[ Ray relieves him of his duty of control at just the right moment, gets a knee up between them as he shoves him back, and it's a physical block without being even close to reprimanding. Not when he knows that Ray is like this too, instinctual, more than ready to move much too fast, just as he had with Stella after her breakup with Orsini--just as they had last night. It wasn't a reprimand, or punishment; they had to stop because they had to stop, and Benton was relieved that he could rely on his partner to intercede on his behalf even when to all intents and purposes they both wanted this. Would topple into it without second thought in a heartbeat.
It was impossible to see just how undone the kiss had made him in the dark, but he was panting, pink faced, his lips plush from the kiss, his hair uncharacteristically askew. He knew himself - what he was capable of if he let himself have even half a moment to let his mind wander from logic to need again - and it was for that reason alone that he reached across to turn the handle of the closet, letting in a crack of light from the corridor outside as though if he let in the light and the hustle and bustle of police station noises he might convince himself to stop.
Instead, as he looked back out of the corner of his eye, listened to Ray's own panting, inspected the blush of his partner's skin and the lips he'd bruised last night - nevermind the more recent assault - the pitch of their quandary became immensely clear. It wasn't just in the car, or now, and the rush of leaving the Consulate had obscured the longing, but this...this situation had changed everything. Just looking at Ray was going to take levels of self control he didn't know if he had. This wasn't like Victoria. Victoria had been a distorted, twisted up kind of kismet. Ray Vecchio ne. Kowalski was his best friend, his partner, a man to whom he trusted his life and harbored a daily relationship with, to whom he'd opened up heart and soul to with only the briefest hesitation. Now every time he looked at him, he'd be thinking about kissing him. Keeping things professional was going to be a battle. They'd need to establish rules. Rules both of them would inevitably break, but without 'No fucking on Inspector Thatcher's/Lieutenant Welsh's desk' as a baseline they were both going to end up in spurious amounts of trouble. And probably fired.
Fraser being Fraser would find it hard to care so long as his nights and days were filled with passion, with never getting out of bed, hands wrapped in hands and lips on bare skin and Ray's teeth--god, Ray's teeth! Ray on the other hand had his shield to think of, and if he followed Fraser around without a badge or a license to shoot gunmen dead, then both of them would probably end up in the bottom of Lake Michigan sooner or later.
He swallowed, then jerked his head abruptly as though he could shake off his wandering thoughts, but he was still over on Ray's side of the closet when the door opened, and he jumped back so fast it was like he'd been burned. A box of paperclips fell off the shelf he collided with, smacked him on the head and then spilled like silver vomit all over the floor between himself and Ray.
From the doorway Francesca clucked her teeth, then shook her head. You know, maybe I don't even wanna know. Lieutenant wants to see you. ]
Me? [ Dazed by paperclips, still flushed from arousal and finding it very hard not to look down and make sure his tunic really did still obscure everything, identifying who Francesca was speaking to through insight alone was still far beyond his ability. And if he sounded positively terrified there was nothing surprising about that. Francesca's eyes hadn't left his face, and Fraser suddenly felt cornered on top of everything else.
No, she said. My dope of a brother who can't set an alarm clock to save his life. You gonna pick those up? I can help.
That was the last thing he wanted: to be left in the closet with Frannie while Ray went to Welsh. There was a gap by her left shoulder, and Fraser saw his opportunity closing. ]
Uh. No.
[ Which wasn't the polite, neat Mountie in any way shape or form, but the gap wouldn't last forever, and he made it - proudly, victoriously - into the hallway without so much as bumping shoulders with either Vecchio. ]
no subject
It was impossible to see just how undone the kiss had made him in the dark, but he was panting, pink faced, his lips plush from the kiss, his hair uncharacteristically askew. He knew himself - what he was capable of if he let himself have even half a moment to let his mind wander from logic to need again - and it was for that reason alone that he reached across to turn the handle of the closet, letting in a crack of light from the corridor outside as though if he let in the light and the hustle and bustle of police station noises he might convince himself to stop.
Instead, as he looked back out of the corner of his eye, listened to Ray's own panting, inspected the blush of his partner's skin and the lips he'd bruised last night - nevermind the more recent assault - the pitch of their quandary became immensely clear. It wasn't just in the car, or now, and the rush of leaving the Consulate had obscured the longing, but this...this situation had changed everything. Just looking at Ray was going to take levels of self control he didn't know if he had. This wasn't like Victoria. Victoria had been a distorted, twisted up kind of kismet. Ray Vecchio ne. Kowalski was his best friend, his partner, a man to whom he trusted his life and harbored a daily relationship with, to whom he'd opened up heart and soul to with only the briefest hesitation. Now every time he looked at him, he'd be thinking about kissing him. Keeping things professional was going to be a battle. They'd need to establish rules. Rules both of them would inevitably break, but without 'No fucking on Inspector Thatcher's/Lieutenant Welsh's desk' as a baseline they were both going to end up in spurious amounts of trouble. And probably fired.
Fraser being Fraser would find it hard to care so long as his nights and days were filled with passion, with never getting out of bed, hands wrapped in hands and lips on bare skin and Ray's teeth--god, Ray's teeth! Ray on the other hand had his shield to think of, and if he followed Fraser around without a badge or a license to shoot gunmen dead, then both of them would probably end up in the bottom of Lake Michigan sooner or later.
He swallowed, then jerked his head abruptly as though he could shake off his wandering thoughts, but he was still over on Ray's side of the closet when the door opened, and he jumped back so fast it was like he'd been burned. A box of paperclips fell off the shelf he collided with, smacked him on the head and then spilled like silver vomit all over the floor between himself and Ray.
From the doorway Francesca clucked her teeth, then shook her head. You know, maybe I don't even wanna know. Lieutenant wants to see you. ]
Me? [ Dazed by paperclips, still flushed from arousal and finding it very hard not to look down and make sure his tunic really did still obscure everything, identifying who Francesca was speaking to through insight alone was still far beyond his ability. And if he sounded positively terrified there was nothing surprising about that. Francesca's eyes hadn't left his face, and Fraser suddenly felt cornered on top of everything else.
No, she said. My dope of a brother who can't set an alarm clock to save his life. You gonna pick those up? I can help.
That was the last thing he wanted: to be left in the closet with Frannie while Ray went to Welsh. There was a gap by her left shoulder, and Fraser saw his opportunity closing. ]
Uh. No.
[ Which wasn't the polite, neat Mountie in any way shape or form, but the gap wouldn't last forever, and he made it - proudly, victoriously - into the hallway without so much as bumping shoulders with either Vecchio. ]