Author's website: http://www.trickster.org/kass/

Disclaimer: Boys are theirs, words are mine.

Author's Notes: In response to the cliche challenge at the lj community ds_flashfiction. Thanks to Sihaya Black for beta.

Story Notes:

This was not the way good days started: Ray couldn't see.

And his bed felt all wrong. He was fully dressed (why was he fully dressed?) He was way too hot, and the mattress was too solid, and he couldn't feel his right arm, and his eyes weren't working.

"What the--?" He tried sitting up, but the motion made his head spin. His mouth felt furry. Maybe he was dying.

Then the wool blanket slipped askew and the brightness made him blink, hard, and then the weight on his arm lifted.

It was Fraser. Hair mussed from sleep, face patchy and pink from the pressure of the pillow, wearing some kind of red longjohns.

They were on his cot, at the Consulate. Diefenbaker was blocking (guarding?) the door, watching them in the blinding late-morning sun.

Ray blinked. Carefully lay his head back down. And closed his eyes again.

Obviously he was still drunk and was hallucinating.

He tugged the scratchy blanket back over his face. Ahhh: darkness. That was better.

But now his hallucination was tapping him on the shoulder.

"Ray."

Muffled by the blanket, but unquestionably Fraser.

"Ray."

Ray gritted his teeth. He was asleep. He was making this all up.

There was a pause.

"Ray, we should talk."

Like hell they should. His stomach was curdling with the sick realization that this wasn't a dream: that he'd apparently gotten hammered, driven over here, and forced himself into bed with his straight-as-possible partner. Oh, God. What else had he done?

"No." That sounded definite, right?

"Ray, I...be reasonable. Please." Coaxing, now, like he was talking to the wolf.

"Leave me alone." Let me lie here and try to remember what stupid-ass things I said and did so I can beat myself up for them before you get the chance.

He felt Fraser moving, contorting himself to get out from under the blanket and out of the cot without dislodging him. He didn't hear footsteps, though, which meant Fraser was still standing right there. Damn it.

"You don't want to talk to me." A note of surprise.

"Finally he gets it." Sarcasm: the last refuge of the...sarcastic.

There was a pause. "I take it you didn't mean the...things you said, then." Fraser sounded deflated. "I suppose I should have anticipated that."

Ray could hear him moving around the room. Cloth rustled.

"I was tempted at the time, of course, but my better instincts indicated we should wait until the light of day."

He didn't sound angry. He sounded...sad.

Wait a second: tempted?

"What?"

"Hmm?"

Ray sat up and flung the blanket down, squinting. Fraser was standing as far away from him as was possible, wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else, clutching his dopkit. Despite the hangover, despite the headache, despite the horrifying fear that he'd ruined everything Ray couldn't keep his heart from doing flip-flops at the sight. Fraser looked so...beautiful.

He looked afraid.

Ray took a breath. "I don't remember anything."

Fraser's brow furrowed; he set the dopkit down. His shoulders went back, as though he were on duty. "Do you know who you are? Do you recall a blow to the head?"

"Fraser, no, Christ, it's not amnesia." Ray ran a hand over his hair, which was sticky and gross. "I mean I don't remember anything from last night."

"Ah." Fraser re-crossed the room, sitting gingerly near Ray's feet.

Might as well start with the obvious. "I got drunk?"

"Indeed. You showed up here shortly after one a.m., smelling rather strongly of whisky, insisting you needed to speak with me. Fortunately, Constable Turnbull and I were awake watching curling reruns; he heard you on the steps and let you in."

Ray groaned and buried his face in his hands. "The Ice Queen...?"

"Has no idea you're here."

"Thank God."

"Please; give us some credit." A bit sharper, but at least he didn't sound angry. Yet.

Another pause. Ray's stomach did more somersaults.

"In any event, you...professed certain feelings. For me."

A longer pause. Apparently it was his turn. He dropped his hands and looked at Fraser. Helplessly.

"Did you mean what you said?"

"I don't know what I said!" This was ridiculous. His head hurt and his mouth tasted like a mouse had slept in it. "If it was something like, ' I wish you weren't straight, I think I'm in love with you,' then yeah, I meant it. If it was 'I've probably ruined our friendship now and I hate myself for it,' I meant that too." He scrubbed a palm over one side of his face. "Throw me a rope, here, Fraser, I'm..." He flailed. "Lost. Drowning."

"No, Ray. You're not."

Fraser looked solemn, but still not angry.

"You're on terra firma."

That sounded okay.

"You're with me."

That definitely sounded okay. Better than okay. Fraser was smiling now, a smile Ray had never exactly seen before, and it curled his toes. "You were really tempted?" Stupidly, dazzled, as Fraser's body approached his.

"More than you can imagine."

Ray was grinning like an idiot, eyes closed, but instead of the kiss he expected he got a light brush of Fraser's lips to his forehead, and then the warm body pulled away.

"Fraser?"

The dopkit was thrust into his lap. "The bathroom's down the hall."

Translation: I'm not kissing you until you taste a whole lot mintier. Ray chuckled. "You got a spare toothbrush?"

"Avail yourself of mine."

The offer made Ray tingle. Like it meant a lot more than the words. Like it meant 'I love you too.'

Just as soon as he got himself clean, they were going out for breakfast: coffee and something greasy, the best hangover cure there is. And then they were going to spend the rest of the weekend exploring just what Fraser was so tempted to do.

Despite the hangover, Ray danced his way down the hall.

It was going to be a good day afterall.

(990 words)

End Morning After by Kass: kass@trickster.org

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