Thanks: Many thanks to Sage for beta
Notes: For SD Wolfpup
Ray let the men's room door bang shut behind him. Christ, it was 4.30am. No point going home now—he'd only get there in time to shower and come back again, and anyway, they still hadn't found Katy Hepburn so he couldn't leave yet. He needed to clear his head, though. He yanked his tie loose, stripped off his shirt and hung them both over the cubicle door, and then went to the row of sinks and sluiced cold water on his face.
The door opened and Fraser came in looking tired but relieved. "They found her. They're taking her to the hospital, and there's a patrol car bringing the Cooper brothers in now."
"Thank God." Ray braced his arms on the cold porcelain and sagged against the sink, his face still dripping. "Is the girl okay?"
"She has a fractured arm and a mild concussion. She'll be all right," said Fraser. He caught Ray's eye in the mirror, concerned. "You should go home."
"Yeah." They'd both been working nearly twenty hours. Ray swiped some paper towels from the dispenser and wiped his face, but didn't move away. Too tired.
"Ray, is that a birthmark?" Fraser was looking at his chest in the mirror. When he saw Ray watching him, he looked away.
"Yeah, Benny," Ray told him. "I have a black and red birthmark shaped like a Mountie and a wolf. That's why I didn't become a stripper when I had the chance."
Fraser raised his eyebrows, a picture of innocence. "I beg your pardon."
"Stripper, Fraser." Ray balled up the paper towels and lobbed them into the trash. "People who take off their clothes for money. I don't do that."
Fraser leaned back against the cubical, next to Ray's shirt, and folded his arms. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow. Ray caught a glimpse of his forearms in the mirror, and shut his eyes, briefly. "You have a picture of—a Mountie on your chest?"
Ray sighed and turned to face him, folding his arms right back. "Yeah, I got attacked by a preschool graffiti artist, Dolores. She got marker pens for her birthday."
"Ah." Fraser smiled faintly. He'd met Ray's nieces and nephews before. "And she drew a Mountie."
Ray refused to get embarrassed. It was perfectly innocent, a kid drawing her uncle's work partner. He stuck his chin in the air and pointed at Fraser. "She drew you, all right? Yeah. Me and you and the wolf."
"I see," said Fraser, nodding. "She drew us on your chest."
"Yeah." There were five feet of space between them, but all of a sudden Ray felt crowded and hot. He had to get his clothes and get out of there. Go home and get some sleep. He stepped forward to get his shirt. "She was sitting on my lap, and she just started—they're not bad, as stick figures go." He paused with the shirt halfway onto his shoulders. "You wanna see?"
Christ, where had that come from? Why couldn't he learn to keep his big mouth shut? Good thing Fraser was a Mountie, and even after a year and a half in Chicago he still couldn't tell a come on when it whacked him on the nose.
"Indeed," said Fraser, mildly, and then his voice softened. "Although, perhaps here isn't the best place."
"What's the matter?" Ray finished pulling on his shirt, wondering how far he could push it without Fraser cluing in. "You worried someone's gonna walk in and find us taking our clothes off?" He looked up from buttoning his shirt. Fraser's face was as innocent as ever, but there was a spark in his eyes. For the first time, Ray wondered if he knew. "I mean, not like that," he added quickly. "Not like we were doing anything."
"Ray—" Fraser handed him his tie.
Ray took it and slung it around his neck. "Forget it, Fraser."
And Fraser—Fraser cleared his throat. "I'd prefer not to. Has Dolores been drawing Mounties a lot lately?"
Ray was all dressed now, but he was still stuck: couldn't move forward, couldn't move back. Stuck in this horrible deadzone where everything meant too much or too little, and he couldn't tell Fraser what he really felt without risking the whole world coming crashing down. "Dolores?" he said. "No, mostly pigeons and cats and a couple of trees. Why?"
"Ah." Fraser pushed off the cubicle wall and just stood there, watching him steadily.
"Don't do that, Benny. You know it makes me crazy." Ray ran his hand through his hair, scratched the back of his head. "What ah?"
Fraser pursed his lips, then stepped forward. "Well, generally small children draw the same subject over and over," he said, "so it's curious that Dolores chose to depict a Mountie, a police officer and a wolf on your chest and not, say, a cat or a pigeon." His eyes flicked down to Ray's chest like they could see through the thin cotton of his shirt, and then back again.
Ray shook his head and turned toward the door. "Yeah, well, maybe she asked me what to draw and I told her," he said casually. "You think of that?" He put his hand on the door handle.
"May I see, Ray?" asked Fraser from close behind him.
Ray looked back over his shoulder. "I only just put my shirt on. I'll show you later," and he'd meant that to come out gruff, but instead it came out breathless.
Fraser licked his lip, and Ray was close enough he could see the sheen of saliva, could almost taste it, and then Fraser put one hand on Ray's shoulder and turned him, backing him up against the door.
"Ray, I—" His voice caught. His eyes were full of heat and longing, and this was a lot, a lot to handle, but Ray was a man who could handle pretty much anything when it came to Fraser. The look on Fraser's face reached inside Ray and squeezed him tight, and something clicked or went ping or snapped, and then just like that it was easy.
"I know," he told Fraser. "I know." He grabbed the tan shirt of Fraser's uniform and tugged him close till he could feel Fraser's breath on his lips.
"Are you—?" Fraser's lips hovering just out of reach, but Ray didn't lean forward. He had to let Benny take this last step. They had to meet in the middle.
"I'm whatever you want me to be, Benny," he whispered. "Partner, friend—more. Whatever you want." And then Fraser's lips brushed his, and Ray's eyes fell shut, and Christ, Christ, he slid his arms around Fraser's shoulders and held him, held them together.
Fraser slid his tongue into Ray's mouth, pushy and possessive, and Ray let him, would've let him do anything. He took half a step back, dragging Fraser with him, and then he was leaning on the door and Fraser was leaning on him, and they were tight up against each other, hot and hard. Fraser's hand skimmed his waist, his hip, and Ray was starting to sweat—
The door jolted, knocking their heads together.
"Hey!" said someone outside.
Ray broke the kiss, his chest heaving, turned his head and shouted, "Hold your horses! Hang on a minute!"
Fraser buried his face in Ray's neck, and Ray had to sink his fingers into his hair and somehow, with a superhuman effort, pull him away. "Not here."
"No," agreed Fraser, though he looked dazed and red-lipped, and like he couldn't hear what Ray was telling him. His gaze fixed on Ray's mouth.
"Come on," said Ray. He kissed Fraser's cheek. "Come on. I'll drive you home."
"All right." Fraser took a deep breath and stepped away, and Ray could see him forcing himself back into focus.
"And, you know, if you invite me up, I could show you my etchings," Ray offered.
"Dolores' etching," said Fraser, shooting him a hungry look. "Yes."
"Yeah, Dolores' etching," said Ray. "Come on." He opened the door and dragged Fraser by his shirtsleeve, past the tired-faced nightshift desk sergeant who was waiting to come in and use the bathroom, and outside to the Riv.
They stopped and looked at each other, and Ray struggled with himself whether to launch himself at Fraser there and then, but managed to unlock the car instead and then he stopped. "Forgot your hat."
Fraser shrugged and got into the car. "It's not important. I'll get it tomorrow. Come on."
"I'm honoured," said Ray, dryly, and slid behind the wheel. "Taking precedence over your hat? That's—that's really something."
"Ray?" said Fraser, his face shadowed, his voice dark.
"Yeah?" Ray put the key in the ignition and waited.
Fraser gripped his shoulder. "Shut up and drive, Ray."
Ray laughed, and peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing. "You got it, Benny. We're on our way."