[ As soon as Ray calls out, Fraser relaxes, knowing straight away that Turnbull will leave. It's good. It's good because the alternative was Turnbull hearing the tremble in Fraser's voice and insisting on coming in. Still he holds his breath, listening to the sounds from beyond the door. At last - seemingly after forever - Turnbull apologizes, and Fraser listens to the footsteps moving away through the desk and the floorboards.
Fraser let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then let fall a very light, relieved sort of laugh, tension subsiding all at once. His hand came back to Ray's hip, and Fraser shifted his weight again, bringing his arm down so that his head rested instead on the wood, his nose at Ray's throat. He didn't stop there. He pressed just a little closer, breathing Ray in, not hesitating. He could be close. Ray wasn't turning him away, wasn't twisting to freedom off the tabletop and leaving Fraser to pick himself up on his own.
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Fraser let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then let fall a very light, relieved sort of laugh, tension subsiding all at once. His hand came back to Ray's hip, and Fraser shifted his weight again, bringing his arm down so that his head rested instead on the wood, his nose at Ray's throat. He didn't stop there. He pressed just a little closer, breathing Ray in, not hesitating. He could be close. Ray wasn't turning him away, wasn't twisting to freedom off the tabletop and leaving Fraser to pick himself up on his own.
He was still here. ]
Are we fine, Ray? [ Softly, eagerly. Hopeful. ]