Author's Notes: Unbeta'd. Didja know that I'm madly in love with Ray Kowalski? Thought not.

Story Notes: Written for ds_snippets Challenge 97, prompt of oil

one

Fraser watches Ray's hands as he changes the oil on the GTO.

His fingers are dexterous and strangely graceful in spite of the prominent knuckles, which are unnaturally long and bony. Fraser has spent a significant amount of time pondering Ray's hands, especially the odd ratio of proximal to intermediate to distal phalanges, which shouldn't look so pleasing to the eye but somehow does.

Fraser loves the shape of Ray's hands. They deceive the eye, appearing fragile and delicate, but in reality are strong and flexible. Ray's hands are hardworking, blue-collar hands in spite of their elegance.

Ray's hands are a true reflection of Ray himself, damaged and mended, the wounds healed over with the passage of time. Ray carries the memory of his pain in his hands, a reminder of the life he's led, each faint silvery scar a visible reminder of how hard he's tried and how often he's failed.

Fraser is sure that he could catalog Ray's entire emotional history with those hands.

two

Most times, with Ray, it's harder, faster, oh god, Fraser, now!

Sometimes, though, Fraser catches Ray in a mood, drowsing warmly in bed on a lazy Sunday morning. Fraser cherishes these times, because Ray lets him do anything, will lie there patiently while Fraser makes love to his beautiful hands.

Fraser knows it's silly, but he takes the time to kiss every scar, every broken part of Ray's hands. He's cataloged them on other indolent days, asking Ray about each mark, every crooked joint or prominent bone growth.

He wasn't there for Ray then, when the damage was inflicted, but he makes sure that Ray knows he is here now.