ds_flashfiction | Necking challenge: Getting There

Well, I was the one who wanted necking, so I guess I have to participate, don't I. (Thanks to

cesperanza for beta.)

Getting There

by Resonant

Maybe one day Ray would just say, "Fraser, shut up," and when Fraser gave him that wounded look, Ray would kiss him.

He'd start out slow, because Fraser would be surprised. So he wouldn't maul the guy, just stand close and feel his warmth and brush his lips back and forth a little, and Fraser would catch his breath and close his eyes.

Maybe his hand, when it came up to cup the back of Ray's neck, would be shaking a little.

-----

Maybe he'd do it in the car sometime, like when they were on stakeout, wasting time, sitting around doing nothing but waiting. Just reach over and touch Fraser's face with his fingertips.

They wouldn't be able to get very close, what with all the stuff between the seats, but he could touch Fraser's cheeks and his eyebrows and his lips, trace the outer curve of his ear and the clean line of his jaw and the sensitive places on the side of his neck.

Nobody touched Fraser very much.

But he'd like it. His eyes would fall shut and he'd whisper, "Ray." Not in protest. Happily. Gratefully, almost.

-----

Of course, reality didn't always live up to fantasy, and maybe it wouldn't be good, at least not right away.

Maybe Fraser would start, jump back, stomp on Ray's foot and catch him in the face with an elbow by mistake. Maybe Ray would be so eager he'd knock the thermos cup of coffee out of Fraser's hand all over the floor.

Then they'd both start laughing, and he'd say, "Aw, I wanted to be smooth," and Fraser would say, "I believe courtship looks a great deal like this among the sea lions," and then his smile would soften and he'd say, "Perhaps we ought to start again?" and Ray would finally get find out if his mouth was as soft as it looked.

-----

But maybe it wouldn't happen when he was feeling tender. Maybe it would be after one of their narrow escapes, when he'd be all humming with adrenaline and the thrill of being alive, puffed up over how great he was and full of admiration for how great Fraser was. And when he followed Fraser into the men's room, grinning at him in the mirror, Fraser would adjust his coat in that self-satisfied way he had that was like blowing the smoke off a gun barrel, and Ray would just crowd him up against the sink and grab him by the hips and grind up against his ass, and watch in the mirror while Fraser struggled to keep his eyes open, and failed, and let his head fall back against Ray's shoulder.

-----

Or, who was he kidding, maybe he'd never do it at all. Maybe they'd be partners for fifteen years and Ray would never get the guts to make a move. Eventually Fraser would marry one of those tough dark-haired girls he was so partial to, and Ray would be reduced to being Uncle Ray to some brood of dark-haired, serious kids.

Or maybe he *would* make a move, and Fraser would give him one of his blank uncomprehending looks. Or, worse yet, one of his regretful, sympathetic looks. "I never knew you felt this way ... if I were to develop romantic feelings for any man, it would be you, Ray, truly ... but I'm afraid I'm not so constituted ..."

And that would be the beginning of the end for sure. No partners had ever been so good that they could ignore a thing like that in their history. It would be polite, and kind, and friendly, and final as hell, and then Ray would get a new partner. And then hey'd make a few half-assed attempts at being friends, which would taper off as it became obvious that this kind of awkward contact was worse than none at all.

-----

But always when he got to that point, hope would kick in again. Because what if Fraser did feel the same? Obviously he was never going to make a move. So if anything was going to happen, it was going to be up to Ray.

And with that thought, it was right back to where he was, sneaking a glance at Fraser sitting beside him on the couch and thinking about how if he ran his fingertips over the back of Fraser's neck, it might make Fraser shiver and look up at him with hopeful eyes, and then he might actually be able to lean across those uncrossable inches between them, and Fraser's mouth would meet him halfway, warm and welcoming, and Fraser would grasp his sleeve like he couldn't bear the thought of Ray moving away.

He was so deep into a dream of Fraser's mouth opening under his that when Fraser's mouth did open and say, "Oh, for heaven's sake," Ray actually jumped, like Fraser had sneaked up on him.

"What?"

Fraser put his glass of water down on the coffee table with a decided thump and said, "I think I've been very patient, but there are limits."

"Huh?" said Ray with his usual smoothness, and even while one part of his brain scrambled frantically for whatever he'd missed, and examined Fraser's expression, and concluded that he was at least as much amused as actually mad, there was another part that was watching how slouching on the couch had ruffled Fraser's hair, and wondering what it would feel like if he touched it.

"You could say something," Fraser said, and then with an impatient little huff he clarified, "Would you like me to kiss you, Ray?"

And Ray, who was still on ten-second tape delay, decided to jump in where he was and catch up later. "Yeah," he said. "Hell yeah."

Fraser cradled the back of Ray's head in one big hand and pressed Ray's mouth open as if he'd been waiting to do that for years. After a few minutes of kissing back with all his concentration, Ray got back enough presence of mind to wrap his arms around Fraser. Fraser immediately slid closer, and his other hand came to rest on Ray's side, in that ticklish spot just below his ribcage, with a touch that was not unlike a tickle but a million times better.

"Is this more or less what you had in mind?" Fraser said against his lips, and even without seeing his face, Ray could tell he was smiling.

Ray smiled back. "Close enough," he said.

-end-