Asylum inspired snapshot

He lays on a makeshift cot, in the room across from the Consulatereception
desk. Drawn taut, his nerves are like a bowstring, every fiber ofhis being
stretched out along a tensile wire. Sleep -- sleep seems soforeign to the
wheaten blonde head thrown back against the pillows.

He shifts restlessly, snuggling further beneath the flannel shirtdraped
backwards across his torso like a blanket. Summer sky eyes driftshut, as he
inhales, the scent of the shirt's owner floods through him, rises around him
like a heady perfume. Spicy. Clean. Intoxicating.

He twists and turns again, a soft groan rising from him, asunbidden his cock
jumps to life, swelling and tightening. A rush of heat coaxedforth by
something so simple as Fraser's scent. Fraser. Beautiful,unattainable,
Fraser. Even as his cock stirs, becomes heavy with need, hisheart lurches
with the depths of feeling stirring within him. Fraser, the oneperson he can
trust. Fraser, the one person that he *loves*.

His thoughts do not help abate his awakening arousal, and hethrows his head
back into the pillows, lips pursed together into a somewhatpetulant and
wicked smile. How would it feel to have Fraser with him? The waythat he
wants -- no *needs* Fraser with him.

In his mind's eye he can feel the silky softness of dark hairbeneath his
fingertips. Can feel the warm breath, and hot mouth trailingalong his jaw
and neck. A small whimper escapes his throat, as his own handsbegin to
travel over his chest, in his mind however, those hands are thesure, certain
hands of his partner. Supple hands that trace and mold their wayalong the
lithe musculature. Hands that coax his desire even higher.

Engorged and straining now, his cock fights for room inside ofhis own faded
denim jeans, and he imagines those clever fingers working slowlyat his fly,
even as his own do. Beneath the lids of his eyes, he envisionseyes of smoky
gray-blue, staring down at him passionately, hungrily. Hisbreathing is a
hissing intake of sharp breath, as he pushes cotton denim to theside, draws
himself out, freeing the weeping organ from it's constraint.

He imagines Fraser's hands, not his own. Hands that gently strokefrom the
thick base, to the sculpted head. Fingers that work deftly,slicking his
almost painfully hard length with pre-ejaculate. Small gutturalmoans and
whimpers rise and echo throughout the room as one skillful handwraps around
the shaft, and begins to work in a slow, yet steady rhythm.

All he sees in his mind is Fraser. Feels Fraser's lips on hisown. Feels
Fraser's hand wrapped around his cock, instead of his own. Feelsurgency and
love in so deep a place inside of him it is frightening. His hipsbegin to
rock, wantonly thrusting his cock through his -- or as his mindis
fantasizing -- Fraser's hand.

He is beyond control now, unable to quell the obscene moans andsighs
escaping him. His back arches, as the pressure/pleasure builds,tingling at
the base of his spine, and threatening to overflow. With a softthud, his
head falls back again onto the pillows, and with some effort, hebites back a
loud, primal cry of pleasure. His hips jerk, and hot white fluidjets out
over his hands, stars forming behind his eyes, as he nearly weepsfrom
pleasure.

"*Ray*." His name is little more then a shocked,passionate gasp, and his
eyes flutter open, to see Fraser, perfect and as beautiful asever, standing
in the doorway, silent witness to Ray's solitary pursuits.

-Fin-


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