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ds_flashfictionTitle: Who's Got the Button?
Author: Alex51324
Rating: R, for language and fade-to-black sex
Length: 1500 words
Notes: Could also qualify for the Quadruped Challenge, since both Dief and Turtle have significant roles. i had a terrible time deciding which challenge to do! I wrote half of a Soap Challenge story, 1/5 of a Shopping List Challenge story that was also a Five Things Challenge story, and I forget what all else. I finally managed to finish something--I haven't missed a challenge since I joined, and I don't want to spoil my record!
Author: Alex51324
Rating: R, for language and fade-to-black sex
Length: 1500 words
Notes: Could also qualify for the Quadruped Challenge, since both Dief and Turtle have significant roles. i had a terrible time deciding which challenge to do! I wrote half of a Soap Challenge story, 1/5 of a Shopping List Challenge story that was also a Five Things Challenge story, and I forget what all else. I finally managed to finish something--I haven't missed a challenge since I joined, and I don't want to spoil my record!
Even though Ray was expecting him--had invited him--he didn’t immediately respond when Fraser knocked on his apartment door. Fraser was just about to knock again when the door finally opened. Before Fraser even entered the apartment, Ray had gone back to the turtle tank.
“Speedy’s not eating,” he said. “I just put a mealworm in there, and he’s not even going for it. It’s his favorite.”
Fraser joined him by the turtle tank, motioning for Dief to stay back. “That’s strange.”
“He hasn’t eaten for a couple of days. I don’t think he’s pooped, either.”
“It sounds like he’s sick,” Fraser suggested.
“Yeah. I’m going to call the vet.”
When Ray went to the phone, Dief edged closer to the tank, murmuring sympathetically to Speedy.
Fraser knew he was trying to be helpful, but he was doubtful that eating some grass would cause the turtle to throw up.
“Now? No, that’s okay. I mean, if you think it’s an emergency. Okay. Bye.” Ray hung up the phone. “They said I should bring him in right away. It could be something serious.”
“Of course, Ray. We’ll watch the movie another time.” Given the direction in which their relationship had recently developed, he’d expected that movie-watching would make up only a small part of the evening’s activities--but of course, Speedy’s health was more important than Fraser’s animal needs and unmentionable desires. “Shall I come along?”
“Sure. I mean, if you want to.”
As Ray scooped Speedy into his travel tank, Diefenbaker jumped onto the sofa, indicating in no uncertain terms that he would not be making any unscheduled trips to the veterinarian this evening.
“You’d think you’d be more supportive,” Fraser told him. “Speedy is practically your packmate. And a reptile specialist isn’t going to have any interest in giving you a shot--or taking your temperature the undignified way,” he added, forestalling the wolf’s next objection.
Dief answered that he wasn’t taking any chances, and curled up with his tail over his nose.
“He can stay here,” Ray said. “Since we’re taking the turtle with us, Dief can’t eat him.”
Fraser decided not to protest that Dief wouldn’t eat the turtle--it was an old argument, and Ray was unlikely to see reason.
Fraser likewise decided not to say anything when Ray put the rotating light on top of his car. Ray would doubtless insist that a chelonian medical emergency constituted appropriate use of the device.
Under the circumstances, it took only a few minutes to reach the veterinary hospital. When they got there, the receptionist immediately sent them into an exam room.
Ray put Speedy’s container on the examination table. “Don’t worry, Speedy. The doctor’s going to make you all better.” He told Fraser, “Speedy doesn’t like hospitals.”
Fraser was unsure how Ray could tell, but answered, “Maybe he won’t have to stay long.”
“I hope not. He’s never been away from home overnight before.” Ray opened the container and patted Speedy’s shell.
The vet came into the room. “This is Speedy?” she asked, consulting a clipboard. She was a young woman with a blonde ponytail--Fraser thought it might be a good idea to ask, later, if she treated wolves.
“Yeah. He isn’t eating.”
“I see.” She asked a few questions about speedy and his habits, and listened to his abdomen with a stethoscope. “I’m just going to take him into the back and get an x-ray.”
After she whisked Speedy away, Ray paced around the small room. “I hope he’s okay. Maybe I should have brought him in yesterday. What if he has cancer?”
Fraser decided not to mention that if Speedy did have cancer, a day or two wouldn’t make any difference.
“Poor Speedy. I’ve had him since he was this big.” Ray indicated the size of a juvenile turtle. “He’s never been sick a day in his life.”
“You take very good care of him,” Fraser reassured him.
After a few minutes, the veterinarian came back, carrying Speedy and an X-ray film. “It looks like Speedy has ingested a foreign body,” she said, handing the turtle to Ray and putting the x-ray up on a light box.
“Wait, what?” Ray asked, giving Speedy a suspicious look.
Fraser looked at the x-ray. “A button, Ray.” It looks like a shirt button--the four holes were even visible on the image.
“But how did he get a button?”
Fraser was about to say he didn’t know, but then he blushed, remembering. A few nights ago, Fraser had confessed his attraction to Ray. Ray’s response had surpassed his fondest hopes, and not long after, he’d ripped Fraser’s flannel shirt open, tearing off several of the buttons in the process. Later--much later--Fraser had gathered up the buttons, so that he could sew them back on, but one had been missing. “Ah. One must have gone into the tank, when we--that is, when you--”
“Shit. Yeah.” He turned to the vet. “What do we do now? Will it come out?”
“It looks like it’s stuck--that’s why he’s not eating. We’ll have to remove it surgically.”
Ray wasn’t happy about the idea of his pet going under the knife, but eventually agreed to leave Speedy at the veterinary hospital, to be operated on the next day. Once Speedy was settled in a tank, Ray spent a long time talking to him, while Fraser hung back to give them some privacy.
Finally, Ray said goodbye to his turtle, and he and Fraser left the hospital.
“I’m terribly sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, once they were in the car. “I can’t help but feel responsible, since it was my shirt.”
Ray waved off his apology. “It may have been your shirt, but I was the one tearing it offa you.” He sighed. “I should have been more careful. Poor Speedy.”
They returned to Ray’s apartment and watched the movie, but Fraser’s other hopes for the evening went unfulfilled. Ray said that he wasn’t in the mood, but Fraser couldn’t help wondering if there was a deeper reason. “Of course I don’t want to pressure you, Ray,” Fraser said. “But is this about--well, about Speedy?”
Ray hung his head. “You know how they say it’s a sin?”
“Well, yes, but that tradition is based on--”
“Yeah, yeah. But I can’t help but wonder if, uh--I know this sounds stupid.”
“You’re wondering if God is punishing your turtle?”
“I said it would sound stupid.”
“I understand,” Fraser said, privately wondering what would happen if Speedy’s surgery weren’t successful. After a chaste goodnight kiss, he and Diefenbaker went home.
The next day, Fraser met Ray at the station. The plan was to wrap up the paperwork for their most recent case, but Ray was even more distractible than usual, leaping for the telephone each time it rang, and making what Fraser expected was an obnoxious number of phone calls to the veterinary hospital. Finally, in mid-afternoon, the call he was expecting came in.
“Yes?” Ray said, mouthing to Fraser it’s them! “Uh-huh. Oh, thank god. Yeah. Thank, doc, you’re a lifesaver. Today? Okay.” He scribbled something down on his blotter, and hung up. “He’s okay.”
“Good!”
“We can pick him up after six.”
After that, Ray was slightly more focused on his work, but did seem to bump his knee against Fraser’s with unusual frequency, and to find excuses to hand Fraser things, allowing their fingers to brush against one another’s.
When they retrieved Speedy from the vet’s office, Ray pronounced him “still groggy,” though, as with his attitude toward hospitals, Fraser found it a bit difficult to tell. Ray also insisted on stopping by the reptile store and a supermarket to pick up treats to tempt the invalid’s appetite: crickets, mealworms, and snails, and carrots, squash, berries, and several types of greens.
“You know, Ray,” Fraser began, looking at the pile of vegetables Ray had picked out--a mountain that dwarfed the turtle himself, who was riding in the seat of the shopping cart.
“I think I’ll get him some melon. He likes melon. What, Frase?”
“Never mind.”
Back at the apartment, Ray settled Speedy in his tank and supplied him with an all-you-can-eat buffet of turtle delicacies, then crouched in front of the tank and watched anxiously as the turtle reacquainted himself with his habitat. “Look, Fraser, he’s eating!”
Fraser looked, and saw Speedy nibbling at the edge of a piece of cantaloupe. “That’s wonderful, Ray.”
“Yeah, it looks like he’s going to be okay.” Ray stood up and, kicking at the carpet with the toe of one boot, said, “So I guess that means….”
“Yes, Ray?” Fraser said hopefully.
“We can, uh--” He slipped his hand under Fraser’s Sam Browne belt, pulled him closer, and kissed him.
When he broke away, Fraser said, “It’s all right with God, then?”
“Sure. I mean, Speedy’s okay.” He put his arms around Fraser’s waist, bringing their hips together. Fraser felt Ray’s erection pressing against his, through the four layers of their clothes. “But maybe we should, um….”
“Yes?”
“Get out of button-flinging range.”
“Understood.”
“Speedy’s not eating,” he said. “I just put a mealworm in there, and he’s not even going for it. It’s his favorite.”
Fraser joined him by the turtle tank, motioning for Dief to stay back. “That’s strange.”
“He hasn’t eaten for a couple of days. I don’t think he’s pooped, either.”
“It sounds like he’s sick,” Fraser suggested.
“Yeah. I’m going to call the vet.”
When Ray went to the phone, Dief edged closer to the tank, murmuring sympathetically to Speedy.
Fraser knew he was trying to be helpful, but he was doubtful that eating some grass would cause the turtle to throw up.
“Now? No, that’s okay. I mean, if you think it’s an emergency. Okay. Bye.” Ray hung up the phone. “They said I should bring him in right away. It could be something serious.”
“Of course, Ray. We’ll watch the movie another time.” Given the direction in which their relationship had recently developed, he’d expected that movie-watching would make up only a small part of the evening’s activities--but of course, Speedy’s health was more important than Fraser’s animal needs and unmentionable desires. “Shall I come along?”
“Sure. I mean, if you want to.”
As Ray scooped Speedy into his travel tank, Diefenbaker jumped onto the sofa, indicating in no uncertain terms that he would not be making any unscheduled trips to the veterinarian this evening.
“You’d think you’d be more supportive,” Fraser told him. “Speedy is practically your packmate. And a reptile specialist isn’t going to have any interest in giving you a shot--or taking your temperature the undignified way,” he added, forestalling the wolf’s next objection.
Dief answered that he wasn’t taking any chances, and curled up with his tail over his nose.
“He can stay here,” Ray said. “Since we’re taking the turtle with us, Dief can’t eat him.”
Fraser decided not to protest that Dief wouldn’t eat the turtle--it was an old argument, and Ray was unlikely to see reason.
Fraser likewise decided not to say anything when Ray put the rotating light on top of his car. Ray would doubtless insist that a chelonian medical emergency constituted appropriate use of the device.
Under the circumstances, it took only a few minutes to reach the veterinary hospital. When they got there, the receptionist immediately sent them into an exam room.
Ray put Speedy’s container on the examination table. “Don’t worry, Speedy. The doctor’s going to make you all better.” He told Fraser, “Speedy doesn’t like hospitals.”
Fraser was unsure how Ray could tell, but answered, “Maybe he won’t have to stay long.”
“I hope not. He’s never been away from home overnight before.” Ray opened the container and patted Speedy’s shell.
The vet came into the room. “This is Speedy?” she asked, consulting a clipboard. She was a young woman with a blonde ponytail--Fraser thought it might be a good idea to ask, later, if she treated wolves.
“Yeah. He isn’t eating.”
“I see.” She asked a few questions about speedy and his habits, and listened to his abdomen with a stethoscope. “I’m just going to take him into the back and get an x-ray.”
After she whisked Speedy away, Ray paced around the small room. “I hope he’s okay. Maybe I should have brought him in yesterday. What if he has cancer?”
Fraser decided not to mention that if Speedy did have cancer, a day or two wouldn’t make any difference.
“Poor Speedy. I’ve had him since he was this big.” Ray indicated the size of a juvenile turtle. “He’s never been sick a day in his life.”
“You take very good care of him,” Fraser reassured him.
After a few minutes, the veterinarian came back, carrying Speedy and an X-ray film. “It looks like Speedy has ingested a foreign body,” she said, handing the turtle to Ray and putting the x-ray up on a light box.
“Wait, what?” Ray asked, giving Speedy a suspicious look.
Fraser looked at the x-ray. “A button, Ray.” It looks like a shirt button--the four holes were even visible on the image.
“But how did he get a button?”
Fraser was about to say he didn’t know, but then he blushed, remembering. A few nights ago, Fraser had confessed his attraction to Ray. Ray’s response had surpassed his fondest hopes, and not long after, he’d ripped Fraser’s flannel shirt open, tearing off several of the buttons in the process. Later--much later--Fraser had gathered up the buttons, so that he could sew them back on, but one had been missing. “Ah. One must have gone into the tank, when we--that is, when you--”
“Shit. Yeah.” He turned to the vet. “What do we do now? Will it come out?”
“It looks like it’s stuck--that’s why he’s not eating. We’ll have to remove it surgically.”
Ray wasn’t happy about the idea of his pet going under the knife, but eventually agreed to leave Speedy at the veterinary hospital, to be operated on the next day. Once Speedy was settled in a tank, Ray spent a long time talking to him, while Fraser hung back to give them some privacy.
Finally, Ray said goodbye to his turtle, and he and Fraser left the hospital.
“I’m terribly sorry, Ray,” Fraser said, once they were in the car. “I can’t help but feel responsible, since it was my shirt.”
Ray waved off his apology. “It may have been your shirt, but I was the one tearing it offa you.” He sighed. “I should have been more careful. Poor Speedy.”
They returned to Ray’s apartment and watched the movie, but Fraser’s other hopes for the evening went unfulfilled. Ray said that he wasn’t in the mood, but Fraser couldn’t help wondering if there was a deeper reason. “Of course I don’t want to pressure you, Ray,” Fraser said. “But is this about--well, about Speedy?”
Ray hung his head. “You know how they say it’s a sin?”
“Well, yes, but that tradition is based on--”
“Yeah, yeah. But I can’t help but wonder if, uh--I know this sounds stupid.”
“You’re wondering if God is punishing your turtle?”
“I said it would sound stupid.”
“I understand,” Fraser said, privately wondering what would happen if Speedy’s surgery weren’t successful. After a chaste goodnight kiss, he and Diefenbaker went home.
The next day, Fraser met Ray at the station. The plan was to wrap up the paperwork for their most recent case, but Ray was even more distractible than usual, leaping for the telephone each time it rang, and making what Fraser expected was an obnoxious number of phone calls to the veterinary hospital. Finally, in mid-afternoon, the call he was expecting came in.
“Yes?” Ray said, mouthing to Fraser it’s them! “Uh-huh. Oh, thank god. Yeah. Thank, doc, you’re a lifesaver. Today? Okay.” He scribbled something down on his blotter, and hung up. “He’s okay.”
“Good!”
“We can pick him up after six.”
After that, Ray was slightly more focused on his work, but did seem to bump his knee against Fraser’s with unusual frequency, and to find excuses to hand Fraser things, allowing their fingers to brush against one another’s.
When they retrieved Speedy from the vet’s office, Ray pronounced him “still groggy,” though, as with his attitude toward hospitals, Fraser found it a bit difficult to tell. Ray also insisted on stopping by the reptile store and a supermarket to pick up treats to tempt the invalid’s appetite: crickets, mealworms, and snails, and carrots, squash, berries, and several types of greens.
“You know, Ray,” Fraser began, looking at the pile of vegetables Ray had picked out--a mountain that dwarfed the turtle himself, who was riding in the seat of the shopping cart.
“I think I’ll get him some melon. He likes melon. What, Frase?”
“Never mind.”
Back at the apartment, Ray settled Speedy in his tank and supplied him with an all-you-can-eat buffet of turtle delicacies, then crouched in front of the tank and watched anxiously as the turtle reacquainted himself with his habitat. “Look, Fraser, he’s eating!”
Fraser looked, and saw Speedy nibbling at the edge of a piece of cantaloupe. “That’s wonderful, Ray.”
“Yeah, it looks like he’s going to be okay.” Ray stood up and, kicking at the carpet with the toe of one boot, said, “So I guess that means….”
“Yes, Ray?” Fraser said hopefully.
“We can, uh--” He slipped his hand under Fraser’s Sam Browne belt, pulled him closer, and kissed him.
When he broke away, Fraser said, “It’s all right with God, then?”
“Sure. I mean, Speedy’s okay.” He put his arms around Fraser’s waist, bringing their hips together. Fraser felt Ray’s erection pressing against his, through the four layers of their clothes. “But maybe we should, um….”
“Yes?”
“Get out of button-flinging range.”
“Understood.”
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