Fraser remembers this:

The moon rippling in small waves across the foot of the bed, the gentle tilt of the mattress under him as their bodies swayed, the rustle of cotton as they rolled and turned.

He remembers slow kisses that made him shiver, fingers softly stroking his skin, stroking back and forth and back and forth over his shoulders, arms, legs. He remembers the lean body that enveloped him, warm weight on his chest, warm mouth breathing into him.

There was the distant hum of city life settling into the night, and, closer, the low moans that might have been his name or nothing at all – just soft pants of breath into his ear. There was the motion of them rocking together through water-heavy air, arms and hands and mouths treading toward each other.

He remembers them finding one another and holding tightly, so tightly they would carry bruises, impressions of fingertips on their bodies for days afterward. Tiny marks that Fraser would trace over and over; reminders of how it happened, that it did happen, that they made it happen.

They continued all night, or perhaps it was only minutes, only brief minutes. They lost time, were cocooned by it so all that mattered was lips touching lips and tongues sliding inside mouths and hands writing promises against skin.

He remembers the long slide of tongue down his body, the way the hair on his arms stood up when Ray sucked kisses into his thighs, the way he stopped thinking when Ray put his mouth on him, right there, right where Fraser never thought he would.

He floated away and away and then back again, pulled in by the rush of blood flooding his ears, the overlapping rhythm of their heartbeats, and the anchor of Ray’s mouth on his body.

Ray looked up at him, eyes wide and deep. With a languid stretch, he covered Fraser completely and made low, needy sounds.

How Ray shuddered against him, long and slow, and how Ray wrapped liquid-soft arms around him and pressed tiny kisses against his neck, oh, Fraser remembers.

Most clearly, though, Fraser remembers his name, pouring out of Ray over and over onto his skin. His name from those smooth wet lips, spreading over him until he thought he would drown in Ray’s voice.