Disclaimer: Property of a whole bunch of people who aren't me. I'm just borrowing them.

Author's Notes: Response to the "Shakespeare" challenge on ds_flashfiction, completed during Amnesty 2003. Thanks to daughtershade and askye for emergency beta services! And thanks to heuradys who took time out from her own frantic scribbling to help me along.

Story Notes:

"Play that funky music, white boy," the song blasting over the speakers admonished him. Fraser forced his way through the crowd, shoulders first, as he searched for his partner in the murk of the blue-and-yellow lights. He'd abandoned his habitual courtesy when his last "Excuse me" resulted in an annoyed look and the purposeful upending of a beer all over his boots. Rather than take the time to deal with the bad attitudes of the patrons, he simply adopted their aggressive approach and started plowing ahead as impolitely as possible. It seemed to be working, as he finally reached a cleared space around the edge of the dance floor proper.

The music changed from the vaguely familiar song to one that started as something that Fraser was certain he felt more than heard, with a bass line he became aware of through the vibrations coming up through the floor well before he was able to distinguish any actual notes.

Fortunately, he didn't have to search the area long before he spotted Ray's distinctive silhouette. He had long known that Ray was a skilled dancer, and that he and Stella had been competition-grade partners in the past. But he hadn't realized Ray's proficiency extended to such alternative urban forms.

The lyrics were . . . actually quite filthy, he realized, now that his ears had become somewhat accustomed to the punishing volume. Ray's dancing was clearly as uninhibited as the song itself. What he was doing could only be called writhing, although it was graceful and perfectly matched to the rhythm pounding through the club. He did not appear to have a partner, or, indeed, appear to be aware of anyone else at all.

Convincing himself that he didn't need to spoil Ray's evening any earlier than necessary, Fraser decided to wait until the end of the song to approach him. At a loss as to what to do with his hands in such a setting, he shoved them into the pockets of his brown leather jacket and surreptitiously blotted them on the gloves inside.

He watched Ray's undulations and considered that, in addition to his claim of being a poet on the inside, Ray possessed a kinetic type of poetry as well. He reminded Fraser of nothing so much as a force of nature, much like the ocean -- fluid, varied, and always dynamic.

Engrossed as he was in his object of study, the relative silence at the end of the song echoed in his ears for a moment before he realized it was time for him to start moving.

Fraser collected his thoughts and headed Raywards. Ray must have been more alert to his surroundings than Fraser had assumed, because he was already closing the distance between them.

"Hey!" Ray greeted him, shaking the sweat out of his hair and mopping his forehead with the front of his shimmering shirt. Fraser could see that Ray's abdomen was shiny with sweat as well. When Ray let the shirt fall back into place, there were darker patches where his perspiration had soaked through, dulling the sheen of the material.

"What's up?" Ray prodded him, as he tugged Fraser's sleeve and led him towards the coat check.

Rather than shout over the volume of the next song, Fraser waited until they had collected Ray's jacket in the alcove before leaning in and enunciating clearly. "Lieutenant Welsh asked me to find you. It seems there's been a new development in the Nedved case --"

"Fill me in on the way to the station," Ray interrupted him, shrugging into his leather blazer and heading towards the exit.

"Do you, ah. Do you need to let anyone know that you're leaving?" Fraser asked. Ray just looked at him. "Were you with anyone?" he clarified.

"Nah, just blowing off steam," Ray said, and made some sort of arcane gesture in the air. "Sorry you had to come looking for me."

"I quite enjoyed watching you dance, Ray. It's no bother at all."

"No kidding?" Ray asked, with a sidewise glance. He quickly ducked his head and then looked back up at Fraser wearing a grin that Fraser found as dazzling as sunlight on water.

Ray's hand landed firmly on Fraser's shoulder. "Hey, Fraser. How'd you know . . . You know what? Never mind. C'mon, Benton-Buddy, let's get cracking."

Fraser allowed Ray to propel him out the door. He wondered if Ray would consider giving him dancing lessons.

"When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' th' sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that."

--The Winter's Tale (I, ii, 284-285)

End When You Do Dance by lynnmonster: lynnmonster@lycos.com

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