Snippyfic!
llassah and lordessrenegade have declared today to be The International Interfandom Day of Making Out!
In the spirit of the thing I have written the quickest 1000 words of my life!
RayK/Fraser. Kissing.
Ray was sure his life was permanently stuck at 11.52. This always seemed to be the hour at which he would crack and ask Fraser what time it was. More often than not it was 11.52. Stakeouts were dull - it was a fact of life for a cop. You found ways to pass the time - games to play in your head, memories recalled from your youth, making the perfect woman out of supermodel parts - he’d tried them all in his time.
But the humble stakeout had become a whole new world of endurance for Ray since he’d taken the Vecchio job. Each one was a thing to be dreaded, borne and celebrated when you survived it, since the advent of the Mountie.
It wasn’t that the guy was boring, or that he breathed too loud or smelled odd - nothing so mundane. It was more the fact that he was there at all, that he was breathing and that he smelled so damn good that had Ray gritting his teeth, twitching and buzzing through each shift.
Each time, by 11.52 Ray figured that he’d been stuck there in the car for most of his life and that if he tried any harder not to take a deep breath of Fraser, he was gonna hyperventilate or something.
“What’s the time, Fraser?”
“Eleven fifty-two, Ray,” Fraser replied quietly.
Of course it was. Ray cracked open his window and tried not to look as if he was desperately sucking in non-Fraser scented air from the outside world.
“Movement, Ray. Upstairs window.”
Thank God.
Ray scanned the plain brick house, catching sight of the silhouettes moving back and forth behind the thin pale green curtains. Two men, it looked like. David Prince and Sahid Akbar if they were lucky. It was hard to see what they were doing, moving in and out of their line of sight, but it didn’t look like making hot milk and putting the cat out for the night.
Suddenly one of the curtains twitched aside and a bearded face was briefly visible in the triangle of glass. Fraser stiffened and Ray scootched down instinctively.
“Akbar,” Fraser breathed.
The curtains dropped and the lights in the room were extinguished.
“Shit. You don’t think…?”
Ray didn’t need to expand on his concerns because a moment later the front door of the house opened and a tall, pale haired man stepped out into the weird street lit night.
“Fuck!” Ray hissed.
“We should go, Ray,” Fraser said quickly, reaching for his seatbelt.
But they were in a dead-end road, which meant that they’d have to drive right past the guy to get away, blowing their cover and wasting four nights of hacking the ten ‘til two shift. And if the guy was packing, he’d be able to pick them off no problemo.
Ray turned, grabbed Fraser’s hat and covered it and the radio with his jacket. A quick glance out the windshield confirmed that the man, Prince, presumably, was approaching the car. He looked wary. He looked angry.
Ray threw himself across the car, landing half-sprawled in Fraser’s lap. Fraser’s eyes went wide, all colour leached from them by the yellow of the streetlights.
“Kiss me!” Ray gasped.
Fraser blinked down at him but didn’t move, so Ray put a hand on the back of his neck and yanked his head down to meet him.
Fraser’s mouth was hard, which wasn’t surprising really under the circumstances. Ray just hung on grimly in case he tried to pull away, snaking his other hand under Fraser’s jacket and grabbing a handful of shirt. Still Fraser didn’t react, apparently frozen solid from the shock. Ray knew that the guy was gonna be there, right outside their window in about three seconds and that this had to look convincing.
Ray spread his fingers into the hair at Fraser’s nape, carding his hand through the short waves there. Closing his eyes, he softened his own lips and angled his head slightly, inviting Fraser’s mouth to do the same. He butted at Fraser’s lower lip, and then boldly touched his tongue against the unyielding skin there.
Fraser’s mouth opened on a gasp and Ray took his chance. With a throaty moan, Ray slipped into his hot mouth. He ran his tongue slowly along the sharpness of his partner’s teeth, feeling the definition of each one, searching out the crooked one that he tried so hard not to look for when Fraser smiled.
The stick shift was digging into Ray’s waist and the parking brake was pressed against his groin in a way that made incautious movement inadvisable, his neck was beginning to ache already because of the weird angle he was at, but the second he felt Fraser’s tongue touch tentatively against his own, he forgot it all.
Fraser was kissing him back - really kissing him - not with the intensity that Ray was trying to put into the thing, but slowly, carefully, thoroughly. Fraser’s heart thumped strongly against his fist, marking the seconds of their connection and echoing the pulse that slammed through Ray. He felt like he was being gradually taken apart, piece by sensitised piece. He felt lost; he felt drugged; he felt fucking amazing.
The knock, when it came, was loud and jarring over the soft, wet noises in the car. With a sweep of his tongue across Ray’s lips that felt full of regret, Fraser lifted his head and looked at the interruption.
Ray slowly sat up a little, rather than look at the guy upside down.
Now he was closer, Ray could see that it was Prince. His face was still wary, but twisted in a grimace of obvious distaste.
“Jesus! What the fuck are you doing? Boystown is about twenty blocks that way. Get the fuck out of here, and get yourselves a room,” he called through the window.
Ray eased himself out of Fraser’s lap and fumbled for the keys. Prince stepped back as Ray started the engine and peeled away from the kerb. The “Fucking faggots” was easy to lip read in his rear-view mirror, despite the dark.
Fraser cleared his throat and surreptitiously adjusted himself as Ray turned back onto the main street. “That was…” He cleared his throat again. “That was quick thinking, Ray.”
“Not really, Frase,” Ray replied, suddenly bold, “I been thinking about that for months.”
“I see. Then perhaps, after you have called in our failure, we should take Mr. Prince’s advice.”
“He seemed pretty insistent,” Ray agreed.
As they drove past the Church of St. Sebastian, patron saint of policemen, the clock struck midnight.
Fin
In the spirit of the thing I have written the quickest 1000 words of my life!
RayK/Fraser. Kissing.
Ray was sure his life was permanently stuck at 11.52. This always seemed to be the hour at which he would crack and ask Fraser what time it was. More often than not it was 11.52. Stakeouts were dull - it was a fact of life for a cop. You found ways to pass the time - games to play in your head, memories recalled from your youth, making the perfect woman out of supermodel parts - he’d tried them all in his time.
But the humble stakeout had become a whole new world of endurance for Ray since he’d taken the Vecchio job. Each one was a thing to be dreaded, borne and celebrated when you survived it, since the advent of the Mountie.
It wasn’t that the guy was boring, or that he breathed too loud or smelled odd - nothing so mundane. It was more the fact that he was there at all, that he was breathing and that he smelled so damn good that had Ray gritting his teeth, twitching and buzzing through each shift.
Each time, by 11.52 Ray figured that he’d been stuck there in the car for most of his life and that if he tried any harder not to take a deep breath of Fraser, he was gonna hyperventilate or something.
“What’s the time, Fraser?”
“Eleven fifty-two, Ray,” Fraser replied quietly.
Of course it was. Ray cracked open his window and tried not to look as if he was desperately sucking in non-Fraser scented air from the outside world.
“Movement, Ray. Upstairs window.”
Thank God.
Ray scanned the plain brick house, catching sight of the silhouettes moving back and forth behind the thin pale green curtains. Two men, it looked like. David Prince and Sahid Akbar if they were lucky. It was hard to see what they were doing, moving in and out of their line of sight, but it didn’t look like making hot milk and putting the cat out for the night.
Suddenly one of the curtains twitched aside and a bearded face was briefly visible in the triangle of glass. Fraser stiffened and Ray scootched down instinctively.
“Akbar,” Fraser breathed.
The curtains dropped and the lights in the room were extinguished.
“Shit. You don’t think…?”
Ray didn’t need to expand on his concerns because a moment later the front door of the house opened and a tall, pale haired man stepped out into the weird street lit night.
“Fuck!” Ray hissed.
“We should go, Ray,” Fraser said quickly, reaching for his seatbelt.
But they were in a dead-end road, which meant that they’d have to drive right past the guy to get away, blowing their cover and wasting four nights of hacking the ten ‘til two shift. And if the guy was packing, he’d be able to pick them off no problemo.
Ray turned, grabbed Fraser’s hat and covered it and the radio with his jacket. A quick glance out the windshield confirmed that the man, Prince, presumably, was approaching the car. He looked wary. He looked angry.
Ray threw himself across the car, landing half-sprawled in Fraser’s lap. Fraser’s eyes went wide, all colour leached from them by the yellow of the streetlights.
“Kiss me!” Ray gasped.
Fraser blinked down at him but didn’t move, so Ray put a hand on the back of his neck and yanked his head down to meet him.
Fraser’s mouth was hard, which wasn’t surprising really under the circumstances. Ray just hung on grimly in case he tried to pull away, snaking his other hand under Fraser’s jacket and grabbing a handful of shirt. Still Fraser didn’t react, apparently frozen solid from the shock. Ray knew that the guy was gonna be there, right outside their window in about three seconds and that this had to look convincing.
Ray spread his fingers into the hair at Fraser’s nape, carding his hand through the short waves there. Closing his eyes, he softened his own lips and angled his head slightly, inviting Fraser’s mouth to do the same. He butted at Fraser’s lower lip, and then boldly touched his tongue against the unyielding skin there.
Fraser’s mouth opened on a gasp and Ray took his chance. With a throaty moan, Ray slipped into his hot mouth. He ran his tongue slowly along the sharpness of his partner’s teeth, feeling the definition of each one, searching out the crooked one that he tried so hard not to look for when Fraser smiled.
The stick shift was digging into Ray’s waist and the parking brake was pressed against his groin in a way that made incautious movement inadvisable, his neck was beginning to ache already because of the weird angle he was at, but the second he felt Fraser’s tongue touch tentatively against his own, he forgot it all.
Fraser was kissing him back - really kissing him - not with the intensity that Ray was trying to put into the thing, but slowly, carefully, thoroughly. Fraser’s heart thumped strongly against his fist, marking the seconds of their connection and echoing the pulse that slammed through Ray. He felt like he was being gradually taken apart, piece by sensitised piece. He felt lost; he felt drugged; he felt fucking amazing.
The knock, when it came, was loud and jarring over the soft, wet noises in the car. With a sweep of his tongue across Ray’s lips that felt full of regret, Fraser lifted his head and looked at the interruption.
Ray slowly sat up a little, rather than look at the guy upside down.
Now he was closer, Ray could see that it was Prince. His face was still wary, but twisted in a grimace of obvious distaste.
“Jesus! What the fuck are you doing? Boystown is about twenty blocks that way. Get the fuck out of here, and get yourselves a room,” he called through the window.
Ray eased himself out of Fraser’s lap and fumbled for the keys. Prince stepped back as Ray started the engine and peeled away from the kerb. The “Fucking faggots” was easy to lip read in his rear-view mirror, despite the dark.
Fraser cleared his throat and surreptitiously adjusted himself as Ray turned back onto the main street. “That was…” He cleared his throat again. “That was quick thinking, Ray.”
“Not really, Frase,” Ray replied, suddenly bold, “I been thinking about that for months.”
“I see. Then perhaps, after you have called in our failure, we should take Mr. Prince’s advice.”
“He seemed pretty insistent,” Ray agreed.
As they drove past the Church of St. Sebastian, patron saint of policemen, the clock struck midnight.
Fin