By Anam71
Jan 2001
NC-17 for M/M slash and cake.
A birthday romance featuring Benny and Classic Ray.
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em!
Please E-mail me at: [email protected]
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
-by Walt Whitman from ‘Song of Myself’ (1812-1892).
Was it possible for Mounties to be bitchy?
Fraser considered the question seriously as he made his way home from the Canadian consulate, his half-wolf following him in the late evening dusk. Although he experienced a burning shame for feeling this way, Fraser did believe he had every right to be bitchy considering nobody had remembered that today was his birthday, not even his lover.
The Mountie was surprised Ray should forget what he considered was an important day, for the Italian seemed to be celebrating birthdays every waking moment due to his frightening number of relatives. He had to admit Ray had been unusually busy at the precinct these past few weeks, so it was likely his birthday was buried deep somewhere in the cop’s mind, nestled between a string of home burglaries and a recent double homicide in the South Side.
Ray, however, was very good at remembering dates, anniversaries, and the noses of convicts, and Fraser had never known Ray to forget a birthday.
During their ritual morning drive to work, Fraser did drop a few hints for his partner, but Ray played clueless:
"Ray? Do you know what today is?"
"Um, let me see, Fraser… oh! Today is ‘hump day’!"
Fraser gaped at the man behind the steering wheel. "Excuse me?"
"You know ‘hump day’? Which means Wednesday? It’s that hump in the middle of the week you must get over before reaching the weekend. Have you ever heard of that expression before, Benny?" Ray asked with a smirk.
"Not quite," Fraser replied coldly, "but that is not what I was referring to. You do *know* what today is, do you? You just have to know."
Ray scratched his smooth head in thought. "Uh, wait a minute and let me guess. Hmm."
Fraser stared at his perplexed friend when it finally dawned upon the Chicago cop, "Hey! I do know what today is!"
"You do, Ray?"
"Sure I do! Today is the day I get my tires rotated! Thanks for reminding me, Benny. God, where would I be without you? Huh, love?"
"I do not know, Ray," Fraser sighed as they pulled up to the consulate. "I simply do not know."
Fraser had spent most of his day, *his birthday*, in a deep-dark funk, spreading his misery all around the Canadian consulate in his own polite and friendly way. Turnbull’s light-hearted optimism made him nauseous, and even Thatcher’s ice-cold exterior was too cheerful for him. The Mountie couldn’t take it anymore.
He requested sentry duty immediately and scowled all day at the passing Chicago pedestrians.
Not surprisingly, they all scowled back.
Fraser now dragged himself up the stairs and down the hall to his seedy little room. He felt deluded by his quest for love and morality, and as he entered his apartment, all he wanted to do tonight was crawl into bed and curl up into a tiny Mountie ball.
"Happy birthday Benny!"
"Ray?"
"Surprise!"
"Ray?"
The Italian was seated in a kitchen chair, one long leg draped casually over the other, and a large chocolate cake with burning candles adorned the center of the table. Ray smiled and opened his arms wide, "Happy birthday love!" and the cop began to sing the traditional happy birthday song, the song only Fraser’s mother had sung to him before she died.
Fraser could barely talk or think. He didn’t hear a single note Ray had sung to him. His head was ringing from the remarkable image he saw before him.
Ray was naked.
The slender man stood up and approached the Canadian with the cake in his hands, the soft glow of the candles flickering on his anxious face and lean muscles, fully captivating his Mountie lover.
Did Ray actually bake a cake? Was Ray really naked? Was Ray going crazy?
According to the almanac, it was a full-moon night, and it has been speculated that a full moon can affect the mental sanity of…
"Hey, Benny! It’s your birthday!"
"Oh."
Ray stared at him. "What do you mean ‘oh’? Don’t you know it’s your own birthday today?"
"Of course I do, Ray, but I didn’t realize anybody else did."
"Oh, Benny. I didn’t mean to mess with you this morning. I only wanted to surprise you." Ray groaned miserably, "I guess I hurt you, didn’t I? Damn it."
"No, no Ray! This is… beautiful! This is the best birthday present I have ever received."
"What? My scrawny ass holding a lop-sided cake?"
"Yes, Ray, it is."
The detective was skeptical. "Really? You’re not just saying that, are you?"
"You are my best birthday present ever, Ray. You are the only gift I’ve ever wanted and I want nothing else. And why should I?"
"I don’t know, Benny. I mean, there is so much better out there for you…"
"Ray, all I want is right here in this room."
"You mean me and not your hat?"
"I mean you, Ray."
"Please, Benny." Ray, as if by hypnotic suggestion, felt suddenly weak-kneed. He cursed himself, knowing he was simply letting the Mountie get inside his head again, and in his heart.
It was inevitable, the two of them this way, one succumbing to the other so readily.
"Ray?"
"Yeah, Fraser?"
"Do you know the joy I feel when I hear my doorknob turn because I know it’s you on the other side coming in? Or when I hear you breathe by my side when we sleep, keeping me safe at night? I am no longer alone."
"We have to get locks for your door, Benny."
"I am so in love with you, Ray."
The cop began to tremble with emotion, the birthday cake now swaying precariously in his hands.
"Um, Ray? I suggest you put down the cake very slowly," Fraser warned his friend as if he was talking to a crazed criminal. "I want to thank you, Ray. I want to make love to you. Ray?"
"Uh huh." As soon as Ray placed his cake carefully on the kitchen table, he was swept up into the Mountie’s arms and hauled off to bed.
It took only seconds for Fraser to strip down to his birthday suit with the help of his eager lover, and he planted himself solidly between Ray’s thighs, feeling so secure there when Ray wrapped him with his long legs. Fraser moaned as his organ began to grow, stretching out with hunger, filling with blood, and Ray soon joined him as he hardened against Fraser’s hand and skin.
"Umm, Benny," Ray panted as he throbbed madly inside the firm grip Fraser had on him, coming very close to orgasm. "Oh, I feel so guilty."
"Guilty? Why, Ray?"
"Well, it’s your birthday and here I am having all the fun."
"I do not understand."
"This is supposed to be your day, Benny. I wanted to celebrate you. It’s all about you."
"No, Ray," Fraser assured him. "It’s all about us."
Ray smiled and pressed his lips firmly on Fraser’s temple, his heart punctured by those simple words of love. Again, he felt that complete joy he had contracted the moment his Benny had entered the apartment. Ray then cupped his lover’s face, enjoying the splendor he held within his hands. It was remarkable how every atom of this beautiful man should belong to him, Ray Vecchio.
"Damn it, caro. Everyday should be your birthday. What do you think?"
Fraser answered him with fierce kiss, determined to taste every inch of his gift. "Tell me, Ray, tell me now."
"Um, tell you what?" Ray breathed.
"Tell me how you made your cake," the lustful Mountie pleaded, and he began pushing himself against his lover’s groin.
"What? We’re trying to fuck you and you want me to tell you my stupid cake recipe?"
"Pleeeaase, Ray!" Fraser whined between thrusts, "It’s my birthday!"
"Jeez! Okay! First, you pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees…"
"Oh God, Ray! Yes!"
"Benny! Will you wait?! Next, you grease all the sides and the bottom of a cake pan with shortening, then flour lightly."
"More, Ray!" Fraser screamed, his cock pulsing against Ray’s warm abdomen.
"God damn it! Blend your cake mix, one cup of water, a half-cup of oil, and three large eggs in a large bowl and mix until moistened…"
"Harder! Ray! Harder! Oh please, love!"
"Shit, Fraser! Beat the freakin’ cake batter, pour it into a fucking cake pan, and bake the son-of-a-bitch immediately! Ooooh God!"
Both lovers shrieked as they came against each other, semen spilling between their joined bellies, sealing them tight in joy. Then they settled quietly together in bed and under the covers, enjoying that soft, heavenly interlude one feels after an explosive release.
Ray was the first soul to speak:
"Hey, Benny, check your cake by poking it with a toothpick. If it comes out clean, then the cake is done," the Italian moaned wearily. "Let your cake cool completely before frosting it. Umm, baby."
"I can’t wait to eat your cake, Ray," Fraser mumbled, hazy in post-coital birthday bliss. This was certainly a day of birth for him, and it was all Ray’s fault.
"Oh Lord, Benny, let me tell you about my recipe for pasta é fagioli."
And the two men celebrated long into the night with an infinite love that swept over them, through them, and into them, far outlasting the birthday candles that became extinguished in the chocolate frosting.
Happy Birthday Benny!
-The End-
Eat your heart out Martha Stewart!