[ Everything about this; from Ray reciprocating, wrapping fingers around his own, to Fraser thrusting it felt deeper by the second, was starting to pull him apart at all the edges. It didn't help that he'd been the first person in the room to get hard when he'd realised where this was heading - that look on Fraser's face what felt like a million years ago, but which now he'd recognise anywhere for the naked lust it was - and he'd been the first, not counting Fraser's thumb running down the seam of Kowalski's fly, to get a single hand, a perfect pair of hands, in fact, on his cock.
He was near bursting point, far beyond saving, far beyond sense. Fraser and Stanley had no idea. He'd been fantasising about this for four years, he didn't have the wherewithal to channel anything but pure satisfaction, to feel anything but brutal pleasure. Because finally, finally here he was, Fraser inside of him - and wasn't that crazy in itself, because in his dreams it had always been the other way around, he'd never even dared to submit to a fantasy where Fraser could have the sexual appetite necessary to so much as entertain anything like this - and the world was still turning on its axis, but now it felt like it was turning just for him.
If only he'd realised it long ago. Maybe he'd have insisted - after Fraser spent another two weeks in hospital after their adventure - on going back to Canada after all. They'd never gone back together to rebuild that cabin; in the end Fraser must have done it himself. Or maybe he never had. Maybemaybemaybe. Either way, it was time wasted. Time they could have been making love in front of a log fire, before Vegas had taken him away and fucked with his head.
But it was good that Vegas had done that, in terms of the now, because he liked Fraser, sure, but he liked Kowalski too. It was like having the best of both worlds; soft, strong Mountie and hard, knife-edge American cop. And maybe Kowalski got the same deal, but Fraser--Fraser got his partners, and apparently that was like winning two gold medals and one of those weird arm badges he liked so much, because Fraser...Ray wasn't sure he'd ever been happier, more content, more eager to do anything than he'd been when he'd leant in and kissed Stanley on the mouth.
It had genuinely blown him away how much love Fraser could pour into a single action.
He wanted to soak it in forever, but the rough, nail sharp scraping and squeezing he was getting from Stanley wasn't doing shit to hold him back now, in fact it felt really good, pain on top of pleasure, and he could dig his nails in until they bled and it still wouldn't stop him now. Fraser felt like he was trying to fuck both of them at once, and it was all just too much--too much. He yelled, inadvertently jerking his head off Ray's shoulder at the last second to get in more air and crying out loud into his ear, and then he was jerking between them, spilling himself in time with each of Fraser's relentless thrusts, his knuckles knotting and twisting as he fought the urge to tug and squeeze whatever he could out of himself. It wouldn't do Ray much good. Instead he let him go, reaching down lower to knead his own balls, shuddering as he spilled even more of his seed onto Stanley's belly, and by then he was panting and boneless, only Fraser's strength and continued thrusting and the two bodies sandwiching against him keeping him upright, keeping him in play. He felt like a ragdoll, but it was a very sexually satisfied kind of ragdollyness, and that made it just fine, thank you very much. His head was swimming too much to complain right now. ]
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He was near bursting point, far beyond saving, far beyond sense. Fraser and Stanley had no idea. He'd been fantasising about this for four years, he didn't have the wherewithal to channel anything but pure satisfaction, to feel anything but brutal pleasure. Because finally, finally here he was, Fraser inside of him - and wasn't that crazy in itself, because in his dreams it had always been the other way around, he'd never even dared to submit to a fantasy where Fraser could have the sexual appetite necessary to so much as entertain anything like this - and the world was still turning on its axis, but now it felt like it was turning just for him.
If only he'd realised it long ago. Maybe he'd have insisted - after Fraser spent another two weeks in hospital after their adventure - on going back to Canada after all. They'd never gone back together to rebuild that cabin; in the end Fraser must have done it himself. Or maybe he never had. Maybemaybemaybe. Either way, it was time wasted. Time they could have been making love in front of a log fire, before Vegas had taken him away and fucked with his head.
But it was good that Vegas had done that, in terms of the now, because he liked Fraser, sure, but he liked Kowalski too. It was like having the best of both worlds; soft, strong Mountie and hard, knife-edge American cop. And maybe Kowalski got the same deal, but Fraser--Fraser got his partners, and apparently that was like winning two gold medals and one of those weird arm badges he liked so much, because Fraser...Ray wasn't sure he'd ever been happier, more content, more eager to do anything than he'd been when he'd leant in and kissed Stanley on the mouth.
It had genuinely blown him away how much love Fraser could pour into a single action.
He wanted to soak it in forever, but the rough, nail sharp scraping and squeezing he was getting from Stanley wasn't doing shit to hold him back now, in fact it felt really good, pain on top of pleasure, and he could dig his nails in until they bled and it still wouldn't stop him now. Fraser felt like he was trying to fuck both of them at once, and it was all just too much--too much. He yelled, inadvertently jerking his head off Ray's shoulder at the last second to get in more air and crying out loud into his ear, and then he was jerking between them, spilling himself in time with each of Fraser's relentless thrusts, his knuckles knotting and twisting as he fought the urge to tug and squeeze whatever he could out of himself. It wouldn't do Ray much good. Instead he let him go, reaching down lower to knead his own balls, shuddering as he spilled even more of his seed onto Stanley's belly, and by then he was panting and boneless, only Fraser's strength and continued thrusting and the two bodies sandwiching against him keeping him upright, keeping him in play. He felt like a ragdoll, but it was a very sexually satisfied kind of ragdollyness, and that made it just fine, thank you very much. His head was swimming too much to complain right now. ]