[ He ought to have tried harder. He should have tried harder, put up more of a fight, put this off until they were somewhere above the Arctic Circle or something and Ray didn't have anywhere he could run to. Sure, his sulking fit would have ended up with them both dying in the ice fields, but all in all that sounded like a better plan.
But he hadn't; he hadn't tried hard enough, and now here he was caught in that suspended moment and very aware of where it was leading. He became aware of it almost at the same moment Ray did, of the knowledge that breaking it off now would be the equivalent to jumping in front of a speeding train: it would all be over. He became aware of the fact that they were about to kiss, and there really was no going back, no stopping it, no changing it, not even if he wanted to.
He didn't want to.
Fraser didn't so much as inhale for fear of breaking the spell. Ray's laughter fell against his mouth, his breath. His eyes came closer, head canting, and Fraser didn't close his eyes - didn't dare close his eyes - until their mouths met, closing the last bit of distance himself as though the approach had been the permission he'd been looking for all along.
It had been an approach, hadn't it? What if it wasn't what he thought? What if Ray regretted it? What if what if what if... Shut up, Benton.
The kiss wasn't anything more than lips moving against lips, or at least it wasn't pushed from Fraser's end. He was too terrified; terrified of it stopping, scared rigid that Ray would be disgusted with him and twice as afraid or more that he would laugh, because this kiss resolved, well, most of the strange vibes and awkwardness he'd been sending Ray's way since they were on their quest. He knew he was laying himself bare, laying bare things he barely understood himself, but if he poured himself into the kiss with all the longing and passion he knew he felt, it would be like cutting his heart from his chest and prostrating it at Ray's feet. He couldn't risk that.
But he could kiss an almost open mouthed kiss, tasting the alcohol on Ray's lips, and his other hand - the one that had been on Ray's side, reached for his partner's hand and twisted it up above his head, so that when he stepped into Ray he was pushing his wrist against the wall, his thumb hard on the pulse as though he might somehow be able to establish whether Ray was serious about this. He wasn't rough, the action was very matter of fact, the kiss never wavering from tenderness. But that was all rigid self control on Fraser's part, and his strength had its limits.
He didn't even blink as the door opened and closed, then opened and closed again, sending a waft of Francesca's perfume down the hall toward them. It didn't matter; not when he was kissing Ray, kissing him at last, bringing together reason with sense so that even he - the most oblivious man on earth - could see that this was something that they'd both always wanted, but never quite known how to acknowledge. He was kissing Ray, and the stars were aligning, fireworks were going off, wolves were howling. Everything made sense the way that it ought to.
And one thing was for sure: This was definitely not buddies. ]
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But he hadn't; he hadn't tried hard enough, and now here he was caught in that suspended moment and very aware of where it was leading. He became aware of it almost at the same moment Ray did, of the knowledge that breaking it off now would be the equivalent to jumping in front of a speeding train: it would all be over. He became aware of the fact that they were about to kiss, and there really was no going back, no stopping it, no changing it, not even if he wanted to.
He didn't want to.
Fraser didn't so much as inhale for fear of breaking the spell. Ray's laughter fell against his mouth, his breath. His eyes came closer, head canting, and Fraser didn't close his eyes - didn't dare close his eyes - until their mouths met, closing the last bit of distance himself as though the approach had been the permission he'd been looking for all along.
It had been an approach, hadn't it? What if it wasn't what he thought? What if Ray regretted it? What if what if what if... Shut up, Benton.
The kiss wasn't anything more than lips moving against lips, or at least it wasn't pushed from Fraser's end. He was too terrified; terrified of it stopping, scared rigid that Ray would be disgusted with him and twice as afraid or more that he would laugh, because this kiss resolved, well, most of the strange vibes and awkwardness he'd been sending Ray's way since they were on their quest. He knew he was laying himself bare, laying bare things he barely understood himself, but if he poured himself into the kiss with all the longing and passion he knew he felt, it would be like cutting his heart from his chest and prostrating it at Ray's feet. He couldn't risk that.
But he could kiss an almost open mouthed kiss, tasting the alcohol on Ray's lips, and his other hand - the one that had been on Ray's side, reached for his partner's hand and twisted it up above his head, so that when he stepped into Ray he was pushing his wrist against the wall, his thumb hard on the pulse as though he might somehow be able to establish whether Ray was serious about this. He wasn't rough, the action was very matter of fact, the kiss never wavering from tenderness. But that was all rigid self control on Fraser's part, and his strength had its limits.
He didn't even blink as the door opened and closed, then opened and closed again, sending a waft of Francesca's perfume down the hall toward them. It didn't matter; not when he was kissing Ray, kissing him at last, bringing together reason with sense so that even he - the most oblivious man on earth - could see that this was something that they'd both always wanted, but never quite known how to acknowledge. He was kissing Ray, and the stars were aligning, fireworks were going off, wolves were howling. Everything made sense the way that it ought to.
And one thing was for sure: This was definitely not buddies. ]