Using Ray
by Kalena

I roll a stiff nipple between thumb and forefinger, and Ray moans low in his throat. The vibrations carry through his ribs to my lips. Lust slams through me like rage, corroding everything in its path. I bite down on a rib to feel him jerk and twist under me. I am painting my breath on his body with my tongue, when what I want to do is throw my head back and bellow like a bull elk in rut.

I want. I want. I want.

This was not supposed to happen.

By choice, I have wanted nothing for so long that I forgot what it does to a man. Now it ignites a firestorm within me, my good intentions disintegrating to ash.

It had been a joke. Ray did not laugh.

He'd been in the middle of another complaint about the paucity of his love life -- as if I were not more pathetically alone than he -- when, simply to shut him up, I blandly offered my services. The shock itself should have kept him quiet long enough for me to finish dinner in peace.

Ray has always considered me oddly sexless, even innocent. I suppose, outwardly, I have seemed so. It is a useful means of deflection. Still, how innocent could a grown man possibly be? I have lived among the musk-ox, yes, but I have also lived among the Inuit, and among the trainees at Depot. I have lived in barren lands where the only hope of physical solace was . . . anyone available, where friends comfort each other in that most basic of ways.

I should have been wise enough to expect the unexpected.

I'd already launched into my reasoning -- ostensibly serious, but trying to hide the smirk behind my words -- when Ray shook himself out of his poleaxed state and asked, "You mean it?"

The joke was on me.

The undefended need on his face was enough to halt me in my tracks. His complaints were more than just idle chatter. His desperation for human contact had driven him to lengths I couldn't have forseen. Ray was my friend. I could not back down.

Since that day, we'd had several pleasant, if fumbling, encounters. The added dimension in our . . . relationship . . . did not seem to be injurious.

Now, with an unbearable craving that moves my hands and my mouth, what was originally a joke seems more dangerous than I could ever have imagined. My lust overcame me with Victoria, and left me soiled. I donít want to do that to Ray. I am on the verge of an irreparable act; this is too much to be waved off as comfort between two lonely men. I try to marshal my reserves, but they scatter. I am too far gone.

My tongue is deep in his warm, yielding mouth as I reach for his erection. We have never kissed. The sudden melting of his body, like caramel over an apple, spikes painfully into my midsection.

I want. I want.

Still devouring his mouth, I tug at his right leg, gaining access to all that is important to me now. If I could, I would feel shame at using Ray in this manner. Afterward, when it is too late, I will.

I hate to part with the exquisite pleasure of his mouth, but I do. Reaching for the lubricant, I squeeze plenty on my fingers and shift between his legs. With one hand, I stroke his erection; with the other . . . I shudder at thoughts of him splayed under me as I massage his anus. Looking up, I see his eyes are so filled with sexual heat that he isn't likely to protest. Not now.

Even when I breach the ring, he simply grunts and thrusts back as best he can. I add another finger when he has relaxed into my touch. More, I want more, but for more, I must withdraw; he moans. Kneeling, I haul his legs roughly over my shoulders. Staring transfixed at the nearly pleading look on his face, I gasp for control that is long gone. This has become inevitable. Ray, trapped in his need and his exigency, will not say no. I will do as my body, my desire, demands I must.

Ray's body has demands of its own, and he blurts out, "Now! Goddamn it, now!"

Entry is difficult, but it would have to be impossible in order to stop me now. I use as much care as I'm capable of. Ray grimaces at the pain of intrusion, but I continue to stroke him and murmur words that come from somewhere I've never been. I tell him how beautiful he is, and how strong and good; I recite snatches of poetry and mouth unintelligible pleas for forgiveness.

I want.

When he is relaxed again, I press my advantage to its fullest and begin a slow, relentless rhythm. Physically, I am relentless. Emotionally, I am shattered.

Being inside his body, using him to slake my unstoppable lust, is so good that there are no words to describe it. The joining of our bodies could be a furnace, we have created so much heat. His sweat gleams across his collarbone; mine drips into my eyes. Itís unfortunate that the heat is only on the outside. Inside my skin, even as orgasm builds, I am cold to the bone.

For the first time, the sensation of cold is not a pleasant one.

My body will not be denied. The ecstasy of release spirals through me. It fades away too soon, leaving me too empty. My strangled cries seem to spark Ray's orgasm; streaks of ejaculate wet my hand and stripe his belly. It is over. It is over, and God only knows what the consequences will be.

Ray looks up, his gaze still cloudy with passion, and says, "Jesus, Fraser, God -- love you, love you -- "

Warmth begins to steal back into my soul as I recognize -- finally, exactly --what it is that I want.

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