Moving
by Rowan F.
Fraser answered the door on the first ring. He was already waiting in the
hall, dressed
as casually
as Ray had ever seen him in a light blue flannel shirt and faded jeans.
Of
course, he still
managed to look impeccably groomed he was Fraser, after all.
"Hello Ray! Thank you so much for helping me out, I really do appreciate
it." Fraser's
greeting smile
as he waved Ray into the Consulate foyer was so sunny that Ray couldn't
help answering
with a big, goofy grin of his own. Fraser was so fantastically nerdy that
way. Unlike
most of the guys Ray'd ever hung out with, Fraser never acted like he was
too
cool, or bored,
or whatever, to care about stuff. Nope, when Fraser was enthusiastic
about something,
it was written all over his face even if that something was just some
skinny Chicago
cop showing up at his door to help him move into a crappy little apartment
in a lousy neighborhood
in a city he didn't even want to be living in.
"Hey buddy, not a problem. You need any help with packing or anything?"
"Oh, no, I'm all done. My things are over there by the stairs. I just have
to get
Diefenbaker's
food, won't be a moment," Fraser said, disappearing down the hallway
towards the
Consulate kitchen.
Ray decided to start loading Fraser's belongings into the GTO, and walked
over to the
small lineup
of items neatly stacked against the wall. He shook his head in amazement.
There were a
couple of duffel bags, a garment bag, a bedroll, and two boxes one filled
with books.
That was it. Period. Finito. Compared to him, I live like goddamned royalty,
like Little
Lord Whatsisname.
"You know, helping you move shouldn't even count as a favor," Ray said
with a short
laugh as Fraser
emerged from the back carrying a large, mostly full, sack of kibble and
Dief's stainless
steel food dish.
"Does that mean I don't have to bribe you with pineapple pizza after all?"
"Well, you don't have to," Ray said, shouldering one duffel bag and reaching
for the
carton of books.
"But if you're gonna go and get all Canadian and polite, and insist on
it..."
"Oh, I do, Ray. I do insist."
Dief wuffled and emerged from beneath Turnbull's desk, stretching lazily.
"Guess he insists too."
"Hmm. Somehow I'm not entirely convinced that his agreement is unselfishly
motivated,"
Fraser said, eyeing the wolf speculatively. Ray tried to suppress a grin.
The
true nature
of the relationship between the two displaced Canadians was no less puzzling
to him now than
it had ever been, but Ray had come to feel almost envious of Dief's ability
to push Fraser's
buttons. Wish he would be that unguarded with me.
Ray gave his head a little clearing shake. Where the hell had that come
from? He
glanced over
at Fraser, who was still standing there having some kind of silent
conversation
with the suspiciously deaf wolf. God, Kowalski, jealous of Diefenbaker?
Well,
it was true
though, wasn't it? Of course it wasn't just the wolf. Ray couldn't help
wondering
couldn't stop wondering was more like it if Fraser had been more open
before Vecchio
had left for his undercover gig in Vegas. Ray shook his head again. More
open? I gotta
quit reading Frannie's Cosmo in the can.
***************
Fraser kept waiting for the inevitable comment about the location of his
new
apartment. Ray
Vecchio, he knew, would have argued long and strong against getting
another place
in the same neighborhood as his previous building on West Racine. In fact,
Ray Vecchio
had complained about his old apartment for the entire two years he'd lived
there, every
single time he visited. But thus far, Ray Kowalski had failed to utter
a single
critical remark.
He was just helping out, whistling a tune that played frequently on the
radio of the
GTO, and unloading Fraser's belongings from the trunk.
"Where to, Frase?"
"Second floor, Ray. It's apartment 2B."
"Why is that not surprising, my bookish friend?" Ray said, chuckling, as
he used his
back and shoulders
to push open the front door of the building, his long arms wound
around the carton
of books. "2B or not 2B, that is the question..."
Fraser stood rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the sight of Ray in his
worn-thin black
t-shirt, black
jeans and boots and that endearingly unruly blond hair bracing open
the
door to this
crumbling inner-city Chicago tenement and ... spouting Hamlet. How did
Ray
always know
how to be so perfect? So charming, and funny, and unexpectedly ... perfect?
Fraser felt
a smile begin to twitch. He was unaccountably glad, suddenly, that he'd
asked
Ray to help
him move, even though there really wasn't that much to do. He was gladder
still that Ray
would be staying for dinner.
These moments were happening more and more frequently. Moments where time
seemed to draw
briefly still, held like a snapshot Fraser could study and store carefully
away in his
memory. What was funny, or perhaps ironic, was how the events triggering
these small,
conscious flares would probably appear to be utterly mundane to most people.
In his life,
however, they were rare, few, and jealously treasured. And then he wished,
with a longing
that surprised him, that his experience of happiness would not forever
be so
fleeting as
a shared joke and a pizza dinner. That it could last. That Ray might never
leave
at all.
"Pitter patter, B. buddy! This box is getting heavy," Ray said, startling
Fraser into
moving forward
again. "What are all these, your dad's journals? Guess he was as talkative
as you are,"
Ray added, hefting the carton of books and shooting Fraser a wink as he
passed through
the door into the dark hallway.
***************
Ray couldn't erase the image from his mind. The expression on Fraser's
face as he
stood on the
cracked sidewalk in front of the building at first made Ray wonder if he'd
gotten the Shakespeare
thing wrong. Then he'd noticed the subtle curve of the mouth
that indicated
the Fraser-amused-half-smile, and he realized that Fraser was staring
because he'd
gotten it right. Because he'd thought of it at all. And Ray was beginning
to
recognize the
warm and squishy feelings that seemed to accompany any evidence that
he'd made his
friend happy. God, not this again. But it had been sneaking up on him for
weeks now, maybe
even longer, so there wasn't much use in pretending he didn't know.
It was all because of that damned smile. That beautiful, brilliant, all-too-rare
smile of
Fraser's that
Ray had become completely infatuated with. And he knew now that he'd do
just about anything
to make it happen stand on his head, knock himself out, make
corny jokes
about Shakespeare whatever it took to get the corners of that gorgeous
mouth to turn
up. Gorgeous? Yeah, hell, and he didn't even have to feel funny for thinking
it, 'cause it
was just the truth. Fraser was so beautiful that Ray had even caught
Lieutenant Welsh
giving him the ol' roving eyeball a couple of times.
Not that that made Ray's crush any less dumb. It was seriously time to
find a
girlfriend.
He hadn't gone out on so much as a second date with anyone since Stella
left,
and now look
what his twisted little brain was doing: fixating on the big Boy Scout.
It was
crazy. And like
there was a snowball's chance in hell of anything coming of it, anyway.
Fraser got propositioned
probably every damned day of his life and by much better
prospects than
funny-haired, divorced Chicago detectives, who, oh yeah, just happened
to be the wrong
sex. Of course, Fraser just got flustered and turned everyone down
anyway. God
only knew what he was looking for.
They got up to 2B, and piled Fraser's stuff against the far wall. Ray looked
around. It
was pretty much
what he'd expected it would be: a little bare bones, white-walled box of
a studio, but
with good western light from two larger-than-average windows. It figured
that Fraser
would want good light after bunking in that dark little office at the Consulate.
Fraser set the bedroll and duffel bag he was carrying down next to the
spot where Ray
had put the
carton of books, and he hung the garment bag containing his uniforms up
in
the single,
small closet. Diefenbaker made his own round of the place, snuffling thoroughly
along the floor.
"Well, this is it."
"I didn't think it was gonna be Lake Shore Drive." Ray walked over to the
windows to
check out any
possible view. Nothing much, unless you considered a wide,
Sunday-afternoon-empty
avenue lined with more dingy brick apartment buildings
particularly
scenic.
"I know," Fraser said, then added a little self-consciously, "most people
I've met here
have difficulty
understanding how simple my housing requirements are."
Ray nodded.
"I lived out of my car for about a week after I dropped out of college.
Going back to
my parents place
was out of the question, 'cause my dad just about disowned me for
quitting school,
and Stella couldn't put me up 'cause of her roommate. It wasn't the most
fun thing I've
ever done, and I'm real happy now to have my TV and stereo... but I get
the simple thing,
I do. Fact is, I'm not sure I totally trust a person who's never spent
a
night in their
car."
"I've never slept an entire night in a car, Ray. Well, except on stakeouts...
and then
one generally
sleeps in shifts..."
"You grew up in a damned snow bank and you've been living in your office
for most of
a year, Fraser.
I think you get a walk on the technicality, there. I meant it, uh, you
know,
symbolically."
"Ah, I see," Fraser said, but Ray was pretty sure he didn't really. Maybe
he should've
tried to explain
it using narwhals or ice fishing instead.
"So, whaddya say we order that pizza and inaugurate this place, huh?" Ray
suggested,
pulling his
cell phone out of his back pocket.
They sat on the floor beneath the westernmost window, out of the glare
of the late
afternoon sun,
the open box of pizza between them. Diefenbaker had taken up his usual
spot at Ray's
feet, waiting alertly, and not-quite-patiently, to be handed the crusts
of his
slices. Fraser
had given up trying to break Ray of the habit a long time ago. He even
seemed grudgingly
amused by it, so long as it was just pizza crusts. Donuts were another
story though,
and Ray still had to palm those to Dief on the sly.
Fraser bit into a second piece of pizza and smiled suddenly. Ray automatically
glanced
down to see
if he'd dropped a glob of sauce on his shirt.
"What're you grinning at?"
"Pineapple."
"Pineapple is funny?"
"Not really funny, Ray, just unlikely. I didn't see much pineapple growing
up in the
Territories.
Pizza itself was a pretty exotic thing."
"I can't even imagine that," Ray said, shaking his head. "Sometimes it's
hard to
remember that
you're really from somewhere else."
"Not for me," Fraser said in a quiet voice that made Ray's heart ache.
Ray knew Fraser was unhappy. He knew the whole story about how Fraser had
wound
up in Chicago
in the first place, and it was a fucked up tale if he'd ever heard one.
How
could anyone
take this guy this beautiful guy, this great cop out of those Northwest
Areas where
he belonged and stick him in a city and make him hand out tourist literature
and replace
lost passports? And for what? For being smart enough to figure out that
it
was a member
of the same goddamned RCMP Fraser loved so much that had orchestrated
his father's
murder? It made Ray crazy to think about it. Sometimes he wondered if the
RCMP didn't
have an Inspector in charge of Special Hells. Thatcher'd be a good one
to
head up that
unit.
"Why don't you quit?" Ray asked, suddenly finding the nerve to ask the
question he'd
been wondering
about for months.
"Quit what?" Fraser's tone was mild, but Ray had the feeling he was doing
that
dense-on-purpose
thing.
"The fucking RCMP, that's what. I mean, I love being a cop, Fraser, don't
get me
wrong. You can't
put up with the crappy hours and crappy pay and crappy coffee, and all
the ugliness
and misery if you don't. But at the end of the day it's still a job to
me. Hell, I
was ready to
chuck it all that day in the crypt you staked out Marcus Ellery with me,
remember? The
badge is something I can take off. I get the feeling it's different with
you."
"It's, ah ... complicated," Fraser began, putting down his pizza on the
paper plate
between his
outstretched legs as though no longer hungry.
"You deserve better than what they've given you."
"No." Fraser looked down, probably to avoid Ray's searching gaze. "I really
don't."
***************
Feeling Ray's continued, disbelieving stare, Fraser gathered up the pizza
box and
plates, carrying
them to the kitchenette's narrow countertop. He was never going to be
able to explain
it, why he had to stick this out, why he had to do what he could to make
amends, for
his father and for Victoria. Ray would yell at him and tell him none of
it was
his fault, but
Ray didn't understand. Ray hadn't seen the look on Victoria's face when
she
realized that
he was really going to turn her in after she'd saved his life. Ray hadn't
been on the
phone that last Christmas, hearing the worry in all the things his father
wasn't
saying. In the
things his father never said. And Ray hadn't been the one not forcing the
issue, not going
to him, anyway. Now his father was dead, and Victoria was a murderer
and a fugitive
and he'd almost run away with her anyhow, even when it was too late.
He'd put Ray
Vecchio's life and family at risk ... and people thought he was good?
"Fraser! Cut it out. What are you doing, man? You're disappearing on me
here."
Fraser turned around from the counter, startled to realize that Ray had
come up to
stand right
behind him.
"I'm sorry, Ray. I don't mean "
"You know, talking won't actually kill you."
Ray's hand was gentle on his arm, and Fraser closed his eyes briefly at
the gesture.
It might, if it means you discover the truth about me.
"Ray, I ..."
"Come on, I unload stuff on you all the time. You know every miserable
little thing
about me, and
I don't know squat about what the hell goes on in your head."
He should have foreseen this. Ray was getting angry now, starting to pace
the small
room, sounding
insulted. But how could he tell Ray what he wanted to know? Because
while Ray had
revealed intimate, even embarrassing things about his own life, he had
never done anything
as bad as the things Fraser had done. The only thing that came close
was his part
in Beth Botrelle's harrowing stay on death row, and even then Ray had
managed to get
it right before it was too late. As desperately as Fraser wanted to take
Ray into his
confidence, how could he without destroying Ray's opinion of him? Ray,
who
was his only
real friend here besides Diefenbaker, and the one person who had come to
mean the most
to him?
"I... this is rather ... difficult for me."
Fraser knew he wasn't the easiest person to get along with. That although
he'd
become an astute
observer and student of human nature, his own actual experience left
quite a bit
to be desired. He was irritating. Annoying. And those were assessments
given
by his friends.
Both Rays called him stubborn, and he supposed that it was true. He was
accustomed to
ruling his own life in a simple and uncompromising fashion, for there had
never been anybody
else to consider. Well, except for Diefenbaker, and just look how
contentious
their relationship got at times. Finding real friends had always been hard.
He just didn't know how to be with people. Oh, he could be polite that
was always
safe. He could
be official, and helpful, and he could listen. But he didn't know how to
just
be. He'd spent
too much time alone to feel entirely comfortable in his own skin when
others were
around. He invariably either retreated inside a shell of grandmother-instilled
and RCMP-honed
formality and professionalism, or worse, found himself so starved for a
human witness
to his thoughts that when he actually got around people he talked too
much and bored
them.
The only time he really knew how to let go was when he was working a case,
when he
could lose himself
in the challenge of a puzzle and the adrenaline of a hunt. And he knew
it
was only the
common thread of police work that had gifted him with the two Rays. Would
either of them
really have had any desire to spend time with him had they met under other
circumstances?
Especially Ray Kowalski, his "inherited" Ray?
Ray Kowalski managed to be entirely himself, even while pretending to be
another man.
From the moment
they first met, that strange, disorienting day Fraser had gotten back
from holiday
to find this spiky-haired blond fireball masquerading as his friend, Ray
Kowalski
had been nothing
but himself, one hundred and ten kilometers an hour. Moving, winking,
teasing. Talking
with so much energy he mangled half his words. He was so alive. So
amazing, captivating,
and/still in love with his ex-wife. Stop it. and...
Fraser looked over at Ray.
Who was still waiting for an answer, and looking angrier by the second.
Oh, dear.
***************
The guy was going to drive him to drink. Fucking Fraser thought he deserved
it exile
and all. He
saw the best in everyone but himself. And he wouldn't talk about it, he
just
bottled up,
and it made Ray nuts. How could anyone so smart and strong and capable
be
so blind? How
can he have so much to spare when it comes to picking me up, and never
cut himself
a break? It wasn't good. It wasn't healthy. Frase was just gonna go postal
or
something one
day, lose it completely. Snap, like he must have when that Metcalf chick
came to town,
when he'd wound up shot in the back by Ray Vecchio. Fraser had come
this close to
dying. The bullet was still in there. Ray had read the report, sketchy
as it
was. He'd almost
died a year before Ray had even met him.
He might never have gotten to know Fraser. Ray scrubbed his hands through
his hair
and squeezed
his eyes shut trying desperately not to think about what he'd do or where
he'd be without
Fraser.
Shit. Now he was really wigging out. Fraser was his favorite person on
the planet
these post-Stella
days, the best friend he'd ever had. Sure, he was weird, but he was also
the most trustworthy
guy Ray had ever known. And the smartest. Hell, yeah. And Fraser
treated Ray
like he was smart too. He didn't roll his eyes when Ray's jumbled thoughts
spit
out the wrong
words for things, like Stella used to. Fraser always knew exactly what
he
meant, and he'd
just supply the right word with that little half-smile and wait for Ray
to
continue. Okay,
sometimes it was annoying when Mr. Information Please put in an
appearance when
Ray wasn't in the mood for it, but mostly he knew Fraser was just trying
to help.
And Christ, the conversations they had! Nobody had talked to Ray about
the things
Fraser did since
college; and Fraser wasn't some snotty, show off kid trying to prove how
deep he was
by batting around Life's Big Questions. No, Fraser really thought about
stuff
that mattered
stuff like justice, and right, and truth and he made Ray think about
it.
And Ray liked
being a person who thought. He liked who he was when he was with Fraser.
He liked being
with Fraser. He wanted to be with him... pretty much all the time. Oh,
God.
It really wasn't
just about Fraser's smile, was it? And it wasn't really just a crush, either.
"Ray? I know what you're thinking..."
//What! No, wait, he didn't really mean that literally.// But what did
he mean? What
the hell did
Fraser mean when he said he thought he deserved the way the RCMP brass
had shipped
him off to Chicago to save face for some bunch of embarrassed politicians?
"So what do you think you deserve, Fraser? What have you done that was
so wrong?
You feel so
guilty over that crazy Victoria chick you think Vecchio's bullet should
have
killed you?"
The anger had sparked up again and Ray resumed pacing, because if he looked
over at
Fraser, he'd
just give in and let it go. And right now, he didn't want to let it go.
He wanted
to have it out.
He was feeling too much. Way, way too much.
"Well, if you really want to talk about should's, Ray, the storm at Fortitude
Pass should
have killed
me ten years before that," Fraser said, an unexpectedly sarcastic bite
in his
voice. "But
Victoria kept me alive. And I thanked her by arresting her and turning
her in."
He was doing that thing again that Ray hated. That thing that sounded logical,
but
was really just
more of his fatalistic bullshit. The way Fraser acted sometimes, it really
was like he
didn't care if he lived or died.
"So is that why you do all the demented maniac stuff you do? You should've
been
dead already
so what does it matter?" Ray was practically yelling now. This was beginning
to feel like
a bizarre retread of the fight they'd had at the waterfront the day Ray
wound
up slugging
Fraser. Ray kind of felt like slugging him now, actually. But he would
never,
never do that
again.
"No." Fraser sounded adamant, indignant, even. Then a pause. An eyebrow
scratch.
"No."
The sonofabitch had actually taken a second to think about it. Ray's hands
shook with
the itch to
grab Fraser by the shoulders and throttle him. Instead he stepped away
and
rubbed at his
forehead in frustration. The veins in his temples began to pound as his
pulse
quickened.
"You are one seriously fucked up individual, Fraser. You hear me?"
Fraser's eyes narrowed and darkened, and Ray could tell he had some smart
ass
comeback he
was biting his tongue on. He turned his back to Ray, and walked over to
the
other side of
the room where his stuff was piled. Ray started to follow, still mad and
not
done taking
a piece out of him, when he heard Fraser muttering something under his
breath.
"What was that you just said?"
Fraser quirked one eyebrow up, making sure Ray saw how pointedly the question
was
being ignored.
Infuriating bastard. Then he gave his bedroll a little kick and it unfurled
neatly lengthwise
along the wall.
"Dammit, Fraser. Do not do that." If there was one thing on the planet
more frustrating
than Mr. Know-it-all
'won't stop arguing' Fraser, it was Mr. Silent Treatment 'you've
wounded me and
I'm gonna sulk about it' Fraser.
Mr. Silent Treatment was sitting on the bedroll now, with his back leaning
against the
wall, arms folded
across his chest, looking away into the corner of the room. Ray knew he
should just
let it go, should probably just leave, go home and cool off. But getting
shut
out was making
him even angrier because they were right back where they'd started. Ray
stalked the
rest of the way across the floor and stood at the edge of the bedroll,
glowering down.
"Tell me what you said."
When Fraser finally looked up, his jaw was tight and his grey eyes had
gone cold. Shit.
I'm just gonna
wind up pushing him further away.
"I said, that for you to call me... what was your charming term? 'Seriously
fucked up?'"
Ray nodded, dropping his head, feeling sick. This wasn't what he wanted
at all. Things
had just spun
out of control somehow. Again. Like they always managed to when Ray and
his crazy temper
were involved.
"I said, 'If that isn't the pot calling the kettle black . . .'"
Ray felt most of his righteous indignation drain away upon hearing that
little poke. He
sure as hell
couldn't deny it. The wreckage that was the life of Stanley Raymond Kowalski
after Stella
left wasn't exactly anything to crow about. If it was, he wouldn't even
be here
now. He'd still
be Stanley Raymond Kowalski instead of pretending to be Ray Vecchio.
"Yeah. You're right, as usual," Ray grumbled, sliding his back down the
wall, coming to
rest beside
Fraser on the bedroll. He thumped his head back against the wall a couple
of
times, and then
one last little barb snuck out, almost of its own volition. "But at least
I
don't have some
goddamned death wish."
"No, you have Stella."
Ray looked over at Fraser, startled. He opened his mouth, automatically
intending to
defend his ex-wife,
but a smile snuck up on him instead. And then a laugh.
"You fuck." Ray punched Fraser's leg hard. "I knew that polite Mountie
routine was just
an act."
Fraser shot Ray a sidelong glance and a half-smirk, and suddenly, just
that quickly, the
tension evaporated.
Ray breathed a sigh of relief. Fraser didn't want to be fighting either.
So, maybe neither
of them were perfect pictures of emotional health. Shit happened. It
wasn't like
they were gonna have some magical conversation that solved everything,
and
Ray sure as
hell didn't want to endanger the relationship they did have. Not now. The
rest
could wait.
They sat side by side on the bedroll for a moment, just smiling in friendly
misery into
the darkening
room. Ray was close enough to Fraser to feel the rhythm of his breathing.
Close enough
to be aware of the warmth radiating off his body all along his left side
where
Fraser was sitting,
and of that intoxicating worn-flannel clean-laundry scent of him. It was
also close enough
to notice the drafty, cool, lack of warmth on his right. A little shiver
went through
Ray at the thought.
"Just don't do it anymore, okay?" Ray said quickly, suddenly freaked out
again.
"Don't do what anymore?" Fraser asked warily.
"The crazy stuff. The getting shot, and stabbed, and jumping off really
tall things
stuff." Ray
sighed, really not meaning to take another lap around the same tired track,
but
the words just
tumbled out. "You really scare me. And I don't care if you think you're
just
some miserable
bastard who doesn't deserve to live, 'cause I'm selfish, okay? And I want
you around."
God, do I want you around.
"All right, Ray."
"And because I've got no sense," Ray continued, unable to stop the rush
of words
now, looking
down at his hands, which were twisting helplessly in his lap, "and I trust
you,
I'll just follow
you. And that scares me too."
"Ray,"
Fraser's hand clasped his shoulder, strong and warm, and suddenly Ray felt
some
wilder emotion
surging towards the surface which was really, really not what he
wanted.
"I wish you'd talk to me sometimes, you know? I wish... I wish I was closer
to you."
And even in this state, Ray was surprised he'd let that slip, because it
sounded beyond
needy. Oh dammit,
Kowalski. You are *not* going to get all choked up here. This was so
much worse than
losing it in front of Beth Botrelle's house; at least then he'd had a good
excuse. But
Ray knew why he was feeling so lost. It had really hit home tonight. He
needed Fraser,
and Fraser didn't need anybody. Didn't want anybody in there, inside those
walls of his.
Fraser was the most self-contained, solitary person Ray had ever known.
So it
was hopeless,
for every possible reason. Totally, completely hopeless.
A single sniffle escaped from him, and he knew Fraser had to have heard
it. Mr. Bat
Ears heard everything.
Ray drew his legs up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them,
and rested his
head on knees which were shaky and hard against his throbbing forehead.
He wished he
could take the whole day back, fly backwards around the world like
Superman and
turn the clock back so none of it would have happened. But it was too late
for that now.
His big mouth had seen to that.
"Ray..." Fraser sounded like he was completely at a loss. He didn't seem
to know what
to do, and Ray
felt so bad and so dumb for not just leaving well enough alone. For not
being happy
with what he had. He always had to push things. That was what Stella said,
and look what
happened. Look what happened.
"I'm sorry," Ray said, squeezing his eyes shut.
Fraser's hand tightened on his shoulder. "Don't. Don't be sorry." He sighed
softly.
"It's..." Ray
could practically feel his discomfort sitting there in the room with them
like a
thing. Big time
emotional-type convos were not exactly Fraser's cup of tea. "You ... you
are as close
to me as anyone ever has been." He didn't say Vecchio's name, but he didn't
have to.
Ray picked his head up when he felt Fraser moving beside him, crouching
next to him,
hand still on
Ray's shoulder. He was gazing at Ray with an honest concern that was almost
a little unnerving.
"Really?" Ray's voice came out a hoarse croak. Dork.
"Yes, really."
And leaving one hand on Ray's shoulder for balance, Fraser cupped Ray's
chin with his
other hand,
tilting his face up. Then he leaned in close so their foreheads were almost
touching. "You
are not only my partner, but my closest and dearest friend."
Some part of Ray had a sudden, crazy impulse to laugh, because Fraser was
so
beautifully
weird it was almost surreal. No guy Ray knew no American guy, for sure,
and
definitely no
cop would even come close to saying something like that. Forget about
meaning it.
But Fraser would. Hell, he did it. Kind of amazing how he could be so closed
up
about some things
and so totally straightforward about others. And sometimes when they
fought, like
earlier, Ray would get so caught up in the stubborn, frustrating, unreadable
parts of Fraser
that he'd forget how sweet he was, how thoughtful. He remembered now.
"Don't give up on me, Ray," Fraser said so quietly that Ray wasn't sure
he'd meant to
say it out loud.
Ray glanced up, and their eyes met and locked. He knew he was staring way,
way too
long, but he
couldn't stop himself. And before he knew what he was doing, he was
straining up
towards Fraser, snuffly nose and all, hoping, ridiculously, for a hug.
Instead,
Fraser brushed
the back of his hand along the side of Ray's face, and Ray pressed his
cheek into the
caress, letting his eyes drift shut. Then suddenly, Ray could feel the
remaining distance
between them closing as Fraser leaned in and kissed him. It was just a
little kiss
soft, warm, gentle but it was a real kiss, all right. No mistake about
it.
***************
Fraser
pulled back immediately, shocked by what he had just done. Seeing Ray that
upset had made
him take complete leave of his senses and he'd acted purely on impulse.
When Ray said
he wanted to be closer... well, surely he didn't mean that.
At least Ray hadn't thrown a punch yet. He was probably still too stunned.
Fraser
chanced a surreptitious
glance over at Ray, and found him looking surprised but, oddly,
not visibly
angry. Ray rubbed two fingers across his lips, as though chasing evidence
of
what had just
happened. Then he looked up and flashed an enigmatic little smile.
"You, uh, always go around kissing guys on the mouth like that, Fraser?"
"Ah... I'm not in the habit of it, no." Fraser could feel the warmth rising
to his cheeks.
How could he
possibly offer a reasonable explanation for his behavior? No anecdotes
he
could think
of at the moment conveniently addressed reasons you might kiss your partner.
"You just seemed
somewhat, ah, upset and I wanted to..." Well, there was the problem
right there.
He'd just wanted to. "I'm terribly sorry, Ray, I meant no offense."
"Oh, no!" Ray said quickly. Then he paused and shrugged his shoulders.
"I mean, I, uh,
wasn't, you
know, offended. Just kinda surprised, that's all."
It didn't look like Ray was going to punch him, after all. Fraser let out
a deeply held
breath. Maybe
Ray was merely writing this off as yet another example of Fraser's Canadian
strangeness.
Hopefully he'd simply call Fraser a freak, as usual, and forget all about
it. Of
course, Fraser
would never be able to forget the incredible softness of Ray's lips against
his own. But
he would get himself back under control. For the sake of their friendship,
he
had to.
Fraser got up and busied himself with rummaging through the box where he'd
packed
his kerosene
camp lantern. The electricity in the apartment was not scheduled to be
turned on until
the following day, and the sun would soon be all but gone. There was still
enough light
from the street coming in the two large windows to provide some illumination,
but all things
considered, it was probably not a good idea to be sitting with Ray in the
dark
at the moment.
While he was safely across the room, Fraser also decided to take the opportunity
to
change the subject
of conversation to the one thing that would be sure to put the damper
on any of these
nonsensical thoughts of his for good. There was only one logical
explanation
for Ray's emotional volatility this evening, after all. And he had been
trying to
open up the
possibility of talking... maybe it was Ray who really needed to talk. Perhaps
he had seen
her recently and was just now having a delayed reaction to it, hence his
overly sensitive
behavior. Of course that was it. Would Ray really be that upset because
he didn't feel
like he was close enough to *you*?
"Ray, I don't mean to pry but... is all this about Stella?" As painful
as it would be to
hear about,
Fraser felt that he owed Ray this much, especially after what he had just
done.
"Huh? Is all what about Stella?" Ray blinked and looked at Fraser with
a confused
expression.
He seemed taken off guard, as though his thoughts had been somewhere else
entirely.
Fraser lit the camp lantern over the kitchenette sink before coming back
to where Ray
was sitting.
He placed the lantern on the floor, a good distance from the edge of the
bedroll, then
sat back down beside Ray, a bit further away from him than before, wanting
to re-establish
the bounds of their friendship in a way Ray would feel comfortable with.
Ray glanced
down at the space left by the increased distance between them, then back
up at Fraser.
"Is all what about Stella?" he repeated neutrally.
"You've seemed... today... I've noticed that you've been acting..." This
was proving to
be harder than
Fraser had expected. It didn't usually require much prompting to get Ray
off and running
on the subject of his ex-wife.
"Like what? A seriously fucked up individual?"
Now the teasing tone was back, and Fraser didn't know quite what to make
of it. The
only thing he
knew was that he didn't want to go anywhere near the 'seriously fucked
up'
comment. That
had stung surprisingly deeply. Of course, Ray had that power over him
now. It was
a frightening realization. Ray was a lot closer than he knew. Closer, certainly,
than Fraser
had ever expected for him to become. Fraser measured his next words
carefully.
"Perhaps a little... emotional..."
"So, what makes you think it's got anything to do with Stella?"
Was that a hint of a challenge in his voice? Oh dear, this didn't seem
to be working
very well.
"Well, you are still in love with her."
Ray cocked his head a little bit to one side, and the smirk reappeared.
"You don't like
Stella much,
do you?"
Fraser blanched. Had he made that so obvious to Ray? Of course he had,
just earlier
he'd made a
sarcastic remark about her. Had, in fact, implied that Stella was Ray's
equivalent to
what Ray had termed Fraser's 'death wish'. Ouch. Fraser bit his lower lip,
and
Ray laughed
softly.
"S'okay, Frase. She doesn't like you either. Actually, she's the only woman
I can think
of who doesn't
like you... well, except maybe the Ice Queen, but she just acts that way
to keep from
chasing you around her desk."
"Ray"
Ray laughed again, but returned immediately to the question. "So, you gonna
tell me
why you don't
like Stella, or what?"
Fraser's brain worked feverishly for a polite way out. "It isn't that I
don't like her," he
started in the
most reassuring tone of voice he could muster. "She's ... ah, a first-rate
attorney. In
fact, I'm sure she's a woman of many fine qualities, or else you'd never
have..."
"Fraser!"
"I don't like the way she treats you."
He'd said it before his internal censor could kick in and catch it. Oh
dear. Ray would be
furious now.
Veiled sarcastic remarks were one thing, but now he'd just openly confirmed
that he held
no particular fondness for the woman of Ray's dreams, Ray's one true love.
This entire
evening had turned into an unmitigated disaster. Fraser was beginning to
sorely
regret that
once innocuous observation about pineapple being a rarity in the Northwest
Territories.
In fact, he wasn't sure he ever wanted to see another slice of pizza ever
again.
"Is that all?"
"I'm sorry, Ray. Is what all?" Now he had been caught with his thoughts
drifting, to
boot.
"Is that all? Is that why you don't like Stella? You don't like the way
she treats me?"
"Yes." There didn't seem to be any point in attempting to salvage a polite
or graceful
answer out of
what he'd already confessed to. As Ray would say, that cat was out of the
bag and on the
floor meowing.
"Oh." Ray appeared to think that over for a moment, then he smiled. A real,
genuine,
warm smile aimed
right at Fraser. "I'm not in love with her anymore. I do love her. I mean,
I think I always
will. But I'm not in love with her anymore. Does that make sense?"
"Yes, I suppose it does," Fraser said, although he was still too dazed
by Ray's smile to
immediately
register everything he had just said. Once his thoughts caught up, Fraser
was
puzzled. Had
Ray just said he wasn't in love with Stella any longer? As though sensing
Fraser's confusion,
Ray continued.
"I guess I finally realized that it was never going to work out. We want
different
things, Stell
and me. I don't think she was any happier about my dropping out of college
and becoming
a cop than my dad was, you know. I think things with her started going
downhill almost
before we even got married. I was just too bullheaded to admit it."
"Loyalty is not a bad quality, Ray," Fraser said quickly, then added, "but
I'm glad to
hear you seem
to have made peace with your feelings towards her."
"Yeah, me too." Ray smiled again. Perhaps the evening was not an utter
loss after all.
"So, you're feeling better now?" Fraser asked hopefully.
A sly grin tugged at the corners of Ray's mouth.
"If I said I still felt lousy, would you kiss me again?"
***************
Uh oh, Fraser wasn't laughing. He wasn't even smiling. He looked kind of...
blank. Like
Ray's joke had
been from so far out of left field that he didn't even know how to process
it. Joke, right.
Like you'd mind so much if he took you literally and leaned over and...
Ray shook his head when he realized that he was looking rather too intently
at Fraser's
neck. Well,
not his neck, really, more like the spot at the base of Fraser's throat
that
showed just
under where the top button of his blue flannel shirt was undone. The spot
where Ray could
quite vividly imagine himself burying his face to breathe in that fresh,
soapy Fraser-scent.
And from that spot, it would be so easy to bite and suck and kiss his
way up and up
and up until he could run his tongue along the length of that strong,
beautiful jawline
which was just beginning to show the faintest hint of five o'clock
shadow... Whoa!
Fraser was staring at him now like he'd just sprouted another head.
Quick, Kowalski.
Crack another joke.
"Actually, today already makes two, if you count that buddy breathing thing
from the
Henry Whatsisname."
Ray knew Fraser was going to blush at that, but not quite that hard.
"Henry Allen, Ray. And... you can't count that," he protested, getting
redder by the
second.
"Oh, I dunno," Ray said, laughing, enjoying the teasing and beginning to
feel distinctly
warmer as he
remembered that crazy day on the sinking freighter, almost fondly now that
it was removed
from the cold and the wet, the panic and certainty of death. "Your mouth,
my mouth, together...
sure sounds like a kiss to me." But then it was almost impossible for
Ray not to superimpose
the gentle, soft warmth of tonight's kiss over the dramatic
memory of Fraser
coming back to save him from drowning on the Henry Allen. Oh man.
And then Ray became very consciously aware of the fact that they weren't
just sitting
on the floor
here they were actually sitting on what was, for now anyway, Fraser's
bed.
And it was getting
pretty cozy in the room now that the sun had set and the flickering,
soft amber light
of the lantern had taken over. Ray swallowed hard and snuck a peek over
at Fraser, just
in time to catch him pretending not to be looking back.
"Ray, I..."
"Frase..." They both stopped awkwardly, staring at each other. Ray didn't
feel like
joking anymore.
Not when Fraser was sitting right there next to him looking so edible,
and
not looking
like he'd refuse an invitation. When he looked like he was just waiting
for one.
Oh, God. Was
this really happening? Was it possible? Well, there was only one way to
find
out for sure.
Come on, Kowalski, you can do this. Stella was out of your league too.
Overreaching
is your specialty.
Ray shifted to face Fraser, licking his lips and wiping suddenly sweaty
palms on his
jeans. Okay,
now just reach out, and take his arm, and pull him closer, and...
But before Ray even had a chance to move, a flash of dark hair and blue
flannel was
coming his way,
tackling him down onto the bedroll. Whoa! This was really happening all
right. It was
happening right fucking now. Sheez, what the hell has gotten into Fras...
Oh,
*God*.
That gorgeous, soft, warm mouth was covering Ray's for the second time
that night,
but where the
earlier kiss had been merely affection, this one was blatantly sex,
unwrapped and
surprisingly aggressive. Aggressive, yeah ... nipping, sucking, coaxing
open
his mouth. Wow.
Ray wrapped his arms around Fraser's neck, pulling him closer and
returning a
little aggression of his own. There was the friction slide of denim against
denim
as Fraser's
knee pushed its way between Ray's legs, urging them apart, and Ray's senses
flooded with
a rush of warmth as Fraser's weight settled over his body. God, when he'd
asked for another
kiss, he sure as hell wasn't expecting this! Holy shit. Ray would have
smiled if he
could have done so without breaking their contact.
Finally, the need for air forced them apart, and Ray let his head drop
back onto the
bedroll. Now
he did smile. He would have offered a lithium the size of a pudding pop
to
anyone who'd
suggested that he would ever wind up rolling around on the floor, making
out with Benton
Fraser like a horny teenager. But here he was, pressed beneath his best
friend, panting
deliriously, hard as a rock, and already starting to sweat. Fraser returned
Ray's smile
a little breathlessly. His hair was slightly tousled now, curling invitingly
over his
forehead, and
his eyes looked liquid and dark. This flushed, aroused Fraser was something
Ray didn't think
he'd ever get the chance to see, and it was more beautiful than he
could've imagined
in a million years.
"Fraser, you trying to take my tonsils out, or what?" Ray said weakly,
trying to laugh,
still trying
to catch his breath.
"Ray, I'm sorry. I lost my "
The smile vanished, and Fraser started to push himself up onto his arms,
like he was
trying to get
up. Like he was going to stop. Oh, no. Fraser didn't get that the tonsils
thing
was a joke.
He must've thought he'd made a mistake and gone too far. Ray knew he had
to act quickly,
before this moment vanished forever.
"No! Wait!" Ray hooked his knee around Fraser's leg, trapping him where
he was. "I was
only kidding,
you dope." Ray tightened his arms around Fraser's neck and hauled him down
roughly for
another kiss before continuing, "You're amazing, I want this, and if you
try to
apologize again..."
"You'll kick me in the head?" Something Ray had said must've gotten through,
because
Fraser's voice
had gone all soft and husky, and that hungry look was back in his eyes.
Thank God.
"Mmmhmm." Ray nodded, running his hands appreciatively down the athletically
tapered lines
of Fraser's torso. He tugged loose the tails of that clean-cottony smelling
flannel shirt,
then set to work undoing what seemed like way too many little white
buttons, pausing
just long enough to skim his own t-shirt off over his head. The
increasingly
small part of Ray's brain that was still functioning clearly wondered at
how
strangely right
this felt, when it really had no reason to. He'd never been anything more
than mildly
curious about men before. Sure, he knew a good looking guy when he saw
one,
and there had
even been men besides Fraser that he would have had no problem
describing as
sexy but it had always been more from the point of view of how he could
see a chick
thinking so than from Ray actually wanting the guy for himself.
But he wanted Fraser for himself. Wanted him the way he'd wanted Stella
in the good
old days. And
nothing about it felt weird or wrong or bad. In fact, it kind of felt just
the
opposite. Ray
reached up to pull Fraser back down to him, aching suddenly, needing to
feel that hot,
smooth skin against his own chest. And not only did this feel right, it
felt
almost familiar
in some strange way. Or maybe not familiar, so much as ... maybe
satisfying.
Because being with Stella had always been wonderful, even when things
between them
were unraveling, but this... This feeling right now, being with Fraser,
in this
hot wrestle
on the floor, felt inevitable. Felt like something he'd been missing his
whole life
and he'd never
even known it.
Once their shirts were gone, they started in on the rest of the clothes.
God, Frase
was gorgeous.
He was in a whole other league of beautiful from anyone Ray had ever
known, even
Stella. Ray was knocked off guard by it once again catching glimpses
of
creamy skin
and well-muscled shoulders, strong legs, thick cock, and perfect ass
as
they kissed
and groped and struggled their way out of jeans, and socks, and underwear.
Ray wasn't even
sure Fraser was conscious of undressing. Whatever the hell had gotten
into him tonight,
it had gotten into him good. Really fucking good. He was lying on top of
Ray again, kissing
him hard and deep, tongue stroking against Ray's in a dizzying rhythm
that went round
and round until Ray swore he could feel it buzzing through every nerve
in
his body. Ray's
fingers tangled restlessly in Fraser's short, minky, dark hair as he tried
to
convince himself
that so long as he was still coherent enough to do this, he wasn't
completely out
of control.
But he was burning, and his cock felt so hard and heavy and swollen, twitching
and
leaking, slicking
and sliding against Fraser's body, that he knew he couldn't take much
more. Then Fraser
was pressing Ray's head back into the thin padding of the bedroll, and
he was ravaging
the column of Ray's throat with his mouth, all teeth, tongue, and heat.
He began sucking
at the pulse point below Ray's left ear, and Ray bit back a cry, almost
hysterically,
not knowing whether to tug Fraser away or pull him in even closer. When
Fraser's teeth
sank deeper into that hyper-sensitive spot, tongue pressing hard against
Ray's flesh,
the cry finally escaped as a strangled moan.
"God, Frase, please..." Ray arched up, grinding against Fraser's hip and
felt the
answering hardness
there, pushing back into him. Then Fraser found his mouth for another
long, deep kiss,
while his hand reached between their bodies for Ray's aching, weeping
cock. Fraser
was kissing him and stroking him and rocking against him all at once. It
was
too much sensory
assault, and Ray felt the familiar burning sensation in the soles of his
feet and the
tightening in his balls that signalled the oncoming rush of orgasm. And
oh,
God, this was
a big one. This one was out of control and coming too hard, too fast...
Ray's hands
slipped down the broad expanse of Fraser's back, searching desperately
for
something to
cling to. Then the rush was tearing through him, and his fingertips were
digging hard
into thick muscle. He heard his own broken voice crying out helplessly
as
wave after dizzying
wave pulsed through him and out, spurting hot and slippery over
Fraser's caressing
fingers. Somewhere in the fog of his mind, he felt Fraser coming hard
beside him,
heard Fraser's deep, throaty sounds in his ear, saying his name, and then
his
body stilled
and relaxed at last.
They stayed just like that for a few moments, silent except for harsh breathing.
Finally, Ray
tried to lever himself up onto his elbows, but he couldn't muster the energy
and dropped
again onto his back. He was drained. Drained and breathless, drenched in
sweat, and spit,
and come. The bedroll beneath him was damp from their exertions, and
the surrounding
air still felt humid with their heat, thick with their scent. Ray took
another
shuddering breath
and tried to gather himself back in. God, he hadn't even gotten the
chance to do
much for Fraser, had he? He'd wanted to, but Fraser had seemed like a man
on a mission
there. Next time Ray would have to return the favor.
Next time? Were they lovers now? That not-quite-stray thought shook Ray
out of his
post-coital
haze enough that he managed to heave himself onto his shoulder.
I guess it's a little late to be worrying about that.
But, Fraser had just turned his world upside down. And he'd assumed...
Shit. Fuck.
Yeah, fuck all
right. Now what? What if he doesn't want a goddamned *relationship* with
you, Kowalski?
What if this had just been some crazy, primal thing that had taken over
Fraser tonight?
What if it was because of all the talking and pushing Ray had done? What
if the sex was
just a one time thing, and now it was over? What if this had been for Fraser
what all those
All those. Ha! Three! post-Stella women had been for him. Pent-up need
relief. Itch-scratching.
Oh, God. Was it just the sweat cooling on his body making him feel
so cold?
Fraser was lying on his side with his back pressed against the wall, head
supported on
his crooked
arm, watching Ray. He too, was covered in sweat, and his smooth skin
glistened softly
with it in the flickering light of the camp lantern.
"Ray?"
Ray blinked, coming out of his thoughts. Fraser's voice held a strange,
uncertain note.
Maybe even shy.
And then Ray realized that Fraser had said his name several times
already, trying
to get his attention. Ray cleared his hoarse throat.
"Yeah, Frase. Sorry, I'm just a little out of it at the moment." He offered
a smile he
hoped would
explain his silence. "You just about killed me there. It's gonna take a
while to
recover."
Fraser's return smile was almost convincing until it faltered and his
eyes swept
closed for a
moment while he tried, and failed, to re-school his features into their
normal
calm.
"Hey." Ray finally found the strength to prop himself up onto his elbows.
"You okay?"
Fraser's eyes were open again, but still downcast, and he looked flushed
like it had
just occurred
to him that he didn't have any clothes on. Ray didn't think he'd ever seen
Fraser look
so vulnerable. So scared. Ray realised Fraser was in the same place he
was
with the post-sex
willies, maybe even in a worse one. God, he was trembling. Definitely in
a worse place.
Ray dropped back onto his shoulder and draped his arm across Fraser's
waist, pulling
him in closer until they were chest to chest, stomach to stomach, leg to
leg,
in a full body
embrace.
"It's okay," Ray whispered softly, hands stroking gently now over Fraser's
back,
soothing the
same muscles he had dug into so hard earlier, when Fraser had taken him
over the edge.
"Ben, it's okay," he whispered again, knowing that hearing it once wasn't
going to be
enough. He knew that raw, flayed open feeling all too well.
After a few moments, Fraser released a deep, shuddering sigh, and Ray could
tell the
worst of it
had passed. Noticing how sticky their embrace had become, Ray reached for
his discarded
t-shirt to wipe himself down. Unsure of the etiquette of doing this with
another guy,
he turned the t-shirt inside out and handed it over to Fraser with an
apologetic shrug.
"I... it's been a long time," Fraser said quietly, accepting Ray's shirt
to clean himself
off. Then he
laughed a little, sadly. "Not that that really makes much of a difference,
in all
honesty. Not
in this case."
Ray felt his heart begin to beat faster, and seem to echo louder in his
chest. This was
special to Fraser,
he was saying, and not because it had been a while, but because it was
Ray.
"Me too," Ray started, before realizing it was stupid because the phrase
didn't really
apply to what
Fraser had actually said, only to what he'd implied. "I mean..."
"I love you."
Wow. No evading, or delaying, or equivocating there. Ray pulled his head
back far
enough that
he could look clearly into Fraser's eyes.
***************
Ray was gazing at him, blinking silently, like he didn't know what to say.
Fraser felt
like his chest
was squeezing down on his heart, pushing it back into the gray and colorless
corner where
he'd long ago consigned it, and where now, it seemed, it once again
belonged.
"I love you, Ben," Ray answered after a moment. He said it very deliberately,
and with
a smile. "And
not just 'symbolically, or something'. For real."
"You do?" Even as he said it, Fraser realized it was actually rather rude
to question a
declaration
like that, but his thoughts were still too busy trying to rearrange themselves
into a world
where Ray loved him back to register anything more than stunned surprise.
"Yeah, I do. Dopey." Then he broke into a smile. "I'm just glad you 'fessed
up first.
Jeez, you ever
do that before? With a guy, I mean?"
"Not since I was fifteen," Fraser replied distractedly, still trying to
assimilate the news
that Ray loved
him.
"You did it with another guy when you were fifteen?" Ray sounded half impressed,
half
incredulous.
Fraser couldn't help but smile. Although he thought back fondly on those
adolescent fumblings
with Innussiq, his experiences weren't anything nearly so scandalous
or interesting
as Ray seemed to think.
"He was fifteen at the time as well, Ray. We'd gotten to know each other
in Scouts."
"I thought you said that guy had a sister. Why didn't you mess around with
her
instead?" Ray
asked. Fraser was a little startled and then a pleasant warmth spread
through him.
He'd never realized that Ray paid that much attention to the stories he
told
about being
back home.
"Well, June was too young, for one thing. And mostly I liked..."
"So you and Inn..."
"Innussiq. Yes." Ray was grinning widely at him, so Fraser hastened to
explain. "We
didn't do very
much, and not for very long before my grandparents moved us again."
"And no other guys since?"
Fraser shook his head. "No."
"Man, if you haven't done that to someone else since you were fifteen,
you've got one
hell of a good
memory," Ray said with a smirk that brought a blush to Fraser's cheeks.
But
then Ray's smile
faded, and he cleared his throat. "So, uh. What does this make us now?"
"Make us?" Fraser paused to think, but Ray cut him off, laughing.
"Boy, sex really does make you dopey, doesn't it? So much for you being
the smart one
of this duo."
Ray waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Fraser felt a big, silly grin coming on that he knew would only serve to
strengthen
Ray's dubious
claims of his diminished intelligence, but he couldn't seem to stop the
smile
even if he tried.
And frankly, he didn't want to try. He was happy. Really, truly happy for
the first time
that he could remember.
"Make us," Ray continued, sobering, and hugging his arms across his chest.
"Like, oh,
hell, I dunno.
Forget about it. Can we get a blanket over here? I'm getting kinda chilly."
Fraser got up and went over to dig out a Hudson's Bay blanket out of one
of the duffel
bags, musing
over Ray's question all the while. He thought he understood, but wasn't
sure.
"Are you inquiring as to the changed nature of our relationship now?" he
asked
tentatively,
pausing to check the lantern fuel before handing the blanket over to Ray.
"You used the 'R-word' there, buddy. You been reading Frannie's Cosmo too?"
Ray
laughed softly
as he shook the blanket out, then scooted over against the wall so Fraser
didn't have
to climb over him to get back into 'bed'.
"Frannie's Cosmo?" The reference was puzzling. "Ray, I'm afraid I don't..."
Ray scrubbed his hands though his spiky hair distractedly.
"Look, Fras... Ben. I don't do the alone thing so good. I mean, I know
you're like the
strong, silent
type or whatever but..."
"Ray," Fraser felt the need to interrupt him before he got any further
down that path.
"I assure you,
I really don't, ah, 'do the alone thing so good' either."
"So, you mean, you, uh..." Ray paused thoughtfully, then grinned. "Oh.
Cool." And
Fraser had the
feeling that that would be the extent of their 'R-word' conversation for
the
time being,
because Ray was wriggling closer to him now, and running slender, strong
hands across
his chest. "We did a pretty good job getting you settled in here, huh?"
"I should say so, yes," Fraser said with a smile that led to a contented
groan as Ray's
dark blond head
moved over him, dropping soft kisses everywhere his hands had roamed.
"You ever got anything else that needs to be, uh, moved," Ray looked up,
and flashed
a wicked grin,
"you just let me know."
FIN
© April, 2000 Rowan F.