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For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture, Constable Benton Fraser could not sleep. This
wasn't his normal "200 thoughts chasing each other like snow maddened caribou" insomnia. No. This was
pure, simple, "My ceiling only has three cracks and I've counted them 384 times and they still look
quite distinct, thank you kindly" insomnia.
He finally gave up the ghost at 1:28AM and started prowling the consulate in search of menial tasks that
could possibly aid in his quest for sleep while still fulfilling a useful service. When those had been
done, he grabbed the nearest manual that he had yet to read and started in. It happened to be the manual
for the new voice mail system the consulate had switched over to a month ago, something with which he
was not at all familiar.
Turnbull handled the phones, and Turnbull never called in sick. It was a simple, if flawed train of
logic which had worked perfectly well until he was attempting to negotiate the system himself. So he
found himself pressing odd combinations of buttons on the phone in his office, attempting to see if
there was any stored voice mail in the system. If there was, it was likely that Turnbull had managed
to lose it, and it might be of interest. At least, that's what he told himself. It took four attempts
before the system accepted his entry as the correct combination of keys to reach voicemail.
Perseverance paid off; life had taught him that. The mechanical female voice relayed good news.
"There is one stored message."
He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't really thought Turnbull would lose one, but perhaps he had been
putting too much faith in him of late.
"To play this message, press one. To skip this message, press three. To delete this message, press
seven. To return to the previous menu, press pound. To exit the system, press star."
He pressed one.
"First stored message, dated January 20, 1999." He raised his eyebrow a bit higher. The message was
almost three weeks old.
"Hey Turnbull, it's Detective Vecchio. Was just calling to see if this new voice mail system was working
yet and -" There was a beep and the sound of fumbling. Fraser's eyebrow was now approaching his hairline.
He'd not received a message from Ray? This might be important. He sat up a bit in his chair, fully
awake.
The message resumed, "Ray?" Fraser blinked. That was Constable Turnbull's voice. But he never
addressed him as Ray, even though the detective had made numerous entreaties to that effect.
"Ren? Oh good, I was worried you'd gone out to lunch or something. Never know, you know?" Ren? He
wasn't aware that Ray had known Constable Turnbull's first name. This was getting more surreal by the
moment.
"Yes, I'm here. I am at lunch, but I took it in the back office. Aren't you supposed to be on duty?"
Ray's grin was apparent through the phone. "I'm sitting here, in my GTO, watching a building slowly
bake in the non-existent sun. So sue me, I'm bored."
Turnbull's breath caught a bit. "Bored, you say? And you think I can be of some assistance?"
"Ren it’s been for-ever..." Ray whined. "I’m in some serious need of relief here, and I don’t think I
can wait until tonight, if you follow."
Turnbull was quiet a moment. "I suppose I might be able to assist you in that manner. How would you
suggest we go about this?"
Ray chuckled, a dark sound. "Why don't you tell me what you're wearing? We can go from there."
Fraser's hand shot up and he smoothed out his left eyebrow. This was not what it sounded like. Surely
there was an innocent explanation.
Turnbull's voice dropped in pitch. "Well, I just came off guard duty a bit ago, so I'm wearing my
serge. My hat's on the table. Everything's laced and buttoned up."
"Well, we can't have that, can we? Defiling the uniform is some sort of crime, isn't it? You're going
to start by taking off the leather. All of it. Even the boots."
"But Ray, I’m on duty. It would be neglectful of me to be out of uniform. And, isn‘t it immoral to be
using the consulate‘s phone system this way?"
"Ren, you said you’d help me out here. And you’re just as responsible for the dry spell since last
time as I am. I didn’t get sent to Ottawa for a training session over the weekend. Are you going
back on your word?"
"But... But..." He sighed loudly. "Oh, very well. At least Inspector Thatcher is out at a meeting,
and Constable Fraser was rather engrossed in paperwork when I saw him last, and..."
"All right then..." There was the sound of rustling. Ray waited until it had quieted, then continued
his instructions. "Now, I want you to unbutton the serge, one button at a time. Imagine I'm standing
in front of you, watching. Tell me what I'm seeing as you take off the serge and pants."
"I have on a white sleeveless shirt underneath the serge. I've just finished unbuttoning and I'm
pulling it off, folding it and setting it on the filing cabinet. I'm sitting behind the spare desk in
my trousers. I open the top button and slide the zipper down." There was the sound of shifting and
leather faintly squeaking.
Fraser frowned. This had been happening just down the hall? He was going to have to speak with
Constable Turnbull about the proper definition of personal time and space. If he could find a way to
bring up the conversation tactfully.
"Fuck, Ren, you're in a leather chair?" Ray inhaled deeply. "Leather against your skin. Mmm. I'm going
to lean in and taste you, first a kiss. It's wet and deep and nasty, like I know you like it. I'm going
to let my tongue fuck your mouth, do you like that? Does it feel good?"
"Oh... Wonderful... I trail my hands down your chest, pulling your shirt over your head and exposing
your nipples. I break the kiss, moving down to suck on one at a time. They really are quite delightful,
and they taste so good..."
Ray groaned. "I'm going to lean over and suck on your neck until it leaves a mark. One that's higher
than your collar. So everyone knows you’re *mine*. Then I'm going to drop to my knees and just breathe
on you. I won't even pull your shorts down, I'll just breathe right through them. Because I know it
makes you crazy, and that's how I want you. I want you panting, moaning, sweating, ready to fuck me t
hrough the wall. Because when I take you, I'm not going to last. That's what you do to me. God." He
groaned again.
Fraser found himself breaking into a sweat as he listened, images forming in his head without conscious
thought. He told himself it was wrong, that these were his friend and co-worker. He should just put the
phone down and go back to sleep. Instead, he found himself reaching down and adjusting his shorts to
make himself more comfortable.
Turnbull was having trouble breathing on his end. "Ray, please. I need..."
Ray's voice was soft, gentle. "What do you need?"
"Please. It's been a week and a half. I'm not going to last long. Tell me what you're going to do
tonight, when you're off duty and I come to your apartment and it's just the two of us. Are you going
to take me?" Hitched breath from Ray's end. "Against the wall, as we did that one time two months ago?"
A moan from Turnbull's side. "Or maybe on the kitchen table, where I took you so hard you were sore the
next day and I had to carry you into the bedroom..." Fraser's erection was growing painfully hard,
and his breath was coming in short pants at the vivid scenes his mind conjured up. He held his breath
as he listened to Turnbull continue. "Maybe I should take you, on the couch, or in the bedroom...
Maybe I'll use your handcuffs like you've been begging me to..."
There was a strangled yelp from Ray's end. "Christ. I'm going to grab you the minute you walk in the
door and drag you into my bedroom. I'm going to kiss you until you can't think, can't breath. Then I'm
going to strip you. Fast, not neat, because I know you hate it. You better be in civvies or I'm taking
a knife to your boot laces, you hear?" A moan from Turnbull was confirmation enough. "Then I'm going to
lay you on your back, spread you wide, and slide my fingers in. One at a time, until you're ready for
me. And then I'm going to slide in, nice and slow. I might kiss you. I might not. But then I'm going
to fuck you hard enough that if it's another week and a half, you'll still feel it. I'll be thrusting
so deep inside you," He groaned, "God, yes, just like that. I'll make you come so hard you'll pass out.
You with me, Ren? Fuck, yes... yes... YES."
Ren's answer was a satisfied groan. Fraser sat there in his office, flushed and aching for release. He
looked around wildly, hoping desperately that his father wouldn't choose now to make an appearance.
On the message, the two parties were collecting themselves and saying their goodbyes.
"God, that was good. We should do that more often."
"Yes, I heartily agree. Although it is a bit inconvenient to find uninterrupted private time at the
consulate. Perhaps next time, an evening session?"
"But where's the fun in that? Although, about evenings... You are still coming over tonight, right?"
"Of course. Shall I pick up Thai?"
"Umm, is that the stuff with raw fish? Fraser tried to feed that to me once, didn't go over so well."
Fraser winced. He was surprised at the mildness of the skepticism in Ray's voice. Didn’t go over well
was a bit of an understatement. The rice in Ray's sushi had been prepared with bad vinegar, and he'd
ended up unable to keep anything down for close to 24 hours. He'd only avoided a similar state through
the luck of ordering sashimi, a dish served without rice. Ray had been convinced it was the fact that
the fish was raw that made him sick, and nothing would change his mind.
"No, Ray, Thai food is thoroughly cooked. I will pick up an assortment. Seven o'clock?"
"Seven it is. I'll call if an emergency comes up at work, but I should be fine tonight."
There was a beep.
"Message complete. To save this message, press four. To erase this message, press seven. To return to
the previous menu, press pound. To exit the system, press star."
Shakily, Fraser pressed four, and after repeating the menu again he pressed the star button and exited
the system before making his way over to his cot. His mind was still filled with the images inspired
by the message. His breathing grew heavier, and he finally bowed to the overwhelming need for release.
He reached a hand down, and stroked himself to a quick and desperately needed completion. After he had
cleaned up and disposed of the tissue, his body calmed for the first time all evening. He lay back and
closed his eyes, ignoring the cracks above his head and the light from under the closet door and just
concentrating on breathing regularly again. Within moments he was asleep.
~ Finis ~
M'lyn gets a bundle of thanks for beta-ing this for me
at the last minute.
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