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]

[ It was hard not to flinch when red serge hit the floor underneath six feet, knowing that there it would lay for the foreseeable future. It would be trampled, and abused, and quite unlikely to hold its shape ever again--and Fraser was just fine with that. (After a moment of fighting down his compulsion to break off and fold up everyone's clothes.) No, he was fine with that. It was, after all, the perfect representation of his own inevitable undoing: trampled under three pairs of feet, bruised and freshly worn and inevitably bent clean out of shape, possibly forever.

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. ]

[kickem]

[The second his top is off, Stanley starts to feel exposed. Two sets of eyes falling on him and causing him to glance down at himself just briefly, and wow, yeah, he supposes there's a fair few bruises to witness, but they were signs of a good fight, just like they would be if they'd been from a boxing match. He took a good beating, but you should see the other guy. It's good to get them out in the open, if he's honest with himself, rather than spend far too long trying to keep himself covered up with long sleeves in hot rooms and uncomfortable shirts against far too sensitive nipples. Nipples that have him gasping out a sharp breath the second Vecchio reaches out to brush a rough pad against them, teasing as his hand withdraws immediately after. He wants to chase that hand, to pounce after it, but as his gaze lifts again he's suddenly noticing, as if for the first time, Fraser bared before him.

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.

[bluntobject]

[ He'd encouraged Fraser forward, but Ray didn't expect him to buckle like that, to go immediately down to his knees and start sucking on Stanley's bruised wrists like he was some sort of skin starved Mountie vampire. It was everything he could do to keep his eyes off Fraser, because he knew that if he looked he'd lose the game, he'd lose some part of himself that could still stand that this was all Stanley's now and not his own.

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. ]

[dogsled]

[ God this...the two of them riling each other up was turning him on. It was like a battle was being fought above him, and though Fraser was really far too into sliding his tongue over each of Ray Kowalski's digits to really pay any great deal of attention to any of it, he still couldn't miss the verbal jousts, or the way Ray's fingers twisted hard around Stanley's fingers in his own hair, pinching and tugging unrelentingly.

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. ]

[kickem]

[With both his hands occupied, Stanley distantly realises he left himself open for attack. He'd expected retaliation, of course, especially after his little display of smugness at his Mountie, and he'd certainly not expected Vecchio to drop to his knees and willingly join in, he just also realises he's pretty stupid to have no form of fighting back.

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.]

[dogsled]

[ Fraser had very little clue what was happening above him. All he knew was that Ray was twitching, jerking, groaning. The muscles of his stomach jumped under the knuckles of his hand, and the arm he had tight hold of snapped taut full of tendon and strained muscle as though it were taking everything in Stanley's effort to keep from fighting his arm free with all the strength he had.

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?' ]

[bluntobject]

[ All of his ducks were falling just where he wanted them to; Fraser was being good, using that wonderful mouth of his to turn Kowalski into goo, and Kowalski was fighting back with his usual futile grace, pinned to the wall like a butterfly and flopping helplessly, groaning out his bitter appreciation. Poor guy, he really did get shafted - literally - and now even Fraser seemed to be picking up on that fact. Dangerous, that, letting the Mountie with the clever mouth know his weaknesses so early in the game.

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? ]

[kickem]

[The almost fall had been a crisis easily averted, but his fumbling attempt at a knee had been less so. Fraser was caught in the crossfire and like a set of dominoes they'd all almost gone over. Stan's not quite sure how they managed to stay upright (other than Benton, who was already floor bound anyway) but the hand in his waistband had been an odd help as he shifted to catch his footing. He was still forced to pitch forward slightly as Vecchio went, that hand still agonisingly tight in his hair and causing a sharp bark of pain as that yank came. At least his neck is still intact, which is one small comfort in all of this.

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.]

[bluntobject]

[ Fair. Nothing about this is fair. For one thing, being laid out, pinned, helpless for Stanley with no way of fighting back is viciously depraved. All he has is those fingers, into which his own tighten painfully hard, as much unwilling to let Ray go as he was trying to squeeze the feeling out of him. He kicked at the floor again, but Fraser only absorbed every ineffectual action he made as though he'd spared no energy at all. Fraser was a rock, and Stanley was a cock, because God...

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. ]

[dogsled]

[ Unlike Ray lost in frustrated lust, or Stanley smug with his own superiority, Fraser was measured serenity. He was completely focused, as though he were simply attending another interrogation, and while there was a slight flush to his cheeks, he'd looked more worn out after running up twenty-four flights of stairs (i.e. not even remotely, but maybe breathing a little harder than usual.)

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.

[kickem]

[Those threats were music to his ears, as was the whimpering that hadn't even been covered for. Vecchio could complain all he wanted, but that growing arousal certainly countered far too much of his arguments. He liked this as much as Kowalski had liked it days before, despite the mild blow to pride. Or perhaps because of it. It was liberating to be under the mercy of someone else, to have them make the decisions while leaving little in the way to counter. It's not something they'd allow outside in the real world, Stanley knows that, but in here? In here they could be something else.]

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?

[dogsled]

[ Fraser listens for commands as minute as freckles from Stanley, the shift of his arm, the angle of his shoulder, the tilt of his head. He watches, and understands this language, here, as fluently as he understands it when they're chasing a perpetrator together. Ray Kowalski's body language is something he knows, and it serves him well enough here too, so that when his partner's hand slips further back Fraser merely divides his attention to follow after those fingers, still stroking upward with one firm left hand while the other ghosts against Stanley's wrist, and tenderly cradles Ray Vecchio's balls against his palm. He can feel the flexion against the back of his knuckles, the pressure being exerted, and it thrills him no end to be a part of it.

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.

[bluntobject]

[ The lack of control really did feel good. It was powerful, like being on a row boat in the middle of a storm at sea, at mercy to the roll of the waves and the lash of the wind and rain. It was exhilarating and terrifying at once, almost death defying to have his pride ripped away and be able to do nothing - nothing - about the onslaught ripping into him. Hands and teeth and words were like swords and needles pressed into his skin, bleeding him out. The thrill of it - the thrill of feeling as though there was no coming back from this - more than rivaled the pleasurable superiority he'd felt, the power, of when he'd had Kowalski on his knees in front of him, similarly helpless, chained to the headboard.

It was hard to know where to align his focus. The mouth that had so injured him only moments before abandoned that nub to the air - and god it stung - languidly wandering toward the other. Ray couldn't help his anticipation, counting seconds: was it longer than last time? had that been a flash of teeth? bite me if you're going to bite me!

But it wasn't the only distraction. Stanley's hand was wandering back, replaced by Fraser's, fingers pressing against his perineum in such a way as it made his toes curl. One of his shoes had fallen off, and his pants had slipped halfway off on that side, but the mess of half-stripped outfits wasn't on anyone's mind right now. Not when Stanley was busy touching there, moving his devilish mouth up to lick at his ear where Fraser had been but a moment before, and purr into it all his secrets--right to the Mountie's face.

Oh shit.

Fraser's hands stopped moving, and for a second it felt like he might just get dropped on the floor, deposited on his back while Fraser ran for it. It seemed to take forever for Fraser to breathe again; Ray knew because he was holding his breath too, and then - blessed relief - that mouth moved to his ear and shit shit shit Fraser was taking too many fucking cues from his partner because that hurt. It was still throbbing when Fraser, voice like audio porn, murmured cool air and hot words against it.

Tell me more. He didn't; not right away. ]

Kowalski. Ray. There's lube...in my right pant pocket. ...And my ankle holster is right in the fucking way. [ In the way of kicking off the rest of his clothes. He made a plaintiff gesture with his left leg. ]

Fraser. Fraser--Benny. He's right. He's right, and I shoulda told you, I know, but how do you tell your best pal that sort of thing? Sat down over pizza watching the game 'Hey Fraser, I dreamt about doing you in the backseat of my car last night. So how about that touchdown, huh?' [ He groaned. ] But it's not just me. Ray here wants to take you back to Canada and have loads of warming-up-this-igloo-so-we-don't-freeze-to-death sex with you. You know, real fuck or die stuff. Jesus.

[ He shuddered all the way through, rolling his hips down against Stanley's hand, grinding against Fraser behind him, and he snarled into the open air as he tipped his head back. He was going to go down fighting one way or another. ]

Go on. What're you waiting for, a new Pope?

[kickem]

[There's a long dragged out moment where Ray considers regretting his words, staring at Fraser over Vecchio's shoulder as the Mountie slowly appears to lose all ability to think, let alone properly stand. It's that look that concerns Stan, that look that almost says I'm ready to bolt, but might as just likely be I have no idea how to process this new information. Fraser didn't even seem to be looking at him any more, eyes glazed as they are, oddly vacant compared to the usual alertness. Perhaps that truth was too far. The anonymous element of sex in an interrogation room with a guy called 'Ben' and some Italian might have been more appropriate.

But as quick as it had started, Fraser clicks back into reality and seems more than willing to continue. That reassuring drag of teeth was enough to get Stanley purring out a soft hum of agreement, and another as he witnesses the bite at Ray's ear. Good Mountie. Benton always was a quick learner. That purr turns more into a moan by the time he's hearing the ragged gold voice smooth out between them, and oh God he wants to hear more of that and see more of this.

He tilts forward enough to press a kiss to the corner of Fraser's lips and then withdraws just far enough to keep Vecchio in sight as the detective speaks. Lube. Right, that should be a thing that happens, even if there really should be some questioning as to why there's lube in his pocket to begin with. Fraser's supposed to be the one ready for anything, but that's an argument to save for another day.

With a final soft nod to Fraser, Stanley drops again, quick on his descent this time to get right to the issue, both hands withdrawing long enough for him to sort this holster and pants issue out. He knows how ankle holsters work considering how often he tends to wear his own, so his fingers work deftly at the fastenings. The struggle comes in trying to wrestle the pants fabric and holster away from one another but he does surprisingly well with it all, holster dumped aside (careful of the firearm inside) and the pants aided the rest of the way down for Vecchio to step out of. That sorted gives Kowalski free reign to fumble for the lube, retrieving it quickly and only giving it the briefest of glances before he's tearing it open and squirting a liberal amount on his fingers.]

Learn some fuckin' patience, Vecchio.

[While he's down there he gets himself comfortable, down on one knee and raising his other hand to reach around and grip at Fraser's hip for support. The fingers of his other hand trace a slick path up the inside of Vecchio's thighs, between them and then carefully creeping back. A single digit circles, smearing lubricant in it's wake before pushing up and in, wriggling itself deeper with a few twists and curls on it's way. When Stanley isn't snapping back retorts, he's mouthing against the sensitive skin at the top crease of thigh near to Benton's hands, nipping every now and then for effect and all too hopeful of bruising.]

We're both guilty, Ben, buddy. Both got Mounties on the mind. You're a real asshole for that.

[bluntobject]

[ The simple fact of it was that Ray had seen some sort of reciprocation like this coming, and like hell was he going to be on the receiving end of Stanley Kowalski's revenge without having some lube on his person. Might as well accidentally shoot his own ass cheek off, he'd be more comfortable sitting with a gunshot wound than going through anything like that. It could be at any time, in any place; a closet, an office, a washroom, the back alley behind a dive bar--who knew. But he wasn't going to go into it unprepared. Literally.

Okay, so he hadn't guessed 'In the Interrogation Room with Fraser', but life had a way of surprising you. It had surprised him with this sexual thing the first time around.

Patience. Hah, patience, that was funny. He'd shown Kowalski last time that he was overwhelmingly blessed with patience. He'd turned him to jelly with how patient he'd been. But he couldn't find it in himself to complain. His legs released, kicked wider in relief. He was depending entirely on Fraser to hold him up now; his heels were all of his feet that brushed the floor, and yet the full support of his former partner seemed allied with him, his bruised and scratched back supported on a slab of pure, smooth, perfect Mountie.

This was too good to think about distracting things like kicking Kowalski in the head for fun. He could have done it, with where Stanley was kneeling, and yet his mind was on everything but violence. Kowalski's finger was rolling a languid circle, teasing, the slick trail of lubricant left behind on his thighs cooling wonderfully in the hot air, and his mouth--as that finger pushed inside, Kowalski's warm mouth was pressing into the space between Fraser's hands and his thighs, so close to his cock that he could almost feel it.

He groaned, low and deep, a throttled and urgent sound, but it was a sound of anticipation and not pain. Kowalski couldn't hurt him with one finger if he tried. But Fraser? God, Fraser had to stop. The steady kneading had been building up as they talked, and the intrusion of the finger had been a reminder of just how close he'd been brought already. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. That voice, those hands, that mouth. ]

Hey Benny. Benny, you gotta stop okay? I'm begging you. I'm gonna go up like a Roman Candle if you keep this up. I can't take it. Benny, please.

[dogsled]

[ What Ray had been saying before, about wanting to have sex with him in the back of his car, and the comment about Stanley Kowalski's...well the thing about igloos, which sounded ridiculous and made up and therefore probably was--well, the thing about all of that was just how shocking it was. He'd never thought twice about it, had only become aware of his partners' desire for him moments ago, and hadn't had time to come to terms with the full extent of that, nethertheless any of the subtext they'd apparently been developing all along. He really was oblivious to other people's attention, wasn't he? If he couldn't interpret those long lingering looks as sexual desire, then how well could he really say he understood these two men? What else had he been missing?

Was he really that much of an asshole, as Stanley put it? Stringing them along with his red serge and dashing good looks? Yes, probably. He'd made the pair of them moan just by talking; it really was impossible to claim that there was nothing there. God, he'd literally felt the impact his words had had through direct contact with the responsive organ trapped in his hands. There was no misinterpreting that.

Ray ground down against him, and Stanley's lips brushed against his own for but a moment, and he was reminded once again of that moment of stars aligning and crashing to earth at once as their mouths met. It was like everything he'd been waiting for had happened without his realising it. That kiss had felt like...unfolding some part of him that he hadn't known existed, and the little peck was more than reminder enough that he wanted this; that he wasn't afraid.

Stanley peeled back, and Ray slumped against him, more boneless by the second. He wasn't even trying to support his own weight any more. Not that Fraser could blame him. He was still watching over Ray's shoulder, watching rapt as Stanley knelt in front of him and chewed bruises against delicate skin while his hand crept around underneath. He didn't have to see that to know what was happening, not when the tremor and snap of tension it caused went clean through the man in his arms.

Once again he really had to ask himself if this was really happening. Kowalski's threat to Vecchio - if it could even be called that - was that Fraser was going to do the honors, make love to his best friend. The idea thrilled and terrified him; he wanted to do it with every ounce of his courage, while the rest of him wanted to back off and insist on a demonstration first. It was hard to retain any focus, and yet Ray was begging him for something, asking him to... Oh. He looked to his partner for instruction. Stanley would know what to do. Was he supposed to carry on or not?

Looking to his partner for permission--now that was teamwork. The back of his hand brushed Stanley's cheek, but he addressed him by the name both of these men shared. ] Ray?

[kickem]

[Vecchio was right to suspect some form of revenge eventually. Stanley had certainly thought about it enough, although he hadn't come up with any solid plan beyond 'get him back good and hard'. This would do, though. This would do nicely, and the fact it came with the package deal of a Mountie was even better. If he was honest, he's vaguely jealous of lining Ray up for this rather than setting Fraser on himself, but there was plenty of time for that. This was about showing up the Italian and getting him back for some of the shit he'd pulled days before. The revenge wasn't even malicious, Kowalski showing no actual grudge for what he was put through, it was just a thing that had to be done for the sake of face and, in some odd way, to show he was entirely fine with what had occurred.

He could feel Ray twitch against him, hear his low groan against the work of Stanley and Benton's ministrations. But there's also a sound of complaint, and trust Vecchio to have something to say about the whole ordeal.

Stanley distantly hears the name 'Benny' and ignores it, keeping up the work of his teeth and tongue and curling finger until he feels the brush of a rough hand against his cheek. He pauses long enough to flick his gaze upwards, meeting Fraser's eyes from over the top of Vecchio's shoulder, his lips remaining at that crease of skin even as he considers. Fraser was looking to him for direction and while Kowalski couldn't help but find it endearing, he also can't help but think he's really not qualified to lead this.]

Let him go. Here, take over and let me uh...

[His free hand lifts to pass over the lubricant for Fraser's usage and, without fuss, slides his finger free. Kowalski stays where he is, breath still huffing lightly against Vecchio's skin as his slick hand ventures further back, between the two bodies to fumble for Fraser's breeches. The space between them is limited but it's enough for him to blindly work at the fastenings, even as ridiculously complex as they are. If he can't be the first one to let Benton take him, he can at least be the first to touch his dick, as sacred and fucking mysterious as it is.

It feels like a lifetime (but likely only seconds) for him to successfully get everything unfastened, fingers carelessly leaving slick trails against Benton's uniform as they curl into the waistband of breeches and underwear and wriggle downwards to freedom. Stanley doesn't even need to see it to know that the cock- bare to the world now that it's out of it's confines- was a ridiculously fine piece of organ, and he has absolutely no trouble finding it on the easy reach under.

Lubricated fingers curl far too eagerly, barely moving beyond careful, barely distinguished strokes, like he's trying to get a full feel of Fraser before he even starts any actual movement, trying to take every inch into account. Ray's getting distinctly less attention from Kowalski now, but he does still get a steady working of that tongue, still at that same spot as he pants wetly against the skin there.]

[dogsled]

[ Take over? Fraser had no idea how to do this - how to do any of it - but the lube was pressed into his hands, and that apparently was that. Take over. He'd have been more confident juggling live grenades - at least he could juggle. Of course outside of his own sense of fear it was important to at least acknowledge that Ray didn't know how to do this either. The only person with any kind of experience was the man sinking in against his chest, murmuring softly in reassurance near his ear as though he'd somehow conveyed his trepidation through his arms.

It's alright, Benny. One at a time. You can't do it wrong.

Fraser released Ray's arms - he really had to - and his former partner navigated himself slightly forward, supporting his own weight against the wall over Stanley's head. Fraser shuddered despite himself: this was otherworldly still. He'd never made love to anyone he wasn't looking straight in the eye, and now both his partners were here - both his Rays - and they both had lovely eyes, and he couldn't see either of them. How was he supposed to know he was doing this right if there were no expressions to read?

But the long stretch of Vecchio's back in front of him was lovely - that much he had to admit. There was a long healed exit wound under his left shoulder, where Ray had taken a bullet for him, several well healed lacerations that had been the result of shrapnel from the explosion from which Ray had saved him on their very first case together. It was a story of friendship and love, of a man who would have done anything for him, and Fraser leant down and brushed his lips to one of those scars. He could do this.

Generously coating his fingers, he went to the work that had been prescribed for him, slipping his hands down. It wasn't difficult, as he'd feared it might be--pressing one finger inside where Ray's had been before was as easy as anything he'd ever put his mind to. And yet it was the emotion of it, the sensation of it, the meaning that rippled out from that one act that really gripped him. It felt like a becoming.

Ray was murmuring further instructions against the wall, and Fraser with his supernatural hearing was there to obey, but he'd barely pressed a second digit past that firm ring of muscle when Kowalski's fumbling hands on his on breeches finally managed to decipher the last of the clasps. There was a breath of cool air, the sudden tender touch of warm fingertips wet with lubricant, and then Stanley's hands were all over him, his breeches halfway down his thighs, and Fraser keened helplessly. He'd forgotten how good it felt to have another person's hands touching him, embracing him, skin on delicate hot skin. No feeling in the world even came close. Not even sex. And maybe he had a hand thing, but it really wasn't such a bad thing to have.

Ray Kowalski had lovely hands; soft from paperwork and hard from engines, wiry muscle, strong wrists and palms from boxing, and exercises on the firing range. He was steady and direct like a surgeon, exploring every inch of him, but these were the hands of an experienced gunman; firm, unrelenting and patient. Fraser rolled his hips forward, desperate for some kind of rhythm into which he could himself inhabit. The discoordination of his body had knock on effects: his fingers thrust, and twisted, trying to follow the urging of the body undulating against his own, but there was no rhythm to be spoken of.

It was excruciating, but it was natural, honest, and it would have been strange if it was anything but this. This was exactly the learning curve he'd been on becoming each of these men's partner in the first place, and now here they were altogether, finding a way to work together that suited them. Of course it wasn't going to be easy. ]

[bluntobject]

[ It was all he could do to bite back on a whimper as Stanley's hand slipped free, his teeth receding to be replaced by hot huffs as the other man tried to work out how to proceed. He was quick, Ray had to give him that, although you really had to be in this business. Well--the police business, not the sex business. That could take all day (not the sex business, the business of sex--oh what the hell ever). Of course what Kowalski needed his hands for Ray hadn't worked out yet, but that was fine. Fraser was relaxing his death grip now, trembling even, and Ray could sense that layer of trepidation from before: Fraser responding to his own fight or flight instincts. Maybe Kowalski had overestimated him.

He tilted his head into his partner's, his cheek brushing reassuringly against Fraser's, his voice low and velvet dark with arousal. ]

It's alright, Benny. One at a time. You can't do it wrong.

[ Those were apparently the right words, because Fraser let him go. In lieu of waiting to see whether or not the feeling was going to come back in his fingers, and in advance of Fraser losing his footing for whatever reason, Ray eased forward - it was easier without hands kneading at his genitals to force his legs to lock - bracing himself against the wall in front of him with one arm.

It gave him a view of the top of Stanley's head, nuzzled in against his groin, his own arousal appearing to stand erect from a nest of blonde spikes. He reached down, squeezed his hand roughly around the base of his own erection, his balls, chasing himself back from the edge, before letting his precome wet fingers wander and knot in Kowalski's mad nineties hair. Fraser's mouth grazed against his back - over a scar, maybe - and then there was the perfumed grease scent of the lubricant to assure him that the Mountie really wasn't going to run away. ]

That's it Benny. Just push--Oh. [ This was a treat, an unparalleled moment of perfection, because life was going to seem impossibly boring after this. How could it not? Threesomes with a Mountie and the man who'd borrowed his name. Who did he tell this story to, his grandkids? Stella? His pastor? God no. ] You just... You just put in another one when you're ready. I'm ready; I'm more than ready.

[ He was rolling his hips, urging, and Fraser obeyed, and he sobbed out a harsh moan, grinding his forehead against the wall, his eyes closed, his fingernails digging into Stanley's scalp. And then all hell broke loose. He had no idea what had triggered it, what Stanley was doing that had turned Fraser wrong all of a sudden, but those fingers became stabbing and uncoordinated, ringing a discord with the body grinding up against his own. He hissed, opening his eyes again, snarling down at Kowalski. ]

Fuck. Fucking. Hell. Stanley. [ It was really hard to sound angry. He wasn't really remotely angry anyway. But he was making space, bending himself away from the wall to form a gap between himself and plaster. He pulled on Kowalski's hair. ] Get up here--you're gonna want to be up here.

[kickem]

[Ray had been a little too busy on his knees to notice Fraser's brief crisis of ability when it had come to the switching of roles. He hadn't thought it too much of a stretch to go from one to the other, but it apparently had been an issue enough to need Vecchio's reassurance. Kowalski didn't look during the whole process, didn't even look at Ray shifted forward against the wall, merely moving with the slight shift.

He didn't even look up as that hand tangled into his hair, gripping into the already messed mass of spikes, or as Vecchio continued his murmured approval of Fraser's actions. That wasn't Stanley's job right now, his only focus locked on the earnest exploration of Benton's far too interesting dick. It's not that he's slacking on the rest of this, it's just so, so difficult to focus when he's trying to carefully take mental notes of each and every crease and vein and curve of soft skin against his fingertips.

There's a definite jerk and buckle of Fraser against his hands, but it's not until he feels the bump of Vecchio's hips against his own mouth that he realises that just maybe Fraser might be getting a little carried away. The nails in his scalp and the sharp yank of his hair finally draws him upwards, hands slipping reluctantly free from Benton for the moment as he straightens and squeezes himself in between Ray and the wall.

Stanley looks far too pleased with himself as he pops back up, his smirk far too amused at whatever had got Vecchio swearing at him, although there's just a little something sultry about that curl of lips.]

Hey.

[He leans in without hesitation, head tilting just enough to press that smirk into Ray's lips, allowing himself to curl an arm around the body in front of him and once again reach for Fraser's arousal. This time his hold is a lot more perfunctory, fingers encircling to stroke the length from base to tip and then back again, slow and attentive and he totally swears it's still just for the sake of lubrication and nothing else...]

[bluntobject]

"Hey" to you too.

[ And his eyebrows quirk in a sort of: Nice of you to join us, asshole sort of gesture, which is more playful than mean.

Since they've already established that keeping hold of handfuls of Kowalski's hair during this process is a fucking terrible idea, Ray drops his hand back down, keeping the other braced against the wall behind Stanley's neck to support his weight. The other fell to his hip, but only for a moment, only long enough for him to distract himself briefly with smudging a too-dry kiss against Stanley's mouth. That was maybe the gentlest kiss they'd shared since this whole thing had started days ago, no biting or tongue lashing or fighting for any kind of control. Miraculous, really.

But maybe that was all for contrast. Ray, out of all of them perhaps, had the clearest picture of where this was going, having been in situations like this before. Fraser would get the pleasure, Ray would get the pain - probably fortunately considering he'd never last otherwise - and Stanley would get the show--that was how this worked. Maybe down on the floor it might have been swirling limbs as they all got lost in each other, not knowing whose hand was whose, but up here the only thing that mattered was muscle and staying power; it was raw power, and Fraser had to be the foundation. Fortunately Ray knew that out of the three of them, Fraser had power and muscle going for him. It wasn't going to be a problem. And this position had the added advantage of keeping the usually fitful Kowalski relatively still.

He turned his head away from that mouth, speaking low and dark over his shoulder, his eyelids drooped with anticipation. ]

Listen to me, Benny. In a minute, I want you to stop with the fingers, they're not gonna do me any more good. Ray's gonna help you line up. Your hands have got to be underneath me. You're gonna have to lift me up over your hips, and keep me up there--it'll be easier once we get moving.

As for you.

[ Eyes back on Stanley now, and his hand slipped across Stanley's waistband, following the path Fraser's had followed only with no such hesitation as the Canadian had spared. He popped the button and pulled down Stanley's fly, pushing his jeans and underwear down off one hip before reaching in far enough to spring his arousal free. It was a hold-no-punches disrobing, and left Stanley only as stripped as was necessary to wrap his hand roughly around him. His hands were still way too soft; Vegas, paperwork and handcream soft. He gave a rough little squeeze, not engendering even the slightest of mimicry to the gentle wandering touches Stanley was giving Fraser behind him. ]

You and me, we're gonna get real personal. You ready for that?

[dogsled]

[ How could he ever replicate this feeling? This moment? How would anything outdo this discovery? There was something insurmountable about it, and yet it seemed to him that each moment only topped the last, rising higher and higher in tumultuous crescendo.

For now, his high was inescapable. Two of his fingers were encircled by silken heat, buried intimately inside the body of his former partner, who was panting and rocking back against him with every twist and thrust. His current partner's hand was exploring him, touching everywhere with no discernible pattern, like a blind man learning the contours and creases of a lover's face; that hand was driving him crazy too, making him whimper, rolling his hips disjointedly against the back of his own wrist, the hard flat of Ray's left buttock, as though to seek some kind of steady, predictable friction.

But that was then, and this was now, higher still, Kowalski coming back to full height between Ray and the wall, and Fraser raised his eyes from Vecchio's shoulders and watched the two of them kiss. He shuddered at the flash of salaciousness in Stanley's eyes, the danger, and then Ray was turning too, looking back at him unseeingly, his dark lashes low over even darker eyes as he panted instructions. Stanley's clever hand had found its way back to him, but now it was stroking - no, it couldn't be called stroking, the touches were featherlight like gnat wings, the lubricant stealing most of the friction away - from base to tip and back again. Finally the rhythm he'd wanted, but none of the urgency.

He didn't know if Ray's instructions were sound, or from where the voice of experience came from, but they suited him just fine in terms of expediting this little affair. He longed to press into that heat and tightness and set his own rhythm, and now that he could see Stanley's eyes over Ray's shoulder it seemed to him that everything was set in place, that they were all exactly where they needed to be, and that the next height--the next height would be the last, the one where the air thinned beyond their ability to withstand it before they plummeted once more to earth.

His hands - slippery from the lube - knotted into the top of Ray's thighs, spreading his legs as he lifted him clean off the floor - maybe further than he ought to have, but Ray hadn't specified. Ray's knees bumped against the plaster, and Fraser felt through him the softer impact as the motion brought him hip to hip with Stanley.

This was it. His legs held fast, his gaze hunted his partner's-- ]

[bluntobject]

[ --Ray buried his face in Stanley's neck and tried to steady his breathing, tried his very best to relax, because every little bit he could untense would be a saving grace. If Stanley had felt sore and abused after the lavishing lovemaking Ray had inflicted on him three nights ago, it was nothing to how he was going to feel when this was over. And unlike Kowalski, Ray had to walk out of a packed police station and go back to work as though nothing was wrong.

God. Maybe he should fake a twisted ankle, call down for a wheelchair. And then maybe kneel on it.

There was one good thing about the position though. The moment Fraser lifted his toes off the floor, his hips crashed against Stanley's - maybe a little too high, but the angle would correct itself as Fraser let him back down - allowing Ray to open his hand just a little further, taking his own erection against Stanley's, stroking to his own rhythm. Well--he had warned him. It didn't get much closer than this. ]

Gently. [ He snarled out the word, just in case Fraser had missed his point before. The Mountie's breath was hot and heavy on the back of his neck; he probably wasn't thinking as straight as usual. How could he be? ] Take it easy, Benny. Breathe.

[ He licked his lips, nosing a little higher against the soft spot under Kowalski's ear, murmuring hotly against the skin there. ] Does he look good?

[kickem]

[It almost comes as a surprise that the two of them can share a kiss without tearing each other to shreds in the process, that their lips can touch and they can enjoy the company without teeth ripping into soft flesh. Probably for the best considering just how poorly healed his wounds already are and how they're meant to explain fresh ones arriving as the three of them exit this room. God, getting away with this was going to be a miracle in itself but right now he couldn't care less. He wanted this. Needed it, and even someone banging on the door was going to be hard pressed in dragging him away from this.

The kiss breaks as Vecchio twists away, directing Fraser verbally with instructions that Stanley curiously listens in on. He has to line Fraser up? That's not something he's exactly qualified to do, especially not from this angle, but fuck it he'll feel it out as best as he can when the time goes. No different than fumbling around in a dark room, surely.

His eyes only meet back with Ray's briefly before he's quickly distracted by that hand at his waistband, working efficiently on his jeans to free his straining erection within. Stanley's grateful for it. Denim really wasn't comforting for a hard on, even with the boxers between it. He's even more grateful for the fingers curling around him, even if there was nothing gentle about the grip they offered. He doesn't remember Vecchio's hands being that soft. Maybe he was still too drunk last time around, but he was certainly making the most of it this time, jerking into that rough squeeze like he's enjoying it far too much.]

Nothin' new there. [He half moans, leaning in against Ray. Because nothing says personal like having been fucked by the guy who's currently squeezing your dick.

And while he's leaning into Vecchio he pays far more attention to the Mountie over his shoulder, watching with an avid interest as Fraser follows the instructions to the letter, if a little over eager. The grip and lift is excessive but doesn't cause anything beyond a bit of bumping around and adjusting and it'd all soon sort itself out. Stanley helps where he can, bracing himself between the wall and Vecchio, adjusting his grip against Fraser and-- groaning low as Ray distracts with that bump of erections, bringing them together to work them both off. For a second Stanley can't focus on anything but the burning heat of Ray's dick against his, a length of smooth warmth that only gets better as they're rubbed together.

Focus, Stanley, focus. He needed to be that guiding hand for Fraser while the Mountie's grip was steadfast on keeping Vecchio in place.

With a huff of breath against Vecchio's neck, his fingers slid up the length of Fraser's arousal, encircling the head in a loose grip as his thumb lifts just enough to quest against Ray, to find that entrance and get Benton there. And easy enough task, especially thanks to Fraser's preparations, and once he's lined up Stanley's grip stays barely there, ready to drop away at the slightest shifts.

His eyes stay on Fraser's, a nod so barely given that most wouldn't even spot it, or- in Vecchio's case- feel it. Kowalski's breath pants out warmly against Ray's neck and shoulder, distantly amused at the question as he willingly watches every single flicker and reaction of his partner.]

Looks scared shitless. But ready too, beggin' with those big Mountie eyes. Wild, all fuckin' strength and desire like he's gonna give you a ride to remember. God, Fraser, you look so good.

[dogsled]

[ Coming together the way they were was an incredible feeling; not something that Fraser would have ever dreamed of and yet incredible none the less. In many ways it had a dreamlike, ethereal quality, like it had when Victoria had unfolded herself into him in the snow. Nothing this beautiful could be real.

So emotionally beautiful. Physically demanding, stimulating, pleasurable--but emotionally beautiful. He loved these two men more than he could ever love Victoria--or even the idea of Victoria. Their closeness to him, his love for them, made this entire coupling invulnerable, raised it to a pedestal that Fraser didn't think he'd ever be able to emulate again; because when would he love two men the way he loved Ray Vecchio and Stanley Kowalski? When would anyone matter to him on so many personal levels, be such a crucial element of his life, complete him, the way that each of these two men had?

He was afraid that - like that night in sight of the church steeple - he'd wake to discover that things couldn't be put back the way they'd been before. Not afraid enough to douse the fire of his passion, but enough that he knew Stanley could see it in his eyes. Well it was that and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

But Kowalski was helping, just as Vecchio had instructed him to, and Fraser shuddered, resisting the urge to snap his hips toward that hand when the touch became a little firmer. He could hardly bear it, but he fell still to listen, his heart pounding in his ears and almost drowning Ray out as he murmured against Stanley's neck.

He heard his partner though. Heard him loud and clear. Heard God, Fraser, you look so good, and knew there was nothing transient about this. There were no degrees of separation left; he was Fraser, and Ray was Ray, and they were fucking against the wall in the interrogation room, and how could he have ever thought it was possible to distance who they were from this when who they were was exactly why this was happening in the first place?

It meant everything. It changed everything. Altered who they were and who they would be. Nothing could be the same again.

"Thank you kindly, Ray." For the compliment, for the sex, for the change? All of it or nothing; but he was speaking to both of them and one thing was for sure, neither of them would ever hear him say those words the same way again.

Fraser hadn't missed the nod, but he had bode his time waiting for the moment to be right. As it was, Vecchio was murmuring something against Stanley's ear that Fraser couldn't hear over his own anticipation. He was really doing this. Just fifteen minutes ago he'd been worried he'd never come to terms with the fact that his partners had chosen to do it with each other, and now here he was on the brink...

Here he was, his hands on Ray's hips, guiding him down, his partner's hand dropping away, its purpose served. Knotting muscle embraced him like a vice, so tight around the head of his cock after the loose grip of Stanley's hand that it felt like he might pop, and yet as he eased Ray back onto him, the tightness was a welcome, unparalleled embrace, full of the kind of heat he could only ever have imagined, but never guessed at.

Every instinct in his body screamed for him to drown himself in that friction, but instead Fraser fell very still, responding to Ray's demand that he proceed gently, and dropped his cheek against his former partner's neck, shuddering physically from the expended effort. He looked up at Stanley like he could barely believe the situation he'd found himself in. There was sweat on his brow, his lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes were alien; dark and lidded. The same applied to Stanley, and Fraser found him beautiful like that, absorbed by the demands of lust, brow creased with desire. ]

I feel like...like I'm inside both of you. Ray. [ That was definitely a Ray plural. It rattled with need, and yet Fraser still didn't dare to move. ]