[ He feels bad for stepping all over Ray's feet, but maybe that sort of coordination is something they can work on. In any case, they've made it eventually, gotten all the way back to the elevator and--
And it's unexpected. Ray's eager response to the kiss had been wonderful, as though they were unlocking some secret next level to kissing as it was, and then bang he was struck by force and energy, like a fist to the face, or an out of nowhere hug, and Ray was suddenly pressed against him, slamming him against the back wall of the elevator so sharply that it knocked all the air out of him. That took some real doing, Fraser had a surfeit of air. It was wild urgency, fury and fight and strength, and it was Ray - the other side of Ray, flashing eyes and flashing fists - it was Ray all the way through.
God, he loved this man. All the ragged edges of him, the windbeaten roughness, the hard bristles of beard that ground into his naked jaw, the hard hands that locked him in place against the back wall of the elevator the way he'd pushed Ray against the wall before. All that energy and fire and passion that he knew existed in himself - that he knew inherently existed in Ray from his years working with him - poured out into the kiss, bled into its roughness, through teeth and lips and tongue, and Fraser was bowled over by it.
Oh, he could probably have given Ray a good fight, and sometimes fighting was necessary in their relationship, sometimes he had to make a resistance against those hands, just to show that he was capable of it. But not yet. Not now. He wanted Ray to know he could submit too, push and pull, meeting in the middle.
He moaned softly into his partner's mouth, his hands wandering - as they were free to do - pushing again under the shirt that Ray had only fixed half an hour ago, sliding his hands up his sides, his back, feeling Ray's inhales and the tension of his shoulders as he put everything he had into holding Fraser against the wall. It ached. There was a ledge running around the elevator under the mirror, and it was jammed against the center of his back, bruisingly hard, but really--this was Fraser who jumped from moving vehicles and fell down cliffsides and leapt into raging rapids. He could take a little bruising, a little push and strain, a little reminder of the thrust for survival with which they were both so familiar.
And as for the bruising, he even liked it, and something told him that this was going to be a new extreme sport, that he might get as many bruises doing this as he took during a general day's work.
He let his nails rake against Ray's bare skin, scraping down his back, overwhelmed by the full beautiful existence of Ray, by his honor and his genuine sweetness and his loyalty, by the fire and the passion and the stray dog ferocity. He was so much more than that; and it was true what he'd said before, what he'd said to Stella. She hadn't truly appreciated what she had. She couldn't know what it was like to place her life in this man's hands on a day to day basis, to love him as Fraser loved him, to be willing to do anything, go anywhere, live at arm's length forever if it meant just being near him.
Ray had shown him his world in a way that Ray Vecchio never had, had led him through it, and made Fraser a part of it; now that he'd opened the door to this - this physicality - it seemed like they had more to share with each other. He'd never been kissed like this in his life, never been helpless to making soft noises of pleasure into his partner's mouth, never been thrust about and manhandled like this unless he was in the process of being beaten in the head for one reason or another. It was powerfully thrilling in a way he simply couldn't describe, because Ray could be as strong as him, as passionate, as indomitable. They were equals, and the meaning of that was only just now beginning to open up.
The elevator moved, and his stomach flipped, and he whimpered into Ray's mouth, tongue sparring back, pouring everything he had back into that wonderful, glorious kiss.
God, he was really kissing Ray. Actually kissing him. ]
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And it's unexpected. Ray's eager response to the kiss had been wonderful, as though they were unlocking some secret next level to kissing as it was, and then bang he was struck by force and energy, like a fist to the face, or an out of nowhere hug, and Ray was suddenly pressed against him, slamming him against the back wall of the elevator so sharply that it knocked all the air out of him. That took some real doing, Fraser had a surfeit of air. It was wild urgency, fury and fight and strength, and it was Ray - the other side of Ray, flashing eyes and flashing fists - it was Ray all the way through.
God, he loved this man. All the ragged edges of him, the windbeaten roughness, the hard bristles of beard that ground into his naked jaw, the hard hands that locked him in place against the back wall of the elevator the way he'd pushed Ray against the wall before. All that energy and fire and passion that he knew existed in himself - that he knew inherently existed in Ray from his years working with him - poured out into the kiss, bled into its roughness, through teeth and lips and tongue, and Fraser was bowled over by it.
Oh, he could probably have given Ray a good fight, and sometimes fighting was necessary in their relationship, sometimes he had to make a resistance against those hands, just to show that he was capable of it. But not yet. Not now. He wanted Ray to know he could submit too, push and pull, meeting in the middle.
He moaned softly into his partner's mouth, his hands wandering - as they were free to do - pushing again under the shirt that Ray had only fixed half an hour ago, sliding his hands up his sides, his back, feeling Ray's inhales and the tension of his shoulders as he put everything he had into holding Fraser against the wall. It ached. There was a ledge running around the elevator under the mirror, and it was jammed against the center of his back, bruisingly hard, but really--this was Fraser who jumped from moving vehicles and fell down cliffsides and leapt into raging rapids. He could take a little bruising, a little push and strain, a little reminder of the thrust for survival with which they were both so familiar.
And as for the bruising, he even liked it, and something told him that this was going to be a new extreme sport, that he might get as many bruises doing this as he took during a general day's work.
He let his nails rake against Ray's bare skin, scraping down his back, overwhelmed by the full beautiful existence of Ray, by his honor and his genuine sweetness and his loyalty, by the fire and the passion and the stray dog ferocity. He was so much more than that; and it was true what he'd said before, what he'd said to Stella. She hadn't truly appreciated what she had. She couldn't know what it was like to place her life in this man's hands on a day to day basis, to love him as Fraser loved him, to be willing to do anything, go anywhere, live at arm's length forever if it meant just being near him.
Ray had shown him his world in a way that Ray Vecchio never had, had led him through it, and made Fraser a part of it; now that he'd opened the door to this - this physicality - it seemed like they had more to share with each other. He'd never been kissed like this in his life, never been helpless to making soft noises of pleasure into his partner's mouth, never been thrust about and manhandled like this unless he was in the process of being beaten in the head for one reason or another. It was powerfully thrilling in a way he simply couldn't describe, because Ray could be as strong as him, as passionate, as indomitable. They were equals, and the meaning of that was only just now beginning to open up.
The elevator moved, and his stomach flipped, and he whimpered into Ray's mouth, tongue sparring back, pouring everything he had back into that wonderful, glorious kiss.
God, he was really kissing Ray. Actually kissing him. ]