more ds_aprilfools
Two days in one! I'm efficient. That's what we're calling it.
Secret lives, F/V, 247 words.
It struck him at the oddest moments. They'd be walking down the street, and he'd say something like, "We're going to be late, and all because you can't see an old lady without helping her across the street."
Benny would, of course, rise to it. "It's important to respect our elders, Ray."
He'd want to retort--even start to retort, but he'd see that slight quirk of Benny's mouth and that glint in his eye that said he wasn't taking this as seriously as you might think. That look said just as clearly as words that he was just throwing Ray a line to toss back. And it would hit Ray, again, that people didn't get that, that sometimes Ben was just playing. Not that Benny was being dishonest--no, he absolutely believed that helping little old ladies across the street all day was the right thing to do. But arguing about it after the fact, that was something he did for Ray--that was teasing, playing, flirting right there on the street. There was this whole other conversation going on, even if no one else could see it, because all they'd see is two guys arguing... only not so much, because he'd have just missed the volley and Benny would be looking a little concerned.
Out there on the sidewalk, he couldn't do much about it, except pick up the conversational ball again. "She wasn't my elder," he'd say.
And Benny would smile at him, before whacking it back.
*****
Full Contact Sport, F/K, 255 words.
Fraser never tired of watching Ray. The way Ray moved drew his eye like metal filings to a lodestone.
He loved the grip and flex of Ray's hands on the steering wheel of the car. The duck of his head when he was pleased. The way Ray walked sideways when vehement about anything, the better to express himself and read Fraser's reactions.
He looked forward to the times--too few and too spread out--when Ray boxed or danced, because then it was permissible to look. Expected even, regardless of where they were.
But times like this were sheer torture. Ray bent low across the pool table, angling for his shot, and Fraser struggled to keep his eyes... somewhere safe. They were in public, after all. Ray shifted again; the movement of his hips hindered by the edge of the table.
Fraser dragged his eyes away from Ray's worn denim back to the game. "Would you like to use the bridge?"
"Nah, that's cheating." He wriggled again, and Fraser bit back an inappropriate noise.
"Please?"
Ray flashed a wicked grin over his shoulder, then took his shot. The connecting crack of the balls was followed by the dull thump of one landing in an empty pocket. Ray snagged his beer and took a sip, already looking for his next shot.
"I don't know, Fraser, I seem to win more when I don't." With a slanted smile, he added, "I wonder why."
Fraser took the bottle from his hand and bent towards his ear.
"Win faster," he said.
Secret lives, F/V, 247 words.
It struck him at the oddest moments. They'd be walking down the street, and he'd say something like, "We're going to be late, and all because you can't see an old lady without helping her across the street."
Benny would, of course, rise to it. "It's important to respect our elders, Ray."
He'd want to retort--even start to retort, but he'd see that slight quirk of Benny's mouth and that glint in his eye that said he wasn't taking this as seriously as you might think. That look said just as clearly as words that he was just throwing Ray a line to toss back. And it would hit Ray, again, that people didn't get that, that sometimes Ben was just playing. Not that Benny was being dishonest--no, he absolutely believed that helping little old ladies across the street all day was the right thing to do. But arguing about it after the fact, that was something he did for Ray--that was teasing, playing, flirting right there on the street. There was this whole other conversation going on, even if no one else could see it, because all they'd see is two guys arguing... only not so much, because he'd have just missed the volley and Benny would be looking a little concerned.
Out there on the sidewalk, he couldn't do much about it, except pick up the conversational ball again. "She wasn't my elder," he'd say.
And Benny would smile at him, before whacking it back.
*****
Full Contact Sport, F/K, 255 words.
Fraser never tired of watching Ray. The way Ray moved drew his eye like metal filings to a lodestone.
He loved the grip and flex of Ray's hands on the steering wheel of the car. The duck of his head when he was pleased. The way Ray walked sideways when vehement about anything, the better to express himself and read Fraser's reactions.
He looked forward to the times--too few and too spread out--when Ray boxed or danced, because then it was permissible to look. Expected even, regardless of where they were.
But times like this were sheer torture. Ray bent low across the pool table, angling for his shot, and Fraser struggled to keep his eyes... somewhere safe. They were in public, after all. Ray shifted again; the movement of his hips hindered by the edge of the table.
Fraser dragged his eyes away from Ray's worn denim back to the game. "Would you like to use the bridge?"
"Nah, that's cheating." He wriggled again, and Fraser bit back an inappropriate noise.
"Please?"
Ray flashed a wicked grin over his shoulder, then took his shot. The connecting crack of the balls was followed by the dull thump of one landing in an empty pocket. Ray snagged his beer and took a sip, already looking for his next shot.
"I don't know, Fraser, I seem to win more when I don't." With a slanted smile, he added, "I wonder why."
Fraser took the bottle from his hand and bent towards his ear.
"Win faster," he said.