Ve Haff Vays of Making You Talk
by lamardeuse
Rated: PG
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Warnings (highlight to view): nothing to warn for
Written for the livejournal community ds_undercover.
They’d been doing it for almost a month, and it was starting to drive him crazy.
“It” being the pursuit of one Lady Flora Robson, English royal family bad girl and suspected cat burglar. Ray had always wanted to be the star of his own Steve McQueen movie, but The Thomas Crown Affair wouldn’t have been in his top five. First, the camera tricks and funky Sixties editing tended to give him a headache, and second, that Faye Dunaway always got on his nerves.
Much the way Lady Flora was doing, because besides being slipperier than a Mississippi sturgeon, she was always leaving them cutesy practical jokes at every crime scene, and just not-quite-enough evidence for them to be able to go to her hotel and arrest her skinny Limey ass. Once she got to know Ray and Fraser—from the way they were always following her around and hauling her in for questioning, it would be tough for her not to know them—she left them personalized mementoes, too. Like the Sid Vicious t-shirt for Ray—har-de-ha, fuck you very much—and the little Mountie dolls for Fraser. Ray’d been hoping they’d be able to pin her on those, but it turns out you could get Mountie dolls everywhere now. Goddamned Disney.
So it actually didn’t come as a huge surprise for Ray to show up one night at the Consulate and find Fraser dressed only in those damned red longjohns and tied to the four-poster bed in the Queen’s Bedroom by a system of knotted ropes that would have done an Eagle Scout proud.
“Ray, thank God,” Fraser breathed, his blue eyes huge in his face. Ray cleared his throat as he tried not to be incredibly turned on by the sight of Benton Fraser spreadeagled over the pure white bedspread. It was like he’d thrown himself in a snowbank and was about to make angels.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt your evening of fun, there, Frase, but I thought you were coming on stake-out with me.”
Fraser shot Ray an exasperated look. “I didn’t do this to myself.”
“Naw, I know, but I was thinkin’ maybe you had company…” He darted a glance around the room, looking for the imaginary bondage freak.
Oh, right. Looked like he was the only bondage freak in attendance.
“I did have company,” Fraser gritted. “Lady Robson. She knocked me out and tied me up.”
“Knocked you out? What with?”
“You’re familiar with her Olympic medal in archery,” Fraser said, and Ray nodded. “Well, apparently she is adept with blowguns as well.”
“Hey, she left you a note,” Ray said, striding forward to pluck the envelope off Fraser’s chest. Recognizing his name typed neatly on the outside, he tore it open.
Darling Ray—
You and Benton have been splendid fun these past few weeks. I have so enjoyed our outings together. As a final parting gift, I make you a gift of this beautiful man. I have finally put him in a position to be appreciated, and I hope you will take full advantage of the opportunity.
All my love,
Bastet
Geez. Ray looked up. “So you could swear it was her?”
“I believe so. She uses a very distinctive brand of expensive French savon—I believe—”
“Gotcha, French stuff, she’s goin’ down.” Ray hauled out his cell phone.
“There’s more. She’s headed for the airport. I believe she means to leave the country this evening.”
“Okay,” Ray acknowledged. When he got ahold of the station, he gave instructions to the Duck brothers to head out to O’Hare and arrest her skinny ass, but to be careful, because if she could manhandle Fraser, she was a lot stronger than she looked.
High spots of color had appeared on Fraser’s cheeks, and Ray began to get nervous. “She, uh, didn’t—do anything to you, did she?”
“No,” Fraser said, appalled. “It’s only that—I’m not sure why you’re not attempting to untie me.”
Ray blinked. “Oh! Yeah! I mean, yeah, I’m gonna do that right now,” he babbled, sitting on the bed and reaching for the knot fastening Fraser’s right wrist.
“We should meet up with our fellow officers at the crime scene,” Fraser said, his breath puffing against Ray’s ear. Ray ignored the resulting activity in his own jeans as he worked.
“Uh, Frase,” he said after a few fruitless minutes, “I was, uh, never a Boy Scout.”
Fraser made an impatient noise. “My knife is downstairs in the—”
“No,” Ray said.
Fraser goggled at him. “What?”
Ray goggled back. “I mean, I don’t wanna—I mean, Huey and Dewey can take care of her. And if she’s already flown the coop, which she probably has, we can sic the Feds on her ass. Interpol, even. I always wanted to call Interpol.”
A crease appeared between Fraser’s eyebrows. “Ray, are you saying you’re not going to untie me?”
“Naw, I will, soon, only I—” he swallowed, not sure where his courage was coming from suddenly after all these months, but not really giving a damn “—I got a few questions for you first.”
Fraser’s cheeks were on fire. “What kind of—ah—questions?” His tongue darted nervously out to wet his lower lip, and Ray had to remember how to breathe.
Ray attempted a tentative smile. “Good questions,” he assured his partner. “Important questions.”
“And if I—refuse to answer?” Fraser returned, and this time there were the beginnings of a smile on his face, and holy shit, there it was, a smidgen of a particle of hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t doomed to go down in flames.
Ray leaned closer, and the smile on Fraser’s face faltered, then widened.
“Ve haff vays of making you talk,” Ray murmured.
~~~~~~~
“Ray?”
“Mmm?”
“I believe I must write Lady Robson a thank-you note.”
“I’ll spring for the stamp.”
End
June 2004
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