Trace Evidence: Scent trail (PG-13, RayK/Turnbull)
Word count: 1172
Characters: Turnbull/RayK, Fraser
Series rating: NC-17
Betas: shrewreader and mardahin
Sequel to: Trace Evidence: Bone Fragments
Ray noticed that Turnbull smelled good on a Tuesday. He smelled like cologne or cookies, or maybe flowers. Ray remembered it was a Tuesday because he should have been off. Dewey shouldn’t have caught a hockey puck with his arm either.
Fraser and Ray were investigating a supposed murder right off the El. Someone called in a murder and a dead body. A body chained to a bike rack with a u-lock, as if anyone would steal a dead guy, but when the cops showed there was no body. How Ray and Fraser got stuck with the case, was anyone’s guess.
Maybe Welsh was still pissed about the penguin living with Mort. Or maybe Stella was pissed that she had to argue cases about bone fragment flour or an albino artic penguin. Not that Ray was thrilled with the damn bird either.
“Ray, I still think you should apologize for yelling at her,” Fraser rubbed his eyebrow and looked hopefully at Ray. They’d holed up in Fraser’s office since the furnace at the station was busted. Ray also thought Welsh had broken the thing on purpose to get his officers out of the station.
Ray snorted. “Not on your life, Fraser. The thing bit my ear.” He rubbed his left ear. Everyone and everything seemed to have a thing for biting his left ear.
“Abba was only being affectionate, Ray.” Fraser assured him as he pushed Ray’s feet off his desk. Dief whimpered and Fraser glared at him. “You stay out of this.”
“You and Mort named the thing? And freaking ABBA?” Ray groaned and let his head fall back. “You never name them, Fraser! Now you two will want to keep it.”
Fraser rolled his eyes. “Really Ray, you’re being silly now.”
“Constable Fraser?” Turnbull stuck his head in the open doorway. “I’m making some tea, would you care for a cup?”
“That would be just the thing, Turnbull, thank you.” Fraser told him. “You remember how I take my tea?”
“Yes, sir.” Turnbull nodded then looked towards Ray. “Detective Vecchio, would you like some coffee?”
That’s when Ray noticed it. The smell, faint but tantalizing that came from Turnbull. “Ah--yeah. Coffee would be greatness.” Ray said distractedly, trying to figure out just what the scent was.
Usually, when Turnbull had baked something, the entire consulate would smell of baking. And, while Turnbull was unusual, Ray could not see him rolling around in flowers. The scent had to be cologne.
Except that couldn't BE it, either.
“Ray, Ray, Ray,” Fraser said sounding exasperated.
“Oh, sorry Fraser. Kinda lost track for a moment.” Ray refused to think that Turnbull had distracted him.
“So, I noticed. But Ray as I was saying maybe there never was a body…” Fraser started.
Ray made a little ‘hm-mm’ sounded. “Never a body.”
“Right,” Fraser started talking again.
Ray wondered if Turnbull had a date that night. Some hot Chicago girl would get herself a Mountie tonight.
“….and given that the bike rack in question is fairly sturdy….”
Or guy. That was it, Ray thought, a guy. Turnbull didn’t seem the sort to be into girls. Turnbull's 'date' with Frannie didn't count in Ray's book.
“….factoring in the lack of blood and the fact that a well known sex club is only a block up from the scene….”
“Right, sex club-----sex club? What the hell are you talking about Fraser?” Ray demanded, suddenly listening to Fraser again.
Fraser sighed and tugged his ear. “Ray, I was just explaining that it seems like that the body wasn’t a body at all but perhaps a lascivious act.”
Ray started at Fraser. “What the hell is a Leviticus Act?”
“No, Ray, a lascivious act.” Fraser rubbed his eyebrow.
“Lazarus? Wasn’t he the dead guy?” Ray looked as confused as he felt.
“Yes he was, Ray. But we’re speaking of lascivious acts. Sex, Ray.” Fraser told him with an eye roll.
“There was hot sex in the book of Leviticus? Damn, I should have read it more closely…” Ray muttered.
“Ray! What I meant was that is seems more likely that it was some sort of public sex act than a murder.” Fraser had turned a nice shade of red.
Ray blinked once, then twice. “Yeah, that does sound likely given all the facts.” He vacated Fraser’s chair and rubbed his neck. “Think I’ll go see if Turnbull needs a hand with those drinks.”
“Ray, are you...." Ray was already halfway down the hall.
A few strides later, and Ray almost ran smack into Turnbull. Hot drinks and all. “Is something the matter, Detective?” Turnbull asked. He balanced the tray of drinks perfectly in his two large hands.
Suddenly, Ray knew without a doubt that if Fraser or Thatcher came around the corner Turnbull would drop the tray. “You’re wearing cologne.” Ray blurted out. It was just a bad Tuesday for Ray all around.
The tray Turnbull held shook a little, but didn’t fall. Turnbull looked embarrassed, and Ray couldn’t blame him. “No, I’m not. Is there a problem, Detective?”
Ray shook his head, taking the coffee mug and Fraser’s tea cup from the tray. “Nah, you just smell good. Like cookies or something. Thanks, Turnbull.”
As Ray walked back to Fraser’s office, he could feel Turnbull’s eyes on his back. He didn’t mind it at all.
When two large hands came down on Ray’s shoulders, he almost dropped the mugs.
“Turnbull?” Ray squeaked, embarrassing himself.
Turnbull had stepped close to Ray’s back. Ray could feel the heat of Turnbull’s body through his clothing. When Turnbull spoke, it was a low, ragged whisper in Ray’s ear. “I smell like cookies, Detective?”
Ray swallowed hard and nodded. He could feel Turnbull’s hot breath against his ear and neck. It took more effort than Ray wanted to admit not to lean back into the hard body behind him.
“Let see what you smell like then shall we?” Turnbull’s nose pressed into the side of Ray’s neck. When he inhaled, Ray felt a shiver go from that spot through his whole body.
Ray should have been panicking, or freaking out, anything but standing there letting Turnbull scent him. As Turnbull breathed in again, Ray prayed that he’d remembered a shower and deodorant that morning. He honestly couldn’t remember at this point.
“Coffee and chocolate.” Turnbull’s voice barely registered with Ray. “I’m surprised, detective. I thought you smoked.”
Ray bit his lip to keep back a groan. He knew he had an ex-smoker’s habits, but to think that Turnbull had been watching him. Ray wondered if Turnbull had pictured him leaning up against the side of the consulate, head leaned back to take a long drag. “Used too.” Ray whispered back, as Turnbull’s warm hands slid away.
Turnbull gave Ray what felt like a nuzzle to the back of Ray’s neck before stepping away. “Shall we take Constable Fraser his tea, Detective Vecchio?”
Ray could only nod and take a drink of his coffee.
It had chocolate in it.