Benton Fraser | Due South

[dogsled]

BENTON FRASER。

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

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[kickem]

[God, what he wouldn't do to punch that asshole right in the face. Bite that patronising hand that touched him. Anything that would give him some level of satisfaction that he gave as good as he was getting. But no. Even he knew what a dumb idea that would be, and for once Stan had enough self restraint to know that physical violence might not solve everything ever, especially not when his friend is at risk too.]

Yeah...

[Mumbled yet again, more to himself than anyone, his attention turning back to the Mountie beneath him and, more specifically, his hand settled at the button of those jeans. He wouldn't be able to grip reassuringly to Fraser's hand, not where he was right now, sat upright and having to sort out all this clothing removal thing (what little clothing was left). Ray would have his hands occupied, but Fraser... well...]

Uh. Hey, uh.

[His hand briefly lifts moving to the other wrist and fumbles with the beaded bracelet there. It wasn't one he removed often, so there was a few awkward seconds of wrestling with it, but then it's off and shoved in Fraser's grip with a firm nod from Ray like he's certain that will somehow solve every issue ever.

And then his fingers are drifting south again, popping open the button and dragging down the zip without a fuss and yet faltering at that point. They were partners. Nothing else mattered. That's what Fraser had said, right? So this? They could get past this. Ain't no big thang. Although maybe there is one kind of big thing that he has to contend with at he quietly peels down those jeans and, shortly after, the boxers beneath. He doesn't get far, but it's enough to reveal what's beneath, and Stan can't help but exhale out a shuddering breath that he's not even aware he'd been holding.]

Fuck...

[dogsled]

[ It was awful to watch. Ray wasn't outwardly violent, no, but the words he used, and the presence he had as he pressed closer, looming and threatening with the gun in his partner's ribs, almost close enough to kiss him but meaning to do everything but. What Ray proposed doing to him was despicable--not that it was much better what he was proposing for Ray to do to Fraser.

Still, watching Ray submit the way he did was one of the hardest things that Fraser had ever seen. Watching him peel away from the hand on his cheek like a beaten dog cowering underneath the pressure. It was almost as hard to see as Ray Vecchio becoming a monster in front of his eyes, and while he'd once loved this man like a brother, the fact was that he wasn't that man any more, and Fraser was repulsed by his touch, flinching away from it.

He couldn't look at Ray, so he looked at Stanley instead, and found that bracelet pressed firmly into his hand--an anchor point, and frankly the one part of Ray that Fraser thought that he didn't let anyone touch. It made him feel closer than ever to the man above him, which was what he needed in this moment, his breath catching as Ray obeyed his former partner's - the mobster's - instructions.

Ray's hands seemed to be steadier than Fraser expected them to be, but that wasn't a surprise. Ray had steady hands on his own weapon, and...

Fraser's breath staggered as he was exposed, half hard despite the regret and humiliation. It was still Ray that was with him, touching him, undressing him; Ray that he squeezed between his fingers, feeding each of the beads through them. ]

I'll--take that as a compliment.

[kickem]

[Ray wasn't too good at following orders, never had been, but he could when the time called for it. Welsh was one of the few who could keep Ray in check, but that was out of sheer respect. This? This wasn't respect or really a general consent to doing as he's told. This was him biding his time and keeping him and his partner safe until the time is right. If there's any opportunity to get his own back, he will without hesitation. He's just a chained dog waiting to bite, and even with the clear show of submission against that sneering asshole, Stan's still bristling with an obvious agitation, like some constant attitude problem that he can't quite keep at bay.

Whatever. He needs to refocus on something that isn't anger, because otherwise he's just going to wind himself up and do something he'll regret.

Fraser provided the perfect focal point, laying beneath Stan with ragged breath and a slight flush like he might just be enjoying some side of this. His half hard dick gave a lot of that away too, and Ray really can't help but stare for a second.]

Heh. Show-er and a grower. No fuckin' surprise there.

[What with Fraser being Mr. Perfect and all. Of course he'd be just as appealing with his clothes off.]

So uh. Can I uh. I uh gotta touch, I guess.

[He concludes, his voice kept consistently quiet like somehow the other guys and the camera in the room won't hear him if he speaks a little softer. It's flawed logic, of course, but it makes him feel just a little more secure.

What doesn't make him feel secure is having to do crap like this, but his hand still drifts after the suggestion, fingers dusting up from the waistband to drift through dark curls and then, ever so briefly, the sensitive skin of his partner's cock. This was uncharted territory, but maybe if he could just consider this as his own, then muscle memory might just take over. It's an odd angle for his hands to quite recognise it as normal, but he still manages to persuade his fingers to return, coiling a light grip around the base and settling there like he's not quite sure where to go from there.]

We good...?