dogsled: (bedridden)
Benton Fraser ([personal profile] dogsled) wrote in [community profile] thelockbox 2014-09-22 11:11 am (UTC)

[ It's so easy to lose himself, but Fraser had always been like that, as though having lips pressed against his own was his hairtrigger to a lapse in sanity. He tried a little harder to keep track of himself now, because this was Ray, and because they'd already bounced off each other several times already, but by the second he was becoming more breathless, more delirious, moaning under the onslaught of his partner's kiss.

And then the doors opened, and Ray--god, Ray was pulling back - sucking on his tongue but pulling back - and Fraser tried to chase him, to tighten his grip on him and stop him from getting away. He failed, his hands slipping out of Ray's shirt, and he stayed slumped against the back wall of the elevator for a moment just to catch his breath, flushed and aroused and happy.

The couple - Stella's grandparents on her mother's side, he thought - stepped inside warily, and Fraser licked his lips, looking up at Ray just in time to see him grinning, chuckling, like a little boy who'd just slipped out from under his parents' nose with the keys to his dad's snowmobile. Then Ray's hand was in his, and he was being pulled out of the elevator car so quickly he didn't have time to breathe, nevermind apologise, stumbling almost into Ray before getting his own jelly legs under him again.

He hadn't accidentally left the bridal suite open, that had been an untruth, but that was easy enough to deal with. His free hand slid into Ray's back pocket as he reached the door, and then he was tugging his other hand free, leaning close to it, using the same gestures and angle precisely that he'd watched both Rays use dozens of times before. The door clicked open, and he nudged his toe against it, put his shoulder against the frame, and looked back up at Ray again, still flushed and urgent, still wanting.

He had very little intention of dancing. Not now they had the room. Not with hours of partygoing happening several floors below them. Maybe they'd get back down in time for the last few slow dances: find Diefenbaker passed out in a sugarcoma under one of the tables and Vecchio dozing in his new wife's lap, sodden with red wine and champagne. That was what people did at their weddings, wasn't it?

Sex and dancing and food, in that order. Wait.

He reached up, using both of his hands, tugging on the end of the bow tie he'd so carefully fixed about Ray's neck. When it was undone, he kept pulling, leaning up to close the space between them again, but only for a moment. He needed to talk, even if he was afraid of the words, so he blurted them out as quickly as he could, keeping his thumbs on Ray's cheeks as though he could hold him back from kissing even if he wanted to. Really: probably couldn't.
]

If I'm going too fast--if ever you want to stop, we'll just stop. You only have to say the word.

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