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Dec. 22nd, 2006 04:02 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ds_flashfictionTitle: Sudden Changes in Conversational Statregy
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
"That is the stupidest thing you have ever said to me, Fraser, I swear to God," said Ray.
We were in his car, a 1967 Pontiac Gran Turismo Omologato. It's a remarkably lovely car, even for one such as myself who is less interested in motor vehicles. It is Ray's prize possession, although one might not guess so from his driving style. His speeding, for example, or how he frequently takes his hands off the wheel, and otherwise chooses not to follow recommended safety rules.
Ray's glare is remarkedly lupine, in a number of ways.
"I wouldn't say that, Ray. I'm sure I've said much more annoying things to you. For example, when we were trapped on the sinking ship the Henry Allen and I--"
"Stop right there. Stop!" Ray lifted up one hand to me, in addition to his repeated entreaties.
I stopped -- and then I opened my mouth once more, just to tell him once again that there's no need to be rude. This caused Ray to snort.
"I am not saying you never say stupid things, Fraser. You say stupid thing to me all the time. You say 'That's just silly, Ray' and 'That's a fetching poncho, Ray' and 'Ray, if I may be so bold, you look surprisingly angelic as a nun, Ray' and--"
"I don't think I ever said that last one," I said. Dief woofed in agreement.
"But if I ever dressed up like a nun, you would!" Ray said, with a tone of triumph in his voice as if he had just won an important argument.
I exchanged another look with Diefenbaker; he did his wolfish equivalent of shrugging his shoulder and went back to looking out the window in the backseat.
"My point is, Fraser, the thing of my point in this situation is that you do not know what you are talking about because I love this car, and I would do anything for this car, and for you to say otherwise is just, it's just -- it's wrong, Fraser, and I expect better of you, and I don't know why you would say such a thing."
The car came to a sudden, unexpected halt, as Ray turned into a parking space alongside the road. "You wanna talk about how to treat things, how about how you treat the wolf? How about how you treat me?"
I was confused by this sudden change in conversational strategy. "How do I treat you, Ray?"
This stopped the flood of words from Ray's mouth, finally, though not for very long. He stared at me, and then his eyes narrowed, and the lines in his cheeks creased, as if he had thought of something, and it amused him.
"You treat me the same way I treat you, Fraser. And that's exactly how come you should be able to tell how much I love my car." He patted me on the shoulder, letting his warm hand rest for a minute against my bicep, and then turned around to exit himself from the vehicle. "Come on, Fraser, we got things to do and people to see," he called behind him.
It took me a few seconds to gather myself to follow him, and even as I did, I could feel a goofy grin still spread across my face.
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 550
"That is the stupidest thing you have ever said to me, Fraser, I swear to God," said Ray.
We were in his car, a 1967 Pontiac Gran Turismo Omologato. It's a remarkably lovely car, even for one such as myself who is less interested in motor vehicles. It is Ray's prize possession, although one might not guess so from his driving style. His speeding, for example, or how he frequently takes his hands off the wheel, and otherwise chooses not to follow recommended safety rules.
Ray's glare is remarkedly lupine, in a number of ways.
"I wouldn't say that, Ray. I'm sure I've said much more annoying things to you. For example, when we were trapped on the sinking ship the Henry Allen and I--"
"Stop right there. Stop!" Ray lifted up one hand to me, in addition to his repeated entreaties.
I stopped -- and then I opened my mouth once more, just to tell him once again that there's no need to be rude. This caused Ray to snort.
"I am not saying you never say stupid things, Fraser. You say stupid thing to me all the time. You say 'That's just silly, Ray' and 'That's a fetching poncho, Ray' and 'Ray, if I may be so bold, you look surprisingly angelic as a nun, Ray' and--"
"I don't think I ever said that last one," I said. Dief woofed in agreement.
"But if I ever dressed up like a nun, you would!" Ray said, with a tone of triumph in his voice as if he had just won an important argument.
I exchanged another look with Diefenbaker; he did his wolfish equivalent of shrugging his shoulder and went back to looking out the window in the backseat.
"My point is, Fraser, the thing of my point in this situation is that you do not know what you are talking about because I love this car, and I would do anything for this car, and for you to say otherwise is just, it's just -- it's wrong, Fraser, and I expect better of you, and I don't know why you would say such a thing."
The car came to a sudden, unexpected halt, as Ray turned into a parking space alongside the road. "You wanna talk about how to treat things, how about how you treat the wolf? How about how you treat me?"
I was confused by this sudden change in conversational strategy. "How do I treat you, Ray?"
This stopped the flood of words from Ray's mouth, finally, though not for very long. He stared at me, and then his eyes narrowed, and the lines in his cheeks creased, as if he had thought of something, and it amused him.
"You treat me the same way I treat you, Fraser. And that's exactly how come you should be able to tell how much I love my car." He patted me on the shoulder, letting his warm hand rest for a minute against my bicep, and then turned around to exit himself from the vehicle. "Come on, Fraser, we got things to do and people to see," he called behind him.
It took me a few seconds to gather myself to follow him, and even as I did, I could feel a goofy grin still spread across my face.
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