[ He really was too delirious, too drowned a man in lust, to really be able to comprehend how important this moment was. Everything that had been happening over the last twelve hours had inexorably drawn them around to this, and now that it was here he didn't have one iota of sense left in his head to navigate the fact that this was it. This was the first time, the moment, the pivoting spot in place where everything changed; where the waltz they'd been dancing became a rumba--slow and sensual, two bodies moving as one.
There was no going back, no doing it again, no replicating that invulnerable moment where Ray filled him for the first time. But it couldn't be said that they'd rushed into it, that both of them hadn't been willing. He'd never felt quite like this before, as though no part of him were really touching the ground any more. He'd never seen Ray look the way he did right now, drenched in sweat and hot with need, his blue eyes smouldering under burnished eyelashes, all but quivering under his own touch like a tripwire in a light wind, an explosion inevitable.
Fraser drank the moment in as though through a haze, and later he would be able to remember it, to bring it to mind much more clearly, but right now--right now the only thing he cared for was that tripwire, and that any resultant cataclysm occur inside. He felt like he'd been waiting for it his entire life.
Alone in the dark with nothing but his hands, panting and trembling as he drove himself toward that edge, wishing - wishing - wanting someone or something better to fill that space, fill every inch of it the way his clawing, awkward hands could not, touch that secret place inside of him with resounding purpose.
And here was Ray; beloved Ray. His Ray. Needing him. Willing him to do it.
His hands slipped free, took Ray's with them, and Fraser fell half an inch almost with the shock of it before he got his bearings again. Ray was there, helping, and that was good because Fraser's coordination for such things had evaporated. His hands managed to find Ray's shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise, and then he was pushing his hips back, embracing the tip of Ray's cock where he'd nudged it into place, rolling rolling rolling his hips backward and swallowing it down with the most remarkable, buttery ease.
Relief; blessed, beautiful relief. This was it - the moment - and it was painless and slippery and perfect. Ray fit like the final puzzle piece into a hole he'd been trying to fill for years. Fraser pulled himself all the way back to arm's length, seated back over Ray's hips, and as he looked down at his lover some of the focus seemed to come back to his gaze. He saw him, and he smiled--a sultry, lazy and contented smile. A cat's got the cream smile.
And then he made that long slow shift forward and back, the same one as he'd made for Ray before, and Ray's erection slipped past muscle - out, back in again - and glittering friction, the brush of the head of Ray's cock against that spot inside of him--oh, they were flying again! He could lose himself in this feeling and never come back out. ]
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There was no going back, no doing it again, no replicating that invulnerable moment where Ray filled him for the first time. But it couldn't be said that they'd rushed into it, that both of them hadn't been willing. He'd never felt quite like this before, as though no part of him were really touching the ground any more. He'd never seen Ray look the way he did right now, drenched in sweat and hot with need, his blue eyes smouldering under burnished eyelashes, all but quivering under his own touch like a tripwire in a light wind, an explosion inevitable.
Fraser drank the moment in as though through a haze, and later he would be able to remember it, to bring it to mind much more clearly, but right now--right now the only thing he cared for was that tripwire, and that any resultant cataclysm occur inside. He felt like he'd been waiting for it his entire life.
Alone in the dark with nothing but his hands, panting and trembling as he drove himself toward that edge, wishing - wishing - wanting someone or something better to fill that space, fill every inch of it the way his clawing, awkward hands could not, touch that secret place inside of him with resounding purpose.
And here was Ray; beloved Ray. His Ray. Needing him. Willing him to do it.
His hands slipped free, took Ray's with them, and Fraser fell half an inch almost with the shock of it before he got his bearings again. Ray was there, helping, and that was good because Fraser's coordination for such things had evaporated. His hands managed to find Ray's shoulders, gripping tight enough to bruise, and then he was pushing his hips back, embracing the tip of Ray's cock where he'd nudged it into place, rolling rolling rolling his hips backward and swallowing it down with the most remarkable, buttery ease.
Relief; blessed, beautiful relief. This was it - the moment - and it was painless and slippery and perfect. Ray fit like the final puzzle piece into a hole he'd been trying to fill for years. Fraser pulled himself all the way back to arm's length, seated back over Ray's hips, and as he looked down at his lover some of the focus seemed to come back to his gaze. He saw him, and he smiled--a sultry, lazy and contented smile. A cat's got the cream smile.
And then he made that long slow shift forward and back, the same one as he'd made for Ray before, and Ray's erection slipped past muscle - out, back in again - and glittering friction, the brush of the head of Ray's cock against that spot inside of him--oh, they were flying again! He could lose himself in this feeling and never come back out. ]