Dancing Challenge by DancesWithChopstick

[danceswchopstck.livejournal.com]

Title: Two Chicago Street Scenes
Author: danceswchopstck
Pairing: F/K (established relationship)
Rating: PG-13? (mentions of sex)
Word count: around 900 words
Summary: Style isn't everything. Even in dancing.
Warning: Unbeta'd, with memory and imagination substituting for research.

"No."

"Ray."

"No."

"But, Ray--"

"Fraser, why in hell would I want to jump around with jingle bells tied to my legs and stupid-ass ribbons dangling off my arms and a hat like something my Dad would wear? If he ever put buttons and ribbons and flowers all over a hat. Which he never would. Not in a million years."

"Ray, you're an excellent dancer, and--"

"You call that dancing? One-two-three-kick, two-two-three-kick. Hop. Twirl your foot in the air. Wave a dishtowel."

"There's considerable skill involved, when it's done well."

"Skill? Maybe some. But the style is pathetic. Are you listening to me, Fraser? Pathetic."

"They're starting with the easy dances, Ray. And you haven't seen a stick dance, yet."

"Fraser, why are you bugging me about this? Why are we even here?" Ray glared.

Fraser's tone was polite, earnest, eminently civilized. "I merely thought that you might find it interesting to participate in Morris Dancing, which is an ancient ritual custom that--"

"Fraser, do not bullshit me. I can tell you got a reason, and that ain't it."

Fraser ran his thumbnail over his eyebrow, but said nothing more. Ray squinted at Fraser's expression for a long moment, then grabbed his arm and hustled him away from the other spectators. Contrary to his usual custom, Fraser went quietly.

Half a block away, they could still hear the concertina, the fiddle, the jingle bells, and the first clashes of sticks, but there was no one near enough to hear Ray mutter, "OK--what, already?"

Fraser took a deep breath. "Ray, you know I'm not an accomplished dancer."

"Yeah, I know. You freeze right up as soon as you even think about it. But it ain't that important. We got plenty of stuff we can do together."

"Ray, I want to be able to dance with you."

"We could try it again, I guess. But, I dunno, maybe I'm not a very good teacher. You loosen up pretty good in bed, but I can't figure out how to get you to relax and move when the music's playing and you're on your feet. What has this got to do with dishtowel dancing?"

"Ray, how many of the dancers that we just saw would you say were relaxed?"

Ray thought about it. "Maybe two out of five. So?"

"Ray, I think I could learn Morris dancing. My deficiencies in the matter of relaxation might prevent me from ever becoming an excellent Morris dancer, but, as you've observed..."

"Yeah, I get it. One-two-three-kick ain't exactly the tango--you wouldn't have to relax. But why do you even care? What's so important about it that you'd put yourself through that?"

"Well, Ray, I enjoy seeing you dance. I find the music cheerful, and the exercise would certainly be beneficial for both of us."

"And?"

Fraser dropped his head for a moment, frowning. Then he looked up. "Ray, where in this city would you say that you and I could dance together without encountering potentially dangerous levels of homophobia? Even in your apartment, I think we both had concerns about your neighbors..."

"Oh." Ray's face took on a look of concentration. "It's that important to you? Even if it's us dancing with a bunch of other people and not even touching each other?"

"It's very important to me, Ray."

Ray let his head flop forward, and sighed. "I'm gonna lose this one, right?"

Fraser lowered his voice to the merest murmur. "Perhaps you might prefer to think of it as a trade, Ray."

Ray kept his head down, but began to grin. "You offering to make it worth my while?"

"Well, Ray, that's one way of looking at it."

"If I do this, which I have not said I will, my ribbons are going to be black. Nothing but black, you got that? And no flowers. Jeez, can you imagine if Dewey saw me? Christ."

"I'm not especially concerned about details of costume, Ray. As for the possibility of being recognized by an acquaintance, you could merely say that you were doing it because you lost a bet."

"Huh."

"Of course, both you and I would be most convincing about the circumstances if there actually had been a bet, and you had actually lost it."

"True. You don't lie so good. What kind of a bet? I haven't said yes, yet."

"Well, for example, we could make a bet about the number of times you will experience orgasm this weekend. Not that we could use that explanation at the precinct, but it might be rather--"

"Fraser!"

"Well, Ray, you asked."

"I am so going to regret this."

"I disagree, Ray. I think you're going to enjoy this tremendously."

---

Six weeks later, on a different street:

"Constable, do I want to know why one of my detectives is wearing jingle bells and jumping up and down to accordion music?"

"Well, Lieutenant, the reason actually has very little to do with police work."

"Oh?"

"There was a bet involved."

"Upon reflection, I don't think I do want to know. Carry on, Constable."

"Thank you, sir."

Welsh turned away, shaking his head. Fraser smiled, picked up a stick for himself and one for Ray, and lined up for the next dance.

---

Author's Note: If you have never seen Morris Dancing, and are curious, do a search at YouTube and you will find many, many examples of different styles of the dance, as performed both in England and in the USA. Here is one that I picked after much browsing, more or less in the style I'm writing about. These particular dancers aren't wearing ribbons, but they have plenty of flowers. Neither these dancers nor the person who took the video are in any way connected with myself or this story--it's just that Fraser could do this, I think. However, he and Ray would both need to get really intense about it to be ready to perform in six weeks. But then, intensity is what they do best.