Story Notes: Done for dS Snippets Challenge 95, an Amnesty challenge, using all the Challenge 77 prompts of: unwound, button, bust, handcuff.

"Nice bust, there, Ray," Dewey says, and giggles.

"Shut up," Ray says, and stalks into the bathroom. Fraser follows him, watches him for a moment as he cleans up cuts, glares at blooming bruises. "She's obviously had martial arts training," Fraser finally assays.

"Shut. UP."

Fraser sighs. The woman had, indeed, been pulchritudinous, yet tiny; certainly not over five feet, which was doubtless why Ray had been so unprepared when--"She kicked my ASS, Fraser," Ray says.

"You weren't expecting violence from an, ah, escort; you needn't belittle yourself," Fraser says. "Are you adding 'assaulting an officer' to her--"

"NO. That'd be some fun testimony. 'Yes, judge, she weighs ninety-seven pounds, and three pounds of it is make-up. Yes, she ripped all the buttons off my shirt. Yes, it took four cops and a Canadian to get her unwound off me."

"That was an astonishing display of thigh muscles," Fraser says. But he can't help picturing the end of the fight, and feels a flush spreading out from his chest, hot up his neck. His breathing is a bit fast.

And Ray is looking at him. "Geez, Frase, are you all--" His eyes narrow suddenly. "You got off on that," he says, bitterly. "Seeing her take me down. Thanks." He spins to leave, and Fraser's suddenly almost dizzy with relief, because now he has to say something, now it's information Ray needs; not just something Fraser wants--that was never enough.

He grabs Ray's shoulder. "No," he says. "Not that. It was--at the end, the handcuffs, seeing--your fingers--on the cuffs."

Ray blinks at him. He's going to have quite a shiner, on the left. "Huh," he says, and Fraser holds his breath until, finally, Ray smiles.