Ray hauled Fraser down a narrow alley that would bring them swiftly to the lot where they’d left the car. Ray was still sober enough to drive, having had fewer than two drinks, cumulatively. The startlingly drunken Fraser, however, decided he liked this alleyway just fine and flipped himself back against the wall, using surprise and momentum to pull Ray towards him—into his arms, against his body, between his wide-spread legs.

“Don’t you want this?” He murmured into Ray’s gel-crunchy hairline. “Don’t you want me?” Insecurity dripped from Fraser’s plaintive words.

Any protest died on Ray’s lips when he felt Fraser rub against him, a smooth slide that ran the length of his dick and brought it to hardness quick enough to make his head spin. And he had had nearly two drinks.

Caution be damned. “Oh, yeah! Fraser. Baby.” Ardent nonsense words escaped him, despite his resolve. After all, Fraser’d started this, hadn’t he? He grabbed Fraser’s hips and mirrored the motion against his hard cock. Fraser hissed between clenched teeth and threw his head back, smacking it lightly on the brick wall behind him. “Yes,” he hissed again, reassuring Ray before he could worry about the wall.

“Want you. Want you. Always wanted you.” Ray’s words spilled out, reassuring Fraser and himself. He ground himself against the pliant body again.

Fraser made staccato out-of-control jabbing motions of his hips against Ray’s: not sophisticated and sensual, but dirty and sexy and inexperienced enough to be an incredible turn-on.

“Ohhhh,” Fraser moaned.

“Ohhhh,” Fraser moaned again, but this one didn’t sound quite right to Ray. He pulled back, forcing himself to sober up as much as he could, stoned less on alcohol than on his own body chemistry: adrenaline, hormones, endorphins.

“Ohhhh, God. Gonna be sick. Ray. Ray!” Fraser started to lurch sideways down the wall. Ray grabbed him and bent him over so he’d miss their shoes—mostly.

Afterward, Fraser sat shaking in the passenger seat, insisting he be dropped back to the consulate rather than at Ray’s apartment as suggested. He clearly asked Ray to leave after he’d helped the no-longer-quite-so- drunken man to bed. Diefenbaker lay flat on the mat beside the cot, whining a little in sympathy as Fraser moaned softly and complained about whirling rooms.

“Got the spins, huh, Frase? Welcome to the exciting world of alcohol. Any wonder why it’s so popular?” Ray moved the wastebasket close to the bed, putting two aspirin, two Dramamine and two glasses of water on the nightstand.

“Not now, Dad. This is hardly the time for a lecture,” Fraser groaned.

“No, Frase. It’s me. Your ol’ buddy, Ray.” Just what had been in that punch?

“I wasn’t talking to you, Ray.”

“Don’t think I should leave, Frase. You don’t seem to know what’s what right now.” Or who’s who, for that matter. And it wasn’t exactly flattering to have a guy kiss ya, puke on ya and mistake ya for his dead father all in the space of an hour. “This isn’t some ‘call me daddy’ kinda thing, is it, Frase?” Ray shuddered slightly.

“That’s just silly, Ray,” Fraser snapped, the effect ruined by the slightly slurred speech. “Now, please. I do know what’s what and I know nobody ever died of a hangover. Well, unless there was alcohol poisoning involved, but that doesn’t bear exploring at this—”

Ray shoved the two Aspirin and two Dramamine into Fraser’s mouth, followed by a short swallow of water to wash them down. “Thank you kindly, but I’d really just like to be left alone now. By both of you. No, you can stay, but I’ll have no lectures from you either.” Dief quieted and returned nose to paws.

Ray hovered a bit longer, then, not entirely sure he was doing the right thing, finally let himself out of the Consulate. He didn’t feel so great himself; felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the head.

He headed home, where he almost gave in to the temptation to pull something hard and wet out of the liquor cabinet and get drunk himself. But years of experience with failed romance—Stella, Stella and Stella—had taught him that alcohol only made things worse. He washed the cigarette-scented gel out of his hair and climbed into bed. Sleep was a long time coming—even after he had, twice, with sad thoughts of lovers lost to keep him company on that lonely journey.