[ Trying to get his pulse under control was difficult after that little display, bringing his breath down from panting moans to something ragged but at least steady was easier said than done. He wasn't running up stairs or rooftops, he was under physical assault, and Ray knew exactly which of his buttons to press.

Fraser licks his lips, taking advantage of the moment with the small kiss to his jaw and the slow withdrawal to wrestle that control back. As his eyes begin to clear, he settles back down, finding his strength again, though he was grateful for Ray's support regardless, pretending to require somewhat more of it than he needs. ]

More than enough.

[ He wasn't answering a question about money, and the way his eyes flicked across Ray's made that clear, however a moment later Fraser was tilting the jar this way and that, counting the numbers written on the notes. He paused, lowered his ear toward it and shook it, jangling coins, then offered it back toward Ray. ]

Seventy three dollars and eighty one cents.

[ More than enough to pay for the key and their drinks. The woman behind him leaned over to pluck it from his hand. ]

That's some party trick.

[ Another patron keened: ] Some voice. Canadian accent. That's some dedication.

[ A third: ] Don't be daft. He's Canadian, he's just not a Mountie.

[ The second again. ] He could be a Mountie. Mounties gotta be kinky too, right? They're not monks.

[ The bartender had finished counting, and she shook her head in disbelief. ] Seventy three dollars, eighty one cents. [ The keys jangled as they were dropped onto the bar behind him, but Fraser didn't so much as react, letting Ray make those decisions.

He waited, anticipating. They were in; this was the opportunity they'd been hoping for, and now it was time to take advantage of it. ]