[ --Fraser's hand tugged him away, and Fraser's lips brushed sweetly against his own, and holy shit it was like getting whiplash, this sweet tender mouth against his own. And God, if he hadn't been jealous of Stanley before he was now. He might be wooing Stella, and she might be the woman of his dreams, the future mother to his kids, but this...this was heaven.
When Fraser pulled back he was flushed, impossibly beautiful looking like a renaissance painter had made him. His tunic was open, his hair a little wild, his lips glistening wet. His eyes... His attention snapped back toward Stanley, and he was still trying to catch his breath. His mouth hurt. It tasted of Fraser and Stanley; of rendered meat and spun sugar, of Wrigley's gum and cigarette ash. His head was swimming with it all. ]
You're a lucky fucking bastard, Ray Kowalski. Now let's have that shirt off.
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When Fraser pulled back he was flushed, impossibly beautiful looking like a renaissance painter had made him. His tunic was open, his hair a little wild, his lips glistening wet. His eyes... His attention snapped back toward Stanley, and he was still trying to catch his breath. His mouth hurt. It tasted of Fraser and Stanley; of rendered meat and spun sugar, of Wrigley's gum and cigarette ash. His head was swimming with it all. ]
You're a lucky fucking bastard, Ray Kowalski. Now let's have that shirt off.