[ Synchronisation--that's exactly what it is. The rhythm is so much like dancing that Fraser can hear the music again, although to be fair he's leading the harmony with his own little noises; harder, harsher though they've inevitably come to be. He dances, follows Ray's lead as before, and then as fingers curl deep in his hair he groans, the sound a deep, louder rumble that he doesn't even care to try and subdue.
Fraser doesn't just let himself be pulled back, he moves up with the tug, coming up onto his knees in such a way as he's almost sitting in Ray's lap, torso upright and pressed against him, chest heaving. His eyes flash open open again, lashes fluttering as he gets his bearings, his head pulled back nearly against Ray's shoulder. The tension there is visible. Benton swallows, gasps in another eager mouthful of too-hot air. The sweat on his neck glistens in the low light, and his whimper at Ray's mouth - tender, affectionate, a little rough against his neck - almost smothers the sound of Ray's murmur.
He doesn't have an opportunity to answer before Ray's teeth sink deep against his neck, and again, even unable to see the grin he knew without doubt it was there--not that the shape of Ray's mouth was the first thing on his mind. Teeth and wonderful, contrarily euphoric pain, a peppering of shock, all of which contribute to one distracted Mountie; one who cries out loud, but perhaps not as loud as before, under the unexpected assault.
And distantly his mind goes to the impossibility of hiding this particular mark underneath even the high collar of his uniform, and whether or not he would want to even if he could. He almost anticipates the perverse pleasure of dancing around the inevitable questions without ever actually straight up lying about it.
And if there's an answer to Ray's question, he's really in no position to answer it. ]
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Fraser doesn't just let himself be pulled back, he moves up with the tug, coming up onto his knees in such a way as he's almost sitting in Ray's lap, torso upright and pressed against him, chest heaving. His eyes flash open open again, lashes fluttering as he gets his bearings, his head pulled back nearly against Ray's shoulder. The tension there is visible. Benton swallows, gasps in another eager mouthful of too-hot air. The sweat on his neck glistens in the low light, and his whimper at Ray's mouth - tender, affectionate, a little rough against his neck - almost smothers the sound of Ray's murmur.
He doesn't have an opportunity to answer before Ray's teeth sink deep against his neck, and again, even unable to see the grin he knew without doubt it was there--not that the shape of Ray's mouth was the first thing on his mind. Teeth and wonderful, contrarily euphoric pain, a peppering of shock, all of which contribute to one distracted Mountie; one who cries out loud, but perhaps not as loud as before, under the unexpected assault.
And distantly his mind goes to the impossibility of hiding this particular mark underneath even the high collar of his uniform, and whether or not he would want to even if he could. He almost anticipates the perverse pleasure of dancing around the inevitable questions without ever actually straight up lying about it.
And if there's an answer to Ray's question, he's really in no position to answer it. ]