happy unbirthday
23/1/05 21:37![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schmericaJanuary 24th is my due South anniversary -- one year exactly since I posted my first story in the fandom. This is both exciting and slightly unnerving to me (dude, a year? Already?) but mostly exciting.
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estrella30 and brooklinegirl both told me, quite disingenuously, that I should write porn for the occasion. I trust dsudis's judgment rather a bit more than theirs on these points, however, and so instead, I have three completely unrelated anniversary-themed scenes.
I was going to wait till midnight Pacific time to post these, but then I realized I have class tomorrow morning and I am very sleepy. Thus, posting now.
Lyra is a doll among betas.
*****
Fraser/Kowalski
Fraser brought home a big box of candy and a huge bouquet, and Ray laughed till his stomach hurt.
When he calmed down he went off to find Fraser. He finally found him in the bedroom, sitting against the headboard, reading a book.
Ray sat on the edge of the bed next to Fraser's leg. Fraser didn't look up, so Ray said, "Hey."
Fraser said, "Hello, Ray." He still didn't look up.
"Fraser. Hey." Ray put his hand on Fraser's thigh and shook it a little. "Look, I'm sorry. It's a really nice present. I dig it. It's great. I *love* it, Fraser, really. I didn't mean to laugh, I just -- uh. I just--"
Fraser looked up, finally, bringing his book down with his finger holding his place. Yeah, he looked a little miffed. "Don't patronize me, Ray. You don't like the gift, that's fine. I don't need my feelings coddled like a child's."
"Look, it's not that--" Ray brought his hand up to rub the back of his head. "It was a real nice thought and everything, but what did you think I was gonna do with a bunch of roses?"
Fraser didn't say anything.
"I mean, you know, they're just going to sit around and I'll forget what to do with them and in a week we'll have a bunch of rotted flowers on our hands and it's just going to be depressing. I suck with symbolism."
"They're made out of paper," Fraser said softly. "It's the traditional material for first anniversaries."
"Oh," said Ray. He rubbed his neck again awkwardly. "Well, uh. They're real pretty."
Fraser snorted a little. Ray put his hand back on Fraser's thigh. "I'm gonna order in some dinner. You want pizza, Chinese, Italian?"
"Chinese would be fine," Fraser said. Ray felt Fraser's muscles relax a little under Ray's hand, and he grinned at Fraser and squeezed again before he got up to find the take-out menus.
There was an old movie on TV, all black and white and melodrama, the old kind that Fraser liked because they were what he watched as a kid instead of the sex and drugs and violence and car chases Ray'd spent the sixties and seventies with. They ate dinner on the couch in front of the tv. Afterwards Ray gave the leftovers to Dief and went to fetch the box of candy. The big bow he stuck on Fraser's head. Fraser frowned at him, but Ray liked the look.
The candy was pretty good, too. Fraser would only eat one, but Ray had five or six before his stomach started to feel a little funky and he set the box back on the coffee table.
It was dark, only lights coming from the tv, but Fraser was still watching the movie, eyes wide and gleaming. Ray yawned, brought his feet up to rest on the table and leaned back half against Fraser and half into the back of the couch. Fraser's arm came around to hold him closer.
When the credits started, Fraser sighed. After a moment he squeezed Ray's shoulder and turned his head, leaning in to kiss Ray softly.
"Oh, I get it now," Ray murmured, starting to smile. "But, see, Fraser, if you're going that route, you should have gone all the way. Jewelry. Fancy dinner. Limo. You don't think I'm that cheap, do you?"
"What on earth are you talking about?" Fraser said, in the tone of voice that made it sound like he really didn't care.
"Me putting out. What kind of guy do you think I am?"
Fraser gave him one of those "are you completely unhinged?" looks, and Ray snickered to himself.
*****
Caroline/Bob
It had been two weeks since Caroline had last seen her husband. A few days, two weeks ago; a week or two, a month before that, and so on. And so on. All the way back to their wedding day.
Her first year of married life, Caroline was prepared to admit, bore very little resemblance to her fantasies.
They had exchanged presents when Bob was home last, wrapped up tight, both of them agreeing not to open until the day came. First anniversary was paper; Caroline had found a new journal for him, lovely leather, tiny and sturdy enough to fit in his pack. Bob would be satisfied with it, she thought. It was both practical and well-made.
Her own gift lay wrapped still on the end table next to their bed. She found herself a little unprepared to open it. Or perhaps just unwilling. Bob was a good man, but there was really no telling...
Still, better to get it over with, she supposed. As soon as she finished her cup of tea.
She sat on the bed, tucking her feet underneath her like a girl, and turned over the package in her hands. It was small, and thin. What on earth, she wondered, had he decided would make a suitable anniversary gift for her? She had been surprised that he had not only remembered on his own, but prepared this for her -- she had assumed, somehow, that he would simply forget, perhaps be bewildered or surprised if she was hurt or snippy in response. It was one of the things about Bob that Caroline was prepared to accept; she had agreed, after all, to take the good with the bad.
But he had remembered, after all, and here was Caroline, sitting like a fool instead of opening it. Ah, well. She slid her finger underneath the flap, and pulled out the piece of paper inside.
"Dear Caroline," it said, in Bob's beautiful handwriting. "I am writing this in our bed as you sleep beside me..."
It was a love letter, Caroline realized slowly as she read it. Oh, Bob. She lay back, holding the letter against her stomach, and flung her other arm over her eyes and tried not to sniffle. After another moment she pushed herself up to go out and feed the dogs.
*****
Stella/Vecchio
Stella woke up before the alarm every morning -- five minutes, she claimed. Like clockwork. Ray could hear the water running in the shower when he turned off the clock radio. He lay back back against the pillows until he heard the water slow to a trickle, and then he got up.
Stella was in her massive, ancient fluffy bathrobe. She smiled at him as they passed in the doorway to the bathroom. "Good morning, Ray."
"Good morning."
He scrubbed himself in the shower and shaved in front of the foggy mirror. Stella was in front of the dresser, doing her make-up, when he came back into the bedroom. He glanced over and watched her while he dressed.
"I got Danny to take the shift tomorrow at the alley," Ray said. "I'll get off before the leagues start coming in, and you and I can go out." He finished buttoning up his shirt and walked over to stand behind her and watch her in the mirror. Stella was doing her mascara, holding her mouth wide open while she played with the pointy stick near her eyes. She lowered it after a minute, blinking into the mirror, and Ray caught her eyes and grinned. "You can put on that red dress I like. We'll go someplace nice. Dinner, dancing, champagne. The whole works."
"Sounds exciting," Stella said, a little dryly.
"Aw, nothing but the best for my girl," said Ray. "It's a special occasion." Stella had on her suit, but she hadn't put on her pantyhose yet. Ray slipped his hand up under the hem of her skirt, stroking her thigh, and leaned forward to kiss her neck. Stella leaned back, pressing her body against him, twisting so they could kiss. She hadn't put on her lipstick yet, and her mouth still tasted clean and minty.
"Happy anniversary, baby," Ray said, slipping his other arm around her waist.
"I'm going to be late for work," Stella said after a minute, still smiling, and Ray kissed her again and let her go and went to put on the coffee to brew.
estrella30 and brooklinegirl both told me, quite disingenuously, that I should write porn for the occasion. I trust dsudis's judgment rather a bit more than theirs on these points, however, and so instead, I have three completely unrelated anniversary-themed scenes.I was going to wait till midnight Pacific time to post these, but then I realized I have class tomorrow morning and I am very sleepy. Thus, posting now.
Lyra is a doll among betas.
*****
Fraser/Kowalski
Fraser brought home a big box of candy and a huge bouquet, and Ray laughed till his stomach hurt.
When he calmed down he went off to find Fraser. He finally found him in the bedroom, sitting against the headboard, reading a book.
Ray sat on the edge of the bed next to Fraser's leg. Fraser didn't look up, so Ray said, "Hey."
Fraser said, "Hello, Ray." He still didn't look up.
"Fraser. Hey." Ray put his hand on Fraser's thigh and shook it a little. "Look, I'm sorry. It's a really nice present. I dig it. It's great. I *love* it, Fraser, really. I didn't mean to laugh, I just -- uh. I just--"
Fraser looked up, finally, bringing his book down with his finger holding his place. Yeah, he looked a little miffed. "Don't patronize me, Ray. You don't like the gift, that's fine. I don't need my feelings coddled like a child's."
"Look, it's not that--" Ray brought his hand up to rub the back of his head. "It was a real nice thought and everything, but what did you think I was gonna do with a bunch of roses?"
Fraser didn't say anything.
"I mean, you know, they're just going to sit around and I'll forget what to do with them and in a week we'll have a bunch of rotted flowers on our hands and it's just going to be depressing. I suck with symbolism."
"They're made out of paper," Fraser said softly. "It's the traditional material for first anniversaries."
"Oh," said Ray. He rubbed his neck again awkwardly. "Well, uh. They're real pretty."
Fraser snorted a little. Ray put his hand back on Fraser's thigh. "I'm gonna order in some dinner. You want pizza, Chinese, Italian?"
"Chinese would be fine," Fraser said. Ray felt Fraser's muscles relax a little under Ray's hand, and he grinned at Fraser and squeezed again before he got up to find the take-out menus.
There was an old movie on TV, all black and white and melodrama, the old kind that Fraser liked because they were what he watched as a kid instead of the sex and drugs and violence and car chases Ray'd spent the sixties and seventies with. They ate dinner on the couch in front of the tv. Afterwards Ray gave the leftovers to Dief and went to fetch the box of candy. The big bow he stuck on Fraser's head. Fraser frowned at him, but Ray liked the look.
The candy was pretty good, too. Fraser would only eat one, but Ray had five or six before his stomach started to feel a little funky and he set the box back on the coffee table.
It was dark, only lights coming from the tv, but Fraser was still watching the movie, eyes wide and gleaming. Ray yawned, brought his feet up to rest on the table and leaned back half against Fraser and half into the back of the couch. Fraser's arm came around to hold him closer.
When the credits started, Fraser sighed. After a moment he squeezed Ray's shoulder and turned his head, leaning in to kiss Ray softly.
"Oh, I get it now," Ray murmured, starting to smile. "But, see, Fraser, if you're going that route, you should have gone all the way. Jewelry. Fancy dinner. Limo. You don't think I'm that cheap, do you?"
"What on earth are you talking about?" Fraser said, in the tone of voice that made it sound like he really didn't care.
"Me putting out. What kind of guy do you think I am?"
Fraser gave him one of those "are you completely unhinged?" looks, and Ray snickered to himself.
*****
Caroline/Bob
It had been two weeks since Caroline had last seen her husband. A few days, two weeks ago; a week or two, a month before that, and so on. And so on. All the way back to their wedding day.
Her first year of married life, Caroline was prepared to admit, bore very little resemblance to her fantasies.
They had exchanged presents when Bob was home last, wrapped up tight, both of them agreeing not to open until the day came. First anniversary was paper; Caroline had found a new journal for him, lovely leather, tiny and sturdy enough to fit in his pack. Bob would be satisfied with it, she thought. It was both practical and well-made.
Her own gift lay wrapped still on the end table next to their bed. She found herself a little unprepared to open it. Or perhaps just unwilling. Bob was a good man, but there was really no telling...
Still, better to get it over with, she supposed. As soon as she finished her cup of tea.
She sat on the bed, tucking her feet underneath her like a girl, and turned over the package in her hands. It was small, and thin. What on earth, she wondered, had he decided would make a suitable anniversary gift for her? She had been surprised that he had not only remembered on his own, but prepared this for her -- she had assumed, somehow, that he would simply forget, perhaps be bewildered or surprised if she was hurt or snippy in response. It was one of the things about Bob that Caroline was prepared to accept; she had agreed, after all, to take the good with the bad.
But he had remembered, after all, and here was Caroline, sitting like a fool instead of opening it. Ah, well. She slid her finger underneath the flap, and pulled out the piece of paper inside.
"Dear Caroline," it said, in Bob's beautiful handwriting. "I am writing this in our bed as you sleep beside me..."
It was a love letter, Caroline realized slowly as she read it. Oh, Bob. She lay back, holding the letter against her stomach, and flung her other arm over her eyes and tried not to sniffle. After another moment she pushed herself up to go out and feed the dogs.
*****
Stella/Vecchio
Stella woke up before the alarm every morning -- five minutes, she claimed. Like clockwork. Ray could hear the water running in the shower when he turned off the clock radio. He lay back back against the pillows until he heard the water slow to a trickle, and then he got up.
Stella was in her massive, ancient fluffy bathrobe. She smiled at him as they passed in the doorway to the bathroom. "Good morning, Ray."
"Good morning."
He scrubbed himself in the shower and shaved in front of the foggy mirror. Stella was in front of the dresser, doing her make-up, when he came back into the bedroom. He glanced over and watched her while he dressed.
"I got Danny to take the shift tomorrow at the alley," Ray said. "I'll get off before the leagues start coming in, and you and I can go out." He finished buttoning up his shirt and walked over to stand behind her and watch her in the mirror. Stella was doing her mascara, holding her mouth wide open while she played with the pointy stick near her eyes. She lowered it after a minute, blinking into the mirror, and Ray caught her eyes and grinned. "You can put on that red dress I like. We'll go someplace nice. Dinner, dancing, champagne. The whole works."
"Sounds exciting," Stella said, a little dryly.
"Aw, nothing but the best for my girl," said Ray. "It's a special occasion." Stella had on her suit, but she hadn't put on her pantyhose yet. Ray slipped his hand up under the hem of her skirt, stroking her thigh, and leaned forward to kiss her neck. Stella leaned back, pressing her body against him, twisting so they could kiss. She hadn't put on her lipstick yet, and her mouth still tasted clean and minty.
"Happy anniversary, baby," Ray said, slipping his other arm around her waist.
"I'm going to be late for work," Stella said after a minute, still smiling, and Ray kissed her again and let her go and went to put on the coffee to brew.
