(no subject)
fic attempt #1 (the Ray buffet) felt lonely, and made me write a scene from earlier the same night. f/k.
Ray was beat. It had been a long day in a week of long days. His head lolled back on the couch, his eyes squinty and unfocused. Something was on TV, but he'd long stopped paying attention, his body melting into the cushions, his brain drifting off on weird tangents, seeing animal shapes in the stains on the ceiling, his fingers idly playing with the different textures, smooth, bristly, and silky, where Fraser's hair and neck met.
Huh. How long had he been doing that?
He considered freaking out, but his arm was comfortable and Fraser didn't seem to be backing away in panic. Okay, no freak out. Good.
Fraser must be beat, too. Probably more so than Ray, though it was hard to tell. Even in his version of full exhausted sprawl Fraser looked more polished than Ray did after a shower and a shave. It was past the time when he'd usually excuse himself to walk back to the Consulate. Actually, that was kind of weird. Dief probably needed attention, assuming he hadn't figured out how to open doors or order pizza during the day. Hell, he probably had. Or conned Turnbull into cooking a 7 course meal for him.
Ray should probably stop rubbing Frase's neck. Any minute now. His fingers moved more and more slowly as his eyes drifted all the way shut.
This was nice. He should sleep on the couch more often. It was cozy.
When Fraser's own hand moved steadily into Ray's personal space, he was so mellow it took him a couple of minutes to process the new information. He opened his eyes again, peering blearily at his lap.
Yup, that was a hand. Not his. Fraser's hand, on his thigh.
Ray turned his head. "Fraser?" It came out with a slight croak.
Fraser's hand moved further to rest straight over Ray's package.
Okay. Wow. This might be worth waking up for.
Eyes still averted, Fraser popped the button on Ray's jeans and worked the zipper down.
Ray decided that holding very, very still was the way to go. No sudden movements. Don't scare the Fraser. Let him come to you.
That plan worked for about three more seconds, until Fraser's hand wrapped itself around Ray's rapidly hardening cock and Ray gasped, his own hand closing convulsively around the back of Fraser's neck.
Fraser didn't pause, didn't hesitate, just set up a steady rhythm, working Ray with smooth, practiced strokes.
Holy shit. Ray knew this move. Ray'd used this move. Go straight for the cock. Risky, but get your hand on a guy's cock and he was more likely to think with it than with his brain. Nothing for Fraser to worry about here, though. Ray's brain and Ray's cock were on the same page.
"Fraser." The croak was still there, so he cleared his throat. "Yes."
*****
Ray was beat. It had been a long day in a week of long days. His head lolled back on the couch, his eyes squinty and unfocused. Something was on TV, but he'd long stopped paying attention, his body melting into the cushions, his brain drifting off on weird tangents, seeing animal shapes in the stains on the ceiling, his fingers idly playing with the different textures, smooth, bristly, and silky, where Fraser's hair and neck met.
Huh. How long had he been doing that?
He considered freaking out, but his arm was comfortable and Fraser didn't seem to be backing away in panic. Okay, no freak out. Good.
Fraser must be beat, too. Probably more so than Ray, though it was hard to tell. Even in his version of full exhausted sprawl Fraser looked more polished than Ray did after a shower and a shave. It was past the time when he'd usually excuse himself to walk back to the Consulate. Actually, that was kind of weird. Dief probably needed attention, assuming he hadn't figured out how to open doors or order pizza during the day. Hell, he probably had. Or conned Turnbull into cooking a 7 course meal for him.
Ray should probably stop rubbing Frase's neck. Any minute now. His fingers moved more and more slowly as his eyes drifted all the way shut.
This was nice. He should sleep on the couch more often. It was cozy.
When Fraser's own hand moved steadily into Ray's personal space, he was so mellow it took him a couple of minutes to process the new information. He opened his eyes again, peering blearily at his lap.
Yup, that was a hand. Not his. Fraser's hand, on his thigh.
Ray turned his head. "Fraser?" It came out with a slight croak.
Fraser's hand moved further to rest straight over Ray's package.
Okay. Wow. This might be worth waking up for.
Eyes still averted, Fraser popped the button on Ray's jeans and worked the zipper down.
Ray decided that holding very, very still was the way to go. No sudden movements. Don't scare the Fraser. Let him come to you.
That plan worked for about three more seconds, until Fraser's hand wrapped itself around Ray's rapidly hardening cock and Ray gasped, his own hand closing convulsively around the back of Fraser's neck.
Fraser didn't pause, didn't hesitate, just set up a steady rhythm, working Ray with smooth, practiced strokes.
Holy shit. Ray knew this move. Ray'd used this move. Go straight for the cock. Risky, but get your hand on a guy's cock and he was more likely to think with it than with his brain. Nothing for Fraser to worry about here, though. Ray's brain and Ray's cock were on the same page.
"Fraser." The croak was still there, so he cleared his throat. "Yes."
*****