Disclaimers: They belong to Alliance. I am merely the tragic figure pressed up against the glass of -- <selfthwap>

Spoilers: None.

Summary: The day progresses.

Archiving: Sure, anywhere. Just let me know.

Ratings Note: NC-17 for m/m interaction.

Author's Note: I just *had* to. Direct sequel to "Wet" and "Wednesday." It may help to read those first.

Acknowledgments: To Dawn Sharon for fine audiencing and many helpful suggestions. Thanks also to go to Kellie Matthews and Maxine, and to the lovely and talented A.C. Chapin for writing "Acharnement," which is a damned inspiring read.

*

You know what?
This is torch's, too.

*

Fraser breathes deeply, feels small muscles within his hand clench painfully. His body was ready to grip Ray as tightly as possible to hold him right where he was.

Keep him.

Fraser could not leave this place, and Ray could not, either. It had almost nothing whatsoever to do with Ray's apartment, his couch... though it would be a lie to say that Fraser does not wish this was in Ray's bedroom... a dark, shadowed place unlike the rest of his home.

"Ray?"

He feels the untidy sprawl of limbs on his lap stiffen, freeze utterly for a moment that hardens him again. How long had they been here? Ray's left hand is still on Fraser's shoulder, though the grip has loosened.

His head is bent, his breathing too shallow.

"Ray?"

And the grip on his shoulder tightens again, a muscle in Ray's jaw flexes once, stills. Fraser settles for cradling the hot, damp curve of Ray's skull and gives the silence several more moments. He is rewarded with a brief stutter of movement as Ray straddles his thighs a bit more firmly, deliberately stretches his spine.

Fraser feels the play of muscle under his other hand. Ray is listening, but he doesn't want to say anything. Would prefer it if Fraser stopped speaking, probably.

Are they supposed to simply remain here until they sleep?

Fraser does not intend to spend this night alone.

He does not know whether or not to stifle the conviction in his mental voice. This isn't... it is not an easy thing, and Fraser can see that his mood has blighted Ray's as well. It's clear the other man expected something different from this. Fraser realizes he's pushing too hard at the same moment he realizes he can't stop.

For a moment of awesome clarity he wants nothing more than another kiss, but by the time he has tilted Ray's lips to his own he knows it won't be enough.

But their lips are swollen, the sensitivity heightened and Fraser does need this thing. Whatever else there may be out there for him, this kiss is salve to some hurt, somewhere. It's good, and it brings Ray closer to him, makes Ray open to him.

The hand that was on his shoulder shifts and Ray has one arm around his neck -- a little awkwardly as Fraser was moving at the same time, slipping his arms around Ray's slim waist and pulling him in closer still.

Who will stop him? Is there no voice to correct him in this? Fraser feels suddenly that he'd always known Ray wouldn't stop him, though the truth is something far different. It's all right for the truth to change sometimes, isn't it?

Warm, moist air between them now. The kiss is broken and Ray has forgotten. His eyes are open and open to Fraser's. The colors are lovely things, unexpectedly bright surrounding the deep black pool of the pupil. Shifting constantly, the brief rainbow of a sharpened blade in sunlight.

Ray's other hand is between them, slowly moving up Fraser's chest until it settles on his nipple. A pause, then. Ray is utterly unreadable and then Fraser is caught gently, deliciously between the other man's fingers.

More trap than squeeze but it's all right. He wants Ray to hold all of him, would stretch the man's skin over himself if he could. For any small part to be taken, held this way.... He wants to believe the relative smallness of the act is simply inversely proportional to the way it makes him feel, that the brush and capture of his thorning nipple is as much as anything could be.

But Ray is holding his gaze, waiting for him... Fraser arches his back a little, pushes himself against Ray. He manages to keep his lower body still but Ray does not, shifting in a motion somewhere between resettlement and thrust. The other man's mouth is open, red wetness only imaginable.

The angle of sunlight is wrong for Fraser to see anything but more darkness within that mouth and then Ray *is* squeezing, twisting just a little and Fraser grunts, breathes.

Tightens his hold helplessly for a moment, knowing that Ray's arm is trapped between them but unable to make his body care about that. He needs more of this right now and the couch seems uniquely designed to keep him from it.

A bed, the floor... either would allow him a flat surface to pin, be pinned still and available to any touch. Ray feels a mass of tangled rope in his arms, his grip can be nothing but uncertain --

And Fraser has bitten the base of Ray's throat before his mind had even moment to consider consenting to the action. He can't bring himself to move. It's less a bite than a grip, and Fraser can feel the helpless arch of the other man's throat and the beat of his pulse and the jerky, half-hesitant touch of his hands to Fraser's own neck, face.

A finger traces over his upper lip and it's all he can do not to growl. Thumb pressing at the corner of his mouth, another hand carding through his hair. A soothing touch.

He does not want to be soothed, but to shake it off he'd either have to let go or risk hurting Ray... already he knows this will leave a dark, heavy bruise on the other's pale skin. The caress continues, smooth and inviolate even to Ray's own harsh breaths.

Ray's words.

"Please... Fraser, you..."

Fraser's almost sure Ray doesn't really know what to ask, but he still can't stop himself from flicking his tongue over the trapped flesh, over and over. The hand in his hair shudders and stills.

Fraser pulls away then and Ray's head falls forward. His eyes are closed again.

"Open your eyes, Ray."

Unthinking obedience -- Ray's eyes are a little fuzzed, bleary. Fraser has the absurd urge to make him put on his glasses and *see* him. Every touch he takes from Ray is a question Fraser knows the other man can't really hear, and so he must get his answers any way he can.

Ray focuses slowly and gives Fraser confusion, desperation.... Fraser shifts and watches Ray react to the friction of denim against his nude flesh, to the brush of their cocks.

He has to close his eyes for that, let himself feel this thing that makes Ray moan, toss his head. And that's the last thing he can take before he tumbles them both off the couch, careful of Ray. Making sure he lands cushioned by Fraser's own body.

Ray laughs for a moment, nervous, hopeful giggle. Fraser knows Ray wants the mood to break.

He flips them over and gravity conspires to push Fraser down, press Fraser to Ray here, and here. The laughter breaks off in a sharp gasp and Ray arches. Rubs himself along Fraser's body, thrusts up several times heedless of anything but his own pleasure.

Yes.

Fraser dives in and takes his mouth, has his tongue sucked in the moment he thrusts and moans. Tries to brace himself in a better position but the feel of Ray's legs spreading beneath him, cradling him against damp heat --

He rolls them onto their sides, bumping the coffee table slightly, barely restraining himself from pushing it over entirely. Wraps his arms as best he can around Ray and twines them together. One hand settles on his hip in a way that can only be interpreted as possessive.

*Yes*. And he's almost positive that he's managed to say that aloud but when he feels Ray pushing down on his jeans it doesn't matter anymore.

He breaks contact and it hurts so much he feels there must be blood on his mouth, on his chest but he shakes it off and quickly removes his jeans the rest of the way.

The hardwood floor is unforgiving to his buttocks and he moves over to Ray again, offering himself and praying for greed. Feels himself pulled on top of the other man, feels his body kneaded and explored. In his mind he sees Ray's rough, tanned hand imprinted against his back, sees himself twisting and pressing down.

Down and covering him and there is an untimeable moment when Fraser sees himself trapping Ray between him and the floor. Ray wouldn't be able to get quite enough air but he wouldn't fight no he would never fight this.

Something tears deep inside him and Fraser cries out. Ray's eyes flare open again, large and dark... it's harder to see the lightness around it, the blue-grey hazel of it. Once he saw them golden, but Fraser does not know how to get that color back again.

He buries the brief flash of irrational fury in his kiss and it's not a surprise when Ray feels the difference immediately and bucks, a purely muscular movement reminiscent of something powerful deep within the sea. Not really human but so much his Ray...

Fraser does his best to ease back but can't stop himself from slotting himself back into the vague groove he'd found before, that place, that slick hard basket of heat that takes his cock and takes and takes...

He can't hold on to the growl this time and the kiss is broken for a sharp terrible moment until Ray leans up to claim his mouth again. Acceptance, desire... Fraser loses control of his hips completely and soon feels his blood, his soul spill and spill all over Ray's body.

When he loses that final strength that keeps him from crushing the other man he falls heavily, awkwardly.

And Ray screams short and harsh into his mouth and comes.

Moments pass and Fraser buries his face against the side of Ray's throat. Feels Ray's hand come up around him for only a brief second before falling away. The steady pound of the heart below his own makes the raggedness of the breath briefly irrelevant, but Fraser finally forces himself to roll off.

And can only watch as Ray immediately bounds up from the floor and begins to pace.

"Ray -- "

"Don't. Just... don't, Fraser."

It's absurd to be hurt by his own last name, Ray has never really called him anything else, but Fraser feels it.

"I'm sorry."

"That's not... you can't apologize for something like that, Fraser."

Like what? But he knows the answer as well as he knows Ray won't be able to put it into words. He can't, either.

"Why didn't you say something before, Fraser?"

Ray turns to look at him and Fraser can see how tense the lean form is with every tiny shift, every breath. His mind registers Ray's nudity, the mixed semen on his belly... there's something wrong about talking this way when he can still barely breathe. Quick, unfathomable gesture and Ray is moving again.

"I couldn't think of anything -- "

"Shut *up* Fraser."

Flash of anger and he's too raw, too close to experience to want to bank it. "You have to let me speak if you -- "

"I *can't*." And Ray turns to him and his eyes are still so dark --

Fraser feels himself moving and then Ray is there and he moves them both back against the wall. Squalls of motion through the other man's form, brief and shattering. Presses closer and tries to be moved, broken with each shudder.

And then simply presses harder and harder until Ray is still again save for the thudding pulse that Fraser wants as his own.

"We can't... this is too much -- "

Fraser catches Ray's mouth in something less a kiss than a stifle. When he breaks contact again there is silence.

Slowly, slowly Ray lowers his head to Fraser's shoulder. He is still when Fraser squeezes him gently, still when Fraser runs his free hand up and over the bruise at his throat.

Still when Fraser traces it evenly, unerringly with his thumb.

"It's all right, Ray." And he knows it will be true.

End.

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