[Ray can honestly say he's not much better about this whole exhaustion thing and he's barely even done anything, but something about Fraser's orgasm is enough to have Kowalski feeling the aftermath of it too, like a wave of contentment that encourages lazing around on the bed. Because they did make it to the bed, after all, and that's a pretty big achievement in itself. It doesn't help matters when Benton's petting his hair, fingers soothing against his scalp and practically persuading Ray to just lie there and nuzzle in rather than attempt anything further.
He's sure he feels Fraser drifting asleep against him, but then the Mountie's up on one arm and pressing his lips to Ray's jaw, receiving a hum of appreciation that might just be agreement to whatever he's talking about too. Alarm clock or something. Yeah, yeah. Snuggling for the rest of the week would surely be a better option than being rudely awoken by some digital clock beeping away at them. But hey, the suggestion about clothing isn't so bad.
With a grunt of effort Ray lazily sits himself back up, making very little show of dragging that t-shirt over his head, tossing it off to the side with an ease that suggests he does it far too often, and then dropping his hands to his jeans. He flops back onto the bed as he fiddles with the button and zipper, half an eye on whatever Fraser's doing, before successfully wriggling out and kicking the denim aside. And then he flops again, laying in nondescript underwear as stares at his partner rifling through keys and packets and God knows what else. Ray can't even remember what he's got in there, but the handcuff keys are useful to know. He should probably put them back in his pocket, or his holster, or somewhere where he might remember them.
He doesn't spot the crafty little palm away, blinking over at Benton as he finally moves back towards him with an offered gift which Ray takes with a low grunt of gratitude. Not that he desperately needs to be rid of that taste, he'll be washing all over again before they leave this apartment, but gum is gum and he can't deny having something for his jaw to work on. Orally fixated. Psychologists might have a thing or two to say about that, but whatever, screw them, let him chew his gum.
Unsurprisingly the wrapper gets tossed into the middle of nowhere, not caring where it lands.]
How long we got before the beeper goes off?
[Please say twelve hours. He doesn't wanna go back to work anyway.]
no subject
He's sure he feels Fraser drifting asleep against him, but then the Mountie's up on one arm and pressing his lips to Ray's jaw, receiving a hum of appreciation that might just be agreement to whatever he's talking about too. Alarm clock or something. Yeah, yeah. Snuggling for the rest of the week would surely be a better option than being rudely awoken by some digital clock beeping away at them. But hey, the suggestion about clothing isn't so bad.
With a grunt of effort Ray lazily sits himself back up, making very little show of dragging that t-shirt over his head, tossing it off to the side with an ease that suggests he does it far too often, and then dropping his hands to his jeans. He flops back onto the bed as he fiddles with the button and zipper, half an eye on whatever Fraser's doing, before successfully wriggling out and kicking the denim aside. And then he flops again, laying in nondescript underwear as stares at his partner rifling through keys and packets and God knows what else. Ray can't even remember what he's got in there, but the handcuff keys are useful to know. He should probably put them back in his pocket, or his holster, or somewhere where he might remember them.
He doesn't spot the crafty little palm away, blinking over at Benton as he finally moves back towards him with an offered gift which Ray takes with a low grunt of gratitude. Not that he desperately needs to be rid of that taste, he'll be washing all over again before they leave this apartment, but gum is gum and he can't deny having something for his jaw to work on. Orally fixated. Psychologists might have a thing or two to say about that, but whatever, screw them, let him chew his gum.
Unsurprisingly the wrapper gets tossed into the middle of nowhere, not caring where it lands.]
How long we got before the beeper goes off?
[Please say twelve hours. He doesn't wanna go back to work anyway.]