[ It was always important to listen when Ray spoke, because he so rarely went out of his way to do it that Fraser marked it when it happened. He always had something explicit to say, some point that needed to be put across no matter what, and because he often struggled with finding the right words, it was important to let the process develop at its own pace, no matter how excruciating it was to wait.
Fraser listened well, usually speaking. He kept his head down and waited until Ray was finished before correcting him. This time, he listened harder than usual: a combination of personal involvement, knowing it was important and his being impossibly wired, and therefore more prone than usual to let his attention wander. It wasn't really his fault. This sort of thing happened to him so rarely, so much love and physicality, that if he let his attention drift he'd forget that days were separated into hours, never mind his plans and responsibilities. He could forget even himself.
As Ray finished speaking, Fraser exhaled, let it wash over him. It was how he felt about it, as odd as that sounded. He'd always considered himself to be straight, but there was something about this man, his partner; something in the way they clicked, first, and then in time he'd begun to realise he was distracted by the physical things: by the shape of his ear or the bones of his wrist or the particular iron curve of his bicep where it hit the angle of his tattoo. He'd become so drawn to him physically he'd genuinely become less able to touch, although he'd found himself pressing closer into Ray's space as though it were natural. But he hadn't been able to comfort him the way he'd wanted to, had drawn back most physicality of his own for fear that if he put his hands on Ray he might somehow transmit that emotion through him, give himself away long before he even realised there was something to give.
And then they'd gone to Canada, slept inches from each other, huddled for warmth, woke up and ate and walked and talked and slept together all over again, day after day. There had been no hiding from physicality there, and he'd grown so much more comfortable with it since. It was still different, though, a whole lot of different when Ray wrapped his arms around his waist. So different from the hand touching his chest to stop him, or squeezing his shoulders, or clutching his arm. So different from Ray clapping a hand over his mouth, because with his glasses on he'd managed to spot a rabbit that Fraser had missed, and they hadn't eaten for a day and a half, feeding the last of their rations to the dogs.
Like it or not, they'd relied on each other for survival, and coming back, not having that, was like being ripped away from a limb, with no understanding of how to function without it. This physicality, the expression of emotion they both had for each other that had crept in pitilessly when they least expected it, couldn't be measured on any kind of natural scale. Fraser could accept that they both exclusively liked women, and that they both liked, loved and wanted each other despite that. Strange as it might seem, it worked for them. Ray missed him when he wasn't there, and Fraser couldn't imagine Chicago or Canada without him.
They both wanted this, wanted it with each other, and okay, so Fraser was less inhibited, bolder by far about trying new things: human bodies were largely interchangeable. But he was also sense fixated - fixated particularly upon Ray - and this was a body he'd dreamed of touching, tasting, smelling, of pressing his ear against his chest as he talked, or his cheek against Ray's throat, feeling the vibration of a moan through his skin. He wanted to experience all of it, and he did need the warning: he needed it because without it this would be frantic, dramatic, overwhelming, and Ray needed him to go slow. He needed to be eased into it.
At the end of the day he hadn't thought about another woman that way in years. Francesca had all but thrown herself at him, and had his mind lingered on the curve of her breast? On the way her mouth shaped around words? On the way her eyelashes brushed her cheek when she laughed?
He exhaled again, forcing himself to cool down, and when his eyes opened he looked up, found Ray's eyes a half inch or so above his own. He could do this. He could do this for Ray; ease him into it even though he wanted to pour his everything into it at once, show him just how long, and what it meant, and how he felt. ]
You don't have to spend another night alone, Ray. [ He promised, even though he didn't know if he could fulfill it. As an officer of the RCMP Robert Fraser had abandoned his family for months at a time, and his son wasn't much better. But Benton hoped, truly hoped, that he wouldn't be as selfish as his father, that he'd learned from all his mistakes, and being so long and often away from home was one of them.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss to Ray's mouth, then reached back around his back to gently urge his partner to let go. ]
Put on some music, then sit over on the couch. [ He indicated the loveseat, covered in furs. He'd admired the position in the room from the moment they'd stepped inside an hour ago, but now it seemed like the most comfortable, homely place they could possibly be. If he could be reminded of Canada, of the north, in a place as alien as this hotel room, it'd be there. ] Trust me, Ray.
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Fraser listened well, usually speaking. He kept his head down and waited until Ray was finished before correcting him. This time, he listened harder than usual: a combination of personal involvement, knowing it was important and his being impossibly wired, and therefore more prone than usual to let his attention wander. It wasn't really his fault. This sort of thing happened to him so rarely, so much love and physicality, that if he let his attention drift he'd forget that days were separated into hours, never mind his plans and responsibilities. He could forget even himself.
As Ray finished speaking, Fraser exhaled, let it wash over him. It was how he felt about it, as odd as that sounded. He'd always considered himself to be straight, but there was something about this man, his partner; something in the way they clicked, first, and then in time he'd begun to realise he was distracted by the physical things: by the shape of his ear or the bones of his wrist or the particular iron curve of his bicep where it hit the angle of his tattoo. He'd become so drawn to him physically he'd genuinely become less able to touch, although he'd found himself pressing closer into Ray's space as though it were natural. But he hadn't been able to comfort him the way he'd wanted to, had drawn back most physicality of his own for fear that if he put his hands on Ray he might somehow transmit that emotion through him, give himself away long before he even realised there was something to give.
And then they'd gone to Canada, slept inches from each other, huddled for warmth, woke up and ate and walked and talked and slept together all over again, day after day. There had been no hiding from physicality there, and he'd grown so much more comfortable with it since. It was still different, though, a whole lot of different when Ray wrapped his arms around his waist. So different from the hand touching his chest to stop him, or squeezing his shoulders, or clutching his arm. So different from Ray clapping a hand over his mouth, because with his glasses on he'd managed to spot a rabbit that Fraser had missed, and they hadn't eaten for a day and a half, feeding the last of their rations to the dogs.
Like it or not, they'd relied on each other for survival, and coming back, not having that, was like being ripped away from a limb, with no understanding of how to function without it. This physicality, the expression of emotion they both had for each other that had crept in pitilessly when they least expected it, couldn't be measured on any kind of natural scale. Fraser could accept that they both exclusively liked women, and that they both liked, loved and wanted each other despite that. Strange as it might seem, it worked for them. Ray missed him when he wasn't there, and Fraser couldn't imagine Chicago or Canada without him.
They both wanted this, wanted it with each other, and okay, so Fraser was less inhibited, bolder by far about trying new things: human bodies were largely interchangeable. But he was also sense fixated - fixated particularly upon Ray - and this was a body he'd dreamed of touching, tasting, smelling, of pressing his ear against his chest as he talked, or his cheek against Ray's throat, feeling the vibration of a moan through his skin. He wanted to experience all of it, and he did need the warning: he needed it because without it this would be frantic, dramatic, overwhelming, and Ray needed him to go slow. He needed to be eased into it.
At the end of the day he hadn't thought about another woman that way in years. Francesca had all but thrown herself at him, and had his mind lingered on the curve of her breast? On the way her mouth shaped around words? On the way her eyelashes brushed her cheek when she laughed?
He exhaled again, forcing himself to cool down, and when his eyes opened he looked up, found Ray's eyes a half inch or so above his own. He could do this. He could do this for Ray; ease him into it even though he wanted to pour his everything into it at once, show him just how long, and what it meant, and how he felt. ]
You don't have to spend another night alone, Ray. [ He promised, even though he didn't know if he could fulfill it. As an officer of the RCMP Robert Fraser had abandoned his family for months at a time, and his son wasn't much better. But Benton hoped, truly hoped, that he wouldn't be as selfish as his father, that he'd learned from all his mistakes, and being so long and often away from home was one of them.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss to Ray's mouth, then reached back around his back to gently urge his partner to let go. ]
Put on some music, then sit over on the couch. [ He indicated the loveseat, covered in furs. He'd admired the position in the room from the moment they'd stepped inside an hour ago, but now it seemed like the most comfortable, homely place they could possibly be. If he could be reminded of Canada, of the north, in a place as alien as this hotel room, it'd be there. ] Trust me, Ray.