ds_aprilfools Prompt 04 - Full-Contact Sport
Prompt - 04 Full-Contact Sport.
Fandom - Due South.
Pairing/Characters - Bob/Benton.
Warnings - none.
Rated - PG.
Full-Contact Sport
“Good grief, Benton. What happened to you?”
Fraser scrabbled out of his undershirt to find himself face-to-face with his father. He turned away quickly, pulling on a washed-out old t-shirt. “Hello, Dad!” he said stiffly, swallowing nervously.
“Son,” Bob nodded. He leaned around Fraser and craned his neck to get a better look at his offspring. “Tough day?”
“Ah... no, not especially,” Fraser admitted, clearing away his clothes and finding his wash kit. There wasn’t a lot of spare space in his office when his cot was out, so this was only achieved with a combination of athleticism and balance.
“Did you get them?”
Fraser stopped and looked at his father quizzically.
“Whoever did that to you!” Bob explained, indicating the bruises and abrasions that marred Fraser’s neck and torso.
“Oh no, that wasn’t in the line of duty. That was… uh…” Fraser flushed uncomfortably, backing towards his office doorway.
Bob’s eyes hardened a little. “You’ve been fighting with the Yank again?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Fraser replied and scuttled out of the room as fast as he could.
His father found him two minutes later, brushing his teeth in the tiny downstairs bathroom.
“Partnership is never easy, Benton,” Bob began gently. “Even the best of friendships hit rough seas from time to time. So? What did you do?”
“Why do you asshume ic was sohmefing that I did?” Fraser asked of the reflection in his mirror, pausing mid-scrub and provoked into speaking with his mouth full.
“Experience,” Bob replied immediately.
Fraser gave him a sour look, spat and rinsed. “Well it wasn’t like that, for your information. Ray and I were merely playing a game. It just got out of hand.”
Bob looked confused. “A game? What? Hockey? Wrestling? Football? Did he cheat?”
“No, Dad,” Fraser said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “Can we just drop this please?”
Bob ignored him. “Well you know, if he had it coming… Did you win? How does he look? Worse?”
A small smile curved Fraser’s lips before he composed himself again. “He’s fine, Dad. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
They shuffled backward and forward for a few seconds in the enclosed space, before Fraser neatly sidestepped his father and walked back to his dimly lit office.
“So what were you playing that you’d get all scraped up like that? Yank doesn’t look like he has that much in him,” Bob asked, materialising already seated on Fraser’s desk.
“Dad, I’d rather not say,” Fraser said bluntly.
“Come on, Benton. Didn’t the fellow used to box? Was it that? There’s no shame in coming second if he’s had training…”
“Chess!” Fraser said suddenly. “He invited me back for a game of chess, alright?”
“Chess? Well that’s hardly what one would call a full-contact sport, Benton. How on earth did you get into that state? Look at you. You look like you’ve been attacked by a bear, what with the scratches on your back and the bruises on your neck…”
Fraser leant back against the door and folded his arms, looking pointedly at his father. He waited.
“… it would be understandable. But that’s not the point. What I’m saying is I fail to see how a simple game of chess could have ended up with you…”
The silence was both a relief and a whole new level of tension. Bob Fraser was frozen in full-flow, his finger raised and his face puzzled. Slowly he got up and came over to where his son watched him with a challenging gaze. Gingerly he took a closer look at the marks on Benton’s neck.
“Ah,” Fraser Sr. said finally, leaning back.
Benton’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in invitation to continue the conversation. Bob frowned, nodded and took a step back.
“Happy now?” Fraser asked, spitefully. He was not normally given to such petty expressions, but his father always seemed to choose the most inappropriate moments for his intermittent visits. It drove him to distraction and brought out the worst in him.
“Yes,” Bob said immediately. “Are you?”
Fraser was taken aback, shocked by the care betrayed in those words. This was not the reaction he had envisaged. He nodded cautiously. “Yes, I am. Very.”
Bob Fraser grunted and nodded. “Been together long, have you?”
“Couple of weeks,” Fraser admitted, his fingers coming up to linger on Ray’s most recent marks.
“Still a bit of a novelty then, I should imagine. So, I should… ah… start knocking then,” Bob suggested.
“That would probably be advisable, yes,” Fraser replied with an embarrased nod.
“Well, I’ll let you get to bed,” Bob said, heading for the cupboard.
“Goodnight, Dad,” Fraser offered, strangely moved by the unspoken approval.
“Goodnight, son.” Fraser watched as Bob opened the door, hesitated, then asked, “So, how did the Yank look? Did you win?”
Fraser smiled, slow and broad.
Bob nodded, smiled in return, and shut the door behind him.
Fin
Fandom - Due South.
Pairing/Characters - Bob/Benton.
Warnings - none.
Rated - PG.
Full-Contact Sport
“Good grief, Benton. What happened to you?”
Fraser scrabbled out of his undershirt to find himself face-to-face with his father. He turned away quickly, pulling on a washed-out old t-shirt. “Hello, Dad!” he said stiffly, swallowing nervously.
“Son,” Bob nodded. He leaned around Fraser and craned his neck to get a better look at his offspring. “Tough day?”
“Ah... no, not especially,” Fraser admitted, clearing away his clothes and finding his wash kit. There wasn’t a lot of spare space in his office when his cot was out, so this was only achieved with a combination of athleticism and balance.
“Did you get them?”
Fraser stopped and looked at his father quizzically.
“Whoever did that to you!” Bob explained, indicating the bruises and abrasions that marred Fraser’s neck and torso.
“Oh no, that wasn’t in the line of duty. That was… uh…” Fraser flushed uncomfortably, backing towards his office doorway.
Bob’s eyes hardened a little. “You’ve been fighting with the Yank again?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Fraser replied and scuttled out of the room as fast as he could.
His father found him two minutes later, brushing his teeth in the tiny downstairs bathroom.
“Partnership is never easy, Benton,” Bob began gently. “Even the best of friendships hit rough seas from time to time. So? What did you do?”
“Why do you asshume ic was sohmefing that I did?” Fraser asked of the reflection in his mirror, pausing mid-scrub and provoked into speaking with his mouth full.
“Experience,” Bob replied immediately.
Fraser gave him a sour look, spat and rinsed. “Well it wasn’t like that, for your information. Ray and I were merely playing a game. It just got out of hand.”
Bob looked confused. “A game? What? Hockey? Wrestling? Football? Did he cheat?”
“No, Dad,” Fraser said, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. “Can we just drop this please?”
Bob ignored him. “Well you know, if he had it coming… Did you win? How does he look? Worse?”
A small smile curved Fraser’s lips before he composed himself again. “He’s fine, Dad. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
They shuffled backward and forward for a few seconds in the enclosed space, before Fraser neatly sidestepped his father and walked back to his dimly lit office.
“So what were you playing that you’d get all scraped up like that? Yank doesn’t look like he has that much in him,” Bob asked, materialising already seated on Fraser’s desk.
“Dad, I’d rather not say,” Fraser said bluntly.
“Come on, Benton. Didn’t the fellow used to box? Was it that? There’s no shame in coming second if he’s had training…”
“Chess!” Fraser said suddenly. “He invited me back for a game of chess, alright?”
“Chess? Well that’s hardly what one would call a full-contact sport, Benton. How on earth did you get into that state? Look at you. You look like you’ve been attacked by a bear, what with the scratches on your back and the bruises on your neck…”
Fraser leant back against the door and folded his arms, looking pointedly at his father. He waited.
“… it would be understandable. But that’s not the point. What I’m saying is I fail to see how a simple game of chess could have ended up with you…”
The silence was both a relief and a whole new level of tension. Bob Fraser was frozen in full-flow, his finger raised and his face puzzled. Slowly he got up and came over to where his son watched him with a challenging gaze. Gingerly he took a closer look at the marks on Benton’s neck.
“Ah,” Fraser Sr. said finally, leaning back.
Benton’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead in invitation to continue the conversation. Bob frowned, nodded and took a step back.
“Happy now?” Fraser asked, spitefully. He was not normally given to such petty expressions, but his father always seemed to choose the most inappropriate moments for his intermittent visits. It drove him to distraction and brought out the worst in him.
“Yes,” Bob said immediately. “Are you?”
Fraser was taken aback, shocked by the care betrayed in those words. This was not the reaction he had envisaged. He nodded cautiously. “Yes, I am. Very.”
Bob Fraser grunted and nodded. “Been together long, have you?”
“Couple of weeks,” Fraser admitted, his fingers coming up to linger on Ray’s most recent marks.
“Still a bit of a novelty then, I should imagine. So, I should… ah… start knocking then,” Bob suggested.
“That would probably be advisable, yes,” Fraser replied with an embarrased nod.
“Well, I’ll let you get to bed,” Bob said, heading for the cupboard.
“Goodnight, Dad,” Fraser offered, strangely moved by the unspoken approval.
“Goodnight, son.” Fraser watched as Bob opened the door, hesitated, then asked, “So, how did the Yank look? Did you win?”
Fraser smiled, slow and broad.
Bob nodded, smiled in return, and shut the door behind him.
Fin