Disclaimer: Even this premise isn't mine. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to make money off of it.

Author's Notes: Mmm, ds_flashfiction challenges are shiny.

All Ray's trying to do here, really, is pamper Fraser. Sure, he's grateful -- everybody knows how he gets all protective of the Goat -- but that's not why he's doing this. He woulda done it anyway -- it's July, and there's a heat wave, and Benton Fraser is seriously out of his element and dying -- except Fraser wouldn'ta let him, otherwise. So that's how he'd had to manage it -- Fraser'd seen the paint-guns, disarmed the clowns, and given them a talking-to, so Ray'd said, "I've got ice cream and AC at home," by way of thanks. That's the way to do it, see, 'cause Fraser's never gonna refuse any kind of thanks -- it wouldn't be chivalrous to, or something. Whatever -- this works for Ray, 'cause now he can maybe cool Fraser off, make him stop looking all limp and worn out like that.

It's not that Ray's a good guy -- it's just that Fraser's never worn out, and when he is, it's just creepy. That's all.

So now he's got this tired-looking Mountie zoning out on him in his livingroom, watching him lock the locks and not looking any cooler even though it's still a little cool from when he had the AC on this morning. Even Dief looks a little better -- even though he's half Arctic fucking wolf, for Chrissake -- 'cause he's not wobbling so much anymore. It takes a minute for Ray to figure out why. "Uh," he says, hoping Fraser's not gonna make some sort of stupid excuse, "shed a few layers, willya?"

"I -- what?" Fraser blinks twice. "Oh -- yes, of course." Very deliberately, he takes off his hat -- ha! he's got hat hair -- and puts it on the coffee table.

Ray waits for the rest of it, but it looks like that's all Fraser's gonna drop. Stubborn Mountie -- it's not like the Ice Queen's gonna pop in the window and smack anybody on the wrist. At least, Ray's pretty sure that's not included in her job description.

He sighs. "Okay, uh -- ice cream. I'll get you -- "

Fraser follows him into the kitchen. "Really, Ray, that's not -- "

"You want me to have to explain to the cops why I've got a dead Mountie in my livingroom?"

Fraser looks really shifty for a minute, which is weird, before finally getting it. "Ah. Well. I hardly think I -- "

"You do, don't you," Ray says, pretending to look hurt. "Damn, Fraser, I thought we were buddies. I thought -- "

"Oh, never mind," Fraser snaps -- yeesh, Mounties get touchy when you heat 'em up.

"Greatness." Ray pulls the half-gallon of chocolate chip mint out of the freezer and hands it to Fraser. "Look, I'm gonna go piss -- make yourself at home, okay? And if I come back in here and find you wearing wool? I will not be accountable for my actions. Got it?" Not like threats're gonna get that Mountie out of his uniform, but it's worth a try.

Ray goes in the bathroom and, when he's done, thinks to put the seat down, 'cause Fraser might get offended if he doesn't. He washes his hands, runs his wet fingers through his hair and lets the drops roll around on his scalp. He wonders, for about half a second, what Fraser'd do if Ray took him out back and sprayed him with the garden hose. 'Snot worth the effort, he decides -- Fraser'd probably say Ray's disgraced the uniform and never speak to him again, and Ray's been enjoying his brand new solve rate.

He shakes the water out of the spikes, scrubs at his face on his way back to into the kitchen -- and walks into Fraser's ass. "Uh -- sorry, Fraser," he starts to say, except then all the words in his mouth sort of dribble onto the floor and he's just standing there with his tongue totally MIA -- or maybe it's his brain -- because shit. Fraser's wet, all not red and not woolly and sweaty and wet, which Ray probably shoulda figured, 'cause that'll happen to anybody who hangs around in wool for a whole summer day, but --

Shit.

"I didn't mean to snoop, Ray," Fraser says, clambering down from the chair, like he hasn't noticed how Ray's brain's just exploded and leaked out his ears, "but you didn't seem to have any bowls in plain view, and I -- "

Ray looks around for Fraser's tunic, maybe panicking a little -- and okay, it's not like some sort of alien's come along and snatched it, 'cause it's just over there, folded over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "I," Ray says, and stops there.

Fraser gives him a worried look. "Are you all right, Ray? You seem slightly disoriented."

Disoriented, my ass, Ray thinks, and tries to back away so that he doesn't have to look at Fraser too carefully. Maybe that way he won't actually notice how Fraser's hat-mussed hair is also all sweat-stiff and -- goddammit. "Nah, I'm okay, I just -- you know. It's kinda hot in here." Which it is. There's no reason for Fraser to read anything into that, or slap him like Stella did that one time he tried that line. Not that Ray's trying the line. It's just really fucking hot in here. That's all.

Fraser licks his lower lip, which is pink and flushed and shiny now, just like the rest of his face -- but Ray's not looking, no he's not, because that wouldn't be buddies, and if Fraser gets creeped out now? He's gonna run out into the heat wave and drop dead on the sidewalk, and then Ray'll really have some explaining to do. "Actually," Fraser says slowly, "it's quite pleasant, now."

"Uh," Ray says, "yeah, but you know how it is." Fraser looks blank, so Ray tries to explain without saying something stupid like your mouth is red or your hair is wet or Hi, I can see right through your shirt and it's turning me on. "Uh -- humidity," he says finally, sounding lame even to his own ears.

"Ah," Fraser says, his forehead folding a little in the middle. "Humidity."

They stand like that for a minute -- five minutes? An hour? Ray doesn't know -- Fraser looking at Ray like he knows something's up, Ray trying desperately to keep him from finding out what exactly is. And then Dief -- who is, unquestionably, half Arctic wolf and half from Hell -- lazily yips something to Fraser and puts his head up to see how it's gonna go down.

"Ah," Fraser says, and goes red just like Ray expected -- except it's the wrong kind of red, it's not the painful oh-my-god-Ray-how-could-you? kind of red. "I -- see."

"What?" Ray snaps irritably. "What do you see? There's nothing to see, Fraser -- "

"Oh, all right. Must have just been a misunderstanding, then." Fraser gives Ray a narrow look. "Well, then -- do you have any bowls?"

Okay. This, Ray can do. He can talk about dishes. He opens his mouth and says, "Yeah, in that cupboard over there. My mom stuck 'em in there and organized 'em last time she visited -- she thinks I'm gonna die if I can't find the right size bowl to eat out of."

Fraser gives Ray a very peculiar look.

"What?" Ray says, but Fraser doesn't really answer. He just clears his throat, and starts flushing again -- not painful or embarrassed, just...something. Ray doesn't know what.

Ray's getting nervous again, so he rewinds and tries to figure out what he's said that's got Fraser looking at him like that -- and oh boy. Oh, shit. Ray really, really, hates his tongue sometimes -- what with just vanishing whenever it likes, and then popping back in and saying whatever it likes --

Turns out he really said, "Eat it out of the carton." Which might normally be just considered rude, or bad hospi -- hospice -- hospitality, or something -- but he's said it all...hoarse. And there is absolutely no fucking way that Fraser's going to explain it away and decide that Ray's just dehydrated. No way. Not when he's looking at Ray like -- that. Though he shouldn't be. He really, really shouldn't be. They're cops, they're partners --

-- and Fraser's eating ice cream out of the cardboard carton, 'cause he is just a good Mountie at heart, really. "Like that, Ray?" he says, all innocent and helpful and driving Ray out of his fucking mind, because he's not looking right at Ray, he's looking -- lower, he's looking at Ray's throat.

Ray swallows, and Fraser licks ice cream off his lips, and Ray swallows again, and Fraser licks the corner of his mouth, and -- and this is just a vicious fucking cycle, here. "Fraser?" Ray croaks.

Fraser sticks his tongue out and licks along the spoon, and Ray takes a minute to be really glad that he got out of his Popsicle phase back when he was thirteen. "Mm-hm?" Fraser says.

"You're doing it on purpose. Aren't you?"

"Why, naturally, Ray. As Dief said -- "

"Okay, stop, I do not want to know." Ray takes two steps towards Fraser, which puts in him in arm's reach, and which was maybe not a good idea, but who cares? "I -- I'm probably going to grab your hair in a minute," Ray confesses, "so. If you wanna. Go, that's -- "

Fraser, apparently, does not want to go. Fraser wants to grab Ray's hair, which is fine, just really fucking fine. Fraser wants to abandon the ice cream and attack Ray's throat, which Ray was half-expecting -- more than he'd been expecting any of this to happen, anyway, when he watched the weather this morning and thought about how Fraser was gonna be miserable. And Fraser's maybe not overheating in the bad way anymore -- but Ray's thinking about maybe going out tomorrow morning and buying some Popsicles.

Just in case, you know.