Notes: This is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a
while, although inspiration for the basic premise must go to Audra MacMann
  Notes: This is an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a
while, although inspiration for the basic premise must go to Audra
MacMann. I seem to be the only person who can actually picture Fraser
doing this ... but the picture is really pretty to me, and as you all know
by now, I think he has lots of hidden depths. Even though it's short, it
had a soundtrack "I'll Be Good to You," The Brothers Johnson, "I'm Your
Boogie Man," KC & the Sunshine Band and "Lady Marmalade," LaBelle,
respectively.  Pairing: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski  Disclaimers, et al.:
Alliance owns them, blah, blah, blahdiddy, blah, blah. If they were mine,
they'd go club-hopping at least once every two weeks. Rated R for a stray
bad word and implied boy-on-boy interaction. Un-betaed, so all mistakes
are mine.  Summary: Fraser relaxes.  Feedback is muchly wanted and will be
greedily slurped at LaToot@aol.com.  "Rhythmic" by LaT	  Ray could hear
it from the other end of the hall. Music. One of his normally quiet,
not-really-ever-there neighbors was playing music. And playing it pretty
damn loud. The walls in the building were really thick, so the fact that
he could hear it told Ray that whoever it was, they were having a high old
time of it.  It had been a long day even though it was just six o'clock.
Ray was wired and tired, but he realized he knew the song, and almost
reflexively, his steps fell in time with the syncopated beat, and his hips
began to sway. He liked, no, *loved* the song that was playing. A piece of
classic, old-school R&B that brought back fond memories of his adolescence
and *never* failed to make him want to *move*. He actually stopped in the
hall for several seconds to just rock, sway and wriggle along with it. He
started humming as he pulled out his keys and it was when he got closer to
his door that he realized the music was coming from his apartment. 
Fraser. //Fraser?//  Ray stopped again, genuinely surprised and trying to
wrap his mind around the idea of Fraser willingly listening to *anything*
that loud. The song started up again. A smile curved Ray's lips at the
thought of the song making Fraser react in the same way he himself did. 
//Oh. How fucking funny would that be? Fraser. *Jammin'*. On *repeat*.//
Even though the stereo was going full-blast, Ray still slipped the key
into the lock slowly //like those damn bat ears of his aren't gonna perk
up anyway//, turned the knob and opened the door as quietly as he could.
He stepped inside. And just ... stared.  Fraser had pulled the rug back
and pushed both the couch and the coffee table to the side to give himself
more room. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and one of his RCMP
tee-shirts, and he was ... dancing.   Not just bopping in place.   Not
just swaying.	Dancing.  *Moving* to the beat. And moving *well*. Ray put
a finger to his lips to signal Diefenbaker not to alert Fraser to his
presence, then blinked once, twice, and a third time, as if trying to
clear his vision. On the fourth blink it was obvious to him that he wasn't
hallucinating. Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police,
was, in fact, in the middle of his, Stanley Raymond Kowalski's, living
room. Dancing.	 He moved forward, backward and side-to-side in perfect
time, syncopated steps alternating between the balls and soles of his
feet, then occasionally a sinuous, in-place little snake dance, all in the
hips. His arms were all over the place, but just like those long,
denim-clad legs, their movement was in time with the rhythmic, staccato
throb.	Tiny beads of sweat dotted Fraser's temples and it struck Ray that
he'd been at it for a while. His eyes were closed and his head was down.
//He's in his own ... zone//, Ray thought, and it seemed to him that it
was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen.  It made Ray
enormously happy that Fraser felt comfortable enough ... *safe* enough ...
in his apartment to cut loose like this. To drop the serenity and rigidity
that marked a goodly portion of his waking existence, and to let the
playfulness and sensuality he kept so well-hidden come up for air.   It
wasn't lost on Ray that one of his favorite songs had unleashed the
Mountie's inner Solid Gold dancer, and he instantly decided that Fraser
shouldn't be the only one having fun. He shed his jacket, shoulder holster
and boots in record time, winked at Dief, and did his own snake dance over
to Fraser.  As if on cue, Fraser went into one of those moments of
on-the-beat, in-place hip wriggling, and Ray sidled up behind him, curled
his thumbs through Fraser's belt loops and did some wriggling of his own. 
Fraser started immediately, throwing both of them off, and began to turn
around.  "Ray! I ..."  "Easy, Ben, settle down. You're gonna dislocate my
thumbs if you aren't careful." As he said this, Ray moved in closer,
pressed the other fingers of both hands into Fraser's hips, and used his
own movement to keep the Mountie swaying.  "What are you ... I thought you
were working late." He tried to turn again, only to have Ray firm up his
hold.  "I'm not gonna let you turn around unless you promise you'll keep
dancing with me."  "Uh ... I ..."  "What? You're done dancing? Doesn't
look or feel that way to me, Ben." Ray noticed then that the song had
changed. It was a little faster, another golden oldie that he'd never been
able to hear and stay still while it played.  "I wasn't expecting you
until later."  "That's obvious, Ben," Ray said around his own laughter. It
pleased him that Fraser relaxed against him despite his unmistakable
embarrassment. "It looks like you were having a lot of fun."  "Well,
dancing is one of the best forms of exercise there is. It's been said that
fifteen minutes of good, solid dancing burns anywhere from 150-200
calories."  "Fraser, you're the human equivalent of a thoroughbred horse
//complete with a blue-ribbon, thoroughbred *ass*//. You weren't dancing
around my apartment to one of the best R&B songs ever just to burn
calories. You were having fun. Gettin' down with your bad self. Just admit
it."  "It was stimulating."  "Fun."  "Invigorating."  "Fun." 
"Exhilarating."  "Fun."  "Intoxicating."  "*Fun*, fucker. Just admit it."
This last was accompanied by a swipe of Ray's tongue along the skin of his
partner's neck.  "All right! Fun. May I turn around now?"  "Thank you. And
only if you promise to keep dancing."  "Mountie's honor."   Ray unhooked
his thumbs and Fraser turned in his arms. Without stopping or even missing
a beat, they adjusted so they each had a thigh between the other's legs.
It made moving anywhere but in place impossible, but the friction was in
all the right places, and Ray had a feeling they wouldn't be dancing much
longer. //There are things even more fun than dancing we can do.//  The
song started again, and for the first few minutes, Ray just cut loose
completely, arms flailing, hips rolling. When he realized that Fraser had
stopped, he grabbed the other man, one hand on the shoulder, the other on
the small of the back, and once again used his not inconsiderable strength
to get Fraser moving and to keep him that way.	"You promised you'd keep
dancing."  "Right you are, Ray. It's just ..."	"What?" Ray loosened his
hold when it was clear that Ben was dancing of his own accord.	"You're
very distracting when you dance."  "I could say the same thing about you."
 "Yes, but you're distracting in a good way."  "Trust me, Benton buddy, so
are you. It shocks the hell outta me that you are, but ... you are."  
Fraser blushed at the compliment. "Thank you."	"You're welcome. And
gorgeous." Feeling adventurous, Ray whirled them around twice, felt a deep
sense of satisfaction that Fraser not only anticipated the move, but
allowed himself to be drawn into it. "You know, I *love* it that you're a
closet repeater."  "Excuse me?"  "A closet repeater. You listen to the
same thing over and over before going to the next thing, and then you
listen to *that* over and over. I do the same thing, but then, you already
knew that. I shoulda known you were the same way, 'cause you never
complain when I do it."  That earned a chuckle. "I do have a tendency to
... fixate."  "You don't say?"	"Well, I thought I'd point it out in case
you hadn't noticed."  "I noticed." Ray also noticed yet another song
shift. This one was another chestnut, but slinkier than the other two.
More overt in its sensuality. //This stuff is what he listens to when no
one's around. Oh *man*, I can pick 'em.//  Their movements had become more
sensual as well. They were rocking into each other more blatantly, and Ray
felt a hardness against his thigh that matched his own decidedly aroused
state.	"You know this song is about sex, don't you, Ben?" Ray flashed
what he hoped was his most wicked grin.  "I hadn't really paid any
attention to the lyrics, Ray. Contrary to what you might have thought
prior to twenty minutes ago, I don't actually dance to the words instead
of the beat."  "You're very funny. It is, though. About sex, I mean." 
Fraser looked down where Ray's groin pressed against his thigh.
"Apparently so."  "How many times did you program this one to play?"  "I
think there are three more rotations of it. And it's approximately three
minutes and fifty-five seconds long."  "Plenty of time to get naked,
don'tcha think?"  "Ample."  "I bet sex burns a lot of calories."  "It
does. Even more than dancing, I believe."  "You can tell me all about it,
later," Ray said, dancing them in the direction of the bedroom.  "Oh. I
thought I'd show you instead."	"Hey, I'm always up for visual
demonstrations."  "You're definitely up, that's certain."  "Quick footed
*and* quick witted. I love that in a man."  "I do what I can, Ray. I do
what I can."  end.  ===  Additional notes: The last song the boys dance to
is LaBelle's "Lady Marmalade," which was mildly scandalous even in the era
of hyper-sexed disco for its chorus, "voulez vous coucher avec moi, ce
soir?," which, roughly translated, is "would you like to go to bed with
me, tonight?" One of my fondest childhood memories was, as a wee child of
seven or eight, singing along with this at a cook-out, and being advised
by my mother in no uncertain terms that if she heard me singing it again
before reaching the age of majority, she would "snatch me bald."