Disclaimer: Not mine. I know - it sucks!

"You know what's the worst thing about Christmas?"

Fraser got the distinct impression that Ray didn't actually require an answer to this as he trailed along in the man's wake through the corridors of the twenty-seventh. People in festive ties and tinsel decked headwear seemed to melt out of Ray's way as he blazed a path through the precinct house, scowling at those not fast enough for his liking.

Fraser prided himself on being well attuned to his partner's volatile moods, but today it seemed one would have to have been dead a long time to be able to miss Ray's scratchy, tense disposition.

"Not at all, son," said Bob Fraser, perched precariously on top of a filing cabinet, swinging his booted feet. "He's agitated, edgy, nervous, probably building up to something. It's as plain as the nose on your face."

Fraser ignored him.

"Unless it's intestinal parasites, of course. I once knew a fellow..."

Mercifully, his father's voice was left behind them as they continued their breakneck progress through the halls, saving Fraser this tale of gastric distress.

Ray made a sudden, unexpected right turn, passing centimetres from Fraser's surprised face. "Mistletoe," he spat as he stalked off.

Fraser frowned in confusion, absently stepping aside to make way for a man dressed as a reindeer, complete with antlers and sleigh bells.

Ray re-appeared from the same direction before Fraser had a chance to follow him.

"In what way, Ray?"

Finally reaching his desk, Ray pulled out his chair and threw himself into it. His lack of forward momentum however, did nothing to lessen the impression of motion. His knee jiggled, his fingers drummed and his gaze shifted erratically over the bullpen.

"You see, Fraser, Christmas - it's all about couples and kids. If you're not one or the other, then it mostly sucks."

"Well surely that's a rather cynical viewpoint, Ray. Christmas is a time for..."

"Do not give me the "Christmas is a time for" speech, Fraser. That is not helpful to me." Ray speared him with a two-fingered point and a clear, intent gaze. "Christmas is a time for practical presents from members of your family who haven't seen you since you were seven, turkey dinner for one and worst of all, no-one to kiss under the mistletoe."

Ray leaned back further in his abused chair, suddenly still. "In conclusion, Christmas sucks. I rest my case."

"Well you're just full of festive spirit today, bro," Francesca snarked, appearing in a haze of glitter and inappropriate attire. "Hey, Frase," she added with an extra toss of her hair.

Fraser nodded politely, trying not to stare at the erratically flashing halo suspended over Francesca's head by a madly bobbing spring.

"What happened in here?" Ray asked, indicating the sparkly pink decorations that had appeared all over the bullpen overnight. "Did Barbie barf up?"

Frannie smiled sourly. "Just something to brighten everyone's day and help them feel that Yuletide buzz," she replied.

"Yeah? Should Yuletide buzz feel like a bad acid trip?"

Francesca rolled her eyes and sashayed back to her desk, waving her wings as she went. "Ebenezer," she threw over her shoulder.

Ray whispered a very bad word.

Fraser took the seat opposite Ray's and watched as he pulled a stack of files in front of him. He opened the top file with a sigh and rested his forehead in his hands to begin reading.

"If it bothers you that much, Ray," Fraser began, picking up where Francesca had interrupted, "I'm sure there are many who would oblige you with an appropriate gesture beneath the mistletoe."

"You'd think, wouldn't ya?" Ray muttered without taking his eyes off the case notes.

"Yes indeed."

"Well you'd be wrong."

"Oh surely..."

Ray's eyes met Fraser's briefly, a weight of loneliness and loss behind them, before they slipped away again.

And that just seemed wrong to Fraser. How could it be that the most unworthy of people managed to find someone with whom to spend their lives, and yet this handsome, graceful, amazing man could not? Was everyone blind? Unhinged in some way? Could they not see Ray the way Fraser saw him? And was that in some way significant?

"Well, I'd do it," Fraser was surprised to hear himself say. The thought wasn't a shock to him, just the blithe way he'd announced it.

Ray propped his chin on his fist and looked at Fraser - really looked at him for a long, uncomfortable minute. "Seriously?" he asked finally.

"Certainly. If it's important to you, then I'd be honoured to..." Fraser's head caught up with his mouth, and he carefully scanned their immediate vicinity before lowering his voice, "... be your partner in this festive tradition. We're friends, Ray. If I can't help you out with this simple request, than what are friends for?"

Ray seemed to consider this, his eyebrows drawn together as he thought. Then his face cleared. "Okay," he announced, bouncing up from his seat and grabbing Fraser's sleeve.

Fraser allowed himself to be dragged out of the bullpen, down the corridor and into the supply closet.

It was dark among the division stationery. It smelled of dry paper and bleach, underneath the clean, distracting scent of his partner.

"Ray," Fraser squeaked, cleared his throat and tried again. "Ray? What are we...?"

The dim, bare bulb clicked on.

"Ah... I see," Fraser murmured.

Some wag had tied a bunch of tired-looking mistletoe to the light-pull. It swung slightly, just above the spikes of Ray's hair.

Fraser glanced at his partner's face and was disconcerted to find a small, challenging smile there. Fixing his eyes on the boxes of envelopes visible over Ray's shoulder, Fraser cleared his throat again.

"Right now, then? You want to... yes, of course. No time like the present."

"If that's okay with you," Ray replied, his voice smoother and a lot more confident than he had any right to, in Fraser's opinion.

"Perfectly okay with me, Ray," Fraser said, trying to force some heartiness into his tone. He ended up sounding too loud, high pitched and, frankly, demented. He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. What he needed was a second to re-group.

"You know, Ray, the tradition of exchanging kisses beneath this particular flora is a very old one," Fraser blithered.

"That so?" Ray slid his hands into his jeans pockets, further enhancing the impression of a man completely at ease with himself and the world at large.

"Yes indeed. It's thought to originate in northern Europe, where mistletoe or Viscum album grows in close association with apple and oak trees, the latter being considered sacred at the time. It was believed to bring love and fertility to couples that shared an embrace beneath it. Of course historically, it was likely more than a simple kiss that the couple shared, probably going so far as to..."

"Just the kiss will be fine, Fraser. I don't think we really have time for more at the moment," Ray grinned easily. Damn him.

"Ah, no. I wasn't implying that we should... Not that you're in any way... I just wanted to inform you of the long tradition that this act..." Fraser sighed and scraped a nail through his eyebrow. "You're not at all interested in the history of mistletoe tradition, are you?"

"Not really, no," Ray smiled ruefully.

"You just want to get on with the..." Fraser flapped a hand at the greenery.

"Yeah."

"Right you are." With the little dignity he had left, Fraser placed his hat on a box of shorthand pads, pulled at his collar, cracked his neck and stood at parade rest.

Risking another glance at Ray's face, Fraser found his partner still smiling gently, his grey eyes somewhat amused and somewhat... hopeful? Or was that wishful thinking?

Rays lips were slightly parted, and looked soft in the low light of the closet. Fraser was close enough and their heights were sufficiently similar that he needed to neither stretch nor stoop. Taking one last fortifying breath, he licked his lips, lifted his chin and tilted his head. All he needed to do now was lean forward.

Ray's mouth was a scant twenty centimetres from his, his face so close that Fraser could identify the individual hue of each whisker that made up that delicious, scruffy stubble. Just a few centimetres between him and something he'd dreamed of experiencing, but had never imagined would be so easily won. The excitement was suffocating.

Fraser closed his eyes and leaned.

Ray's skin was cool; his lips as soft as they'd appeared. Their mouths found each other, caught and held, the pressure still gentle but their desire anything but. Fraser knew he should pull back, knew that if the excuse of friendship was to be of any use to him, that he had to end this now. But Ray wasn't withdrawing, or indeed showing any inclination to do so. In fact...

The thrill of Ray's tongue gently tracing the contour of his bottom lip sent shocks rippling through him and made Fraser bold. He brought a hand slowly to Ray's waist, and cupped it over that lean, hard body, spreading his fingers to touch as much of this man as he could.

Fraser felt the brush of Ray's fingers across his cheek before they settled on his scalp, lightly stroking and fingering his hair.

Incrementally, so, so slowly, afraid that speed would deny him this, Fraser slid his hand around the narrow waist and onto Ray's back. His slight pressure brought Ray willingly against him, their thighs, hips and bellies brushing together with caution initially, then with increasing confidence and intent. Ray was utterly complicit. For each action Fraser dared, Ray matched it with one of his own. The kiss deepened, mouths open and demanding. Their hands touched, curious and insatiable, learning each other's bodies.

How could he have missed this? How could Fraser not have noticed that this was what Ray had wanted? Because surely this was not an opportunistic response? Ray's confidence and purpose couldn't be anything but pre-meditated. Fraser felt sure he'd be able to tell the difference between intention and an unlooked for lucky break.

Fraser had been set up. The more their kisses dared, the more sure he was of it. Ray had fed him these lines with the express purpose of finding out if he had a chance with him. Fraser wouldn't be surprised to learn that it was Ray himself who had tied the mistletoe to the light-pull. But that was a conversation for another day; Fraser had more pressing demands on his time.

Ray's mouth was demanding, knowing. Ray's touch was possessive, focussed, and it mirrored Fraser's hands, testing long-held expectations against this dizzying reality. And when that wasn't enough any more, Fraser pushed his fingers beneath the cotton of Ray's shirt and felt the smooth heat of his skin pulse beneath his hand, alive and glorious.

Ray groaned into Fraser's mouth and jerked his body even closer against him bringing their groins snugly together. Fraser's eyes shot open at the intense, overwhelming flood of lust that charged him, to find Ray's similarly startled expression looking right back.

Although not unexpected, to feel Ray's hardness pressed close to his own was a final proof that this was something other than a prank or a dare of some kind. It was real, it was happening and Fraser desperately wanted it to happen some more, preferably somewhere with a bed or at least a flat, horizontal surface of some kind.

They disengaged their mouths, Ray resting his forehead on Fraser's shoulder and panting gusts of hot, damp air that Fraser could feel even through the serge. Neither seemed willing to let go the tight embrace that still clamped them together.

"This is some friendship we have going here, buddy," Ray said quietly when his breathing had calmed.

"Yes it is, Ray."

"Wouldn't want anything to... you know... break that."

"I agree." A sudden clenching in Fraser's guts made his fingers tighten convulsively on Ray. Was this a...? Was Ray telling him that they couldn't...? Fraser closed his eyes and committed all he could to memory in case this was all he'd have.

"So we need to be very, very sure 'bout this."

"Absolutely."

The pause would kill him, Fraser was certain of it.

"Are you?"

Ray was resonating with tension beneath his fingers. Fraser licked his suddenly dry lips. "Yes, I am."

"Good."

And Ray was gone, pulling away from him and leaving him cold in all the places that had been so warmly pressed against him. The light clicked out and the harsh flood of fluorescent lighting made him blink as Ray opened the door, leaving him to find his hat and follow.

Back in the bullpen, Ray was focussed, moving with haste and purpose, closing the unread file and achieving the state on his desk that he referred to as 'tidy'. Fraser was surprised to see that other than reddened lips, Ray looked completely normal, unless your glance strayed below his belt. He felt sure that he himself must look glassy-eyed and rumpled from Ray's attentions, although no one seemed to be taking any notice.

"'Kay guys, we're out of here. Have a great Christmas everyone," Ray called as he grabbed the GTO keys and began herding Fraser towards the door. The smile playing around his mouth and the knowledge in his eyes were doing terrible things to Fraser's concentration span.

"Well you've changed your tune," Frannie said in surprise, looking up from her screen, setting her halo to bobbing once again.

"Yeah, well I just heard that Santa's got something for me after all," Ray called back to her as they pushed through the swing doors and into the busy corridor.

Ray slung an arm around Fraser's shoulder, sweeping him along one more time. "Fraser, my friend, shall I tell you what's the best thing about Christmas?"

"Receiving unexpected gifts?" Fraser ventured. That earned him a grin and a squeeze as they burst out of the building and into the darkening Christmas Eve air.

"That is a great thing, but the best thing, Fraser, old buddy, is that Santa comes every year for the rest of your life."

Fraser looked quickly at Ray. His eyes were shining, warm and hopeful again. His cheeks seemed a little pink as if he were... blushing?

"Only if you're good Ray," Fraser murmured as he opened the car door.

"Oh, I'm good, Fraser. I'm very good."

Fraser couldn't argue with that.

Fin