The thing was, Fraser realised, Ray didn't really sound afraid. Which was amazing because there was something perilous about this situation that terrified Fraser himself. It could all be over. One wrong move, the brush of his lips against Ray's in a stray moment and the dancing, running away to Canada, the whole new adventure they wanted to embark on might become a distant memory.
Ray didn't so much as flinch as Fraser settled into position. He took to it with natural grace, corrected Fraser's hold into something a little more formal, and less slow dancing to Seal, and began to move. He didn't seem unsettled, or filled up with the same doubts and fears Fraser had--but then it had seemed to him, watching Ray and Stella dancing together, that all the everyday fears and anxieties just melted off Ray when he danced. He went to another place.
For Fraser, on the other hand, it was all he could do to remember how to box step, something he'd done at formal RCMP events hundreds of times before: for one thing, he had to compensate for the fact that Ray was leading, so he had to mirror his own steps--for another, there were those words; those curious, curious words.
You sure this is just about dancing almost as though Ray knew more about it than he was letting on. And he didn't sound afraid. So what if there was something more to it? Except the world simply wasn't that good to him. Ray was his partner, and Fraser couldn't risk losing that, no matter how perfect all these moments seemed to him to be. Sitting on the bed eating pizza, crying behind a church, carving wooden penises in the honeymoon suite, and now this. It was all a test. It was just the wedding getting to him, and he had to overcome it.
Because Ray didn't know what he was talking about, just like he hadn't considered the fact that two men dancing together on Ray Vecchio's dancefloor might be a bit strange. Ray didn't know that he was risking a whole barrel of consequences spilling all over the floor; consequences that Fraser decided in all his drunken wisdom were his alone to bear.
It wasn't his fault that he couldn't see good consequences to his actions. There should be any number of ways that kissing Ray improved his life. The chances that he would reciprocate sexually if not emotionally were something like one in ten. Good chances. But Benton couldn't allow himself even a slither of hope; he wasn't wired for it anymore. So he didn't see anything good: only the crashing and the burning, and Ray Kowalski running away to Florida to get away from him. It was tightrope walking or nothing at all.
His voice felt ragged when he spoke. ] What else would I be talking about, Ray? [ He smiled falsely, and dropped his head to the right, staring at a point on Ray's shoulder. Coordinating wasn't so hard, even drunk, when there were strong arms to guide him. And finally, Fraser thought, a partner that might actually be able to improve him, if only if Fraser didn't frighten him away with his intensity. Ray's words had stopped him from trying so hard, but he was still nowhere even close to being relaxed. Still it had to be said that anyone else on two bottles of hard liquor and two glasses of champagne might not be so light on their feet. ]
I'll get better. [ He blurted, suddenly overcome by the fear that Ray would go in and pick someone else to run away to Canada with. Because daft Mounties were daft. ] At dancing like a woman. I was never very good at it--but then I mean...the heels.
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The thing was, Fraser realised, Ray didn't really sound afraid. Which was amazing because there was something perilous about this situation that terrified Fraser himself. It could all be over. One wrong move, the brush of his lips against Ray's in a stray moment and the dancing, running away to Canada, the whole new adventure they wanted to embark on might become a distant memory.
Ray didn't so much as flinch as Fraser settled into position. He took to it with natural grace, corrected Fraser's hold into something a little more formal, and less slow dancing to Seal, and began to move. He didn't seem unsettled, or filled up with the same doubts and fears Fraser had--but then it had seemed to him, watching Ray and Stella dancing together, that all the everyday fears and anxieties just melted off Ray when he danced. He went to another place.
For Fraser, on the other hand, it was all he could do to remember how to box step, something he'd done at formal RCMP events hundreds of times before: for one thing, he had to compensate for the fact that Ray was leading, so he had to mirror his own steps--for another, there were those words; those curious, curious words.
You sure this is just about dancing almost as though Ray knew more about it than he was letting on. And he didn't sound afraid. So what if there was something more to it? Except the world simply wasn't that good to him. Ray was his partner, and Fraser couldn't risk losing that, no matter how perfect all these moments seemed to him to be. Sitting on the bed eating pizza, crying behind a church, carving wooden penises in the honeymoon suite, and now this. It was all a test. It was just the wedding getting to him, and he had to overcome it.
Because Ray didn't know what he was talking about, just like he hadn't considered the fact that two men dancing together on Ray Vecchio's dancefloor might be a bit strange. Ray didn't know that he was risking a whole barrel of consequences spilling all over the floor; consequences that Fraser decided in all his drunken wisdom were his alone to bear.
It wasn't his fault that he couldn't see good consequences to his actions. There should be any number of ways that kissing Ray improved his life. The chances that he would reciprocate sexually if not emotionally were something like one in ten. Good chances. But Benton couldn't allow himself even a slither of hope; he wasn't wired for it anymore. So he didn't see anything good: only the crashing and the burning, and Ray Kowalski running away to Florida to get away from him. It was tightrope walking or nothing at all.
His voice felt ragged when he spoke. ] What else would I be talking about, Ray? [ He smiled falsely, and dropped his head to the right, staring at a point on Ray's shoulder. Coordinating wasn't so hard, even drunk, when there were strong arms to guide him. And finally, Fraser thought, a partner that might actually be able to improve him, if only if Fraser didn't frighten him away with his intensity. Ray's words had stopped him from trying so hard, but he was still nowhere even close to being relaxed. Still it had to be said that anyone else on two bottles of hard liquor and two glasses of champagne might not be so light on their feet. ]
I'll get better. [ He blurted, suddenly overcome by the fear that Ray would go in and pick someone else to run away to Canada with. Because daft Mounties were daft. ] At dancing like a woman. I was never very good at it--but then I mean...the heels.