[ Come on, Ray's not the only one in the car who's surprised that the indicator actually works. Fraser even tilts his head quizzically at it as they pull away, as though to say what's that fucking sound, because the only person he's ever sat in a car with who bothered with an indicator is the consulate's limousine driver. Welsh, Francesca, Ray and Ray--a few hundred taxi drivers--and of course there wasn't much cause for indicators in the Yukon...if you could even find a road that had turnings in the first place.
But as they pull away smoothly, Fraser's still warm with the dark promise that had lingered in Ray's words and the weight of the stare that had hung on him afterwards. Ray understood. He got that there was a thrill to it for him, that somehow doing it in an alleyway in the middle of the day might be on their itinerary, and the feedback he got on the subject from Ray was "You betcha." The anticipation was bursting in his chest like flashes of light across the blue arctic night sky, writhing dancing color; an electromagnetic storm raging silently onwards. Two minutes seemed to stretch into an eternity.
He was filling up with that energy, that need, and he had no doubt where it would lead them--into madness, into fierce fumbling and kisses, and premature orgasm with all his clothes on and his back against the kitchen counter. Not that Fraser didn't want that too, but this time...this time before they desecrated anything else, told any more lies, or did anything in public that they couldn't take back, he wanted to at least make it as far as Stanley Kowalski's bed. It was a matter of pride.
Besides, he was wearing his last clean uniform. All he had left after this was the blue one that he loathed with the passion of a thousand fiery suns.
So he sat in the car as Ray leapt free, springing like a clown out of a Jack-in-the-Box, personally trying to get a grip on his self control and his own inner strength. He brought his heartrate down, gently manipulating his own core temperature to something more reasonable, all the time counting how long he expected it would take for Ray - equipped with only rapidly shaking hands - to possibly get the door open. The less time they spent standing side by side the better, because while Fraser felt he'd made a reasonable impression on Ray's landlady last time, he sincerely doubted that reason would hold over if they started doing the beast with two backs in her front porch.
He snatched the ring of keys out of Ray's hand as the shared front door was opened, stepping past him, but even that brief sizzling contact was enough to fry Fraser's senses all over again, undoing all the effort he'd gone to back in the car.
It was at once the shortest and longest walk he'd ever taken, and by the time Ray's three locks had been opened efficiently, Fraser's skin was buzzing like radio feedback and there was a symphony and an oprah and a rap battle playing in his head all at once, dividing his attention in a million different directions.
And then he was kissing kissing kissing Ray back through the door, slamming it shut behind him with too much force, dropping the keys and holding on to Ray for dear life. ]
no subject
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. ]