There's No Good Time to Discuss This, by omphale
Title: There's No Good Time to Discuss This
Author: omphale
Pairing: K/F
Rating: PG-13
Story Notes: It's late, and I'm walking the fine edge of songfic, but I think I avoided it. Barely. If nothing else, you can play a rousing game of "guess that quote" with the interludes. I also (quite handily) avoided the whole plot and/or p0rn issue by writing very little of either.
Prompt 258: I know you think that you're safe, Mister
Harmless deception
That keeps love at bay
It's the ones who resist that we most want to kiss
Wouldn't you say? (Cowboys and Angels, George Michael)
I know you
Ray’s got a callus on his left hand, right below his finger, and there’s a tan line where his wedding ring used to be. He’s got a trigger callus, too, but that isn’t important right now. Well, it is, because Ray’s a cop, and that’s important, but it isn’t the point, which is this-he’s still got a callus from fifteen years of wedded (terror, never put a foot wrong, never cross that line, never know which way is up) bliss.
His hand hasn’t been naked long enough for any of them (the physical reminders, not the marriage, that’s long gone) to vanish. They may never disappear, and that would be just fine. He’s happy enough with what that line says to anyone who looks for it.
Ray is not going to fall for his shiny (pretty, clean cut and razor sharp) new Canadian partner, because Ray is a divorced cop who is (say it loud, say it often) straight. You can tell just by looking at his hand. And if that isn’t enough, just ask every woman at the station, because Ray’s got the perfect first date figured out, and he uses the right pronouns when he talks about dancing and dinner and whatever else he’s been babbling.
Ray buys a bracelet to wrap his arm, to remind him of who he is now and who he is not.
That Ray is a (ladies’ man, man’s man) regular guy is the first thing people see about him. If he’s lucky, it’ll be the only thing they see.
He isn’t lucky, because it turns out that this Mountie is awfully observant. He’s a guy who gets to the bottom of things, figures them out, types them up and builds a file and prints out a label for anything (unexpected) queer.
Maybe the hugging and the winking and the arm around the shoulder didn’t help. Duet may have been a bad (revealing) word choice. But nobody can blame him for that, because just look at this guy. No one would be able to resist that. Ray’s not perfect. He’s human. He can be tempted. He just can’t fall.
But Benton Fraser, RCMP, wants to know who Ray really is. Fraser wants him to be honest. So now Ray’s playing catch-up with a guy he’s only just met. And he doesn’t know who to be.
think that
“You are so beautiful. I don’t know why looking at you makes me so sad.”
you’re safe
It’s clear that Ray is still in love with his ex-wife. Even if Fraser wishes it otherwise (and he doesn’t, because he is well aware of the problems that an attraction to your partner can cause) that woman still has Ray wrapped around her fingers. He’d do anything to make her happy. And she doesn’t even want him.
It seems unfair, but it’s really for the best. So long as Ray remains fixated on ADA Kowalski, he won’t notice anyone but Stella looking his way, watching him move with terrifying grace, learning him by heart for the moment (no sooner than necessary, but certain and inescapable) this partnership ends.
Right now, Fraser suspects that Ray’s obsession is the only thing keeping the two of them productive and sane and (wretchedly, necessarily) apart. It's plain that Ray isn’t as unaffected by circumstances as he wishes to be, and he’s almost positive that something is happening (has happened, is possible) which Ray wants to hide, beneath his failed marriage and (distracting) unstinting attempts to sleep with every woman he sees. This is something they cannot (will not) talk about in public, something that doesn’t exist. Something unstable.
Mister Harmless Deception
Ray’s running in place, dodging, weaving, dating anything in a skirt. Staying out late, dancing until his eyes burn, his ankles ache, his arms feel like damp paper. He is not, not, not thinking about pushing his lunatic partner up against a wall and finding out whether he can use that tongue for better (hotter) things than licking evidence.
He’s not. Because that would be all kinds of bad. Ray isn’t stupid, he knows a bad idea when it hits him between the (legs) eyes.
“When Fraser pushes his sleeves back and uses his hands to make a point I want to taste his wrists” is that kind of idea. The bad kind. The kind that earns a punch in the face and a request for immediate transfer back to Inu-get-me-the-hell-out-of-here-vik. Ray’s read Vecchio’s notes, the real ones, and there was no mention of a chance for Ray to get together with the Mountie in anything but a professional way. If he tried for more, Ray’d be left hanging and he’d screw with Vecchio’s life and Fraser’d end up back in the waiting room for the North Pole chasing polar bears, and only one of them would be happy about the changes.
Ray’s been down that road before, and he’s kind of getting used to jumping off buildings and dodging cars and sleeping on stakeouts while Fraser keeps watch.
So Ray dates Helen from Records, and the girl from the coffee shop (the one with a funny blue map on her bicep, and god knows ink has always been a turn-on for Ray, so why does he find himself thinking about the way the colors would look in Fraser’s pale skin when he’s kissing this girl whose name he doesn’t remember?) and he even goes home with the punk kid giving him glances across the bar one (low, down, lonely) Friday night.
He wears his wedding ring on a chain under his shirt, just in case he needs to explain why none of these dates can lead to anything more. So far, no one’s asked.
Ray always tells Fraser he’s got a date, and it’s the truth. Ray doesn’t tell Fraser the reason he’s got a date is that he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he doesn’t have some(one)where else to be. He’s not hurting anyone, because none of these people (not even Fraser) can see when he’s lying. It’s perfectly harmless, this game he’s playing with his own life. Well, mostly.
that keeps love
“Do you always get this involved with your cases?”
“I like to do a good job.”
“You’re in love with a picture, an idea. I don’t understand that.”
“Shut up.”
at bay
Fraser is perfectly capable of controlling himself. He had no trouble suppressing his physical reactions to Janet Morse and he'll sleep soundly when Ray is in the next room.
But if he wakes in the middle of the night Ray might be tempted to leave the Consulate. It would be prudent to set out a bedroll nearby to prevent any nocturnal wandering.
He’s certainly not going to succumb to any misguided attempts at romance merely because Ray’s sleeping in his bed. Wearing his clothes. Depending on him for protection. Running to him for assistance.
It’s simply a case of mind over matter. The same as ignoring the ache of frostbite or controlling one’s breathing. Besides, Ray has made it abundantly clear that his interest lies in another direction entirely, and so the threat of rejection alone will be sufficient to cool any (traitorous) desires. Fraser can resist these unsettling urges for another night.
*
Ray can't resist. He’s scared, and he’s helpless, and Fraser is the only one who believes him (okay, and Turnbull, but who knows where Turnbull gets his ideas or what he’ll do once he has them) and he really doesn't want to sleep alone. He doesn't want to think, and he doesn’t want to be lonely, and there’s no better way to avoid those two things than mind-blowing sex.
Ray’s pretty sure sex with Fraser would be mind-blowing. (He’s right about that, at least.)
It’s the ones who
“The end is gonna come. It’s gonna come whether you whine about it or not.”
resist
There’s no way they’re going to make it back to Chicago tonight. Not after the kind of day they’ve had, or the way that, somehow, Ray and Fraser have ended up in Canada even though Ray’s car is still in Michigan. Probably. It’s all a little hazy now, but Ray’s pretty sure he’d remember driving into another country.
Ray never has a car when he really needs one.
So they hitch a ride with Welsh back across the border (and lucky for everyone that Ray remembered to grab his wallet before the shooting started, because it’s a long walk to Ottawa), pick up the car, ditch the Ice Queen, and point themselves toward Wisconsin. It's an hour and a half before the road lines go all fuzzy and Ray remembers that he jet-packed off a sinking ship this morning and then spent the time he should have been taking a nap arguing with Fraser in a (no joke, he couldn’t make this stuff up) yellow submarine. Because Ray’s life is trying to get him killed. With the help of his partner.
And, not for nothing, but they also had their first kiss. As in, kiss, one, with willing participants, two, and lips, four, even if Fraser called it something else. Not that it changed anything. They are still as fucked up and weird as they were on the docks last week, three nights ago, two mornings ago, and today at 8:53pm when they finally found the damn car. No matter where they stood everything was wrong. Ray doesn’t know how to fix it.
There are plenty of tacky hotels on the north shore of The Lake They Call (dammit, Fraser, shut up!) of Lake Michigan, but Fraser’s looking kind of twitchy and they had a hard day, what with the swimming and the flying and the submarinating and all. So Ray pulls off into a state park and pays way too much for a pass (“It’s hardly highway robbery, Ray, because this isn’t a highway and we’ve willingly given the money to support efforts at preserving the natural resources of the area”) and a campsite. For the third night in a row, he doesn’t get to sleep in a bed. Instead, Ray sleeps in the car (and the damn wolf gets the back seat, despite Ray’s prior claim, because only one of them has the sort of teeth that can rip out a caribou’s throat) and Fraser sleeps on a ratty blanket under the stars, because Fraser’s a freak and this just proves it, and they still aren’t talking about that night, the one Ray wants to repeat and Fraser won’t admit changed anything. As far as he can tell, nothing in Fraser’s world ever changes. Guess that explains the thing about snowmobile parts.
Ray really deserves some kind of badge. Hell, he deserves a fucking medal.
And he’s never going to get all this sand out of his hair.
that we
It isn’t as if he has any sort of (legitimate) claim to anyone’s affections. After all, it was agreed that things didn’t change, that the status quo is really the best option given present circumstances. Ray is an attractive, (spoken for, claimed) single, (mostly) heterosexual man, and women are inevitably going to be drawn to him.
Situations such as this are bound to occur, and it is impolite (dishonest, tempting) to engage in any efforts to dissuade Ray from following his natural inclinations. After all, Ray is a detective. He’s certainly capable of drawing his own conclusions. Neutrality is the best policy in this particular case.
Fraser packs coffee and Smarties along with his bedroll. It’s always best to be prepared for the unexpected.
most want
This sucks. Really, really sucks. Whole new levels of suckage are reached by this particular turn of events. This sucks more than the universe ought to allow. This, right here, is the King of all sucktastic suckiness.
She’s wearing his underwear. That cannot be a good sign for the whole “Ray and Fraser live happily ever after” story.
And fine, Ray maybe started it. He maybe should have said no to that weekend in Mexico, and he maybe shouldn’t have kissed the con artist. These were not smart (good, fair) things to do.
But maybe Fraser should have said yes to the whole “So nothing’s changed?” scenario. Or no. Or whatever answer he could have given that wouldn’t have made Ray want to strangle him.
Because now Ray wants, more than anything, to kiss Fraser without the threat of anyone’s impending demise. He wants to talk about air without wondering what he’s really giving away. He wants to be able to hold hands without a car chase. He wants to run to Fraser for something more than safe harbor.
Mostly, Ray wants to be the one in Fraser’s underwear. And he wants all this dodging and weaving around the issue to be done.
to kiss
“Tell me more. I want to love you. It won’t be hard.”
Wouldn’t
Fraser doesn’t think that they’re talking about Franklin’s Hand anymore. He suspects they haven’t been for an embarrassingly long time.
He seems to be the only one who didn’t realize this. He ought to have noticed that circumstances (feelings, lives) have changed. Rather drastically.
He’s not sure what this particular change means for the(ir) future, but he’s confident that Ray will explain everything. Including this new (strange) fixation with the ownership of his underwear.
Perhaps he's losing his edge, relying on his partner for too much.
you say
They don’t need words most of the time. Just a gentle shove, a muttered groan, a shudder when something feels good. They aren’t loud in bed, because the neighbors are nosy, and even if Ray (almost never, these days) wishes Fraser would just ask for what he wants, more often he’s happy with what he has. Which is a gorgeous guy who loves him and wants to be with him and has an oral fixation that can’t be beat.
If Ray minds that Fraser takes his five weeks of vacation alone, tracking through some frozen wilderness without a phone or his (willing to go along for the ride but not really fond of the snow) partner, well, that’s little enough to regret. He gets to run around his city with Fraser at his side for the other eleven months, and when he comes back to civilization, well, Ray calls in (all fucked out) sick. Repeat as needed.
*
And if Fraser sometimes regrets his return to Chicago, and feels the city noise sinking into his bones like lead and clouding his mind with thoughts of permanence and destiny and (most dangerous of desires) safety, he keeps it hidden. Lovers have secrets, even those who would wish it otherwise. Admitting the truth changes (everything) nothing at all.
Author: omphale
Pairing: K/F
Rating: PG-13
Story Notes: It's late, and I'm walking the fine edge of songfic, but I think I avoided it. Barely. If nothing else, you can play a rousing game of "guess that quote" with the interludes. I also (quite handily) avoided the whole plot and/or p0rn issue by writing very little of either.
Prompt 258: I know you think that you're safe, Mister
Harmless deception
That keeps love at bay
It's the ones who resist that we most want to kiss
Wouldn't you say? (Cowboys and Angels, George Michael)
I know you
Ray’s got a callus on his left hand, right below his finger, and there’s a tan line where his wedding ring used to be. He’s got a trigger callus, too, but that isn’t important right now. Well, it is, because Ray’s a cop, and that’s important, but it isn’t the point, which is this-he’s still got a callus from fifteen years of wedded (terror, never put a foot wrong, never cross that line, never know which way is up) bliss.
His hand hasn’t been naked long enough for any of them (the physical reminders, not the marriage, that’s long gone) to vanish. They may never disappear, and that would be just fine. He’s happy enough with what that line says to anyone who looks for it.
Ray is not going to fall for his shiny (pretty, clean cut and razor sharp) new Canadian partner, because Ray is a divorced cop who is (say it loud, say it often) straight. You can tell just by looking at his hand. And if that isn’t enough, just ask every woman at the station, because Ray’s got the perfect first date figured out, and he uses the right pronouns when he talks about dancing and dinner and whatever else he’s been babbling.
Ray buys a bracelet to wrap his arm, to remind him of who he is now and who he is not.
That Ray is a (ladies’ man, man’s man) regular guy is the first thing people see about him. If he’s lucky, it’ll be the only thing they see.
He isn’t lucky, because it turns out that this Mountie is awfully observant. He’s a guy who gets to the bottom of things, figures them out, types them up and builds a file and prints out a label for anything (unexpected) queer.
Maybe the hugging and the winking and the arm around the shoulder didn’t help. Duet may have been a bad (revealing) word choice. But nobody can blame him for that, because just look at this guy. No one would be able to resist that. Ray’s not perfect. He’s human. He can be tempted. He just can’t fall.
But Benton Fraser, RCMP, wants to know who Ray really is. Fraser wants him to be honest. So now Ray’s playing catch-up with a guy he’s only just met. And he doesn’t know who to be.
think that
“You are so beautiful. I don’t know why looking at you makes me so sad.”
you’re safe
It’s clear that Ray is still in love with his ex-wife. Even if Fraser wishes it otherwise (and he doesn’t, because he is well aware of the problems that an attraction to your partner can cause) that woman still has Ray wrapped around her fingers. He’d do anything to make her happy. And she doesn’t even want him.
It seems unfair, but it’s really for the best. So long as Ray remains fixated on ADA Kowalski, he won’t notice anyone but Stella looking his way, watching him move with terrifying grace, learning him by heart for the moment (no sooner than necessary, but certain and inescapable) this partnership ends.
Right now, Fraser suspects that Ray’s obsession is the only thing keeping the two of them productive and sane and (wretchedly, necessarily) apart. It's plain that Ray isn’t as unaffected by circumstances as he wishes to be, and he’s almost positive that something is happening (has happened, is possible) which Ray wants to hide, beneath his failed marriage and (distracting) unstinting attempts to sleep with every woman he sees. This is something they cannot (will not) talk about in public, something that doesn’t exist. Something unstable.
Mister Harmless Deception
Ray’s running in place, dodging, weaving, dating anything in a skirt. Staying out late, dancing until his eyes burn, his ankles ache, his arms feel like damp paper. He is not, not, not thinking about pushing his lunatic partner up against a wall and finding out whether he can use that tongue for better (hotter) things than licking evidence.
He’s not. Because that would be all kinds of bad. Ray isn’t stupid, he knows a bad idea when it hits him between the (legs) eyes.
“When Fraser pushes his sleeves back and uses his hands to make a point I want to taste his wrists” is that kind of idea. The bad kind. The kind that earns a punch in the face and a request for immediate transfer back to Inu-get-me-the-hell-out-of-here-vik. Ray’s read Vecchio’s notes, the real ones, and there was no mention of a chance for Ray to get together with the Mountie in anything but a professional way. If he tried for more, Ray’d be left hanging and he’d screw with Vecchio’s life and Fraser’d end up back in the waiting room for the North Pole chasing polar bears, and only one of them would be happy about the changes.
Ray’s been down that road before, and he’s kind of getting used to jumping off buildings and dodging cars and sleeping on stakeouts while Fraser keeps watch.
So Ray dates Helen from Records, and the girl from the coffee shop (the one with a funny blue map on her bicep, and god knows ink has always been a turn-on for Ray, so why does he find himself thinking about the way the colors would look in Fraser’s pale skin when he’s kissing this girl whose name he doesn’t remember?) and he even goes home with the punk kid giving him glances across the bar one (low, down, lonely) Friday night.
He wears his wedding ring on a chain under his shirt, just in case he needs to explain why none of these dates can lead to anything more. So far, no one’s asked.
Ray always tells Fraser he’s got a date, and it’s the truth. Ray doesn’t tell Fraser the reason he’s got a date is that he’s afraid of what he’ll do if he doesn’t have some(one)where else to be. He’s not hurting anyone, because none of these people (not even Fraser) can see when he’s lying. It’s perfectly harmless, this game he’s playing with his own life. Well, mostly.
that keeps love
“Do you always get this involved with your cases?”
“I like to do a good job.”
“You’re in love with a picture, an idea. I don’t understand that.”
“Shut up.”
at bay
Fraser is perfectly capable of controlling himself. He had no trouble suppressing his physical reactions to Janet Morse and he'll sleep soundly when Ray is in the next room.
But if he wakes in the middle of the night Ray might be tempted to leave the Consulate. It would be prudent to set out a bedroll nearby to prevent any nocturnal wandering.
He’s certainly not going to succumb to any misguided attempts at romance merely because Ray’s sleeping in his bed. Wearing his clothes. Depending on him for protection. Running to him for assistance.
It’s simply a case of mind over matter. The same as ignoring the ache of frostbite or controlling one’s breathing. Besides, Ray has made it abundantly clear that his interest lies in another direction entirely, and so the threat of rejection alone will be sufficient to cool any (traitorous) desires. Fraser can resist these unsettling urges for another night.
*
Ray can't resist. He’s scared, and he’s helpless, and Fraser is the only one who believes him (okay, and Turnbull, but who knows where Turnbull gets his ideas or what he’ll do once he has them) and he really doesn't want to sleep alone. He doesn't want to think, and he doesn’t want to be lonely, and there’s no better way to avoid those two things than mind-blowing sex.
Ray’s pretty sure sex with Fraser would be mind-blowing. (He’s right about that, at least.)
It’s the ones who
“The end is gonna come. It’s gonna come whether you whine about it or not.”
resist
There’s no way they’re going to make it back to Chicago tonight. Not after the kind of day they’ve had, or the way that, somehow, Ray and Fraser have ended up in Canada even though Ray’s car is still in Michigan. Probably. It’s all a little hazy now, but Ray’s pretty sure he’d remember driving into another country.
Ray never has a car when he really needs one.
So they hitch a ride with Welsh back across the border (and lucky for everyone that Ray remembered to grab his wallet before the shooting started, because it’s a long walk to Ottawa), pick up the car, ditch the Ice Queen, and point themselves toward Wisconsin. It's an hour and a half before the road lines go all fuzzy and Ray remembers that he jet-packed off a sinking ship this morning and then spent the time he should have been taking a nap arguing with Fraser in a (no joke, he couldn’t make this stuff up) yellow submarine. Because Ray’s life is trying to get him killed. With the help of his partner.
And, not for nothing, but they also had their first kiss. As in, kiss, one, with willing participants, two, and lips, four, even if Fraser called it something else. Not that it changed anything. They are still as fucked up and weird as they were on the docks last week, three nights ago, two mornings ago, and today at 8:53pm when they finally found the damn car. No matter where they stood everything was wrong. Ray doesn’t know how to fix it.
There are plenty of tacky hotels on the north shore of The Lake They Call (dammit, Fraser, shut up!) of Lake Michigan, but Fraser’s looking kind of twitchy and they had a hard day, what with the swimming and the flying and the submarinating and all. So Ray pulls off into a state park and pays way too much for a pass (“It’s hardly highway robbery, Ray, because this isn’t a highway and we’ve willingly given the money to support efforts at preserving the natural resources of the area”) and a campsite. For the third night in a row, he doesn’t get to sleep in a bed. Instead, Ray sleeps in the car (and the damn wolf gets the back seat, despite Ray’s prior claim, because only one of them has the sort of teeth that can rip out a caribou’s throat) and Fraser sleeps on a ratty blanket under the stars, because Fraser’s a freak and this just proves it, and they still aren’t talking about that night, the one Ray wants to repeat and Fraser won’t admit changed anything. As far as he can tell, nothing in Fraser’s world ever changes. Guess that explains the thing about snowmobile parts.
Ray really deserves some kind of badge. Hell, he deserves a fucking medal.
And he’s never going to get all this sand out of his hair.
that we
It isn’t as if he has any sort of (legitimate) claim to anyone’s affections. After all, it was agreed that things didn’t change, that the status quo is really the best option given present circumstances. Ray is an attractive, (spoken for, claimed) single, (mostly) heterosexual man, and women are inevitably going to be drawn to him.
Situations such as this are bound to occur, and it is impolite (dishonest, tempting) to engage in any efforts to dissuade Ray from following his natural inclinations. After all, Ray is a detective. He’s certainly capable of drawing his own conclusions. Neutrality is the best policy in this particular case.
Fraser packs coffee and Smarties along with his bedroll. It’s always best to be prepared for the unexpected.
most want
This sucks. Really, really sucks. Whole new levels of suckage are reached by this particular turn of events. This sucks more than the universe ought to allow. This, right here, is the King of all sucktastic suckiness.
She’s wearing his underwear. That cannot be a good sign for the whole “Ray and Fraser live happily ever after” story.
And fine, Ray maybe started it. He maybe should have said no to that weekend in Mexico, and he maybe shouldn’t have kissed the con artist. These were not smart (good, fair) things to do.
But maybe Fraser should have said yes to the whole “So nothing’s changed?” scenario. Or no. Or whatever answer he could have given that wouldn’t have made Ray want to strangle him.
Because now Ray wants, more than anything, to kiss Fraser without the threat of anyone’s impending demise. He wants to talk about air without wondering what he’s really giving away. He wants to be able to hold hands without a car chase. He wants to run to Fraser for something more than safe harbor.
Mostly, Ray wants to be the one in Fraser’s underwear. And he wants all this dodging and weaving around the issue to be done.
to kiss
“Tell me more. I want to love you. It won’t be hard.”
Wouldn’t
Fraser doesn’t think that they’re talking about Franklin’s Hand anymore. He suspects they haven’t been for an embarrassingly long time.
He seems to be the only one who didn’t realize this. He ought to have noticed that circumstances (feelings, lives) have changed. Rather drastically.
He’s not sure what this particular change means for the(ir) future, but he’s confident that Ray will explain everything. Including this new (strange) fixation with the ownership of his underwear.
Perhaps he's losing his edge, relying on his partner for too much.
you say
They don’t need words most of the time. Just a gentle shove, a muttered groan, a shudder when something feels good. They aren’t loud in bed, because the neighbors are nosy, and even if Ray (almost never, these days) wishes Fraser would just ask for what he wants, more often he’s happy with what he has. Which is a gorgeous guy who loves him and wants to be with him and has an oral fixation that can’t be beat.
If Ray minds that Fraser takes his five weeks of vacation alone, tracking through some frozen wilderness without a phone or his (willing to go along for the ride but not really fond of the snow) partner, well, that’s little enough to regret. He gets to run around his city with Fraser at his side for the other eleven months, and when he comes back to civilization, well, Ray calls in (all fucked out) sick. Repeat as needed.
*
And if Fraser sometimes regrets his return to Chicago, and feels the city noise sinking into his bones like lead and clouding his mind with thoughts of permanence and destiny and (most dangerous of desires) safety, he keeps it hidden. Lovers have secrets, even those who would wish it otherwise. Admitting the truth changes (everything) nothing at all.