dogsled: (subterfuge)
Benton Fraser ([personal profile] dogsled) wrote in [community profile] thelockbox 2014-08-07 10:12 pm (UTC)

[ If he hadn't felt like the woman in this relationship before, he was distinctly aware of it when the door swung open in front of him, and he tipped his head toward Ray, slipped his hat back on as the stepped out into the brisk air. ]

Thank you kindly, Ray.

[ And those were the last words he said. It was easy after that to let the quiet seep in and the time stretch out beneath them. The GTO felt smooth and powerful underneath them - the whirl of spinning wheels and tarmac underneath them was glorious, impossibly exciting, like riding a wild horse - but it was the warmth of the heater hanging in the air claustrophobically that really wore him down. It was a weight on his chest, pressing in from the air around him, bearing down, and his goddamn tunic jacket felt like a noose around his throat.

He tugged the velcro loose, unbuttoned the top two buttons, and tugged on his shirt gently. It was already clinging to him. No, it wasn't just the heater. They were driving back to Ray's. They were driving back to Ray's

"for lunch."

Fraser shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd never before realised quite how far it was between the station and Ray's apartment. Too far. Or maybe it wasn't the distance so much as how long it took to cover it. It seemed impossibly unfair to him somehow that they couldn't simply be there, especially considering how itchy he felt, how overwhelmingly hot, how much like he needed to get out of his uniform before he spontaneously combusted inside it.

Because while he sat in the GTO his imagination created a dozen ways of using the seven minutes and twenty three seconds it took to drive back to Ray's, and most of them were probably explicitly illegal in the Illinois state legal code where it pertained to transit routes, and what people could realistically do while operating a moving vehicle. He'd read the relevant documents...he just. Wasn't remembering them clearly right now. But illegal--it was all illegal. Right?

One minute and fifty-four seconds from pulling up outside Ray's apartment, Benton Fraser deliberately, knowingly and willingly broke the law (as far as his recollection allowed). Well why not? Today was a day of extravagances. He'd already used instinct instead of logic, kissed his partner, desecrated Canadian soil, fled his home country, made out in a closet, lied and lied and lied, and now he was reaching across and sliding his fingers against Ray's inner thigh, looking up at him with lust-filled blue eyes and purring.
]

You were hard, weren't you? The day the Riv caught on fire. All that deaf defying fear, driving along inside a bomb that could go off at any time. It turned you on.

[ Because he might put up a front, play dumb, but Fraser wasn't stupid. He'd inhaled dictionaries; he didn't just know what a transvestite was, he knew the word for it in six different languages. He knew about sex, he'd proven that, and he knew that kind of excitement, too, because only the crashing into the ice cold lake had taken the edge off. His breeches hid a multitude of sins.

Ray's did not. His hand slid higher, and he watched Ray watching the road, ready to come to his rescue if need be as he heeled his palm boldly against Ray's groin.
]

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