Ray threw himself down onto the couch. "Who steals potatoes?" he demanded.

"Ray, is anything else missing?" asked Fraser. He had been methodically going through Ray's cupboards, asking, "Ray, was there supposed to be sugar in this tin?" and "Ray, did you have much tea left in this box?" and "Ray, why is there only one clove of garlic in this Tupperware container in the back of your refrigerator?" until he realized Ray was just not Suzie Homemaker, damn it.

"Fraser, I don't know, okay? It's not like I ever pay attention to my groceries except for -- my coffee!" Ray leapt up from the couch and darted to the freezer, where he kept the real coffee, not just the freeze-dried stuff he drank when he was running late or didn't feel like waiting. "Damn it!"

"Ray," said Fraser reprovingly. Ray looked over -- Fraser was holding his hat in his hands, petting the brim. "Language."

"Sorry," said Ray. "But! My coffee!"

"Someone's been in your apartment," Fraser announced, like it was news.

"Yeah, Mr. Logic. Someone's been in my apartment. My coffee's gone, my potatoes are gone, and my apartment is a mess." Ray kicked the fridge, knocking off the old picture of him and Stella with their arms around each other and grins on their faces. He hated that picture anyway; he was wearing the ugly brown shirt Stella'd bought him and made him wear, and he looked like the poster boy for gay 80s America.

"Your apartment is always a mess." Fraser's fingers moved faster over the brim of his hat. Ray glared and snatched it away.

"Calm down, willya?" he said, and put the hat on the counter. Fraser grabbed it up again, ran his hand over the counter, and, deeming it suitably clean, put the hat back down. Ray rolled his eyes.

"The question now is --" Fraser began.

"Who'd steal a potato? Potatoes and coffee! That ain't even breakfast," Ray interrupted. "Man, Fraser." He slumped against the fridge. "I was gonna make pierogi."

Fraser raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay," Ray amended. "I wanted to make pierogi. I been putting it off cause I keep forgetting to buy the onions. And the cheese. And the sour cream."

"And the flour." Fraser wanted to smile, Ray could tell. Dumb Mountie.

"And the flour," Ray conceded, and slid down the fridge to the floor. He could feel a bunch of magnets digging into his back, and the picture of him and Stella was crushed under the toe of his sneaker. Good. He twisted his foot savagely and glared at the ground.

"Well, Ray, the question does remain -- who would want to steal your potatoes, and for what use? Was there something special about them, something making your potatoes particularly desirable?" Fraser leaned on his elbows on the counter, and not for the first time, Ray wanted to invite him to take off the damn red jacket already. It wasn't like Ray hadn't seen him out of the fucking uniform before, and he wasn't on duty anymore since it was the end of the day and --

Ray pulled his knees up to his chest and put his face between them.

"Nothing special about my potatoes 'cept I spit on 'em," said Ray to the floor.

"Did you really?" Fraser sounded surprised.

"Nah," said Ray, "but I thought about it. Anyway, it don't matter. We can just order out, and that way you'll even have something to bring to Dief."

"I thought we'd order out anyway, Ray, as you never actually have any food in your apartment." Now Fraser sounded amused. Ray glared harder at the floor.

"Fraser, you got a problem with my hospitality?" It sounded grumpier said out loud than it had in Ray's head.

There was a long pause, and then Fraser said carefully, "Your hospitality is always quite warm, Ray."

"Quite warm?" repeated Ray. He lifted up his head and stared at Fraser, whose face was red. "Quite warm?"

"Er. Yes, Ray. Quite warm. Very hospitable." Fraser licked his lower lip and ran a thumb over his eyebrow, and Ray figured that if he'd had the hat in his hands, he'd have rubbed all the felt off the brim by now.

"You know," he said slowly, "I guess I'm not really that hungry anymore."

"No? But, Ray, you were the one who insisted --"

"Yeah, I know what I said." Ray struggled to his feet, which wasn't as easy as he'd've liked. He figured there was nothing like sitting on cold linoleum to make a guy feel his age and then some. When he was finally standing, he twisted the picture of him and Stella under his foot again for good measure, and walked over to Fraser. He moved closer than was polite, got right up in the guy's personal space. All that twitching -- all afternoon he'd been twitching, but Ray had just thought it was finally getting out of the Consulate, after a whole morning of doing Thatcher's dry cleaning and talking to Turnbull and answering phones and making sure Dief didn't walk on that paw that the poodle had bit yesterday.

But uh-uh, this was a different kind of twitching, a kind Ray knew how to fix better than the other kind. Which, since it was his fault, was only fair that he fix. Ray was all about being fair, cause if he was fair first, maybe he'd get his potatoes back. And his coffee.

"Ray?" Fraser licked his lip again, and Ray moved closer.

"Why don't you relax?" he suggested, his face right up near Fraser's. "You relax and I'll relax and we'll be relaxed, and --"

Fraser stepped back.

"Aw, come on!" said Ray. He pressed his lips together, then pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the floor. Fuck it. "Fine, fuck it. You want this? Or have you been twitching cause of something else all day?"

Fraser was bright red again, his face matching his uniform. "Ray," he said in a low voice, looking everywhere but at Ray's bare chest. Ray took the opportunity to kick off his sneakers and unbutton the top button of his jeans. Oh yeah, baby, he was gonna go on the prowl. "Ray, I thought we'd agreed --"

"You agreed. With a Bible quote and everything," said Ray. He leaned into Fraser, undid another button of his jeans. The back of his hands brushed against the red serge and he pressed them into Fraserís stomach.

"I'm quite sure I never quoted from --"

"But I never said anything," Ray continued. "I never said anything, but now I'm saying something. So you wanna say something too?"

"We should really discover the culprit," said Fraser, and for a minute Ray thought Fraser was being metaphorical about their situation, until he remembered the fucking potatoes.

"Fuck the potatoes," said Ray, and pushed his fingers into the red serge even harder, unbuttoned the next button on his jeans, then the one below, then the last one. Fraser swallowed so hard Ray could hear it. He needed a shave, and he smelled sweaty. Ray slid his hand up under the red serge, touching Fraser's undershirt, feeling Fraser's stomach muscles quiver under his hand.

Oh yeah, fuck the fucking potatoes.

"Ray," said Fraser, and he sounded agonized, like he was dying.

"That ain't a good word to say right now unless it's followed by a big yes," said Ray, and crumpled Fraser's undershirt in his hand, pushed it up, and touched hot skin. He closed his eyes for a second -- yes, skin, yes, please. When he opened them, Fraser was staring at him, eyes big and dark.

"Ray, please, I can't -- I don't --"

"Shut up," said Ray. "You just shut up." He took his hand out from under Fraser's shirt, put it on Fraser's shoulder, pushed. He didn't figure Fraser would drop right to his knees, hands on Ray's hips, fingers pushed into Ray's skin and jeans. He pressed his face into Ray's stomach, and Ray swayed back on unsteady legs, twisted his body so he was completely leaning against the counter, and spread his legs. Fraser's face was still in his stomach, and the serge on Fraser's shoulders was scratchy under his fingers, the weird shoulder straps just as rough but also smooth.

Ray had a weird flashback for a second to the first time they'd done this, right after they got back from the Henry Allen thing, both of them smelling funny and feeling tired and Fraser's uniform looking less starchy than usual, Fraser looking less perfect than usual, them sitting side by side on Ray's couch. It had been a tight squeeze and Ray hadn't meant to let his hand fall onto Fraser's thigh -- but he had, and Fraser had turned his face, and Ray had turned his face, and they had been facing each other, and --

And Fraser said, "Oh, God, Ray," and kissed him, said, "Finally," over and over, and Ray just -- let it happen. After, sprawled on Ray's bed, sun shining through the window, making them warm, smelling like sex instead of sea water, Ray decided that they'd have to do it more often. The sex part, not the sea water part or the smelling part, but the part where Fraser sucked his cock and then he got to fuck Fraser, touch all his pale skin and push him into the mattress and make him cry, make perfect Fraser beg, make his hair stick up --

Fraser pulled Ray's jeans down, and sucked his cock down his throat all in one gulp. Ray's knees went weak, and he moved his hands from Fraser's shoulders to the countertop, closed his eyes, and groaned. "Aw, god, Fraser, take it -- yeah --" and Fraser sucked, and that was it for Ray, he came his fucking brains out, and Fraser swallowed it all, not even using his hands or anything, not even coming up for air.

Fraser pulled away, and Ray's knees gave way, and he sank down to the floor, letting his legs stretch out on either side of Fraser, who sat back on his heels.

"Hold on a minute, lemme catch my breath," said Ray, "then I'll do you."

Fraser carefully wiped his mouth with his fingers, but his lips were still glossy when he pulled his fingers away. "That won't be necessary," he finally said.

"What? Listen, I settle my debts," said Ray, but he couldn't work up the energy to stab a finger at Fraser to make his point. That man had a mouth on him, for sure.

"I am not a debt," said Fraser, and put his hands on his thighs and stood up. Ray looked up at him; it was just like last time, when Fraser had rolled out of Ray's bed and dressed himself quickly and said some bullshit about friendship and left. And that was it, really, that was the end, that was all she wrote.

"Hey, what is your problem?" Ray scrubbed a hand over his face, tucked his dick back into his pants, and struggled to his feet again. Damn it, he was too old for this bullshit, too tired, too sick of stupid fucking games like the ones he played to get Stella, and the ones he'd played to keep her, and the worst ones, the ones from after she was gone.

"Nothing at all, Ray," said Fraser briskly. He pulled firmly on his tunic to straighten it out -- man, he hadn't even unbuttoned the button at his throat -- picked up his hat, and tugged it down onto his head.

"Fuck that!" said Ray.

"Language," chided Fraser, but his heart wasn't in it, Ray could tell. He grabbed the hat off Fraser's head. "Give that back, please."

"No," said Ray, and put it behind his back. "Now you can't leave. What's going on?"

"Nothing," said Fraser resolutely. "Nothing at all. I'd like my hat --"

"You just blew me in my kitchen!" exclaimed Ray. "You are not getting back this hat -- Fraser, I am too goddamn old for this."

"You didn't seem too old for it a few moments ago." Fraser wiped his thumb real deliberately over the corner of his mouth, and then held his hand out. "My hat."

"Fuck that," said Ray, and tossed Fraser's hat over onto his couch. "I am not getting back onto that floor, Fraser."

"If that's a metaphor, I'm afraid..." Fraser held out his hands, palms up. Ray glared at him.

"Let's go," said Ray, grabbed the lanyard, that stupid white lanyard, and hauled Fraser into his bedroom, Fraser protesting the whole time.

"Ray, please, just give me my hat and let me leave -- I can't --"

"You can and you will," said Ray, feeling very grim. He pushed Fraser onto the bed, and set himself to unbuttoning the tunic. He got down to the last button and knelt to untie and unbuckle Fraser's boots, and tug them off. By the time he'd done that and stood back up, Fraser had buttoned his tunic back up to his chin. Ray swatted at his hands and unbuttoned the tunic again, concentrating fiercely.

"I can't," said Fraser helplessly. "Ray, we can't."

"We can, we will, we did before, we just did a second ago, and we are going to again, Fraser, so do not argue with me." Ray pushed up Fraser's undershirt. His nipples were hard. Ray didn't know anything about fucking guys, not really, but he knew a lot about bodies, cause he studied Stella's for a whole bunch of years, and hard nipples always meant one of two things: either Fraser was cold, or he was turned on. "You cold?"

"Well, there's a draft --"

"Shut up," said Ray, and kissed him. It was like kissing him the first time, except better, because this time Ray knew that Fraser liked to have his lips sucked on, chewed on almost, his nipples pulled, that if Ray ran his fingers over one spot on Fraser's neck, he'd shiver. He kept his fingers on that spot, rubbing, and slid his other hand down to Fraser's pants -- zipper, snap, button, buckle, fuck -- and then inside Fraser's soft boxers. Fraser's dick was hard. And wet. "Oh, thank god," he said fervently, and Fraser moaned into his mouth.

Ray pulled away, pushed Fraser, positioned him, and crawled onto the bed right near him. "I never done this before," he said, "so tell me if I'm doing this wrong."

"Ray," said Fraser, and it sounded like he was about to -- say something Ray didn't want to hear, probably.

"Forget it. On second thought, go back to shutting up," said Ray, and bent his head to Fraser's dick. It was weird to have it in his hand, but he'd done it before, jerked Fraser off -- embarrassingly clumsy, but he'd done it -- while he fucked Fraser, held him steady with a hand crossed over his chest.

Fraser smelled mostly the same, without the sea water -- dark, a little musky, a lot sweaty. Ray took a deep whiff and then licked the head of Fraser's cock. It was perfect, like everything else, had a little hood. Ray swiped his tongue under the flap of foreskin, ran it around the red head of Fraser's cock. He was wet, leaking steadily, and Ray lapped up the fluid. Salty, bitter, weird-tasting, but not bad. Not like Stella, but not bad.

Ray opened his mouth as wide as he could and slid down Fraser's cock until he choked, came back up for air. When he looked up at Fraser to see if there were any cues there he could use, Fraser wasn't looking at him, but staring at the ceiling, his mouth open, his chest heaving up and down. He didn't have a lot of hair, which was okay, cause Ray had enough for both of them, blond hairs all over his body. He looked kind of stupid -- Ray did, always, not Fraser. Fraser had a lot of scars, and was kinda lumpy in places, but he was -- perfect.

His arms were flung out to his sides, and he kinda looked like Jesus, which Ray knew was stupid, but he thought it anyway. Fraser wasn't Mr. Logic -- he was Mr. Martyr, always giving up what he wanted in search of justice or some mythical higher cause. Fucking idealist.

Ray bent his head back down, took Fraser's cock back into his mouth, steadied it with one hand and put the other on one of Fraser's scars, and tried to remember everything he knew about getting blowjobs -- what felt good, what hurt, what blew his mind. Everything Fraser did blew his mind, but sometimes Stella'd had to work hard to get Ray off. She always came easy, but Ray needed work, Ray needed to be played. Making it with Stella had always taken effort.

Whereas Fraser, apparently, could just breathe on Ray and Ray would come his brains out.

Ray licked around the head of Fraser's cock, licked down to where his hand was wrapped around it, then back up again. Fraser never moved, just lay perfectly still, and Ray worried as he licked. What if Fraser didn't really want this?

But he'd punched Ray before and maybe he'd do it again, and would Fraser really just lay there and take it if he didn't want it?

Ray's brain fought between thinking like that and thinking about how hot it was to have Fraser's dick in his mouth, to be sucking on it, to be able to do whatever he wanted to Fraser's body, to scratch the hair on his legs and pull roughly on his balls and comb his fingers through the hair on Fraser's belly, and yes, Fraser was moaning, so Ray twisted his fingers in the hair and tugged a little, and Fraser moaned again.

So hot. That was so hot. Ray was getting hard again, his dick pushing out of his jeans to leave wet marks on the bedspread, which was never gonna recover from the amount of spit and come already on it.

Ray lifted his head to take a deep breath and pushed his jeans and boxers down, kicked them off. He took Fraser's dick in one hand and his own in the other and wondered what it would feel like to push them together --

"Ray -- what?" Fraser pushed himself up onto his elbows, and Ray watched his face as he straddled Fraser's thighs and took both their dicks in one hand and slid them together.

"Oh, God, yeah," said Ray, and thrust a little. He probably looked pretty stupid from where Fraser was sitting, a naked middle-aged guy with crazy hair, but Fraser was still wearing his undershirt, and it was pushed up under his armpits -- and for a second Ray felt like a teenager again, groping Stella on her bed before her parents came home. Then Fraser's hips bucked under Ray, and he came back into the moment, squeezed their dicks together tighter, ran his hand up and down, reached underneath and grabbed Fraser's balls.

Fraser was moaning now, and his dick was leaking steadily, and Ray pulled back, pushed his dick under Fraser's, and hit that spot, the one between his balls and his ass that felt way too good, another spot Fraser liked to have licked --

Ray kept flashing back to the first time they did this, with Fraser on his stomach and Ray fucking him, and Fraser quiet, Ray gasping harshly into the silence. He'd never known, never even had a clue that it could be like this.

He started humping Fraser wildly, just going for it, kissing everyplace his face could reach -- Fraser's nipple, arm, shoulder, neck, mouth. Fraser's hands came up and held his face, held their mouths together; Fraser's legs came up and he humped Ray right back, strong hips and heavy thighs pushing against Ray from all different angles, Fraser's dick slapping against Ray's stomach, Fraser's thighs closing around Ray's --

It was too much, but it wasn't enough, and Ray moaned into Fraser's mouth, pulled away.

"Goddamnit!" swore Fraser. "Ray, please --"

"Shut up!" said Ray fiercely. He moved back again, put his mouth on Fraser's dick before he even grabbed his own, and swallowed until he choked, came up for air, and did it again. He kept one hand wrapped tightly around Fraser's cock, jacking him fast and hard, stroking himself in the same rhythm, and when he came, it was all over Fraser's thigh and the bedspread and his hand, so he rubbed his come into Fraser's skin.

"Ray," choked out Fraser. "I'm --"

Ray moved his mouth down and kept the rhythm going and then Fraser was coming in his mouth, down his throat, in pulses of thick, bland fluid. Ray swallowed it all, and then took a deep breath.

"Phew," he said when he let it out, and then felt pretty fucking stupid, but decided to pretend he didn't. His throat felt raw, and his hands were wet and sticky. He reached up and pulled a pillowcase off one of his pillows, balled it up, wiped the come and spit off his hands and Fraser's thigh and his mouth, then finally looked up at Fraser.

Fraser was staring at him, mouth red, nipples red, bite marks --

"Do not say a word," said Ray, and pointed his finger at Fraser. He flopped down next to Fraser -- who, of course, had the pillow with the case on it. But Ray bunched up his pillow under his head and scratched a little at his stomach, and sighed, and pretended for three seconds that everything was cool and it was all gonna be okay and that Fraser wasn't having some kind of weird panic next to him.

He took in one deep breath, and then another, and then said, "Okay, go."

"Ray," said Fraser, and then stopped. Ray kept his eyes shut tight, focused on Fraser lying next to him, the heat of his body and the way his undershirt was scratching just a little on Ray's arm.

Finally Ray said, "Yeah, Fraser?"

"Thank you."

"Fuck off," replied Ray, but he was totally fucking relieved. Totally. Fucking. Relieved.

"I didn't --" started Fraser.

"Nah, I know." Ray turned his head to look at Fraser, who was back to staring at the ceiling. But he was kind of smiling this time, so it was better. "You're not gonna get up and run away again?"

"Ostensibly, Ray, you're straight."

"Osteoporosis whatever, Fraser, I'm just a guy who likes to get laid by people he likes." Ray turned his body and propped his head on his hand, and put his other hand on Fraser's chest.

"So you like me?" Fraser put his hand over Ray's. It was sweating. Ray looked at their hands, then back up to Fraser's face.

"I guess so, even though you're a freak." Ray grinned at him.

"We should get up," said Fraser. He sat up, and Ray pushed him back down. He flopped back easily, so Ray knew he didn't want to get up any more than Ray did.

Ray moved closer to him, put an arm over his chest so he couldn't get up again. Hell, why not? thought Ray, and propped his chin on Fraser's chest too. From this angle, Fraser had some kind of massive double chin.

Then he said, "Why?"

"Someone stole your potatoes, Ray. And your coffee. That person must be found and brought to justice."

Ray yawned and stretched a little, and settled more comfortably into the warm length of Fraser's body. "Nah. Let 'em have the potatoes. Hell, let 'em have the coffee, too."