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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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.