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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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.]

[ He can almost feel Ray's apprehension. It has a certain kind of distinctive vibrating quality that is palpable probably only to Fraser and several species of bats and scorpions. The air stills, Ray quiet above him as he works his way through whatever decision he has to make - though Fraser has a strong suspicion it was related to his punishment - and then at last the feeling breaks. It breaks with soft kisses, soothing kisses that pepper along the line of the burn, and his own trembling subsides, the fresh tension unwinding instead into a shudder before he falls still again.

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. ]

[Ray stays back and lets it happen, sat up on his knees to give Fraser the manoeuvrability he needed to get himself up and comfortable. Or as comfortable as one can be in the small space of the couch, handcuffed, silent and waiting, with the heavy weight of Ray taking up most of one end.

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.]

[ It's not so much as he's urged to make room as he has little other choice. Ray presses into the space between his legs, and the position becomes somewhat easier, if only because resting his own weight against Ray's hips takes some of the pressure off his thighs. Then, almost immediately the advantage is lost; the weight shifts forward into his shoulders, leaving Mountie neck and back and muscular forearms to do the majority of the work. Not that he has any complaints, not with Ray's chest to his back, every inch of his upper body almost in contact with Fraser's. No, nothing to complain about there.

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. ]

[The way Fraser so easily comes apart under him is a beautiful sight and sound to behold, something Ray can say, without hesitation, that he caused. All the soft moans and breathy whimpers, that build up so quickly at only an easy movement of Ray's hand and casual- although perhaps a little fierce- teasing at Fraser's ear. He can sense it becoming more difficult for Fraser to hold it, the crescendo of sensations that Ray doesn't think to stop until...

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.]

[ He wants to stay, but there's no staying, and the moment Ray is off his back, Fraser spins clean of the couch too, much more neatly getting his feet under him. It's two big steps to the desk - two steps away from the handcuff keys on Ray's belt - but Fraser isn't aiming for them, already well aware he wouldn't have time. He can't get his shirt on, nor can he possibly hope to hide the handcuffs out of sight of Turnbull, but he does at least get to the desk in time to grab his hat, upturning it with his hands on top in such a way as to conceal both his arousal and the splash of come on his bare stomach.

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. ]

Edited 2014-07-19 20:50 (UTC)

[Somehow Ray manages to wrestle back into his t-shirt just in time. It's on inside-out and back to front, but there's no time to correct it as a head pops through the door, Ray dropping his hands to clasp them in front of him, hiding any obvious sign of an erection. The sight of Turnbull smashing in a door is somewhat of a boner killer anyway.

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.

[ Fraser takes a little longer to relax. Turnbull may be gone, but the tension takes longer to ebb; the faster it set in, the harder it was to shift. And while he knew that they truly had pulled the wool over the younger man's eyes, they'd still been caught in flagrante delicto. It's going to take a moment or two to get the mood back. There's a hole in the door, for one thing, a hole over which Fraser hangs his hat. ]

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. ]

Edited 2014-07-19 21:10 (UTC)

[Fraser actually managing to lie was just as amazing as Turnbull believing it. Only around Canadians would such a ridiculous scenario ever arise, thinks Ray. Any normal American wouldn't be smashing the door down with an axe to start with, let alone falling for excuses like 'games'. Well, Ray supposes he and Fraser were playing a type of game, so perhaps Fraser wasn't lying so much after all.

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.]

[ Or at all, actually, but details.

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?

[At least Fraser isn't dead. That's a bonus. Barely even hurt, in fact, which is actually fairly impressive considering the fall he just had, but Fraser is practically infallible and a faceplant like that won't hold a guy like him down for long.

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?

[ English, Ray. It's English. ]

I--yes of course.

[ And there was an edge of something approaching excitement in his voice, a subtle change from the usual apprehension that went hand in hand with those particular words. Maybe they hadn't lost the thread entirely; there could still be hope for them.

As for the question: before he answered it, Fraser shimmied himself up onto his elbows, blinking down along his body at his ankles, before looking back over his shoulder at Ray again. ]

Might I first trouble you to remove my boots? I'd do it myself, but-- [ He jangled his chain. ]

[English. Canadian. Same diff. It's sure not American either way.]

I guess I gotta do everythin' around here.

[But he's hardly going to decline, not when it comes to helping a buddy out. And also undressing him. Especially not when it's his handcuffs that have otherwise incapacitated his friend.

He shifts alongside Fraser, stopping by his feet to eye the boots up for a long pause. Never before had Ray noticed quite how much lacing there is to those things, but he'll do as requested, if only because Fraser asked so nicely. With a sigh he reaches out, still crouched, to tug at the neatly tied bow at the laces of one boot and then attempt to loosen off what he can of it.]

These aren't boots, Fraser, they're uh, they're torture devices.

[ Fraser stays perched on his elbows, cuffed hands in his lap as he watches Ray struggle with his boots. Not that he has any intention of helping him unless it actually looks like he means them harm, in which case he might ~~would definitely~~ intercede on their behalf. ]

And yet, Ray, with the greatest of luck I hope to be buried in them.

[ Okay, so that wasn't actually a very good thing to say if you didn't want to bring an avalanche down on your head the next second, but the sentiment remained: these boots were very special to him; irreplaceable, in fact. Fraser studied Ray while he tried his very best, then pulled himself up into a sitting position, knees slightly bent, and leaned just a few inches in toward Ray. ]

They should be loose enough now.

[Must Fraser really mention death around Ray? The only reason he's not getting reprimanded for such a comment is that Ray's far too engrossed in the masses of lace to even bother offering anything more than an eye roll. It's only when Fraser prompts that Ray even attempts to tug, gripping with both hands and using his whole body to tug it off. Not so hard, other than the whole unlacing process. Give Ray some zipper biker boots any day over this mess. At least he has enough respect to carefully place it aside.

But he carries on, leaning over just slightly to angle himself to tackle the next lot of laces, head tilted close to Fraser's as he works, a little more swiftly this time around.]

Woulda been quicker just to un-cuff you.

It might.

[ But it was too late for that now, and Fraser was enjoying the effort Ray was going to. It wasn't every day that you could ask someone else to unlace your boots, and there was something very appealing about having Ray slow down enough to actually do it. It wasn't like his partner changed pace often.

More importantly, it gave Fraser all the opportunity he needed. ]

But then I couldn't do this. [ As soon as Ray had plucked the second boot off, Fraser threw his arms over his head, hefting forward, then rolled onto his back again, taking Ray with him. Back on the ground, he had all the time he needed to wriggle one foot up his pantleg and firmly pull the entire mess of clothing off his legs. He hugged him firmly, arms around Ray's waist. ]

Now who's in whose custody, Detective?

[Ray may have had to slow down for that, but it hadn't stopped the energy from building inside, pent up frustration at not being able to do it quickly and toss them aside afterwards. It was a lesson in patience, and Ray's never good at those.

Ray doesn't register the words quick enough to really work out what's going on, realising Fraser's moving too later to dodge even if he'd wanted to. Arms envelop him and pull him down, but he at least has the good sense to catch himself with a hand before landing too heavily on Fraser, drawing back just enough to arch an eyebrow at his partner.]

I guess that's open for debate, huh?

[Squirming against Fraser to try and get comfortable, trapped as he was.]

I'm still on top. [Apparently he thinks this gives him some sort of advantage.]

[ Fraser doesn't take it as a proclamation, rather as a question, and he concedes: ]

You're still on top.

[ Without making it clear whether he means in the literal or metaphysical sense...not that it really made much difference either way. Ray was still on top, and though Fraser tightened his grip slightly, it was only because Ray was wriggling against him, unable to - or perhaps determined not to - keep still.

Fraser set his head back at last, looking straight back up into Ray's eyes. ]

I'd like to negotiate new terms, and for that I needed leverage. Specifically, given the change in circumstances, I'd like to request some degree of vocal leniency; guttural sound under 60 decibels, and permission to give yes or no answers.

[ He licked his lips. ]

In addition, I'd like a kiss.

[The tightening grip doesn't seem to work, at least not initially. Ray appears intent to get himself into some level of comfort only known to him, but once he catches Fraser's gaze he finally stops to stare back, curiosity remaining.]

I left my decibel detector in my other pants. But I uh, I can accept the yes/no stuff.

[The furrow of his brows finally breaks away as a smirk spreads to his lips, leaning down to give that requested kiss with the energetic force expected from Ray. It's firm, fast and easy, lacking in the hesitancy from earlier as though he's finally stripped himself of any doubts. With the amount of interruptions they'd had tonight, Fraser would have been able to back away plenty of times by now and as for possible regrets in the morning... well... they'd have to cross that bridge when they came to it. Ray's a live for the moment kinda guy, after all.]

[ Fraser looks distinctly confused for a second in his other pants, is he serious? before deciding it was a joke, and by the time he's done that Ray is pressing down into the kiss with a new freedom and abandon. They haven't kissed since...well, since they were back on the desk panting orgasms against each other's mouths, and this one more than reminds him of just how good Ray's mouth could feel, how warm and firm his lips are.

But it's a different animal of a kiss. While Fraser had been unleashing parts of himself that were hidden beneath the surface, here Ray submitted everything that made Ray Kowalski who he was; cocksure, energetic, demanding, passionate. Ray poured all of himself into the kiss, and it was all Fraser could do to respond, tongue and lips rising to the clash of Ray's against his own, the dull sting from the cut, the electric heat that jumped between them.

Instinctively, Fraser raised one knee slightly off the ground, hooking it against Ray's side. His hands rose back up along his back, first settling on his shoulders, then - deliberately releasing him - moving up to Ray's hair so that he could wind his fingers through the feathery strands. He let him go, fully with the understanding that they'd sealed the deal with a kiss, and an expectation of Ray taking back over, as before. ]

[Ray really does give himself over to the kiss. Every last bit of him, like an unspoken 'I'm yours' that only Fraser will ever understand. Ray's an open book with very little hidden away or repressed, what you see is what you get. He can't give Fraser any more than what he already is, but that's okay. Fraser does, after all, know what he's getting into when getting involved with Ray, either as a friend or as something more.

He lasts the kiss out while cuffed hands trail up his back, hums out his approval at the fingers in his hair and only once he's sure he's clear of those arms does he break it, ducking back in briefly for one final brush of lips. Part of him would love to stay in that embrace, to explore Fraser's mouth like he'd never previously had a chance to, but right now he understood there was plenty more to explore.]

Roll over. Like before.

[And like before Ray shifts back enough to give Fraser the space he needs, eyes sweeping the body before him, starkly contrasting Ray's own fully clothed self. But hell, he wasn't the one who needed to be baring skin here.

The floor will give Ray more space to work, although being a little less comfortable. If nothing else, the two of them are making their way around the office quite effectively.]

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