(no subject)
*waves*
So. I asked if you wanted Inuit throat singing. And you did. So YOU ASKED FOR IT.
Sap warning, by the way. VERY sappy. Like WOAH. But cute and fuzzy, as usual. F/K, 3373 words. Prelude to smut, aftermath of smut -- do you see how clever I've been?
You can also pretend I posted this three days ago, for my four-month LJ anniversary. LOVE YOU BEST FLIST!
Enjoy!
[Disclaimer: The events of this piece and Ten Years Onwards are not mine to sell, as they all come from due South, which belongs to Alliance Atlantis.]
Ray's Inuit Story
Ray looks at Fraser skeptically. "I dunno, Fraser."
Fraser smiles at one of the Eskimo girls, and says something fast and polite-sounding to her before paying attention to Ray. "I'd thought," he says, "that you might appreciate the opportunity to interact with a large gathering of people." Poor guy looks confused and kinda disappointed -- like he had everything all figured out so the tide wouldn't wash his sandcastle away, and now Ray's come stomping along and squashed it. "I recall quite clearly that you expressed -- "
"That's not what I meant, Fraser," Ray explains impatiently. "They're Eskimos."
Fraser raises his eyebrows, which means that Ray's really gonna get it now. "Inuit, Ray. And I was previously unaware that you harbor ill will towards -- "
"That's not what I mean -- I mean I can't understand 'em." Jesus. Mounties do jump to conclusions, no matter what they say. "I mean, I wanna talk to people. Okay? Somebody who's not crazy like you." Or Dief, but Ray's not about to admit that he's heard Dief say anything, crazy or not.
"Ah." Fraser coughs uncomfortably. "I hadn't foreseen that."
"No kidding." Ray grins at a woman who's trying to feed him some stew, which smells like something he does not even want to think about, and makes frantic gestures that he hopes will get it away from his nose. "So how're we gonna get out of here?"
"Well, it would be inexcusably rude to just leave," Fraser says, looking horrified in that way he's got -- that one where he can convince Ray to endanger his life in wildly bizarre ways with sheer earnestness. At least there aren't any guns here -- just musk ox, which just might kill him but probably won't.
Ray throws his hands up in the air. "Fine. We'll party, then we'll split -- okay?"
"Of course."
"Okay." Ray looks at all the people milling around, laughing and talking to eachother in that fast sharp language Fraser uses with Dief. "So, uh -- what're they so happy about anyway?"
"The spring break-up, of course." Fraser gives Ray a look. "Surely you've noticed the rise in temperature?"
"What rise? I haven't felt anything different. It's really fucking cold, just like always." Okay, maybe there's been more sun lately, but it's still not spring.
Fraser shrugs. "I could show you the river, if you'd like."
"Nah, that's okay -- you'll probably fall in, or something." Fraser opens his mouth -- probably to defend his relationship with rivers -- and Ray thinks that now is probably a good time to change the subject. "Hey -- what're those kids doin'?" Ray points at two girls who're standing inches away from eachother and making weird noises. As he watches, one of them starts to smile, and then suddenly bursts out laughing.
Fraser looks over, and smiles. "Ah. Throat-singing." Ray gestures for Fraser to explain -- if he's gonna be here, he might as well get an Inuit story of his own under his belt. "It's a game, of sorts," Fraser says. "The players alternate song and breath -- like this," he says, and makes the same noises that the girls were making -- only it sounds different when Fraser does it. Really different. Ray tells himself, firmly, that Fraser's just throat-singing for educational purposes, not -- for anything else. "They then stagger their patterns," Fraser continues, not seeming to notice how Ray's face is heating up, "so that while one player is singing, the other player is breathing in their expelled air."
"Sorta like buddy breathing," Ray says, without thinking, and winces. Dammit -- he'd been trying not to bring that up again, ever.
But Fraser just frowns at him a little, and nods. "Yes. Somewhat." They watch the girls play for a little while, until one of them starts to giggle helplessly. "She loses the game," Fraser explains. "The game continues until someone laughs; whoever laughs first, loses." He grins at Ray. "Would you like to try?"
Ray grins back. "Hell yeah." There's no way he's gonna lose, he thinks -- he doesn't see what's so funny, so he's not gonna laugh. Simple, really. And he can't really pass up an opportunity to beat Fraser at something. Anything. Even if it is a little fruity.
"All right then." Fraser turns to face Ray. "Come closer."
"Uh." Ray looks around uncomfortably. A bunch of the girls who've been playing have gathered around them, and are snickering in a way that makes him flush. No matter what language they normally speak, they sound exactly like the people in the bank had after he'd wet himself. He's gonna bet grown men usually don't do this with eachother. "This good?" he asks, stepping as close to Fraser as he can get without bumping their winter gear together. He grins at the kids, who're looking totally shocked. Yeah, that's right -- Americans're just crazy. Totally unhinged.
"Closer," Fraser says quietly, and Ray feels his grin slide off his face. He looks at Fraser uneasily. "We should be sharing air," Fraser repeats, and coughs politely into his hand.
Ray wants to ask something smart about just how close you're supposed to get for that, but he doesn't want to scandalize anybody on the off chance that they do understand some English. He shuffles closer, until he can feel Fraser's chest pressing against his through their parkas. "Okay?"
"Okay." Fraser rubs his eyebrow -- real fast, so that he could just be pushing his hat out of his eyes, except Ray knows him better'n that. Something else's wrong with him -- he might be just self-conscious, except Ray's never seen him worry about other people thinking he's a freak.
"Uh, Frase? You -- "
"I'll start," Fraser says. He clears his throat, and then he does -- he parts his lips, rasps and breathes and rasps and breathes. Ray watches him for a second before he realizes that Fraser's not looking back; he's looking at Ray's left ear, probably 'cause it's not polite to watch people while they're doing this, or something. Ray's all about being polite, though, especially around Fraser, so he looks at Fraser's right ear and tries to figure out when to jump in. The pattern's real fast, almost like what Fraser might sound like if --
Uh. Maybe not exactly like that. But it's almost too fast for Ray to get his own rhythm going right -- until he shuts his eyes and just gives up on listening completely. It's easier then; he can feel Fraser's breath on his face, and all he's gotta do is breath it right in. Breathe, rasp, breathe, rasp -- and it's funny, but he still don't know what he's supposed to be laughing at. It feels good, all that rhythm and fitting together just right -- like when he used to dance with Stella, only...different. Not bad different, just -- different. Maybe good different, even. But not like tickling, or anything, and not even a little bit funny.
Suddenly Fraser chokes, and the rhythm crumbles away enough for Ray to get distracted. He opens his eyes --
--and finds Fraser's face shockingly close to his. His eyes look huge from here; Ray backs off a little, and realizes that Fraser's got them open wide, wider than Ray's ever seen them -- he looks totally shocked, and that would be funny if Ray wasn't so busy trying to figure out what the hell he's done to make Fraser look at him like that. "Fr -- "
"Ah," Fraser says, shaking himself out of it. He swallows, and cracks his neck. "I lose, then."
Had Fraser laughed? Ray hadn't heard it, but probably Fraser knows better than Ray does. "Uh. Yeah." Fraser doesn't move away; his lips are way too close to Ray's, and he's -- he's licking them. Jesus. Ray has to back off, now, before he does something stupid, never mind why he might be doing something stupid in the first place -- he knows what that weird floaty feeling in his stomach means, and he doesn't ask it any questions. At least the kids've run off, in case he doesn't manage it. "Game over, buddy, right?"
"Right you are, Ray," Fraser says -- and runs for his life.
It's not exactly a run, but it's as close to a run as anybody can manage in the soft, slightly melted snow that's left, and Ray's never seen Fraser run from anything before. Goddammit. He can't know what's going on in Ray's guts. He can't. "Fraser! Fraser! Where're you -- "
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ray," Fraser calls back. "We have to get back to camp before dark, that's all."
"What the hell're you talking about? It's nowhere near time to -- " Something clicks in the back of Ray's head. He ignores it. "Look, if you wanna get out of here, that's okay. I'm good with that." He catches up to Fraser, who slows down a little, but not much. "That throat-singing stuff's kinda -- you know -- "
"Freakish?" Fraser's face looks kinda stiff, like it does when Ray says something stupid and anti-Canadian and upsets him.
Ray starts babbling. "Yeah, that, but -- I had fun. It was fun, I admit it. I'm not -- disturbed, or anything. It was cool." Fraser's not looking any less stiff, so Ray keeps trying to explain. "I mean. If that's what Canadians do at night -- when they're not sleeping, I mean..." Ray stops and looks at Fraser, not knowing what he'd thought he was going to say. He sure doesn't seem to be helping anything. "Fraser?" If Fraser's actually pissed at him for some reason, things're gonna get pretty messy. They're in the middle of the fucking tundra. It's not like they can just stomp off in different directions and sulk, because if they do, one of them's gonna freeze to death -- probably Ray. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to, uh -- "
"Oh," Fraser says, looking up at Ray, eyebrows apologetic, "I'm not angry at you."
"Oh." Ray fumbles, because it looks like Fraser's angry with somebody, and there isn't anybody else around for him to be angry at. "You not doing that passive-attacking thing, are you?"
"Passive-aggressive, and no, I'm not." Fraser's just trudging along now, and he's maybe not looking so much pissed, anymore, as miserable.
"Then what's wrong with you?" Ray throws his hands out, exasperated. He probably looks pretty stupid -- this much winter gear muffles all his attitude, he knows now, but it's difficult to stop using it.
"I," Fraser says, and stops moving altogether. "I." He turns himself around so that he's facing Ray, and kinda -- inflates, like he's getting ready for Ray to punch him. "I," he adds, real sincere.
Ray frowns. "Yeah? What about you?"
"I," Fraser says urgently, and gives Ray a helpless look, which is just confusing -- Fraser? Helpless? No way.
"Yeah, okay, I got that part."
"You," Fraser says. "You're not -- " And he does this thing with his hand that makes Ray think about things Fraser probably doesn't want him to be thinking about.
Except why else would he be looking like -- like that? "Fraser?" Ray says slowly, and Fraser looks at him and licks the corner of his mouth.
And Ray does something stupid, because that is just the only way he ever manages to get anything important done. He says, "Oh," and then he grips Fraser's shoulders in both hands so he won't bolt, and leans in close. Closer than you need to be for throat singing. "You look like you need some air, buddy," he hears himself say, and has just half a second to think about how that is just the most idiotic pick-up line he's ever heard before his mouth's touching Fraser's. He stays there barely long enough to register that he's actually kissing Fraser, of all the crazy things he might have decided to do on this adventure, and then pulls away before anything actually interesting happens. He has to see if Fraser's about to kill him, which should probably be dealt with now instead of later.
Fraser doesn't seem to want to kill anything. "Oh," he says faintly, and puts his gloved fingers under the elastic strap of Ray's hat and into his hair.
He can't get a grip, what with the nylon, so he's pulling too hard and doesn't even know it. "Ow," Ray says, and Fraser rips his gloves off, and then Ray doesn't have anything at all to complain about -- not even a little -- which is, you know, pretty amazing all by itself.
Fraser opens his eyes and looks up at the tent ceiling, feeling somewhat peculiar. Something is different -- he can't say precisely what, but something is. He takes a quick scan of the things that should be here: Ray's breathing, slow and deep near his right ear; the dogs outside, whuffling moistly as they start to wake; his fingers and toes, all accounted for and mobile, for the moment. Fraser relaxes -- everyone seems to be all right -- and inhales fully for the first time that morning.
And then he chokes. Dear Lord. That -- that would explain what's different, certainly. He starts to wriggle out of the sleeping bag -- carefully, so as not to wake Ray -- and only then notices that the sleeping bag is far more damp than could be explained by sweat alone. He remembers, now -- remembers the throat-singing, and how Ray'd licked his lips, and -- throat-singing, for God's sake! How on earth could Fraser have known that Ray would -- and then buddy breathing, of all childish things --
Ray stirs, and Fraser abandons all pretense of care in the face of the overwhelming imperative to give Ray -- or perhaps himself -- his space. He pushes himself away as far as he can, shivering with the slight chill in the tent, and pulls his knees to his chest.
He can't understand it -- not even a little. He can't even begin to analyze Ray's motives, unless he assumes that Ray is operating under the impression that he's somehow indebted to Fraser, and that -- Fraser cannot believe that. He simply can't afford to. Certainly, Ray is alive right now mainly due to Fraser's efforts -- but then he's only here because of Fraser, too. Surely he can see that. Surely --
Ray mumbles something incoherent and sleepy, flinging a pink, long-fingered hand into the spot where Fraser's neck had been just a minute ago. Upon finding the spot empty, the hand twitches and clenches half-heartedly before returning to the warmth of the sleeping bag near Ray's chest. Fraser watches the protruding blonde spikes raptly, waiting for Ray to start kicking at his bedclothes violently, as he does every morning -- but Ray remains utterly motionless, his breathing again rhythmic and undisturbed.
Fraser manages a fond smile before remembering to admonish himself. Ray cannot possibly -- he was married. He flirts rampantly with nearly every passing female. He cannot mean this as a prelude to anything even remotely resembling a long-term relationship. He'd merely taken notice of Fraser's attraction -- Fraser had seen when Ray had finally understood -- and decided to help. He's a good friend, despite how vehemently he might deny it if Fraser were to say so. He is a good friend, and a kind man, and that is all.
Fraser cannot begin to imagine how he will bear it when Ray makes light of this.
"Fr's'r," Ray murmurs, and Fraser pulls his knees in close, trying to keep Ray asleep through sheer will power -- if Ray doesn't wake up, they won't have to discuss this; if they do not discuss this, they do not need to dismiss it. "Fr'se?" Ray lifts his head, rolls it around with sleepy smoothness, and squints at Fraser. He smiles for a moment --and then he seems to finally register Fraser's body language and goes rigid, the laxness around his eyes and mouth tightening into fine worried lines. "Okay. Okay. You freakin' out on me?"
Fraser blinks. "Wh -- "
"'Cause there's nothin' to freak out about, see. We're good. We're just like we always were."
Fraser's heart sinks. "If you like," he replies dully. It is not his place to protest.
Ray swears under his breath, kicks the sleeping bag off with the old familiar pattern -- right, left, pause, right -- and clambers over to Fraser awkwardly. "Not like that, you idiot," he hisses, slicing a hand emphatically through the air and nearly overbalancing.
Fraser rolls the words around his head, trying to deduce what Ray could possibly mean by that. Suddenly, one word sinks in. "You called me an idiot."
Ray's face starts to crumple. "I -- "
"No," Fraser breaks in, before Ray can start to apologize, "no, it's all right, it's just -- you called me an idiot."
Ray lips work soundlessly -- and then it's almost as though someone's pulled the tent flap open and let the sun shine on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
Fraser feels the corners of his mouth start to turn up. He suspects he's been thinking too much, again. "Do you mean -- "
"Yeah," Ray says, grinning, and puts his sweaty palms on either side of Fraser's face. "You're an idiot," he breathes again.
"So are you," Fraser replies, smiling wryly.
"And you're a goddamn freak."
Ray's mouth is close, and Fraser can think of a wide variety of things he might be able to do under those circumstances -- but he refrains, suspecting that Ray has his own plans. "Certainly."
"And you're such a fucking girl."
Fraser blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
One of Ray's hands wanders over the nape of Fraser's neck. "Shouldn'ta had to talk to you this much, right after waking up," he explains, trying to look disgruntled and only managing to look like a twelve-year-old.
"Ah. Well," Fraser says, "that certainly does explain rather a lot."
Ray frowns, looking like himself again. "Just shut up and kiss me, okay?" he says finally, pushing his fingers into Fraser's hair -- and because he can't think of any appropriately compelling reason not to, Fraser does.
"Benton?" Ray says timidly, some time later.
"Yes, Stanley?"
Ray elbows Fraser gently in the side. "I hate that. You know I hate that. Why -- " Fraser blinks at Ray pointedly. "Oh. You hate being called Benton?"
"Well, I wouldn't say I hate it, but it does bring back some rather vivid memories of my grandmother, a toothbrush, and a bathtub -- "
Ray winces. "Okay. Not Benton." He thinks for a while, tracing abstract invisible patterns over Fraser's ribs. "Ben?"
"Yes, Ray?"
"Mmm," Ray says, to indicate that he understands. "Your wolf's lying on my arm."
"Ah. I had wondered where your other hand had gotten to."
"I think we should teach him a thing or two about privacy."
Fraser smiles. "I doubt that will have any significant effect."
Ray gives Fraser a sly look. "You think a lock'd persuade him?"
"Hmm," Fraser says, to indicate that he understands this as well. "All right."
Ray sits up abruptly. "Hey, wait -- you mean it? You'll move in with me?"
Fraser shrugs. "Why not?" He can't think of any reason not to, after all, though he might come up with some later. But later is later, and now is now -- and just now, Ray looks to be an unprecedented level of ecstatic.
"Yeah? Okay, cool. Uh." Ray dribbles his fingers on the sleeping bag. "I'm gonna." He jerks his thumb toward the tent flap. "Go gloat some."
"All right." Ray bolts out of the tent before Fraser can say anything more. "But you might want to put something -- "
"Fuck, that's cold!" A pause. "What? What're you dogs staring at? You've got nuts too, you know." Another pause. "Aw, shut up."
--fin
So. I asked if you wanted Inuit throat singing. And you did. So YOU ASKED FOR IT.
Sap warning, by the way. VERY sappy. Like WOAH. But cute and fuzzy, as usual. F/K, 3373 words. Prelude to smut, aftermath of smut -- do you see how clever I've been?
You can also pretend I posted this three days ago, for my four-month LJ anniversary. LOVE YOU BEST FLIST!
Enjoy!
[Disclaimer: The events of this piece and Ten Years Onwards are not mine to sell, as they all come from due South, which belongs to Alliance Atlantis.]
Ray's Inuit Story
Ray looks at Fraser skeptically. "I dunno, Fraser."
Fraser smiles at one of the Eskimo girls, and says something fast and polite-sounding to her before paying attention to Ray. "I'd thought," he says, "that you might appreciate the opportunity to interact with a large gathering of people." Poor guy looks confused and kinda disappointed -- like he had everything all figured out so the tide wouldn't wash his sandcastle away, and now Ray's come stomping along and squashed it. "I recall quite clearly that you expressed -- "
"That's not what I meant, Fraser," Ray explains impatiently. "They're Eskimos."
Fraser raises his eyebrows, which means that Ray's really gonna get it now. "Inuit, Ray. And I was previously unaware that you harbor ill will towards -- "
"That's not what I mean -- I mean I can't understand 'em." Jesus. Mounties do jump to conclusions, no matter what they say. "I mean, I wanna talk to people. Okay? Somebody who's not crazy like you." Or Dief, but Ray's not about to admit that he's heard Dief say anything, crazy or not.
"Ah." Fraser coughs uncomfortably. "I hadn't foreseen that."
"No kidding." Ray grins at a woman who's trying to feed him some stew, which smells like something he does not even want to think about, and makes frantic gestures that he hopes will get it away from his nose. "So how're we gonna get out of here?"
"Well, it would be inexcusably rude to just leave," Fraser says, looking horrified in that way he's got -- that one where he can convince Ray to endanger his life in wildly bizarre ways with sheer earnestness. At least there aren't any guns here -- just musk ox, which just might kill him but probably won't.
Ray throws his hands up in the air. "Fine. We'll party, then we'll split -- okay?"
"Of course."
"Okay." Ray looks at all the people milling around, laughing and talking to eachother in that fast sharp language Fraser uses with Dief. "So, uh -- what're they so happy about anyway?"
"The spring break-up, of course." Fraser gives Ray a look. "Surely you've noticed the rise in temperature?"
"What rise? I haven't felt anything different. It's really fucking cold, just like always." Okay, maybe there's been more sun lately, but it's still not spring.
Fraser shrugs. "I could show you the river, if you'd like."
"Nah, that's okay -- you'll probably fall in, or something." Fraser opens his mouth -- probably to defend his relationship with rivers -- and Ray thinks that now is probably a good time to change the subject. "Hey -- what're those kids doin'?" Ray points at two girls who're standing inches away from eachother and making weird noises. As he watches, one of them starts to smile, and then suddenly bursts out laughing.
Fraser looks over, and smiles. "Ah. Throat-singing." Ray gestures for Fraser to explain -- if he's gonna be here, he might as well get an Inuit story of his own under his belt. "It's a game, of sorts," Fraser says. "The players alternate song and breath -- like this," he says, and makes the same noises that the girls were making -- only it sounds different when Fraser does it. Really different. Ray tells himself, firmly, that Fraser's just throat-singing for educational purposes, not -- for anything else. "They then stagger their patterns," Fraser continues, not seeming to notice how Ray's face is heating up, "so that while one player is singing, the other player is breathing in their expelled air."
"Sorta like buddy breathing," Ray says, without thinking, and winces. Dammit -- he'd been trying not to bring that up again, ever.
But Fraser just frowns at him a little, and nods. "Yes. Somewhat." They watch the girls play for a little while, until one of them starts to giggle helplessly. "She loses the game," Fraser explains. "The game continues until someone laughs; whoever laughs first, loses." He grins at Ray. "Would you like to try?"
Ray grins back. "Hell yeah." There's no way he's gonna lose, he thinks -- he doesn't see what's so funny, so he's not gonna laugh. Simple, really. And he can't really pass up an opportunity to beat Fraser at something. Anything. Even if it is a little fruity.
"All right then." Fraser turns to face Ray. "Come closer."
"Uh." Ray looks around uncomfortably. A bunch of the girls who've been playing have gathered around them, and are snickering in a way that makes him flush. No matter what language they normally speak, they sound exactly like the people in the bank had after he'd wet himself. He's gonna bet grown men usually don't do this with eachother. "This good?" he asks, stepping as close to Fraser as he can get without bumping their winter gear together. He grins at the kids, who're looking totally shocked. Yeah, that's right -- Americans're just crazy. Totally unhinged.
"Closer," Fraser says quietly, and Ray feels his grin slide off his face. He looks at Fraser uneasily. "We should be sharing air," Fraser repeats, and coughs politely into his hand.
Ray wants to ask something smart about just how close you're supposed to get for that, but he doesn't want to scandalize anybody on the off chance that they do understand some English. He shuffles closer, until he can feel Fraser's chest pressing against his through their parkas. "Okay?"
"Okay." Fraser rubs his eyebrow -- real fast, so that he could just be pushing his hat out of his eyes, except Ray knows him better'n that. Something else's wrong with him -- he might be just self-conscious, except Ray's never seen him worry about other people thinking he's a freak.
"Uh, Frase? You -- "
"I'll start," Fraser says. He clears his throat, and then he does -- he parts his lips, rasps and breathes and rasps and breathes. Ray watches him for a second before he realizes that Fraser's not looking back; he's looking at Ray's left ear, probably 'cause it's not polite to watch people while they're doing this, or something. Ray's all about being polite, though, especially around Fraser, so he looks at Fraser's right ear and tries to figure out when to jump in. The pattern's real fast, almost like what Fraser might sound like if --
Uh. Maybe not exactly like that. But it's almost too fast for Ray to get his own rhythm going right -- until he shuts his eyes and just gives up on listening completely. It's easier then; he can feel Fraser's breath on his face, and all he's gotta do is breath it right in. Breathe, rasp, breathe, rasp -- and it's funny, but he still don't know what he's supposed to be laughing at. It feels good, all that rhythm and fitting together just right -- like when he used to dance with Stella, only...different. Not bad different, just -- different. Maybe good different, even. But not like tickling, or anything, and not even a little bit funny.
Suddenly Fraser chokes, and the rhythm crumbles away enough for Ray to get distracted. He opens his eyes --
--and finds Fraser's face shockingly close to his. His eyes look huge from here; Ray backs off a little, and realizes that Fraser's got them open wide, wider than Ray's ever seen them -- he looks totally shocked, and that would be funny if Ray wasn't so busy trying to figure out what the hell he's done to make Fraser look at him like that. "Fr -- "
"Ah," Fraser says, shaking himself out of it. He swallows, and cracks his neck. "I lose, then."
Had Fraser laughed? Ray hadn't heard it, but probably Fraser knows better than Ray does. "Uh. Yeah." Fraser doesn't move away; his lips are way too close to Ray's, and he's -- he's licking them. Jesus. Ray has to back off, now, before he does something stupid, never mind why he might be doing something stupid in the first place -- he knows what that weird floaty feeling in his stomach means, and he doesn't ask it any questions. At least the kids've run off, in case he doesn't manage it. "Game over, buddy, right?"
"Right you are, Ray," Fraser says -- and runs for his life.
It's not exactly a run, but it's as close to a run as anybody can manage in the soft, slightly melted snow that's left, and Ray's never seen Fraser run from anything before. Goddammit. He can't know what's going on in Ray's guts. He can't. "Fraser! Fraser! Where're you -- "
"I don't know what you're talking about, Ray," Fraser calls back. "We have to get back to camp before dark, that's all."
"What the hell're you talking about? It's nowhere near time to -- " Something clicks in the back of Ray's head. He ignores it. "Look, if you wanna get out of here, that's okay. I'm good with that." He catches up to Fraser, who slows down a little, but not much. "That throat-singing stuff's kinda -- you know -- "
"Freakish?" Fraser's face looks kinda stiff, like it does when Ray says something stupid and anti-Canadian and upsets him.
Ray starts babbling. "Yeah, that, but -- I had fun. It was fun, I admit it. I'm not -- disturbed, or anything. It was cool." Fraser's not looking any less stiff, so Ray keeps trying to explain. "I mean. If that's what Canadians do at night -- when they're not sleeping, I mean..." Ray stops and looks at Fraser, not knowing what he'd thought he was going to say. He sure doesn't seem to be helping anything. "Fraser?" If Fraser's actually pissed at him for some reason, things're gonna get pretty messy. They're in the middle of the fucking tundra. It's not like they can just stomp off in different directions and sulk, because if they do, one of them's gonna freeze to death -- probably Ray. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to, uh -- "
"Oh," Fraser says, looking up at Ray, eyebrows apologetic, "I'm not angry at you."
"Oh." Ray fumbles, because it looks like Fraser's angry with somebody, and there isn't anybody else around for him to be angry at. "You not doing that passive-attacking thing, are you?"
"Passive-aggressive, and no, I'm not." Fraser's just trudging along now, and he's maybe not looking so much pissed, anymore, as miserable.
"Then what's wrong with you?" Ray throws his hands out, exasperated. He probably looks pretty stupid -- this much winter gear muffles all his attitude, he knows now, but it's difficult to stop using it.
"I," Fraser says, and stops moving altogether. "I." He turns himself around so that he's facing Ray, and kinda -- inflates, like he's getting ready for Ray to punch him. "I," he adds, real sincere.
Ray frowns. "Yeah? What about you?"
"I," Fraser says urgently, and gives Ray a helpless look, which is just confusing -- Fraser? Helpless? No way.
"Yeah, okay, I got that part."
"You," Fraser says. "You're not -- " And he does this thing with his hand that makes Ray think about things Fraser probably doesn't want him to be thinking about.
Except why else would he be looking like -- like that? "Fraser?" Ray says slowly, and Fraser looks at him and licks the corner of his mouth.
And Ray does something stupid, because that is just the only way he ever manages to get anything important done. He says, "Oh," and then he grips Fraser's shoulders in both hands so he won't bolt, and leans in close. Closer than you need to be for throat singing. "You look like you need some air, buddy," he hears himself say, and has just half a second to think about how that is just the most idiotic pick-up line he's ever heard before his mouth's touching Fraser's. He stays there barely long enough to register that he's actually kissing Fraser, of all the crazy things he might have decided to do on this adventure, and then pulls away before anything actually interesting happens. He has to see if Fraser's about to kill him, which should probably be dealt with now instead of later.
Fraser doesn't seem to want to kill anything. "Oh," he says faintly, and puts his gloved fingers under the elastic strap of Ray's hat and into his hair.
He can't get a grip, what with the nylon, so he's pulling too hard and doesn't even know it. "Ow," Ray says, and Fraser rips his gloves off, and then Ray doesn't have anything at all to complain about -- not even a little -- which is, you know, pretty amazing all by itself.
Fraser opens his eyes and looks up at the tent ceiling, feeling somewhat peculiar. Something is different -- he can't say precisely what, but something is. He takes a quick scan of the things that should be here: Ray's breathing, slow and deep near his right ear; the dogs outside, whuffling moistly as they start to wake; his fingers and toes, all accounted for and mobile, for the moment. Fraser relaxes -- everyone seems to be all right -- and inhales fully for the first time that morning.
And then he chokes. Dear Lord. That -- that would explain what's different, certainly. He starts to wriggle out of the sleeping bag -- carefully, so as not to wake Ray -- and only then notices that the sleeping bag is far more damp than could be explained by sweat alone. He remembers, now -- remembers the throat-singing, and how Ray'd licked his lips, and -- throat-singing, for God's sake! How on earth could Fraser have known that Ray would -- and then buddy breathing, of all childish things --
Ray stirs, and Fraser abandons all pretense of care in the face of the overwhelming imperative to give Ray -- or perhaps himself -- his space. He pushes himself away as far as he can, shivering with the slight chill in the tent, and pulls his knees to his chest.
He can't understand it -- not even a little. He can't even begin to analyze Ray's motives, unless he assumes that Ray is operating under the impression that he's somehow indebted to Fraser, and that -- Fraser cannot believe that. He simply can't afford to. Certainly, Ray is alive right now mainly due to Fraser's efforts -- but then he's only here because of Fraser, too. Surely he can see that. Surely --
Ray mumbles something incoherent and sleepy, flinging a pink, long-fingered hand into the spot where Fraser's neck had been just a minute ago. Upon finding the spot empty, the hand twitches and clenches half-heartedly before returning to the warmth of the sleeping bag near Ray's chest. Fraser watches the protruding blonde spikes raptly, waiting for Ray to start kicking at his bedclothes violently, as he does every morning -- but Ray remains utterly motionless, his breathing again rhythmic and undisturbed.
Fraser manages a fond smile before remembering to admonish himself. Ray cannot possibly -- he was married. He flirts rampantly with nearly every passing female. He cannot mean this as a prelude to anything even remotely resembling a long-term relationship. He'd merely taken notice of Fraser's attraction -- Fraser had seen when Ray had finally understood -- and decided to help. He's a good friend, despite how vehemently he might deny it if Fraser were to say so. He is a good friend, and a kind man, and that is all.
Fraser cannot begin to imagine how he will bear it when Ray makes light of this.
"Fr's'r," Ray murmurs, and Fraser pulls his knees in close, trying to keep Ray asleep through sheer will power -- if Ray doesn't wake up, they won't have to discuss this; if they do not discuss this, they do not need to dismiss it. "Fr'se?" Ray lifts his head, rolls it around with sleepy smoothness, and squints at Fraser. He smiles for a moment --and then he seems to finally register Fraser's body language and goes rigid, the laxness around his eyes and mouth tightening into fine worried lines. "Okay. Okay. You freakin' out on me?"
Fraser blinks. "Wh -- "
"'Cause there's nothin' to freak out about, see. We're good. We're just like we always were."
Fraser's heart sinks. "If you like," he replies dully. It is not his place to protest.
Ray swears under his breath, kicks the sleeping bag off with the old familiar pattern -- right, left, pause, right -- and clambers over to Fraser awkwardly. "Not like that, you idiot," he hisses, slicing a hand emphatically through the air and nearly overbalancing.
Fraser rolls the words around his head, trying to deduce what Ray could possibly mean by that. Suddenly, one word sinks in. "You called me an idiot."
Ray's face starts to crumple. "I -- "
"No," Fraser breaks in, before Ray can start to apologize, "no, it's all right, it's just -- you called me an idiot."
Ray lips work soundlessly -- and then it's almost as though someone's pulled the tent flap open and let the sun shine on his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."
Fraser feels the corners of his mouth start to turn up. He suspects he's been thinking too much, again. "Do you mean -- "
"Yeah," Ray says, grinning, and puts his sweaty palms on either side of Fraser's face. "You're an idiot," he breathes again.
"So are you," Fraser replies, smiling wryly.
"And you're a goddamn freak."
Ray's mouth is close, and Fraser can think of a wide variety of things he might be able to do under those circumstances -- but he refrains, suspecting that Ray has his own plans. "Certainly."
"And you're such a fucking girl."
Fraser blinks. "I beg your pardon?"
One of Ray's hands wanders over the nape of Fraser's neck. "Shouldn'ta had to talk to you this much, right after waking up," he explains, trying to look disgruntled and only managing to look like a twelve-year-old.
"Ah. Well," Fraser says, "that certainly does explain rather a lot."
Ray frowns, looking like himself again. "Just shut up and kiss me, okay?" he says finally, pushing his fingers into Fraser's hair -- and because he can't think of any appropriately compelling reason not to, Fraser does.
"Benton?" Ray says timidly, some time later.
"Yes, Stanley?"
Ray elbows Fraser gently in the side. "I hate that. You know I hate that. Why -- " Fraser blinks at Ray pointedly. "Oh. You hate being called Benton?"
"Well, I wouldn't say I hate it, but it does bring back some rather vivid memories of my grandmother, a toothbrush, and a bathtub -- "
Ray winces. "Okay. Not Benton." He thinks for a while, tracing abstract invisible patterns over Fraser's ribs. "Ben?"
"Yes, Ray?"
"Mmm," Ray says, to indicate that he understands. "Your wolf's lying on my arm."
"Ah. I had wondered where your other hand had gotten to."
"I think we should teach him a thing or two about privacy."
Fraser smiles. "I doubt that will have any significant effect."
Ray gives Fraser a sly look. "You think a lock'd persuade him?"
"Hmm," Fraser says, to indicate that he understands this as well. "All right."
Ray sits up abruptly. "Hey, wait -- you mean it? You'll move in with me?"
Fraser shrugs. "Why not?" He can't think of any reason not to, after all, though he might come up with some later. But later is later, and now is now -- and just now, Ray looks to be an unprecedented level of ecstatic.
"Yeah? Okay, cool. Uh." Ray dribbles his fingers on the sleeping bag. "I'm gonna." He jerks his thumb toward the tent flap. "Go gloat some."
"All right." Ray bolts out of the tent before Fraser can say anything more. "But you might want to put something -- "
"Fuck, that's cold!" A pause. "What? What're you dogs staring at? You've got nuts too, you know." Another pause. "Aw, shut up."
--fin