schmerica. hurry down the chimney tonight

If you were paying careful attention earlier, there was a bit of fic posted here for a little while this afternoon. It is not here now, because I decided I actually really disliked it and it had no point. Delete key, you are my friend!

That said, I cannot get the image of Chiana performing the song "Santa Baby" out of my head, nor the one of Harvey in a santa Claus suit. Oh, brain.

The DS Holiday Party has started over at

ds_flashfiction. Woot! I have until Friday evening to write at least 250 words, and to wait for 250 words to get written for me. Basically, it is the least stressful fic exchange ever.

Man, I always forget how much being at home cuts down on my online time. Darlings, I miss you! Come and talk to me in the comments about Fraser! Or Ray! Or them together at Christmas! Or the story you want to write about RayK leaving Fraser called "make a new plan, stan"! Or about poooooooooorn, slow morning sex and masturbation and teenage makeout and other pretty things!

Mood weird

Flat. Top-Level Comments Only

Posted by

thefourthvine.livejournal.com

*objects to removal of story*

*liked the Chiana image quite a lot, and also crazy Crichton*

*does not consider Vecchios, lovely though they are, to be an adequate replacement*

(I mean, it's your story, so of course you can take it down. But I am sad! I had it tagged and everything.)

Posted by

pearl-o.livejournal.com

You are very kind! I think it might have potential to be part of a much longer story some day, actually, if I figure out what.

Posted by

china_shop

“Hey, Fraser! Come on. I just got tickets to--” Ray burst through the door of Fraser’s office in the Consulate, and stood teetering on the threshold.

Fraser glanced up and tried to ignore the flush that heated his face. Ah. He’d been caught out. He hurriedly silenced the tape deck, and assumed an expression of innocence and surprise. “Ray! Tickets?”

The expression on Ray’s face transitioned from shock, via calculation, to curiosity. “To tonight’s hockey game,” he said slowly. “Johannsen couldn’t go -- sold them to me cheap. Fraser, what were you just listening to?”

“I really couldn’t say.” Fraser stood abruptly and reached for his jacket. It was a flimsy evasion, and he needed an accompanying distraction to have the desired effect. “Ray, doesn’t the game start in forty-seven minutes?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ray was staring at the tape deck through narrowed eyes.

“Then we’d best hurry,” said Fraser, manfully resisting the temptation to extract the cassette in question and hurl it out the window -- or push Ray bodily through the doorway. Instead he tried a shepherding technique, and yes, there, Ray took a step backward, out toward the safety of the hallway--

--before sidestepping Fraser entirely, striding the short distance to the machine, and extracting the cassette. Ray examined the label, and then looked up at Fraser, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “The Clash, Fraser?”

Fraser looked at this feet. “I was, ah, attempting to familiarize myself with-- with local music.”

“They’re British,” said Ray, “and you know it.” He tapped the case against his finger in a familiar gesture.

“Broadening my horizons,” said Fraser, firmly. “Exploring new musical vistas.”

“Uh-huh,” said Ray, skeptically. “And this has nothing to do with the fact that when you came around the other night, I was listening to this exact same album.”

Fraser licked his lip. “I admit-- I liked the sound of it, and decided I wanted to hear more.”

“You hated it,” said Ray. “It made your eye twitch. Anyway, if you wanted to hear more, why didn’t you ask to borrow it?”

“I didn’t-- Ray, the game,” said Fraser, trying, this time, to lead Ray to safer harbors.

But Ray wasn’t a detective for nothing, and his investigative instincts had been aroused. “Be honest with me -- do you have any associations with The Clash, other than me?”

Fraser’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt his color rise again. He rubbed his eyebrow to gain some time, then in a gesture of surrender that felt like stoically preparing for a public reprimand, he met Ray’s eye and shook his head. “No.”

Ray walked over to him and rapped him on the shoulder with the cassette. There was a nervous look in his eyes and his color was up slightly, but his expression was open. “Fraser,” he said solemnly, “are you stalking me?”

Fraser gaped for a moment. “No!” he said. “No, Ray, I wouldn’t--”

Images of stalkers, real and fictional, flooded his brain. But he wasn’t obsessed, he wasn’t a risk to Ray’s safety. He was merely-- interested.

Ray’s face fell. “Oh.” He stepped back and shot Fraser an embarrassed look. “Okay, then. That’s that. Well, come on. Time’s a-wasting.” He gestured at Fraser, who was standing between him and the front door of the Consulate.

Fraser didn’t move. He studied Ray-- was Ray disappointed that Fraser wasn’t stalking him? Did that mean--?

“That is, not technically,” amended Fraser.

Ray froze. “Uh-huh,” he said, noncommittally.

“Though I must admit to being-- interested in your habits, Ray.” Fraser smiled a little. “You’re an unusual man.”

“Me? You’re calling me unusual? You’re the one who--” Ray broke off. “Okay.”

“We really should get going,” Fraser reminded him.

“What? Oh yeah. Yeah, the game.” Ray slid the cassette into his pocket. “Okay, but afterward, you and me are going to have a little talk.”

Fraser led the way to the door, opened it, and switched off the hall light. “If you say so, Ray. May I ask what about?”

And Ray was right there, close, at his shoulder, his eyes gleaming in the pale light from the streetlamps. He looked intently at Fraser for a long moment, then leaned in.

Posted by

china_shop

Fraser struggled to keep his eyes open -- hoping and not daring to hope, all at once -- but it wasn’t Ray’s mouth that met his. Instead, Ray’s fingertip rasped across the soft sensitive skin of Fraser’s lower lip.

Fraser’s stomach clenched. He locked gazes with Ray. Ray, who was watching him hungrily.

“About that, Fraser,” he said, softly, his breath sweet in the air between them. He tilted his head, and added, just as dreamily, “Come on -- we got a game to watch.”

Fraser took a shaky breath, and determinedly pulled himself together. He was a man, and perfectly capable of following through on such a wondrous and welcome move. He stepped back inside, pushing Ray ahead of him, and shut the door so they were standing together in the dark. “Hockey can wait,” he said, his voice sounding deep even to his own ears. “Don’t you think?”

Ray didn’t answer with words. One moment he was a black shadow in a dark hallway; the next he was pressed up against Fraser, urging him back against the solid Consulate door. He put his hands on Fraser’s shoulders, and he kissed him, slow and deep. Heat flared in Fraser and he pulled Ray even closer, wrapped himself around him and lost himself in the kiss, the wonder of finding his attraction reciprocated.

Ray pulled his mouth away and leaned on Fraser, resting his head on Fraser’s shoulder and panting. “Jesus!”

The gasp made Fraser tense, briefly, afraid that it signaled Ray’s unwelcome return to his sanity, but the pressure of their hips and groins didn’t lessen. If anything--

Fraser pressed another kiss to Ray’s mouth -- a wordless declaration -- and received his answer in eager kisses and murmurs. Ray wanted this. Ray wanted him.

In the few seconds of silence that followed, Fraser heard the whisper of two small pieces of paper landing on the bare floorboards of the hallway, and his heart lifted with love and triumph. Everything was all right.

Posted by

china_shop

Btw, pls substitute clichéd refs to The Clash with something weird and cool. I was going to think of a more original band, but then it was 11.24 and I forgot. Oops. *looks pretty*

Posted by

pearl-o.livejournal.com

Dude. I am starting to get suspicious of your apparent ENDLESS SUPPLY OF AWESOME. This totally made my day this morning much, much brighter, so thank you. Oh, FRASER. Oh, RAY. Oh, BOYS.