ds_flashfiction | DS Holiday Party: for metaphoracle, by <user site="livejournal.

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48. Fraser/RayK "Earflaps are more Canadian." For

metaphoracle.

Tack and Tallow, 675 words, G. Thanks to

izzybeth for beta.

(And I'd better take this chance to say that I may be away from the internet for a few days, so if I don't comment on my gift right away, that's why. If it helps, I'll be chewing my nails until I can get to a computer and read it.)

'So, which of these fine pieces of fuzzy headgear would you recommend, Fraser my buddy?'

Ray seemed in fine fettle, enunciating each syllable carefully toward the Northern Store's one mirror. His grin bounced crookedly back and he pulled the hat off, raking and patting his hair into further disarray. After days away from his usual grooming regime, his hair resembled nothing so much as a surrealist sculpture, absurd and absorbing.

'Well, they both seem ideally suited to the purpose,' Fraser prevaricated; he'd hardly noticed the hats, focused as he was on the face under them. Really, he ought to be acclimated to the effect Ray's presence had on him by now, just as he'd adjusted to a southern climate. Though admittedly, he'd known as soon as they crossed the border that the acclimation went no deeper than the outer layer of his clothing: something in the familiar bite of air on skin, harsher and cleaner than the deepest Chicago winter. Unmistakable.

''M not talking about that, Fraser, I'm talking about style. Which one's gonna be a hit in Moose Elbow, and which is gonna get me exiled to the tundra?'

Fraser suppressed the impulse to remind Ray that the tundra, especially at this time of year, lay at the heart of Inuit culture and offered, furthermore, an astounding variety of food sources.

'So?' Ray modelled the hats again, tilting his head in a manner Fraser found most distracting.

'The earflaps are more Canadian.'

'Earflaps it is. What's next, sleeping bags?'

Fraser nodded. 'The ones we have may prove inadequate for higher latitudes, and in any case--'

'Yeah, proper preparation, got it.' He wheeled around the heap of hats, turning toward the sleeping bags.

'So, we got the green, or we got the blue.' The glint in his eye, if Fraser read it right, was of amusement rather than annoyance at the meagre selection. Ray was adjusting better than Fraser had expected to life up here, however temporary - the cold left his cheeks flushed rather than pale, and, more surprisingly, he hadn't complained about the scarcities of the north. It was of a piece, Fraser realised, with the candy in his coffee. Ray's resilience transformed necessity into pleasure: an irresistible alchemy. If Ray could adjust, as Fraser had forbidden himself to hope he would, then perhaps... Possibilities swirled around him, a gathering blizzard, and he planted his heels more firmly.

'Blue or green?' By the tone of his voice, Ray had already asked more than once.

'Ah.' Fraser cleared his throat. It might be necessary to set off into the white unknown, and the goal might be one long and dearly desired; the first step was no easier for that, and one interrupted kiss by firelight was an unsteady foundation for the air-castles his unconscious was throwing up with such startling rapidity. 'The green.'

'Yeah?'

'Yes, Ray. It, ah...' He paused again, damning his cowardice. Well, Benton? 'That is to say, they're designed to zip together.'

'Standard procedure, huh?' Ray tossed the blue bag onto the rack and began juggling the green from hand to hand.

'Not as such. Well, sharing body heat is certainly advisable at low temperatures, but, ah, my motives are rather more...' He shook his head. Lord, why was he cursed with this inane compulsion to babble? 'Personal.'

He'd been caught by his share of blizzards; he knew the dangerous exhilaration of coming unmoored from the earth, and the shattering relief of the first landmark glimpsed dimly through the white. It ran too deep for words, through muscle and bone, sending him sagging against the lashings of the sled, grateful for the certainty of gravity.

He opened his eyes to find himself leaning towards Ray. Another certainty, this pull of mind and body, and just as unanswerable...

'Personal. Yeah. Uh.' Ray reached out, grasping his hand and drawing him in until soft lips and faint stubble brushed Fraser's cheek. His voice was rough and low and left Fraser grasping for the vanishing shreds of his self-control. 'If that's Canadian for what I'm thinking,' Ray finished, lips pressed hot and sweet against Fraser's ear, 'then I am all over that.'