My first livejournal post

[lamardeuse.livejournal.com]

Treat
by lamardeuse


"No. No friggin' way, Frase."

Fraser frowned. What had he done now?

"You are not going to the station Hallowe'en party dressed like that. Not again."

He looked down at himself. "But in Chicago, this passes as a costume."

"Which you wear every day. Get in the car and shut up."

"All right, Ray," he sighed, opening the door and folding back the seat to let Dief scramble in.








*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*













Ray led the way up the stairs to his apartment.

It was unlikely he was doing so to give Fraser a view of his buttocks. Nevertheless, Fraser found his gaze lovingly tracing their shape, a task which was uncommonly easy to do tonight, considering Ray's jeans appeared to be painted on.

He had barely closed the apartment door behind them when Ray turned to him with an evil glint in his eye. "Okee-doke. Start strippin'."

"Excuse me?" That was what he had intended to say, but it came out more as an inarticulate croak.

Ray grinned unrepentantly. He jerked his head toward the bedroom. "Costume's in there. I borrowed it off my uncle Taddie--he runs a dinner theater up in Milwaukee."

Fraser felt oddly touched. "You drove all the way to Milwaukee to get me a costume?"

"Well, sort of." Ray's blue-grey eyes danced with mischief. "He makes great borscht, too." He pointed an accusing finger at Fraser's chest. "Besides, I had a hunch you were gonna chicken out again this year."

Fraser bristled somewhat at the use of the word 'chicken.' "Where's your costume, Ray?"

The other man held out his arms. "I'm wearing it."

Fraser took this opportunity to allow his eyes to roam. Two-tone shoes, skintight dark jeans with cuffs, skintight t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Hair plastered back, a cigarette behind one ear.

"Are you--'The Fonz'?"

Ray rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Frase. Get some cultural reference points, already. I'm supposed to be James Dean."

"Oh." A compliment was in order, but Fraser couldn't think of one that wouldn't be misinterpreted.

Or rather, interpreted correctly.

Ray was shaking his head. "Don't they have Hallowe'en up in the frozen wastes?"

Fraser's hands clenched at his sides. "Well, actually--no. That is to say, I never participated in trick or treat rituals."

"Why not?"

Fraser studied the coffee table. "My grandparents--never saw the need for it."

Ray blinked. "The need for it? Might as well ask if there's a need for laughing, or playing, or bein' a kid."

Fraser realized his ultra-short nails were digging painfully into his palms.

"No," he said, "they didn't see much need for any of those things, either." He met Ray's startled gaze.

"I'll go put on that costume, then."









*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*











A pirate?

Privately, Fraser had to confess to being a little disappointed. He didn't know what he expected, but he had been hoping for something more--

"You decent?" Ray called from the other room.

"I believe so, yes."

"I know what you're thinking," Ray's voice said. "'Man, a friggin' pirate?' Well, maybe you wouldn't say 'friggin'.' Anyway. This is not just any pirate costume, my fr--"

Fraser looked up. Ray stood motionless in the doorway, frozen solid inside a glacier of surprise.

Perhaps he'd put something on backwards. "What is it?"

Ray shuddered his way free of the ice, and Fraser marveled at how even that movement, executed by this man, was graceful. "Nothin', nothin'. Like I was saying, this is not just any costume." He paused dramatically.

"No?" prompted Fraser.

Ray's lips twitched. "No. It happens to be an exact replica of the costume worn by Basil Rathbone in Captain Blood." He held up a finger. "I say 'replica'. The original is hanging in Taddie's upstairs closet."

Fraser couldn't suppress a smile of his own. "Your father and Marlon Brando, you and Steve McQueen, and your uncle Taddie and--"

"Basil Rathbone, yes sir." He took a step closer, and Fraser indulged in a brief inhalation of Ray's scent. "Okay, we're gonna need to make you look a lot more dangerous."

Fraser cleared his throat. "Dangerous?"

"Yeah. You're too damned beautiful, that's your problem." Ray spun away to head off to the bathroom, leaving Fraser to blush without an audience.

Ray returned with several tubes and jars. He motioned to the bed. "Sit."

Fraser sat. God, the man had him tamed more thoroughly than Dief.

He trembled slightly at the sudden knowledge.

"You cold?"

"No."

"Good, 'cause the first thing to go are these buttons." Before Fraser could think to protest, Ray's hands had moved to the crisp white shirt. "Rathbone was pretty buttoned up, but you need a little...oomph."

The last syllable was breathed onto Fraser's newly-exposed collarbone. He felt his skin heat, then prickle.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yes, Ray." The damnable tremor in his voice made Ray look up. Fraser sucked in a breath, as though he were playing hide-and-seek and if he could just stay quiet enough, Ray wouldn't be able to find him.

But he'd never played hide-and-seek, either.

He saw a flicker of recognition in Ray's eyes, and braced for the onslaught of disgust and opprobrium.

But instead, Ray...moved closer.

Smiled a little.

"Next," he said crisply, "the hair. Basil had those swanky pirate tresses, but we'll mess you up with some gel, see how that works." He unscrewed the lid from a jar and dug his fingers inside, then sank them deep in Fraser's hair.

Fraser fought to keep his eyes open and his breathing silent as Ray's long, agile fingers danced over his scalp, teased the back of his neck, ghosted over his temples.

When he was done, he drew back to survey his work.

"Oh yeah," Ray said, his voice noticeably hoarse. "That works."

Fraser was sure his heartbeat had to be audible by now.

"And last but not least," Ray continued, holding up a fake scar and wagging it in front of Fraser's nose, "no pirate can be complete without his battle scars."

He reached up with his other hand and touched Fraser's left cheek with a kind of reverence. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Where you want it? Here?" His finger lifted, moved, touched down again on the right cheek, just under his eye. "Here?"

His thumb glided over the indentation between lower lip and chin.

"Here?"

Fraser's hand caught Ray's, held it away from his face. Ray watched, waited, showing a patience Fraser wouldn't have credited him with.

Slowly, slowly, he laced his fingers through Ray's. When their lips met, he could taste the faint hint of coffee and black licorice.

"I'm sorry you went to all that trouble to get me a costume for the party," Fraser said archly when they parted.

Ray's grin spoke of many nights of laughter and play and treats to come. "S'okay," he murmured, leaning close. "'Cause I just thought of another use for those hip boots."