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 a shame that Fraser couldn't see, if only for just that second, the brilliant smile that washed onto Ray's features, hidden away against Fraser's skin as it was. That all encompassing yes that dragged forth from the Mountie was perfect, encouraging and accepting in every way with no hesitation in it's meaning. They both wanted this and both enjoyed it, that couldn't be doubted.

Ray's careful with his lips, soft even as he tongue lashes out to add to the warmth, lapping a couple of times before dragging out a languishing lick against the salty stretch of that four inch graze. It's soothing up until a point where he decides to push it once again, alternating a warm tongue for a sharp scrape of teeth, dragged smoothly across the redness of Fraser's back.

He makes up for it with a simple reach around, fingers finding their target with ease to curl tightly about Fraser's arousal. He alternates his grip, his rhythm, his approach, trying to find the right reactions from his partner. Anything to work out how to do it just right. But it's not easy to judge what's causing a reaction when he continues the assault of his mouth, the soothing touch of lips and tongue occasionally integrated randomly with a scrape of teeth.

He'll learn in time, but for now it's just about their presence with one another. Getting to learn a whole new side of someone takes time.]

[ Fraser feels the smile. Like letters drawn on his back, he senses the subtle meaning in the change of shape of Ray's mouth through his kisses, and exhales another happy moan, his eyes drifting closed. Looking at the ground wasn't helping, but with his eyes closed he could stretch out with all of his other senses, feel more, hear more.

Feeling more was the priority. Particularly when feeling more meant feeling like this; meant feeling Ray's tongue lathing against abused skin, lapping at the sensitive graze, teeth scraping at bruises as Ray tugged down almost the full length of his shoulder blade with his mouth. It wasn't painful so much as a tingling sensation - Ray could have done more harm with a comb than with his teeth - but it was pleasurable none the less. Not at all anything that needed to be apologized for.

When Ray slipped his hand around his arousal again, there was no holding Fraser still. He rocked forward at once, his back dipping under Ray's mouth before arching back toward it, the muscles in his back undulating in time with the movement. Enough time had passed that he wasn't quite as sensitive as he'd been five minutes before, but it was an improvement because of that--he could actually feel Ray rather than at the first touch only being aware of there being too much sensation all at once. Not that there isn't too much sensation. Between Ray's mouth, his hips and his hands, it was already becoming difficult to think, difficult to do more than pant soft yesses over and over again under his breath. ]

Yes. Yes, Ray, yes.

[ Technically breaking his own rules, the slip of the name comes when Ray's touch is at its most rough, its most firm, in contrast to the gentle, soothing searching of Ray's tongue. He whimpers out loud when the touches to his cock are instead too gentle, but the teeth catch rough against the swell of bruising welts. Fraser is all contrast; he thrives on it. ]

[The movement underneath him is worked with, trying to keep his own body in tune with the shifts of Fraser. It all draws back to the the rhythm of his hand, both of them trying to add to the stimulation of one another.

While Fraser's back arches and bows beneath him, he tries to match his head in with the movements, the up and down shift helping along with the lapping of his tongue and the occasional bump of teeth against skin is hardly cause for concern. Ray's hips rock in behind, rolling against Fraser with each stroke of his clenched hand, flattening himself across his partner's lower back as he does so. It's surprisingly easy to find a balance between synchronising all these movements, but it's no different than dancing, not really.

With the movements as fluid as he can manage, his free hand reaches out to ruffle fingers through Fraser's sweat-slick hair, grabbing a handful for leverage to tug his head back. He shifts himself upwards, chest pressed so tightly to Fraser that there's a constant friction against those burning welts, his mouth instead shifting to give attention to the bared neck with a similar treatment of tongue and teeth. He's close enough that he barely has to speak above a quiet murmur.]

You got enough in you to come again, buddy?

[And there's that fiendish little smirk again, curled against Fraser's neck before sinking his teeth against the quickened pulse of his jugular.]

[ Synchronisation--that's exactly what it is. The rhythm is so much like dancing that Fraser can hear the music again, although to be fair he's leading the harmony with his own little noises; harder, harsher though they've inevitably come to be. He dances, follows Ray's lead as before, and then as fingers curl deep in his hair he groans, the sound a deep, louder rumble that he doesn't even care to try and subdue.

Fraser doesn't just let himself be pulled back, he moves up with the tug, coming up onto his knees in such a way as he's almost sitting in Ray's lap, torso upright and pressed against him, chest heaving. His eyes flash open open again, lashes fluttering as he gets his bearings, his head pulled back nearly against Ray's shoulder. The tension there is visible. Benton swallows, gasps in another eager mouthful of too-hot air. The sweat on his neck glistens in the low light, and his whimper at Ray's mouth - tender, affectionate, a little rough against his neck - almost smothers the sound of Ray's murmur.

He doesn't have an opportunity to answer before Ray's teeth sink deep against his neck, and again, even unable to see the grin he knew without doubt it was there--not that the shape of Ray's mouth was the first thing on his mind. Teeth and wonderful, contrarily euphoric pain, a peppering of shock, all of which contribute to one distracted Mountie; one who cries out loud, but perhaps not as loud as before, under the unexpected assault.

And distantly his mind goes to the impossibility of hiding this particular mark underneath even the high collar of his uniform, and whether or not he would want to even if he could. He almost anticipates the perverse pleasure of dancing around the inevitable questions without ever actually straight up lying about it.

And if there's an answer to Ray's question, he's really in no position to answer it. ]

[As Fraser moves, so does Ray, letting the momentum of the tug carry them upright while making sure to keep their bodies connected as much as possible. Ray needs the wet warmth of Fraser's skin against him, loathe to have them part for too long to feel the cool air of the office take over. He needs the assurance, wants Fraser wrapped against him. Clingy could be one word for it, but Ray just prefers the term 'affectionate'.

In hindsight he didn't exactly give Fraser much of a chance to reply before he was sinking teeth into flesh, but it could be included as rhetorical anyway. Whatever the reply is, Ray's still going to see Fraser through to the end with the aid of a skilful hand, eager mouth and excitable body shifts.

The noise issue has all but been discounted now, difficult as it is to punish the Mountie in their current position beyond biting him, which... Ray did before there was even a necessity to bite. It's difficult to punish when pain has become pleasure. Turnbull will just have to listen to Fraser winning this game, because Fraser is definitely winning something.

Ray's teeth never quite pierce skin, but they'll undoubtedly leave a mark, especially with the pressure he sucks and licks against it, a school yard trick. He doesn't care if it can be covered or not, wouldn't even mind the odd glances or careful questions Fraser would get about it. It's Ray's marking on Fraser, to show where he's been. Once he's certain of marking, he moves onwards to the more obvious target, lips dusting kisses across his partner's jawline as they make a path upwards, settling quickly at latching around an earlobe, teeth delicately wrapping around as he sucks softly.

The relative softness from his mouth is countered with a firm, sharp grip of his hand, working with the upward thrust of his hips as he grinds against without shame, his breath breaking out into heavy pants and soft whimpers around Fraser's ear, occasionally mingled with an almost pathetic sounding groan.]

[ Clingy, affectionate; both words work just fine for him. Truth be told he can't think of a position he'd rather be in, even with Ray's teeth in his neck and the hard floorboards under his knees. They twist and move together in a symphony of perfection, and Fraser doesn't resist any of it, not Ray grinding against his ass or the hand buried firmly in his hair to hold his head back, or the other hand working more and more insistently as the moments begin to blur into one.

He doesn't fight the urge to make noises, either. Now that they're approaching that level, Fraser justifies his noisemaking with the idea that if he were to perhaps let out some of the noises a little at a time, he might not be wound so tight that more death throes were the only way to expel the built up tension.

Adding to the security is the meticulous mark making against his neck. Fraser knows what it is, knows it's Ray autographing his work, knows he's stamping his ownership right where nobody could help but see it. He knows, too, that come the next evening the bruise would be better than bright red; it'd be mixed with mottled purple, clear semicircular teethmarks black against the other colors. It'd be impossible to pretend he'd been bitten by an animal--animals didn't hang around and suck on the skin afterwards, and perfectly strong, capable Constables in the RCMP didn't just hold still and let them have their way even if they did. And then Turnball would mention that it was inflicted during a game Fraser was playing with Ray and--oh dear.

No, he could barely even follow that line of thought. All he cared about was that he was marked, that he belonged to Ray and that the bruises on his neck would be a visible reminder of this night for long enough that the memory wouldn't slip through his fingers.

And more importantly it actually feels incredible. There's something about the applied pressure, the burning of his skin against Ray's mouth that had Fraser groaning pitifully. His panting, by the time Ray's mouth finds his jaw, is that of a man who can no longer properly process air, and as Ray begins to suck on his ear, Fraser feels the last of his defenses swelling to a fine crescendo, a roaring sound in his ears, a comet crashing into dazzling splinters behind his eyes.

There was nowhere else for his head to go backward, but Fraser lifted himself up on his knees several inches, permitted himself to cry out, and without anything like as much noise as last time - but still loud none the less - spilled over. It wasn't as physically spectacular as the first time, but the sensation was richer, more explosive, as though the sentiment and the rules and the confidence that had grown between them leant itself to fantastic orgasms in particular. Fraser felt safe, he didn't need to hold back and so he didn't, secure in the knowledge that he was in the hands of a man who cared what became of him when all this was over.

And then trembling, panting, more spent than he'd ever been in his life, he slid back the two inches into Ray's lap, face still upturned, mouth wide open, throat working at the air. ]

[It's tiring just to watch Fraser work himself into such a frenzy, all throaty moans and ragged panting as he leans his weight into Ray, and Ray accepts every last bit of him readily.

As Fraser reaches his peak Ray helps him through it, milking every last bit of pleasure from the Mountie thanks to an experienced hand and a whole lot of care and patience (as rare as that might be in Ray). His own breath comes out in sharp huffs, his mouth finally removing itself from Fraser's ear, instead resting his chin on the provided shoulder and humming out a low approval. His tight grip on hair is released as his hand drops lazily by his side, coming to rest instead at Benton's hip and giving his partner a little more breathing room than the currently bared throat had offered. Whether he takes the added freedom or not is up to him, but the offer is there and physically permitted, finally freeing his friend from the tight grips and minor rules.

With the Mountie in his arms, there's a shift from Ray, dragging his feet out from under himself to instead kick them out in front and sit with his ass to the floor, legs either side of the other as if adding to the embrace. All the while Ray still holds him close, almost cradling, careful not to disturb the recovering Fraser too much.]

You did good. [He eventually states, quiet and smiling to himself as he presses a kiss to the shoulder he's using as a rest, Fraser's skin burning hot and slick with sweat under his lips. This is certainly a first for seeing his partner quite so warm.]

[ He feels hot, skin a burning mess, every muscle seemingly pushed beyond its limit, like he's run ten kilometers through the city streets without so much as stopping to catch his breath. Where his bare skin touches Ray's, the heat is a hundredfold, but any discomfort he could have taken from it is reflected in pouring sweat and ragged breathing; the only ability Fraser has to cool down.

When Ray lets his hair go and shifts deliberately under him, Fraser resists the urge only for a split second to slump against him, and follows him down just a moment later, his head lolling onto Ray's shoulder, his still stinging back pooled against his partner's chest, cuffed hands settled across the back of Ray's wrist. His eyes closed, stayed that was for a few blissful moments before he forced them open again. No matter how tired he was, Fraser wasn't cut out for this kind of selfishness. He always put his partner before himself--it should apply here too. To this.

Perspiration from his cheeks had made his eyelashes dewy, his cheeks were pink, darker around his temple, and his eyes were all but shot, mostly swollen black pupils. His lips were similarly abused, and when Fraser breathed it felt like he was taking in all the air in the room only to expel it again, each breath leaving little impact on the white noise of arousal that still seemed to permeate every cell of his body. He turned his head none the less to find Ray's, tilted it upward so that just the bridge of his nose grazed against his partner's stubbled jaw, and let out a trembling sigh that seemed at last to bleed out some measure of his tension.

His words, a low rumble, lacked any of his usual clipped Canadian grace. They were smoky, human words, a veritable bedroom voice. ]

Help me over to the couch, I have something for you.

[Ray sits with Fraser throughout, holding him in close as the weight of the Mountie slumps in against him. There's a certain stillness to Ray as he absorbs the scenario, gaze flicking to catch little slivers of information from Fraser. So much about him was different, so ruffled and unrefined compared to the straight laced Mountie that presents himself to the rest of the world. It's worth spending every second he can remembering this moment, even if it does mean having to hold some semblance of patience.

While Fraser's breath is hot against his jaw, Ray takes a moment to slip his eyes closed, humming out a low, satisfied exhale, breathing steadily alongside his partners pants and sighs.

The voice has him cracking his eyes open again, brows furrowing as he tries to register the tone. It wasn't like anything he'd heard from Fraser before, less Queens English Mountie and more gruff wild man. Ray approves with a smile. If only he got to hear that more often, but perhaps it's better he didn't. It was far too distracting to work alongside.

But Fraser has made a request and Ray will honour it, trying to hold Fraser somewhat in place as attempts to get a foot under himself enough to struggle to his feet, hooking under Fraser's arm to aid with tugging him up alongside. He'll take as much weight as Fraser wants to give, stable enough to act as a leaning post if needed. It's not exactly far to go when the couch is only a few steps away.

It's only as Ray aids his partner in getting settled that he really registers the second part of that previous request, reading enough into it to get the general idea. He thinks.]

Fraser. You don't owe me anythin'. I'm good. I'm spent. This was for both of us.

[ At the very least Fraser does everything in his power to help Ray get them up to their feet, even though he's straining under the effort to use his own muscles again himself. It's hard work getting upright, but it would have been more difficult still without Ray's help, and they don't have far to go, all but falling the short distance across to the couch. As Ray helps him down, Fraser is already looking up at him with a look of puppy-dog yearning that would be alien and incomprehensible on any face but his. Just saying.

He reached for Ray's shoulder - with one hand, before following through with the other, seeing as the handcuffs gave him little choice in the matter. Urging him down onto the couch beside him, Fraser had a sense of new, quiet focus about him. Panting breathlessness had been replaced with earnest post-coital calm, although Fraser was still far beyond damp and flushed, weak limbed like a kitten and still clearly fighting with all his strength to keep his head up and his eyes open.

His hands smoothed down Ray's arm, wrists still together. His fingers crooked against Ray's elbow, and he pushed himself up off the back of the couch with the same deliberate effort he expressed in his work. This wasn't work, though. This was...this was something else. Fraser moved to brush a kiss to Ray's throat, urging him to move back, to settle. It wouldn't be so bad; he had the feeling he wouldn't have to support his own weight for long, and most of the movement he intended included slipping to the floorboards at Ray's feet. ]

I want to.

[ Although what specifically it was that he wanted to do he hadn't said yet. It was clear in Fraser's mind, at least, and that was all he needed in order to be getting along with it. ]

I'm not going to leave you like this. Not when you've been so good to me.

[ Okay, so his intentions weren't that obscure. ]

[Not that the puppy eyes. Anything but the puppy eyes.

How is Ray expected to come up with any sort of counter or decline when he's got Fraser staring up at him like that? He's seen that look far too often during their time together, and it's always resulted in Fraser getting his own way. When does Fraser not get his own way, to be honest? It's just the puppy-dog look works far too well in making Ray cave under the request. It's a cruel and unfair weapon to use, but under the circumstances he can be forgiven in using it.

Unsurprisingly Ray caves almost immediately after the look, urged into the couch by Fraser's cuffed hands, dropping heavily, tiredly down into the spot beside. He doesn't need much encouragement to relax, shoulders dropping at the lips at his throat, his exhale coming out soft but needy.]

Not gonna argue.

[He knows better than to argue. Usually.]

[ It's good. It's good because, honestly, Fraser wouldn't have the strength to fight or argue if Ray tried to resist.

In giving affections, Fraser is all kisses; his mouth falls at Ray's throat, his shoulder, drags against pectorals and biceps while Fraser's hands butterfly flat against his chest to support his weight. Fraser makes it look comfortable, makes it look easy, turning his cheek once - as before - against the heat of Ray's chest to soak him in, to listen to the beat of his heart just beyond his ribs. The rhythm is still there, as before, and Fraser lets it ground him--he needed something, after all, he felt like he was floating away.

He risks drowning again when he meets Ray's eyes across the length of his chest - arousal is a far away dream, but that look would be more than enough to inspire such thoughts had he not been so thoroughly spent already - and the last few inches of slithering across Ray's lap lets him slide safely down to the floorboards, folded up between Ray's feet. His chin bumps against Ray's hip, and then Fraser tilts his head in, gusting hot breaths against bare skin before following on the tail of them with wet kisses.

Just as it seems all he'll be is gentle, Fraser closes his mouth across the suspensor tendon just below and to the left of Ray's hip bone, closing specifically on the cluster of nerves that ran down to his groin. The kiss rapidly turns to the press of firm, blunt teeth, rough suction--if Ray gets to mark him, then so does Fraser. Turnabout was only fair play. ]

[Ray sprawls.

Loose limbed and messy in a way that only he can truly manage. It's a good sign, showing he's relaxed and easy, especially when he's practically melting into the couch as Fraser's lips work their way across his skin, slick and salty from the evenings exertions.

He watches it all, chin tilted down, perching his elbows over the back of the couch as Fraser's head settles on his chest, listening, Ray assumes. He tries to steady his breath, keep his chest moving up and down in a steady rhythm that isn't jarring to the cheek pressed against it. He even succeeds for the most part, although there's a building anticipation that has his heart beginning to race.

By the time Fraser's slithered to the floor Ray has pretty much worked out what his intentions are, eyes locked on the questing mouth with a questioning furrow knitted in his brows. He's tempted to say something, to assure Fraser again that it's not necessary, but his words die in his throat the second he feels teeth.

The jolt of nerves is a shock to his system, like a bolt of lightning that sparks sharply towards his dick. He's not prepared for it and all he can do in response is jerk his hips, head lolling back as a single word escapes him sharply, possibly what may have been a swear word once upon a time but sounds much more like a prolonged 'faaak'.]

[ Fraser knows the power he has, the fact that he has the ability to simply match Ray's gaze and breathe on his neck and it'd probably be more than enough to break him. It's a power, even if he doesn't actually understand what that power actually is.

Ray's anticipation is almost magnetic, and when he jolts off the couch toward him, slipping on the seat, there's little Fraser can do but brace against him with his shoulders, working his teeth against flat, hard sinew and muscle. There's not enough to get purchase on, but it's not enough to stop him leaving his bruises, working a three inch line of them into a path that led due south.

His sound of appreciation is a happy hum, the vibration pressed against Ray's bare skin. Still exhausted, drained from his own exertions, Fraser doesn't dare close his eyes; he knew he'd be asleep in moments if he did, and the truth was that this would be the least appropriate moment for Fraser to fall asleep with his head in Ray's lap.

Inexperienced he might be, particularly in things like this, but noone could claim that Fraser wasn't a quick learner. In fact his previous teasing was given another demonstration, as he deliberately scuffed his raw bottom lip against the bulge in Ray's barely-off-his-hips jeans. He followed it up with the flat heat of his tongue, closing his mouth over everything--rough denim tainted with the scent of musk, the swell of Ray's arousal, at least the portion that lay just beneath the tag of his fly; the metal zipper, which he clicked deliberately against his top teeth, sending vibrations through the fabric. His hot breath slipped through the open teeth of the zipper with every exhale. Eight of them, in fact, before Fraser pulled back far enough to breathe a single command: ]

Off.

[In a matter of minutes Fraser has Ray falling apart, squirming and panting against him from the constant pressure of teeth, each pinch of skin rumbling up a new shuddering exhale. The assault is relentless, every bite and suck against flat muscle rippling through the entirety of his body before pooling south, adding to the already straining arousal.

As marking goes it'll be much easier to hide, but Ray's certain he'll have a deep purple reminder for days, even weeks, to come, symbolising just how very intimate Fraser could get with a line trailing down like a neon sign towards it's final destination.

By the time Fraser's reached the jeans, Ray's already desperately eager and whining at the heat of that mouth, even through the thick barrier of denim. Fraser seems so deliciously good at this, even for what may be a first time, his hot breath and damp tongue close to sending Ray over the edge far too early. He bites down on that thought, jaw locking and channelling that release to be something vocal instead; a noisy but pathetic whine.

There's that switch in commands again, Fraser rightfully taking the reigns and leaving Ray barely capable of doing anything beyond nodding dumbly. The sudden move into action is as uncoordinated as it gets, his hands fumbling uselessly towards the zipper like he's got little control of them. By the time he's getting some sense back (it took a moment for him to start thinking with his brain rather than his dick), he's managing to wriggle out of the denim and underwear all in one go, tugging them down with an arch of his hips though halting just below the knees. To go further would mean wrestling himself out of his boots as well.]

Fraser. This is-- [Something. Good. Great. Amazing. Intimate. So very intimate. Because nothing says intimate like going down on a friend. Ray's measly hand jobs pale in comparison to the mere suggestion of this.]

[ Throughout, Fraser's eyes had yet to so much as even drift closed. They'd stayed on Ray, as they were on him now, looking up at him with his cheeks almost touching the inside of Ray's thighs, still flushed and wanton from his earlier exertions, and now that Ray's fought his way out of his underwear his erection looms between them, effectively the elephant in the room--or embassy as was actually the case. Fraser licked his lips, his mouth dry from sucking on denim, and rolled his shoulders forward slightly, his cuffed hands dropping to the floor beside his knees.

Fraser. This is-- ] --A bad idea? Are you going to tell me not to "put that in my mouth" now, Ray?

[ He shifted upward, dragging the flat of his tongue deliberately along the underside of Ray's cock, following the crease of sinew from base to tip. Only smoky lust hung in too-black eyes when, at the apex, his tongue disappeared back between his lips, and Fraser worked his mouth, swallowed, and spoke again. ]

It's perfectly alright. I have a fair idea where it's been.

[ This is really why he shouldn't be allowed to talk in a bedroom situation. At least he's not choosing this moment to recite an Inuit legend. ]

Hold on to me. Don't let go.

[ It's all the warning he gives before leaning forward, at last - if only because of the angle - having to drop his eyes away, taking several inches down in one. As before, there was no let-up; Fraser's mouth was heat and lashing tongue. It swelled and dipped and tasted, relentlessly devouring, and Fraser paid his usual amount of hawklike attention to proceedings without seemingly straining to observe. He wanted to know what worked, even though what he suspected was that Ray would succumb to almost anything--except maybe - and only maybe - Fraser biting down as hard as he could, something he wisely chose not to test. ]

[Fraser's close. So, so close.

Ray briefly reflects on just how many things he's seen Fraser lick in their time together, and how his cock was one thing he never expected to be added to that list.

But there it is, the flat of Fraser's tongue dragging up the far-too-sensitive length of Ray, tasting every bit of him and causing every muscle in him to jitter expectantly. He does everything in is path to keep his hazy, pale gaze locked on Fraser's, the stare down almost as stimulating as the tongue itself thanks to those lust fuelled eyes.]

Hngh, jeezus. This is one thing you can lick. [The awkward little mumble rounded off with an equally awkward laughing exhale, cut off short as a wet warmth suddenly engulfs him.

The initial wrap of lips has his eyes rolling back in his head and head lolling back, a throaty groan wrenching it's way out of him as he does his best not to jerk right against Fraser. That mouth and tongue are sinfully skilled and a constant stimulation, working every inch they touch with a knowledge that Fraser really shouldn't be privy to. Ray definitely does succumb to it all, every single change and switch making him arch, squirm and whine beneath Fraser. When he does eventually look down again, it's to bonelessly move his arms, reaching to hold as instructed, one hand flopping onto Fraser's shoulder and quickly turning into a white-knuckled grip, while the other finds purchase tangling into his hair, supportive rather than controlling.]

[ If Fraser had so much as paused he might have broken into one of his roguish grins but he's much too busy shattering every cellular bond in Ray's body in a single sweep on his tongue to stop just for effect. Ray takes a moment too long to reach out and grab hold of him, but when he does the grip is tight and safe, and Fraser feels - even though he's prepared for Ray to buck and squirm like a yearling at the end of a rope - control in his gestures. Maybe it's because Ray is used to more genteel partners, people he has to protect. Maybe he feels he has to protect Benton too. It doesn't matter which--it's endearing.

Shifting back up onto his knees, some of his strength having ebbed back into him with excitement, Fraser sank deeper, relaxing and angling his throat so as to sink near down to the base. His tongue stilled, but only for a moment as he tested the new position, muscles contracting, reflexes all but subdued in order to better accommodate Ray's member.

Two seconds, that was all he gave him, and then Fraser was drawing back again, lapping furiously, withdrawing almost all the way back before he let himself inhale, just once, through his nose. His mouth stayed tight, lips pressed against foreskin, tongue more delicate as it probed and poked, until, exhaling, Fraser let his exploration slow to an easier rhythm, like waves beating on the shore; rising and falling with the swell, soothing, urging.

He'd never once thought about doing this. But here he was, not so much as thinking twice before pouring himself into it--but then decisiveness and rash decisions were in his nature. He'd come to Chicago for nothing less. Kissing Ray had been a rash decision all to itself. ]

[Genteel or not Ray can't help the upwards jerk of his hips as Fraser takes in the rest of him, careful, precise, experimental and deeper than Ray's been taken before. There's something to be said for having Fraser for a partner.

All that Ray's capable of saying for the moment is sounding out a desperately needy whine as the withdraw happens, his erection cooling rapidly against the air, all but adding to the sensation despite his ridiculous noises of complaint. He doesn't complain for long though, his whine transforming itself into something a little more throaty at that probing tongue. By the time Fraser's starting up some semblance of rhythm Ray's hips are arching and rocking into a his mouth, needy but steady, letting his partner set the pace and tone, completely at his disposal.]

Nngh, I'm gonna... I need to... Fraser.

[There's something apologetic about his tone, barely noticeable above the desperate growl behind the words. He'd love to last longer, to have Fraser's mouth around him for the rest of the night (early morning?), but there's been so much happening throughout the evening that his body barely knows how to react any more. He's tired and over stimulated and at the rate Fraser's working his tongue, Ray will be done all too shortly.]

[ Fraser lets the rocking of Ray's hips set the pace rather than his own working mouth, confident that his partner knows both how fast he wants to and can go. There's no effort to hold him down, wouldn't be even if he had the hands spare to do it; the rhythm is natural, and Fraser compensates for every twitch like he's adapting to slippery footing on the mountainside.

His tongue swirls again as Ray rumbles desperate words. The warning he hears, the apology he only thinks he's heard, but none the less Fraser chooses that moment to draw back, pressing his face instead into the crook of Ray's thigh, cheek smooth against his arousal. He spoke in a low, husky timbre that carried through flesh and bone rather than being regularly audible: ]

Ready?

[ Despite being phrased as a question, it really wasn't, and Fraser was bracing himself just as much as the other way around. He uncoiled, rolling his shoulders upward and raising his chin so that he could look right up at Ray, look him in the eyes as before, and drink in the sight of him prone and strained beyond his limits, sweat slick, brow-beaten by pleasure. It's another moment of Fraser recording it to his internal memory, fortunately less spacious than the last time, before he leans down and takes Ray into his mouth for the last time. The last time tonight, at least.

Fraser's tongue swirls; everything is slow and deliberate, trying to maintain a rhythm despite what he knows will be Ray falling apart underneath him, keeping it a steady flow of hot muscle, lips, the lightest scrape of teeth. His eyes close, but Fraser isn't afraid of sleep engulfing him now, his heart racing in anticipation--and he's ready, as ready as he could ever be.

Ready to commit to this thing through to the end; through the rapids, and off the waterfall into the blissful depths of drowning that waited below. ]

[When Fraser withdraws again he's leaving Ray trembling and panting underneath him, thrumming with an urgent energy that's building up to boiling point, already simmering over in tight moans and so much desire that he's not sure whether he wants to cry or cry out.

He nods dumbly when that single word is asked, or possibly stated, staring down at Fraser with a renewed appreciation. Ray's certain he looks a mess, all oddly angled hair (barely any change there, then), flushed skin and noodle limbs trembling at every touch, but Fraser? Fraser still somehow looks perfect. The ruffled appearance, the exhaustion, the bruised lips and pink ears, all somehow still resulting in a gorgeous Mountie. Ray conjures up the energy for a smile, genuine but tired as the hand in Fraser's hair shifts around enough for him to run a thumb against his cheek affectionately.

And then just like that Fraser's taking him again, wet mouth, swirling tongue and scraping teeth causing Ray to jerk and shudder and whine pathetically.

It doesn't take long for Ray to reach his point, scaling the summit with laboured breaths and tired muscles. It's less of a jolt to his system this time, less explosive, instead building like a wave before slamming into him with the full force of a tsunami and wiping out every last reservation he had. This time he's the one that cries out, loud and throaty as he makes one final arch upwards into Fraser's mouth, fingers gripping tight into a handful of hair and urging Fraser to stay with him through this.

By the time it's passed him, Ray's spent, collapsing back into the couch and exhaling in a low groan. His chest heaves, watching Benton through half-lidded eyes, lips curling up with what feels like the last bit of energy left in him. No words. He's not sure he can manage those just yet.]

[ Fraser doesn't even pause to think of how their sounds would carry through the thin walls of the consulate, doesn't wonder whether Turnbull will hear Ray cry out and wonder whether now it was Fraser who was losing the game--whether he'd fallen for it in the first place, or was just being polite considering the fact that he'd taken an axe to a locked door. No, he was giving Turnbull too much credit. But as to who was winning, it wasn't a simple answer any more.

Fraser felt on top of the world, and Ray was right there with him, crying out into air that seemed too humid from their exertions, arching upward against Fraser's shoulders almost as far as he could, hard fingers all but digging grooves in his scalp. There was no argument from the Mountie; couldn't be when what he was feeling through him was an ultimate act of trust between them, something bonding that Fraser didn't think he'd ever felt with anyone before. He gave himself wholly - yes wholly without hesitation, when he felt his affections were reciprocated - but betrayal had inevitably made Fraser wary.

With Stanley Kowalski there was nothing to be wary about. He still implicitly trusted him, would give his life for him and vice versa. They understood each other on a level beyond intimacy, making this almost as easy as breathing; as natural.

Ben hung onto that glorious final moment with him, let Ray's fingers and the pulsing overflow of his orgasm tether him in place. What small quantity of sticky seed spilled against his tongue Fraser relishes, unperturbed by taste or lewdness, and when he did slowly - very gently - peel himself back, he remained for just a heartbeat to watch Ray watching him, lowering his bottom lip just far enough that the tip of his tongue showed as he pressed the taste of Ray against the back of his front teeth. It wasn't intentionally sultry, it just came off that way.

A little more awake than Ray meant Fraser had the advantage. His own limbs had more strength in each of them than Ray's body combined, which meant he could shift back, using his shoulders to rearrange Ray's legs across the couch before climbing up over him, knotting limbs together as he sank down with one shoulder against Ray's bicep, his back against the back of the couch, his handcuffed wrists neatly crossed over in the center of Ray's chest. He was close enough to kiss, but all he graced with such affection was the curve of Ray's jaw, before he settled his head very lightly down beside his partner's, breath huffing against Ray's throat. Words were hardly necessary when the state of his breathing said everything that needed to be said. ]

[Ray hadn't even thought about the noise level, didn't really have the level of brain function to even care about it. If they were to be interrupted once again he'd rely entirely on Fraser. And if Fraser didn't deliver, he didn't even care about being caught with his literal pants down.

And relying is exactly what he was doing, able to invest so much trust in Fraser that he knew he could count on the Mountie for anything. They'd been through too much together for either of them think otherwise. Life saving was virtually a daily occurrence for them and together they were practically unstoppable. Perhaps this recent development wasn't quite the natural progression of their friendship, but it felt right, no matter what doubts Ray may have shared at the start.

It's impossible to deny Fraser, especially when he's like this, still somehow maintaining a level of endearing innocence even when looking like that, all sultry eyed and suggestive tongue gestures. It's quite the talent. Ray doesn't even fight the movement, allowing the shift of his legs while he makes a vague attempt to at least help lift them, although the moment he's got his back flat out on the couch he's melting, puddle-like, one arm draped off the edge, knuckles against the floor. He welcomes Fraser settling in against him, using what minimal energy he has to get that other arm wrapping around his partner and keeping him close.

As they settle he merely offers a satisfied hum, murmuring something that might have been some version of 'night', eyes drifting shut as he does so.]

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Benton Fraser | Due South

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