Benton Fraser (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dogsled) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
dogsled) wrote in thelockbox2014-07-06 10:57 pm
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'" |
NEW READ JOURNAL CREDIT |
no subject
Ray's interest for the story soon runs thin though and he doesn't make any effort in hiding his disinterest, shoulders and head dropping briefly as though he's falling asleep, perking 'awake' seconds later as Fraser finishes.]
Well that's great! If we ever fish for cod, I'm sure I'll remember that.
[Typically dismissive. But their approach to detectives room is suddenly caught short as Ray halts, reaching to grab for a handful of Mountie uniform, swinging a door open with the other, and tugging them both into an all too familiar little closet, closing them in. If they are interrupted, they'll hear the warning click of the door, and no doubt just get stared at oddly before being left to their conversation again.]
What does that even have to do with anythin', Fraser? You gonna fish yourself into readiness? That's not how alcohol works. If you get drunk they're gonna try and take advantage and I can only hold off so many. [Not to mention Ray may be given more than a few drinks himself if he's not careful.]
no subject
Well, you see, Ray, the inuit fisherman has a trick, one that he has developed with practice--after all, all told he's spent whole years of his life in one place, perched over a hole in the ice. He teaches himself that no matter the distraction or the state of sleep he's induced in himself, one single trigger must snap him back to absolute readiness-- [ The door swung open, and an unsuspecting intern blinked at them twice before Fraser pulled the door shut again, grimacing apologetically. He resumed his explanation. ] That trigger being the twitch of the fish on the line.
[ None of which is an actual plan. ] None of which is an actual plan. However, it is a fact that alcohol only dulls the logic centers of the brain--actual brain damage takes somewhat longer. In effect I believe we can trigger ourselves into doing our duty irregardless of how dulled our other senses may be--a simple post-hypnotic suggestion would be all that was necessary.
[ His explanation of how he intends to hypnotize himself - possibly both of them - into against all odds and possibly against medical science overcoming skyrocketing blood alcohol levels, at last comes to a halt, though not really because he's done explaining. It's more as though he's suddenly become very much more aware of where they are, their closeness in the darkness, Ray's breath. The fact that they're alone for the first time since stepping into the club. Fraser licked his lips, shifting his weight on his feet very slightly. There was a different, plaintive note to his voice when he spoke again. ]
Ray?
no subject
Surely he didn't need to remind Fraser that they'd tried this hypnosis thing before and it really wasn't that successful. Well... maybe it was, but it resulted in the whole office being put under and Fraser implanting weird prompts into their minds. Prompts that were triggered with a single word and-- oh wait, that's pretty much what he's suggesting this around.
Ray considers the idea, even considers replying or inputting his own thoughts (which would be entirely useless in this field of expertise), but then there's an odd sort of stillness in the air as a silence falls and there's Fraser in front of him, saying his name in a tone that he's not entirely sure how to respond to beyond a curious;]
Fraser?
[Normally he'd be less concerned by hearing his own name, but normally they haven't had a night of passion followed by a morning trying to play convincing roles in a bdsm club.]
no subject
He gets it.
And as always when there was something for Fraser to get, a mystery that needed solving, or his dad simply wanted to rub his nose in it, Bob Fraser was tucked into the cramped space beside him. Took you long enough, son. ]
Ah.[ Softly, a remnant of another Benton; a less knowing Benton, a less capable Benton. There was the soft huff of amused laughter breathed out through his nostrils - not even close to being a laugh - but it's something at least. Some small indicator of his frame of mind. ] All this time?
[ Talking to himself or talking to Ray it didn't matter. Fraser senior wasn't keeping his thoughts to himself. Well kiss him! What are you waiting for? Winter? You'd think I'd dropped you on your head when you were a boy. Well I mean I did, but that's neither here nor there. The yank wants you to kiss him, son.
Fraser squeezed his eyes shut briefly, as though he could banish his father's words rattling round in his head.
...built on a strong foundation... he was saying, and something about partnership, but Fraser wasn't listening any more. He reached up, smoothing his fingertips against the bristles of Ray's 48 hour stubble, letting his hand wander the contour of his partner's jaw. Only when his fingers settled on Ray's pulse, in the soft dimple between his jaw and his ear, did he press himself forward blindly into the darkness, estimating the distance fluently, closing his lips around the other man's in a languid kiss.
Because this was what closets had been for all along, and Fraser suddenly didn't care if they were found like this. He had the suspicion that such a discovery would surprise practically no-one. ]
no subject
Ray's not quite sure how to respond, whether he should be the one to close the gap or whether this was a question that was to bring up some sort of reservation about the last twelve hours. He's not even sure quite what Fraser's talking about, or whether he's even talking to Ray. He does seem to have a habit of talking to himself.
Thankfully Fraser resolves the issue effectively, the moment his hand touches, Ray lets out a huff of breath, relieving any tension he'd started to build in the short pause. On the inhale he feels Fraser near, attempting to meet him with a lean forward but only making the initial contact that little more awkward thanks to screwing up the distance calculations. But he goes with it, works with the kiss with a little groan of appreciation and a mumble of 'Fraser' against those lips.
Whether he's wanting the Mounties attention or just stating his appreciation remains to be seen.]
no subject
The sound of his name murmured against his mouth is deeply satisfying, and for all that it might be an effort to remind him that they're doing this in public or they ought to be working, or Welsh is going to kill them if he finds out they were necking in a closet when Ray was already well past being late--for all that it might be a warning, Fraser was well past hearing such nuances. He heard what he wanted: he heard his name murmured the way it had been last night, with his hands straining in the cuffs, and the heat of his tongue lashing his partner's thigh.
And those weren't exactly the prurient thoughts that any man, no matter the billow of his breeches, ought to be having in a closet in a packed police-station.
The kiss that had started out so tenderly suddenly changed gear. Fraser stepped forward, all but carrying Ray off the floor with him, knocking his partner forcefully against shelves of blank copy and toilet rolls. A half open box of biros spilled several more of its contents onto the floor, but Fraser was already far past tuning it out, his mouth mashing against Ray's, teeth clacking together, tongue probing, clashing, fighting for heat and space and contact and reality. Because what was real any more? Were they? Was this?
Fraser didn't breathe - either didn't dare to or didn't have time to - and it was only as he snaked one hand around Ray's hip and ground deliberately - deliriously - against him, that he even made a sound, panting a whimper into their kiss.
Because there was reality after all, the reality that insisted that an earnest kiss in the closet was one thing, but that being discovered dry grinding against his partner would be much more difficult to explain. Nevermind how hard it was going to be to stand in Welsh's office with the encounter's physical effects still bearing him down. ]
Ray. [ Pleading. He wanted more, couldn't help himself, and for once didn't have the discipline to stop this before it went too far. ] Ray.
no subject
He senses the desperation before he feels it, and isn't even surprised by the sudden force against him, jamming him sharply up against shelving that digs uncomfortably against his back. There's a grunt of complaint against the kiss but no attempt to stop it, his hands even grappling for Fraser's shoulders for purchase.
But that grip serves a convenient purpose for leverage too, and as Fraser starts to grind into him and pant just a little too eagerly, Ray's ready. It's the strained tones behind his name that finally persuade him to shove against Benton, forcing him back enough to break the kiss and trying to bring a knee up between them. He could likely do some serious damage with that knee if he decided to lash out with it, but that's not it's purpose for this.]
Fraser. Fraser. [Just slightly about a sharp whisper as if he's suddenly afraid they'll be heard.]
Not now. Later. Definitely later. [The panting suggests he'd be perfectly fine with continuing were it not for their location.]
no subject
It was impossible to see just how undone the kiss had made him in the dark, but he was panting, pink faced, his lips plush from the kiss, his hair uncharacteristically askew. He knew himself - what he was capable of if he let himself have even half a moment to let his mind wander from logic to need again - and it was for that reason alone that he reached across to turn the handle of the closet, letting in a crack of light from the corridor outside as though if he let in the light and the hustle and bustle of police station noises he might convince himself to stop.
Instead, as he looked back out of the corner of his eye, listened to Ray's own panting, inspected the blush of his partner's skin and the lips he'd bruised last night - nevermind the more recent assault - the pitch of their quandary became immensely clear. It wasn't just in the car, or now, and the rush of leaving the Consulate had obscured the longing, but this...this situation had changed everything. Just looking at Ray was going to take levels of self control he didn't know if he had. This wasn't like Victoria. Victoria had been a distorted, twisted up kind of kismet. Ray Vecchio ne. Kowalski was his best friend, his partner, a man to whom he trusted his life and harbored a daily relationship with, to whom he'd opened up heart and soul to with only the briefest hesitation. Now every time he looked at him, he'd be thinking about kissing him. Keeping things professional was going to be a battle. They'd need to establish rules. Rules both of them would inevitably break, but without 'No fucking on Inspector Thatcher's/Lieutenant Welsh's desk' as a baseline they were both going to end up in spurious amounts of trouble. And probably fired.
Fraser being Fraser would find it hard to care so long as his nights and days were filled with passion, with never getting out of bed, hands wrapped in hands and lips on bare skin and Ray's teeth--god, Ray's teeth! Ray on the other hand had his shield to think of, and if he followed Fraser around without a badge or a license to shoot gunmen dead, then both of them would probably end up in the bottom of Lake Michigan sooner or later.
He swallowed, then jerked his head abruptly as though he could shake off his wandering thoughts, but he was still over on Ray's side of the closet when the door opened, and he jumped back so fast it was like he'd been burned. A box of paperclips fell off the shelf he collided with, smacked him on the head and then spilled like silver vomit all over the floor between himself and Ray.
From the doorway Francesca clucked her teeth, then shook her head. You know, maybe I don't even wanna know. Lieutenant wants to see you. ]
Me? [ Dazed by paperclips, still flushed from arousal and finding it very hard not to look down and make sure his tunic really did still obscure everything, identifying who Francesca was speaking to through insight alone was still far beyond his ability. And if he sounded positively terrified there was nothing surprising about that. Francesca's eyes hadn't left his face, and Fraser suddenly felt cornered on top of everything else.
No, she said. My dope of a brother who can't set an alarm clock to save his life. You gonna pick those up? I can help.
That was the last thing he wanted: to be left in the closet with Frannie while Ray went to Welsh. There was a gap by her left shoulder, and Fraser saw his opportunity closing. ]
Uh. No.
[ Which wasn't the polite, neat Mountie in any way shape or form, but the gap wouldn't last forever, and he made it - proudly, victoriously - into the hallway without so much as bumping shoulders with either Vecchio. ]
no subject
They stop just in time too, the door swinging open far too quickly after the break away and Ray's just as quick to try and peel himself off the shelving as Fraser is to jump away. He doesn't bother to straighten up, the usual scruffiness to be expected from him, and he won't be Fran's main point of attention anyway when Fraser's so close by. Especially after the Mountie has managed to spill a whole box of paperclips over himself which is so... typically Fraser; smooth as anything until there's anything relating to sex and/or women. Ray allows himself a minute smile at that, it'd be odd if he wasn't laughing at the dumb shit his partner did.
As Fran speaks, Ray displays a look of casual indifference, covering well as he masks the heavy breathing with a bored sniff followed up by a throat clearing.]
Yeah, tell him--
[And there goes Fraser, making his escape impressively quickly, un-Canadian but excused considering the current circumstances.]
I'm comin'.
[Reluctant and begrudging as he drags himself out of the closet, ignoring the mess made because he's not a damn cleaner.
He rolls his shoulders back as he steps into the hallway, brushing past Frannie on his way out and jerking his head towards the detective's section.]
See you at my desk, yeah? [Because Ray's doubts Fraser needs to be facing off against Welsh's wrath, especially in his current state. Welsh asked for Ray, he'll get Ray.
As he leads in, he ignores the few heckles from Hewey about something to do with his lateness (he wasn't really listening) and enters Welsh's office without knocking.
He expects the forceful berating that comes the second he's slipped the door shut behind him, shoulders slumping and head lowered as he takes it, and not even daring to speak until its over. But when it's over he's got the chance to explain himself, and explain himself he does, trying to pick his words somewhat carefully thanks to the lack of his usual Canadian support, but somehow managing to stumble his way through an explanation that successfully told of their findings within the club without ever specifically stating just how it all came about or what had happened within the clubs walls. Surely Welsh didn't need the details of make outs and submissives.
It works well enough to have him waved away with that resigned look Welsh so often reserves for Ray and Fraser and told how much he better get their man if he wants to keep his badge, and really he considers himself pretty damn lucky all things considered, as he exits the office sometime later and veers off towards his desk.]
We gotta nail this guy.
[As if that much weren't already obvious.]
no subject
So he sat in the chair - Ray Vecchio's chair - and felt wrong, and tried to look at everything and nothing at once. The paperwork stacked on Ray's desk in neat disorder, the mugshots on the wall, one of them with a knife mark still carved into its forehead Proper Preparation Prevents Poor Performance. Hah! Yeah, he had to remember that. He'd have to remember it when he and Ray were... He licked his lips, his mind wandered...
And then Dewey was leaning over the desk with big curious eyes and Fraser jumped back several inches, startling Huey who was rustling through the file cabinet behind him.
Jesus, Fraser. You almost scared me out of my skin.
Here, Dewey said, and gestured toward his partner. You reckon he got bit by something?
He felt like a pinata. Like meat dangling on a hook in a pool. Like--like his skin was turning the same color as his suit and he couldn't control it. And at that moment Ray blundered back over forcefully and Fraser wanted so badly to change the subject that he jolted clean out of the chair - Ray Vecchio's chair - like a reprimanded soldier informed that he'd never been told to stand easy, just wait by the desk. He bruised his thighs and scared the hell out of Dewey for good measure, too.
But there was nothing he could say; the repetition of 'We'll nail him to the wall' that he'd been counting on saying suddenly was everything he didn't want to say, and he was still hard as a rock. ]
Turtles. [ Okay, so that was more in his ball court.
What? Huey too close to him, getting a look at that bruise, and Fraser sidestepped around him. Quick thinking was essential. ]
It's a turtle bite. I was bitten by Ray's turtle.
[Do turtles have teeth?
I don't know, do turtles have teeth?
And now they were bickering about whether it was a setup for a punchline or not, and Fraser looked panic stricken at his partner in earnest, trying to communicate telepathically with him: Get me the hell out of here. ]
no subject
'Course they do, morons. What do you think snapping turtles are?
[He swaggers into his space, making it obvious from body language alone that he wanted them cleared out, even going so far as to reach for some totally inane file as if it's something of great importance.]
What, you not got work to do? I'm sure Welsh has got plenty for you.
[Not that he intends to stick around judging by his movements, tucking the file under his arm without even glancing at it and brushing past Fraser to lead out.]
C'mon, Fraser. Room A is free. We got that uh. The uh, suspect. The one we need to interview. In the room. Both of us.
no subject
His eyes stayed on the folder under Ray's arm, keeping his head down as they cross the bull pen and head down the corridor to room A, his nerves jangling fretfully. It didn't help that the manila folder was mere inches above Ray's ass. Stop looking, stop thinking. He closed his eyes, followed by memory like a blind man - one leg slightly longer than the other - listening to the sound of Ray's feet, the door, the sound of it closing behind him, and then he swept his hat off his head and raked his fingers nervously back through his hair, mussing it again.
Oh God, he'd lied. He's actually lied to Huey and Dewey. The hat went on the table, and Fraser sank boneless into the chair they reserved for the perp, feeling like one himself, staring blankly at his hands. ]
I lied. I lied. Ray--Ray. [ He jerked his head up abruptly. ] I have to confess. I have to apologize. I mean--
[ What was wrong with him? First last night, then the closet, and now he was lying? What if he didn't have any self control any more? What if...what if the moment he'd put his lips on Kowalski's everything of the carefully constructed mannerisms fell apart? He was already a man who jammed open car doors into strangers for Kowalski, who stood back when he went all police brutality on the bad guys because - he'd excused himself - it was a boxing ring, who was prepared to take his partner on secret missions across state lines and out of his jurisdiction and even technically smuggle him into Canada to catch a bad guy.
Now he was lying, and necking in closets, and part of him wanted to handcuff Ray like this was a real interrogation, bend him over the table and...
And there was the part that was half a mind to have Ray drive them to a quiet place where a Mountie giving his partner a blowjob in the front of his prized classic Pontiac wouldn't...
Fraser dropped his head on the interrogation table and, uncharacteristically, groaned. ]
no subject
He's barely even surprised by Fraser's sudden outburst of guilt as Ray locks the door behind them and turns to watch his partner work himself up over something as stupid as a simple lie. Anyone would think he'd killed someone the way he was acting.]
Fraser!
[The file slaps down onto the desk near to Fraser's head while Ray drops into the chair opposite, elbows on the desk and leaning in just slightly, not entirely dissimilar to a stance he'd take when interviewing. Or interrogating. Maybe a few less threats of punching though, but that may soon come.]
Stop it, okay? Don't worry about it. It's nothin'. We got bigger problems than lyin' about turtle teeth. We gotta, uh. I uh. We gotta talk.
[Those three words are exactly what he hates hearing from anyone, but he can't think of any other way to say it. They do have to talk, about a whole lot of things.]
no subject
Except those words seem wrong from Ray, and he can't place why. We gotta talk. It wasn't the number of syllables, or the fact that Ray had changed four words into three and used 'go' instead of 'have' and 'to' by no means sounded like tah. No, it was none of those things. Maybe it was the words themselves. There was a gravitas to them, a slowing down that was really...unusual. He hadn't needed to talk last night, hadn't needed to confirm anything beyond their usual nods and glances.
But this. Talking. Talking wasn't Ray Kowalski. Oh, he was good at it. But talking? About relationships? There was meant to be something ominous about that, right? There had always been something ominous abut it when Thatcher had been the one saying it. And Ray was the kind of man who let his body talk. When he loved someone he didn't use words to convey that affection.
Why was he worrying about it, anyway? Of course they had to talk--there was a lot to talk about. Oodles to talk about, in fact. The case. How they were going to approach that evening. How they intended to get out alive. What constituted moving beyond unprofessional. How - assuming they survived - Fraser ever intended to get through an entire day without giving the entire game away. Maybe Ray was going to suggest that if he couldn't cope they'd quit right now. Maybe that was why, the instant his partner said "We gotta talk", Fraser froze up like he'd been shot in the back again, wide eyed and staring, and it wasn't surprise that put him there it was horror. ]
I-- [ Words, Fraser. ] I suppose that would be a good idea, at this point.
[ Good, with words out he could go back to his radio station of internal panic, while he smoothed his expression into something less lost and fearful and more implacable, confident. He could do this. He was the master of masks. ]
no subject
Yeah. Uh.
[Fuck. Him saying they needed to talk means he should be the one talking, but he had absolutely no clue where to even begin. There's too much to talk about. About last night, about this morning, about the case, about them. He's really not sure which of those is worse, or better. Or maybe both. But they have to do this. They have to talk because otherwise they're going to be fumbling with awkward cover ups and Ray always trying to avoid the subject of them, and just what them actually entails now that there's a little more to their partnership than just a working relationship. Ray didn't even know if this was a thing or something that'd stop the second their case was finished with.]
I guess I uh. Are we uh. Y'know? I mean. Are we cool? Like. Does this change stuff? I mean I know it changes stuff. But. I dunno what stuff. Or uh. If we uh. I dunno. Y'know?
[No.]
no subject
Fraser licked his lips before he spoke, and only for the first two words did he actually meet Ray's frantic gaze. ]
I know.
[ Deep breath. Okay, he could articulate this. He could be fluent. He could-- ] I've been thinking about what it would feel like to make love to you. Right now, right here in this room. I think I wouldn't care if the entire 2-7 was on the other side of the window watching.
[ Because the answer to 'Are we cool' couldn't just be 'We're cool.' This was Fraser. ]
When we first met - the very second time we worked together - you asked me if I found you attractive. I--I admit the question caught me rather off guard. It wasn't simple, it was a question of many layers. Women have asked it of me before, but of course their queries were always related to the attractiveness of their form and adornments, which of course I always endeavoured to see through, with great difficulty under many such circumstances as I knew them very little. In you I know the question enveloped that layer and more. You were asking me if a woman should find you attractive, and I took in your layers; an honest career with both risk and prospects; personality traits including such fine attributes as courage, cunning, perseverance, bravery, honor and loyalty; excellent teeth, dense muscular structure and a strong jaw. And the--your physical beauty, the unusual shade of your eyes, the tiny smile you hoped I wouldn't see when you were trying not to laugh at me. I thought about you jumping in front of a bullet meant for me without hesitation, and laughing it off only half a minute later, and the way you jitter when you're nervous, like a June bug held in the palms of your hands. I found you attractive, Ray, and I told you so.
[ He raised his hand, to make sure Ray didn't interrupt him, and at last looked at his partner across the table. Fraser was trembling with emotion. ]
I set my feelings aside. Occasionally they'd resurface at the most inopportune moments. I'd find myself thinking about how it would feel to kiss you. I'd catalogue such thoughts with the others and forget about them. I'm ashamed to say I collected quite a library. [ Sure, Fraser would use a library as an analogue for his emotions. ] If you're willing to, I'd like to be able to withdraw those books together, but they can just as easily stay where they are. Either way--
[ And now he stuttered, hesitating. He was terrified that Ray would say 'No'. ]
Either way, our working relationship will most certainly have to adapt. For one thing, neither of us would get any work done if we stopped to indulge every one of my fantasies. If it's what you want, then when this case is over I can...I can lock the door.
no subject
Except this time it's relevant. It's about the both of them, of their meeting and while Ray isn't entirely sure where Fraser's going with all this, he can at least appreciate it's something he can listen to. But it's ridiculous, this talk of Ray being attractive, surely it can't be something Fraser's ever thought too deeply on, especially not for such a throwaway question, and yet here he was discussing thoughts of kissing and... whatever else, thoughts that stirred long before last night.
Ray wants to say something. He wants to butt in with something but that raised hand keeps him silent, merely shifting in his seat to try and cover for some of his awkwardness.
Fraser used words like 'together' and despite how much he was speaking, Ray was still drawing a blank on what all of it meant. Withdraw books. Lock doors. What even...]
Like uh. Like datin' or somethin'?
no subject
His mind was babbling away now. It rose to a cacophony then fell dead with the realisation that he had been laboring under the likely false pretense that Ray didn't want to admit their relationship at all; not to colleagues, to friends, even to fake family. Fraser had wanted to save him from that embarrassment--but how presumptious was that of him? He'd assumed that Ray would be ashamed of him, of them, and now it was Fraser who was ashamed, appalled with himself for all the sidestepping he was proposing when of course just coming out and telling everyone would be the best course of action to take.
There was a eagerness in his eyes when he looked back up at Ray. ]
Yes. Yes, like dating or something. I think I'd like that.
no subject
Uh.
[And then Ray pauses. Sniffs. Glances to the side and scratches fingers through several days worth of stubble along his jaw line.
This was a lot to process for him. A whole lot to agree to in such a short time. Dating Fraser had never been something at the forefront of his mind. It wasn't something he dreamed of or thought deeply about or even realised it could be a possibility. Any feelings he'd ever had for Fraser were strictly excused as normal between friends and working partners, with attractions tucked away so deep he'd never even known they existed. Sure, he knew Fraser was attractive, but everyone knew that. He's not even surprised that Benton's that way inclined, but himself? He's not... well. He's never been with a guy before. Not really been with anyone except Stella and the very occasional rebound that tended to last under twenty four hours.
Agreeing to dating was agreeing that this was something beyond a night of passion and agreeing with the rest of the world that yes, he was banging a dude, thank you very much. It was all kind of... gay.]
You really thought about kissin' me and stuff?
[Because that's also kind of gay. And yet extremely flattering, all things considered. He doesn't know anyone who's admitted to liking him like that since Stella, and even she wasn't the sort of person to be discussing her thoughts and fantasies openly.]
no subject
And on the topic of feelings.
Fraser licked his lips, shifting very slightly forward in the chair and slightly lowering the volume and tone of his voice, conspiratorial. ]
I've thought about much more than kissing you, Ray. I've thought about much more than kissing you four times in the last two minutes. Five. [ He shifted very slightly in his chair. He was thinking about kissing him right now, but he knew where to draw a line. When to stop and wait to see where the chips fell. ]
I know you haven't thought about me that way, that I've give you no reason to. I don't expect you to change who you are for me, Ray. Dating is...dating is serious. And I know that I...I'm not what you'd look for in the long term. I can't give you children, and I-- [ God, Fraser, it's dating. It's sex, not a marriage. ] And if something goes wrong...
no subject
How can he not want a partner who's willing to have dirty thoughts about him even when sitting in a grimy interview room with a one-way mirror?]
Fraser, you're so dumb, you know that? You're my buddy. You've saved my ass more than any chick ever has. You've uh, you've been there for me more than any chick ever has. I'm not gonna find that anywhere else. I mean look at me, I'm a middle-aged flatfoot with nothin' to my name 'cept an ex-wife who hates my guts, a nice car and a turtle. You're a good guy, Fraser.
[Maybe too good. Fraser could have any one he wanted, after all.]
no subject
[ He was still looking at him across the table - the whole table separating them - looking back into his partner's eyes with a quiet fascination, and if he hadn't loved him before then he surely would have toppled now. His mouth felt dry from the nerves, from the fear, and the licklipping was as anxious a response as Fraser would ever let himself show, the welt from splitting them before only stinging anew every time he did.
Fraser reached across and curled both of his hands around one of Ray's, and he shifted his shoulders closer, shifted forward like a suspect about to confess to everything, and met his gaze. ]
You're the most noble spirit I've ever met. You gave up your own life to protect the identity of another cop without ever having met him, and you've--you've "saved my ass" more often than I would dare to count. You embody many of the things I myself aspire to be, and you have a nice car and a turtle.
"That man is rich whose pleasures are the cheapest."
[ He was stroking Ray's palm absently with one of his thumbs, and now he looked down to see what he was doing and found himself smiling--one of his sweet, genuine smiles, the kind that all but transformed his face. Ray may not have been able to articulate what he wanted in plain words, but Fraser understood. He'd always be able to understand him. And Ray wanted him. ]
There's a paddle steamer that leaves pier 28 every night at eight; there's dinner on the mezzanine, then dancing on the observation deck. On Monday the moon will be the closest to the Earth that it has been in eleven years, rising at 8.21 and reaching its zenith by midnight. [ Rambling, Fraser. ] I'd be honored if you would accompany me, Ray. [ And just in case he wasn't clear. ] As my date.
no subject
He finally drops his gaze to their hands, watching as fingers entwine and as that thumb traces circles against his palm, causing him to flex his hand just slightly against the soft touch.]
Heh. Noble spirit.
[The choice of words amuses him. It's something he's never heard in reference to himself. No one ever speaks about him like that, at least not to his face. Maybe he could get used to all these compliments.]
That uh...
[Decision time, Kowalski. Time to make up your mind about whether accepting a date with the Mountie is a good idea. They've already fondled plenty, so that takes away a lot of the usual 'first date' pressure, but this is acceptance of so much more than just dinner and dancing.
The offer is thought out, delivered with a smile that Ray so rarely sees, and if he wasn't entirely sure about his reply to start with, that look that lit up Fraser's features certainly answered it for him. Benton wanted him.
Ray can't help but match the smile with his own, equally genuine and entirely relieved, like the first time Fraser ever invited him out to eat and Ray had felt nothing but gratefulness at the sign of acceptance.]
Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that.
no subject
And even with the dark mirror across from him and the fact that anyone could be watching, the fact that he thought if he got started again he may not even be able to pull himself back from the brink, he leaned over and closed his mouth over the other man's, tasting the contours of that smile against him briefly. It was such a little thing, a kiss to seal it; a promise and a conversation in one gesture, and he was still smiling sweetly, eyes lidded, when he withdrew two inches.
Even if two inches wasn't even close to being far enough away. Or close enough. It was hard to tell. Wordlessly he pressed back in, this time slotting his cheek against Ray's jaw, exhaling against his neck. There was more to say, and Fraser had to get it out before he lost his nerve--or followed up on any of the wild fantasies that had briefly played through his mind. ]
But not now. Right now... [ A hiss. Fraser tensed his hands around Ray's. Before he pressed on he adjusted the way he planned to spit the words out, knowing he'd not get anything more sensible out of himself after he'd made his request. ] I know that traditionally sex comes after dating, but right now I would very dearly appreciate it if you would drive me back to your apartment, Ray. [ Clarifying boldly: ] And fuck me. Preferably before I go wholly out of my mind.
[ As if he wasn't already wholly out of his mind. No. No, he was still all there, alright. There was shuffling in the hallway and someone stepped on someone else's foot and yelped minutely - too minutely - and Benton Bat-Ears Fraser flicked his gaze toward the door and chose to ignore it. If he ignored it, he could pretend it wasn't happening. He certainly didn't have to let Ray know. It'd just make him self conscious. ]
no subject
This is the man he's been spending virtually every single day with for what feels like an eternity. The man who gave him company when he hit rock bottom and had no one else to turn to. The man he couldn't imagine living away from without becoming someone totally different. And here they were, agreeing to date. To possibly spend much, much more time with one another. It's a pretty sweet deal, he supposes. Why bother trying to get himself a woman he's rarely ever going to spend time with when he's got the whole package right in front of him.
Ray exhaled appreciatively against Fraser's ear, listening intently to the request, not entirely sure what he should have been expecting, but he's not quite excepting that.]
Dearly appreciate, huh? I guess that can be arranged...
[He flickers his gaze down to that tight grip of his hands, far too tempted to grab Fraser by that uniform and drag him over the desk. But no. Bad idea. Welsh was already pissed at them enough as it was.
Instead he pulls away from Fraser, all be it reluctantly, and moves to stand, although halts as he straightens up.]
Didn't uh. Didn't we need to look into this guy?
[Not that sex wasn't the best idea of the day. But. Police Station. Work.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)