Fair Warning: Here Be Porn. I finished it in September for Bring Back the Porn on Dreamwidth, and managed to tweak it into something approaching acceptable in the meantime. It is explicit so no reading if you're under the age of majority in your country.
Title comes from a Depeche Mode song, "In Your Room." Highly recommend.
---
Ray caught his breath and glanced over at Benton, who was breathing a little hard himself, but smiling. Ray scooted close (closer, sometimes not quite close enough however much he tried) and laid his head on Benton's shoulder.
"Good?" he said, because this thing with them was strong, he knew that, but also still new enough to feel like it needed strengthening. Heh. Exercise.
"Very good," Benton said, his voice still a little blurry. He gave Ray a dopey grin. "Very very very good."
Ray hummed and scooched closer again, up under Benton's arm, his head finding the hollow in Benton's shoulder. Perfect fit. "So. You, uh. You still wanna do that thing this weekend?" He ran his fingers over a nipple and and savored the way Benton's breath stuttered. "'Cause, uh. I don't think we need a lot of help in this department."
Benton licked his lip, but he was close to sleep and they both knew it. "It's not because we need help," he murmured. "I'm just...exploring a bit." He took Ray's hand with his and squeezed. "I want you to explore with me."
Ray kissed the skin closest to his mouth. "Okay," he said. "You know me, I'll try anything. But I don't think I'm gonna be okay if we get a dildo for you that's bigger than me."
Benton laughed. "I'll keep your feelings at the forefront of my mind, Ray," he said.
A thought made Ray lift his head again. "Dief stays home," he said, firmly.
"Oh most certainly, Ray," Benton said. "He'd never let me live it down if we took him with us."
--
The first shop Ray had been referred to was a dump. Not just a dump, but like something that needed trash thrown into it to make it respectable. All of the pictures he could see had women with impressively huge breasts straining against tiny tops and mouths shaped like perfect Os, and there were barely any depictions of guys on the walls or on the shelves. The shelves were mostly just lines of VHS tapes in boxes, most of them plain black with white paper typewritten labels, the reflected lights shining off them like iridescent oil slicks. Ray could tell immediately that whatever kind of exploration Fraser wanted to do, it wasn't going to happen here; Fraser's back was straight and stiff like a poker, as if he was on duty even in lumberjack plaid and jeans. He had on his blandest expression, and the smile he gave the bored guy behind the counter was so plastic Ray could have plucked it off and put it on display with all the other plastic body parts.
(He was always Fraser outside the apartment. At first he’d been Fraser everywhere except the bedroom, but gradually that had shifted until Ray could tell when Fraser-the-ever-polite-Mountie-and-model-citizen showed up, and it was usually three steps either side of their apartment door. Benton, the guy who had bedhead regularly and who put up with Ray’s morning grumpiness and who shaved in Ray’s bathroom, was like a different person that other, outside people never got to see.)
Fuck Dewey for mentioning this place, and Ray was an idiot for even taking the suggestion. He should've figured Dewey's idea of a sex-shop was a creepy hole in the wall for loser single guys who couldn't land a woman.
He leaned in close to Fraser and "Come on, let's go. We'll find a different place."
"I think you're right," Fraser said, low but still sort of plastic. The bored guy just flipped his magazine—which was about postage stamps, about the unsexist thing Ray could think of—and just watched them go in between a page about some old woman in profile and a bunch of fly-fishing stamps.
The second shop was definitely better, but something about it still made Fraser uncomfortable. Ray wasn't sure why; the shop was in Boystown, and from the vibe he got off the cashier it was probably owned and run by gay guys, so he and Fraser didn't have a bunch of pinup porn actresses staring down at them. Instead it was a lot more buff, ripped, oiled up porn actors, some with cocks big enough that Ray was pretty sure they’d been surgically altered. It was well-lighted, and there were videos and toys on display, but it felt—well, maybe respectful wasn't the word, but it wasn't as cramped as the first shop. This shop even had books that didn't look like hardbound copies of Playgirl, which he'd thought might make Fraser more comfortable. Fraser was always more comfortable if he had a book to fall back on.
Maybe it was him? Fraser did say he wanted to explore, after all. Maybe Ray was clinging too close, making him self-conscious. "Hey," he said, leaning close—the shop was bigger than the last one, and they weren't the only customers. "I'm gonna go explore on my own for a bit. That okay?"
For a moment, Fraser looked kind of like a squirrel in headlights. Then he blinked and said, "That's fine, Ray," in a bland, polite voice.
"I can stay if you want," Ray said. "I just don't want to, you know—inhibit any exploration."
This time the smile reached Fraser's eyes, and he leaned forward, close enough to kiss the corner of Ray's mouth. And that made Ray relax, because Fraser wasn't a huge fan of PDAs. "I'll be fine, thank you," Fraser said. "Go explore, I'll...I'll acquaint myself with their literary selection."
"Don't buy out all the books," Ray said, and picked a direction. There were all sorts of things—cock rings, silicone sheaths that were puckered on one end, lots of fake dildos, and okay, Ray was feeling a little insecure. When he'd made that joke about dildos, he hadn't really imagined all the different sizes. There were some he was quite sure were not going anywhere near his own ass, and if Fraser wanted them then Ray was going to have to break his own motto of trying anything. At least one of those things looked like it could cause intestinal damage.
Most of the dildos were more normal, to his relief. They had vibrators in discreet packages, a whole shelf-wall of lubes, and even the kinky bondage stuff wasn't too freaky. He and Stella had definitely tried some of that, as kind of a spicy thing, but he wasn't into pain and she wasn't patient enough for anything he had really liked. She'd liked the blindfolds, he'd liked the collar, but even as spice it hadn't worked—they hadn't needed the whole kink thing to make their sex life work, that was always great, and it hadn't put a band-aid on the rest of the relationship.
Ray stood in front of a display of butt plugs and feather-tipped ticklers, blind to all of them. When had he gotten over Stella? When he walked away, and he knew she was wanting company? When she shot him down for the twentieth time at work? When he got with Fraser? He couldn't tell anymore. He still missed her, sometimes, but even that was a dull, absent pain, like a nearly-healed bruise.
"Ray," Fraser said, and Ray jerked out of his thoughts.
"Sorry," he said, "thinking."
Fraser looked uncomfortable. "I'm terribly sorry, Ray—did you see something you liked?"
Ray glanced at the display again, and shook his head. "Nah, nah, I'm—I was thinking of something else, not—nah, I'm good. You ready to go?"
He noticed that Fraser didn't have any books with him. "You find anything?"
"No," Fraser said. "If you're ready, we should go."
Ray frowned, but followed Fraser out to the GTO. "So that didn't work out, either?" he said as he slid into the driver's seat. "I mean, it was okay. Not so gross as that last place. You still didn't like anything?"
Fraser was quiet for a long moment, and then he said, "I'm sorry, Ray," in a voice that, in anyone else, Ray might have called small. "I—I just thought. I've lived in this city for such a long time, and—I thought I might be—missing something."
Ray squinted at him. "Hey," he said, gently. "It's okay. You try something, you don't like it, that's fine. We went, we saw some freaky sex toys, it's not for us."
Fraser looked at him, and Ray was worried, now, because Fraser looked almost forlorn. "You're so brave," he said. "I envy how brave you are. I wanted...I suppose I wanted to, to match that bravery, Ray." Fraser took his hand and interlaced their fingers. "I'm not—open, like you are. I know I'm not as—as adventurous as some, but I wanted—I wanted to try to give you that. You give that to me every day."
Ray’s first instinct was to refute everything. His second was to shut up and revel in the praise, because goddamnit, Fraser knew what that did to him. His third wrapped right back around to his first—Fraser was the bravest guy Ray knew—he jumped onto moving cars and used DIY-parachutes to hang glide off of tenement roofs. But this wasn’t about endangering his life; something about this, about Fraser’s face, made Ray feel like he was on ice that looked solid but was melting underneath and wouldn’t take his weight. He just needed to figure out if this was a patch he could jump over, or if it needed to be broken before they could move on.
He squeezed Fraser’s hand, and narrowed his eyes. “You think you don’t give that to me?”
Fraser cracked his neck, that anxious little tell. “I do my best,” he said. “But I…I don’t know that I…it’s really more that….”
“Fraser,” Ray said, “you realize that I love what we do, right? I don’t need anything but you.”
“I know,” Fraser said. “I suppose I just…worry.” He smiled a little, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “You realize that compared to me, you’re quite…cosmopolitan. And I was raised…rather prudishly.”
That Ray knew, but he saw the cracks now. “Fraser,” he said slowly, “when we first got together, who started things?”
Fraser looked a bit abashed, the way he always did when they were in public and talking about sex. “I admit I…was forward—”
“Yeah, and did I mind? No I did not,” Ray said. “Fraser, I don’t need anything more than what we’ve already got. You want to get kinky in the bedroom, we can do that, I don’t mind it, but I don’t need it, okay? And you give me plenty.” His throat closed up on all the things Fraser gave him—a place to belong, someone who wanted him with all his messiness, someone who saw the best in him and made him want to live up to that potential. Really great sex, even without accessories. Irritation and annoyance in equal measure with affection and trust.
Ray was a poet on the inside, but he was a scrambled one who never got his words right. “If I gotta,” he said, “I’ll find a place to park and show you how much I don’t need anyone or anything else. Do I gotta do that? I’m sure the alleys around here have seen worse than a couple of guys in the backseat—”
That got the smile to go from forlorn to amused, anyway, and Fraser shook his head. “Public decency laws, Ray,” he said. “Or rather indecency, really. Which, as I don’t have to remind you, do in fact apply to officers of the law—”
“Yeah, okay, fine,” Ray said. “We got that established, you’re all I need, yada yada. What else is bugging you?” Insecurity reared up in him, and he fidgeted, disengaged their fingers. “I, uh, I was just joking about the dildo bein’ larger than me, you know? They have some in there—”
Fraser caught his hand again, and shushed him. “No, Ray,” he said. “Though I appreciate your consideration.” The ice was cracking, and Ray felt a thrill. Because he knew, now—he knew what was going on. Fraser had said it—he’d been raised by prudes, which Ray had too, really, but he’d gone through puberty in the swinging 70’s in Chicago, and Fraser had been surrounded by trees and snow and maybe if he was lucky some randy dogs. Or randy moose.
He wanted, but he didn’t want to ask, because asking meant being told no.
Fraser swiped his free thumb over an eyebrow, and Ray decided to go for it. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you found something in there you wanna try, I’ll try it. Go back in and get it and I’ll wait here and you can show me when we get home.”
That was all the ice needed—Ray practically saw it crack, practically heard it, when Fraser let go of whatever he was struggling with. His blue eyes got dark, even in the bright afternoon sunlight, and he licked his lower lip. Oh yeah, Ray knew that look. He grinned back.
“Go on,” he said. “Surprise me.”
--
Less than twenty minutes later, Fraser hustled out of the shop with a sizeable paper bag, and Ray bet there was at least one book in there. He hoped there were a few other things, too, but he didn’t say anything. Fraser looked flushed, still a touch uncertain but barreling through it anyway, and Ray didn’t want to throw them off their rhythm now that they’d finally got one.
--
Ray was practically vibrating with impatience once they got home, through feeding and walking Dief, stripping off their boots and outer coats once they were back from their walk. It dragged, it was slow, and it was only the fact that Ray knew Benton would pull out whatever he'd bought once they got home that let Ray endure it. Okay, so he was probably more fidgety than usual, so sue him. He’d spent half the day trawling through porn shops with his boyfriend, he was fizzing and half-hard just thinking about getting home and—yes, the bedroom!
Ray bounced purposefully onto the bed, still rumpled a little from that morning, and rolled onto his back to face Benton, who was half-arguing with Dief about shutting him out of the bedroom. Freaky mutt liked to watch sometimes.
Better yet, Benton had that paper bag in his hand, and Ray was quietly going crazy, because what was it what was it? He stifled that, though, because the door had clicked shut and Benton was looking at him, but also rubbing his eyebrow. Shit, hadn’t they cracked all that ice yet? Melted it down?
Ray writhed out of his t-shirt and looked up to find that Benton hadn't moved—he was standing by the bedroom door, that damn paper bag still clutched in his hand and his eyes blown dark and hungry. Ray liked that hungry look, like the only thing that would do was Ray, Ray, Ray, right the fuck now, Ray. He hadn't seen that look from Stella in a long time, not since the early days and they were both horny for each other, absolutely everywhere they could possibly have done it.
Benton's hunger made him feel needed, and that was a high he was never gonna get tired of.
He dropped the t-shirt on the floor, because he knew that could drive Benton crazy, if there wasn't something else taking his attention. Benton didn't even seem to notice it. Ray toyed with the button on his jeans, leaned back on the bed and spread his legs.
"So what's in the bag?" Maybe not the smoothest line, but he already knew Benton wasn't with him because he was cool. He thought back to the shop. "Didja get a—a flosser? One of those whippy things?"
Benton licked his bottom lip, and his eyes were dark, dark, dark. "No," he said. "I didn't get a flogger."
Ray pursed his lips. "You got a book though," he said. "I know you did."
Benton ducked his head, finally rustling the bag. Ray could see the press of a book's spine against the paper. "Well," Benton said, "yes. It, ah. It seemed...prudent." He rubbed his eyebrow. "The clerk said, ah...we should maybe speak about it before...."
Ray grinned. Benton apparently got a bit kinky when Ray wasn't in the room. "Okay," he said. He slid one hand over the denim between his crotch and his hip, rubbed the fabric over the pocket, and watched Benton's eyes follow his hand. "Not sure how much help I'll be, though. You know me and patience aren’t best friends."
“I’m just…concerned,” Benton said, slowly, “that…well, that what caught my attention might be, ah, a bit…a bit…selfish. And—possessive.”
Ray’s brain stuttered, because he liked possessive. He’d really liked the collar, the way Stella had tugged on it, the way it felt like another ring; and here was Benton, so afraid of letting himself have what he wanted that Ray had nearly came back to Chicago all by himself. It was suddenly a little harder to think and his jeans were just a shade tighter than they had been.
“Okay,” he said dumbly. “Uh. I’m okay. Uh. What kind of possessive?” For a moment his mind went completely blank, so full of possibilities that he couldn’t settle on a single one, there were so many. And Benton was flushing, but gamely opening the bag—finally!—and pulling out a book, another book, and a coil of rope. It didn’t look like regular rope, like the rough stuff Ray sometimes used in the garage—it looked thin but strong, and it was dyed black.
“Huh,” he said. Benton put the rope down and thumbed his eyebrow.
“We don’t—it was just an—” He blew out a long breath. “We don’t have to…to use it. I’ve still got the receipt, we can—”
“Hey,” Ray said, snapping to the present, copping to the way Benton was looking away and shutting down that hungry look. “Hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just wasn’t expecting it.” He stood up—he was never that great as a sex kitten anyway—and eyed the books. One of them was decorated with a closeup of a man’s back, with his arms bound behind him in an elaborate criss-cross of white rope. “Look, I don’t kiss and tell any more than you do, but, uh. I’m okay with possessive.”
Benton looked at him, side-long, and Ray knew that look, too—that was Benton wanting something and not quite sure he was going to get it, even if he asked for it super-extra-polite-with-cherries, but he wanted it enough to ask anyway. “Ah.”
“Yeah, ‘ah,’” Ray said. He stepped closer still. “What do you wanna do with that rope, Benton?”
He had Benton’s whole focus, now, dark eyes and hungry look and his fist crumpling the empty paper sack. “Well,” he said, low, “I thought I’d tie you to the headboard. If, ah, if you’re amenable.”
Ray grinned, and it must have been enough of an answer for Benton, because in the next second they were kissing, the kind of kissing Ray thought of as a competition—quick, hard, slick, see which one of them could drive the other crazy first. Benton didn’t always win those, either, but Ray was gonna let him win this one, because Benton played to get Ray on his knees or on his back and Ray was perfectly willing to go along with that today. The backs of his knees hit the mattress at the same time as Benton sucked and bit Ray’s lower lip, the same time that Benton’s hand managed to unbutton Ray’s jeans and tug them down.
Ray had one hand knotted in Benton’s shirt and the other snugged up against the smooth small of his back. Benton was always hotter than Ray expected, his skin warm and soft under the long-sleeved shirts and red wool uniforms. He sucked on Benton’s upper lip and tugged the shirts out of his pants. He pulled away long enough to hook his fingers in the elastic of his own briefs to tug them down. He managed to get them past his stiffening cock when Benton decided to help him—
—by grabbing the elastic himself and using one foot to sweep Ray’s feet out from under him, dragging Ray’s briefs and jeans down over his feet, even as Ray fell back onto the bed and bounced.
Ray yelped. “Fraser!” Laughter bubbled up, as Benton tossed Ray’s clothes neatly into the hamper and pulled his own shirts off. He grinned at Ray and then they were both laughing. Ray sat back up and threaded his fingers into the loops of Benton’s jeans, tugged at them. They smelled like the outdoors, fresh air and exhaust and a little ozone, and like a warm human animal. He leaned in further to press his open mouth to the bulge of Benton’s cock. “Get these off, Benton.”
Benton’s fingers ran over Ray’s hair, the nape of his neck, traced the curve of one ear and followed it down. “I will if you let go first.”
Ray mouthed Benton’s cock through the denim, looked up at his lover through his lashes. Benton’s face had lost the smile, but he wasn’t frowning. He was looking at Ray the way he looked at a sunrise or the stars, a little wondering and a little in awe. And hot. He looked hot for it. Ray gave his dick a nuzzle and sat back on the bed. “Okay. You’re free. Strip.”
That brought the smile back, just for a second. Benton turned just long enough to grab the rope from the table, even as he balanced on one leg and began unlacing his boots. Multitasker, that was Benton Fraser all over. Ray leaned back on his elbows and watched. One boot off, then the sock, and Fraser switched legs like it was nothing. He finished getting his boots off and tossed them over with the rest of his clothes, then began unwinding the rope, running it through his hands, uncoiling it and recoiling it around his hand and elbow, over and back, over and back. He kept the jeans on.
Ray bounced upright again. He felt only a little silly, naked with his cock bobbing, but sex wasn’t about dignity anyway. “Where do you want me, huh? Come on.” He was practically vibrating, he was so impatient. He hated waiting, Benton knew he hated waiting, so what was with the waiting?
Benton finished winding the rope and stared at him. “Have you ever been restrained before, Ray?”
A powerful twitch went through Ray’s shoulders. “Sure. Uh. I’ve done the whole pink fluffy handcuff thing before.”
Benton got a little frown on his face and Ray could almost see him shuffling through that huge brain before the little lightbulb clicked on. While he thought, he began doing something with the rope—pulling the two ends together and letting it uncoil, then coiling it up again. “Oh. Oh! Did you like it?”
Ray squirmed a bit. “I dunno. It was kind of hot but I hated having my hands together.” He put his wrists together, the way he would if they were cuffed. “Even when they were pink and fluffy they made me feel like a perp, and I hate playing cops and robbers so it wasn’t so great.”
Benton measured out a good couple feet of the rope, his eyes on Ray the whole time. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Hey, I want to,” Ray said. “Just, I dunno…don’t tie my hands like a perp.”
Benton licked his lower lip. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. He found the center of the rope, and began doing something weird and complicated with half of it. Like he was tying knots in it. Which Ray was all over that, but he was pretty sure he was supposed to be wrapped in those knots somewhere, instead of just watching. He fidgeted.
Could he push? Benton sometimes didn’t react so well to being pushed, but sometimes that was the only option. Ray liked pushing, because often it got him some seriously great results, but he was nervous about this, too. Benton wanted it so much, and Ray wanted to give it to him, but he didn’t want that Fraserish reserve to well up again and freeze them out of this.
“Pretty sure I’m supposed to be up in there somewhere,” he blurted.
Benton paused in manipulating the rope just long enough to give Ray a searing look that made his mouth dry up and his cock throb. “You will be,” he said. He’d wrapped half the rope into a mini-skein and tied it off, and now he was looking at Ray—past Ray, at the headboard, which had never been much beyond a bunch of vertical wooden slats.
Now, though—Ray was inspired to see the potential there.
Benton pulled out his knife and sliced the rope in two, and then grabbed the loose length of it and set the coiled part down. “May I have your right hand, Ray?”
Ray gave it, humming. Down to business, finally.
“Lay down, please,” Benton said, and Ray did. Benton grabbed most of the pillows and tossed them to the chair in the corner, and began wrapping Ray’s wrist in the rope, and then doing some weird criss-cross with one of the headboard slats above his head. “Is that too tight? Can you move your fingers? Is it too loose?”
“No, yes, no,” Ray said to each question. Benton was quick but he was also thorough, and Ray wriggled, started to cup his cock to stroke himself just to take the edge off. Benton grabbed his left wrist as he twitched and said, “No. That’s for me to take care of, Ray.”
“Fuck,” Ray said. “Okay, okay, fine, I’ll be good, damn.”
Benton gave him that look again, that sunrise look, and Ray had to look away. He was practically vibrating out of his skin, he wanted it so bad. His blood was rushing, his heart was thumping, and he wanted to actually get somewhere with it, not spin his wheels.
“Left wrist now,” Benton said, crossing to the other side of the bed—and he didn’t even have the decency to climb over Ray and let them both have some fun first. “I appreciate your patience, Ray,” he said, as he wrapped the rope around Ray’s left wrist, and then gently pulled and tugged until Ray was in the middle of the bed. He snugged Ray’s wrist up against another slat. “Pull on that. Is it comfortable?”
Ray tested the rope. It was thin but strong, and the way Benton had wrapped it around his wrists meant that there was enough give to let him tangle a couple fingers in it, but not a lot more, and his arms were far enough away from his mouth that there was no danger of him undoing the knots with his teeth. It felt weird, being secured like this—because the rope wasn’t tight, just snug enough to keep him in place, and wound firmly enough through the headboard slats that his arms were essentially useless.
Benton was also too goddamn far away, drifting down to the foot of the bed.
“Hey.” Ray turned his head to catch Benton’s eyes. “You just gonna look?”
Benton smiled. “Am I allowed to touch?”
“You better,” Ray said, afraid for a crazy half-second that Fraser would tie him up and leave him like this.
“Oh good,” Benton said, mild as you please, and climbed up onto the bed, pushing Ray’s knees apart.
Ray grinned as Benton came to rest right between Ray’s thighs. “’Bout time,” he said. “You gonna fuck me like this?” He couldn’t touch with his hands, but he folded his legs around Benton’s waist, dug one heel into the top of Benton’s ass. He always liked it when he had Benton between his knees.
Benton’s tongue made an appearance, caught between his teeth, even as one hand closed around Ray’s cock. His hand was warm and dry. “Not today,” he said, stroking lightly. He didn’t take his eyes off Ray’s face.
God, that felt good. Benton’s hand was callused in all the right places, and he knew exactly how Ray liked to be touched, little electric jolts of pleasure spiking as he stroked, slow at first and then a little faster. But—
“I feel like—I’m not—participatin’ much,” Ray said. It was getting difficult stringing sentences together, his breath coming fast. His eyes kept trying to close, but Benton’s gaze was so fixed… “Don’t you want—” Benton caught the pre-come leaking from Ray’s cock and smoothly added it into his strokes, which were getting a little tighter, a little twistier. “Aah. I’m gonna come like this—”
“I know,” Benton said. He didn’t take his eyes off Ray’s face, or his hand from where it was wrapped around Ray’s cock. He was just staring, barely glancing at Ray’s cock in favor of watching Ray’s face. His other hand rubbed Ray’s thigh, his hip, the sensitive skin of his belly right in that space between his navel and his hips. His fingers dipped down, stroked slowly over Ray’s balls and the sensitive spot right behind them.
Fuck, was this what he’d meant, when Fraser said this was possessive? Because Ray was feeling pretty well possessed, with his arms spread and his legs open and Benton staring at him like he was the most interesting thing ever. This wasn’t all he wanted, though, was it? Just tying Ray up to stroke him off? He could’ve done that in the car—
Ray whined, as Benton’s grip got slicker and he rubbed his fingers over the head of Ray’s cock. “I don’t want it to be over so fast,” he said, gritting his teeth. He could feel the climax coming, the way it was fuzzing down his spine, the feeling in his legs. He dug his heels into Benton’s plush, denim-covered ass.
“I know what your refractory period is like,” Benton said. His voice was husky but not nearly as far gone as Ray. “And you’ve been on the edge all day, Ray, and you’ve been so good and so indulgent—yes, just like that—”
It felt like being caught, an arc of electricity between two poles, the punch of his orgasm hitting him—the ropes gave him no give, and Benton stroked him through it, giving him nowhere to twist away from feeling so good and too much. He only let up after Ray gasped again, again, milked dry and panting and with come all over his stomach. Then he just stayed there, stroking Ray’s thighs and smiling, as though Ray had done something much more difficult than coming all over himself.
Benton shifted his weight, pulling out of his spot and settling next to Ray on the bed. He licked the come off his hand and watched Ray with dark, dark eyes.
“Jesus,” Ray said. “I can’t touch you like this, come on.”
“I’m aware of that,” Benton said. “We’re not done yet, Ray. But I wanted you to have some relief.” He placed a kiss on Ray’s tricep, with just a shadow of teeth. “You’ve been very patient with me.”
Ray thunked his head against the pillow. Of course, Fraser was Mr. Stamina. Which Ray was not complaining, he never complained about that, but he had failed to conjugate the fact that Fraser had once climbed a mountain with Ray on his back and had still had the energy to capture criminals the next day with the fact that Fraser typically lasted longer during sex. Fraser could hold out; Ray was the one who always rushed.
“What was that about a refrec—reflectionary period?”
“Refractory period,” Benton said. He propped himself up on an elbow. “We’ve been lovers long enough for me to notice that when you’re this wound up, it doesn’t take long before you’re up for another round.” He half-rolled off the bed and fished something up off the floor—Ray’s discarded t-shirt. He wiped the rest of the come off of Ray’s stomach with it.
“Couldn’t have grabbed your shirt?” Ray grumbled. Benton kissed his arm again. “That’s just payback ‘cause I didn’t put it in the hamper.”
“It was already on the floor, Ray,” he said, the sheer practicality of it making Ray irritable. Which was stupid, because Fraser was right next to him and Ray had just had a good orgasm and the night wasn’t over.
But Fraser was still wearing his jeans, and he was too far away.
Something of his discontent must have shown in his face, because Benton scooted closer. “How are you feeling?”
Ray squirmed. “Weird,” he said. “Get those pants off, I don’t want to be the only one with his dick out.”
Benton rolled off the bed and shucked his jeans and boxers with ease, and something uncoiled in Ray’s chest. “Anything else? I can get some water while I’m up.”
Ray shook his head. It was so weird, being tied up, languid from coming, not quite ready for more—at the moment, anyway. “Just come back here.”
Benton didn’t hesitate, climbing eagerly back into the bed and hovering over Ray. “Do you want me to untie you?”
Ray tugged at the ropes. Benton was watching him—still hot for it, but that uncertainty was creeping back in, Ray could feel it. And the ropes weren’t that bad, not with Benton so close.
“Nah, they can stay for now,” he said. Some tension in Benton uncoiled, too, and he leaned in and kissed Ray in a way he hadn’t even realized he’d been missing.
It wasn’t an easy position—Ray could only raise his head so much, and he couldn’t twist his torso the way he normally would, and his arms were splayed out at an angle and in the way. But Benton kissed him and kissed him, one hand cupped under Ray’s neck—little teasing, sipping kisses, the kind that made Ray crazy because they weren’t enough, interrupted every now and then by ones that were exactly what he wanted, wet and slick and sucking.
Ray arched up, chasing Benton’s tongue, and something in his shoulder protested. “Ow!”
Benton froze. “Are you hurt?”
“Don’t you fucking dare stop,” Ray snapped. “But—ah—maybe move my arms?”
“We don’t have to keep you tied up,” Benton said. “We can—”
“Fraser,” Ray said. Benton just looked at him, practically freezing over from the inside out. “Ben, just move them, okay? I don’t mind being tied up, I just think my arms need to be moved.”
“I don’t want to hurt you—”
“A pulled muscle isn’t a big deal, Ben—”
“It could be a tear or—”
“Fraser. Read. My. Lips.” Ray glared at him. Glare hot enough and he could maybe melt that freezing prudery that Fraser carried around with him. “Just. Move. My. Arms.” He paused long enough to make sure that sank in. “And then get back to kissing me.”
Fraser ducked his head, but Ray saw his lips twitching. “As you wish,” Benton said. He rose up and straddled Ray’s chest, which gave Ray the best view. He was not going to complain about Benton’s flushed, swollen cock rubbing against his chest, or the brush of his balls.
Right arm, untied long enough to lower it and lay it flat, and Benton threw in a free massage as he went. Then Ray’s left arm. Ray let himself drift halfway through, because watching Benton’s muscles move, finally getting an eyeful, the way his stomach had a softness no one else would ever suspect and the way his cock was lying heavy on Ray’s chest was a delight. He never got tired of Benton’s nudity, the scars he was still learning, the unselfconscious way Fraser moved.
“Is that more comfortable?” Benton sat back, his weight on his knees.
“Much,” Ray said. “But you ain’t kissing me, I’m pretty sure—”
“Oh, I’m being remiss,” Benton said, and Ray didn’t even bother thinking about how much work they had to do if Fraser was still using words like remiss, because they were kissing again and it was much better, long lazy kisses, wetter and deeper than the teases. His fingers itched to touch, so he wrapped them around the nearest bit of headboard and kissed Benton as hard as he could. He didn’t have the leverage he usually had, and it made him twitchy, but Benton had all the control, and Ray had to give it up.
That thought let him relax. He wasn’t in control, but he trusted Fraser with his life and Benton with his heart, and this was just an extension of that. Maybe that’s what Benton really wanted—Ray just giving up for once. Not being passive—Ray was pretty sure he couldn’t ever just be passive, just lie there and take it—but he could let Fraser lead. He was pretty good at letting Fraser lead, out there in the real world.
So when Benton finally paused in kissing him, Ray didn’t chase him. His blood was starting to zing again, buzzing through his veins. He just let himself feel it—the great way Benton felt pressed up against him, the sharp twist of pleasure when Benton tweaked a nipple, it was all good. Benton was kissing his throat, working his way down to Ray’s other nipple, sucking little bites all the while.
Still, he couldn’t go entirely against his own nature.
“You ready for round two?” he asked. Benton was heavy, even braced on his knees, but Ray had enough leverage to arch up and get his point across.
Benton just sat on him properly and pinched his other nipple. “Perhaps.”
Ray flailed a little. His legs were too far from any part of Fraser’s body to do any good, but he could thump his heels on the bed. “Come on, Ben.”
Benton was beaming at him. “I should’ve tied your ankles, too.”
“Nngh.” The thought punched Ray in the gut, sent his heart thumping and his cock swelling. Spread-eagled, tied up… “Fuck. Uh. Okay.” He swallowed hard. “Next time.”
The grin faded from Benton’s face, a little at a time, and Ray—couldn’t really tell what was left. Want; hunger, maybe. Desire, where the two were married.
Then Benton hauled himself up off Ray and off the bed, spinning briefly, and Ray had just enough time to shift his knees apart before Benton was climbing up the bed again. For a wild second Ray wondered if Ben had changed his mind about fucking Ray while he was tied up, but Benton paused at the edge of the bed, grabbed one of Ray’s knees and gave it a lick.
“Hey!”
This was unfair, this was—was cheating, because Benton knew—
Benton pushed Ray's knee out, down, and leaned down to use his teeth, scraping slow, light, and a sizzling, twitching jolt shot from Benton’s teeth straight to Ray’s cock. He practically came off the bed.
"Fuck," he moaned. The back of his knees were like some weird hotline to his dick. He was shaking just from Benton's teeth. "Ben, god—”
Deaf ears, Fraser had gone deaf, because all he did was secure Ray's other thigh with one hand, and he kept scraping, pinching the skin behind his knee in little bites. Ray whined, high and embarrassing. Each touch was like getting shocked, half tickling, half arousing. Benton watched him sidelong.
It wasn't nearly enough to get him off—Ray was pretty sure, but it wasn't like he'd tested it—but it was enough to steal the air from the room, to get his cock throbbing in anticipation, to get him moving uselessly against the sheets and thrusting pointlessly at the air. He couldn't do anything Benton didn't want him to do. He panted and tried to breathe through the pleasure of it, the crackling of his nerves and Benton's teeth prickling fast and sharp—
"Please," he whined, he broke, that stupid neediness, "please, come on, you—you know that ain't—Ben, come on, please—”
Benton moved fast, then, climbing up to kiss him quiet, heavy and hard and wanting. "Good, Ray," he said, "that's—that’s good—” He pressed their cocks together, pressed his forehead to Ray’s as he started to move, rocking against Ray like a wave lapping the shore. One hand found Ray’s clutching the headboard slat, and hung on with him.
Ray caught his rhythm, arched his back, and followed Benton's lead. Their kisses were wet and almost slack; Benton slid one arm around Ray's waist and thrust them together, driving—
“Keep me,” Ray moaned, dizzy with it, weighted down and weightless. “Keep me, please, keep me—”
Benton was quiet, always quiet, but he shifted his hips just enough, leaned close and near against Ray’s throat. Mouthed against the skin, over and over again—yes, yes, yes.
Ray felt his orgasm strike, seizing the base of his spine, shaking him out, his cock sensitized and spasming against Benton's cock, trapped between their bellies. Benton made a noise, thrust twice more, and came. He was always so quiet when he came.
Ray panted into the silence. Benton was heavy, his breath warm and damp against Ray's shoulder. Ray shivered with an aftershock of sensitivity, and Benton raised his head, blinking slowly. "I should, ah. Untie you."
"In a minute," Ray said, but Benton was already shaking his head and dragging himself up.
"No," he said. He did something to the knots holding Ray's right arm secure, and they fell apart, the rope slithering down the space between the bed and the headboard. For a long second Benton just stared.
"Don't bother getting it, Ben," Ray said. He grabbed Ben's hand, and the feeling of his arm being free, his hand free to touch, was almost alien and new. "We can get it later."
Benton blinked at him. "Yes," he said, and reached over to untie Ray's other hand, and then he ducked down off the bed long enough to bring Ray's already dirty t-shirt to the bed, wiping off his stomach and then Ray's. Ray let him; if Benton didn't have something to clean with it itched him and there wouldn't be any cuddling.
Ray really liked the cuddling.
"Come here," he said, and oh, this was the best part—the way Benton folded into him, the way Ray could touch his warm back and ruck up his sweaty hair.
"I should—there's—the clerk said I should do aftercare," Benton said, a little confused, and Ray laughed.
"Come here, Ben," he said. "Come down here for a minute. I don't need anything else."
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