Entry tags:

author: isis, fraser/kowalski, fraser/vecchio, vecchio/kowalski

Eclipsed, by Isis (isiscolo)
Title: Eclipsed
Pairing: Um. Sort of Fraser/RayV, sort of Fraser/RayK, sort of Ray/Ray.
Rating: NC17
Author: Isis (isiscolo)
Summary/Story Notes: Fraser returns to Chicago to find Ray Vecchio gone, and a stranger in his place. Some dialogue taken verbatim from the first two episodes of S3. Thanks to malnpudl and beledibabe for beta.
Prompt: 1. Fraser/Fraser's right hand - imagining his two Rays together (before they ever meet in CotW).

My heart beats faster as I climb the pole to take the call from Chicago - not from the exertion, but from excitement. Of course I'm enjoying being back in Canada, out in the wild and open country that I love so well. As a place, Chicago has nothing to compare with the Northwest Territories. But Chicago has one thing Canada doesn't have, and my heart swells with anticipation as I connect the telephone. "Hello, Ray?"

"Hey, Benny," says a familiar voice, and I smile for a moment as the pure pleasure of hearing him again sweeps through me. "How's the vacation going?"

"It's everything a Mountie could ask for, Ray. Lots of fresh air, plenty of exercise. How are things in Chicago?"

"Well, you know, Benny. Chicago's Chicago." Then his voice changes subtly. Maybe someone else wouldn't notice, but I do. I barely hear him say that he might not be able to pick me up; I'm listening to his tone, to the nuances that tell me unmistakably that something is wrong.

But I hear what he says next, and it sends a chill down my spine. "We have this thing called friendship," he says, his voice catching oddly on the words, and suddenly it all becomes clear. Somehow Ray has guessed my secret, a secret I'd guarded as carefully as I could from everybody, but most especially from him.

My thoughts race in circles. Had I been too unguarded when I'd said goodbye? Had my correspondence betrayed my thoughts? Or had he simply applied to me the skills he used in analyzing the motives of others, and discovered the truth? I wait for his next words, hardly daring to breathe.

"You understand that, uh, I will be in touch," he says.

"As a friend?" I say carefully. Surely Ray wouldn't deny our friendship, even over a matter such as this.

"Yeah, Benny. As a friend."

I disconnect the telephone. He knows. He knows that I think of him as more than a friend. That I…want him as more than a friend.

Over the past year, as I had come to realize my feelings, I had done my best to hide them, certain that Ray would feel uncomfortable if he knew. I had no intention of jeopardizing our relationship. Even if it wasn't everything I would have wanted, in an ideal world, it was enough. I was content - more than content - with our friendship.

But if Ray had guessed, then our friendship might be at risk. I would have to be cautious, when I returned to Chicago; I'd have to reassure Ray that despite what I felt, I'd never act on those feelings.

Even though late at night, in the darkness of my room, I sometimes imagine Ray's face, his hands, his body.... It is shameful, perhaps. But it is less shameful than allowing my desires to destroy our relationship. And Ray need never know.

It will be difficult and embarrassing, but it must be done: when I return to Chicago, I'll talk to Ray. We'll get this - this misunderstanding - straightened out.

---

But Ray isn't in Chicago. Oh, there's someone at his desk, someone who calls himself Ray Vecchio, a blond man who inexplicably hugs me and smiles broadly and casually slides himself into the driver's seat of Ray's beloved automobile. But he isn't Ray, isn't my Ray, even though everyone at the police station treats him as such.

Still, it is exhilarating to be working with someone again, to be pitting our wits and courage against the criminals of Chicago. Even if it involves an unscheduled dip in the lake they call Michigan. But I can't help missing Ray, my Ray, the real Ray. The Ray with whom I worked together seamlessly, the Ray who never hesitated to support me when I needed help. My best friend. The man with whom, although I would never dare admit it, I am in love.

And somehow he has guessed. Perhaps it frightened him, perhaps it disgusted him, but for whatever reason, he has left Chicago, leaving a pretender in his place.

Then Miss Garbo pulls out a gun, and the impostor Ray jumps in front of me, shielding me with his own body, and the world turns upside-down.

"Ray," I call urgently. "Ray! Ray!" My God. He took a bullet for me. He doesn't even know me, and yet he did this for me. The real Ray Vecchio would have done it without question, but this man, this blond man who calls himself Ray…

…is grinning, and sitting up. "You called me Ray," says the impostor, revealing his bulletproof vest.

I deny it - say it was the heat of the moment, a slip of the tongue, and what else could I call him? I know he isn't my Ray, but he is a Ray, I suppose.

Back at the station, Lieutenant Welsh clarifies things for me. I am given to understand that Ray Vecchio is on an undercover assignment, and for reasons the Lieutenant chooses not to explain at this juncture this other person is, so to speak, acting the role of Ray Vecchio. And I am requested to go along with the charade.

Very well, I decide, I can do that. I can work with this false Ray. We will pretend to be friends, as the situation requires, and perhaps in time we will truly become friends. But my heart would belong to only one man - the real Ray Vecchio.

---

Or at least, that's what I tell myself. And perhaps I believe it. Until later that night, when I am alone in the Consulate, lying in a cot in my office - my apartment building was burned to the ground, and I need a place to sleep - and my thoughts turn, as they frequently do, to Ray. How I miss his presence here. How I miss…him.

I slide my underwear down and begin to stroke myself as I build my fantasy.

Ray, coming up behind me to take me in his arms, nuzzling against my shoulderblades. "Benny," he whispers in my ear, his voice dark and liquid. "I've been thinking about you, too." One of his hands slides down my chest, long, strong fingers moving down to touch me in an intimate caress. I tilt my head back and moan, shaping my hand around my erection, imagining his lips, his hands. Despite the rough linens of my bed I can almost feel the silk of his shirt against my naked back.

"God, Benny," he says, there in my imagination; then he curls around my body, lips and fingers tracing hot paths across my skin until his mouth finds my erection, and oh, I am hard, I am ready, I want it so much. My hands reach for the spikes of his hair…

My God. My hand stills on my shaft. I am not - I could not be - it is not possible that I am thinking of the man I met only today, the man who pretends to be but is not, will never be, my Ray.

But I am thinking of both of them. My dark Ray, intense and loyal, who knows me better than anyone, whose bullet I still carry in my back; and my blond Ray, mercurial and enigmatic, who despite having just met me took a bullet to save me. I want them both.

And then the sudden image of the two of them, together, comes into my mind. The thought of either of them touching me makes me ache with desire; the thought of both of them touching me, no, touching each other - my cock leaps suddenly under my hand, and I shiver, helpless with want.

Perhaps Ray would return from his assignment, stride into the station, see the imposter at his desk and pull him angrily out of the chair that is supposed to be his. He would drag him into the supply closet and press his body hard against…

…no, no, we would be on a case, and Ray and I would be racing around a corner and suddenly, before us would be the real Ray Vecchio; and I would gasp, seeing him, and the other Ray's eyes would go dark with jealousy, pin him to the wall, take him hot and fast…

…no, they would meet in an anonymous hotel room, an assignation with pleasure its sole purpose, their identities withheld even from each other, just two bodies, one dark and one pale, entwining like yin and yang…

…no, it doesn't matter how they meet, how they come together. All that matters is that they are there, together in a room, in my imagination. The man who now calls himself Ray kneels in one graceful movement at the feet of the other, licks at his cock, lets his hands trail across the sprinkling of dark hair on his thighs and slide between his legs as he takes him into his mouth. Ray's fingers tighten in those improbable spikes of blond hair. His head falls back, his eyes close. A moan escapes from his mouth. A moan escapes from mine.

Perhaps he is thinking of me.

Perhaps both of them are thinking of me.

And that does it: picturing one Ray gasping my name at the height of orgasm, the other pretending that I am the one coming in his mouth, both of them imagining me, both of them in my imagination, my own hand moving on my own cock and the only voice my own, crying out as I twist and shudder and spill across my own skin.

In the dull and quiet aftermath of my release, both Rays are gone. Instead I am again in my office, on my cot, alone. Alone. Of course I am alone. I am being foolish in my fantasies, but I will not put them aside, because they are all I have. All I will ever have. My own hand, and my fantasies.

---

"May I ask you something?" says Ray - or, rather, as I have just learned, Stanley Raymond Kowalski. "Do you find me attractive?"

Maybe my fantasies are not so foolish, after all.