dS drabbles
Sep. 27th, 2007 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rubberbuttonTitle: The Many Sins of Benton Fraser: A Collection of Vices
Rating: PG-13 (language, themes)
Summary: A series of drabbles. Fraser/Kowalski
Sloth
The alarm went off with an electronic shriek at precisely 4:45 am. Fraser woke and quickly pushed himself up, taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Fuck.” Ray rolled over, taking most of the covers with him and stealing a pillow to clamp over his ear. “Turn it off!”
At least that’s what Fraser assumed he said; Ray wasn’t at his most articulate and the pillow muffled his voice.
Fraser reached over to turn off the alarm, returning the room to silence. Ray reemerged, squinting unhappily.
“S’going on?”
“Nothing, Ray. This is when I customarily awaken.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Early to bed, early to rise...”
“Makes me want to fucking die,” Ray finished. “Really...you don’t got a somewhere to be?”
“No, not as such. I thought I might take Dief for a walk.”
“Fraser,” Ray sighed. “It’s not even morning. This here? This is night. S’why it’s dark out.” Content with his argument, Ray sprawled out, annexing the space Fraser had just left. His naked skin seemed to glow slightly in the wan light streaming through the blinds.
“Carpe diem, Ray.”
“This is me carpeing the diem.” Ray’s eyes drifted closed and he reached out, his hand closing on Fraser’s elbow. “Go back to sleep. Unless you’ve got another cliché you’d like to share.”
Fraser tried to work up the energy to get up, set a good example, but the most he managed was to lean forward a little, bringing himself dangerously close to horizontal. Ray tugged on his arm.
“Just thirty minutes and then we can get up and do something exhausting and pointless. Promise.”
Fraser’s traitorous body collapsed backward to meet Ray’s, his head finding the pillow. Ray snuggled up along his back, breath tickling Fraser’s neck and an arm winding around his waist.
Just five minutes, Fraser promised himself.
Really.
Gluttony
“There really is next to no nutritional value in this,” Fraser said, waving a wilting chili-cheese fry in Ray’s direction.
“Sure there is. Potatoes are vegetables,” Ray countered, taking the opportunity snag a fry of his own.
“In a starchy tuber sort of way, yes. But as for the actual nutrients—”
“And it’s got cheese, so there’s your dairy.” Ray wiped greasy fingers down his pant leg.
“It adds to the total caloric intake, but I’m not sure I’m willing to concede the point about it being cheese.”
“Plus, uh, the chili, that’s good for something.”
“I suppose one could make an argument for protein,” Fraser mused.
“Great, now pass me the onion rings.”
“Certainly, Ray, and may I inquire as to whether you’re going to finish that malt?”
“Nope, knock yourself out.”
“Thank you kindly.”
Lust
Fraser entered the bullpen and wove his way through the bustle and hum without thought. His presence was so customary that none of the regulars even looked up at his passing. Ray was leaning over Frannie’s shoulder, hands braced on the desk, studying some picture up on the computer screen. Fraser stopped before he was even in easy earshot but Ray looked up, their eyes meeting. Fraser lifted his chin a fraction and turned, walking back the way he’d come. He didn’t have to watch to know that Ray followed.
“Got a lead?” Ray called, long legs closing the distance easily. He caught up to Fraser as he passed the supply closet. “Because Frannie’s managed to pull up jackshit from the DMV—hey, what’s up?” he asked as Fraser took his elbow and manhandled him into the closet.
The door shut behind them just as Fraser’s hand found its way up the inside of Ray’s thigh.
Ray’s breath caught and he was laughing into the side of Fraser’s neck, nipping his earlobe.
“Ah, so that’s what up.”
Wrath
Fraser’s grandmother had once told him that eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, so it was his own damn fault, really, when he lingered outside of interrogation room two after catching his name.
“—With the Mountie, seriously, can you believe it?” Dewey’s voice carried easily.
“Well,” came Huey’s more measured tones. “They’ve always been...close.” He sounded distinctly uncomfortable.
“Yeah, since day one when Kowalski swanned in here to take Vecchio’s place. Mincing around here like he owned it.”
Fraser went simultaneously hot and cold.
Dewey rounded the doorway, Huey close on his heels. He stopped short seeing Fraser and rapidly backpedaled. It took Fraser a moment to realize that he was following, driving Dewey backward. Dewey ran into the table and would have fallen but Fraser had him by the front of his ugly blazer and was pulling him up, shoving him against a wall.
“Easy, Fraser,” Huey was saying, grabbing Fraser’s shoulder, but Fraser failed to notice.
“Detective Dewey,” Fraser said, his voice calm and even, despite the whiteness of his knuckles and the tightness of his jaw. “In the future I would take it as a kindness if you kept your opinions about Detective Kowalski’s attitudes, activities and abilities to yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dewey gasped out, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his sallow forehead.
Fraser waited a moment longer, ascertaining that Dewey had nothing to add and then released him. He stepped back, tugged the hem of his tunic into place and exited, leaving the two detectives staring after him.
Pride
Fraser fished his sweater from where it’d been abandoned earlier, hanging off the foot of the bed.
“You cold?” Ray pushed himself onto an elbow, reaching to catch the knit before it could go over Fraser’s head.
“No, not particularly.” Fraser considered a moment. “The air temperature in the room is quite comfortable. Are you cold? I could fetch another blanket—“
“Nah. I’m fine,” Ray grinned, settling back. “But then I’m not the one in a hurry to put on the bulkiest fucking sweater on the face of the planet.”
Ray released his hold on the sweater. Fraser hesitated, the fabric awkwardly bunched about his elbows. “What’s wrong with it?”
Ray smile widened at Fraser’s wounded tone. “Wrong? Nothing. I just kind of like the view without it, you know.”
“Ah. Well then.” Fraser dropped it over the side of the bed, flexing a little more than was strictly necessary. “I suppose I’m warm enough.”
“You will be in a minute,” Ray promised, leaning forward.
Envy
“I’m sure he’ll be over momentarily with the file,” Fraser said, trying for him most conciliatory tone.
“He better be.” ASA Kowalski crossed one slim ankle over the other, impatience written with every line of her body. “I’m here as a personal favor.”
“One that we both appreciate,” Fraser assured her, wondering if she could hear the strain in his voice.
Perhaps she could, because she turned to study him more closely. He turned his hat in his hands, pulling the brim through his fingers.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“I know you’re not actually as stupid as you look,” she said, leaning forward, and cocking her head to the side as she considered him. “Don’t play dumb.”
He swallowed, focusing on the opposite wall. “Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if it’s in regards to my relationship with Ray, it’s probably true.”
“That you’re sleeping together.”
Fraser shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
Satisfied, she sat back. “I’m not surprised.”
“Really? It seems you’re the only one who’s not.”
Her expression twisted into a smile. “I was there way back when, Mountie. I know him better than anyone.”
Now Fraser turned to look at her, meeting her gaze levelly. “You knew him better.”
Greed
Out late. Don’t wait up. Love, R
Fraser pulled the note off the refrigerator, his thumb caressing the final ‘R’. He glanced at his watch, but that wasn’t any help. Ray could mean just about any time by ‘late’.
He went to the bedroom and retrieved a box he’d carved from under the bed. He opened the lid and sifted through the scraps of paper and odds and ends.
A corner torn from a yellow legal paper came to his fingers.
Guess what I’m thinking about.
Even scrawled in fading pencil, the words seem to leer at him and his cheeks heated a bit remembering just what Ray had been thinking about.
A receipt from IHOP dated to their one year anniversary. Ray had attempted to cook a more traditionally romantic meal, but had made a few miscalculations. There was still some smoke damage above the stove.
A ticket stub to Giselle. Ray had insisted he hated it and that ballet in general was just plain dopey, but he’d need a few minutes to collect himself in the men’s room after the performance.
There were programs, notes, cards, an empty carton of the cigarettes Ray swore up and down that he’d quit—all the detritus that he’d never had the luxury of collecting before, when everything he owned had on a sled.
He returned the papers to the box, including Ray’s latest note and shut the lid.
Now he could afford to collect.
Rating: PG-13 (language, themes)
Summary: A series of drabbles. Fraser/Kowalski
Sloth
The alarm went off with an electronic shriek at precisely 4:45 am. Fraser woke and quickly pushed himself up, taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes.
“Fuck.” Ray rolled over, taking most of the covers with him and stealing a pillow to clamp over his ear. “Turn it off!”
At least that’s what Fraser assumed he said; Ray wasn’t at his most articulate and the pillow muffled his voice.
Fraser reached over to turn off the alarm, returning the room to silence. Ray reemerged, squinting unhappily.
“S’going on?”
“Nothing, Ray. This is when I customarily awaken.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“Early to bed, early to rise...”
“Makes me want to fucking die,” Ray finished. “Really...you don’t got a somewhere to be?”
“No, not as such. I thought I might take Dief for a walk.”
“Fraser,” Ray sighed. “It’s not even morning. This here? This is night. S’why it’s dark out.” Content with his argument, Ray sprawled out, annexing the space Fraser had just left. His naked skin seemed to glow slightly in the wan light streaming through the blinds.
“Carpe diem, Ray.”
“This is me carpeing the diem.” Ray’s eyes drifted closed and he reached out, his hand closing on Fraser’s elbow. “Go back to sleep. Unless you’ve got another cliché you’d like to share.”
Fraser tried to work up the energy to get up, set a good example, but the most he managed was to lean forward a little, bringing himself dangerously close to horizontal. Ray tugged on his arm.
“Just thirty minutes and then we can get up and do something exhausting and pointless. Promise.”
Fraser’s traitorous body collapsed backward to meet Ray’s, his head finding the pillow. Ray snuggled up along his back, breath tickling Fraser’s neck and an arm winding around his waist.
Just five minutes, Fraser promised himself.
Really.
Gluttony
“There really is next to no nutritional value in this,” Fraser said, waving a wilting chili-cheese fry in Ray’s direction.
“Sure there is. Potatoes are vegetables,” Ray countered, taking the opportunity snag a fry of his own.
“In a starchy tuber sort of way, yes. But as for the actual nutrients—”
“And it’s got cheese, so there’s your dairy.” Ray wiped greasy fingers down his pant leg.
“It adds to the total caloric intake, but I’m not sure I’m willing to concede the point about it being cheese.”
“Plus, uh, the chili, that’s good for something.”
“I suppose one could make an argument for protein,” Fraser mused.
“Great, now pass me the onion rings.”
“Certainly, Ray, and may I inquire as to whether you’re going to finish that malt?”
“Nope, knock yourself out.”
“Thank you kindly.”
Lust
Fraser entered the bullpen and wove his way through the bustle and hum without thought. His presence was so customary that none of the regulars even looked up at his passing. Ray was leaning over Frannie’s shoulder, hands braced on the desk, studying some picture up on the computer screen. Fraser stopped before he was even in easy earshot but Ray looked up, their eyes meeting. Fraser lifted his chin a fraction and turned, walking back the way he’d come. He didn’t have to watch to know that Ray followed.
“Got a lead?” Ray called, long legs closing the distance easily. He caught up to Fraser as he passed the supply closet. “Because Frannie’s managed to pull up jackshit from the DMV—hey, what’s up?” he asked as Fraser took his elbow and manhandled him into the closet.
The door shut behind them just as Fraser’s hand found its way up the inside of Ray’s thigh.
Ray’s breath caught and he was laughing into the side of Fraser’s neck, nipping his earlobe.
“Ah, so that’s what up.”
Wrath
Fraser’s grandmother had once told him that eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, so it was his own damn fault, really, when he lingered outside of interrogation room two after catching his name.
“—With the Mountie, seriously, can you believe it?” Dewey’s voice carried easily.
“Well,” came Huey’s more measured tones. “They’ve always been...close.” He sounded distinctly uncomfortable.
“Yeah, since day one when Kowalski swanned in here to take Vecchio’s place. Mincing around here like he owned it.”
Fraser went simultaneously hot and cold.
Dewey rounded the doorway, Huey close on his heels. He stopped short seeing Fraser and rapidly backpedaled. It took Fraser a moment to realize that he was following, driving Dewey backward. Dewey ran into the table and would have fallen but Fraser had him by the front of his ugly blazer and was pulling him up, shoving him against a wall.
“Easy, Fraser,” Huey was saying, grabbing Fraser’s shoulder, but Fraser failed to notice.
“Detective Dewey,” Fraser said, his voice calm and even, despite the whiteness of his knuckles and the tightness of his jaw. “In the future I would take it as a kindness if you kept your opinions about Detective Kowalski’s attitudes, activities and abilities to yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Dewey gasped out, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on his sallow forehead.
Fraser waited a moment longer, ascertaining that Dewey had nothing to add and then released him. He stepped back, tugged the hem of his tunic into place and exited, leaving the two detectives staring after him.
Pride
Fraser fished his sweater from where it’d been abandoned earlier, hanging off the foot of the bed.
“You cold?” Ray pushed himself onto an elbow, reaching to catch the knit before it could go over Fraser’s head.
“No, not particularly.” Fraser considered a moment. “The air temperature in the room is quite comfortable. Are you cold? I could fetch another blanket—“
“Nah. I’m fine,” Ray grinned, settling back. “But then I’m not the one in a hurry to put on the bulkiest fucking sweater on the face of the planet.”
Ray released his hold on the sweater. Fraser hesitated, the fabric awkwardly bunched about his elbows. “What’s wrong with it?”
Ray smile widened at Fraser’s wounded tone. “Wrong? Nothing. I just kind of like the view without it, you know.”
“Ah. Well then.” Fraser dropped it over the side of the bed, flexing a little more than was strictly necessary. “I suppose I’m warm enough.”
“You will be in a minute,” Ray promised, leaning forward.
Envy
“I’m sure he’ll be over momentarily with the file,” Fraser said, trying for him most conciliatory tone.
“He better be.” ASA Kowalski crossed one slim ankle over the other, impatience written with every line of her body. “I’m here as a personal favor.”
“One that we both appreciate,” Fraser assured her, wondering if she could hear the strain in his voice.
Perhaps she could, because she turned to study him more closely. He turned his hat in his hands, pulling the brim through his fingers.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“I know you’re not actually as stupid as you look,” she said, leaning forward, and cocking her head to the side as she considered him. “Don’t play dumb.”
He swallowed, focusing on the opposite wall. “Well, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but if it’s in regards to my relationship with Ray, it’s probably true.”
“That you’re sleeping together.”
Fraser shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Yes.”
Satisfied, she sat back. “I’m not surprised.”
“Really? It seems you’re the only one who’s not.”
Her expression twisted into a smile. “I was there way back when, Mountie. I know him better than anyone.”
Now Fraser turned to look at her, meeting her gaze levelly. “You knew him better.”
Greed
Out late. Don’t wait up. Love, R
Fraser pulled the note off the refrigerator, his thumb caressing the final ‘R’. He glanced at his watch, but that wasn’t any help. Ray could mean just about any time by ‘late’.
He went to the bedroom and retrieved a box he’d carved from under the bed. He opened the lid and sifted through the scraps of paper and odds and ends.
A corner torn from a yellow legal paper came to his fingers.
Guess what I’m thinking about.
Even scrawled in fading pencil, the words seem to leer at him and his cheeks heated a bit remembering just what Ray had been thinking about.
A receipt from IHOP dated to their one year anniversary. Ray had attempted to cook a more traditionally romantic meal, but had made a few miscalculations. There was still some smoke damage above the stove.
A ticket stub to Giselle. Ray had insisted he hated it and that ballet in general was just plain dopey, but he’d need a few minutes to collect himself in the men’s room after the performance.
There were programs, notes, cards, an empty carton of the cigarettes Ray swore up and down that he’d quit—all the detritus that he’d never had the luxury of collecting before, when everything he owned had on a sled.
He returned the papers to the box, including Ray’s latest note and shut the lid.
Now he could afford to collect.
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Date: 2007-09-27 09:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-28 01:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-28 12:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-09-28 01:30 am (UTC)