Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: Beta by ReginaGiraffe
A little girl shrieked happily in the distance; he jumped, startled out of his half-sleeping peace. It was later than he expected, and the light was fading a little, the sun sinking below the line of trees that lay in a ragged fringe along the edge of the park. He looked over at his companions. Dief and Ray were sprawled, sleeping, on the blanket, Ray's long legs stretched out onto the grass. A shaft of sunlight lay across Ray's face, throwing his features into sharp relief, brightening his light hair and eyelashes to gold. One arm lay folded across his chest, fingers twitching occasionally, his bracelet gleaming dully against his skin.
Fraser began to pack away the remains of their impromptu picnic. He reached over to pick up an apple that had rolled, unnoticed, towards Ray. As he leaned over he heard Ray give a tiny, almost imperceptible sigh, and his expression shifted a little, frowning over some dream, perhaps, disturbed by Fraser's movement. He settled back, unwilling to disturb his friend's rest. He held the apple in his hand, and words unfolded from some dusty corner of his mind: ...comfort me with apples: for I am sick of love.
The Song of Solomon, he thought; not entirely appropriate. He looked around at the park:...our bed is green. The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters are fir. There were no cedar trees here, nor firs, just oak, and the occasional birch and maple.
He had been finishing some paperwork at the Consulate in the late afternoon when he had heard the front door open, and Ray engaging in what passed for polite conversation with Turnbull in the hall. Just the sound of Ray's voice had been enough to relieve some of the biting ache of loneliness that had accompanied him through his day. His duties had prevented him from joining Ray at the 27th for several days, leaving him hungry for even a casual touch from his friend, thirsty for a moment of kinship, of understanding. He had caught himself at night in moments of self-pity, wondering where Ray was, wishing he could be there too. By night on my bed, I sought him whom my soul loveth: I sought him but I found him not.
But Ray had come, bearing a sack full of fragrant Chinese food and another of apples, insisting they spend some time outdoors. A picnic in the park, Ray had said, grabbing one of the blankets from the closet, waking up Dief and chivvying them all out of the door with his usual jittery grace.
So, here they were, Ray relaxed in a glow of light, Dief tired from chasing squirrels and replete with leftover Chinese food. He too was replete - his hunger and thirst for the moment assuaged. He resolutely ignored a deeper ache, a larger need, though the words unravelled in his mind in a bright skein: His left hand should be under my head, and his right hand should embrace me.
He watched as his right hand reached out, breathed in sharply when his fingers brushed spiky blond hair. He heard himself say, foolishly, his voice loud to his own ears, "This is my beloved, and this is my friend". He met Ray's eyes, open now, and even as he froze, even as his breath hitched again, Ray's face lit with puzzled laughter, his eyes warmed with promise. "Fraser?" Ray's voice was husky from sleep. Fraser closed his own eyes, and felt his outstretched hand taken in a firm grip. "Fraser?"
End Comfort Me by calathea
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