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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[Even Diefenbaker was embarrassed. Go figure. Although that doesn't surprise Ray in the slightest considering the wolf's usually accurate assessments of the scenarios at hand. Dief will have heard much of last night even if he wasn't witness to it, Ray's just not sure how much a canine can process of what the sounds mean. Knowing Dief, he knows everything. Damn wolf.]

My jelly doughnuts. [He says, mostly to himself. Mystery finally solve on what happened to them. He'd actually assumed Huey and Dewey were the prime suspects.

But there's more pressing matters at hand right now, like the half naked Mountie standing in the open doorway of the consulate. When prompted Ray's quick to rearrange the pile of clothing in his arms and withdraw his sheepskin lined leather jacket, haphazardly tossing it over Fraser's back and then trying to arrange it on his shoulders. It's narrower than Fraser could easily fit into but it does it's job. Jacket sorted, Ray charges down the steps and off towards his car, unlocking it, tossing his armful into it and giving Dief access to the back seat.

Once he's sat in himself, he's reaching over to swing the passenger side open for Fraser, waiting until he's in before he goes over his totally perfect plan.]

Okay. If we drive hard and fast enough, we should make the Mexican border in uh, twenty hours?

[ Fraser held still while the jacket was rearranged, his shoulders bunched sightly forward to prevent it slipping, and carefully made his way out to the Pontiac, he ducked his head low, awkwardly climbing into the passenger seat when it was proffered, reached out to pull the door shut, then exhaled in relief. They'd made it to the car. It was a good start.

His back ached from the pressure of sitting on it, but Fraser pulled across his seatbelt wordlessly, before craning forward to peer into the side mirrors, glancing back over his shoulder, a frown creasing his brow. ]

Do you think Mexico would be far enough?

[ Hey, it's a fair question. Fraser looks away from the mirrors to check the glove box, the console, the footrest, finding no sign of Ray's handcuff keys, and when he straightens up there's a car pulling into the rearview.

A woman getting out, scowling at the GTO, meeting Fraser's eyes in the reflection. ]

Oh boy. Ray--Ray, start the car. Ray start the car.

[ Mexico sounded really good. ]

[Fraser's search is useless. Ray already knows that there's very little likelihood of there actually being any handcuff keys anywhere in the car. They'll be in the station. There'll be plenty in the station.

Ray glances over his shoulder at whatever Fraser's spotted, catches sight of one pissed off looking Ice Queen, and then immediately understands the urgency of the whole situation.]

We're gone.

[Assuring as he kicks the GTO into gear and slams on the accelerator, wheel spinning his way out of the parking spot and off down the street to a blare of car horns as he manages to piss off several motorists in the process.]

Maybe not far enough. I figure we reach the border then just keep goin' south.

[Ray's fine with the sun. he might even learn a bit of Spanish. They can start a new life, it'll be fine.]

[ Talk about bleeding tension. Fraser stays rigid in his seat until they're two blocks away, and only then does he slowly let himself uncoil, breathe out, even properly look from behind his wide open eyes. Staring straight ahead wasn't watching where he was going.

He turned his head very slightly toward the man beside him. ]

You're a good friend.

[ Mexico actually sounds like a workable idea, actually. He almost feels bad for not rescuing Turnbull too, considering the fact that he'd been the one to take down the door with an axe. On the other hand his dressing down wouldn't make any impact, while Fraser is... Well, any more dressing down and he'd have to start peeling off layers of skin. And Thatcher would probably hand him the knife.

Flicking his eyes up toward Ray at last, the gentle hum of moving traffic and blaring car horns reassuring, Fraser let himself linger at last on what neither of them had had time to think about since rolling off the couch. He thought for several moments how to approach the subject, whether he even wanted to, then spoke very softly: ]

Even if it means we end up in Cape Horn, I had a wonderful time last night, Ray.

[ Nobody could say he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve. ]

[Ray focuses on the road ahead and tries not to think too deeply on anything beyond where to go. On instinct he's heading towards the station, but he does wonder if veering south and out of Chicago would be a much better choice for both of them. Sticking around means Ray getting a whole lot of flack from Welsh and Fraser getting probably worse from Thatcher, and he doesn't like the idea of either of them trying to explain themselves. Ray can lie, Fraser less so.

Once Fraser starts speaking, Ray provides the occasional glance sideways towards his partner to show he's listening, smiling lightly, more so to himself, when the word 'friend' pops up. It's not a word Ray had ever been too familiar with until he'd met Fraser and then, within days of them meeting, the damned Mountie was using it like they'd known each other for years. It was a nice. A good feeling. Like someone actually cared about him, and Ray's not really sure how to return it beyond nodding a light agreement. Words are hard.

And yet then, to top it all off, Fraser was bringing up last night and Ray supposes he really should find some sort of reply beyond more nodding.]

Yeah? [He sounds glad, relieved.]

So uh. We good? We still solid?

[He can't even ask if nothing has changed between them, because after last night, something clearly has changed.]

Edited 2014-07-23 17:55 (UTC)

[ Fraser knows Ray. He knows that the only way to talk to him is to listen to Ray's voice, to hear what he's not saying just as surely as the words. He heard relief, gladness, and lets it speak to him more than the words. Which if why - of course - he leaves Ray in the lurch for the space of a dozen heartbeats once his partner has spoken, though his eyes are on Ray not on the road.

He waited until he knew Ray wouldn't veer into traffic, then leaned across the space between them, brushing a kiss low on Ray's jaw, exhaling against his skin, then ducking back into his own seat. His eyes flicked back up toward the road, and Fraser settled in to behave himself in the passenger seat. ]

Better than.

[ It wouldn't be long now. Back at the station there would be enough handcuff keys - police issue, like Ray's - to get him out of his quandary. He could always just send Ray into the station to fetch a set, but how long would that take?

There was another option. An option that would mean being at least another half hour late. But maybe it would play into their hands, too. Of course instead of telling Ray the plan, Fraser simply changed it as they went along. ]

Right here.

[Fraser's wise to wait for a gap in the traffic. The pause in a reply has the smallest knot of anxiety twisting it's way into Ray's stomach in anticipation. He's not even sure why he's so concerned, if the answer were to be no he supposes they could carry on as before and never ever mention that night again. That's not the result he wants. He doesn't know what result he wants, but rejection is never his favoured choice. But... a no would make things easier, and easy is good. A yes means friendships and partnerships and none of that is every easy, not when Fraser is involved.

By the time those lips are brushing against his jaw he's a bundle of anticipation, limbs jerking away from Fraser briefly and taking the car along with him. It's only a brief moment of veering onto the other side of the road, then Ray's quickly correcting the movement to jerk them back onto the right side.]

Fraser!

[He's barely even registering the direction change until the last minute, no time to question it as he sharply skids the car into the bend, straightening her up on the straight with a slight wiggle from the back tyres. Poor Dief will just have to deal with sliding around in the back. He's probably used to it by now.]

I'm not driving us to the Canadian border.

[ Really. You'd think noone had ever necked him while he was driving before. Of course it meant that all bets were off from now on; Fraser now knew a way to distract Ray that didn't involve sea turtles, and he was precisely the kind of menace to take advantage of that fact.

Fraser sat into the steep turn, and as they set off down the next street, he looked ahead, making each of the turns in his head. In the back seat - as though guessing where they were heading - Diefenbaker turned around a hundred and eighty degrees, ready for the next turn. ]

Left here. [ Pause. ] The Canadian border? We're heading south-east, Ray.

[ And south, once they'd turned, heading almost directly away from the police station. Fraser tilted his head over to the right, as though he could somehow see better that way. ]

Next exit right.

[Using kisses to his advantage is just cruel, and there's absolutely no doubt that Fraser would too. Ray will just have to watch out for it, but it's hard to really complain about a hot Mountie with his lips on you.]

Okay, so we are going to Mexico?

[Because that's the only thing in the world that's south, right?

Whatever, he does as he's told, veering left sharply and then managing to take the right exit like a mostly normal driver would, all while sparing constant glances in Fraser's direction.]

Sure as hell ain't the way to the precinct. [So observant.]

In a manner of speaking.

[ They could call it Mexico. It was also the only place in the city that was likely to be able to get him out of the handcuffs without using bolt cutters or a firearm. And without passing judgement. ]

Slow down, Ray. We're here. Pull into the alleyway behind that delivery truck.

[ An alleyway like any other alleyway in the city. As the car came to a stop, Fraser gathered himself, sparing a glance into the backseat to look at Diefenbaker. ]

Stay here. No, absolutely not. Yes, it was years ago. They may not remember me, but they would most certainly recognize you. [ Dief whined. ] Well, yes, fine. A reprieve from your diet. But don't think you can use this as ammunition to blackmail me at any opportunity.

[ And then Fraser is looking straight at Ray. This was it. Game on. And okay, he was still in yellow striped breeches and Mountie boots, but... Well, they'd make it work. ]

Mexico. [ Said quite firmly. ] Our safe word.

[ Because where else would they be but outside the club? Even at ten in the morning, Fraser knew that there was a strong possibility that they'd have what they needed, and it'd be an excellent set up for returning in the evening, adding legitimacy to their relationship. He just couldn't have told Ray about it six blocks earlier--it was against his principle of making life difficult. ]

[Normally Ray wouldn't expect Fraser to be taking him to some seedy back alley. Normally. But as he's pulling in behind a delivery truck, that's exactly what appears to be happening. And of course, there's absolutely no explanation, leaving Ray to figure out for himself exactly where they are while Fraser argues with his wolf.

And Ray does realise where they are, rather quickly actually, he just wasn't used to being around this area town during the day.]

C'mon Fraser, this is... [Actually not a bad idea, considering their other options. Gives Ray a chance to scope out the place too.]

Alright, fine. We do this we gotta set some ground rules: No lickin' stuff.

[That's it. That's the ground rules.]

Okay, let's go.

[He's quick to wrestle into his holster, making sure the slide his badge under the arm to keep it out of sight, and there's even a very swift check of his gun before he's climbing out the car. He puts his hoody on to cover the holster and then, before straightening up, quickly reaches through the car to the glove box, withdrawing with a pair of shades.

With the car door slammed shut, he slips on his shades, offering himself a glance in reflective car window and nodding appreciatively. Yeah. He's bad ass. He can do this.]

This better work.

[ Don't lick anything? ]

I can't promise that, Ray.

[ He murmurs it on his way out of the car, taking out his hat and slipping it on his head. He takes the jacket out too, since it's fallen off his shoulders, and folds it over his arms, leaning just his hip against the door while he watches Ray get ready. It's almost ritualistic, he thinks, but no more than it would be if he were getting into his own uniform. Even if what Ray's climbing into is by no means a uniform. Maybe the complete opposite.

Fraser leant across the roof of the car. ]

You look - ah - edible. I could eat you.

[ Eat you up, Fraser.

In any case, it's borderline inappropriate, and he coughs to excuse himself then turns away. ]

Ah. This way.

[ At the back door, he waited for Ray to catch up with him, lifting his arms and the jacket toward him. ]

If you would?

[ The moment they went through the door, their undercover work became dead serious. No more were they playing a game in an office in the back of the Canadian Consulate. They had a job to do, and there would be risks involved. One person had already died. ]

[Edible? Really? Fraser's already eaten Ray once in the last twelve hours. The thought of which has Ray clearing his throat almost in sync with Fraser, turning away and heading for the door. He holds it open for for his handcuffed partner before following in, the sunglasses staying on despite the lack of light in the area. It's an image thing as well as a confidence thing, making him feel that little but more in charge of the world around him.

At least Ray already knows a thing or two about carrying himself in a crowd, that little swagger and set back shoulders trying to portray some serious alpha male signs.

He stays just behind Fraser's right shoulder, lifting a hand to rest there, supportive and guiding and sending a clear message to anyone near that he's already taken. Doesn't stop a few wandering eyes, but Ray can hardly blame them.]

So we're just gettin' some keys and gettin' out, right? [He questions, close against Fraser's ear.]

[ Fraser is barely aware of the switch. To be fair, Ray has so much swagger in him as a matter of course that it's almost natural of him to play such an aggressive role. When Ray leans in against his back, hand on his shoulder, breath against his ear, Fraser doesn't flinch, but as they step in through the side door into the actual traffic of early morning clubgoers. It's surprisingly busy for this time of day, but odd people are odd; Fraser doesn't question it any more.

It only means he has to play his part for a bigger audience. He tips his head over toward Ray somewhat. ]

More or less. Someone may talk--we should remain open to the possibility that lingering may yield results.

[ It's...distracting. Being looked at the way that people were looking at him made Fraser unusually uncomfortable. It wasn't like he hadn't been stripped down in front of other people before, but even in his long johns he tried to avoid exposing himself. He was exposed now, and helpless to change matters. At least with his hat on he felt somewhat safer. He could be invulnerable to everything but embarrassment.

Fraser licked his lips, halting midstep as he noticed the young couple by the bar. They weren't engaging with the crowd the same way as everyone else, ergo they worked here. ]

You see them? [ A slow breath, and then spoken lower. ] Step up, Ray.

[The swagger is natural, it comes with the fast talking, street smarts of Ray, from a knowledge of those who run Chicago, learned from all those gangsters and drug lords and mobsters that he'll just as gladly talk face to face with as shoot at. He knows how to act the part so fluidly by now that it's not surprising that Fraser barely notices a change from the usual. It's a fairly common role for Ray to pick.

As they pick through the crowds he keeps alert, sending a few warning glances to any that get to close, his message clear enough even with the sunglasses on. When one latex clad male does try and approach from the side, his gaze apparently far too focused on Fraser for Ray's liking, Kowalski makes a grab for him, shoving heavily as he snarls out a warning;] Back off!

[But he's spotted the couple that Fraser's referring to, the ones that don't appear to be partying quite as hard as the rest, and he nods slowly, steering himself and Fraser towards them.] I got this.

[He stops close by, catching their attention with a nod as he reaches to slide his sunglasses off and loop them into the collar of his creased t-shirt. His hand has yet to leave it's position at Fraser's shoulder and he keeps it that way, even as he walks around the Mountie to get in front. His arm acting as a leash, as if he's afraid letting go will somehow lose what he's attached to.]

Hey, who's a guy gotta speak to if he needs keys? [Smooth, Kowalski. Totally smooth. But he's stepping aside enough to jerk his head towards Fraser's cuffed hands, making his intentions obvious enough.] Police issue.

[ He definitely has it. Fraser doesn't notice the approach of the young man, but as soon as there's even the hint of him getting too close, slipping into Fraser's periphery, Ray is right there, all bristling street aggression, bumping into his shoulder as he snarls his warning.

And Fraser feels a new appreciation for his situation, for the safety he'd laid in his partner's hands, and for the possessiveness of the man to whom he'd placed that trust. It's easier to slip into his role after that, to let his eyes switch over to Ray and stay there, a low, slow burning hunger in them. He stops moving only when Ray circles him, hand still clamped across his shoulder, and - lips deliberately parted - he tilted his head far enough to actually look at the patrons around them at the bar, before switching to subdued submission again, disappearing beneath the rim of his hat.

The swirling conversation broke, then resumed, and of the two that Fraser had pointed out, it was the dark haired woman dressed head to toe in black gothic lace over scarlet who chose to take up the question. She hung across the bar, never taking her eyes from Fraser. ]

Let's see.

[Ray takes time to settle into his role, to really feel like they're not going to get spotted as frauds or laughed out of the club. He's not used to being surrounded by quite so many... freaks, but he's almost appreciative that this is the one place where a handcuffed topless guy in a Mountie uniform isn't looked at oddly. In fact, the scene the two of them present is relative normal by the standards of some of the others in here.

He can feel Fraser's eyes on him, but doesn't look back. Barely even acknowledges him beyond the constant contact. Doesn't even dare to glance because he's not sure he can handle that look without wanting to immediately pounce on the Mountie right in the middle of the club. Self-discipline has never really been his thing, especially not after a night like the two of them shared.]

Yeah. Yeah, look but don't touch.

[He directs Fraser closer towards the bar to give them a better look, still staying far too close to his side and watching the woman like a hawk. Fraser gets a nudge with his elbow to signal Ray's talking to him.] Hands up, let her see.

[ Fraser takes each step when he's directed and not before, moving up to the edge of the bar with Ray so close beside him that he can almost feel his tension, the vibration in his skin. The first few minutes undercover were always the hardest. Settling in would take time, but it'd be much faster so long as they didn't stray too far from themselves to achieve it. Fraser can follow rules. He can keep quiet and do as instructed. When Ray asks him to raise his hands, he obeys without hesitation, raising his eyes slightly at the same time.

She leans toward him, examining the cuffs, then cocks her head toward Ray. ]

Nice. Police issue, you don't see a lot of those. Not a cop, are you?

[ But apparently the thought of Ray being a cop was funny to her, because, laughing, she said: ]

I'm just yanking your chain. Sure, I might got a key works for these. But what's the rush? Nice guy like that? Be afraid to let him out of my sight.

[ She looked right up into Fraser's eyes, just for a second, then dropped backwards from her perch. ]

Key's sixty bucks. Or--

[ She glanced toward the other patrons. ]

Well, we have an entertainment clause here. These guys will pony up the fee themselves for a show.

[ Fraser didn't drop his arms. Or move, for that matter. But he took in a sharp breath, counted to three and exhaled it, making sure that Ray could feel him breathe against his flank, and hoping it conveyed his point. They weren't here to pay their money and run. This was about bonding with their targets, laying the foundation for trust. No matter how apprehensive the plan made him. ]

[Fraser's always been good at following orders, on the surface at least, but to see him this quiet and this compliant is something fresh and exceptionally endearing. It's like Benton's passive, puppy dog act taken to a new level, and Ray would happily explore it further when he had a chance. Later. Much later.

The mention of being a cop has him tensing up against Fraser, thankfully not visible, but the word has him on edge. Even as she laughs, he pauses for a moment, considering, before joining in with his own awkward chuckle.

Although he's not laughing for long.]

Sixty bucks?!

[At that price, Ray's tempted to just risk their chances at the station. He can buy the handcuffs themselves for cheaper than that. But there's an 'or' and he does listen for their other option, sparing a glance around the club before flicking towards Fraser and then back to the staff. He feels Fraser breathe against him, and if nothing else it provides Ray with a reminder to lower Fraser's hands with his own. He's not sure what to read from it, but it's probably the opposite from Ray's immediate 'no' that springs to his mind.

A show? Really? His lifted eyebrows are enough to show his thoughts on how generally unfavoured that suggestion is, but he moves to explain himself, leaning in closer towards the lacy female.]

Look uh, we've had a long night with plenty of private show already, y'know what I'm sayin'? But you got a business to run. I get that. I'm all over that. Maybe I buy a drink or two to help you out and you help us out with a key. [And then a throat clear as he carefully adds;] I uh. I don't like to share.

[ When urged to lower his hands, Fraser takes advantage of the opportunity to turn very slightly into Ray, pressing his shoulder lightly against the other man's chest, as though seeking protection. Every movement has to mean something now. Ray is listening to his body, watching him, and that's all the communication he can spare. Like cornering a target in dead silence, this is where they have to do their job to the very best of their ability; live and breathe as partners as though they were one. There's no second shot at this.

Ray was good. Overly cautious, but good. Rather than come off as avoidant, the role he played was the same overwhelming possessiveness that Ray had been acting on since they first stepped into the club. It fit the role he was playing, but more importantly Frasier personally appreciated it. He felt safe with Ray calling the shots.

The woman on the other side of the bar had seen it all before. To her, they were just another couple wanting just the same things; just as Ray would stand in the interrogation room and experience the same interview hundreds of times over his career. She peered at them for a few seconds, then turned away without providing an answer, fetching a ring of dozens of shiny keys of various shapes and sizes, and dangling them in plain sight. ]

I'll help you out. Half for the drinks, and you get this-- [ She put an empty tip jar on the counter beside them. ] Make up the rest of it or don't, but the house makes sixty bucks either outta your wallet or theirs. Dom or not, everyone around here's gotta play by the house rules, you know? It's just business.

[ No sooner had the tip jar touched he countertop, but the too-close man from earlier was pressing a ten into it, trying to avoid getting too close to Ray in the process. ]

Are you kidding? [ He had a nervous voice for a man with a zip up groin. The indentation on his nose and worn hair around his ears indicated long periods of wearing too-small spectacles, and there was printer ink on his fingers. An accountant, if Fraser had to guess. ] It's worth that just for walking in.

[ Twenty to go, right? ]

[Ray processes it all. The keys, the tip jar, the explanation. Even the nerdy looking gimp who offers them up their first ten bucks. Fraser turns heads wherever he goes, pretty boy that he is, it's not entirely surprising that he does the same in a place like this.

Apparently they need some sort of plan, which isn't fair at all. Fraser's the one with the plans and he's no use at all beyond the occasional light breath and shift against Ray.

Ray didn't want to share. That much was true. And he hardly felt comfortable with trying to throw Fraser to the wolves for the sake of thirty dollars. They could still have a show, he's sure of it, it just took a little voyeurism and the hope at least a few nearby patrons appreciated it.]

Okay, so you want a show. Hey, hey, freak shows, over here. [He clicks his fingers towards a couple cuddling close by who appear far more intent to watch others at it than show much affection to one another.

With a smooth hold and step around, Ray gets Benton turning with all the slickness of a dance twirl, backing him against the bar carefully and leaving him there. The cuffed arms are lifted again straight out in front, and Ray reaches for the tip jar, sliding it between Fraser's hands. A swift duck and weave has Ray under Fraser's arms and emerging between them, letting them rest at his shoulders as he leans in close.]

Relax. [An order and an assurance, wasting no time in leaning forward to claim Fraser's mouth with a firm kiss, all tongue and teeth straight off the starting line. It doesn't last long and when Ray does pull away, he's snapping his gaze towards that latex guy once again.] For another ten bucks I might even take requests. Or smack you in the teeth. Hell, for twenty I'd do both.

[Ray does his best to control the situation, to force himself upon those nearby, all chest beating bravado for the sake of cover, even when in the arms of a Mountie.]

[ If Fraser has an opinion on any of this he doesn't demonstrate it. It's a peaceful sort of calm he falls under, subdued, his shoulders lacking their usual stiffness so as to keep from looking too much like the police officer he was. His role was quiet submission, which gave him the chance to look at the people around him. The woman behind the bar didn't have a second job; her skin was pale, her hair thinning from chemicals, cigarette smoke and vitamin deficiency. She'd have seen the most, but her experience made her aloof and wary. The man she'd been speaking to before seemed to be some sort of cleaner; there was bleaching on his hands, and he wore a simple black shirt and pants. The bleaching around the wrists of the outfit shone under the ultraviolet lights, but he was tanned too, indicating that he didn't share this hobby and performed a second job or dedicated himself to an outdoor pursuit of some kind. By the state of his thighs, Fraser thought cycling.

In other words he was making a slow, steady progress on reading the patrons. Their killer rode a motorcycle--of all the clues he'd picked up on, that was the one that Fraser could most easily pick out of the crowd. He or she was right handed, five foot nine or ten, possibly worked or lived above an Italian kitchen (Parmesan flakes, oregano, tomato paste and maize flour that had come off the mud scraped off their boot when they kicked down the motorcycle's kickstand.) Fraser would know them when he saw them.

His attention had been drifting when Ray clicked his fingers, and it came back to his partner abruptly, just in time to turn with Ray on wordless command. His hands curled safely around the glass, thumbs hooking across the top of the rim, and Fraser adjusted the space between his arms to accommodate Ray as he slid between them. The bottom edge of the jar tucked into Ray's hood.

Relax. Well, that was more difficult. It turned out, now that they were here, that public displays of affection made Fraser fidget, but this was no chaste kiss stolen in thanks for his heroism, or unwanted hands being put all over him. Ray didn't wait for the impossible--he leaned in and made it happen, crushed his mouth against Fraser's, knocking his hat back two inches in the process before teeth and tongue lashed at sore lips, such that Benton had to bite down on a groan at the dull, wonderful ache of it. His mouth chased Ray's for a fraction of a second in his retreat, but he kept his distance obediently.

His eyes didn't drift away from Ray, but Fraser saw the movement and felt money being pressed into the jar. One patron even greedily ran their fingertips over the backs of Fraser's hands, though he didn't so much as blink at the unwelcome contact. Maybe he'd tell Ray about it later.

A woman - or was that a man? - with halitosis and cigarette smoke on her breath, leaned in toward Ray's ear. ]

Give you three hundred to swap with your friend, sugar.

[ For the first time since they'd come inside, Fraser shifted his own strength and weight, dropped his arms several inches and tensed his shoulders, pulling Ray slightly in toward him, demonstrating possessiveness in his own right. His eyes narrowed distinctly as he glanced toward the stranger, summoning everything in him to try to look even remotely spiteful. It wasn't easy, involved pretending the woman was Gerard back on that ragged snow road, but whatever it was he did worked--she laughed at him. ]

[Ray hadn't been paying the slightest bit of attention to those around him, which wasn't entirely surprising really considering his usual powers of observation. He can't pick a right handed biker out of a crowd any better than any normal person could, especially not when half the crowd are clad in items that could be mistaken for biker leathers. He'd felt Fraser's attention drift though and knew what he was up to, which makes the shift for position that Ray's just previously done all the better. With Fraser's back against the bar he had more chance of looking out at the early crowd and looking out for targets. Although Ray's prime aim right now was to get those damn keys.

He hears the shuffle of money and it's the only noise that's enough to have him breaking his stare with Fraser, glancing over a shoulder to try and glimpse at how much interest they may have garnered. He hears the breath at his ear before he's spoken to, even smells the wreak of lingering smoke. The offer isn't something Ray approves of, just about to snap back his reply when he's interrupted by a tightening grip pulling him in closer. When his gaze drifts back to Fraser he sees that look, one that's so rarely used but displays a gorgeous fire within. He laughs too, a roguish curl of his upper lip to show a row of white teeth, snickering out a few sharp exhales at the display.]

He doesn't like to share either. [Ray summarises, as if that wasn't obvious enough already, still smiling as he reaches up for Fraser's hat, tugging the brim back down towards his eyes to have it settling properly on his head. They're in this together. Fraser's given enough of a reminder that he's still perfectly capable of defending himself and Ray if needed if anything goes down, and there's something extremely reassuring about it.]

Okay, you freaks, keep it comin'. Pony up all the cash and we might just come back to a place like this.

[And he offers any watchers more incentive, tilting back in towards Fraser, lips against his jaw, his neck, and then upwards towards his ear where Ray's quietly breathing out against it;] Eyes out, see if you can find the guy we need.

[Although Ray doesn't entirely make concentration easy as his lips knowingly wrap around the top of the ear, working it softly between his teeth and tongue. He keeps it up as he shifts an arm, wrapped around Fraser (the other gripping the bar behind them) upwards, fingers finding the raised, bruised skin at his upper back and trailing against them softly, barely there brushes mixed with the occasional jab of a finger against them.]

[ They're still sharp. He feels it when Ray laughs, tugging his hat back into position, like a seed of confidence planted in his breast. Like a synchronous machine, well oiled, every part depending on the others to do their job right. The lead dog was nothing without the wheelers, but together they were a team, as Fraser and Ray were.

His glare dissolves as his attention shifts devotedly back to his partner, reading off his wordless instructions again and resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Not that anyone else here seemed to have a problem with being called freaks--in fact, from what he was seeing, some of them - cigarette ash breath woman, for example, seemed to like it, fanning herself with her wallet. There was dirt under her fingernails, the lanyard from a pilot's uniform knotted around her wrist, dirty and worn like a trophy. But while she may be a recently widowed air hostess, she was no motorcycle rider. He was looking for someone with a strong abdominal wall, a minor stoop, perhaps flecks of dust granite embedded in their collarbone.

Fraser watched, and Ray did his part, leaning in close, giving him the space he needed to observe so clearly that Fraser could almost hear the instruction. He kept to it while Ray's lips tracked against his neck, meandering lazily across the bruise he'd left, brushing against the line of his jaw. Meeting the gazes of their watchers from under the brim of his hat, Fraser observed the people ignoring their display as surely as he did those sliding ones into his tip jar.

And then Ray's mouth closed around the top of his ear, and even with plenty of warning Fraser had to struggle to keep his mind engaged. His breathing staggered within moments, his eyelashes fluttered. There was the scent of dog oil, a greasy touch to the back of his hand with a long, elegant finger. Ray's teeth worked into the delicate curve of cartilage, making Fraser croon. The man with his head in the hands at the bar had unusual muscle structure in his wrists, a bruise on the back of his neck such as might be caused by a motorcycle helmet in a crash. Fingers crawled against the bruises on his back, and all at once Fraser's mind stalled and died.

He had two. Two motorcycle riders; not so unusual. It was touch and go whether either of them were the killer until they deepened their search, but Fraser couldn't think--couldn't...think. Could barely raise his head. Unable to fight the struggle to keep his eyes open, Fraser felt his knees turning to jelly, although fortunately Ray and the bar behind him were there for support. Hard, sharp fingers dug in in all the right places, and Fraser's heavy breathing became soft moans, his head lolling back little by little.

This. This was why last night had been necessary. If they'd walked in here without it, the ruse would have fallen apart during that first kiss. As it was, they'd clearly earned some sort of respect, judging by the hands in the jar and the five--no, six man applause, wolf whistles from others, and the soft croon of "Oh honey" breathed in their direction from the bartender behind him. He had no idea what had gained him that tender note of apology, his brain too foggy to realize that he was trembling, his grip so tight on the jar that any more pressure and it would smash in his hands. Nothing remotely like this had been in survival training. ]

[The switch in Fraser is palpable, falling from awareness of his surrounds to locking his attentiveness fully on Ray. He feels each slight switch of Fraser against him easily, the slip of his eyes shutting, the sag of his head and more obviously the heavy weight of his body as Ray supports the weight of Benton leaning into him.

Ray's unrelenting in his attack against Fraser's senses, but he doesn't waste time with it. Waits for the reward of money, the applause and whistles from a few surrounding viewers, never quite picking up on the murmured words from those around. His hearing isn't anything like Fraser's.

Just as quickly as he started, he stopped, withdrawing with one final press of his lips to Fraser's jaw, an appreciative and entirely silent 'well done'. It's a convincing little show they can put on, most likely because there's very little acting involved. Ray enjoys trying to pull Fraser apart and Fraser's so very good at letting it happen. It's true that before last night they'd have had no chance at being this convincing. There's no way Ray would have been getting close without obvious shows of awkwardness of reluctance. They needed this understanding between the two of them to make it work.]

Alright, buddy. How much we got? [He ducks out of the embrace, one palm pressing up against Fraser's chest for support juuust in case he's not up to standing on his own two feet, the other hand hovering just under the jar in case of any grip failures. Perhaps Ray's a tease, or perhaps he just doesn't feel like sharing every noise and tremble of his Mountie with the rest of the club, either way, he's stopping the show for the sake of money.

And yes, he's addressing Benton.]

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