thelockbox | Benton Fraser

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'"

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[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. ]

[Ray's surprised at the firmness of his voice, glad for it if only to scare away their unwanted visitor. Eventually Turnbull retreats and Ray, much like Fraser, releases a heavy exhale that he'd been holding. This is one scenario he really didn't want either of them trying to explain their way out of, especially not with someone like Turnbull.

While Fraser shifts on top of him, Ray uses the opportunity to slowly slip his arm free, hand releasing it's grip on Fraser to drop bonelessly beside himself on the desk. He stays on his back, staring blankly up at the bland ceiling as Benton settles in against his neck, the fog of his mind clearing enough to let his thoughts drift to what just took place. The question posed creeps softly up on him in a tone he hadn't expected. Was that hope?]

... I dunno. You alright?

[He understands just what 'fine' they're talking about. This isn't about well-being, this is about whether they're still fine within each other. More of a query of what might have changed than whether he felt well. A test of friendship to the extreme.]

[ Fraser shifts only very slightly at Ray's question. His breath changes direction, if only because he's raised his nose an inch higher until it's in Ray's hair instead. It's nice. This isn't the kind of thing Fraser often gets to enjoy, the closeness of another person, and truly Chicago had been a learning curve in that respect. Ray - Ray Vecchio - had always been the touchy feely sort; the one who would take his arm to steer him aside or lean almost across his back as they talked, both hands on his shoulders. Kowalski wasn't the same thing - he liked his own personal space somewhat more - but...

But human closeness had grown on Fraser - intimate closeness, rather than the more practical kind - and he liked it.

He felt like dozing, why wouldn't he after that, but there was too much to busy his mind with to be letting it drift too far toward unconsciousness. They had to iron this out now, or the alternative was one of them waking up before the other and trying to decide on the outcome all on their own. He wanted Ray to know that he was okay with this, that...that the change in the situation didn't have to change anything about them as a couple, but that it could--it could if Ray wanted it to. And if it stayed about the job then that was fine too. ]

More than alright.

[ Murmured into his hair. Fraser moved his stick hand up, following Ray's centerline up to his breastbone. ]

I'm sorry for biting you. It seemed rather like the right thing to do at the time.

Edited 2014-07-18 04:14 (UTC)

[Ray wasn't opposed to the closeness they shared at the moment, especially not after what they'd just been through. Even he wasn't ready to jump up and carry on with life, happy as he was to just lay there until morning came. He wasn't quite cut for sleep just yet though, his mind busy. Probably that coffee, he briefly thinks. That coffee who's mug now lays on the floor, along with an upturned pizza box and whatever else they'd shoved aside.

For the moment he's still trying to work out just what he thinks about it all. He likes this; the lazy sprawl and the intimacy of the contact between friends, supporting it as he slings an arm loosely about Fraser's broad shoulders. But he can't know what tomorrow will bring, and while he doesn't think Fraser will change his mind, Ray's self-consciousness has him doubting himself nevertheless. Fraser, after all, could have virtually any woman (and likely plenty of men) he wanted. Ray was hardly a top choice. More of a hamburger alongside prime cuts.

But for now Fraser was his and almost back to normal already, apologising as Fraser always does. Ray smiles up at the ceiling, amused as he realises he should have expected it.]

You'd never cut it as a dom, Fraser, apologisin' like that. You were doin' pretty well at the start there though. [Until everything fell apart.]

[ He's going to be scrubbing this room for days isn't he? At least the computer is still on the desk, even if the mouse and keyboard had long since disappeared over the precipice. ]

Mmm.

[ It's assent as much as it is thoughtful. Now that they've rushed all the way through, Fraser is intent on drawing out the details that he'd missed before, and while he has certainly smelled Ray's hair before, the texture of it against his face is a totally different kind of intoxication. His hand, second and third finger only, measures Ray's clavicle by touch, commits its dimensions to his memory.

The thing that Ray is missing in his assessment, of course - other than self confidence perhaps - is faith in just how deeply Fraser loves. It's all encompassing love, the drowning type, the kind where occasionally no-one gets out alive when all they wanted in the first place was to dip their toe. Deep; Dangerous; Suffocating; like the Mariana Trench.

Pulling his head back, brushing an almost helpless kiss to Ray's shoulder, Fraser halted his exploration for long enough to reach up and test the damage to his lip, already swollen. At the very least, he thought, maybe a bruised lip would add to their disguise.

And then his eyes flicker up, and he sees his partner, and something bright pinpricks in Fraser's expression, a smile that's mostly in his eyes. Ray is smiling, and Fraser remembers at once the grin from earlier - that fantastic grin - and perhaps a half dozen of the other shapes Ray's mouth had made in between. There was nothing to feel so apprehensive about, was there? If this had really been wrong, then something before now would have stopped them; Ray would have rolled away abruptly when the jeopardy got too high, or Fraser's strict sense of procedure would have kicked in just in time to stop things getting out of hand. ]

You distracted me.

[ What with the falling apart when Fraser made him, how dare he? ]

[Fraser's what some would call clingy, hands and lips all over Ray, exploring and careful as he commits everything to memory. Ray isn't quite so precise, relying on visual and muscle memory from earlier to store what he needs, at least hoping his recollection of all this will be more than just a blur. Even with his memory not as precise as most, for important events, events that deserve his full attention, he can recall precise details years on.

Clingy or not, Ray doesn't complain. He enjoys it. Revels in the attention that he rarely gets. Accepting the warm touches and soft breaths against his skin and hair.

Ray watches as Fraser withdraws enough to touch against that bitten lip and then, as if out of nowhere, there's a smile that lights up his eyes. Ray's own doesn't waver as he sees it, exhaling a noise of amusement.]

Yeah? Never took you for easily distracted.

[He lifts his free arm towards Fraser, running his thumb across his abused bottom lip without much care.]

You gotta lot to learn, buddy.

[ Fraser actually flinches at the touch, though it's not so far away that he has to lean back in at all when - hand having dropped from his own mouth - he wrapped his fingers around Ray's wrist, holding his fingers against his mouth. ]

I didn't say anything about being easily distracted.

[ His attention stays sharp now that he's found coherency again, though there's still the warm buzz that fills him, a vibration set just beneath his skin. And yes, it's late. It's late, and he has the uncanny ability to stay completely vigilant until the job is done and then drop off into dead sleep in the space it takes to close his eyes. Deliberately he licked the tip of Ray's finger--then stopped, face twisting into puzzled for a second, then at last realization. Oh. He was tasting himself. Well, of course he was. Well done, Fraser. His eyes moved from Ray's hand, where they'd briefly crossed, back to Ray's, eyebrows raised. Hardly the worst thing he'd put on his tongue, to be fair. ]

Maybe we should...

[ Move somewhere more comfortable. He pulls back, still smiling, and with his hand still around Ray's wrist, heaves his friend up onto his feet with him. ]

Teach me. But teach me on the couch, Ray.

[He watches the reactions, watches as Fraser recoils ever so slightly but then recovers with a lick. The flinch doesn't concern Ray, not for such an unsubstantial cut and not when Fraser's grabbing for his wrist to keep him there. The lick is something to observe, the brief puzzlement and then realisation strangely amusing for Ray to witness, feeling like he can see every little cog turning in Fraser's head trying to pinpoint the taste. Fraser's tasted a hell of a lot in his life, but Ray's not sure how often he's tasted himself in that sort of intimacy.

As he catches onto the movement, he shifts with Fraser, pushing himself up with a hand while Fraser aids with a tug up, making it easier on the both of them.]

Okay. Couch it is. Just uh... [He very briefly reaches for the drawer he'd seen his holster slip into, dragging it back out before jerking his head towards the more comfortable looking area.]

I dunno what cranks your chain, Fraser. I mean uh. You gotta tell me when it's not right.

[His focus stays on the couch for a second, thoughtful, before he turns his finger in the air, circular.] Maybe uh. Maybe on your stomach?

[ On their feet now, Fraser doesn't insist on staying completely close, even if he's tempted to do exactly that. He wants to stay right where he is. Hell, he would have stayed on the desk if it meant not getting up, he's still a little lightheaded. Still, practicality and not exacerbating the bruising on his hip would improve matters immensely. The couch would be comfortable.

He's taken three steps away when he realizes Ray isn't coming, and he appraises his friend for a moment, trying to work out what he means to do with his belt and gun.

No, he has nothing. ]

Maybe, Ray?

[ He doesn't press the correction any more than that, raising one eyebrow. Authority worked better with these people 'Get down on the ground!', that sort of thing. Maybe wasn't going to cut it when they had a job to do. Then Fraser nods to himself, moving to obey. The couch is a step up, but when he shimmies himself down onto it there's a different kind of discomfort, and Fraser shifts very slightly back, spreading his knees slightly to give himself a few inches of space beneath his hips.

He hisses. ] Like this?

[Maybe. Okay, so he needs to steer away from the suggestions and requests, he forgot about that, but he's not exactly expert in this field either. It's something many couples try in the bedroom from time to time, but often done without any true sincerity.

He's just got to get his mind in the right place. Start up the bad cop act rather than the awkward friend act he's got at the moment. Ray can do bad cop. He's made for bad cop.

While watching Fraser from a few feet away (not that the office would allow for much more space anyway) Ray takes a few steady breaths, locking his jaw as he nods along to Fraser's positioning.]

Yeah. Yeah, that's good.

[He can do this. This is a walk in the park. A piece of cake.

Exhaling heavily he shakes his head, mentally kicking himself into gear. A thud indicates him dropping his gun on the desk top, leaving him with leather holster, badge and, more importantly handcuffs. It only takes a few steps to approach, and then he's casually swinging one leg up onto the couch, shifting himself so that he's got one knee either side of Fraser's flanks, sitting his weight onto the Mounties lower back.]

New game. It's called 'Keep the Mountie quiet'. You behave and you get nice things, you get too loud and you get the opposite, yeah?

[There's a rattle of metal as he jingles the handcuffs just into Fraser's line of sight, and then he's leaning over and on top of his partner to reach for a wrist, latching one cuff on before stretching to repeat the process, cuffing his hands in front of him to give him some manoeuvrability. While leant over he keeps his mouth close to Fraser's ear, breathing quietly as he arranges. And then he speaks, low and steady.] Hands for support only. Touch yourself or me and it'll hurt.

[ It was good--an excellent start. If everything was as simple as lying down on the couch he'd do just fine. It's just that Fraser doesn't realize how entirely on edge he is until Ray's gun thuds on the table, indicating he's leaving it behind. There's no rattle of leather on wood following it, after all, to suggest he was just shaking it out for some other nefarious purpose.

Yes; all in all a good start.

Tense, listening to Ray's breathing and his footsteps, he tried to force himself to relax. There were moments when relaxing was the best kind of readiness, and moments for struggling, and Ray clambering across his back wasn't something he had to fight. Nevermind the particular advantage it gave his partner already, Fraser had to admit that it wasn't exactly the most unpleasant position either; the heat and weight of Ray's body held great promise.

So did the new game, if only because it seemed to hold much the same risk as Fraser's. There was every possibility he wouldn't be able to adhere to the rules, even with his usual ability to put his head down and follow them no matter what.

...

Okay but apart from the constant transgressions and disobeying direct orders and threatening to quit entirely when he didn't get his way. Apart from all that.

But that was beside the point; the point being, of course, that Ray's bad cop routine - he even recognized it for what it was - was one hell of a lot better than Fraser's tough love version. This was why cage rattling was usually left to Ray, and it was why this whole plan was going to work.

Ah--handcuffs. Something in Fraser wanted to point out that there was something very sordid about using tools that they worked with, used to confine criminals, in a situation like this. Then it caught up with him from years ago, the club, twenty pairs of cuffs dangled in his face at once...sordid was the point. Puzzle solved at last. And if Ray was playing bad cop, and Fraser was the one in custody...

He actually opened his mouth to reply, closed it again, and offered Ray the slightest affirmative nod, tilting his face just enough to the side that he could see Ray looming out of the corner of his eye. The slight testing of the length of the handcuff links meant he would test his boundaries, and his stillness thereafter indicated that he understood how serious the repercussions for doing so might be. ]

Good start.

[He spots that bite back of a reply, approves of Fraser's ability to catch himself before he answered. If he can keep this up then there'd be no problems, but judging by how damn noisy he was earlier, this might just a one off. Words are easy to resist, moans are less so.

He lingers to check those cuffs are on and aren't going to cause too much of an issue (Ray is still somewhat conscious of Fraser's comfort even with the act), not minding any slight testing or shifting that might come of it. The order not to touch could have been given without the addition of handcuffs, but they serve multiple purposes; solid physical reminders of the command, the quiet point that those cuffs are Ray's (and by that line of logic also making anyone in those cuffs Ray's), and even making it entirely impossible for Fraser to reach behind him.

He doesn't move from his looming spot for the moment, only lifting enough to place both hands on Fraser's shoulders, his thumbs circling in against muscles, and then fingers soon joining in to start up a firm but relatively skilful massage. He works at any tenseness that lingers between the shoulder blades and around the neck, pressing sharply against knots to knead them out. While he works his lips still remain by Fraser's ear, short, sharp breaths huffing against it.]

Sensitive ears, right? [He recalls with what sounds like a smirk, the words barely leaving his mouth before he lashes out his tongue against the curve of Fraser's ear, lapping against it and trailing down to suckle at his earlobe.]

[ Fraser appreciates the care Ray takes, the attention to detail that ensures that the cuffs aren't closed too tightly, even if Fraser is careful not to wring his wrists in such a way as to cut little handcuff lines into his skin. It's mostly in the interest of not getting asked any uncomfortable questions by his eagle eyed colleagues; a cut lip was one thing, but handcuffs implied arrest. Maybe he could claim to be practicing escaping from them?

There's enough room in the cuffs, at least, for Fraser to comfortably support his own weight - as intended - elbows digging into the couch cushion, wrists hooked over the arm and his head set just underneath them.

He's not even sure what he expects, but it isn't a massage. Ray's hands are blissfully talented, his fingers hardly calloused, with the firm strength of a man whose hands had spent many hours on the gun range. The knots were still there even if Fraser suppressed their overall effect on him - he was human, after all, and the desk had been very hard. Essentially resisting making a sound was already rather difficult, and Ray's breath against his ear compounded matters. But he was keeping control, just like he was meant to. Any sounds he made were painfully bitten down on or buried in his arm before they could so much as fully form.

But he hadn't counted on Ray being able to remember their conversation. Even Fraser had forgotten mentioning his ears. He didn't have enough time to prepare himself. From the pointed comment to the tongue-lashing, Fraser could only hold on tight as the muscles across his back tensed anew. Even so, the cry he made was utterly mute, as though made without air--that was because the real sound came after, as Ray's warm mouth closed about his ear lobe, a deep, appreciate groan that he couldn't hope to silence, not even if he wanted to.

Sensitive just wasn't a strong enough word.

And he was already losing this game. ]

[Ray may act like he's not listening most the time, and in all honestly he's usually not, but just occasionally he'll latch onto little pieces of information he deems useful and store them away for later. Fraser stating his erogenous zone, even if somewhat inappropriate at the time, is definitely something that Ray had considered interesting enough to latch onto, and how glad he is that he did.

The reactions gained from the massage are perfect enough in themselves, seeing Fraser relax and sprawl under the workings of his fingers. It was Ray alone that was making this happen, Ray alone was unwinding the tightly wound Mountie and it was all too satisfying to come to this realisation.

But when his tongue had flicked out against Fraser's ear he knew he was onto a winner, not having to hold out long before a groan appeared that most definitely constituted as 'too loud'. The soft gasps and moans under the breath got a free pass, he was lenient enough for that, but anything that could be heard easily within the office (and especially outside of it) was a loss on Fraser's behalf. Or perhaps a gain.]

Too loud.

[Ray retaliates with a sharp bite down against the lobe between his lips although withdraws before he can cause any real harm. At the same time his hands halt their ministrations and he shifts enough to sit up, leaving Fraser without any contact beyond the constant, heavy weight of Ray at his lower back. There's silence for a second, then a slight ruffle of leather as Ray reaches for his shoulder holster.

Moments later he lashes down towards Benton's upper back, using an unbuckled leather strap of the holster to whip against bare skin, not enough leverage, strength or really the right tool to cause any lasting damage but there'll undoubtedly be a sting nevertheless.]

[ Too loud. He'd known it as soon as he'd made the noise, of course, but to be quite honest he was finding it difficult to care. His ears were delicate, after all. Years of exposure to subzero temperatures had made them that way, and though he'd been in Chicago more or less for years now, the coldest winters at least could only be called somewhat warmer than the warmest Canadian winter days.

His ears were delicate, and Fraser knew out of instinct that Ray was going to bite - fair was fair. It was all he could do to wrap his own mouth around the back of his hand in time, teeth pressing in as best they could, trying to muffle his own cry and for the most part succeeding.

In the long - probably not that long, but it felt like the length of forever with Ray so very far away, respectively - silence that followed, Fraser panted, his ear throbbing, his hand not faring much better. Despite the sting, it had felt perversely good, something that his mind was still struggling to make sense of when he heard the whisper of leather. Concentration etched into his expression, but Fraser knew better than to turn his head to look; turning his head to look would only mean not having anything to bite down on. How he knew he needed to was another thing entirely, a rare Mountie hunch.

He heard it after he felt it. The lash of the strap snapped across his shoulders, and Fraser yelped, a sharp snap of sound gusted out of lungs that couldn't do anything but. His cry was gratefully swallowed into the mouthful of upholstery Fraser had seized between his teeth. See? He was learning! But that didn't entirely mean he'd been ready to be struck. It was a new sensation, it made him question, briefly, whether this was really a thing people did, and whether or not he could trust Ray with such power over him.

And the answer was of course he could. He wouldn't be here if he didn't. Even now, despite the fresh sting from the leather stripe, Fraser could feel only warmth pooling in him. His breath was staggered, flushed, arousal already making a firm reminder of how good it might feel. And there was no permanent injury; nothing exposed, no lines of blood where a belt buckle had ripped away skin. Ray had taken him in trust - everything that Fraser was or could be - and when he'd put on these cuffs he'd laid a responsibility of ownership on himself that Fraser was more than capable of identifying, even in his present state. He all but belonged to Ray, body now as well as the soul and heart that he realized had been shut up in the Pontiac's trunk for safekeeping for years, and Ray was the kind of man who respected his belongings. Ray was being gentle, just like he had been with the handcuffs, and he was at no risk - Fraser decided - of needing to give up his consent.

Anticipation though. Anticipation made him tremble after the fact. Nervous response from the strike made him shift very slightly forward and back, something he regretted with another soft gasp as his arousal complained about the overload of friction far too soon. Fraser's jaw ached from clamping onto the couch, but he didn't dare let go, suddenly not sure what noises he might have made, not certain whether or not he'd earned another strap. Everything hung in the air--everything hung on Ray's decision, Ray's actions, Ray's wants, and whatever Ray wanted, Fraser knew he wanted it too. ]

[It's impressed Ray that Fraser could anticipate the bite down and muffle his cries before they caused issue, but perhaps he should have known that. The two of them can read each other easily enough by now, at least to an extent where their actions are somewhat predictable. Fraser had bitten Ray and so to balance out the odds, Ray had retaliated in kind at a more sensitive spot for Fraser. It seems like a fair trade, especially if it was one his partner was ready for.

What was less predictable turned out to be the harsher response; a lash of leather that had Benton all but cringing under him. Ray's thankful for the couch, glad for it keeping the noises down to a minimum while bitten down on. Another visit from Turnbull really wasn't something he needed to explain away.

But the muffled cry did have an affect on Ray, one that made him stop dead after the first strike and stare wide eyed down at the creeping redness of the just-struck skin. He'd done that. He'd just caused pain in a friend. Like the punch he'd delivered what felt like a lifetime ago, and the sheer surprise and guilt that followed from his own actions. It was like kicking a puppy. A loyal, lovable but often annoying puppy, and it fills him briefly with exactly the same sort of regret. His reactions and decisions often go much too fast for his rational thoughts to catch up, acting first and thinking later being his true weakness. Fraser did a good job of offering a much faster access to rational thought, but with him silent and laid out in front of Ray, he wasn't much help.

But none of this was about being rational. And as Ray falls silent, trying desperately to get his breathing down to something other than a ragged pant, he considers that Fraser has plenty of opportunity to get out of this. Enough strength, undoubtedly, to buck Ray to the floor, and enough sense to open his mouth and voice his dislike if he truly felt it a necessity. Instead Fraser lay where he was told, quiet as he was told, loyal and expectant and trembling lightly under the weight of Ray's body. Despite himself, he leans down, pressing his lips to the burning redness of the skin, placing soft, almost apologetic kisses as he follows the line of it. It's enough to settle himself and enough to show his awareness of what he'd just caused, without ever voicing himself.

With a heavy exhale that just about stays steady, Ray kicks himself back into action, discarding the holster onto the back of the couch. The noises had been muffled enough to be acceptable. No more strikes for the moment. Instead he shuffles his weight back, squirming to instead settle at Fraser's knees, making the move obvious enough as he finally lets his voice break the silence, just slightly wavering as he speaks.]

Hands and knees. Or uh. Elbows and knees. [He slaps a hand against Fraser's clothed behind to signal his meaning, his tone taking on a sharper edge thanks to the effort behind the smack.] Ass up.

[Yes, he'd noticed that small amount of shifting under him, catching on quickly at just how much Fraser could stimulate himself with a bit of friction if he'd wanted to. Taking away that ability will take away the temptation, and all that can be solved easily just by Fraser lifting his hips up and away from the couch.]

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yeah wow so literate, much stick hand

such beauty

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