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 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.]

[ He understands. He'd understood what they were playing for when this began, even if he'd been unprepared to admit his commitment to it, but shortly thereafter he'd put his head down, determined to take what he could get. Having Ray give himself like this is more than what he wanted, but he understands it when it comes, accepts it in close against his heart.

Any question of things being difficult subside at once, like a sandcastle collapsing under a wave; Fraser already knew how he expected things to be come morning, how they'd wake up sprawled on the floor or the couch, how the buzz of affection would still hum on his skin. They'd go for coffee, drive to the station, work on this case together. Nothing would change, except for the warmth in their occasional, professional glances. And of course, hopefully, the sex.

Because he was really enjoying that aspect so far. Fraser gave himself fully, emotionally and physically. He'd been burned before. But not every person he let himself love was going to betray or try to kill him. And if he could trust anyone not to do either of those things (or at least not to mean it if he did), it would be his partner; his friend; the man in whose hands he lay his life every day.

When the order came, the kiss broken, his mouth freshly bruised from the unrepentant assault, Fraser was silent. His assent came in the form of action; Fraser turned over on the spot in a single heft, then drew himself up onto his forearms and knees, careful to spread his weight so that if Ray leaned his own against him it would be a little less comfortable than their previous position. Almost the moment he was there, anticipation burst in his chest like bubbles in champagne, so palpable that he felt them tickle the back of his throat. He waited. ]

Yeah, like that.

[What happens after this is something that still remains at the back of Ray's mind. The concept of a fairly normal day tomorrow is a perfect scenario, but Ray still thinks the worst when it comes to these things, still half expecting a complete change by the time they've woken up. He knows that it wouldn't be like Fraser to love and leave, especially not to lie like this, but it's difficult to reassure his mind with logic. But now? Now he has Fraser on his knees, waiting, and that's far more important.

The moment Fraser's eye line breaks away from Ray he moves, pushing himself to his feet and taking the few steps towards the couch to snatch up a certain holster. When he approaches again he stays out of sight, boots stomping heavily against the floor and the quiet clink of buckles as he shifts behind, remaining directly away from view. If Fraser hadn't already guessed (or seen) by now Ray prompts with a sharp snap of leather as he swings it into the palm of his own hand for effect.]

You broke the rules big time, buddy. Almost got us found out. [Another snap of leather against his palm and then a quiet thump as Ray drops to a knee, tucked in right behind his partner.]

I can't let it slide. I gotta rep to uphold.

[And whatever this rep of his might be, it apparently involves keeping with his own set of rules and expecting the same from Fraser. Might be something he expects once they actually go undercover for this whole thing. The act will certainly be a convincing one at this rate.]

Same as before. Keep quiet. We don't want any more disturbances. [He reaches out his free hand to run the flat of his palm down Fraser's back, a quiet warning of what's to come. The second that hand withdraws his other moves into action, swinging back and then down in a short arc to lash the leather strip sharply against the upper back exposed to him. He has a little more manoeuvrability this time thanks to the added space the ground provides but his lash isn't much firmer than the first time, sharp as that initial contact undoubtedly is.]

Two more.

[ Seen, no, but Fraser listened, knowing why Ray was heading back for the couch, listening for the telltale whisper of leather on brocade that said that he'd picked up the strap. And really, even if he hadn't heard, he would have been able to guess that it was Ray's intention. He had broken the rules, after all, and while it was true that unless he'd interceded as he did Turnbull would have rushed in on them, the younger man simply wouldn't have been there at all if Fraser had managed to keep from screaming bloody murder.

All actions deserved fair reward; in this case reasonable punishment as befit the crime.It was an acceptable consequence. It was also, bizarrely, a consequence he found he was looking forward to as Ray slapped the leather against his hand for effect.

The hand is a gentle reassurance; a warning, but more importantly it helps Fraser time his own response. When the lash comes, though his body jerks naturally underneath it, Fraser has already exhaled, and there's no air in his lungs to snap out in a cry. The pain is still something else, though; it's remarkable how, without seemingly any sense at all, such a simple snap of leather has blood pooling downwards to quick effect.

Cool air makes the new welt sting, and there's a particular sharpness to the sensation where the second stripe crosses over the first. His skin burning with anticipation, Fraser deliberately, still only breathing more heavily, shifts back against Ray's hip, indicating wordlessly that he's ready. He exhales again, transfixes a spot on the floorboards inches from his nose, and tries not to tense up too much. ]

[Clever thing, that exhaling before the impact. Ray catches onto the trick swiftly and takes note. Like the steady exhale and trigger squeeze Ray has practised so many times at the firing range, the point after an exhale giving his body a stillness to focus, let his muscles relax and let his concentration lock purely onto the target. This exhale for pain method might be something he can use to his advantage one day, but for now he can use it to Fraser's and at least time the blows at the appropriate moments.

Ray takes the pause between strikes to assess the damage, gaze sweeping across the curve of Fraser's back to take in the growing redness. No cuts, abrasions, or anything else that'll indicate any lasting damage. It might bruise or sting for a few days but that can't be helped any more than Fraser's self inflicted lip cut. The Mountie was always doing something to injure himself anyway, what with his penchant for throwing himself out of moving cars, apartment buildings, in front of bullets, fists and anything else most would deem unsafe.

The push back against him jerks Ray from his staring, raising the holster above his head again and waiting for that tell-tale exhale. When he does strike again, it's almost perfectly timed, but notably more forceful as he uses his upper body to aid with the momentum rather than relying on arm strength. He's testing the boundaries, like he always does, seeing what he can get away with before he's told otherwise. This isn't about hurting Fraser, never was and never will be, this is about asserting himself, building his confidence in something that he's all too uncertain of, while offering Fraser the chance for his own control. It's a test for both of them, although Fraser certainly has the harder job.

That strike doesn't linger long, a whisper of leather as he drags the strip softly away, trailing a path against the fresh mark before lifting upwards once more. There's little in the way of pausing this time, just enough time for Fraser to manage a few sharp breaths before Ray's prompting with a quiet mutter of 'exhale' under his breath that might be for his own benefit just as much as Fraser's. Like squeezing a trigger, Ray waits until the breath has left them both before he lashes out again, sharp and hard with his body behind it again, the effort enough to leave him out of breath.]

Should be enough to think on. [He pants out, carelessly dropping the holster to the floor as it slips easily from his grip.]

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