must have been improved by Ray's influence.

        "Very good, Constable."

        "Thank you, sir.  Good evening, sir."

        "Good evening."

        Renfield stepped outside to the sidewalk and checked the envelope.

        Ray's address.

        Ray's apartment.

        He had to take this envelope to Ray's apartment.

        Personally.

        Tonight.

        He closed his eyes and counted to ten.  He was Constable Renfield Turnbull of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.  He was nothing if not dedicated to his work.  He would do this without hesitation and without question.  He would carry out Constable Fraser's orders.

        He walked to Ray's apartment with his long-legged, brisk stride.  He kept his mind busy mentally reciting T. S. Eliot's poetry.  When he reached Ray's building, he went up and knocked on the door without hesitation.

        Ray opened the door.  "Hey, Ren."

        "Good evening, Detective Vecchio.  I have an envelope from Constable Fraser."

        "I see that."

        "He ordered me to deliver it personally."

        "Good for him," Ray said pleasantly and turned to go to the kitchen.

        Renfield let his eyes take in the apartment.  He'd only been here a few times.  He noticed a change: books.  There was a pile of books in one corner of the living room, and a few books here and there about the apartment.

        He could not see any signs of Constable Fraser's presence.  No left behind items, no tokens, no sign of double occupancy at any point.  That meant nothing, since Fraser was decidedly tidy and was unlikely to leave an extra tunic lying about, but he was glad not to have Ray and Fraser's relationship shoved in his face by such a sign.

        "Come in, Ren," Ray called.  "You want some tea?"

        "Detective-"

        "Call me Ray," Ray replied, coming forward, looking terribly like himself in jeans and a black T-shirt, a day's worth of whiskers on his cheeks, blonde hair spiked, irreverent grin lurking in his eyes.  "Either come in or I'm closing the door, Ren."

        "I have an envelope-"

        "You said that already."

        No one called him Ren.  The few people who called him anything at all either said Constable, Turnbull, or both.  His father, who referred to him as Renfield, never spoke to him anymore.  But Ray, Ray called him Ren.  A nickname.  Something familiar and normal, and Ray's alone.

        He heard noise behind him: someone was coming up the stairs.  He smelled food.  Pizza.  He turned and saw a deliveryman coming toward them.

        "Hey, Ralph, great," Ray said, snatching money from a tabletop.  "Gimme those."  Ralph?  Where was Sandor?  In the exchange of pizza and money, Renfield found himself inside the apartment, and then Ray closed the door and they were together, alone, in Ray's apartment.

        "Hungry?" Ray asked.  "There's enough to share."  He set the boxes on the kitchen table.  He got two plates, one beer, and a glass of water.  He set out a place for Renfield before sitting down himself, popping open the can of beer, opening the lid of the pizza box.  "Gotta love pizza.  So how're the Scotsmen?"

        "Excuse me, Ray?"

        "The cats, Ren.  How are your cats?"

        "They are fine, Ray, thank you.  How are you?"

        "Hard to say.  Angry, depressed, pissed, lonely, sad, the whole deal.  I mean, the job's going great, and Frase and I are real tight, but my boyfriend dumped me."

        "Ray?"

        "First boyfriend I ever had.  Nice to know my luck sucks with both genders.  I mean, I thought there was something really going on, that this was it, that I'd finally found somebody.  He was real smart, and real nice, and dedicated, and he was real good at stuff I'm not, but we had a lot in common, more than I ever thought.  And the sex was the best I've ever had.  But he left me, and now he thinks that I'm fucking with my best friend, which I'm not.  Fraser and I are real close, but not that close, and we're both into other people.  Other people who've left us.  Which pisses me off."

        "Ray?"

        "You gonna sit and eat, Ren?  It's getting cold.  It'll be nice to have company.  Sometimes Fraser eats with me, but sometimes it's just me.  My boy - - ex-boyfriend," he corrected himself, "he cooked really well, made great food, but now I'm back to eating crap and pizza.  I used to watch TV while I ate, but now I've started reading while I eat.  Except then I get too busy reading and forget to eat.  I just finished The Great Gatsby today."

        "How did you like it?" Renfield asked, his heart pounding.

        "It was good.  My ex, he told me about it before, and it sounded interesting.  Everything he talked about sounded interesting.  I dunno how he does that.  Did that.  He told me about this art gallery.  Do you like those?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "I was thinking about going there tomorrow.  Tomorrow's my day off.  They got some new exhibit.  French impressionists.  Sounds pretty good.  Lotsa famous stuff.  Eat some pizza.  I never did much with French people.  Frase says that some of the people in Canada aren't French, they're Quebecois, which I can't say.  I never been to Canada or France.  I always thought about going to Europe, you know, what I'd do.  Guess I'd see all the Eiffel Tower, Tower of Pisa, Buckingham Palace, whatever.  I don't speak anything but English, or American, so I'd be sorta stuck.  You speak any other languages?"

        "I am familiar with Quebecois, Latin, and French, Ray."

        "So you could go to France.  What would you do there?"

        "I would enjoy seeing the Louvre, and the Musee d'Orsay, which has impressionist art.  I would like to visit Shakespeare and Co., a wonderful book shop by the Seine."

        "The Seine's the river."

        "Yes, Ray."

        "The Louvre is that big fancy art museum.  What's the one in Spain?"

        "Perhaps you're thinking of El Museo del Prado, Ray."

        "Right.  Where's the Mona Lisa?"

        "The Mona Lisa is in the Louvre, Ray."

        "Who's that other woman sitting by herself?  Somebody's grandmother?  Somebody's mom?"

        "Whistler's mother, Ray?  Her painting resides in the Musee d'Orsay."

        "You know a lotta stuff."

        "Thank you, Ray, though I find that knowing the location of famous art is hardly practical knowledge for everyday life."

        "Wanna come with me to the gallery tomorrow?  Unless you're busy, or unless you've already seen it, or something."

        "I would enjoy going with you, Ray."

        "Great."

        They finished eating, then retired to the sofa with tea and candied coffee.  Finally Renfield left.  They hadn't touched once, and Ray continued to make casual, unpremeditated references to a nameless ex-boyfriend whose identity was all too obvious.  It seemed that the ex-boyfriend had made quite an impact on Ray's life, and that Ray only referred to him because Ray's mind was on him constantly.  Ray seemed nostalgic more than bitter.

        The pizza was the first thing in weeks that Renfield ate that he didn't regurgitate.

        They met, as planned, at the gallery.  Renfield walked; Ray drove.  They got there early and waited in line for the special exhibit, then ate lunch, then toured the rest of the building.  Renfield was much more familiar with the gallery than Ray, and found himself acting as a museum guide.  Ray was a demanding audience, with questions about everything.  Renfield kept his voice low, pitched for Ray's ears only, not wishing to disturb the other patrons, but noticed that others were listening.  In fact a few people, he suspected, were following them on purpose, surreptitiously and not.

        Finally they left the gallery rather late and ended up in Renfield's apartment.  Renfield cooked; they ate; they cleaned.  They kept up a nonstop conversation ranging over many topics and returning to some in an odd circular pattern.  Ray, it seemed, thought about several ideas at one time and sometimes was mulling over something said previously while continuing to another topic; then he'd figure out the first thing and would bring it up again.  Renfield liked it.  Ray was never boring.

        Ray of course had noticed their gallery entourage, and seemed amused by it on the whole.  Renfield couldn't help but feel embarrassed, but Ray seemed pleased that there had been an audience.  "You shoulda started a real tour and charged people, Ren.  It'd be worth it, too.  You know all sorts of stuff, and not that boring crap either, but the interesting good stuff.  And you don't follow just one interpretation; you see all sides.  It's no surprise to me that people like to hear you talk."

        The cats rubbed against Ray continually to leave their scent, to mark Ray.  Renfield was jealous.  He remembered having Ray's scent on his skin.  Ray held the cats and petted them indiscriminately.  Renfield remembered Ray petting him.

        Ray left.  They hadn't touched.

        Renfield still wasn't vomiting.  The nightmares continued.

        "Hello, Detective Vecchio, and welcome to Canada."

        "Try again, Ren."

        "Hello, Ray, and welcome to Canada."

        "That's better.  Hello, Ren, it's good to see you.  Fraser around?"

        "Constable Fraser is in his office, Ray.  Shall I-"

        "No thanks, I'll just run back there myself.  The Ice Queen been bitching at you?"

        "Ray, Inspector Thatcher-"

        "I love the indignant Mountie routine.  But come on, Ren, you gotta admit, the woman's got problems.  Never mind, you have that whole loyalty and dedication thing happening, and that's great.  I admire that.  If I worked under her, I wouldn't have your attitude, I can tell you right now."  Ray leaned across the counter, close to Ren.  "Can I tell you something?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "I know you got this whole worship of Fraser.  That's your business.  I won't mess with that.  But I think you oughta know that your cock's bigger than his."  Ray winked and went back to Fraser's office.

        Renfield sat heavily.

        "Constable Turnbull."

        "Yes, sir."  Renfield stood quickly, at the ready.

        "I will be out for the rest of the afternoon.  Should Detective Vecchio stop by to see me, please provide him with this envelope."

        "Yes, sir."

        Ray walked into the Consulate, removing his sunglasses.

        "Good afternoon, Detective, er, Ray, welcome to Canada."

        "Hey, Ren."

        "Constable Fraser has asked me to provide you with this envelope in his absence."

        "Okay."  Ray accepted and opened the envelope.  He pulled out a single sheet of paper and read it.  "Great.  Stupid Mountie."  He shoved the paper into the envelope and the envelope into his jeans pocket.  He was wearing the button-downs, Renfield noticed, and they weren't buttoned entirely.  That was unbearably sexy.  "Sorry; guess I shouldn't say stupid Mountie in this place.  Actually, I kinda like Mounties.  Big guys dressed in red just wrap me around their little fingers.  First Fraser, then my ex.  Something about those guys just makes me do the wacky."  He looked at Renfield.  "Sorry.  I'll stop droning about myself.  Guess I'd better head back out there.  See you later, Ren."

        Renfield didn't say Ray the day after that, or the day after that.  He'd stopped vomiting entirely, but continued to be plagued by nightmares.  Constable Fraser was busy with some project that seemed to take up more time than Inspector's assignments called for, so he could only infer that the constable was working on one of Ray's cases.  Finally one day Ray appeared at the Consulate.

        "Hello, Detective Vecchio, welcome to Canada."

        "Ren.  My name is Ray.  Call me Ray."

        "Yes, Ray.  Hello, Ray."

        "Thank you.  Listen, I won't be around for a few days.  Not that I've seen you for a few days, anyway, but I mean I really won't be around.  I just wanted to let you know."

        "Where will you be, Ray?"

        "I'm taking a little personal time.  I got ages of leave, and I'm taking a little bit of it.  Got something I need to do for my own peace of mind."

        "I hope that you enjoy yourself, Ray."

        "Thanks."

        "When will you return?"

        "Soon.  Don't worry about it, I'll be back to see you."  He checked his watch.  "I gotta say good-bye to Fraser."

        "Of course, Ray."  No wonder Ray'd come by; the detective wanted to say good-bye to Fraser.  A private parting in Fraser's office.  His gut twisted.  Ray walked away from him.

        It wasn't until half an hour later that Ray emerged from Fraser's office.  "Hey, Ren, you'll look out for him, won't you?  You won't let him get into trouble without me."

        "I am sure that Constable Fraser will be fine until your return, Ray."

        "Yeah, well, he doesn't always behave himself, and I don't trust the Ice Queen to keep an eye on him like she should.  I'd better go.  You take care of yourself.  I don't like leaving my Mounties all alone."  Ray left.

        I've been entrusted with Constable Fraser's care?  What could I possibly do for him?  Where is Ray going?  Why won't he say?  When will he return?  It sounds like a short trip.  Perhaps he will return soon.  What will Constable Fraser be like without any Ray Vecchios at all?

        One week later, Renfield's entire morning brightened when Ray walked into the Consulate.  "Hey, Ren, didja miss me?"

        "Yes, Ray, I did.  How was your trip?"

        "Productive.  You been doing okay?"

        "Yes, Ray."

        "You look sorta skinny.  For you, anyway.  You been eating like you should?"

        "Perhaps not, Ray."

        "Well, start."

        "You appear tired yourself, Ray."

        "Yeah, I got back real late last night, didn't get much sleep.  I shoulda taken off work today, but I wanted to get back to the job.  Plus I wanted to get my ass over here to see my Mounties."

        "Constable Fraser is in his office, Ray, if you would like to greet him."

        "Maybe I'll hang out here for another minute first.  Make 'im wait."

        "Ray," Fraser said warmly, coming towards them.  "How was your trip?"

        "Ain't nothing glorious like you make it out to be, Frase."

        "Oh, Ray, I'm terribly sorry if you were disappointed."  Fraser looked crestfallen.

        "No, Frase, I'm kidding.  It was great.  Lots of, you know, snow and stuff."

        "Did you see the Northern Lights, Ray?"

        "Yeah.  Pretty cool.  I liked that.  Wish we had something like that down here."

        Ray was in Canada.  Renfield wondered why Ray hadn't told him as much.

        "I do hope that your visit to the Northwest Territories was productive, Ray."

        "It sure was.  That's my exact word.  Productive.  Learned a lot.  Took care of business.  How've you been, Frase?  A week without me around musta seemed real peaceful."

        "You were missed, Ray."

        "That's the way it should be."  Ray grinned.  "So did you two ever talk while I was gone, or was it all business as usual?"

        "Perhaps we did not use this time to get to know one another as you would have preferred, Ray," Fraser said.  He looked guilty.

        "Come on, Frase, I wanted you two to, you know...connect.  Ren's the only guy less equipped to be in Chicago than you.  No offense, Ren, I kind of meant it as a good thing.  Maybe you could try tonight.  We could all eat at Ren's place."

        "Ray, you cannot invite yourself and me over to Con-"

        "Frase, when it's just you and me, you call him Renfield.  When he's in the room, it's Constable.  Maybe you should call him by his name to his face, especially when we aren't talking about official Mountie business."

        "Quite right, Ray.  As I was saying, you cannot invite yourself and me over to Renfield's home."

        "I just did," Ray said.  "You both missed me and now I'm back and I want Ren to cook us dinner so we can all sit around and do some male bonding or whatever.  Tonight.  When you get off work, just head over to Ren's, and I'll do the same.  Okay, Ren?"

        "Fine, Ray," Renfield said, overwhelmed.

        "Good.  Great."  Ray grinned.  "I gotta get back to the station.  See you two tonight.  I liked Canada.  Maybe you guys can take me sometime."  He left.

matthew@matthewtime.com
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