ds_flashfiction | Necking challenge - The Good Detectives by estrella

estrella30.livejournal.com posting in

I saw this challenge and couldn't stop thinking about Ray's neck. Then I decided that if I couldn't, well, surely Fraser couldn't either, could he?

1535 words of F/K. No spoilers. Very slight reference to MoTB if you like to know that kind of thing.

Beta thanks to the wonderful

brooklinegirl. The ending is all for you,

serialkarma!

The Good Detectives

Ray’s fingers tap out an angry rhythm against the steering wheel, and Fraser glances over at his face, silently taking in the tight lines around his mouth and the hard set of his stare out the front windshield of the car.

Fraser clears his throat. Surely they’re not going to travel the rest of the way in silence.

“Do not even think about it,” Ray says stonily from beside him.

“I’m sorry – what…?“

“Whatever it was that you were just gonna say,” Ray clarifies. Fraser snaps his mouth shut. “I’m not kidding, Fraser. This is not the face of a kidder.”

Fraser opens his mouth again but Ray must notice because his fingers suddenly curl tightly around the steering wheel, the skin around his knuckles stretching tight and turning white from the pressure. Well, then. He really does mean no talking.

“I’m sorry, Ray,” Fraser says, because it’s true. He really is very sorry. “I’ll be quiet.”

“What, just like you’re being now?” Ray snaps. With a quick flick of his wrist he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a pair of sunglasses, angrily shoving them on his face. Fraser breathes a soft sigh of relief. It takes a lot out of a man to have the full-blown angry Kowalski glare aimed at you for three hours straight. After today, Fraser would know. “I say shut up, I mean shut up,” Ray says, pausing only to look quickly in Fraser’s direction. The bracelet on Ray’s wrist jangles as he points a finger in Fraser’s face. “I’m driving, you’re sitting. And when we get back to my apartment you can tell me why you’re acting like a guy with a head wound today. Got it?”

“I can’t think of a thing that I would possibly enjoy less,” Fraser mutters.

“Excuse me?” Ray’s voice hits a pitch unlike any Fraser has ever heard, so he closes his mouth once more, and this time turns his head and looks out the passenger window.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Ray says smugly.

They travel the rest of the way in silence.

` ` ` ` ` `

Sunlight gleams through the windows in Ray’s apartment and Fraser watches, amused, as Ray stalks from window to window, yanking on the cord of the blinds until they come crashing down on the windowsill. After he’s done he spins around and glares at Fraser, who has to drop his head and feign a cough into his fist to cover his smile.

“What?” Ray challenges. Fraser lifts his head and takes in the way Ray’s hands are curled tightly into fists. The way Ray is bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You see something funny?”

“No, not at all.” Fraser takes his hat off his head and smoothes the brim with his fingers. He finds a clear spot on Ray’s countertop and lays the hat there before crossing his arms behind his back.

Fraser knows the situation isn’t at all funny – he really does know this. But when he looks over and catches the way Ray is still glaring at him, he feels the corners of his mouth twitch and snorts through his nose a little.

“That’s it,” Ray threatens and takes a step forward. He stops to pull off his jacket and toss it in the vague direction of the couch, but Fraser barely notices when it hits the cushions and falls to the floor with a soft thump. He’s so focused on Ray and the way Ray is walking right up to him, the way Ray is right there - like always - right in Fraser’s personal space. “You’re gonna tell me why you’re laughing every time you look at me today, and you’re gonna tell me now.”

“Honestly, Ray,” Fraser starts, but Ray is really mad now, Fraser can tell. He’s only seen Ray this angry one other time in his life, and by no means does Fraser feel like replaying that little scenario. "It's not you I'm laughing at," he says quickly. He can tell immediately that Ray doesn’t believe him even a little bit.

"Oh really." Ray says dryly. "Because from where I'm standing you seem to be laughing every time I come near you today."

"Well, yes, I suppose that is true--" Ray's eyes narrow and Fraser decides to try and change tactics. "It's not you," Fraser says hastily. "I swear. It's me. I just -" He flicks a thumb across his eyebrow and takes a deep breath. "I fear I'm not quite as good of a detective as I like to think I am, is all."

Ray stares at him, blinking silently, then he balls his hands into fists and rubs his eyes. "God, really. Do you have a head wound? Because I'm sorry, Frase, but from where I'm standing you're more than a little freaky today. More freaky than usual even."

It’s at that moment that Fraser decides to just - go with it. If Ray thinks of him as freak with a head wound already, well, why not compound the issue as much as possible? And it's with that train of thought firmly in his head that Fraser reaches out and runs his fingers over the collar of Ray’s turtleneck shirt.

"What--" Ray swallows hard, his throat moving under Fraser's fingertips. Fraser drops his eyes and lets his hand fall away from Ray's neck. "What the hell is going on, Fraser?"

Such a simple question, Fraser knows, with such a ridiculous answer. How foolish is it to admit to Ray that his day seemed fine and normal right until the very moment that Ray walked into the bullpen and took off his jacket? How when Fraser saw Ray in a turtleneck for the first time (and it was the first time Fraser had ever seen him in one, of that he has no doubt) he realized that he couldn't see Ray's neck? And how much not being able to see Ray's neck seemed to bother him?

Which led to all sorts of split-second questions in Fraser’s head: why did it bother him quite so much? Why did he even notice? My god - how much time did he spend looking at Ray's neck?

Enough time to know that not seeing it today was bothering him, that was for certain. Enough time to know that he could picture in his mind, quite clearly, what Ray's throat would feel like against his fingertips and under his mouth. Enough time to know that he had a very clear idea in his head how soft Ray's skin would be, and how he'd be able to taste salt and sweat and cologne on his skin. Enough time to know that the thought of running the tip of his tongue across Ray's Adam's apple caused Fraser’s palms to sweat and his face to heat.

By the time his eyes made it back to Ray's face that morning, he was marveling at the sheer level of his cluelessness. Detective, indeed. Ray kept scowling at him with his patented grumpy first-thing-in-the-morning look, in his (Fraser was sure) brand new black turtleneck, and Fraser lost it. He started laughing and couldn't stop until Ray stormed away muttering something under his breath about "weird Canadians" and needing more coffee.

The rest of the day (for the mere three hours they were actually working) followed much of the same pattern. Ray would say something, Fraser would look at him, and the sight of Ray, in his new turtleneck shirt would set Fraser off laughing again, until Ray finally tossed his pen down, grabbed his jacket, and nearly pulled Fraser from the precinct by his hair.

Even thinking about it now has Fraser smiling again, but this time, in this dark little apartment when it’s just the two of them, it’s somehow not quite as funny. And this time, Ray isn't letting Fraser get away with it.

He reaches out and curls his fingers into the lapels of Fraser's serge, and Fraser stumbles as Ray pulls him forward.

“Fraser, I’m not fucking kidding,” Ray says softly through clenched teeth. "What. The hell. Is going. On?"

` ` ` ` ` `

Fraser never really answers Ray, but he’s pretty sure the way he presses Ray back against the wall and twists his fingers in Ray’s hair is all the answer Ray really needs. He pulls Ray’s shirt up and over his head and watches as the slices of light shining through the blinds make patterns against Ray’s pale skin. Fraser’s hands are big and white against Ray’s chest, and he wonders, as Ray is panting against his mouth like he’s been saving it all up since the day they met, if maybe Ray is realizing he’s as bad of a detective as Fraser is.

Ray kisses Fraser, his hand curling tightly in the back of Fraser’s hair, and Fraser has to almost struggle out of his grasp to drop his face into the crook of Ray’s shoulder and neck. Fraser trails his lips down, across Ray’s collarbone, and kisses his throat as his pulse beats against Fraser’s lips.

His skin is just as sweet as Fraser always imagined.