Benton Fraser | Due South

[dogsled]

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

Comments

[kickem]

[Ray wasn't used to this loneliness thing. Not when he'd had his family around him for his childhood and the same girl in his life since he was twelve years old. Part of the reason losing Stella was so hard for him was because she'd been a part of his life for far too long. Losing her was like losing almost all of his memories from child, teenage and adulthood combined. She was in every bit of his life, even after his parents bailed on him after a particularly rowdy argument with his father about work responsibilities. Ray needed someone in his life to depend on. Needed that consistency of someone to talk to and argue with and do every thing that kept his social bubble from popping.

Fraser had been that person in his life for long enough now that Ray had become just as dependant on him. He had shown up at an important time of Ray's life, when he'd had nothing left but a turtle, an apartment full of junk and memories, and a job that his father hated. Fraser was, in fact, the best thing to happen in Ray's life in far too long.

By the time they're back at their room, Ray's eager to grab for another bottle of alcohol and less concerned about changing. The bow tie is already undone and hanging loosely around his neck anyway, and he figures he really needs to get some wear out of a suit that he's spent far too much on.

He watches as Fraser undresses, perching himself on the edge of the bed as he knocks back another whiskey to sooth his nerves. There was something about Benton being out of uniform that just seemed so out of character, like he wasn't quite the same without that ridiculous red serge. The same guy, yes, but just slightly more wild, like he was ready to go trekking through forests and mountains at a moments notice, rather than stand stiffly outside consulates for hours on end. He liked that side of Fraser. It was more human and more easy to relate to. The very slight ruffle to his hair helped.]

Half an hour, huh? Well, y'know it's tradition to leave the bride and groom a little somethin' in their room, right? I figure we break into the bridal suite and uh. Leave 'em a gift. Like a uh. I dunno. Somethin'.

[Pee on their bed!

Or not. But it's exceptionally tempting to break in just to trash the place, even if Ray could never actually bring himself to ruin such a day.]

[dogsled]

[ Tugging his jeans on, putting his day boots back on, Fraser kept his thoughts on the matter entirely to himself. There was something grave and deeply regretful in his expression now as he ducked his face in toward his shoulder. After a moment he looked back up, looking almost sad: ]

Ray.

[ His tone was admonishing. Like 'Break into the bridal suite, that would be against the law'. Except that Fraser was just winding him up. Ray, he said, like 'You're a terrible person how could you', when he was really setting himself up to say: It is a terrible idea, but you only live once, let's go do it.

So he said: Ray, and then he said: ]

Why didn't you mention it before? We certainly can't break with tradition now, can we? What sort of friends would we be? What sort of best man would I be?

[ Although he was already badly scored in that department, since Huey and Dewey had had to book the strippers for Ray's bachelor party; "What kind of best man forgets strippers!?" and "Guys in Canada don't get a lot of tail, do they?" which of course Fraser had needed to debate at length because of a misunderstanding about the meaning of the word tail (Welsh had cleared it up for him). In fact most of the bachelor party had passed like that, and Fraser had spent the rest of it intervening in Ray Vecchio's escapades. At one point this included keeping him from crashing Frank Zucko's place and introducing himself as Armando Langoustini. This apparently involved telling him to 'Get the fuck outta my town' followed by a string of blurred Italian insults which Fraser had only caught half of, but which, he thought, detailed his lineage (goats), and his choice of sexual partner (seabound mammals), his choice in underwear (used granny panties) and the things he liked to put in his mouth (dirtier than what Benny does).

All in all he thought that the best kind of best man was the one that saved a guy from getting shot in the face, so Huey and Dewey could go to hell. (And maybe that was particularly vicious of him, but they'd set one of the strippers on him for a laugh, and Fraser had been so humiliated he'd needed to step out for a half hour to cool off.)

He strode across the room, kneeling beside Ray pointedly and, just as it seemed that perhaps he was about to propose or something similarly inappropriate, eyes upturned, he tugged his pack out from where he'd stowed it under the bed, and expertly removed his pocket knife, a roll of whittling tools and a large reddish chunk of wood, the latter of which he handed to Ray.

And then Fraser patted his knee amicably. ]

Lead the way.

[kickem]

[It goes without saying that Kowalski didn't show up to the bachelor party. That was one evening he was happy to spend alone without watching the rest of his shift getting drunk and leering at strippers all for the sake of celebrating a marriage that was yet to happen. He'd hoped something would go wrong with it. That somehow Vecchio fucked up so badly that Stella would refuse to marry him, but here he was at there wedding, after the deed is done.

Fraser's doing his usual telling off, all furrowed brows and reprimanding tone, but rather than disapprove of Ray's somewhat illegal suggestion, he appears to be playing the naive Canadian card instead. And Ray appreciates every bit of it. Every duet has to make sacrifices for one another and right now Benton seems perfectly willing to break into a hotel suite if it means keeping Ray happy while they're at it. Such a bro.]

Sorry, buddy. I thought you knew.

[The kneeling thing is a little odd and yet vaguely appropriate for a wedding, but then Fraser's reaching underneath and Ray suddenly realises the kneel was for item retrieving and not for any form of proposal. Which. You know. Is normal. Because Ray wasn't expecting a proposal or anything from his working partner. He doesn't expect his partner to give him wood either, the lame kind of wood too, but Ray holds it as indicated.]

Pitter patter, lets get at'er. We gotta be quick.

[He raises to his feet quickly reaching for his own luggage to pull out his beloved lockpick and a credit card. Things he'd never leave home without, because sometimes kicking a door in just won't do. And so there he stands, a block of wood in one hand and lockpick in the other, nodding towards the door.]

So uh. The wood. Is that uh. You gonna carve them somethin'? Cause I vote it bein' a giant dong.

[Once they're out into the hall way he's tucking the wood under an arm and slipping the rest away in his pocket to his hands free, leading off and upwards towards the bridal suite. How does he know where it is? He's a stalker, that's how. It's not like he was going to show up to the wedding of his ex wife and not know where she was going to possibly be fucking this new man of hers.

The room is away from most the others. More private and exclusive feeling with the plush carpets and newly painted hallway leading up to it, making it obvious that plenty of money when into this place. This wasn't a cheap wedding, Ray realises, but Vecchio had a lot of family to help him out.

He's the one that kneels this time, down on one knee in front of the door, placing the wood onto the carpet beside him so he can focus on pulling out his own tools and setting to work on the lock with the precision and skill that plenty of Chicago cops have come to learn.]

[dogsled]

[ A dong? Fraser scratches at his eyebrow with the heel of his knife as they walk out the door and along the corridor to the stairs. ]

I'm not sure what use a wooden dong would be, Ray. Even if they were considering a honeymoon in Vietnam, I don't believe that carved funds are considered legal tender any more.

[ So it's going to be like that.

Still, up the stairs they go, Fraser looking laid back and remarkably buoyant considering they were breaking and entering, and he hovered back out the way to give Ray all the light he needed while he worked on the lock. Breaking into properties was a skill he'd seen both Rays perform, and both were uncommonly good at it. It had to be said, therefore, that even if he wasn't the kind of man to leave his door unlocked, between the door kicking and lock picking that criminals and cops alike were practiced in performing, there wouldn't be much hope at all of maintaining the sanctity of his home. And besides, he was guilty of the same on occasion.

As they stepped inside, Fraser hovered back for a moment, taking the place in. It looked like it had never been so much as breathed on, let alone used or lived in. The room was extravagant, laid out in lavender and white, with a satin bedspread and one of those plush velveteen headrests stacked up high with featherdown cushions. There was a box of chocolates and a bucket of ice beside the bed, the latter already containing a bottle of chilled champagne.

Rugs deep enough to lose your toes in were laid out on either side of the bed, and the big French doors to the extensive marble bathroom suite had been left open, hooked in place, to make the bedroom seem even bigger than it was. There were more doors to the patio outside, two large windows, but all the shutters had been drawn closed, casting the room in the warm glow from lights that had been left on in welcome. In an alcove to the left there was a loveseat draped in white furs, and a selection of complimentary liquors, and - standing out from everything else - a brown paper bag that had been taped shut, and scrawled on in Huey's handwriting in black spidery letters: Cause Fraser don't know anything about this stuff :D.

If the bedroom was luxurious, the bathroom was even more so. The bathtub was sunken into the floor, and big enough to fit an entire Tsimshian family. A bucket of rose petals had been left beside it, a basket of froofy looking toiletries, as well as a stack of fluffy lavender towels and a pair of deep purple his and hers dressing gowns, all edged and embroidered with silver.

This was a wedding suite on a scale Fraser had never seen before, and the luxury of it blew him away. ]

Well. [ He said, and tried to think of other words. ] Ah. Shall we?

[ He raised his open hand toward Ray, waiting for him to hand over his block of wood. ]

[kickem]

[Ray has absolutely no clue why Fraser's talking about Vietnam but he's not even going to ask, instead opting to just shake his head and finish off the job at hand. When the door does finally yield under his onslaught, he clicks it open carefully and pushes forward, stepping inside as though he's expecting to be attacked at any second by a maid or some such. Gotta watch out for those house maids.

What he sees causes him to stop dead in his tracks, managing to step aside enough to let Fraser in and then proceeding to gawk at everything. He can't even process it all, like there's just too much for him to even comprehend. He's never seen a room like it. Never even earned enough to even vaguely afford a place like this for the night. It's got everything one could dream of for a hotel room, and all presented with such extravagance that Ray feels strangely uncomfortable even standing there. Kowalski's used to rough neighbourhoods, greasy car engines and old RVs. This? This is everything he's not and all at once he realises that if this is what Stella wants, then he could never give her it in a million years.

Everywhere he looks feels like another spot for the happy couple to fuck on. The bed. The love seat. The bath tub. The luxurious carpet that was probably more comfortable than his bed at home. And he realises he doesn't care. They can fuck where they want. This place is out of his league and he feels nauseous just looking at it all. Give him his grubby apartment over this any day. This is a place for an Armani wearing Italian, not some scruffy Polack.]

This place gives me the creeps.

[He decides out loud, holding the chunk of wood out towards Fraser when prompted, and then shifting over to the chocolate box and helping himself to one. Or two. Or several. Turning back towards the Mountie with a mouthful of candy and speaking with his mouthful like a true gent.]

Y'want any champagne?

[dogsled]

[ His own discomfort was one thing, but Fraser becomes aware almost instantly that for Ray, this is a much more unhappy scenario. The bed, the carpets and towels and champagne and bathrobes; the balcony and the loveseat and the furs. This isn't Stanley Kowalski, but it is Stella, and it is Ray Vecchio. Through and through, style and sophistication--and that's not to say Ray isn't sophisticated, in fact compared to Fraser he's sophisticated beyond measure, but he fit into this room no more than Fraser did.

Ray was built for fixing engines and oiling leather and racing snowmobiles across sea ice; for shooting bad guys and performing handbreak turns and knocking people out with a jerk of his head; but he also danced, and appreciated fine film, and had a good heart, proving that sophistication didn't have to be silk and chiffon and featherdown pillows. Fraser appreciated those qualities more than he would ever appreciate a fine suit, or a good taste in wine.

But this--this place was what Stella wanted, like she'd wanted Ray once. She'd run from the extravagance and safety of her childhood to the wild adventure that was Ray, lived a hard but rewarding life with him, won back her old way of life through hard work, proving to herself that she could do it and then what? Ray hadn't changed. He'd never needed to, never wanted to, had he? He was still Stanley Ray Kowalski, a working man, a public serviceman, a damn fine cop who didn't want or need to be anything more than that because what he had he'd earned; fought for; shed blood for.

Earnest, beautiful, wonderful Ray, who it was impossible not to love once you saw beneath the thorny exterior to the heart of the man beneath--and she did still love him, want him, but she wanted this - all of this - that much more.

That was what the room said. It was one last 'See, you can't give me any of this, you never could', and Fraser had to be sympathetic, had to be a good friend, and help Ray be okay with that.

So he stepped into the room as Ray did, taking the piece of wood and following him toward the bed. No matter his own feelings about intruding, this was being done for Ray's sake, not his own - not for the new Vecchios - and he intended to do whatever it took to square this.

Even if it including drinking the champagne. ]

Please. I've never had any, is it any good?

[ Fraser dropped his things onto the coverlet, then stripped off his jacket, climbing up onto the bridal bed and sitting cross legged on top of it. He unrolled his knives and began to scrape at the wood, carelessly leaving little ringlets of wood shavings in his lap. ]

Just bring the bottle. [ He patted the bed beside him. ] Come on, Ray, sit down. This is going to take me a while. And bring some of those chocolates while you're at it--are there any hazelnuts?

[kickem]

[This was everything Ray was not, and it briefly crosses his mind that he'd much prefer being in some log cabin in the middle of Canada, patching up the place or fixing one of the snow mobiles, dirty but working, than he ever would spending a night in a place like this. He gets it now. Gets Stella's frustration at him never 'aiming higher', at her never understanding why he was satisfied with an average wage and an average life, her arguments about him never striving for more. He was happy with who he was; the son of a working class family who worked every damn day of their lives. He could never match up to the sort of family she'd been raised in.

He feels like he should be angry or upset or feel something beyond gradual realisation, but he's just standing there with a face full of chocolates, staring at the plush room like he's had some sort of epiphany about his whole damn life; Kowalski and Stella were never going to be happy together, not if this was the life she'd always wanted. They were two kids from two different backgrounds and maybe love really can't conquer all, because it sure as hell didn't conquer class differences and money issues.

But Fraser didn't care about class. He didn't care about money. He didn't even care if Ray put smarties in his coffee or covered an entire meal in ketchup or preferred cheap pizza from fine dining. Maybe Ray should start trying to find himself a Fraser with tits, rather than constantly aiming for women who wanted what he couldn't give them.]

Nah, it's kinda hokey. They just charge the big bucks for somethin' that tastes like watered down, cheap wine with a bit o'fizz.

[Stella would probably hate him for that opinion too, but hell, he's more of a beer and whiskey kind of guy. Champagne was beyond his level of reasoning, even if he was all for drinking it on special occasions.

While Fraser settles himself onto the bed- vaguely surprising Ray in the process because of their invasion into the room... maybe it's an Inuit thing, like the 'what's mine is yours' sharing amongst tribes- Ray grabs for the champagne bottle, the two flutes, and the chocolate box, dripping water behind him as he shifts over to the bed and drops onto the edge heavily.]

So, what you gonna carve?

[The box is opened and shoved towards Fraser, a finger briefly jabbing towards the nut based chocolates before he turns his attention to the champagne. The flutes are set aside on the covers, the glass clinking as they roll together, giving Kowalski both hands free to twist off the foil covering, the wire bracket, and then carefully ease off the cork, clutching it in the palm of his hand to avoid it flying.

It opens with a satisfying pop and thankful lack of bubbles spilling forth, instead merely offering that brief show of 'smoke' that curls from the bottle. He pauses long enough to sniff at it and then, apparently satisfied (although totally clueless), he settles the flutes between his legs for balance and pours them a glass each, offering one out to Fraser.]

[dogsled]

[ Fraser shaves off wood for a moment longer, his ringlets of wood shavings getting longer as he works his way deeper into the object. After a moment, though, he sets it down in his lap and reaches across to take a chocolate, savoring the piece thoughtfully, humming over the fragrance and texture of the morsel. It'd been a long time since he last ate chocolate. Pastries, sure, and the occasional ice cream - although usually only on special occasions. But chocolate was a rare treat.

By the time he'd finished, Ray was ready with the flute of champagne, which he accepted, bringing it to his lips only briefly and getting bubbles up his nose for his effort. They made his eyes water. ]

Well as you know, Ray, a master carver must allow the wood to speak to him. Each piece of lumber has its own story to tell, and the shape that emerges from it is unique to that spirit alone. [ He ran the thumb of his other hand down the smooth arch that he'd already carved into this piece, and lowered his voice just a little as though keeping a secret. ] Well you can imagine my great surprise, Ray, when I found out what this piece of wood wanted to be, but then I suppose a wooden phallus is wholly appropriate given that this is a wedding.

[ Benton Fraser was carving the Vecchios a wooden dick. Although it had to be said that it was doubtful he'd planned to do that all along. The rum and vodka he'd drunk earlier probably had their part to play, after all. He took a firm sip of his champagne, which was - just as Ray had told him it was - just fancy wine with bubbles in, and then carefully tucked the glass into the crook of his knee while he went back to work, carving in excruciating detail.

And there was nothing even remotely renaissance Italian about his design. This was no minute, rumpled scrotum a la David. It was the full length of the piece of wood, arched ever so slightly to the left with the grain, and Fraser even made the effort to work in the veinwork, like the attention to detail was a matter of personal pride. He stopped halfway through to take another mouthful of champagne, only to realize a second mouthful left the glass empty, and he gestured it up toward Ray. ]

Another glass, if you would. [ A thoughtful hesitation. ] Do you think they'll be able to tell what it is?

[kickem]

[Slowly, so slowly, Ray catches onto where Fraser's going with this whole wood carving thing, unable to help the grin that spreads across his features, so thoroughly pleased with Benton for his odd Canadian ways and with himself for guessing correctly, or maybe putting the idea in the Mountie's head to begin with.]

You are carvin' a giant dong. Haha. See that's what I'm talkin' about. These weddin' gifts, they're always like uh, toasters and plates and y'know, borin' stuff. It's all the same. But a huge wooden dick? That's somethin' they'll remember. I mean they'll look back on their weddin' day like 'Hey, that toaster sure was a piece of crap, but wow, that giant dong is still standin' tall right there in the centre of a ridiculously ornate mantle piece.' I mean that's somethin' they'll really appreciate, Fraser.

[And the true beauty of it is that Fraser will get away with it. He's the only guy Ray knows who can innocently hand over a massive, intricately carved cock and make it sound like it's the most thoughtful, considerate and well made gift. If he spins some tale of Inuits into it, he won't even be questioned on it. Ray's got to hand it to the Mountie, he's a genius.

Still amused, he watches the work being done, distantly reminded of those nights long ago when the two of them were sat up by a fire or curled up in a tent and Fraser would set about with his tools. It felt like a world away, but right now, with the two of them side by side, Ray could almost feel the familiarity creeping back. this is what he missed. Just him and his partner and plenty of time to themselves to do as they wished.

He finished off his champagne with a smile, nodding as Fraser prompts him for a refill and obliging as he reaches out with the bottle.]

Pretty sure they'll know, buddy. Last glass for you, yeah? You still got a speech to do before the night is through.

[Even Ray was starting to feel the warming thrum of alcohol in his system, which is what he's going to blame for suddenly blurting out as an after thought:]

I miss this.

[dogsled]

[ Fraser was amused that Ray was amused. He couldn't help himself; he'd been planning to carve an orca whale or a polarbear or something, but Ray's suggestion had of course come at an opportune moment (and of course he knew what a dong was, he had a dictionary didn't he?). And why shouldn't Fraser do something as off the wall, as inappropriate as this at a friend's wedding? His best friend's wedding? Wasn't that what he was supposed to do?

Ray would get a kick out of it, but it was for the Ray beside him - grinning with delight once he realised what Fraser was working on - that he really did it. He knew Ray Kowalski appreciated it when he was cheeky or a little bit unkind, knew his friend caught on to his smug Canadian humor that let people in on their failings without giving away his own feelings of superiority. Ray saw through him, even played dumb sometimes to set Fraser up for the joke, and that repartee was one of the things he treasured most about his relationship with the man.

Few people, even in Canada, in the life before he really came alive, had ever really understood him. He was the oddball, the outcast. Unsurprisingly, really. His colleagues in Canada had always seen him outmaneuvering them in the field, and considered him an overachiever and a threat. His bosses had considered him to be an expensive pain in the ass, but they'd still known the language well enough to know when Fraser was rubbing their noses in their own ignorance. The thing about Welsh was he didn't care that Fraser was smarter than he was; nor was Fraser his responsibility, per se. And besides which Fraser had very quickly come to respect him--maybe because Welsh's motives weren't in regard to how to get rid of him again as soon as possible. Welsh was a shrewd, intelligent and worldly man; perhaps not the kind of bookish intelligence that people respected, but smart, and Fraser appreciated the way that he played it as though he were anything but: make the enemy underestimate you.

Ray was the same. Cleverer than he admitted; sharp and shrewd and streetsmart. Fraser felt a warm rise of that same love from before swelling inside of him - or maybe it was the booze - but this wedding situation just seemed to be underlining that over and over again: his partner was a fantastic man and he loved him.

Fraser glanced back up at the words, saw them for what they were, and then quickly turned his attention back to the wood, pretending he hadn't looked long enough to really see. His voice took on an absent note, an 'I'm so busy carving wood I'm not really paying attention' note, and he said: ]

Drinking champagne?

[ He knew it was an accident, that it had come out without Ray thinking about it, but it warmed him through. Ray missed this. Missed the long nights by the campfire watching Fraser work, missed them telling stories and just talking and sometimes not talking, and the cold nights cuddled up in the dark to keep the chill out. Missed the misery and the frostbite and the days where the snowdrift was so thick and soft that it took them a whole day just to walk a half mile. Ray missed it too, and Fraser coveted that information while at the same time giving Ray an out if the conversation was too serious a topic to take on right now.

He finished work on the base, carving BF into the corner, and then leaned forward to put it on the countertop beside the ice bucket. Then he picked up his glass of champagne and took little sips, humming thoughtfully. Not bad. ]

[kickem]

[God, look at them. They were like a self perpetuating circle of smiles, working off one another every time one so much as caught the eye of the other.

Fraser was misbehaving- that's what all this breaking into suites and carving wooden dicks was about- and Ray couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation for it. It's not exactly a rarity, not since Kowalski's been around anyway, but he feels like he's one of the only ones who ever actually understands what he's seeing. Ray was that guy, that guy who stood in a room full of people and was the only one laughing to himself as Fraser says something so ridiculously smug and yet so overly polite that no one else knows what's going on. Ray's that one in a thousand that hears Fraser talk about wolf packs or caribou herds or Inuit tales or weird ass Canadian laws to his superior and hears 'dear sir, you're a fucking moron' underneath all the civility and faux-respect. He gets Fraser. He likes to think he gets Fraser more than anyone else out there. And he's pretty certain Fraser gets him too, that the Canadian understands the random rants and the bursts of anger and all the times he's played it dumb for the sake of luring people into a false sense of security. While Fraser always played it straight and smart, Kowalski played it loose and dumb. If that didn't confuse crooks, then nothing would.]

Yeah. [He eventually agrees, half-hearted and just starting to let that amusement fade as he stares thoughtfully at that wooden carving. What a thing to stare at, but it's oddly calming to watch while his mind drifts like snow from one memory to the next. They were memories he'd never forget. Even the ones of pain, annoyance and negativity still settling warmly into the recesses of his thoughts because of Fraser. Fraser was there even at the hardest times, dealing with Ray's outbursts and sulking and everything in between, and that's more than can be said for everyone else in Ray's life. Even Stella cleared out the second his temper flared.]

Nah. Not champagne.

[What were feels? They're so hard to understand or express.]

I mean this. You and me and uh- [Wooden dicks? No. That's not right. Although it does keep springing to mind the second he looks back at it.] -the uh. The adventures. And not adventures. I mean just us against the world, y'know? I guess I uh. Heh.

[One day he might learn to speak English. One day. Deep breath.]

I just. You didn't have to do this today, Fraser. You coulda spent that time with Vecchio, done all the photos and gone on to the reception and do your dumb speech without ever looking back my way. But you didn't. You come up here and carve huge dicks and drink champagne that ain't even yours. I appreciate it. Like. Really. I do. You're the only guy that's been there for me through it all, through thick and thin. And yeah we have our fallin' outs and sure I mighta wanted to sock you more times than I ever got to, but you still stick around. I guess I look around here and all I see is a life I never wanted, and I guess maybe it's a good thing that me and Stella didn't stick it out, because then I think of Franklin and Canada and I think 'hey, that life wasn't so bad. Maybe you had somethin' there, Kowalski.'

[He's not even sure what point he's trying to make, like his mouth is running faster than his thoughts are, but he kind of likes where it's going.]

[dogsled]

[ Ray was actually going to say it, he realised, in the very moment before his partner began to talk. It weighed on the air, that unspoken conversation, like it had back in that waiting room after the firefight, not knowing if they were still partners; like it had beside the campfire surrounded by Mounties. The conversation could be unspoken, but they'd have still had it, and yet there was something about hearing the words out loud that was somehow necessary this time. Fraser needed to hear how Kowalski felt as surely as Ray needed to say it all himself--to put words to what he was feeling.

So Fraser bore it out, and maybe Ray could have been more eloquent, but then he would have been less honest. It poured out of him like treacle, an unstoppable force; once it started only an abrupt halt would stop it from oozing, and Fraser wasn't ready with anything like that. Slap him or kiss him, those were basically his only options if he wanted to stop Ray now.

Which he absolutely didn't. Ray didn't do feelings well. It took a lot for him to pour out anything (and he occasionally did it to strangers, convicts and people he'd known for only a week, but to be fair that had been building up in him for almost three decades, so it ought to be excused) remotely resembling genuine emotions, let alone give way to them like this. He concealed like a pro, hid misery behind the brightest of smiles, fear behind anger, and anger behind fear. Besides which he was talking about his feelings for Fraser, how much he appreciated him, things that Fraser could only guess at from the tiny smiles and glances his way and warm hugs that he'd earned over the years. It helped that Ray Kowalski was a touchy person--Fraser liked to be touched.

He liked to touch back. He touched back now, finished folding his tools and laid his hand on Ray's knee, and suddenly he was staring at him, caught on the summit of the moment as Ray's wandering thoughts wandered him over the edge - that edge - and Fraser came after him too quick and tumbled down the mountainside to his death.

To his death. Because Ray was saying what he'd been thinking since their talk about going on an adventure again outside. He hadn't meant 'get lost in Canada and never come back', and yet--could he dare to think that maybe Ray had already agreed to doing just that?

He squeezed briefly, and that was his trigger to start breathing again, because he needed to breathe in order to be able to talk. ]

That's what partners are for. [ He said. And really he meant to only say that, but the booze was working against him now, just as it was for Ray, and he had options. He could ask, because Ray had left it open for him to ask, and he shifted on the bed slightly, shifted until his knee bumped Ray's thigh and he was looking up at him a little more squarely. ]

Is that what you want, Ray? To... [ He licked his lips again, anxious, but he couldn't make himself look away. ] --To come back... Would you like to come back to Canada with me?

[ Oh he was rolling down that cliff face alright, and it was Ray who would decide whether what his bruised body found at the bottom were jagged rocks or a cushion of bottomless snow. Snow snow snow let it be snow. Ray didn't have to love him, Fraser had never needed that, but if he would only come...they could leave this city and its death and its memories of Stella far behind. It could be like life was a perpetual adventure. And he'd be home. Home not Canada, but home with the person who made it home. That was all he'd ever wanted. ]

[kickem]

[Fraser's sometimes very good at letting Ray ramble when there's a point at the end of it all, and he's grateful for that. He doesn't think he'd have ever got any of that out ever again if he'd been stopped then, although now he's stuck with a whole bunch of words he can't even remember thinking and that brief sense of 'what the fuck did I just say?!'

Maybe he said good stuff though. He thinks he said good stuff because Fraser is right there with him, looking on in anticipation and Ray suddenly notices the hand on his knee and he can't help but feel just slightly encouraged by it all. Benton's still there. He's always there, and Ray thinks even if he'd just said the dumbest shit ever, the Mountie would still be sitting beside him, because that's what partners are for.

And he agrees, nodding vaguely about it all even as Fraser continues. And then there's mentions of coming back and Canada and he suddenly realises that maybe that's pretty much what he was suggesting after all but... but that's a big commitment. A big commitment that sounds pretty damn appealing but it could be the alcohol talking, or it could be the wedding talking. Weddings do crazy things to the mind. There's a reason why they say picking chicks up at weddings is so damn easy. People get lonely and broody and desperate for some sort of partner of their own.

Ray already had a partner. Fraser was a damn good partner. He wasn't that sort of partner, sure, but he was beside Ray every step of the way and Kowalski would happily spend the rest of his life with one of the most infuriating guys he'd ever met.

He does hesitate again, but it's only brief, a quick drop of his gaze as he actually thinks for a second.]

I'd go back. Sure. I mean... it's no Chicago, but, but it's home for you, yeah? You and me could totally make it work. We can make anything work. I just. That's your thing. You don't need some city boy following you around all the time. I get that. I understand if that's how it goes.

[Because surely Fraser doesn't want a whiny American trailing after him again, making everything more difficult, putting his life in danger because of inexperience. And in his own little way Ray's just trying to say he'd hate to impose, which is pretty damn Canadian of him. He wants Fraser to be happy, and if that means letting the Canadian loose in the wild, then maybe that's the way it has to be.]

[dogsled]

[ For a moment suspended on thin air Fraser thinks Ray is going to change his mind; is going to realise that he's just too drunk, too insensible to make a decision as important as this one. He feels his heart leap in his chest, and doesn't let himself give any more space for hope or terror, because Ray only pauses for the briefest moment before he speaks again.

He licked his lips again, then ducked his head forward, finding Ray's gaze, because his partner was no longer looking at him any more. Maybe he was afraid, or ashamed, Fraser didn't know, but it seemed to him that Ray was like the child who wanted to go to Disneyworld who'd said their piece and was now pretending that it was less of a big deal than he was making out for it to be.

But it was a big deal. It was everything Fraser had wanted since they'd slept on that cliffside together. Which was insane, because Ray had almost died, but...but it had somehow felt right. Survival and fear and them against the world. That was what he wanted. It was the only way to live. And yes, it was possible to have that in Chicago, but...but Ray loved it too. Ray loved climbing mountains, and Ray loved coming back down them again. He loved the dogsled, which was like driving a car with thirty two wheels, and he loved the snowmobile, which was like a motorbike that occasionally went sidewards.

Ray loved the north, with all its lifethreatening horrors. He loved it because of them, or despite them, Fraser didn't know, and maybe that was what drew Fraser to Ray himself--love me, love my wilderness.

He raised his hand from Ray's knee, but only to pat it once, holding it down again. ]

If Chicago can make a city boy out of me, Ray, I think we can make a survivor out of you. Besides, I personally think you've already shown a great deal of promise. For one thing you don't need my help to get in and out of your snowsuit, and you can drive the dogsled entirely on your own.

[ He ducked back slowly, shot down the rest of his champagne and climbed up off the bed, reaching out for Ray's hand. He was feeling warm all the way through. Warm and happy, on top of the world in fact. This was what he wanted. Ray was going to come back to Canada with him, and all he'd wanted was Fraser's confirmation that it really was okay. It was. It so was.

Ray was coming back with him. He couldn't look happier if two meters of snow shut down central Chicago. ]

Come on, let's get down to the party. I feel like celebrating. Maybe even dancing.

[kickem]

[For all the times Canada has tried to kill him, Ray still can't help but find an appeal in the wilderness of the North, of the open space and the silence of the snow and Fraser's guiding knowledge throughout. Ray was a city boy. He'd been brought up on the hard streets with constant engines and sirens and screams. There was nothing quiet about Chicago, nothing private about it. In the North it was him and Fraser against the world, in Chicago there was so much more to contend with.

And here Fraser was, willing to let Ray back into that private little world where the two of them existed together. Just them and the dogs and a whole lot of wilderness.

Dancin'? I'm gettin' the first dance, buddy. See what rhythm you really got.

[The sheer mention of dancing has him taking that offered hand and pulling himself to his feet with Fraser's aid, pausing long enough to spare a glance back at that wooden carving, the half eaten box of chocolates, discarded flutes and half used champagne. The two of them made their mark on the place without Ray ever having to pee on the bed, and he supposes that's quite the achievement. The Vecchio's could always order more chocolates and more champagne if they needed it, and still got away with their sheets in good shape other than ruffled thanks to a certain Mountie and cop sat on the bed.]

Guess it's the end of an era.

[No more Ray Vecchio. No more Stella. After tonight he doubt it'd be long before they start making their plans to move. They had no reason to stick around, just like Ray and Fraser had no reason to. Let that happy couple have Florida, Kowalski was going to get trees and mountains and caribou and whatever else the North had to offer.]

[dogsled]

[ Up on their feet now, Fraser didn't even pay attention to the fact that he was still holding Ray's hand, surveying the mess they'd made of the bed together; rumpled sheets, wood shavings and half-eaten chocolates. At least one part of the room finally looked like someone had used it, and that took the edge off the scrubbed up overplushed perfection of the whole place, made it somewhere people might actually be able to be people.

Yes, it was the end of an era, he agreed, but it was the start of a new one. He was a little too drunk to be able to pin down any details, but the excitement was buzzing in him already. No more Chicago. He'd go back, and he'd take the only thing about Chicago that really mattered with him. The only thing in his life that really mattered any more. Ray--Ray, Ray, Ray. His Ray. Not Stella's; no longer Stella's, who had another Ray for her own.

God, it sounded pathetic, but he'd follow this man around like a lost puppy. North, East, West or South, he'd go where Ray went.

His hand was warm in Ray's, and at last he realised he was still holding it - for the second time that day - and he squeezed his partner's fingers briefly. It was a solid anchor even if it felt like bizarre unreality. Standing in this hotel room holding Ray's hand and dreaming of Canada.

Wait, though. See what rhythm he's got? ]

Oh Ray--oh, I don't know. [ He pulled his hand away reticently. ] I can dance but I'm not--I mean, you and Stella. You dance beautifully, Ray. I can't possibly compete with that.

[ He bit his lip, then reached for Ray's elbow. ]

But maybe you could teach me. It isn't as though you'll have a great choice of dance partners in the Territories, and a man has needs.

[ Oh. That wasn't what he'd meant to say. He ducked his chin again quickly. Cut and run, get down where there were people and he couldn't embarrass himself any more--that sounded like a plan. ] Shall we? [ It was already a riot of noise downstairs. The sound of music had begun to drift up through the garden, and there was a sudden burst of a wedding song chorus in Italian that Fraser didn't recognise. People were settling in, and the chink of glasses rang underneath everything else. He set off for the door. ]

[kickem]

[That warm grip is a vague but constant reminder that Fraser's still clasped around his hand, even as they speak, but Ray doesn't say anything about it, doesn't even bother to take note of it as the two of them stand there. There's nothing wrong with one guy holding another guy's hand if he's just helped him up. No different than a hand on the shoulder, like a physical reminder of support. So there might be some out there who consider hand holding something men shouldn't be doing, but Ray's pretty sure every one of those people have never had a partner that would die for them, so fuck those guys.

That grip does loosen though, Fraser pulling back at the mention of the two of them dancing, and Kowalski gets that it's not a rejection, especially not when the request for lessons comes in. And... A man has needs. Heh. No kidding. Ray knew all about those needs when he was shivering away in the middle of no where, but Benton didn't mean those kind of needs, especially not judging by his fairly swift exit.

Of course Ray followed closely, walking alongside and still two steps behind in the conversation because dancing.]

Not sure if you noticed, Frase, but Stella's gonna be dancin' with someone else tonight. You got no one you need to compete with. Clean slate. I'm all outta dance partners and there's no way you're gonna try sneakin' off with someone else to get a dance in and leave me sittin' like a chump by myself.

[The chorus drifting through the air doesn't spook Stanley any more, doesn't have him thinking of how much he wants to punch Vecchio. Maybe it's the alcohol finally sinking in, but he's finally okay with seeing the festivities, of awkwardly acknowledging Stella's family, of random arguments with Fran and pinched cheeks from Mrs. Vecchio. He knows both families and knows just how to deal with them. If he just kept his head down, avoided Stella and spent the rest of the day considering this a simple reunion, then he might just survive when Fraser's not by his side.]

[dogsled]

[ It went back to the very first thing Fraser had asked Ray since they'd arrived at the hotel: save me from Ray Vecchio's relatives. And how better to save him from those relatives than to take up his entire dance card?

He stopped Ray behind the door to the ballroom, stopped him with his hand against his chest and stared at him quietly, trying to get the measure of him. This wasn't like Ray at all.

Although Fraser, of course, had no problems with dancing with a man at the wedding, he could never have imagined that Ray would consider it. He was an American. He was a man. He was straight. He was a cop. Fraser expected he'd be afraid of how people might perceive him, or that he would be overwhelmed with the far more pressing need to dance with all the pretty young unattached women at the event.

He wasn't unhappy that Ray wanted to do it, not at all. In fact it was enough to fill him with joy, the idea of dancing with Ray for the rest of the day, perhaps being his dance partner for the rest of forever, snubbing all those pretty girls and keeping the most handsome man on the dancefloor to himself--it was satisfying in a way he couldn't reconcile.

Fraser looked at Ray and tried to work out whether it was really what he wanted, but he was coming to Canada with him, wasn't he? If he wasn't comfortable dancing with Fraser...

He exhaled slowly, then dropped his hand from Ray's chest down to his hip, moved the other up to his shoulder, shifted his waist in until they were almost hip to hip. He was three inches shorter than Ray, and it was noticeable like this, tucked in against his chest, his chin near Ray's left shoulder as he tilted his face up to continue staring at him.

Because maybe he needed to know for sure that Ray wanted it. He needed to know before they stepped onto the dancefloor together and didn't know how to do it. He needed...he needed to know that Ray meant it. He bit his own bottom lip, trying to force his shoulders to relax. Ray would have to lead--Fraser wanted him to lead. So he, in turn, would have to learn to relax and give up his control, something that wouldn't be easy for him to do. ]

You and me, Ray. Partners, in front of all those people. Dance partners. [ Did he mean 'dance'? ] It's--it's okay with me, Ray. If...if it's okay with you. Just dancing with me. Only me. Because Ray, we're going to be dancing with each other for a very long time.

[ This felt right. It felt more than right. Except for the fact that up close like this he found he wanted more than ever to lean into Ray and kiss him. Not a good sign. Not if they were going to be doing a lot of dancing from now on. Maybe...maybe the instinct would be less strong if he was sober. He just had to sober himself up, and stay that way forever. And ever. ]

[kickem]

[Like most things in Ray's life, he hadn't thought too much on the whole matter at hand, into all the details and meanings behind it. Ray wanted to dance, Fraser has mentioned the possibility of dancing, they both worked well off one another in most other aspects so... Problem solved. Fraser, however, was putting a lot more thought into this, that much was made obvious the moment he stopped the two of them in their tracks.

Ray's gaze flickers from the hand at his chest back to Fraser, curious but waiting, knowing there'll be something done or said to follow because he knows that look, even if he doesn't always see it.

As Fraser eases himself closer, Ray doesn't move, still watching his friend silently as he slots into position against him, and suddenly this feels like a whole lot more than just dancing. Maybe Benton's just drunk. It's not unlike the Mountie to forget about personal space, after all. Maybe Ray's just drunk too, but he still feels far too lucid for that, even as he lets muscle memory take over and starts carefully rearranging himself and Fraser. His own hands shift with ease, coiling an arm around the upper part of Benton's waist while the other shifts downwards just long enough to scoop up and hold his partner's hand that had settled at his hip. He was going to lead, Fraser would just have to take up the woman's part without complaint.

And then he stood there, set into the typical ballroom stance as he stared straight back at the Mountie and slowly let the words absorb into him. Partners. Dance partners. Just dancing with me. Only me.]

You sure this is just about dancin', Fraser?

[Because distantly he's starting to wonder whether either of them are talking about dancing any more, even as he follows up his words with a lazy hum in the tune of a waltz, easing into a simple box step.]

[dogsled]

[ When had it stopped being about dancing?

The thing was, Fraser realised, Ray didn't really sound afraid. Which was amazing because there was something perilous about this situation that terrified Fraser himself. It could all be over. One wrong move, the brush of his lips against Ray's in a stray moment and the dancing, running away to Canada, the whole new adventure they wanted to embark on might become a distant memory.

Ray didn't so much as flinch as Fraser settled into position. He took to it with natural grace, corrected Fraser's hold into something a little more formal, and less slow dancing to Seal, and began to move. He didn't seem unsettled, or filled up with the same doubts and fears Fraser had--but then it had seemed to him, watching Ray and Stella dancing together, that all the everyday fears and anxieties just melted off Ray when he danced. He went to another place.

For Fraser, on the other hand, it was all he could do to remember how to box step, something he'd done at formal RCMP events hundreds of times before: for one thing, he had to compensate for the fact that Ray was leading, so he had to mirror his own steps--for another, there were those words; those curious, curious words.

You sure this is just about dancing almost as though Ray knew more about it than he was letting on. And he didn't sound afraid. So what if there was something more to it? Except the world simply wasn't that good to him. Ray was his partner, and Fraser couldn't risk losing that, no matter how perfect all these moments seemed to him to be. Sitting on the bed eating pizza, crying behind a church, carving wooden penises in the honeymoon suite, and now this. It was all a test. It was just the wedding getting to him, and he had to overcome it.

Because Ray didn't know what he was talking about, just like he hadn't considered the fact that two men dancing together on Ray Vecchio's dancefloor might be a bit strange. Ray didn't know that he was risking a whole barrel of consequences spilling all over the floor; consequences that Fraser decided in all his drunken wisdom were his alone to bear.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't see good consequences to his actions. There should be any number of ways that kissing Ray improved his life. The chances that he would reciprocate sexually if not emotionally were something like one in ten. Good chances. But Benton couldn't allow himself even a slither of hope; he wasn't wired for it anymore. So he didn't see anything good: only the crashing and the burning, and Ray Kowalski running away to Florida to get away from him. It was tightrope walking or nothing at all.

His voice felt ragged when he spoke. ] What else would I be talking about, Ray? [ He smiled falsely, and dropped his head to the right, staring at a point on Ray's shoulder. Coordinating wasn't so hard, even drunk, when there were strong arms to guide him. And finally, Fraser thought, a partner that might actually be able to improve him, if only if Fraser didn't frighten him away with his intensity. Ray's words had stopped him from trying so hard, but he was still nowhere even close to being relaxed. Still it had to be said that anyone else on two bottles of hard liquor and two glasses of champagne might not be so light on their feet. ]

I'll get better. [ He blurted, suddenly overcome by the fear that Ray would go in and pick someone else to run away to Canada with. Because daft Mounties were daft. ] At dancing like a woman. I was never very good at it--but then I mean...the heels.

[kickem]

[It didn't matter to Ray how good or bad Fraser was at dancing, even if he'd been awful at it, Ray would still be there swaying along to his own little hum of a waltz that clashed with the noise through the doors they were standing by. Fraser wasn't awful though, of course not. Fraser was rarely awful at anything, and despite his initial protests, he seemed to relax into the steps rather well, letting Kowalski lead where they needed to go in that tiny little circle they were creating.

One-two-three one-two-three.

This was just as easy as every other task they taken on together, something they could both achieve and succeed at with limited practice, because everything was so much easier with Fraser easing him along]

Shut up, Fraser. You're doin' good. You're always good.

[And yet there was obviously something wrong. Not in dancing but in demeanour. Fraser was playing the avoidance game, Ray knew that much, and he briefly wonders if maybe there was more to it than dancing.

Right here, right now, the two of them slowly working off the rhythm of each other, was pretty much perfect. Just as good as any dance he could get from Stella, even if there wasn't a lifetime of memories to go with it. But they could make their own lifetime of memories, they already had plenty to go with. More had happen in the short time Ray had known Fraser than the entire lifetime he'd been with Stella. Fraser kept things interesting, fun and exciting and he actually cared. Maybe this could be more than just dancing. More than just Canada. More than just work. Maybe that's what Fraser was silently getting at.

Or. Maybe Ray was just projecting onto his friend. Maybe Ray was just drunk and lonely and grasping at straws in a desperate attempt not to be that guy who dies alone with no family to speak of.]

I mean. You and me. We're good. But what sorta picture does that paint to everyone else? You and me dancin' together all night and runnin' off to Canada to spend months alone likea pair of hermits. That uh. That's more than buddies.

[He doesn't mind. He doesn't sound like he minds either, leaning back enough to try and get a glimpse of that turned away face. Is Fraser ashamed? Embarrassed?]

I'm okay with that. But uh... if you're not... that's okay too.

[dogsled]

[ Not ashamed, not embarrassed. No, Fraser was completely terrified. He couldn't have been more afraid if a pole cat had jumped out from behind the floral display and come at them, jaws frothing with rabies. Ray was saying everything he wanted him to say, but what if he was hallucinating it? Misreading it?

I'm okay with that. It was said so clearly, so firmly, that Fraser couldn't doubt it. Ray didn't care what people thought, that was all he was saying, but what if Fraser kissed him now? What if he made 'That's not buddies, people will think' into 'Seriously. Not. Buddies'. Would Ray care what people thought then? If it was true?

He'd put his mouth on Ray's before. Buddy breathing, exhaling into his partner's lungs to keep him from suffocating underwater. Buddy breathing. He wasn't going to get that one over on him again. And yet his mind was just a litany of lips lips lips, consumed by the desire to touch them, to close the amicable distance between them again, to make this whole situation a hell of a lot more than just buddies.

Which might be what Ray was saying, but probably wasn't. It was just the booze and the loneliness and the wedding twisting things up in his head.

Mastering control over his own instinct to push Ray against a wall and kiss him breathless, Fraser managed to tilt his head back up, looking back into Ray's face. His own expression was still a storm of emotions raging just beneath the surface, exposed only as a twitch of his eyebrows down, the slightest crease to the corner of his mouth, a tension in his jaw; but he didn't shy away from it, or from the topic at hand. ]

You're right, Ray, it is. It's more than buddies, and people will think what they want, believe what they like.

[ He thought he'd had control, but his hands had a life of their own. The one grasped in Ray's hand slid free, moved to flatten against his partner's chest, and then reached up, tugging off the bowtie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Ray looked like a stuffed sausage in his penguin suit. The bow tie was far too formal, and while he carried off the Bond look beautifully, Fraser just preferred him looking more relaxed, a breath of air against his beautiful throat, the fine line of a jaw that you could cut yourself on. He looked great with the bowtie; he looked irresistible without it. ]

So let them. What does it matter to us? You run around Chicago with a Mountie and a deaf wolf every day; face it, Ray, I've already more than destroyed your reputation.

[ His hand remained on Ray's chest. If they stayed for a moment longer, all self control was going to evaporate, he could feel it. But he couldn't find the energy to inflect his words with any kind of urgency: ]

They're going to be looking for me.

[kickem]

[There's that look on Fraser's features as he eventually turns back to Ray. That look. Ray's not exactly sure what that look is but there's that tenseness that he supposes he's not meant to be seeing, all tight jawed and lightly furrowed brow that to most would appear nothing more than usual for Benton. But Ray's not most people. He can read his partner well enough to know something is going on in that head of his even by the vaguest of stares. Something was always going on in that head of Fraser's, after all, Ray just had to work out what.

Undoubtedly it had to do with the two of them together, dancing together, being more than buddies together. Maybe Fraser needed time to think it over, or maybe he just needed time to work out what Ray was getting at. Ray wasn't quite sure what he was getting at himself. He'd thought this was about buddies, partners, friends, pals, but while they're like this, pressed against each other and working with one another's rhythm, Kowalski can't help but be reminded of Stella. Or not of Stella specifically, but that feeling he got from being around her. That feeling of support and encouragement, of warmth and intimacy and being able to take on the world with her at his side. This wasn't Stella, but it was the same feeling welling up in his chest, and boy, wasn't that just a little fucked up? Maybe losing Stella today had made a bigger impact than he'd thought for.

But then there's Fraser at his chest, working with that bow tie and buttons and giving Ray that extra bit of air in this far too suffocating entranceway, and it wasn't the first time the Mountie had helped him in or out of clothes but it sure did feel like that tiny gesture had something more behind it. Perhaps Stanley was just reading too much into this. He might be over thinking and seeing a simple gesture of aiding buddies as something more. Weddings really were a mind fuck.]

Heh, yeah. Don't think I had much of a rep to start with anyway.

[All at once he becomes distantly aware that they'd stopped dancing, that they were now just stood there, staring into each others eyes, still pressed close into one another and a hand rested at Ray's chest, and if people didn't think the two of them were up to anything before now, they sure would if they saw this. And yet Ray doesn't move. He can't move, like any slight shift will somehow break this moment and have them separating for the rest of the evening. His gaze only briefly flickers between them, dropping just long enough to visually register their position before snapping straight back to Fraser. He can't help the smile tugging at his lips or the awkward, huffing chuckle that escapes his throat. He's not even sure he can help the slight tilt of his head, or him leaning in closer, much closer--]

Let them look.

[-- too close as he breathes out against Fraser's lips...]

[dogsled]

[ He ought to have tried harder. He should have tried harder, put up more of a fight, put this off until they were somewhere above the Arctic Circle or something and Ray didn't have anywhere he could run to. Sure, his sulking fit would have ended up with them both dying in the ice fields, but all in all that sounded like a better plan.

But he hadn't; he hadn't tried hard enough, and now here he was caught in that suspended moment and very aware of where it was leading. He became aware of it almost at the same moment Ray did, of the knowledge that breaking it off now would be the equivalent to jumping in front of a speeding train: it would all be over. He became aware of the fact that they were about to kiss, and there really was no going back, no stopping it, no changing it, not even if he wanted to.

He didn't want to.

Fraser didn't so much as inhale for fear of breaking the spell. Ray's laughter fell against his mouth, his breath. His eyes came closer, head canting, and Fraser didn't close his eyes - didn't dare close his eyes - until their mouths met, closing the last bit of distance himself as though the approach had been the permission he'd been looking for all along.

It had been an approach, hadn't it? What if it wasn't what he thought? What if Ray regretted it? What if what if what if... Shut up, Benton.

The kiss wasn't anything more than lips moving against lips, or at least it wasn't pushed from Fraser's end. He was too terrified; terrified of it stopping, scared rigid that Ray would be disgusted with him and twice as afraid or more that he would laugh, because this kiss resolved, well, most of the strange vibes and awkwardness he'd been sending Ray's way since they were on their quest. He knew he was laying himself bare, laying bare things he barely understood himself, but if he poured himself into the kiss with all the longing and passion he knew he felt, it would be like cutting his heart from his chest and prostrating it at Ray's feet. He couldn't risk that.

But he could kiss an almost open mouthed kiss, tasting the alcohol on Ray's lips, and his other hand - the one that had been on Ray's side, reached for his partner's hand and twisted it up above his head, so that when he stepped into Ray he was pushing his wrist against the wall, his thumb hard on the pulse as though he might somehow be able to establish whether Ray was serious about this. He wasn't rough, the action was very matter of fact, the kiss never wavering from tenderness. But that was all rigid self control on Fraser's part, and his strength had its limits.

He didn't even blink as the door opened and closed, then opened and closed again, sending a waft of Francesca's perfume down the hall toward them. It didn't matter; not when he was kissing Ray, kissing him at last, bringing together reason with sense so that even he - the most oblivious man on earth - could see that this was something that they'd both always wanted, but never quite known how to acknowledge. He was kissing Ray, and the stars were aligning, fireworks were going off, wolves were howling. Everything made sense the way that it ought to.

And one thing was for sure: This was definitely not buddies. ]

[kickem]

[Totally was buddies.

Or maybe it was more than buddies. Or something other than buddies.

Whatever it was, Ray was glad Fraser had met him that last inch, had reassured him that this was a thing and hadn't instead left him hanging there, far too close and waiting for something to happen. Ray's not sure he could have been the one to close that gap, to be the one to finally make his lean in an actual kiss, and maybe that makes him a coward but either way he still got his own way. Because this is what he wanted. At least this is what his instincts had told him he wanted and he rarely ignores those. He hadn't really thought about what he was doing. Hadn't even registered just how close he was getting until he'd felt Fraser's breath against his and then those lips pressing to him, sending a jolt through his system like he'd just licked an electrical socket.

This was... this was dumb. And yet it felt oddly right, something aligning and clicking into place like a well picked lock suddenly opening up and revealing whatever it had been hiding. Ray's almost as scared as his partner to react, exhaling a shuddering breath against his mouth as for a few lengthy seconds he's just stood there awkwardly, his lips against Benton's and his brain on lock down like his whole self has totally forgotten how kissing works.

Maybe if he just...

His head tilts just a tiny bit more, but it's Fraser's movement that gets him functioning again, the feel of his lips moving against Ray's own and the slow shift of that hand on his, lifting and pressing into his pulse. He knows it's his pulse point because even he can feel the thudding beat against the pressure pushing down, his heart rate quickening by the second, which either means he's lying a hell of a lot right now, or he's nervous, or anxious, or excited, or aroused, or any other damn thing that could get his blood pumping faster. And he might just be most of those things, because right now he can't work out whether he should be scared shitless or excited as sin that they were doing this. That he and the Mountie were lip locked and still going as though neither of them wants to be the one to break it.

It's of no surprise that he doesn't even hear the door opening and closing several times, and has absolutely no clue of the waft of perfume, too clueless and far too invested in their current position.

This is like a teens first kiss, awkward and uncertain and just slightly uneventful, and yet Ray's pretty sure it's one of the best he's ever had. It feels good, it feels right, and if he can forget he's kissing his best buddy, his working partner and a man for just two seconds, he'd go far as to say this is near perfect.

He was cautiously optimistic, even as he finally presses forward just a little bit more and lets his tongue venture outward, swiping for Fraser's lips. He doesn't even notice the one arm he had around Fraser tightening, or that he's leaning into him just that little bit more, but it works. It helps.

He could make this work.]