Break and Enter

"You riding home with me, Fraser?"

Fraser colored slightly and looked at his partner wistfully. "Ah, well, no, Ray. I'm afraid paperwork will keep me at the Consulate quite late."

"Well, when you finish, give me a call and I'll come get ya, that's not the safest neighborhood."

"Understood."

Benton had become so used to being with Ray in the evenings that working late at the Consulate seemed like a chore. Despite his slightly dour mood, he did manage to get quite a bit done. By nine p.m. not only were the requisite forms completed, but the files had been reorganized, the invitations to the upcoming dinner sent, and the inspector's tea service polished. Not a bad evening's work, all things considered. A few more letters to type and he would be finished. Fraser returned to his office/former bedroom, now dim with only the desk lamp on. He nearly flipped the overhead switch, but stopped. All day spent under the fluorescent lights of the 2-7 was enough, and the small lamp would be enough to work by. Fraser was already halfway out of his tunic when it occurred to him how ridiculous it was that he'd kept the entire uniform on this long. He was, after all, alone, and until recently he would have thought of this as being at home as well.

He smiled when he thought how much more of a home he had now. As he straightened the paperwork on his desk, he let his mind drift to thoughts of his new home. Ray's home. Theirs. It still made him reel a bit, and he was so distracted he didn't hear a thing.

Simultaneously, he felt the heat of someone behind him and something hard and round in the middle of his back. Reflexively, he raised his hands in the air.

"Don't turn around. Don't move. Keep your hands still. I won't have to hurt you." The voice was low and hard-edged. Traces of a Chicago accent, but the sounds were short and clipped, revealing little personality. Automatically, Fraser's brain went into overdrive, collecting and cataloging, to remember everything he could about this perpetrator.

Fraser forced his voice to be steady. "I won't. What do you want?"

"The valuables. Cash, silver, jewelry- whatever you got, I want." The voice sounded serious, and the press into his back got a little harder. "No funny stuff. I've got a gun. I'll use it." The last word was punctuated by another jab in his back.

"I won't. Won't try anything, ah, sir." Fraser was surprised that he was beginning to perspire. After years of dealing with the criminal element, this was somehow different. He was alone in the consulate with an armed man at his back. His voice only wavered slightly as he continued, "I'm very sorry, but our valuables are in a time-locked safe. I'm afraid that unless you brought along sufficiently powerful explosives, you will be unable to open it. We do have a quite nice portrait of the Queen in the foyer..." As Fraser babbled on about the Consulate's valuables, he gathered information. The man had come in very quietly, and he seemed to be light on his feet, in contrast to the stiff way many criminals moved. In the dark glass of the computer monitor, Fraser could catch warped glimpses of slicked back hair, an angular face and a slim build.

"I don't want any damn picture of the queen."

Before Fraser could think of an adequate reply, the intruder went on. "Still, there's gotta be something here that would make this worthwhile. Something I would want." The voice was still harsh, but Fraser could sense a trace of amusement, and something more. He knew he was flushing, surely the man couldn't mean...

"Against the wall."

Fraser was too startled to obey at first, then at the jab above his kidneys; he stepped forward until his nose was less than a foot from the wall.

"Put this on, over your eyes." A strip of black cloth was thrust at him. It was silky and opaque. Carefully, without making any sudden moves that might provoke the burglar, Fraser knotted the blindfold behind his head. He breathed deeply, both to calm his nerves and to try to catch a scent. The man smelled of new leather and old clothes, cheap and washed in some strong detergent. The smell was reminiscent of a church thrift store Fraser knew. But underneath the detergent was something else, familiar but he had no idea what. He was distracted when the burglar spoke again.

"Now, keep those hands up where I can see 'em." Fraser again obeyed, feeling his knees grow increasingly unsteady. "Hands together, above your head." Again, the Mountie did as ordered and the intruder deftly clicked on a set of handcuffs with one gloved hand while the other held the gun to his back. As the man leaned in to fasten the cuffs, Fraser breathed deeply again, trying to identify the familiar scent. He got it, all of it, in a rush of recognition. The unique combination of coffee, chocolate, and pizza with pineapple.

A gloved hand thrust his cuffed wrists to the wall; he found it hard to keep his balance. He smelled the new leather of the gloves and the combination of scents new and familiar was overwhelmingly arousing.

He heard and felt the man step back but knew the weapon would still be pointed at him.

"Now that's a nice view." The voice was still low, but now definitely amused, and aroused. "They do know how to make them in Canada." A dry chuckle, then warmth as the man leaned in, pressing a strong, lean body against him. Fraser felt breath hot on his neck. " I think I see something I want after all."

As the intruder's gloved hands skimmed down his sides, Fraser knew the weapon must have been set aside. This would be the time to make his move, if only he weren't so distracted. He felt the other man's hands on his abdomen. With a rough tug his Henley was untucked. The questing hands reached underneath, and Fraser felt his already damp skin get hotter. He gasped as those warm leather covered fingers found his nipples and pinched and rubbed. The leather was soft; he could feel the seams and the miniscule holes and warm, strong flesh inside the gloves.

"You like that, do you?" Fraser could hear the smirk, but could only reply with a moan as those fingers kept pinching and teasing. Obviously his assailant was aroused as well. He felt the other man's erection pressing against his backside through their clothes. Then he felt the sting of teeth on his neck, little bites that would leave marks. Marks that he hoped would be hidden by his collar tomorrow. The hands moved lower, making him shiver as they lightly caressed his ribs and stomach. Then those fingers began working at the front of his jodhpurs.

"Think you'll like this even more, Constable." The sarcasm was thick as the burglar used his proper title.

Fraser fought not to buck his hips into the touch, but whether to hide his arousal or not to interfere with the undressing, he wasn't sure.

The air felt cool on his damp skin as the burglar pulled down his uniform pants and boxers together, letting them puddle around his booted feet. A single finger traced the curve of his buttocks, and Fraser felt his skin prickle into gooseflesh.

"Very nice. I'm sure you'll make it worth my while, won't you?" The hands were on Fraser's hips. "And I think I'll make it worth yours too." Fraser sucked in his breath as the man's right hand claimed his embarrassingly hard cock. "Nice," the man whispered into his ear, "nice hard Mountie cock all for me. Thank you, Constable." Fraser fought to keep his balance. It was difficult with his wrists bound, his ankles trapped in his trousers, and that leather hand gripping at him, jerking him hard. If the man's left hand hadn't held his hip, he would have fallen over, he felt sure.

Hand on his cock. Hand on his hip. Where was the gun? The hot haze in his brain was so overpowering, it didn't seem to matter. The fingers kept squeezing and stroking, and the moisture from Fraser's weeping erection made the movements glide easier. The grasp was hot, hard, and increasingly slippery.

The touch alone was nearly unbearable, and then Fraser heard the voice whispering in his ear.

He heard husky snatches of sentences, all of them terribly obscene, terribly crude, and terribly, terribly hot. Fraser thought of being at home in bed with Ray, the whispered endearments, the sweet words, the absolute contrast between that and...

"Gonna make you come for me, gonna make you beg for it."

"Yesss," was the one word Fraser managed to get through his clenched teeth.

"You like it, my hand fucking your big, hard cock. Show me how much."

The sensation of the leather against his skin, the rough strokes... Fraser was close, so close. He pushed into the hand, demonstrating how much he needed release.

The hand stopped moving, and the grip loosened. Fraser was surprised at his needy moan.

"You want more?" The voice was rough, teasing.

"Yes."

"Ask nicely, I thought you were all supposed to be polite."

"Please."

"Please what, Constable?"

"Please... your hand... I need..." Fraser felt his skin go redder, now flushing with desire and embarrassment.

"Need what? You want my hand where?" One of his assailant's hands traced along his thigh, but no closer.

"On my cock, please. " Fraser was surprised that he could say it, and even more surprised how good it felt to say it. Liberating. Freeing. Hot. "Please, I need..."

And Fraser couldn't finish because that hand was back on his dick, jerking him closer to orgasm. He felt the other man lean harder into his back, nearly forcing him into the wall, as he felt the other leather-clad hand move to caress his balls. The squeezing, stroking, and pulling were overwhelming. Somehow, he remained standing, pleasure coursing through him, dulling the pain and pressure of his hands and wrists.

"That's right. Show me you want it. Come for me, Mountie, I want to feel you come for me." It was a command. Again, Fraser couldn't help but to obey his cock spasming in the leather grasp, filling a gloved hand with sticky wetness.

As Fraser fought to control his breathing, he felt that hand move away from his spent penis to caress between his buttocks. His head dropped back against the intruder's shoulder and he gasped softly as he realized this was not over.

Of course not. The other man would want release, too and it was becoming obvious how he was going to get it. Fraser heard a rustle of fabric, then the familiar pop of a plastic bottle top. Then came the soft sound of wet flesh on flesh as the burglar slicked himself. A moment later, his guess was confirmed. He felt a hot, slick cock against his opening, a thrust, and then he was being filled.

This time it was the other man who gasped. "So fucking good. So tight, oh, fuck yes, oh..."

Fraser managed a strangled moan in reply. With his eyes still covered, it seemed all his other senses were stronger. The smell of musk and sex. The moans and words. And the unbelievable feeling of being filled, being taken. It had never been like this. So hard and primal, so good.

"Harder." He was surprised to hear himself say it, and apparently so was the other man since his rhythm faltered slightly. Fraser allowed himself a smile at that.

"Harder, please," And this time the other man obeyed. Thrusting harder into Fraser, hitting that sweet spot with each powerful stroke. They moaned together and Fraser felt himself getting hard again.

"Oh, yeah. Wanna make you come again while I'm fucking you. Oh, yeah, feels so good, come on, come with me this time, come on". A hand went back to Fraser's rapidly filling cock. The touch was gentler this time, but combined with the other sensations it was getting to be too much.

"Yes, oh, please..."

"That's it, come on, come on..." Fraser felt the other man jerk and swell inside him, and then he, too came in a rush.

"Oh, yeah, so fucking good." The intruder sighed and collapsed behind him, dropping little kisses on his neck.

Fraser was in a daze. Never had he felt anything like this. So hard and intense. Strange and... wonderful. He was so far from normal; he almost didn't feel the cuffs being removed, or the blindfold being untied. He sank gratefully back and was wrapped in his lover's arms. He felt long fingers, now bare, caress him, and the bites on his neck became soft kisses and nuzzles.

"Mmmm. You liked that more than I thought."

"More than I thought, too," Fraser replied. He blushed.

"After all that, I can still make you blush?" Ray sounded insufferably pleased.

"Evidently so." Fraser turned to face him, and their lips met in a soft kiss.

As the kiss ended, Fraser glanced at his desk and saw- a beer bottle?

"What were you going to do with that?" Fraser hoped he didn't sound horrified.

"I did- the, um, 'gun.' You should've known I wasn't going to use a real- I mean, it's not safe even if it's not loaded," Ray stammered.

Fraser smiled. He should've thought about that before. Ray would never do anything that could possibly harm him. "Ah, I see." He looked at the label. Moosehead. "At least it's Canadian beer."

Ray recovered rapidly and winked at him, "I wouldn't use just any beer, Frase. Worked like a charm, though. Let's get you cleaned up and go home. I've had enough B&E for one night."

"For one night?" Fraser raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, besides, maybe next time you can, uh, car jack me, if you get my drift."

Fraser licked his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

The end

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