Rhythm; Fraser/Kowalski, PG-13
"Oh come on! I really gotta do this?"
Even in this, he's dancing. Interpretive, perhaps, and on the theme of 'raging librarian', (it's the heavy black glasses still resting on his nose that give this impression, I suspect, as well as giving him the appearance of youth. His gun lies haphazard on a pile of unimportant faxes and pizza menus just inches from where I'm perched until it's noticed and placed absently back in its holster), but there's no questioning the grace in Ray's movements. I confess it is - distracting, at times.
Currently harmless, certainly, although it is with some difficulty that I suppress the smile that would tug at my lips; I fear Ray's response, given the circumstances, would be less than diplomatic. Other times my reaction to his customary fluidity of movement has been even less appropriate. But that, I find, is far easier not to reflect upon.
"I'm afraid, Ray, that it's standard procedure."
"Standard procedure?" He clenches his fists in wild blond hair and spins in a small frustrated circle; this time I'm quite unable to prevent a small snort of laughter from escaping. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up, Mountie. I gotta do this, I'm taking you down with me."
He's right in front of me now, two fingers stabbing towards my face, and I lean away, reflexively tugging my tunic down a little in front.
"Well of course, Ray, I had assumed - we are partners, are we not?"
"Right," he says with a little less volume, rocking back on his heels and giving me room to breathe. "You and me, Fraser, we're a fuckin' duet."
Ray spins on his heel, adding a little shimmy to it, looking back over his shoulder with a grin and a wink.
(I've never been much of a dancer, never quite managed to lose myself in the rhythm. I'd never before considered it might be a question of fitting partnership.)
Even in this, he's dancing. Interpretive, perhaps, and on the theme of 'raging librarian', (it's the heavy black glasses still resting on his nose that give this impression, I suspect, as well as giving him the appearance of youth. His gun lies haphazard on a pile of unimportant faxes and pizza menus just inches from where I'm perched until it's noticed and placed absently back in its holster), but there's no questioning the grace in Ray's movements. I confess it is - distracting, at times.
Currently harmless, certainly, although it is with some difficulty that I suppress the smile that would tug at my lips; I fear Ray's response, given the circumstances, would be less than diplomatic. Other times my reaction to his customary fluidity of movement has been even less appropriate. But that, I find, is far easier not to reflect upon.
"I'm afraid, Ray, that it's standard procedure."
"Standard procedure?" He clenches his fists in wild blond hair and spins in a small frustrated circle; this time I'm quite unable to prevent a small snort of laughter from escaping. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up, Mountie. I gotta do this, I'm taking you down with me."
He's right in front of me now, two fingers stabbing towards my face, and I lean away, reflexively tugging my tunic down a little in front.
"Well of course, Ray, I had assumed - we are partners, are we not?"
"Right," he says with a little less volume, rocking back on his heels and giving me room to breathe. "You and me, Fraser, we're a fuckin' duet."
Ray spins on his heel, adding a little shimmy to it, looking back over his shoulder with a grin and a wink.
(I've never been much of a dancer, never quite managed to lose myself in the rhythm. I'd never before considered it might be a question of fitting partnership.)