F/K snippet for leafy22 from umbrella_half
Fraser/Kowalski, 526 words, G. Many thanks go to the esteemed capt_spork for super-fast!beta action.
“Fraser, no one likes vanilla.”
We’re walking back to his apartment, and Ray looks pained and confused, as if stating a basic, logical fact which I’m having difficulty grasping. Summer follows spring, Fraser. No one likes vanilla.
“I like vanilla, Ray,” I say. “I’m quite content with this one.”
“Fraser,” he begins. Ray looks exasperated. Vexed, even. As if I’ve committed a social faux pas on the scale of Turnbull’s latest debacle with the crème brûlée on the occasion of the Governor-General’s visit to Chicago. “No one. Likes. Vanilla.” He inserts punctuation mercilessly into the middle of the sentence.
“I assure you,” I say, with more than a little forced patience, “that I am quite fond of vanilla.”
“Look,” he says. I can tell it’s going to be one of his long, involved rants, and so I roll my eyes and settle in, continuing to nibble on the ice cream. “Look, Fraser, I know that you’ve got that whole…Superman thing going on, with the uniform and everything. I know, I know that. That’s fine. But, c’mon, I said I’d buy you one. You don’t have to be all polite, all… y’know, Canadian about it.”
He says the word ‘Canadian’ like it’s profanity. I purse my lips.
“Ray,” I begin.
“No, you don’t get it. I said I’d buy you an ice cream, because it’s a Chicago summer and even I feel like I need to change my shirt every two seconds, and I was born and brought up here, not in a freezer like you.”
“It was hardly a freezer-”
“-but you just have to go and be all Canadian in the face of my hospitality, because, let’s face it, Fraser, these things are expensive and I’m trying to be the big man and buy you something nice, a present, y’know, anything you wanted, a waffle cone, even, but-”
“-I assure you I don’t-”
“-but oh no, you have to go and pick one scoop of vanilla, don’t you,” He climbs the stairs, boots clomping on each one. I’d worn sneakers. Maybe his feet were bothering him. I considered informing of the benefits of reflexology.
“A scoop on vanilla, no sauce, nothing, and you don’t have to do that,” Maybe reflexology can wait. He jangles the keys, finding the one in the multitude that opens his apartment door. Ice cream is dripping distractingly down from his cone onto his fingers. I wonder, idly, what double chocolate caramel tastes like on his fingers.
“Because I’m your partner, right? I was offering you a damn gift, and you don’t need to be all puritanical about it,”
“Ray,”
“And you know, seriously,”
“Ray,”
“C’mon, Fraser, Ben, just, take the damn-”
“-Ray,”
“Gift because, I really-”
“-Ray,”
He stops.
“What?” He’s got an odd expression on his face, as if one half wants to express irritation; the other, confusion. I smile at him.
“But that's my favourite flavour.”
“Huh.” Confusion wins, and he frowns. “But, Fraser, no one likes vanilla.”
I grab his wrist and lick a finger.
“I see double chocolate caramel also has its good points.”
He smiles.
Prompt from leafy22 : I'd like #8 please - "But that's my favourite flavour." F/K, any rating is fine but not too angsty please!
“Fraser, no one likes vanilla.”
We’re walking back to his apartment, and Ray looks pained and confused, as if stating a basic, logical fact which I’m having difficulty grasping. Summer follows spring, Fraser. No one likes vanilla.
“I like vanilla, Ray,” I say. “I’m quite content with this one.”
“Fraser,” he begins. Ray looks exasperated. Vexed, even. As if I’ve committed a social faux pas on the scale of Turnbull’s latest debacle with the crème brûlée on the occasion of the Governor-General’s visit to Chicago. “No one. Likes. Vanilla.” He inserts punctuation mercilessly into the middle of the sentence.
“I assure you,” I say, with more than a little forced patience, “that I am quite fond of vanilla.”
“Look,” he says. I can tell it’s going to be one of his long, involved rants, and so I roll my eyes and settle in, continuing to nibble on the ice cream. “Look, Fraser, I know that you’ve got that whole…Superman thing going on, with the uniform and everything. I know, I know that. That’s fine. But, c’mon, I said I’d buy you one. You don’t have to be all polite, all… y’know, Canadian about it.”
He says the word ‘Canadian’ like it’s profanity. I purse my lips.
“Ray,” I begin.
“No, you don’t get it. I said I’d buy you an ice cream, because it’s a Chicago summer and even I feel like I need to change my shirt every two seconds, and I was born and brought up here, not in a freezer like you.”
“It was hardly a freezer-”
“-but you just have to go and be all Canadian in the face of my hospitality, because, let’s face it, Fraser, these things are expensive and I’m trying to be the big man and buy you something nice, a present, y’know, anything you wanted, a waffle cone, even, but-”
“-I assure you I don’t-”
“-but oh no, you have to go and pick one scoop of vanilla, don’t you,” He climbs the stairs, boots clomping on each one. I’d worn sneakers. Maybe his feet were bothering him. I considered informing of the benefits of reflexology.
“A scoop on vanilla, no sauce, nothing, and you don’t have to do that,” Maybe reflexology can wait. He jangles the keys, finding the one in the multitude that opens his apartment door. Ice cream is dripping distractingly down from his cone onto his fingers. I wonder, idly, what double chocolate caramel tastes like on his fingers.
“Because I’m your partner, right? I was offering you a damn gift, and you don’t need to be all puritanical about it,”
“Ray,”
“And you know, seriously,”
“Ray,”
“C’mon, Fraser, Ben, just, take the damn-”
“-Ray,”
“Gift because, I really-”
“-Ray,”
He stops.
“What?” He’s got an odd expression on his face, as if one half wants to express irritation; the other, confusion. I smile at him.
“But that's my favourite flavour.”
“Huh.” Confusion wins, and he frowns. “But, Fraser, no one likes vanilla.”
I grab his wrist and lick a finger.
“I see double chocolate caramel also has its good points.”
He smiles.
Prompt from leafy22 : I'd like #8 please - "But that's my favourite flavour." F/K, any rating is fine but not too angsty please!