"You couldn't just say 'I don't know' ? 'I form no opinions, sir…' Do you take classes to talk like that?" The humor in Volpe's voice teased at his mouth, flickered in his eyes, but he wasn't ready to give up another smirk just yet.

"Well, standard RCMP training stresses grammar and vocabulary along with such skills as hand-to-hand combat and marksmanship." Volpe snorted at that. "Again, you couldn't just say 'yes'? You're a trip." Ben had no idea how to respond, but Volpe spared him the awkwardness of standing there looking confused by speaking again.

"I had no reason to whack Gus Fillian. He and I got along. Fillian understood that territory matters. You stay in yours, and the other guy stays in his. Fillian stayed in his, left me to mine. Now, if Eddie Herndorf turned up with a cap in his ass, you and I might actually have something to talk about. In fact, you probably should talk to Herndorf because he has no understanding of territory. But…"

"Yes?"

"Herndorf's club isn't as interesting as mine." There was no mistaking the something else in the way Volpe was looking at him now. And Ben knew he was looking right back.

"No. I don't imagine that it is."

"Are we done talking about your partner?" The smirk did lovely things to Volpe's mouth and all Ben wanted was to taste it.

"I believe so, yes."

"Then let's go."

The door to the spacious office in the rear of the club barely closed before Ben found himself shoved hard against the wall and Volpe's thick, velvet tongue was pressed against his mouth, prying it open, running riot inside. He tasted sharp and tangy; whatever he'd been drinking – something with vodka, perhaps gin – was still on his cheeks and lips. He smelled of leather, soap, and a cologne with a woodsy, musky scent.

Ben didn't know when, exactly, he'd gotten so hard, but he was, the erection pressing almost painfully against the layers of cotton and black serge. His hands found their own way to Volpe's groin and as they glided up and down on the black denim, what was left of his rapidly fleeing mind told him he wasn't the only one enjoying himself.

They stopped kissing long enough for Ben to snake his tongue across Volpe's cheek, enough to catch the just-barely-almost-but-not-quite saltiness of the other man's skin. The soft grunt that sneaked into his ear told him to lick again, and he did.

"I take it you can do a lot more with that mouth than spoutin' off long-ass answers to simple questions."

"Quite a bit more, actually."

"Show me."

He bonelessly slid down to his knees, his fingers deftly unhooking the belt, making short order of the five buttons – who exactly thought the button fly was a good idea – working inside the second fucking layer of clothing and finally freeing Volpe's solid, heavy, positively beautiful cock. For several seconds he ran his fingers – just the tips – along the length, pressing just…a…little bit firmer with his thumb on the thick under-vein, before bringing them all together on the head. He collected as much of the moisture there as he could, then brought his fingers to his lips and sucked. Bitter-salty-sweet all at once, and he instantly resolved to get as much more of it as he could.

Volpe slid his fingers into Ben's hair, not rough, but not gentle, either. Ben kissed the cockhead, swirled his tongue around it, then took several generous strokes up and down. Volpe groaned, shaking his head slightly from side to side.

That made Ben smile, and he was done playing. He swallowed the first few inches slowly, slowly, deliberately taking his time. When the hands on his head tightened, he pulled back all the way, letting his prize slide out with a wet 'pop.' Volpe was a fast learner because he loosened his grip instantly, and Ben got back to business. He started slowly again, got halfway down, then pulled back and off all the way, once more, before shocking the ever-living hell out of Volpe by taking the full-length in one swift, smooth, mind-blowing gulp.

Good, good, he tasted good and Ben found a rhythm that made thrusting wholly unnecessary. The fingers in his hair tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed as Volpe just let…him…go, simply keeping time with his grunts and moans.

"Goddamn…" was all Ben heard before the rush, salty-bitter-sweet and he was swallowing with Volpe still between his lips which earned him another mouthful. He'd wanted as much as he could stand and he could take even more, but it felt like Volpe was done. He took what he could by licking the other man spotless. Satisfied that he'd gotten all there was, he leaned back on his feet and looked up with his best innocent Mountie smile.

"They teach you that along with grammar and hand-to-hand combat?" There was the barest hint of pink in the not-quite-brown paleness of Volpe's cheeks.

"Ah…no. Fellatio was not on the curriculum at the RCMP Academy."

Volpe laughed. Out and out laughed. It was, not surprisingly, a throaty, full-bodied sound. It pleased Ben to have amused him that much. Volpe pulled him up by his chin, and when they were eye-to-eye leaned in for another deep-tongued kiss.

"I suppose you want payback," Volpe murmured against his lips when their tongues stopped dueling.

"It would be appreciated."

Strong, blunt fingers had already undone his belt, unbuttoned his jacket and unfastened his pants by the time Volpe asked the question. The incredibly warm hands were inside the boxers, pulling him out, stroking, pinching, tugging. Rough, but again, not hurtful. Volpe looked down.

"You're uncut. Why am I not surprised?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not when it's this pretty."

"Thank you kindly."

"Do you talk like that even when you talk to yourself?"

"Do you always talk this much during sex?"

"There's no need to get tone of voice with me."

"I have absolutely no idea what that…." Volpe had closed his fist and was moving it back and forth. Just tight enough, just fast enough and Ben forgot about finishing whatever it was he'd been trying to say.

"So, Mountie. What do you want?" Volpe licked Ben's lips between each word.

Rational thought was becoming more difficult. "What do you do?"

"You've got two choices, this being our first time and all. My hand or my mouth."

Rational speech becoming more so. "Mouth. Please."

"What, no long drawn out explanation of why a blow-job's better than a hand-job?"

"I would very much like to have my orgasm in your mouth."

"Well, since you asked so nicely, who the hell am I to refuse…."

Up against the wall again and Ben knew he needed the support, would not have withstood just being in the middle of the floor. Volpe's hands were on his hips, to steady him or hold him still, he really didn't care which because that mouth was on him. Hot, wet, and deep. Volpe knew what he was doing, humming around his cock in between licking and sucking, and Ben felt the vibration in the palms of his hands and on the soles of his feet. How it could be that hot and not burn, not hurt was beyond him. How it could be that wet and neither of them was drowning he didn't know and it didn't matter anymore because he was coming in Andreas Volpe's mouth and before everything went black he thought Volpe looked damned happy about it.

o0o

The water, not yet hot enough to sting, flowed over Fraser's neck, back and legs. His hands rested against the wall of the shower. He'd come so hard and loud at the end of the dream that he woke both himself and Diefenbaker. When some degree of his senses returned to him, he was grateful that the Consulate walls were thick and Ray was in a room approximately sixty feet away. Explaining his noisiness would have been embarrassing.

He raised his head to let the water beat across his face. It occurred to him that if feeling envious of a dead man was unseemly, then furiously masturbating to a dream of said dead man was depraved, debauched and several other unpleasant, erotically charged adjectives he could probably think of if he actually chose to think. At the moment though, the only thing that mattered to him was that Andreas Volpe had tasted Ray. Fraser's body understood that this meant that some way or another he needed to taste Andreas Volpe. That the man was dead was of no consequence; his mind provided a reasonably workable solution. Fraser liked the Volpe who stalked through his dreamscape – dangerous, sensual, unpredictable. Like Ray. That fact raised as many questions as it answered, but he wasn't yet in the mood to address them.

He should have been ashamed of himself. In the morning, he might be. For the moment though, he savored the images and turned the water control as far in the direction of hot as it would go.

==

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