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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[ Snapping turtles. Good save. Although now that he's said it Fraser has to fight the urge not to correct him, both on the genus of his own domestic turtle and the whole teeth situation. Ray doesn't need correcting; Ray knows, and more importantly Ray had just covered for him - although technically yes, he'd covered for them - and Fraser for once wasn't going to screw it up.

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. ]

[Before they both slip inside, Ray's quick to check there's no one on the other side of that one-way mirror, wanting to assure himself of privacy while the two talk it out. He's not even sure what they're going to say, what needed to be said or what needed to happen, but after the closet and the awkward questions in the station, there needed to be something said. Something organised or arranged or at least discussed.

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.]

[ He weathers the slap and the "Fraser" without so much as blinking, still consumed by his own guilt, his eyes still fixed on his hands even as Ray settles into the chair opposite him. Ray assumes his interrogation stance, he notices absently, so that when Ray makes it clear that they have to talk he's not remotely surprised. Except--

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. ]

[Talking wasn't something Ray usually did. Not about something actually topical, anyway. Sure, he could talk shit for days on end, but when it came to thoughts and feelings, he was usually fumbling over words in some vague attempt at making himself heard. Feelings are gross. Feelings are for girls. Feelings aren't what two guys talk about, especially when the feelings are for each other. That's just gay.]

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.]

[ He didn't know why he'd expected anything more fluent out of him, and for once Fraser resisted the urge to say "No, I don't know". It wasn't fair - not close - when it was clear enough to both of them what 'stuff' entailed. He wouldn't burden Ray with that--not when it had been Fraser who'd made the first move. Not when it was Fraser's enduring plan that had brought them to this point. And if he could find it in him to press Ray down and kiss him in the middle of a strategy meeting then he could damn well find it in him to talk. It wasn't on Ray, wasn't his responsibility.

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.

[The moment Fraser starts up, Ray can tell he's in this for the long haul. There's that tell tale deep breath and vague gestures that all point towards an up and coming ramble that would usually involve something entirely unrelated and involving Canada and Inuits and caribou and everything else Ray couldn't give a shit about.

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'?

[ Wow, he was an idiot. There he is pouring his heart out, making everything so much more complicated, and...and Ray has a different thing in mind. And Fraser suddenly realises how ludicrous it is. There's nothing wrong with the pair of them dating. It wasn't illegal for two men to date, sleep together, canoodle--even in public. They could do what they wanted. And maybe Ray...maybe Ray was okay with that. God, he could be bisexual, it might even explain his difficult relationships with his father and religion, and his overcompensation with women. Fraser should have seen that.

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.

Oh.

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.]

[ Despite his efforts to search Ray's eyes for the answers, he didn't come up with anything so complicated. He'd be embarrassed for himself if he knew. He'd back off, give way time, let him adjust to the idea and maybe in private they could see if it worked between them. But Fraser didn't know, and while there did seem to be something flighty about Ray that already wasn't surprising enough to cause alarm. They were talking about real feelings, after all.

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...

[Feelings were so, so hard, especially when Ray had no idea what to even think about them, or what his feelings even were for half of this. He supposes he's always had feelings for Fraser and he knows for a fact he can't imagine life without him now, but does that mean he wants him as a partner or just a... partner. If Ray considered what he looked for in a girlfriend, he supposed Fraser ticked virtually all the boxes other that 'good tits' and 'female' but how important were those two in the grand scale of a list with impossibly high expectations? He was always going to have to compromise on one or two of the points.

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.]

You're too hard on yourself, Ray.

[ 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.

[Fraser is being nice. He's always being nice so it really shouldn't come as any surprise, but this flattery directed right at Ray seems like a new form of kindness that only he gets to hear. This is Benton openly admitting that Ray, of all people, would be a suitable dating choice. That out of all the good looking women (and even men) that the Mountie has had chances with, Ray is the choice he'd settle with. He's not entirely sure how he's managed to get so high up in Fraser's ratings, but it might be best not to argue it.

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.

[ Exhilaration and relief were wonderful things. Fraser felt it too, like a drumbeat against the inside of his skull...or was that the inside of his thigh? His blood was up, in any case, along with other things, and he tried to concentrate on the mundane. Ray was smiling back at him in that way he almost always preferred to do out of the corner of Fraser's eyes, so that when he looked over it was usually gone--god, this was maybe the second time he'd ever seen it straight on like this, directed at him rather than at anyone else, and it was stunning; nothing mundane about it at all. There was nothing mundane about Ray at all, and anyone who failed to see that was a fool, he thought viciously; victoriously. Mine, mine, mine.

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. ]

[Even with the mirror and the risk of being caught, Ray leans in the smallest amount to meet Fraser's lips, smiling against him as he lets the exploration happen. Even in the dingy surrounding of an interrogation room, he can't think of a more perfect place for them to be right now, both agreeing to something far beyond what Ray truly understands. Dating. Dating Fraser.

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.]

[ He should be appalled with himself for being willing to throw in his responsibilities and rush off for sex in the middle of the day, but the circumstances are very different to anything he's quite prepared himself for. It's not like he planned this. It wasn't like he had any practice, either. Oh, he'd gotten horny at work before...in the middle of a blizzard with an incredible woman in his arms. But it wasn't like this, and it wasn't Ray, and he hadn't wanted anything so much in his life.

He'd take precautionary measures next time.

Because they hadn't... They'd teased each other ever since waking up, and now Fraser was a goddamn violin string pulled too tight, and any second now all it would take was another turn of the key to snap him in half. He huffed, irritably, looking down at his hands, and could tell as surely as Ray did in the moment before he pulled away that they were pushing it. His partner wasn't exactly a man of renowned self restraint either.

But he licked his lips, and something sparkling and almost cheeky slipped into his expression. ]

A Mountie begs you to take him home and make love to him, and all you can think about is work? I think I probably should be insulted.

[ But since Fraser was already half standing, all he did was straighten the rest of the way up, looking over at the mirror and bringing his hands up to pat his hair back into place, correcting his wonky lanyard and then stepping forward. He opened the door, startling Dewey on the other side of it where he'd been reaching for the handle. ]

I'll have Francesca run his priors and known associates, and we can ask Diane on the way downstairs to cross reference suicides with them once she's done. [ He licked his lips. ] It'll take at least the rest of lunch, so long as you don't demand to stay for seconds.

[ Oh, Fraser knew what he was talking about. And the pretending to act natural slightly-too-many-people suddenly walking down the corridor knew what he was talking about too. He crooked a finger at Ray, heading for the bull pen. ]

Detective Dewey.

[ He was awful. It was a wonder anyone put up with him. ]

[Ray's moderately surprised Fraser's putting pleasure before business, but he's even more surprised that he himself had mentioned something as boring as responsibilities straight after his friend asked to be fucked. It's an odd switch of priorities but they certainly do balance one another out no matter the scenario, even if it does mean switching roles every now and then.

Of course, Fraser has to be a dick about it all, that cheeky little glance enough to make Ray want to punch and kiss him all at once. What an asshole. And Fraser doesn't even let up as he heads towards the door, surprising Dewey in the process (good timing on their behalf) and loudly talking about 'seconds' in the middle of the hallway.

Ray ducks his head as he exits the room, as if somehow he thinks people won't notice it's him following the Mountie if he does so. There's no way people will be able to guess who that spiky haired blond is trailing after the Mountie. At least it's not entirely unusual behaviour for either of them, awkward as Ray is and annoying as Fraser is.]

Lunch at my place then, sure. We can do that. No problem. Let me just uh...

[At least he remembered the totally irrelevant file from the room which he aims to sling on his desk on the approach.]

But you're askin' Fran. I don't deserve that kinda abuse from her. [Because if Ray asks, she bites his head off, and yet if Fraser asks it's all 'of course, whatever you say' with big eyes and fluttering lashes. Gross.]

I'll ask. You go ahead.

[ He glances at Ray, and that's a mistake because he considers leaning over and kissing him right there in the bullpen, and instead he licks his lips, shakes it off with an uncharacteristic jerk of his shoulders. This was going to be hard--maybe it was a mistake. Maybe...all of this...

The problem was that Fraser loved too passionately. He loved hot and fierce and hard - overwhelmingly - to the expense of everything else around him. Ray might truly not be safe with him. When Fraser loved, the world tended to shake apart at the seams with the force of it. It might even end if they weren't careful. The apocalypse. There was going to be an apocalypse.

Fraser gave Ray one last longing look, then head for Francesca's desk in trepidation, giving her thorough instructions in an effort to somehow avoid getting the full force of her for once. As it turned out she was...unusually muted. The flirting seemed to have stopped, and she was all but giving him the cold shoulder.

So you and Ray? She asked. ]

Ray and I? [ He couldn't help but correct her. He was also pretending not to understand the question.

You and Ray. Having lunch. ]

We have lunch every day, Francesca. [ He squinted for good measure.

What's that supposed to mean, you have lunch every day? You have lunch with my brother every day? And Fraser knew she was talking about her real brother, and fucking, and he blinked frantically. Fortunately she wasn't looking at him...and probably wouldn't have read it in his face even if she had been. Wow, she actually thought... Wow. ]

Yes, Francesca. I have lunch with Ray Vecchio every day. [ He couldn't stray from obliviousness now. She stared at him for a few seconds, and then Fraser was shaking his head. ]

Good afternoon, Francesca.

[ He stepped away, and Fraser went to find Ray. It was risky, but damn if it wasn't a thrill--and Fraser stepped in front of guns and moving cars and jumped between rooftops six stories high. He was a thrill-seeker. It was worth it. Just like the thrill would be worth it to bump Ray back against the desk and kiss him. It'd be glorious.

He cut his thoughts off abruptly before they could get him into any more trouble. ]

Ray. Ray. Ray, did you speak to Diane? Can we please go, now? [ Can we please go now? He was begging. ]

[Even with the request to go ahead, Ray does his best to linger for as long as he can, rearranging a few files, grabbing his coat, making a show of locating his keys, all for the sake of trying to witness some of Fraser's conversation with Fran. He can already see she's sulking, even from the off-set, but after he hears the words 'you and Ray' he takes that as he cue to slink quickly away from the bull pen and away from crazy Frannie logic. He really didn't need to hear what she had to say on the whole topic, considering the odd assumptions she tended to come up with in even the most normal of scenarios.

Diane is much easier, distracted as she is by some random phone conversation to God knows who. He puts forward his query and she nods at him idly, waving off any attempts he makes at reiterating the work that needed doing. He had to give it to her, she certainly knew how to multi-task. And gossip.

With that done he waits for Fraser by the usual exit, smiling just slightly at the Mounties' approach, the desperation clear, even if virtually invisible to those around them.]

Done and done, let's go get that lunch.

[He's even nice enough to shove the door open with an arm and gesture for Fraser to go first. Civility is everything, after all, especially when taking someone back to your place.

The usual car business is as efficient as always, perhaps even more so with what's at stake. It's hardly surprising that Ray's pulling away with enough speed to cause the wheels to spin, veering them off in the quickest direction to his place and driving in relative silence for the start of the journey. Thank God he doesn't live far off.]

[ If he hadn't felt like the woman in this relationship before, he was distinctly aware of it when the door swung open in front of him, and he tipped his head toward Ray, slipped his hat back on as the stepped out into the brisk air. ]

Thank you kindly, Ray.

[ And those were the last words he said. It was easy after that to let the quiet seep in and the time stretch out beneath them. The GTO felt smooth and powerful underneath them - the whirl of spinning wheels and tarmac underneath them was glorious, impossibly exciting, like riding a wild horse - but it was the warmth of the heater hanging in the air claustrophobically that really wore him down. It was a weight on his chest, pressing in from the air around him, bearing down, and his goddamn tunic jacket felt like a noose around his throat.

He tugged the velcro loose, unbuttoned the top two buttons, and tugged on his shirt gently. It was already clinging to him. No, it wasn't just the heater. They were driving back to Ray's. They were driving back to Ray's

"for lunch."

Fraser shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd never before realised quite how far it was between the station and Ray's apartment. Too far. Or maybe it wasn't the distance so much as how long it took to cover it. It seemed impossibly unfair to him somehow that they couldn't simply be there, especially considering how itchy he felt, how overwhelmingly hot, how much like he needed to get out of his uniform before he spontaneously combusted inside it.

Because while he sat in the GTO his imagination created a dozen ways of using the seven minutes and twenty three seconds it took to drive back to Ray's, and most of them were probably explicitly illegal in the Illinois state legal code where it pertained to transit routes, and what people could realistically do while operating a moving vehicle. He'd read the relevant documents...he just. Wasn't remembering them clearly right now. But illegal--it was all illegal. Right?

One minute and fifty-four seconds from pulling up outside Ray's apartment, Benton Fraser deliberately, knowingly and willingly broke the law (as far as his recollection allowed). Well why not? Today was a day of extravagances. He'd already used instinct instead of logic, kissed his partner, desecrated Canadian soil, fled his home country, made out in a closet, lied and lied and lied, and now he was reaching across and sliding his fingers against Ray's inner thigh, looking up at him with lust-filled blue eyes and purring. ]

You were hard, weren't you? The day the Riv caught on fire. All that deaf defying fear, driving along inside a bomb that could go off at any time. It turned you on.

[ Because he might put up a front, play dumb, but Fraser wasn't stupid. He'd inhaled dictionaries; he didn't just know what a transvestite was, he knew the word for it in six different languages. He knew about sex, he'd proven that, and he knew that kind of excitement, too, because only the crashing into the ice cold lake had taken the edge off. His breeches hid a multitude of sins.

Ray's did not. His hand slid higher, and he watched Ray watching the road, ready to come to his rescue if need be as he heeled his palm boldly against Ray's groin. ]

[Ray didn't mind the silence. It wasn't unusual for either of them to let it stretch out without any awkwardness.

The Pontiac was all the noise Ray needed, glad to hear the growl of a well running engine that his dad had taught him to listen for so long ago, and still a talking point they use as a form of bonding even to this day. It's why he rarely listened to the radio, preferring the music his perfectly cared for vehicle already provided.

It was tough to focus on the sound right now though, not when the blood was pumping through his body so harshly that he could hear the heavy thump of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. The leg not glued to the accelerator jittered just slightly, wiggling out a vague, speedy rhythm, like he'd rather be out running, or anything other than sitting in the car he usually loved to drive. It's not that he didn't want to be there, it's just that no matter the speed, it felt like they were moving to slow, like his apartment couldn't come quick enough.

The anticipation filled him with an anxious energy, one that has him nearly jumping through the solid roof of the car the second he feels fingers at his thigh. But he keeps the car straight, impressively so considering his head jerks so sharply towards the passenger that the car should be veering off in the same direction. He holds the stare for a moment, taking in that look from Fraser. The look that makes Ray seriously consider pulling over right where they are and trying to fuck the Mountie senseless, parked in the middle of Chicago. He wouldn't even care who saw.

But he tries his best to be a good driver. Tries so hard to keep the GTO steady and his eyes back on the road, even as Fraser talks about something that really shouldn't get Ray as eager as it does. And if he wasn't eager before, he certainly is by the time that palm kneads downwards, Ray's leg suddenly shooting out towards the brake so hard that he almost headbutts the steering wheel. It's a miracle there was no one behind them, although there soon will be considering Ray just leaves them in the middle of the road as he turns towards the Mountie.]

Fraser! Swear to God, you keep that up and I'll be creamin' my cob. Don't make me pull into the nearest alley, cause I will.

[ He's a terrible human being, and yet Fraser is gratuitous with it. Yes, Ray jerks down on the brakes so hard that his shoulder near slams into the dashboard, the seatbelt jerking him back at the last second awkwardly, but even though he gets well dislodged in the process, he only barely sits back, doesn't turn off the hungry eyes that linger smokily on Ray's as his partner turns toward him.

There was no traffic behind them, no, but here they were illegally parked in the middle of the street, one minute and seventeen seconds from home--no, make that one minute thirty one; the GTO would have to accelerate back to full speed, after all. Illegally parked, and yet Fraser was exuding challenge like a caribou squaring itself off against another buck. He licked his lips deliberately. ]

Promise?

[ But that's a police sedan pulling onto the stretch of road two blocks behind them, and Fraser pulls back into his seat reluctantly, settling down like a good passenger, and raises his eyes toward the road ahead as though to say 'let's go'. He knows he's being infuriating, knows he's winding Ray up, but for once it's the point rather than something he'd been doing unconsciously.

Maybe that was what made him so damn efficient at it. He reached up and tapped the rearview mirror, just in case his partner hadn't noticed the police car. If he spun the wheels when they took off, they'd end up stopped at the side of the road having a conversation with uniform - which would add another nine and a half minutes to their journey time - and Fraser thought: nine and a half minutes? If he had to wait even half that long there would be hell to pay.

That wasn't to say he didn't fidget, but he kept his eyes pointed ahead over the stetson on the dash and tried not to pour out such nauseating waves of urgency. Tried. ]

[That look from Fraser- that look- is one he'd love to kiss right off his face. That predatory, wild gaze that belongs in the depths of the Yukon and not amidst weak hearted city dwellers like the majority of Chicago. Ray's not even sure he can handle it, but he does his very best, gritting his teeth and sweeping his attention up and down the Mountie as if weighing up whether he really can last until they get to his apartment. It's only down the road, but fumbling around in the car could be effective enough. Even if they are in the middle of the road.

Oh. Right. That could be a problem.]

Damn straight.

[His stare lingers long after Fraser settles properly back into his seat, the tap on the mirror Ray's final prompt to actually look at what he was doing.

Cops. Not a problem. He could easily flash his badge and talk his way out, but that was time wasted that they desperately needed, and so he behaves himself for once in his life and pulls away reasonably, even indicating while he's at it. It's such a perfect pull away, in fact, that he's amazed at himself for even doing it.

He was as jittery as usual, but he could feel it off Fraser too. An unusual sort of impatience from the Mountie that he wasn't sure he'd witnessed before. Can't really blame him, but damn it was a turn on.

By the time he's found himself a parking space, Ray's practically diving out of the car, eagerly fumbling at his keys as he heads for the main door. He's not sure he can look at Fraser right now, not before he's even got into the apartment.]

[ Come on, Ray's not the only one in the car who's surprised that the indicator actually works. Fraser even tilts his head quizzically at it as they pull away, as though to say what's that fucking sound, because the only person he's ever sat in a car with who bothered with an indicator is the consulate's limousine driver. Welsh, Francesca, Ray and Ray--a few hundred taxi drivers--and of course there wasn't much cause for indicators in the Yukon...if you could even find a road that had turnings in the first place.

But as they pull away smoothly, Fraser's still warm with the dark promise that had lingered in Ray's words and the weight of the stare that had hung on him afterwards. Ray understood. He got that there was a thrill to it for him, that somehow doing it in an alleyway in the middle of the day might be on their itinerary, and the feedback he got on the subject from Ray was "You betcha." The anticipation was bursting in his chest like flashes of light across the blue arctic night sky, writhing dancing color; an electromagnetic storm raging silently onwards. Two minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity.

He was filling up with that energy, that need, and he had no doubt where it would lead them--into madness, into fierce fumbling and kisses, and premature orgasm with all his clothes on and his back against the kitchen counter. Not that Fraser didn't want that too, but this time...this time before they desecrated anything else, told any more lies, or did anything in public that they couldn't take back, he wanted to at least make it as far as Stanley Kowalski's bed. It was a matter of pride.

Besides, he was wearing his last clean uniform. All he had left after this was the blue one that he loathed with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

So he sat in the car as Ray leapt free, springing like a clown out of a Jack-in-the-Box, personally trying to get a grip on his self control and his own inner strength. He brought his heartrate down, gently manipulating his own core temperature to something more reasonable, all the time counting how long he expected it would take for Ray - equipped with only rapidly shaking hands - to possibly get the door open. The less time they spent standing side by side the better, because while Fraser felt he'd made a reasonable impression on Ray's landlady last time, he sincerely doubted that reason would hold over if they started doing the beast with two backs in her front porch.

He snatched the ring of keys out of Ray's hand as the shared front door was opened, stepping past him, but even that brief sizzling contact was enough to fry Fraser's senses all over again, undoing all the effort he'd gone to back in the car.

It was at once the shortest and longest walk he'd ever taken, and by the time Ray's three locks had been opened efficiently, Fraser's skin was buzzing like radio feedback and there was a symphony and an oprah and a rap battle playing in his head all at once, dividing his attention in a million different directions.

And then he was kissing kissing kissing Ray back through the door, slamming it shut behind him with too much force, dropping the keys and holding on to Ray for dear life. ]

[Self control isn't something Ray's so great at. He's doing his best not to pounce on Fraser the first chance he gets but it's a tough challenge. It's why he refuses to look at the Mountie, let alone make eye contact, purposefully keeping his hands and eyes busy rather than risk staring over at those wild, blue eyes of his friend, and Benton leaves him to it which is a good idea. He doesn't even question why the Mountie is sat, unmoving, but he's barely even paying attention to that anyway.

It's only after the first door is opened that he feels Fraser's approach, the keys swiped from his hand as his partner brushes past and further into the building. Even through fabric Ray felt the energy behind the contact, like electric arching between them, urging Ray to chase after and stay close. He jitters quietly behind Fraser as the locks are worked over, quietly muttering 'c'mon, c'mon' over and over and over again as if speaking is the only distraction he's got from all of this.

He's not sure which of them initiates the contact, but the second the door opens they're on top of each other, lips clashing heavily against lips and his arms looping around Fraser like he's worried he might leave. It's only once he's sure the door is closed that he shifts his weight, directing the Mountie up against the nearest wall to pin him there, tongue and teeth in the kiss like he's not sure where to start or where to end.

When he does finally pull away, it's only far enough to trace his lips against Fraser's cheek, jawline and towards his ear, gasping against it as his tongue lashes out against an earlobe.]

Fraser...

[He's not even sure what to say, but he wanted to hear that name from his own lips. To reassure himself that this was really happening. That Benton Fraser was really in his apartment and willingly wrapped against him.]

[ As expected Ray was vibrating physically in mirror of the repressed hum beneath Fraser's own skin. As soon as they touch again it's like a fireworks factory catching light; explosions and lights dancing in every direction, great showers of fire and color burning the air with the scent of spent sulfur. BANG went the door. BANG went his back, as Ray all but slammed him against the nearest hard surface, the wind knocked out of him into the kiss--or maybe by the kiss.

Because it was some kiss: Ray's arms were a vice around his waist, his lips were a fury to contend with, teeth and tongue pulsing and forceful, and Fraser gasped and panted back into it - fuck excess lung capacity, he was drowning - giving back as good as he got for the long, urgent minute where all Ray did was kiss him. He felt he could live in this feeling and be content; of being needed, both like this and in terms of being someone to a man who was far more than just a partner to him.

But the wonderful thing about this whole situation was that one moment wasn't exclusive to that feeling; it tumbled into the next, then into the next. Ray's mouth was softer as it tracked his jaw, leaving no bruises behind, but it was more than enough. As Ray's tongue finally curled around his earlobe, hot breath filling it, the sound of his name poured out in need and desperation, begging for reassurance, it left him keening, curling helplessly against his partner, his own breath an incoherent moan.

God, words. What even were words? It was hard to think coherent thoughts with Ray's mouth on his ear, let alone think of something to say to a sound - to his name - plead with such urgency. He could manage a syllable, though: ]

Ray. [ Like a gasp, then again-- ] Ray. [ More like begging this time, and the hands he'd knotted in Ray's hoodie loosened, clawing at the shoulders instead, before pawing down Ray's back. ] Ray.

[ There were other words in his vocabulary weren't there? He knew there were. Words like... God. No, there were words that had more than three letters, but he couldn't recollect a single one. So instead he wrapped his arms around Ray's waist like he was anchoring himself to keep from drowning - which in many ways he was - and panted the only three words, each with three letters, that he could remember. ]

God. Ray. Ray, bed. Bed.

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