[ He feels hot, skin a burning mess, every muscle seemingly pushed beyond its limit, like he's run ten kilometers through the city streets without so much as stopping to catch his breath. Where his bare skin touches Ray's, the heat is a hundredfold, but any discomfort he could have taken from it is reflected in pouring sweat and ragged breathing; the only ability Fraser has to cool down.
When Ray lets his hair go and shifts deliberately under him, Fraser resists the urge only for a split second to slump against him, and follows him down just a moment later, his head lolling onto Ray's shoulder, his still stinging back pooled against his partner's chest, cuffed hands settled across the back of Ray's wrist. His eyes closed, stayed that was for a few blissful moments before he forced them open again. No matter how tired he was, Fraser wasn't cut out for this kind of selfishness. He always put his partner before himself--it should apply here too. To this.
Perspiration from his cheeks had made his eyelashes dewy, his cheeks were pink, darker around his temple, and his eyes were all but shot, mostly swollen black pupils. His lips were similarly abused, and when Fraser breathed it felt like he was taking in all the air in the room only to expel it again, each breath leaving little impact on the white noise of arousal that still seemed to permeate every cell of his body. He turned his head none the less to find Ray's, tilted it upward so that just the bridge of his nose grazed against his partner's stubbled jaw, and let out a trembling sigh that seemed at last to bleed out some measure of his tension.
His words, a low rumble, lacked any of his usual clipped Canadian grace. They were smoky, human words, a veritable bedroom voice. ]
Help me over to the couch, I have something for you.
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When Ray lets his hair go and shifts deliberately under him, Fraser resists the urge only for a split second to slump against him, and follows him down just a moment later, his head lolling onto Ray's shoulder, his still stinging back pooled against his partner's chest, cuffed hands settled across the back of Ray's wrist. His eyes closed, stayed that was for a few blissful moments before he forced them open again. No matter how tired he was, Fraser wasn't cut out for this kind of selfishness. He always put his partner before himself--it should apply here too. To this.
Perspiration from his cheeks had made his eyelashes dewy, his cheeks were pink, darker around his temple, and his eyes were all but shot, mostly swollen black pupils. His lips were similarly abused, and when Fraser breathed it felt like he was taking in all the air in the room only to expel it again, each breath leaving little impact on the white noise of arousal that still seemed to permeate every cell of his body. He turned his head none the less to find Ray's, tilted it upward so that just the bridge of his nose grazed against his partner's stubbled jaw, and let out a trembling sigh that seemed at last to bleed out some measure of his tension.
His words, a low rumble, lacked any of his usual clipped Canadian grace. They were smoky, human words, a veritable bedroom voice. ]
Help me over to the couch, I have something for you.