Title
Meghan Black, c. 1999

Disclaimer under duress: Due South belongs to Alliance, not me. I freely acknowledge that. I also freely play with their characters, namely Benton Fraser, Ray Kawolski and Diefenbaker the Wonder Wolf whenever I get a chance.

Latonya is evil...Latonya is wicked...This is all her fault. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. So there! Oh, and she was also my most willing beta reader.

Another Volpe Asylum Universe snippet to add to the pile. This one the morning after the er...dream. <eg> Just before the press conference. Ah guilt...the breakfast of champions.

All characters in this story belong to Alliance, except Volpe. We kinda feel like he's ours now. Rated R I suppose. I hate ratings.

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Fraser picked up the cup of tea and sipped at it, using the porcelain vessel as cover while watching Ray swirl runny yolks in his plate. Ray didn't look like he'd slept well, and that just reminded Fraser of his own nocturnal wakefulness. Had his partner actually heard him wake in the night, sheets twisted around his legs, damp with sweat and ...other things?

And that, of course, just made him blush. He knew this because he could feel the heat spreading up his neck and settling in his cheeks. And wouldn't Ray choose that moment to look up from his eggs and regard Fraser through bleary blue eyes? Fraser tried to act like he was eating, but the last things he wanted in his mouth right now were toast and eggs.

"How'd you sleep?" Now why would Ray ask that? Fraser resolved *not* to feel guilt over the erotic meanderings of his subconscious. Fraser set his fork down, cleared his throat and tugged at the color of his tunic.

"Very well, thank you, Ray. Had to be prepared for today, you know and a good night's sleep is essential to an alert mind." Fraser knew if his father were there right now, he'd tell him to quit babbling.

"And yourself? I trust the Consulate guest quarters were suitable."

The sleepy look in Ray's face was doing nothing to assist Fraser as he attempted to pull the cloak of professionalism and decorum tightly around his troubled psyche. In Fraser's mind, Ray in the morning was a ....

"Yeah, fine. Although I felt like the Queen was staring at me all night," Ray said with a smirk. This made Fraser smile too and he was mentally able to settle the cloak a bit more comfortably about his shoulders. He was feeling better.

They eased back into a silent regard of their respective eggs. Neither seemed to be terribly hungry. Ray had requested his over easy...so he could dip the toast into the yolks, he'd explained. Fraser's were poached, of course. They stayed, mostly untouched, on his plate.

Fraser hardly noticed Turnbull entering the small kitchen to fix himself a cup of tea, rambling as he was wont to do about the upcoming drama, as he put it, and what their respective parts would be. In the background of his thoughts, Fraser could hear Ray and Turnbull discussing how they would get the goons to give up their guns. He used the opportunity to watch Ray. The animated way he waved his hand, silver bracelet dancing around his wrist as he talked. Why had he never noticed the way those little lines at the corner of Ray's eyes deepened when he was so intent upon something?

And his mouth...when Ray spoke of the setup, taking way too much pleasure in the fact that they were going to snag one of the most crooked politicians in the state...yes, his mouth showed just a modicum of cruelty and it made Fraser shudder deliciously. Ray could be dangerous, of that he knew...just like Volpe. Fraser raised one hand to touch his lips where Ray had kissed him the day before...a confessional kiss. Where Volpe had devoured him in his dreams... a patently lustful kiss.

And did Fraser really know his partner? The question stunned him. After all, they had not really known each other that long in the grand scheme of things. How much was there about Ray that Fraser had yet to learn? What was important and what did not merit a second thought?

Unpredictable. Now there was an apt adjective for Ray Kowalski. From there, his thoughts pole-vaulted to something totally unexpected. What would Ray do if Fraser called him into his office/room, slammed Ray against the closed door and began ravishing him...kissing, feeling, rubbing, grinding, licking...? Just like Volpe had done to Fraser. How predictable would Ray be then? Would he beg Fraser to take him in his mouth, satify both their hungers...or would he sneer and tell Fraser he didn't need a pity fuck?

And why were Fraser's pants so uncomfortable all of a sudden?

But the damage was done and Fraser couldn't get the pictures out of his mind. Ray and Volpe, hot for each other, yet so different. Light and dark in heart and soul, melded into something resembling Creole coffee, half thick brown liquid that scalded your throat going down and half soft sweet cream that clung to your tongue like sueded silk.

Fraser and Volpe, carnal and lust-filled. Each feeding a hunger that had nothing to do with true feeling. No affection, no longing...just Fraser's vengeful need to taste what Ray has tasted. Feel what Ray had felt.

And finally...Ray and Fraser. Ray leaning over to kiss Fraser while admitting he'd been with another man the night before. Was it all a tease? Letting Fraser know he could have had what Ray had offered to Volpe...if he'd only asked? Fraser whimpered in his thoughts. He wanted so much more than that kiss.

Ah wicked wicked mind. Why do you taunt me so?

He knew he should be ashamed of the dream, the path his thoughts had taken this morning, his longing to feel the touch of Ray's lips on his again. But he still could not bring himself to feel guilt. He did not *want* to feel guilty. He only wanted Ray and Ray was standing, draining his coffee cup, a bundle of static energy dancing around him once more.

Fraser waited until both Turnbull and Ray had left the room before rising from the table himself and heading for his office. There were still a few things he needed to take care of before the press and police arrived.

The door firmly closed and locked behind him, Fraser began to undo the small brass buttons he'd so carefully fastened only an hour ago.

End


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