[ There was an advantage to all this, an advantage to the height and angle that he hadn't even considered when he started this, it was that once again - the same as the first time, when he'd wrapped his hand around Ray and carried him over that edge back on his desk - he was able to drink it all in, look down at him as the pleasure swallowed him up and chewed him into mush.
It really was something: it was like watching the man become undone, like Ray was a ragdoll and someone - Fraser - had gone at all his seams pulling stitches. Metaphorically, of course - only metaphorically, because physically Ray pulled tighter and tighter, his muscles tensing, his hands pulling hard against Fraser's hips, his entire body a twisting mass of steel and iron with a V-8 engine humming underneath it.
Ray was this incredibly force of nature every day of the week, wrapped up in focus and occasional bizarre serenity. This was his partner reduced to his constituent parts, spread out as though in prestige - the grand reveal - everything that Fraser knew about him, that it had taken so long to learn the hard way, opened up before him. Ray; beautiful, fierce, loyal, protective, challenging, conscientious, clever, false, powerful, strong, defiant, courageous, brave.
Like this, towering over him, bringing him through it--it was a power he hadn't expected. There was something seductively secret about this, like he was seeing a side of his partner that he hadn't even guessed was there, that noone had ever seen, that nobody but Fraser would ever see again. Ray was the black pearl inside the oyster shell, and Fraser had dug his fingers in and prized him open.
He was almost so distracted by the sight of him as he was thrust over that precipice that he missed the moment, but then Fraser was moving fast, viper-quick, like a sleight of hand in a game of blackjack. He twisted his wrist, snapping his fingers and palm shut tight like a clamp around the base of Ray's cock, slippery where Fraser was at the peak of the upthrust. His thumb reached back, digging hard underneath, thrusting into Ray's perineum and stabbing backward.
There was only one shot; he had to be rough, and firm, he had to catch it at the perfect moment--and God, how he hoped it worked. It was excruciating, like orgasm without release, but it was worth it; it'd be worth it. Still, he'd only ever practiced it on himself, and Ray might not be wired up that way. Oh, he hoped it worked. He wanted to draw this out, soak in the feeling of Ray inside of him, and burn this miracle of a moment into his muscle memory, install it in permanent ink on the retina of his mind's eye.
Fraser hissed, sitting back on the heal of his own hand, his eyebrows uncrossing as he watched Ray underneath him. He shivered with the need to keep moving, but all he gave Ray was the extra shift of his thumb, stroking almost apologetically where he'd dug the tip of it in before.
Slowly, unsurely, he uncurled his hand, let it drop away, and slid the few inches back down, shuddering physically as he went. His hands moved to Ray's sides, stroking up and down them reassuringly. ]
[ Softly. It was almost a question--but not quite. ] Ray.
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It really was something: it was like watching the man become undone, like Ray was a ragdoll and someone - Fraser - had gone at all his seams pulling stitches. Metaphorically, of course - only metaphorically, because physically Ray pulled tighter and tighter, his muscles tensing, his hands pulling hard against Fraser's hips, his entire body a twisting mass of steel and iron with a V-8 engine humming underneath it.
Ray was this incredibly force of nature every day of the week, wrapped up in focus and occasional bizarre serenity. This was his partner reduced to his constituent parts, spread out as though in prestige - the grand reveal - everything that Fraser knew about him, that it had taken so long to learn the hard way, opened up before him. Ray; beautiful, fierce, loyal, protective, challenging, conscientious, clever, false, powerful, strong, defiant, courageous, brave.
Like this, towering over him, bringing him through it--it was a power he hadn't expected. There was something seductively secret about this, like he was seeing a side of his partner that he hadn't even guessed was there, that noone had ever seen, that nobody but Fraser would ever see again. Ray was the black pearl inside the oyster shell, and Fraser had dug his fingers in and prized him open.
He was almost so distracted by the sight of him as he was thrust over that precipice that he missed the moment, but then Fraser was moving fast, viper-quick, like a sleight of hand in a game of blackjack. He twisted his wrist, snapping his fingers and palm shut tight like a clamp around the base of Ray's cock, slippery where Fraser was at the peak of the upthrust. His thumb reached back, digging hard underneath, thrusting into Ray's perineum and stabbing backward.
There was only one shot; he had to be rough, and firm, he had to catch it at the perfect moment--and God, how he hoped it worked. It was excruciating, like orgasm without release, but it was worth it; it'd be worth it. Still, he'd only ever practiced it on himself, and Ray might not be wired up that way. Oh, he hoped it worked. He wanted to draw this out, soak in the feeling of Ray inside of him, and burn this miracle of a moment into his muscle memory, install it in permanent ink on the retina of his mind's eye.
Fraser hissed, sitting back on the heal of his own hand, his eyebrows uncrossing as he watched Ray underneath him. He shivered with the need to keep moving, but all he gave Ray was the extra shift of his thumb, stroking almost apologetically where he'd dug the tip of it in before.
Slowly, unsurely, he uncurled his hand, let it drop away, and slid the few inches back down, shuddering physically as he went. His hands moved to Ray's sides, stroking up and down them reassuringly. ]
[ Softly. It was almost a question--but not quite. ] Ray.