::coughs::
For that really evil person - 
stormymouse - some kind of Aziraphale/Crowley, Paul/Callum and Fraser/RayK thing that got out of hand ... somehow ...
Tea for six
"Fraser!" Detective Raymond Kowalski of the Chicago Police Department tries to keep up with his friend and partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who's walking straight into what looks like a typical English pub.
But that couldn't be. It couldn't.
Just a second ago Fraser and Ray were sitting on Ray's couch in his apartment - in Chicago, USA - with a pineapple pizza on the table, Ray's hand half-way down to slip Dief a piece. And Ray's hungry. He deserves that pizza. Now.
"Fraser!" Ray yells, taking a last look at his surroundings and frowns in disbelief before he enters the pub. "Fraser that's that Ben thing, right there," he points outside. "What did you do? What did that Queen of yours do to me, huh?"
"Ray," Fraser's voices sounds unusually strained like he doesn't know either what brought them from Ray's apartment to the United Kingdom - not that he would ever admit it to Ray. Of course not. "First, it's the Big Ben, also known as the Great Bell of Westminster, one of London's most famous places of interest and second, Ray, the Queen is not mine. She is a person of her own - as you well know, one can't owe a person - and we may recognize Elisabeth II as Queen of Canada but we're also a parliamentary democracy."
"Democracy," Ray whispers, still following Fraser.
"Ah," Fraser says then, "our hosts, I presume."
"Huh?" Ray looks up, his eyes not pointed directly at Fraser's red covered back anymore.
Two men - one of them is waving invitingly - sit at a table on the left side of the pub, something that looks like tea cups in front of them. How they got tea in a pub is everyone's guess. In fact the whole table is set - six cups, six saucers, six tea spoons - and Ray hopes that he'd at least get a beer for his troubles.
"Good evening, Gentlemen," the blond haired man - his hair could also be brown, hard to tell in this light - greets with a smile on his face. "My name is Aziraphale." He points at his dark haired companion who's wearing sun glasses then. "This is my dear friend Crowley."
"Yeah, yeah," Ray says impatiently. "What is this, huh?"
"Ray," Fraser hisses, his friend really has no manners whatsoever. "I'm terribly sorry," he says apologetically, "but perhaps Detective Kowalski would be more at ease if you could explain to us why we are here."
"Have a seat," Aziraphale points at two of the empty chairs and both men sit down, Ray more cautiously than Fraser who seems to be comfortable in his current surroundings. Must be a Canadian thing, Ray thinks, with the tea and the politeness but Ray isn't fooled. Something is hinky and he would be damned if those two guys'd get them by surprise.
"Tea?" Aziraphale offers and pours tea into Ray and Fraser's cups while his friend, Crowley, just smiles silently at Ray like he knows what the cop is thinking.
"Thank you kindly."
"So," Ray says, not drinking his tea like Fraser does because those two freak him out. They could be serial killers for all he knows. "Spit!"
"Ray!"
"What?"
"I have to apologize. Again!" But neither Aziraphale nor Crowley seem to be offended by Ray's outburst. Just the opposite; they're smiling at each other and at Fraser and Ray.
"Do not do that, Fraser," Ray's voices rises. "Do not apologize! I've been plenty patient here. I just got relocated, not to mention that our pizza is getting cold."
"Oh dear," Fraser whispers when Crowley suddenly stands up, hand raised.
"Paul," he calls out and Fraser and Ray turn, looking at their new guest - a dark haired man in jeans and a black leather jacket who seems to be as disoriented as Ray and Fraser just have been.
Ray's mouth hangs open.
That guy really looks like Fraser, maybe a bit older and more aware of his handsomeness, but ...
"Ray, you are staring," Fraser murmurs into Ray's ear and Ray jumps in surprise, taking his eyes off of that Paul guy and on Fraser.
"He looks like you."
"He certainly does not." Fraser tugs at his collar in embarrassment, turning slightly red. "Ray, this is Paul Gross, a Canadian actor."
"You know the guy?" But there is no time to answer because Paul just reaches their table, obviously furious about something.
"What the fuck," Paul says. "I was in the middle of a very important meeting," he complains, ignoring everybody rather rudely, Fraser thinks. Not a desired attribute on a person with great impact on people. "I'll never get any money this way."
"I am certain that you will get your money, Paul" Crowley smiles at him, knowing very well that this man always gets what he want. One way or the other. Because neither Heaven nor Hell could refuse him anything.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm terribly sorry." - apologizing seems to be Fraser's second nature at this point - "My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came ... "
"Huh?" Paul interrupts then, for the first time really looking into the faces of his hosts and: "Fuck!" he calls out, stepping back, his eyes fixed on Ray and Fraser.
What the fuck is going on here?
Paul recalls being in a phone conference a minute ago, pleading with some pigheaded suits to invest in his Passchendaele project and now he is in England with two of the characters of his hit show Due South?
At least the man in tweed looks like a business man, perhaps ...
"My dear boy," Aziraphale smiles at Paul like he knows exactly what Paul was thinking about. Then: "My name is Aziraphale, this is Crowley," he points at the demon who really smiles demonically now. "I assume you know Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski."
"Yes," Paul says, sitting down beside Crowley who immediately pours him a cup of tea.
"Thank you," at least some manners, Fraser thinks, not recalling ever meeting Paul Gross in his life. How could he claim to know him then?
"We just wait for our last guest," Aziraphale says, "then we're set and can talk."
"Talk about what?" Ray wants to know.
"Patience, Ray," Fraser reminds him, not feeling very comfortable as well.
"You know me, being premature and all, I'm not very good at ... "
" ... waiting," Paul laughs. All this sounds oddly familiar and he would give anything to share this joke with Cal.
"Mr. Rennie," Aziraphale rises off his chair, waving frantically at a blond guy at the entrance.
"Cal?" Paul asks in surprise, getting up as well to have a better look at his former co-worker and friend approaching their table.
"Paul!"
"What the fuck," Paul calls - Fraser winces at Paul's harsh but affectionate words - and hugs Callum.
"Good to see you," Callum greets Paul, shaking hands with Aziraphale, Crowley, then with Fraser and Ray, his eyes getting wide.
"Paul?" he asks in disbelief.
"It's fucking nuts, isn't it?"
"Who are you calling nuts?" Ray looks angry and about to kick someone.
"Ray, please, calm down," Fraser touches his friend's arm in a calming manner, his eyes fixed on their newcomer.
"Ray?"
"You got a problem with that?" Ray stares at Callum; their resemblance is not lost on him.
"Oh Lord," Callum swears, sitting down hard, and grabbing a cigarette. "What did you do, Paul?"
"Me? I didn't do anything," Paul objects. "One second I was in my office, next I'm here with ... them," he points at Fraser and Ray.
"Them? Paul, that's us in a TV show!"
"TV show?" Ray frowns. Is everybody nuts?
Ray looks helplessly at Fraser, he's a Mountie, and he should be able to handle this. He sure as hell wasn't.
"Mr. Gross." Fraser tries to stay calm, panic gets no one anywhere. "Would you please explicate your statement?"
"Perhaps I can lend a hand, so to speak," Aziraphale smiles fatherly which makes Ray's hair stand on edge.
"Maybe not." Ray looks at Paul. "You tell me what's going on."
"Alright, then," Paul sighs. "My name is Paul Gross." Ray rolls his eyes, he fucking knows that already.
"Ray, please," Fraser murmurs to keep his friend silent.
"I was executive producer on a TV show called Due South," Paul stops talking like he has provided enough information to draw a whole picture from.
"Huh?"
"It's about a Chicago Detective and a Mountie," Callum continues where Paul has stopped, "who came to Chicago on the trail of ... "
"You are characters in a TV show," Crowley clarifies.
"What?" Ray frowns.
"It is true," Callum says gently while Paul just nods in agreement.
"Mr. Gross," Aziraphale says now, "played the role of Constable Fraser and Mr. Rennie that of Detective Kowalski."
"You two are fictional characters," Crowley adds.
"You have to be kiddin' me."
"Ray!"
"We had a lot of fun though," Paul grins at Callum. "Do you remember the boat show? Our kiss?"
"Everyone was freaking out," Callum smiles.
"But you never kissed Paul off set?" Crowley's eyes seem to burn mischievously behind his dark sun glasses.
"No," Paul says, no smile on his face now. "Never."
"Paul is married, with children and," Callum swallows hard, "I respect that."
"Naturally," Fraser agrees but looks sympathetically.
"What do you mean ‘naturally', Fraser?"
"Ray," Fraser rubs his eyebrow, avoiding his friends eyes, "if someone committed his life to someone else or as it might be the case to a cause, one should respect that and not interfere."
"Interfere?" Ray asks sceptically. "What if it's a stupid cause like ... let's say someone dedicated his life to prove himself to a dead father who couldn't even acknowledge his son while he was still alive? What about that, Fraser?"
"Ray."
"Some fucking problems we imposed on Fraser," Paul says and both Fraser and Ray look up at him.
"What did you just say?" Ray's heart starts to beat faster, anger is rising. He can't say that he likes that Gross guy much.
"Perhaps we went too far with the whole mother-father-Victoria-thing."
"Enough!" Fraser suddenly calls out, an expression of pain on his face.
Unbelievable!
"Frase?" Ray asks worriedly but his friend suddenly stands up and rushes towards the restrooms without excusing himself first.
"Great!" Ray glares at Paul. "Fucking greatness!" He follows his partner quickly.
Callum feels uncomfortable, hurting Fraser like that and lights another cigarette, offers one to Paul who takes it, then to Aziraphale and Crowley.
Crowley is tempted but refuses when Aziraphale looks disapprovingly at him which doesn't escape Paul's watchful eyes.
"What about you?" Paul asks, cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.
"What are you asking, dear boy?" Aziraphale tries to reflect while his demon friend smiles.
"He's asking if we ever get it on," Crowley says and Paul cocks his head, looking at Callum out of the corner of his eyes.
"Oh," Aziraphale whispers, blushing slightly. "We can't."
"No, impossible for us," Crowley adds disappointedly.
"You see, we are not equipped to perform an act of physical love."
"Equipped?" Paul asks, looking them up and down.
"It's none of our business, Paul. Let it go!" Callum's voice is low like he doesn't really want to be heard by anyone but Paul.
"But they brought us here and ... "
"That's true," Crowley admits, "because we," he points at Aziraphale, "can't fuck and you can't fuck ... "
"You think Fraser and Ray get it on in the restroom?"
"Paul!"
In the restroom Fraser stands in front of a mirror, his hands shaking, face pale.
A puppet.
He is a puppet in the hands of writers and producers and who knows else. Nothing that ever happened to him was his choice. The pain he had felt wasn't real. Nothing was. Not one thing. Not even the kiss, the one Mr. Gross and Mr. Rennie were just smiling about. That kiss had cost him and he cherished it, that touch of his lips to Ray's but ...
"Frase?" Ray calls from the open door.
"I'm fine!"
"You look like someone killed your best friend."
"That might be true, Ray," Fraser sighs. "Those men just told us that we are not real, that we have no place in reality, Ray."
"Bullshit!"
"Ray!"
"I am here, Fraser. And you are here. How can we not exist?"
"I really don't know, Ray."
Ray shuts the door behind him and steps closer to his friend, gently touching his arm.
"You feel that?"
"Of course, I do," Fraser looks down on Ray's hand on his arm, feels the heat on his cloth-covered skin.
"How can it not be real then?"
"I don't know," Fraser says again, helplessly. How could Ray be so close, his touch so warm when he wasn't even real.
Fraser turns around then, slowly getting closer to Ray, his arms reaching out, pulling Ray to him.
"Fraser ... "
"I've never kissed you," Fraser whispers in a broken voice, his mouth gushing over Ray's ear.
He has touched Ray's lips with his mouth - he remembers it clearly, dreams about it - but two other men claim to be the ones kissing on the Henry Allen, not him and not Ray. Never Ray.
"You can do now," Ray's slightly shaking in Fraser's arms.
Ray doesn't care about what Gross and Rennie, Aziraphale - what kind of name is that anyway? - and Crowley say. He has Fraser in his arms, feels him all along the front of his body, Fraser's breath on his ear, on his face now.
"I can?" Fraser's eyes are dilated, almost completely black.
"Yeah," Ray nods his head slightly, his eyes fixed on Fraser's mouth where that wicked tongue slips out to wet Fraser's bottom lip. "C'mon."
Fraser lets go of Ray's waist then where he has held Ray close and places his hands on Ray's face, his thumbs gently stroking Ray's cheeks before he lowers his head to place a soft kiss on Ray's mouth. Just a brief touch of lips. Again. And again.
Sweet, oh so sweet.
"Fraser," Ray whispers and Fraser dives in again. But this time he keeps touching Ray's lips with his own, licks Ray's lips with his tongue until Ray opens up to him with a deep moan.
Fraser's caught in Ray's taste, his smell, his touch - neither men smells the still hot pineapple pizza on the table or recognizes their surroundings as Ray's apartment in Chicago, USA or hears Diefenbaker who really doesn't complain all that loud because as long as his human companions are occupied he can eat the pizza alone.
In a pub in London Aziraphale and Crowley order another pot of tea while Mr. Paul Gross stares at a phone receiver in his hand, dumbfounded, a fading sensation of soft lips on his mouth. Meanwhile Mr. Callum Keith Rennie walks along the beach in Vancouver, Canada, a smile on his face.
The End
stormymouse - some kind of Aziraphale/Crowley, Paul/Callum and Fraser/RayK thing that got out of hand ... somehow ...
Tea for six
"Fraser!" Detective Raymond Kowalski of the Chicago Police Department tries to keep up with his friend and partner, Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who's walking straight into what looks like a typical English pub.
But that couldn't be. It couldn't.
Just a second ago Fraser and Ray were sitting on Ray's couch in his apartment - in Chicago, USA - with a pineapple pizza on the table, Ray's hand half-way down to slip Dief a piece. And Ray's hungry. He deserves that pizza. Now.
"Fraser!" Ray yells, taking a last look at his surroundings and frowns in disbelief before he enters the pub. "Fraser that's that Ben thing, right there," he points outside. "What did you do? What did that Queen of yours do to me, huh?"
"Ray," Fraser's voices sounds unusually strained like he doesn't know either what brought them from Ray's apartment to the United Kingdom - not that he would ever admit it to Ray. Of course not. "First, it's the Big Ben, also known as the Great Bell of Westminster, one of London's most famous places of interest and second, Ray, the Queen is not mine. She is a person of her own - as you well know, one can't owe a person - and we may recognize Elisabeth II as Queen of Canada but we're also a parliamentary democracy."
"Democracy," Ray whispers, still following Fraser.
"Ah," Fraser says then, "our hosts, I presume."
"Huh?" Ray looks up, his eyes not pointed directly at Fraser's red covered back anymore.
Two men - one of them is waving invitingly - sit at a table on the left side of the pub, something that looks like tea cups in front of them. How they got tea in a pub is everyone's guess. In fact the whole table is set - six cups, six saucers, six tea spoons - and Ray hopes that he'd at least get a beer for his troubles.
"Good evening, Gentlemen," the blond haired man - his hair could also be brown, hard to tell in this light - greets with a smile on his face. "My name is Aziraphale." He points at his dark haired companion who's wearing sun glasses then. "This is my dear friend Crowley."
"Yeah, yeah," Ray says impatiently. "What is this, huh?"
"Ray," Fraser hisses, his friend really has no manners whatsoever. "I'm terribly sorry," he says apologetically, "but perhaps Detective Kowalski would be more at ease if you could explain to us why we are here."
"Have a seat," Aziraphale points at two of the empty chairs and both men sit down, Ray more cautiously than Fraser who seems to be comfortable in his current surroundings. Must be a Canadian thing, Ray thinks, with the tea and the politeness but Ray isn't fooled. Something is hinky and he would be damned if those two guys'd get them by surprise.
"Tea?" Aziraphale offers and pours tea into Ray and Fraser's cups while his friend, Crowley, just smiles silently at Ray like he knows what the cop is thinking.
"Thank you kindly."
"So," Ray says, not drinking his tea like Fraser does because those two freak him out. They could be serial killers for all he knows. "Spit!"
"Ray!"
"What?"
"I have to apologize. Again!" But neither Aziraphale nor Crowley seem to be offended by Ray's outburst. Just the opposite; they're smiling at each other and at Fraser and Ray.
"Do not do that, Fraser," Ray's voices rises. "Do not apologize! I've been plenty patient here. I just got relocated, not to mention that our pizza is getting cold."
"Oh dear," Fraser whispers when Crowley suddenly stands up, hand raised.
"Paul," he calls out and Fraser and Ray turn, looking at their new guest - a dark haired man in jeans and a black leather jacket who seems to be as disoriented as Ray and Fraser just have been.
Ray's mouth hangs open.
That guy really looks like Fraser, maybe a bit older and more aware of his handsomeness, but ...
"Ray, you are staring," Fraser murmurs into Ray's ear and Ray jumps in surprise, taking his eyes off of that Paul guy and on Fraser.
"He looks like you."
"He certainly does not." Fraser tugs at his collar in embarrassment, turning slightly red. "Ray, this is Paul Gross, a Canadian actor."
"You know the guy?" But there is no time to answer because Paul just reaches their table, obviously furious about something.
"What the fuck," Paul says. "I was in the middle of a very important meeting," he complains, ignoring everybody rather rudely, Fraser thinks. Not a desired attribute on a person with great impact on people. "I'll never get any money this way."
"I am certain that you will get your money, Paul" Crowley smiles at him, knowing very well that this man always gets what he want. One way or the other. Because neither Heaven nor Hell could refuse him anything.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm terribly sorry." - apologizing seems to be Fraser's second nature at this point - "My name is Constable Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I first came ... "
"Huh?" Paul interrupts then, for the first time really looking into the faces of his hosts and: "Fuck!" he calls out, stepping back, his eyes fixed on Ray and Fraser.
What the fuck is going on here?
Paul recalls being in a phone conference a minute ago, pleading with some pigheaded suits to invest in his Passchendaele project and now he is in England with two of the characters of his hit show Due South?
At least the man in tweed looks like a business man, perhaps ...
"My dear boy," Aziraphale smiles at Paul like he knows exactly what Paul was thinking about. Then: "My name is Aziraphale, this is Crowley," he points at the demon who really smiles demonically now. "I assume you know Constable Fraser and Detective Kowalski."
"Yes," Paul says, sitting down beside Crowley who immediately pours him a cup of tea.
"Thank you," at least some manners, Fraser thinks, not recalling ever meeting Paul Gross in his life. How could he claim to know him then?
"We just wait for our last guest," Aziraphale says, "then we're set and can talk."
"Talk about what?" Ray wants to know.
"Patience, Ray," Fraser reminds him, not feeling very comfortable as well.
"You know me, being premature and all, I'm not very good at ... "
" ... waiting," Paul laughs. All this sounds oddly familiar and he would give anything to share this joke with Cal.
"Mr. Rennie," Aziraphale rises off his chair, waving frantically at a blond guy at the entrance.
"Cal?" Paul asks in surprise, getting up as well to have a better look at his former co-worker and friend approaching their table.
"Paul!"
"What the fuck," Paul calls - Fraser winces at Paul's harsh but affectionate words - and hugs Callum.
"Good to see you," Callum greets Paul, shaking hands with Aziraphale, Crowley, then with Fraser and Ray, his eyes getting wide.
"Paul?" he asks in disbelief.
"It's fucking nuts, isn't it?"
"Who are you calling nuts?" Ray looks angry and about to kick someone.
"Ray, please, calm down," Fraser touches his friend's arm in a calming manner, his eyes fixed on their newcomer.
"Ray?"
"You got a problem with that?" Ray stares at Callum; their resemblance is not lost on him.
"Oh Lord," Callum swears, sitting down hard, and grabbing a cigarette. "What did you do, Paul?"
"Me? I didn't do anything," Paul objects. "One second I was in my office, next I'm here with ... them," he points at Fraser and Ray.
"Them? Paul, that's us in a TV show!"
"TV show?" Ray frowns. Is everybody nuts?
Ray looks helplessly at Fraser, he's a Mountie, and he should be able to handle this. He sure as hell wasn't.
"Mr. Gross." Fraser tries to stay calm, panic gets no one anywhere. "Would you please explicate your statement?"
"Perhaps I can lend a hand, so to speak," Aziraphale smiles fatherly which makes Ray's hair stand on edge.
"Maybe not." Ray looks at Paul. "You tell me what's going on."
"Alright, then," Paul sighs. "My name is Paul Gross." Ray rolls his eyes, he fucking knows that already.
"Ray, please," Fraser murmurs to keep his friend silent.
"I was executive producer on a TV show called Due South," Paul stops talking like he has provided enough information to draw a whole picture from.
"Huh?"
"It's about a Chicago Detective and a Mountie," Callum continues where Paul has stopped, "who came to Chicago on the trail of ... "
"You are characters in a TV show," Crowley clarifies.
"What?" Ray frowns.
"It is true," Callum says gently while Paul just nods in agreement.
"Mr. Gross," Aziraphale says now, "played the role of Constable Fraser and Mr. Rennie that of Detective Kowalski."
"You two are fictional characters," Crowley adds.
"You have to be kiddin' me."
"Ray!"
"We had a lot of fun though," Paul grins at Callum. "Do you remember the boat show? Our kiss?"
"Everyone was freaking out," Callum smiles.
"But you never kissed Paul off set?" Crowley's eyes seem to burn mischievously behind his dark sun glasses.
"No," Paul says, no smile on his face now. "Never."
"Paul is married, with children and," Callum swallows hard, "I respect that."
"Naturally," Fraser agrees but looks sympathetically.
"What do you mean ‘naturally', Fraser?"
"Ray," Fraser rubs his eyebrow, avoiding his friends eyes, "if someone committed his life to someone else or as it might be the case to a cause, one should respect that and not interfere."
"Interfere?" Ray asks sceptically. "What if it's a stupid cause like ... let's say someone dedicated his life to prove himself to a dead father who couldn't even acknowledge his son while he was still alive? What about that, Fraser?"
"Ray."
"Some fucking problems we imposed on Fraser," Paul says and both Fraser and Ray look up at him.
"What did you just say?" Ray's heart starts to beat faster, anger is rising. He can't say that he likes that Gross guy much.
"Perhaps we went too far with the whole mother-father-Victoria-thing."
"Enough!" Fraser suddenly calls out, an expression of pain on his face.
Unbelievable!
"Frase?" Ray asks worriedly but his friend suddenly stands up and rushes towards the restrooms without excusing himself first.
"Great!" Ray glares at Paul. "Fucking greatness!" He follows his partner quickly.
Callum feels uncomfortable, hurting Fraser like that and lights another cigarette, offers one to Paul who takes it, then to Aziraphale and Crowley.
Crowley is tempted but refuses when Aziraphale looks disapprovingly at him which doesn't escape Paul's watchful eyes.
"What about you?" Paul asks, cigarette dangling at the corner of his mouth.
"What are you asking, dear boy?" Aziraphale tries to reflect while his demon friend smiles.
"He's asking if we ever get it on," Crowley says and Paul cocks his head, looking at Callum out of the corner of his eyes.
"Oh," Aziraphale whispers, blushing slightly. "We can't."
"No, impossible for us," Crowley adds disappointedly.
"You see, we are not equipped to perform an act of physical love."
"Equipped?" Paul asks, looking them up and down.
"It's none of our business, Paul. Let it go!" Callum's voice is low like he doesn't really want to be heard by anyone but Paul.
"But they brought us here and ... "
"That's true," Crowley admits, "because we," he points at Aziraphale, "can't fuck and you can't fuck ... "
"You think Fraser and Ray get it on in the restroom?"
"Paul!"
In the restroom Fraser stands in front of a mirror, his hands shaking, face pale.
A puppet.
He is a puppet in the hands of writers and producers and who knows else. Nothing that ever happened to him was his choice. The pain he had felt wasn't real. Nothing was. Not one thing. Not even the kiss, the one Mr. Gross and Mr. Rennie were just smiling about. That kiss had cost him and he cherished it, that touch of his lips to Ray's but ...
"Frase?" Ray calls from the open door.
"I'm fine!"
"You look like someone killed your best friend."
"That might be true, Ray," Fraser sighs. "Those men just told us that we are not real, that we have no place in reality, Ray."
"Bullshit!"
"Ray!"
"I am here, Fraser. And you are here. How can we not exist?"
"I really don't know, Ray."
Ray shuts the door behind him and steps closer to his friend, gently touching his arm.
"You feel that?"
"Of course, I do," Fraser looks down on Ray's hand on his arm, feels the heat on his cloth-covered skin.
"How can it not be real then?"
"I don't know," Fraser says again, helplessly. How could Ray be so close, his touch so warm when he wasn't even real.
Fraser turns around then, slowly getting closer to Ray, his arms reaching out, pulling Ray to him.
"Fraser ... "
"I've never kissed you," Fraser whispers in a broken voice, his mouth gushing over Ray's ear.
He has touched Ray's lips with his mouth - he remembers it clearly, dreams about it - but two other men claim to be the ones kissing on the Henry Allen, not him and not Ray. Never Ray.
"You can do now," Ray's slightly shaking in Fraser's arms.
Ray doesn't care about what Gross and Rennie, Aziraphale - what kind of name is that anyway? - and Crowley say. He has Fraser in his arms, feels him all along the front of his body, Fraser's breath on his ear, on his face now.
"I can?" Fraser's eyes are dilated, almost completely black.
"Yeah," Ray nods his head slightly, his eyes fixed on Fraser's mouth where that wicked tongue slips out to wet Fraser's bottom lip. "C'mon."
Fraser lets go of Ray's waist then where he has held Ray close and places his hands on Ray's face, his thumbs gently stroking Ray's cheeks before he lowers his head to place a soft kiss on Ray's mouth. Just a brief touch of lips. Again. And again.
Sweet, oh so sweet.
"Fraser," Ray whispers and Fraser dives in again. But this time he keeps touching Ray's lips with his own, licks Ray's lips with his tongue until Ray opens up to him with a deep moan.
Fraser's caught in Ray's taste, his smell, his touch - neither men smells the still hot pineapple pizza on the table or recognizes their surroundings as Ray's apartment in Chicago, USA or hears Diefenbaker who really doesn't complain all that loud because as long as his human companions are occupied he can eat the pizza alone.
In a pub in London Aziraphale and Crowley order another pot of tea while Mr. Paul Gross stares at a phone receiver in his hand, dumbfounded, a fading sensation of soft lips on his mouth. Meanwhile Mr. Callum Keith Rennie walks along the beach in Vancouver, Canada, a smile on his face.
The End