Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
Benton Fraser | Due South
 BENTON FRASER。 | |
"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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...]
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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. ]
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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.]
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And yet there's the fact that close against him, pressed up against Ray Kowalski's body it's obvious at least to Fraser exactly what he wants to do to him. And none of it would be considered straight by any means.
There was just too much that had seemed so ludicrously impossible that he hadn't let his thoughts wander in that general direction. The same things that had prevented him from reaching down as they lay together in the darkness, and helping Ray out with the erection that he was trying to avoid touching him through their nightclothes, had prevented him from even broaching the subject in jest. It wasn't to be acknowledged, thought about, or done, and yet here they were, and suddenly it was open season on all the things he hadn't let himself consider. On sex and kisses and living together in the wild snowy wastes of the north. On Ray being his, and his being Ray's.
All of that he conveys into the almost kiss with uncertainty and hope and terror, increasingly soothed that Ray is hearing him too, that Ray wants it too...
The tongue is like a starter pistol. BANG. And they're off.
Fraser moves like a whippet after a hare; his body, seemingly springloaded until that very moment, expelled force through every fiber of his being, and suddenly any hesitation he had, any fear of not being wanted, not being understood, not being welcomed--had been banished to the dim and distant past. If not for the fact that Ray was already pressed back against the wall, the effort with which Fraser slammed into him might have knocked the air clean out of his lungs, but that was no contest: he wasn't exactly about to make it easy or Ray to breathe anyway.
His hand was bruising tight around Ray's wrist, his chest against Ray's chest, inhaling into his space, his other hand had at least slid sidewards and flattened itself against the wall by Ray's hip, which kept him from suffocating a bruise against his sternum. He poured himself into the kiss like bruises were the answer to all life's ills; his lips slammed hard against Ray's, his tongue snagged around Ray's tender little adventure toward his mouth and swallowed it back into the kiss, sucking hard; sucking down with it all the air out of Ray's lungs. It was a drowning kiss, an impossible kiss, bristling with all the passionate need and energy he'd kept so punishingly buried for years.
If Ray had ever wondered what animal lingered beneath the surface of Benton Fraser, now he was getting an all expenses paid tour. Refined and elegant Mountie this was not; this was the boy you brought home that you had to apologize for. Fraser was danger, the tethers of his restraints snapped, rabid and eager, and no force on earth could stop him. Except perhaps duty--but at least not yet. He had to get at least some of this out of his system first.
He felt like he'd been waiting forever. ]
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Yeah, over thinking is something that needs to stop.
Thankfully, as Ray slipped his tongue forward, he apparently hit some sort of Mountie switch, because he feels the move beneath his tongue, against his body, even in the air. Fraser goes from naught to make out in a matter of seconds, and what was an awkward pre-pubescent first kiss suddenly turns into making out behind the bleachers with your biggest crush.
This change brought no chance for Ray to think, beyond the instinctual shifts against the onslaught. He leans into the body pressing against him, keeping close contact and avoiding getting crushed against the wall, the weight of Fraser overwhelming, even with the support of a hand. But it's the kiss he has to worry about more, his lips taking more abuse than he'd accounted for and his tongue suddenly dragged inside Fraser's mouth before he knows how to react. It's like drowning all over again, the breath being dragged out of him and leaving him desperately trying to inhale through his nose in stuttered breaths like he's forgotten how to breathe.
Fraser was all over him, needy and wild and not at all like his Mountie self. Ray supposes it's a good job Benton's out of uniform, because he's certainly acting like he is.
With one hand pinned, Ray's only got one to work with, and while usually he might consider reaching up for an encouraging boob squeeze, he's soon reminded that it's rather more difficult to manage when his fingers are curling into fabric around a flat chest. Instead he drops his grip and slides around for an ass squeeze instead, gripping a generous handful that also aid in keeping their hips in nice and tight and giving him at least some control over the movements of the apparently rabid Mountie.
It's probably best that Ray can't speak right now, still struggling for oxygen as it is, but he does manage a soft grunt of what might just be approval as his own tongue corkscrews against Benton's.]
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He's not gentle; he kisses like a man, kisses like Ray's partner, like snowy crags and sheer ice and iron mountain ranges, like desperation and survival as though the kiss is his last. Maybe it's fear. He has to pour it all out of himself in case he never gets the chance to have Ray feel it again, as though this alcohol-inspired kiss will be the only one, and once Ray's sober he'll realise his mistake. He'd afraid that if he stops Ray will have time to think, and he'll think 'No'.
(But Ray had leant in. Ray was groaning, groping him, fighting against his tongue with his own, and how could he possibly mix all those signals up and still come out paralyzed with fear?)
He was hip to hip with him; hip to hip, anchored against Ray by his partner's own will, and as his fingers squeezed, kneaded into denim and lean muscle Fraser could only softly whimper - moan - against the mouth beneath his own. That was what it took to break the kiss, it turned out, and Fraser pushed his forehead against Ray's, noses edge to edge, their mouths parted by inches so that they could both catch their breath.
Fraser could have spoken then--pulled back, excused himself, put a stop to this before it went any further. He should. Any other time he might have. This time he only waited for as long as it took Ray to recover from his assault before he kissed him again, open mouthed, wet breathy kisses that darted in and out. Kiss, kiss, the flash of tongue, another moan as he unconsciously ground his hips in against Ray's. He could barely move them, but he tried, gained a rutting half inch upward. That was not a wood carving in his pocket.
But God, Ray. He squeezed the fingers his own were wound around, then let them go, reaching down to slide his hands under his rumpled tuxedo jacket, smoothing his palms against the crisp white shirt underneath, already well soaked in heat from Ray's body, sweat from their short run behind the church and their current exertions. He could feel the body underneath, feel each inhalation as it filled his ribcage, the retaliation of force and strength, the steel tension across his abdominal muscles. He had the sudden desire to run his tongue against them.
His kiss was slowing now, less fractured, resuming the slow loveliness of before with some of the passion of the in-between; balanced somewhere in between where breathing was still an option, as though he'd simply been experimenting to try to establish what worked best. His tongue lathed apologetically against Stanley's, inviting him back inside, his eyes at last closing as confidence filled him that this wasn't about to stop, that it really was okay. Ray wasn't going anywhere. ]
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Clingy? Perhaps. But he was happy to give Fraser his space, even when they were out in the wild North. He just needed to know that he'd come back, like a lost puppy desperate not to be abandoned. He needed the Mountie. Without him Ray wasn't sure who he was. Benton made him who he was, made him strive to be a better person rather than the sulking, self-pitying piece of shit he was after he and Stella split.
The wildness of Benton's actions hadn't been a surprise, not when Kowalski had seen the Canadian in action. Fraser was a man of the wild, all hard edges and thick skin, able to live through great hardships. Despite his politeness, he wasn't the sort of man to handle Ray with care. He had, after all, been the one to punch Ray so hard in the face it had almost floored him. Twice. And all that took was some mild persuasion. Benton knew what Ray could take, and Ray knew what Benton could take. There was no need for kid gloves between them.
When they do break away, he's left gasping for air like he's just come up from a dive; heavy, desperate inhales as his eyes slip shut, forehead willingly nestled against the other's. He wants to say something, or at least feels he should, but he wants to remember this moment. As willing as they both seem now, maybe tomorrow once the alcohol has gone and the buzz of the wedding is over, they may never speak of this again. It wouldn't be too awkward, not after half the shit they've already been through together, this would just be another notch in their belt of weirdness, and he doesn't want that, not right now. Right now he wants to cling as tight as he can to this moment (and that firm ass beneath his grip).
He feels like he's barely got his breath back before Benton's back in, pressing a constant flow of kisses and licks that Ray can only softly allow, gasping out light agreements with each flick of that rough tongue and retaliating occasionally with his own flick and press.
When his hand is finally released it drops heavily, shifting it to rest at Fraser's hip as Fraser's hand paves a way against the ridiculously expensive slim fit cotton of his shirt. The fingers are enough to have him huffing out softly against his partner's mouth and that jerk of hips? God, that jerk of hips leaves far too little to the imagination. Ray has to use his weight to try and stop that from happening too much because he's really not sure he'd be able to help himself if that kept going.
Ray doesn't entirely how this works, this guy thing, but he can't bring himself to care while Fraser's tongue is so apologetically sprawling against his own. Kowalski responds, his own kiss slowing and rolling easily with Benton's, far less desperate and suffocating and moderately inappropriate for public, and just a little more casual and smooth. His curled fingers grip again against the firm muscle beneath and he briefly thinks how fucking illegal those jeans should be on Fraser, but maybe he shouldn't be noticing things like that.
He should probably suggest Fraser get into the other room and get on with his speech, but that would mean withdrawing away from all this and allowing his Mountie out in public where others could touch and speak to him and-- okay maybe he's getting a little clingy.]
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He couldn't help himself, he was just wired that way, and maybe it had been his father's fault for treating his mother the way he did, but Fraser had developed in the total opposite fashion to that. He loved with passion, with burning, as though no power on earth could extinguish it from him, not even the cold ice of hatred. He loved with the desire to see all the strengths and weaknesses of his desired, and treasure them for all of them. He'd loved Ray even in his weakest moments, with a gun in his hand, or in the moments after his partner had hit him; loved him so hard that it made him feel physically ill.
It would be problem, maybe, if Victoria were still in the picture, but Fraser was half convinced she was dead. He hadn't heard anything of her, or from her, since she'd vanished, and yet he'd had to wonder whether she'd pursued news of him after he was shot. Maybe not. Maybe she'd thought that was it for him, as he lay sprawled on the concrete, and the thought that her revenge might not be completely settled simply didn't occur to her. Maybe she was still alive; maybe she'd come back just in time to ruin this wonderful thing he had with Ray, try to destroy them both the way she had before and perhaps succeed. But that would mean Fraser letting her succeed, and it wouldn't be that way. Not now. Not this time. Not now he had this--the irreplaceable this.
No. No, that was just a fear; a Fraser fear. Extravagant and imaginative and impossible, because the idea that everything could actually be perfect was hard to grasp. Everything that could go wrong would, if it meant robbing him of his happiness, right? That was just his bad luck.
And yet this was Ray. This was Ray, who he'd felt consistently happy with for longer than he could remember. Ray who'd come to Canada with him, who was coming again; Ray who had leant into this kiss himself, and Ray who loved him like a brother, and now hopefully not like a brother. They were partners, and there was just no...there was nothing purer than that; nothing more honest. Partners, friends, lovers. Ray.
This soft mouth was Ray's, and he could have never have dreamed - never - that it would be on his own. The bristle of his stubble, the slick heat of his tongue, the tight fingers pressing bruises into his ass. God, he could melt himself in this kiss forever and be content. They could eat their buffet and enjoy their dancing, and he would still be out here consuming his own meal but never sufficiently sated, dancing to the tune of the other man's body against his own. It didn't ever have to be anything more than this, he thought, and he'd be content.
But he had to stop.
God. God, he didn't want to. He didn't want to stop. Don't stop. It wasn't enough.
He was drawing away even as he begged himself not to, his eyelashes sinking, a trail of moisture joining them for a moment before Fraser licked his lips, breaking it. He was still caught up in trying to breathe, and now there was the necessity of using actual words to fill the space, but now he was in the moment he literally couldn't fathom what combination of syllables could ever explain how he felt better than the kiss had. So he huffed out one last breath and said: ]
I'd like to continue this conversation. [ Words drowning with promise. ] Later.
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But that part of him could go fuck itself, because Benton was here, willing to be with him if today was anything to go by, and far more obviously willing to open up their partnerships to a few new options if that kiss was anything to go by.
Yes, Fraser does pull away, but its with such reluctance that Kowalski can believe it's legitimate. Maybe the Mountie does want to pursue this just as much as he does.
Continue this conversation.
That's one way to put it.]
I uh.
[Leaning back a few inches more as he mirrors the lip lick, his hands slowly and far too reluctantly starting to release their hold.]
I'd like that.
[And even as he starts to break away, Ray's offering Fraser a dazzling flash of teeth, a reassurance to himself and the Mountie that he's okay. He's more than okay, even as he slithers out from against the wall and ducks his head to arrange his shirt and jacket.]
You should... do the thing... [Waving a hand distractedly towards the door.
Shoo, Mountie. Go be with your other people.]
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Ray is everything, and Fraser can't believe that he didn't see it before because it's so clear now. There may be nothing between him and the wall, but there was Ray too. Ray everywhere, inside and out. Ray wanting to continue his conversation as much as Fraser did.
He turned away from the wall, looked up at Ray's smile and offered one back of his own, then reached out lightning quick as Ray waved his hand and snapped his fingers tight around his partner's wrist. His mouth moved, twitching at the left as he tucked his head to his right, a Fraser gesture of: You might not like this but listen to what I have to say. ]
I need you to come with me. [ Into the dreaded function room, was what he meant, but as he said the words they suddenly took on a lot more meaning, a lot more depth. He was talking about Canada or wherever else they ended up. He was talking about them, and apparently the conversation wasn't over yet. ] You're my partner, you're a part of my life, and nothing can stand against us when we stand together. I'd be alone out there, Ray, and I just can't--I can't be alone any more. Not now I know what it's like to feel like this; to feel like this about you, about us.
I miss you every second of the day I'm not with you. I dream of you at night. And sometimes when you only touch me it's like I can't breathe, because I know if I inhale I'll cross some line, even if I hadn't really known until recently what line it was I was so afraid of crossing.
I need you, Ray. I need you to come with me, and that starts now. That starts right now. [ He enunciated the last two words especially - RRRighT nOW - and there was a flash as his eyes snapped up again. He reached up with his other hand and folded it into the hand of Ray's he'd captured, before releasing his abused wrist. Holding hands now, he squeezed, looking at Ray more firmly, trying to put across his meaning. ]
Everywhere we go from now on we go together. No more distance. So come with me, Ray. Come and hold my hand while I say goodbye to my best friend, because I don't think I can let you go even long enough to do that.
[ He tugged gently, stepping backward, guiding him one step toward the door with the expectation that he follow. But if Ray wanted to stay to talk, or try to run, he'd hang there at arm's length, anchored, his grip tight around Ray's hand as it had been during their run from the church. Ray wasn't leaving without him, and Fraser wasn't going into the party without him either. ]
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Maybe.
But Fraser's grabbing at his wrist again and Ray doesn't fight it, looking towards his partner with a hopeful sort of curiosity, because God he's going to need so much reassurance before he believes that this is reality.
Benton's words are reassurances though. Talk of need and partners and wanting Ray by his side are exactly what he needed to hear, and it's odd just how much of it he's suddenly relating to. Miss you every second of the day, and dream of you at night; it was as if Fraser could read minds right now, because Ray had the same damn feelings of emptiness whenever he dropped Fraser off at the consulate or they finished work for the night. Ray looked forward to every single day that he could spend with Benton, thought of him when he wasn't around, dreamt of him overnight and just generally couldn't get the Mountie out of his head.
And yet as Fraser slipped his hand into Ray's and continued, Ray hesitated, his attention flickering down at the clasped hands, curling his fingers in against the warmth of Fraser's as if he doesn't want to let go despite his uncertainty.]
Fraser. That. That uh. I don't wanna stand alone either. I mean, you and me, we should be together, I get that. We work. And that- whatever that was- was top notch, mind blowin' stuff. But uh, we walk in there holdin' hands and uh. I know a lot of people in there, Fraser.
[He's not even sure what his own problem is. It's not like he tends to concern himself with what people think of him. Ray's had a lifetime of not giving a shit. He'd even said he didn't care what they'd think of the two dancing together, but hand holding and fond gazes. That's.... undeniably something.]
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But it did disappoint him. If Ray couldn't even hold his hand around people he knew, how could he possibly adhere to the assurances he'd made him mere moments ago, that it didn't matter what other people thought of them? How could he believe that Ray truly thought that, and hadn't simply been saying it to make him feel better? And if it were indeed a lie, then what did that mean about the kiss?
No, come on Fraser, think. That couldn't be it--wasn't it at all. So maybe it was the hand holding itself? Maybe it was the idea of going from nought to fluffy romance novels in the space of three minutes. Unlike Ray, Fraser had a childlike innocence to him where handholding went before kissing, where it was a sign that you liked someone and wanted to be allowed to touch them more often. And making googly eyes at each other was just a natural step, and not at all unmanly. He'd definitely made enough googly eyes at Victoria to know how helplessly pathetic those feelings could make him. How soft.
Ray was harder than that. Didn't it seem like - in this alien, metropolitan world - that hand holding was somehow more intimate than sex? It would be like being stripped naked in public, exposed to all those people. And this was Ray; Ray who was incredibly private about his emotions, so private in fact that he used anger and cheekiness as a way to mask who he really was.
Fraser wasn't asking him to just hold hands. He was asking him to demonstrate in front of everyone a side of himself that even Fraser had only just begun to uncover, and that wasn't fair. It wasn't.
He squeezed Ray's hand, reaching up with the other to touch his cheek, leaning in and brushing another slight kiss to his mouth. It was an apology. ]
You're right. It's not you, Ray, and I don't want it to be. It's me, and that's okay, but it's not you. [ If he walked to Ray and took his hand and led him away, it'd be fine. But this? Lovey dovey staring at him as spoke to everyone? Why would he expect anything like that? That just wasn't the man he loved - at least in public - and Fraser didn't need another pet wolf following him around expectantly. (He was different; following Ray around expectantly was a well established constituent of his repertoire.)
He smiled, hopefully. ] You're still going to dance with me, though, right?
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Except... Except there's a squeeze at his hand, a touch at his cheek and just as he lifts his head, there's lips against his for a beautiful, brief moment, and Stanley knew that there was understanding behind it all.
Fraser was apologising, he could tell. And yet Ray felt like he should be the one apologising for making this about him, and making it awkward rather than encouraging the endearing display of partnership. Fraser was willing to show the entire room through there that the two of them could be more than just partners and Kowalski had shot him down. It's just. It's just Ray hasn't held anyone's hand in years. Even he and Stella had rarely displayed that sort of affection in public, other than their dancing which had been one of the few personal things they enjoyed together while others were around.
Hand holding was just a whole other level. On the tough streets of Chicago kids were more likely to show their affection through hair pulls, punches and spitting on each other than they ever were holding hands. Holding a hand was practically a new language for Ray and he just wasn't sure if he was ready for learning a whole new concept on top of all of this. Whatever this was.]
Yeah, Frase. Dancin' will happen. That I can promise.
[And while hand holding in public might not be something Ray is quite ready for, he happily shows he's fine with virtually every other form of contact, slipping his hand free to instead step in closer and alongside Fraser and sling that arm across his shoulders.]
C'mon. Quicker we get you doin' that speech, the quicker I can get to the buffet.
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This works. It always has. He's smiling an unFraserlike glittering smile by the time they get through the doors together, the pleasure and contentment pouring off him where only there had been anxiety before. Maybe he'd just lost control of his own face, but it couldn't be helped--not really. He was the happiest man alive. Ray Vecchio coming in a close second, obviously.
Not rushing ahead as they stepped inside, because he wanted to maintain that contact, Fraser only stopped to fetch his tuning fork from his pocket - better not to ask where it came from - and took down two glasses of wine from a passing tray, holding one out for Ray.
The party was full under way. Maybe they'd settled down a little faster than Fraser had guessed they would. That or his brief interlude with Ray had taken longer than he'd realised it would. Either way, Ray and Stella had already settled down at the table with plates of food that they were hardly touching, chatting animatedly with Ma Vecchio. Francesca was sitting gloomily on Stella's side of the table looking like this was a funeral rather than a wedding. Welsh was scarfing down cocktail sausages. The music was playing and everyone was happy.
He took a sip of sparkling white wine, then tapped metal against glass, raising it high so that the sound rang out over the entire crowd. The music stopped, and Fraser gathered himself. He really wasn't bad at public speaking, per se, but it wasn't his favorite pastime either. Still, if he never made another speech again, this was the only one that mattered, and as he had everyone's attention he stepped forward, looking for reassurance at Stanley behind him as he began. ]
I know that traditionally the Best Man is expected to refrain from giving his speech until the latest possible moment. I suspect the delay serves many purposes. First, to keep the bride and groom on their toes for as long as possible as to what he might say. And it's true, I could tell you some stories: for instance there was this one time where Ray-- [ Fraser, get to the point! Ray always did know the best moment to interrupt. ] Well, never mind. Further, I imagine, for whatever reason - stage fright or perhaps a lack of planning - the best man might be hoping that some bizarre and unhinged friend might bring proceedings to a grinding halt before he ever has to open his mouth. Unfortunately the only bizarre and unhinged friend I have who might do such a thing is Detective Kowalski, here, and I'm afraid I already swore him on his best behavior. [ He looked fondly at Ray again - his Ray - then back to the one who now belonged to Stella. ] Or perhaps, much more likely, he's hoping his fellow guests will be drunk enough by the time he starts that they can't help but laugh at all his jokes. My own speech, I'm relieved to say, need not rely on such a crutch; besides, I've been reliably informed that Canadian humor doesn't translate south of the border.
[ Everyone had a good laugh at that. Fraser's smile was still sunny, but now it became a little more subdued. ]
Ray, I love you. You were, are, and always will be my first true friend. When I came to Chicago I was entirely alone but for the bag I had slung across my shoulder, and you--well, I can't say that we hit it off right away but it was oh...within those first few minutes or so. As my partner, you whined and complained your way through the better part of the two hundred seventy one cases we worked together. We were almost killed during our escapades more than fifty times, and although the exact number escapes me I'm confident you still remember it, even now.
[ Fifty seven! shouted Ray, and Fraser smiled. ]
Fifty seven times. You see what I had to put up with?
[ He took a breath before he continued, suddenly filled with much more emotion than he'd been prepared to deliver. They'd speak again, but these words felt so final. They felt like 'Goodbye'. When he'd gathered the strength to face it, his smile had fallen, become something a little sadder; more melancholy. ]
I was planning to tell an Inuit story - a fisherman's tale, really - about a hungry man who became delirious on the sea ice and in desperation used his own frozen toes as bait, but as I think about it it's probably not very appropriate. Still, I think Ray would be disappointed in me if I didn't share some element of wisdom with him. So here it is: A wise man once told me that a man's hair is who he is; that it makes a statement. Now Ray's, as I recall, says 'Mess with me and you're dead'. The contouring around the sides says 'Watch out, this guy might be dangerous', and the feathering at the back, of course, appeals to the female demographic. Ray expressed concern to me that he might be losing his Je ne sais quoi. Well, I think I'd have to disagree. Stella is a beautiful, intelligent, talented woman, a wonderful dancer, and a fierce attorney. She's also very lucky to have won the affection of a man as wonderful, as loyal and generous as the man sitting beside her now.
But she's also as blind as a bat.
[ Okay so they were going to go off the rails at some point, that was sort of inevitable. Nobody had realised that it had happened yet. Fraser wasn't mean, he was probably getting to something, right? It was a set up for a joke--it had to be. Only Francesca seemed to register the appropriate concern. ]
Oh, I'm sure you'll both be very happy. I couldn't be happier for you, in fact, because it is in her loss that I have found my own happiness. You see, Stella Vecchio has had the good fortune to bear the last names of both of my partners. She has been as fortunate as I am to have known them both. So believe me when I tell you now, Stella, that if you hurt that man as you hurt this one, misuse him and mistreat him as you did this one: I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.
[ He raised his hand to still the rising hubbub. ]
As the matter stands, however, Ray is happy. Ray is happy, Stella is happy, Ray is happy and I am happy - everyone's happy! Ray has a new dance partner, and I intend - with all due haste, and as soon as I can find a two person sleeping bag with a zipper down the middle - to whisk him away to the great northern wastes with me. Where, hopefully, we'll both continue to be happy together, if you all know what I mean.
Ah. What was I saying? To the happy couple. [ He raised his glass. ] I wish you every happiness.
[ Everyone drank. Fraser drank. He looked back toward Ray hopefully. ]
How did I do?
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Ray doesn't even pay attention to the crowd, not even as they stop on cue from the sharp ding of the tuning fork. Instead he keeps his eyes on Fraser, glass in hand and waiting for the inevitable speech, slinking back just slightly to keep out of the spotlight that is Benton's rambling. He smiles and nods as Fraser looks back, a quiet approval. You got this, buddy. I'll be right here.
It starts off well. Hardly surprising considering Fraser's ability for public speaking. Ray doesn't even mind the reference back to himself, inclining his head and raising his glass just slightly as he's referred to as 'some bizarre and unhinged friend'. Stella would like that, no doubt, as would plenty of her family, and Ray isn't going to take offence to such a truth. The attention quickly drifts way from him again anyway once Fraser continues, rambling about the expected best friend speeches, work antics, possible Inuit stories and even about the bride's beauty and well wishes.
But there's one phrase in all that which suddenly sets Ray on edge; But she's also as blind as a bat.
His wine glass slowly lowers to his side, features flickering to something of very mild suspicion because oh God he hopes that doesn't mean what he thinks it means. And yet Fraser continues. He continues and totally ignores the eyes narrowed in warning that are glaring at the back of his head from Ray.
By the time the threat comes, Ray's glare has shifted to a look of distant horror, thankfully hidden behind his hand that's now covering his face, but still peeking out between his fingers like he can't quite look away. This is a train wreck. A beautiful but hideous train wreck that should have been stopped but no one is quite sure how or why. Not even Kowalski steps in to interrupt his friend even as Benton talks of dances and sleeping bags and-- oh God. No, no, no, no. Who thought letting the Mountie of truth speak at a wedding was a good idea? It was an awful idea. No one should tell the truth at weddings.
There's still a sense of lingering confusion from the crowd even as everyone raises their glasses (except Stanley, he's too busy facepalming still), and as Fraser turns back around, that hand of Ray's is dragging slowly, painfully down his face until it drops uselessly to his side, head shaking minutely.]
That uh. Wow. That uh, sure was somethin', Fraser. My guess is the happy couple won't forget that one in a hurry.
[Eyebrows lifted even as he turns away, his head gesture suggesting Fraser should do the same so he can try to lead them somewhere where Fraser won't be pounced on by family or friends or people trying to get his attention. Ray can't help but add, in a mumbled whisper;]
What was that, Fraser?
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