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 |
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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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Ray's equally surprised they even managed to make it as far as the bed considering how damn good Fraser is when clinging on and arching into him like that. The hands in his hair are perfect and they're just as good at his shoulder, gripped tight with the blunt reminder of nails. It's only when he feels himself pitching forward onto Fraser and the bed that he's suddenly reminded that they'd just been standing there in the bedroom, rather than the actual bed. Well then. Now they'd made it as far as the bed, even if he had landed on his partner in the process.]
You're supposed to be the patient one, Fraser.
[He chides, but doesn't tease for long, spine curling into the scratch of nails and then using the upwards momentum to drive back down against Benton's hips. His hands had managed to slip free from his partner's back just before they landed, preventing an uncomfortable landing for both of them, now one wandered- the other supporting his weight- back towards that waistband, lingering only briefly before grabbing onto the bottom of his under shirt and tugging upwards. Fraser would have to help him out here, but he's sure the Mountie will be willing enough to squirm out of his clothing considering he's the one complaining about the slow process.]
I gotta take my time with these things, okay? Otherwise I uh... [He loses his train of thought for a moment as he distracts himself with leaning back in to kiss and nip against the exposed neck, slowly drifting lower with his lips as his hand does the same. He lingers briefly at each nipple, tweaking between thumb and forefinger before dancing his fingers across the breast bone and towards that flat stomach. Fraser's more built than Ray's used to on his own form, more mass and muscle and fat than Kowalski's ever been able to put on and keep on. He burns it too quick, perhaps from too much bouncing around.]
I uh... I forget what I'm talkin' about...
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It was much better to have the freedom to tangle his fingers back in Ray's hair instead, he thought. At least this time - this first time - he wanted to be able to do that. He'd developed, he thought, a fascination with Ray's hair that defied explanation, but it went a little something like this: Ray's hair was soft, the shafts were fine, so much softer than it looked to touch. It wanted to lay flat across his forehead, down over his ears, and so the resistance Fraser met when he pushed it back up with the whole of his palm was such that the strands tickled between his fingers as they sprang back toward where nature meant them to be. Everything about Ray's hair was everything that Fraser's was not, pale where his own was dark, soft where his own was coarse and dense, disobedient where his own - given a splash of water and a comb - did precisely what he meant it to do.
He liked Ray's hair, he decided. He especially liked tugging on it rhythmically, like a cat kneading a pillow, when Ray's teeth were dancing patterns down his throat.
If the thrust of Ray's hips had made him moan, the murmur of words against his neck and the teeth and tongue and lips and Ray's wandering hands play out the bridge. Even that symphony of small touches was enough to make Fraser whimper and gasp, and really he forgot what Ray was talking about too, because - as before - this was exactly what he'd wanted.
To be touched. To be adored. To have Ray's hands all over him and more. To have a warm body close against his own. He dug his nails in a little deeper. Ray could tie him up again on the submarine, he thought. This would do just fine for now. ]
You were telling me-- [ He said clearly. ] --That you thought I was dumb. Dumb, stupid, a damn fool, for not thinking of doing this sooner. Think about all those stupid things we did that could have--ah--been much more enjoyable if only we'd thought to have lots and lots of "how the blue blazes are we still alive" sex afterwards. And the boring days, the--like when you...Consulate and...
[ Ray had it right; what were they even talking about? The hand on his stomach was making him tremble. He was out of his own mind. ]
Keep doing that.
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While Fraser keeps up with that, Ray continues his own little trail down the bare torso offered to him, hands still dusting against the skin of Fraser's stomach and sides like he wants to feel every inch of the Mountie. His lips follow up behind, taking the same path as his tongue swipes against nipple and then the next, brief but solid attention before shifting to rest his chin right on his partner's breastbone, looking up at him with interest.]
Heh. Dumb. You are dumb. We shoulda been doin' this months ago.
[And Ray takes absolutely none of the blame for not thinking of this sooner, because everything is Fraser's fault no matter what.]
Guess we kinda started backwards with all of this though. [Because normally you don't start cuffing, biting and whipping your partner until after dates and first time sex, not before, but when did the two of them ever do anything the right way round?
And just because Fraser's being impatient, Ray's going to be a little shit, still watching with innocent blue eyes as a hand slips between the Mountie's breeches and kneads down with a palm against the obvious erection hidden beneath. He doesn't even remove the underwear, keeping the fabric between the warmth of their skin, even as his fingers curl into the enclosed bulge.]
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Fraser hissed and arched under Ray's attention, under the tongue that swirled hot and heavy and perfect around the nub of first one nipple and then the other. He couldn't rise far off the bed with Ray on top of him, but every muscle strained as it tried, and as soon as his abused back made contact with the bed beneath it again his poor abandoned nipples were left to the cool air, prickling and wet and hard. His head swam.
Backwards. He had no idea what Ray was talking about. Were they doing something backwards? He couldn't remember. Maybe he was talking about how Fraser should have stripped out of his clothes before they made it to the bedroom, because right now that felt like it would have been a much better idea. He was smoking hot, aching, his cock trapped painfully against the stiff starch of his boxers, which he now had the insight to think was the worst kind of self abuse known to man because it felt like he was rubbing his erection against a raw brick wall.
And god, he felt like he'd been hard for hours, hard since he woke up nestled against Ray, hard since they'd kissed in front of all those people in the club, hard since the closet, and the interrogation room, and the car. He'd been patient for what felt like years, and he couldn't stand it any more.
Letting him go with one hand to reach upward, Fraser managed to snag the corner of a pillow and yank it down, shoving it awkwardly under his head. It let out a welcoming whuff of Ray-smell that he instantly wanted to press to his face and drown in, but also improved the angle no end, let him look at Ray looking at him, watching the projected innocence in those gray blue eyes and not believing in it even for a second. Ray had taken his belt to him, had handcuffed him and left him to sleep with them on, had kneaded his shoulders and neck and hair when Fraser had gone down on him. Ray wanted to fuck on Thatcher's desk and a submarine and an alley in his car and the top of the Sears tower. Ray was about as innocent as Bonnie and Clyde. He had more sexual appetite in him than the entire playboy mansion on a Saturday night. Ray--
When Ray's hand wandered he quickly regretted the pillow. His neck ached from the effort to slam his head as far back as possible, but there was almost nowhere for him to go, and instead Fraser's face contorted precisely where Ray could see it, eyes closing, pain and glorious pleasure mixed like fertilizer and nitroglycerine, and he bucked and twisted helplessly under his partner's restraining weight. He cried out once, as loud as he had back at the consulate - maybe louder because Ray hadn't asked him to be quiet this time - and having let out that wail from the bottom of his now spent lungs, Fraser began to pant ragged, earnest breaths, trying to hold himself back from exploding on the spot.
It wasn't going to be the high speed chases and throwing himself at moving vehicles and jumping from third story rooftops without a parachute that was going to kill him. It was going to be this. Ray was going to kill him with sex, and ruin all his good clothes at the same time. They'd have to bury him in his blue suit, and he'd be forced to haunt Ray forever wearing the outfit he hated most in the whole world--and how was that fair?
Gritting his teeth, he forced his eyes open, though the effort brought a whole new wave of trembling over him. He couldn't talk, so he tried to convey that this was torture - torture torture torture - with his pupil black eyes alone. But he wouldn't have it any other way; God, he wouldn't have Ray be anything else, do anything else, because torture and dying had never felt so good. ]
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There's just something about Fraser arching and moaning under him that feels right, like it should have happened years ago. Like it's something Ray's always needed, even before the two of them ever met. It's not doing it with a man that's made this different, it's just doing it with Fraser has made it different. He's just Bentonsexual, and he supposes he's kind of okay with that.
Thanks to that pillow he was getting an even better view of every little flinch and shudder that flashed across Fraser's features, his own lips curling up in amusement as he takes mental notes of just what reaction each curl of his fingers gets. Benton's suffering so wonderfully with all of this and Ray can't help but be perfectly entertained by reactions alone. He'd never been patient, three weeks premature as he was, but when it came to torturing Benton so beautifully, he thinks he could hold off on pleasure forever. He almost had enough to orgasm just from viewing pleasure alone.]
Little desperate, huh? S'alright. I can help with that.
[Another roll down with his palm and then finally he brings a hand up to curl around both the waistband of those breeches and the boxers, tugging them down in unison, although stopping at the curve of Fraser's arse where behind meets thigh. Trying to pull them further was just a hassle right now and all he really wanted to achieve from the movement is to release that straining erection from it's confines.
He smirks, that innocence lost behind the devious little flash of teeth and lowered brows, still staring up at Fraser as he drops his head again to trail his lips down the path of Benton's stomach, following the thin trail of hair past his pubis and only pulling back after his chin bumps against his eager arousal. There's only the briefest moments of hesitation, more as a pause for consideration than any uncertainty, before he ducks down enough to flick his tongue against the head, and then again with the whole flat of his tongue. By the third time he's shifting enough to lick from close to the base all the way back up, step by step as if he's trying to test the waters for himself as much as Fraser.
If Fraser can lick cock, then surely Ray can give it a try.]
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That wasn't anything he had experience of either. The feeling - the overwhelming sensation of this not just being sex but the beginning of something - made him happier than he could stand. Ray seemed to be delighted--a feeling he frankly shared. Fraser watched too, overcome with desire as each one of his gasps and reactions led to a response from Ray; the flicker of his eyes downward, the quirk of his lips, a flash of teeth as he fought back a smile. It was immensely rewarding to see Ray like that over pleasing him, giving it all the same focus that he gave dancing. And Ray danced beautifully. He smiled beautifully. He broke into a grin like a menace, and that was fantastic too.
This was the beginning of something. Ray was learning the syllables in this new language that they were discovering together, and he was clearly enjoying the process, enjoying the way every little action stripped away at the veneer of Benton Fraser the Mountie to reveal something entirely new: Benton Fraser his lover. Stripped him right down to the bone, exposed him--
It was terrifying, and yet Fraser loved it. Ray already knew him better than any man could, so this was surely the next natural step. Partner and now partners. Partners that were partners.
The next natural step, but there was nothing natural about the sound he made when Ray's hot tongue flashed against his oversensitive erection, fleeting and hot and wet and gone again before he had time to even react. His hands twisted in Ray's hair, maybe too hard, then seized in tight again as Ray's tongue came back into contact, this time with a firm flush of muscle that tore another animalistic groan from the center of his chest. He had to fight not to buck up off the bed, his muscles clenching across his belly, his ass, his thighs, all with the tension it took not to snap them urgently upward. There was remarkable strength in his legs; Ray wouldn't even stand a chance if Fraser let pleasure make his head spin. ]
R-Ray--Ray. [ He needed to arch something, even if it was just his neck and shoulders, and Fraser let go of Ray's hair, snatched up for the pillow and tugged it upward, rising off the bed as he muffled his third moan of appreciation into Ray's cushion, his nails digging into the stitches so hard that they almost burst.
But that wasn't what he wanted either. He wanted to see Ray. If Ray was going to do this... If Ray was going to do this he wanted to see it with his own eyes, map it onto his memory like a permanent snapshot. So the pillow went back into place, and Fraser tried to breathe, because there was a very, very real risk that he was going to lose control well before it was appropriate. ]
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But it's his mouth that does most of the work now. Now that he's set himself up with this task of exploring his partners arousal as up close and personal as one can be. He looks at each and every vein and sinew, considering what he enjoys, how he enjoys it and what he'd want from it. He thinks of how Stella used to do it, and of how Fraser managed it so skilfully last night, and just briefly he thinks fuck because he's not trained for this. This isn't something he's got any experience with at this end of a cock. But a tongue is a tongue and a warm mouth is still a warm mouth.
Fraser's already tensing and twisting under him and he guesses that's a pretty good sign, especially as fingers are twisting in his hair and his name is being gasped. Ray offers his support with both of his hands, shifting up to rest at Benton's hips and push his weight into the hold, giving him something to push against, while his thumbs circle in against the point of bone.]
I got ya. [He murmurs, vocalising that he's still there for Fraser if his hands weren't already enough. But his hands will have to do from now on if his mouth is going to be otherwise occupied. It feels like he's been pausing for far too long, but with a final prep in the form of a deep inhale and exhale, he ducks forward. His tongue curls back around first, followed seconds later by his lips, pursed around the tip before slowly shifting down inch by inch. He doesn't risk taking it too deep, already focused as he is on keeping his teeth away, his jaw slack and his tongue in contact, but as he settles on a comfortable depth, he can add more.
This isn't something he'd ever planned for. Not ever. But he does his best with what he knows. With his mouth embracing, his lips curl tighter, tongue pressing up and he sucks, heading bobbing just slightly with every suction he does, because fuck he always like it like that and he'd seen it done enough times by now. There's a mix though, the sucking mingled in with careful draw backs and head licks before taking Fraser in again, his tongue swirling, licking and curling when it can, and the occasional soft scrape of teeth might be on accident or it might just be Ray pushing his boundaries as much as he can. Because that's what he does.
When he's satisfied with what he's doing, he finally switches his gaze up, back to Fraser, watching him watching, and God it's hard not to feel just slightly self-conscious when you've got a Mountie staring down with a lust filled gaze like that.]
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It was a glorious thought, it swirled in his head like snow in a whiteout, as the weight of Ray shifted up against his hips, reciprocating in response to Fraser's desperate - and yet unspoken - need for some kind of restraint. The place where Ray had licked him, now exposed to the air, tingled with need, flushing a chill through him.
And yet Ray's apartment felt hot. The blinds were down, but there was no heating on, and his soft bed seemed to enfold Fraser, much more like am embrace than anything he would have chosen to sleep on himself. He imagined himself choosing to sleep here again and again now, swallowed up by it, pressed in against Ray's back. Even the fantasy was comforting.
This wasn't going to be the last time. Ray would be able to learn everything he needed to know about Fraser's body, and in turn Fraser would do the same. On top of these sheets and under them, in the kitchen, the bathroom, on the couch, on the rug, backed up against the front door, crushed against the blinds. They'd explore every corner of Ray's apartment while they explored each other, and if verbal promises counted as a contract, a whole other lot of places besides. No, Ray had never done this before, but by the time they were done Fraser would have him working these old boards like he was dancing a tango, with Fraser as his dance part--
Partner partner partner oh shit
Warm, hot, silken, lovely. It was like falling dick first into...he didn't know what. Was this what it had felt like when he'd done it for Ray? That grasping tongue that seemed to preface all this heat--the embracing warmth of Ray's mouth closing around him, an invitation to the best digs in the world right here. Ray doesn't take him all the way down, but that's good because Fraser doesn't think he could stand it if he did. An inch was overwhelming enough. Two or three, they felt good too, but he could barely even keep his eyes open to focus on what he was seeing as it was.
Stanley Ray Kowalski - Ray Vecchio to everyone else - a man undercover, a man whose true identity was known to very few. Lonely, lovely Ray, with his lips pulled wide around his cock, his blue eyes like mist over the ocean, hidden under dark eyelashes dewey with the sweat of his own arousal. As Fraser watched, Ray's cheeks hollowed, and he sucked so hard that Fraser's eyes had to close. He groaned, low and deep, sinking his nails into the pillow under his head, and when he looked again it was as though he were looking through that haze himself. He felt faraway, and yet grounded perfectly in this moment, in the fact that this was him and Ray, and always would be now and forever. This moment, Ray's mouth on him: swirling, sucking, licking, curling, scraping teeth and... Nobody could ever take that away.
As he watched, Ray's brow crinkled, those lidden eyes coming up to look back at Fraser, and there was a jolt of electricity that seemed to leap between them, then--Ray's eyes to Fraser's eyes, Fraser's eyes back down to his cock. He licked his ragged lips. His head was swimming, his back stung on the sheet beneath him, his muscles were sore, but he couldn't force himself to breathe either. It was hard to keep all these conflicting activities going on at once. He held his breath until he couldn't any more - nowhere near his usual lung capacity - then took in a rattled gasp, which broke into little whimpers, sobs of breath, in out in out. There were no rules for this either--none that Fraser knew, anyway. Where did he put his hands? What sort of noises could he make? How would he ever be able to look at Ray again and not think about the silken heat of his mouth--and why would he ever want to? How could he make it last forever?
He looked down into that face now, drank it in for as long as he could focus on it through the fog of his own arousal. If he'd been a religious man, then this, he thought, would be what seeing god was like.
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Another hard suck has his cheeks hallowing out for a few drawn out seconds, the whole flat of his tongue curling around the inches in his mouth and slowly dragging upwards to curl lazily around the tip. His eyes stay locked on Fraser's throughout, and when he does pause, it's only long enough to voice a few roughly spoken words.]
Grab my hair.
[A request more than an order, because his communication skills are apparently better when he's in bed than they ever are in the field. And then he's right back to licking, not even hiding his smugness as his tongue laps all the way to the base and then drags back up, lathering the whole arousal before he's back to wrapping his lips around and taking in what he can.
One hand slowly creeps it's way around, fingers feathering across the skin of Fraser's inner thigh and against that sensitive sac, palm rolling downwards just enough to be felt.]
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Or maybe it wasn't death defying at all. Maybe the old Ray and the old Fraser were dead, and they'd both been reborn into these horny teenager versions who were too busy falling over each other to remember they were supposed to be doing a job. Maybe that wasn't their fault; he felt like he'd been holding these feelings back for decades, and it was only right that when they sprang free (again) they were explosive, uncontrollable, and to the detriment of any memory of what was going on around them.
It'd settle down. It'd settle down long enough for him to keep pants on for more than half an hour at a time, long enough for him to at least not have to throw himself at Ray if they were alone together for more than a few seconds at a time. He just had to...to regain control. But control was not to be regained while Ray was--definitely not while Ray was doing this.
Grab my hair was a good request, a reasonable order, and more than that it anchored him to Ray this time when his eyes closed again. He couldn't force them to open, not now it was all he could do just to try to breathe, because it seemed to him that Ray was becoming better at this by the second. The languishing draw of suction, the tongue sliding up toward the tip, increasing pressure until he felt like he would pop, the breath of air as Ray pulled back to murmur words in his general direction, and then he was back, his lips curled into one of those challenging, dazzling, dizzying smirks, only this time around Fraser's erection. Smug bastard.
Fraser whimpered and panted. He kept his fingers in Ray's hair, squeezed and worked it, pulled it, his long fingers straining with tension as he took a tight grip just above both of his ears. Now he was writhing, pushing against the weight of the man against him, almost mindless with delirium as he tried his best to thrust into his partner's wonderful hot mouth.
It had been too long. He'd needed this all day, needed something and with those calloused, engine-oil stained fingers of Ray's barely grazing against his balls it seemed he was spiraling entirely out of control. The snowstorm was whirling now; he could feel it, one more step, two, and he'd step out into nothingness and go tumbling to his death. But his warning to Ray was an incoherent cry, wrenching at his hair pitifully, wanting to warn him so that he could stop but desperately needing anything but.
He stepped out, wailed again - too late, too late, the orgasm twisting inside of him, tightening tension and - he was falling falling falling... God, he was going right over the edge. ]
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It was the noises that he loved, the whines and cries and moans and everything inbetween that made Fraser so exceptionally irresistible and impossible to refuse. Ray had never done this for a man. Never intended to. But when it came to Fraser he'd do anything If Fraser was all for it, then Kowalski was a hundred percent with him, all the way. And God, wasn't that an exciting thought? Knowing they still had so much more to try and explore.
Trouble is, Ray's never been very good at being decisive with some of these things, and when he's given the warning tug at his hair and can feel Benton squirm beneath, he's suddenly stuck between several options that are impossible to pick with such limited time given. He could try and stop it, sure, he knows enough to go in for that, but that would be a fairly literal dick move and may be best reserved for when he's next whipping the crap out of his friend, when he's trying for the control role. His other options are pretty obvious; pull away or ride it out. Fraser took his. He took every last bit of it. Maybe it's only fair...
The time he'd taken to think had been enough for Fraser to reach that edge, and Ray was right there with him, holding his hand through the whole damn thing. As Fraser falls, Ray rides it, pulling back just enough to avoid that orgasm hitting his throat, instead letting it spill onto his curled tongue and desperately trying to ignore any reservations his mind might be having. His hand cups against those balls, palming and rolling and aiding along with every lazy suck he does, helping to drag it out for his partner.
It's only once he's certain that last wave has been ridden out that he moves, withdrawing with a careful swallow as he shifts his weight upwards, knees dragging to place either side of Fraser's hips while he sits back on the Mountie, staring downwards as his tongue flicks thoughtfully across his own bottom lip. That was... different. Good. But different. And Fraser certainly looks like a dream, laying under him all ruffled and gasping and sexy as sin. Worth it.]
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