thelockbox | Benton Fraser

[ He slept the sleep of the dead--the very happily dead. When Fraser was satisfied, relaxed from the everyday effort it took to just be Benton Fraser, it was like the coil had been taken out of his workings. He unsprung too far; he dreamed, dozed, smiled easily in his sleep, pressed warm and affectionate against the sleeping body beside him. Fraser was a different man after an orgasm, and as his dozing afterglow from their reindeer games turned into wonderful deep sleep, he let himself embrace it.

At some point the temperature dropped, the slick sweat clinging to his body dried, and Fraser beat the chill by pressing more firmly against Ray's body, naturally winding his legs into tighter knots around his partner's spidery limbs. Getting warmer without waking up wasn't a challenge.

Dreaming, though. Dreaming Mounties, particularly ones with imaginations like Fraser, were an altogether bad idea. There was something about a teaparty, and Diefenbaker in red serge, and Inspector Thatcher and he were discussing Fraser's bad behavior, and somehow it ended up with Fraser desperately licking tea out of the bone china cups. ]

See. [ He murmured in his sleep, licking Ray's ear. Lick, lick, lick. Wet slobbery licking. ] See, I can do it. No, not Alaska!

[ All while dead to the world. ]

[Ray hadn't slept this soundly in a long time, which is impressive considering the lack of space and the state of undress he'd got himself into. Even with the cooling temperature Fraser's body warmth was enough to keep Ray from stirring, allowing him to drift from one comforting dream to the next, remembering none of them.

With the amount of of exertion he'd managed from a long day of work followed by the evening the two of them had managed, Ray was quite capable of sleeping a solid twelve hours or more had he needed to. Such luxury wouldn't be afforded to him this time, though, especially not when he's dragged from his slumber by quiet murmurs and something very wet and very warm lathering up his ear.

He blinks awake in a state of mild confusion as his mind tries to piece everything together; his location, the time of day, the previous night, the warm body next to him and, most importantly, what the hell was happening to his ear.

Fraser. Fraser is happening to his ear. Licking with all the eagerness of a canine while mumbling to himself. Ray draws away enough to try and escape the tongue, daring a side glance to see that his partner is still very much asleep. What a freak.]

Fraser. [A harsh whisper as he tries to wake his friend without startling him.] Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Fraz-errr.

[Maybe if he just... lifts a very heavy arm off the floor to poke Fraser right between the eyes.

In all fairness he'd leave his buddy sleeping were it not for the tangle of limbs and heavy weight against him making it difficult to move.]

[ Fraser. Fraser. Fraser. Why is Diefenbaker calling him Fraser? Haven't they known each other since the north? Shouldn't Diefenbaker call him Ben like everyone who'd known him from his youth? Why was he speaking in Ray's voice?

He licked his tea, but it was empty, and then something got him right between the eyes, and Fraser jolted a foot up the back of the couch, digging an elbow into Ray's chest as he went: ]

Someone warn the Inuinnait! [ And bolt upright as he was, it still took a moment for Fraser to go from completely asleep, absorbed in his entirety by his dream, to awake and confused, barely becoming aware of his surroundings. Had he gone to sleep here? He didn't remember doing it.

And

Oh right. Right. Ray. Sure, he remembered that. Every bit of it in one glorious flash of insight, in fact. Confused twisted to warm, affectionate, then back to confused again, and he lifted off the pressure against Ray's chest apologetically before he trusted himself to speak out loud. ]

What happened to your ear?

[Before Ray's entirely certain what's happening he's got an elbow in his chest and some weird Canadian babble being shouted at him.

His breath hisses out, winded by the force of the jolt but still there to witness Fraser's confusion as he's dragged back into the world of reality. A Canadian's mind must be a weird thing to have to live with.

Ray doesn't share quite the same affection thanks to that elbow to the chest and dumb questions to answer.]

You happened, Fraser. You were licking me. What's with that? Is that a uh, is that a thing? A Mountie thing? You don't already have enough stuff to lick?

I was licking you? I don't remember.

[ And he didn't. Nothing of the dream was there any more. Diefenbaker, the red serge, the tea, all of it has dissolved to be replaced with reality, and Fraser doesn't have the slightest clue how it is he's slobbered all over his friend's ear. He blinks twice, then cocks his head very slightly to the left, rolling his cuffed hands over so that he can knead anxiously at his eyebrow. ]

You're sure it was me licking you? No, you're right. It's not like you could have been licking your own ear. [ His hands drop down again in unison, head straightening. ] I really don't know.

[ It was fortunate he was too tired to go into the spiel about the men in his family being a bit peculiar. Of course, growing up in the Northwest Territories, peculiar wasn't really that surprising.

Oh right. ]

I'm terribly sorry, Ray.

[It's hard to stay mad at a guy who's spent the night so carefully ensuring Ray's own pleasure. And yes, Ray does remember it all, every last bit of it etched into his memory, difficult to avoid being reminded when they're both still sticky and Fraser's sitting there in handcuffs, Ray with his jeans around his ankles.

Which... actually for his own comfort and for the sake of not laying there with his dick hanging out, he lazily reaches down to tug up his underwear and jeans up in one, squirming to get them over his hips.]

You're worse than the wolf. [It's only an after thought that he finally scrubs the back of his hand against his soggy ear.]

[ Trying not to be in the way when Ray drags his clothes back on is harder than it looks. There's not much room on the couch, and with effectively one hand with limited rotary mobility, propping himself back against it is nearly impossible, particularly when you were Fraser's height. A moment later he drops back down with a huff, his chin against Ray's shoulder, looking down the length of his partner's body. The telltale top of his bruise still peeked above the waistband of Ray's jeans, and it was more than enough to make him smile.

Though, Fraser reflected, a bowl of warm water wouldn't go amiss. Actually... Actually, Ray didn't have a change of clothes at the Consulate like Fraser did, and the idea of him lending Ray his plaid jacket and jeans two sizes too big to go to work in was all but ludicrous. But so was the idea of him going to work in the state he was in. Maybe it was because he'd been the one responsible, but Ray looked and smelled like sex. There was something even more ruffled about his hair, which of course was oilier than usual, and askew at an odd angle from the position he'd slept in. The smell of sweat and come was so potent Fraser almost couldn't smell the diplomat's Pekinese that had slept on this couch three days previously. He doubted that he looked or smelled any better, and surely if they walked into the Chicago PD together everyone in the office would know. After all, none of them were Canadian; and they were police officers, they were supposed to know these things.

That was when it occurred to him to check the clock. ]

Ray. [ A different tone of voice now. ] The time.

[For once Fraser wasn't the only one smelling it. The musky smell of last nights escapades are thick in the air, so much so that even Ray's dulled senses can pick it up, clinging to both of them as they lay bundled on the couch together. Smells like a whorehouse, he thinks, but thankfully he's not voicing those words out loud for the sake of Fraser's totally delicate sensibilities.

They don't look much better either, coated in dried sweat and come, bruised and marked, extremely ruffled and entirely beyond presentable. Even Ray wouldn't be able to get away with it and he's never been the pioneer for neatness.

It takes Ray a few moments to realise what Fraser's talking about, turning sluggishly towards the clock when prompted. He goes from static to fluid in a matter of seconds, suddenly throwing himself off the couch with such force that he may have accidentally slammed his shoulder into Fraser's chin in the process. No time for apologies though as he scrabbles for his crumpled t-shirt discard on the floor, creased beyond belief as he wrestles it back to being the right-way-out and then over his head.]

I gotta get home. I gotta shower. I gotta change. I gotta... maybe, maybe I can get a sick day. Or uh. ... Fraser. [Pleading. Help him solve his dilemma for him.]

[ The shoulder to his jaw leaves Fraser completely rattled for several seconds. Like actually teeth being knocked around in his head rattled. Falling into the space Ray left didn't help much either, but after a few seconds, just as Ray managed to heave his shirt over his head, Fraser managed to gather the effort required to roll himself back up into a sitting position, his feet on the floor.

Ray looked just like a hare caught in the headlights of a snowplough, he thought. It was a shame Fraser's mind was faster without a morning cup of coffee to necessarily bolster his wakefulness. A shame, and probably the only thing in the world that would save them. He blinked, then tilted his injured chin over toward what was left of the desk. The phone was on the floor beside it, had fallen off the hook when it had crashed with a clang to the floorboards last night, and now it was their only way to gain a few minutes. ]

Inspector Thatcher has a shower in her office. If you're quick, you should be in and out before she arrives. Ray. Pass me the phone, if you would, before you go.

[Ray is a hare caught in headlights. In above his head and totally frozen by far too many ideas and filled with a sudden anxious energy for just what he's meant to do.

Fraser does help. He gives a way out for at least one of the problems. It's enough to have Ray jerking out of his brief panic coma and back into action, ducking towards the phone on the floor and snatching it up. He doesn't even ask what Fraser needs it for as he moves to hand it over. Mostly assumes it's to call in or something. Hopefully. Better not know.]

Shower in the Ice Queen's domain? That's uh... [But what choice does he have? He needs to clean up.]

Okay, sure. I'll be right back. Cover me.

[And with that he's sneaking out, trying to be oh-so-careful about getting to the office and sorting himself out. Maybe getting naked and wet in the domain of the Ice Queen is a little on the odd side, but desperate times...]

[ It sure is brave of him. Fraser on the other hand is leaning toward rather smelling bad than ever going in her office without permission, but...well. Ray's American. He'll survive. Letting Fraser have the phone was probably a mistake, though. He set to work dialing in the number with the old style turning dial even as Ray vanished out the door, then set the carriage in his lap, using both hands to support the receiver at his ear. ]

Good morning, Lieutenant. Why yes, the weather is quite lovely today. I thought so too. And how is your wife?

[ The conversation carried on just like that, with Fraser stalling significantly for time, before at some point Welsh asked him why he was actually calling, and Fraser knew he'd exasperated the man. Good; he was always so much more cooperative when all he wanted was to make Fraser get to the point. ]

Well you see, Sir; Ray and I were somewhat waylaid. Yes, Canadian business, Sir, it couldn't be avoided. Not precisely, no. No. [ Longer pause. ] No, nothing on fire. No, no loss of life. No Sir, not international security. [ Pause. ] Well yes, I do understand. Fifteen minutes? Understood. [ So much for cooperative. ] Yes Sir, I'll tell him. Thank you kindly, Lieu--

[ He'd hung up. Fraser stared at the phone for a moment, then shrugged and set it down. Oh well, it had been worth a try. Or not, as the case may be. It was always easier to apologize after the fact. Making use of the time Ray was in the other room, he got up to his feet and head over to the desk to write a note to Thatcher. The last thing he wanted was to be here when she found the door--he'd never live to see lunchtime. Then he fetched a basin of water - ice cold - and a washcloth, all still handcuffed, and rinsed himself down. He pulled on a new pair of breaches, laced up his discarded boots, and then sat on the edge of his desk to wait for Ray to come back. ]

The Lieutenant says if you aren't there in twelve minutes and thirty eight seconds, he intends to trade you in for a canine unit and a new espresso machine.

[Ray's as quick as he can be, careful to limit the amount of mess he makes and avoiding using anything other than the shower itself. And the towel. And stealing a tube of foundation that he finds because his needs are greater than hers, he's sure of it. He's paranoid that she'll walk in at any second, but after a lot of panicked washing and drying he manages to escape her office and avoid both her and Turnbull. It's an amazing feat and he feels a lot better for it.

He looks better too. Sort of. Clean, at least, his hair flat for now thanks to a lack of any sort of product to use on it. But he's worn it flat plenty of times before, that won't cause suspicion. His clothes, however, are still barely passing the presentable mark, although it's really only the stretched and creased t-shirt that's causing issue, he might just get away with the rest of his gear.

His spirits are almost raising until Fraser informs him of their time constraint the second he's back through the mangled door. Ray had heard Fraser muttering on the phone, sure, but he hadn't thought the Mountie would be stupid enough to wind up Welsh on the phone.]

Fraser! You-- [Actually. No. It's no use even bothering trying to reason with or lecture a Canadian, especially not ones named Benton Fraser.

They'd show up when they showed up. Ray wasn't going to rush any more than they already were just for the sake of Welsh- who was undoubtedly pissed off with their lateness already. So long as they pulled off this case in the next few nights, they should get away with most antics. And after last night, Ray's certain their cover would be convincing enough.]

I uh, found this. Here.

[All Mountie stupidness is forgiven for now as Ray steps in closer to the desk, not bothering with personal space as he squeezes a small amount of foundation onto his fingers. It would appear he knows just how to cover up marks and bruises, and Fraser's got a pretty impressive one on his neck.]

[ Fraser doesn't so much as flinch, and Ray - who's learned better by now, clearly - doesn't press it. The anger seems to melt off him, in fact, and when Ray approaches there's something much softer and warmer in his expression, something Fraser leans into before he realizes it's the splodge of make up--foundation to be exact.

He licked his lips, glancing down at Ray's hand, then back up at him. ]

I'd suggest using mine, but I'm afraid I left them at home. Inspector Thatcher's skin color is several shades darker than mine--that is... [Pause. ] Never mind.

[ This was a bad idea. Fraser knew it, Ray knew it, the whole world would know it. Out in the open, Fraser could claim that a bruise like that had been inflicted in some wacky and...no, he could claim he'd been bitten, but remain foggy on what, or at least who. What he wouldn't be able to explain is why he tried to cover up said bruise with make up unless he was somehow ashamed by it, something that would be difficult to believe considering the various wounds he'd had inflicted upon him without thinking twice in the past.

In effect, by trying not to draw attention to it, attention would be drawn, questions would be asked, and everyone in the station would know that Fraser was sporting a love bite by...well, by about ten minutes after they got there. The rest of the day would be relentless questions where Fraser had to use the 'Not betraying their honor' card, while Ray tried not to snap at everyone when they asked for Fraser's opinion on ceiling fans and lightbulbs.

But he was going to keep quiet about it. There was no need to ruin Ray's day before they even got in the car. ]

I don't suppose you remember where you left your keys?

Edited 2014-07-23 04:13 (UTC)

[Ray's not even going to ask why Fraser has foundation and why he knows the shades of his own and Thatchers. All Ray knows about foundation is that it's been damn good to him as a kid, covering various bruises and the like to hide them from his parents. He doesn't even think of how Fraser never covers his wounds, or how it might cause more questions than not.

Thankfully though he's barely touched his fingers to Fraser's neck before he's stopping dead, frozen in thought as the question is raised.

It's a very good point.

One that Ray can't immediately answer.]

Uh.

[He's quick to withdraw, hands dropping instinctively to check in the pockets of his jeans. With no luck there he moves towards the holster still sitting on the floor which... no, no that wouldn't have them. They're more likely to be in one of the pockets of his jacket, although as he grabs for his discard hoodie on the floor and gives it a shake, it sounds distinctively empty too. The keys that he fishes out of his leather jacket (discarded on the back of the chair) are very definitely little more than car keys, house keys and similar, and after that he's starting to run out of ideas.]

... Maybe in my car...?

[He doesn't sound very convinced by that idea.]

[ One thing leads to another, and Fraser watches, at first bemused, then slowly more uncomfortable as it dawns on him that Ray really has no idea where he put his handcuff keys. As each set is raised up and discarded as something else, he resists the urge to fidget on the edge of the desk, well aware of where this was headed.

Oh dear.

[ And then he has to reassure himself, despite Ray's distinct inability to sound positive, that the keys really are in the car, because at this point...at this point if they don't get moving, serious trouble will occur. They can't be here when Thatcher comes in, and they can't be walking out with Fraser half naked and in handcuffs. They need to be at least six blocks away, in fact, to avoid being close enough to hear Thatcher scream.

So Fraser jumps off the desk, ducks expertly to grab his own holster from the floor, and makes a beeline for the closet to fetch out the brown serge, all wrapped in nice clean plastic from the dry-cleaner. ]

We have to go.

[ Sudden frantic haste was a new look on him, but given the options: option 1, stay put and get reamed, option 2, be too slow and get reamed, and option 3, get humiliated by americans, he'd pick three every time. ]

[In Ray's defence he does feel somewhat bad about this. Guilty, maybe. But it's not exactly on the same scale as being handcuffed to a sinking ship. At least Fraser's not in any risk of drowning, nor is he stuck to the same place.

The sudden shifting up of a gear leaves Ray side-eyeing Fraser curiously as the Mountie rushes to grab up the top half of his uniform, but the urgency he's displaying is enough to persuade Ray that arguing can be done later. Or at least on the way.

While Fraser's got his hands full with dry-cleaning, Ray has the decency to grab the hat from the back of the door after gathering up the rest of his clothing. Trying to balance two jackets, a holster, a gun and a hat while trying to re-locate his car keys isn't easy but he manages on their rush down the hall.

Maybe it's the result of sleeping in a Canadian consulate but Ray even manages to jam to door open with a foot for Fraser to go first.]

Fraser. Your back...

[This rushing better be worth it, because Ray's not sure if anything can be worse than having a topless, handcuffed, whipped up Mountie getting in his car in broad daylight. Publicly. God, he can only hope any witnesses think he's arresting Fraser for something and not... any of the other options.]

[ Any of the other correct options?

They work in concert, synchronized in escape, and as they get to the bottom of the stairs Fraser rushes past the door of Turnbull's office, then stops, leaning his shoulders back to peer in. On the whiteboard behind the now sleeping Mountie was an enormous table Turnbull had used to keep score: his assessment 'Fraser; 4, American 1' was not entirely inaccurate. Diefenbaker raised his head off the floor under his feet, then dropped his nose to the floor again, covering his eyes with his paws. Fraser kept is voice low in admonishment. ]

You're embarrassed to be seen in public with me? I suppose I'm not talking to the same wolf who just last week I found laid flat underneath Ray's desk with an entire box of jelly filled doughnuts?

I don't have time to argue. We're getting in the car.

[ Resistant as he was, Diefenbaker came along, pushing past their feet on his rush to get out to the car without them. Which meant that Ray's words - and the shock of cold Chicago morning air on burning skin - had a moment to reach him, so that he froze in the doorway, coming to a dead stop. Right, he'd forgotten about his back. Not forgotten forgotten, he still remembered the whole thing in intricate multifaceted detail, but the sting and thrum of pain was always something he simply dealt with. He'd taken his mind off it, as he had all the other bumps and bruises he'd built up over the last two weeks.

Now, frozen on the spot, he worked his mind to a truly desperate solution. ]

Hang your coat across my shoulders.

[ It was the only thing that came to mind, short of unpacking his neat, clean clothes right there in the consulate foyer, and as that would be too risky and take far too long, this was their only option. Of course, anything would have people asking questions, but with the way things were going, Ray's handcuffs, the excuse he'd called in to Welsh, his present state included, were the makings of a truly fantastic fabrication surely occurring to Ray right now, right?

Yes? ]

[Even Diefenbaker was embarrassed. Go figure. Although that doesn't surprise Ray in the slightest considering the wolf's usually accurate assessments of the scenarios at hand. Dief will have heard much of last night even if he wasn't witness to it, Ray's just not sure how much a canine can process of what the sounds mean. Knowing Dief, he knows everything. Damn wolf.]

My jelly doughnuts. [He says, mostly to himself. Mystery finally solve on what happened to them. He'd actually assumed Huey and Dewey were the prime suspects.

But there's more pressing matters at hand right now, like the half naked Mountie standing in the open doorway of the consulate. When prompted Ray's quick to rearrange the pile of clothing in his arms and withdraw his sheepskin lined leather jacket, haphazardly tossing it over Fraser's back and then trying to arrange it on his shoulders. It's narrower than Fraser could easily fit into but it does it's job. Jacket sorted, Ray charges down the steps and off towards his car, unlocking it, tossing his armful into it and giving Dief access to the back seat.

Once he's sat in himself, he's reaching over to swing the passenger side open for Fraser, waiting until he's in before he goes over his totally perfect plan.]

Okay. If we drive hard and fast enough, we should make the Mexican border in uh, twenty hours?

[ Fraser held still while the jacket was rearranged, his shoulders bunched sightly forward to prevent it slipping, and carefully made his way out to the Pontiac, he ducked his head low, awkwardly climbing into the passenger seat when it was proffered, reached out to pull the door shut, then exhaled in relief. They'd made it to the car. It was a good start.

His back ached from the pressure of sitting on it, but Fraser pulled across his seatbelt wordlessly, before craning forward to peer into the side mirrors, glancing back over his shoulder, a frown creasing his brow. ]

Do you think Mexico would be far enough?

[ Hey, it's a fair question. Fraser looks away from the mirrors to check the glove box, the console, the footrest, finding no sign of Ray's handcuff keys, and when he straightens up there's a car pulling into the rearview.

A woman getting out, scowling at the GTO, meeting Fraser's eyes in the reflection. ]

Oh boy. Ray--Ray, start the car. Ray start the car.

[ Mexico sounded really good. ]

[Fraser's search is useless. Ray already knows that there's very little likelihood of there actually being any handcuff keys anywhere in the car. They'll be in the station. There'll be plenty in the station.

Ray glances over his shoulder at whatever Fraser's spotted, catches sight of one pissed off looking Ice Queen, and then immediately understands the urgency of the whole situation.]

We're gone.

[Assuring as he kicks the GTO into gear and slams on the accelerator, wheel spinning his way out of the parking spot and off down the street to a blare of car horns as he manages to piss off several motorists in the process.]

Maybe not far enough. I figure we reach the border then just keep goin' south.

[Ray's fine with the sun. he might even learn a bit of Spanish. They can start a new life, it'll be fine.]

[ Talk about bleeding tension. Fraser stays rigid in his seat until they're two blocks away, and only then does he slowly let himself uncoil, breathe out, even properly look from behind his wide open eyes. Staring straight ahead wasn't watching where he was going.

He turned his head very slightly toward the man beside him. ]

You're a good friend.

[ Mexico actually sounds like a workable idea, actually. He almost feels bad for not rescuing Turnbull too, considering the fact that he'd been the one to take down the door with an axe. On the other hand his dressing down wouldn't make any impact, while Fraser is... Well, any more dressing down and he'd have to start peeling off layers of skin. And Thatcher would probably hand him the knife.

Flicking his eyes up toward Ray at last, the gentle hum of moving traffic and blaring car horns reassuring, Fraser let himself linger at last on what neither of them had had time to think about since rolling off the couch. He thought for several moments how to approach the subject, whether he even wanted to, then spoke very softly: ]

Even if it means we end up in Cape Horn, I had a wonderful time last night, Ray.

[ Nobody could say he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. ]

[Ray focuses on the road ahead and tries not to think too deeply on anything beyond where to go. On instinct he's heading towards the station, but he does wonder if veering south and out of Chicago would be a much better choice for both of them. Sticking around means Ray getting a whole lot of flack from Welsh and Fraser getting probably worse from Thatcher, and he doesn't like the idea of either of them trying to explain themselves. Ray can lie, Fraser less so.

Once Fraser starts speaking, Ray provides the occasional glance sideways towards his partner to show he's listening, smiling lightly, more so to himself, when the word 'friend' pops up. It's not a word Ray had ever been too familiar with until he'd met Fraser and then, within days of them meeting, the damned Mountie was using it like they'd known each other for years. It was a nice. A good feeling. Like someone actually cared about him, and Ray's not really sure how to return it beyond nodding a light agreement. Words are hard.

And yet then, to top it all off, Fraser was bringing up last night and Ray supposes he really should find some sort of reply beyond more nodding.]

Yeah? [He sounds glad, relieved.]

So uh. We good? We still solid?

[He can't even ask if nothing has changed between them, because after last night, something clearly has changed.]

Edited 2014-07-23 17:55 (UTC)

[ Fraser knows Ray. He knows that the only way to talk to him is to listen to Ray's voice, to hear what he's not saying just as surely as the words. He heard relief, gladness, and lets it speak to him more than the words. Which if why - of course - he leaves Ray in the lurch for the space of a dozen heartbeats once his partner has spoken, though his eyes are on Ray not on the road.

He waited until he knew Ray wouldn't veer into traffic, then leaned across the space between them, brushing a kiss low on Ray's jaw, exhaling against his skin, then ducking back into his own seat. His eyes flicked back up toward the road, and Fraser settled in to behave himself in the passenger seat. ]

Better than.

[ It wouldn't be long now. Back at the station there would be enough handcuff keys - police issue, like Ray's - to get him out of his quandary. He could always just send Ray into the station to fetch a set, but how long would that take?

There was another option. An option that would mean being at least another half hour late. But maybe it would play into their hands, too. Of course instead of telling Ray the plan, Fraser simply changed it as they went along. ]

Right here.

[Fraser's wise to wait for a gap in the traffic. The pause in a reply has the smallest knot of anxiety twisting it's way into Ray's stomach in anticipation. He's not even sure why he's so concerned, if the answer were to be no he supposes they could carry on as before and never ever mention that night again. That's not the result he wants. He doesn't know what result he wants, but rejection is never his favoured choice. But... a no would make things easier, and easy is good. A yes means friendships and partnerships and none of that is every easy, not when Fraser is involved.

By the time those lips are brushing against his jaw he's a bundle of anticipation, limbs jerking away from Fraser briefly and taking the car along with him. It's only a brief moment of veering onto the other side of the road, then Ray's quickly correcting the movement to jerk them back onto the right side.]

Fraser!

[He's barely even registering the direction change until the last minute, no time to question it as he sharply skids the car into the bend, straightening her up on the straight with a slight wiggle from the back tyres. Poor Dief will just have to deal with sliding around in the back. He's probably used to it by now.]

I'm not driving us to the Canadian border.

[ Really. You'd think noone had ever necked him while he was driving before. Of course it meant that all bets were off from now on; Fraser now knew a way to distract Ray that didn't involve sea turtles, and he was precisely the kind of menace to take advantage of that fact.

Fraser sat into the steep turn, and as they set off down the next street, he looked ahead, making each of the turns in his head. In the back seat - as though guessing where they were heading - Diefenbaker turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, ready for the next turn. ]

Left here. [ Pause. ] The Canadian border? We're heading south-east, Ray.

[ And south, once they'd turned, heading almost directly away from the police station. Fraser tilted his head over to the right, as though he could somehow see better that way. ]

Next exit right.

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