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butterflyI definitely have thoughts about both Angel and Smallville, but both episodes deserve a rewatching.
Title: Hours and Years
Summary: Benton Fraser watches, remembers and hopes. Post-first-time. Post-Call of the Wild.
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making any money off of them.
Benton still wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here.
Appropriately enough, Ray's voice rang out in his head -- I took this train. I walked this street. I turned this corner and fell into a hug.
Yes, if he wanted to, he could start from the first moment and chart the steps that had led him here.
To this.
He could feel the lithe length of Ray tucked up against him, almost on top of him, one long leg wrapped around him -- even in his sleep, Ray was a contortionist. The heat of a Chicago summer precluded the use of blanket or sheet, so the softness of Ray's skin warred against the gentle glide of cool air from the fan in the bedroom window. Ray's head was tilted down, and his hair rested against Benton's chin, down-soft hair brushing against him each time that Ray breathed or shifted in sleep. Even in the relative dark of the room, Benton could trace both gaze and hand over the long lines of Ray's body. He breathed in deeply, taking in the powerful scent of sweat and sex that nearly covered the other Ray-scents -- hair gel, leather, chocolate, salt and coffee. Ray stirred again, a soft sound of contentment breaking the rhythm of his breathing.
Benton had only shared a bed with one other person and he'd lost so much of that time to sleeping and to sex. Right now, Benton couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. To sleep, when he could study and dream and hold? To act, when he could cherish?
But Victoria hadn't let him.
"Let me," Benton whispered against Ray's hair, tongue flicking out to taste the slight bitterness that lingered on the strands. He palmed Ray's hip -- bone and muscle and skin, velvet and steel covering the pulse of blood and the shimmer of soul. "Let me cherish you."
Ray sighed, the warm puff of breath hot against Benton's skin.
Benton's gaze flickered to the digital clock that rested on the nightstand next to the bed. The glowing numbers reminded him that less than four hours ago, he'd had no true hopes of Ray returning his feelings.
It was after midnight now and it had officially been three years to the day since he'd first met Ray Kowalski. His Ray, Benton allowed himself to think in a burst of possessiveness.
Three years that held so many touches that burned too much and too many looks that hadn't said enough. Three years of watching Ray being distracted by blondes. Three years of being spun by Ray's brilliant smiles and speaking eyes and the timbre of his voice.
Three years and he'd finally tasted Ray's lips until they'd bruised, kissed his eyelids with whispers of touch and tongue, sucked on his throat until Ray had whimpered. He'd licked the sweat from Ray's body, collecting salt and shivers of need.
Less than three hours ago, Ray had promised him everything in a voice that trembled. In return, Benton's hands had shaken when he'd finally been able to caress every inch of Ray's body. Ray had gasped into his mouth and Benton hadn't been able to think of any word apart from a dark and needy 'Ray' that he'd repeated over and over until he'd felt his soul boil over.
Just over two hours ago, Ray had slid into Benton's arms as if they'd done it years. His last words before sleeping had been a breathy 'for keeps'.
Perhaps Benton would never know why he was here. Why Ray had taken the last step and thrust them over the edge that they'd spent the last three years teetering on.
For two last hours, Ray had slept against him, pliant yet clinging. Perhaps the trigger didn't matter, because Ray was here, now.
And Benton let himself begin to hope.
~fade to black
Title: Hours and Years
Summary: Benton Fraser watches, remembers and hopes. Post-first-time. Post-Call of the Wild.
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm not making any money off of them.
Benton still wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here.
Appropriately enough, Ray's voice rang out in his head -- I took this train. I walked this street. I turned this corner and fell into a hug.
Yes, if he wanted to, he could start from the first moment and chart the steps that had led him here.
To this.
He could feel the lithe length of Ray tucked up against him, almost on top of him, one long leg wrapped around him -- even in his sleep, Ray was a contortionist. The heat of a Chicago summer precluded the use of blanket or sheet, so the softness of Ray's skin warred against the gentle glide of cool air from the fan in the bedroom window. Ray's head was tilted down, and his hair rested against Benton's chin, down-soft hair brushing against him each time that Ray breathed or shifted in sleep. Even in the relative dark of the room, Benton could trace both gaze and hand over the long lines of Ray's body. He breathed in deeply, taking in the powerful scent of sweat and sex that nearly covered the other Ray-scents -- hair gel, leather, chocolate, salt and coffee. Ray stirred again, a soft sound of contentment breaking the rhythm of his breathing.
Benton had only shared a bed with one other person and he'd lost so much of that time to sleeping and to sex. Right now, Benton couldn't believe he'd been so foolish. To sleep, when he could study and dream and hold? To act, when he could cherish?
But Victoria hadn't let him.
"Let me," Benton whispered against Ray's hair, tongue flicking out to taste the slight bitterness that lingered on the strands. He palmed Ray's hip -- bone and muscle and skin, velvet and steel covering the pulse of blood and the shimmer of soul. "Let me cherish you."
Ray sighed, the warm puff of breath hot against Benton's skin.
Benton's gaze flickered to the digital clock that rested on the nightstand next to the bed. The glowing numbers reminded him that less than four hours ago, he'd had no true hopes of Ray returning his feelings.
It was after midnight now and it had officially been three years to the day since he'd first met Ray Kowalski. His Ray, Benton allowed himself to think in a burst of possessiveness.
Three years that held so many touches that burned too much and too many looks that hadn't said enough. Three years of watching Ray being distracted by blondes. Three years of being spun by Ray's brilliant smiles and speaking eyes and the timbre of his voice.
Three years and he'd finally tasted Ray's lips until they'd bruised, kissed his eyelids with whispers of touch and tongue, sucked on his throat until Ray had whimpered. He'd licked the sweat from Ray's body, collecting salt and shivers of need.
Less than three hours ago, Ray had promised him everything in a voice that trembled. In return, Benton's hands had shaken when he'd finally been able to caress every inch of Ray's body. Ray had gasped into his mouth and Benton hadn't been able to think of any word apart from a dark and needy 'Ray' that he'd repeated over and over until he'd felt his soul boil over.
Just over two hours ago, Ray had slid into Benton's arms as if they'd done it years. His last words before sleeping had been a breathy 'for keeps'.
Perhaps Benton would never know why he was here. Why Ray had taken the last step and thrust them over the edge that they'd spent the last three years teetering on.
For two last hours, Ray had slept against him, pliant yet clinging. Perhaps the trigger didn't matter, because Ray was here, now.
And Benton let himself begin to hope.