tiny!fic is tiny
Title: started as a flicker
Fandom: due South
Pairing: FKV
Warnings: None
For ds_aprilfools, prompt 1 - differences. Follows after while you stare at your boots, this time edging into teen.
Ben can always tell.
Ray had teased (would tease, will be teasing) that Ben must be grateful he never had to worry about calling out the wrong name, because he knew how much Ben hated being rude. He'd shaken his head and said it wasn't an issue, and Ray had laughed like he had carried the point.
But it wasn't an issue, because he always knew Ray's touch from Ray's. It didn't matter that his eyes were closed; he knew that was Ray's hand sliding across his abdomen, palms roughened from the weights at his gym or his latest project under the hood. He knew Ray's lips at his neck, soft and slightly slick with the balm that Ray doubtlessly mocked as excessively fussy, too fastidious. It didn't matter that it'd been nearly six months (nearly six months and he could count it to the day, the hour, perhaps the minute, and, oh, it mattered) since they'd last touched -- if anything, the separation made it easier to tell them apart. On that first day, Ray's hands were always so careful, like Ben might break into pieces; Ray's fingers dug in almost too hard and not hard enough, like Ben might fly away.
Caught between the two of them, either seemed possible.
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comments.
Fandom: due South
Pairing: FKV
Warnings: None
For ds_aprilfools, prompt 1 - differences. Follows after while you stare at your boots, this time edging into teen.
Ben can always tell.
Ray had teased (would tease, will be teasing) that Ben must be grateful he never had to worry about calling out the wrong name, because he knew how much Ben hated being rude. He'd shaken his head and said it wasn't an issue, and Ray had laughed like he had carried the point.
But it wasn't an issue, because he always knew Ray's touch from Ray's. It didn't matter that his eyes were closed; he knew that was Ray's hand sliding across his abdomen, palms roughened from the weights at his gym or his latest project under the hood. He knew Ray's lips at his neck, soft and slightly slick with the balm that Ray doubtlessly mocked as excessively fussy, too fastidious. It didn't matter that it'd been nearly six months (nearly six months and he could count it to the day, the hour, perhaps the minute, and, oh, it mattered) since they'd last touched -- if anything, the separation made it easier to tell them apart. On that first day, Ray's hands were always so careful, like Ben might break into pieces; Ray's fingers dug in almost too hard and not hard enough, like Ben might fly away.
Caught between the two of them, either seemed possible.
The Dreamwidth version of this entry currently has
comments.