new ds story
27/2/05 10:19![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
schmericaIt's like this is the story my icon has been waiting for!
Title: Arctic Cottages and Sandy Beaches
Pairings: Stella Kowalski/Ray Vecchio; Fraser/Kowalski
Summary: Post-CotW, Fraser visits Ray Vecchio.
Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyra_sena for beta.
Read at my site, or below.
*****
Ray said, "You don't like my wife."
It came out sounding like an accusation.
Fraser glanced over from the passenger seat, looking surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
"You don't like my wife," Ray repeated. "You and Stella just now at the house. You were Canadian and everything, sure, but I know you. You can't stand her."
"Ah," Fraser said after a minute. He was carefully looking ahead.
They'd reached the bowling alley now, so Ray parked the car and then turned to Fraser. "Yeah, ah," he said, imitating Fraser's tone. "So what's the deal there?"
Fraser looked uncomfortable, but Ray didn't feel like letting it go. It'd been six months since he'd seen Fraser; he'd been married for four months, and now Fraser was here in Florida visiting and he was standing around Ray's house like being this close to Ray's wife made him want to run for the hills and keep going till he reached Canada again. It wasn't fair at all.
"Well, to be honest, I don't believe she cares for me overly much, either," Fraser offered finally, scratching his eyebrow.
Ray just said, "Hmmph" and scowled.
Fraser continued talking stiffly to the windshield. "My interactions with her have largely been in the context of my partnership with Ray Kowalski. I haven't really been in the position to observe her in less ... emotionally charged situations."
After a few seconds, Ray sighed and shrugged. "Fine. All right, Benny, fine. We won't talk about my wife, we won't talk about your thing up north, any of that personal stuff at all. We'll just talk about stuff about you and me. And go bowl."
When Fraser turned his head back to him, he looked wide-eyed and immensely relieved. "That sounds wonderful, Ray."
*****
The guest room was comfortable and attractive. It was roomy, and the air conditioning kept it artificially cool, a haven from the thick and muggy climate of the outside. There was absolutely nothing to complain of, nothing at all left wanting -- nothing except the fact it wasn't home.
Fraser had attempted to call home this afternoon, but he'd gotten no answer, and instead left a message for Ray and Dief. Fraser doubted Ray would call him back; presumably he'd find calling the Vecchios' awkward for much the same reasons why accompanying Fraser on the visit had not been an option. Fraser could try again, later in the week. Ray and Dief were undoubtedly getting on perfectly well without him. Possibly Ray might even be annoyed at Fraser's call -- there was always the chance he would see it as Fraser checking in and doubting his ability to get on there alone, when the truth was closer to the simple fact that Fraser missed him.
He was being spoiled. Spoiled, and also silly, he decided. The thing to do was to set his book on the nightstand -- he'd given up all pretense of reading in order to concentrate on his mooning, anyway -- and to switch off the lamp and simply go to sleep. He was enjoying his visit with Ray Vecchio a great deal; it was only here, alone, where the sudden inexplicable homesickness hit him.
Fraser took his own advice, lying down on his back and lacing his hands across his chest. He controlled his breathing, down to slow, even breaths, and he was well on the way to slumber when he heard the noises from the next room.
The noises were soft at first, quiet muted voices, and Fraser attempted to ignore them, annoyed by his own sensitive hearing. After a few minutes, the voices ceased, but before he had time to be relieved, there was a loud, feminine laugh. And more sounds, then, now louder and without any discernable word structure, and by this time Fraser had realized what he was overhearing and was lying utterly still in his bed, stiff with discomfort.
It couldn't last forever. He would lie here and concentrate on reciting Paradise Lost to himself.
At first it seemed to work -- he could put everything else out of his mind, focusing on the poetry -- but after a few more minutes, an especially enthusiastic moan from the next room broke his concentration, and he winced again.
The thought flew briefly across Fraser's mind that these sounds -- well, half of them, anyway -- were the same that had dominated Ray Kowalski's bed for most of his adult life.
Fraser sprung out of bed and retreated out of the room to hide downstairs.
*****
"Mmm, I love you," Ray whispered, kissing Stella's ear, and Stella sighed gently beneath him, running her hand down his back.
Ray liked women: the way they dressed, the way they smelled, the noises they made, the softness of their skin. The first thing he noticed about Stella was the way she carried herself -- confident, competent, gorgeous. Ray liked the way the curve of her hip felt against his hand. Ray liked the way she argued with him and the way she usually won, and the way a glass of wine and foot rub always melted her down again after. Ray liked the way he woke up in the morning to their sun-filled bedroom and saw her face, small and gentle and soft, before she woke up and put on the hard face she used with everyone else.
Ray had fallen in love with Irene Zuko when he was thirteen years old, and he was pretty sure part of him probably would be untill he died. Maybe she was really the love of his life, he didn't know for sure. He'd been married before, too, tried sharing his life with Angie, and that had been a failure. Him and Stella, that was different. It was easy between them, and he was pretty sure Stella appreciated that just as much as him -- he didn't want to know that much about Kowalski, but from some of the stuff Stella had said, there was youth and sweethearts and drama everywhere.
But he and Stella weren't young anymore, and they'd both had their lives. Stella had her marriage and her career; Ray had his women, his partnership with Fraser, his undercover time. And now they both knew what they wanted. They had their marriage, and their calm, quiet, neat little sunlit house, and Ray ran the bowling alley where he didn't have anybody trying to shoot at him, not once, and Stella went to her office everyday, and altogether, Ray was pretty damn pleased with the life he'd managed for himself.
He'd caught Fraser looking at him out of the corner of his eye a few times since he got here -- a little surprised, or confused, maybe, at all this. Like Fraser couldn't imagine anybody would rather have this than a little Arctic cottage and chasing criminals across the snow for the rest of their life.
"Oh, Ray," Stella gasped, tilting her hips up towards him, and Ray kissed her lips and loved his life.
*****
Constable Fraser was on the phone in the kitchen when Stella came down in the morning. She made her way around him, preparing herself a bagel before sitting down at the island with the newspaper.
Fraser was facing the window, his body angled away from her, as he talked quietly. Stella attempted to ignore him and concentrate on the headlines, but it was hard not to listen, especially when she had a very good idea who he was talking to.
"Yes," Fraser was saying. "Yes, I know... I didn't say that. No, I don't think -- I think the word you're looking for is imply, not infer, actually... No. Please, Ray. Yes, I know. I do, too. Yes, I do. Very much ... Ray."
On the last word and Fraser's astonished tone, Stella gave in to the urge to look over at him -- Fraser's face had turned red, and embarrassed. His eyes flicked over to meet hers, and he reddened even more before looking away guiltily.
Stella went back to the paper, reading the letters to the editors carefully.
"Now is not the time... Indeed. Hm? As a matter of fact, yes." Fraser cleared his throat and Stella glanced back to him. He was clutching the phone tightly to his chest with one hand. He said in a strange tone, "Ray would like to speak to you."
Stella looked at him for a long moment, before she stood up and took the phone from his hand.
"Hello?"
"Stell! My favorite girl. What the hell are you doing to him down there?"
Her ex-husband's voice was loud and expansive -- she hadn't been expecting the connection to be so clear, somehow. Just the sound of him sent sense memories through her, as though she could hear the exhausting strum of energy he carried around with him, the draining whirlwind of his personality.
Stella rubbed her forehead with the back of her free hand. "It's nice to talk to you, too, Ray."
"No, really, I'm serious," Ray said. "He sounds like crap. Are you being a bitch to him? Because, uh, I know it's hard to lose someone like me to such a stud, but Fraser's a good guy, he doesn't deserve that."
"You are so full of shit," Stella said, struggling a little not to laugh, and Fraser gave her a shocked look.
"I have plenty of sincerity. Dogsleds full. Just ask Fraser if you don't believe me."
"Maybe I will," Stella said, raising her eyebrow, and Ray laughed.
"Anyway, uh, I know I didn't write or anything, but I just wanted to say I'm happy for you. Congratulations and everything."
"Thank you," Stella said quietly. "That's very mature of you."
"Yeah, sincere, mature, pretty. I'm the whole package. Put Fraser back on the phone, will you?"
Stella handed the phone to Constable Fraser, who nodded at her and took it back.
"Yes, Ray? Oh. That does sound like him." Fraser sighed and twisted his body away from her again. "You know, I've had this conversation with him before: lip-reading simply doesn't work over the phone lines..."
Stella rolled her eyes. She poured out a cup of coffee for Ray, holding it in one hand and picking up the newspaper with the other, and she left Fraser alone in the room, still talking, as she headed back up to her bedroom and her husband.
Title: Arctic Cottages and Sandy Beaches
Pairings: Stella Kowalski/Ray Vecchio; Fraser/Kowalski
Summary: Post-CotW, Fraser visits Ray Vecchio.
Thank you to
lyra_sena for beta.Read at my site, or below.
*****
Ray said, "You don't like my wife."
It came out sounding like an accusation.
Fraser glanced over from the passenger seat, looking surprised. "I beg your pardon?"
"You don't like my wife," Ray repeated. "You and Stella just now at the house. You were Canadian and everything, sure, but I know you. You can't stand her."
"Ah," Fraser said after a minute. He was carefully looking ahead.
They'd reached the bowling alley now, so Ray parked the car and then turned to Fraser. "Yeah, ah," he said, imitating Fraser's tone. "So what's the deal there?"
Fraser looked uncomfortable, but Ray didn't feel like letting it go. It'd been six months since he'd seen Fraser; he'd been married for four months, and now Fraser was here in Florida visiting and he was standing around Ray's house like being this close to Ray's wife made him want to run for the hills and keep going till he reached Canada again. It wasn't fair at all.
"Well, to be honest, I don't believe she cares for me overly much, either," Fraser offered finally, scratching his eyebrow.
Ray just said, "Hmmph" and scowled.
Fraser continued talking stiffly to the windshield. "My interactions with her have largely been in the context of my partnership with Ray Kowalski. I haven't really been in the position to observe her in less ... emotionally charged situations."
After a few seconds, Ray sighed and shrugged. "Fine. All right, Benny, fine. We won't talk about my wife, we won't talk about your thing up north, any of that personal stuff at all. We'll just talk about stuff about you and me. And go bowl."
When Fraser turned his head back to him, he looked wide-eyed and immensely relieved. "That sounds wonderful, Ray."
*****
The guest room was comfortable and attractive. It was roomy, and the air conditioning kept it artificially cool, a haven from the thick and muggy climate of the outside. There was absolutely nothing to complain of, nothing at all left wanting -- nothing except the fact it wasn't home.
Fraser had attempted to call home this afternoon, but he'd gotten no answer, and instead left a message for Ray and Dief. Fraser doubted Ray would call him back; presumably he'd find calling the Vecchios' awkward for much the same reasons why accompanying Fraser on the visit had not been an option. Fraser could try again, later in the week. Ray and Dief were undoubtedly getting on perfectly well without him. Possibly Ray might even be annoyed at Fraser's call -- there was always the chance he would see it as Fraser checking in and doubting his ability to get on there alone, when the truth was closer to the simple fact that Fraser missed him.
He was being spoiled. Spoiled, and also silly, he decided. The thing to do was to set his book on the nightstand -- he'd given up all pretense of reading in order to concentrate on his mooning, anyway -- and to switch off the lamp and simply go to sleep. He was enjoying his visit with Ray Vecchio a great deal; it was only here, alone, where the sudden inexplicable homesickness hit him.
Fraser took his own advice, lying down on his back and lacing his hands across his chest. He controlled his breathing, down to slow, even breaths, and he was well on the way to slumber when he heard the noises from the next room.
The noises were soft at first, quiet muted voices, and Fraser attempted to ignore them, annoyed by his own sensitive hearing. After a few minutes, the voices ceased, but before he had time to be relieved, there was a loud, feminine laugh. And more sounds, then, now louder and without any discernable word structure, and by this time Fraser had realized what he was overhearing and was lying utterly still in his bed, stiff with discomfort.
It couldn't last forever. He would lie here and concentrate on reciting Paradise Lost to himself.
At first it seemed to work -- he could put everything else out of his mind, focusing on the poetry -- but after a few more minutes, an especially enthusiastic moan from the next room broke his concentration, and he winced again.
The thought flew briefly across Fraser's mind that these sounds -- well, half of them, anyway -- were the same that had dominated Ray Kowalski's bed for most of his adult life.
Fraser sprung out of bed and retreated out of the room to hide downstairs.
*****
"Mmm, I love you," Ray whispered, kissing Stella's ear, and Stella sighed gently beneath him, running her hand down his back.
Ray liked women: the way they dressed, the way they smelled, the noises they made, the softness of their skin. The first thing he noticed about Stella was the way she carried herself -- confident, competent, gorgeous. Ray liked the way the curve of her hip felt against his hand. Ray liked the way she argued with him and the way she usually won, and the way a glass of wine and foot rub always melted her down again after. Ray liked the way he woke up in the morning to their sun-filled bedroom and saw her face, small and gentle and soft, before she woke up and put on the hard face she used with everyone else.
Ray had fallen in love with Irene Zuko when he was thirteen years old, and he was pretty sure part of him probably would be untill he died. Maybe she was really the love of his life, he didn't know for sure. He'd been married before, too, tried sharing his life with Angie, and that had been a failure. Him and Stella, that was different. It was easy between them, and he was pretty sure Stella appreciated that just as much as him -- he didn't want to know that much about Kowalski, but from some of the stuff Stella had said, there was youth and sweethearts and drama everywhere.
But he and Stella weren't young anymore, and they'd both had their lives. Stella had her marriage and her career; Ray had his women, his partnership with Fraser, his undercover time. And now they both knew what they wanted. They had their marriage, and their calm, quiet, neat little sunlit house, and Ray ran the bowling alley where he didn't have anybody trying to shoot at him, not once, and Stella went to her office everyday, and altogether, Ray was pretty damn pleased with the life he'd managed for himself.
He'd caught Fraser looking at him out of the corner of his eye a few times since he got here -- a little surprised, or confused, maybe, at all this. Like Fraser couldn't imagine anybody would rather have this than a little Arctic cottage and chasing criminals across the snow for the rest of their life.
"Oh, Ray," Stella gasped, tilting her hips up towards him, and Ray kissed her lips and loved his life.
*****
Constable Fraser was on the phone in the kitchen when Stella came down in the morning. She made her way around him, preparing herself a bagel before sitting down at the island with the newspaper.
Fraser was facing the window, his body angled away from her, as he talked quietly. Stella attempted to ignore him and concentrate on the headlines, but it was hard not to listen, especially when she had a very good idea who he was talking to.
"Yes," Fraser was saying. "Yes, I know... I didn't say that. No, I don't think -- I think the word you're looking for is imply, not infer, actually... No. Please, Ray. Yes, I know. I do, too. Yes, I do. Very much ... Ray."
On the last word and Fraser's astonished tone, Stella gave in to the urge to look over at him -- Fraser's face had turned red, and embarrassed. His eyes flicked over to meet hers, and he reddened even more before looking away guiltily.
Stella went back to the paper, reading the letters to the editors carefully.
"Now is not the time... Indeed. Hm? As a matter of fact, yes." Fraser cleared his throat and Stella glanced back to him. He was clutching the phone tightly to his chest with one hand. He said in a strange tone, "Ray would like to speak to you."
Stella looked at him for a long moment, before she stood up and took the phone from his hand.
"Hello?"
"Stell! My favorite girl. What the hell are you doing to him down there?"
Her ex-husband's voice was loud and expansive -- she hadn't been expecting the connection to be so clear, somehow. Just the sound of him sent sense memories through her, as though she could hear the exhausting strum of energy he carried around with him, the draining whirlwind of his personality.
Stella rubbed her forehead with the back of her free hand. "It's nice to talk to you, too, Ray."
"No, really, I'm serious," Ray said. "He sounds like crap. Are you being a bitch to him? Because, uh, I know it's hard to lose someone like me to such a stud, but Fraser's a good guy, he doesn't deserve that."
"You are so full of shit," Stella said, struggling a little not to laugh, and Fraser gave her a shocked look.
"I have plenty of sincerity. Dogsleds full. Just ask Fraser if you don't believe me."
"Maybe I will," Stella said, raising her eyebrow, and Ray laughed.
"Anyway, uh, I know I didn't write or anything, but I just wanted to say I'm happy for you. Congratulations and everything."
"Thank you," Stella said quietly. "That's very mature of you."
"Yeah, sincere, mature, pretty. I'm the whole package. Put Fraser back on the phone, will you?"
Stella handed the phone to Constable Fraser, who nodded at her and took it back.
"Yes, Ray? Oh. That does sound like him." Fraser sighed and twisted his body away from her again. "You know, I've had this conversation with him before: lip-reading simply doesn't work over the phone lines..."
Stella rolled her eyes. She poured out a cup of coffee for Ray, holding it in one hand and picking up the newspaper with the other, and she left Fraser alone in the room, still talking, as she headed back up to her bedroom and her husband.
(no subject)
27/2/05 19:27 (UTC)*heart*
This is great, and yes, the kitchen scene, and the phonecall and Dief. :)
(no subject)
1/3/05 22:14 (UTC)