Benton Fraser | Due South

[dogsled]

BENTON FRASER。

"You know, Fraser, when they offered me this assignment, they made it sound kind of normal. They say, 'Hey, Ray, here's a chance to start over, ditch the past.' 'What's the catch?' I say. 'Oh, your partner's Canadian.' Canadian? I got nothing against Canadians, except for the time when they won the World Series, which I'm willing to overlook. But at no time did they say, 'you'll be working with a Mountie who's got a wolf that's a florist'"

NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT

Comments

[dogsled]

[ 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. ]

[kickem]

[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.]

[dogsled]

[ 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. ]

[kickem]

[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.]

[dogsled]

[ 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. ]

[kickem]

[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.]