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ds_flashfictionArgh. I've been (ahem) angsting over this for a couple of days, but I think that may have been the deadline that just went sailing past my head, so it's put-up or shut-up time.
UNUSUAL
As usual, it took only a few strokes before he was rock hard.
He licked his dry lips. Pleasure radiated through his groin and out into his hips, which started to thrust upward, begging for a tighter, faster grip.
He was greedy in this, made so by years of denial. All those years when he had nothing but his own familiar hand every night. Inuvik. Tuktoyuktuk. Yellowknife. The Yukon, Chicago. Always his own hand. Loneliness and deprivation -- self-imposed, of course, but no less cold for all that. It wasn't joyous. It wasn't even particularly *enjoyable*. It was merely something a lonely man did in order to survive.
Then Ray had bounded into his life, full of energy and charm, with his wiry body and electric smile, and an act -- this act -- which had become so routine as to be automatic had suddenly been fresh and full of fire and longing. He had indulged with unprecedented frequency and every delicious, shuddering climax was a painful reminder of what he didn't have.
What wouldn't he have given, in those days, to feel Ray's strong hands touch his skin, to taste Ray's beautiful lips kissing him, to hear Ray's voice urging him to come?
Which was worse? Dead and cold or alive and burning?
Thinking of those times now sent a frozen jolt directly from his heart to his groin, the combination of pain and searing pleasure eliciting a loud groan. His hips bucked once. Twice. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to hold back the animal noises, but it was impossible. He tried to slow down his thrusts, but the hand on his cock urged him on. His moans came faster, in rhythm with the strokes. Faster. Harder. Faster.
As the intensity built, he could feel Ray's panting breath feathering his hair. He heard Ray's voice in his ear, murmuring appreciation and encouragement. It was Ray's well-sucked cock -- hardening again already -- rubbing against his hip.
He struggled against the pleasure that numbed his mind and pulled him down into warm darkness. He struggled to hold on to the image of Ray, so teasing and bright. But his body only wanted to come.
As he lost awareness of anything but the sensations flooding him, he opened his eyes and met Ray's gaze -- dark and hot -- while those long fingers stroked harder and faster.
"It's okay, Frase," Ray whispered. "I got you."
And Fraser's happiness spilled over.
413 words.
UNUSUAL
As usual, it took only a few strokes before he was rock hard.
He licked his dry lips. Pleasure radiated through his groin and out into his hips, which started to thrust upward, begging for a tighter, faster grip.
He was greedy in this, made so by years of denial. All those years when he had nothing but his own familiar hand every night. Inuvik. Tuktoyuktuk. Yellowknife. The Yukon, Chicago. Always his own hand. Loneliness and deprivation -- self-imposed, of course, but no less cold for all that. It wasn't joyous. It wasn't even particularly *enjoyable*. It was merely something a lonely man did in order to survive.
Then Ray had bounded into his life, full of energy and charm, with his wiry body and electric smile, and an act -- this act -- which had become so routine as to be automatic had suddenly been fresh and full of fire and longing. He had indulged with unprecedented frequency and every delicious, shuddering climax was a painful reminder of what he didn't have.
What wouldn't he have given, in those days, to feel Ray's strong hands touch his skin, to taste Ray's beautiful lips kissing him, to hear Ray's voice urging him to come?
Which was worse? Dead and cold or alive and burning?
Thinking of those times now sent a frozen jolt directly from his heart to his groin, the combination of pain and searing pleasure eliciting a loud groan. His hips bucked once. Twice. He bit down on his lower lip, trying to hold back the animal noises, but it was impossible. He tried to slow down his thrusts, but the hand on his cock urged him on. His moans came faster, in rhythm with the strokes. Faster. Harder. Faster.
As the intensity built, he could feel Ray's panting breath feathering his hair. He heard Ray's voice in his ear, murmuring appreciation and encouragement. It was Ray's well-sucked cock -- hardening again already -- rubbing against his hip.
He struggled against the pleasure that numbed his mind and pulled him down into warm darkness. He struggled to hold on to the image of Ray, so teasing and bright. But his body only wanted to come.
As he lost awareness of anything but the sensations flooding him, he opened his eyes and met Ray's gaze -- dark and hot -- while those long fingers stroked harder and faster.
"It's okay, Frase," Ray whispered. "I got you."
And Fraser's happiness spilled over.
413 words.
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Date: 2003-05-14 04:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-05-14 06:40 pm (UTC)