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I realize I'm obnoxiously overposting here, but I'm about to leave town for a week. Anyway, this can be blamed on Janne's charming "It Takes Two" - what a great challenge, and I think this does technically fit. With apologies to WH Auden.
Fraser/RayK, 250 words.
Stop All the Clocks
Fraser takes him in, admiring the way the sunlight gets caught in his hair, his eyes, down the sides of his cheeks. "Did you want to say something to me, Ray?"
Ray nods and shoves his hands in his back pockets. Looking up, he says, "Fraser, I... You know I'm no good with this stuff. When I met you, it was like... He was my North, my South, my East and West, / My working week and Sunday rest, / My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought–"
"Stop there," Fraser says.
Fair enough, says his friend's face, steady in the high winds, blue sky behind him.
Fraser smells smoke. "May I unbutton your shirt?"
Ray glances bashfully here and there before giving a sly wink and saying, "Why not? It's your fantasy."
Fraser unbuttons the top three buttons on Ray's dress uniform and slips his hand inside, until it is completely covered. He feels the warm, smooth skin, the hard pectoral. He rubs his thumb against the soft hair that may or may not be found there. Flexes his fingers and hears Ray gasp.
He concentrates. He wants to be sure he has the dream clearly fixed in his mind, in case it is the last one he is ever able to have.
Then he jumps off the twelfth story of the Dahlstrom Amalgamated Insurance building (now, ironically, on fire) and hopes for the best.
Fraser/RayK, 250 words.
Stop All the Clocks
Fraser takes him in, admiring the way the sunlight gets caught in his hair, his eyes, down the sides of his cheeks. "Did you want to say something to me, Ray?"
Ray nods and shoves his hands in his back pockets. Looking up, he says, "Fraser, I... You know I'm no good with this stuff. When I met you, it was like... He was my North, my South, my East and West, / My working week and Sunday rest, / My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought–"
"Stop there," Fraser says.
Fair enough, says his friend's face, steady in the high winds, blue sky behind him.
Fraser smells smoke. "May I unbutton your shirt?"
Ray glances bashfully here and there before giving a sly wink and saying, "Why not? It's your fantasy."
Fraser unbuttons the top three buttons on Ray's dress uniform and slips his hand inside, until it is completely covered. He feels the warm, smooth skin, the hard pectoral. He rubs his thumb against the soft hair that may or may not be found there. Flexes his fingers and hears Ray gasp.
He concentrates. He wants to be sure he has the dream clearly fixed in his mind, in case it is the last one he is ever able to have.
Then he jumps off the twelfth story of the Dahlstrom Amalgamated Insurance building (now, ironically, on fire) and hopes for the best.