Fever	Fever by Brenda Antrim 1996. Due South characters used with love
but not permission. Rated PG13, a B/R story. Slow day at the office, Ray
grinned to himself, and fell back into his plans for the evening. Lorraine
was *finally* coming over, and he had his special garlic and pesto pasta
simmering in the crock pot at his apartment. With chicken breasts. Only
the good stuff. His slightly dreamy smile and unfocused eyes were wiped
abruptly sober as the phone shrilled at his elbow. "Vecchio." His smile
turned upside down. "No. 'Course not. I understand... it's no problem,
Lorraine. Yeah. Cool. Fine. Bye." Cradling the phone with exagerrated
care. "Damn." Sad brown green eyes stared at the now silent, still
offensive phone. Working late. Again. Couldn't make it. Sounded like a
line from a particularly bad country song. Not that he listened to country
songs, of course. *whine* Ray dropped his head to see equally sad blue
eyes staring at him from a handsome, if hairy, white face. "Deif? Whatcha
doin' here?" He looked around, brow wrinkling when he didn't see a
familiar red jacket. "Where's Benny?" At the name, the wolf's expression
perked up, and he wagged his tail once. He was a very good lip reader. Ray
grinned back at him and picked up the receiver again. Punching in a number
he knew by heart, he waited impatiently for his friend to pick up.
Finally, after the eighth ring, a groggy voice answered. "Good morning."
"No, it isn't, Benny, it's almost five in the afternoon. What's wrong with
you? You sound like you been hit by a truck." "I'm ... ill, Ray." When no
further information was forthcoming, Ray asked," You eaten yet?" "No,"
Fraser answered after some thought. "I am rather hungry. Perhaps the virus
has run its course." He was sounding a little stronger. Ray grinned into
the phone. "Stay right there, Benny, I'll be over in a flash." Not waiting
for an answer, Ray gathered coat, keys, wallet and wolf and headed for the
door. On the other end of the line, Fraser stared straight ahead and
listened to the dial tone. "I'm not going anywhere, Ray." Vaguely he
wondered if he should get dressed, since he was nude, having kicked off
his thermals in the course of the fever. The thought required as much
energy as he could muster, however, leaving none to actually move, so he
gave up the fight and fell back asleep.
*********************************************************** For once, Ray
was glad the door wasn't locked. He stood back and allowed Deifenbaker to
shoulder the door open for him, then carried in his load of chicken,
pasta, crusty fresh bread, jug of mint tea and jug of orange juice. His
mother swore by pasta and oj -- it was just the thing to get a man's blood
up and going after a bout of ... his breath caught and he nearly dropped
the box of supplies. His thoughts tangled themselves into a knot and he
found himself leaning against the wall, trying not to fall over. No damned
wonder Francesca and Elaine and the whole female population of Chicago was
making fools of themselves, ran through his brain. He hadn't seen Fraser
naked, except when he was shot, or beat up, or hooked up to machines in
the hospital. Here, relatively healthy, sprawled over the spartan bed,
arms and legs flung wide, head tilted back, a light sheen of sweat
glistening on his skin, he looked ... edible. The word brought him back to
reality, or at least a version of it, and he swallowed heavily. Carefully
taking the food over to the counter, he set everything out and tried to
will his erection away. It didn't work. "Ray?" The raspy voice sounded
like Benny, only sexier. Ray closed his eyes briefly, then pasted a smile
on his face and turned to greet his friend. "Hi, Benny! I knew you weren't
feelin' up to snuff so I brought over some pasta and juice and..." His
voice trailed off, and he drank in the sight of his friend. Normally
perfect hair was dishevelled, falling over his forehead, and he had draped
the blanket haphazardly around his waist, flipping the end over one
shoulder. Ray had a half remembered flashback to a picture of a Greek god,
Apollo or somebody, from one of his history textbooks in school. Benny fit
the role. As he watched, the blanket started to slip, but Fraser was too
busy staring back at him to pay attention. "I'm fine, Ray." He cleared his
throat roughly, and tried a smile. "Well, perhaps fine is an
overstatement." He started to sway, and Ray stepped forward to loop an arm
around his waist. Leaning the Mountie up against the counter, Ray looked
directly into the hazy blue eyes. "Benny, listen carefully." Fraser tried
to focus, gave up the effort, and nodded earnestly. "This never happened.
This is a fever dream. This is a figment of your imagination." Fraser
frowned at him in sincere concentration, and Ray grinned. "Unless, of
course, you like it and want to do it again." Fraser opened his mouth to
ask Ray what on earth he was talking about, and Ray kissed him.
Thoroughly. Fraser's eyes widened in disbelief, then snapped shut at the
sensation of a hot mouth plundering his own. His body stirred, fever
forgotten, and he pulled back just long enough to reassure his friend. "I
believe I am no longer contagious, Ray." Then he reached forward and
kissed his friend with surprising enthusiasm. As the two men wandered
toward the general direction of the bed, hands beginning to explore one
another, a thought swam through Ben's dazed mind. This was one figment he
wouldn't mind repeating.
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