Morning
Veronika S

Comments: veronika92@yahoo.com The following was written in response
to the "Night Before Asylum Challenge" issued on Serge in July 1999.
This is my first effort at slash fiction, and only my second effort
overall,
so please be kind, but honest. Please ask for permission before archiving.

Rating: R. Implied m/m interaction.

Spolier warning: Asylum

Summary: Ray Kowalski in dreamland.

Disclaimers: The following is written purely for the enjoyment of fans
and may not be reprinted or used in any way for profit. All characters
are the property of Alliance Communications. No copyright infringement
is intended. 

Morning
by Veronika S

He was floating.

He was cocooned within soft sheets and even softer arms. Warm, safe,
secure, not just in body but in spirit. There was a security in waking
up like this. Odd, that as children we are encouraged to learn to sleep
on our own, yet when we grow up, the best way to cope with the adult
world is to find someone to cuddle with every night. 

And that someone, the Other One, was here.

He ran his hand down the Other One's back. It wasn't skin, it was silk.
The Other One's hands returned the caress, massaging the spot between
his shoulder blades which always seemed tense and was never relieved.

He sighed his contentment as the tension melted under the skillful
strokes.
He turned his head just enough to let his lips graze the skin. To show
his appreciation, he kissed upward as far as he could reach without moving
the rest of his body, then back down to where he started. The hands never
stopped, they just broadened their range, sliding over his ribs and
combing
through his hair. 

Shifting his head a little more, he worked his face into in his favorite
place. That space just beneath the collar bone where he could just tuck
himself away and feel safe. Yeah, it was a bit like an ostrich sticking
its head in the sand and hiding from the world, so what? 

But he couldn't stay hidden. The Other One, the one with the perpetually
moving hands was seeking him out. One hand gently pulled at his hair,
forcing him to tilt up his head. Briefly, his eyes opened, only to flutter
closed again as the Other One's cheek, nose and lips rubbed against his
forehead. 

Then the kisses began. Forehead, nose, cheeks. All were reverently kissed.
He moved to participate, stretching his neck to reach those lips. The
Other One chose to ignore his need. Taking advantage of his new position,
the other one dropped down to kiss his neck, shoulders, and finally,
that same place he favored just below the bone. Through it all, the Other
One's hands never stopped moving. 

A soft moan escaped his throat.

The hands were around front now. Fingertips skimmed his chest, moving
over, then circling around his nipples. Lower to his stomach, his muscles
contracted involuntarily at the other one's touch. Desperate to
reciprocate,
he tightened his arms around the other one's body. He leaned in and began
to kiss the other one's skin, hoping his lips would be enough to convey
his feelings. 

He gasped at the first touch to his cock. He hadn't even been aware of
his arousal until that first brush of skin on skin. He moaned again and
lost his grip on the Other One. Overcome by ecstasy, he slipped to his
back, his head falling back on to the pillows. The Other One chucked
at this, but he was too far gone to care. 

Oh, those hands...those skillful hands...

Minutes, hours, or days later he descended from his climatic high. He
opened his eyes for a second time, daring a glimpse at the Other One
who had loved him so thoroughly. The glowing face that looked back was
truly the face of love. 

Love.

Bells...sirens...alarm...phone...ringing. The cell phone ringing. Without
knowing how it happened, the phone appeared in his hand and was brought
to his ear. 

"Yeah?"

"It's 8:30 in the a.m. detective and I don't see you," Lt. Welsh said
in an annoyed tone that cut though Ray "Vecchio" Kowalski's fuzzy head.
"You do have work to do here." 

"Yeah, yeah, I just overslept, sir. I'll be there in half an hour." 

"I'll be counting the minutes." Welsh ended the wake-up call with a click.

He switched off the phone and looked down at his hands, knowing they
were the hands of his dreamed Other One. 

Ray flung the phone on the nightstand and looked around. The warmth,
safety and security was gone. The cold reality of sweaty sheets, flat
hair and a crumpled pillow in his arms took hold. He had woke up like
this before. In the weeks following his separation from Stella such dreams
had been a nightly occurrence. Before their marriage, even as a teenager,
he would dream of her, only her. 

But the dream face had changed. Now, dark hair took the place of a golden
mane; solid muscles replaced soft curves and in his mind, a deeper voice
whispered his name. 

He was in love again.

With Benton Fraser.