Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski
Ratings: PG-13 for a little m/m. Vanilla. -snerk-
Spoilers: None to speak of.
Disclaimer: Alliance owns dueSouth and its characters.
This is fanfic. No profit, no problem, eh?
Summary: Childishness knows no age boundaries.
Feedback: Yes! All kinds except flames welcome.
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SandSteinr@aol.com
"Now, Ray. There's no need to stoop to their level."
Ray Kowalski eyed the smears of whipped cream and chocolate sauce plastered across the front of his favorite t-shirt, and hefted his own handful of whipped cream thoughtfully. On the other side of the kitchen, two pairs of youthful eyes tracked the missile anxiously.
"Really? Why not?" Ray asked conversationally, a tone of voice that made Fraser distinctly nervous.
"Well, Ray, because. You are an adult. You've grown beyond the need for things like petty vengeance. You've... matured."
Ray shot him a glance. For a moment, Fraser thought he'd succeeded, but then he heard a muffled snicker from across the kitchen. Ray grinned a grin that would have been at home on a kamikaze pilot going in for the kill.
"Speak for yerself, Mountie!" Ray let fly with his handful of cream.
"Food fight!!!"
"Oh, dear."
Chaos ensued.
The cream pies that they'd spent all morning preparing didn't last long, converted nearly instantly to a hail of flying dairy products, aimed mostly at Ray.
"Now, children! Ray!"
"Hey! No fair, it's two on one! C'mon Fraser, I need backup here!"
"Ray!"
"Aughh! Fraser! C'mere, you... take that!"
"Ray!"
"Ha-ha! Score one for the Chicago PD! Hey kid, your aim su--mrrphlzt!"
"Ray!"
"Fraser, I'm warning you!"
"Ray!"
"Okay, kids! Get the Mountie!!"
"Oh, dear!" Fraser dove for the scant cover of the central kitchen island, dodging the barrage of creamy missiles aimed his way. He cast about for an avenue of retreat, but Ray and the two children had him well pinned down. He winced as a particularly messy detonation struck close to his head. He snuck a look at Ray, who was now more dessert than detective, and had to duck a glob of chocolate mousse aimed right between his eyes.
"Ray, really!"
"I warned you, Fraser!"
Fraser scratched his brow and eyed the mixing bowl on the counter nearby. Perhaps fair play indicated that he should fight fire with fire. Fraser jumped to his feet and scooped up a handful of cream filling, a boyish grin unconsciously curling his lips as he chose his target.
"WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE!?"
Fraser jumped instantly to attention, hands behind his back. Ray and the other two children straightened more slowly. "Oh! Uh, Mrs. Fitzsimmons! Ah... we were... Ray was just..."
"I don't want to hear it!" The matronly woman grabbed her two young charges by the arms, but turned her glare on the older men. "You were supposed to be volunteering for the community center bake sale, not destroying my kitchen! Clean this place up!"
"Yes, ma'am," Fraser answered meekly, echoed by Ray.
Mrs. Fitzsimmons swept out, children in tow, and Ray turned to Fraser. "That was great!" he laughed. "Greatness!"
"Really, Ray. Have you no shame?" Fraser looked about for a clean towel to wipe his hands on, but they all seemed to be victims of the crossfire.
"For a food fight? Nah." Ray wiped cream out of his eyes and got a better look at Fraser. His eyes goggled. "Look at you!"
Fraser looked down at his uniform. "What?"
"You're clean! There's not a mark on you! The three of us gunnin' for you, an' you ain't got one bit of cream on you! Is that some super Mountie-power y'haven't told me about yet?"
Fraser shook his head, perplexed. "No, Ray. I don't believe so. I-I've always been this way. Ray Vecchio noticed it too."
"Well, it's not fair," Ray announced, coming to stand very close to him. "In fact, it's downright unnatural." That said, Ray scraped a bit of whipped cream off his thigh and placed a large, sticky, and quite deliberate hand-print on Fraser's serge-covered shoulder.
Ben gaped at the cream marking his uniform, just to the left of his heart. But Ray was not finished. He retrieved more cream from his sullied t-shirt and smeared Fraser's left cheek, the corner of his mouth, and dabbed his nose for good measure.
Ben looked up and met blue eyes sparkling with gold, and was struck speechless. It was all he could do to breathe.
"What, you don't like that?" Ray asked.
Ben blinked at him.
"All right. I'll clean ya off." And Ray leaned in and ran a warm, wet tongue up the side of Fraser's face.
Ben jerked violently at the feel of Ray's tongue on him and took a step back, his boot heel skidding on a patch of whipped cream. He grabbed at Ray to try to break his fall, but succeeded only in bringing the detective down on top of him.
"Oof! Warn a guy, Fraser." Ray looked down into his face for a moment, obviously concerned over Ben's reaction, but then a smile broke over his face, sleek and seductive.
"Glad to know you don't mind me lickin' ya," he said, rocking his hips against Ben's unbidden erection. Fraser's head fell back and he moaned, entirely lost in the sensation. Only to be brought back to reality by the feel of Ray's tongue licking cream from the tip of his nose.
"Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray."
"Hmm?"
"We can't do this, Ray. Not here," he amended hastily, seeing the alarm in his partner's eyes. Ray relaxed, and Ben ventured to put one arm around his back, unmindful of whipped cream stains. "We promised Mrs. Fitzsimmons that we'd clean her kitchen."
"Okay," Ray sighed, reluctantly pulling away. "Far be it for me to make a Mountie break his promise."
"Thank you, Ray. I appreciate that." Ben released Ray with equal reluctance, and climbed to his feet.
"Yeah, well, just save what's left of the whipped cream, okay?"
"Whatever for?"
This time, Ray's grin was heart-stoppingly devilish. "I wanna see what other parts of you taste good with cream."
Oh, dear.
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