"Is this a joke?" he asked uncertainly.

"Surely not, Ray!" Fraser poked his head out and frowned. "I just -- ah --"

"Okay." Ray stood there for another moment, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his fingers curling against the air. "Okay," he repeated, and nodded his head, and left the room.

**

Fraser stayed in the closet all night. Ray could hear him talking sometimes, and once there was the sound of a hammer.

But Ray didn't pry. If Fraser wanted to talk to him, Fraser would talk to him, right? Maybe. Maybe it was like when Stella used to lock herself in the bathroom -- it meant she wanted him to pry, even though she would yell at him to go away. Maybe it was like when his mother used to do loads of clean laundry.

**

Ray made himself supper -- three hot dogs under the broiler, lots of pickle relish, a little too much mustard accidentally -- and drank a beer, then watched some television. Lots of cop shows on cable, lots of doctor shows on the networks. There was a basketball game on a channel they didn't get, and on PBS a woman with long purple fingernails was explaining how to cut glass and paste it back together in the shape of a sea bass. Dief liked that one the best, so Ray left the channel on, and let his mind wander.

Fraser in the closet. Fraser in the closet. A lot of paperwork at the station today, no real cases. Frannie about to pop, wearing an ugly flower dress. Stella in Flori -- no, no thinking about that. Fraser in the closet, Fraser in the closet.

Ray wondered if Fraser in the closet meant he wasn't getting laid tonight.

He yawned. Dief yawned. The woman with the purple fingernails moved on to explaining grouting.

**

"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."

Ray opened his eyes. Fraser was standing over him, wearing an undershirt and his damned starched boxers. Ray thought he'd managed to accidentally lose all them in the moves. Musta missed one.

"Ray. Ray."

"I hear ya, Fraser, whaddya want?" Ray muttered. He moved his mouth as little as possible.

"As I doubt you're interested in Do-Ho Suh's scupltures exploring themes of identity, I'm going to turn off the television. Come to bed." Fraser clicked off the television, and when Dief whined, glared disapprovingly. "Liking Korean food and enjoying Korean art are two very different things, Diefenbaker. You go to bed too."

"You saying me and Dief aren't cultured?" Ray tried to raise an eyebrow and failed. He let Fraser haul him up and walk him into the bedroom. Fraser's skin was hot, even through Ray's clothing, and his fingers dug into Ray's side. Ray thought maybe he'd have bruises, bruises that he could press on all the next day while filling out annoying paperwork. Bruises he could press on in the men's room and jerk off thinking about.

**

Fraser gently undressed him and bent him into bed.

"What were you doing in the closet? Don't mean to pry bu --" Ray interrupted himself with a yawn.

"Not important," replied Fraser. "Don't trouble yourself."

"Bah," said Ray. "Fuck off." He rolled over until he was pressed against Fraser and threw a leg over Fraser's. "Don't pull that crap with me."

Fraser's armpit hair tickled Ray's nose as he fell asleep.

**

The next morning, Ray woke up before Fraser and laid in bed staring at the ceiling. It had little spikes sticking out of it -- stucco. It was ugly. Ray wondered what Fraser would say if he hung a poster of a GTO over their bed. Probably nothing.

And if he said anything, Ray could just be like, "Hey, you were in the closet, buddy! I'm the normal one!"

Ray was sweating a little, because he was on his back and Fraser was half on top of him. And Fraser was pressing into the little bruises he'd left last night. He hadn't meant to, and Ray wasn't going to mention it, otherwise Fraser would probably try to apologize.

Fraser still -- well, Ray didn't know what Fraser thought. Or didn't think. It was new, only months, and both of them were kinda tip-toeing around each other. Like, Ray had started washing dishes after he ate, and picking up his towels off the bathroom floor, and rinsing out the sink after he shaved. Fraser was too polite, and too courteous, like the super-Mountie from when they first met.

Ray figured that eventually they'd get to the point where they were normal around each other, or Dief would kill them. Maybe so would the turtle, but she didn't seem to care much as long as she got fed and Dief didn't eat her.

**

Ray rubbed his dick with one hand and thought about the closet. What was Fraser doing in there? Maybe building some kind of nest for wayward polar bears? Ray could get up and look inside -- or he could stay in bed with Fraser stuck to his legs.

He looked down at Fraser's head on his shoulder. Fraser was balding -- just a little, but that was enough. Ray still had all his hair. He rubbed his dick a little harder. Fraser smelled like peppermint, all the time, especially his hair. He washed it with castile soap. Ray read the ingredients -- he wasn't sure what made it soap, since it was all olive oil and peppermint oil and rosemary extract or something.

On the bottle it said, "Can be used to wash off fresh vegetables," which Ray thought was kind of queer. He mostly stuck to Dial, or Irish Spring. Sometimes Ivory, if it was on sale.

**

"Good morning, Ray," said Fraser into Ray's shoulder.

"Good morning," said Ray. "How come your soap don't got any soap in it?"

"Well, Ray." Fraser paused to yawn. "Soap is made by saponifying --"

"What?"

"Hydrolosis."

"Like women taking off hair?"

"That's electrolysis." Fraser cleared his throat. He didn't even sound like ten seconds ago he'd been fast asleep. "Ah... So a fat or oil is saponified with alkali, either sodium or potassium, and this is made by running, usually, electricity through salt water."

"Okay, Fraser, I get it, stop there." Ray stopped rubbing his dick. Usually listening to Fraser talk smart was kind of hot, but not first thing in the morning.

"Understood, Ray."

Ray looked down at Fraser's head, still resting on his shoulder, and glared. There wasn't nothing to understand.

"Okay, I'm getting up," said Ray, and pushed Fraser off his shoulder -- but then his hands stayed on Fraser's skin. Fraser was always warm, always hot, and his skin was always soft and pliable. Ray wanted to dig his fingers into it until he reached the muscle, peel off all of Fraser's skin so he had a Fraser-suit, and then dive in, eat all of Fraser's insides, and drink all his blood and -- he was making himself feel a little sick.

He dug his fingers into Fraser's arm, hard, and said, "Think about me all day," and then rolled out of bed.

**

Ray showered real quick and didn't bother to shave, and was out of the house before Fraser was dressed. Dief bounded out with him and ran around in circles barking.

"Shut up, mutt," said Ray. "People are sleeping."

Dief gave him a nasty look and peed on the wheel of the GTO.

**

Ray snuck onto the computer while Frannie was out for lunch, and looked up Do-Ho Suh. Fraser wasn't making it up -- Korean, made sculptures about identity.

The world was full of freaks.

**

When Ray got home that night, Fraser was in their closet again.

Ray had spent the whole day thrumming, bouncing up and down, tingling, pressing his fingers into the bruises Fraser'd left the night before, thinking about when he got home and how Fraser was supposed to be thinking about him all day. Yeah, he was thinking about Fraser thinking about him. Was that fucked up?

He didn't care if it was. Maybe he cared a little, but it wasn't like everything else wasn't fucked up anyway. The world was going crazy, so who cared what Ray wanted to jerk off to?

**

Dief whined from his seat on the couch. That's how Ray knew Fraser was in the closet again. If Dief spoke English, Ray didn't know about it -- but if Fraser was anywhere in the house that wasn't the closet, he'd've already told Dief to get his fat ass off the sofa, and to stop watching programming on the SciFi channel, because their science was flawed.

Ray could always go for a good episode of Star Trek -- the original one, anyway -- so he just rubbed Dief behind the ears, made sure the turtle had some food, and went into the bedroom.

**

"Fraser?" said Ray. "You're in the closet again."

"Yes, Ray, I know," replied Fraser. He poked his head out of the closet. There was a nail in his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"I would think that's obvious, Ray."

"Building a shoe tree?" Ray took a step forward, casually, and then another. He kept his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Fraser was wearing one of his real soft flannel shirts, the one with the little rip under the left sleeve.

"That seems to be the likeliest answer, Ray," said Fraser. Ray rolled his eyes.

**

Fraser stepped out of the closet and closed the door behind himself, and took the nail out of his mouth. "How was the station?" he asked, and put the nail on top of their chest of drawers.

"The same. Lotsa paperwork this week, not too many people getting killed."

"Surely that's for the best." Fraser folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the closet door. "Would you care to hear about my day?"

Ray spread his legs a little wider and thrust out his hips. He used to stand like this when he was a teenager and Stella liked dating frat boys. Ray was never a frat boy. Ray was always the greasy bad boy with oil under his fingernails from the wrong side of town.

Fraser smirked at him, that little curl of the lip that let Ray know that Fraser knew what he was doing.

Ray liked looking at Fraser when Fraser was looking at him.

What Fraser saw when he looked at Ray was -- it was something. Fraser only saw Ray, Fraser never saw Stanley. That was reason enough to fall in love with the guy, in Ray's book.

**

"I spent my day," said Fraser, "attempting to catalogue the items in the Queen's Bedroom for the Office of Consular Accessories."

"You're shitting me," said Ray.

"Yes." Fraser smiled then, a real smile. Ray pushed his hips out even further, felt himself start to get hard, push against the jeans. He leered at Fraser, thinking about biting Fraser's nipples and gnawing on his belly and pushing his fingers through Fraser's soft skin.

"You're such a --" Ray fell forward onto his knees, landing almost right in front of Fraser, putting his face into the worn crotch of Fraser's blue jeans. He inhaled -- laundry soap, peppermint, a little bit of sweat -- and opened his mouth.

Fraser's hands came up, and into his hair, and down his neck to his shoulders. Ray hadn't taken off his leather jacket. The cuffs got in his way; he dug his fingers into Fraser's ass, and rubbed his cheek against Fraser's dick through the denim, which scratched at him and was cold against his cheek.

Fraser's hands on his head were warm.

Ray unbuttoned Fraser's jeans, unzipped, pulled them down. Fraser wasn't wearing any shorts.

"Shit," said Ray against Fraser's dick.

"I thought about you all day, Ray," said Fraser breathlessly.

"Yeah, ditto," said Ray, and opened his mouth, and took the head of Fraser's dick onto his tongue. He pressed it against the roof of his mouth, careful with his teeth, ran his tongue down the vein in the back, around where the foreskin had pulled back, under the little flap of foreskin, into the hole, and back out again.

Peppermint, sweat, Fraser -- Ray pulled his jeans down and Fraser couldn't spread his legs any more with the waistband of the jeans around his thighs, but he leaned harder against the door, shoved his hips into Ray's face.

His fingers twined in Ray's hair -- had a real thing for blondes, did Fraser, which Ray could sympathize with.

Fraser pulled Ray's face in, so Ray had to stop nuzzling, and take Fraser's cock into his mouth, which he did happily. Fraser's hair grew up his cock a little ways, which was funny because he wasn't hairy anywhere else except his armpits, but Ray had discovered that if he took a deep breath and then went all the way down, and then came back up and jacked Fraser a little, and then went down again, Fraser would come really fast.

Well, Fraser always came really fast, which Ray liked, because it meant he didn't have to suck Fraser off for so long that his jaw started to click and his throat started to hurt. Ray didn't know how girls did it all the time, and liked it -- Ray's mouth was bigger than Stella's, and his dick was bigger than Frasers -- thicker, anyway -- and Ray still had a hard time. Liked it, but it wasn't easy.

He made his throat convulse around the head of Fraser's cock, and Fraser's hands tightened in his hair. Ray's eyes teared a little. He pulled back, and took a breath, and jacked Fraser with one hand, using his own spit as lube. He worked his other hand around and pressed behind Fraser's balls, and timed it just right so that his mouth came back down onto Fraser as Fraser's hands pulled him forward and his dick jerked in Ray's mouth.

Ray didn't like to swallow, except for the sometimes when he did, and as Fraser's hips moved and Fraser's legs shook, Ray's finger slid into Fraser's ass, perfect timing, oh yeah. Fraser yelled a little and came a lot. He tasted like salt, a little bitter, a little like -- something Ray didn't really know what.

Musk ox, maybe.

**

Ray ran his tongue along his teeth. He wanted to brush them, and wash his face -- and take off his jacket. Fraser's fingers were still pulling his hair, and it was starting to hurt. Fraser was taking deep breaths.

Ray took one breath and then another, and the world righted itself, and then he sat back on his heels, gave his knees a rest. He licked Fraser's foreskin, and then stuck his tongue between the foreskin and Fraser's dick, and licked the head of Fraser's cock, and Fraser's fingers loosened in his hair.

When he stood up, Fraser pulled him close and kissed him, his tongue moving firmly into Ray's mouth. He pushed a hand against Ray's dick, pressing hard against his jeans.

"I want you to --" Fraser broke off. Ray breathed in the breath he breathed out. And then again. And then again. Sometimes he made Fraser say it. Sometimes he just wanted to hear the word "fuck" come out of Fraser's mouth. Sometimes he just felt like being an asshole.

"Yeah," said Ray. "Yeah." He pulled his arms out of his jacket and dropped it on the floor. He unbuttoned his jeans -- ahhhhh -- and pushed them down, toed off his shoes, stepped out of his pants and shorts. Fraser was already naked, climbing onto the bed, pulling lube out of the nightstand.

Ray walked over to him, pulling off his shirt and tossing it on the floor before climbing onto the bed. Fraser was opening the lube, spreading his legs, putting a pillow under his hips, and Ray's breath caught in his chest. It was so fucking hot. Fraser was so fucking hot.

He might have moaned a little, but Fraser wouldn't tell anyone, and Ray was pretty sure Dief couldn't hear them all the way out in the living room.

"Wait," said Ray, and moved Fraser's lube-covered fingers away. He bent his head, then changed his mind and laid down on his stomach. He was far enough down the bed that when he straightened his legs, they angled down and his toes touched the floor. He twisted a little, and moved Fraser's hpis a little, and then licked him, his tongue depositing moisture, covering up the bitter taste, but only a little. Ray wriggled his tongue inside, loosening Fraser, and rubbed his stubble against Fraser's inner thighs and his ass, and Fraser moaned and moaned and moaned -- Ray was pretty sure his name was in there somewhere, although mostly Fraser was moaning about God.

That's right, baby -- sleep with Ray Kowalski, and you'll see God.

**

Ray moved his own hand to Fraser's and rubbed their fingers together to get the lube onto his fingers. The weird wet slick slippery feeling was always weird. He moved one finger into Fraser, slowly, and then another, and then another.

His dick rubbed against the bedspread. He moved his hips a little, liking the friction. He was hot, but not so hot that he was gonna come fast, which was good. He was gonna stretch this out. It would be the best thing ever and the worst thing ever all at the same time.

Fraser opened real easy, real wide. Ray rolled on the condom Fraser handed him, lubed it up, then added more lube, and a little more, just for good luck, and slid right in. Fraser's whole body convulsed and he choked and said, "AahhhhhhHHH!"

**

Ray concentrated on everything but Fraser's body under him. He concentrated on holding Fraser's knees to his chest. He concentrated on not losing his balance. He concentrated on counting Fraser's eyelashes and fucking him slow. He concentrated on biting Fraser's neck and fucking him fast. He concentrated on the way the bedspread slid under his knees and the way Fraser braced a foot against his thigh and dug his toenails into Ray's skin and the way they got sweaty and slid against each other.

He fucked Fraser until sweat was dripping into his eyes and Fraser's body had gone limp and Fraser's head was shaking back and forth on the pillow. He fucked Fraser until Fraser stopped being able to form words, until all that came out of his mouth was wails, long keening sounds that raised all the hair on Ray's body and gave him chills.

And then he thought about Fraser underneath him, and how the next day was Thursday, the day they usually hooked up for lunch and then crime fighting -- or, at least, holding open doors for little old ladies and helping blind men cross the street. He thought about how they lived together and how Fraser didn't care that Ray saw him laying naked on the bed and crying while Ray fucked him, and that was it, Ray was gone, out of control, coming his fucking brains out, falling on top of Fraser, sweat sticking their bodies together.

**

Ray managed to get the condom off, and walk on rubbery -- hardee ha ha -- legs to the bathroom, and clean up. He cleaned Fraser up a little too, but just dropped the washcloth onto the floor, and collapsed onto the bed.

"Ray," said Fraser in a low, dark voice.

"Fraser," said Ray, and then yawned.

"Kiss me please," said Fraser, so Ray turned onto his side and kissed Fraser until he fell asleep.

**

Ray woke up at three in the morning, starving to death. Plus, Dief was whining.

"This is why we got a house with a backyard," said Ray angrily. "I don't care if you're offended by the doggy door. Call it a wolf door and call it a day."

He refused to take Dief out on principle, especially since Dief'd peed on the GTO that morning.

Ray drank half the carton of orange juice and watched an episode of Star Trek and ate some kind of stew Fraser'd left in the fridge, without bothering to heat it up. Not bad. Too many carrots.

**

Ray woke up late. Fraser had already showered. And made coffee, best man alive. Ray drank two cups while he showered, and a third while he got dressed, and a fourth before he ran out of the house.

**

Nobody got killed or maimed that morning and nobody got slapped when they went out for Chinese for lunch, and there weren't no blind men to help across the street, and there weren't no old ladies who needed help carrying groceries. They wandered around Chicago all afternoon, and all they did was braid some little girl's hair, and shoot some hoops.

On the way home, Ray said, "You going into the closet tonight?" and Fraser looked at him out of the corner of his eye a little bit, and then looked out the window. "Well?"

"No, not tonight," said Fraser, and Ray felt his dick jump a little.

"Oh yeah?" said Ray.

"Yeah," said Fraser, and then he looked at Ray, and put his hand on Ray's thigh, and Ray almost ran a stop sign.