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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Comments

[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...?