Benton Fraser | Due South

[dogsled]

BENTON FRASER。

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

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[dogsled]

[ It's almost the lack of synchronization that undoes him in the end. Maybe it's the way Ray says his name, or the mouth on his throat, or the last snap of Ray's hips. Maybe it's the actual feeling of pressure bursting like a faucet as Ray spills himself inside him. Maybe it's Ray's heartbeat against the palm of his hand as it lunged for several beats to full speed while his partner's breath roars against his throat. Maybe it's just everything about it together.

It's glorious, like being shown a piece of heaven, and Fraser's close--almost all the way there, but only almost, and since he wants to surmount that precipice, he doesn't even think twice before his hand slips from Ray's thigh, sliding into the hot space between them to wrap around Ray's hand. It's almost enough in of itself; it takes no more than a single stroke, and the tightening fist of tension closes its bearlike grip, seizing in and then releasing with a bright burst that leaves the world spinning behind. Where Ray groaned against his skin, Fraser cries out so loud that the ears of the wilderness itself hears him, and outside in the snow one of the dogs - not Dief, obviously - starts up a howl that within moments the whole dog pack are echoing.

Any ability it might have had to put him off is inconsequential in the aftermath. Instead it's a soundtrack to Fraser's heavy breathing, his hand still tight around Ray's, as though afraid to let go, afraid to budge an inch and feel the real, sticky truth of what they'd done. No, not afraid--he wasn't in the slightest bit apprehensive. He just didn't want to. There were moments of stillness, and there were moments of stillness, and Fraser wanted to frame this moment, this feeling, for as long as he possibly could. ]

[kickem]

[It takes Fraser's hand at his to remind Ray it's not quite over yet. He could barely even remember his own name, let alone what he's supposed to be doing, his forgetfulness more out of current high than any shred of selfishness.

But he helps where he can, fingers curling tighter as he moves with Fraser, barely even started up again before it's over. And before Ray's even had a chance to piece himself together, he's got Fraser arching under him with a shout that rivals Ray's usual rowdiness, drowning out another muffled moan from him at just how tight Fraser gets around him.

The dogs are a nice touch- something Ray would normal be agitated by and yet tonight finding the nearby howling oddly soothing. Like a distant soundtrack to accompany the heavy breaths and light groans deep within the tent. He doesn't move, instead becoming a dead weight on Fraser, almost boneless as he tries to at least gather enough energy to steady his breathing. Despite his face still buried against the crook of Fraser's neck, he does manage a panted and heavily muffled statement.] Holy fuck, Fraser...

[dogsled]

[ Holy fuck indeed.

Not that Fraser has much fight in him left to tell Ray off for his language. His eyes are half closed, his legs wound tight around the backs of Ray's, wrapped like vices that had slowly tightened their grip throughout their coupling. His hand slowly releases, though his fingers feel like the cartilage in the joints has fused together they're so stiff, and the feeling of stickiness is there as anticipated. Unabashedly he raises his fingers, lets them slide against Ray's stomach just for a moment, before he slips his hand free, using almost the last of his energy to drop it across Ray's hip casually instead.

Fraser licks his lips, tilts his head forward ever so slightly, letting his slowing breath linger against Ray's ear, and purrs out his own appreciative words. His voice is a low rumble from his afterglow, quite the opposite of the shout from before, though it's more than obvious that this kind of thing loosens him up. His guard is down--it may even stay that way for days. He can't help it, it's just the way he's wired ]

You weren't bad yourself.

[kickem]

Heh.

[The weakest noise of amusement at those words, finally shifting his weight enough to lean back on his elbow and lift slightly. Barely enough to draw himself away, but enough to finally get a better glimpse of Fraser.

The sight gets an already lazy smile spreading bigger, taking in the flushed face, the tired eyes, the less-than-perfect hair. It's a view he never knew he'd needed, but now that he's seen it, he thinks it might just be the most satisfying sight he's ever seen.]

Y'look so damn good. [And Ray's backing his words up by leaning down to press his lips to Fraser's, lingering but lazy.]

[dogsled]

[ It's fortunate Ray doesn't go far, because Fraser isn't quite ready to let him yet, not ready to let Ray pull out or pull away. It at least lets him get his other arm free, though, since it's long since crumpled from the effort of keeping Ray up--about the time he buried his face in his neck, come to think of it.

He should feel self conscious, he supposes, but now all Fraser feels is serene. It's the kind of satisfying serenity that falls like virgin snow; nothing in he world can be wrong so long as he feels like this, so long as someone is looking at him the way Ray is, touching him the way Ray has. He feels exhausted, spent, but perfectly...satiated, balanced even, as though he's accomplished the one thing that's been holding him back for years. Nevermind the sweat clinging to every hollow of his body, the rapidly trying wet patch on his stomach, between his thighs, the ache in muscles he never realised he might need to use.

He feels good, and when Ray kisses him he reaches up, albeit with his sticky hand - an unusual oversight - and slides his fingers against Ray's cheek, presses them into the hair just above his ear, blonde strands dark damp with sweat, palm still flat against stubble as he urges the sweet kiss to linger. And he's aware that Ray is being still, tender, in a way he so rarely sees but deeply appreciates. Maybe because he's just exhausted, but Fraser can live with that--after all, he's the one who exhausted him.

And hopefully it wouldn't be the last time. ]

[kickem]

[It's almost ironic to think that this all led from some sound advice that overheating and dry sweat would become uncomfortable in their current climate. Now both of them lay drenched with the added bonus of stickiness to throw in. At least the clothing remains clean and intact.

But Ray doesn't care about any of that, doesn't care about Fraser wiping a sticky hand on his stomach or lifting it to his face. Doesn't even care that it's against his cheek and in his hair. Ray just wants Fraser, every part of him and when that hand settles beside the kiss he's happy to oblige to the silent wishes of letting it last, lapping his tongue briefly out against Fraser's lips, and scraping against them with a lethargic drag of his teeth. He mumbles something totally intelligible into the kiss, something that might not have even meant anything or something that he's not even aware he's saying.

He's definitely exhausted. It's amazing that he hasn't already fallen asleep after the long day they'd had, but as tiring as all this is Ray doesn't want to end it. There's a distant concern that he'll wake up with this as a distant dream, something that never happened. Or perhaps that somehow the morning will change it all, ruin what closeness they've shared. It's happened before; his later time with Stella full of nights of passion and mornings filled with arguments until it all eventually stopped. God, he doesn't want that, but this? This is different. Fraser's not Stella. He's so much more. This was a connection on a while new level.]

[dogsled]

[ Fraser, who can interpret conversation from sign language, reading lips, whining dogs and through cloth gags, can surely manage hearing Ray's completely interpretable words when they're mumbled so clearly into his mouth. He didn't respond - though obviously they were the kind of words that deserved a response - instead just going about enjoying the kiss as thoroughly as he possibly could. It was long, passionate and languishing, a kiss borne from exertion and gentle lingering affection.

He wanted Ray to know, now - in case he hadn't already guessed as much - that everything they'd done together tonight came from the same place as this kiss did; from a place of love. It didn't need to be said out loud, though obviously it already had been. But as he knew Ray couldn't understand mumbles as competently as he could speak them, Fraser settled for communicating as much love as he could in the kiss instead, and when it slowly broke, Fraser still did his best to linger, trying to comfort Ray that he had no intention of disappearing.

And so long as Ray didn't betray him and leave him in the wilderness to die it would be a step up on all of Fraser's morning-afters, too.

Gently Fraser pushed himself upward, tipping Ray over to one side in the furs. They were still entangled, and Fraser had no intention of wriggling himself any further free, too tired from their activities to fight it any more. Especially since, unlike Ray, he'd have to wake up to reload the fire in a half hour or so. He kissed the curve of Ray's jaw. ]

Everything will be where you left it in the morning, Ray. Everything, even me.

[ They both needed the assurance. ]

[kickem]

[The kiss they started with and the kiss they've ended with are two entirely different beasts, one curious, desperate and needy, the other languid, assuring and satisfied. But both stem from the same feelings, both making the same point about an attachment they show for each other.

When it does finally taper off, Ray's ending it with a content sounding exhale, barely even reacting as Fraser rolls them onto their sides. He makes sure to sling an arm heavily over his partner in the vague hope of keeping him there for longer, but he doesn't have the energy to start getting overly clingy.

Sometimes Ray's not sure if Fraser can read minds, or if he really is just that damn receptive to utterances and body language. Mind reading seems to be the only explanation for it this time around, as Fraser voices words to concerns that Ray was sure he'd only thought about (those muttered words aren't something he can remember). Whatever the excuse, Fraser's voice offers the comfort he needs; a solid reassurance that it's safe for Ray to embrace sleep. After all, Benton never lies.

Finally his breathing slows, limbs heavy and eyes drift shut, but before he lets sleep fully embrace him Ray manages a barely there mutter.] Don't go too far...

[And then he's out for the count, warm, comfortable and totally sated. At least until morning.]