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[persian-slipper.livejournal.com]

Finally giving back to the fandom that keeps on giving, I present a story of make-up, made-up, and making-up.

There's lipstick on Ray's collar. This morning, when he left me in front of the Consulate, there was no lipstick on Ray's collar.

"Ray? You have lipstick on your collar." I say it neutrally, trying to keep the uncertainty I feel out of my voice.

"Oh? I do?" His voice is light, a tone that would normally mean teasing. I fear it means something else now.

"Yes, Ray."

"So I do. It musta ended up there this morning because I was sick of the Duck Boys asking when I was finally gonna score with a chick." He looks at me sheepishly, conveying his hatred of hiding while also acknowledging its need. Then he gestures for me to get into the car. I do.

"You know I wouldn't screw this up, Frase," he says as I slide into the car. He is serious and quiet as he says this, a change from his normal loud flipness.

"Yes." One word, but he can still hear the relief in it. We both lean in then, sharing a simple kiss. A reminder. A promise.

He whispers in my ear as we pull apart. "I could always go in tomorrow with a hickey, you know." He grins, then starts the car. It's going to be a good night.