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Nov. 6th, 2003 08:27 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionAbout 700 words about RayK's real birthday, which I am making him share with Shakespeare (at least today).
"Happy Birthday, Ray," Frase says, as he hands me a wrapped, book-shaped package.
"Uh, thanks." He steps inside and I close my apartment door.
"Is something wrong, Ray?"
"No, no, just, this is the first birthday present you've given me on my real birthday, you know, not Vecchio's birthday." I'm kind still getting used to my own name again.
"Ah, well, things being as they were . . ." he trails off, not needing to explore that at this juncture.
"Yeah, I get that." I rip the paper off the book. "Shakespeare's Sonnets, thanks Frase, that's um, thanks."
"You're welcome, Ray." I flip the book back and forth between my hands.
"So, aren't these all love poems?"
"Primarily yes, but a number of them are poems of friendship."
"Really? I didn't know that." I open it up and glance at the first one.
"From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die . . .
"Care to translate?" I ask.
"Certainly, Shakespeare was trying to convince the young man to get married."
"He wanted to marry the guy?" How'd I miss that in 10th grade English?
"No, he wanted his friend to marry a woman and sire children, so his 'beauty's rose' would be preserved for another generation."
"His beauty's rose? That doesn't sound like friendship; that sounds a little closer than buddies, Frase."
"Ah, well, it is possible that the two of them were more intimate than friends, but that has not been recorded by history."
"So, like maybe they are all love poems?"
"If you can classify a poem exhorting one's lover to marry and procreate with someone else a love poem, then yes, they might all be," he snarks.
"Smartass." I turn the book over in my hands some more. Something clicks into place in my mind and I gotta ask, "So, this book a message, Frase?" He turns a bright shade of red.
"I admit Ray; I was trying to send a subtle message with my choice of gift." I roll that around in the old noggin for a minute. Yeah, I think he's saying what I think he's saying. At least I think so.
"Okay, I'll give it a try." I say all casual-like, like I didn't just tell Fraser I'd try being 'more intimate than friends' with him.
"You will? Oh, that's wonderful." That smile's doing things to the pit of my stomach.
"So, how do we start?" Oh, that was a stupid question. He doesn't treat it like one, though.
"I suppose dating would be the required first step."
"Okay, yeah, um . . . Friday?"
"When ever you wish, Ray."
"Right, Friday then. So, um, maybe we should try a um . . ." Damn, I'm so smooth I can't even say it. I decide that words ain't cutting it and just go for it, stepping in close and sliding a hand over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. A puzzled look crosses his face, but I pull him to me anyway. This was his idea, wasn't it? His mouth is soft and yielding. It opens under mine after only a slight hesitation. His arms snake around me and I get lost in the feel of him.
Eventually, he pulls away from me and says, "Ray, I think you misconstrued my intent."
"Huh?" Brain not like big words now, blood gone south.
"The message I was trying to convey with the sonnets. I was trying to tell you that you ought let go of Stella and find a good woman to settle down with, one who would appreciate all of your fine qualities," he's blushing big-time again.
"Kinda like the maybe friendship, maybe love poems?"
"Well, um . . . yes."
"You mean, you weren't asking me out?" Kill me now, please.
"No."
"But I asked you out and you said yes?" Hope is a really hard sucker to kill.
"Apparently," he smiles. He smiles!
"You know what I think? I think that they are all love poems. How do you like that literary interpretation?" I pull him back to me. He lets me.
"Perhaps you're right, Ray, perhaps you're right," he murmurs before returning his perfect mouth to where it belongs.
"Happy Birthday, Ray," Frase says, as he hands me a wrapped, book-shaped package.
"Uh, thanks." He steps inside and I close my apartment door.
"Is something wrong, Ray?"
"No, no, just, this is the first birthday present you've given me on my real birthday, you know, not Vecchio's birthday." I'm kind still getting used to my own name again.
"Ah, well, things being as they were . . ." he trails off, not needing to explore that at this juncture.
"Yeah, I get that." I rip the paper off the book. "Shakespeare's Sonnets, thanks Frase, that's um, thanks."
"You're welcome, Ray." I flip the book back and forth between my hands.
"So, aren't these all love poems?"
"Primarily yes, but a number of them are poems of friendship."
"Really? I didn't know that." I open it up and glance at the first one.
"From fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die . . .
"Care to translate?" I ask.
"Certainly, Shakespeare was trying to convince the young man to get married."
"He wanted to marry the guy?" How'd I miss that in 10th grade English?
"No, he wanted his friend to marry a woman and sire children, so his 'beauty's rose' would be preserved for another generation."
"His beauty's rose? That doesn't sound like friendship; that sounds a little closer than buddies, Frase."
"Ah, well, it is possible that the two of them were more intimate than friends, but that has not been recorded by history."
"So, like maybe they are all love poems?"
"If you can classify a poem exhorting one's lover to marry and procreate with someone else a love poem, then yes, they might all be," he snarks.
"Smartass." I turn the book over in my hands some more. Something clicks into place in my mind and I gotta ask, "So, this book a message, Frase?" He turns a bright shade of red.
"I admit Ray; I was trying to send a subtle message with my choice of gift." I roll that around in the old noggin for a minute. Yeah, I think he's saying what I think he's saying. At least I think so.
"Okay, I'll give it a try." I say all casual-like, like I didn't just tell Fraser I'd try being 'more intimate than friends' with him.
"You will? Oh, that's wonderful." That smile's doing things to the pit of my stomach.
"So, how do we start?" Oh, that was a stupid question. He doesn't treat it like one, though.
"I suppose dating would be the required first step."
"Okay, yeah, um . . . Friday?"
"When ever you wish, Ray."
"Right, Friday then. So, um, maybe we should try a um . . ." Damn, I'm so smooth I can't even say it. I decide that words ain't cutting it and just go for it, stepping in close and sliding a hand over his shoulder to cup the back of his neck. A puzzled look crosses his face, but I pull him to me anyway. This was his idea, wasn't it? His mouth is soft and yielding. It opens under mine after only a slight hesitation. His arms snake around me and I get lost in the feel of him.
Eventually, he pulls away from me and says, "Ray, I think you misconstrued my intent."
"Huh?" Brain not like big words now, blood gone south.
"The message I was trying to convey with the sonnets. I was trying to tell you that you ought let go of Stella and find a good woman to settle down with, one who would appreciate all of your fine qualities," he's blushing big-time again.
"Kinda like the maybe friendship, maybe love poems?"
"Well, um . . . yes."
"You mean, you weren't asking me out?" Kill me now, please.
"No."
"But I asked you out and you said yes?" Hope is a really hard sucker to kill.
"Apparently," he smiles. He smiles!
"You know what I think? I think that they are all love poems. How do you like that literary interpretation?" I pull him back to me. He lets me.
"Perhaps you're right, Ray, perhaps you're right," he murmurs before returning his perfect mouth to where it belongs.
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no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 02:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-11-06 09:50 pm (UTC)