[ Snapping turtles. Good save. Although now that he's said it Fraser has to fight the urge not to correct him, both on the genus of his own domestic turtle and the whole teeth situation. Ray doesn't need correcting; Ray knows, and more importantly Ray had just covered for him - although technically yes, he'd covered for them - and Fraser for once wasn't going to screw it up.
His eyes stayed on the folder under Ray's arm, keeping his head down as they cross the bull pen and head down the corridor to room A, his nerves jangling fretfully. It didn't help that the manila folder was mere inches above Ray's ass. Stop looking, stop thinking. He closed his eyes, followed by memory like a blind man - one leg slightly longer than the other - listening to the sound of Ray's feet, the door, the sound of it closing behind him, and then he swept his hat off his head and raked his fingers nervously back through his hair, mussing it again.
Oh God, he'd lied. He's actually lied to Huey and Dewey. The hat went on the table, and Fraser sank boneless into the chair they reserved for the perp, feeling like one himself, staring blankly at his hands. ]
I lied. I lied. Ray--Ray. [ He jerked his head up abruptly. ] I have to confess. I have to apologize. I mean--
[ What was wrong with him? First last night, then the closet, and now he was lying? What if he didn't have any self control any more? What if...what if the moment he'd put his lips on Kowalski's everything of the carefully constructed mannerisms fell apart? He was already a man who jammed open car doors into strangers for Kowalski, who stood back when he went all police brutality on the bad guys because - he'd excused himself - it was a boxing ring, who was prepared to take his partner on secret missions across state lines and out of his jurisdiction and even technically smuggle him into Canada to catch a bad guy.
Now he was lying, and necking in closets, and part of him wanted to handcuff Ray like this was a real interrogation, bend him over the table and...
And there was the part that was half a mind to have Ray drive them to a quiet place where a Mountie giving his partner a blowjob in the front of his prized classic Pontiac wouldn't...
Fraser dropped his head on the interrogation table and, uncharacteristically, groaned. ]
no subject
His eyes stayed on the folder under Ray's arm, keeping his head down as they cross the bull pen and head down the corridor to room A, his nerves jangling fretfully. It didn't help that the manila folder was mere inches above Ray's ass. Stop looking, stop thinking. He closed his eyes, followed by memory like a blind man - one leg slightly longer than the other - listening to the sound of Ray's feet, the door, the sound of it closing behind him, and then he swept his hat off his head and raked his fingers nervously back through his hair, mussing it again.
Oh God, he'd lied. He's actually lied to Huey and Dewey. The hat went on the table, and Fraser sank boneless into the chair they reserved for the perp, feeling like one himself, staring blankly at his hands. ]
I lied. I lied. Ray--Ray. [ He jerked his head up abruptly. ] I have to confess. I have to apologize. I mean--
[ What was wrong with him? First last night, then the closet, and now he was lying? What if he didn't have any self control any more? What if...what if the moment he'd put his lips on Kowalski's everything of the carefully constructed mannerisms fell apart? He was already a man who jammed open car doors into strangers for Kowalski, who stood back when he went all police brutality on the bad guys because - he'd excused himself - it was a boxing ring, who was prepared to take his partner on secret missions across state lines and out of his jurisdiction and even technically smuggle him into Canada to catch a bad guy.
Now he was lying, and necking in closets, and part of him wanted to handcuff Ray like this was a real interrogation, bend him over the table and...
And there was the part that was half a mind to have Ray drive them to a quiet place where a Mountie giving his partner a blowjob in the front of his prized classic Pontiac wouldn't...
Fraser dropped his head on the interrogation table and, uncharacteristically, groaned. ]