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: A thousand thanks to Isis for an exceptionally helpful beta.

Story Notes: An "Odds" episode tag, of a sort. Written as a gift for Scriggle, for too many reasons to count.

Ray slammed the door closed behind Fraser and threw his jacket toward the closet. It earned him a dirty look from Fraser as he picked up Ray's jacket off the floor and dusted it off and meticulously arranged it on a hanger. It looked a lot like the dirty look that Fraser had given him when he put the hurt on the scumbag they'd busted for plagiarism that afternoon ("energetically subdued" was what Fraser said later to Welsh, and Ray had to give him credit for that, anyway). It also looked a lot like the dirty look Fraser gave him when he punched the Close Door button on the elevator two or three or maybe seven or eight times so Dewey couldn't ride down with them, and the dirty look he'd given Ray for gunning it through a yellow light on the way to pick up their Chinese take-out. Not to mention the one for the other yellow light on the way to Ray's apartment.

Ray dropped the food onto the coffee table in the living room. "I need a beer." He shouldered past Fraser and headed for the kitchen. "No, strike that. I need a six-pack."

He could hear Fraser following close behind him, crowding him again, like he'd been doing all afternoon, all day, all goddamn week.

"There's nothing wrong with occasional consumption of alcohol in moderation," Fraser said practically in his ear, sounding like he had the stick even farther up his butt than usual. "However, I don't believe that drinking to excess will solve anything, and you'll most certainly pay the price for it in the morning."

"Did I ask for your advice, Fraser?" Ray grabbed a beer out of the fridge and twisted the top off the bottle, pitching it hard toward the corner, where it pinged off the wall and then ricocheted off the side of the trash can. He turned to find Fraser barely a foot from him, his jaw set. Behind him he could hear the bottle cap spinning in tight circles on the floor. "No, I did not." As he drained half the bottle, the cap settled on the linoleum with a final muted clink.

Fraser just stood there and looked at him, just stood there like he could stand there all night being in Ray's way and breathing his air and getting between Ray and his dinner (which, by the way, was not getting any hotter sitting out there on the coffee table, with the wolf probably drooling all over it by now), not to mention the baseball game that was due to start any minute.

"What do you want, Fraser?" Ray demanded.

"You've been in a terrible mood all day," Fraser said tightly, "the culmination of a week of escalating unpleasantness. You've been ill-mannered and ill-tempered and very nearly reckless in your driving, not to mention your arguably excessive use of force while apprehending our suspect this afternoon."

Ray refused to take a step back, even though it felt like Fraser wasn't leaving him enough room to breathe. "Which is why the beer," he said, narrowly missing clocking Fraser on the chin with the bottle as he lifted it and tipped it back up for another long swallow. The belch that followed wasn't exactly "Fuck you," but it was pretty close, especially being as it was practically right in Fraser's face.

Fraser's eyes went hard and dark. "That was exceptionally rude, Ray."

Ray refused to feel ashamed of himself. Or at least, refused to admit that he felt ashamed, which was close enough to the same thing. Which made apologizing pretty much out of the question, so he shrugged instead. "Dinner's getting cold in there, Fraser."

"I think dinner can wait, Ray," Fraser said, and there was a word for how his face looked, like the irresistible force and the immovable object all rolled up into one, but Ray couldn't remember what it was.

Ray made himself meet Fraser's eyes, even though it did something weird to his stomach. "Jesus, Fraser, give me a break, will you? I've had a suck-ass day in a suck-ass week to finish off a suck-ass month and all I want to do is have a couple of beers and eat dinner and watch the goddamn game without you getting in my face about everything."

Fraser studied him for a long minute.

The kitchen got warmer.

"All right," Fraser said, and Ray barely had time to feel relieved before he added, "but we have some business to transact first."

Which was so out of left field that all Ray could come up with was, "What?"

"An outstanding debt," Fraser said. "You owe me some air."

"Air," Ray said, a little stupidly, which made him feel foolish, which pissed him off all over again, so of course he had to give Fraser a little shove in the chest and say, "Get out of my way. We're missing the game." But Fraser was still doing the immovable object thing, so the shove didn't do anything but rock Ray back on his heels and make him feel like a wuss, which Ray really did not need right now.

"I believe we left it with you owing me a considerable sum of air. A hundred and fifty, if I remember correctly." Fraser stared him down. "Pay up, Ray."

"What the fuck?" Ray felt his face going hot.

"Pay up," Fraser repeated.

Ray shoved hard this time, right in the middle of Fraser's chest, hard enough to make just barely enough room to squeeze past him so he could throw open the window. "There," he said belligerently, waving a hand at his personal slice of Chicago's smoggy skyline. "Okay? Air."

Fraser shook his head. "No, Ray, I'm afraid that won't do."

Ray grabbed the electric fan from the corner of the little dining area and slammed it down on the windowsill. He plugged it in, turned it on high, and aimed it toward Fraser. "There you go," he snapped, "Turbo air. All you can breathe. Now shut up and let's go watch the game."

Ray headed for the living room, but Fraser side-stepped at the last second and Ray walked smack into his chest instead.

"No," Fraser said, his body solid against Ray's belly, his eyes hot and hard. He reached around Ray and turned off the fan. "The debt's not settled."

"You wanted air, I gave you air!"

Fraser slowly shook his head. "But that's not your air, Ray."

Ray froze. "What?"

"I want your air, Ray."

Panic stirred low in Ray's gut. He sucked in a deep breath and blew in Fraser's face. "There. Used Ray Kowalski air. You happy?"

"That's not how it's done, Ray." Implacable, Ray thought out of nowhere, that was the word for how Fraser was. Or was it inexorable? Maybe both. "You know that," Fraser said. "I'm sure you remember."

Ray felt his face grow hot. "No fucking way, Fraser. Now stop dicking with me and let's go eat dinner." And then he thought how stupid it was to use that word, when he was all but rubbing dicks with Fraser already.

Fraser stared him down. "I never thought you'd be one to default on a wager, Ray."

Ray's brain yelled at him to back up a step - or two, or better yet, all the way across the goddamn room - but he held his ground. "I'm no welsher," he said, while his brain screamed shut up, shut up, shut up!

Fraser's smile was one of the scarier things Ray had ever seen. "All right then, Ray. Pay up."

"Fuck you."

"Welsher."

Ray was no stranger to adrenaline. Hell, they were practically old friends. He'd been pissed off, weirded out, shit-scared, and eighteen other kinds of freaked over the course of his life. But nothing had ever felt quite like this.

At least, not since the first time he'd kissed Stella.

And it was all kinds of wrong to be thinking about that right now.

Ray clenched his fists and drew in a shaky breath. He leaned forward slowly, tilting his head to one side, and his stomach went all fluttery when he saw Fraser tilt his own head the other way, his lips parting and his eyelids drifting shut.

Oh, Jesus, was all Ray had time to think, and then his own eyes were closed and his mouth was on Fraser's. They were on dry land, miles from Lake Michigan or any other goddamn lake, and his mouth was on Fraser's.

Fraser's lips were warm and open, welcoming, nothing like the hard and tight line they'd been just a moment before. Ray molded his own lips to Fraser's, then gently breathed into Fraser's mouth. And Fraser took it in. Ray's air, and Fraser took it in, deep inside himself.

It seemed to take forever to empty his lungs, but finally Ray had no more air to give, and he lifted his mouth from Fraser's and took a small step back. His hands were maybe shaking just a little, but the rest of the world felt like it had gone still around them.

Fraser didn't look hard any more. He looked... soft. His eyes were wide and warm instead of hot, and that muscle in his jaw wasn't jumping any more. His lips were still slightly parted, and his tongue slipped out to trace them.

Ray's breath hitched. "So," he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "We good now?"

Fraser's smile was one Ray had never seen before, soft and open and maybe just a little bit scared. It made something funny happen in his chest. "That's an excellent start, Ray. Now if you'll just finish paying off your debt, we can still catch most of the game."

"Finish," Ray said, and his gaze dropped down to Fraser's mouth, his lips still glistening slightly with moisture from his tongue.

Fraser nodded, and he reached for Ray's wrists, his grip just a little unsteady as he placed Ray's hands on each side of his face. "Finish."

Fraser's skin was warm and alive under Ray's hands. He rubbed a thumb over one cheek and Fraser's eyelids fluttered closed. He slid his fingers back into Fraser's hair (thick and soft, so very soft) and watched as a hot flush of pink painted Fraser's face and crept halfway up his ears. He tilted Fraser's head to one side, and Fraser's lips parted and his breath caught.

Jesus. Fraser wanted him. Fraser wanted Ray like nobody had wanted him in more years than he wanted to think about. And Ray was damned if he knew how he felt about that - he probably felt more things than he could count, and at least one of them had a lot to do with his dick, which was all kinds of freaky - but the one thing he did know for sure was that he wasn't stopping now.

"Finish," he muttered.

Fraser's eyes opened, and there was hope and terror and hunger in them. "Finish it, Ray," he whispered, and took the small step to close the few inches between them.

With Fraser's head cradled in his hands, Ray leaned in, sealing their mouths together. He breathed out as slowly as he could, and felt Fraser's chest move against his own as his lungs expanded, filling with Ray's air.

This time when he ran out of breath, he didn't lift his head, and he didn't step back. Their mouths still sealed, he ran his fingers through Fraser's hair while Fraser breathed out through his nose, a soft, warm breeze that Ray drew into his own nostrils. Lungs filled, Ray stroked his fingers over Fraser's neck and breathed into him again, and Fraser took it, took everything Ray had to give.

He had no idea how long it went on. The earth had stopped turning, and the sun paused in its descent toward the horizon. There was nothing in the world but Ray and Fraser and the breath they shared.

He wasn't sure who ended it, but then they were standing, chest to chest, faces buried in each other's necks, Fraser's hands at Ray's waist and Ray still holding Fraser's head, stroking his hair.

"So," Ray said finally. "Finished?"

Fraser nodded against Ray's neck, then slowly lifted his head and looked into Ray's eyes. "Yes," he said. "It's finished." And he looked so sad and so hopeful all at once that Ray's heart cracked open wide.

"Okay," Ray said, "then let's start something." And he took Fraser's mouth with his own, and he kissed him.

~ fin ~