Adornment
Benton Fraser hadn’t known the importance of that innocuous little strap
of leather when he first spotted it. He was sitting in his customary chair just
to the side of Ray’s, in the middle of the bullpen at the 27th. One
of the drawers in Ray’s desk was jammed, so he had perhaps, in afterthought,
applied too much force to pull it loose. The contents, and not just the forms
he had been looking for, sprayed out from the depths of the drawer in a most
spectacular way. The bouts of laughter in the air told him as much. He had
immediately turned to the task of collecting and sorting the accumulated odds
and ends, putting everything back in good order.
That had left him with the piece of leather strap, dangling from his
fingers.
And a Ray who, already flushed from laughing at Fraser’s predicament,
had inexplicably turned a different shade of red.
Much like the red hue of Ray’s face right now, but not as dark as the
beautiful purple hue of Ray’s erection, proudly jutting up, the dark leather
strap wound around the root keeping him from reaching the sharp edge of orgasm.
Ray’s cock was mere inches from his mouth, kneeling as he was between Ray’s
long legs.
Fraser couldn’t resist leaning forward and licking the vein running up
to the tip, and, hearing Ray’s strangled moan, sucking the tip, just for a few
moments. No more, or he would ejaculate all too soon; the strong taste of Ray’s
pre-come made him lose control like almost nothing else.
Ray spread his legs further, nudging upwards with his groin, signalling
him to get on with the fucking program, no doubt. He obliged, of course.
For, who wouldn’t want to accept an invitation from Ray Kowalski to taste his
centre, to feel the muscles of his opening quiver around their tongue?
Benton Fraser would, and he did. Holding Ray’s hips down under his
shaking hands, he bowed his head. He sniffed and licked around the already wet
opening, and plunged his tongue inside again, rasping it against the places he
knew gave Ray the most pleasure.
It was rewarding, almost gloatingly so, to listen to Ray’s screams and
moans. But he had learned to listen carefully, because the line between
absolute pleasure and unwanted pain was easy to miss. He checked Ray’s
glistening torso, listened to his laboured breathing, analysed his shaking and
squirming, and now…now…finally…
Fraser jerked the leather strap off Ray’s cock, pushed his bony
knees up, and plunged inside Ray with one fast stroke.
Platitudes couldn’t describe this, and he was for once glad his mind
didn’t try to. Because this…this was so perfect words eluded him. He squeezed
his eyes shut for good measure, because if he looked at Ray now, even a quick
glimpse of Ray, open and vulnerable under him; it would make him come in
seconds. Which had been known to happen.
Instead he concentrated on being inside Ray, giving him those long, hard
strokes that made him, Ray, his lover, convulse and yell more, and
Christ, fuck, and that which Fraser secretly yearned to hear, in Ray’s
most broken voice; Frase.
“Frase. Look at me.”
Ray’s whisper untied what Fraser had come to think of as his personal
bindings, letting him clutch Ray’s hands, change the angle of his trusts to
feel Ray contract around him, and spurt his seed between them. Letting him
swell and empty himself deep inside Ray, like it was something natural, to
become so unraveled.
Later, waking up in Ray’s arms, feeling the sweat and come cool between
them, he lay still, listening to Ray’s mumblings. “Who knew…leather…”
“Who’d…Frase, you awake yet?” Ray tugged him closer
to his side, kissing his temple.
“Yes, Ray. Yes.” He always employed his ability to take a few moments of “force-rest” while
together with Ray. There was no sense in wasting their time together with
sleeping.
“Let’s shower, Frase. Then sleep. Both of us.”