[ It's fortunate Ray doesn't go far, because Fraser isn't quite ready to let him yet, not ready to let Ray pull out or pull away. It at least lets him get his other arm free, though, since it's long since crumpled from the effort of keeping Ray up--about the time he buried his face in his neck, come to think of it.
He should feel self conscious, he supposes, but now all Fraser feels is serene. It's the kind of satisfying serenity that falls like virgin snow; nothing in he world can be wrong so long as he feels like this, so long as someone is looking at him the way Ray is, touching him the way Ray has. He feels exhausted, spent, but perfectly...satiated, balanced even, as though he's accomplished the one thing that's been holding him back for years. Nevermind the sweat clinging to every hollow of his body, the rapidly trying wet patch on his stomach, between his thighs, the ache in muscles he never realised he might need to use.
He feels good, and when Ray kisses him he reaches up, albeit with his sticky hand - an unusual oversight - and slides his fingers against Ray's cheek, presses them into the hair just above his ear, blonde strands dark damp with sweat, palm still flat against stubble as he urges the sweet kiss to linger. And he's aware that Ray is being still, tender, in a way he so rarely sees but deeply appreciates. Maybe because he's just exhausted, but Fraser can live with that--after all, he's the one who exhausted him.
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He should feel self conscious, he supposes, but now all Fraser feels is serene. It's the kind of satisfying serenity that falls like virgin snow; nothing in he world can be wrong so long as he feels like this, so long as someone is looking at him the way Ray is, touching him the way Ray has. He feels exhausted, spent, but perfectly...satiated, balanced even, as though he's accomplished the one thing that's been holding him back for years. Nevermind the sweat clinging to every hollow of his body, the rapidly trying wet patch on his stomach, between his thighs, the ache in muscles he never realised he might need to use.
He feels good, and when Ray kisses him he reaches up, albeit with his sticky hand - an unusual oversight - and slides his fingers against Ray's cheek, presses them into the hair just above his ear, blonde strands dark damp with sweat, palm still flat against stubble as he urges the sweet kiss to linger. And he's aware that Ray is being still, tender, in a way he so rarely sees but deeply appreciates. Maybe because he's just exhausted, but Fraser can live with that--after all, he's the one who exhausted him.
And hopefully it wouldn't be the last time. ]