[Ray hadn't even realised he'd needed this. He hadn't known that his constant need for Fraser being in his life and his want for Fraser's constant support was leading to this. He'd desired Fraser's attention twenty four seven in the vague hope of fulfilling some sort of emptiness he'd felt before they met, and now? Now he was finally getting every last bit of the Mountie. This was the missing piece in their partnership, the final jagged edge to slot into some bizarrely shaped puzzle. Ever since they'd got back from Canada Ray hadn't been able to shake that loneliness he was left with each evening when he'd slunk back to his apartment alone, too codependent on his partner to consider trying to survive without him.
Clingy? Perhaps. But he was happy to give Fraser his space, even when they were out in the wild North. He just needed to know that he'd come back, like a lost puppy desperate not to be abandoned. He needed the Mountie. Without him Ray wasn't sure who he was. Benton made him who he was, made him strive to be a better person rather than the sulking, self-pitying piece of shit he was after he and Stella split.
The wildness of Benton's actions hadn't been a surprise, not when Kowalski had seen the Canadian in action. Fraser was a man of the wild, all hard edges and thick skin, able to live through great hardships. Despite his politeness, he wasn't the sort of man to handle Ray with care. He had, after all, been the one to punch Ray so hard in the face it had almost floored him. Twice. And all that took was some mild persuasion. Benton knew what Ray could take, and Ray knew what Benton could take. There was no need for kid gloves between them.
When they do break away, he's left gasping for air like he's just come up from a dive; heavy, desperate inhales as his eyes slip shut, forehead willingly nestled against the other's. He wants to say something, or at least feels he should, but he wants to remember this moment. As willing as they both seem now, maybe tomorrow once the alcohol has gone and the buzz of the wedding is over, they may never speak of this again. It wouldn't be too awkward, not after half the shit they've already been through together, this would just be another notch in their belt of weirdness, and he doesn't want that, not right now. Right now he wants to cling as tight as he can to this moment (and that firm ass beneath his grip).
He feels like he's barely got his breath back before Benton's back in, pressing a constant flow of kisses and licks that Ray can only softly allow, gasping out light agreements with each flick of that rough tongue and retaliating occasionally with his own flick and press.
When his hand is finally released it drops heavily, shifting it to rest at Fraser's hip as Fraser's hand paves a way against the ridiculously expensive slim fit cotton of his shirt. The fingers are enough to have him huffing out softly against his partner's mouth and that jerk of hips? God, that jerk of hips leaves far too little to the imagination. Ray has to use his weight to try and stop that from happening too much because he's really not sure he'd be able to help himself if that kept going.
Ray doesn't entirely how this works, this guy thing, but he can't bring himself to care while Fraser's tongue is so apologetically sprawling against his own. Kowalski responds, his own kiss slowing and rolling easily with Benton's, far less desperate and suffocating and moderately inappropriate for public, and just a little more casual and smooth. His curled fingers grip again against the firm muscle beneath and he briefly thinks how fucking illegal those jeans should be on Fraser, but maybe he shouldn't be noticing things like that.
He should probably suggest Fraser get into the other room and get on with his speech, but that would mean withdrawing away from all this and allowing his Mountie out in public where others could touch and speak to him and-- okay maybe he's getting a little clingy.]
no subject
Clingy? Perhaps. But he was happy to give Fraser his space, even when they were out in the wild North. He just needed to know that he'd come back, like a lost puppy desperate not to be abandoned. He needed the Mountie. Without him Ray wasn't sure who he was. Benton made him who he was, made him strive to be a better person rather than the sulking, self-pitying piece of shit he was after he and Stella split.
The wildness of Benton's actions hadn't been a surprise, not when Kowalski had seen the Canadian in action. Fraser was a man of the wild, all hard edges and thick skin, able to live through great hardships. Despite his politeness, he wasn't the sort of man to handle Ray with care. He had, after all, been the one to punch Ray so hard in the face it had almost floored him. Twice. And all that took was some mild persuasion. Benton knew what Ray could take, and Ray knew what Benton could take. There was no need for kid gloves between them.
When they do break away, he's left gasping for air like he's just come up from a dive; heavy, desperate inhales as his eyes slip shut, forehead willingly nestled against the other's. He wants to say something, or at least feels he should, but he wants to remember this moment. As willing as they both seem now, maybe tomorrow once the alcohol has gone and the buzz of the wedding is over, they may never speak of this again. It wouldn't be too awkward, not after half the shit they've already been through together, this would just be another notch in their belt of weirdness, and he doesn't want that, not right now. Right now he wants to cling as tight as he can to this moment (and that firm ass beneath his grip).
He feels like he's barely got his breath back before Benton's back in, pressing a constant flow of kisses and licks that Ray can only softly allow, gasping out light agreements with each flick of that rough tongue and retaliating occasionally with his own flick and press.
When his hand is finally released it drops heavily, shifting it to rest at Fraser's hip as Fraser's hand paves a way against the ridiculously expensive slim fit cotton of his shirt. The fingers are enough to have him huffing out softly against his partner's mouth and that jerk of hips? God, that jerk of hips leaves far too little to the imagination. Ray has to use his weight to try and stop that from happening too much because he's really not sure he'd be able to help himself if that kept going.
Ray doesn't entirely how this works, this guy thing, but he can't bring himself to care while Fraser's tongue is so apologetically sprawling against his own. Kowalski responds, his own kiss slowing and rolling easily with Benton's, far less desperate and suffocating and moderately inappropriate for public, and just a little more casual and smooth. His curled fingers grip again against the firm muscle beneath and he briefly thinks how fucking illegal those jeans should be on Fraser, but maybe he shouldn't be noticing things like that.
He should probably suggest Fraser get into the other room and get on with his speech, but that would mean withdrawing away from all this and allowing his Mountie out in public where others could touch and speak to him and-- okay maybe he's getting a little clingy.]