Story Notes: Written in March 2008.

"Of course, I've always been partial to pansies," Turnbull says. Ray blinks, and thinks for a panicked second that a truly weird pass is being made here. Then he mentally rewinds the last couple of minutes of conversation that he wasn't paying attention to, and realizes that they're in the middle of a chat about Turnbull's garden.

"Well, yeah," he says, "who isn't?" He leans to the left a little to peer around Turnbull, and tries to give Fraser a will-this-ever-end face that isn't too obviously a will-this-ever-end face, because he got a lecture about that after the last Consulate shindig, and he has no intention of letting tonight get wasted on lecturing.

Fraser gives him a tiny smile and a subtle one-shoulder shrug, and keeps circulating with the canapes. The smile and shrug don't tell Ray much except that Fraser's impatient too. Which is cool to know, actually. They've only been--whatever they are--for a few weeks now, and Fraser's so tamped down and quiet and not-pushing that Ray's just starting to figure out that Fraser really is into it, wants it and needs it as much as Ray does maybe.

Ray listens to Turnbull and nods--yeah, soil aeration, imported earthworms, absolutely--and tries really hard to muster up some Jedi mind powers to send the whoever-they-are's from Toronto out the door already, c'mon, it's Chicago, folks, there are plenty more interesting things for you to do than eat stuffed mushrooms.

But they're leaving in a trickle when it should be a flood, and Ray's bored and itchy and seriously horny, and it hits him all of a sudden that if he can't be fucking Fraser right now the next best thing to do is to fuck with Fraser's head.

"You know," he says to Turnbull, "I heard the...assistant...associate...that guy over there is really into, uh, dirt. Plants. Nature."

Turnbull lights up and zooms in on the other guy, and Ray grins, steps out into the hall for a second and pops the fastener on his watch. Goes back into the party room with it slid halfway down his hand, trying to fall off his knuckles; waits for Fraser to turn away from the latest Canadian canap-eater.

Ray holds up his hand, watch sliding almost down to his elbow, and says, "Something's screwed up with the clasp, here, help me out?" Fraser sets his tray down carefully on a side table, and takes Ray's arm in both hands, his thumbs resting on the inside of Ray's wrist as he peers at the watch clasp. And Ray's pretty sure this is getting to him, because he has this thing about Ray's wrists. He's never said anything, but he's always touching them, kissing them, and the last few times he and Ray were making seriously intimate, he circled both wrists tight with his hands and kept looking at Ray and glancing away, licking his lips like he wanted to say something but couldn't quite do it. Ray's pretty sure Fraser wants to tie him up, which, hell yes. But he's gonna make Fraser say it.

So just making him touch Ray there when they're surrounded by people is probably enough, but to make sure Ray bends his head down a little bit when Fraser's snapping the clasp back, saying, "It seems fine, Ray, I don't see anything wrong with it." Bends his head down and says, "Huh," all surprised and confused, and makes sure his huh breathes out warm on the backs of Fraser's hands. Fraser's fingers tighten around Ray's wrist with a little shiver, and bent close to him like this Ray can hear the tiniest gasp. Score.

And for the rest of the freakin' hour that it takes for all the stragglers to get themselves out of there, Ray just rubs it in. Stays close to Fraser and talks to him about nice polite public-type things but in a low soft not-public voice. Tips his head down to look up at Fraser through his lashes. Takes a seat in one of the fancy little chairs that looks like it's made out of icing--and sits like a cowboy, slid down and spread out.

Fraser completely loses the thread of a conversation twice, drops his tray once, and steps on Thatcher's foot.

When he and Ray are finally ushering Thatcher out with the very last visiting Canadian, Ray mumbles something for their benefit about staying and ordering pizza and Fraser says, "Of course, Ray," but he sounds half-strangled. And when he gets the door locked and turns around slowly and just stares at Ray, Ray gets kind of freaked, because Fraser looks pissed off, and maybe, maybe Ray was a little too much of a bastard there.

"Ray," Fraser says, low and tight and strained, "Ray, that was--vicious," and oh fuck, and Ray opens his mouth to apologize, but then Fraser. Fraser who mostly waits for Ray to get things going, Fraser who's always giving him that am I asking for too much? look. Fraser just fucking grabs him and shoves him up against the wall, and hands are everywhere, all over Ray, up his shirt and down his pants, and Christ, Fraser is fucking biting his shoulder, and Ray was just exactly perfectly the right amount of bastard, yes.