Sins Challenge -- Anger
Sep. 28th, 2004 09:55 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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brooklinegirl and _aerye_ for their fantastic betas. (BLG, you haven't gotten fired yet on my account, have you?)
Flare
Ray's generic, day-to-day anger was casually ubiquitous.
"Hey, we ask the tough questions around here. Keep your feet off the table and shut up, homes."
At times, though, it flared like an alchemical reaction, transforming him into pure furious energy.
""Kuzma, you little freak show, come on! Come on!"
Ray's ear was bleeding through his bandage, and his face was flecked with spittle -- his own or Kuzma's, Fraser couldn't tell. Welsh was restraining Ray physically, with a look of martyred resignation on his face. He was not even reprimanding Ray for his rage, merely containing him until the source of his anger was well out of reach.
Of course, that was not the end of it -- Ray paced raggedly once Kuzma had passed, but his pent-up vitriol needed further expression before it could dissipate. Not surprisingly, Ray ended up punching the wall.
Fraser would have admonished Ray for the damage to public property, after assuring himself that Ray's hand was uninjured -- but as events panned out, he let it pass, as it seemed a negligibly minor point in light of murder, desperate delaying tactics, and gunfire in the station.
***
Occasionally, Ray's anger would conjure forth his own. They would be doing the dishes, or sitting on the couch watching television, or driving somewhere, enjoying their customary camaraderie, when either he or Ray would make a conversational misstep and instantly they'd be snarling at one another like junkyard dogs, ill-tempered and mean. The two of them had grown quite adept at attacking every sore spot or perceived weakness without reservation.
"I do apologize. I thought for a moment that you were talking to me, Ray, and not your ex-wife," and "Fuck off, Fraser. Just because you got control issues doesn't mean I do."
They'd bark and snipe and growl until they retreated to their respective corners. Fifteen minutes later, half an hour at most, and Fraser would offer a reluctant comment on the show they were watching, or Ray would offer to get Fraser another drink, and soon they'd be happy and comfortable again, as if the sudden tempest had never been.
People seemed to think they were odd, but it was just the way they were.
***
"Could have been killed -- uhn." Ray shoved his way into Fraser and dug his fingers into Fraser's thigh, holding it up, holding him open. "Stupid fucking stunt -- God -- stupid, stupid, stupid," Ray chanted as he pushed forward steadily, unrelentingly.
Fraser gasped at the burn and clutched at the coverlet, refusing to make a sound, lest Ray stop. Ray's face above him was twisted with anger and desperation and leftover fear, and he was giving Fraser the fuck of his life.
Ray's fury overrode his customary care, for once, and Fraser relished every heedless scratch of Ray's nails and his possessive grip. Whatever small twinges he might be feeling were completely outweighed by the overwhelming power of being the focus of such passionate, whirlwind attentions.
Ray's other hand was clutching Fraser's shoulder for support, pushing down on it with a fair amount of his weight. The pressure increased and Fraser's raised leg was bent back even higher as Ray leaned down to attack his mouth. Between furious kisses, Fraser could make out Ray's garbled "never -- never -- never"s muttered against his jaw and his lips. Fraser would have made some indication of assent, but Ray's driving hips hadn't stilled, and he was gasping and coming helplessly all over Ray's stomach instead. Which, he supposed, upon later reflection, was assent of a sort.
***
"People suck," Ray growled, as he stomped into the kitchen. He threw his balled-up CPD windbreaker onto a kitchen chair, where it promptly un-wadded itself and slithered to the floor.
Ray snatched up the nylon jacket and kicked the leg of the chair, knocking it over. "Dammit!" he yelled, and righted the chair, slamming it back into place at the table. "Fuck."
Fraser wordlessly returned his attention to the pot of tea he was brewing, so that the smile edging around the corners of his lips could not be seen. He heard Ray dropping into that same seat, hard, and slapping the tabletop with a palm.
"I'm telling you, Fraser, this city is full of fucking nutjobs and assholes."
Fraser brought the teapot and two mugs over to the table, and sat across from Ray. "Rough day, I presume?"
Ray snagged a mug and poured. He blew across the top of it and squinted at Fraser over the rim, obviously still cross. "Yeah, well, work sucks rocks when my partner's not there."
Fraser watched the irritation play over Ray's face. This time, he allowed Ray to see the small smile he could feel developing. Ray rolled his eyes and kicked Fraser under the table. Fraser poured himself a mug of tea and beamed back at him. Ray narrowed his eyes and then visibly fought an answering smirk.
"Dammit, Fraser," he said, and laughed.
brooklinegirl and _aerye_ for their fantastic betas. (BLG, you haven't gotten fired yet on my account, have you?)Flare
Ray's generic, day-to-day anger was casually ubiquitous.
"Hey, we ask the tough questions around here. Keep your feet off the table and shut up, homes."
At times, though, it flared like an alchemical reaction, transforming him into pure furious energy.
""Kuzma, you little freak show, come on! Come on!"
Ray's ear was bleeding through his bandage, and his face was flecked with spittle -- his own or Kuzma's, Fraser couldn't tell. Welsh was restraining Ray physically, with a look of martyred resignation on his face. He was not even reprimanding Ray for his rage, merely containing him until the source of his anger was well out of reach.
Of course, that was not the end of it -- Ray paced raggedly once Kuzma had passed, but his pent-up vitriol needed further expression before it could dissipate. Not surprisingly, Ray ended up punching the wall.
Fraser would have admonished Ray for the damage to public property, after assuring himself that Ray's hand was uninjured -- but as events panned out, he let it pass, as it seemed a negligibly minor point in light of murder, desperate delaying tactics, and gunfire in the station.
***
Occasionally, Ray's anger would conjure forth his own. They would be doing the dishes, or sitting on the couch watching television, or driving somewhere, enjoying their customary camaraderie, when either he or Ray would make a conversational misstep and instantly they'd be snarling at one another like junkyard dogs, ill-tempered and mean. The two of them had grown quite adept at attacking every sore spot or perceived weakness without reservation.
"I do apologize. I thought for a moment that you were talking to me, Ray, and not your ex-wife," and "Fuck off, Fraser. Just because you got control issues doesn't mean I do."
They'd bark and snipe and growl until they retreated to their respective corners. Fifteen minutes later, half an hour at most, and Fraser would offer a reluctant comment on the show they were watching, or Ray would offer to get Fraser another drink, and soon they'd be happy and comfortable again, as if the sudden tempest had never been.
People seemed to think they were odd, but it was just the way they were.
***
"Could have been killed -- uhn." Ray shoved his way into Fraser and dug his fingers into Fraser's thigh, holding it up, holding him open. "Stupid fucking stunt -- God -- stupid, stupid, stupid," Ray chanted as he pushed forward steadily, unrelentingly.
Fraser gasped at the burn and clutched at the coverlet, refusing to make a sound, lest Ray stop. Ray's face above him was twisted with anger and desperation and leftover fear, and he was giving Fraser the fuck of his life.
Ray's fury overrode his customary care, for once, and Fraser relished every heedless scratch of Ray's nails and his possessive grip. Whatever small twinges he might be feeling were completely outweighed by the overwhelming power of being the focus of such passionate, whirlwind attentions.
Ray's other hand was clutching Fraser's shoulder for support, pushing down on it with a fair amount of his weight. The pressure increased and Fraser's raised leg was bent back even higher as Ray leaned down to attack his mouth. Between furious kisses, Fraser could make out Ray's garbled "never -- never -- never"s muttered against his jaw and his lips. Fraser would have made some indication of assent, but Ray's driving hips hadn't stilled, and he was gasping and coming helplessly all over Ray's stomach instead. Which, he supposed, upon later reflection, was assent of a sort.
***
"People suck," Ray growled, as he stomped into the kitchen. He threw his balled-up CPD windbreaker onto a kitchen chair, where it promptly un-wadded itself and slithered to the floor.
Ray snatched up the nylon jacket and kicked the leg of the chair, knocking it over. "Dammit!" he yelled, and righted the chair, slamming it back into place at the table. "Fuck."
Fraser wordlessly returned his attention to the pot of tea he was brewing, so that the smile edging around the corners of his lips could not be seen. He heard Ray dropping into that same seat, hard, and slapping the tabletop with a palm.
"I'm telling you, Fraser, this city is full of fucking nutjobs and assholes."
Fraser brought the teapot and two mugs over to the table, and sat across from Ray. "Rough day, I presume?"
Ray snagged a mug and poured. He blew across the top of it and squinted at Fraser over the rim, obviously still cross. "Yeah, well, work sucks rocks when my partner's not there."
Fraser watched the irritation play over Ray's face. This time, he allowed Ray to see the small smile he could feel developing. Ray rolled his eyes and kicked Fraser under the table. Fraser poured himself a mug of tea and beamed back at him. Ray narrowed his eyes and then visibly fought an answering smirk.
"Dammit, Fraser," he said, and laughed.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-29 04:48 am (UTC)Now I want to go back and rewatch DGR. :)
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Date: 2004-09-29 07:00 am (UTC)You *should* rewatch DGR! Did you order DVDs? Have they arrived yet?
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Date: 2004-09-29 09:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-30 05:12 am (UTC)"Swim faster, little DVDs, swim faster!"