Benton Fraser | Due South

[dogsled]

BENTON FRASER。

"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'"

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[dogsled]

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

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

He didn't want to.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[kickem]

[Totally was buddies.

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

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

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

Maybe if he just...

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

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

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

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

He could make this work.]

[dogsled]

[ It's beautiful; it's everything Fraser had ever wanted and more, and it's almost impossible to believe it's actually happening. Things like this just didn't. Not like this. There's too much to it; there's Ray and there's partners, and there's the marriage and there's the whole dubious question of homosexuality that Fraser had never considered for a second that any of it could actually become real, because the odds were stacked too high against him. Everything sensible said that Ray didn't go in for that sort of thing.

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. ]

[kickem]

[Not thinking might just be the best course of action with this, Ray considers in the fog of his slightly alcohol induced mind. Thinking is the exact thing that's causing him to lock up a little too much. Over thinking will risk him turning tail and running from far too many 'what-if's, like what if Fraser's just really drunk and you're totally taking advantage of him, or what if this is a huge mistake and you're making out with a dude as some sort of bizarre 'fuck you' to Stella, or...

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.]

[dogsled]

[ It's probably for the best that Francesca has already come and gone, because the heat in the corridor had risen beyond any normal range, entirely off the human scale. Ray felt wonderful beneath him, between him and the wall, felt impossibly hot and hard. There was nothing feminine about him, and it was clear that Fraser wasn't making the mistake of thinking so himself--he might have been more gentle.

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. ]

[kickem]

[Ray hadn't even realised he'd needed this. He hadn't known that his constant need for Fraser being in his life and his want for Fraser's constant support was leading to this. He'd desired Fraser's attention twenty four seven in the vague hope of fulfilling some sort of emptiness he'd felt before they met, and now? Now he was finally getting every last bit of the Mountie. This was the missing piece in their partnership, the final jagged edge to slot into some bizarrely shaped puzzle. Ever since they'd got back from Canada Ray hadn't been able to shake that loneliness he was left with each evening when he'd slunk back to his apartment alone, too codependent on his partner to consider trying to survive without him.

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.]

[dogsled]

[ At least he wasn't the only one. Clingy was Fraser through and through; he had trouble letting go of anything, and Ray was just the latest in the subjects of his affection to be exposed to that madness. But that was okay; obsession was good in Fraser-land. It translated into dedication, determination, trust, into a hundred other things that meant that he would give his life, both every day of it and in the mortal fashion to the object of those affections.

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.

[kickem]

[They could both be clingy together. Ray could settle for that. God knows he'd been jealous of Fraser enough times before today. He couldn't even bear the thought of his partner being near Vecchio half the time, even after numerous reassurances from Fraser about partnership and friendship and whatever else he tended to ramble on about. Every logical part of him already knew he shouldn't worry about it. It was him who Fraser had ventured off into the great white North with, him who Fraser continued to work alongside even after they returned and him who Fraser was currently attached to by the lips, but logic was a hard thing for Ray to listen to. It was much, much easier to listen to the self-deprecating, insecure and far too obsessive side that told him he wasn't good enough and that one day Benton would ditch him just like Stella had.

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.]

[dogsled]

[ Fraser stays. As Ray pulls aside to straighten up, Fraser stays put, almost for full seconds, and hours pass inside his head as he stares at the blank wall, at the place where Ray had been a moment ago. It's actually surprising to him how close to it he is, as though it's odd that Ray doesn't take up more space than that, because suddenly it's all the other man does that takes up space: every inch of it. Ray is suddenly his entire life, and he can't think of a part of it into which his partner hasn't already been deftly slotted. The consulate has a Ray spot, the police station has a Fraser spot, there's two sleeping bags backed in his overnight kit, two toothbrushes - one Ray's - two plates and two spoons and two cups. Even Diefenbaker adores him. He has a spare hat in the trunk of the GTO in case of a headpiece emergency.

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. ]

[kickem]

[There's far too much for Ray to think on and probably a lot he shouldn't think about at all. Most of which, he briefly thinks, would be much better left until he's sober and not full of far too many endorphins that are making his thought process little more than an excited hum of ideas. This is good. This is great. But what comes up must come down and maybe, just maybe, Fraser might change his mind when he gets in there with 'normal' people and friends that aren't Kowalski.

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.]

[dogsled]

[ It was what he was afraid Ray would say; especially since moments ago he'd been so much more into the idea, willing to throw it out in the open with dancing in public and running away to Canada together. Fraser didn't care what other people thought, but he did care about Ray; Ray's feelings. If it was too much for him, then he wasn't about to force the matter.

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?

[kickem]

[Ray immediately regrets what he says, like he expects it to ruin everything in an instant and cause Fraser to back away. It's only once he says the words that he hears the meaning behind them, afraid they'll sound more like 'I don't want you' rather than 'I'm scared and unused to this shit'. His gaze drops and his lips thin, but he doesn't say anything further, unsure what to say to make it sound any better. Fraser would just have to come to his own conclusions and judging by the flicker of his expression before Kowalski dropped his gaze, that conclusion resulted in some form of disappointment.

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.

[dogsled]

[ Ray always knows just what to do. Always. In this case, he drops his hand away and instead throws his arm across Fraser's shoulders, and everything that had been tilting ever to one side snaps back to normal: to Ray, his partner, his friend. This he can do. This is just like every other day, with Ray's arm offering support, and Fraser looking aside at him with his own warmth shining in his expression.

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?

[kickem]

[The two of them walk through the doors beaming like idiots. It's not entirely anything new, not considering the sheer amount of jokes and 'moments' the two of them have shared as partners throughout their time together. Many probably won't even notice that Fraser's smile is far wider than normal or that Ray's is far more genuine, but most don't know the both of them as well as they know one another. The arm around Fraser is nothing new either, beyond them being just a little bit closer and just a little more familiar.

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?

[dogsled]

[ He's actually very pleased with himself, pleased with the speech - which he thought went rather well - happy with life in general, floating on a drunken, kiss-happy haze of cheerfulness--but when he looks back to Ray there's that emotional whiplash, and a flicker of uncertainty finally gets through his glow. It's all downhill from there.

Ray looks unhappy. He looks like he's in pain, even, and Fraser works his mouth uncertainly, following the head gesture with his usual clipped obedience, his expression falling. That's Ray's 'come on to the men's room with me we have to discuss something' headjerk, he'd know it anywhere. He drops his chin toward his chest, already clearly chastised.

They wind their way back through the room. There's a relatively empty corner behind the wedding cake, which won't be cut for at least an hour yet; it's a simple affair, white and more white, tiered and frosted with a little Armani-clad bridegroom and bride on top (the bridegroom had a hat on, presumably to hide his balding head.) The music resumed as they slid away, picking up into something way too fast and cheerful, as though it could dispel the disquiet that Fraser had left in the wake of his speech, or the gloom that was slowly spreading through his chest.

He put his hands into his jacket pockets, looking more like a sulking child than a grown man for his efforts. It wasn't flattering. ]

I forgot the second half of my speech. [ It seemed to take a lot for him to admit it, and he slumped slightly more, looking sullenly at the cake rather than at Ray. ] I remember it now, of course, but I had to...to drive by the seat of my pants. [ Fly, Fraser. ] I thought it sounded okay.

[ But then, he thought, maybe Ray took exception to Fraser threatening his ex-wife. He'd always been very protective of Stella, after all, and maybe she warranted protecting from Fraser, too. He scuffed his heel anxiously, kept looking anywhere but at Ray. Oh look, flowers, people, cars parked beyond the windows, a lake.

I'm sorry if I embarrassed you; those were the words he was supposed to say. What he said instead was: ]

I realise you still love her, Ray. I know you always will. I still love Victoria. I suppose it was...petty of me. [ He sighed, and looked down at the patterned linoleum tiles like they were the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen in his life. I'm terrified that what they have with their gold rings and vows is more important to you than what we can have, his drunken mind provided. And his drunken mouth said: ] I--I'm jealous. Not of her and Ray, although perhaps that too, but of what the two of you had. I'm jealous and I'm angry, because how could anyone love you and not want to spend their life with you? And she could have given you that--the life you wanted, a family, children, a ring... And I--I can't.

[ Well, he got there eventually. ]

I want this so much, Ray. I want you. I know I could be happy, even, for the most part. But there would always be that something missing, for you, and... And it's wrong. I'm sorry. But that's why I said the things I did. I thought maybe I could... [ He shook his head abruptly, looked despairingly up at his partner. Lay down a claim on you. God, he was a cur. ] I'm sorry, Ray. I'm so sorry.

[kickem]

[The wedding cake seems as good of a place to hide near to as any. It's not like Ray can get away from the reminder that his beautiful bride is no longer his beautiful bride, but fuck it, he was just starting to get over that, and likely would if Fraser would stop bringing it up all the time. If Ray had noticed the drop in his friend's mood before now, he didn't show it, instead turning to face him, hands shoving in his own pockets to mirror the man opposite and listening for whatever explanation came. His lifted brows dropped into a look of curiosity and possibly confusion, because what could Fraser possibly say that's going to have any of this make sense? Not just the speech, but everything behind it, all that came before it. None of it can be explained.

He does a fairly good job of at least attempting to explain it though, even if Ray can't help but chip in with a barely there mutter of;]

Fly.

[Because Fraser corrects him all the time so of course he jumps in with corrections when he actually gets the chance. But that moment is soon forgotten as there's mention of love and feelings and God, Ray realises he sucks so poorly at this sort of discussion. So did Stella. They could never make anything work when neither of them wanted to discuss how they felt, and here's Fraser making assumptions about it all. About what they had and what could have been and marriage and kids and white picket fences.

Ray would almost be tempted to punch him were it not for why Fraser had said all of this.

Fraser wanted him. And maybe it was just the alcohol talking but the Mountie sure did seem ready to ramble about the future when the two of them had barely even begun. But maybe they had begun long ago. After all, they'd both been together (in some sense of the word) for some years. They'd shared their lives together closer than most couples ever do. And while they might have only shared a kiss together minutes before, they'd been partners for so much longer.]

Fraser...

[Ray didn't even know where to start or what to say. His friend looked far too apologetic and far too distressed for Stanley to even attempt anger, and while talking about his feelings wasn't something Ray was entirely equipped to do, he could definitely talk about Stella.]

Look, I dunno if you do things a little differently in Canada, but normally? This love and marriage and babies in the carriage talk doesn't happen on a first date. It's uh. It's just...

[He rolls his shoulders, shrugs them, gestures with his hands, shoves them back in his pockets and then pulls them back out again, shuffles his feet, cracks his neck, scratches idly at the underside of his jaw, but it's his gaze on Fraser that's the one constant in all of this.]

Me and Stella were together for over twenty years, on and off, and we still couldn't make it work. I love her, sure, but then I uh, sometimes I wonder if it's just the memory of her that I love. Y'know. Of when we were growin' up together. That Stella at the table over there isn't the same girl I knew in the seventies, and that's cool. People change. I mean, this isn't me. This-- [Distant gestures towards the entirety of the ballroom.] -- This is Stella. And maybe it's Vecchio, with all that armarni and badda bing crap, but it sure as hell ain't me. Stella wants this and Stella doesn't uh, well she doesn't do compromise too good.

Me? I do compromise. I can compromise all over this. You want Canada? I can do Canada. I can do snow and dogs and trees and sleepin' bags with the zipper down the middle. I don't need family, kids and a ring to keep me happy. I don't. And I swear I'll beat that into you if you won't believe it.

[dogsled]

Fly. Fly by the seat of my pants. [ He corrects instantly, but he continues none the less, even if it might have been preferable for him to stop - oh - several minutes earlier than he actually did, in both cases.

They got right into it. Ray might not be good at talking about feelings, but he was better at getting to the point than Fraser was; he managed it with rhyme - love and marriage and babies in the carriage - rolling off his tongue like the whole phrase had emerged there fully formed. He fell into gesturing a moment later, but Fraser didn't miss the most important words among all of them.

But it wasn't a first date, was it? It wasn't even the second. They'd been at this for longer than either of them had even known each other. Fraser had been put into this relationship when he'd come back from the Territories two years ago, practically as though the two of them were already married. Ray had embraced him like an old, beloved friend, smiled into his neck - jumped in front of a bullet for him - and perhaps that night could be called their first formal date, when Fraser had proposed to take him to dinner--something that he'd always waited for Vecchio to ask him rather than the other way around.

They'd been dating ever since, it was just that neither of them had ever known it, and here he was--Ray's date to his ex-wife's wedding, or maybe Ray was his. And wasn't it always important to take only people you really cared about to weddings? Something about being seen perpetually in photographs with Ellen from Accounting, or that wino who only came for the free bar?

He'd brought Ray, and Ray had come for him. They were each other's emotional support during this impossibly difficult time, just like they'd been there for each other from the Fraser river heading west, as the wilderness grew ever more challenging, ever more lonely. They'd been there for each other for years, but to Fraser it was as though he'd known this man far longer than that. His number one in a pool of two million potentials. They clicked.

He mused while Ray gestured, and he smiled very slightly, hopefully, to show that he was getting it, that he was listening. His brow crinkled in the middle with gentle urging: You can do it.

And Ray did. Every word. And Fraser softened, the blind misery and panic beginning to ebb away as Ray told him that he was all for it, all for taking the hard with the easy, and maybe they could make it work. When had they ever backed down from a challenge because the odds were too high?

He took a bracing breath and let the silence settle--or, well, it wasn't silence because the music was still playing jauntily, at odds with the mire like mood that had settled in this particular corner. The air was pregnant with the unsaid, with swirling torrents of emotion that barely broke the surface despite their churning.

His question could almost be considered neutral, after everything that had been said. ]

Is that what this is, Ray? A first date?

[ He raised his hand to pronounce that the question wasn't done yet, trying to hold Ray back from answering. Every word was careful, weighted as though he were accounting each syllable more consideration than the last, ensuring that what he said was what he meant to say, and that what he meant to say was heard. ]

And if I may caution you to be careful with your answer? You see, in Canada it's not traditional to bed your partner on a first date--or even the second. And I--I am rather a stickler for adhering to traditions, as we've already established.

But you see, Ray, by my count, we're already running far behind our contemporaries. And frankly comments about the infrequency of rain in Death Valley would be appropriate, in regards to both my...uh--recent transgressions and your own. And if I kiss you again, right now - kiss you the way I want to - I can't promise to adhere to the established tradition. In fact, I'm rather confident I couldn't, given immediate evidence.

[ He really could be terrible sometimes. And how about this emotional rollercoaster, huh? ]

So we really should decide. In advance of our - or one of us, at least - doing anything that might be deemed-- [ He narrowed his eyes slightly. ] --otherwise inappropriate.

[kickem]

[Fraser was getting it. Fraser was getting it even without the threat of physical violence. Somehow Fraser could decipher the rambling about Stella and the wild gestures and the awkward shifts as something more than just a vague attempt at not making this a negative critique on his speech giving skills.

Despite their fall out and arguments and Ray's apprehension about hand holding and talk of kids and whatever else, Fraser was still willing to accept him for what he was without question and without even asking him to be someone else. It's not that Stella had ever tried to change Ray, not really, but there had been times where she'd tried to 'adjust' parts of him, to try and prevent him from doing some of the activities he loved, or try and get him doing more of the things she loved. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes Ray would avoid spending hours covered in grease and oil for the sake of her, and sometimes he would pick up activities she'd wanted; that's how they first started dancing, in fact. That was Ray's willingness to compromise. But Ray couldn't change who he was. He was a constant that couldn't be shaped even after years of marriage and a long standing relationship. Ray was Ray and it took a slightly unhinged Mountie to finally be the person to understand and accept that.

Maybe that's why they worked so well. Fraser accepted who and what Ray was and Ray accepted every bit of his friend in return. He dealt with the long stories, the constant corrections, the smugness and the politeness and the stubbornness and the perfection and the-- God, Fraser really was annoying, come to think of it, but Ray loved that about him. He loved that Benton got everyone else rolling their eyes while Ray could just sit through it all with a sort of ignorance like he'd managed to build up some defence against it all, not even allowing the ridiculousness offend him. Yeah, he could safely say he liked every bit of Fraser, even when the Mountie was pissing him off.

When the question of first dates arrives, Ray's mouth opens as he goes to answer, then snaps shut again as he sees the lifted hand. Probably for the best. He hadn't even considered the answer and had no idea what he would have said.

And okay, so maybe they had been on a few dates. A lot of dates. Maybe all those times they'd sat and scoffed pizza late at night, or the times they'd gone out to diners, or enjoyed one another's company on late night stakeouts... maybe they were all dates. They certainly would have been considered so by most if Ray had been doing so with a female. You go out to dinner with a female frequently for years and people assume you're dating. Do it with a partner, especially a Mountie, and they think you're just 'good friends'. So maybe they were more than good friends. Maybe.

But first dates did had traditions and conditions and Ray really should know Fraser's going to stick to never putting on on first dates. Of course he would. And-- wait, is he insinuating he wants to put out? That they both... That's more than the mere suggestion of a kiss. And yet isn't that a natural progression?]

So maybe this is more like a hundredth date or somethin'. I mean, we already done the wining and dining enough, right? We're all good in tradition's eyes, I reckon. We can kiss whatever way we want.

[Ray can play along with the suggestive game just fine, thank you.]

[dogsled]

[ Insinuating, yes, although there wasn't much mystery left to it after Fraser's earlier gyrations. He'd made it very clear then that his desire for Ray strayed below the belt as well as above it. Mounties, apparently, only had two speeds: nothing and everything. Well, that had been true for Fraser in every relationship he'd ever had. For a man who could read remarkable subtlety in a person's actions or emotions, he was terrible at replicating those nuances. He didn't love gently: he loved with passion and devil-may-care, loved as though he were on the path to utter self destruction, because not only would he give all of himself to someone but he would betray himself to do it, let them reconstruct him any way that they wanted. And he didn't care who saw, or judged, or what it cost.

He wasn't safe when he was like this. He wasn't predictable. He was a man who broke into hotel rooms and carved wooden phalluses and drank stolen champagne. He was a man who could leap onto moving trains and destroy his friend's reputation, his life, without so much as looking over his shoulder. Fraser was the ultimate fool for love, and what he needed - more than anything - was someone in his life who would protect him from himself.

There were advantages to dating Ray, and that was just one of them. Their established relationship played its part too. They already had their rhythm, they'd established it when they weren't so close, rather than jumping straight under the bedsheets at the first opportunity. What they had were solid foundations--they were sturdy.

Wasn't that one of the last things his father had said to him? A good relationship stood on strong foundations. Well whose foundations were stronger than Ray's and his own? They'd loved, they'd lost, they'd faced each other's darkest days and overcome them, they'd fought, they'd almost drowned. They'd almost walked away, permanently. And here they were, stronger than ever. Stronger than ever and finally realising what it really meant; what it could come to mean.

Maybe even sober - maybe even without the rush of overwhelming romantic happiness that swelled in him when Ray understood what he wasn't saying and used 'kiss' and meant 'way more than kiss'--and knew Fraser would understand - maybe even then he'd have still seen it as an invitation.

He stepped forward, stepped closer to Ray and reached his hand up and touched it to his cheek, and then he was leaning in to kiss him, softly, sweetly, ignorant of the room around him almost as though they weren't standing in a suite full of people, many of them strangers but some of them colleagues, friends, former in-laws.

Fraser was past caring. All that mattered was the long minutes it had been since he'd kissed Ray the first time; that long kiss that seemed to vary in a million ways and go on forever, that kiss where he had tried everything in case it was his only opportunity to do so. Even with his lips still swollen from that earlier kiss, the moment it had ended it had been difficult to remember that it was real, hard to imagine that he didn't just dream it.

So he had to do it, and while it wasn't as intimate as the kiss before - Fraser kept a clear foot and a half between Ray's chest and his own, and he didn't exactly lavish on the attention of his tongue - it still felt flagrant for the company they were keeping.

And Fraser knew - worried really - that Ray would be mad at him for making that decision for him, nevermind that it was the second time so far he'd done it in the last ten minutes. He rolled back on his heels, beginning to drop his hand. ]

I'm sorry. [ He actually apologised this time, there was something to be said for that. ] I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I love you, Ray. I have for a very long time. This is all so surreal.

[kickem]

[They were good for each other, that much had already been established. Relationships were altogether broken over some of the things the two of them had been put through. If they could put up with one another through week long blizzards in confined spaces and not end up murderous by the end of it, there had to be something in it. There had to be something in being able to deal with each other for weeks and months at a time without ever seeing another soul. He and Stella had barely been able to last twenty four hours in each others company before one of them started an argument. Fraser had long ago learnt to deal with Ray's mood swings; those little bursts of emotion that disappeared as quickly as they arrived, and the constant motion and the constant instinctual acts. Ray (after numerous fallings out) had eventually learnt to deal with Fraser's corrections and occasional snide remarks, of the lectures on logic and the intricate plans that he never actually shared until after the event. And God, if they could both put up with all of that, they could put up with anything life threw at them.

Perhaps that's one of the few saving graces that has Ray not moving away when he sees that kiss coming (or punching Fraser square in the jaw), staying almost comically still as his partner leans in to close that gap and only reacting when he feels lips on his. His eyes slip shut for the duration of it, head tilted just enough to show some participation, but it's limited beyond that. He doesn't know how to react and that's painfully obvious by the sheer lack of it.

There's people watching. There must be in a room so full, especially after the speech that came before, and as Fraser does pull away, Ray's darting his gaze about the room before quickly dropping it to the floor. He's not ashamed. At least he doesn't think he is. It's just... this is new to him, much too new, and the last thing he wants Fraser to think is that he doesn't want this.]

Surreal is the right word there, Fraser. That uh, that pretty much covers it. [Mumbled, although his eyes do drag back up to meet Benton's, voice still low like he doesn't want to let others in on their secret.]

Just. Just let me get some food in me and then we can cut a rug on the dance floor.

[Which he distantly realises sounds like a subject change, or perhaps evasive because yes, Ray can occasionally be perceptive, thank you very much. And that's why he's leaning in just a little closer.]

You just gotta bear with me here, Fraser. I dunno what I'm doin'. This is. This isn't a few new steps. This a whole different dance I gotta tango to. I just uh. Well. It's kinda weird having an audience when you're practisin'.

[dogsled]

[ Fraser leans in too, as though to offer his ear for Ray to speak to him, and he jerks back abruptly when his friend is done speaking, nodding at him sagely. ]

I understand, Ray. And maybe...well I realise I asked you to stay with me, but perhaps a little breathing room wouldn't be an entirely bad idea, given the circumstances. I'm afraid I've not got much of an appetite, but--I'll join you in a moment.

[ He wasn't disappointed or upset. He'd pressed Ray somewhat further than he meant to, and his partner hadn't punched him in the jaw for it, that was a victory all of its own merit. Of course, he'd only gotten away with it because he was Benton Fraser, and he lived a charmed life. Anyone else and Ray would have hit them.

So he smiled, and gave him the room he needed--and really he ought to go and apologise to Ray and Stella, because his speech hadn't been ideal. He didn't want those to be the last words he ever said to his best friend. And okay, there'd be plenty of time to chat to Ray, it wasn't like he didn't know how to use a telephone, or was leaving for Canada tomorrow. It wasn't that bad. But it was a convenient moment none the less.

Because really it was that or give up on food and dancing right now, and Fraser was running low on the self control scale already. It'd be best if he could show off that he still had at least a little, right? Maybe give Ray the time he needed to acclimatize to the idea. That was all he needed.

He had to learn the steps, and at the end of the day so did Fraser.

So for now he just reached out and took Ray's hand, and squeezed it firmly between his own fingers before letting him go again. ]

Thank you, Ray. For practicing. Don't go anywhere without me.

[ He didn't linger any more, but stepped away, carefully avoiding Francesca who was glowering at him, and heading around the other side of the tables. Welsh was lingering there, and he gave Fraser a hard pat on the shoulder as he stood up and went over toward the buffet table for a refill. ]

I owe you an apology-- [ Began his conversation with Ray.

And over at the buffet table: About damn time Welsh was growling at Stanley, before demanding that he move over to let him get to the canolis.Damn mafia weddings, he growled. What I wouldn't do for a cheese puff. ]

[kickem]

[It's a good thing Fraser understands where Ray's coming from. Good for both of them, because Ray feels like he's getting somewhere and Fraser doesn't get a face full of fist. Right now Ray is back to being a bundle of energy, all jitters and nerves and anxious bubbling just under the surface because everyone is here. Almost every single person he's ever known in his life is here, at this wedding, like an audience to far too many emotional issues for him. Not only has he had to deal with losing his wife to another, but now he's got the added issue of his best friend being possibly something more than just his best friend. And said best friend publicly being a total moron.

It's really quite the miracle that Ray hadn't already exploded or vibrated himself through the earth's core or snapped and kicked every single person in the room. Maybe he really was learning something about patience after all.]

Yeah. We can practice all over that dance floor. After food.

[It feels like a lifetime ago that they were sitting on that bed scoffing down pizza and Ray's stomach is acting like that estimation isn't far off. Perhaps all that crying and happiness and pure emotional fuckery really is a drain on energy, because at this moment he's barely got the energy to stand, let alone dance. Food first, then dancing for as long as they need. And maybe he'll let Fraser dance with others, but that's up for debate right now.

For now Fraser goes to make his apologies and Ray goes to fill his face, lurking near the buffet and piling up his plate with all manner of foods, although backing down the moment he sees Welsh shoulder in. Welsh is, after all, alpha male. He's the boss whether they're both clocked in or not and if he's moving in for food, Ray quite willingly steps aside for it. He even ducks his head, but that might be just as much for the sake of awkwardness and fully attempting to pretend that speech never happened.]

It's not a mafia weddin', sir. Just Italian.

[And, he thinks, if Mama Vecchio cooked even half of this stuff, he knew it was going to be good. He was hungry enough to be picking at his food where he stands, not dismissing himself from Welsh's presence out of habit. It's rude to just walk out on superiors.]

[bluntobject]

Well you know [ Welsh said. ] Between you and me I always thought it was going to be Fraser and Vecchio, they had this real thing going there for a while.

[ But when he looked back over his shoulder to gesture at Ray Vecchio, he wasn't there, and in fact he appeared over Welsh's shoulder a moment later, a big, wide, almost malevolent grin painted on his face as he clapped Welsh on the shoulder. He responded as though he'd only heard the previous exchange, and not the more recent one, though his eyes were on Kowalski as he spoke. ]

That's right, sir, just Italian, and I'll put three bullets in the head of anyone who says otherwise, just you point them out to me.

[ How he'd slipped away from Fraser so quickly was anyone's guess, but the Mountie now seemed to be sitting beside the bride talking to her, with half a dozen women clamored in around him looking smitten. All at once they turned to look across the room at the two Rays, or maybe just at Stanley, and several of them swooned, and Fraser blushed, and then they went back to their conversation.

Ray patted Welsh on the shoulder again, and his former boss finished loading his plate with Italian pastries and ducked away. Apparently even if Stanley couldn't organize getting to the buffet through him, Ray could, though now he'd cleared the space he stood back to let Stanley have the room. It helped that going to Vegas had given him a few good lessons on what it took to be really imposing and just a little scary, and it was nice to know it worked as much on the people he'd used to work with. ]

Starting rumors like that on a guy's wedding day.

[ He snatched a Parmesan stick from the table and snapped it in half. He chewed it in earnest, since it was obvious he was trying to keep his mouth busy so that he didn't have to actually say what he'd come over to say. ]

So uh--[ He said at last. ] You alright? Cause, I don't mean to be funny but Stella and I, we thought like you looked like maybe you needed a Mountie intervention.

Just to show you there's no hard feelings, or anything. Stella's got cousins, I've got cousins, nieces, distant relatives. Between us I reckon we could sick enough of them on him that you might be able to get out of here unmolested, and maybe when he's sobered up a bit...seriously, Stanley, how did you not hit him?

[kickem]

[Fraser and Vecchio? Seriously? Ray can't even tell if that's a joke or not or how he should respond to a statement like that, so he's almost glad for the intervention of Vecchio himself. He could think of better people to be conversing with right now, but between Welsh talking about Fraser's 'thing' with Vecchio and Vecchio himself, he'll choose the latter. Hell, the two of them might even manage a conversation without trying to punch each other at the end of it, wouldn't that be something? Because if Stanley hadn't resented Ray for swanning back in and taking his life back, he sure as hell resented him for stealing his wife. Ex-wife, but whatever.

But maybe, just maybe, he might be able to get over it now that Stella's married. And the fact that he made out with Benton in the hallway. And agreed to go run off with him to Canada. Again.

While Welsh retreats, Ray picks idly at some finger food, watching Vecchio like he's half expecting hostility. Fraser's speech wasn't exactly the greatest best man speech, after all, and it might be that Kowalski gets some of the blame for it. And yet there they stand in silence for several drawn out seconds while they both chew food and stare idly until Vecchio is the one who opts to speak up.

It's almost cute that he thinks Stanley needs saving from the Mountie, and he can't help but grin just slightly at the idea of it. There's still something exceptionally tempting about allowing Fraser to get swamped by mass female family members from both sides, but no, he said he'd dance with his friend and he will.

Shoving the rest of a breadstick into his mouth, he moves that hand to scratch at the underside of his chin, offering up a shrug as he does so. No hard feelings. Sure.]

I'm fine. It's probably my fault for givin' him alcohol in the first place. [He supposes he should take some responsibility for that.]

Is uh, is Stella alright? I mean, I guess being threatened by Mounties isn't exactly what she needs on her weddin' day.

[bluntobject]

[ Look, you jump onto a moving train for a guy, you mortgage your house, you even go up to Canada on your own and trek across six hundred miles of near-wilderness, injured, to the edge of buttfuck nowhere to tell a guy with no phone who killed his father, and sometimes people are going to talk. Sometimes people are going to think 'that's just a little bit fucking overinvested, why would anyone do that if not for money or sex', and honestly, Vecchio would have been one of the people asking exactly that question if he hadn't spent those years with Fraser himself, didn't know the kind of loyalty and excess that he inspired in the people around him.

It had nearly driven Vecchio crazy in the end. He'd been torn with the Vegas job - on the one hand, it scared the shit out of him, but on the other it was the opportunity to finally get out from under Fraser's shadow and prove he was a good cop; that he could do the job. In the end Fraser had shown up and ruined a year of work, and surprise surprise taken all the glory while Ray lay in hospital with a bullet in his chest. That was just the way his life worked out.

In some ways, Stella was the consolation prize. Though never would he ever really mean that She was no consolation; she was everything he wanted--everything he'd ever wanted. Beautiful, hard, funny, clever, well dressed, successful. She scared him a little, but he liked that. She wasn't Fraser, but god only knew Ray didn't want her to be. He had hardly been able to stand being around Fraser as his partner, he'd be insufferable to have to take home with him as well. No. He loved Fraser, but god only knew that was where it stayed.

And if Kowalski wanted that then he was crazier than Vecchio had thought. He shook his head slowly at the lack of commitment to any kind of anti-Mountie guerrilla warfare, at Stanley's almost ridiculous grin like he thought Ray was like one of those adorable kids who came up and asked why mommy was eating daddy's face. Ask a stupid question. But then the conversation was changing, and Ray was smiling back toward Stella wistfully. He only had eyes for her. ]

She figures what's a wedding without a Mountie threatening to hunt her to the grave. Besides, she owes Fraser one for today, so he gets a pass.

[ Which was what he really wanted to talk about. He raised his hand and rubbed the knuckles of his fist into his own eyebrow. ]

You know, she's real happy you came. She thought you wouldn't want to, but... I know she still loves you, I don't think she'll ever stop. She told me so this morning.