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
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...
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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.]
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[ 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.
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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[ 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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.
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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. ]
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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.]
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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. ]
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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.]
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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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But then Fraser's trying a few more words and Ray's getting the general idea behind 'Ray, bed' because those are two words he's pretty knowledgeable on.]
Yeah.
[Agreed lightly, like he's not quite sure how to process the request but still perfectly willing to follow it. Bed. He can manage the bed. It's not far. If only he can force himself away from the warmth of the other for a few seconds.
With a huff of effort he finally tilts back, head moving away from Fraser and his arms carefully unwrapping from his waist. He still keeps contact though, in the form of a firm grip at the shoulder of that red uniform, using it as leverage to tug Fraser through the cluttered apartment towards the bedroom. The bed's unmade and there's clothes strewn about, but Ray really couldn't give a shit about his untidiness at this moment in time, his only hesitation coming when he turns to look at the serge gripped between his fingers.]
You uh. Y'wanna take that off?
[Ray sure could try, but he can't guarantee it'll remain in one piece if he does. He doesn't know the first thing about that uniform. It'd been enough of a struggle the time he'd 'borrowed' Turnbull's.]
Either that or I rip it off ya...
[It's the truth as much as it is a threat.]
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[ Oh good, more three letter words. They're in the bedroom already and Fraser wants to be thrown down on the bed and ravaged the same way they'd assaulted each other by the front door. He wants Ray to rip off his uniform and throw its constituent parts down amongst his own mess. But there's a flash of that blue uniform, and--
And also he wants Ray inside him maybe last year, not a decade from now. So he amends his statement: ] No. [ And he pulls his Sam Browne and his lanyard over his shoulders, flicks open the last of his tunic's buttons, springs the suspenders underneath from the anchors on his breeches, and unhooks the workings of his far-too-complicated fly. The boots have to come off next.
Fortunately Fraser has graduated to four letter words. He manages: ] Stay stay stay. [ And tugs his way to freedom. Disheveled and thoroughly kissed, he wrenched his way from Ray with an effort, sitting on the edge of the bed and hurriedly pulling off each boot, only going so far down down the laces that his ankles feel like he's dislocated them as he drags them off, rather than actually are.
That's enough, surely. That has to be enough. Ray can handle it from here.
Fraser wants him to handle it from here.
Except there's sudden stillness, Fraser sitting on the edge of the bed and Ray above him and the distance between them. There's a chance for discovery here. Fraser had clean stripped the other night, but the circumstances had been different. He'd smashed the lamp and only the streetlights outside had guided them. But that had been frantic sexual discovery and this... Fraser was giving himself to Ray, and if that was what he was doing them he had to stand up and let his partner unwrap him. Undress him. Peel back the wool layers to reveal the man underneath.
His legs felt positively shaky when he got them underneath him, stepping quietly closer. Now he was the one visibly vibrating as his eyes met his partner's again. ]
Come here. [ His voice sounded very faraway; all he could seem to hear was his own racing heartbeat pounding away in his ears. ] I'm ready. You can have me.
[ One barefooted sexually repressed Mountie, free to a good home. ]
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Ray's struggling to think, but he knows enough to realise he can't help with this initial undressing with any kind of ease of carefulness. If Fraser wanted to keep his uniform in tact, he was going to have to go this bit alone, even though Ray still watches carefully, lingering like he wants to get involved just for the sake of having his hands all over his partner.
But he waits like a good boy, breathing heavily as he almost unconsciously slips out of his hoody and kicks off his boots lazily. God, who knew a Mountie uniform could be so hot? He kind of gets this whole uniform kink, he really does. No wonder Fraser has women throwing themselves at his feet.
By the time Fraser's raising to his feet, Ray's shuffling forward, meeting the Mountie half way and eyeing the partially peeled away uniform with a new interest. This was his. His to pick and unravel and explore at his own pace. Fraser was giving him that, giving himself to Ray.
You can have me.
As if Ray needed much further persuading, although this time he's a little slower on the uptake, staring with a curious sort of wonder as he carefully reaches forward for that open tunic, fingers curling into the white under shirt and tugging it upwards just enough to slip his hand underneath and lay the warmth of his hand against the flat stomach beneath. He huffs out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he finally steps forward to fully close the gap, leaning forward just enough to briefly brush his lips against Fraser's, soft and chaste.]
We really doin' this...?
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When Ray's hand finally slipped under his shirt, flattening full against his stomach, Fraser felt himself physically jump, as though he were being pulled toward that contact, pulled up through the tips of each of Ray's fingers and poured into him. He was impossibly hard, eager, maybe even a little bit nervous, but he knew without doubt what he wanted.
The funny thing was that if they'd thrown each other down in the police station, the nerves wouldn't even have reached him, like they hadn't last night. The haste gave a veneer of their knowing what they were doing, what all these warring, wild emotions meant, when all in all the truth was rather that they were both slaves to them. He wanted to understand instead, to feel the real depth and all the meaning of what it meant to be doing this - really doing this - taking this step and going to bed with the man he worked with every day.
It changed everything, but Fraser found he wanted it to change. He wanted Ray to be involved in every part of his life, not just work, not just the man who picked him up from the lonely room in the consulate and drove him between gunfights and gang killings. It was going to kill him a little every time they were in danger from now on, but at least they'd be in danger together. Fraser wanted--he needed...
He needed to be Ray's, in every way it was possible to belong to someone. And he needed Ray to be his. And maybe he needed...maybe he needed to get out of the consulate, because it sure would have made last night easier if they'd been fucking on the floor of his apartment and not the floor of his office.
He didn't kiss back when Ray's lips brushed against his own; it wasn't that kind of contact. But his jangling nerves at least resolved into a single point of reality - Ray's mouth, which he kissed, and sighed against sweetly, his eyes closing just for a moment.
They were really doing this, and nothing had felt more right, or more terrifying, since he'd folded himself into Victoria back on that mountainside. ]
Yes, Ray. [ Sentences were still off; gestures would have to do instead. He moved his hands up, sliding the base of his thumbs down Ray's shoulders until he met the jutting bone of his shoulder blades, and then he leaned in and brushed against him a second kiss, this time to the dark blonde stubble under the other man's jaw, appreciating the way the rough texture of it grazed his skin. The next four words were distracted, murmured against Ray's neck. They came from the frightened place that still wasn't sure whether he was good enough; he wasn't like other men, he was arrogant, narrow minded and petty. He was damaged. He was lonely. He was infuriating. Why would anyone want him? ] If you'll have me.
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He's not sure why he hasn't heard of it. It seems like such a genius idea. Why not share your bed with the man you already share most of your life with?]
Suppose I can manage that.
[Mumbled, amused as he nuzzles in against Fraser's cheek, inhaling against his skin slowly, savouring the warmth of the lips at his jaw and at his hand.
This was happening. Him and Fraser. Two friends practically attached at the hip already taking that small step across the line that was partnership. Something about all this just felt right, like that speech on duets he gave to Fraser on their first ever meeting had all been leading up to this very moment. Things really hadn't been the same without Fraser around. Ray had been waiting for the Mountie his whole life and he just hadn't realised it before.]
So long as I get every last bit.
[With a slight twist of his head he goes for the ear again, this time his teeth pressing against soft cartilage as his lips curl into a smile. His hand wanders against tight abdominals for just a moment more before withdrawing, instead aiding the other hand to raise and slide that heavy serge from Fraser's shoulders, releasing some of that burden he has to carry with him day in and day out.]
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He hadn't realised quite what he'd been missing out on, but perhaps that applied to sex as a whole. Fraser was the kind of person who spent hours kissing and hours doing the other thing and kissing, and lost all sense of time and place in the process, but in the space of the last twelve hours he'd added at least twenty other things to his repertoire and found he wasn't particularly bad at any of them.
His groan as he felt Ray's smile was one of catharsis. His whole life had been leading to this moment; to Ray. Everything. His father's murder, Victoria, Zucko, three exploded 1971 Buick Rivieras, Ray Vecchio's reassignment to Las Vegas--and here he was, trembling against Ray's hand and under Ray's lips, and whimpering appreciatively when the red serge fell away from his shoulders.
Instantly he felt naked, but good naked--though of course he was nowhere near. It wasn't as if he hadn't stripped down in front of Ray before, and that was excluding last night, but to be fair to Ray it was difficult to pay attention to a Mountie dropping his pants when there was curling on television and Canada was winning. Well this time it was going to be a draw, Fraser could feel it. They were both playing perfect sets.
He reciprocated. First, of course, he had to drop his arms to let the tunic fall, let it pool crumpled at his feet - he'd have to steam it to straighten out all the wrinkles, he thought, absently - and then his hands were free to go back to Ray, sliding underneath his borrowed T-shirt and up along his sides. Ray's skin was all hot coals and molten lava under his fingertips, not smooth but not rough either, toned with muscle even here. There was more muscle around his ribs, which he could feel out with his fingertips when he reached them--his own weren't so easy to trace, protected by a layer of fat, and that brought home if nothing else did the fact that this was another man's body and not his own that he was touching. Ray Ray Ray. It was Ray's body, opening up to him, free to a good home. Free for him to have and to give himself to.
His thumbs had almost found Ray's nipples before passion pressed him to pull the shirt over Ray's head, tossing it aside with a sort of desperation. He needed to see, just as he had before. He needed to see what he was doing, see what his doing it did to Ray, see the ripples of response that impacted his breathing and his expression and his cock and shot like electricity between them to do the same to Fraser himself. And as he curled one arm around Ray's bare back and stroked the thumb of the other against his nipple at last he suddenly had a thought that made him laugh, glancing upward. ]
She's going to kill me. [ He said. And that was funny because? ] Your filthy shirt, the scuff marks on the desk, the smell--my god, Ray, the smell of you all over that room, all over me. [ But laughter had lowered into a deep rumble of appreciation, he leaned into his partner's neck again, snatching his teeth at it. ] The smell of me all over you-- [ Purred as though he found it the most erotic idea in the world. His kisses freckled Ray's neck, lips barely present, and he was murmuring under his breath: ] "In another moment down went Alice after it--" [ He whispered, rocking his hips up against Ray's, pulling him closer. ] "--Never once considering how in the world she was going to get out again." [ Maybe it was abstract out loud, but all these thoughts of his being a rabbit, and the appealing, glorious anticipation of impending misadventure, were far too clear a connection in Benton Fraser's fried, bookish brain to ignore. ]
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He'd seen much of it before and never so much as batted an eyelid at it, far more concerned with Fraser licking random objects than he ever was of the Mountie dropping his breeches. They were partners, after all, it was normal for them to do things like that when comfortable around one another. And they were definitely comfortable around one another, especially now, as the stay closely wrapped together and steadily undressing like each piece of clothing is a new layer of wrapping with some sort of gift inside. So many gifts to go around.
By the time the tunic is off, Fraser's already returning the favour with some exploration of his own, Ray settling his hands around the Mountie's waist while those wandering hands skitter across his skin curiously. He watches intently at the sight of it all, breath huffing out lightly as fingers tickle against his ribs and drift upwards, only broken as the move is made to tug the t-shirt off. Ray lifts his arms in unison with the pull upwards, letting it slip over his head and ruffle the already un-styled hair- he really had to remember to get some sort of product in that before they got back tot he station. Once that final layer of upper clothing is gone, Benton does a good job of getting straight back into it, teasing against a sensitive nipple and causing Ray to gasp softly with the stroke. It was still twinging from last night, the skin around it bruised in a perfect little circle after a certain someone decided to bite down on it.
While Fraser is at his neck and purring words against him, Ray's trying to return the favour with a nuzzle, slipping a hand under that shirt once again, this time at the Mountie's back to trail a lazy path up his spine, feeling against each disk. His other hand drops to those breeches, hooking a thumb into the waistband but remaining still, unwilling to unwrap that just yet.]
Y'think she'll know? [Another light huff as he feels that scrape of teeth, retaliating with his own scrape against Fraser's jawline.] Maybe we oughta do it on her desk too, just to be sure.
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Where Ray's fingers slid incrementally along the ridges of his spine, Fraser shuddered, and there...there, where his partner's fingers had found it before, was the stretched bubble of still itchy skin that concealed beneath it a single nine millimeter round. He gasped against Ray's skin, bringing his free hands up - both of them - to wring in his partner's hair, kneading and scratching because he remembered that Ray liked that. It was probably the gel, he thought, though there was none of it in there now; Ray had used Thatcher's shower that morning, and all the grainy flecks he'd sent raining down as he broke apart the structure with his fingers last night were gone. Ray's lovely spiky hair was now dry and limp. But that was okay, Fraser was making a good mess of it again now.
Ray's blunt white teeth ran against his jaw, and that was wonderful, but they were nothing to the words - filthy perfect words - with images and consequences that swam into being in a single resounding thought. Fraser moaned helplessly, snapped his hips upward against Ray's in a jerk of movement that almost made him lose his balance entirely, and dropped his hands down to grab handfuls of the other man's strong shoulders instead.
It was dirty, it was terrible, it was...a wonderful, exciting, thrilling idea. And when had he become so depraved, or had he always been this way? Was it just Ray who made him want the world, as though the very fact that the variations of how and where were suddenly open to him like a smorgasbord of sex, made him want it all, all at once - no matter how unrealistic - and damn all the consequences. The fact that they'd made it to an actual bed in the first twenty-four hours was probably a miracle, because Fraser wanted to fuck on Thatcher's desk, on the hood of Ray's car, on an airplane, in a sleeping bag, on a dogsled, on ice skates, in his father's stupid imaginary office, in the men's room at the 2-7, at the top of the Sears tower, a mountain, on a sailing ship and a submarine--and he wanted to do all of them at the same time.
He dug his nails in. He was murmuring, as it turned out, telling Ray all the places he wanted to do it as well as Thatcher's desk, putting voice to all the thoughts in his head, and then since he couldn't take it any more he was stepping back, pulling Ray on top of him as he toppled back on the bed. ]
Ray-- [ He whispered quickly, after he was done with "--in Ottawa", and he scratched a path down Ray's back, trying to illustrate his need. ] --If you open all your gifts this slowly, Christmas will last until January 4th.
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