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viciouscats.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ds_recsredux2007-03-06 12:48 pm
viciouscats.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_recsredux2007-03-06 12:48 pm
Untitled
Title: Untitled
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
llassah
Pairing: Ray/Ray, allusions to Fraser/Ray/Ray
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1208 words
Why I'm reccing this fic: because it's CHURCH PORN! YAY! As the author said: "Sex. On a stakeout. In a confessional box. I don't think I need to say much more than that really." And I completely agree with her. :)
He stays quiet, head down and to one side, smiling his fighter’s smile, everything close to the surface, bright flashes and sparks. I don’t know when I lost myself to him, but we walk in step now, and sometimes he dances with me, not around me and I figure that’s enough. I smell incense, wood polish and think of all my unmade confessions as I knead his tense shoulders, leather jacket supple under my grip. I trap, hold, comfort, and he only struggles because he can. His breath is warm in the space between us, I lean in to lick the stubble on his jaw and it’s like I’ve pulled the trigger because his hand’s on the back of my neck and he’s kissing me, nipping at my lower lip, hungry, Christ, so hungry. He’s not bothering with the usual press and retreat of our games, not hiding anything, just growling deep in the back of his throat as he tries to pull me in and keep his balance, half standing, half sitting on the hard bench.
Untitled
Author:
llassahPairing: Ray/Ray, allusions to Fraser/Ray/Ray
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1208 words
Why I'm reccing this fic: because it's CHURCH PORN! YAY! As the author said: "Sex. On a stakeout. In a confessional box. I don't think I need to say much more than that really." And I completely agree with her. :)
He stays quiet, head down and to one side, smiling his fighter’s smile, everything close to the surface, bright flashes and sparks. I don’t know when I lost myself to him, but we walk in step now, and sometimes he dances with me, not around me and I figure that’s enough. I smell incense, wood polish and think of all my unmade confessions as I knead his tense shoulders, leather jacket supple under my grip. I trap, hold, comfort, and he only struggles because he can. His breath is warm in the space between us, I lean in to lick the stubble on his jaw and it’s like I’ve pulled the trigger because his hand’s on the back of my neck and he’s kissing me, nipping at my lower lip, hungry, Christ, so hungry. He’s not bothering with the usual press and retreat of our games, not hiding anything, just growling deep in the back of his throat as he tries to pull me in and keep his balance, half standing, half sitting on the hard bench.
Untitled
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