Disclaimer: Not mine, alas (though God, aren't they wonderful characters?) I make no profit and intend no offense.

Author's Notes: Thanks to all the folks on my LiveJournal friendslist and over at ds_writers for the read-through!

Story Notes: This is Fraser/Victoria. I suppose with that pairing, I don't really have to warn for angst, but just in case: consider yourself warned.

He pushes open the door and she's there, in his bed, one bare shoulder rising from the blankets, hair a tangle on the pillow. She turns to him, eyes dark and captivating, and he's lost. He can't look away. His fingers are already working at his buttons. "Ben," she murmurs, just quietly, and he crosses to her and pushes her down. All he can feel is her mouth beneath his, her body pressed against him. He's dreamed of her every night and somehow he's still forgotten what she feels like, live and pliant in his arms, and warm, so warm. "Ben," she says again, a little laugh, "stop, stop, Ben," and pushes his hands away, and he freezes, oh, God, he's done something wrong, but she's just reaching for his buttons and her eyes are laughing up at him and it's okay. It's okay. He he buries his hands in her hair and kisses her, kisses her, he's kissing her, and maybe he's too heavy but he's so relieved. It's okay. It's okay.

It's wrong, though, off-it's not okay, never can be okay, can never be okay again, because she's gone, for good this time-but that can't be right, because she's here, isn't she? In his bed, and she's touching him. She's here. Her hands against him are a shock. She's touching him. He feels it like electrical current everywhere she touches, electricity jumping from her fingertips to his skin, jolting him. "Take this off," she says, and he sits up and throws the uniform away, and then they're skin-to-skin, and that's even better. How could he have forgotten this? And suddenly he can't bear it, he can't stand it, because he's longed for her for so long, and now she's here, and how is he supposed to live without this? He takes a deep breath and relaxes his grip on her arms. She's smiling up at him. "Oh, Ben, you're thinking too much," she murmurs, "it's okay, come on, be with me-" And he can't help it, he wants her so-

And she smiles at him, that brilliant sharp smile, and rolls over on top of him, and pins his hands above his head. He feels his hips jerk up, god- how can he like this? This isn't right, any of it-but he does, he does, he can't help it. Her palms are small and cool on his wrists, and he's helplessly hard against her thighs, suddenly, shockingly hard. He moans, and she smiles. "You like that, Ben?" she asks. And all he can do is agree, helplessly. Yes, yes, god yes.

She leans down, brushes her nipples against his chest. Her skin is soft, velvet, satin, silk-he doesn't have words, oh, he doesn't have words for it, but it's so good, he loves this, loves her, loves the way she teases him. So good. She leans down and licks at his nipple, bites him a little, until he can feel his flesh hardening against her tongue. He can't stop from moaning. He's needed this so much. Needed this, needed her, god, so much-

"Say, it, Ben," she says. "Say it-" and she kisses him, slides her breasts against his chest, nudges him with her hips. "Come on, tell me you want it-" And god, she's so beautiful like this, wild and hungry and so fierce, but he can't say it, he can't, he can't. He wants her so much, but he can't. He turns his head to the side, trying to escape those eyes, and she laughs and follows his mouth with hers, relentless. "Come on, Ben," she says, "say it for me." And she leans a little weight against his wrists, holding him down, and he can't help it. He can't help it. He can't help it.

"Please," he whispers, "please, I need it-" and he closes his eyes for a moment against her triumphant grin.

"That's it," she says, "oh, Ben-" and lets his hands go. He reaches up and cups her breasts in his palms, and she leans down and bites his lower lip, and then he's finally, finally sliding into her. He can't stop trembling, god, she feels so good. He feels like his body might shake apart from the pleasure of it, like he might not survive, oh, god-And he rolls her over and just buries himself inside her, presses himself into her body, presses himself into her. He's moaning, they're both moaning, they're both feeling this-they're one flesh, joined, oh, together-

And he's coming, feels himself shaking and shuddering and groaning, and she's shuddering in his arms. Oh, how he loves her-

He collapses against her, her body warm, so warm, and she sighs. His heart is pounding. He can't catch his breath. She raises her head and looks at him, grinning. She's looking at him with those dark eyes and smiling. "Ben," she says, "Ben, Ben, Ben-" God, he needs her so much. He needs her so-

But she's looking at him with those eyes, and he doesn't know how to read that look, and he can't catch his breath. There's something wrong-this isn't the way it's supposed to be-

His heart is pounding. She's looking at him with those eyes. Something's not right-

His room is empty. She's gone. This isn't-

His room is empty-this isn't-

His room is empty-

*

For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night. -Ecclesiastes 2:23