[ Suddenly it's as though his predator approach to this is being subverted; Fraser is the coyote bearing down on the injured wolf only to find himself cornered by a second; trapped between two, both hungry. He could valiantly hold his ground or he could turn tail and run, and truly right at the moment both options seemed perfectly reasonable. And impossible.
Vecchio approached him from behind. Fraser could sense him there, feel the weight of his presence, hear every footstep as it fell behind him. He listened, but he didn't turn, because he knew Vecchio had turned aggressor and didn't want to give him the benefit of acknowledging it.
But even without acknowledging it, he gave himself away. His heartrate leapt, he shuddered and bit his lip, startled by how a single innocent word like 'roughhousing' could be imbued with so much sexual tension. Stop it, Fraser. But he remembered Ray's eyes from before, could practically feel them burning on the back of his neck full of fire and hunger. No, he was projecting, seeing what he wanted to see, what he thought Ray was feeling for Stanley.
The fire in Vecchio was warm enough that he could feel it against his back from several feet away, and when Kowalski picked up on whatever cues it was his former partner was sending, that heat was reflected toward his face, too. Stanley played innocence, but Fraser knew the look well. Played innocence was 'Who me?' and genuine innocence was 'What the fuck are you talking about? I oughta pop you in the head.' He took a half step back, blushing from his starched collar up, but that only put him a step closer to Vecchio, a step closer to the barrier of the table.
He should get out of the way of the two of them if they were going to jump on each other, really. Except that wasn't it either. Maybe it had been when he'd come in, but for some reason that sensation had changed. Ray was talking to him - these words were meant for Fraser - Ray wasn't talking to Ray, this liquid tone was only meant for Vecchio by association. Another body. Blood pumping. The fight for survival. Oh, Fraser got it alright. He stared back up at Ray helplessly, almost as though he was a hair's breadth from begging him to stop talking. Clawing and arching and desperation. He knew it too well.
He reached out his left hand and caught the corner of the table, his breath snagging in his throat. His lips were dry--he moistened them. ]
I'm not sure I-- [ Wasn't he supposed to be the one asking questions here? When had he lost the last of the power he'd thought he held? ] I...
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Vecchio approached him from behind. Fraser could sense him there, feel the weight of his presence, hear every footstep as it fell behind him. He listened, but he didn't turn, because he knew Vecchio had turned aggressor and didn't want to give him the benefit of acknowledging it.
But even without acknowledging it, he gave himself away. His heartrate leapt, he shuddered and bit his lip, startled by how a single innocent word like 'roughhousing' could be imbued with so much sexual tension. Stop it, Fraser. But he remembered Ray's eyes from before, could practically feel them burning on the back of his neck full of fire and hunger. No, he was projecting, seeing what he wanted to see, what he thought Ray was feeling for Stanley.
The fire in Vecchio was warm enough that he could feel it against his back from several feet away, and when Kowalski picked up on whatever cues it was his former partner was sending, that heat was reflected toward his face, too. Stanley played innocence, but Fraser knew the look well. Played innocence was 'Who me?' and genuine innocence was 'What the fuck are you talking about? I oughta pop you in the head.' He took a half step back, blushing from his starched collar up, but that only put him a step closer to Vecchio, a step closer to the barrier of the table.
He should get out of the way of the two of them if they were going to jump on each other, really. Except that wasn't it either. Maybe it had been when he'd come in, but for some reason that sensation had changed. Ray was talking to him - these words were meant for Fraser - Ray wasn't talking to Ray, this liquid tone was only meant for Vecchio by association. Another body. Blood pumping. The fight for survival. Oh, Fraser got it alright. He stared back up at Ray helplessly, almost as though he was a hair's breadth from begging him to stop talking. Clawing and arching and desperation. He knew it too well.
He reached out his left hand and caught the corner of the table, his breath snagging in his throat. His lips were dry--he moistened them. ]
I'm not sure I-- [ Wasn't he supposed to be the one asking questions here? When had he lost the last of the power he'd thought he held? ] I...