Story Notes: Written in August 2007. Mild razor kink.

"Oh you are kidding me," Ray says.

"I'm quite serious. I'm currently incapable." Fraser holds up his hands, and yeah, they're shaking.

"Should you even be taking that stuff if it gives you the shakes?"

"The doctor said this is a temporary side effect--it should resolve itself within a day or two. And the prednisone is certainly helping with the itching."

"So, be stubbly for a couple of days," Ray says. And Fraser gives him this mournful look, this, "Oh, Ray, how could I even consider appearing at the consulate scruffy?" look. Shit.

"I can't...Fraser, I can't shave you, that's really...personal," Ray says desperately. Because, lately, being in Fraser's space is freaking him out a little bit. "I--hey, I'll go buy you an electric."

"I tried that once, Ray. I could feel the vibrations in my sinus cavities for a week. Most unpleasant."

"Frase, just...no. Sorry."

"Who dropped me in the poison ivy, Ray?"

"They were shooting at us!"

"Who dropped me, Ray?"

"It's not my fault they'd stripped us before--"

"Who dropped me, Ray?"

"Goddamnit. Okay."

Fraser opens up his medicine cabinet, and sure, Ray had figured that he wasn't gonna have plastic disposables. That he'd probably have one where you replace the blades, and he'd probably wipe it dry and rub it with tidyfoot oil or whatever after each shave so each blade lasted six freaking years. But he was not expecting this.

Ray drops his face into his hands. "Fraser," he mumbles through his fingers, "That is not a razor. That is a, a scythe. You didn't ask if I was okay with reaping you."

"Pshaw," Fraser says. Actually says pshaw, who does that?

Fraser gets a bowl of hot water and throws a hand towel in it, sets that on his bed, drops into a chair beside the bed and looks at Ray.

"Uh," Ray says. "Is there washing involved, here?"

"You just put the hot towel on my face for a minute. It softens the stubble."

"Oh. Okay," and Ray does it, wrings the towel out and spreads it over Fraser's face, and Fraser groans a little. Which is not helpful.

Fraser sits there and soaks for a minute, and then takes the towel off and lathers up with this stuff from a jar, which isn't foamy at all. Smells good though, kind of pine-ish.

Ray picks up the giant freaking blade and pretty much wills his hands to start shaking so he can beg off doing this. And he feels like he's jittering all over, but his damn hands are rock still.

So he starts. Steps up close behind Fraser and draws the blade tentatively up his cheek, because no way is he starting on the neck.

"You can be considerably firmer than that, Ray."

"Do not talk. Do not move your face," Ray says, because that makes the blade wiggly, and he is not going to be responsible for messing up Fraser's face. It'd be a hell of a waste, he thinks, and then wonders when he started thinking that kind of thing.

He picks the blade up for a minute, and Fraser tilts his head back, looks up at Ray upside down, which is weird-looking and makes the back of his head press up against Ray's--against Ray. And Fraser can't possibly be noticing that because he'd stop, but Ray kind of wonders how the hell he can not be noticing it, because it is having an effect on Ray which seems like it would be--noticeable.

Ray's trying to tell himself to step back, and Fraser just keeps looking up at him and then says, "Stop worrying, Ray. You aren't going to hurt me. I know that."

And then Ray's okay to go on, somehow, and he does it not-so-skittish this time. Starts to get into a rhythm, place and pull up and lift off, and wipe the blade on the damp towel. And it seems natural to sort of brace Fraser's head with his other hand, to hold his head firmly back against Ray because after all it would be bad if Fraser moved. And when Ray's shaving himself he always checks the results with his fingertips, doesn't trust the mirror in his dim bathroom, so it seems reasonable to check on Fraser too, to hold the razor tilted away and just run the back of his razor hand gently up Fraser's cheek to see if he got it good and smooth, and, yeah, he did.

He gets through all of the face fine, holds his breath through the tricky upper-lip part. And Fraser's silent and still, does just what he was told for once, just lets Ray move his head however he needs to. And then there's no putting off the neck anymore. Ray takes a couple of deep breaths, says, "Don't. Move." again, and then he does it, does it slow and careful and perfect.

And it's weird. Because the last couple of days since he started the prednisone, Fraser's been--kind of Ray-like. Jittery and hyper. But now, when he's got his head tilted back and a big-ass blade sliding up over his adam's apple, Fraser is really, really relaxed. His hands in his lap still have that little shivery thing going on, but his thighs are all spread out and his head's leaned heavy back against Ray, and, god, his eyes are closed.

Ray finishes up, puts the blade in the bowl, wipes Fraser off with a damp towel corner. Runs both hands up and down Fraser's face to see if he missed any spots, and he's sure he didn't, because it's a really, really thorough check. And after he's done his hands don't leave, they just stay there on Fraser's cheeks. Which is odd, and Ray waits for Fraser to open his eyes and sit up straight or maybe for Ray to step back, but neither thing happens.

So Ray leans over and kisses him. And it's strange because it's an upside-down kiss, chin to nose and nose to chin, but mostly it's strange because the upside-down part is the only strange thing about it; kissing Fraser doesn't feel strange at all.

And Fraser doesn't seem to think it's strange either, because he makes that hot-towel groan again, and his hands come up behind Ray's head and are shaky in Ray's hair.