Duet by Hth Gotta do it. Gotta do it. Be better when it's out -- one way or another,done, fini, whaddayacallit, closure. He's a good guy. He'll say no-- Which is good. Which is what we want him to say. Gotta have a game plan -- gotta remember that part. --say no, boom, closure. Good guy, Canadian guy, keep-the-home-fires-burning kinda guy. And if he says yes Which he won't it's all good, because he's a nice Canadian guy, and it'll be -- nice. Yeah. How bad could it get, with Captain Courtesy in charge? Girls love him. It's like he's a big sheet of glass, and they're those stupid birds that go flying along, smacking their brains out, just trying to get from Point A to Point B. Girls got instincts. They know everything about us. They think Frase gives good Point B, he probably does. Ask him. Ask him. Ask him ask him *ask him,* you fucknut. Stick to the plan. Be the ball. You know you want this Wanted this wanted this assignment and you got it, so whoopdi-fucking-do. Get it right. Ask Kiss Kiss him, *no.* No, that was *not* the plan. Ask him, kiss him, ask him, kiss -- Seems clear. Big distinction. Same basic letters, but order counts. Vowels, too. Still sitting on my desk, getting my spine folded up to travel-size cause of his chest pressing my knees back against me. Party's over. Happy birthday, Ray Vecchio, thirty-nine today. You know, they say the hearing is the first thing to go, but that's, whatsit, rule of guideline, cause sometimes the first thing to go is your Mountie boyfriend, who's Frenching a skinny Polish flatfoot that ain't you, and we got the dental casts to prove it. So much for the home fires. Red suit scratchy under my fingers, not as sweatery soft as I figured. Big guy hands on my chest. I'm kissing like a national emergency, and hell if I know who I'm supposed to be right now. He don't touch me like The Replacement, New Ray. It's getting -- personal. His thumb, my nipple. My leg, his waist. His tongue, my lips. I hear you can do this cold, like strangers, but I don't guess Fraser can. Did I make that noise? Stella says I'm crazy noisy in bed. I think she's crazy quiet. What the hell do either of us know? All our lives, first last only. Not anymore. Brave new world, flat on my back on my desk with a Mountie you could build two Stellas outta between my legs, bending over me. Kissing my neck. Sweatery soft hair. Finds me attractive. There's rules between partners, just like when you get married. Some of them are straight-up, in the book. Some of them you can never say out loud, cause that just spoils them. Some you can learn from other people, but some are all you just you two. Skin on his shoulder grazing damp against my t-shirt. No more serge -- hardly any. I want to learn all the rules, how things get done at the 2-7, how to keep the wheels greased on Ray Vecchio's life while he's out, how to not let this partnership go away like the last one did. Hard as I can, my hands on his shoulders, and it still isn't too hard. So that's a rule. Harder. Flat of my tongue along the hump of his eyebrow, down to the corner of his eye. Tastes like warm skin, not Stella's makeup. I hate the way he moans. This is supposed to be just rules, just the undercover shuffle, keeping it all good between Detective Ray Vecchio and his Canadian liaison, ha ha ha. Old fantasy. Someone who moans into my chest, says my name on top of my skin. Not moaning not talking not crying not begging -- can't describe the noises coming out of my mouth. Where the hell am I? On my desk, letting this man I barely know take my clothes off, liking it way too much. He could be anything. My hot sex fantasy that I never knew I had. The love of my life. Nothin' and nobody. He could come out bein' anything in the end. I could nail this job. I could be golden. Or I could finish the job of wrecking Fraser's life, since the Feds got the ball rolling for me. It's all on me. On me, all over me Fraser -- ah, Jesus God, Fraser Harder, like I could drive my shaky, sugar-high fingers through his iron shoulders, right down deep into his body. Love tastes like lipstick and the metal on her watchband, like Pantene shampoo and salty tears. Fraser tastes so -- Fraser tastes so -- can't let go of his mouth. What is-- Oh. Duh. Harder. Pressin' my legs together, closin' his dick tight between my thighs until he cries out loud, real loud -- Jesus, Frase, anybody could hear you. Shut the fuck up, okay, Frase? This juicy, grunty, half-wolf thing, that's not how it goes with me. Learn the rules, wouldja? On me, all over me The way he comes, the way he squints when he comes and bites my cheek by accident tryin' to kiss it. The way his hand is all trembly when he gets it on me, rubbing like he's trying to keep it warm in a blizzard. So happy birthday, Ray Vecchio, and you'll be thrilled to know that nothin's changed since you took your act on the road. You're still right here, workin' your cases, doin' your partner. Did you like this job? Did you love him? Nobody bothers to tell me shit around here. Worse than fuckin' getting married. Kiss Fraser Fingers gingery on my stubble, tongue stuttering in my ear, getting heavier on top of me all the time. He might cry, like Stel useta sometimes, guy or no guy. Doesn't. Just looks quiet, if you can look quiet. Push my fingers into his hair. Wanted this assignment, even after I got the heads-up about Fraser and Vecchio. Second chance. Won't do it like I did with Stel, never askin' what she wanted so I could never not be able to do it. Goin' all the way this time. Wanna close my eyes and sleep right now. I got this duet in my head, this music, and I want it to dance me to sleep.