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1/7/07
sunday morning kidfic
1/7/07 16:20I felt an urgent need to write something today. Therefore, have some kidfic.
(Other installments can be found here.)
( Sunday morning )
(Other installments can be found here.)
( Sunday morning )
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I. "Ah," said Fraser and "What?" said Ray. "You've got something on your cheek -- an eyelash, I believe. If I may?" and Fraser leaned forward and Ray blinked and turned his face up and held himself still as Fraser's hand went on his face.
II. Two fingers on Ray's wrist, cool and light, faintest possible touch, almost like a tickle as Fraser counted silently and Ray waited until, "Your pulse seems to be in order, then," Fraser said, still frowning, but helping Ray back up.
III. Sitting in front of the TV watching the game, popcorn on the coffee table in front of them. Ray stretched out sideways, taking up two cushions, leaving the end of the last one for Dief to crowd in and warm his feet, and Fraser sat on the floor in front, cross-legged, leaning forward to watch. When the show went to commercial, Fraser took a handful of snacks, chewed it thoughtfully while he leaned back against the couch again. Ray reached his hand out another inch and let it rest against the back of Fraser's head.
IV. All he wanted to do was hit, punch, kick, strike, and he was so close he could taste it but no, "Ray, don't. Ray, you're better than this," Fraser was saying, almost whispering in close, and his arms were tight on Ray's, pulling him back, pulling him away from the fight.
V. Fraser was on his knees next to the cage at the hospital, facing Dief so he could talk, so Dief could see his mouth, understand him through the bars. Fraser was saying something quiet and heartfelt in some language Ray didn't know, but Ray could understand what was going on: it's okay, it'll be okay. Fraser was talking and Dief was watching him, not saying a thing of his own, and one of Fraser's hands was clenched in Dief's fur, tight and white-knuckled. Ray knelt down next to them and reached out his own hand to Fraser's, twining them together, all three of them clasped.
II. Two fingers on Ray's wrist, cool and light, faintest possible touch, almost like a tickle as Fraser counted silently and Ray waited until, "Your pulse seems to be in order, then," Fraser said, still frowning, but helping Ray back up.
III. Sitting in front of the TV watching the game, popcorn on the coffee table in front of them. Ray stretched out sideways, taking up two cushions, leaving the end of the last one for Dief to crowd in and warm his feet, and Fraser sat on the floor in front, cross-legged, leaning forward to watch. When the show went to commercial, Fraser took a handful of snacks, chewed it thoughtfully while he leaned back against the couch again. Ray reached his hand out another inch and let it rest against the back of Fraser's head.
IV. All he wanted to do was hit, punch, kick, strike, and he was so close he could taste it but no, "Ray, don't. Ray, you're better than this," Fraser was saying, almost whispering in close, and his arms were tight on Ray's, pulling him back, pulling him away from the fight.
V. Fraser was on his knees next to the cage at the hospital, facing Dief so he could talk, so Dief could see his mouth, understand him through the bars. Fraser was saying something quiet and heartfelt in some language Ray didn't know, but Ray could understand what was going on: it's okay, it'll be okay. Fraser was talking and Dief was watching him, not saying a thing of his own, and one of Fraser's hands was clenched in Dief's fur, tight and white-knuckled. Ray knelt down next to them and reached out his own hand to Fraser's, twining them together, all three of them clasped.
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