[ Not ashamed, not embarrassed. No, Fraser was completely terrified. He couldn't have been more afraid if a pole cat had jumped out from behind the floral display and come at them, jaws frothing with rabies. Ray was saying everything he wanted him to say, but what if he was hallucinating it? Misreading it?
I'm okay with that. It was said so clearly, so firmly, that Fraser couldn't doubt it. Ray didn't care what people thought, that was all he was saying, but what if Fraser kissed him now? What if he made 'That's not buddies, people will think' into 'Seriously. Not. Buddies'. Would Ray care what people thought then? If it was true?
He'd put his mouth on Ray's before. Buddy breathing, exhaling into his partner's lungs to keep him from suffocating underwater. Buddy breathing. He wasn't going to get that one over on him again. And yet his mind was just a litany of lips lips lips, consumed by the desire to touch them, to close the amicable distance between them again, to make this whole situation a hell of a lot more than just buddies.
Which might be what Ray was saying, but probably wasn't. It was just the booze and the loneliness and the wedding twisting things up in his head.
Mastering control over his own instinct to push Ray against a wall and kiss him breathless, Fraser managed to tilt his head back up, looking back into Ray's face. His own expression was still a storm of emotions raging just beneath the surface, exposed only as a twitch of his eyebrows down, the slightest crease to the corner of his mouth, a tension in his jaw; but he didn't shy away from it, or from the topic at hand. ]
You're right, Ray, it is. It's more than buddies, and people will think what they want, believe what they like.
[ He thought he'd had control, but his hands had a life of their own. The one grasped in Ray's hand slid free, moved to flatten against his partner's chest, and then reached up, tugging off the bowtie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Ray looked like a stuffed sausage in his penguin suit. The bow tie was far too formal, and while he carried off the Bond look beautifully, Fraser just preferred him looking more relaxed, a breath of air against his beautiful throat, the fine line of a jaw that you could cut yourself on. He looked great with the bowtie; he looked irresistible without it. ]
So let them. What does it matter to us? You run around Chicago with a Mountie and a deaf wolf every day; face it, Ray, I've already more than destroyed your reputation.
[ His hand remained on Ray's chest. If they stayed for a moment longer, all self control was going to evaporate, he could feel it. But he couldn't find the energy to inflect his words with any kind of urgency: ]
no subject
I'm okay with that. It was said so clearly, so firmly, that Fraser couldn't doubt it. Ray didn't care what people thought, that was all he was saying, but what if Fraser kissed him now? What if he made 'That's not buddies, people will think' into 'Seriously. Not. Buddies'. Would Ray care what people thought then? If it was true?
He'd put his mouth on Ray's before. Buddy breathing, exhaling into his partner's lungs to keep him from suffocating underwater. Buddy breathing. He wasn't going to get that one over on him again. And yet his mind was just a litany of lips lips lips, consumed by the desire to touch them, to close the amicable distance between them again, to make this whole situation a hell of a lot more than just buddies.
Which might be what Ray was saying, but probably wasn't. It was just the booze and the loneliness and the wedding twisting things up in his head.
Mastering control over his own instinct to push Ray against a wall and kiss him breathless, Fraser managed to tilt his head back up, looking back into Ray's face. His own expression was still a storm of emotions raging just beneath the surface, exposed only as a twitch of his eyebrows down, the slightest crease to the corner of his mouth, a tension in his jaw; but he didn't shy away from it, or from the topic at hand. ]
You're right, Ray, it is. It's more than buddies, and people will think what they want, believe what they like.
[ He thought he'd had control, but his hands had a life of their own. The one grasped in Ray's hand slid free, moved to flatten against his partner's chest, and then reached up, tugging off the bowtie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. Ray looked like a stuffed sausage in his penguin suit. The bow tie was far too formal, and while he carried off the Bond look beautifully, Fraser just preferred him looking more relaxed, a breath of air against his beautiful throat, the fine line of a jaw that you could cut yourself on. He looked great with the bowtie; he looked irresistible without it. ]
So let them. What does it matter to us? You run around Chicago with a Mountie and a deaf wolf every day; face it, Ray, I've already more than destroyed your reputation.
[ His hand remained on Ray's chest. If they stayed for a moment longer, all self control was going to evaporate, he could feel it. But he couldn't find the energy to inflect his words with any kind of urgency: ]
They're going to be looking for me.