Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
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'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
yeah wow so literate, much stick hand
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? ]
such beauty
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.
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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.
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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?
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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?
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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.
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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. ]
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[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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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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His jaw unlocks, the couch cushion gently released, and Fraser, his mouth dry from eating brocade, all but whispers a soft sound of appreciation. There's an apology there, he wants Ray to know that there's nothing to forgive. Everything was okay.
He only hoped, listening to the waver in Ray's voice, the earthquake in his exhale, that his friend believed him. Maybe. Hopefully. The slap to his backside suggested a return to Ray's former/usual masquerade of confidence.
Okay, so he wanted him up. Easier said than done. Mostly because to achieve it he'd have to roll his hips and throw his weight upward--it wasn't going to be comfortable. But first he had to decide whether he wanted to perch on his hands or his elbows, which would be more comfortable over the long haul? Elbows it was.
Fraser took a deep, readying breath, then with decided effort rolled his hips down in order to give himself sufficient upward action, bucking back, jerking his head back, shoulders following, and just about managed to get his forearms under him. His head hung low, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention, head tilted toward Ray, but only so much as to present one very pink ear--he couldn't exactly look at him from this angle.
Still not a word, though Fraser wanted so badly to speak out loud, wanted to tell Ray that he was okay. He'd speak, of course, if he wasn't comfortable, but Ray had more pride than that. He'd stick it out. ]
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He waits until Fraser appears ready, taking the slight twist of the head and view of a pink ear as signal enough. With a huff he heaves himself forward again, knees sliding between Fraser's and bending himself over the Mountie to press chest to back, skin to skin. A hand reaches forward, gripping at Fraser's chin and twisting his head firmly the other way to present a fresh ear, leaning forward enough to press a kiss to a slick temple as a vague reassurance.]
No gaggin' yourself. [Because obviously muffling the sounds is cheating. Ray's hand stays as a burning grip against Fraser's jaw anyway, making sure to keep his head away from the temptation of either hand or couch.
Again he goes for the ear, fresh and untouched until his tongue gives it the same treatment, mixing it with lips and teeth for a light but unrelenting attack. He relies on Fraser's stability and strength in his own muscles to keep himself in place without the use of his arms for support, his free hand now reaching around and under the both of them, fingers trailing a careful touch down the plane of Benton's flat stomach, ignoring the sticky reminder of earlier. It doesn't take long before he's reaching that growing arousal, dusting his fingers across it's length before wrapping tightly around for a sharp squeeze that soon works into lazy strokes, all still aided by his mouth at a delicate ear.]
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Ray's grip on his jaw is firm. It corrects through force but without anything resembling vindictiveness, and Fraser is obsequious enough not to fight it. Even if he'd felt like testing Ray's strength, why test that? There was no challenge worth making. But Ray reassured him with a kiss anyway--he hoped it meant that he was relaxing a little again himself.
Not that relaxing was on Fraser's dance card. Holding in his noises suddenly became a whole other level of difficult. Difficult like he almost said 'Oh dear' out loud and lost the game in a whole other way.
Ray turned him to slush in all the time it took for him to catch Fraser's ear in his teeth. He'd moaned almost at the first touch before, but this time he had a little more control, albeit only barely. His panting started hard rather than raising up to that point, undone in seconds, and everything that came after was like layers of paint being splashed all over a finished masterpiece. Fraser didn't moan or groan or whimper for long, and it wasn't what ultimately broke him when the pressure became too much.
He screamed. Mountie screaming, very manly. And then he froze dead, the color draining out of his face, and said: ]
Ray, let me up.
[ He really didn't want to get up. He would much rather stay exactly where he was. But that was going to be a problem when, in precisely eight and a half seconds time, Constable Turnbull smashed the fire-axe into the office door and sent it smashing into tiny pieces. ]
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Until a scream that comes far too quickly and far too loudly for Ray to even react to. He should have used a gag, that's what he should have done, but it's a little too late to think on that.
Ray doesn't quite realise the entirety of the situation until Fraser suddenly speaks, his voice sounding odd to Ray's ears after the string of silence he'd enforced, but there's no mistaking the tone as one of urgency. The act of Ray's is dropped immediately, his grip releasing the second the words leave the Mounties lips, and then with all the grace and coordination one can expect from him, he rolls uselessly off the side of the couch, hitting the deck with some force but immediately scrabbling to his feet.
Uncertain what to do with himself, he decides trying to tuck himself in and get his jeans zipped up a top priority, then moving to grab for his discarded t-shirt as the door gives. Really can't work out if it's better to freeze in place and hope he's somehow not seen, whether to dive for a hiding spot, or stand and take his fate.]
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That's it. That's all he has time to do.
"I'll save you, Sir!" Crash
He squared his shoulders, glanced at Ray to make sure he was ready, and winced as the axe hit the door again. That was going to come out of his pay, he just knew it. Crrrrrk ]
Turnbull. Turnbull! [ The door took another assault before the Mountie on the other side of it stopped swinging, pushing his head through the hole he'd made.
"Are the Americans attacking again, Sir?" Panic turned to confusion as Turnbull looked at him. It was a good question. Not the Americans attacking question, the question of what the hell was going on. Fraser was flushed, his ears pink, his chest bare and slick with sweat, handcuffed and holding his hat. ]
Actually Turnbull, the Detective and I were playing a game. You see, the rules are really rather complicated, I'd be hard pressed to describe them to you as I'm not full sure I understand them myself.
[ "A game. So you're not dying?"
Dying? He'd sounded like he was dying? Fraser coughed, glanced at Ray. ] No, no. I'm quite fine. In fact I was...winning. I believe. Isn't that right, Ray? So you can rest assured that everything will be... [ Just fine. He knew he sounded nervous. There was no way Turnbull was going to fall for any of this.
Except for how he did: "It looks rough. Is it an American game?" Fraser nodded. Turnbull glanced at Ray. "You'll teach it to me?"
Fraser interceded quickly, stepped forward toward the door and put on his best smile. ] So long as you head back downstairs now. And ah--if it sounds like I'm dying...
[ "It's because you're winning, Sir. I understand. Goodnight." He strode away from the hole, and only then did Fraser allow himself to breathe, dropping his head against the cracked and splintered wooden door in semi-exhaustion. How they'd managed to survive that he had no idea. ]
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Ray drops his head as the two talk, keeping quiet and letting Fraser do the explaining, eyes flicking back and forth between the two Mounties. Surely Turnbull gets what's going on here, surely he can't be that clueless, but as the conversation develops it appears that maybe he really is that dumb after all.
Nodding in the right places, quietly agreeing when he's addressed and even looking moderately annoyed at Fraser for 'winning', Ray plays the part he's supposed to. When Turnbull asks for a lesson, Ray's snapping a glare of disbelief towards him but Fraser quite wisely jumps in before he can snap a reply back.
It's amazing that the excuses work, but they do, and after some thought (or whatever it is Turnbull does with his brain) he withdraws, leaving the two of them alone again. Ray huffs out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, shoulders slouching as some of the tenseness leaves him.]
That is one dumb Mountie.
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You were very convincing.
[ What with the very convincing nodding and looking mad, how could even a smart Mountie hope to know any better. And obviously there was Fraser's magnificent talent for lying. Well. It was magnificent considering he didn't exactly have much practice. Right, right. It was awful. But Turnbull had fallen for it, hadn't he?
Fraser breathed deeply, inhale, exhale, then he turned on the spot, eyes dancing across the room to where Ray stood with his shirt on inside out looking impossibly mussed, his hair still damp, impossible to miss arousal in his eyes. Fraser himself was naked down to the waist and past it, just as damp, just as aroused, with a split lip besides. Who missed such obvious signs as that?
There was a good, clean answer for that: Fraser would have, five years ago. And as if to prove it: ]
We can pick up where--
[ His breeches fell off his hips, caught around his knees, and Fraser tipped over as though in slow motion, crashing gracelessly onto his face at Ray's feet. ]
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He stares right back as the Mountie turns, huffing out soft exhales as he takes the sight in. The hat may have covered some of the more tell-tale signs, but everything else about Fraser looks so sex fuelled as well that it would have been hard to miss. Everything from the ruffled hair that usually never looked out of place, to the flushed skin and lust filled eyes. Poor kid must be blind and totally inexperienced to miss it.
Just when Ray's considering where they go from here after such an interruption, Fraser begins to speak, moving forward and then pitching forward. Ray doesn't even realise what's going on until too late, otherwise he might have considered trying to catch the Mounties fall. Instead he's left staring downwards at his fallen partner, eyebrows raising.]
You still alive? [Dropping into a crouch at Fraser's head and very carefully poking him near his forehead like a kid poking a dead bird with a stick.]
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But here he is, flat on the floor, and he grunts slightly, rolling himself over onto his back with a huff and staring up through his eyebrows at Ray, crouched above him. ]
I'm quite alright. Apart from the minor bruises sustained by my pride.
[ But no broken noses or wrists despite the fall, and at least in a way they're close to each other again. He blinks, huffs, then closes his eyes for just a few moments, going back over everything that had just happened. They'd really been interrupted by Turnbull. With an axe. And it was totally routine, like this was something that happened every day to everyone, not just people who hung around with crazy Mounties.
He opened his eyes again slowly, fixed them on Ray, and lowered his voice just slightly. ]
I think I broke all of your rules but the last one, Ray. I don't suppose I could trouble you for a reprieve, citing extraneous circumstances?
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Ray remains where he is, eyebrows lifting as he glances down at Fraser in return, curious and questioning as he listens. At least he understands Canadian now enough to make sense of it all.]
I dunno, buddy. Rules are rules and as an officer, I gotta uphold 'em.
[Staring for just a little longer before:] You want up?
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