[ The groan murmured against his lips was almost as beautiful as the sound of his name. It was good, he realised, when Ray broke away to look at him, because if he'd said 'Fraser' right then, then he'd have never been able to hear his name spoken without needing a brisk roll in the snow to shake himself out of it ever again.
Stanley's hand was on his shoulder. It stayed there, kneading into muscle he'd never so much as touched before as he leaned in again, not to actually kiss Fraser this time but to brush cheek to cheek, pressing in warm and real against him on the same side as Vecchio. Briefly he felt not one but two tongues clashing warm and hot against his ear, and he shuddered between the two warm bodies between which he was sandwiched, convinced his own strength was going to fail him.
He wasn't given the opportunity to find out if it would. All at once there was the wet sound of a mouth on another mouth, clashing with wet smacking noises that reeked of passion and violence, and then with a force that shocked him, Ray's hand was reaching between his legs and the wall was coming up to meet him. He bleated out a ragged cry into Stanley's ear, seeing stars, panting as he tried to get some physical motor control back. His erection thrummed from the squeeze, and Ray's hand was still there, firm and hard, long fingers wrapped around him.
He needed to see. He just had to see. And sure enough as soon as he turned his head, craning his neck backward, it was everything he'd wanted and more.
He barely even noticed as Ray's hand slipped away to tug open his tunic, rapt as he was by the display, by Ray's mouth on Ray's mouth, or not on it, or inside it--or something. It was pure animal ferocity, and yet it was passionate and beautiful because of it. They'd kissed like this before, and they were bringing some part of that death-defying coupling into it now. But that wasn't Fraser. He wasn't so easily rough or mean.
Just as it seemed Stanley might lose consciousness from lack of air Fraser was interceding on the situation, slipping his hand against Ray Vecchio's jaw and pulling his former partner's face toward him. He kissed him then, kissed him with the same sweet, urgent tenderness with which he'd kissed Stanley, his eyes drifting closed as though he were sipping wine, drinking in the moment. He kissed him only for the space of a few seconds, tasting the blood on his lips, tomato paste, doughnut sugar, cherry lozenges - the residual Stanley taste of mint and tobacco - then withdrew, knowing Stanley would be watching. He looked shyly back into the face of a man he'd known so well, loved so much: Ray Vecchio, his partner. It was all so surreal.
And then he looked across into the face of a man he knew so well, loved so much: Ray Kowalski, his partner, for some kind of acknowledgement, or encouragement. If they were going to realise that this was all a horrible idea, this would be the moment, but Fraser wasn't going to be the one doing it. Nothing had ever felt so right. ]
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Stanley's hand was on his shoulder. It stayed there, kneading into muscle he'd never so much as touched before as he leaned in again, not to actually kiss Fraser this time but to brush cheek to cheek, pressing in warm and real against him on the same side as Vecchio. Briefly he felt not one but two tongues clashing warm and hot against his ear, and he shuddered between the two warm bodies between which he was sandwiched, convinced his own strength was going to fail him.
He wasn't given the opportunity to find out if it would. All at once there was the wet sound of a mouth on another mouth, clashing with wet smacking noises that reeked of passion and violence, and then with a force that shocked him, Ray's hand was reaching between his legs and the wall was coming up to meet him. He bleated out a ragged cry into Stanley's ear, seeing stars, panting as he tried to get some physical motor control back. His erection thrummed from the squeeze, and Ray's hand was still there, firm and hard, long fingers wrapped around him.
He needed to see. He just had to see. And sure enough as soon as he turned his head, craning his neck backward, it was everything he'd wanted and more.
He barely even noticed as Ray's hand slipped away to tug open his tunic, rapt as he was by the display, by Ray's mouth on Ray's mouth, or not on it, or inside it--or something. It was pure animal ferocity, and yet it was passionate and beautiful because of it. They'd kissed like this before, and they were bringing some part of that death-defying coupling into it now. But that wasn't Fraser. He wasn't so easily rough or mean.
Just as it seemed Stanley might lose consciousness from lack of air Fraser was interceding on the situation, slipping his hand against Ray Vecchio's jaw and pulling his former partner's face toward him. He kissed him then, kissed him with the same sweet, urgent tenderness with which he'd kissed Stanley, his eyes drifting closed as though he were sipping wine, drinking in the moment. He kissed him only for the space of a few seconds, tasting the blood on his lips, tomato paste, doughnut sugar, cherry lozenges - the residual Stanley taste of mint and tobacco - then withdrew, knowing Stanley would be watching. He looked shyly back into the face of a man he'd known so well, loved so much: Ray Vecchio, his partner. It was all so surreal.
And then he looked across into the face of a man he knew so well, loved so much: Ray Kowalski, his partner, for some kind of acknowledgement, or encouragement. If they were going to realise that this was all a horrible idea, this would be the moment, but Fraser wasn't going to be the one doing it. Nothing had ever felt so right. ]