[ There really is nothing like it, this moment of completion and perfection, these two men, the friction, the heat against his chest--even the venue. It's beyond comprehension how this feels, beyond anything Fraser could have ever imagined. His own fantasies weren't even this filthy. Dirty, to him, was making out on top of a moving train when he was supposed to be preventing a nuclear catastrophe.
Besides, crossing his boundaries with Ray - either Ray, even an imaginary Ray - was so far outside what he was capable of that this was practically mythological. It was Adonis and Aphrodite. Leda and the Swan. Ray and Fraser and Ray again; and here he was right inside that moment, embraced in heat, feeling more loved and more intimate than he'd ever felt before.
Fraser stayed still, waiting for a signal from Ray - because he didn't really know when it would be okay to move, he'd never done this before - and so when Stanley reached out and touched his face he was still in one place, unmoving with his head against Ray's neck. He let himself be guided up the half inch toward his partner's lips, and immediately he was surrendering to the kiss - a kiss that was wetter and hungrier than the chaste ones they'd shared before - his tongue swirling up in gratitude to twist around Stanley's, chasing his moans.
Every kiss was easier, was better than the last, and this one was no exception, even though Fraser had to keep his hands on Ray to keep him steady and couldn't bury them into Stanley's hair the way he wanted to. There'd be plenty of time for that later, as they cuddled on the floor and waited for the phone to ring. Plenty of time for that later, when he encouraged Ray into the backseat of his car with him so they could make out for hours like teenagers. (Don't judge him, he'd missed out on a lot of crucial life lessons).
He didn't miss the minute twitch of Ray's body around him, the permission he'd been waiting for to move. Or maybe it was more like a demand. Either way, he didn't miss it because he was waiting on it on tenterhooks. Fraser hadn't just learned to interpret Ray Kowalski's moods and minute gestures; both of these men were equally different and equally complicated, they had their own language, and Fraser had needed to learn both in order to survive.
His response was immediate. Steady, to the rhythm which Ray dictated, he began the process of moving, twitching into welcoming tightness, hyper aware of the potential of hurting Ray; but as he began to move it became more and more clear that it would be difficult to hurt him more than he helped. His former partner shuddered with every thrust, moaning against Kowalski's neck, so close to Fraser's ear that he felt the vibration move through him in three different ways. He responded by ramping up the kiss, panting raggedly against Stanley's mouth between matching, urgent thrusts of his tongue as he pressed a little deeper, moved a little faster. The friction seared through him, his every nerve prickling; sensitive, aflame.
Gestures became a rhythm, and there was that piston perfection of strong muscles and sure balance, the Mountie miracle that Stanley had been promising Ray mere moments before. He felt Kowalski's body resisting against him with every upward thrust, and still he tried to wetly kiss his partner's mouth, desperate to maintain that connection now he had it. ]
Oh Ray--Ray, Ray. [ And Ray was hissing: Jesus, Fraser. ]
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Besides, crossing his boundaries with Ray - either Ray, even an imaginary Ray - was so far outside what he was capable of that this was practically mythological. It was Adonis and Aphrodite. Leda and the Swan. Ray and Fraser and Ray again; and here he was right inside that moment, embraced in heat, feeling more loved and more intimate than he'd ever felt before.
Fraser stayed still, waiting for a signal from Ray - because he didn't really know when it would be okay to move, he'd never done this before - and so when Stanley reached out and touched his face he was still in one place, unmoving with his head against Ray's neck. He let himself be guided up the half inch toward his partner's lips, and immediately he was surrendering to the kiss - a kiss that was wetter and hungrier than the chaste ones they'd shared before - his tongue swirling up in gratitude to twist around Stanley's, chasing his moans.
Every kiss was easier, was better than the last, and this one was no exception, even though Fraser had to keep his hands on Ray to keep him steady and couldn't bury them into Stanley's hair the way he wanted to. There'd be plenty of time for that later, as they cuddled on the floor and waited for the phone to ring. Plenty of time for that later, when he encouraged Ray into the backseat of his car with him so they could make out for hours like teenagers. (Don't judge him, he'd missed out on a lot of crucial life lessons).
He didn't miss the minute twitch of Ray's body around him, the permission he'd been waiting for to move. Or maybe it was more like a demand. Either way, he didn't miss it because he was waiting on it on tenterhooks. Fraser hadn't just learned to interpret Ray Kowalski's moods and minute gestures; both of these men were equally different and equally complicated, they had their own language, and Fraser had needed to learn both in order to survive.
His response was immediate. Steady, to the rhythm which Ray dictated, he began the process of moving, twitching into welcoming tightness, hyper aware of the potential of hurting Ray; but as he began to move it became more and more clear that it would be difficult to hurt him more than he helped. His former partner shuddered with every thrust, moaning against Kowalski's neck, so close to Fraser's ear that he felt the vibration move through him in three different ways. He responded by ramping up the kiss, panting raggedly against Stanley's mouth between matching, urgent thrusts of his tongue as he pressed a little deeper, moved a little faster. The friction seared through him, his every nerve prickling; sensitive, aflame.
Gestures became a rhythm, and there was that piston perfection of strong muscles and sure balance, the Mountie miracle that Stanley had been promising Ray mere moments before. He felt Kowalski's body resisting against him with every upward thrust, and still he tried to wetly kiss his partner's mouth, desperate to maintain that connection now he had it. ]
Oh Ray--Ray, Ray. [ And Ray was hissing: Jesus, Fraser. ]