[ And wouldn't that be just the thing to do? Show up at Ray Vecchio's wedding, get drunk, take one of Stella's sozzled attorney bridesmaids to bed--or well, maybe not bed. Maybe the nearest closet or bathroom stall. If Fraser thought he'd been jealous before, the mere suggestion of that would have such feelings flaring up again, before of course he smooshed them down into something more appropriate. All the while as he seethed inside, he'd pretend to be happy that Ray could be back on the game despite it all--which of course in an abstract way he would be. He did want his partner to be happy. And if Ray caught on, it'd just turn into a row about why he thought it was appropriate to pick up women at his ex-wife's wedding anyway; it wasn't healthy behavior, why was he doing this to himself?
He could see the moment the car door opened that Ray was back in zombie mode, probably wondering why he was here, and how he'd gotten here in the first place. He looked shell shocked. If Fraser didn't intercede, Ray would be gone the next time he blinked, and so he reached in through the window and hooked the Pontiac's keys out of the console, tossing them to the still nervous looking porter. ]
Treat her like you would your own mother. Room 217, Kowalski-Fraser. [ His voice held an unusual authority. ] When you're done, leave the keys courtesy of the Vecchio party. Thank you kindly, George. [ And he tipped a twenty out of his hat and wrapped an arm around Ray's back, expecting that that would be it.
Unexpectedly the man - British - babbled: Thank you, Sir. Mr. Kowalski-Fraser, Sir. Fraser bit his lip, tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but ended up darting a look in Ray's direction after all. George thought they were a couple. Sure. As if that was even remotely legal in the state of Illinois.
He leaned up into Ray's ear and hissed, none the less, something very intimate and warm about the gesture. Maybe he wanted the guy to get ideas. He could spread it around the staff, and maybe from there it would blossom... ]
I hear the minibar in our room is unreasonably expensive, but for once perhaps frugality is overrated. And it is almost lunchtime...
[ Fraser would insist on paying the new Vecchios back eventually rather than eat and drink on their tab, but that was only so that he could humor Ray with the promise of guilt free revenge in the meantime, and play along without feeling bad himself. Dief, who had been ignoring the conversation until the word 'lunchtime', suddenly barked eagerly and bounded ahead of them. Apparently the idea of oven baked Chicago style pizza with pineapple on top appealed to him too. Comfort food. ]
no subject
He could see the moment the car door opened that Ray was back in zombie mode, probably wondering why he was here, and how he'd gotten here in the first place. He looked shell shocked. If Fraser didn't intercede, Ray would be gone the next time he blinked, and so he reached in through the window and hooked the Pontiac's keys out of the console, tossing them to the still nervous looking porter. ]
Treat her like you would your own mother. Room 217, Kowalski-Fraser. [ His voice held an unusual authority. ] When you're done, leave the keys courtesy of the Vecchio party. Thank you kindly, George. [ And he tipped a twenty out of his hat and wrapped an arm around Ray's back, expecting that that would be it.
Unexpectedly the man - British - babbled: Thank you, Sir. Mr. Kowalski-Fraser, Sir. Fraser bit his lip, tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but ended up darting a look in Ray's direction after all. George thought they were a couple. Sure. As if that was even remotely legal in the state of Illinois.
He leaned up into Ray's ear and hissed, none the less, something very intimate and warm about the gesture. Maybe he wanted the guy to get ideas. He could spread it around the staff, and maybe from there it would blossom... ]
I hear the minibar in our room is unreasonably expensive, but for once perhaps frugality is overrated. And it is almost lunchtime...
[ Fraser would insist on paying the new Vecchios back eventually rather than eat and drink on their tab, but that was only so that he could humor Ray with the promise of guilt free revenge in the meantime, and play along without feeling bad himself. Dief, who had been ignoring the conversation until the word 'lunchtime', suddenly barked eagerly and bounded ahead of them. Apparently the idea of oven baked Chicago style pizza with pineapple on top appealed to him too. Comfort food. ]