[ Fraser knows the power he has, the fact that he has the ability to simply match Ray's gaze and breathe on his neck and it'd probably be more than enough to break him. It's a power, even if he doesn't actually understand what that power actually is.
Ray's anticipation is almost magnetic, and when he jolts off the couch toward him, slipping on the seat, there's little Fraser can do but brace against him with his shoulders, working his teeth against flat, hard sinew and muscle. There's not enough to get purchase on, but it's not enough to stop him leaving his bruises, working a three inch line of them into a path that led due south.
His sound of appreciation is a happy hum, the vibration pressed against Ray's bare skin. Still exhausted, drained from his own exertions, Fraser doesn't dare close his eyes; he knew he'd be asleep in moments if he did, and the truth was that this would be the least appropriate moment for Fraser to fall asleep with his head in Ray's lap.
Inexperienced he might be, particularly in things like this, but noone could claim that Fraser wasn't a quick learner. In fact his previous teasing was given another demonstration, as he deliberately scuffed his raw bottom lip against the bulge in Ray's barely-off-his-hips jeans. He followed it up with the flat heat of his tongue, closing his mouth over everything--rough denim tainted with the scent of musk, the swell of Ray's arousal, at least the portion that lay just beneath the tag of his fly; the metal zipper, which he clicked deliberately against his top teeth, sending vibrations through the fabric. His hot breath slipped through the open teeth of the zipper with every exhale. Eight of them, in fact, before Fraser pulled back far enough to breathe a single command: ]
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Ray's anticipation is almost magnetic, and when he jolts off the couch toward him, slipping on the seat, there's little Fraser can do but brace against him with his shoulders, working his teeth against flat, hard sinew and muscle. There's not enough to get purchase on, but it's not enough to stop him leaving his bruises, working a three inch line of them into a path that led due south.
His sound of appreciation is a happy hum, the vibration pressed against Ray's bare skin. Still exhausted, drained from his own exertions, Fraser doesn't dare close his eyes; he knew he'd be asleep in moments if he did, and the truth was that this would be the least appropriate moment for Fraser to fall asleep with his head in Ray's lap.
Inexperienced he might be, particularly in things like this, but noone could claim that Fraser wasn't a quick learner. In fact his previous teasing was given another demonstration, as he deliberately scuffed his raw bottom lip against the bulge in Ray's barely-off-his-hips jeans. He followed it up with the flat heat of his tongue, closing his mouth over everything--rough denim tainted with the scent of musk, the swell of Ray's arousal, at least the portion that lay just beneath the tag of his fly; the metal zipper, which he clicked deliberately against his top teeth, sending vibrations through the fabric. His hot breath slipped through the open teeth of the zipper with every exhale. Eight of them, in fact, before Fraser pulled back far enough to breathe a single command: ]
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