I blame final exams.
Apr. 23rd, 2003 12:09 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfiction859 words of silliness, and, yes.
“Ray,” Fraser said, allowing the evening’s first hint of exasperation to creep into his voice, now that it was much too late to make a difference. “You really can’t.”
“Who says I can’t? We’re in the big city, Ben, c’mon, there’s gotta be a place open, even at... at whatever time it is, what time is it?”
Fraser sighed. Ray seemed to be operating on “Chicago Time” again, which was what he claimed whenever the Arctic’s variable daylight confused his circadian rhythms. “Eight-thirty, Ray, so, yes, we could doubtless find an establishment open.”
Ray bounced on his heels, to mesmerizing effect given that he was stark naked. “Come on, then, let’s go.”
“Ray. You’d have to put some clothes on, first.”
Ray stopped, and blinked intently at him for a few seconds. “Wouldn’t that get in the way?”
Fraser flopped backwards onto the bed. If he stayed down long enough, Ray might come over to see what was wrong, and then he could just drag him down and sit on him til he wound down. He’d thought the third round of sex would do it, but no, even being fucked through the mattress was not going to put Ray to sleep tonight. It was touching, really, except that it was exhausting. Neither of them had been able to settle last night, and the day had begun in earnest around four in the morning, and he’d just come three times in under two hours, and he wanted to sleep.
Ray, too far gone to perceive the trap, ambled over and stood between his legs. “C’mon, Fraser. I’ll put on some clothes, you’ll put on some clothes. I wanna do this, you know I do.”
Fraser reached up a hand, which Ray took, no doubt intending to pull him up. He hooked one foot around Ray’s knee at the same time, and yanked sharply. Ray landed full length on top of him, knocking the breath from his lungs; still, he had the presence of mind to roll his partner over, going quickly limp on top of him to use his weight to best advantage. “I know you want to, Ray,” he said firmly, as Ray squirmed indecisively, clearly torn between escape and, Christ, he’d been drinking, how could he possibly... “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a health code violation to tattoo a person in a state of intoxication, and I’m certainly not taking you anywhere where that fact would be ignored.”
Ray stuck his tongue out at Fraser, who snickered, and then leaned down and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, hoping Ray would take the hint. After a moment’s stillness, however, the squirming increased again, and Fraser lifted his head.
“Look, what if I take care of it, just for tonight, and then you can get a real tattoo in the morning?”
Ray frowned at him. “It’ll just smear off.”
“Not if you don’t get dressed. And you sleep on your side anyway, most of the time. And I’ll touch it up in the morning, so the tattoo artist can trace it, all right?”
Ray squinted, weighing the arguments, then nodded. Fraser rolled off him, taking it as a good sign when Ray didn’t immediately bolt for the door, and slipped into the bathroom. He considered pulling on a pair of boxers, but it hardly seemed fair to do so if he wasn’t going to let Ray get dressed. He rummaged under the sink for a moment til he found the face-paint from two Halloweens ago, and, armed with a handful of Q-tips, headed back to bed.
Ray, anticipating him, had rolled over onto his stomach. He had his chin propped on one hand and his feet in the air, and was peering back at himself, over his shoulder. Fraser sprawled sideways beside him, dropping the make-up on the bedspread, and said, “All right, where?”
Ray shrugged, and Fraser laid his hand lightly over the curve of his left buttock. “Here?” Ray nodded, silent, apparently fascinated. Fraser took that as a sign of progress. He lifted his hand, leaving only a fingertip on Ray’s skin, tracing it up and down, distracted by the soft firmness under his touch until Ray said, “There.”
Fraser nodded, and laid his cheek against the downcurve of Ray’s back as he set to work, carefully tracing the design. It was a bit tricky, especially as he had to keep it fairly small, but he’d had practice, and in a few moments he was done. He laid a light kiss beside his handiwork, and looked up to see that Ray’s eyes had finally slipped shut. He smiled, and moved the make-up to the nightstand, crawling over Ray to lie against his other side, where he wouldn’t disturb the paint. “And tomorrow,” he murmured in Ray’s ear, “you will have an 11-point maple leaf tattooed on your ass, in Canadian flag red.”
“Yeah,” Ray murmured back, not quite asleep yet. “You know why, Fraser?”
He smiled into Ray’s hair. How many times had they had this conversation tonight? “Why, Ray?”
“Because it is my God-given right as a Canadian citizen.”
“Ray,” Fraser said, allowing the evening’s first hint of exasperation to creep into his voice, now that it was much too late to make a difference. “You really can’t.”
“Who says I can’t? We’re in the big city, Ben, c’mon, there’s gotta be a place open, even at... at whatever time it is, what time is it?”
Fraser sighed. Ray seemed to be operating on “Chicago Time” again, which was what he claimed whenever the Arctic’s variable daylight confused his circadian rhythms. “Eight-thirty, Ray, so, yes, we could doubtless find an establishment open.”
Ray bounced on his heels, to mesmerizing effect given that he was stark naked. “Come on, then, let’s go.”
“Ray. You’d have to put some clothes on, first.”
Ray stopped, and blinked intently at him for a few seconds. “Wouldn’t that get in the way?”
Fraser flopped backwards onto the bed. If he stayed down long enough, Ray might come over to see what was wrong, and then he could just drag him down and sit on him til he wound down. He’d thought the third round of sex would do it, but no, even being fucked through the mattress was not going to put Ray to sleep tonight. It was touching, really, except that it was exhausting. Neither of them had been able to settle last night, and the day had begun in earnest around four in the morning, and he’d just come three times in under two hours, and he wanted to sleep.
Ray, too far gone to perceive the trap, ambled over and stood between his legs. “C’mon, Fraser. I’ll put on some clothes, you’ll put on some clothes. I wanna do this, you know I do.”
Fraser reached up a hand, which Ray took, no doubt intending to pull him up. He hooked one foot around Ray’s knee at the same time, and yanked sharply. Ray landed full length on top of him, knocking the breath from his lungs; still, he had the presence of mind to roll his partner over, going quickly limp on top of him to use his weight to best advantage. “I know you want to, Ray,” he said firmly, as Ray squirmed indecisively, clearly torn between escape and, Christ, he’d been drinking, how could he possibly... “That doesn’t change the fact that it’s a health code violation to tattoo a person in a state of intoxication, and I’m certainly not taking you anywhere where that fact would be ignored.”
Ray stuck his tongue out at Fraser, who snickered, and then leaned down and kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, hoping Ray would take the hint. After a moment’s stillness, however, the squirming increased again, and Fraser lifted his head.
“Look, what if I take care of it, just for tonight, and then you can get a real tattoo in the morning?”
Ray frowned at him. “It’ll just smear off.”
“Not if you don’t get dressed. And you sleep on your side anyway, most of the time. And I’ll touch it up in the morning, so the tattoo artist can trace it, all right?”
Ray squinted, weighing the arguments, then nodded. Fraser rolled off him, taking it as a good sign when Ray didn’t immediately bolt for the door, and slipped into the bathroom. He considered pulling on a pair of boxers, but it hardly seemed fair to do so if he wasn’t going to let Ray get dressed. He rummaged under the sink for a moment til he found the face-paint from two Halloweens ago, and, armed with a handful of Q-tips, headed back to bed.
Ray, anticipating him, had rolled over onto his stomach. He had his chin propped on one hand and his feet in the air, and was peering back at himself, over his shoulder. Fraser sprawled sideways beside him, dropping the make-up on the bedspread, and said, “All right, where?”
Ray shrugged, and Fraser laid his hand lightly over the curve of his left buttock. “Here?” Ray nodded, silent, apparently fascinated. Fraser took that as a sign of progress. He lifted his hand, leaving only a fingertip on Ray’s skin, tracing it up and down, distracted by the soft firmness under his touch until Ray said, “There.”
Fraser nodded, and laid his cheek against the downcurve of Ray’s back as he set to work, carefully tracing the design. It was a bit tricky, especially as he had to keep it fairly small, but he’d had practice, and in a few moments he was done. He laid a light kiss beside his handiwork, and looked up to see that Ray’s eyes had finally slipped shut. He smiled, and moved the make-up to the nightstand, crawling over Ray to lie against his other side, where he wouldn’t disturb the paint. “And tomorrow,” he murmured in Ray’s ear, “you will have an 11-point maple leaf tattooed on your ass, in Canadian flag red.”
“Yeah,” Ray murmured back, not quite asleep yet. “You know why, Fraser?”
He smiled into Ray’s hair. How many times had they had this conversation tonight? “Why, Ray?”
“Because it is my God-given right as a Canadian citizen.”
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Date: 2003-04-23 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-04-23 09:31 am (UTC)