Disclaimer: Due South and its characters belong to Alliance Atlantis and a bunch of other people who are not me. This is just for fun, not for profit. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: Written for "Write About Socks Day" on LJ, which was just whimsical enough to tickle my fancy.

Story Notes: In any other fandom, I'd consider this scenario nauseatingly saccharine, but somehow with these two guys (and Dief's help), it seemed to work.

Yawning widely, Ray thumbed the remote and turned off the television. He let his head fall back and then roll a little to the left, just enough so that he could see Fraser's face.

"That," he pronounced, "did not suck."

Fraser's mouth did that thing that wasn't quite a smile, but meant he was happy. "I'm glad you enjoyed the movie, Ray." His eyes stole toward Ray's feet, propped up on the coffee table as they'd been throughout the movie.

"That's driving you nuts, isn't it, Fraser?" Ray nodded at his right foot, his big toe sticking out through the hole in his white gym sock. He wiggled his toe, just for the fun of watching Fraser's forehead wrinkle.

Fraser did the eyebrow rub thing. "I would have been happy to darn it for you, had you allowed me to do so when the hole was still small enough. But it's worn so badly that it's now beyond salvaging, and I can't imagine why you haven't simply discarded it."

"Nobody darns gym socks, Fraser. Nobody darns socks any more ever. They buy new ones." Ray wiggled his toe again, trying to get another eyebrow rub out of Fraser, but no dice.

"And you have an adequate supply of new ones. Which you could be wearing instead of this one, and yet you don't, for reasons that escape me. That certainly can't be comfortable."

Ray's grin was all teeth. "Maybe I like making you stare at my feet."

Fraser's head turned sharply and his startled gaze met Ray's, his eyes wide.

Ray felt his ears go warm. He backpedaled. "Or maybe I just like messing with your head."

Fraser's smile bloomed slowly across his face, like those daylilies that Ray's mom used to grow, opening to the morning sun. "Of that I have no doubt," he said.

Other parts of Ray went warm.

He looked away. His feet were right there in front of him, so he looked at them. He wiggled his toe again.

Dief decanted himself from the armchair with a leisurely stretch, gave himself a mellow shake to resettle his fur, and meandered toward his water bowl, pausing to give Ray's exposed toe a sniff and a lick on the way past.

"Yuck," Ray said. "Your wolf is a freak, Fraser." He rubbed his spit-slick toe against his other sock to dry it. When that wasn't adequate, he leaned forward and scrounged around the coffee table, hoping to find an unused paper napkin left over from their pizza dinner.

A touch on his arm made him glance left. Fraser's extended hand held a neatly folded white handkerchief. "I apologize for Diefenbaker's behavior. It's not that he's incapable of learning the niceties of human manners, but rather that he considers those of his own species to be more sensible."

Ray took the handkerchief and mopped at his soggy toe. "He may have a point, there. But." He stared directly at Dief, who was sauntering back toward them, his muzzle still dripping. "You gotta compromise when you're in my house. No licking feet. No licking ears. No sniffing butts. Got that?"

Dief walked around the coffee table until he could stand beside Ray. He rested his wet chin on Ray's thigh and looked up at him.

"Yeah, yeah, okay. I guess that's a yes." He scratched Dief behind the ear until his eyes drifted closed in pleasure. Ray gave him a concluding pat. "Okay, now beat it. Go do wolf things."

Dief nosed Ray's forearm gently, then turned and leapt gracefully back up into the armchair. He turned around twice, pawed halfheartedly at the cushion beneath him, then turned around once more and collapsed with a sigh, his muzzle resting on the arm of the chair.

"You know," Ray said, "sometimes I wouldn't mind being a wolf." He started to return Fraser's handkerchief, now damp and wadded up, but thought better of it and tossed it on the coffee table. "I'll wash it for you," he said. "Thanks." He shot a smile at Fraser over his shoulder, and the one he got in return had him looking quickly away again.

Suddenly twitchy, Ray grabbed a Sharpie marker off the table and spun it between his fingers. He opened it, tossed the cap on the coffee table, and sat back, pulling his right foot up until his ankle rested on his left knee.

He looked over at Fraser. Fraser just looked back, bemusement on his face.

Ray pulled his pant leg up a few inches and furrowed his brow. Carefully he started drawing on the top of his sock, feeling the pen drag across his foot. One circle, another, the outline of the Goat sketched carefully above, connecting the wheels. He added the door handle and sat back with a frown, considering the result.

Fraser reached out, his fingers lightly circling the marker. "May I?"

Ray surrendered it to him. He nodded, just once.

Fraser leaned over, cradling Ray's foot in his left hand, and carefully drew on the bottom of the sock with his right. Ray could feel the tip of the marker tracing across the sole of his foot, almost tickling but not quite. He could feel the warmth of Fraser's hand through the sock. It felt good. Safe. Which was a really weird thing to think about Fraser and Ray's foot, but that's what it felt like, and Ray liked it. He twitched at the fabric of his t-shirt, trying to inconspicuously tug it down a little lower.

Fraser sat back for a moment, looking at Ray's sock, smoothing the fabric with his thumb. That felt good, too. Then he leaned forward again and drew some more.

Finally Fraser sat back and turned to look at Ray, a question in his eyes.

Ray looked at his sock. "Hey," he said. "That's me. Cool." He took the pen from Fraser and started to draw. Four legs, pointy nose, pointy ears... tail. Not bad. He added a hanging-out tongue just to finish it off, then looked at Fraser with a triumphant grin.

"Very nice, Ray," Fraser said, and took the marker again.

Ray didn't look at his foot while Fraser drew. He looked at Fraser, his forehead furrowed in concentration, and at the lock of hair that curled up behind Fraser's ear, just this one little curl in all that straight, dark, thick hair. He looked at the hint of pink slowly creeping up Fraser's neck and across his cheeks. Ray's hands twitched against his thighs; his fingertips rubbed in little back-and-forth motions over the fabric of his jeans.

Fraser stopped drawing and sat looking at his work for a long moment. At last he drew a few final lines, then capped the pen and laid it gently on the coffee table. He sat back, releasing Ray's foot with what felt like reluctance, and sat staring straight ahead.

Ray looked down at his foot like he was looking off a cliff, his belly doing the same funny, fluttery things. Fraser had drawn himself standing beside Ray, very close to him. He'd drawn himself with his arm around Ray's shoulder, and a smile on his face.

Ray shifted, tugging his foot upward so he could see it better. He reached to his right and turned on the lamp.

Dief stirred in his chair, cracking one eye. His curiosity roused, he slid down out of the armchair and padded over to Ray. He sniffed at the sock, sneezed vigorously, and then backed off and looked it over critically. He looked up at Ray. He looked over at Fraser. Then he walked around the coffee table and climbed up onto the far end of the couch, muscling Fraser toward the middle, closer to Ray.

Fraser didn't berate Dief for his lapse in manners. He just sat there, crowded close up against Ray, his face going scarlet.

Ray looked down at his foot again. He looked over at Fraser. He nudged Fraser's knee with the bare toe that stuck out of his decorated sock.

Fraser shot him a shy smile.

Ray gave him one back.

Fraser coughed, cleared his throat.

Ray let himself slump toward Fraser on the couch, just a little.

Dief turned in a circle, hip-checking Fraser toward Ray, and with a huff, dropped and settled into a tight ball.

Fraser looked at Dief. He looked at Ray. With studied casualness, he raised his right arm and draped it across the back of the couch, allowing it to settle gently across Ray's shoulders.

Ray went warm all over. He let himself relax against Fraser's side, just a bit. He reached down and tugged the sock off his foot, and tossed it onto the coffee table. His foot was liberally marked in black. "Huh," he said.

Fraser reached over with his left hand and cupped Ray's foot, tracing over the marks with his thumb. "It appears that the marker bled through the sock," he said, still stroking Ray's foot.

It took Ray a few seconds to answer. "Yeah," he said, staring at Fraser's hand holding his foot. Touching him.

"It's a permanent marker," Fraser said apologetically, the fingers of his right hand curving around Ray's shoulder, "but perhaps I can help you find a way to get the ink off." He looked up at Ray through his lashes, and Ray couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Fraser scared.

Fraser being scared, Ray discovered, made Ray very brave. He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Fraser's wrist. He didn't grab on tight; he didn't do anything except rub his thumb over the inside of Fraser's wrist, in rhythm with Fraser's stroking on Ray's foot.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay." And he smiled.

The sun came out on Fraser's face. "Good," he said. He looked at Ray's foot, at Ray's hand on his wrist, and then back at Ray's face. "Later?"

"Yeah," Ray said. "Later."

~ fin ~