Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
Benton Fraser | Due South
 BENTON FRASER。 | |
"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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He hadn't realised quite what he'd been missing out on, but perhaps that applied to sex as a whole. Fraser was the kind of person who spent hours kissing and hours doing the other thing and kissing, and lost all sense of time and place in the process, but in the space of the last twelve hours he'd added at least twenty other things to his repertoire and found he wasn't particularly bad at any of them.
His groan as he felt Ray's smile was one of catharsis. His whole life had been leading to this moment; to Ray. Everything. His father's murder, Victoria, Zucko, three exploded 1971 Buick Rivieras, Ray Vecchio's reassignment to Las Vegas--and here he was, trembling against Ray's hand and under Ray's lips, and whimpering appreciatively when the red serge fell away from his shoulders.
Instantly he felt naked, but good naked--though of course he was nowhere near. It wasn't as if he hadn't stripped down in front of Ray before, and that was excluding last night, but to be fair to Ray it was difficult to pay attention to a Mountie dropping his pants when there was curling on television and Canada was winning. Well this time it was going to be a draw, Fraser could feel it. They were both playing perfect sets.
He reciprocated. First, of course, he had to drop his arms to let the tunic fall, let it pool crumpled at his feet - he'd have to steam it to straighten out all the wrinkles, he thought, absently - and then his hands were free to go back to Ray, sliding underneath his borrowed T-shirt and up along his sides. Ray's skin was all hot coals and molten lava under his fingertips, not smooth but not rough either, toned with muscle even here. There was more muscle around his ribs, which he could feel out with his fingertips when he reached them--his own weren't so easy to trace, protected by a layer of fat, and that brought home if nothing else did the fact that this was another man's body and not his own that he was touching. Ray Ray Ray. It was Ray's body, opening up to him, free to a good home. Free for him to have and to give himself to.
His thumbs had almost found Ray's nipples before passion pressed him to pull the shirt over Ray's head, tossing it aside with a sort of desperation. He needed to see, just as he had before. He needed to see what he was doing, see what his doing it did to Ray, see the ripples of response that impacted his breathing and his expression and his cock and shot like electricity between them to do the same to Fraser himself. And as he curled one arm around Ray's bare back and stroked the thumb of the other against his nipple at last he suddenly had a thought that made him laugh, glancing upward. ]
She's going to kill me. [ He said. And that was funny because? ] Your filthy shirt, the scuff marks on the desk, the smell--my god, Ray, the smell of you all over that room, all over me. [ But laughter had lowered into a deep rumble of appreciation, he leaned into his partner's neck again, snatching his teeth at it. ] The smell of me all over you-- [ Purred as though he found it the most erotic idea in the world. His kisses freckled Ray's neck, lips barely present, and he was murmuring under his breath: ] "In another moment down went Alice after it--" [ He whispered, rocking his hips up against Ray's, pulling him closer. ] "--Never once considering how in the world she was going to get out again." [ Maybe it was abstract out loud, but all these thoughts of his being a rabbit, and the appealing, glorious anticipation of impending misadventure, were far too clear a connection in Benton Fraser's fried, bookish brain to ignore. ]
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He'd seen much of it before and never so much as batted an eyelid at it, far more concerned with Fraser licking random objects than he ever was of the Mountie dropping his breeches. They were partners, after all, it was normal for them to do things like that when comfortable around one another. And they were definitely comfortable around one another, especially now, as the stay closely wrapped together and steadily undressing like each piece of clothing is a new layer of wrapping with some sort of gift inside. So many gifts to go around.
By the time the tunic is off, Fraser's already returning the favour with some exploration of his own, Ray settling his hands around the Mountie's waist while those wandering hands skitter across his skin curiously. He watches intently at the sight of it all, breath huffing out lightly as fingers tickle against his ribs and drift upwards, only broken as the move is made to tug the t-shirt off. Ray lifts his arms in unison with the pull upwards, letting it slip over his head and ruffle the already un-styled hair- he really had to remember to get some sort of product in that before they got back tot he station. Once that final layer of upper clothing is gone, Benton does a good job of getting straight back into it, teasing against a sensitive nipple and causing Ray to gasp softly with the stroke. It was still twinging from last night, the skin around it bruised in a perfect little circle after a certain someone decided to bite down on it.
While Fraser is at his neck and purring words against him, Ray's trying to return the favour with a nuzzle, slipping a hand under that shirt once again, this time at the Mountie's back to trail a lazy path up his spine, feeling against each disk. His other hand drops to those breeches, hooking a thumb into the waistband but remaining still, unwilling to unwrap that just yet.]
Y'think she'll know? [Another light huff as he feels that scrape of teeth, retaliating with his own scrape against Fraser's jawline.] Maybe we oughta do it on her desk too, just to be sure.
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Where Ray's fingers slid incrementally along the ridges of his spine, Fraser shuddered, and there...there, where his partner's fingers had found it before, was the stretched bubble of still itchy skin that concealed beneath it a single nine millimeter round. He gasped against Ray's skin, bringing his free hands up - both of them - to wring in his partner's hair, kneading and scratching because he remembered that Ray liked that. It was probably the gel, he thought, though there was none of it in there now; Ray had used Thatcher's shower that morning, and all the grainy flecks he'd sent raining down as he broke apart the structure with his fingers last night were gone. Ray's lovely spiky hair was now dry and limp. But that was okay, Fraser was making a good mess of it again now.
Ray's blunt white teeth ran against his jaw, and that was wonderful, but they were nothing to the words - filthy perfect words - with images and consequences that swam into being in a single resounding thought. Fraser moaned helplessly, snapped his hips upward against Ray's in a jerk of movement that almost made him lose his balance entirely, and dropped his hands down to grab handfuls of the other man's strong shoulders instead.
It was dirty, it was terrible, it was...a wonderful, exciting, thrilling idea. And when had he become so depraved, or had he always been this way? Was it just Ray who made him want the world, as though the very fact that the variations of how and where were suddenly open to him like a smorgasbord of sex, made him want it all, all at once - no matter how unrealistic - and damn all the consequences. The fact that they'd made it to an actual bed in the first twenty-four hours was probably a miracle, because Fraser wanted to fuck on Thatcher's desk, on the hood of Ray's car, on an airplane, in a sleeping bag, on a dogsled, on ice skates, in his father's stupid imaginary office, in the men's room at the 2-7, at the top of the Sears tower, a mountain, on a sailing ship and a submarine--and he wanted to do all of them at the same time.
He dug his nails in. He was murmuring, as it turned out, telling Ray all the places he wanted to do it as well as Thatcher's desk, putting voice to all the thoughts in his head, and then since he couldn't take it any more he was stepping back, pulling Ray on top of him as he toppled back on the bed. ]
Ray-- [ He whispered quickly, after he was done with "--in Ottawa", and he scratched a path down Ray's back, trying to illustrate his need. ] --If you open all your gifts this slowly, Christmas will last until January 4th.
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Ray's equally surprised they even managed to make it as far as the bed considering how damn good Fraser is when clinging on and arching into him like that. The hands in his hair are perfect and they're just as good at his shoulder, gripped tight with the blunt reminder of nails. It's only when he feels himself pitching forward onto Fraser and the bed that he's suddenly reminded that they'd just been standing there in the bedroom, rather than the actual bed. Well then. Now they'd made it as far as the bed, even if he had landed on his partner in the process.]
You're supposed to be the patient one, Fraser.
[He chides, but doesn't tease for long, spine curling into the scratch of nails and then using the upwards momentum to drive back down against Benton's hips. His hands had managed to slip free from his partner's back just before they landed, preventing an uncomfortable landing for both of them, now one wandered- the other supporting his weight- back towards that waistband, lingering only briefly before grabbing onto the bottom of his under shirt and tugging upwards. Fraser would have to help him out here, but he's sure the Mountie will be willing enough to squirm out of his clothing considering he's the one complaining about the slow process.]
I gotta take my time with these things, okay? Otherwise I uh... [He loses his train of thought for a moment as he distracts himself with leaning back in to kiss and nip against the exposed neck, slowly drifting lower with his lips as his hand does the same. He lingers briefly at each nipple, tweaking between thumb and forefinger before dancing his fingers across the breast bone and towards that flat stomach. Fraser's more built than Ray's used to on his own form, more mass and muscle and fat than Kowalski's ever been able to put on and keep on. He burns it too quick, perhaps from too much bouncing around.]
I uh... I forget what I'm talkin' about...
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It was much better to have the freedom to tangle his fingers back in Ray's hair instead, he thought. At least this time - this first time - he wanted to be able to do that. He'd developed, he thought, a fascination with Ray's hair that defied explanation, but it went a little something like this: Ray's hair was soft, the shafts were fine, so much softer than it looked to touch. It wanted to lay flat across his forehead, down over his ears, and so the resistance Fraser met when he pushed it back up with the whole of his palm was such that the strands tickled between his fingers as they sprang back toward where nature meant them to be. Everything about Ray's hair was everything that Fraser's was not, pale where his own was dark, soft where his own was coarse and dense, disobedient where his own - given a splash of water and a comb - did precisely what he meant it to do.
He liked Ray's hair, he decided. He especially liked tugging on it rhythmically, like a cat kneading a pillow, when Ray's teeth were dancing patterns down his throat.
If the thrust of Ray's hips had made him moan, the murmur of words against his neck and the teeth and tongue and lips and Ray's wandering hands play out the bridge. Even that symphony of small touches was enough to make Fraser whimper and gasp, and really he forgot what Ray was talking about too, because - as before - this was exactly what he'd wanted.
To be touched. To be adored. To have Ray's hands all over him and more. To have a warm body close against his own. He dug his nails in a little deeper. Ray could tie him up again on the submarine, he thought. This would do just fine for now. ]
You were telling me-- [ He said clearly. ] --That you thought I was dumb. Dumb, stupid, a damn fool, for not thinking of doing this sooner. Think about all those stupid things we did that could have--ah--been much more enjoyable if only we'd thought to have lots and lots of "how the blue blazes are we still alive" sex afterwards. And the boring days, the--like when you...Consulate and...
[ Ray had it right; what were they even talking about? The hand on his stomach was making him tremble. He was out of his own mind. ]
Keep doing that.
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While Fraser keeps up with that, Ray continues his own little trail down the bare torso offered to him, hands still dusting against the skin of Fraser's stomach and sides like he wants to feel every inch of the Mountie. His lips follow up behind, taking the same path as his tongue swipes against nipple and then the next, brief but solid attention before shifting to rest his chin right on his partner's breastbone, looking up at him with interest.]
Heh. Dumb. You are dumb. We shoulda been doin' this months ago.
[And Ray takes absolutely none of the blame for not thinking of this sooner, because everything is Fraser's fault no matter what.]
Guess we kinda started backwards with all of this though. [Because normally you don't start cuffing, biting and whipping your partner until after dates and first time sex, not before, but when did the two of them ever do anything the right way round?
And just because Fraser's being impatient, Ray's going to be a little shit, still watching with innocent blue eyes as a hand slips between the Mountie's breeches and kneads down with a palm against the obvious erection hidden beneath. He doesn't even remove the underwear, keeping the fabric between the warmth of their skin, even as his fingers curl into the enclosed bulge.]
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Fraser hissed and arched under Ray's attention, under the tongue that swirled hot and heavy and perfect around the nub of first one nipple and then the other. He couldn't rise far off the bed with Ray on top of him, but every muscle strained as it tried, and as soon as his abused back made contact with the bed beneath it again his poor abandoned nipples were left to the cool air, prickling and wet and hard. His head swam.
Backwards. He had no idea what Ray was talking about. Were they doing something backwards? He couldn't remember. Maybe he was talking about how Fraser should have stripped out of his clothes before they made it to the bedroom, because right now that felt like it would have been a much better idea. He was smoking hot, aching, his cock trapped painfully against the stiff starch of his boxers, which he now had the insight to think was the worst kind of self abuse known to man because it felt like he was rubbing his erection against a raw brick wall.
And god, he felt like he'd been hard for hours, hard since he woke up nestled against Ray, hard since they'd kissed in front of all those people in the club, hard since the closet, and the interrogation room, and the car. He'd been patient for what felt like years, and he couldn't stand it any more.
Letting him go with one hand to reach upward, Fraser managed to snag the corner of a pillow and yank it down, shoving it awkwardly under his head. It let out a welcoming whuff of Ray-smell that he instantly wanted to press to his face and drown in, but also improved the angle no end, let him look at Ray looking at him, watching the projected innocence in those gray blue eyes and not believing in it even for a second. Ray had taken his belt to him, had handcuffed him and left him to sleep with them on, had kneaded his shoulders and neck and hair when Fraser had gone down on him. Ray wanted to fuck on Thatcher's desk and a submarine and an alley in his car and the top of the Sears tower. Ray was about as innocent as Bonnie and Clyde. He had more sexual appetite in him than the entire playboy mansion on a Saturday night. Ray--
When Ray's hand wandered he quickly regretted the pillow. His neck ached from the effort to slam his head as far back as possible, but there was almost nowhere for him to go, and instead Fraser's face contorted precisely where Ray could see it, eyes closing, pain and glorious pleasure mixed like fertilizer and nitroglycerine, and he bucked and twisted helplessly under his partner's restraining weight. He cried out once, as loud as he had back at the consulate - maybe louder because Ray hadn't asked him to be quiet this time - and having let out that wail from the bottom of his now spent lungs, Fraser began to pant ragged, earnest breaths, trying to hold himself back from exploding on the spot.
It wasn't going to be the high speed chases and throwing himself at moving vehicles and jumping from third story rooftops without a parachute that was going to kill him. It was going to be this. Ray was going to kill him with sex, and ruin all his good clothes at the same time. They'd have to bury him in his blue suit, and he'd be forced to haunt Ray forever wearing the outfit he hated most in the whole world--and how was that fair?
Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes open, though the effort brought a whole new wave of trembling over him. He couldn't talk, so he tried to convey that this was torture - torture torture torture - with his pupil black eyes alone. But he wouldn't have it any other way; God, he wouldn't have Ray be anything else, do anything else, because torture and dying had never felt so good. ]
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There's just something about Fraser arching and moaning under him that feels right, like it should have happened years ago. Like it's something Ray's always needed, even before the two of them ever met. It's not doing it with a man that's made this different, it's just doing it with Fraser has made it different. He's just Bentonsexual, and he supposes he's kind of okay with that.
Thanks to that pillow he was getting an even better view of every little flinch and shudder that flashed across Fraser's features, his own lips curling up in amusement as he takes mental notes of just what reaction each curl of his fingers gets. Benton's suffering so wonderfully with all of this and Ray can't help but be perfectly entertained by reactions alone. He'd never been patient, three weeks premature as he was, but when it came to torturing Benton so beautifully, he thinks he could hold off on pleasure forever. He almost had enough to orgasm just from viewing pleasure alone.]
Little desperate, huh? S'alright. I can help with that.
[Another roll down with his palm and then finally he brings a hand up to curl around both the waistband of those breeches and the boxers, tugging them down in unison, although stopping at the curve of Fraser's arse where behind meets thigh. Trying to pull them further was just a hassle right now and all he really wanted to achieve from the movement is to release that straining erection from it's confines.
He smirks, that innocence lost behind the devious little flash of teeth and lowered brows, still staring up at Fraser as he drops his head again to trail his lips down the path of Benton's stomach, following the thin trail of hair past his pubis and only pulling back after his chin bumps against his eager arousal. There's only the briefest moments of hesitation, more as a pause for consideration than any uncertainty, before he ducks down enough to flick his tongue against the head, and then again with the whole flat of his tongue. By the third time he's shifting enough to lick from close to the base all the way back up, step by step as if he's trying to test the waters for himself as much as Fraser.
If Fraser can lick cock, then surely Ray can give it a try.]
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That wasn't anything he had experience of either. The feeling - the overwhelming sensation of this not just being sex but the beginning of something - made him happier than he could stand. Ray seemed to be delighted--a feeling he frankly shared. Fraser watched too, overcome with desire as each one of his gasps and reactions led to a response from Ray; the flicker of his eyes downward, the quirk of his lips, a flash of teeth as he fought back a smile. It was immensely rewarding to see Ray like that over pleasing him, giving it all the same focus that he gave dancing. And Ray danced beautifully. He smiled beautifully. He broke into a grin like a menace, and that was fantastic too.
This was the beginning of something. Ray was learning the syllables in this new language that they were discovering together, and he was clearly enjoying the process, enjoying the way every little action stripped away at the veneer of Benton Fraser the Mountie to reveal something entirely new: Benton Fraser his lover. Stripped him right down to the bone, exposed him--
It was terrifying, and yet Fraser loved it. Ray already knew him better than any man could, so this was surely the next natural step. Partner and now partners. Partners that were partners.
The next natural step, but there was nothing natural about the sound he made when Ray's hot tongue flashed against his oversensitive erection, fleeting and hot and wet and gone again before he had time to even react. His hands twisted in Ray's hair, maybe too hard, then seized in tight again as Ray's tongue came back into contact, this time with a firm flush of muscle that tore another animalistic groan from the center of his chest. He had to fight not to buck up off the bed, his muscles clenching across his belly, his ass, his thighs, all with the tension it took not to snap them urgently upward. There was remarkable strength in his legs; Ray wouldn't even stand a chance if Fraser let pleasure make his head spin. ]
R-Ray--Ray. [ He needed to arch something, even if it was just his neck and shoulders, and Fraser let go of Ray's hair, snatched up for the pillow and tugged it upward, rising off the bed as he muffled his third moan of appreciation into Ray's cushion, his nails digging into the stitches so hard that they almost burst.
But that wasn't what he wanted either. He wanted to see Ray. If Ray was going to do this... If Ray was going to do this he wanted to see it with his own eyes, map it onto his memory like a permanent snapshot. So the pillow went back into place, and Fraser tried to breathe, because there was a very, very real risk that he was going to lose control well before it was appropriate. ]
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But it's his mouth that does most of the work now. Now that he's set himself up with this task of exploring his partners arousal as up close and personal as one can be. He looks at each and every vein and sinew, considering what he enjoys, how he enjoys it and what he'd want from it. He thinks of how Stella used to do it, and of how Fraser managed it so skilfully last night, and just briefly he thinks fuck because he's not trained for this. This isn't something he's got any experience with at this end of a cock. But a tongue is a tongue and a warm mouth is still a warm mouth.
Fraser's already tensing and twisting under him and he guesses that's a pretty good sign, especially as fingers are twisting in his hair and his name is being gasped. Ray offers his support with both of his hands, shifting up to rest at Benton's hips and push his weight into the hold, giving him something to push against, while his thumbs circle in against the point of bone.]
I got ya. [He murmurs, vocalising that he's still there for Fraser if his hands weren't already enough. But his hands will have to do from now on if his mouth is going to be otherwise occupied. It feels like he's been pausing for far too long, but with a final prep in the form of a deep inhale and exhale, he ducks forward. His tongue curls back around first, followed seconds later by his lips, pursed around the tip before slowly shifting down inch by inch. He doesn't risk taking it too deep, already focused as he is on keeping his teeth away, his jaw slack and his tongue in contact, but as he settles on a comfortable depth, he can add more.
This isn't something he'd ever planned for. Not ever. But he does his best with what he knows. With his mouth embracing, his lips curl tighter, tongue pressing up and he sucks, heading bobbing just slightly with every suction he does, because fuck he always like it like that and he'd seen it done enough times by now. There's a mix though, the sucking mingled in with careful draw backs and head licks before taking Fraser in again, his tongue swirling, licking and curling when it can, and the occasional soft scrape of teeth might be on accident or it might just be Ray pushing his boundaries as much as he can. Because that's what he does.
When he's satisfied with what he's doing, he finally switches his gaze up, back to Fraser, watching him watching, and God it's hard not to feel just slightly self-conscious when you've got a Mountie staring down with a lust filled gaze like that.]
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It was a glorious thought, it swirled in his head like snow in a whiteout, as the weight of Ray shifted up against his hips, reciprocating in response to Fraser's desperate - and yet unspoken - need for some kind of restraint. The place where Ray had licked him, now exposed to the air, tingled with need, flushing a chill through him.
And yet Ray's apartment felt hot. The blinds were down, but there was no heating on, and his soft bed seemed to enfold Fraser, much more like am embrace than anything he would have chosen to sleep on himself. He imagined himself choosing to sleep here again and again now, swallowed up by it, pressed in against Ray's back. Even the fantasy was comforting.
This wasn't going to be the last time. Ray would be able to learn everything he needed to know about Fraser's body, and in turn Fraser would do the same. On top of these sheets and under them, in the kitchen, the bathroom, on the couch, on the rug, backed up against the front door, crushed against the blinds. They'd explore every corner of Ray's apartment while they explored each other, and if verbal promises counted as a contract, a whole other lot of places besides. No, Ray had never done this before, but by the time they were done Fraser would have him working these old boards like he was dancing a tango, with Fraser as his dance part--
Partner partner partner oh shit
Warm, hot, silken, lovely. It was like falling dick first into...he didn't know what. Was this what it had felt like when he'd done it for Ray? That grasping tongue that seemed to preface all this heat--the embracing warmth of Ray's mouth closing around him, an invitation to the best digs in the world right here. Ray doesn't take him all the way down, but that's good because Fraser doesn't think he could stand it if he did. An inch was overwhelming enough. Two or three, they felt good too, but he could barely even keep his eyes open to focus on what he was seeing as it was.
Stanley Ray Kowalski - Ray Vecchio to everyone else - a man undercover, a man whose true identity was known to very few. Lonely, lovely Ray, with his lips pulled wide around his cock, his blue eyes like mist over the ocean, hidden under dark eyelashes dewey with the sweat of his own arousal. As Fraser watched, Ray's cheeks hollowed, and he sucked so hard that Fraser's eyes had to close. He groaned, low and deep, sinking his nails into the pillow under his head, and when he looked again it was as though he were looking through that haze himself. He felt faraway, and yet grounded perfectly in this moment, in the fact that this was him and Ray, and always would be now and forever. This moment, Ray's mouth on him: swirling, sucking, licking, curling, scraping teeth and... Nobody could ever take that away.
As he watched, Ray's brow crinkled, those lidden eyes coming up to look back at Fraser, and there was a jolt of electricity that seemed to leap between them, then--Ray's eyes to Fraser's eyes, Fraser's eyes back down to his cock. He licked his ragged lips. His head was swimming, his back stung on the sheet beneath him, his muscles were sore, but he couldn't force himself to breathe either. It was hard to keep all these conflicting activities going on at once. He held his breath until he couldn't any more - nowhere near his usual lung capacity - then took in a rattled gasp, which broke into little whimpers, sobs of breath, in out in out. There were no rules for this either--none that Fraser knew, anyway. Where did he put his hands? What sort of noises could he make? How would he ever be able to look at Ray again and not think about the silken heat of his mouth--and why would he ever want to? How could he make it last forever?
He looked down into that face now, drank it in for as long as he could focus on it through the fog of his own arousal. If he'd been a religious man, then this, he thought, would be what seeing god was like.
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Another hard suck has his cheeks hallowing out for a few drawn out seconds, the whole flat of his tongue curling around the inches in his mouth and slowly dragging upwards to curl lazily around the tip. His eyes stay locked on Fraser's throughout, and when he does pause, it's only long enough to voice a few roughly spoken words.]
Grab my hair.
[A request more than an order, because his communication skills are apparently better when he's in bed than they ever are in the field. And then he's right back to licking, not even hiding his smugness as his tongue laps all the way to the base and then drags back up, lathering the whole arousal before he's back to wrapping his lips around and taking in what he can.
One hand slowly creeps it's way around, fingers feathering across the skin of Fraser's inner thigh and against that sensitive sac, palm rolling downwards just enough to be felt.]
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Or maybe it wasn't death defying at all. Maybe the old Ray and the old Fraser were dead, and they'd both been reborn into these horny teenager versions who were too busy falling over each other to remember they were supposed to be doing a job. Maybe that wasn't their fault; he felt like he'd been holding these feelings back for decades, and it was only right that when they sprang free (again) they were explosive, uncontrollable, and to the detriment of any memory of what was going on around them.
It'd settle down. It'd settle down long enough for him to keep pants on for more than half an hour at a time, long enough for him to at least not have to throw himself at Ray if they were alone together for more than a few seconds at a time. He just had to...to regain control. But control was not to be regained while Ray was--definitely not while Ray was doing this.
Grab my hair was a good request, a reasonable order, and more than that it anchored him to Ray this time when his eyes closed again. He couldn't force them to open, not now it was all he could do just to try to breathe, because it seemed to him that Ray was becoming better at this by the second. The languishing draw of suction, the tongue sliding up toward the tip, increasing pressure until he felt like he would pop, the breath of air as Ray pulled back to murmur words in his general direction, and then he was back, his lips curled into one of those challenging, dazzling, dizzying smirks, only this time around Fraser's erection. Smug bastard.
Fraser whimpered and panted. He kept his fingers in Ray's hair, squeezed and worked it, pulled it, his long fingers straining with tension as he took a tight grip just above both of his ears. Now he was writhing, pushing against the weight of the man against him, almost mindless with delirium as he tried his best to thrust into his partner's wonderful hot mouth.
It had been too long. He'd needed this all day, needed something and with those calloused, engine-oil stained fingers of Ray's barely grazing against his balls it seemed he was spiraling entirely out of control. The snowstorm was whirling now; he could feel it, one more step, two, and he'd step out into nothingness and go tumbling to his death. But his warning to Ray was an incoherent cry, wrenching at his hair pitifully, wanting to warn him so that he could stop but desperately needing anything but.
He stepped out, wailed again - too late, too late, the orgasm twisting inside of him, tightening tension and - he was falling falling falling... God, he was going right over the edge. ]
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It was the noises that he loved, the whines and cries and moans and everything inbetween that made Fraser so exceptionally irresistible and impossible to refuse. Ray had never done this for a man. Never intended to. But when it came to Fraser he'd do anything If Fraser was all for it, then Kowalski was a hundred percent with him, all the way. And God, wasn't that an exciting thought? Knowing they still had so much more to try and explore.
Trouble is, Ray's never been very good at being decisive with some of these things, and when he's given the warning tug at his hair and can feel Benton squirm beneath, he's suddenly stuck between several options that are impossible to pick with such limited time given. He could try and stop it, sure, he knows enough to go in for that, but that would be a fairly literal dick move and may be best reserved for when he's next whipping the crap out of his friend, when he's trying for the control role. His other options are pretty obvious; pull away or ride it out. Fraser took his. He took every last bit of it. Maybe it's only fair...
The time he'd taken to think had been enough for Fraser to reach that edge, and Ray was right there with him, holding his hand through the whole damn thing. As Fraser falls, Ray rides it, pulling back just enough to avoid that orgasm hitting his throat, instead letting it spill onto his curled tongue and desperately trying to ignore any reservations his mind might be having. His hand cups against those balls, palming and rolling and aiding along with every lazy suck he does, helping to drag it out for his partner.
It's only once he's certain that last wave has been ridden out that he moves, withdrawing with a careful swallow as he shifts his weight upwards, knees dragging to place either side of Fraser's hips while he sits back on the Mountie, staring downwards as his tongue flicks thoughtfully across his own bottom lip. That was... different. Good. But different. And Fraser certainly looks like a dream, laying under him all ruffled and gasping and sexy as sin. Worth it.]
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Fraser has the privilege of watching. Not his orgasm - that had escaped him - but the final pulses, the tender way that Ray stayed with him through the last helpless, rhythmic twitches of his body, nerves firing all together. He watched Ray concentrate, shuddering out his own appreciation until at last it felt like every muscle in his body had been worked beyond its capacity. Exhaustion swam up through him, and it was all Fraser could do to fight it off, like he was trying to fight off the instinct to sleep before freezing to death. There was too much to see, to want, to let it take him now.
So he forced himself to take deep breaths, to fill his lungs; tried to force his heart to keep beating fast. He couldn't sleep. Not now. He needed Ray far too much, he had to try to keep hold of that, because after everything they'd been through...
He'd managed to keep his hands knotted in Ray's hair, and that was perhaps his saving grace, because it made pulling him down easier than letting go, and the exertion of doing so at least gave him something to be awake for, to concentrate on. His kiss wasn't very good, breathless as he was, but it didn't have to be. Ray's lips were bruised and swollen, his mouth hard, but still hot and wet, and Fraser chased the taste of himself between Ray's teeth, in the corners of that sharp smile. The taste of it, the smell of it - of Fraser - was all over him. Well. Mostly. He could smell himself all over Ray, but he could smell Thatcher's shower gel too, and that was enough to encourage a little more wakefulness in him. God, after this morning he'd be lucky to still have a job. A fireaxe through his office door--he'd be paying for that out of his own wages.
He released his grip on Ray slightly, though he didn't immediately try to rip himself out of the kiss, instead pulling away from it gingerly, as though he didn't want to stop at all. His voice was ragged from moaning - quite unsurprisingly. It scratched, raw from his earlier screaming he'd been doing back during their original 'game'. ]
M'sorry. [ Panted. Sorry, he was sorry for coming so soon, when it felt like they'd only just gotten started. ] Tell me again. [ He said, like it was important to repeat himself. He never repeated himself: ] Tell me again why we didn't do this sooner?
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The hands in his hair were a good call when he made that request what seems like hours ago, and he barely even thinks about them still clinging until Fraser uses the grip to pull him in. Ray catches himself with a hand on the bed, enough to prevent him dropping his full weight onto his partner as the kiss comes in, breathless on both sides and thankfully forgiving after what he'd just put his mouth through. His tongue aches, but he still willingly brushes it against Benton's as that tongue invades his mouth. Fraser will taste himself, he's certain of that, but that might just be the intention. There's not much out there that the Mountie won't try to taste, after all. He huffs and groans against that invading mouth until that grip releases and the kiss break apart, leaving him staring far too closely into the stormy eyes opposite.
Of course Fraser would apologise. Of course. Even though he'd survived far longer than Ray ever thinks he could. In fact, he's not even sure he'd manage five seconds if Fraser were to touch him right now, let alone managing to last it out through a blow job. But a Canadian will always be Canadian, and Stanley supposes he can't blame him for that, even as he quietly agrees to the request, even as he leans back in to nuzzle lazily into the crook of Fraser's neck.]
Somethin' about you bein' a moron. And I guess maybe me bein' kinda dumb too. Or maybe just blind, but shit, I got my sight back just fine now. [And it was like going from black and white to full out HD technicolor in the space of a day.]
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[ Contented Mountie noises are us. His hands had at last relaxed in Ray's hair, not knotted nearly as tightly as before. As Ray sank down beside him, his right arm slithered lower, taking Ray's weight across it as his partner pressed in against his neck. His other still pawed gently at the long, gel free strands, letting the sensation of them tumbling through his fingers distract him from actual thinking.
Fraser was truly exhausted, but he knew he'd sleep the sleep of the dead if he let himself go, and they couldn't afford to lose the entire afternoon. Instead he lifted his head and tried to pay a little more attention to the world around him. He was lying in Ray's bed, staring at Ray's ceiling, surrounded by Ray's furniture. He hadn't come more than six steps into his apartment before, certainly hadn't moved through the door to invade his bedroom; he'd never been in this room, and he would have never have laid himself out on Ray's bed even if he had. It was an entirely new perspective to have, to be surrounded by everything that was Ray, and somehow feel like he belonged there too. He was a part of it now, a belonging of Ray's, a something just like the trinkets on the shelf.
That feeling made him very happy, very warm and happy and sleepy and--
His eyes had shut. He snapped them open again sharply and huffed as he heaved himself up onto one arm, bringing the other down to settle on Ray's ribcage. No more headpetting here. But he leant in and mouthed a wet kiss to the sandpaper of Ray's chin, and tried to get a better look in his eyes. ]
I'm going to set your alarm clock. Why don't you get out of those clothes?
[ Movement was the only way to stave off unconsciousness, and Fraser forced his limbs to cooperate, jerking them in sharp movements that forced his blood to pump back into his extremities, his heart to work a little harder. It was resisting biological chemistry to fight through it, but Fraser was the king of resisting biological urges. He made it to the edge of the bed and fussed with Ray's alarm clock, then set it back on the nightstand and started going through the bedside cabinet, shooting a glance back across at Ray after barely a moment. ]
I've found your handcuff keys.
[ He produced them, dangling from the end of his little finger, then dropped them back into the drawer, shuffling through empty gum packets and the like. There was indeed a tube of lubricant, as expected, and Fraser palmed it before closing the drawer, returning to Ray's side with a stick of gum, which he waved in front of his partner's nose. ]
For the taste.
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He's sure he feels Fraser drifting asleep against him, but then the Mountie's up on one arm and pressing his lips to Ray's jaw, receiving a hum of appreciation that might just be agreement to whatever he's talking about too. Alarm clock or something. Yeah, yeah. Snuggling for the rest of the week would surely be a better option than being rudely awoken by some digital clock beeping away at them. But hey, the suggestion about clothing isn't so bad.
With a grunt of effort Ray lazily sits himself back up, making very little show of dragging that t-shirt over his head, tossing it off to the side with an ease that suggests he does it far too often, and then dropping his hands to his jeans. He flops back onto the bed as he fiddles with the button and zipper, half an eye on whatever Fraser's doing, before successfully wriggling out and kicking the denim aside. And then he flops again, laying in nondescript underwear as stares at his partner rifling through keys and packets and God knows what else. Ray can't even remember what he's got in there, but the handcuff keys are useful to know. He should probably put them back in his pocket, or his holster, or somewhere where he might remember them.
He doesn't spot the crafty little palm away, blinking over at Benton as he finally moves back towards him with an offered gift which Ray takes with a low grunt of gratitude. Not that he desperately needs to be rid of that taste, he'll be washing all over again before they leave this apartment, but gum is gum and he can't deny having something for his jaw to work on. Orally fixated. Psychologists might have a thing or two to say about that, but whatever, screw them, let him chew his gum.
Unsurprisingly the wrapper gets tossed into the middle of nowhere, not caring where it lands.]
How long we got before the beeper goes off?
[Please say twelve hours. He doesn't wanna go back to work anyway.]
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It was still only a quarter to eleven - not even lunchtime - but they hadn't slept more than three hours the night before. It was enough of a deficit to make Fraser sincerely doubt his ability to wake himself up, and he was usually so good at that. Bone exhaustion got deep in him--when he was out, he could be out for almost twenty-four hours without warning. It had happened before. If it happened today, they'd miss their window. They might even spook Lucca. ]
Five hours fourteen minutes.
[ Fraser lingered back slightly when he made it to Ray's side. The previous evening he hadn't even gotten Ray entirely out of his clothes, and here he was down to his underwear, sprawled spidery-limbered across his bed. He ducked close, deliberately lapping the sugary sweet salt taste from Ray's lips - hardly even a kiss - before he was ducking out of range again. His own breeches went the rest of the way off the bed then, discarded with as little care. He had other things but wrinkles on his mind.
Given an eternity, he could kiss this body under him to pieces, but it wouldn't get him what he wanted. Fraser's motivations had been set in stone since three that morning, and now--now now now. This was his opportunity, his moment. Fraser slyly shifted across the bed, climbing over Ray to straddle his hips, his weight distributed to either side of him in the arch of the strong running muscles across the top and inside of his thighs.
He scooped Ray's hands up off the bed, bringing them to his legs and holding them flat there - instructing him to stay - as he flexed, pushing his heels back, his hips down, so that the muscle tightened and pulled under his fingers, and then relaxing again just as deliberately. Twice, he did this, before he let go of Ray's hands and scooped the tube of lubricant up from where he'd tucked it against Ray's hip. Exhausted he might be. Drained. Spent. But Mounties were like bowling pins; you knocked them over and they sprang right back up, good to go.
Fraser wasn't quite good to go, but he didn't have to be. Not really. He was upright, though, and that was a huge bonus. ]
Ray. [ He said, and there was a breathy element to the sound of his voice, something not at all sleepy; the total opposite in fact. He let the tube touch plastic smooth and cold against Ray's side as he drew it into view. ] I'm going to do something now, Ray, that I've only ever done...privately. That is--by myself, for myself. I don't want you to be concerned. In fact, I enjoy it. Rather a lot. [ He licked his lips, opened the cap on the bottle and raised it almost in a toast to the man beneath him. ] If anything I hope that you will, perhaps, think of me doing this alone without you--alone in my cabin, in front of a warm fire, the wind howling outside the window. Just me and my hands.
Just watch. Listen.
[ He was nervous despite his bravado. Ray knew him, knew him well enough to know that, surely? Fraser the living contradiction, who sucked cock like a vacuum pump but trembled under the weight of his own exposure. And yet this was what he wanted: voyeurism; Ray watching him and seeing back through into those private moments where Fraser had thought himself entirely alone, where he'd brought himself pleasure in the low glow of the dying firelight. The gesture was that he was giving all of it - all those moments in their entirety; the privacy; the shame; the secrecy - to his partner.
And if Ray had been falling to sleep, maybe he might pay a little more attention now. Fraser kept his gaze fixed down as he squeezed lube out into his palm, a practiced one-handed working of his fingers smoothing it over them while he dropped the bottle at Ray's other hip. His center of gravity shifted forward, and he sat up a little higher across Ray's hips. ]
Are you--are you watching?
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Five hours to do what they want. He could go with that. He could definitely support it over going back to the office to try and awkwardly keep his hard on from rubbing in his jeans, because there's no fucking way he could sit in that office today while Fraser was anywhere near him. At least here they could get it out of their system, or even just curl up against each other and drift into sleep without concerning themselves with hiding anything from anyone.
He hums a soft exhale as Fraser leans in for an all too brief lick against his lips, before ducking out of sight again, and while Ray could have sat up and turned his gaze, he's happy to lay there and wait. Let the Mountie do his thing, he'd be back eventually. Ray didn't even have to wait long, the weight on his bed indicating Fraser's return, and then immediately there's a Mountie straddling his lap, bare and flushed and looking far too gorgeous. Kowalski grins lazily, even as his hands are moved up to rest and loosely grip at Fraser's thighs, and he stares, because how can he not when he's got a view like that?
The couple of shifts against him get a few short puffs of breath in reply, the drop of hips getting far too close to his arousal to be at all fair. He'd voice his complaint, but then Fraser's speaking, breathy and far too sultry for Ray to ignore, especially as that tube comes into view.
Fraser wants to show his private moments to Ray. His very private moments. It's obvious enough what he's hinting at, Kowalski would have to be a moron not to catch on, but he can't even begin the picture just what this will lead to. Just how does a lone Mountie entertain himself when alone in a cabin?
Benton didn't have to worry about not having Ray's attention. He had all of it, unblinking as Ray very slowly ran his tongue against the bottom of his own lip, barely daring to even move in case he somehow disturbed what was about to happen.]
I'm watchin'. Listenin'. [Barely above a whisper, baited breath.]
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But attractive? Attractive was an altogether different question.
Attraction - real attraction, rather than the flimsy kind - was something that had to bear out all his idiosyncrasies and irritating bad habits. It had to like the scar on his jaw as much as the jaw itself, and the story behind it just as much. Ray knew a lot of Fraser's stories, and since this morning had been introduced in full to every one of his scars. But attraction wasn't just tolerance--he needed to be wanted too, appreciated. He wanted Ray, whom he hadn't been sure yesterday would ever even be interested, to want him and want his body. To find him beautiful and love him. And maybe he was asking a lot.
For his own part he wanted and loved. The slender, muscular body in the soft bed beneath him, long limbs and hard bone, battered skin, the scars on Ray's knuckles, the one on his temple - barely visible any more - were all signs of a life lived and fought for. There was sunshine in every inch of Ray's body, such that he could flatten his palms against him and soak in the heat of hundreds of summer days.
No, he wasn't conventionally beautiful, not in the bibliographical sense--but what did books know, really? A book couldn't possibly describe the pink slither of Ray's tongue as it chased across his own bottom lip, an unselfconscious motor response to the fact that he was salivating. It couldn't capture the way his breathing seemed to still as though he were in danger of disturbing the air and somehow shattering the mood, and how that made a flush crawl up the outside of his neck, or the way his abandoned erection, nudged by moving fabric as Fraser tilted his hips, arched so invitingly against the inside of his underwear, like a Christmas gift yet to be unwrapped.
Books couldn't capture his attraction to Ray Kowalski. In fact quite likely they were no use at all, except that in Fraser's case it was books that had taught him to do this. All alone in the dark, long lonely days with no other human contact and nothing better to do with his time than discover every inch of his own body. The books hadn't told him exactly how to reach that spot, but Fraser had been nothing if not persistent. He'd known for sure the moment he found it, though for one terrifying moment the intense pleasure had been so painful he'd thought for sure he'd broken something.
Still fixing his partner's gaze, leaning just a little further over him to compensate for the change in his own center of gravity as he straightened his back, he reached both of his own hands around himself, pawing, stroking, his face a picture of concentration. And then he held his breath, eyes fluttering almost closed, the muscles in his legs tensing under Ray's palms as he pressed one finger inside. He didn't breathe straight away; his teeth dug down into his bottom lip, and his brow furrowed just a touch more as he wriggled his finger in just as deep as he could, but it was never far enough, not with one, his other digits folded up against his palm but none the less making the angle impossible.
His hand stilled, delicately, slowly, as though breathing out the tension from the full length of his body, he expelled a shattered breath, focus returning to his faraway eyes. Ray was still underneath him--lovely Ray; patient, beautiful Ray, whom he trusted implicitly. Ray, waiting on baited breath for this, just as Fraser had instructed. ]
Hands. [ He whispered, and his eyes flickered down to them. ] You can...you can touch my hands, if you like. [ It wasn't as though Ray could see, and he did so badly want this to be an all encompassing experience. He waited, untensing again, forcing his body to relax as he slid his hand back, nudging the tip of his second finger in against the first, but not yet pressing it past muscle. He waited for Ray--waited for Ray, and then... Only then. ]
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Ray knew Fraser was attractive and that's all he needed his mind to register. He was attracted to the Mountie despite all his stubbornness and contrary ways, despite the arguments and impossible expectations. He was attracted to Fraser because of those as well as despite them. Benton was ridiculously good looking and just a little too perfect until one dug into his flaws, and Ray was happy to deal with it all, annoyances and all.
How could he possibly deny the man on top of him, opening up his very soul as he put his finely built body on display and showed a private side of him that no one had seen before? There was no possible way he could, not now. He wouldn't want to even if he could.
Ray certainly watched, every bit of his attention locked on his partner above him, attention flicking occasionally down between those solid thighs, although more avidly watching the twist of expressions that danced across Fraser's features. Kowalski's own expression had barely changed, wavering somewhere between rapt awe and pure admiration, lips just slightly parted and brows creased upwards.]
Yeah.
[He grunts out when prompted, sliding one hand from it's grip of muscle to reach cautiously around and blindly fumble for the positioning of Fraser's hands. His fingers crept and explored carefully, not wishing to intrude on this private matter despite so desperately wanting to learn every little shift involved in it. He finds Fraser's own digits and settles at his knuckles, using his fingers as a gauge to judge just what goes where and how many, because God he really needs to know this, he needs to feel each digit press in as he watches Benton's face. It's only once he's settled there that he feels that second finger pressing in and even he can't help a hiss of breath on his next exhale.]
Oh, fuck... [Whispered, but even then he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to silence himself from anything further. He's watching. Watching from the other side of the window as Fraser pleasures himself in the lonely warmth of the cabin.]
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Good. Perfect. He braced himself with an inhale and pushed inside, two fingers now, his eyes fluttering closed, lips parting in utter silence. It was a moan without the moan, an 'Oh' in the curl of his lips, a flash of teeth as Fraser beamed with unbridled joy for the space of a fraction of a second. And then his mouth was closed, his eyes were open - albeit barely - lashes dewy, almost brushing their moisture against his burning cheeks.
Ray got a syllable then. Past muscle, he pushed his fingers in deeper, and he exhaled the all too familiar: ]
Hmm.
[ Only it wasn't quite like any hm that had come before. It was deep and thoughtful, yes, but satisfied, engaged, wanton. Two fingers was shallower than one, but that was okay, they were doing their job, stretching him wide, driving Ray crazy, putting him right there in this moment and in the hundreds of other times he'd done this over the years--every one of them.
His lips quirk again, almost as though he can't help himself. Ray swore, white teeth sinking into his abused bottom lip, and as his own unpredictable smile softened, it transformed into something of a challenge: watch this! He pushed forward and up with his hips, tightening around himself, before deliberately pushing back again, letting Ray feel as tension first expelled him before he nudged deeper again. His own arousal was starting to come around, although god knew what he hoped to get out of it. Ray would probably come on command if he told him to. ]
Easy. Easy, Ray. Relax. I need you, so please--
[ His other hand slid across the back of Ray's, reaching around his fingers to manually redirect his own third finger, tucking it awkwardly against the first two. He felt rubbery, soft, as relaxed as he'd ever been--trancelike and happy. This was easy; maybe even too easy. Tightening around both hands, lending his own digits further rigidity, strength, he pushed inside again, not hesitating this time because he could reach in deeper than before, curling his fingers with expertise against his prostrate. But more importantly there were Ray's fingers--Ray's fingers touching him as he pushed in knuckle deep. Somehow the foreign element of his partner's fingertips was almost as good as his own hand, the pleasure sparkling like champagne bubbles effervescing deep inside him. He groaned, ducking his chin toward his chest, head bowing toward Ray.
Too soft, too rubbery. No burn--God, he wanted the burn. Needed the burn. He wanted to feel it, to carry it around with him for days like the cuts and bruises to his back, his wrists. ]
Another! [ For that single word he almost sounded angry. But then his eyes were open and he was pleading, staring up at him urgently. ] Oh God, Ray, I need... [ Please understand. ]
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It was those little flashes of teeth that really did it, the smiles that showed Fraser was getting more than just pleasure from this, that he actually enjoyed every second of it. Ray smiled too, a brief show of teeth that linger only for a few seconds before drifting back into that fascinated gape, his fingers feeling for every little twitch behind Fraser's own hand movements. By the time Fraser's rolling his hips up and out and then pressing back down, Ray's pretty much decided he needs to be on the receiving end of that. He needs it, even if he's coming straight off the bat. Even if he has to wait until next time. He needs that expert little hip shift on his cock.]
Okay. Okay, I'm good. I got this.
[A very vague agreement, but he's pretty sure he can last until Benton's ready. Maybe. Possibly. Although he can't promise anything considering what he's witnessing right now. Especially not as Fraser's other hand comes back into play, brushing against Ray's and aiding in a push forward of a third fucking finger and oh God, how has the Mountie not last it yet? Kowalski was practically melted into the sheets and he wasn't even doing anything and yet Fraser? Fraser was still curling and reaching and pushing against himself.
There might just be a crack in that armour though as that chin of Benton's tucks in and he's throwing orders and begs right alongside one another. It takes Ray a few seconds to process the words, but even without them he can hear the tone behind them and see that pleading crease of eyebrows.]
Jesus, Fraser. You--
[But no. Fuck it. He won't even argue this. Can't. Fraser knows what he wants and what he can take.
With steady exhale to keep his nerves in check, Ray does as he's asked, hand creeping just a little bit closer towards Fraser's fingers. His index finger circles carefully at first, slicking itself up against the left behind lubricant, but it's a perfunctory gesture, done out of a general necessity rather than any aim to tease. Seconds later that slicked up flinger is aligning down the back of Fraser's knuckles to join his fingers and, with his other fingers now tucked against his palm, pushes forward against the relaxed muscle. He works it in smoothly, a steady push in as he keeps his eyes locked on his partner and only daring to lick his lips as he pushes in to the knuckle.]
That uh. You like that? Y'want more, huh?
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Yes, yes, yes. He was doing it. Ray's finger curled against him, against flesh stretched wide around his own three broad fingers, and Fraser shuddered, hips sinking down half an inch as his own strength briefly failed him. It wasn't his hand, and no matter the pleasure he could bring to himself, it was nothing to having Ray's hands on him--to having Ray's hands on him there, engaging in this intimacy, becoming complicit to it.
It took seconds or days, and then Fraser was twisting his fingers down into a V, making a gap into which the fourth could slide more easily. Muscle screamed complaint, and Fraser made a guttural sound like he was dying--it vibrated in his chest, because his mouth never so much as opened. It was finally enough; finally good, finally perfect, and Fraser absconded into that airborne world, hips moving forward, his back arching as he raised himself up and backward, pushing down again, thrusting up with his hand, taking Ray with him.
The full length of his chest, abdominals, pectorals, diaphragm, ribcage; everything jumped as he sobbed in a staggered inhale, and then his head was rolling left to right across his back and he was...crying through his death throes - something - because it was almost inhuman the sounds he made, muscles clenching around his hand, around Ray's. Another downward thrust; he struggled to inhale again, and Fraser seemed to come round, his head lolling across his right shoulder, hanging there for a few seconds before he managed to get his eyes back on Ray.
They weren't his eyes any more. There was hardly any blue left in them at all. They stared lust drowned oily black holes down at the man beneath him as he panted. ]
Do it. [ He whispered, begged, urged. ] Do it, Ray. Do it. Do it right now. Right now. I'll do the rest. Let me do the rest. Ray. Rayrayray. [ All the words felt good on his mouth. He really was as high as a kite. ]
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