[ He parroted ] Every last-- [ And trailed off into a moan, a whimper, undone again by lips and firm teeth. Now Ray knew his weakness, Fraser was achingly aware of how long he'd waited for it to be taken advantage of over and over again. It wasn't as though it were the first point of reference when you were trying to get a guy off; and that wasn't to say that Victoria hadn't been an attentive lover, just...direct.
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 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. ]