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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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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Ray's hands came up to assist in the process, skimmed across Fraser's hips, before hooking the bottom of his shirt and - with a little of the other man's cooperation - tugging it smoothly up over his head. That left him the entire expanse of Fraser's back to run his hands over while--
Oh. Oh that was pretty.
Out of his shirt, Stanley Kowalski was a picture. There were bruises around his throat and down his chest, his arms, his wrists; black and purple and red. All the places where Ray had bitten and clawed and kneed and squeezed; across the top of his ribs and his forearms where he'd held on from behind as he tore into him. This was what he'd wanted. He'd been able to tell the story with his own bruises, but there was something so very rewarding about being able to refresh his memory via Stanley's bruises too.
Oh yes, they were beautiful. His open hand strayed to Stanley's chest, thumb brushing one bruised nipple, and then he was pulling his hand back abruptly, stripping out of his own crisp silk jacket and pressed shirt with rough efficiency, as though the heat of it were suddenly suffocating him. ]
Nothing to lose by trying. [ He quirked his eyebrows at Stanley as his mouth brushed the back of Fraser's bare neck, a column of unbelievable strength that none the less bowed under his touch. ] I didn't do so badly out of it last time. [ His hands settled again, this time on Fraser's chest, and he was pulling him back, hands splaying across a glorious expanse of pectorals, tilting his weight away from Stanley in order to give the other man a little freedom--or maybe just to torture him with the show. ]
Hey Benny. [ It was a stage whisper murmured into his ear. ] Ray doesn't look so good. How about we kiss him better?
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He was just fine with that.
So he didn't fight any of the efforts Stanley made to strip off his clothes, and a moment later he was being rewarded for his own patience, as his partner's T-shirt was whipped off over his head.
Ray was covered - covered - in bruises. How he could have ever have thought this was done in a boxing match Fraser didn't know, because there were teethmarks and fingerprints pushed into Ray's ribs, his arms, the very clear shape of a hand impressed around his neck. The bruises around his wrists, usually hidden under the long sleeves of his hoodie, were quite clearly inflicted by handcuffs--or rather by the strain of his weight being pulled down against them. If Fraser were to guess, judging by the angle of the wounds, the bruises from the bar that crossed toward Ray's palms, the angle would be consistent with being bound with two pairs, facing down.
He was so dazed by Stanley's appearance, so caught up in his clinical detection and his simple exploration od muscle and bone and bare skin, that he barely acknowledged his own arms rising above his head cooperatively, his Henley pulled away and discarded. Hands were exploring his back - skilled hands - but they ceased their wandering too at the vision in front of them. Maybe Ray was concerned about what he'd done; worried. Fraser, too, wanted to reach out, to soothe, to stroke his hands over those bruises and kiss them better, but all he could do was watch as Ray's hand slid in from behind him to briefly caress Stanley's chest. It was gone again in an instant, replaced with the sound of movement, cotton against silk, the rumple of clothes falling into a pile on the floor, and Ray's warm chest pressed up against his back.
Gasping, he fell back obediently into that hold, though it put him further away from Stanley. The lips on his neck made him sag, the hands circling to run across his ribs, his chest, and he shuddered helplessly, reached out with both hands as though he were reaching for a distant shore. This was so far beyond a dream it was impossible to comprehend, but then there was a command - or maybe a suggestion - and he was pulling away from Ray's wonderful hands, falling down to one knee on his rumpled tunic between them and tugging Stanley Kowalski's bruised left wrist to his mouth. He lashed it with his tongue, kissed it, soothed and stroked, oblivious to the non-verbal communication carrying on above him. He could feel Ray looking at Stanley, and they had to be discussing something with their eyes because all he knew was that Ray wasn't pressing in behind him, he was just standing there. Gloating or waiting for a command or...or something.
But it didn't matter. Stanley's skin mattered, the taste of him, salt and copper as the roughness of his tongue opened up abrasions and pressed into fresh bruises. He sucked on the center of Ray's palm, both his hands clasped possessively around his fingers, and the whole world melted away into that one spot, the taste of him, the feel. ]
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Jesus, that's a good sight. A proper display of good health, of thick muscle and good skin and a build perfectly tailored for outdoor pursuits. Kowalski can't even help the hiss of what might be annoyance as Ray tugs the Mountie further away, and Stanley's left with a sudden bubble of jealousy that the asshole is getting to put his hands all over his partner before he even gets a touch in. Stan wanted that to be his lips at Fraser's broad neck, and his hands at his chest. That should be his Mountie gasping into his hold and shuddering against him.
But then Vecchio's whispering far too loudly about kissing him better and Fraser's falling forward like he can't manage anything but do as he's told. Obedient little sod when he wants to be, not that Kowalski's complaining, his gaze dropping to catch sight of his hand being enclosed in Benton's grip and Benton's tongue. God, he was licking things again, but this... this was something Stanley was a hundred percent cool with him licking. He's not even sure how something as simple as a mouth at his wrist and hand can get him excited, but it's working, that tongue and those lips wrenching soft little gasps from him, especially as Fraser unhelpfully opens up a few healing grazes. This was his life now, getting horny from a damn tongue on his palm, but as Benton sucked, Ray was right there with him, lifting his free hand to tangle into the usually perfect mess of brown hair.]
Yeah. [He gasps, encouraging and reassuring as his attention finally lifts back up to Vecchio. Stanley's just a little too smug that he's got a Mountie at his feet, unable to resist the wolfish grin finally tugging at his lips as his gaze flicks down and straight back to Ray again, suggestive.]
It's not gonna kiss itself better, Ray.
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So he watched. He stared into Stanley's face as Fraser's tongue made him pant and gasp, and cocked his head over to one side, desperately keeping his eyes up, challenging. Come on, just try it.
And then Stanley grins, and his eyes flick down and up again and fuck fuck fuck Ray's eyes follow, and snap immediately back up, but already there's the snapshot of Fraser prostrate at Stanley's feet, his neck straining from pressure as he sucks on Stanley's wrist, the wet noises of a mouth on bare skin. Jealousy and desire flare up in equal measure, and his instinct is to punch that stupid grin right off Kowalski's face, because Fraser was his Mountie first, but all he does is clench his fist and unclench it again, squeezing the life out of his fingers in the hope that it stops him from breaking Stanley's jaw for no good reason.
Easy Vecchio. Temper. They were, after all, back in Vegas. Or at least in Nevada. God only knew this wasn't ending when they left this room. ]
You'd like that, huh? Both of us on our knees?
[ So fight it was.
He stepped forward at once, careful not to trip over Fraser, and seized a handful of Ray Kowalski's hair, tugging his head back. In he ducked, quick like a fox, inhaling deeply through his nose from the corner of the other man's jaw. There was a pause, suspense, and then he was nuzzling into the bruise there, soft and gentle at first, then harder as his mouth closed over the spot where his teeth had left a mark against the bone, digging back into it with renewed and vicious vigor.
His free hand, though, that reached out to curl across Ray's in Fraser's hair, keeping the Mountie between them still like he was using him as a metaphorical shield to hold back Stanley's ability to fight back. Hell, they were all going to end up on the floor at some point. Being upright was overrated. ]
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It's not going to kiss itself better, Ray.
You'd like that, huh? Both of us on our knees?
Fraser - visual Fraser, who lived in his own imagination half the time anyway - could see it in his own mind's eye, both of them, lips catching and tangling as they kissed every inch of Stanley they could, competing for it. Or maybe it was his own fantasy, this desire to drink in every inch of skin until he'd sucked all the flavor out of it. Maybe he was fantasizing both of them fighting over him--the combinations were endless.
One hand stayed twisted around Stanley's wrist, holding it against his throat as he earnestly kissed his way upwards. The second, free, first raised to brush the inside of Ray Vecchio's wrist behind him before reaching across for Stanley's bare waist, for the arch of his hip dipping downward under the waistband of his jeans. His fingers hooked under the seam, running down the length of it with just his flat hard fingernails touching Ray's belly, and then as he reached the fly they hooked in deeper, anchoring in warmth, the bristle of stray pubic hair against the back of his fingertips shockingly intimate. His thumbnail counted the teeth, hopping from one to the other, torturously, all the way down.
Fraser was sometimes too patient for anyone's good, and this was a prime example of that. Anyone else would have ripped them off already. Instead he was busy nibbling into the delicate skin on the inside of Stanley's elbow, working his teeth in experimentally in his tender too-Canadian efforts to leave a bruise without actually causing any harm, almost afraid of his own efforts to do so. He licked at it again apologetically. Sorry, Ray.
Far too busy on other things to realise he literally had the key to all of this curved against - pressing eagerly against - the palm of his hand.
Or maybe he did know, and he was just that much of a dick. ]
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Vecchio's quick, but Kowalski already knew that, the hair tug and the mouth enough to have him growling out a low noise of complaint as his view is forced upwards and his neck's exposed. There's a brief moment where his apple bobs as he tries to swallow despite the angle, and then his minds kicking him into gear to try and retaliate.
By the time he tries to lift that hand from Fraser's hair, Ray's already on it, wrapping around and keeping a painfully firm grip in place, and Stanley's other hand is still in the clutches of an apparently clueless Mountie. Or maybe he's not clueless. These two fighting out is what all this was originally about, after all, so surely Fraser expects it again, even if he is proving to be a somewhat unintentional anchor.
Everything that follows seems to happen far too quickly and yet somehow far far too slowly; the teeth at his jawline biting down hard enough that he's half expecting Ray to take a chunk out of him, a ridiculous comparison to the careful nibble and suck on the sensitive skin at the fold of his arm that Fraser was occupied with. And then. Then the teasing brush of fingers as they trail along his waistband, against his zipper and far too close to growing arousal.
He feels like his knees are going to buckle out from under him, but he keeps the wall for support, dropping less than an inch before his knees lock out and he stays where he is.]
Ngghhaah, Fr-- Ben!
[He tugs at the arm his partner is sucking on, instincts still calling for him to try and fight Vecchio off as he sinks his teeth in, but with little other way to try and retaliate, Stan goes for a tried and tested method of kicking. Or kneeing, awkwardly bringing up a bony knee to try and catch Ray in the leg, or the hip, or if he's really lucky, the balls. Just anything to try and ward him off or at least try and alert his partner to the fact he's got a fucking vampire on him.]
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He felt the very moment when his partner almost fell, and shifted his shoulder into Ray's thigh to help, thinking that the request that he was sensing was 'Ben I'm going to fall!' and not 'Ben get this crazy Italian off me!'
Whoops.
He did at least pause to look up, though, to make sure that his partner was okay, and the view from below, Vecchio at Kowalski's throat--it put him off guard, took his mind entirely off the game and his own role in it, because just for a moment he was the secret voyeur looking into their hidden world of vicious biting, handcuffs, fucking against walls, and whatever else his delirious mind could dream up for them to have done.
He was so distracted that when Stanley jerked his leg out desperately (since Fraser wasn't helping), he fell back almost on his rump, very nearly knocking Ray's legs from underneath him in the process. He stayed upright only via his own knees and his grip on Stanley's waistband and wrist, but got a wicked painful tug on his hair as he fell too; more than enough to wake him back up.
Whose side was he on, anyway? If he wanted to see anyone win this battle it should be Stanley, his partner. Loyalty to that was important, after all, and maybe if he showed a little support... Yes, that was probably for the best. If he didn't, he'd never hear the end of it.
He let Ray's wrist go reluctantly, then reached up toward his own throat. His lanyard was still around his neck--it had slipped through his shirt as Ray had pulled it over his head, and now Fraser loosened it, tugged it up past his ears and pulled it tight around both Rays' wrists. Then his hand wriggled underneath the two hands in his hair, freeing himself, and he rolled out of reach, ducking into the space off to the side, and uncertainly finding his feet again. His legs were very wobbly.
Okay, so tying Stanley to Ray wasn't strictly helping him out, and the lanyard was really just a pulley, it could be tugged back open in a matter of seconds, but it gave him the vital time he needed to get around Vecchio's back, cross his arms across his elbows and twist Ray's arms downward, trapping them at his sides. As Fraser's hands were still helpfully free, he thumbed open Ray's zipper too, slipping both hands down under his waistband - down, down, groping and squeezing - his eyes on Kowalski over Ray's shoulder as though to say 'I've got him, partner, now what do you want to do?' ]
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Ray follows as Stanley slips several inches down the wall, careful to maintain just the same amount of pressure on his hair. As mean as he might be with his bite, this is all still playing - it always has been - and it would be a problem if he ended up with a handful of dark blonde hair and no freak detective.
But even the best laid plans, right?
Unlike his curly haired companion, Ray heard the bleating request under Kowalski's desire: Help me, he said, and so Ray chuckled out a laugh against his throat--and then Fraser was falling against him, and Stanley was kicking helplessly and everything almost went very, very awry. He stumbled back, yanking on Stanley's hair as he went, but managing to loosen his jaw enough to not rip out his throat at the same time. By some miracle - probably Fraser's quick thinking - they all managed to stay on their feet. But then things very quickly got worse. Fraser was wriggling free, and he couldn't pull his hand away from Stanley's when he tried to reach for him, and...
That cheating, lying, traitorous Canadian bastard!
Vecchio snarled, fighting viciously against his restraint, but it was already far too late. Fraser's arms were locked, snapped like vices pinning his own. His hands had none of Kowalski to hold onto, and now it was his turn to make one desperate, helpless kick, as though by doing so he could somehow wrench himself to freedom. The kick only made him slip a little further into Fraser's arms, embraced against the full length of his back by the strong, bare chest behind him. It was like lying on a gas-lit range.
Traitor. This is what he gets for saving a guy's life more times than he could count? For losing winning lottery tickets and taking bullets and exploding his own beloved cars? This is what he gets? This is-- ]
H-holy Christ, Fraser.
[ Fight it, Ray. Kick him in the balls, the knee--anything. No, no thank you. He couldn't move his legs, that would require blood, and sorry, the rest of his body would have to do without that because there were hands inside his slacks, inside his underwear, stroking and kneading, and just for a second his vision tunneled out completely, his heart racing. He couldn't take it. He was going to have a goddamn heart attack. Was that his arm tingling? Fuck. What was he supposed to be doing again? ]
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Kowalski can't help but notice that Fraser's getting back to his feet once they all seem to have sorted themselves out, and he's not even that surprised at how quick the Mountie can move. One second he's on the floor, the next he's whipping around behind Vecchio and bear hugging like a true Canadian. Stanley can't even be annoyed when he notices (thanks to Ray's tugging) that they've suddenly got their wrists tied together, not when Fraser appears to finally be playing for the right team.
Now Vecchio's the one pinned and helpless, jerking uselessly against the too-strong arms and those outdoor worn hands that slip beneath his waistband.
Ray- Ray Kowalski, that is- grins. He grins just a little too triumphantly as he takes a moment to watch, eyes falling on Benton's gaze and nodding slow and knowing. Good job, he says without even opening his mouth.]
You were gettin' a little left out, Vecchio. Didn't seem fair. And y'know Fraser; he's all for fairness.
[And then he's closing the gap, stepping into those last few feet. The tethered hand curls around Vecchio's, fingers intertwining to keep a good grip, making sure that hand doesn't try and drag them both anywhere he doesn't want, but the other had free roam and he uses it to his advantage. Well. To all their advantage really as his fingers curl around the waistband of those slacks and underwear and tug sharply downwards to bring Fraser's groping out into the open. Kowalski's hand moves to join in, reaching under to palm and roll against the now exposed balls.]
Like that, huh? I think you'd enjoy some Canadian cock in you. We all gotta share the Mountie, after all.
[His lips far too close to Ray's ear, withdrawing just long enough to raise his eyebrows towards Fraser- Play along, buddy- and then he's ducking down, lips tongue and teeth trailing a path down Vecchio's breast bone, across a pectoral, and then lathing the flat of his tongue against a bare nipple. He licks and sucks just long enough to try and string along that sense of security. Just long enough to get the excitement rising, and then he's biting down, sharp and unrelenting as his teeth first bite into the nub, and then down against the sensitive flesh and muscle beneath.]
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God the air and freedom practically stung.
He had no disadvantage either. He could look down and see those broad hands, calloused from climbing up the side of concrete buildings and playing guitars and swinging on ropes--and whatever else it was Fraser did all the time. They were practically sandpaper, not at all soft, unlike Stanley's. The contrast was enough to make him whimper--and then instantly regret it.
And then whimpered again despite himself because those were dirty filthy words, and they were dirtier and filthier for the fact that he wanted it so bad. Fraser thought so too; or at least there was an imperceptible extra oomph to his next squeeze, the exposure of something... God was that a handgun or a rifle nudging against his ass? ]
I'm going to... Madre. I'm going to kill you-oh. Both of you. Whack you. Feed you to the ffff--
[ Words failed him again, and Ray watched entranced as Stanley's head bobbed down, a feeling of mounting horror rising in him. He was feeling great, flying high, and this could only end badly. It could only end badly. Because they were doing that whole silent communication thing, and there were teeth in Stanley Kowalski's mouth, he knew all about those, and the better he felt, the more amazing that mouth felt on his nipple, the surer he was that...
Holy fucking Christ!
Except he shouted it out loud. Oh well. Not like anyone in the police station would be remotely perturbed by that outburst. The groan of pain that came at the second bite, at least, he managed to keep between them. Stanley was intolerable. He was...he was the personification of sexual cruelty, and he knew it. Honey and sweetness and then viciousness--a fast learner. ]
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Fraser tightened his arms slightly; he was very happy with his position, very happy with Ray shuddering against his chest, and very happy with the affirmation he got from his partner. Good job, flashed Ray's expression, and Fraser had to fight down the urge to respond into something more reasonable, his eyes flashing downward then back up. They were both of them open wide in front of him, all bruises and bare skin, and he was given the ability to watch, drinking it all in as his partner slid Ray's trousers down past his hips, baring him to the open air, baring his ass to Fraser's still uniform-clad hips, and he shuddered, rocking upward despite himself, even before he heard Stanley's mocking remark.
If they'd expected him to be unsure, or offended, by the hushed words whispered so cruelly against Ray Vecchio's ear, they'd be waiting for a long time. He was aroused, positively glowing with anticipation, and he didn't need any of his partner's reassurance that it was okay - just play along. Instead he concentrated on Ray's erection, free to his hands now, squeezing it gently in reassurance before beginning to touch a little more reverently; tenderly.
He loved them, both of them. All of this was...unprecedented, unprepared for; but here they were none the less, and Fraser was the kind of man who adjusted very quickly to even the most unlikely scenarios. He was always ready with a ripost, and this was no different. Besides, it was just another expression of love--that was something he could do without hesitation, without even thinking twice about the details or complicating things with what it meant. It just was.
His lips brushed against Ray's throat, working up toward his ear, but his eyes were on Stanley as he worked down, anticipation curling in his stomach. He had to choke down his own surprise when the attentive mouth on Ray's nipple turned to teeth, holding tighter to the body against him as his former partner bucked and yelled in pain. ]
Easy, Ray. [ Murmured against Ray's ear, though his eyes were on Kowalski. Who knew which one he was speaking to. ] Take it easy.
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You sure complain a lot for a guy who's harder than a rock.
[His mouth withdraws it's assault long enough to get those words out before trailing towards Ray's other nipple, the same careful treatment given then of soft sucks and attentive licks, lasting it out as he shifts his attention back towards his hand. Those curled fingers slowly creep further back, brushing against Vecchio's perineum and leaving Fraser to keep up that stimulation. There's a brief scrape of blunt nails until he finally settles at the tight muscle just past, fingers circling lazily and, with little warning, pushing against with pressure without ever actually entering.
His mouth never bites down, leaving that possibility lingering far too long as he adds one final, languid lick and one small scrape of teeth before straightening up, brushing a quick path of lips straight back to Vecchio's neck and onwards to his ear. There's only one swipe of his tongue against the curve provided before he settles in close, voice low as he keeps his gaze locked just over the shoulder at Fraser and grinning wickedly.]
What was it you said the other mornin'? 'Bout jackin' it off to your good buddy Benny? You ever picture it like this? With him stronger than a fuckin' mountain and slammin' in from behind like some wildman of the North? You ever even tell him you think dirty shit like that about him?
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He just isn't aware how much of a part of it he is.
Fraser studiously kept his lips down and his eyes on Stanley, watching him warily as his mouth moved for that other nipple as though he were preparing himself for Ray kicking and swearing in his grip again. But it's not that at all: he's finding himself drinking it in, feeling as though through Ray's body his partner's mouth on his own chest. God, how he longs to have Stanley's hands and mouth on him--and how alien is that feeling? How new, and strange? His tongue lathed against Ray's trapezium, licked upward, kissed low behind his ear, lapped the curve of it, and then Fraser was pulling back in anticipation of Stanley wanting to take over, for his partner was finally straightening up, leaning into that same ear to lick where Fraser's mouth had been only moments before.
His mouth had never felt so dry.
Fraser's eyes glazed, his grip faltered and fell still, and it was almost as though his knees were about to collapse from underneath him--all in the space of a second - two - three. Who knew how long it had taken for Ray to say those words? Not long enough. They were so quick, like a knife slashed at him or one of those famous Kowalski smiles, and it was as though they ripped his stomach out and pooled it on the floor at his feet. It wasn't that the idea repulsed him; quite the opposite. It was dizzying, full of impact and deeper meaning and filthy. Even the choice of words, the decision to tell him at all, was impossibly erotic in a way Fraser hadn't known Stanley was capable of being.
And more than that it was true, wasn't it? Ray really had thought of him like that. Lying in the dark alone with his own cock in his hands, or maybe on one of those bathroom breaks where Fraser had pursued him only as far as the door. Why hadn't he known? How could he have guessed?
But that was only half of it, wasn't it? Stanley had thought about it too. So when the two of them had been going at each other days ago, probably drunk beyond comprehension, had they both been thinking of him? Had those bruises been meant for him? The rough, biting kisses, the claw marks? Were they all from a raging battle of competing heterosexuality gone awry or had they been expelling only the frustrations that Fraser had visited on them? Had they called his name? Had Fraser's sleep been disturbed, half a city away, without his realising it?
Was it maybe a little from column A and B?
He didn't know what to say or what to do. He didn't know how to even begin to approach this, and he was half afraid that his immense physical arousal was coming across more as deer in the headlights terror, the way he was staring back at Stanley. Motor function saved the day. He exhaled the shaky breath he'd been holding, licked his dry lips, and pressed in suddenly to close his mouth around Ray's chin, just drawing back so that the flat blunt of his teeth dragged across stubble and snapped shut with a click as his mouth dropped away. I'm okay, He told him, then. The world is spinning out of control, but I'm okay. With maybe a subtext of I can't handle it; these are good things, the things you're doing to me.
His mouth moved up to Ray's ear, his teeth biting harder at the nub almost in mirror of Stanley's earlier actions. It put his mouth very close to Stanley's still, as he mirrored the echoing hush. His arousal was in his voice: it was practically the low roll of a post-orgasmic keen, all smoky and ragged. ]
Tell me more.
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