The first time they slept together, it was an accident.

"Oh dear," said Fraser.

The second time, Ray was drunk. As Fraser was not prepared to incapacitate him further, and was actually mildly surprised at Ray's apparent excitement over the prospect of being restrained, Fraser shrugged and went along with it.

"Fuck, yeah," said Ray.

The third time, they were interrupted.

"Inspector Thatcher has dispatched me to inquire after the whereabouts of her dry cleaning, sir. Good evening, Detective Vecchio. Quite an interesting tattoo you have there. Did it hurt?" said Turnbull.

The fourth time, Fraser was drunk.

"Turnbull saw me naked," said Fraser. "Fuck."

The fifth time, they tried to come up with all the reasons why they shouldn't sleep together: There was a hockey game on; Fraser needed to iron his boots; Vecchio would kill them both; it was too hot; Diefenbaker needed to be taken out; Frannie would wear black and throw herself weeping across Ray's desk and they'd never get any work done again; Ray was giving up being queer for Lent; it was June.

"Oh yeah, like that--" said Ray.

"Ray!" said Fraser.

The sixth time they slept together, they stopped pretending it didn't mean anything, and admitted, quietly to themselves (Ray), and through the use of interpretive eyebrow rubbing and a story about two Inuit who opened a taco stand during the height of winter (Fraser), that it might actually mean something.

"Guess you should bring over a toothbrush. Extra shorts. That sort of thing," said Ray.

"Thank you kindly," said Fraser.

"Oh, you've been holding out on me, son. This closet is solid pine. Excellent joist work, and the lake! I always did want a summer cabin," said Bob Fraser.

"Do you hear that?" Ray asked, cocking his head. "Sounds like someone's singing, and...hammering?"

"Oh dear," said Fraser.