Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
Benton Fraser | Due South
 BENTON FRASER。 | |
"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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He just isn't aware how much of a part of it he is.
Fraser studiously kept his lips down and his eyes on Stanley, watching him warily as his mouth moved for that other nipple as though he were preparing himself for Ray kicking and swearing in his grip again. But it's not that at all: he's finding himself drinking it in, feeling as though through Ray's body his partner's mouth on his own chest. God, how he longs to have Stanley's hands and mouth on him--and how alien is that feeling? How new, and strange? His tongue lathed against Ray's trapezium, licked upward, kissed low behind his ear, lapped the curve of it, and then Fraser was pulling back in anticipation of Stanley wanting to take over, for his partner was finally straightening up, leaning into that same ear to lick where Fraser's mouth had been only moments before.
His mouth had never felt so dry.
Fraser's eyes glazed, his grip faltered and fell still, and it was almost as though his knees were about to collapse from underneath him--all in the space of a second - two - three. Who knew how long it had taken for Ray to say those words? Not long enough. They were so quick, like a knife slashed at him or one of those famous Kowalski smiles, and it was as though they ripped his stomach out and pooled it on the floor at his feet. It wasn't that the idea repulsed him; quite the opposite. It was dizzying, full of impact and deeper meaning and filthy. Even the choice of words, the decision to tell him at all, was impossibly erotic in a way Fraser hadn't known Stanley was capable of being.
And more than that it was true, wasn't it? Ray really had thought of him like that. Lying in the dark alone with his own cock in his hands, or maybe on one of those bathroom breaks where Fraser had pursued him only as far as the door. Why hadn't he known? How could he have guessed?
But that was only half of it, wasn't it? Stanley had thought about it too. So when the two of them had been going at each other days ago, probably drunk beyond comprehension, had they both been thinking of him? Had those bruises been meant for him? The rough, biting kisses, the claw marks? Were they all from a raging battle of competing heterosexuality gone awry or had they been expelling only the frustrations that Fraser had visited on them? Had they called his name? Had Fraser's sleep been disturbed, half a city away, without his realising it?
Was it maybe a little from column A and B?
He didn't know what to say or what to do. He didn't know how to even begin to approach this, and he was half afraid that his immense physical arousal was coming across more as deer in the headlights terror, the way he was staring back at Stanley. Motor function saved the day. He exhaled the shaky breath he'd been holding, licked his dry lips, and pressed in suddenly to close his mouth around Ray's chin, just drawing back so that the flat blunt of his teeth dragged across stubble and snapped shut with a click as his mouth dropped away. I'm okay, He told him, then. The world is spinning out of control, but I'm okay. With maybe a subtext of I can't handle it; these are good things, the things you're doing to me.
His mouth moved up to Ray's ear, his teeth biting harder at the nub almost in mirror of Stanley's earlier actions. It put his mouth very close to Stanley's still, as he mirrored the echoing hush. His arousal was in his voice: it was practically the low roll of a post-orgasmic keen, all smoky and ragged. ]
Tell me more.
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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?
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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...]
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[ 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?
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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-- ]
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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?
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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.
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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. ]
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He almost envied Fraser that. It hadn't taken boozing the Mountie up to loosen up his inhibitions. There was something amazing and also sort of sad about that, like Fraser was someone who'd been starved of human contact so long that he'd put out for anyone who so much as lowered their voice to him.
Worked out well enough for himself and Stanley, though, hadn't it?
Taking in a deep breath as Stanley spoke, Ray pumped twice, pointedly, at the packages in his grip, making sure to be a little too rough out of observing the effort to not get to orgasm ahead of Fraser. This was where it all became a balancing act, where Ray had to be the one to keep his head and make it all line up because as soon as Fraser came this whole house of cards was going to hit the ground one way or another. He could feel Stanley lining Fraser up with him, and he panted out a response: ]
Jesus, Ray. I really wish I could see that. [ He couldn't even imagine it. Maybe they should have done this in Interview Room B. Sure, someone might have been watching them from the adjoining room, but the addition of a mirror behind Kowalski would have completed this whole scenario perfectly. Armando had had a mirror on his ceiling and his headboard, which Ray had found creepy, but for this...anything to be able to look into Fraser's eyes as he pushed inside.
And then the dirty Mountie said "Thank you kindly" and Ray almost blew his load right there. Cheeky bastard, where had that come from? All this newfound confidence. Fraser had been remarkably quiet, but now it seemed he was getting bolder, and as he pushed inside, Ray forgot all about his instructions, just panting softly until the entire thing was over, leaving a hot wet mess on Kowalski's neck. He ached, and it hurt just as expected, and God, he wasn't going to walk right for weeks. No wonder Stanley had been so distracted by Fraser's cock; he was blessed.
Fraser's head fell on his shoulder, pelt of hair against his cheek, but he couldn't see even if he wanted to, couldn't even think, because he was chock full of Mountie, silk hard iron spreading him out, piercing him, holding him aloft Kowalski's hips. Intimate - hah! He'd never known intimate until this moment, crushed between slippery hot body and slippery hot body and genuinely loving (and getting there) both the other men in the scenario. There was just no outdoing this. His Mountie. His Mountie. His dear, sweet Benny. Look at him now.
I feel like I'm inside both of you, Ray.
Holy fucking shit, it was like Christmas. ]
I've died, right? [ His voice sounded hoarse. He might have groaned as Fraser pushed in, but his noises were restrained--they really had to be, considering. ] I'm in heaven. [ Or hell. Maybe hell was all sodomy with your best friend and his new partner, in which case sign him right up. Who wanted to go to heaven anyway? He didn't even like harp music. ]
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Fraser doesn't help matters with his words, that 'thank you kindly' like some ridiculous little trope that he uses to get them both moaning. Just moments ago Fraser was some blushing, clueless little Mountie begging for direction, and now he's being a smug asshole. It's so typically Benton that Ray can't help but find it ridiculously hot and admittedly just a little too amusing as he huffs out a few stuttered breaths against Vecchio that might just be laughter. It's just like Fraser to use those Canadian wiles of his even when about to drive into his former partner.
From then on Stanley's intent to watch, peering at Vecchio from the corner of his eye as the Italian breathes wetly against him, and flicking his sights between that and Fraser's fight for control with the obvious burning desire to just slam into that tightness. They looked good, both of them, working together like that achieve something that might just be pure fucking perfection. Stanley felt part of it rather than a third wheel, practically attached to Vecchio by the hip and able to watch Fraser from over his shoulder. And there was Fraser staring right back, saying Ray's name- both Ray's- with such wanting, involving them both in every part of this.
One of Stanley's hands reaches between himself and Ray and wraps around their two lengths from the other side, his fingers brushing against Ray's to fully encompass them both. He feels it all out, trying to work with the movements of the other, stroking and pumping and even squeezing when needed. He was as rough as Vecchio was, groaning into each tight squeeze even by his own hands.
This was heaven, Ray was right about that. Every bit of it was amazing.
There's only one thing he needs to make this flawless and he can achieve it immediately, his other hand reaching forth to cup the side of Fraser's face, fingers stroking against a damp cheek as he leans in, breath huffing against his partner's lips.]
You're doin' so good, Fraser. So, so good. C'mere. [And then he's kissing his partner, wasting no time in pushing that tongue forward to get involved, wet and easy and moaning against his mouth.]
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Besides, crossing his boundaries with Ray - either Ray, even an imaginary Ray - was so far outside what he was capable of that this was practically mythological. It was Adonis and Aphrodite. Leda and the Swan. Ray and Fraser and Ray again; and here he was right inside that moment, embraced in heat, feeling more loved and more intimate than he'd ever felt before.
Fraser stayed still, waiting for a signal from Ray - because he didn't really know when it would be okay to move, he'd never done this before - and so when Stanley reached out and touched his face he was still in one place, unmoving with his head against Ray's neck. He let himself be guided up the half inch toward his partner's lips, and immediately he was surrendering to the kiss - a kiss that was wetter and hungrier than the chaste ones they'd shared before - his tongue swirling up in gratitude to twist around Stanley's, chasing his moans.
Every kiss was easier, was better than the last, and this one was no exception, even though Fraser had to keep his hands on Ray to keep him steady and couldn't bury them into Stanley's hair the way he wanted to. There'd be plenty of time for that later, as they cuddled on the floor and waited for the phone to ring. Plenty of time for that later, when he encouraged Ray into the backseat of his car with him so they could make out for hours like teenagers. (Don't judge him, he'd missed out on a lot of crucial life lessons).
He didn't miss the minute twitch of Ray's body around him, the permission he'd been waiting for to move. Or maybe it was more like a demand. Either way, he didn't miss it because he was waiting on it on tenterhooks. Fraser hadn't just learned to interpret Ray Kowalski's moods and minute gestures; both of these men were equally different and equally complicated, they had their own language, and Fraser had needed to learn both in order to survive.
His response was immediate. Steady, to the rhythm which Ray dictated, he began the process of moving, twitching into welcoming tightness, hyper aware of the potential of hurting Ray; but as he began to move it became more and more clear that it would be difficult to hurt him more than he helped. His former partner shuddered with every thrust, moaning against Kowalski's neck, so close to Fraser's ear that he felt the vibration move through him in three different ways. He responded by ramping up the kiss, panting raggedly against Stanley's mouth between matching, urgent thrusts of his tongue as he pressed a little deeper, moved a little faster. The friction seared through him, his every nerve prickling; sensitive, aflame.
Gestures became a rhythm, and there was that piston perfection of strong muscles and sure balance, the Mountie miracle that Stanley had been promising Ray mere moments before. He felt Kowalski's body resisting against him with every upward thrust, and still he tried to wetly kiss his partner's mouth, desperate to maintain that connection now he had it. ]
Oh Ray--Ray, Ray. [ And Ray was hissing: Jesus, Fraser. ]
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Vecchio was more appealing than he had any right to be, and even if the two of them might not ever have anything lasting, Stanley wanted more of this, more of last time, of their rough and tumble fighting and biting. He wanted to show that sort of vicious attention to Fraser some time too, because he knew for certain the Mountie had enough wildness stored in him to bite right back if the opportunity arose. In fact, Stanley wanted to show Fraser every thing he could think of, to try and introduce him to what a real sex life should be like, diverse and interesting and desperate, and okay maybe he's not an expert at this stuff himself, but he knew the basics. Enough that they could experiment.
Perhaps Vecchio would know more, later, when he was in better shape to teach. Right now Stanley's not even sure if he's on the same plain of existence as the two of them, especially not when he was a heavy weight against Kowalski's shoulder, pressing him in against the wall and panting and moaning and hissing wetly into his neck. Stanley encouraged it, leaning into the other in acceptance and his hand pumping out a rhythm with Vecchio that he gradually tries to match up with Fraser's thrusts. He tries to make it last, his grip overly tight and the blunt nails of his fingers scraping just a little too harshly against the silken skin of Vecchio's arousal, stringing in some of that typical pain to match with an over abundance of pleasure.
The thrusts are something he learns to work with, accepting the shoves against the wall and the banging of his spine and shoulder blades against the unforgiving surface, his mind focused on Fraser's tongue against his, on his teeth and that hot mouth. His fingers dug in sharply against Benton's cheek, trying desperately to keep him close despite the shifts and twists of each jerk of hips, his head trying to follow his partners through it all. When there is an accidental break away, he responds with a frustrated nip at Fraser's lips the second they reunite, repeating the process each time like it'll somehow prevent it the next.
Even with the gasped words Stanley stays throughout, feeling his name (and Vecchio's) muttered against his own lips, and thinking just how much he'd love to hear his name said like that from Fraser every single day.]
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But even vibrations could be uncoordinated. Even vibrations could gasp and whimper as Ray's teeth gnashed against his lip, his partner's frustration self evident - and who could blame him? Ray was pinned between a rock and a hard place, and Fraser couldn't reach him no matter how hard he might try, no matter how rough his thrusts quickly became, trying to find even the slightest purchase so that he might close that distance permanently. Vecchio's body felt incredible around him, but also as though there were constantly some place just a little deeper, just a little further out of reach, and if he could make it just a little deeper the true meaning of 'heaven on earth' might unfold around him.
He wants more of this. He wants to do it again, and he wants Stanley, and he wants them to do it to him - possibly at the same time - and if life was very good to him they could just carry on doing it forever, and somehow make up for the fact that Ray hadn't introduced him to the practice years ago, long before he'd ever even met Stanley Kowalski. It felt somehow ridiculous that it took these two men coming together in a moment of madness for them to realise that yes, they could have been having lots of sex in public places (but preferably private ones) for as long as they'd known each other, and it wasn't really Fraser's fault they hadn't. They ought to have known better, he couldn't be expected to know anything about this sort of thing.
But now that he did... Well, there was a saying that was not a motto but was in fact still remarkably true even today, at least so far as the Fraser family was concerned: a Mountie would always get his man.
There would be half moons impressed on his cheek when he left this room, little marks left behind by Stanley's blunt fingers, his lips swollen, and it would all none the less tell a story that none of them would be able to admit to out loud, and yet it would all be true - unbelievably, wonderfully true - and Fraser knew he'd be counting down the moments until they could do it again, until all three of them found themselves in the same place at the same time, perhaps under some ruse of a pizza night or a stakeout. He could see it now, his Rays in the front seat, Vecchio half leaning across the gap to kiss Kowalski into the driver side window, his hand thrust into his partner's jeans. Fraser could just watch. He thought he might like to watch as much as he appreciated being an active participant. Maybe he'd participate too, but later, when Stanley was dozing and Ray's mind was wandering, he'd lean across and drop the passenger side seat and smother Ray in ninety-degree kisses until they were both breathless, and maybe his partner would lean across - wordless, of course, functioning on the higher skills of communication that they'd been working on for the last two years - tug open Ray's fly and...
Yes, he thought. There was plenty more that they could explore. But he really was rather preoccupied right now. He broke the kiss again, his excess lung capacity all worn out, his groans ragged and overloud considering where they were against Ray's mouth, though they were connected now only by the forehead, Fraser leaning what weight he could into the point of contact. He could barely think, hardly breathe. The world was light and a blur that was Ray Kowalski, sweat and sex and heat and a body against his chest that was Ray Vecchio, muscle clinging to his cock. He wasn't cut out for so much pleasure; he wasn't going to survive much more of this. And Ray was...Ray, underneath him was... ]
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He was near bursting point, far beyond saving, far beyond sense. Fraser and Stanley had no idea. He'd been fantasising about this for four years, he didn't have the wherewithal to channel anything but pure satisfaction, to feel anything but brutal pleasure. Because finally, finally here he was, Fraser inside of him - and wasn't that crazy in itself, because in his dreams it had always been the other way around, he'd never even dared to submit to a fantasy where Fraser could have the sexual appetite necessary to so much as entertain anything like this - and the world was still turning on its axis, but now it felt like it was turning just for him.
If only he'd realised it long ago. Maybe he'd have insisted - after Fraser spent another two weeks in hospital after their adventure - on going back to Canada after all. They'd never gone back together to rebuild that cabin; in the end Fraser must have done it himself. Or maybe he never had. Maybemaybemaybe. Either way, it was time wasted. Time they could have been making love in front of a log fire, before Vegas had taken him away and fucked with his head.
But it was good that Vegas had done that, in terms of the now, because he liked Fraser, sure, but he liked Kowalski too. It was like having the best of both worlds; soft, strong Mountie and hard, knife-edge American cop. And maybe Kowalski got the same deal, but Fraser--Fraser got his partners, and apparently that was like winning two gold medals and one of those weird arm badges he liked so much, because Fraser...Ray wasn't sure he'd ever been happier, more content, more eager to do anything than he'd been when he'd leant in and kissed Stanley on the mouth.
It had genuinely blown him away how much love Fraser could pour into a single action.
He wanted to soak it in forever, but the rough, nail sharp scraping and squeezing he was getting from Stanley wasn't doing shit to hold him back now, in fact it felt really good, pain on top of pleasure, and he could dig his nails in until they bled and it still wouldn't stop him now. Fraser felt like he was trying to fuck both of them at once, and it was all just too much--too much. He yelled, inadvertently jerking his head off Ray's shoulder at the last second to get in more air and crying out loud into his ear, and then he was jerking between them, spilling himself in time with each of Fraser's relentless thrusts, his knuckles knotting and twisting as he fought the urge to tug and squeeze whatever he could out of himself. It wouldn't do Ray much good. Instead he let him go, reaching down lower to knead his own balls, shuddering as he spilled even more of his seed onto Stanley's belly, and by then he was panting and boneless, only Fraser's strength and continued thrusting and the two bodies sandwiching against him keeping him upright, keeping him in play. He felt like a ragdoll, but it was a very sexually satisfied kind of ragdollyness, and that made it just fine, thank you very much. His head was swimming too much to complain right now. ]
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They play to their strengths, and that's good for Stan. Fraser knows just what both of his partners are capable of and they both know the same for him. Granted, Ray and Ray haven't quite got a read on one another just yet, not to the extent where they can silently signal their intentions, but that's no issue. Communication was the key in intercourse, after all, and Kowalski was fine with verbally trying to boss around the guy he'd pretended to be for so long. He may be the newcomer in all of this, but he liked to think he knew a thing or two about his Mountie, even if they were going to have to share every now and then.
Not that he needed to verbally do anything right now. He was just fine where he was, even if he knew his back would be sore for days to come after quite so long slammed up against it. It was worth it, a few days of pain worth every second of this experience. Ray was never going to be able to see this room properly again without having to hold down a hard on. His career was ruined. There's no way he could be expected to come in here and interrogate, especially not alongside Fraser, when his mind was just going to slide right back to this pounding, gasping mess of limbs. God, he was going to have to learn some self-restraint and he'd never had to do that in his life.
Stanley's left to get a full earful of Ray's scream as it all finally becomes too much, gritting his teeth just slightly against the volume of it and yet taking it for the sake of the team. Sure, he can add half-deaf onto his list of injuries after this little escapade, why not? More important things to deal with right now anyway, like helping Vecchio along with this ride, fingers curling even tighter around them both as he milks out the Italian and helps himself along. With the other's hand dropping, he's left to keep the rhythm up of jerking them off while Fraser keeps up his side of the deal, a true display of team effort as they each read off one another and aid where they can.
With trying to keep that kissing going with Fraser a virtual impossibility for the moment, Stan slips his hand limply away from his partner's cheek, instead dropping to curl a tight grip around the underside of Vecchio's thigh, close to the back of his knee, helping support the boneless weight between them. By the time Ray's through, Stanley's left sticky and sweating but spurred on more than ever, letting Vecchio's spent dick loose to focus on pleasuring himself, arching up into his own hand as he quickens the pace.
He wouldn't be far behind, not when he's got the warm weight of Vecchio against him and Fraser panting ragged so close to his mouth, but right now his hazy gaze is locked on Benton, not wanting to miss a single bit of his inevitable peak. There's no way he couldn't watch his friend lose it.]
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But he did it. He slowed down instead of speeding up, each panting breath all but torn from his throat as though he were breathing through a sandstorm.
At last Ray began slumping a little more, relaxing again, this time just enough that Fraser could take advantage. He could use the extra friction to press on, letting it reach into him to build and burn without as much fear that he was leaving behind bruises that would take weeks to heal, or actually tearing apart tender tissue, damage he would never notice he'd inflicted until it was too late.
Yes, he was using Ray now, but so long as he kept making contented noises Fraser wouldn't mind, and besides, just over his shoulder there was his other partner, flushed and beautiful from arousal, his face a picture of desire. Later he wanted to kiss all over that face, put his hands all over the body he'd barely been allowed to touch. He wanted all the time in the world to do the things that he'd barely considered as he was rushing headlong into this. He wanted to last just a little longer--
But it was no good for Ray if he did, no good for Fraser himself. He wasn't superhuman, and this was the first satisfaction he'd had in months, the first sex he'd had in years. He wasn't cut out to carry it on forever, not when it felt as amazing as it did, and not when he had both his partners, both his Rays, pinned between him and the wall. How could he resist?
His mouth brushed a path up Ray's neck, wet slobbery kisses, and then Fraser was pressing his cheek against the side of Ray's head, pinioning against him as his body twisted and rocked, face twisting into an expression of bliss and pain at once, eyes only closed for a moment before he opened them in time for the next pulse - opened them just for Kowalski - spilling inside Ray, the sparks flashing in his eyes. He groaned, a low sound that wouldn't carry, unlike Ray's scream, but the sight of Stanley inches away from him, watching him hungrily, was enough to make him want to call their name, yell it, make the entire station hear.
They were going to lose their jobs, but given the choice it seemed like a fair exchange. ]
Ray. [ He said, exhaling as the third twitching, wringing tug of orgasm pulled him over. ] Please.
[ Please come. He didn't know how long his legs could hold, even though he made an effort to lock his knees, to somehow stay upright. But his arms were trembling, and his legs were aching, and his head still locked on Ray's shoulder, heavy and stupid. ]
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He groaned, still moaning as Fraser kept thrusting, from discomfort as much as still sparking pleasure. He wasn't actively hitting his prostate any more, but still every thrust jerked through him, manipulated muscle, let him feel that Fraser was still there, as if the hardness of him inside and the panting and slobbering on his neck wasn't a dead giveaway.
He could feel it as Fraser came closer and closer to that edge, and he shifted his head up as best as he could against Stanley's neck, tried to prepare himself, although he wasn't really sure any more what prepared-for-the-man-you've-had-wet-dreams-about-for-four-years-coming-inside-you looked like. How did you get ready for something like that?
Short answer, you didn't. Short answer it happened, and your life was irrevocably changed, and probably for the better. So he closed his eyes tightly and just tried to feel it, and he thought he did, thought he felt the pulse of shock before Fraser jerked up and up and let it all go inside him. There was just pressure at first, and then Fraser was pulling back to thrust up again and he recognised it as wet heat, fierce and hot inside of him.
He heard his name in his ear, but he was out of it, too out of it to realise it wasn't him that Fraser was talking to. So he held on, held on as best as he could, because any second now Fraser was going to collapse, right? And then this house of cards was coming down. Had Stanley come yet? He didn't know. He made a little mm sound and tried to halfheartedly turn his head, but what could he do, anyway? He was exhausted. ]
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The second Fraser's eyes snapped back open and looked at him, Ray knew he was done, there's no way he could resist a gaze like that, so intense, so pleading and so beyond sexy that it was impossible not to blow his load. The words were just an added bonus, Fraser practically whimpering out his name as he rode that wave, riding into Vecchio like a wild man. Just like Stanley had promised from the start. Just like a few fantasies he'd had in the past of Fraser losing it in the moment.
It only took him a few more determined jerks of his wrist to bring himself over the edge, hips jerking up and into his grip, and against Vecchio, spilling over the both of them in such close proximity. He bucks, coming with one long groan that settles in the back of his throat, eyes still trying to stay on Fraser even as they drift out of focus. Standing has it's downsides and this was one of them, Kowalski doing his best to lock his knees and keep himself tight in against the wall in a desperate attempt to keep upright, his her jerking back to meet the solid surface and not caring one bit for the impact. It's okay, he's got a thick skull anyway, and he was far too lost in the moment to worry himself about a minor head bump.
By the time the last few pulsing waves shudder through him, he mostly gives up on the upright thing, holding little concern for where it'll take the other two if he just starts to slide down the wall, back still fully in contact and giving him a pretty controlled drift down.
The floor was good. The floor was great. It wouldn't have been a comfortable option for them to start there, but at the moment it looked just as appealing and just as comfortable as any bed. Screw the amount of bodily fluids that had been scrubbed off it, Stanley would still quite happily lay down and curl up, still with his jeans around his thighs, if he were given half the chance.
So maybe he wouldn't be much use for a while, but hey, he figures they might be able to get a little while longer before someone starts trying to get in the room. They'd staked out in an interview room for longer than this before, and no one was going to miss the three of them for a while, right?]
Nnn, fuck.
[That's his thoughts on the matter. But it sounds like a good fuck. A content sort of 'I just blew my mind and my load at the same time' kind of fuck.]
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He found out immediately how boneless Ray was, and Stanley with him, and he found himself supporting their bodies and his own even more awkwardly, tilting inward so that they all slumped together at the same speed, crumpling down to the ground. It took forever, and yet wasn't soon enough, before they were all lying about each other in a legless, slippery heap. Fraser tried his best to angle his legs so as to avoid getting his own come on his breeches, but with Ray's tangled around his own it was nearly impossible. Next time--next time they had to at least get out of their clothes, this was ridiculous.
As just getting his breathing steady was hard, he decided not to bother raising his head, where it had fallen into the crook of Ray's neck. The heat rose off him, sweat evaporating, leaving his skin covered in goose pimples. Fraser shivered too, even though the cold didn't actually bother him, but in sympathy, and pressed closer, managing at last to look at his partner, to drink in the sight of him crumpled there and covered - god, covered - in semen: Ray's and Ray's. He licked his lips despite himself, then found Kowalski's eyes. Post orgasmic, shining with satisfaction--oh, he liked that look. He wanted to see it more often. ]
You...
[ He didn't know what he wanted to say, he realised, and so for a moment he just smiled, rubbing his cheek against Ray's neck, his ear contentedly. He made a soft, happy noise, then: ]
You're both terrible. [ He said, with absolute warmth. They were. ]
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