Holiday Fic Prezzies...
Okay, here's the first of the holiday gift-ficlets! It's short and unbeta'd, but secret_garden did ask for Fraser/RayK kisses, and so I must indulge her and her sick, twisted demands for more boykisses. It's Fraser/Kowalski, of course, and rated PG-13 for some naughty language.
Goodbye Kisses
Fraser is kissing Ray.
It is not a passionate kiss or a hungry kiss, or what Ray refers to as a “fuck me” kiss (which Fraser prefers to think of as a seductive invitation). It is not a reassuring kiss, either, or a kiss that promises future intimacy, because Ray is fast asleep and insensible to either reassurance or promise. It is a simple brush of his lips across Ray’s high, wide forehead, which tastes slightly of salt and sleep and the wonderful, familiar, ineffable scents of Ray. Ray murmurs something and turns over. Fraser squeezes his hand.
This is a goodbye kiss.
Fraser won’t be able to kiss Ray again for the next two weeks, five days, fourteen hours and thirty-nine minutes. Longer, if his patrol adheres to precedent and he encounters some desperate miscreant whom he must doggedly pursue over hundreds of miles of ice and snow. In his less charitable moments, when he is calculating with a sinking heart exactly how long it will be before he can kiss Ray again, Fraser suspects that every single one of the unsavory criminals of the Northwest Territories keeps a detailed schedule of his patrols and holds off on their latest crime-spree until he is in a position to pursue them himself. These moments of extreme self-centeredness do not last long and Fraser is usually ashamed of them when they pass, but for the moment he allows himself to wallow in his resentment of everyone and everything that calls him away from the long, lean, breathtakingly beautiful man now buried in the soft warmth of their bed.
Ray is determinedly cocooned in several layers of down comforters and quilts. He must be very hot, which Fraser assumes is the reason why his skin tastes a little salty, a little sweaty. They made love last night for hours, a fact that may also account for Ray’s salty-sweaty taste, but Fraser is determined not to think of what was said and done and felt the previous night. If he does his ragged willpower will surely snap and break; he will unwrap Ray from his many layers and kiss him in a way that only an expletive could properly describe.
And Ray, as always, will welcome him in. He might tease Fraser about his lack of willpower (“Can’t keep away from me, huh?”) and favor him with one of his stunningly open and beautiful smiles. Ray’s tongue will snake out to join his own and the world will narrow to the hot tangle of their kiss, the intoxicating slide of overheated flesh on flesh. Ray will moan in his familiar way (“Oh God oh fuck”) and press his erection into Fraser’s hip. It is one of Ray’s more obvious signals and it means he cannot wait another instant to feel Fraser’s bare skin against his own. And Fraser will indulge him because, well, how could he not?
But duty calls. So Fraser contents himself with one last, lingering look at Ray and forces himself to leave their bedroom.
He will be back.
Goodbye Kisses
Fraser is kissing Ray.
It is not a passionate kiss or a hungry kiss, or what Ray refers to as a “fuck me” kiss (which Fraser prefers to think of as a seductive invitation). It is not a reassuring kiss, either, or a kiss that promises future intimacy, because Ray is fast asleep and insensible to either reassurance or promise. It is a simple brush of his lips across Ray’s high, wide forehead, which tastes slightly of salt and sleep and the wonderful, familiar, ineffable scents of Ray. Ray murmurs something and turns over. Fraser squeezes his hand.
This is a goodbye kiss.
Fraser won’t be able to kiss Ray again for the next two weeks, five days, fourteen hours and thirty-nine minutes. Longer, if his patrol adheres to precedent and he encounters some desperate miscreant whom he must doggedly pursue over hundreds of miles of ice and snow. In his less charitable moments, when he is calculating with a sinking heart exactly how long it will be before he can kiss Ray again, Fraser suspects that every single one of the unsavory criminals of the Northwest Territories keeps a detailed schedule of his patrols and holds off on their latest crime-spree until he is in a position to pursue them himself. These moments of extreme self-centeredness do not last long and Fraser is usually ashamed of them when they pass, but for the moment he allows himself to wallow in his resentment of everyone and everything that calls him away from the long, lean, breathtakingly beautiful man now buried in the soft warmth of their bed.
Ray is determinedly cocooned in several layers of down comforters and quilts. He must be very hot, which Fraser assumes is the reason why his skin tastes a little salty, a little sweaty. They made love last night for hours, a fact that may also account for Ray’s salty-sweaty taste, but Fraser is determined not to think of what was said and done and felt the previous night. If he does his ragged willpower will surely snap and break; he will unwrap Ray from his many layers and kiss him in a way that only an expletive could properly describe.
And Ray, as always, will welcome him in. He might tease Fraser about his lack of willpower (“Can’t keep away from me, huh?”) and favor him with one of his stunningly open and beautiful smiles. Ray’s tongue will snake out to join his own and the world will narrow to the hot tangle of their kiss, the intoxicating slide of overheated flesh on flesh. Ray will moan in his familiar way (“Oh God oh fuck”) and press his erection into Fraser’s hip. It is one of Ray’s more obvious signals and it means he cannot wait another instant to feel Fraser’s bare skin against his own. And Fraser will indulge him because, well, how could he not?
But duty calls. So Fraser contents himself with one last, lingering look at Ray and forces himself to leave their bedroom.
He will be back.