thelockbox | Benton Fraser

[ Fraser should have been warned. Someone should have warned him that Americans could do this very well. In the Yukon, getting in and out of clothes was all about haste and practicality. Stopping to actually absorb the show didn't occur to people when it was ten degrees below. Ray, on the other hand--Ray knew what he was doing, and Fraser was by no means ready for what the demonstration would do to him.

It was true. If they did this in the club and somehow Ray was able to be submissive in a public venue, Fraser would ruin the whole thing in short shrift, either by being too conservative or else melting under the power of a single lascivious look.

Or in this case a grin.

Maybe it was because Ray had caught him looking. From the start he hadn't been able to take his eyes off him, and even though at one point he deftly reached out to push Ray's gunbelt - and his own, similarly discarded - into the top drawer of his desk, Fraser hadn't so much as glanced down to do it. His cheeks were flushed, lips already bruising from the kiss, slightly parted, and as Ray's hands flattened against his abs it took everything in his power not to reach out. The cocky smile was his final breaking point. Instinctively Fraser laid his hand in the very center of Ray's bare chest, as though he could somehow hold the effect Ray was having on him down.

It didn't work. The bare skin under his hand was hot, and Fraser's hand crept higher, and a moment later he was leaning over him again, skin almost touching skin, his face tilted back slightly away from Ray's. It was fortunate he'd come up with this part ten minutes before. Without his predisposition to plan in advance, Fraser would be speechless now, and Ray and his mischievous grin would have won. ]

We're going to play a game, Ray. [ His hand moved back down again. Fraser was almost close enough to kiss him. Almost. ] The rules are very simple. I ask you a trivia question about myself, and for every right answer you give me--well, you'll see. Do you want to play? Of course you do.

[ It wasn't as though Ray had a choice. That was Fraser's call to make. ]

The first one is easy. What year was I born?

Edited 2014-07-17 01:50 (UTC)

[That method was experimental on Ray's behalf, seeing just what buttons he could push while still doing as he's told. It would appear there were ways to make himself feel in control for just seconds at a time while following orders, just like in his work. This time it just meant throwing a few tempting glances and lascivious little smiles. He can work with that, and apparently it works just fine with Fraser too who certainly looks to be appreciating the show judging by the unwavering stare.

The top is tossed aside carelessly, his arms behind himself and using his elbows to prop him up just enough that when Ray leans down they're practically torso to torso. His heart thumps against the warm touch of a hand, his slim chest rising and falling under it and he briefly considers how the skin almost burns under the heat of Fraser's palm.

There's some surprise that Fraser's even able to structure proper sentences, but worse is the fact he's asking Ray to do the same. To think. Ray knows Fraser's basics, knows the file he glanced at before he met, but that seems so long ago. How Ray's meant to recall any information while laying under Fraser, let alone his own birth date, is a mystery. Oh and thanks for making decisions for him Fraser, real appreciated.]

Uh. [He stares for a moment, distracted but trying desperately to kick his brain into gear.]

Nineteen, uh. Nineteen.. sixty-- uh. [God, it's got to be around then, similar ages. He's trying desperately to recall those files.] Nineteen sixty... ?

Edited 2014-07-17 02:16 (UTC)

[ Trying to think straight is how Fraser gets out of most situations like this, and in this one all he wants is a little bit of rudimentary control, the chance to do something before his bones turn to slush from the efforts of the volcanic hot blood in his veins melting the rest of him away.

That isn't to say that Fraser intends to play fair, and as soon as Ray begins to try to speak, Fraser lowers himself several inches, pressing a kiss to the center of Ray's chest, just above his fingers. He lays his cheek down, dragging it over to the left. Nineteen sixty, Ray says. Good start. He's almost there.

And surely this one is plenty simple. Surely Ray remembers when he was born. After all it isn't much to ask that his closet friend actually remembered any of the things Fraser told him, right? Really, Kowalski! You had one job!

But Fraser waits, and nothing materialises, and his eyes flick briefly up toward his partner's again. Well okay then. If he's disappointed, Fraser doesn't show it; instead he keeps on. His mouth smooths kisses against Ray's right pectoral - Fraser's left - and his tongue lathes across Ray's nipple, no hesitation at all as hit mouth closes over it.

No hesitation when he bites, just hard enough to cause pain. ]

Sixty-two. [ And because it wasn't easy enough, apparently-- ] What's my father's name, Ray?

Edited 2014-07-17 02:42 (UTC)

[Ray's energy is definitely back in full force, jittering slightly as he lays still under Fraser, a coil of anxious nerves as his answer sits in the air. He knows it's wrong, deep down, but it's a guessing game with the space of a few years. If he actually really thought about it he might have dragged the answer up, but Fraser really isn't helping the matter with his lips.

He watches Fraser carefully and the second their eyes connect he knows he's got it wrong. Not that he has much time to worry himself over it because without warning there's teeth, and they're biting sharply around the flesh of his nipple. Ray hisses out heavily, unable to recoil beyond jerking under Fraser's weight.]

Ahh! Fraser! Wh-- [What the actual fuck. Although his rant is rather thankfully cut short as the next question comes, Ray briefly dwelling on the last answer, and he pants out heavily. That bite certainly got his blood flowing.]

Sixty-two. I meant sixty-two. I knew that. I... [Come on Ray, focus.] Gad, uh. I don't... uh... Robert!

Edited 2014-07-17 03:04 (UTC)

[ At least he'd be more careful about getting his answers right now; now that it was clear Fraser knew what to do with wrong answers after all. Fraser's bite was definitely worse than his bark, and the illusion of being the quiet, polite, gentle type worked in his favor when he did occasionally flash his teeth.

This time, Fraser lets Ray hang on the answer. It was right - and he deserved to see what getting a right answer would win him - but that didn't mean he couldn't keep him guessing, tension mounting.

Again Fraser brushed kisses across Ray's chest, contouring muscle with his lips, tasting the salt sweat on his skin. His other hand mirrored his kisses, working his fingertips in gentle circles, and as he took Ray delicately back into his mouth, soothing the bite with the full width of his tongue, he mirrored that too, stroking with thumb and forefinger, never pulling or scratching.

This time there's no sudden stop, no eye contact, no admonishing snap of teeth. Fraser's eyes close, and he lends himself to listening; listening to Ray's heartbeat, his breath, but most importantly listening for the first moan. The moan would be his indication to stop, and with any luck Ray would pick the pattern up quickly. ]

[It's never been in question that Fraser can be quite vicious if he let himself go, at least Ray had worked that out long ago. That much become obvious from limited displays during their working partnership and now Ray's being subjected to it in full force. Granted it's only a bite, but it's surprisingly effective in getting the point across.

As is Fraser's method of rewarding.

Ray does briefly wonder if his memory has failed him yet again and he's somehow got it wrong, but after some anticipation there seems no punishment coming. In fact, after some soft ministrations and kisses, Fraser seems to ramp up his action, causing Ray to squirm under him for entirely different reasons this time. The build up of gentle touches and a warm tongue quickly gets him panting under the other, rolling his head back as he accepts it eagerly. It's not long before one of his panting exhales sound out a soft groan, encouraging and needy.]

[ It feels like it takes everything in him just to get that far. By the time he withdraws Fraser is panting too, if only because it turned out that pinning down a twisting, writhing mess of Chicago detective was harder work than it looked, and it had seemed to him almost as though Ray had rubbed himself all over both the desk and Fraser himself in the process.

Breathing hard when he breaks away after the moan, it takes everything in Fraser's brain to try and stay connected to what he's trying to achieve, only this time before he asks the question Fraser brings his feet up off the floor, heaving himself up onto the desk to hover more thoroughly over his partner.

Clear his head, try and come up with an adequate question. Don't melt into a puddle at the smoky lust in Ray's eyes. Keep it together, Fraser!

Why was his mouth constantly dry when Ray has him all but salivating to step up the frenzy? ]

As you...know, Ray-- [ Breathing is nice, breathing is good, breathing is useful. ] --Diefenbaker lost his hearing when he...jumped into the frozen ocean to save me from drowning. But what was the body of water called? [ A pause. ] No, that's too hard. Too hard. [ Fraser shuddered. If he kept on with hard questions (difficulty was relative) like that they'd never get anything done. If he could barely think, he couldn't imagine how Ray felt. ] How about just my first name? Sound good?

[And just like that Fraser stops? Hardly fair to get Ray that worked up only to draw back once he really starts to get into it. Distantly he realises that that's probably the point, but it doesn't prevent Ray from grunting out his complaint.

He would voice his annoyance but he needs to give himself a second to get his breath back, shifting the weight off his elbows to flop his weight back onto the desk. Anything that was on it has mostly been shoved off by now, so at least his spot will be somewhat comfortable, if one can count solid wood comfortable to lay on.

As the next question comes he keeps his attention on Fraser, listening carefully as he tries to let the words sink in. The first question thankfully gets passed over in favour of something much, much simpler and Ray's stating his answer smugly.]

Benton. Benny. Ben. Do I get a prize for that, Ben? [One hand reaches out towards Fraser, looping around the back of his neck, a not so subtle hint to try and get him closer once more.]

[ It's not fair at all, and Fraser accepts that. Frankly any plans that he had to draw this out have evaporated with his own need, and Ray looks so good beneath him that it's almost hard to remember his own name in the first place. Fraser is distantly aware of the fact that he's not very good at this, that the giving orders thing has been a routine of very polite and diplomatic actions punctuated at last by Fraser submitting to his own pleasure more than Ray submitting to him. But it can't be helped, and at the very least intimacy probably isn't going to be a problem. In fact Fraser was almost sure he'd still be basking in the afterglow in 20 hours time, willing to do whatsoever Ray wanted without question (a frankly awful habit he's got into, to be quite honest).

He trusted Ray. He wanted him, and when he was urged down, Fraser let his mouth fall on Ray's without hesitation, though he broke the kiss only a moment into it to breathe-- ]

Only prize-- [ Wait for it. ] --worth having.

[ And then the kiss took over; not Fraser, the kiss itself was in control, and it was wet and earnest, bleeding passion and energy, and only served as a smokescreen to Fraser deftly unbuttoning Ray's fly with one hand, pressing his hand into warmth that gusted the overwhelming scent of arousal into the superheated space between their two bodies. His fingers curled around Ray without hesitation, and Fraser gasped into the kiss, arching his own back. His booted foot slipped on the glossy surface of the desk.

Well. Ray did ask for a prize. ]

Edited 2014-07-17 04:55 (UTC)

[Ray hasn't exactly been holding up his end of the deal either, his initial promises of teaching thrown out the window almost immediately, far too distracted to give Fraser lectures on kinks. Doesn't seem like the Mountie is doing too bad anyway, he's certainly understood the basics of demands, rewards and punishments, not to mention a handy little lesson on familiarity as well. Better than Ray can manage to do in his current state of smug neediness.

He's glad for Fraser dropping into the kiss without much encouragement, Ray soon working with it after the words had been uttered. This was all definitely a prize worth having and if it had gone no further, he'd still be happy. But it does go further, and swiftly so, Fraser's hand between the two of them, working at the button and zipper of Ray's jeans and slipping within. The slightest touch has Ray arching heavily up into Fraser, working with his partner's own arch, and there's that squirming again, only tapered slightly by Ray's focus on the kiss. The light moans of breath are his appreciation, but just in case it needs it, Ray manages to gasp out some form of words against lips.] So good...

[ Distracted is good. Distracted is almost the name of the game now, because if Fraser stopped even for a second to think - assuming he could get his brain to function to do so - he'd be appalled with himself for rutting so shamelessly against Ray's hip, for every twitch and tug of his fingers, even for the hard, formless gasps of syllables panted against Ray's mouth. It's not really much of a kiss from Fraser's end by now, it's open mouthed and mostly breathing, inhales and exhales that gusted as of yet unrevealed passion straight into Ray's lungs. Not for a second does Fraser consciously think of himself, but there's enough space inside his breeches to make him painfully uncomfortable and enough desire for Ray to obscure it, a delirious mix of pleasure and pain that Fraser wouldn't think to question.

The kiss couldn't be kept up. Hell, Fraser could barely keep his head up, despite his efforts to the contrary, and when he eased back his eyes met Ray's for barely a second. Barely a second and already more than long enough. With a groan he pressed his face down into Ray's shoulder, and his blunt nails dug crescent moons in the lacquered surface beside Ray's head, muscles working, everything a riot of noise that left straight thought far behind. The Mountie was falling apart, knew it, and couldn't care less. A snowstorm raged behind his tightly closed eyes--he felt like he was shouting through it for his partner to hear him. ]

Ray!

[ Because they're not in the Consulate alone or anything... ]

Edited 2014-07-17 05:27 (UTC)

[Well, so much for not rutting around like pubescent teens, because between all the writhing and moaning, that's exactly what it's come down to. Not that Ray has any complaints, happy as he is to jerk and wriggle beneath Fraser's skilful hands, panting against his partners mouth as they both give up all attempts at a proper kiss while like this.

Ray wants to return the favour, and even with those breeches he manages to blindly fumble between them, brushing against Fraser's hand before finding the zipper and tugging it down. Trouble is, he's not even touched the Mountie and he's shouting out, so maybe, just maybe, it might be best to try and sort that out first.

Despite the heavy breathing, the groans, even the arousal, Ray manages to drag some sense back into his brain, tilting his head and lips towards Fraser's ear.]

C'mon, y'wanna wake the neighbourhood up? Just... [A soft groan to break the words up.] Tone it down before I gotta gag ya.

[The last thing he needs is anyone knocking on the door. Although he doesn't appear to make any attempt at helping Fraser with this keeping quiet thing, because once it's said he slips his own hand within, quickly making it's way to and carefully brushing fingers against Benton's arousal.]

[ As Ray speaks up, Fraser experiences a moment of surprise, a flicker of it that's there and gone in a heartbeat but is more than enough--if not to bring him crashing down to earth then certainly to slow his ascent. He didn't want to be floating around in the high atmosphere without Ray, and he realized at once that this was where he wanted to be. Right here in Chicago, not spinning in deep space or in the echoing wilderness where noone could hear him cry out.

Here. With Ray.

He'd almost managed to shake his way out of delirium when Ray touched him. Everything span, and for a second that was all Fraser could feel: disorientation and the sensation of being about to pop out of his skin, and Ray's erection squeezed maybe too hard between his fingers. He bit clean into his bottom lip to keep quiet, and the pain was dazzling, spots dancing behind his tightly closed eyes. Dancing, spinning, whirling--wait, wait. Reality. Reality and Ray.

Fraser managed to peel open his eyes, force himself to unclamp his left hand, and though the effort made him shudder head to toe, he found the height to look down at Ray again, trying to negotiate a position where he could lock his shoulder and maintain it. His lips glistened red, but some of the clarity had at last come back into his eyes. Some of the recognition. ]

Ray. [ More softly this time, though he had to expel the rest of his excess energy as a gasp thereafter. ] Are you... [ He didn't even know what he was asking. Was Ray okay? Comfortable? Had Fraser hurt him? Could he keep up? ...Maybe a gag wasn't a bad idea. But he couldn't think of his questions long enough to express them; not with the state of his desire, and the idea of moving off the desk was so remote it may as well have been in Greenland. ]

Edited 2014-07-17 13:38 (UTC)

[Almost amazing how, out of the two of them, it's Fraser that's losing himself. How that glazed look and far away feel- which Ray had picked up on- was happening from the usually controlled Mountie rather than the out of control cop. But maybe that's what happens when you keep yourself locked up so tightly, when you finally open the floodgates. Ray, on the other hand, is very good at controlling the out of control. He's used to his mind racing a hundred miles an hour, used to having his emotions sizzling and his body shivering with anticipation, used to the knots of anxiety in his stomach and the flighty instincts of his body. This isn't beyond affecting him, not by any means, but there's something a little more aware about his light moans and quiet writhes.

At least Fraser's not beyond speech, if one can call those few gasped words that. But Ray gets what the Mountie means and he's nodding his distant approval. He gets what Fraser's aiming for and his answer to virtually all of it is a resounding yes.]

Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. [Huffed out with satisfaction as his hips still arch unconsciously into the touch, even that hard clamp down from earlier getting little more than a guttural growl from him. Maybe he likes that sort of thing, maybe he's just aware it's not on purpose, either way he doesn't complain.

He sees the struggle behind Fraser's eyes enough to halt the movements of his hand for a moment, still maintaining a loose grip while his other hand reaches up to cup Fraser's chin.] C'mere. Hey, hey, stay with me.

[He lifts himself enough to make contact, lips very briefly brushing against Fraser's before he diverts his attention to that abused bottom lip, sucking on it lightly as his tongue soothes against it.]

[ Maybe that's it. All these years of suppressing anything should it prove too flustering, are finally catching up to him. It isn't like he drops into bed at the end of the day and relieves any tension; Fraser is Constable Tension. Besides the regimented sleep pattern, Diefenbaker's company and the fact that summoning explicit images of anyone without their knowledge wouldn't fit into his rigid ethics code, Fraser is as close to being repressed as a man can come.

Which is why they're here, and when Ray's other hand settled on his jaw, he feels the anchor chain snap taught, reality at last halting his spinning away.

Stay with me. Who was giving the orders now?

Fraser was still just trying to concentrate on breathing; his intakes of breaths husky beyond his control, as they would be if he were climbing a mountain with a knife in his leg. There's no pain, though--there's just Ray. Ray craning his neck enough to brush a kiss to his lips, lathing against the copper taste of blood, soothing swollen flesh. Fraser moaned a low note, exhaled it against Ray's lips, gave back the inches so that his friend didn't have to crane so far to reach him.

And as the world began to slow back down to a workable pace, he stayed with Ray, and trusted himself to move his hand again; a slow, steady friction. ]

[It's clear enough from Ray's skilled hand that he knows a thing or two about how to handle a dick. He has no such code of ethics or regimented sleep patterns that prevent him from going home and keeping himself satisfied for the evening, and it's not like it's a frequent occurrence but it most certainly happens. It's a natural thing for a lonely soul.

With time Ray senses Fraser drifting back into reality, feels him bend against the touches and the half there kiss, grateful for the give he gets in having to stretch up. His muscles are already tired, his body feeling the onset of exhaustion as a constant flow of adrenaline leaves him feeling drained.]

Better. [He decides out loud, especially as that hand starts to work again, trying to keep in sync with the other.] You with me?

[Whatever little world it is that Fraser drifts off too, Ray wants to at least make sure he can come along, if not drag him back to reality.]

Yes.

[ Another soft breath. He did feel better, did feel as though he and Ray were finally in the same place, and he shifted again on the desk, winding his leg through Ray's, sliding down against him so that his head was braced against his shoulder, fingers curling around the opposite edge of the desk for purchase. Inexperienced with his hands though he was, Fraser made up for it with tenderness and a fair amount of pure mimicry.

Words - actual words - managed to emerge again despite his exertion. ]

You won't let me go?

[ Nose to nose, eye to eye, but Fraser didn't reach for any more kisses. He wanted to ground himself here, and maybe he could find that in Ray's eyes. Maybe he could stop himself from getting lost if he could only keep from breaking that gaze. Exhausted, sweat slick, so that Fraser wondered idly - bizarrely out of the blue - whether he'd have to physically peel Ray off the sticky desk afterward, he kept slow, patient, a rolling rhythm that kept Ray's arm trapped in place between their bodies while his own continued to set the pace. It was heady and slow, but passionate; Ray and Fraser meeting in the middle, their respective paces accomplishing a balanced center. ]

[There's certainly no complaints from Ray about Fraser's handiwork, rolling into the touch as he desperately tries to keep some sense of rhythm between the both of them. Their earlier dancing still in effect, working to their own music as their bodies work in unison to get as much pleasure as they can.

While one leg was intertwined, he lifts the other, bending it at the knee to put his boot solidly against the desk edge, the bent leg framing them in and offering that little extra support for Ray to arch and roll up into Fraser.]

I got you. [Fraser can take what he wants from that grunted statement, because Ray's not elaborating, busy as he is with tightening his grip and making that pace a little more speedy while still trying not to fall out of sync. It was a careful balance of movement throughout and Rays surprisingly good at keeping it working together, although it helps to have a partner who can read and react as well as Fraser.]

[ Reactive is what he is, and it's how he responds, though the increase in pace none the less has him gritting his teeth in concentration. He wanted to see, to watch. Imagination didn't come into it; Fraser wanted to actually see and memorize just as much as he could. Memory wasn't something he was taking from other people, nor was it something that could be taken from him.

Ray wound himself closer, Fraser resisted--physically but not physically. He whimpered softly into the half an inch between them. Truly, Fraser had no complaints either, not when Ray was demonstrating such talent. The music was building; Fraser could hear it again. Ray's breathing and his own soft groans, the sound their bodies made, the whisper of leather on polished wood.

He'd worried that they might regret this. Now it felt like regret was impossible. How could he regret feeling this good, or making Ray feel his good? And why hadn't he just kissed him sooner? Was he truly that indecisive, that incapable of doing what he wanted? Or maybe it hadn't been the right time. Maybe this was the right moment for both of them.

They were rushing closer now. The tempo was rising, and Fraser - who had been on a knife's edge already - could feel it coming, an inevitability he couldn't fight even if he wanted to. ]

Ray, I'm almost... And you're...

[ He squeezed firmly, tried one last command--though it sounded even to him as though he were the one begging. ]

Stay with me

[Well, if Fraser was worried about his desk before, he's not going to be pleased when this is all over. Boot scuffs mix with sweat marks and scratches, and Ray's not at all concerned with digging the heel of his boot right into the edging to anchor him up against Fraser.

With the the build up coming very close to its end and the two of them desperately clinging on, Fraser's words are unsurprising. They act as a reassurance that Ray's doing his job right, that his touches are hitting the mark as well as his presence keeping Fraser eager. He does briefly consider how much of a bad idea this had all been, but with Benton staring down at him with such concentration and wild lust, he starts to doubt if the Mountie is going to regret any of this beyond a few Canadian like apologies. But regret can come later, Ray needs to get over this hurdle first.]

M'here. [He mumbles through a locked jaw, muscles tight as he wrestles with clashing waves of pleasure jolting through him. His eyes lock with Fraser's, although Ray's own stare is broken with slow blinks, furrowed brows and fluttering eyelashes.

With Fraser as close as he is, Ray helps him along, grip tightening just enough to cause a good friction, his thumb smoothing over the head in encouragement. His own response is to jerk himself into Fraser's grip with eager pants, body in constant motion. He won't be far behind, that's for certain.]

[ The desk will be fine. That is, it'll probably be impossible for him to work at it ever again but...well, it'll maintain its basic structural integrity if nothing else. It's just that in the future the desk will be distracting, like a picture book opened halfway through. ]

Okay.

[ Fraser thought he was ready. He shifted his grip, just slightly, just enough that he won't be tempted to squeeze too roughly - demonstrating remarkable foresight given the situation - and tilted his head down, bumping it against Ray's and going crosseyed in his effort to still see straight. Not that it actually worked.

He was too close, in all the ways that anyone could be too close, but that was how he lived his life. Fraser went all in, jumped in front of cars, leapt onto moving trains. It was in his nature. Set free at last, he didn't hold himself back.

Nor did he now. The friction was too much for him. The deep, pleasurable burn was only one part, after all Ray's body seemed to touch every part of him that wasn't touching the desk. There was nothing else left in the world but the stimulation, and perhaps his efforts to still be looking at Ray when he came. It was a pipe dream, though. Fraser cried out, buckled forward, his hand still working by instinct and muscle memory. His eyes closed, and the world split down the middle.

The feeling washed over him like saltwater.

It took everything he could to open his eyes only a second later. Fraser was flushed, spilling over with miscoordinated jerks of his hips, broken world still spilling stars into his eyes. But there was Ray, right in front of him. Still there. ]

Edited 2014-07-17 23:42 (UTC)

[Ray does his best to read Fraser, even as their foreheads bump together and makes it virtually impossible for him to do much beyond glance down at their hands working together. He uses Fraser's breathing to help him work out just when to squeeze and jerk, knowing he's on the right track as hear the tell-tale signs of hitched breath and tightened muscles.

As Fraser hits the wall and spills over, Ray's hand slows, done with it's stimulation but still aiding in milking Fraser through it. His own hips slow with the motion of his hand, but move with sharper jerks, trying desperately to get that last little bit to tip him over. It's actually Fraser's tipping point that helps Ray along, the crying out, the jerky movements, the feel of sticky warmth spreading against his bare stomach and hand.

It's not long before he's hit with it, a final hefty jerk of his hips against Fraser's hand as his muscles tighten and his whole body arches heavily upwards, eyes rolling shut in the process. He bites down against his own bottom lip enough to stifle his own noises, getting away with a muffled groan that still makes more sound than he'd intended. Can't be helped after the first satisfying release he's had in a painfully long time. With his head still spinning and muscles still twitching, he snaps his eyes open again to spare a glance to Fraser, huffing out breath heavily as he tries to get some sort of read on the Mountie.]

[ Read. That's funny. There's nothing to read, nothing but exertion and pleasure, and curiosity. Lots of curiosity. All he wanted in the world was to watch Ray fall apart, and it had suddenly become incredibly important to him. Oh, it wasn't like Ray had never fallen apart before, but this was something different. This was a moment suspended, a moment that didn't exactly come along every day. Ray came, biting down on all but a groan and depriving Fraser of the sound of his voice. But that was fine. Ray had grown up with just a thin wall between himself and everyone else; Fraser hadn't.

But he wanted to be able to remember it because if he was just able to see it, he could remember it. Remember that moment where it hit him, remember the moment when his partner's face contorted in pleasure, and remember when his eyes finally opened again, something glassy and spent in them, pupils blown, sweat prickled against his temple, blonde hair damp from exertion.

He got everything that he wanted, in the end. Ray's seed sticky against his fingers, all the memories he could ever ask for to put away in his library of experience, his own pleasure...and it had been a while. Too long.

He licked his lips, laying still, catching his breath, coherence slowly returning to him. Slowly in that it took its sweet time, and maybe just as something approaching a crinkle showed under his left eye, there came a loud knock on the door, enough of a knock that it made him physically jump, his hand coming away from Ray's softening arousal. It was like being doused in cold water, but at least it did the trick.

Turnbull called through from the other side of the door, asking if everything was alright. Fraser gestured with his eyebrows for Ray to answer, honestly not sure if he trusted his own voice yet. ]

[The downtime they briefly have together is enough for Ray to at least attempt to catch his breath and absorb the whole scenario. With the heavy weight of Fraser collapsed on him, the slickness of sweat covering his entire body and the sticky reminder against his stomach, it's difficult to really persuade himself that nothing happened.

This happened. It happened hard and fast and with a consuming lust that had them both grinding against each other without concern for the consequences. Or at least Ray's mind hadn't been dwelling much on that worry.

He looks back up at Fraser's stare, blinking sluggishly as he tries to take in what he sees. The ruffled, flushed appearance of a usually prim Mountie far too endearing and he reflects just how attractive Benton actually is. Ray wants to mention it. Wants to mention something about what they've just experience, try and put something into words that wouldn't sound completely stupid.

A sharp inhale signals his intention to speak, but he's quickly interrupted by a knock on the door, Turnbull's voice breaking through the wood dividing them. Both Ray and Fraser look to each other, but Ray soon gets the general idea that it's left to him. Hardly fair. But at least Ray's a little more confident in his own voice.]

We're fine, Turnbull. Go away. [Sharp, warning, like he really doesn't want them disturbed.]

[ As soon as Ray calls out, Fraser relaxes, knowing straight away that Turnbull will leave. It's good. It's good because the alternative was Turnbull hearing the tremble in Fraser's voice and insisting on coming in. Still he holds his breath, listening to the sounds from beyond the door. At last - seemingly after forever - Turnbull apologizes, and Fraser listens to the footsteps moving away through the desk and the floorboards.

Fraser let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then let fall a very light, relieved sort of laugh, tension subsiding all at once. His hand came back to Ray's hip, and Fraser shifted his weight again, bringing his arm down so that his head rested instead on the wood, his nose at Ray's throat. He didn't stop there. He pressed just a little closer, breathing Ray in, not hesitating. He could be close. Ray wasn't turning him away, wasn't twisting to freedom off the tabletop and leaving Fraser to pick himself up on his own.

He was still here. ]

Are we fine, Ray? [ Softly, eagerly. Hopeful. ]

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