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ds_flashfiction2004-03-02 03:49 pm
jenboo.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2004-03-02 03:49 pm
Entry tags:
For Kass
because reading her comments made me come up with this. My apologies if it's rather derivative...
675 words of post-MotB remembrances of Fraser-whomping.
Aftermath
by JennyB.
Ray closed his eyes, not able to face himself in the mirror. The memories of the swing he took at Fraser, the swing he took from Fraser, the anger and the fear of their underwater adventure all swam around in his head and made it hard to look at the fading bruise and the extra baggy eyes that would look back from that piece of silver-backed glass.
He stood at the sink in the bathroom of a tidy, clean, reasonably priced motel in Michigan and tried to calm his breathing. He would not let his hormones get the best of him. He would not let the remembered adrenaline make his skin prickle with the need to touch himself.
He would not palm his slowly growing erection as he thought about the passion of their fight on the lakeshore. He would not hump his hand while his knuckles recalled the scrape of Fraser’s light stubble as his fist connected with Fraser’s jaw.
Groan.
Okay, maybe he would.
Suddenly very aware of the sound he’d made, Ray opened his eyes, quickly turned on the shower, stripped and hopped into the cool, but gradually warming spray. His erection bobbed, demanding attention.
Ray closed his eyes again and let the warm water pound between his shoulders while he curled his thumb and forefinger into a circle and started stroking. This time his mind drifted to that thing Fraser did with his mouth. That buddy-breathing thing. Only Ray turned it into a kiss, an angry, dirty kiss that was like punching and dancing at the same time.
Fighting or fucking, his body just didn’t care. The erection was there no matter what.
Ray turned himself to lean on the shower wall, his mouth against his raised forearm, body shuddering as he came.
Just then the door slammed open and he heard Fraser’s voice.
“Ray, I’m terribly sorry, I just couldn’t wait anymore and the lobby doesn’t have public restrooms.” Fraser didn’t sound all that apologetic, though. He sounded snarky and pissed.
Calming his breathing, Ray rinsed away the product of his quick little jerk, shampooing his hair while he listened to Fraser take a whiz.
“You could have at least knocked,” he complained as he rinsed his hair.
“I did, but you seemed to be ignoring me.”
Hearing the flush of the toilet, Ray turned off the water, reached an arm out of the shower curtain and grabbed a towel to start drying off. This felt good. They’d been kind of quiet since they’d gotten back to dry land. \
“You got a problem, Mr. Polite?”
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I’m getting rather tired of you deliberately provoking me.”
“Me? Provoking you? Seems like it’s the other way around, pal.”
Ray yanked open the shower curtain and was surprised to see Fraser in nothing but a pair of boxers and a tank t-shirt. He looked at Fraser’s face, saw the ghost of the bruise he’d put there, watched Fraser’s nostrils flare as he smelled the steamy air that poured from the now-open shower. Fraser’s eyes glazed over a bit and widened ever-so-slightly. Then something dawned on Ray.
Fucking was way better than fighting. Maybe, just maybe, they were fighting because they didn’t think they could fuck.
Ray licked his bottom lip and stared at Fraser’s mouth. Fraser’s tongue snuck out and flicked over his own lower lip.
“Fraser, it’s okay,” he said, his voice calmer than he thought it was going to sound.
Fraser’s eyes focused again and Ray understood the heat there for the first time.
“It is?”
Holding his towel with his left hand, Ray stepped out of the tub and raised his right to touch the spot where his fist had kissed Fraser’s jaw. He stroked it with his thumb, then let his lips gently touch the spot.
“I know this isn’t very logical, but…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence because Fraser was buddy-breathing again, only this time without the lake and the air.
“I’m willing to trust your instinct on this, Ray.”
~end~
675 words of post-MotB remembrances of Fraser-whomping.
Aftermath
by JennyB.
Ray closed his eyes, not able to face himself in the mirror. The memories of the swing he took at Fraser, the swing he took from Fraser, the anger and the fear of their underwater adventure all swam around in his head and made it hard to look at the fading bruise and the extra baggy eyes that would look back from that piece of silver-backed glass.
He stood at the sink in the bathroom of a tidy, clean, reasonably priced motel in Michigan and tried to calm his breathing. He would not let his hormones get the best of him. He would not let the remembered adrenaline make his skin prickle with the need to touch himself.
He would not palm his slowly growing erection as he thought about the passion of their fight on the lakeshore. He would not hump his hand while his knuckles recalled the scrape of Fraser’s light stubble as his fist connected with Fraser’s jaw.
Groan.
Okay, maybe he would.
Suddenly very aware of the sound he’d made, Ray opened his eyes, quickly turned on the shower, stripped and hopped into the cool, but gradually warming spray. His erection bobbed, demanding attention.
Ray closed his eyes again and let the warm water pound between his shoulders while he curled his thumb and forefinger into a circle and started stroking. This time his mind drifted to that thing Fraser did with his mouth. That buddy-breathing thing. Only Ray turned it into a kiss, an angry, dirty kiss that was like punching and dancing at the same time.
Fighting or fucking, his body just didn’t care. The erection was there no matter what.
Ray turned himself to lean on the shower wall, his mouth against his raised forearm, body shuddering as he came.
Just then the door slammed open and he heard Fraser’s voice.
“Ray, I’m terribly sorry, I just couldn’t wait anymore and the lobby doesn’t have public restrooms.” Fraser didn’t sound all that apologetic, though. He sounded snarky and pissed.
Calming his breathing, Ray rinsed away the product of his quick little jerk, shampooing his hair while he listened to Fraser take a whiz.
“You could have at least knocked,” he complained as he rinsed his hair.
“I did, but you seemed to be ignoring me.”
Hearing the flush of the toilet, Ray turned off the water, reached an arm out of the shower curtain and grabbed a towel to start drying off. This felt good. They’d been kind of quiet since they’d gotten back to dry land. \
“You got a problem, Mr. Polite?”
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact. I’m getting rather tired of you deliberately provoking me.”
“Me? Provoking you? Seems like it’s the other way around, pal.”
Ray yanked open the shower curtain and was surprised to see Fraser in nothing but a pair of boxers and a tank t-shirt. He looked at Fraser’s face, saw the ghost of the bruise he’d put there, watched Fraser’s nostrils flare as he smelled the steamy air that poured from the now-open shower. Fraser’s eyes glazed over a bit and widened ever-so-slightly. Then something dawned on Ray.
Fucking was way better than fighting. Maybe, just maybe, they were fighting because they didn’t think they could fuck.
Ray licked his bottom lip and stared at Fraser’s mouth. Fraser’s tongue snuck out and flicked over his own lower lip.
“Fraser, it’s okay,” he said, his voice calmer than he thought it was going to sound.
Fraser’s eyes focused again and Ray understood the heat there for the first time.
“It is?”
Holding his towel with his left hand, Ray stepped out of the tub and raised his right to touch the spot where his fist had kissed Fraser’s jaw. He stroked it with his thumb, then let his lips gently touch the spot.
“I know this isn’t very logical, but…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence because Fraser was buddy-breathing again, only this time without the lake and the air.
“I’m willing to trust your instinct on this, Ray.”
~end~