Author's Notes: Thanks as usual to sprat for beta!

SequelTo: In The Water

Ben longs for a great many things, and sometimes, on mornings like this, he allows himself to indulge those longings. The Consulate is closed, the weekend stretches emptily ahead of him and he is alone on a cot in an office in Chicago.

So naturally he thinks of his home. He longs for an uninterrupted view of the horizon, the sharp crunch of frozen snow, even the dull ache in his legs from hours walking through that snow. More than that, however, he wishes for a place of his own. A cabin, with a large bed piled high with blankets and furs. A stove, a rocking chair, perhaps a sofa. Bookshelves, and books to fill them.

He wishes for less tangible things too. Companionship, affection, touch. He smiles wryly; surely he can be honest with himself if no one else. He wants love and he wants sex, a warm body in that large bed with him.

He imagines coming home to someone, coming in with aching legs from the snow and the sky. The stove would be lit, the cabin warm, and Ray would be waiting for him.

It's impossible, he knows that. A pipe dream. But he allows himself to picture it - Ray, sprawled on the sofa with his glasses on, reading. He imagines Ray in a t-shirt and jeans, his holster emphasizing his chest and arms, long legs splayed.

At this moment, Ben longs for nothing more than to walk across the floor and kneel between Ray's legs. He'd wrap his hands around Ray's thighs and drag him to the edge of the seat. He pictures Ray relaxing into his touch, allowing him to do whatever he wants. Ray would settle back, arms stretched along the back of the sofa, open his legs a little wider. Displaying himself for Ben, saying without words, "Come and get me." And Ben would, he'd pull down the zipper, push Ray's jeans and shorts to his knees.

He imagines Ray's lean thighs beneath his hands, the coarse hair and warm skin. He wants to take his time, to savour the tastes and scents of Ray's skin. He wonders if Ray would be impatient, urging him upwards, or if he'd allow Ben to lick him, to suck him. He'd like to mark him, to bite him, to know that Ray would look at himself later and see where Ben had been.

Perhaps he wouldn't linger though. Perhaps instead he'd take Ray's cock into his mouth (and oh, he wishes he knew what it looked like), suck gently while it hardened. Then he'd sit back, hands holding Ray's thighs wide, and just look, before leaning in again to lick at Ray's balls, to taste the musk and sweat gathered there.

He would go slow here, map every ridge and hollow. He wants to nibble and suck and lick and swallow, until Ray is moaning above him. He wants to feel Ray pushing into him, to hear Ray gasp and sigh and call out his name. Above all, he wants to feel Ray come; that burst of bitter flavour in his mouth.

And after that, when Ray was sated, looking down at him with sleepy eyes and a soft mouth, he'd stand up again and shove his pants down. He'd straddle Ray, push his t-shirt up, slide his own hard cock across Ray's belly. He imagines them both looking down, watching as he gets darker and wetter. He wants to take Ray's hand, wrap those long fingers around himself, use them to stroke himself, like this. He pushes up into his own hand, wishing it was Ray's sliding over him just so. He rubs harder and faster, and when he climaxes he pictures Ray beneath him, his belly streaked with Ben's come.

He's in the bathroom, cleaning himself up, when he hears the knock on the door.