They’re traveling slowly enough that Benton is certain that Ray can hear him over the wind, and over the piercingly loud yips that no amount of stern talking from either himself or Diefenbaker can get Daley to stop making. So, it likely just remains for Ray to get this latest monologue out of his system, but that does not mean that Benton will cease trying to derail him.
"Just think, Fraser: Pizza. Real, live pizza! With crust and sauce and cheese! And a cabin! With a bed!" Ray rocks a bit in his enthusiasm, and there's a sort of dance as Benton balances his weight on the runners.
"Yes, Ray, and maybe hot water if we're lucky." He pauses, but plows on now that he's committed to the conversation. "Ray," he says, again, and continues his gentle interruption, "I just worry that your expectations are too high. The town is quite primitive by Chicago standards, and it is likely that at this point in the year they’re subsisting primarily off wild game and canned or dried goods." That is nothing less than the truth, and loathe as he is to witness Ray’s inevitable disappointment, Benton has to suppress a delicious shiver at the thought of what consoling or distracting Ray might entail, particularly in a room well-heated enough to expose more than a few inches of skin at a time. "The 'Pizza Parlour' is surely a noteworthy novelty, and an important local gathering-place, but you have to understand about these towns. Did I ever tell you of the time when the first restaurant opened in…"
"No, you didn’t, and you're not gonna, either. You are not going to ruin my happy pizza thoughts with a depressing story." Ray turns and settles back into the sled, and continues his anticipatory ramblings sotto voce
***
True to (Benton's) expectations, the Pizza Parlour creates its own peculiar version of the food, featuring choices that Benton suspects are meant to compensate for the dubious charms of previously-frozen mozzarella.
However, Ray seems to have escaped the pizza snobbery so prevalent in Chicago, and he spends the evening heaping praise on the proprietors. He is practically giddy by the time that he and Benton retire to their borrowed cabin. Benton, adaptable as always, has rewritten his plans from consolatory to celebratory, and once again marvels at his good fortune as he takes in the joy sparkling in Ray's eyes.
Eating pizza in company is a wholly different experience than alone Ray's apartment, and it was only by concerted effort that Benton kept his hands on his side of the table rather than thumbing a drop of sauce off Ray's chin. He'd had a horrifying reaction followed by a deep blush when he imagined Ray's fingers glistening with something other than grease from the pizza. Now, alone, he's free to run his hands over Ray's body, or he would be, if Ray would hold still long enough to be touched properly. After agonizing moments of Ray dancing around him, still babbling about the pizza, and the bed and the warmth, Benton's reserves of self-restraint finally run out, and he grabs Ray. intending to still him, but finds Ray's momentum merely redirected as they tumble back onto the bed.
When Ray has him pinned, he grins, beginning a slow grind that is far more pleasurable when there are fewer than 8 layers between them. "This," he whispers, close to Benton's ear, "was the best idea ever," and its unclear whether he's referring to the trip or the pizza or the cabin or the sexual intimacy. Benton just groans and surrenders himself. It was Ray's plan, after all.
no subject
"Ray."
"-reliable source. He wouldn’t’a lied to me-"
"Ray."
"Okay, he might'a lied. I was a-"
"Ray."
"-little…overly persuasive, I’ll admit, but-"
"Ray."
"Why would he lie about-"
"Ray."
"-that? What’s he got to gain?"
"Ray!"
They’re traveling slowly enough that Benton is certain that Ray can hear him over the wind, and over the piercingly loud yips that no amount of stern talking from either himself or Diefenbaker can get Daley to stop making. So, it likely just remains for Ray to get this latest monologue out of his system, but that does not mean that Benton will cease trying to derail him.
"Just think, Fraser: Pizza. Real, live pizza! With crust and sauce and cheese! And a cabin! With a bed!" Ray rocks a bit in his enthusiasm, and there's a sort of dance as Benton balances his weight on the runners.
"Yes, Ray, and maybe hot water if we're lucky." He pauses, but plows on now that he's committed to the conversation. "Ray," he says, again, and continues his gentle interruption, "I just worry that your expectations are too high. The town is quite primitive by Chicago standards, and it is likely that at this point in the year they’re subsisting primarily off wild game and canned or dried goods." That is nothing less than the truth, and loathe as he is to witness Ray’s inevitable disappointment, Benton has to suppress a delicious shiver at the thought of what consoling or distracting Ray might entail, particularly in a room well-heated enough to expose more than a few inches of skin at a time. "The 'Pizza Parlour' is surely a noteworthy novelty, and an important local gathering-place, but you have to understand about these towns. Did I ever tell you of the time when the first restaurant opened in…"
"No, you didn’t, and you're not gonna, either. You are not going to ruin my happy pizza thoughts with a depressing story." Ray turns and settles back into the sled, and continues his anticipatory ramblings sotto voce
***
True to (Benton's) expectations, the Pizza Parlour creates its own peculiar version of the food, featuring choices that Benton suspects are meant to compensate for the dubious charms of previously-frozen mozzarella.
However, Ray seems to have escaped the pizza snobbery so prevalent in Chicago, and he spends the evening heaping praise on the proprietors. He is practically giddy by the time that he and Benton retire to their borrowed cabin. Benton, adaptable as always, has rewritten his plans from consolatory to celebratory, and once again marvels at his good fortune as he takes in the joy sparkling in Ray's eyes.
Eating pizza in company is a wholly different experience than alone Ray's apartment, and it was only by concerted effort that Benton kept his hands on his side of the table rather than thumbing a drop of sauce off Ray's chin. He'd had a horrifying reaction followed by a deep blush when he imagined Ray's fingers glistening with something other than grease from the pizza. Now, alone, he's free to run his hands over Ray's body, or he would be, if Ray would hold still long enough to be touched properly. After agonizing moments of Ray dancing around him, still babbling about the pizza, and the bed and the warmth, Benton's reserves of self-restraint finally run out, and he grabs Ray. intending to still him, but finds Ray's momentum merely redirected as they tumble back onto the bed.
When Ray has him pinned, he grins, beginning a slow grind that is far more pleasurable when there are fewer than 8 layers between them. "This," he whispers, close to Benton's ear, "was the best idea ever," and its unclear whether he's referring to the trip or the pizza or the cabin or the sexual intimacy. Benton just groans and surrenders himself. It was Ray's plan, after all.