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Jul. 28th, 2005 08:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
ficbyzee.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionTitle: It's Not the Heat
By Zeelee
Notes: For the Sweat challenge. Fraser/RayK. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
petronelle for looking it over and for the title.
Moving was overrated, Ray decided. So was going to work. So were clothes. So was anything, really, that wasn’t a nice cold beer and his couch and his TV.
An hour or so after he got himself settled, there came a polite knock on the door. “Come on in!” Ray yelled without turning away from the TV screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fraser come in and abruptly stop, staring at him.
Ray dragged himself away from the hockey game. “What? What are you staring at, Frase?”
Fraser coughed politely, and Ray looked down at himself, remembering that he was dressed only in boxers, a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He must have looked exactly like a stereotype of really lazy Americans, and though Fraser wasn’t saying anything, he could feel the polite Canadian distaste radiating through his apartment regardless.
“What? It’s over 100 outside and only slightly less than that in here, okay? Unlike *some* people-“ he jerked his head at Fraser’s full uniform- “I am willing to surrender fashion for comfort.”
“I assure you, Ray, that my RCMP uniform has nothing to do with fashion or petty vanity-“
“Yeah yeah yeah. You, uh, wanna sit down? Watch the game?” Ray eyed his partner. Fraser was standing stiffly in the middle of Ray’s living room, and looked more miserable than Ray had ever seen him before, sweat dripping down his face and darkening his hair.
“You didn’t come into the office, Ray.”
“I can see that, Fraser. And I’m not gonna. So why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”
Fraser hesitated, then nodded curtly and Ray made room on the couch, shoving the various paperwork and pizza boxes on the seat beside him onto the floor. Fraser sat down, pulling out a white handkerchief and delicately wiping his brow.
Ray just shook his head. “Fraser. Look. We are inside my apartment. There is no one else here but me. It is so hot that even the criminals are hiding inside with the air conditioning instead of making our lives miserable. I think you can take off the uniform, or at least one layer. Your hat, maybe—the sweat has to be getting it all stinky, here-“ he reached for Fraser’s stetson, but Fraser leaned sharply away like Ray was holding a knife, holding his hat on his head protectively.
“No, thank you, Ray; technically, I am still on duty, and thus will maintain the proper attire, even in the face of extreme weather conditions.”
“This is extreme? You think *this* is extreme? Fraser, it’s only 100!” Fraser said nothing, just stared grimly at the TV screen. Jeez, you’d think the guy was having to suffer through a week in the middle of the Saharan desert, not just a Chicago summer.
Then again, Fraser was Canadian. He probably thought that 70 degrees was too hot.
Not that Ray was fine and dandy, oh no, most definitely *not.* It might ‘only’ be 100, but the humidity, the humidity got him every time. Born and raised in Chicago, and he still wasn’t used to it, though he had come to accept it. He was only in his boxers and he was still sweating buckets; he could smell himself, which was just nasty.
Fraser, on the other hand, must’ve been sweating barrels if Ray was sweating buckets, but he was still sitting primly on the couch, staring at the TV screen and occasionally patting his face down with his little hanky. Ray sniffed near him surreptitiously, and nope—he didn’t smell at all, not even a little bit. Life was unfair.
Ray shook his head and went back to watching the game and gulping his beer. He shifted around a little; he was sweating so much that his ass was sticking to the seat. He hated that.
He could feel Fraser watching him, and pretended not to notice. Fraser was probably cataloguing inside his mind how disgusting Americans in general and Ray in particular were, how much they sweated and what pigs they were. He was probably writing a little essay in his head on how improper it was that Ray wasn’t wearing his badge or even *pants*--
Ray wasn’t expecting the wet tongue on his neck, and he yelped, jumping a little. He whipped around to stare at Fraser, who had a weird look on his face. He was staring at Ray, and breathing hard, and his face was shiny with sweat. And now Ray could smell him, he could definitely smell him, but it wasn’t a *bad* smell, it was just—Fraser.
He stared at Fraser, and Fraser stared back. Finally Ray swallowed and spoke. “Fraser. How many times have I told you, you can’t just go around tasting everything you see? It’s gross.”
Fraser let out a funny little soft breath. “Is it, Ray?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it definitely is.” Ray grinned. “But see, I’m kinda used to it by now.” He leaned in, and licked a trail of sweat off Fraser’s temple.
Fraser tasted like salt, and skin, and good, Canadian things. And when Ray leaned back to look at him, he was smiling.
By Zeelee
Notes: For the Sweat challenge. Fraser/RayK. Thanks to
petronelle for looking it over and for the title.Moving was overrated, Ray decided. So was going to work. So were clothes. So was anything, really, that wasn’t a nice cold beer and his couch and his TV.
An hour or so after he got himself settled, there came a polite knock on the door. “Come on in!” Ray yelled without turning away from the TV screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fraser come in and abruptly stop, staring at him.
Ray dragged himself away from the hockey game. “What? What are you staring at, Frase?”
Fraser coughed politely, and Ray looked down at himself, remembering that he was dressed only in boxers, a beer in one hand and the TV remote in the other. He must have looked exactly like a stereotype of really lazy Americans, and though Fraser wasn’t saying anything, he could feel the polite Canadian distaste radiating through his apartment regardless.
“What? It’s over 100 outside and only slightly less than that in here, okay? Unlike *some* people-“ he jerked his head at Fraser’s full uniform- “I am willing to surrender fashion for comfort.”
“I assure you, Ray, that my RCMP uniform has nothing to do with fashion or petty vanity-“
“Yeah yeah yeah. You, uh, wanna sit down? Watch the game?” Ray eyed his partner. Fraser was standing stiffly in the middle of Ray’s living room, and looked more miserable than Ray had ever seen him before, sweat dripping down his face and darkening his hair.
“You didn’t come into the office, Ray.”
“I can see that, Fraser. And I’m not gonna. So why don’t you make yourself comfortable?”
Fraser hesitated, then nodded curtly and Ray made room on the couch, shoving the various paperwork and pizza boxes on the seat beside him onto the floor. Fraser sat down, pulling out a white handkerchief and delicately wiping his brow.
Ray just shook his head. “Fraser. Look. We are inside my apartment. There is no one else here but me. It is so hot that even the criminals are hiding inside with the air conditioning instead of making our lives miserable. I think you can take off the uniform, or at least one layer. Your hat, maybe—the sweat has to be getting it all stinky, here-“ he reached for Fraser’s stetson, but Fraser leaned sharply away like Ray was holding a knife, holding his hat on his head protectively.
“No, thank you, Ray; technically, I am still on duty, and thus will maintain the proper attire, even in the face of extreme weather conditions.”
“This is extreme? You think *this* is extreme? Fraser, it’s only 100!” Fraser said nothing, just stared grimly at the TV screen. Jeez, you’d think the guy was having to suffer through a week in the middle of the Saharan desert, not just a Chicago summer.
Then again, Fraser was Canadian. He probably thought that 70 degrees was too hot.
Not that Ray was fine and dandy, oh no, most definitely *not.* It might ‘only’ be 100, but the humidity, the humidity got him every time. Born and raised in Chicago, and he still wasn’t used to it, though he had come to accept it. He was only in his boxers and he was still sweating buckets; he could smell himself, which was just nasty.
Fraser, on the other hand, must’ve been sweating barrels if Ray was sweating buckets, but he was still sitting primly on the couch, staring at the TV screen and occasionally patting his face down with his little hanky. Ray sniffed near him surreptitiously, and nope—he didn’t smell at all, not even a little bit. Life was unfair.
Ray shook his head and went back to watching the game and gulping his beer. He shifted around a little; he was sweating so much that his ass was sticking to the seat. He hated that.
He could feel Fraser watching him, and pretended not to notice. Fraser was probably cataloguing inside his mind how disgusting Americans in general and Ray in particular were, how much they sweated and what pigs they were. He was probably writing a little essay in his head on how improper it was that Ray wasn’t wearing his badge or even *pants*--
Ray wasn’t expecting the wet tongue on his neck, and he yelped, jumping a little. He whipped around to stare at Fraser, who had a weird look on his face. He was staring at Ray, and breathing hard, and his face was shiny with sweat. And now Ray could smell him, he could definitely smell him, but it wasn’t a *bad* smell, it was just—Fraser.
He stared at Fraser, and Fraser stared back. Finally Ray swallowed and spoke. “Fraser. How many times have I told you, you can’t just go around tasting everything you see? It’s gross.”
Fraser let out a funny little soft breath. “Is it, Ray?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it definitely is.” Ray grinned. “But see, I’m kinda used to it by now.” He leaned in, and licked a trail of sweat off Fraser’s temple.
Fraser tasted like salt, and skin, and good, Canadian things. And when Ray leaned back to look at him, he was smiling.
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Date: 2005-07-14 05:01 am (UTC)::falls off chair laughing:: yeah, right!
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Date: 2005-07-14 06:06 am (UTC)*Snickers* Good, Canadian things? Like maple flavoured lube?
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Date: 2005-07-14 11:12 am (UTC)I so need to get that idea out of my head, but I've had no luck getting Maple Caramilk (previously most disgusting maple based idea) out, so I think I'm stuck with it.
And I do hope that's just flavoured, or Ben's going to be really stuck with Ray too.
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Date: 2005-07-14 10:12 am (UTC)::giggles::
Gahhhhhhh
“Fraser. How many times have I told you, you can’t just go around tasting everything you see? It’s gross.”
Yeah Ray, right!
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Date: 2005-07-14 12:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-14 01:56 pm (UTC)For some reason, that was my favorite part. I can just see it perfectly. :)
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Date: 2005-07-14 10:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-20 06:23 pm (UTC)