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See, I always wanted to get under that red suit. I knew there was more to Fraser than 'thank you' and 'please' and Inuit stories and I was right. There was a hell of a lot under that suit; Benton Fraser, RCMP was one kinky Mountie. Not, you know, the bad stuff. No pain, we already got plenty of that on the job. He didn't wanna be treated bad, or hurt anyone or stuff like that. But Nanook of the North isn't any vanilla flavored maple candy, that's for sure. I was good with that. I was down with whatever--hell, I was up for that.

The one thing he don't like is doing it in the uniform--any part of the uniform--and that was kinda of a bummer 'cause I like the boots. What he does like is being stripped down and naked when I still got my clothes on and he rubs himself all over me, groaning at the rasp of denim over his skin or licking my shoulder holster. Yeah, he don't like to wear his uniform but likes me in mine. He likes being rubbed--abrasion, he says--my hands or leather gloves or a twist of fur. Or best, when I scratch my nails over his skin--inner thigh maybe or down his back--and fuck if I don't nearly lose it every time myself. He writhes and gasps, too crazed to even talk and tries to hump anything he can reach. I draw my fingers up the back of his thigh, painting faint pink lines on that pale skin of his and he whines, squirming to get my hand where he wants it, which is everywhere. Makes him crazy, makes me crazy to watch him lose it like that and I have to climb up his body and fit my cock into him and let him fuck and fuck and fuck himself on me 'till we both come our brains out.

He really likes being touched. Anywhere, everywhere. Not so much of a surprise, really, when I thought of it. It wasn't like he got much touch in his life, so I was doing my best to make up for it. I had my mouth on the back of his knee one time, licking at that skin there--he's so fucking soft some places, I just gotta lick and bite and suck him--when he whispered that no one had ever touched him there before. No one. I start bawling like a kid and he freaks out, afraid he'd done something wrong. Then I laid him back out on the bed and kissed every damn inch of him, tears and spit everywhere and he was crying too, before I was done.

Touch was how I got through that red stop sign he wore, same as Vecchio did. See, Vecchio is Italian and Italians--they touch--hugs and kisses and slaps on the back. I figure that's why Vecchio and him are so tight. Not sex, no, but I gotta admit they got their own thing going, a different kind of duet. Made me kinda crazy but Vecchio is good at working people and he worked me good. It ain't love, we ain't exactly friends but I don't pull a fit when he comes by for a visit anymore. Maybe it's all the friendly slaps and hugs--I like getting touched too. And I like touching--especially Fraser.

From the start, it was all good, even with the serge. You know how many layers that thing has? Too fucking many. Here in Chicago he doesn't even wear the detachable lining that goes with the tunic, or the standard issue cold weather thermals. Fraser's been taking that thing off for years and it still takes him five minutes, minimum. Let me tell you, that's too long. But when he's finally out of it, skin all warm and usually damp-sweaty, it's good. I like the naked 'cause his body rats him out, tells me all kinds of things he can't tell me with his mouth. Sometimes he's so hot for me that I can watch the flush rise on his skin, following my fingers. He goes pink all over when we fuck, like even his blood wants to get closer to me.

So there he is, all silky smooth and shiny with sweat and that mouth open as he pants my name and it's no damn surprise that I've got such short fuse these days is it? Fraser could make a statue come and he can sure make me shoot just from watching him. Watching's what I like. He was shy about that, at first--me watching him--but he's getting into it. Sometimes he'll let me tell him what to do, how to touch himself, and I'll talk him through a jack-off session. Watching those hands work his own cock, two fingers in his ass, his knees hiked up so I can see everything, I don't need much else.

There's no one who'd be surprised at what he likes to do with his mouth. That kink is too big to hide behind the Mountie suit that's for sure. He'll put his mouth places I didn't think anyone would--and I'm pretty damn glad of that--that tongue is good for more than finding evidence at a crime scene. I quit being embarrassed about rolling over, hiking my ass in the air and having him lick my ass about the second time he made me come like that--screaming the house down the whole time. It's best for him if he's got something in his mouth when he comes. My fingers, my cock, my tongue--he wants to suck on something. Not, you know, that I mind.

So, Inspector Tongue and I got a thing going--the first time I called him that in public, he giggled so hard he had to go hide in the supply closet before someone thought he was having a seizure. Because, yes, the perfect Mountie has a stupid giggle. I guess the kinkiest thing we got going though, is the love thing 'cause there ain't no one who thought we'd ever make it. Including us. Because you know, we're like oil and water, fire and ice and I may be a poet on the inside but I'm not easy to live with on the outside. I'm not the kinda guy who likes to play sidekick to superman. I yell and throw things and I want my late mornings in bed and my coffee. Fraser's the kinda guy who's gotta be front and center and he's not so good on taking turns in playing follow the leader. And yelling scares him, makes him clam up and I think someone must have hit him somewhere in the past 'cause I seen him flinch when I go on a tear. I'd never hit him, though, never and he knows that. Reflex, I guess, but it still hurts . . . makes me feel like he don't trust me, after all this time. But he sucks it up and I suck it up and we get by. Sometimes fucking was all that held us together--even in the bad, really bad times, we always had great sex. But you can't fight karma and if we fight at work or over the fucking groceries, we still go home together most nights. We been doing that for ten years and if two crazy, fucked-up queer cop guys still together after ten years isn't kinky, I don't know what is. Good think Fraser's a freak. Good thing, I am too.

END (021705)