Fraser took Ray's wrist and dragged him behind the house. The air was full of smoke—not nice woodsmoke, but the chemical taste of burning paint and plastic, and the ruin of a home. Fraser stopped by the back door, out of sight of the road and the firefighters, and turned to Ray. "Kiss me."
"What?!" Ray felt his jaw drop.
Fraser lifted his chin and looked Ray right in the eye. "Ray Vecchio would," he said.
"You're kidding me," said Ray. "You—we—uh, we do that?"
Fraser shook his head. "He would have—if I'd asked."
"You never asked, huh?"
"I never asked him." Fraser was still staring at Ray with those intense blue eyes.
Ray felt something uncurl in the pit of his stomach. "You mean me. You never asked me."
"I'm asking you now." God, he was serious.
"And this would satisfy you that I am who I say I am?" Ray took half a step closer, taking the measure of the Mountie, wondering what the hell he was getting himself into.
"I don't know." Fraser sounded honest, and kinda bleak.
Ray blinked a couple of times. Then he nodded once, and leaned forward slowly until his lips were pressed against the Mountie's hot sooty mouth. The earth slid away from beneath them. Ray lifted his hands to grab Fraser, to hold onto something, but he couldn't, he just couldn't, so he held them there instead, touching the air around the other guy. And then Fraser's mouth opened, and Ray's eyes fell shut, and this wasn't just a kiss anymore. It was a fucking declaration.
Ray pulled away slowly, and looked at the Mountie. Fraser's face was flushed and he was breathing heavily. His mouth was wet, and so were his eyelashes. "Ray," he said.
"Yeah," said Ray. "That's me." And for the first time, he wished it was true.