ds_aprilfools Prompt 24 - Make Me
Prompt - 24. Make Me.
Fandom - Due South.
Pairing - Fraser/Kowalski.
Warnings - none.
Rated - G.
Make Me
Fraser kept his hands moving slowly across the blankness of the paper. The quiet hiss and scratch of the pencil was having the desired effect and for the first time in hours, Ray was still. Watching.
Fraser curved and flexed his wrist with a smooth, even rhythm, sweeping the dark lines as precisely and economically as he could, pausing to rub a thumb over a mark that was too harsh or sharp, to soften it. The image took shape surprisingly quickly, with just hints of shade and light, allowing the onlooker the opportunity to mentally fill in the rest.
The muted sound of the storm outside was a constant background that Ray barely seemed to notice now. Fraser’s hands and pencil were like a balm on his frayed nerves. For three days the storm had been screaming around them, although they hadn’t been in any danger - Fraser had known it was coming and had brought them to this hunting cabin he’d known of. Compared to what they had been living on recently, this place was positively well appointed. Ray had gone so far as to say it was Nirvana. It had canned food - it had a bed - it had a stove. Ray had said he’d never thought he’d be so grateful for the simplest of things.
But the board games had quickly lost their appeal, washing their clothes had only taken a few hours and even their easy access to a soft bed hadn’t distracted Ray from the fact they were cooped up in here until the weather broke. Waiting was not something Ray was particularly good at.
Despite the welcome break from the hard work of staying alive and moving on the ice, Ray had found that he couldn’t sleep - the sounds of the storm and his pent up energy conspiring to reduce his sleeping pattern to hour long naps at odd hours rather than the refreshing stretch of a night’s sleep.
Fraser had tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, wary of provoking Ray into another tirade of fractious boredom. Fraser knew that Ray had realised this, and had picked up the pad and pencil in the hope that it might amuse Ray for a little while. And it seemed to be working - Ray lay beside him on the floor in front of the stove, his head cocked to one side and his posture relaxed and calm.
Ray’s eyes scanned across the images he’d already produced spread before them on the rug, while he waited for the latest work to be done. Diefenbaker in his harness, preparing to pull. Lieutenant Welsh with his fingers twined across his stomach. Buck Frobisher. Meg Thatcher. Frannie with a pencil tucked behind her ear.
Fraser put a few last strokes of high definition on the picture and put down the pencil. He held it away from himself, and then tilted it toward Ray. Kadie - the wheel dog that Ray had taken such a shine to over the past few weeks. Fraser hoped he had captured the gentleness of her eyes and the way her markings gave her an amused look.
Ray, childlike, reached out a finger and touched the image, tracing the shape of the dog’s shoulder. He smiled in a kind of wonder that made Fraser feel strangely breathless.
“Do another one,” Ray murmured, enhancing this immature aspect of his temper.
“What would you have?” Fraser asked, happy to have struck on something that had endured so well.
“Me,” Ray said with a little lift to his chin. “Make one of me, Ben.”
Fraser hesitated, but Ray was already pulling down cushions onto the floor and pulling a blanket over his lower half, settling himself to pose.
Fraser took up his pencil again and pulled the pad back onto his lap. He looked up into Ray’s sleepy, soft-eyed face. In the light of the storm lantern, Ray’s pale skin looked golden and his body had lost much of the tension that had characterised it since they had changed course to get here. He was beautiful, so beautiful, and Fraser knew he would never be able to do justice to him, not if he had years and the finest artists materials available.
Ray smiled a little and Fraser bent over the sketchpad once more, putting pencil to paper. He didn’t spot the instant that Ray fell asleep, his head cushioned by his arm, in fact he only realised he was asleep when he had finished the image and saw that he had drawn Ray’s eyes closed, his long lashes brushing his cheek.
~o~o~o~
Ray didn’t see that picture for years until one day he was looking in Ben’s wallet for something and discovered it there, carefully folded and worn from constant viewings. Of course, by then they had any number of photos of them together, which Fraser could have carried instead, but that night Ray persuaded Fraser to draw him again. Fraser did, by the light of a lantern, just like before, and he put that in his wallet too, beside the first one, and kept them with him always.
Fin.
Fandom - Due South.
Pairing - Fraser/Kowalski.
Warnings - none.
Rated - G.
Make Me
Fraser kept his hands moving slowly across the blankness of the paper. The quiet hiss and scratch of the pencil was having the desired effect and for the first time in hours, Ray was still. Watching.
Fraser curved and flexed his wrist with a smooth, even rhythm, sweeping the dark lines as precisely and economically as he could, pausing to rub a thumb over a mark that was too harsh or sharp, to soften it. The image took shape surprisingly quickly, with just hints of shade and light, allowing the onlooker the opportunity to mentally fill in the rest.
The muted sound of the storm outside was a constant background that Ray barely seemed to notice now. Fraser’s hands and pencil were like a balm on his frayed nerves. For three days the storm had been screaming around them, although they hadn’t been in any danger - Fraser had known it was coming and had brought them to this hunting cabin he’d known of. Compared to what they had been living on recently, this place was positively well appointed. Ray had gone so far as to say it was Nirvana. It had canned food - it had a bed - it had a stove. Ray had said he’d never thought he’d be so grateful for the simplest of things.
But the board games had quickly lost their appeal, washing their clothes had only taken a few hours and even their easy access to a soft bed hadn’t distracted Ray from the fact they were cooped up in here until the weather broke. Waiting was not something Ray was particularly good at.
Despite the welcome break from the hard work of staying alive and moving on the ice, Ray had found that he couldn’t sleep - the sounds of the storm and his pent up energy conspiring to reduce his sleeping pattern to hour long naps at odd hours rather than the refreshing stretch of a night’s sleep.
Fraser had tried to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, wary of provoking Ray into another tirade of fractious boredom. Fraser knew that Ray had realised this, and had picked up the pad and pencil in the hope that it might amuse Ray for a little while. And it seemed to be working - Ray lay beside him on the floor in front of the stove, his head cocked to one side and his posture relaxed and calm.
Ray’s eyes scanned across the images he’d already produced spread before them on the rug, while he waited for the latest work to be done. Diefenbaker in his harness, preparing to pull. Lieutenant Welsh with his fingers twined across his stomach. Buck Frobisher. Meg Thatcher. Frannie with a pencil tucked behind her ear.
Fraser put a few last strokes of high definition on the picture and put down the pencil. He held it away from himself, and then tilted it toward Ray. Kadie - the wheel dog that Ray had taken such a shine to over the past few weeks. Fraser hoped he had captured the gentleness of her eyes and the way her markings gave her an amused look.
Ray, childlike, reached out a finger and touched the image, tracing the shape of the dog’s shoulder. He smiled in a kind of wonder that made Fraser feel strangely breathless.
“Do another one,” Ray murmured, enhancing this immature aspect of his temper.
“What would you have?” Fraser asked, happy to have struck on something that had endured so well.
“Me,” Ray said with a little lift to his chin. “Make one of me, Ben.”
Fraser hesitated, but Ray was already pulling down cushions onto the floor and pulling a blanket over his lower half, settling himself to pose.
Fraser took up his pencil again and pulled the pad back onto his lap. He looked up into Ray’s sleepy, soft-eyed face. In the light of the storm lantern, Ray’s pale skin looked golden and his body had lost much of the tension that had characterised it since they had changed course to get here. He was beautiful, so beautiful, and Fraser knew he would never be able to do justice to him, not if he had years and the finest artists materials available.
Ray smiled a little and Fraser bent over the sketchpad once more, putting pencil to paper. He didn’t spot the instant that Ray fell asleep, his head cushioned by his arm, in fact he only realised he was asleep when he had finished the image and saw that he had drawn Ray’s eyes closed, his long lashes brushing his cheek.
~o~o~o~
Ray didn’t see that picture for years until one day he was looking in Ben’s wallet for something and discovered it there, carefully folded and worn from constant viewings. Of course, by then they had any number of photos of them together, which Fraser could have carried instead, but that night Ray persuaded Fraser to draw him again. Fraser did, by the light of a lantern, just like before, and he put that in his wallet too, beside the first one, and kept them with him always.
Fin.