[ He can almost feel Ray's apprehension. It has a certain kind of distinctive vibrating quality that is palpable probably only to Fraser and several species of bats and scorpions. The air stills, Ray quiet above him as he works his way through whatever decision he has to make - though Fraser has a strong suspicion it was related to his punishment - and then at last the feeling breaks. It breaks with soft kisses, soothing kisses that pepper along the line of the burn, and his own trembling subsides, the fresh tension unwinding instead into a shudder before he falls still again.
His jaw unlocks, the couch cushion gently released, and Fraser, his mouth dry from eating brocade, all but whispers a soft sound of appreciation. There's an apology there, he wants Ray to know that there's nothing to forgive. Everything was okay.
He only hoped, listening to the waver in Ray's voice, the earthquake in his exhale, that his friend believed him. Maybe. Hopefully. The slap to his backside suggested a return to Ray's former/usual masquerade of confidence.
Okay, so he wanted him up. Easier said than done. Mostly because to achieve it he'd have to roll his hips and throw his weight upward--it wasn't going to be comfortable. But first he had to decide whether he wanted to perch on his hands or his elbows, which would be more comfortable over the long haul? Elbows it was.
Fraser took a deep, readying breath, then with decided effort rolled his hips down in order to give himself sufficient upward action, bucking back, jerking his head back, shoulders following, and just about managed to get his forearms under him. His head hung low, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention, head tilted toward Ray, but only so much as to present one very pink ear--he couldn't exactly look at him from this angle.
Still not a word, though Fraser wanted so badly to speak out loud, wanted to tell Ray that he was okay. He'd speak, of course, if he wasn't comfortable, but Ray had more pride than that. He'd stick it out. ]
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His jaw unlocks, the couch cushion gently released, and Fraser, his mouth dry from eating brocade, all but whispers a soft sound of appreciation. There's an apology there, he wants Ray to know that there's nothing to forgive. Everything was okay.
He only hoped, listening to the waver in Ray's voice, the earthquake in his exhale, that his friend believed him. Maybe. Hopefully. The slap to his backside suggested a return to Ray's former/usual masquerade of confidence.
Okay, so he wanted him up. Easier said than done. Mostly because to achieve it he'd have to roll his hips and throw his weight upward--it wasn't going to be comfortable. But first he had to decide whether he wanted to perch on his hands or his elbows, which would be more comfortable over the long haul? Elbows it was.
Fraser took a deep, readying breath, then with decided effort rolled his hips down in order to give himself sufficient upward action, bucking back, jerking his head back, shoulders following, and just about managed to get his forearms under him. His head hung low, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention, head tilted toward Ray, but only so much as to present one very pink ear--he couldn't exactly look at him from this angle.
Still not a word, though Fraser wanted so badly to speak out loud, wanted to tell Ray that he was okay. He'd speak, of course, if he wasn't comfortable, but Ray had more pride than that. He'd stick it out. ]