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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Fraser knew how to break the ice this time, that laugh of his enough to get Ray grinning back. It's all the proof he needs to know that Fraser's okay. That they're okay. And maybe it won't be easy, in fact it probably won't be easy if it's anything like their usual day to day life, but they're both willing to try and make this work, which is a hell of a lot more than can be said for Ray's last relationship. And probably Fraser's last one too.]
Heh, logical. [Even the idea of him following logic is enough to amuse, but he supposes there's truth to that. That when it came to love and attraction, Fraser was the one throwing himself head first into it without a second thought, and Ray was the one holding back, thinking and overthinking and desperately trying to make sure it'll work before he allows himself to feel. He can't have another Stella, he just can't. He's just not sure he's got it in him to work away for years at another relationship only to find it was a failure almost from the start. Love is draining, and Ray needs to be certain in his mind before he pushes forward with a relationship with his best friend.
He's smiling when Fraser moves beneath his arm, smiles when he's lead and he doesn't think he'll stop smiling for quite some time.]
Polite. Sure, sure. Better check, we wouldn't want anyone breakin' in. Dance floor's too crowded anyways.
[He and Fraser are just as deserving of that suite as the married couple. No harm in sharing, he figures, and so he willingly follows on, quite content to leave the crowds for a more quiet area. Somewhere where it could just be them and the music and not a hundred other people and screaming kids and old relatives shouting over one another.
Fraser always did have the best ideas.]
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But not all the things. And not everything had to be planned and thought about either, and he'd show Ray that it was okay, that he really could dance and kiss and make love without worrying excessively about what it meant the whole time. (And okay, Fraser had brought it up, but if they'd been working by Fraser's schedule in the reception room then they'd have probably have been ass naked in what was left of the wedding cake by now.)
There was so much brightness returning to his eyes now that he'd let hope back in. The fear was subsiding, because now that Ray had agreed to his suggestion of going somewhere more private, what was there left to be afraid of, except for the whole actually getting to do half the things he was thinking about doing? But he was high on emotion, on happiness, on partnership, and he was smiling more than he'd ever let himself smile for more than five seconds at a time, and the full power of it was turned straight on Ray as he led him backward again, navigating the crowd and reaching up to curl his other hand into the hair at the back of Ray's neck just as his back hit the swing doors.
He pulled Ray into a kiss as he took the next step, and by the next the doors were closing behind them and his other hand had released Ray's hand, making the process of walking a little more awkward as he pulled the other man against him, and somewhere behind him was the elevator. He'd known how many steps it took to reach it before, but now it seemed to take twice as many.
That was fine. The longer it took to reach the elevator, the more time he had to dig into the kiss.
As before, Fraser went for his safe middle ground, for a kiss that was as passionate as it was urgent, rather than leaning too far one way or the other. He didn't know exactly how long he'd need to draw it out, and besides this time it was complicated by movement, which bumped their chests and knees and hips together awkwardly and made him step on Ray's foot once before he managed to let go his grip on Ray's elbow and punch the call button. This was dancing. Awful bad wonderful dancing.
This time, there was no holding back, no waiting for an answer or expecting Ray to push him away - although the possibility was obviously on the cards - and Fraser justified himself that really it wasn't his fault. He'd followed Ray's rules of logic long enough; he'd only brushed a kiss against his mouth woodenly in front of Vecchio's wedding guests, and he hadn't declared he loved him in so many words - unless declarations of joint sleeping bag purchasing was the equivalent of Romeo and Juliet now - and now it was Ray's turn to submit to the alternative view, to passion and follow through and no real direction so long as they were moving, which it turned out Fraser could do that just as well as Ray could, only this time with his tongue, and teeth, and somehow perfectly balanced so as not to bump heads with him and knock them both for six.
The doors dinged open behind him. ]
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At first he considers whether they should at least offer up one dance for the crowd, but then he realises that neither of them have anything to prove. If people want to gawk at two guys enjoying each others company then they can fuck off, Fraser is his and he should be allowed to steal him away two dance in private. He's not trying to hide anything except hide Fraser from prying eyes.
By the time they're at the doors Fraser is pulling him in for a kiss, and this time Ray's ready to respond, head tilting and pushing forward as he keeps right along with that middle ground as they stumble through the hallway. His feet suffer for their awkward placement, but he'll blame Fraser's leading for that considering the few toes that are trod on during their scramble to the elevator.
He considers their current kiss nothing but a warm up, even as Fraser turns it up a notch. The ding of the elevator is his starter pistol, catching sight of the doors opening over Fraser's shoulder and using that moment to push his weight into his partner, shoving him straight for the rear wall of the elevator. His hand only briefly reaches out to fumble for the buttons, feeling out for roughly the right floor and mashing several others in the process. He doesn't care, they're in no hurry, not when he's got Benton like this.
Seconds later his arms are around his partner and he's pushing forward with his tongue, urgent and eager, trying to use his weight to keep Fraser pinned while he desperately tries to reciprocate just some of the wildness his partner had shown him in that corridor.
He could be wild too, wild like the back streets of Chicago, where there were no rules and only the strongest survived. His wild was a dog eat dog kind of nature, just like Canada's wilderness, and while trees and rivers were replaced with apartment blocks and alleyways, the urgency for survival was still there, just as strong as ever. Ray had that urgency, that spark for life and love and passion, and he was willing to share every bit of it with his friend, just like all those times he'd shown him through the dive bars and shady back alley dealers. He could teach Fraser the Chicago way and he was more than willing to learn all about the Canadian way.]
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And it's unexpected. Ray's eager response to the kiss had been wonderful, as though they were unlocking some secret next level to kissing as it was, and then bang he was struck by force and energy, like a fist to the face, or an out of nowhere hug, and Ray was suddenly pressed against him, slamming him against the back wall of the elevator so sharply that it knocked all the air out of him. That took some real doing, Fraser had a surfeit of air. It was wild urgency, fury and fight and strength, and it was Ray - the other side of Ray, flashing eyes and flashing fists - it was Ray all the way through.
God, he loved this man. All the ragged edges of him, the windbeaten roughness, the hard bristles of beard that ground into his naked jaw, the hard hands that locked him in place against the back wall of the elevator the way he'd pushed Ray against the wall before. All that energy and fire and passion that he knew existed in himself - that he knew inherently existed in Ray from his years working with him - poured out into the kiss, bled into its roughness, through teeth and lips and tongue, and Fraser was bowled over by it.
Oh, he could probably have given Ray a good fight, and sometimes fighting was necessary in their relationship, sometimes he had to make a resistance against those hands, just to show that he was capable of it. But not yet. Not now. He wanted Ray to know he could submit too, push and pull, meeting in the middle.
He moaned softly into his partner's mouth, his hands wandering - as they were free to do - pushing again under the shirt that Ray had only fixed half an hour ago, sliding his hands up his sides, his back, feeling Ray's inhales and the tension of his shoulders as he put everything he had into holding Fraser against the wall. It ached. There was a ledge running around the elevator under the mirror, and it was jammed against the center of his back, bruisingly hard, but really--this was Fraser who jumped from moving vehicles and fell down cliffsides and leapt into raging rapids. He could take a little bruising, a little push and strain, a little reminder of the thrust for survival with which they were both so familiar.
And as for the bruising, he even liked it, and something told him that this was going to be a new extreme sport, that he might get as many bruises doing this as he took during a general day's work.
He let his nails rake against Ray's bare skin, scraping down his back, overwhelmed by the full beautiful existence of Ray, by his honor and his genuine sweetness and his loyalty, by the fire and the passion and the stray dog ferocity. He was so much more than that; and it was true what he'd said before, what he'd said to Stella. She hadn't truly appreciated what she had. She couldn't know what it was like to place her life in this man's hands on a day to day basis, to love him as Fraser loved him, to be willing to do anything, go anywhere, live at arm's length forever if it meant just being near him.
Ray had shown him his world in a way that Ray Vecchio never had, had led him through it, and made Fraser a part of it; now that he'd opened the door to this - this physicality - it seemed like they had more to share with each other. He'd never been kissed like this in his life, never been helpless to making soft noises of pleasure into his partner's mouth, never been thrust about and manhandled like this unless he was in the process of being beaten in the head for one reason or another. It was powerfully thrilling in a way he simply couldn't describe, because Ray could be as strong as him, as passionate, as indomitable. They were equals, and the meaning of that was only just now beginning to open up.
The elevator moved, and his stomach flipped, and he whimpered into Ray's mouth, tongue sparring back, pouring everything he had back into that wonderful, glorious kiss.
God, he was really kissing Ray. Actually kissing him. ]
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And Ray really was kissing Fraser.
A fact he might almost have forgotten were it not for the moan from his partner that sounded just a little too masculine to be mistaken for anything else, and those creeping hands that are far too large and worn to be anything but Fraser's. Sure, without those factors, Ray could have almost fooled himself into thinking this was just some good looking bridesmaid he'd managed to drag away from the festivities. But there was just no mistaking this. This was so much more than a kiss and a fumble in an elevator. This was him and his best friend, his partner, taking that final step to something that some may have seen coming a mile away.
Ray had known from day one that he'd get on with the Mountie. Even with their differences and the oddness and Fraser's general habit of being difficult, Ray could tell Benton was a good guy, dedicated to his job, good set of morals and a damn fine partner to have a around. Had to be to be climbing over moving cars and dragging his sorry ass out of Lake Michigan.
So maybe Ray had never quite envisioned this when he'd accepted Benton as being his new and undoubtedly best partner, but over the course of their time together he'd certainly realised he never wanted to lose the guy. The idea of Fraser running back to Vecchio when he'd returned had been heartbreaking, and even though he didn't, there was still that deep seated paranoia that maybe he would, one day. Maybe not so much now, not when Stanley's got his partner pinned against the elevator and Vecchio's retiring to run away with his new wife. This whole wedding wasn't such a bad deal after all.
Ray keeps up the kiss while he can, rough and needy, moaning right back into Fraser's mouth as those hands touch against bare skin and scrape a path down his back. So Benton had a little fight in him too. He already knew that, and he was pretty certain he was going to love it soon enough. This wasn't about being careful and delicate, this was about two men who'd risked their lives for one another time and time again, venting out just a little bit of that excess energy.
When the elevator does slow to a stop and ding out the appropriate number (it's a miracle he got the right floor on the first try, but it wasn't like there were masses to choose from), Ray reluctantly draws back, sucking on Fraser's tongue as he does so before breaking away wetly and releasing his weight from the other. He turns just in time to see an elderly couple (both of who Ray recognises) enter hesitantly, and Ray can't help but chuckle at them, full of mischief and amusement as he grabs for Fraser's hand and tugs him out right behind him. That's probably the most action that couple has seen in a decade, it'd explain why the lady is left staring as the doors slowly close again.]
Hah. There goes the ex-grandparent-in-laws. C'mon.
[The bridal suite is sounding far too appealing right now, even if just a place to dance and rest and enjoy without having a crowd of ex-relatives and fake-relatives around.]
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And then the doors opened, and Ray--god, Ray was pulling back - sucking on his tongue but pulling back - and Fraser tried to chase him, to tighten his grip on him and stop him from getting away. He failed, his hands slipping out of Ray's shirt, and he stayed slumped against the back wall of the elevator for a moment just to catch his breath, flushed and aroused and happy.
The couple - Stella's grandparents on her mother's side, he thought - stepped inside warily, and Fraser licked his lips, looking up at Ray just in time to see him grinning, chuckling, like a little boy who'd just slipped out from under his parents' nose with the keys to his dad's snowmobile. Then Ray's hand was in his, and he was being pulled out of the elevator car so quickly he didn't have time to breathe, nevermind apologise, stumbling almost into Ray before getting his own jelly legs under him again.
He hadn't accidentally left the bridal suite open, that had been an untruth, but that was easy enough to deal with. His free hand slid into Ray's back pocket as he reached the door, and then he was tugging his other hand free, leaning close to it, using the same gestures and angle precisely that he'd watched both Rays use dozens of times before. The door clicked open, and he nudged his toe against it, put his shoulder against the frame, and looked back up at Ray again, still flushed and urgent, still wanting.
He had very little intention of dancing. Not now they had the room. Not with hours of partygoing happening several floors below them. Maybe they'd get back down in time for the last few slow dances: find Diefenbaker passed out in a sugarcoma under one of the tables and Vecchio dozing in his new wife's lap, sodden with red wine and champagne. That was what people did at their weddings, wasn't it?
Sex and dancing and food, in that order. Wait.
He reached up, using both of his hands, tugging on the end of the bow tie he'd so carefully fixed about Ray's neck. When it was undone, he kept pulling, leaning up to close the space between them again, but only for a moment. He needed to talk, even if he was afraid of the words, so he blurted them out as quickly as he could, keeping his thumbs on Ray's cheeks as though he could hold him back from kissing even if he wanted to. Really: probably couldn't. ]
If I'm going too fast--if ever you want to stop, we'll just stop. You only have to say the word.
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This breaking in is yet another to add to that growing list of Fraser's misbehaving, Ray standing by to watch his partner easily manipulate the lock like he'd done it a million times before. Of course Fraser knew how to do it, he knew how to do everything. This time it was Ray's turn to keep watch, glancing back and forth in the short time it took and then slipping in as the door pushes open.
He tries to steer them in past the door at least to try and get that shut behind them, even as Fraser looks at him with an eager sort of desperation, and even as his bow tie loosens up. Tempting as it is to lean straight back in and continue where they left off, Ray takes the hint of those hands at his face and holds back, staring back with an impatience that might just have flickered with guilt as Fraser speaks.]
Look, buddy, I don't really do this. I mean, uh, this. [His gaze dropping thoughtfully for just a second as if such a break in staring will somehow help him find the words. Apparently it's successful enough to have him looking back seconds later.]
I don't dig dicks, is, is what I'm sayin'. Any kinda dicks. Big dicks. Small dicks. All dicks. Sure I seen a few in my time, y'know, streakers, changin' rooms, peein' in the can, but uh, I'm not lookin' for them. Guys aren't my thing. Chicks are where it's at, soft skin and the swell of their tits and and, well you get the idea.
[This isn't sounding right. This is sounding like a decline and Ray's not trying for that. Perhaps if he just slides his arms around Fraser's waist and...]
I love chicks, Fraser. But uh, I think I might also love you. I mean I think about ya all the time and if I got a chance to spend time with a chick or you, it's gonna be you. Heh. Y'know when we got back to Chicago I couldn't sleep? I missed havin' you around, missed not havin' you close by when I was sleepin', I even missed Dief's snoring. Just being in that apartment alone kinda freaked me out, to think that was all I had to look forward to in Chicago. Chicago's home but I uh, I guess it's not so great without you bein' there with me.
I guess what I'm tryin' to say is I want you there with me. In Chicago or in Canada or wherever we go. Just uh. Go easy on me.
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Fraser listened well, usually speaking. He kept his head down and waited until Ray was finished before correcting him. This time, he listened harder than usual: a combination of personal involvement, knowing it was important and his being impossibly wired, and therefore more prone than usual to let his attention wander. It wasn't really his fault. This sort of thing happened to him so rarely, so much love and physicality, that if he let his attention drift he'd forget that days were separated into hours, never mind his plans and responsibilities. He could forget even himself.
As Ray finished speaking, Fraser exhaled, let it wash over him. It was how he felt about it, as odd as that sounded. He'd always considered himself to be straight, but there was something about this man, his partner; something in the way they clicked, first, and then in time he'd begun to realise he was distracted by the physical things: by the shape of his ear or the bones of his wrist or the particular iron curve of his bicep where it hit the angle of his tattoo. He'd become so drawn to him physically he'd genuinely become less able to touch, although he'd found himself pressing closer into Ray's space as though it were natural. But he hadn't been able to comfort him the way he'd wanted to, had drawn back most physicality of his own for fear that if he put his hands on Ray he might somehow transmit that emotion through him, give himself away long before he even realised there was something to give.
And then they'd gone to Canada, slept inches from each other, huddled for warmth, woke up and ate and walked and talked and slept together all over again, day after day. There had been no hiding from physicality there, and he'd grown so much more comfortable with it since. It was still different, though, a whole lot of different when Ray wrapped his arms around his waist. So different from the hand touching his chest to stop him, or squeezing his shoulders, or clutching his arm. So different from Ray clapping a hand over his mouth, because with his glasses on he'd managed to spot a rabbit that Fraser had missed, and they hadn't eaten for a day and a half, feeding the last of their rations to the dogs.
Like it or not, they'd relied on each other for survival, and coming back, not having that, was like being ripped away from a limb, with no understanding of how to function without it. This physicality, the expression of emotion they both had for each other that had crept in pitilessly when they least expected it, couldn't be measured on any kind of natural scale. Fraser could accept that they both exclusively liked women, and that they both liked, loved and wanted each other despite that. Strange as it might seem, it worked for them. Ray missed him when he wasn't there, and Fraser couldn't imagine Chicago or Canada without him.
They both wanted this, wanted it with each other, and okay, so Fraser was less inhibited, bolder by far about trying new things: human bodies were largely interchangeable. But he was also sense fixated - fixated particularly upon Ray - and this was a body he'd dreamed of touching, tasting, smelling, of pressing his ear against his chest as he talked, or his cheek against Ray's throat, feeling the vibration of a moan through his skin. He wanted to experience all of it, and he did need the warning: he needed it because without it this would be frantic, dramatic, overwhelming, and Ray needed him to go slow. He needed to be eased into it.
At the end of the day he hadn't thought about another woman that way in years. Francesca had all but thrown herself at him, and had his mind lingered on the curve of her breast? On the way her mouth shaped around words? On the way her eyelashes brushed her cheek when she laughed?
He exhaled again, forcing himself to cool down, and when his eyes opened he looked up, found Ray's eyes a half inch or so above his own. He could do this. He could do this for Ray; ease him into it even though he wanted to pour his everything into it at once, show him just how long, and what it meant, and how he felt. ]
You don't have to spend another night alone, Ray. [ He promised, even though he didn't know if he could fulfill it. As an officer of the RCMP Robert Fraser had abandoned his family for months at a time, and his son wasn't much better. But Benton hoped, truly hoped, that he wouldn't be as selfish as his father, that he'd learned from all his mistakes, and being so long and often away from home was one of them.
He leaned in and brushed a kiss to Ray's mouth, then reached back around his back to gently urge his partner to let go. ]
Put on some music, then sit over on the couch. [ He indicated the loveseat, covered in furs. He'd admired the position in the room from the moment they'd stepped inside an hour ago, but now it seemed like the most comfortable, homely place they could possibly be. If he could be reminded of Canada, of the north, in a place as alien as this hotel room, it'd be there. ] Trust me, Ray.
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Who cares if this is with a guy? Fraser's not like most guys, and virtually everyone who knew the two of them knew they had some sort of special relationship going on long before today. They were practically inseparable as it was, so this wouldn't be any different for them both, not really. Especially not if they do retreat back to Canada for an extended stay, maybe go to Fraser's cabin, maybe find new adventures to do, meet old friends. It's all pretty appealing, even with the memories of hardships.
Fraser makes a statement Ray's not entirely sure either of them will ever be able to keep to, but the sentiment is sweet enough, proof that the Mountie cares enough to want to be with him. Ray doesn't even mind if they spend time away, not if he's got the knowledge that they'll be back together again. It's the not knowing that he hated when heading back to Chicago. Not knowing if that Canada adventure had been the last time the two of them would be as close as that. Not knowing if they were just going back to the daily grind for the rest of their partnership. Now they both knew where they stood, that they were both willing to share more than just their time at work together, and that alone meant enough to Ray.
He smiles into the kiss, smirking like an idiot even as he's urged away. Standing there the rest of the night was pretty appealing as it is, but he can't really deny the suggestion of music, which he moves to carry out immediately. The music system is found with ease (you can't really miss it, even with all the pretentious decorating) and he quickly fiddles with a few buttons until he realises there's a playlist there. A 'wedding' playlist. Perfect for newly wed couples, a mix of carefully chosen classical tunes, slow dance tracks and generic things you'd hear for first dances and 'our song' choices. It'll do, rather than risk the crap that's on the radio, and then Ray moves back towards the loveseat, dropping himself into the furs and slumping into it.]
If this is gonna end in a lap dance, Frase, I left my ones in my wallet.
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So, although he was more than ready to do that if Ray seemed willing, present circumstances made it unlikely. Ray loved him, he liked kissing him, but as he'd pointed out quite succinctly he had no general overriding interest in male genitalia. Lips were different, and easy. Sure, there were subtle differences between kissing a man and a woman, but most of those Fraser thought he was probably strange for picking up, the more angular jaw, the larger lung capacity, lips thinner, tongue wider, teeth set slightly differently. There was the hint of Ray's stubble, too, whereas Fraser made that easier still by being meticulous with his grooming habits, no hair left behind.
So kissing was easy, and touching clearly wasn't a problem, Ray had been quite willing under his own hands, let them wander up his sides and across his back and into his hair. Those were harder to mistake: Fraser's hands were rough and larger, and he knew Ray had acknowledged that much to himself in some respect already. He'd liked it, too, when Fraser had resisted against him in the elevator, when he'd ground his body against him in the kiss from before, one arm pinned above his head, and his shame about being seen kissing a man had evaporated into a sort of greedy smugness that Fraser found incredibly attractive even despite himself. Maybe that was the alcohol again, but the idea of being found in the elevator with Ray sucking on his tongue was thrilling. The story would have made it down to Stella by now, hushed, almost inarticulate murmurs of Your ex-husband! and I always knew there had to be something wrong with that Mountie. That sounded about right. Was that what he wanted? A reputation? Something to dull the bright honest goodness that everyone projected onto him?
So he considered Ray, and for a moment he really did consider giving him a lap dance for specifically those reasons, but he figured that given the day they'd had, breaking into hotel rooms and carving giant wooden penises and crying behind churches, it really would be one step too far beyond the ordinary, even for him.
His jacket removed, leaving him in just his tight white shirt and jeans now, he crossed the room, fetching the rest of the bottle of champagne from where they'd left it and carrying it over to the couch. He set it on the coffee table beside Huey and Dewey's 'gift', then ignored it completely, clambering up beside Ray and folding in against his side, his knees together and resting on Ray's right thigh, one arm sliding under his back, the other high across his chest.
Just for a second or so to get his bearings, Fraser pressed his nose into the crook of his partner's neck, then he raised his head, pressing a kiss to the corner of Ray's mouth, inviting him into another embrace, this one softer, slower, the kind of kiss that would stay willing for hours. And why not? They had nowhere else to be. There were no expectations, but if their touches wandered so they wandered. This close, whatever happened didn't have to be anything but a natural evolution of intimacy, and maybe Ray didn't have to pay too much attention to the fact that his body wasn't a woman's body, would grow to love it as much as he loved Fraser himself.
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There was something about this with Fraser that sparked a sense of that, like it was something new and exciting, that he didn't have to prove himself or try and be someone he's not. Fraser had seen it all already, he'd already been witness to Ray stripped bare, physically and metaphorically. This was a guy who didn't care about how well built you were, whether there was a full six pack, or how big you were packing. After being on the singles shelf for far too long, feeling judged and criticized every time he attempted to make a move on any one, this just felt like such a relief. He should have been doing it long ago.
Fraser did all the right things. Settled himself in close, took a gradual path to Ray's lips, and kept the kiss lingering and inviting. Without any need for persuasion, Ray's responding, curling in against the Mountie as he twists in his seat and curling his calf around Fraser's legs. He didn't mind closeness. He was clingy enough as it was, and now that he had the encouragement there was nothing stopping him from wanting this affection.
His kiss is responsive but not forceful, enjoying the moment without trying to hurry it. He's got an arm moving up the back of the seat to prop him in place while the other curls around Fraser's waist. He could settle himself there for the rest of the night quite easily, but there's one question tugging at the back of his mind that he can't quite settle. Something that he has to ask, barely pulling away, muttered against his partners lips.]
Would you uh, would you have done this with Vecchio? I mean if he hadn't gone with Stella and stuff. I heard it mighta been a thing.
[Or more that he'd taken what Welsh had said to mean that he was the second choice. Maybe that's okay though. He could deal with being second best.]
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It bore no resemblance, either, to the nights he'd spent curled into Victoria, making love so slowly and for so long that he'd slept most of the day away. This was the first time he'd been denied by a snowstorm; exploration and love, passion and longing, a partnership expanded to know more rather than two bodies sliding into each other for warmth.
When Ray pulled back away from the kiss, it was only the barest space, so that Fraser could still feel his breath against his mouth. He let himself capture that space again briefly, a kiss of reassurance as he thought of the words that could best answer the question. He only needed a second. ]
If he'd wanted it, I might have, for the sake of our partnership. I might have even adjusted to our being more than friends. [ He rubbed a circle against Ray's sternum as he spoke. ] But Ray was never anything but meticulously straight, and quite besides that, Ray, not at all my type, as difficult as that might be to believe.
[ He reaches his hand higher brushing just the tips of his fingers over Ray's moist lower lip, and then he closed the distance again, kissed his mouth over his fingers, broke it again. ]
He's irritating, uncompromising, occasionally selfish, often arrogant, ceaselessly unwilling. I love him dearly, he's saved our lives more times than I can count, and he's nothing if not my best friend - reason enough to forgive him his flaws - but he's not you. Our relationship is incomparable to what we have.
[ He left the kiss where it was. When Ray was ready, he could take it over again, but Fraser felt like he needed to leave him a chance to absorb that. ]
Maybe other people made you feel that way. Maybe he did. [ He murmured softly. ] Maybe once upon a time I might have too, but it was never a competition between the two of you. Even if it was, look at what you have, Ray. You won. You have friends and you have me, and somewhere along the way you won back your self respect, and your passion for what you do. You'd almost lost that when we first met.
I am so proud of you Ray, and so very, very much in love with you.
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So maybe Vecchio isn't as much competition as Ray had thought, but he couldn't help feeling like second best to a guy who'd known Fraser much earlier on. Stanley had come in after that bonding had taken place, had missed Fraser's initial introduction to America, had missed helping his friend through so much of it, and missed being there for him when his father had died and his ex had screwed him over. He'd missed a lot, but he supposes he and Benton had had their own time together, had almost bonded on even ground of uncertainty. They'd certainly had some adventures together, and Vecchio could never claim to have spent months travelling alone with Fraser through the Canadian wilderness.
He had won. He didn't have Stella any more, but he had a job he'd learned to love again with a partner who made every part of it better. Life wouldn't be the same without Fraser, and Kowalski's got no clue how Vecchio can just up and leave to the other side of the country. Maybe that Italian asshole didn't appreciate what he already had any more than Stella did. They'd be good for each other.
And then Fraser's saying that 'L' word. Ray does wonder why he's not as surprised by it as he thought he would be, but it's really no different from all the times Fraser's proclaimed to be his partner and his friend. It was said with the exact same affection and Ray's pretty sure he means it. Canadian's don't lie.]
Yeah? You mean that? [So pleased and hopeful.]
I guess Vecchio doesn't know what he's missin' out on. Stella and Florida got nothin' on this. You might be a freak, Fraser, but you're my freak.
[Ray would take the freezing winter of the North over the muggy warmth of Florida any day, especially when he gets to keep Fraser and Dief by his side.
Of course he can't help but offer a flick of his tongue against Fraser's lips, a quick lick against them, just a little taunting.]
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[ It wasn't altogether clear what had made him so happy. The declaration of his being a freak, or the fact that Ray said it so possessively and with such affection that it was the equivalent of his saying "I love you too, Fraser" without actually doing so. Translating Rayspeak was important sometimes too; sometimes it didn't come out in pure English, was gently transformed or manipulated so as to better protect the speaker. This was one of those moments.
Or maybe his little "Mmm" was a sound of contentment where Ray's tongue dashed against his lips. Maybe it was a thoughtful "Mmm" that had more to do with what Fraser intended to do now that he'd been baited so beautifully.
Maybe it was all those things and more, a little nod of confirmation to the invitation that was their own happy ever after. No more Ray or Stella or Florida; but they had each other and that worked for them in a way that was closer to perfect than either of them had ever had.
For right now, it could just be the kiss. Ray's concerns had been addressed, and he was inviting Fraser back in. This moment was the one they'd been chasing up to, where wild desperate kisses in semi-public spaces finally gave way to time alone. Where they could kiss, and put their hands all over each other and let it build into whatever it wanted to become without reservation--restrained only perhaps by whatever Ray would let him have.
He slid half up into Ray's lap as he kissed him, tipping his weight forward, sliding his mouth firmly against Ray's and letting their tongues catch and slide and grind against each other. Desire stoked for the night like a fire, Fraser sought out the heat of his partner's mouth like he was coming in from a blizzard, longing for the safety and comfort of the familiar, but willing to draw it out for as long as they both could stand.
He was really kissing Ray, he thought again, with contentment this time. With the understanding that this wasn't going to go away--at least not for so long as Fraser held on as tightly as he could. Now they'd passed those barriers he could kiss Ray whenever he liked, could be kissed whenever Ray elected to do so. Their lives had changed, even if it was just in that simple physical way, and Fraser couldn't help but think it was for the better.
He felt loved. He loved. This was what living was really about.
He tried to guide Ray down on the couch without really forcing the matter, his free hand sliding up across his partner's side again, drawing his tongue back with such languid grace as to invite Ray to take his mouth in turn. It was give and take with Fraser--it hadn't always been that way. Ray had made him that way. ]
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Yes, good, put that mouth to better use. Ray's already learning that it's a damn fine mouth, and a skilled one at that. Maybe it's all that licking Benton gets up to, or perhaps he's just read it from some book like he does with so many other things. Doesn't really matter so long as it's good, and Ray responds to it steadily, no rushing or pushing like they'd been doing moments before in the elevator.
Fraser was climbing into his lap, pushing into the kiss and using his weight as leverage. Ray didn't fight it, relaxing under the suggestion as he slid back into the seat, his back settling into the cushioned arm and allowing him to support his partners weight if needed. Both arms curl around Fraser's waist, loose but encouraging, hands settling at his lower back.
This he could manage. This was easy going and relaxing on his jittery, alcohol fuelled thoughts. Grappling and fighting over clothing was an all too appealing notion, but Ray's not sure if he'd lock up the second the underwear came off. No, this was better. This was more like dancing, one step at a time, building up to something beautiful.
He took the invitation of the kiss, chasing Benton's tongue with his own, curling and twisting against teeth and tongue with Ray's usual rapid sort of eagerness, even if the rest of his actions were slow and purposeful.]
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Now the future took the shape of Ray's body under his own. Of his mouth, his demanding tongue, the scrape of his teeth. It was quick and slow at once, deliberate and yet all over the place, and that was Ray through and through. Fraser sucked on his tongue, taking advantage of the moment in reflection of the way Ray had plundered his mouth as they left the elevator, and he shifted his legs and weight over, staying up in Ray's lap but now half straddling him, one knee up against his side, his other thigh between Ray's legs, his hip and Ray's hands keeping him in balance.
Oh they were dancing alright, but there were no steps, not with their feet off the ground. If angels danced, this would be how they did it. No hands and no feet, flying high on emotion and arousal. His hands rubbed up Ray's sides and crossed his chest, but there was no stopping to linger on his nipples--Fraser treated them like everything else, ran his hands across and moved on, curled into the wings of muscle of Ray's back instead.
The last time he'd tried to generate some friction between them, Ray had held him very still--vice like, even. This time he tried to be at least a little more subtle about it, languidly rocking his body against Ray's, panting sucking breaths into the kiss; slow and purposeful. It didn't demand anything more than a little bump and grind, and it was more instinct than anything else. Short of strapping Fraser down there wasn't going to be any keeping him absolutely still when it came to this. This was what all those muscles were really made for. Shifting, moving, working, rather than the constant stillness of a Mountie whose life was a parade.
A whole other side of him.
He bit Ray's bottom lip, withdrawing just for a moment, his eyelashes concealing the hunger in his eyes. ]
You can touch me too. If you want. [ It meant 'I'd like you to', but Fraser was careful to include 'If you feel like it's appropriate' in the general meaning. Just because Ray was down with the kissing didn't mean he'd necessarily want to touch, and that could be okay. This was still experimental, exploratory. ]
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This could work. There's no reason why it couldn't. The two of them had resolved and worked their way through more arguments than Ray ever could with Stella. It was communication that had worked for them so well, some sort of understanding between the two during their working partnership that had meant they could read each other even when nothing was said. Stella had always complained that Ray didn't know how to talk to her, but perhaps she just didn't know how to listen to him, how to understand and read beyond his fumbled words and fast movements. Fraser knew Ray's language and in turn Ray had learned Fraser's.
And Fraser was definitely speaking his language now. Those drifting hands and purposeful rolls into him were enough to get him panting and gasping out softly into Benton's mouth, arching just lightly under him in encouragement.
He's almost glad when Benton withdraws, humming out a low groan at the teeth at his lip but sucking in a few well needed deep breaths.
Touch Fraser. If he wanted.
Of course he wanted. It was just such an alien concept to him to be getting this close, this intimate with virtually anyone but Stella. Sure, there'd been the odd woman here and there, but this slow and steady arching and curling into one another on the couch wasn't something he got a chance to often do. Especially not with male buddies.]
Yeah.
[Because that single word can mean a million different things, but right now it's something of a hesitant agreement. Yeah, he wanted.]
Hey, uh. Can I... uh?
[One arm slides free from Fraser's waist, and yes, that is his hand drifting to the front of his partner's jeans, fingers popping the button open while his eyes meet with that hungry gaze of Benton's, a questing, curious look in his own greyblue eyes. So maybe he had just given a lecture on his general disinterest in dicks, but this was different. It was just going to be a peek. A look. Maybe a touch. And this was Fraser, not some random guy.]
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For Ray, it must have given him similar confidence. Fraser just hoped it didn't fracture, hoped he didn't get overconfident and find himself regretting it when the reality ended up being too much to handle. Like Ray had said, he wasn't in it for cocks, and like it or not that was what Fraser had. No pretty feminine curves - although there was something undeniably feminine to his face that he'd taken advantage of before - no feminine parts. Make or break.
Honestly, he'd expected hands on his chest first, something experimental, fingers in his hair--he wasn't sure. Instead Ray's arm dropped back, one hand questing down the front of his jeans, plucking open the button. He exhaled a little harder, but he didn't break Ray's gaze to look down, at least not at first.
The thing was that as much as he was afraid of what might happen if he unsettled Ray, he was as much anticipating, wanting. He wanted to be looked at, wanted to be touched, and he couldn't really fight down that desire. Certainly if they were going to go further, they had to get past this stage first. He licked his lips in earnest, his mouth wet and his lips decidedly dry, shifting his hips forward, watching Ray--watching Ray's hand. ]
Do it.
[ And if he sounded the least bit desperate it was because he was. Aching, but also needing to establish their boundaries. He needed to know one way or the other whether this would be too much, and with every second that passed the question just resounded--could Ray do this? If he couldn't do it now would he ever be able to? Could he - would he - touch him, the way Fraser desperately needed to--wanted to be touched.
He tried to resist the urge to press up into that hand again, since the first time when the instinct had caught him off guard. He didn't want to frighten him, had to hold on. He held his breath; kept holding it. ]
Do it [ Whispered. ] Please.
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He'd touched Fraser a million times before, a friendship that had stood the test of a hundred different life threatening moments that had only brought them closer each time. There'd been plenty of touching in the last few years, of buddy embraces and helping hands and huddling close for warmth. Canada had practically been nothing but close contact, where they spent months on end barely ever apart, and Ray learnt not to give the slightest of shits at whatever Fraser had to throw at him. Get naked and roll around in the snow? Sure, sounds totally fucking logical. Strip off for hot springs and those weird ass sauna huts? Whatever, might as well. Cuddle up close for body warmth? Well, it sure is cold enough not to argue with that one. And so on it went.
So Ray had seen it all, done it all. Well, almost all of it. He'd seen Fraser with his clothes off enough times now to know what to expect, and there's an unconscious knowledge of every inch of skin that he's seen. There's more than enough times that he's touched it too. Maybe not bare skin, not often, but damn he's had his hands on far too many bits of Fraser over the years, and now he's got lips to add to the list.
Dick is the next step. It has to be. He's touched and seen almost everything else, even if it'd all been strictly platonic at the time (at least he assumes it had been). Sure, he's seen it before, but it's not like he's ever stared. That's not buddies. Buddies don't take long, considering looks at each other's dicks, they just accept that it exists and it's there and that they're both naked and they get on with life. They certainly don't touch each other's dicks, not unless there's some totally life threatening reason where dicks must be touched, but that's some rule in the buddy code, Ray's sure of it.]
Y'know this is like a one way ticket to uh. To some place that's not buddies. A dick is a dick though, right?
[A reminder to himself just as much as it is to Fraser. But Fraser's already approved it, and Ray's already thought about it too much to back out now. If he backs out now he's always going to be wondering 'what if', and thinking about a guys dick forever more is probably much worse than actually going for it.
And so he goes for it, peering down between them as thumbs down the zipper and tugs at the jeans to give them both a little more working room and then, after the briefest pause for thought, tugs at those boxers too. Best to get the guy fully out of the house rather than peeking through a God damn window. And yes, Ray's looking, because he's been allowed to look.]
Heh, there he is.
[Dicks are a very mature subject for a guy like Ray.]
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But exposing himself to him, and in particular being exposed by Ray himself, like his partner was opening him like a Christmas gift. That took a certain amount of restraint, and it was a challenge that Fraser hadn't realised would make such an impact on him when it came. It seemed like such an unremarkable thing, after all it was absolutely necessary if the two of them were going to explore any kind of sexuality in this situation--which was the plan, at least in Fraser's mind. But actually doing it...
Ray hadn't even helped him in and out of his clothes when he was running a fever, and though they'd been naked in front of each other - even with each other - before, in relieved moments where they'd found a hot spring or quick rolls in the snow, there was an unspoken rule of not looking (that Fraser had none the less broken on one or two occasions, to be fair) that held to this moment.
So he was remarkably tense as he waited, his right arm uncoiling from Ray to make space between them. He looked down into the gap, trying to keep his breathing steady as Ray's thumb worked the zipper down, and then he was rolling his hips, helping dislodge the jeans slightly, boxers slipping down his hips, his half hard erection springing free with a certainty that made Fraser hiss, turning his head into Ray's neck.
He flushed at his partner's words, ducked his forehead against Ray's throat. ]
God--I mean. I mean--that's very good, Ray. [ He shivered, licked his lips and panted into the hot gap between his own neck and Ray's collarbone. ] See...do you see anything you like?
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If adjusting to dick was one of the only compromises he had to make, then things might not be so bad after all. Especially not if the mere act of exposing Fraser is enough to have him panting and stuttering over his words.
Ray can't help the low chuckle that he exhales out against Benton's ear, nuzzling in against his head to try and keep his viewing window clear. There's something about those words coming from his partner that entertains, the idea of dirty talk sounding just a little surreal coming from Fraser's lips and yet somehow that makes it all the more appealing. It's unheard of, not something anyone but him gets to hear, and that makes it damn special. Yes, he sees something he very much likes, but he saw that long before the pants came off.]
Yeah. Yeah, I can get with this.
[His hand hesitates nearby, resting at the top of Fraser's thigh as his thumb circles right near the base of that half-hard erection.]
So uh, you get this guy out much? I mean, no offence Fraze, but I'm havin' a hard time imaginin' you spankin' one out every night at the consulate.
[Because it's a totally appropriate conversation that needs to be discussed, and Ray can ask these sort of questions kthx.]