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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[ 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.]

[ Trying to get his pulse under control was difficult after that little display, bringing his breath down from panting moans to something ragged but at least steady was easier said than done. He wasn't running up stairs or rooftops, he was under physical assault, and Ray knew exactly which of his buttons to press.

Fraser licks his lips, taking advantage of the moment with the small kiss to his jaw and the slow withdrawal to wrestle that control back. As his eyes begin to clear, he settles back down, finding his strength again, though he was grateful for Ray's support regardless, pretending to require somewhat more of it than he needs. ]

More than enough.

[ He wasn't answering a question about money, and the way his eyes flicked across Ray's made that clear, however a moment later Fraser was tilting the jar this way and that, counting the numbers written on the notes. He paused, lowered his ear toward it and shook it, jangling coins, then offered it back toward Ray. ]

Seventy three dollars and eighty one cents.

[ More than enough to pay for the key and their drinks. The woman behind him leaned over to pluck it from his hand. ]

That's some party trick.

[ Another patron keened: ] Some voice. Canadian accent. That's some dedication.

[ A third: ] Don't be daft. He's Canadian, he's just not a Mountie.

[ The second again. ] He could be a Mountie. Mounties gotta be kinky too, right? They're not monks.

[ The bartender had finished counting, and she shook her head in disbelief. ] Seventy three dollars, eighty one cents. [ The keys jangled as they were dropped onto the bar behind him, but Fraser didn't so much as react, letting Ray make those decisions.

He waited, anticipating. They were in; this was the opportunity they'd been hoping for, and now it was time to take advantage of it. ]

Edited 2014-07-24 18:56 (UTC)

[Ray knows just what that 'more than enough' is referring to, nodding just slightly and lifting a hand to tug at his ear in acknowledgement. It's a casual move, one that looks little more than an idle scratch as he switches his gaze from Fraser to lock onto the tip jar.

He moves to lean side-on to the bar, using an elbow to keep himself propped up while still staying ridiculously close to Fraser, bodies touching at the slightest shift from either of them. The conversation is only partially listened to, uninterested as Ray is about listening to PVC wearers argue over Mounties. What his focus stays on is the keys, reaching for them the second they come sliding over the bar.

Ray knows what the keys look like, he's been using them long enough by now, but there's a selection of several that he has to flick through before he narrows his search down to three similar looking ones.]

Yeah uh, beer. [He says distractedly, reaching for Fraser's hands as he tries the first key, jiggling it in the lock without much success. He only spares a brief glance up from Fraser and then towards the bar, before going back to try the second key.] Water for the Canadian.

[A soft click signals the second keys success, the ratcheting on the cuffs suddenly spilling loose from their grip and Ray's easing them off Fraser with an experienced handling, folding the two parts together and stuffing them into his pocket. He knows how to handle cuffs.]

Hey, thanks. Maybe I gotta lose my keys more often.

[The keys get tossed back onto the bar top while Fraser gets a pat on the arm. He's free for now, but what he chooses to do with that freedom is up to him.]

[ Close was good. Fraser liked close; it was safe. It was Ray's shoulder close against his own, Ray's side against his own flank. He lowered his head, waiting as Ray orders the drinks and starts sifting through keys, clearly only really able to focus on one task at a time (like that was a surprise). Fraser waits with the patience of a saint for the telltale click of the lock, and as the mechanism finished working, he took an overindulgent moment to rub his thumbs into the places where the metal had rubbed his wrists raw during the night.

It was true that he looked the part, he thought. Between his cut and well kissed lips, ravaged wrists and back, and the bruise on his neck, very little was left to the imagination; and what had been was a matter of record now, after the possessive, overwhelming kiss that he'd been subjected to just moments before.

Fraser accepted the water with his usual grace. ] Thank you kindly. [ And sipped it gratefully. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything since their pizza the night before, and the water was cool and soothing, taking his mind - somewhat - off the buzzing need that had insinuated itself just under his skin. He set the glass back down, then, sliding Ray's coat from his shoulders and laying it across the other man's lap, he draped himself across his partner's shoulders, pressing his nose in against his neck.

Fraser didn't linger long, just enough that the warmth of Ray's body made it through his hoodie to Fraser's bare skin, and then he retreated, removing his hat and leaving it on Ray's head like insurance as he put a little space between them at last.

Generally speaking, Fraser was a look but don't touch person. Touching came after looking. This time, he meandered, following the length of the bar, dragging his fingers along the surface. His path, inevitably, led him past the motorcyclist with his head down, which let Fraser get a better look at the bruise on the back of his neck.

His hand came off the bar only far enough to trail across the stranger's shoulders as he passed him, as though not thinking twice about it. In fact it was quite deliberate. The man swung round like an alligator, caught Fraser's wrist in his hand, brought his elbow up into his throat and slammed him backward down against the bar. It would have been enough to knock the wind out of him if Fraser hadn't been ready for it, but as it was it was intended to surprise him, not hurt him, and his head didn't even collide with wood during the assault.

The man appeared angry, but it was a controlled rage, directed, and Fraser knew that he'd been right when he'd looked over moments before; this man was what Ray was only pretending to be, and he'd done it for so long that it came as second nature to him. It wasn't vicious, it was markedly controlled, like a rifle in the hands of a skilled marksman. ]

You think you can just touch me? It don't work that way, cazzone. Stay back! [ Snapped toward Ray and only Ray. From the moment Fraser had woken the dragon, not a single person in the club had moved. ] You don't take this one out in public much, huh? I can tell. Sap as they come but not one iota of common sense. You know who I am, sappenzo? Ey?

[ Eyes and hair as black as stone; Italian descent, the scent of camphor wood and cigars and motorcycle oil. Apart from his expensive boots, this man wore very little leather, only leather stud cufflinks in the button holes of his expensive Armani suit. Underneath the fabric he was built out of pure iron. Even so, Fraser could have resisted if he wanted to, but he stayed where he was put; it suited his cold read. ]

Course you don't. Quiet, that's good. You. [ He looked sharply at Ray. ] Come over here. Come on. You born in Chicago?

[Ray was just as grateful for the beer when it came, dragging it towards him with a trail of foamy head spilling out over the wooden surface. Some breakfast this was, he thought, but he'd consider it a treat for all that they'd achieved so far. Because they had achieved something, he could sense that much. Already they were more accepted, considered legitimate by almost all standards, and for a place like this, attitude and appearance meant everything.

He manages half of the glass in one go, thirstier than he'd originally thought for after a night of moans and panting and his mouth on everything. There's even a satisfied smack of his lips as Fraser moves to drape himself over Ray, accepted but barely reciprocated beyond a hummed exhale against Fraser's neck.

As Fraser withdrew, Ray let him, apparently unconcerned with the wandering that was to take place, merely smirking at the hat placement. He watched Fraser, of course, sipping at his beer, half perched on a bar stool as his eyes followed the path alongside the bar and towards the male just ahead. Something triggers in Ray's mind almost in time with the sudden movement of the two, and he's on his feet in a split second, jacket falling to the floor and hat tossed onto the bar side.]

Hey! Hey! [But he doesn't move forward, that 'stay back' enough to warrant listening to, along with the crowds sudden stillness. It takes every single ounce of self-discipline in him (which is very little) not to reach for his gun the second the action kicked in, his hands balling into fists beside him instead, shoulders hunching and neck dipping slightly as if he's ready to fight at any moment.

But Fraser doesn't fight back, doesn't even move, something he could have done as retaliation long ago, especially without the threat of weapons. There's a reason behind his submissiveness, and a reason for him casually picking out this man, and Ray plays along with it enough to do nothing for now beyond displaying a bristling aggressiveness, only subdued thanks to the elbow at his partners throat.

When he's addressed he reluctantly obeys, moving forward slowly with a snarling sort of resistance.]

Yeah. Yeah, I am. What of it?

[ Fraser is on top of the situation, but that doesn't mean Ray is likely to be. There's no way to know if Ray will have the presence of mind not to go for his gun, or the strength to play along when it looks so much like Fraser is in real physical danger. Knowing that he can handle himself in a fight is different to holding back when Fraser doesn't fight back himself. ]

Well you oughta know better is what. You gotta keep your Canadians under control, otherwise they're gonna go round causing trouble, and we can't have any of that. Nice town like Chicago, it'd be a real shame.

[ Fraser didn't so much as twitch. Submission was what he was being asked for, and it was what he gave. Resisting might mean losing whatever this was, and Fraser hoped - really hoped - that he'd pegged the situation right; that the Italian suspect was in fact on the verge of proposing some sort of mentorship to Ray.

He had strong reason to think it might be the case. The stranger had glanced their way only twice during the previous engagement, but his eyes had never been on Fraser, and the smile that had edged into his expression after quickly glancing over Ray wasn't lusty. There was no interest in either of them physically. Fraser had had to go with his instinct, of course, using the keen authority in the stranger's choice of outfit and complete lack of interest in exposing himself in trappings of leather and lace as evidence toward a possible in-route.

And now all they had to do was keep it together long enough for Ray to catch on to the opening. He had to trust Fraser's judgement. ]

Now then, kid. You gotta be firm, even when they're as well trained as this. Not all the rules are gonna be orders, you'd be wasting your breath. Do this, don't do this. You gotta get them anticipating what you want, learning how to please you all the time, not just when you ask for it. He's here for you, no-one else, so he should heel, not go wandering off checking out strangers, capice?

[ He wasn't talking to Fraser. Ray was the beneficiary of the advice, and as the suspect released Fraser's throat and wrist, letting him go almost in slow motion, he kept his eyes on the Mountie, keeping him pinned in place. In fact, the stranger took a whole step back, and Fraser kept his back on the countertop, eyes on the ceiling. He knew what was coming. ]

Heel.

[ Fraser heeled. He pushed off the bar with one foot, swung to the right, and span to the ground behind Ray, dropped down to one knee with his head bumping against his partner's hip, but most of his body protected by Ray's legs. ]

Better, right? Hey, get my friend another drink. C'mon, sit down, sit down. What's your name?

[The threat had passed for now, he was sure of that. The moment the advice starts flowing it becomes clear that this guy won't be causing serious harm to Fraser. Ray stays tense nevertheless and waits for the possibility of attack, hackles still raised at the sight of his partner being man handled. That's his Mountie to manhandle, no one else's.

He gets the rules of this game though, and thinks he understands why Fraser has become so subdued under the hands of another.

This is their guy, he's sure of it now, and Fraser's managed to get the Italian playing right into their game. Not bad. All Ray had to do was attempt to act interested enough that conversation could continue. Easier said than done when it came to Ray considering his talent for pissing off pretty much everyone. Thankfully his bristling arrogance should play right into his part this time, a saving grace for the both of them.

And so he listens like he's supposed to, brows furrowing heavily as he makes an act of interest. Fraser does brilliantly in his submissiveness, silent and unmoving without any of his usual contrariness. When he moves to heel, Ray doesn't take his eyes off him, mildly fascinated by the obedience displayed. His hand reaches instinctively down to Fraser, ruffling through his hair as he leans in close, but Ray's attention soon snaps back up to the Italian.]

I like that. The thing he did. That's a good trick.

[When asked he moves, flicking his hand for Fraser to follow as he heads towards the other male, scrambling for a perch at the bar as he reaches for his newly provided beer with a mumbled thanks.]

Uh, Ray. You look like you know what you're doin' with all this.

[ Every part of the act Fraser complies with. Everyone in the club was watching, nevermind their efforts to pretend otherwise, and he couldn't afford to make a mistake. At the touch to his hair he looked up as though for reassurance, and finding it returned his attention to their suspect once again, obedient but reasonably wary for a man who'd just been pinned down by the throat. It doesn't remotely bother him, of course, but the act depended on reasonable timidity, a trait that Fraser had to fabricate wholesale.

At the gesture, and relieved to see that things were proceeding the way he'd hoped, he followed Ray over to the bar, using his hands for balance and staying down, staying low behind him. As Ray sat up at the bar, Fraser inched between him and the counter, pressed up against his leg with his chin hooked high on Ray's hip, as close as he could get without actually climbing into his lap. It was simple animal pattern behavior; submissive, he relied on the protection of his alpha, and the closer he could get to him the safer he would be.

The Italian hummed. ]

He'll think twice before getting too far outta your sight now.

[ Fishing in his jacket, he drew out a silver box full of dark brown cigar wrapped cigarettes, offering the open box toward Ray. ]

Ray just Ray. No last name, huh? Last name's got prestige. See, me? I wouldn't go anywhere without it. Lucca Belucci.

[ Who only owned half the betting shops on the East side. Fraser recognized the name, but only in relation to his father's arrest. At the age of 78, it had memorably made the papers. It was impossible to know whether or not a man like Belucci ought to know Ray Vecchio by name or sight, but judging by the fact that he had only recently taken over his father's empire, it was quite possible he didn't. It was probably okay, but not without risk. He tipped his head slightly, laying his cheek flat against Ray's thigh, and let his eyes switch from Ray back to Lucca. He listened with his eyes.

Lucca sipped his tonic water. There was no gin in it--at least not that Fraser could smell, but without getting closer to the glass he couldn't be entirely sure. Nor was it important. ]

I enjoy the process, then I get bored. But you like it, I see the way you look at him. It's like you're miffed he's listening to you at all, but as long as he looks up at you with those big eyes you could care less. Get over it. You think the alpha wolf gets all misty eyed when the other wolves roll over for him? No way. Cause he knows he's only getting what's due. You need to show him how much he's willing to give, not ask for it. Minute you ask, you're not respecting yourself, so why should he?

[Fraser's positioning is almost enough to feel awkward to Ray, entirely unused to having anyone trailing after him and sitting at his feet like a forlorn puppy. Not even Dief. It feels alien, inhuman to see someone considering Ray to be anything other than... Ray. He just doesn't have the ego for it. But now he had to. This new Ray had to get used to it and expect it, even if he could allow himself some apprehension to it. No harm in playing the role of a newbie considering his actual lack of experience in it all. It'll excuse him having his hand back in Fraser's hair, at least, glad for the attention as much as his partner is.]

Brando. [He chips in quickly with a fake when he hears that name. He's heard of Belucci. Any flatfoot worth their salt has, and Ray's perfectly aware of his predecessors past. This must be the guy. Fraser's slight shift against him may signal his knowledge too, and Ray's running a thumb against his ear in silent knowing.]

Huh. Alpha wolf. Yeah. I gotta take control. This I get, this I can go with. I mean this one still needs some teachin', but I uh, I guess I gotta learn too.

[He jerks his chin down towards Fraser but doesn't look at him, admitting carefully as he does so;] First one. I guess I'm just not bored of him yet. Still ironin' out the kinks and finding out the sweet spots. Honeymoon period, amiright?

Maybe in a few months I'll uh...

[A dismissive shrug, his hand leaving Fraser and resting on the bar like he's already forgotten about him.]

What do you do with yours when you got bored?

[ It's interesting; not the conversation happening above him, that gets listened to but not really lingered on, though Fraser commits all of it - relevant and irrelevant - to memory. No, what's interesting is the fact that as soon as Ray deliberately doesn't look him in the eye when he glances down, then raises his hand up to the bar--it gets to him.

It shouldn't. It's just a role. But it gets to him, and Fraser tips his head back upright, peering up at the two men above him. He tamps down his own feelings as best he can: Ray is doing well, he's moving along the conversation in such a way as to ask relevant investigative questions, and Fraser should be grateful, engaged to the mission, but all he wants to do is reach up, take Ray's hands and demand that he look at him.

Maybe that would be natural. Maybe he should demand attention--that would suit the situation, wouldn't it?

Not before Lucca answers the question. ]

I move on. Always something new to break; something with spirit. Can get sticky, though. Some of these bits get so deep, you know, weaning them off can be tough. Had my share of clingy bottoms. This one-- [ He still didn't look at Fraser as he spoke about him. ] This one'll track you to the ends of the Earth. He's got that look in his eye. That mad look.

Now you. I could do something with you, but I'm gonna guess you don't play switch. Is too bad. Real disappointing.

[ Frustration didn't mean anything, but Fraser was beginning to dislike this man for purely selfish reasons, letting it color his perceptions against his best judgement. He would have the strength, determination, opportunity and motive to kill their victim. Now they just had to prove he'd done it.

But Fraser was running his hand up the inside of Ray's ankle, his other hand on the outside of the same leg, stroking across Ray's calf, demanding attention just as anyone in his position would. He wouldn't be playing his role properly if he didn't at least try--or at least, that was how he reassured himself that it was the correct course of action to take. ]

Yeah, switchin' up, I don't do. Heh.

[The mere suggestion of it has Ray reaching for his beer and downing several large gulps of it. The idea of this guy doing anything with him is bad enough, but trying to get Ray under heel is a whole level of nope. But he tries not to show his displeasure. Tries to shrug it off and hide his brief contempt around his beer as nothing more than the awkward newbie act. He'll swallow his pride for the sake of conversation.]

So how do I get rid of a clinger? Once I'm done, I'm done, I don't need a stalker after my affections, especially not from ones like this.

[He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice as he vaguely points towards his head.] I mean this one's cute but he's kinda crazy. Doesn't always play right.

[And there's that touch, getting Ray's leg twitching under the fingers at his calf in an obvious bid for attention. Ray reaches down, tilting Fraser's chin up with a hand and swiping a thumb over his bitten bottom lip, then turns his attention back to Lucca. He doesn't want to look at Lucca. He'd much rather stare down at Fraser for the rest of the day, cradling him close, and yet instead he's forced to talk shit to some freakshow mobster.]

See what I mean?

[ Job sucks, doesn't it, Ray? Lucca smirks at his discomfort over the switch comment, settling his arm against the bar and just turning his tonic round and round. It's obvious he's a pro at nursing his drinks for as long as possible.

At Ray's feet, Fraser settles, getting some semblance of control back over his jealousy. There was no potential for abandonment here. Ray was his partner, and back where Fraser came from that meant something. It meant seeking each other out over flowing ice and against battering snowstorms if there was even the chance of their being in trouble. Ray has done as much for him. Maybe without the snowstorms, but as close as.

He inclined his head slightly, and let his hands come up, folding instead across the top of Ray's knee. Underneath the palm of his other hand, out of sight, he circled his own thumb, offering Ray the same reassurance. He knew this was difficult, but he was doing well. Very smooth. ]

Half your problem's how much you let him get away with. You put down iron clad rules that what you say goes, and--well. Self preservation don't come into it any more, you know what I mean?

[ The hairs on the back of Fraser's neck prickled. A new line of inquiry came to mind, and a particularly grim one at that. He swallowed carefully, then deliberately closed his eyes and pretended that he wasn't listening. ]

And if all else fails I guess you could pop 'em. Seem a fine waste, though. You know, you ever get tired of this one, I know a guy knows a guy can make you a good sideline for a couple jobs a night. Desirable merchandise. Strictly cash in hand stuff.

[ Maybe it was the fact that Ray and Fraser had forged such a convincing disguise that did it, but the Italian didn't seem to think for a second that discussing the illegal and immoral would be a problem. He'd lowered his voice down below conversational at this point, cradled in toward Ray as though imparting deep, valuable insight. But even so, in the case of the cash in hand comment, Fraser had literally no idea what he was talking about. He'd have to remember to ask Ray once they were out. ]

[He spots the shift in Fraser, feels him relax back into position after a brief moment of fidgeting for, what Ray assumes was, attention. There's reassurance there that Ray's doing alright, and he's glad for it because sometimes it's hard to tell how well he's doing when his mind is going at a hundred miles an hour, tossing so much information, laws, questions and memories that he's not able to absorb it all. Fraser will be useful in recalling what's said, at least, but Ray knows they should have a wire or something, some shred of evidence beyond their word that it happened. A good lawyer will get around this without a hitch. If Ray keeps this personable enough, he can at least come back to the guy.

This time Ray kept a hand down by Fraser, assured that his act of indifference was somewhat believable enough if talk of getting rid of him was anything to go by.

As Lucca gradually leans in, Ray meets him in the middle, showing interest in every single word offered to him and appearing to have absolutely no issues with the less than legal side of it. Perhaps it's something about Ray's face, the act of low intelligence or his general demeanour as a guy of the streets, but the amount of times he's gotten the less law abiding to open up to him must be some sort of record. At least he knows the lingo enough to nod along, but knowing friends of friends isn't enough to sink anyone.]

Desirable merch. That uh, that is somethin' to think on. Never wanted to waste all this hard work.

[Fraser gets a visible hair ruffle as Ray talks about him, just to show how little he wants to waste.]

I just hand him over or what? I'm a busy guy. Can't get too involved in it, y'know? Clean hands. Gotta get him up to standard first anyway, sort out that self-preservation. It's tough when they like their punishment.

[ They need to come back, that's the thing. But if Fraser is right on his hunch they might at least come back with better leads. If they can link Lucca to any of the city's suicides, unusual or otherwise, it's at least one more thing they can use in their case. ]

Well, my experience is you gotta reciprocate a little to keep them thinking there's something in it for them, right? End of the day they're still people, even if they're not people like you and me, ey mio vecchio amigo?

[ Fraser felt himself tense. Even if he knew the words were Italian, my old friend, hearing 'Vecchio' out loud in conversation wasn't something he expected. He exhaled the tension deliberately, keeping quiet. ]

Now I know they do that whole selling to the highest bidder thing some places, but I'm not involved in that, you know? When you wear boots this expensive you tend to keep them clean, you know what I mean? If your boots are clean, your nose is clean. And you, my friend, have very dirty boots.

Maybe I ask around see what I can find out. Ey--haha. [ The Italian laughed to himself, clapping Ray on the shoulder, and downed the rest of his tonic. ] I got business to attend to. You come back here tonight, have a good time on me, a'ight?

[ He was excusing himself, and while Fraser thought they could probably get more out of him, they'd have another opportunity later that night. ]

Get here well before ten, loosen him up on my tab, and I'll help you out. Jeanine's got a back room, exclusive customers only--you'll fit right in. But loose. Maybe he don't remember a thing in the morning, you get me?

Okay, reciprocate. Yeah.

[Nod nod nod, a constant attentiveness as he occasionally repeats words back to concrete the idea that he's listening. And he was listening, every single word being absorbed and processed as he tried to pick and choose what information he considered most important for the moment. They were doing well enough, but getting too comfortable could result in a screw up.

The word vecchio had much the same reaction from Ray, his brows furrowing for just long enough to be noticed, although he covers for it with confusion, all opened mouth and questioning crease to his brow, the face of a man who's not quite grasped anything resembling another language. Ray's very, very good at playing dumb. It's almost as if it comes naturally…

He even keeps up the dumb act long enough to glance down towards his boot at the suggestion of them being dirty, but then he 'catches on', gaze snapping back to Lucca with a knowing little curl of his lips. He's happy to be assumed as dirty. Dirty is good. He can be a scumbag, so long as he makes sure to be a trustworthy one. It doesn't do to be seen a criminal but have no one trust you enough to share their secrets.]

Hey, yeah, thanks. We'll be here. [He takes the slap on the back with a low chuckle in reply. Doesn't even attempt to hold the guy for longer or beg for more information. It wouldn't do to piss the guy off after the headway they'd just made.]

Nice and loose, no sweat, I done that before. I'll seeya later, pal.

[A vague wave of gratitude until Lucca turns away, Ray twisting back to his beer and finishing it in silence until he's certain he's out of the club. Fraser gets a tap on the shoulder, waved upwards to signal he's allowed up, not quite dropping the act while they remain surrounded by so many witnesses.]

C'mon, let's go. I got stuff to finish off.

[ Fraser is all quiet contemplation the moment the conversation is over. He doesn't even listen to the retreat of Lucca's footsteps, instead already ordering the next layers of the plan up in his mind. Some of it was going to be more difficult to pull off than just this conversation, and a back room--a back room could be dangerous, nevermind that it was exactly where they needed to go.

Of course the ideal situation would have them following this through without needing to put them both at risk again, but that wasn't exactly how any of this worked. It wasn't how being a cop worked. Their lives were in danger every day, some kinds of danger more exotic than others; life went on, and nobody ever seemed to pay much attention.

At the tap to his shoulder, Fraser pulls himself up onto the stool next to Ray, his head tilted slightly to one side, his eyes on his companion. He rose after him, fetching the coat and hat from where one of the other patrons had folded them out the way on the bar. A quick 'Thank you' and absolutely no eye contact, and he was back at Ray's heel again, staying close beside him as though spooked by the idea of being too far away at any one moment. The hat went back on his head as they stepped out of the door.

He didn't drop the act when he sat down in the passenger seat of the Pontiac, Diefenbaker jumping back into the backseat out of his way. ]

Drive two blocks along the lakefront, then double back for the station. If anyone's following us, we'll be able to see them.

Ah--actually, do you think you're safe to drive, Ray?

[The whole situation doesn't sit quite right with Ray. Their cover is good enough, and the information they'd gained was fairly solid, but there wasn't any way to know quite what would happen in that back room. The warning of being 'loose' hadn't exactly been reassuring. He needs Fraser lucid, but acting might not be convincing enough. They had time to plan, at least.

He pauses for Fraser to gather up their few belongings and lifts a hand in a vague farewell to the woman at the bar, then moves off through the bar in silence. He remains wary of those around himself and Fraser, but there seems to be a whole lot less threat of unwanted touches now.

When he does get into the car, he sits heavily, shoulders slumping as he lets out a slow breath, watching Fraser out of the corner of his eyes.]

Yes, Fraser. I'm safe to drive. I'm under .08, I already checked.

[No he didn't. Obviously. But he's starting the car anyway and opting to reverse out of the alley.]

[ Fraser wasn't sure when Ray could have stopped to check, but he wasn't in any real position to question him, instead just getting himself involved in pulling on his shirt and tunic. He redresses quickly, reaching across for his seatbelt the moment his holster and belt are secured. Just in case.

Although the idea of Ray crashing his beloved GTO is ludicrous.

As soon as they're half a block down the lakeside road, Fraser lets the last of the act go, and he seems to at last resume his usual posture, breathing more easily.

And since he's back to himself, he's not about to make life for Ray any easier. He certainly hasn't forgotten a single word of the conversation that he'd been having with Lucca. ]

Desirable merchandise? I understood most of what you were discussing, but I'm afraid that part went somewhat over my head.

[ Difficult questions straight out of the gate. Typical Fraser. He finishes buttoning his tunic, ducks his head forward and slips his lanyard over his head, straightens his cuffs, then spares a quick glance for Ray at the wheel. ]

Well?

[Ray wouldn't risk crashing his Pontiac, Fraser's right about that. Even with the lack of breakfast and the tiredness tugging at him, the alcohol wasn't enough to dull his senses.

While Fraser finally gets dressed, Ray keeps lookout for any tails, purposefully keeping his attention flicking between the road and his mirrors as he tries to pick up any familiars signs of being followed.

When Fraser asks a typically awkward question, it remains unanswered for as long as Ray can manage, pretending he hadn't heard until finally prompted with a 'well?'.

He sniffs in indifference, shrugging his shoulders as he keeps his eyes on the road.]

Yeah, like desirable as in sought after and merchandise as in wares. C'mon Fraser, you're the Canadian here, you should know proper English.

[ Okay. That's a warning sign right there. Fraser knows them when they come up, and he shifts directly in his seat to look Ray square on. This is going to be an argument, he can tell, or perhaps as close to one as they ever come.

Even if he knows the route of the problem is that Ray is trying to protect him from something, he's not about to give it up so easily, mostly because in the grand sceme of things he really dislikes not knowing. Not knowing is one of those few things that sets his teeth on edge, actually, like an unsolved case.

Although come to think of it what unsolved cases? Mountie thing. ]

He was speaking about me, Ray, and the last time I looked, I wasn't anyone's merchandise. Perhaps Disney's, but that's another matter entirely.

[ His face twisted into a rare almost frown - that was: his expression barely changed at all - and then he looked back toward the road as they turned away from the piers toward downtown once again. ]

I feel I have a right to an explanation, Ray.

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