[ Freefalling--he's in freefall, and the only thing that matters in the whole world is Ray. Ray Ray Ray, the sunshine under which he warms himself, the warmth of a mouth around him, hands embracing him like silk, like feather wings spreading beneath him to catch his fall--the bed, the bed underneath him and Ray all around him, above him, in his eyes when he cracks them open again. Ray Ray Ray. His Ray; only his.
Fraser has the privilege of watching. Not his orgasm - that had escaped him - but the final pulses, the tender way that Ray stayed with him through the last helpless, rhythmic twitches of his body, nerves firing all together. He watched Ray concentrate, shuddering out his own appreciation until at last it felt like every muscle in his body had been worked beyond its capacity. Exhaustion swam up through him, and it was all Fraser could do to fight it off, like he was trying to fight off the instinct to sleep before freezing to death. There was too much to see, to want, to let it take him now.
So he forced himself to take deep breaths, to fill his lungs; tried to force his heart to keep beating fast. He couldn't sleep. Not now. He needed Ray far too much, he had to try to keep hold of that, because after everything they'd been through...
He'd managed to keep his hands knotted in Ray's hair, and that was perhaps his saving grace, because it made pulling him down easier than letting go, and the exertion of doing so at least gave him something to be awake for, to concentrate on. His kiss wasn't very good, breathless as he was, but it didn't have to be. Ray's lips were bruised and swollen, his mouth hard, but still hot and wet, and Fraser chased the taste of himself between Ray's teeth, in the corners of that sharp smile. The taste of it, the smell of it - of Fraser - was all over him. Well. Mostly. He could smell himself all over Ray, but he could smell Thatcher's shower gel too, and that was enough to encourage a little more wakefulness in him. God, after this morning he'd be lucky to still have a job. A fireaxe through his office door--he'd be paying for that out of his own wages.
He released his grip on Ray slightly, though he didn't immediately try to rip himself out of the kiss, instead pulling away from it gingerly, as though he didn't want to stop at all. His voice was ragged from moaning - quite unsurprisingly. It scratched, raw from his earlier screaming he'd been doing back during their original 'game'. ]
M'sorry. [ Panted. Sorry, he was sorry for coming so soon, when it felt like they'd only just gotten started. ] Tell me again. [ He said, like it was important to repeat himself. He never repeated himself: ] Tell me again why we didn't do this sooner?
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Fraser has the privilege of watching. Not his orgasm - that had escaped him - but the final pulses, the tender way that Ray stayed with him through the last helpless, rhythmic twitches of his body, nerves firing all together. He watched Ray concentrate, shuddering out his own appreciation until at last it felt like every muscle in his body had been worked beyond its capacity. Exhaustion swam up through him, and it was all Fraser could do to fight it off, like he was trying to fight off the instinct to sleep before freezing to death. There was too much to see, to want, to let it take him now.
So he forced himself to take deep breaths, to fill his lungs; tried to force his heart to keep beating fast. He couldn't sleep. Not now. He needed Ray far too much, he had to try to keep hold of that, because after everything they'd been through...
He'd managed to keep his hands knotted in Ray's hair, and that was perhaps his saving grace, because it made pulling him down easier than letting go, and the exertion of doing so at least gave him something to be awake for, to concentrate on. His kiss wasn't very good, breathless as he was, but it didn't have to be. Ray's lips were bruised and swollen, his mouth hard, but still hot and wet, and Fraser chased the taste of himself between Ray's teeth, in the corners of that sharp smile. The taste of it, the smell of it - of Fraser - was all over him. Well. Mostly. He could smell himself all over Ray, but he could smell Thatcher's shower gel too, and that was enough to encourage a little more wakefulness in him. God, after this morning he'd be lucky to still have a job. A fireaxe through his office door--he'd be paying for that out of his own wages.
He released his grip on Ray slightly, though he didn't immediately try to rip himself out of the kiss, instead pulling away from it gingerly, as though he didn't want to stop at all. His voice was ragged from moaning - quite unsurprisingly. It scratched, raw from his earlier screaming he'd been doing back during their original 'game'. ]
M'sorry. [ Panted. Sorry, he was sorry for coming so soon, when it felt like they'd only just gotten started. ] Tell me again. [ He said, like it was important to repeat himself. He never repeated himself: ] Tell me again why we didn't do this sooner?