[ It was what he was afraid Ray would say; especially since moments ago he'd been so much more into the idea, willing to throw it out in the open with dancing in public and running away to Canada together. Fraser didn't care what other people thought, but he did care about Ray; Ray's feelings. If it was too much for him, then he wasn't about to force the matter.
But it did disappoint him. If Ray couldn't even hold his hand around people he knew, how could he possibly adhere to the assurances he'd made him mere moments ago, that it didn't matter what other people thought of them? How could he believe that Ray truly thought that, and hadn't simply been saying it to make him feel better? And if it were indeed a lie, then what did that mean about the kiss?
No, come on Fraser, think. That couldn't be it--wasn't it at all. So maybe it was the hand holding itself? Maybe it was the idea of going from nought to fluffy romance novels in the space of three minutes. Unlike Ray, Fraser had a childlike innocence to him where handholding went before kissing, where it was a sign that you liked someone and wanted to be allowed to touch them more often. And making googly eyes at each other was just a natural step, and not at all unmanly. He'd definitely made enough googly eyes at Victoria to know how helplessly pathetic those feelings could make him. How soft.
Ray was harder than that. Didn't it seem like - in this alien, metropolitan world - that hand holding was somehow more intimate than sex? It would be like being stripped naked in public, exposed to all those people. And this was Ray; Ray who was incredibly private about his emotions, so private in fact that he used anger and cheekiness as a way to mask who he really was.
Fraser wasn't asking him to just hold hands. He was asking him to demonstrate in front of everyone a side of himself that even Fraser had only just begun to uncover, and that wasn't fair. It wasn't.
He squeezed Ray's hand, reaching up with the other to touch his cheek, leaning in and brushing another slight kiss to his mouth. It was an apology. ]
You're right. It's not you, Ray, and I don't want it to be. It's me, and that's okay, but it's not you. [ If he walked to Ray and took his hand and led him away, it'd be fine. But this? Lovey dovey staring at him as spoke to everyone? Why would he expect anything like that? That just wasn't the man he loved - at least in public - and Fraser didn't need another pet wolf following him around expectantly. (He was different; following Ray around expectantly was a well established constituent of his repertoire.)
He smiled, hopefully. ] You're still going to dance with me, though, right?
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But it did disappoint him. If Ray couldn't even hold his hand around people he knew, how could he possibly adhere to the assurances he'd made him mere moments ago, that it didn't matter what other people thought of them? How could he believe that Ray truly thought that, and hadn't simply been saying it to make him feel better? And if it were indeed a lie, then what did that mean about the kiss?
No, come on Fraser, think. That couldn't be it--wasn't it at all. So maybe it was the hand holding itself? Maybe it was the idea of going from nought to fluffy romance novels in the space of three minutes. Unlike Ray, Fraser had a childlike innocence to him where handholding went before kissing, where it was a sign that you liked someone and wanted to be allowed to touch them more often. And making googly eyes at each other was just a natural step, and not at all unmanly. He'd definitely made enough googly eyes at Victoria to know how helplessly pathetic those feelings could make him. How soft.
Ray was harder than that. Didn't it seem like - in this alien, metropolitan world - that hand holding was somehow more intimate than sex? It would be like being stripped naked in public, exposed to all those people. And this was Ray; Ray who was incredibly private about his emotions, so private in fact that he used anger and cheekiness as a way to mask who he really was.
Fraser wasn't asking him to just hold hands. He was asking him to demonstrate in front of everyone a side of himself that even Fraser had only just begun to uncover, and that wasn't fair. It wasn't.
He squeezed Ray's hand, reaching up with the other to touch his cheek, leaning in and brushing another slight kiss to his mouth. It was an apology. ]
You're right. It's not you, Ray, and I don't want it to be. It's me, and that's okay, but it's not you. [ If he walked to Ray and took his hand and led him away, it'd be fine. But this? Lovey dovey staring at him as spoke to everyone? Why would he expect anything like that? That just wasn't the man he loved - at least in public - and Fraser didn't need another pet wolf following him around expectantly. (He was different; following Ray around expectantly was a well established constituent of his repertoire.)
He smiled, hopefully. ] You're still going to dance with me, though, right?