Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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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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[ Two fucking days. That was how long he managed to stay away from the precinct; just two fucking days, and even then the second one he'd had to dodge Huey and Dewey who'd been sent out to bring him in like he was some sort of criminal. So he'd skipped out, because Welsh would have people looking for a green Riviera if he really wanted him, and took US Route 45 heading north; a nice long drive in the countryside in the middle of fucking November, only turning around to come back after a nice long exquisite meal in a diner halfway to Canada.
He'd been sat in a booth behind a Canadian family who reminded him way too much of the people he'd met when he'd been traveling up to the Yukon to find Benny years before, but he hadn't allowed it to spoil his meal. In many ways listening to them politely chat with the waitress was like eating dinner with an old friend, when instead he was out here alone dodging his responsibilities.
So the next day he sucked it up and went in to do his paperwork like a good cop, and really it wasn't so bad because he was already semi-retired as it was, and just picking up the slack here in order to close out some old cases that were more than a year old, things Stanley Kowalski hadn't been able to take over for. Wasn't it lucky the mob hadn't killed him? Now he could do year and a half old paperwork so Internal Affairs didn't have an excuse to have him or Welsh for breakfast.
It was hot in the office. He had to take off his scarf to work. The bruise on his jaw and his broken lip had gotten attention, but the teethmarks on his neck required a second explanation: I got attacked by a rabid Canadian. No, he was six. Don't ask me he thought he was a wolverine or something how should I know? No I did not make it up, a crazy story like that, you think I'd make that up? I'd at least invent a hot chick. Make it up this is my life, okay? Gunsmuggling Canadians, and deaf Canadian wolves, Canadians with a vicious loathing for classic cars, and Canadians who come outta nowhere and bite me on the neck. The sooner I can put some distance between myself and the border the better.
And soon enough it was just like every other day at the office, until at around half past one Fraser came in with Kowalski, chatting animatedly about the mating habits of beluga or something. They crossed the room together, heading for his desk, and then Fraser out of the blue seemed to notice he was there for the first time, and that this was in fact not Stanley Kowalski's desk any more. Talk about force of habit.
He said hello, and then Ray said hello: ]
Hello Benny. Hi Stanley.
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So he didn't blink twice when Ray took two days off, but on the third day he called, just to make sure his partner remembered that they were working on a case, and that Fraser would like to speak to one of the suspects again.
Ray, it turned out, was a mess. He was walking with the discomfort of someone who had either taken a great fall, had ridden a horse for eight hours, or had painful hemorrhoids, but Fraser guessed the former given the fact that he also looked like he'd been wrestling with a tiger. Underneath the smell of sweat and antiseptic, though, there was something familiar, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. If he could just find an excuse to lick him...
They were chatting about the mating practices of the beluga, which had been observed by divers for the first time ever and was - to Fraser's mind - an incredibly exciting development in the field of marine science, when they ambled into the 2-7 several hours later. He was so caught up in expounding on his topic that he didn't even notice he was heading for the wrong desk until he was almost sitting on top of Ray Vecchio.
Hello Benny. Said Ray Vecchio. Then: Hi Stanley.
Maybe it was the fact that Ray didn't pour enough loathing into the word 'Stanley', Fraser didn't know, but he did know instantly that his world had been knocked off kilter in the space of two words. It was like all the puzzle pieces had been brought together, and finally he could see that they were supposed to make a picture of a train, but he had no idea why they made a train. What sort of train? Was it coming or going? Steam, diesel, electric? How did he know it was a train at all? His eyes snapped up toward Stanley, then abruptly back to Ray, and he took in all of him, the bruised lips, the damaged jaw, the teethmarks in his throat - teethmarks, he identified instantly, that would match Ray Kowalski's set perfectly. Another bruise, crossed the muscles at the back of Ray's neck, like an arm had been wrapped tightly around him, and were those nail scratches on the back of Ray's neck, visible barely beneath the open collar of his shirt? They ran bottom to top, like someone had raked upward--an odd angle to be scratching someone's back. All of these bruises were as old as Stanley's injuries, dating back mere days to the first day that Stanley had taken off. The day after the night before.
Ray smelt of antiseptic too - of sweat, and the Riviera, and french fries. But he also smelled of something else, underneath his clear effort to scrub it off him.
He smelled of Stanley Kowalski.
Oh, he could assume they'd been fighting, but he'd seen Stanley and Ray fight. They fought with their fists - pow pow pow until the other guy went down. They didn't bite people. Or scratch them. He should be uncomfortable, he realised, but suddenly all he felt was angry. They didn't think they could tell him about this? Weren't they his friends? His partners?
His expression instantly turned moody, and he raised a hand to point down the hall. No 'If you'd kindly' or 'I'd be grateful'; mad Fraser was mad, and politeness went out the window. ] I'd like to speak to both of you alone. I believe Interview Room A is empty.
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The second day was much the same as the first, although he'd escaped his apartment in the vague hope of taking his mind off the whole situation, finding it really hard to forget when he could barely move without flinching from some injury. He could barely walk, barely sit, barely turn, barely do anything a normal functioning adult could do. He wasn't ready for Fraser calling him, but he couldn't say no. Welsh needed him back and Fraser was requesting follow ups on a case and Kowalski didn't want to be that guy who couldn't even help his partner out.
The excuse he came up with for the sheer amount of injuries he'd sustained was an easy one. He'd got a little over eager at the boxing club he'd gone too. Upset the wrong guy. So maybe they did wail on him a little too hard, but it was all in the ring, fair was fair. Yeah, they'd laid him out flat, he took a few falls, maybe he'd bruised his coccyx- whatever that was. Fraser had seen Ray in the ring before, had seen him against a much bigger guy and had seen how sore he was after that. It should be believable enough and Ray was pretty good at covering up when he needed to. Lies were sometimes essential, no matter what the Mountie thought.
Kowalski's grateful when Fraser doesn't push the matter, and he's oddly grateful that the Mountie can talk some boring shit about whales that Ray couldn't give two shits about. It's like normal. It's like the days before Vecchio.
Speaking of... yeah. That's not Stanley's desk any more. But it is Ray's, and Ray's there looking like he'd taken a few too many hits in the ring too, but still greeting the two of them like nothing is up. The second Ray says Kowalski's name, he's dropping his gaze, grunting a vague greeting in return and hoping his awkwardness is covered by his general dislike and reluctance to speak too much to Vecchio.
His downcast gaze misses some of Fraser's thoughtfulness, of his possible realisation, but Ray doesn't miss that tone. The tone that had him snapping his gaze back up, looking towards the Mountie with brows furrowed in curiosity. What's his problem? Does he think they'd been fighting? Or...?]
Both us alone? What even is that? C'mon, Fraser, we got work to do.
[Complaints or not, Ray isn't going to decline a request. Especially not when Fraser's looking like that. If Fraser wants to speak in private, it's very likely something he doesn't want said in public.
Fuck...]
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He's already grabbed his keys before he accepts that fact, though, as though he's about to go out on a door-to-door or something and Fraser is interrupting him, because there's no way he's going in there without a prepaid excuse to get the hell out of there at any time that suited him. Kowalski had clearly thought of that too: We got work to do. Good man.
Still, this is going to be a mission in...well, in lying through their teeth. And Fraser was the fucking human lie detector. ]
Fine, alright, but I got places to be too, Benny. [ Lie number one.
He elbowed Kowalski in the ribs, with a look that said 'Keep your mouth shut let me do this' but probably came out more like 'Ho boy we're in trouble', and then he was sweeping past Fraser, leading the way down the corridor to Interview Room A and standing in the doorway while he shooed the two of them through. Act natural. Natural, okay. ]
So my Ma's doing this thing Saturday night for Francesca's birthday, it's this whole shebang. If it's Italian and it's full of cream and sugar or meat and more meat it's gonna be on the table. Cream and meat I don't know. So I say to her great, a family thing, and she says 'Right, so you make sure you call Ray and tell him dinner starts at six.' Call Ray, she says, like she don't have your number. So once I figure out what she's telling me I say 'Ma, his name's Stanley. He's not your real son. He's not even Italian, he doesn't eat this stuff.' But she insists--by which I mean I get it in the ear about what a good son you are and how you sent her flowers on mother's day. I mean--you send another guy's mother flowers, Kowalski? That seem right to you?
[ And maybe Fraser would start doubting himself. Maybe...maybe they could get out of this alive if he just kept it casual, threw in enough verbal barbs. ]
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Fraser followed behind both Rays, like he was marching suspects down the corridor, and he took the door from Ray Vecchio and urged him in before he closed and locked it.
This was the room without the mirror glass wall. Fraser preferred it that way, and suspected that Ray and Ray did too. Or would, if Fraser managed to get anything incriminating out of either of them. ]
If you'd both care to sit down.
[ He gestured toward the table, hovering back himself and folding his hands behind his back.
The thing was, he hadn't really had time to think about what he knew, or work out how he felt about it. Knowledge had been thrust upon him in such a way as he was simply incapable of ignoring it. Piece A went into Slot B--it was there, right in front of his eyes. Clinically, from the perspective of a detective, the facts all lined up. They'd had sex: the bruises on Vecchio's throat matched Kowalski's teeth, and it had been three days ago now, judging by the purpling of the bruises. Kowalski had been the receptive partner, though who knew how they had decided that, but his stiff slowness and the wobble in his legs 'The tailbone, you know? The whatchumacallit--coccyx' were more than evidence enough.
But those were facts. Facts led to 'I'm angry you didn't tell me' like he was pissed that Ray had held out vital information in a case they were investigating. It didn't even close to touch on how he felt about it. How did he feel about it? It was a complicated question. He hadn't prepared in advance. And now here he was expected to say something about it. ]
I just--
[ He opened his mouth, closed it again, then seized on the first thought he had that wasn't seething rage and hurt. ]
You hate each other.
[ Good, good. That was a good point. They hated each other. How did that work? ]
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Vecchio was doing alright though. He was getting this lying thing down well enough. He was talking enough shit that even Kowalski could buy what he was selling. Mama Vecchio. Yeah. Yeah he could go along with the argument easily enough to sell the fact that he didn't get on with this annoying Italian.]
What can I say? I'm just a better son than you ever were.
[And he mostly sounds like he means it, but he likes Mrs. Vecchio. She invited him immediately into the family as one of their own and it was really easy to slot into a family that truly accepted him, especially when his own parents were distinctly MIA at the time. So Ray Vecchio can go screw himself, because his mother was a whole lot better than he was.
But that's an argument that could last for much longer than they had time for, especially when Fraser's there, staring in what might be disappointment. Stanley didn't sit. He's not sure he dares to, even if Fraser's asking for it. Instead he stands near one corner of the table, putting it between the other two like it's some additional barrier that might save him from whatever is coming up. It's obvious Benton's working something out and Ray's pretty sure he knows what's been worked out, because that fucking Mountie knows more than he should about everything.
But still it isn't mentioned. Not yet.
They hate each other. Yes. That's exactly it. He can work with that.]
Yeah. Yeah, we do. I guess he's just got a face a guy has to punch. You know me, Fraser, I can't help where my fist goes sometimes. So maybe I mighta accidentally aimed a few hits his way, but I uh. I figured you wouldn't want us fightin', so I didn't say anythin'...
[Which isn't the greatest excuse, but he can already see where this is going and having him and Vecchio standing there, both covered in bruises and cuts and both spending time off work... it's kind of obvious that something happened, even if it was only a fight.]
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[ Focus on the argument, don't let Fraser know he knows anything. It was like a police interrogation this; the cop had circumstantial evidence, and he was waiting for one of them to slip up, to say anything - anything - that cemented his suspicions.
So Ray scowled and hiked his shoulders and worked his arms back out, as though he were bruising for a fight, and scowled across at Stanley. ]
Why hold back, huh, Kowalski? You could barely walk straight after last time, you wanna take another swing at me see where it gets you?
[ All swagger, all threat, a raging whirlpool of testosterone in Italian Armani, and he wasn't about to let up the act for a second. ]
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Ray Vecchio's honor system didn't roll that way. He used his fists, certainly, but he had to be driven to it by years of resentment and loathing. Or defending himself. No matter the facade he put up with Stanley Kowalski there were no years of resentment there. Kowalski had done a good job standing in for him; he'd protected him from the press and internal affairs, absolved him of a murder, looked after his family, and looked after Benton himself, and at the end of the day, the worst thing he'd done - the worst - was that he'd been here when Ray Vecchio personally couldn't be. He'd lived Ray's life for a year, and maybe Ray resented that, but he certainly didn't loathe him. Not enough to start fights.
Now Ray Kowalski on the other hand...pride and fear pulled together, became the force behind his right hook. And he was proud - rightly proud of who and what he was - and afraid - afraid that Ray Vecchio coming back on the scene somehow erased him. And now, Fraser heard, Vecchio was seeing Stella. No, Ray Kowalski had plenty to want to hit Vecchio for, Fraser thought, except that that wasn't it either, was it? Fraser suspected that Ray respected Vecchio; at the end of the day, he'd been doing a difficult job, which he'd quit in order to go undercover in the most dangerous job in the world. There was undercover and there was undercover. Kowalski, in their time together, had never failed to tell the difference between a good and a bad cop, and Fraser knew that he could see that in Vecchio. Who could fail to?
So they didn't hate each other, not really, and all of this was machismo. Testosterone dressing up something different. Physical attraction really defied any kind of understanding - Fraser had always thought so, he didn't understand it even now - and was this scenario so completely unrealistic given his own experience of the subject? Ray had once gone head over heels for an FBI agent pretending to be a cold blooded killer, the other Ray had found himself attracted to a con woman who eventually turned out to be anything but, and Fraser--well, Fraser had Victoria. Was it so hard to think that Ray and Ray could find some common ground, and work out their feelings in some form that was, after all, only one degree away from violence?
It wasn't. It wasn't hard at all. In fact it was so easy Fraser had to shake the image off. It wasn't appropriate. ]
Enough!
[ He was still standing by the door. In fact he couldn't stand to take a single step further into the room. It was like the air was buzzing between the two of them, and if he intruded he was likely to get caught in the crossfire. I knew you two would get on. His hands had curled into fists--he forced them to relax, reached up and rubbed at his eyebrow anxiously. He couldn't think. He could barely even apply logic to the situation, how was he supposed to decide what to do next? ]
I'm not sure what upsets me more. The two of you fighting, or the two of you pretending to fight, to deceive me. [ And there was genuine hurt in his tone when he looked up, first at Vecchio: ] You're lying to me. Right now, you're lying right to my face. [ Then to Kowalski: ] Is that buddies, Ray? [ Back again: ] Is that partners?
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Wait.
No.
That's what got them there in the first place and that's exactly why Fraser is reprimanding the two of them about lying and buddies and. And. Fuck. The damn Mountie is far too good at this guilt trip thing, far too good. Part of Kowalski is ready to break down right then and there and confess to every single detail. Who were they even kidding? Fraser surely knew, that's what he was talking about, right? Even if he didn't know, he'd work it out soon enough and then it'd be even worse. They'd have been lying to him for however long it took and he wouldn't look at them for days or even weeks. Ray knows how the silent treatment goes and he hates it. He doesn't want to be the one stuck at the receiving end of it.
Vecchio was fine. The smug bastard was set up for retirement anyway. Kowalski was the one that still had to deal with Fraser in a working capacity and he'd be the one left with the brunt of disappointment and silence and constant guilt trips. Benton didn't need to speak to make Ray feel like total shit. It'd be worse than the time he'd punched the Canadian.]
It's not buddies. [He mumbles, gaze flicking only briefly to Fraser before glaring back at Vecchio once again, fists still raised but far weaker now, like a boxer in the ring who's taken one too many hits and struggling to keep his guard up. But he keeps that look on Ray like he's daring him, daring him to say something or daring him to shut the fuck up. He's not sure which. He doesn't even know himself which would be better. It's difficult to decide whether he can live with a lifetime of pouting Mountie for the sake of a few kept secrets.]
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And then, just like his namesake in Streetcar, Ray buckled like a wet dollar bill. It was an incredible work of posture. In a single gesture Ray surrendered to Fraser while at the same time hardly letting down the electric machismo that was turned in Vecchio's direction. There was a conversation going on there that Fraser couldn't read, but as he was getting in under Kowalski's skin - the man on whom his life would depend, and who would in turn depend on Fraser for his own for the forseeable future - there was really no need to linger.
He could work this. Kowalski was the weak link, and Fraser could work him, squeeze him for information.
And then what? What happened once he knew that they were really fucking, once he'd made them say it out loud? Did it change anything? Maybe it was time to start thinking about that because honestly? Fraser didn't know. Vecchio wouldn't be around forever, but it was...strange. He'd never known his partner's tastes ran that way, never suspected--but maybe Ray hadn't either. He'd been married for most of his adult life.
Still he wouldn't have guessed that Ray Vecchio leant that way either. He was as straight as they came, both in honesty and sexuality. Both of them couldn't keep their eyes off attractive women even when they were distractions from the job, and both of them drove cars that clearly said 'I'm a straight man approaching middle age and this car is me living my boyhood fantasies; a V-8 means I made it.' And maybe when Ray Vecchio left it would just be over, nothing more said.
It was odd, but he was okay with it. Maybe a little jealous, if he was honest, because it had been a while since Fraser had felt that way about anything; it was the kind of love that could destroy everything, that might even kill you, and it was everything that could make a man feel alive. Yes, he was jealous.
So he stepped in closer to Ray Kowalski, ducking his head down to the right, trying to look like he was offering an olive branch. ]
You know I'm okay with it, don't you? This thing between you, I'd be okay with it. You're my best friends, and I only want you to be happy. So if you're happy with each other--
[ He was close to Kowalski now, and he shot a look up toward Vecchio and caught the full power of the expression being pointed in Kowalski's direction. It sent a thrill straight through him, one so sharp and direct that he immediately found he had to look away. It burned even then. ]
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He turned the guilt trip on both of them, although Vecchio prided himself that it didn't work on him, and never really had. He'd been comfortable at the 2-7, he'd worked there most of his life, come up the ranks there so that he could square off against the lowlife scum that had owned his area of the city ever since he was a kid. He'd been established when Fraser had been assigned to him was the point, whereas when Kowalski had shown up he'd been coming into Fraser's court, bonding by Fraser's rules. They had a closer relationship, he thought, because of it, but it also made Kowalski a whole lot easier for Fraser to mess with.
He watched as Fraser practically knocked him over with a feather, and he wasn't the slightest bit surprised when the Mountie, sensing weakness, went in for Kowalski's exposed throat. There was that killer instinct at play; beautiful and deadly.
Kowalski, of course, was busy trying to send him urgent vibes, although by this point he was confused as hell as to which vibes meant what. Half of it was begging him to talk, he thought, and half of it was swearing that if he said a word then Stanley Kowalski was going to eat his tongue. But he was for a moment too distracted by how hot Fraser's mean streak was to decide either way.
And then Fraser looked at him and...fuck. It was like being shot in the balls with adrenaline. Fraser caught it too, Ray saw that in the way his storm blue eyes widened in surprise before he hastily looked away again. He stared for a few seconds more at the back of Fraser's neck, then...then he took a step forward.
And another.
And another. Until he was leaning against the corner of the desk just behind Fraser, looking straight into Ray Kowalski's eyes, and he made a sharp gesture toward Fraser, jerking his head to the left, rolling his eyes, then meeting Kowalski's gaze again. Him. Yes, him. Watch him. Goad him. Do whatever the fuck you want, but don't let him play you. We play him.
His instincts had been wrong before. Way, way too fucking often. Being off base on this one could ruin everything. They had to play Fraser themselves. He spoke softly. ]
I'm happy. You're happy, aren't you, Ray? Maybe it got a little out of hand, but we're both men. We can handle a bit of...roughhousing.
[ He could have sworn Fraser shuddered. Was he biting his lip? He couldn't see from this angle. ]
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Right now it feels like no matter what he choose to do or say, he's going to regret it. Like he won't be able to please everyone in the room, and he supposes maybe he doesn't give a shit if he pleases both of them or not but he still can't help the slowly building anxiety in his chest as his gaze flicks from Fraser to Vecchio and back.
The fighting stance is all but given up on by the time he catches sight of Ray stalking in behind, and he tries his best to keep his sights on Fraser, even as he catches the gesture from the other American. Vecchio might just be trying to help. Maybe that's what this is. To get Fraser on the defensive rather than trying to attack them both with his wily Canadian ways. That must be it. It's the only explanation as to why Vecchio's agreeing, and why he's getting so damn close.
And Fraser? Well, perhaps he wasn't so great at this accusing thing after all because Stan's pretty sure lip biting wasn't anything to do with deep thought. Okay. Okay, so maybe he can see what's being attempted here. He wasn't used to reading Vecchio's signals quite like his usual partner's but this seems to be the general idea.]
Y'know me, I like some rough and tumble. Nothin' like another body struggling against you to get the blood pumpin'. You get that, right, buddy? That fight for survival. All that clawin' and archin' and, and, desperation.
[And so maybe Kowalski's inching in just a bit closer, total innocence shown in those lifted eyebrows.]
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Vecchio approached him from behind. Fraser could sense him there, feel the weight of his presence, hear every footstep as it fell behind him. He listened, but he didn't turn, because he knew Vecchio had turned aggressor and didn't want to give him the benefit of acknowledging it.
But even without acknowledging it, he gave himself away. His heartrate leapt, he shuddered and bit his lip, startled by how a single innocent word like 'roughhousing' could be imbued with so much sexual tension. Stop it, Fraser. But he remembered Ray's eyes from before, could practically feel them burning on the back of his neck full of fire and hunger. No, he was projecting, seeing what he wanted to see, what he thought Ray was feeling for Stanley.
The fire in Vecchio was warm enough that he could feel it against his back from several feet away, and when Kowalski picked up on whatever cues it was his former partner was sending, that heat was reflected toward his face, too. Stanley played innocence, but Fraser knew the look well. Played innocence was 'Who me?' and genuine innocence was 'What the fuck are you talking about? I oughta pop you in the head.' He took a half step back, blushing from his starched collar up, but that only put him a step closer to Vecchio, a step closer to the barrier of the table.
He should get out of the way of the two of them if they were going to jump on each other, really. Except that wasn't it either. Maybe it had been when he'd come in, but for some reason that sensation had changed. Ray was talking to him - these words were meant for Fraser - Ray wasn't talking to Ray, this liquid tone was only meant for Vecchio by association. Another body. Blood pumping. The fight for survival. Oh, Fraser got it alright. He stared back up at Ray helplessly, almost as though he was a hair's breadth from begging him to stop talking. Clawing and arching and desperation. He knew it too well.
He reached out his left hand and caught the corner of the table, his breath snagging in his throat. His lips were dry--he moistened them. ]
I'm not sure I-- [ Wasn't he supposed to be the one asking questions here? When had he lost the last of the power he'd thought he held? ] I...
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If Kowalski had been saying it to him while they were in a room alone, he'd have thrown himself on the man already, because they were hot words. Sexy words. Dirty. There'd be blood alright.
And he could tell that they worked on Fraser too. He could tell that Ray had nailed it, because Fraser was burning up inside that suit of his, reaching out toward the table for support looking like his knees were about to go from under him. He stuttered, and the only time Fraser had ever stuttered he'd been blindsided by the attentions of a luscious woman. So he wasn't completely oblivious after all--as if Ray had ever believed it. Subtlety could actually turn him on.
Amazing. It was like finding out that the tooth fairy existed. God, bu he wished he could see Fraser's face. Instead he closed the distance behind him, stepping so close that the lapels of his jacket touched red serge as he leaned over the Mountie's shoulder, his head tilted to avoid knocking Fraser's hat. He was afraid if he touched him he'd spook, although he let his breath gust against the back of Fraser's neck, watching his shortcropped hair raise on end.
His eyes flicked toward Stanley, and now he spoke to him, although his words were dressed up to appeal to Fraser too. ]
Sure you do, Benny. You know all about that stuff. Two bodies writhing together in the dark, not knowing or caring how it's gonna feel in the morning. The relief of being able to share yourself with another human being--even the parts of you that scare you. All that violent need you have to keep locked away in case someone gets hurt; but it feels so good to let go. Just let it go.
[ Horny felt a lot like terrified, but that did it to him. It did it to Fraser, too, and wasn't this like a wet dream, not reality? Had he fallen asleep back on the interstate and crashed into a ditch somewhere? Was this his last taste of heaven before he went on to eternal damnation? He raised an eyebrow at Stanley, daring him to take this a step further. Daring him. ]
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He watches the two before him with slightly parted lips, Vecchio slinking in far too close behind the Mountie and staring at Stanley like he's trying to egg him on, encouraging whatever else they can get from this. Kowalski's not sure how far he dares to push himself, or push Fraser, but that look from the Mountie is impossible to ignore, pleading and oddly irresistible and Ray's pretty sure that looks is asking him to stop but he's not entirely sure he can. This is it. This is what he's been dreaming of all those months and years, of having the Mountie in a situation where Kowalski could just lean in and gather a soft touch, a steal of breath or perhaps even a chaste kiss. This was one of the names he'd gasped out only days before when Vecchio was on him. This fucking Mountie had been the man they'd both been venting their frustrations over, and now here he was sandwiched between them and looking just a little lost.]
Just let it go.
[Murmured, repeated after Vecchio's little speech that reminds Stan way too much of their rough afternoon, letting everything go between them. This time he can't be sure if he's reassuring himself with those four words or reassuring Fraser, but he finds himself inhaling just a little bit sharper and exhaling just a little bit heavier, panting thanks to the increased heartbeat and thrumming anxiety that's bunching up like a knot in his stomach and gripping too tightly around his heart.
He can do this.
Do or die. No going back. He'd already fucked up his chances of staring at Vecchio in any normal capacity again, might as well go all out and try his chances with Fraser too, right?
Grow some fucking balls, Kowalski.
With another shuddering inhale he steps in and leans forward, closing that final gap between himself and the Canadian, ducking just enough to get under that brim. One of his final views is Vecchio, catching his gaze swiftly before switching it to Fraser lips, lashes fluttering lower as he goes for his target. It's chaste but lingering, his lips barely brushing Benton's but remaining there as if he's afraid to pull back. It's not exactly the roughhousing of Vecchio's words, but Stanley had to be sure. Had to know he could do this and that Fraser wouldn't bolt the second he forced himself forward.]
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For a moment it seemed like Kowalski would change his mind, realise that he was betraying some sacred tenet of being a good partner and back off Fraser before anything could happen. And Ray would understand if he did, after all Stanley had to stay his partner even after Ray was long gone. Their working relationship depended on so much more than this.
And there were other good reasons to stop, like they were in a police station. Oh, who cared! If nobody noticed a dead man in an interview room for twelve hours, they weren't going to make much out of the room being occupied by other such rulebreaking.
Rulebreaking. Hah.
He drank in the sight of Kowalski leaning in, once the decision he was warring with (and losing) was made. Ray hadn't been sure he was going to do it, hadn't been sure he'd actually do it until he'd seen Fraser hesitate, words catching in his throat. After that... How could anyone resist him, even if they knew better? Those moist, slightly parted, Mountie lips were too perfect; they begged to be kissed.
Stanley wasn't going to let this moment, this beautiful impossible wet dream of a moment slip him by. This was it. His shot. He'd lean in and kiss Fraser, and if it was too wild for him it'd all end there. Maybe it wouldn't. So he did what he could to reassure, just as Stanley closed the gap, Ray stepped in that last half an inch until his chest bumped against Fraser's, and let his own mouth whisper kisses against his jaw. His arms encircled him, strong and sure and comforting, hands staying high out of the way of Fraser's, one curling against Stanley's shoulder and the other smoothing into the meticulously cropped hair at the back of his neck, the palm of his hand against his throat.
Come on, he urged Fraser. Let it go, let it go, let it go. Just relax, leave everything to us. Let Stanley know it's okay. ]
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Just let it go. All the things that terrified him. All the things he hadn't let himself feel before or since Victoria. It was all coiled up inside him like knots wound on a boat propeller, and oh--oh, he knew that the need inside of him had backed up to intolerable, even dangerous proportions. He was almost afraid of himself, afraid of what he could do if he was encouraged to let go.
But they were so...they were so gentle. His partners, his best friends. They slid in unthreateningly, the heat of Ray as he stepped at last against his back, encircling strong safe arms around him, the gentle kiss that brushed against his lips, inquiring but not demanding. Another mouth brushing warm against the edge of his jaw. He felt himself tense, felt those knots tighten briefly in terror, and then he was following their advice, letting it go, sinking down into the heat of Ray's chest gratefully and bringing his own hands up to Stanley's hips, holding him hesitantly, as though he were afraid that he might break him.
Where Ray's mouth had barely brushed his own and hovered, now Fraser reciprocated with almost the same amount of pressure, inclining his jaw up a degree and kissing him back with a low and desperate intensity. The vibration didn't stop, but now it was focused into a single point, reassuring as much as he hoped to reassure himself, and not knowing what the hell he was doing, only that he couldn't bear to stop. ]
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This is like all of those ridiculous fantasies that Kowalski's barely dared to dream about, all rolled up into a neat little package. Sure, he dreams about the Mountie occasionally. He's not gay or anything. He just likes to fawn over a guy sometimes. So what?
He's expecting rejection, ready for Fraser to twist or pull away and stutter out some overly polite apology, because real life is nothing like those dreams of his. Real life is reality, where he's forced to work alongside the most infuriating partner ever, receiving smiles and reassurances and never anything more. Reality isn't meant to involve a locked room and an apparent three way with two other guys. That's not real. That's porno status.
And yet Vecchio's hands are encircling him, gripping out a strong encouragement as Stanley pressed forward and dusting kisses across Fraser's jawline to match the kiss that he'd given. All at once Ray felt the man before his loosen into the touches and his heart fluttered, his own knot of anxiety slowly untying as those lips reciprocated and accepted. Benton wasn't running from this. He was returning it. Maybe, just maybe he wanted this, just like Kowalski had wanted, needed, that time with Vecchio.
All at once Stanley moves, shifting a hand to Fraser's hip, the other to Vecchio's shoulder, gripping tight as he pushes forward against the kiss, mouth opening just enough to lick at Fraser. There's only the briefest withdraw, just long enough to meet with Vecchio, brushing lips against his cheek in what might be gratitude, before he's straight back to the Mountie. So maybe it took Ray to make all this happen. That's fine. That's okay. He's welcome to keep making it happen.]
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His heart was in his throat, Ray realised, thumping hard in terrible perilous fear and overwhelming desire pressed in tight like a stormcloud against him. And yet he was being relied upon to lead this, and somehow that was completely okay. Fraser was Stanley's. This...interlude between the three of them, it wouldn't last forever, if it lasted beyond today at all, but in the grand scheme of things now, Fraser was Stanley's. It looked right, he thought, bringing his mouth away from Fraser's skin for a moment so that he had the opportunity to look. They were partners, they were comfortable with each other, and that kiss was so, so sweet, like the beginning of something beautiful. Ray had seen Fraser kissed before, but he'd never seen anything like this, like Fraser reciprocating with such heartbreaking earnestness that even a crying puppy would be jealous.
Mia madre, he thought. Maybe they love each other.
So he became instructional, slotted into the position of guidance because heaven only knew he understood how all this became functional a lot better than either of these two goofs did. He stroked his thumb against Stanley's jawbone before he retreated his hands, and then they were busy at work, taking off Fraser's hat and tugging the velcro catch open at his throat, unclipping his Sam Browne and setting it aside with everything else. The loosened tunic gave him a little more throat to kiss, a swathe of wool bruised skin exposed under Fraser's jaw. How he could stand to wear that stuff all day Ray didn't know.
Ray paused to loosen and abandon his own tie, then went to work on the friction burn with his tongue, his hands settling on the back of Fraser's, instructing him to pull Stanley hip to hip with him, groin to groin,as he bumped up against Fraser's backside himself. ]
That's right, Benny. [ He whispered, the words wet against his ear. ] Just relax.
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Stanley's tongue flicked out against his mouth, and instantly he was struck by the desire to chase it, touch it with his own, and that solved nothing because Stanley's head went to the side, and Fraser was left mouthing against his ear for a moment, inhaling the scent of gel out of his partner's hair.
His hat came off before the kiss was resumed, and this time Fraser went at it with renewed fervor, seeking his partner's tongue with his own and twisting against it, around it, writhing and needy. Stanley's lips were at once rough and soft. The bristles of his stubble ground against Fraser's naked skin, but he couldn't find it in him to mind the discomfort. Nor did Fraser pay a great deal of attention to Ray stripping off his belt and loosening his collar; the kiss was too distracting, too overwhelming, and too important.
He almost lost focus completely at the mouth on his sore neck, the hips on hips on hips as Ray's arousal bumped against his own, and his own bumped against--oh. Oh, it had been too long. His breath hitched, and he moaned into Stanley's mouth, a low, rumbling moan that was subdued only because of their current whereabouts. These rooms were only soundproof up and to a point, and softening his noises was the only discernible control Fraser was currently capable of demonstrating.
His nose jarred against Stanley's as he tried to work himself enough breathing space to talk, but his words were husky and low as he tried to use the opportunity to drink in every line of his partner's face, imprint the color of his eyes, the moistness of his own saliva left behind on Stanley's parted lips. ]
Don't let this be a dream. [ He tightened his hands, huffing a breath outward as - almost imperceptibly - he rocked into Stanley. He was still clear headed enough to be able to wrap his head around an idea: if he could make a distinction, even if this all went to hell, they might be able to save their working relationship. ] Ben, Ray. Don't call me anything but Ben. Can you do that?
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As Vecchio sorted out the uniform, Kowalski's hand shifts instead to Fraser's shoulder, fingers kneading into the muscle underneath that red serge. He doesn't even register the lack of leather or the loosened collar until Fraser breaks away, barely a breath from Stanley but enough to give the American a moments reflection.
Oh God. Oh God. This was real. It was too far fetched not to be. They were really hip to hip to hip, pushed against each other, panting and moaning. That was really Fraser speaking, really Fraser carefully rocking against him, really Fraser's lips so close to his.]
Ben. [He gasped out, not even concerned with what Ray the request had been aimed at. He'll call Fraser whatever the fuck he wants if they can just keep going with this. God, he was barely able to think straight with the Mountie of his dreams and the Italian that had kept him horny for days now. This could be beautiful or dirty. Or possibly both. Either way, Stan's just hoping it keeps going.
Had he thanked Ray for this, yet? He can't remember. He can't remember anything beyond about two seconds ago when he was gasping out that almost foreign name on his lips. But the thanking can be done now easily, breaking away again to shift towards Fraser's neck, up towards his ear and inevitably to Vecchio's lips. Stanley nuzzles in against his partner's skin, in close enough to get his lips touching Vecchio's, his tongue flicking first out against Fraser's ear and then at Ray's mouth, pushing for attention. Kowalski can be grateful when he chooses to be, but it might also have something to do with urgently trying to get back some of that night back into his physical memory, craving it all over again, just with an extra body between them. Or under them. Or on them. He really didn't care.]
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They were going to do this. They were going to do this, and they had to do it here, because there was just no way that they could adjourn this, move it out of the room, take it out of the police station. Maybe Ray ought to have thought about that before it started, but it had been so spur of the moment following up on Fraser's anxious little lip-lick, that he hadn't had time to think about where it would inevitably lead. All the way. It had to go all the way. He couldn't fathom not, when it seemed like years were culminating in this single burst of activity. They'd be quiet, and yes, the room would smell of bodily fluids and sweat by the time they were done, but when had it ever not?
As Stanley nudged in toward him, Ray let their tongues touch, sliding hot against each other on Fraser's skin - the Mountie shuddered - and then Stanley was kissing him, a painfully eager kiss that screamed of wanting. Okay--okay, he got the message. Right hand tightening in the scrub of hair at the back of Kowalski's neck, he pulsed upward into the kiss with passionate hunger, broke open the wound on Ray's lips that had only just been healing and lashed his tongue into the other man's mouth, kissing like it was a battle. His fingernails dug deeper into scalp, and his other hand--his other hand slid around Fraser and imposed itself between him and Stanley, squeezing Fraser roughly through his breeches.
But all of that was a front for his real intention. His hips slammed forward, and he stepped into the space he made, sending the three of them stumbling toward the wall until they collided almost painfully with the plaster. Only his hand on Ray's neck kept the impact from his head, but there'd be bruises on his knuckles to show for it sure enough. The hand he'd put on Fraser tugged free, but he used it to work open the buttons of his tunic absently, still absorbed in the kiss, fighting and biting and battling Stanley's mouth as though he'd made kissing a national sport. He wanted to kiss him breathless, kiss him until his head span with dizziness, kiss him until-- ]
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Stanley's hand was on his shoulder. It stayed there, kneading into muscle he'd never so much as touched before as he leaned in again, not to actually kiss Fraser this time but to brush cheek to cheek, pressing in warm and real against him on the same side as Vecchio. Briefly he felt not one but two tongues clashing warm and hot against his ear, and he shuddered between the two warm bodies between which he was sandwiched, convinced his own strength was going to fail him.
He wasn't given the opportunity to find out if it would. All at once there was the wet sound of a mouth on another mouth, clashing with wet smacking noises that reeked of passion and violence, and then with a force that shocked him, Ray's hand was reaching between his legs and the wall was coming up to meet him. He bleated out a ragged cry into Stanley's ear, seeing stars, panting as he tried to get some physical motor control back. His erection thrummed from the squeeze, and Ray's hand was still there, firm and hard, long fingers wrapped around him.
He needed to see. He just had to see. And sure enough as soon as he turned his head, craning his neck backward, it was everything he'd wanted and more.
He barely even noticed as Ray's hand slipped away to tug open his tunic, rapt as he was by the display, by Ray's mouth on Ray's mouth, or not on it, or inside it--or something. It was pure animal ferocity, and yet it was passionate and beautiful because of it. They'd kissed like this before, and they were bringing some part of that death-defying coupling into it now. But that wasn't Fraser. He wasn't so easily rough or mean.
Just as it seemed Stanley might lose consciousness from lack of air Fraser was interceding on the situation, slipping his hand against Ray Vecchio's jaw and pulling his former partner's face toward him. He kissed him then, kissed him with the same sweet, urgent tenderness with which he'd kissed Stanley, his eyes drifting closed as though he were sipping wine, drinking in the moment. He kissed him only for the space of a few seconds, tasting the blood on his lips, tomato paste, doughnut sugar, cherry lozenges - the residual Stanley taste of mint and tobacco - then withdrew, knowing Stanley would be watching. He looked shyly back into the face of a man he'd known so well, loved so much: Ray Vecchio, his partner. It was all so surreal.
And then he looked across into the face of a man he knew so well, loved so much: Ray Kowalski, his partner, for some kind of acknowledgement, or encouragement. If they were going to realise that this was all a horrible idea, this would be the moment, but Fraser wasn't going to be the one doing it. Nothing had ever felt so right. ]
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When Fraser pulled back he was flushed, impossibly beautiful looking like a renaissance painter had made him. His tunic was open, his hair a little wild, his lips glistening wet. His eyes... His attention snapped back toward Stanley, and he was still trying to catch his breath. His mouth hurt. It tasted of Fraser and Stanley; of rendered meat and spun sugar, of Wrigley's gum and cigarette ash. His head was swimming with it all. ]
You're a lucky fucking bastard, Ray Kowalski. Now let's have that shirt off.
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He's barely even paying attention to anything outside of their warring mouths, until a stumble and slam has him hitting against the plaster walls, the weight of the two others hitting it with him winding him as he exhales heavily into the kiss. It's enough to kill his back but doesn't seem to stop him beyond a visible flinch, although he won't deny he's just a little grateful that Fraser chooses to intervene. The moment his lips break away from Vecchio's he's gasping for air, chin nestling against Benton's shoulder just long enough for him to suck in enough oxygen to keep his brain somewhat functioning, although breathing is really damn hard when his attention is being drawn to the other two locking lips. This must be what it was like for Vecchio to see the two of them at it earlier, although possibly with a little less trembling and anxiety twisted into it. It was ridiculously tender, Canadian-ly polite and sickeningly sweet and fuck it was far too hot to exist. Stanley's surprised he doesn't just come right there when he sees the face Benton makes as he withdraws, it's pretty much a miracle he stays dry when those wild but forgiving eyes gaze directly at him, all hopeful, expectant and seeking approval. There's no way Kowalski could stop this now, not even if he'd wanted to, not after that look.
He wants so desperately to encourage Fraser. Show him he'd done a good job, and as his hand wanders down from the Mountie's shoulder he finally notices that tunic had been undone, giving him a perfect opportunity to lift both hands, hook his thumbs into each of those suspenders and flick them down Fraser's shoulders along with that red serge. He wants his partner undressed yesterday. In fact, he'd really love to tear the rest of that uniform off right this fucking second but then he's hearing the breathy voice of Vecchio break the surface and Stan's suddenly blinking away from that Mountie gaze.]
Don't I know it. [He comments in return, but then his brain catches up with his mouth and he's trying to work out what that means. He's lucky? Vecchio's right there with them. Unless. Unless Ray means after this. After they've all tangled in each other and part ways, and Vecchio goes back to retirement and Kowalski's still there with Fraser, working and meeting and fucking... oh. Yeah. Maybe he's pretty lucky. Especially if this whole ordeal doesn't scare the Mountie off forever more. And even if it does? This might almost be worth it.]
You really gonna try givin' the orders again? That's how you think this is gonna work? [Which it apparently is, because even as he speaks those biting words, Stanley's quite willingly managing to shrug off his holster and squirm out of his t-shirt, even with the restriction of the wall and the Mountie that he's sandwiched between. But he'll blame the clothing removal on the quick temperature rise and not at all because Vecchio said to do it.]
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