Challenge challenge by china_shop
This is for the Challenge challenge, and is also a sequel to my last flashfiction, Favor, which was for the Naked Without Sex challenge.
(I'm planning a gratuitous andthentheyhadsex coda: I’ll post on ds_noticeboard when it’s done.)
F/K, 894 words, PG.
Bushels and barrelfuls of thanks to serialkarma for her patient and wonderful beta services.
Would you make a jump like that if you didn't have to?
After a long minute of silence, Ray props himself up on his elbows. “Fraser?”
Fraser rubs the oil between his thumb and his fingers, his eyes fixed on Ray’s ghostly reflection in the dark window. He’s paralyzed by the impossibility of returning to the physical intimacy of the massage-his hands tending Ray’s warm skin.
It is impossible. Fraser could more easily jump off a 100-foot cliff into raging whitewater in pursuit of a criminal-and indeed, has done so several times without hesitation. Those leaps were dutiful and defensible, but there is no such justification for breaching the parameters of his relationship with Ray, risking everything.
Fraser’s posture tightens until he can’t move. Until the words tumbling through his brain cease to mean anything but Run!
“Fraser.” Ray rolls off the cushions on the floor, and stands up, looking taller than usual. His chest and feet are bare and pale. They draw the eye. He should seem vulnerable, half-naked as he is, but he has an air of unselfconscious bravado that more than compensates for his lack of clothes.
He walks toward Fraser, his reflection growing rapidly, and Fraser searches for a pretext to leave, to excuse himself and disappear. He even reaches for the window latch in preparation for a speedy escape.
But Ray is onto him. Ray catches Fraser’s hand before it touches the latch, and the contact is like an electric shock through Fraser’s entire system. Dear God. “Everything okay?” says Ray, and the words are deliberately casual, measured out in coffeespoons, and Fraser can’t think. For the first time in his life, he has vertigo. He needs to disappear before-
He pulls back. “I should go,” he says to Ray’s reflection. He doesn’t recognise his own voice.
Ray releases Fraser and folds his arms across his chest. Fraser watches Ray’s mouth in the dark window, determinedly avoiding looking at his eyes or his chest or his crotch. Ray’s mouth is full and kind, even as he lopsidedly purses his lips and considers Fraser. “We’re in the middle of something, here, Fraser,” he points out. “You gonna leave?”
Fraser draws on years of stoicism and hard-won self-control, on his RCMP parade training, on all his resources. He pulls himself together, forces himself to breathe calmly. “I think I-must,” he says. “I’ve done enough.” He risks a glance at Ray’s eyes, and sees a spark there, though he’s not certain what it signifies.
Ray tilts his chin up, and asks, “Scared?” And Fraser can’t begin to contemplate the cost of just that single word. That Ray is prepared to admit there is anything to be scared of, is willing to enter into a conversation where the undercurrents seething between them are acknowledged.
He considers denying it. He wants to deny it, to return to solid ground, but that would be doing Ray a grave disservice. Ray who trusts him, who is sticking his neck out. So Fraser turns and meets Ray’s gaze head on. “Yes.”
Fraser takes a step backwards, and walks around Ray, away from him. He collects his coat. He has no doubt that Ray has turned and is watching him go, nor that Ray wants to talk more, to confess what Fraser now understands to be their mutual attraction. But Fraser’s equally certain that to talk would compound this evening’s mistakes.
“Take the high road, son. These things never end well,” says a gruff voice in his ear, and Fraser growls “Go away” even though the advice matches his own beliefs. He keeps moving toward the door, collects his hat from the hook. When he turns to say goodbye, there’s no sign of his father, just Ray standing by the dark window, his thin reflection echoed in the glass.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Fraser says, awkwardly, wanting a sign that the damage done is reparable.
Ray ignores this inanity, and instead walks across the room with a set look on his face. “You’ve sentenced yourself to a life in solitary. God knows why. I sure as hell don’t know what your crime is.” He shakes his head, holds up a hand. “I’ll tell you this. I’m lodging an appeal, Fraser. I am lodging a fucking appeal. I’m gonna spring you.”
Fraser’s hands tighten on the brim of his Stetson, bending the felt. His whole body is tight. He can barely move his throat to croak, “On what grounds?”
And now Ray is close. He bounces on the balls of his feet for emphasis, his hands are clenched. Fraser almost wishes that Ray would punch him, as he did on the lakeside, and get it over with. But then Ray speaks and the words hit Fraser harder than knuckles ever could. “In the name of justice, Fraser. You’re so big on that. In the name of you and me.”
Fraser stops dead, transfixed by this insight. His hat falls to the floor. Ray is right. How could Fraser not have understood? They are both essentially good people, they’ve both suffered, and it’s just that, if they want to, they be together.
This is a 100-foot drop, this space between them. Fraser doesn’t know if he can swim these rapids. He doesn’t know whether the fall will kill him. But that’s not important: there are principles at stake. He takes a breath, a step forward, and he jumps.
End
ETA: Sequel now available here (NC-17).
(I'm planning a gratuitous andthentheyhadsex coda: I’ll post on ds_noticeboard when it’s done.)
F/K, 894 words, PG.
Bushels and barrelfuls of thanks to serialkarma for her patient and wonderful beta services.
Would you make a jump like that if you didn't have to?
After a long minute of silence, Ray props himself up on his elbows. “Fraser?”
Fraser rubs the oil between his thumb and his fingers, his eyes fixed on Ray’s ghostly reflection in the dark window. He’s paralyzed by the impossibility of returning to the physical intimacy of the massage-his hands tending Ray’s warm skin.
It is impossible. Fraser could more easily jump off a 100-foot cliff into raging whitewater in pursuit of a criminal-and indeed, has done so several times without hesitation. Those leaps were dutiful and defensible, but there is no such justification for breaching the parameters of his relationship with Ray, risking everything.
Fraser’s posture tightens until he can’t move. Until the words tumbling through his brain cease to mean anything but Run!
“Fraser.” Ray rolls off the cushions on the floor, and stands up, looking taller than usual. His chest and feet are bare and pale. They draw the eye. He should seem vulnerable, half-naked as he is, but he has an air of unselfconscious bravado that more than compensates for his lack of clothes.
He walks toward Fraser, his reflection growing rapidly, and Fraser searches for a pretext to leave, to excuse himself and disappear. He even reaches for the window latch in preparation for a speedy escape.
But Ray is onto him. Ray catches Fraser’s hand before it touches the latch, and the contact is like an electric shock through Fraser’s entire system. Dear God. “Everything okay?” says Ray, and the words are deliberately casual, measured out in coffeespoons, and Fraser can’t think. For the first time in his life, he has vertigo. He needs to disappear before-
He pulls back. “I should go,” he says to Ray’s reflection. He doesn’t recognise his own voice.
Ray releases Fraser and folds his arms across his chest. Fraser watches Ray’s mouth in the dark window, determinedly avoiding looking at his eyes or his chest or his crotch. Ray’s mouth is full and kind, even as he lopsidedly purses his lips and considers Fraser. “We’re in the middle of something, here, Fraser,” he points out. “You gonna leave?”
Fraser draws on years of stoicism and hard-won self-control, on his RCMP parade training, on all his resources. He pulls himself together, forces himself to breathe calmly. “I think I-must,” he says. “I’ve done enough.” He risks a glance at Ray’s eyes, and sees a spark there, though he’s not certain what it signifies.
Ray tilts his chin up, and asks, “Scared?” And Fraser can’t begin to contemplate the cost of just that single word. That Ray is prepared to admit there is anything to be scared of, is willing to enter into a conversation where the undercurrents seething between them are acknowledged.
He considers denying it. He wants to deny it, to return to solid ground, but that would be doing Ray a grave disservice. Ray who trusts him, who is sticking his neck out. So Fraser turns and meets Ray’s gaze head on. “Yes.”
Fraser takes a step backwards, and walks around Ray, away from him. He collects his coat. He has no doubt that Ray has turned and is watching him go, nor that Ray wants to talk more, to confess what Fraser now understands to be their mutual attraction. But Fraser’s equally certain that to talk would compound this evening’s mistakes.
“Take the high road, son. These things never end well,” says a gruff voice in his ear, and Fraser growls “Go away” even though the advice matches his own beliefs. He keeps moving toward the door, collects his hat from the hook. When he turns to say goodbye, there’s no sign of his father, just Ray standing by the dark window, his thin reflection echoed in the glass.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Fraser says, awkwardly, wanting a sign that the damage done is reparable.
Ray ignores this inanity, and instead walks across the room with a set look on his face. “You’ve sentenced yourself to a life in solitary. God knows why. I sure as hell don’t know what your crime is.” He shakes his head, holds up a hand. “I’ll tell you this. I’m lodging an appeal, Fraser. I am lodging a fucking appeal. I’m gonna spring you.”
Fraser’s hands tighten on the brim of his Stetson, bending the felt. His whole body is tight. He can barely move his throat to croak, “On what grounds?”
And now Ray is close. He bounces on the balls of his feet for emphasis, his hands are clenched. Fraser almost wishes that Ray would punch him, as he did on the lakeside, and get it over with. But then Ray speaks and the words hit Fraser harder than knuckles ever could. “In the name of justice, Fraser. You’re so big on that. In the name of you and me.”
Fraser stops dead, transfixed by this insight. His hat falls to the floor. Ray is right. How could Fraser not have understood? They are both essentially good people, they’ve both suffered, and it’s just that, if they want to, they be together.
This is a 100-foot drop, this space between them. Fraser doesn’t know if he can swim these rapids. He doesn’t know whether the fall will kill him. But that’s not important: there are principles at stake. He takes a breath, a step forward, and he jumps.
End
ETA: Sequel now available here (NC-17).