[ Fraser wasn't sure he knew himself either. The man he'd become since the first time his lips had brushed against Ray's back in the office was a man entirely foreign to him. He didn't know who Ray was either, but not knowing himself was a far more heady, frightening experience. He loved it, though. It was exhilarating, like getting lost in a snowstorm. It felt somehow death defying.
Or maybe it wasn't death defying at all. Maybe the old Ray and the old Fraser were dead, and they'd both been reborn into these horny teenager versions who were too busy falling over each other to remember they were supposed to be doing a job. Maybe that wasn't their fault; he felt like he'd been holding these feelings back for decades, and it was only right that when they sprang free (again) they were explosive, uncontrollable, and to the detriment of any memory of what was going on around them.
It'd settle down. It'd settle down long enough for him to keep pants on for more than half an hour at a time, long enough for him to at least not have to throw himself at Ray if they were alone together for more than a few seconds at a time. He just had to...to regain control. But control was not to be regained while Ray was--definitely not while Ray was doing this.
Grab my hair was a good request, a reasonable order, and more than that it anchored him to Ray this time when his eyes closed again. He couldn't force them to open, not now it was all he could do just to try to breathe, because it seemed to him that Ray was becoming better at this by the second. The languishing draw of suction, the tongue sliding up toward the tip, increasing pressure until he felt like he would pop, the breath of air as Ray pulled back to murmur words in his general direction, and then he was back, his lips curled into one of those challenging, dazzling, dizzying smirks, only this time around Fraser's erection. Smug bastard.
Fraser whimpered and panted. He kept his fingers in Ray's hair, squeezed and worked it, pulled it, his long fingers straining with tension as he took a tight grip just above both of his ears. Now he was writhing, pushing against the weight of the man against him, almost mindless with delirium as he tried his best to thrust into his partner's wonderful hot mouth.
It had been too long. He'd needed this all day, needed something and with those calloused, engine-oil stained fingers of Ray's barely grazing against his balls it seemed he was spiraling entirely out of control. The snowstorm was whirling now; he could feel it, one more step, two, and he'd step out into nothingness and go tumbling to his death. But his warning to Ray was an incoherent cry, wrenching at his hair pitifully, wanting to warn him so that he could stop but desperately needing anything but.
He stepped out, wailed again - too late, too late, the orgasm twisting inside of him, tightening tension and - he was falling falling falling... God, he was going right over the edge. ]
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Or maybe it wasn't death defying at all. Maybe the old Ray and the old Fraser were dead, and they'd both been reborn into these horny teenager versions who were too busy falling over each other to remember they were supposed to be doing a job. Maybe that wasn't their fault; he felt like he'd been holding these feelings back for decades, and it was only right that when they sprang free (again) they were explosive, uncontrollable, and to the detriment of any memory of what was going on around them.
It'd settle down. It'd settle down long enough for him to keep pants on for more than half an hour at a time, long enough for him to at least not have to throw himself at Ray if they were alone together for more than a few seconds at a time. He just had to...to regain control. But control was not to be regained while Ray was--definitely not while Ray was doing this.
Grab my hair was a good request, a reasonable order, and more than that it anchored him to Ray this time when his eyes closed again. He couldn't force them to open, not now it was all he could do just to try to breathe, because it seemed to him that Ray was becoming better at this by the second. The languishing draw of suction, the tongue sliding up toward the tip, increasing pressure until he felt like he would pop, the breath of air as Ray pulled back to murmur words in his general direction, and then he was back, his lips curled into one of those challenging, dazzling, dizzying smirks, only this time around Fraser's erection. Smug bastard.
Fraser whimpered and panted. He kept his fingers in Ray's hair, squeezed and worked it, pulled it, his long fingers straining with tension as he took a tight grip just above both of his ears. Now he was writhing, pushing against the weight of the man against him, almost mindless with delirium as he tried his best to thrust into his partner's wonderful hot mouth.
It had been too long. He'd needed this all day, needed something and with those calloused, engine-oil stained fingers of Ray's barely grazing against his balls it seemed he was spiraling entirely out of control. The snowstorm was whirling now; he could feel it, one more step, two, and he'd step out into nothingness and go tumbling to his death. But his warning to Ray was an incoherent cry, wrenching at his hair pitifully, wanting to warn him so that he could stop but desperately needing anything but.
He stepped out, wailed again - too late, too late, the orgasm twisting inside of him, tightening tension and - he was falling falling falling... God, he was going right over the edge. ]