Story Notes: Written in September 2007 for all of the week-4 prompts over at ds_snippets: restrained, photo, a new hairstyle, and "Your personal conviction's fierce/It's been in your family for years."

"I can't believe I let you do this," Fraser says, wiggles his wrists experimentally against the neckties. "In the unlikely eventuality that we ever do it again, I am picking my own safe word. It's not supposed to be a phrase."

"It's not like it's too long. Three syllables. A lot of single words are longer than 'The queen sucks.'"

"Length is not the point--what are you doing?"

Ray's glopping gel into Fraser's hair, swirling one Superman curl onto Fraser's forehead.

"I can feel how stupid that looks, Ray."

"And when he was bad, he was horrid," Ray says, grins at him, and takes a camera out of the nightstand drawer.

"No."

"Hmmm," Ray says, pans up and down the whole glorious nakedness of Fraser.

"Ray. The queen--. The queen--. Ray. Please. Just don't."

Ray takes pity, swings the camera up and snaps a picture of the ceiling. It'll probably turn him on anyway, just remembering why he took it.

He straddles Fraser, sculpts his hair some more. "Flock of Seagulls," he says. "Astro-Boy."

"You are babbling and obviously deranged."

Ray stretches out full-length on top of him, sucks at his neck.

"Ray. That's going to show. Ray."

"What's the phraaaaase?"

"Ray!"

"Not even close," Ray says, sucks some more, wiggles a hand in between them.

"Ray. I have always believed, my whole family has always--in a certain amount of personal--dirigible. Dignity. And you seem--god, that's---seem determined to undulate, undermine, ohhhhh, yes--every last--don't stop."

"Wasn't planning to," Ray says, and doesn't.