God, Ray hated Canada.
He watched Fraser and Turnbull churn their
arms wildly and shook his head. He couldn't believe he was seeing
two grown men, one with his pants around his knees, act like
this. Over housework. Freaks. He gave a half-heartedly attempt to
flip through the files in front of him. Volpe's picture was on
top. *Thick, heavy fingers pressing his balls up, a hard palm on
the head.* His neck prickled at the thought of the quick, hard
grope he'd gotten this morning. Oh yeah, he remembered that well
enough. Apparently, so did his dick, which was raising its lazy
Deciding the hoots from the corner of the room wouldn't be ending
anytime soon, Ray scooted his chair closer, tucking his legs
under the desk. Slipping an easy hand over the bulge between his
legs, he gave himself a rough squeeze. Shit, it'd been a long
time since he'd done this. Always too busy or too tired. Not this
time. Nowhere to go, nothing to do, sitting in fucking Canada,
watching Fraser shake his partially covered Mountie-hard ass.
So, he let his legs splay a bit, knees pushing against the
underside of the desk. Eased his zipper down and slid his dick
out quiet as you please. Fuck, but he was hard and leaking
already. Feeling the hot ooze from the slit, coating his fingers
with it. An escaping moan caught Fraser's attention but he
managed to give him a grimaced cough and a casual flick through
the files with his free hand. That's right Benton buddy, back to
the old boobtube. There was Volpe's photo again, candy bar sweet
with fat, fuckable lips. Just lazy strokes over and around,
missing the hot spot under the head, and shit, he was gonna go to
straight to hell for jerking off on a dead guy.
Resting his forehead against his hand, he shaded his eyes, then
closed them. He tuned out everything, letting the pale shape of
Stella rise up and his hand and dick knew this game by heart.
Down the shaft for the way her hips moved when she danced, up
again for her soft smelling breath on his neck. His thighs jerked
and his knee hit the drawer, the pain giving him a different
flash of sensation, but it was still good. Circling the slick
head, pumping in time to the deep mellow voice that ran up his
spine, the barely noticeable inflection that flavored everything
that rolled from perfect mouth, like his name did now...
Fuck! Both knees hit the drawer in a distinctly unpleasurable way
and the chair tilted alarmingly to the left. Steady hands on
either side stopped its wild flight towards the floor. His dick,
caught in a sudden surge of adrenalin, wilted to half-mast before
deciding not to give up the war and struggled to rise again.
Which is the sight that greeted his rather wide-eyed rescuers.
Perfect, just a-fucking perfect. Fraser looked like he was
gonna have a stroke. At least he'd pulled up his pants.
"Nothing, Ray. I mean it's not **nothing**, it's obviously
something, well, I mean it's... " Fraser gestured rather
weakly at his lap before cricking his neck in that annoying way
he had. Turnbull, on the other hand, was quite free in his
"Yes, Sir. It is indeed something, isn't it? Do you need
some help with that, Detective?"
"Get the fuck away from me." Ray gave the floor a firm
push, skittering him and the chair away. "Do I need **help**
with that? What the hell is wrong with you?" Eyeing both men
warily, unruly dick rather happy at Turnbull's enraptured gaze,
Ray tried unsuccessfully to stuff it back into his jeans. He
finally settled for covering it with his t-shirt, trying to
ignore Turnbull's rather calf-like sigh when it disappeared.
"Turnbull, Detective Vecchio probably wishes to be alone.
American's are rather.... odd about these things." Fraser
gestured to the door, Turnbull sighed again, and they turned to
No way they were leaving him like that. After making that kind of
statement. "Odd? We're odd? Like Mounties offer to help
someone slap their sala... masturbate every day?"
"Well, no, Detective, that's highly improbable."
Turnbull was quick to answer, being politely Canadian, and Ray
gave a 'thought-so' kinda smirk. "Particularly since we had scheduled gatherings twice a week. In fact, I remember
"Turnbull." Fraser indicated again they should go,
getting ready to leave an open-mouthed Ray behind.
"No. There is absolutely no way that a bunch of Mounties do
circle jerks. No. Way." Cause that thought was doing strange
things to his insides. Imagining a room full of Serge-clad,
brown-booted Mounties, dicks lined up like the Queen was coming
through. His waning erection was back in full force. May have
lost the battle, but hell, there's a war still to be won.
"Ray. There is no need to be so crude. We do have the same
needs you know. The academy simply had a very forthright and
forward-thinking way to deal with them. Most Mounties practice it
throughout their careers."
Ray snickered. "Oh, you almost had me, Benton buddy. But you
and I both know that you do not do that. Not alone, not with
women, and most definitely, not. With. Him." He gave an
apologetic shrug in Turnbull's direction.
"Are you calling me a liar, Ray?" Fraser actually
Ray didn't care. "Oh yea. I am. Right to your innocent
Mountie face." This was taking the joke a little too far.
Ha-ha, caught Ray jacking off, let's have a bit of crazy Canadian
fun. Circle jerks with Turnbull. Right. That deserved another
snicker. "You are too much, Fraze."
And suddenly there was much more of him. Fraser nimbly opened his
trousers, tucked his hem neatly in his suspenders and had a
rapidly growing hard-on in his hand. On Ray's left, Turnbull had
shed his red top and was just as swiftly making the two of them a
matching set. Well, except for what they were holding. There was
a whole lot of Mountie in that room.
Fraser was uncut, pale, and damn near marble perfect. Like it
would dare to be anything but. Fraser gave it a few long strokes,
slipping the foreskin over the top and rubbing gently. Ray licked
his lips, his dick demanding he do something. Anything.
So he looked at Turnbull. The man was a fucking menace to
society. Canadian mothers probably locked their daughters up,
just so they could have a go at that pole. Shit. Just like
another Mountie - standing tall, proud, and looking real good in
red. Turnbull liked to give his a bit of a palm twist at the top,
making himself shiver every time.
And Ray couldn't back down from the unspoken challenge. He tucked
his t-shirt between his teeth and joined the fray around the desk
with abandon. For the United States. Volpe's face went unnoticed
as he lay on the desktop, photo forgotten. Stella never even
crossed Ray's mind. Instead, his eyes were filled smooth creamy
bellies and panting mouths full of heavy grunting sighs. He
admired how Turnbull's cheeks turned red as the minutes passed
and how Fraser's heavy-lidded gaze never left Ray's face.
And he was almost there, courting the sweet spot, feeling his
spine start to seize, his balls twitch and watching Turnbull tug
his own, and another stroke, a squeeze and it was so close when
Fraser's graceful fingers, slick and shiny, went into that wet
mouth to be sucked clean and for one wild desperate moment Ray
could feel those pouty lips on his cock pulling and licking
and... Fuck me.
Ray's hips jerked and he shot his load across the desk, hitting
Volpe's shiny head, dribbling down his hand, coating his fingers.
Almost simultaneously his partners did the same, neatly directing
their jerky bursts into little squares of white linen that had
somehow magically appeared. The same squares which were tidily
folded and secreted away, leaving nothing but Ray's rather
impressive mess. Of course they were neat when they came,
probably learned it at the academy. Lucky bastards.
He leaned against the desk, panting heavily, hearing Turnbull and
Fraser talking, no, arguing quietly and politely in the corner.
Turnbull eventually cast a longing glance in his direction and
left. Gentle hands on his shoulders pushed him back into the
chair and he sprawled there, feeling deliciously wanton. Wet dick
and wet hand and wet belly.
"What was that all about?" He gestured towards the door
with his clean hand, watching Fraser tidy up his sticky mess.
Fraser shrugged and mumbled something under his breath.
"What'd you say there, buddy? He wants to clean?"
"You. He wants to clean... you." Back to him, sounding
as if the words were being forced out.
"Clean me? You Canadian's are so queer... Am I not tidy
"No, Ray. It's not that. It's just that he'd like to
**clean** you." He gestured to Ray's sodden belly.
"Oh." Not really clear on it, until Fraser glanced at
him and licked his lips. "OH! **Clean** me. Well. I
"It's okay, Ray. I explained that it might not be
appropriate to expect that of you, this time." He blushed.
"This time? But, yes maybe, next time?"
Fraser nodded expectantly and Ray leaned back with a sigh.
"Yeah, that might be okay. Next time." He waited a
beat. "What about this time?"
And Fraser dropped to his knees between his spread legs and
God, Ray loved Canada.