"I'm okay! I'm okay! I just need an aspirin!"

Doug Ross heard the shouting before the shouter was even through the swinging doors of Cook County Emergency. Oh, good--a live one.

"Fraserrrr! I'm all right! No no no--watch that foot!"

"Ray, I really think--"

"Quit thinkin'! Just-- It was you thinkin' got me into this mess!"

Doug looked up to see Carol Hathaway staring down the hall, mouth dropping open and eyes brightening at what she saw there. "Oh, my, go-o-o-od," she said.

"It's a Mountie," said Jeannie. "It's an actual Mountie!"

"Oh, wow." Carol started down the corridor. "Cute, too!"

Some ambling seemed to be in order: some casual strolling out of the cubicle with this really important chart he was perusing. Casual glance up--and, good god, it was a Mountie, all dressed in red, supporting a guy with an attitude and the mouth to go with it. Armani jacket--very nice. Must have set him back some.

"This is Detective Raymond Vecchio," the Mountie was informing Jerry, "of the Twenty-seventh Precinct. I believe he's sustained an injury to his third metatarsal--"

"I can talk, Fraser; I didn't sustain an injury to my mouth."

"Just trying to be helpful, Ray."

"Well, helpful me over someplace where I can sit down."

Oh, good, Carol was rushing right over with a wheelchair. Atta girl. Of course, every female nurse in the E.R. was congregating around the tall, blue-eyed Mountie. Must be the uniform.

"Hey!" said Jerry. "No pets!"

"Oh, he's adorable!" Carol was fussing over the big light-colored dog that had wandered in behind the Mountie and the cop. "Who's he belong to?"

"Me, actually, Nurse--ah--" The Mountie was craning his head to see her nametag. "--Hathaway. He's--ah--a wolf."

"A wolf!" Carol jerked her hand away. Everybody in the vicinity stepped back.

"He's actually very friendly. We've known each other quite a--"

"No. Pets," Jerry said again.

The Mountie looked dismayed. "I'm sorry! Diefenbaker--" Was he trying to catch the wolf's eye? "--Diefenbaker--" Yep: the Mountie bent and grabbed the wolf's muzzle so he could talk right to him, enunciating each word carefully. "--you can't be in here. You have to go outside."

The wolf looked at him for a minute, and then trotted through the swinging doors into the amublance bay.

"Does he really understand what you're saying to him?" asked Carol.

"Well, actually, he's--ah--deaf--"

"Hey--hey! Remember me? The patient?" Detective Vecchio seemed to be getting testy.

"Sorry, Ray," said the Mountie.

Doug found his feet going down the corridor to the desk, in his best saunter. Okay, paperwork done, now--

"I'll take him," he said to Weaver. He smiled at the patient, who arched his eyebrows. Nice eyebrows, and nice hazel eyes.

Doug found himself thinking about the eyes as they all crowded into the examining cubicle. Really nice eyes. Enough nose for two people, but the nicely shaped ears made up for it. And the long fingers. And the mouth. Lush mouth that made him think of some exotic fruit--

"What seems to be the trouble, detective?" Papaya--that was it. That kind of lusciousness.

"My foot got crushed."

"And the crusher would be--"

"A Lipizzaner."

"A--a Lipizzaner?"

"Ah, yes--a--um--a show horse." The Mountie was standing at attention or something at the foot of the examining table. "Famous for the leaps they make. Originally battle horses, trained to get their riders out of the way of weapons. Lovely animals; it's quite fascinating to watch them."

"What were you doing this close to a Lipizzaner?"

Detective Vecchio was lustfully eyeing Carol, who was lustfully eyeing the Mountie, who, lustfully eyeing no one, was the one who answered. "An investigation, actually, Doctor Ross. Ah--"

"Fraserrrr," the cop said warningly. The flash in those hazel eyes added life to the whole face.

Carol laughed.

"Well, let's see the foot in question." Typical tough-guy cop, turning two shades past white when Doug touched the foot, but he'd never let out a whimper. "Nice shoes," Doug said.

"Italian," Vecchio squeezed out between clenched teeth.

Doug took a closer look. "They're not--" He looked closer and started to laugh. "They're not those 'ugly-ass' Bruno Magli shoes, are they?"

Vecchio grinned at him--nice crinkles at the corner of his eyes--and then started to laugh. "Oh, yeah," he said.

"You're kidding!" said Carol; and they were all laughing at the idea of a cop wearing the brand of shoes that O.J. Simpson made infamous, when Doug made his move and slid the loafer off Vecchio's injured foot.

They almost lost him then, but Carol caught his arm and eased him down. "You okay?" she asked. "You sure?"

The "oh, yeah," was kind of breathless.

"We shoulda cut 'em off," Carol muttered to Doug.

Doug looked at the cop, who was looking back at him with some of the old attitude. "Shoes that expensive?" said Doug, and the cop grinned. "The sock we cut off." And the cop laughed. Nice laugh. Nice eyes. Really nice eyes.

Nice foot, too, under the hematoma and the swelling. But-- "Can we disarm this ankle?" asked Doug.

"Here, I'll--" The Mountie stepped forward, then hesitated. "Ah, perhaps I-- Well, I shouldn't actually--"

"Fraserrr," Vecchio groaned.

"But, Ray, I'm not allowed to--ah..."

"Problem here?" asked Doug.

"I'm not registered to carry a sidearm in this country," said Fraser.

"You're just holding it for me, Fraser. You're not using it."

"Good point, Ray. Well, then..." Fraser unfastened the ankle holster and held it between thumb and forefinger, as if making very clear that he wasn't going to shoot the gun inside. He went back to standing at attention or whatever it was.

"Why don't you wait outside?" Doug said as Carol settled the ice bag over Vecchio's foot. "Uh--officer--"

"Constable. Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP."

"Constable. Why don't you take a seat in the waiting area, and we'll call you when we're through here."

"I'll show you the waiting area," Carol said eagerly. "Was that really a wolf? How did he learn to read lips?"

When they had gone, Doug looked over to find Detective Vecchio looking at him. "He's Canadian," Vecchio said, as if that explained everything.

It didn't, but it was funny. Doug laughed as he went back to his examination.

It seemed quiet here, for a change, so they could talk low; and taking Detective Vecchio's medical history seemed like having a conversation with a friend. And, it was a real interesting history, especially with the cop's editorial comments. Funny guy. Even when Carol came back to do her thing, the sense of intimacy didn't fade much.

And all through the exam, he felt Vecchio's eyes on him, though the cop's face wasn't showing much.

"Well, Detective, the foot doesn't seem to be broken," Doug said when the x-ray came in, "but you better keep off it for a while. Maybe ride the horse instead of try to interview it." That made the hazel eyes crinkle again.

Great guy, Doug thought as he watched Fraser wheel Vecchio out of the E.R. Damn nice-looking, too-- He stopped that thought right in its tracks before he went in to look at the strep throat in 5.

"I'm okay, Fraser!" Geez, you'd think he'd been shot, or something.

"Yes, Ray, but human bites can be even more dangerous than animal bites."

Oh, god, they were back at Cook County again, and for some reason his heart was pounding a mile a minute.

"I thought he was an animal." There was that gorgeous Nurse Hathaway, but his heart didn't speed up when he saw her; she must not be the reason.... Only trouble was, the other reason his heart could be galloping along didn't make any sense at all. Not at all.

"Ray," Fraser said; and for a hideous minute Ray thought Fraser had read his mind. "Ray, he was a frightened four-year-old child; he simply--"

"He simply tried to chew my hand off. Fraser, that wasn't a four-year-old child; it was a barracuda with legs."

Fraser straightened and removed his hat. What the-- Oh. The nurse.

"Hey!" she said, going all bright-eyed at Fraser. "How's the foot, detective? Still wearing those expensive shoes?"

"Well--" he started, but nobody seemed really interested in the rest of that sentence.

"What can we do for you guys this time?" asked the nurse.

Oh, this was so embarrassing. So Fraser compounded it by speaking for him again. "Detective Vecchio has sustained a bite," he said, lifting Ray's hand so she could see it.

She winced. "Ow," she commented. Her deft fingers raised a corner of the gauze pad, and she winced again. Beautiful wincer. "Six-year-old?" she asked.

"Four," said Ray.

"Four?" She gaped at him. "Some four-year-old!" Smart, too; Ray was in love--

And just over her shoulder Ray spotted Dr. Ross--the one who'd examined him last time--and suddenly his heart started doing a lambada. Oh, damn, Vecchio.

"Detective Vecchio! How's the foot?"

Oh, god, he'd remembered Ray's name. "Fine, Dr. Ross. Doin' just fine." Except his knees were suddenly shaky.

"Whatcha got?" asked Ross.

"Human bite," said the nurse. "A four-year-old did this."

"Oooo. Some four-year-old!" Ross's hands were warm. "I can take you right now, detective. Not too busy. Come right over here."

So, Ray was coming right over there, following his injured hand, which Ross still had hold of. Didn't feel too bad, actually.

"How's your wolf?" he heard the nurse ask as he and the doctor left.

So, up on the old examining table, with Ross cracking wise while he washed and gloved up. Funny guy; quirky sense of humor. Quirky way of smiling at a joke, too--sort of a shy twist of his mouth, with a quick glance at you. And a real looker too--probably knew it. Probably had women all over him; had to beat them off. Usually Ray didn't like that type: too full of themselves. But Ross had made him feel comfortable that last time, like Ray was an interesting guy; and the same thing was happening now.

"Now, let's see," Ross said, hiking the stool up close and bending over Ray's hand.

Suddenly Ray's heart was pounding again. He got a whiff of warm skin and subtle aftershave, of disinfectant and latex gloves: the doctor's scent. Suddenly the world seemed full of nothing but that body right in front of him, solid, radiating warmth; that body, with its particular fragrance. Ray's eyes feasted on the sight of the short brown hair, graying at the temples; the thick eyebrows; the brown eyes that warmed and crinkled at the corners when Ross grinned; the mobile mouth with its full lower lip; the strong chin. Good looking guy. Damn good looking.

"Well, I think a couple stitches are in order," Ross said. "Are you sure this was a four-year-old?"

Ray grinned at him. Nice guy. When Ross grinned back, Ray felt his heart skip a beat.

Oh, damn, what was wrong with him? Ray tried to still the trembling in his legs, as Ross went off to get something. Was it some sort of reaction to the bite? It had to be; it just had to be. The only alternative was--

He started at the hiss of the privacy curtain being jerked around the examining table. Ross grinned at him, a hypodermic about the size of the Hancock Building in one hand. "Drop 'em, big guy," he said.

Oh, no!

"Can't take any chances," said Ross.

Oh, shit. Ray stood on shaky legs and turned, unfastening his trousers and lowering them just enough to bare one ass cheek. Damn--how humiliating. Even more so was the tingle in his groin when Ross swabbed the spot and rested a warm, strong hand on his bare haunch.

"Aaaah--ha-hooooo!" Damn, they made those needles big! And what was he shooting in there--battery acid?

"Okay!" Another swipe with the alcohol, and Ross's hand was gone. Good. Now, hike up the trousers before you really embarrass yourself.

He tried to be casual when he turned, tried not to react to that sly smile. Damn it, Vecchio, what is wrong with you?

Stitched, bandaged. Go find the Mountie, who was still chatting with the nurse. Seemed to be enjoying himself, too. Good. Fraser's luck with women had been all bad: Icky Vicky, the Dragon Lady. This one seemed nice.

When she had to go back to work, Fraser watched her leave out of the corner of his eyes.

"You know, Fraser," Ray murmured, "not every dark-haired woman devours her mate."

The Mountie back straightened. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ray."

Like hell he had no idea. As they left, Ray glanced back. Dr. Ross was looking right at him.

And as Ray watched, Ross smiled: a warm smile that seemed just for Ray alone. Ray's heart started galloping again.

The shot. Yeah--that was it; his heart was suddenly racing because of the shot. Of course it was the shot.

It had to be.

Nine patients down; ninety-nine to go. "Doesn't anybody go over to Hope any more?" Doug asked as he dropped the latest chart and looked at the board.

"Apparently not," said Mark Green.

"It's all that weird experimental surgery they do over there," Carol said as she passed them.

"I heard they cut a guy in half," Jerry offered, biting into his donut.

Doug winced at the sight of the strawberry jelly oozing out. Disgusting. "You're dripping," he said caustically. He thrust the chart into its slot and grabbed the next one.

Oh, great: sore throat. Damn. He needed something complicated, distracting. Not something he could diagnose with his eyes closed. Something to distract him from the thoughts that had been racing for days through his mind and his blood and his cock, thoughts that made him wonder if he was going crazy, thoughts that destroyed sleep and made showers into mindless fist-humping marathons: hazel eyes, warm and wiry body, luscious mouth, scent composed of designer aftershave and warm man and a faint trace of gun oil, and an ass that--well, that had felt firm and warm under his hand that day he'd had to administer the shot, an ass that just looked as luscious as a giant peach--

"Well, Jenny," his mouth said automatically as he walked into the examining room. "I see you have a sore throat." Smile at the mom. Be glad she can't look into your head. Oh, god, that smile that kind of slid sideways onto that eccentric face, and that eminently bitable, fuckable ass--

Halfway through Jenny's exam, the lights flickered, went out, flickered back on again.

"What the--" Doug said.

"They're working on the electrical system again," said Nina. "Weaver wrote a memo on it. They're trying not to disrupt power too much, but..."

Greaaat. Lots of fun if it happened while they were having to resuscitate somebody.

Jenny diagnosed and out; Rajeen on the table now, explaining just why he'd swallowed his sister's Han Solo action figure--and something alerted Doug even before his ears picked up the voices just outside the examining room: some prickle at the back of his neck. Or a tingling in his groin. Or maybe both: he wasn't all that clear on his signals any more. But something alerted him even before he heard the rattle of the wheelchair, before Mark Greene said, "I'll take him," before Doug looked up to see Ray Vecchio, paler than death where he wasn't covered in blood, pressing a dressing to the side of his face, being wheeled right past by a paramedic.

"'Cause you were mad at her?" Doug's mouth said automatically; but his heart was suddenly pounding a mile a minute, and he had to focus hard on the conversation. "Well, I think we better take at look and see what old Han's up to in there, don't you?"

From the other side of the curtain, he could hear Mark's calm voice: "Nasty looking bullet wound, but it could have been worse." And, oh, god, his heart raced so at those words, he suddenly wondered if he was going to pass out. Bullet wound. Damn.

"Let's get an x-ray," he said to Nina. "See you when you get back," he said with a smile to Rajeen.

Stroll very casually over to where Carol was cleaning a gouge just under the corner of Ray's left eye. Don't react to the sight of the gouge. Don't let on that your mind is a whirl of horrible images of what that bullet would have done had it hit one inch higher. Just smile very casually at the man whose shaky smile made your heart trip over its own beat.

"What, no Mountie?" Doug said.

Ray's grin had some of the old attitude. "Sometimes they let me out by myself."

"You two know each other?" said Mark.

"We've met," said Ray. "Last time he was on the other end of a really big needle. Oh, yeah--we've met."

Doug grinned at him. Damn, that bullet had come close. Ray's good eye was on him, unwavering. Just grin, with your hands in your pockets to hide the shaking.

"How is Constable Fraser?" Carol asked.

Ray looked at her, a sly grin animating his face. "He's fine."

"Good."

"Well, detective," said Mark. "I'm going to call somebody down from ophthalmology to take a good look at your eye. I don't see any damage, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. I'd like to get an x-ray--make sure it didn't hit bone."

Hit bone. Doug's grin seemed frozen on his face. "Well, looks like you're in good hands," he said.

Carol shot him a wry look; "Gee whiz, thanks, Dr. Ross," Mark said with exaggerated sweetness.

The smile Ray gave him just before Doug left made his heart skip a beat.

On the other side of the curtain, he worked to quell the shaking in his hands. Hit bone. Oh, great, Ross; lose it--that's very professional. He tried to slip back into the professional distance that kept him safe and sane and working at capacity, that allowed him to ignore the temporary pain he witnessed or might be inflicting. So close. That damn bullet had come so close. Oh, damn, Ross; you're unbelievable, Ross; get over it, Ross. This guy would rip out your lungs if he even suspected what's been going on in your mind. And what exactly HAS been going on in your mind, Ross? What is WRONG with you?

He took a deep breath. What was going on was simply too few dates recently. What was wrong was only too little knowledge of the deeply carnal kind. He just--he just wanted sex, was all. Needed a body to lose himself in. He ought to get out the little black book, make some calls, get some ass. Dates--get some dates. Just keep the word "ass" right out of his sexual vocabulary. Find another body for the rituals of sex because that one in there--well, that one in there was just plain off-limits.

Rescue of Han Solo plotted, and things were slowing down. Time for a break; maybe go up to ICU and put the moves on that cute brunette who'd just started and maybe hadn't heard a lot of stories about him yet.

"Detective!" he said. Vecchio, sitting in a wheelchair in the corridor, face tight with pain.

"Hey, doc."

"What you waiting for?"

"Radiology's down," Carol said, passing them. "Gotta send him upstairs, but there's nobody to take him."

"I'm going up," said Doug. "I'll drop him off."

"Great!"

Doug smiled automatically at Ray, while his heart did double beats. Ray smiled back, a soul-piercing, slightly crooked smile. God, he looked tired; there was a tremor in Ray's hands.

"Expensive taxi driver," Ray quipped.

"Hey, got me through college." Did Ray hear the tremble in Doug's voice?

Damn, his hands were shaking again. He steadied them by grabbing the handles of the chair. Suddenly he was just too close to that warm body, just too aware of the scent of warm cop and disinfectant and silky skin and surgical tape. Think about the brunette, Ross; the brunette in ICU, with the long legs and the wispy smile. The trembling in Ray's hands made Doug want to hold them; Ray's balding head looked just too vulnerable from this angle, and the nape of that long neck seemed to invite nibbling. Damn, Doug had to be closed up in the elevator with this guy; there just had better be a crowd in there to distract him.

There wasn't. They were alone.

And, oh, god, he was so very aware of the sound of Ray's breathing, magnified in the small space, of the wispy remains of Ray's aftershave, of the heat that wiry body could contribute to a tiny space.

Which suddenly seemed tinier when the lights flickered and went out and the elevator stopped. A couple emergency lights went on.

"Well, great," said Doug, pushing buttons. Nothing happened.

The silence was that profound kind that told you the elevator just wasn't going to respond.

"Typical," Ray murmured. "But at least it's quiet."

"I'll bet you've got a monster headache going there," Doug said, wincing.

"You'd win."

Ray's gaze held Doug's for a couple long moments. Real long moments. Moments during which the level of oxygen dropped--judging by Doug's sudden struggle for breath--while the temperature rose--judging by the sweat he could feel breaking out on his skin.

Doug dropped his gaze. If Ray had any idea what had been going on in Doug's head, he'd rip out Doug's liver, headache or no headache. Keep your mind on the brunette. Imagine her naked. Soft skin hot under your fingers, luscious mouth fastened to yours, long fingers skimming your back, fuckable ass cupped in your hands-- He shook himself. Get Vecchio out of your head, Ross. Put the brunette into it. Imagine the brunette trapped here with you, sitting in that wheelchair, grimacing suddenly and touching the bandage--

In an instant, Doug was on his knees in front of Ray. "Let me see," he said. "Is the pain constant?"

"No. It comes and goes. Gone now."

Good. Under the gauze, the wound didn't look that bad, either. Suddenly, Doug was aware of how close he was to Ray, how Ray's breath was brushing the side of his face, how Ray's hand was resting on Doug's shoulder, how the heat in Ray's good eye suddenly raised the heat in the elevator...

And, apparently without either of them moving, their mouths were against each other and a kiss was happening, a kiss that started with just two pairs of lips simply connecting, then opening for something deeper. After a second or two of maybe surprise, Ray's hand tightened on Doug's shoulder and his tongue met Doug's, and his breathing started to get shaky.

Oh, damn, that was a sweet mouth. A sweet, hot mouth Doug could just lose himself in and be happy to be lost. Damn.

And just then he remembered that this was a guy, he was kissing a guy, and you didn't do that; and what was worse was that this was a patient, he was kissing a patient, and you especially didn't do that, particularly in the hospital--

He jerked his head back, and words started pouring out of his mouth: "I'm sorry I don't know why I did that it wasn't anything you did I'm really sorry I don't know what got into me."

Ray was blinking and looking like he just came out of a fugue state or something, and his words were getting tangled up with Doug's, a lot of "sorry"s and "I don't know why"s; and somehow in all that sorrying Doug managed to get to his feet and find the wall a few feet away from Ray, out of danger, away from a mouth that he could still taste and skin he could still smell and way the hell away from a body that he could still feel trying to mold itself against his.

Couple minutes of breathless silence, during which they didn't look at each other.

"So, how 'bout those Bulls?" Doug said; and Ray laughed. They both laughed; two guys laughing guy laughs, clearing the air.

"I don't do that kind of thing," Doug said, "very often. I don't know why I did that; you sure weren't sending out signals, or anything." Take the blame; give the cop an easy out.

"I--uh--I kind of seemed to be--to be kissing you back, there."

"Yeah, well, it--it happens when you're--when you're taken by surprise. Doesn't mean anything." Tell yourself that. Tell yourself that kissing somebody you find yourself three inches away from doesn't mean anything. It doesn't; it just happens.

"Yeah--doesn't--doesn't mean anything."

Pause.

"They usually a long time fixing these things?" asked Ray; and at that moment the lights came on, and the elevator was on its way up.

So, Ray to be x-rayed, and Doug to ICU. His lips still tingled with the sensation of Ray's luscious mouth against his; his tongue still tasted the textures of that delicious heat. It didn't mean anything; it was just two mouths pressing together; focus on the brunette.

That kiss didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.

"Fraserrrr." Oh, god, if he had to listen to any more of this he'd scream and shoot somebody. Preferably Fraser.

"But, Ray, a good, quick tug with just the right leverage, and it would pop right back into place."

"Oh, will you just shut up?" Pop right back into place. He shuddered at the thought of Fraser's shoulder popping anywhere, especially with Ray tugging at it. "I'd screw it up, and you'd be crippled for life. Probably have to amputate."

He couldn't look at Fraser; that white face frozen in pain made him want to bash something, like that would take Fraser's pain away. Damn, he hated when Fraser was in pain. Good: Cook County was just ahead. Ray's heart started going a mile a minute.

"Ray, amputation isn't a likely--"

"Almost there, now!" Geez, get out of the way, people!

Pedestrians scattered in front of the Riv like pigeons in front of a cat. He was out of the car almost as soon as the engine died, dashing around to the passenger's side almost before Fraser had fumbled the door open.

"Here, lean on me. You okay, there? Lean on me."

And, maddeningly, Fraser was hanging back. "Do I-- Ray, do I-- How do I look?"

For a minute, the world stopped while Ray wondered if he'd gone insane. Or maybe the Mountie--pain did that to you.

"Other than like you're going to pass out any minute? How do you look other than--" And then it hit him, and he felt his heart go soft. "You look great, Fraser. You look just fine." Insane--love did that to you. "Now, take it easy. You know, if I yanked on your arm, we wouldn't be here, maybe going to see that nice nurse--" Or doctor--

And, lo and behold. "Constable Fraser!" Nurse Hathaway said, her eyes lighting up when she saw them. "So it's your turn, this time!"

"Hello, Nurse Hathaway." Fraser's voice sounded breathless; he seemed to be trying to come to attention. "It's my shoulder, I'm afraid..." And that was almost it; Ray felt Fraser start to fold.

"Here we go!" A wheelchair seemed to come out of nowhere, and in an instant, they had Fraser in it and were wheeling him off.

Ray followed. They wouldn't let him in there with Fraser, probably, but-- Well, he could follow, couldn't he? Just--follow? Some other doctor was hustling up to examine Fraser--not the doctor Ray was looking for. No, not looking for, just-- Not really looking for; Ray wasn't really looking for anybody in particular. He'd say hi, though, if he saw anybody he knew....

Privacy curtain brushed his face as it was yanked to hide Fraser and what they were about to do to him. He loitered, reminding himself that the reason his heart was thumping so hard was because he was worried about Fraser. Really worried.

So, he loitered, trying not to hear what was going on behind the curtain, eyeing the people who passed in front of him. Good detective watched everything, watched everybody, out of habit, not because he was looking for any one person--

Ray turned and found himself half a foot from Doug Ross.

They stared at each other; and for a minute there didn't seem to be anything else in the world but Doug Ross, those brown eyes looking a little wary, that strong face just a little flushed, that gorgeous mouth quirking a little in half a smile; and some sort of electricity that just seemed to tingle right through Ray, turning his knees to jello.

"Detective Vecchio," said Ross.

"Hey, doc." Ray's voice sounded raw.

"Back so soon? The--the bullet wound seems to be healing nicely."

"Uh, yeah." Take a deep breath, try to say something that won't sound stupid.

Ross held up what looked like a wicked-looking pair of blunt scissors. "Five-year-old with a bean in an inappropriate place. Excuse me."

He went to the table next to where they were working on Fraser. Ray tried not to watch, tried to give the people their privacy, but couldn't help himself. It was better than hearing the smothered sounds of pain coming from Fraser's side of the curtain. And, for some reason, Ray's eyes just seemed to follow Ross.

"Now, Justin, what you have to keep in mind--" Ross was probing up the kid's nose with the instrument. "--is that what goes up--" The kid squirmed, but the nurse's grip on him just tightened. "--doesn't necessarily come down again." He eased the instrument out. "Not when it's a bean up in a small place like your right nostril." He held the bean out for the kid's mother to examine. "What is that, a pinto bean?"

"A Vermont cranberry bean," the mother said.

"I didn't know they were in season."

Ray grinned. Damn--there was a lot about that guy he liked. Liked as in friends kind of like, not as in-- He stopped the thought right there, but memories trickled through: warmth of those broad hands on his face, wet heat of that mouth on his, taste of toothpaste and Doug Ross all mixed in with the texture of his tongue and the musky smell of his skin and the thundering of his heart. And Ray's cock was starting to think for itself again, stirring.

Damn: by rights, Ray should have pounded the hell out of Ross for kissing him, should have defended his honor and his heterosexuality by kicking the shit out of the guy who'd impugned them both. Except he didn't want to. And maybe Ross hadn't had to reach for the kiss, maybe Ray had moved first--it wasn't really clear in his head. It just happened. The kiss just happened. And kept happening inside Ray's head. At night and during slow moments during the day. And in the shower.

The first time had startled him: a day or two after he'd been shot; and in the warm shower his cock had hardened all on its own, so he'd indulged it, stroking slowly, deliberately, mind intent on that blonde he'd seen on 7th. Long, lazy strokes, pacing himself, teasing himself, eyes closed--well, good eye closed--to focus the memory of those long legs and those generous breasts. What she'd look like naked: creamy skin and rosy nipples; those little, soft sounds she'd make under him. His hips had started a rhythm then, humping a fist that refused to hurry things. He'd grabbed the shower curtain rod to steady himself, while his hips insistently speeded up.

Then into his mind flooded the memory of musky skin and aftershave, of Ross's shaky breathing, of the broad hands on his face. And his mouth seemed to taste Doug's mouth again. And, instead of wilting, his cock just got harder, like this was what it had wanted all along. When his mind gave him Doug moaning in his ear; warm, strong hands cupping his ass; full lower lip yielding as Ray sucked on it; hot, wet tongue bathing every inch of skin; Doug's voice groaning, "Yes--yes--oh--yes," the cock emptied itself with an explosion of pleasure so intense he'd had to grab the shower curtain rod with both hands, to keep from falling.

Of course, shame and guilt struck him immediately after--but they were hard to maintain in the face of those nuclear explosions every time he humped his fist, that tingle of anticipation every time he went in to take a shower or undressed for bed. Ross mouthing him all over in the shower. Doug beneath him in the bed. Ray was riding his fist pretty regularly: like being in high school again.

And he'd found himself wondering what the real thing would be like: would it be as good? His good Catholic upbringing was wringing its hands and moaning about Hell; but curiosity was drowning it out.

Now, watching Doug with the kid, Ray looked again at that strong face, the delicious mouth, the 100-watt smile. He shouldn't be thinking about another guy that way. But-- If Doug wanted to, would Ray take him up on it? Would it be as good?

"Coffee?" Hathaway was saying on the Mountie side of the curtain. "Would I like to go for coffee sometime?" Oh, good--the Mountie must be feeling better. The jump in Ray's heart wasn't on his own account. Say yes, he begged silently. Just say yes.

"I--uh-- I--uh--" Oh, please just say yes.

"I'm afraid I can't go out with patients under my care." Well, at least her voice sounded reluctant. "Hospital rules. You know."

"Of course!" Fraser's cheery voice had an edge to it that cut Ray's heart.

"Uh--" And Hathaway was at the curtain, looking past Ray. "Nina? Can you come here and take this patient? Thanks!" She grinned at Ray--a conspirator's grin. He grinned back. Nice girl--and smart.

"Oooo! You're bleeding!" she said.

"Just a little cut." He'd honestly forgotten all about it.

But she was insistent. "Doug? Would you look at this?" she said to Ross, who was saying goodbye to the kid.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "I--uh-- I can't," he said, flicking a look at Ray. "I-- Harper? Would you take care of Detective Vecchio here?"

The brown eyes caught Ray's for a minute, held them. And Ray's heart simply stopped dead for a second. I can't go out with patients under my care. Hospital rules. Oh, god. He watched Ross stride away towards the desk, as mesmerized as a mouse watching a snake. I can't go out with--

"Detective Vecchio? Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah!" he said hastily; but, oh, boy, his heart was going a mile a minute.

Patching took just a second, and he met Fraser on his way out. The Mountie's face was both brave and forlorn.

"Nice sling," Ray said.

"I should be able to get rid of it in a few days." Fraser's eyes were watching Hathaway.

"Ask her again."

"What, Ray?"

"Ask her again, Fraser. She took herself off the case. Ask her again."

Fraser stared at him for a minute, then straightened and strode over to Hathaway like he was going to a noble death. Geez--some Mounties needed a keeper.

I can't go out with patients under my-- He looked over at Ross, who was looking back. Could Ray do it? Could he ask a guy out for coffee? Did he want to? Would it be as--

The moment passed when Fraser came back, a tiny, pleased smile on his face. "So, coffee, huh? Just coffee, Fraser?" Razz the Mountie.

Razz the Mountie, because it was easier than thinking about Ross, who looked on the verge of saying yes--or on the verge of saying no--

And whichever it was, Ray didn't think he had the courage to hear it.

Ross, you are just so screwed up. Unloading Ray onto Harper like that, like he'd wanted to keep the decks clear in case he and Ray got...involved. Pathetic, Ross. Really pathetic. Showing off for him with that kid, knowing that Ray was looking. Oh, god, Doug could still feel that gaze, that softened his bones to the consistency of warm licorice.

Oh, good, his train was here. Now, try not to get so caught up in your imaginary love life, you miss your stop like you did the other day.

After the kiss, Doug wasn't sure he'd ever see Ray again--or want to. Outside his imagination, that is. Imagination had gotten quite a little boost from that few seconds: had embellished them and added to them, until quite a little movie was waiting to play in his head in bed at night. A high-budget, low-concept montage of hump scenes, played over and over and over: Ray's hands on his ass and Ray's mouth wet on his cock, Ray's groans in his ear and Ray's heels bumping his back and Ray's voice hoarsely urging him to go faster faster faster oh god harder harder harder--

Oh, god, just QUIT it! Doug's eyes flew open. Great, Ross; really great way to get this guy out of your head. Not that he was supposed to be in your head to begin with. We're talking guy here; we're talking Italian-American guy. Super-mach. Especially the cop kind. Which was weird, because usually that type didn't even appeal to him. With this guy--well, Doug couldn't really find much in common with him; Ray seemed to live in some other universe, some other Chicago, one with super-polite Mounties and friendly wolves that read lips. Oh, Ross, you are definitely off your game. What's the matter--bored with women?

Apparently. The date with that brunette in ICU hadn't been all that much fun; and in the middle of what should have been a memorable session of her mouth servicing his cock, his brain had sort of slipped sideways, so it was Ray's tongue caressing every inch and Ray's mouth sucking slow and soft and then harder and faster; and then he'd moaned Ray's name in the instant before he came; and that hadn't helped the date any.

Helped the orgasm, though. Oh, damn, had it helped the orgasm.

So, the upshot was that Doug Ross was dateless and losing his mind, mooning over a guy, practically swooning every time he was near a certain macho cop. Pathetic, Ross; really pathetic.

When the kid walked past him, Doug sized him up with a glance: about thirteen maybe gang-banger not on the prowl but don't make eye contact.

Get over it, Ross; just a phase, Ross. Do you really think Detective Macho Cop would even be interested? He let you kiss him in the elevator--even kissed you right back; but do you think he would have if he hadn't been frightened and in pain?

At the first shot and the first scream, Doug dropped to the floor of the El; and then actual war seemed break out: gun fire and shouts and glass breaking and screams in all keys and a lot of people scuttling for cover; and Doug was scrambling under the seat, trying to merge with the side of the train. Shit--there never seemed to be a cop around when you needed one; oh, god, where was he when Doug needed him and especially that big fucking gun he hauled around where was he oh christ where was he?

What a mess that El was: broken glass crunching underfoot and bullet holes sprayed all over the seats and the sides of the train. Big smears of blood.

Ray listened to the report of the beat cop who'd caught it: fifteen people in that car, and the only serious injuries were the kids who'd been blazing away at each other. Thank God.

"So, did you talk to all the witnesses?"

"Just the uninjured. I got the names and addresses of the ones taken to Cook County. And the, uh--the doctor."

Ray froze and then took the piece of paper the cop was handing him. No need for your heart to be pounding like that, Vecchio. Cook County plus doctor doesn't equal anybody YOU know. Lots of doctors in Chicago-- But the name he was thinking was right there on the paper; and suddenly iron bands seemed to tighten around his chest.

"Was the doctor injured?"

"No, detective. He was taking care of them."

The iron bands melted away. No need to feel so relieved, Vecchio. He's really nothing to YOU, Vecchio. Besides a kind of friend, that is. Who he hadn't even met until a few weeks ago, but, geez, it was weird how their paths kept crossing. "Thanks," he said to the cop. Cool; very cool; now just go process some paperwork.

Except there were the other interviews to do, and somehow Doug Ross's fell to him, and what with one thing and another he didn't get around to it until after Doug had gone home.

So Doug's apartment it was. Just interviewing a witness.

Whose face lit up like a kid's at Christmas when he opened the door. "Detective Vecchio! What a surprise! Come in!"

Detective Vecchio came on in, though for some reason his feet picked this time to be graceless, and his arms tangled themselves in his coat when he took it off, and he couldn't find--damn, he couldn't find--shit, where was his notebook? And then his pen--it had been right here--he'd had it just a minute ago--

And all the while Detective Vecchio was trying not to stare at the witness and trying not to breathe like a shell-shocked guppy. T-shirt. Sweat pants. Bare feet. Skin kind of dewy and hair still damp from showering. He'd probably done that naked. Yeah--people did that naked. Oh, god, Doug Ross naked...

"Oooh--you okay? Sorry: coffee table's kind of in the way there. I'm always running into it, too."

"I'm okay." Thank god for the coffee table: pain kind of focused your mind. "I, uh, I needed to, uh, needed, uh, to ask you about the shooting on the El."

Doug took a deep breath, hand smoothing the damp hair. Oh, geez, that t-shirt draping across his chest, hinting at the body underneath-- My god, Vecchio, what the hell are you DOING? Ray forced his eyes away.

"I--uh--I didn't see a lot of it. Couldn't see a lot from under the seat." He gave Ray a wry grin: a guy admitting being scared to another guy. "Way under the seat."

Ray smiled at him: a guy telling the other guy being scared wasn't an offense against manhood. "We counted forty-eight bullet holes in that car. I'd have dug myself a hole through the floor to get out of the way of all that."

A couple of laughs, relaxed; two guys laughing because it was okay to be scared when fourteen-year-olds were firing semiautomatics at each other. Nice laugh, Ray thought. I could listen to him laugh a lot. And suddenly he was shaking.

"Well--" And Doug was telling what he remembered and what he'd seen; and thank god Ray's trembling hands seemed to be writing it down automatically, because Ray's brain was flirting with how vulnerable Doug's bare feet looked and how warm Doug's brown eyes looked and how Doug's lower lip moved when he formed words and how the sweat pants kind of molded themselves over the bulge at Doug's crotch. And mixed up in there was the fact that people showered naked and Doug probably did too--

"Well, that seems to be very clear," Ray found himself saying when Doug's story was over. He closed his notebook. The silence that fell after he did so seemed flavored with disappointment.

"I guess that kind of thing happens to you all the time," Doug said. "In your line of work, I mean. People shooting at you."

Ray thought back over adventures with the Mountie and without. "Yeah," he said. "Sometimes."

Doug took a deep breath. "Kind of rattling experience, though, if you're new to it."

Ray looked at him. "And if you're old to it, too," he said. Oh, god, he wanted to just scoop Doug up in his arms, just wrap his arms around him and hold him and protect him and maybe kiss him and-- What the hell is wrong, with you, Vecchio?

Doug was talking. "Coffee?"

Coffee? A beverage--right; that was something you drank. Okay--so--

"Coffee, detective?"

"Uh--sure." Oh, god, yes, anything to get Doug far away from him, so maybe Ray could get control of himself, stop looking at that mouth, remembering it hard and wet against his.

Looking at Doug's ass as he got up wasn't that good an idea: kind of small, but--well--choice. Oh, get a grip, Vecchio.

Ray took deep breaths and tried to look like he was working on his notes. He was an adult now--he could control this--but, geez, this feeling was familiar: his cock thinking for him. Geez, just like--oh, god, all those years ago, those fantasies where he laid every girl in his homeroom, even Missa Pearson, with her greasy hair and her snaggle teeth and her terrible acne, just because she had breasts, she had breaaaasts; and his cock just wanted to plunder every girl in the school.

And, damn cheap apartment didn't even have the kitchen in another room; it was just an alcove off the living room, so a guy couldn't just sit there in blissful solitude and get a grip on himself. No, a guy had to listen to the soft sound of naked feet on the floor and the little clinks and rustles of Doug making coffee, and try to not stare at the lean body bending and stretching, sweat pants kind of draped over a trim ass.

"Hope you don't mind instant," Doug said over his shoulder.

"Great!" Ray's mouth said, while his brain shouted, "Shmuck! You hate instant!"

Oh, this was just sad. He had to get out of here.

Doug turned just as Ray stood up.

"Coffee," said Doug.

Huh? "Uh--sure," said Ray. "If it's no trouble."

Doug grinned at him and picked up two mugs off the counter.

Eyes dazzled by the grin, Ray plopped back down on the couch. Thank god Doug set the coffee down on the coffee table--Ray knew he'd have spilled it.

He managed to get a sip into his mouth, fumbled with his notebook. Now, then, what had they been talking about? Let's see--

Doug sat down about a foot away, couch cushion depressing just enough that Ray felt a guy could just topple right over onto-- Pen. Pen.

He fumbled with his pen, opening it. Notebook-- Oh, damn, he'd dropped the pen.

They both bent for it at the same instant. Doug got there first, noticed Ray reaching, and rose with a little laugh. Their heads connected.

Now Ray was laughing, his hand going to where he'd been bumped. Doug laughed again, dropping the pen, and reaching out, saying, "Oh, geez, are you okay?"

"Good thing you're a doctor," Ray said.

Doug laughed at him, white teeth gleaming, brown eyes crinkling. Ray found himself grinning.

Well, hey, there was his pen on the floor.

They both started for it again, but Ray got it first. He grinned up into Doug's eyes as he picked up the pen with a comic flourish. Doug smiled at him.

And then the moment froze, and their smiles melted, and there was nothing Ray could see but that glowing face.

A breath; a heartbeat.

And before Ray knew he was moving, their mouths were together, Doug's warm tongue sliding over his own. He was sucking on that tongue and hearing the rasp of harsh breathing, finding the back of Doug's neck with his hand and barely feeling strong hands at his waist.

Oh, god, he put one hand at the back of the bristly head, pulling that mouth in close and hard and revelling in the rough groans rumbling in his chest. Oh, lovely hot mouth and tongue that darted here and there; and arms pulling him close, warm hand cradling the back of his head; ragged breathing against his cheek and groans coming from someplace outside him. Oh, god, kiss, lovely kiss, smelling musky warm skin and feeling a heart thumping against his chest, thumping as fast as his own. Everything in the universe came down to their mouths joined and what their tongues were doing together. He was dizzy.

And into his mind stole the thought that not only was this another guy he was kissing, but it was a witness--you didn't kiss a witness--you just didn't do it, especially during the interview--Welsh would have his badge for it--it was just a bad idea, Vecchio--

Even so, it was a few seconds more before he managed to yank himself out of the kiss and draw a shuddering breath and try not to clutch at Doug's t-shirt while pushing him away. Ohmigod, the heat in Doug's eyes could set fire to the Water Tower, and that hadn't even burned in the Chicago Fire, for pete's sake... And Doug was doing some gasping of his own, and not-clutching Ray's arms.

"Aw, geez, I'm sorry," Ray managed to get out.

"I'm only sorry we had to stop--uh-- Oh, damn, I can't believe I'm saying that!"

Ray laughed weakly and pulled away--weakly. "We keep doing it; I don't know why we keep--oh, I gotta go; I gotta--I gotta--" He got to his feet, stumbled over to where his coat was, started to put it on. But Doug was in the room, Doug was--he wasn't all that far away, he was right in the same room, and another kiss was entirely possible. Entirely probable, the way Ray's cock was signalling interest.

"I, uh--I, um--" Doug was saying as he opened the door.

"I gotta--um--go," Ray said to that delicious mouth.

And then, thank god he was out in the hall, away from that body his arms wanted to wrap themselves around, and that mouth his own couldn't seem to stay away from. Out in the hall, safe.

Safe.

And, oh, damn, safe was disappointing.

Oh, damn; oh, shit; oh, shit; oh damn; oh, shit-- Doug buried his face in his hands. Oh, damn; oh, damn; oh--

He laughed weakly: at his roused cock, at the taste of Ray in his mouth, at the stupid situation. Oh, damn.

He managed to stumble over to the couch. Geez, was there anything more stupid than two guys who kept homing in for a lip-lock and then peeling themselves off each other with equal fervor? He laughed again. Pathetic, Doug; my god, this is so pathetic.

Sex was what it was. Curiosity about sex. One good hump, and it would be over. One good night in bed, and he'd be over the cop and the cop would be over him.

One good night-- Soft images of that one good night sharpened his breathing and unfocused his thoughts. His eyes strayed to the mugs on the coffee table. One good night--

He watched his hand reach out and pick up Ray's mug. And bring it to his mouth, so he could place his lips right where Ray's had been moments before. He closed his eyes.

One good night.

Off duty. Friday night. So why was he outside a witness's door?

Well, in the neighborhood--pretty big neighborhood, but--

Oh, god, just knock, Vecchio. Don't stand out here like a mook. Knock, you big goombah. Heart pounding. Did he look okay? Varsity jacket usually looked good on him-- Oh, will you just stop it, Vecchio? Just in the neighborhood, see how he was doing, he'd been through a lot, so--

The door opened at Ray's knock, and there was Doug, eyes puffy, face still slack from sleep--

"Aw, geez, I'm sorry; I didn't know it was that late!"

--in a t-shirt and boxer shorts and socks and looking just--just--

Doug grinned. "Naw--just thought I'd try to get to bed early. Not that it was working or anything."

He waved Ray in. Ray jumped at the sound of the door closing. Take it easy, Vecchio. He put his hands into his jacket pockets to hide the shaking.

Sheet and pillow on the couch. Doug looked at Ray looking at the couch, and his shy/wry grin was back. "I just--I don't know, the bed just seemed kind of--kind of open." His gaze slid away. "Window opens right out onto the fire escape, and even with the bars in it--I don't know, I just felt safer--"

"Want I should take a look at it?"

"Sure! If you don't mind..."

So he took a look at it, checking the lock, checking the bars. And all the time the bed was right there, right beside them; and Doug's barely clad body was just inches away: Ray could feel his breath, warm himself in the heat of Doug's body.

"Well, your bars are pretty tight here--nothing can get through here. Might want to put a little cement around this one, starting to crumble around it."

"Oh, yeah?" And Doug was right there, looking where Ray was pointing, brushing against him.

"Yeah. Not too bad yet; not dangerous. Just a little cement."

And so, there, they'd looked at the bars, and Ray had shut the window and locked it, and Doug had reached out and pulled down the shade, and they were just a couple inches from each other.

Looking at each other in the light of the little lamp beside Doug's bed. Just a couple inches away.

Time stumbled.

Then their mouths were together like they were made for each other, and Ray's arms were around Doug like they were meant to be there, and Doug's hands were pressed against Ray's back, drawing him in close.

Tongues sliding over each other in their eagerness; and Ray's cock was taking an interest. Doug drew him in close, close, pressing up against him.

It was strange: there weren't any breasts, and there was a real strong bulge at crotch level, and the husky groan vibrating his mouth was low and deep. Ray had an instant where he almost pulled away from what that all added up to; but his cock was just too interested by this time, and so he leaned hard into the kiss, running his hands over the back of Doug's head over and over and over. Okay, cock, you win.

Drowning in that other mouth, he barely felt his jacket being slipped off his shoulders, barely felt his feet kick off his shoes. There was more than that mouth to kiss, and so he kissed it: kissed stubbly cheek and kissed eyelids and kissed forehead; he held Doug's head in both hands and kissed the aggressive chin and the soft mouth and the throat.

Except for sighs and muffled groans, they were silent, like words might erase what kisses and caresses were creating.

Somehow his shirt was stripped off, and his belt unfastened; and his hands were doing something with that t-shirt that took it away and gave him Doug's muscled shoulders to caress with his lips.

And, oh god, Doug's hands seemed to be all over him; his skin tingled wherever those broad hands touched it. More--he wanted more--he wanted those hands all over. His hand met Doug's at his waistband.

Trousers off, and peeled out of his briefs; and Ray was tugging at Doug's boxers, yanking them down.

Ohmigod, silky ass that his hands just sort of fitted themselves around; and when his cock met Doug's Ray sort of jumped, but it was okay because the taste of Doug's mouth and the touch of his hands made it okay. Oh, god, was it ever okay.

Something trickled into his mind that said this shouldn't be happening; but sensations were drowning it out. After all, a hand was a hand, especially when it fitted itself expertly around his cock; a mouth was a mouth when it slid its way down his throat and fastened on his nipple and pulled hard. And, oh, geez, a tongue tasting him all the way down his belly to his cock was the purest of all knee-melting joys, especially when it caressed his cock while the mouth sucked hard.

Ray's hands held Doug's bristly head while his hips started to move. For an ecstatic moment, Doug's fingers tightened on Ray's ass while Ray thrust gently into the busy mouth.

Then Doug let go and nipped the inside of Ray's thigh and was sucking his way back up to Ray's mouth. His grin was shyness and lust.

Ray smiled back at him. The bed was right there. And Doug was right there.

So his arms were fitting themselves around Doug again, and they were on the bed, where legs could twine around each other and mouths could explore tender places. And cocks could slide against hard bellies.

Ray's hands found their way everywhere and didn't seem to mind that this wasn't a girl; they fingered Doug's ass and explored his balls and shyly wrapped fingers around his cock.

Doug sucked in air and began to ride Ray's fist, making little strangled noises that seemed to go straight to Ray's cock. Then Ray was on top of him, and they were thrusting against each other, hips bucking, cocks sliding against sweat-slick bellies. Both of Doug's hands had hold of Ray's ass; his grunts were smothered in Ray's shoulder.

Ray had let go of Doug's cock; he leaned on his elbows and mindlessly rode Doug's moving belly. Oh, now--he was--now--it was--now--now--now now now--

He was nothing but pleasure and heat, pleasure and light, pleasure and pleasure and--

Doug's fingers digging into his ass heightened the tag-end of his coming; and the gush of Doug's orgasm washed his belly in heat.

Oh, god, all his bones had melted; he'd never walk again. Below Ray, Doug gulped air and sighed. Their hearts seemed to be bouncing off each other.

Ray slid off that other body and absent-mindedly pulled it to him. Doug nestled close.

All Ray's muscles were on vacation, languidly basking in the heat of what had just happened. That was okay; there'd be time later to wake them up. He listened to the two heartbeats slow.

So, what now? Ah, geez, he'd done it; he'd had sex with a guy. He'd actually taken off his clothes and had sex with a guy. So, how did you get out of bed afterward? Was it the same as with a girl? Did you promise to call? Should he say something now?

Suddenly he was shy about letting go, because then he'd have to say something about what they'd just done. But, really, if he didn't let go, he'd never get out of here; he'd just end up spending the night, lying here like this. Why was Doug so quiet? Was he waiting for Ray to do something?

Well, no, Ray realized a second later. Doug wasn't waiting for Ray to do something, because Doug was asleep. Sound asleep, judging by the snore against Ray's neck. Good: Ray could let go and quietly leave.

But when Ray tried to pull away, Doug's arm tightened, and sleepy sounds of protest came out of his mouth. Ah, geez, okay. Ray molded his body to Doug's again, and Doug relaxed. Ray closed his eyes and waited. And his hand crept up to the soft back of Doug's neck and began to stroke there, very gently, over and over and over.

Mmmm--warm body, skin musky with sex. And aftershave--oh, yeah, the cop. Ray. The very thought of the name pricked his cock's interest. Ray. Yep--lot of interest.

So Doug opened his eyes, and there was the cop, waking from a little snooze. Damn, look at those hazel eyes. Shy hazel eyes. And sweet, luscious mouth. What a great thing to wake up to.

Doug rubbed his hand over his face. "Wouldn't you know," he said, "only way I'd feel safe in my own bed is to wrap a cop around me." Thank god Ray laughed.

Then--oh, my god, then they were kissing again, Ray shyly reaching out. Oh, god, they weren't done. Not by a long shot. Not done at all.

Mouths gently exploring each other, hands sliding over strong backs and rounded asses. Ray groaned against his mouth. Oh, so lovely, those groans.

Ray gasped when Doug fastened his mouth on his throat and licked off the tang of dried sweat. All right, so--

So Doug explored further with his mouth: the delicious earlobes, the furry chest with the rosy nipples, the warm side, the muscular back, Ray sighing and gasping all the way. And groaning when Doug's mouth got to the suckable, bitable peach-shaped ass. So Ray liked that. Doug let his mouth go, let it suck and nibble and lick. A lovely hard, round, velvety playground for his tongue.

The thighs weren't bad, either. And Ray was making the most appreciative noises, halfway between a laugh and a sigh. Enjoying himself. Doug moved to the back of the long neck, mouth avid on every inch of it. Ray's groans were building.

The hazel eyes were eager when Doug moved to Ray's mouth.

Ray's hands cupped his ass while they kissed long and deep. Damn, that cock was hot and hard. Lost in the mindless kiss, Doug rolled Ray onto his back and straddled him to thrust against his belly. Ray thrust back, eager. Eager. Eager for--?

Doug pulled his mouth away to look into that flushed face with its kiss-swollen mouth. "You ever had anal sex?" he murmured. And felt the other cock start to wilt, while an instant of panic flashed through the hazel eyes. "I mean, you know, with a girl? You ever--uh--" Gee, Ross; real graceful.

"Yeah." Ray's murmur sounded hesitant.

"You like it?" Oh, god, say "yes."

"Uh--they didn't."

"Yeah, but you did." Doug smiled down at the shyness in Ray's eyes, and his hand went to pleasure Ray's cock. He kissed him, long and deep. "You did, didn't you?" Oh, you bet he did; that cock was resuscitating nicely.

"Well, uh--"

Doug fumbled with the drawer in the nightstand and found the jelly and a condom. "I bet you're really great," he said. "I want to find out just how great you are." Natter on, washing away the awkwardness with stupid words. "Damn--I'm not sure this thing's gonna fit you."

Ray laughed at that; and then he had taken the condom and was rolling it on. Doug's knees turned to jello when he looked at the condom-covered cock: so business-like. Oh, god, that was going into him; he was about to be fucked and fucked and fucked... His cock felt ready to burst.

He squeezed out jelly and slicked it over the condom: something that size, he wanted the extra lubrication. Ray's eyes were hazel pools of heat.

Doug dolloped jelly onto the fingers of one of Ray's hands and guided the hand to his ass. "Just one finger first," he said. "Sort of loosen me up." His mouth met Ray's while Ray slid one finger into Doug's ass. Oh, yeahhhhh...

Two fingers started his hips moving of their own accord. And three-- Three, and he was clutching Ray's shoulders and gasping.

He broke away and let Ray up, shifting to elbows and knees. Wordless because--well, he didn't seem to know any words. No words at all.

There was only sensation: Ray's heat behind his ass; Ray's hands on his hips; Ray's cock pressing into him. He gritted his teeth against a groan that was half pleasure, half pain and bore down to open himself to that glorious cock.

And then Ray was in; the bulk inside him radiated heat. Oh, yesssss. Doug's groan was all pleasure now.

Ray's half-whispered "Oh!" of pure, surprised pleasure was all Doug needed: his hips started a movement that Ray began to mirror. Oh, god, that incredible bulk sliding in and out, the soft rhythmic grunting punctuating it, the incredible friction of that massive--

Doug reached back, grabbed Ray's jelly-slick hand, and planted it very firmly on his own cock. Oh, thank god the man was a quick study. The warm, strong hand pumped him hard.

Ray's grunts were softening to whimpers of pleasure that were devastatingly arousing. Doug's world contracted to the hot friction of Ray's cock, the slide and squeeze of Ray's hand.

There was a building--building--

Heat poured from him; caught in his own orgasm, he distantly heard Ray's cry, distantly felt a hard thrust that served to intensify his pleasure.

An endless moment-- And he was back in his body again, trembling, weak. Damn; oh damn.

Ray eased out; and there was a little rawness where there had been heat. Doug felt oddly empty.

Somehow, Doug eased himself over to sit gingerly against the headboard. Discarding the condom, Ray settled next to him. He looked like a man who'd seen the indescribable.

They looked at each other while their breathing slowed to normal.

"I'm gonna be sittin' on a rubber donut for a week," Doug said. "How the hell do you walk with that thing?" Oh, god, the man was beautiful when he laughed.

Their kiss was soft and tasted like more. Doug happily inhaled the scent of warm man and sex sex sex.

"I'm the first guy you ever did this with, aren't I?" Doug said.

"Of course!"

Oh, don't get all macho-Italian on me. "Didn't you ever even fool around when you were a kid? I mean--I thought that was one of the official stages in sexual exploration: fooling around at least once with somebody of the same gender. Geez, Ray, don't they teach you Catholic boys anything?" Tease him; that grin was worth it.

"Late bloomer," said Ray. His grin was relaxed. "So--this isn't the first time you've done this?"

"Naw. I haven't done it much, but--this isn't the first. I go for women, mostly. But--I don't know--sometimes you meet a guy you just want to hump and hump and hump. Doesn't mean he's gay or anything," he said to the unspoken question in Ray's eyes. "Just means he's the sexiest thing on two legs." The question went away; the heat was coming back; good job, Ross! "Damn, I'm hungry! Are you hungry? I've got some eggs..."

Eggs were okay; he could eat some eggs. Ray watched and tried not to watch Doug climb out of bed and pull on his boxers and t-shirt. Damn--the way those boxers molded against that ass. Mesmerizing.

"Here." Doug was handing him a clean pair of boxers. Okay.

He pulled them on and found his own t-shirt. Why wasn't he just grabbing his clothes and heading for the shower? Damn--at this rate, he'd be here all night. Ray looked at the sex-rumpled bed. All his muscles felt unknotted.

All night.

Okay.

Eggs; and somehow they got to talking while they were eating, trading war stories of work in the urban jungle of Chicago. My god, he'd just fucked the guy, and here they were, talking about their work. It felt--it felt good.

Ray watched Doug's animated face. Damn, that had been great: that tightness, that heat, Doug's eagerness. His cock tingled at the memory of being enveloped. Stroking Doug had been kind of strange, like he was jerking off. Except his cock had been buried in caressing flesh instead of his fist. And when Doug had come, some muscle had clamped down on Ray's cock and he'd thought his orgasm would turn him inside out. Unexpected. And great.

"Beer?" Doug said.

So eggs were followed by beer, and they ended up on the couch, just talking. Okay.

Somewhere in the conversation, fathers came up; and, geez, Doug had picked a winner, too. Ray listened and listened, and then was listened to; and it was wonderful to for once be talking to somebody who listened with an "I've been there" expression on his face instead of the frozen sympathy he usually got.

"Geez, what is it about Chicago and fathers--the water?" Doug said bitterly when Ray was done.

There was a pause; Doug was looking off somewhere with the long-distance stare of the misloved son. And before Ray knew it, his mouth was on Doug's warm cheek, near the soft mouth.

Doug looked at him and thank god didn't say anything, because Ray was embarrassed immediately. Then Doug's mouth met his, and, oh god, they were fumbling for each other again, but more gently than before.

They stretched out on the couch, twining legs and disarranging clothes. Ray let his mouth drift, heart catching at the soft sounds of pleasure Doug made as Ray licked and kissed and stroked with inspired hands.

Doug's mouth was sweet and eager on his, and his hands roamed Ray's body with a sureness born of--well, born of experience. Those hands know your body now, Vecchio; a guy's hands know where you like to be touched. "And does he ever," a voice in Ray's head sighed happily. Suddenly the tingle wasn't just from the expert touching, but from the fact that it was Doug touching him; for some reason that made Ray's breath catch and his heart skip about a thousand beats. Oh, damn, Vecchio--you're not in LOVE, Vecchio; that's just ridiculous, Vecchio. "Shut up!" his cock told him.

Okay.

No way they should be doing this a third time in one night, but somehow it was happening. Doug's breath came in stitches, and the kissing got deeper and more serious; and then Doug's hand gripped both cocks, pressing them together, grasping them like they were trying to get away; and Ray's throat rasped with wordless groans.

"Bed," Doug said.

So, bed--somehow they got to the bed; and somehow Doug had another condom which somehow got rolled onto Ray's cock.

Then he was kneeling above Doug, who lay back, knees spread and feet in the air, whispering, "Please, please."

So Ray did, because Doug wanted him to: he slid his fingers in to loosen the opening; and Doug's whimper almost undid him; Ray slid himself into where the fingers had been, into that familiar heat; and Doug said, "Yes, yes; oh, god, Ray, yes."

And now Ray began to move, feeling Doug's heels bumping his back, watching the brown eyes unfocus, seeing the handsome mouth slacken in pleasure. The sight speeded his hips.

Doug had hold of the bottom of the headboard with both hands, thrusting to meet Ray's thrusts; with one hand, Ray gripped the top, anchoring himself for deep thrusts that made Doug gasp. With the other hand, he gripped Doug's cock, stroking it, milking it, caressing it.

"Yes--yes--oh--yes--oh--Ray--yes--Ray--Ray--oh--oh--oh."

And suddenly Doug was helpless in orgasm, jerking in Ray's hand, pouring out a raw cry. And he tightened around Ray's cock; and Ray was riding his own orgasm, not as deep as before, but damn sweet.

When he came to himself, he was clutching the headboard for dear life, and his throat was raw from a sound that must have wakened half the building. Ohmigod. Ohmigod.

Words seemed pointless, and, besides, Ray didn't seem to know any anymore; they'd all just kind of fallen out of his head. He and Doug rearranged themselves and kissed and swabbed each other with Doug's t-shirt and snagged the blanket; and Doug moved into Ray's arms, and they sort of folded around each other.

And he fell into sleep.

And got pulled out of it by the godawfullest buzzing sound and somebody groaning into his neck.

For a minute, Ray felt disoriented: hot body next to him that didn't feel right somehow, and what was that buzzing? Then the scent of Doug brought everything back.

"Aaaargh!" Doug shouted; and he lunged at the buzzing alarm clock and made it stop. Then he was looking down at Ray, who was looking back.

They just looked for a minute. Damn--Ray should have been out of here by now. But, damn, Doug looked great in the morning light: face kind of rumpled and glowing, eyes hot, mouth kind of-- Ray sat up and moved in for a kiss. Tasted just as good as it had the night before.

Doug smiled against his mouth and was kissing right back when the buzzing started up again: snooze alarm.

"Aaaargh!" Doug said again, flapping at the alarm; and Ray woke himself up good, laughing.

"Oh, god, I've gotta go to work," Doug said. "I'm on this weekend." He looked at Ray. "Sorry."

"Hey, let me give you a lift," said Ray. "I parked about a block down; run you right over."

"Great!" Doug planted a quick kiss on him; then paused and moved in for a killer kiss that tingled Ray's cock. "Aaaaagh!" Doug said, pulling away abruptly. "I can't afford to be late! You want the shower first? I'll make coffee."

So Ray got the shower first. Soaping up, he had to keep reminding himself that he shouldn't be feeling this good after spending the night with a guy. A sin--that's what it was; a major one. But something that felt this good--

Coffee smell intruded, and then Doug was slapping at the shower curtain. Ray pulled it open, and in Doug got, bearing two mugs of coffee. Ah, geez--coffee in the shower. One of the pleasures of life.

Terrible coffee, but it was caffeine, and he was drinking it right next to a nude Doug on whose body water was sluicing in some very erotic ways. Setting his mug on the corner of the tub, Doug moved right up under the shower head and shampooed and rinsed and lathered up and rinsed; and then Ray had set down his coffee and come up right behind him, reaching for the soap.

Doug didn't move as Ray soaped himself good and let the falling water rinse him. Doug just watched, the water beading in his eyelashes and rolling down his stubbly cheek. The growing heat in his gaze melted Ray's knees.

And so the inevitable happened.

Suddenly, slick hands were exploring slick bodies, and tongues were caressing each other. Sucking and licking his way down, Doug sank to his knees before Ray; and suddenly Ray's cock was being licked and kissed into hardness.

Oh, god, the pattering of hot water all over him; and the massage of an even hotter tongue on his cock... Ray grabbed the bar someone had cemented into the tile for the washcloth, to keep his knees from buckling.

Then Doug was on his feet again, grinning at him before sealing his mouth to Ray's.

Ray fumbled for Doug's crotch, cupping his balls in one hand. Doug's deep groan made him bolder. He stroked the hot cock and then slid his hand around to find the crevice of Doug's ass and run a finger up and down it, up and down, pressing his hard cock against Doug's belly and riding the movement of Doug's hips as Ray stroked.

Then, ohmigod, Doug slid a finger between Ray's ass cheeks, and Ray was also riding that, knees loosening at the pleasure of the gentle assault. His hand tightened on Doug's ass. He felt Doug gently sink a finger into him, rubbing, massaging; and his pleasure was already so deep that even this just intensified it; it was just what he wanted; oh, damn.

Doug's mouth moved to Ray's throat and then to Ray's neck, his finger still busy where it was while the other hand found the bar Ray was holding onto; and suddenly Ray was at the mercy of his cock, pressing Doug to him and helpless to do anything but hump that hot belly until pleasure poured from him.

Then Doug jerked and was howling into Ray's neck; and Ray looped his arm around Doug's waist--whether to hold him up or hold himself up, he wasn't sure.

The shower pattered over them for a long moment while Ray listened to their heartbeats slow and enjoyed the little gasps of pleasure Doug was breathing into his ear. Oh, damn, he didn't want to let go.

But of course he had to.

"My god," Doug said. "Good thing we don't live together; I'd never be able to walk."

Oh, god, neither would Ray. He let go of the bar and tried out his trembly legs. And, oh, good, there was his coffee. Ray was wide awake by now, and the coffee was kind of diluted by shower water, but caffeine was caffeine and therefore worth more than gold.

So, out of the shower, and Ray's hands still didn't seem to want to let go of Doug: he watched them grab a towel and dry Doug with it. Doug's grin was half shyness and half delight as he towelled Ray in return.

"You want the electric razor or a blade?" Doug asked. Good god, Ray had never had to answer that question right after sex in the shower.

Shaving right next to somebody he'd kissed all over was also a unique experience; it felt intimate and surprisingly sexy. Ray's eyes kept straying to Doug running the razor over his face, and Doug's image in the mirror grinned back.

Damn--his clothes were all over the bedroom.

"Leaving in the same clothes I had on the night before," Ray said. "I feel so cheap."

Doug's laugh warmed him.

For some reason, Ray's hands couldn't leave Doug alone: they caressed his back as he and Doug left the bedroom, strayed to the trim ass. This should be when he was saying his goodbyes and call-yas and see-you-arounds, but his mouth didn't seem to be up to it, chatting instead about whether it was going to rain and wondering if Doug would be busy at the hospital. In the living room, Doug stopped and looked at him and took a deep breath.

Oh, damn, so Doug was going to start the brush-off. Ray straightened as Doug opened his mouth.

And pulled Ray in close for a kiss both hot and tender, tongue gently caressing the inside of his mouth. Ray's hands came up to cradle Doug's head between them, tongue caressing Doug's mouth in turn.

The kiss seemed to last forever and not long enough.

Then Doug opened the door and they were out in the hall, Ray putting his hands into his jacket pockets so they wouldn't stray someplace they shouldn't.

"God, I hate working Saturdays," Doug said. He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and led the way outside.

Chicago on a Saturday morning wasn't bad driving--not so congested--so they made good time to the hospital.

"Thanks," Doug said, opening the car door.

"See ya," said Ray.

He sat there for a minute, watching Doug dash across the street to the E.R. entrance. It was already pretty busy, what with a couple ambulances and what looked like some walk-in traffic.

So what the hell was Ray doing, sitting here, waiting?

He got the answer a couple seconds later, when Doug turned and glanced back and smiled. The Look; that was The Look. The one that meant you meant something.

Ray shifted into drive and eased the Riv into traffic, grinning like an idiot. The Look. Damn, Vecchio; you are such a sap.

"God, you look like you had a great night," Carol Hathaway said to Doug the minute she saw him.

"Unbelievable," Doug said. Unbelieeeevable. One good night.

He was smiling when he went in to the sore throat in 3.

The weird thing was, a couple weeks went by and Ray and Doug didn't even talk. At first, it seemed too soon: Ray was kind of hazy on if you called a guy you'd slept with and when you called him; or did he call you? Would you seem too eager if you called first? Too cheap? And what would Ray say if he did call?

So he didn't. Instead, he went to bed night after night with his fist and memories of Doug; and he spent most of the days wavering about whether or not he wanted to ever see him again.

Was he gay? Girls still looked good to him, but his cock seemed to prefer Doug. Benita Sanchez still made Ray's heart pound with a glance, but the echo of Doug's hoarse urgings brought him to orgasm. Ray found himself looking at other men at odd moments: could he imagine humping them? Could he do it to the Mountie? Benny was pretty handsome. But, nah: Fraser was so--so Mountie-ish. No, apparently it was just Doug. Did that make him gay? If it did, should he be worried? If he wasn't worried, should he be worried about not being worried?

And, this wasn't love, was it? Should it be? That part bothered him almost as much as the sleeping-with-a-guy part. Because this didn't feel like love. What it felt like was really, really great sex with somebody he liked talking to, but it didn't feel like love. That major spark just wasn't there. That Doug seemed to feel the same way made him feel better: if it was just humping-till-you-drop for both of them, Ray didn't need to feel so guilty. But did Doug want more? Did Ray? Should Ray worry if he didn't? Should he worry if he did?

That was the first week. The second week, Fraser dragged Ray into another of his damn cases, and Ray spent so much time searching garbage and watching Fraser taste things that weren't even identifiable, that thoughts of Doug had to be relegated to a corner of his mind. But they were still there. Should he call? Did Doug really want him to call? Should Ray maybe drop a brick on his foot so he'd have an excuse to go to the emergency room and find out?

"Why is it all the clues have to be at the bottom of the most disgusting garbage bin in Chicago?" Ray asked. Friday night, and he was walking through downtown Chicago covered in guck a rat wouldn't want to get downwind of. Typical. "Why can't you solve some crime that doesn't involve me messing up every suit I own?"

"Carol says--"

Ray groaned. Another "Carol says." He was glad Fraser was seeing so much of Carol Hathaway, but "Carol says" was starting to wear. He felt something ooze down the inside of his sleeve and hoped whatever it was didn't have legs. If it did, maybe the smell of whatever was on his shoes would kill it dead.

So, of course, that exact instant Ray looked up and saw Doug Ross come out of Water Tower Place with some blonde.

Ray's heart skipped a beat, and so did his feet. Damn, she was a looker: elegant and expensive. He was no competition at all, especially in his current state.

He let Fraser get a little ahead of him, feeling misery churn his stomach. They looked good together--Doug and the blonde. Like they belonged together. Elegant and clean. And like they smelled good.

Doug looked over at them.

"Ah! Dr. Ross!" said Fraser.

"Constable," said Doug. His eyes lingered on Ray. "Detective."

"Hey, doc," Ray said, hoping his voice didn't sound as weak as he thought it did.

"What have you two been doing?" Doug's voice was warm and amused, but suddenly Ray felt like a four-year-old who'd been playing in a sandbox.

"Er--a case," said Fraser.

"Your cases are always very--interesting," Doug said. He looked at Ray, and his eyes crinkled. "I enjoyed hearing about them."

A cab pulled up, and Doug started to help the blonde into it, casting Fraser and Ray one of his half-shy smiles. Damn--this should not be jealousy Ray was feeling; he shouldn't be jealous over a guy; he should not feel humiliated because a guy saw him this gucked up; he shouldn't even be thinking about being jealous over a guy or worrying about his appearance--

Suddenly stuff was falling out of Doug's coat pockets: papers and gloves and stuff; and Fraser automatically bent to help Doug pick it all up. Doug wasn't much help: he stepped forward and then couldn't reach half the stuff. Ray watched him and the Mountie do a little dance of helping and being helped, and thanking and being thanked. No way was he getting any closer to Doug and giving him a whiff of whatever it was on Ray's left pantleg.

Shoving everything back into his pocket, Doug peered hard across the street. Ray and Fraser turned to look, but Ray didn't see anything.

When he turned back, Doug was in the cab, and the cab was pulling away, and Ray was left to feel miserable on the sidewalk.

"Oh! Dr. Ross dropped his keys!" Fraser said, bending.

Right there, where Doug's left foot had been planted, were a ring of keys. Right where Doug had put his foot.

Ray's heart stumbled and then soared. He took the keys from Fraser. "I'll get them to him," he said. "I know where he lives." Doug had had his foot on them the whole time. Ray looked at the cab, where Doug was just rolling up the window, his eyes on Ray. Doug smiled.

"We can just catch him if we're quick about it," Fraser said; but, "I know where he lives; I'll just take them over," Ray said.

"But--"

"Don't you have someplace to be?" asked Ray.

"Oh, dear," said Fraser. "We're painting Carol's living room; I want to get there before she climbs up on something to try to reach the ceiling--"

And he was off and talking about Carol again, safely away from the subject of Doug Ross and his keys. Ray dreamily half-listened all the way to the next corner, where Fraser said good night.

Let's see: time enough for Doug to take the blonde home and say his good nights, then get home. Probably not enough time for Ray to go home and change his clothes, but maybe enough to sponge off most of the really disgusting stuff. And maybe pick up some really good beer. A split of champagne instead? Nah: Doug was kind of more of a beer guy. Some really special beer.

And Doug would get home to find Ray there with the beer and the keys. Ray jingled them happily in his hand.

Maybe Doug could get home to find a naked cop in his bed. Or would he rather find the naked cop on his couch?

Ray's steps quickened.

Bed was classier: naked cop in his bed. And then what? Oh, damn, there were so many possibilities. So very many possibilities.

Once you crossed paths with the right person, life was just full of exciting possibilities.