F/K ficlet, PG
Note: this kind of goes with this, at least in mood. I think I'm calling this tiny series Atmospherics, although I don't know if there will be any more.
It's bitterly, viciously cold outside, and Fraser is worried. Ray went out to feed the dogs. The last glimpse of him Fraser got was a thin shadow in mittens, fighting its way through the driving snow. In the aftermath of a few (dozen) screaming fights, Fraser had resolved to refrain from worrying about Ray so much - at least, out loud - but it never stops being hard during storms like this, not to stifle Ray's independence, not to keep him bundled safe indoors.
His world is so harsh, so unfriendly to strangers, especially now in the bite of winter, and even after four years in the Northwest Territories, it is easy to forget that Ray isn't a stranger anymore. He's made amazing strides, for someone who once declared that he broke out in hives if he left the city, and sometimes Fraser is so filled with joy in him, in his accomplishments, that he feels like a proud father. But then Ray moves, and all paternal feeling flees. He has lost none of his quicksilver Chicago charm.
Fraser has mostly stopped worrying that Ray won't be able to handle Canada.
There's a thump from outside, and Ray appears in the doorway like a mobile snowman, his eyelashes crusted with ice. Relief wells up in Fraser's heart, and he crosses quickly to his lover's side to help him take off his wet clothes. He waits until Ray is stripped down to his undershirt, all his outerwear hanging neatly from the line by the woodstove, before he takes Ray into his arms and kisses the ice crystals from his eyes.
It's bitterly, viciously cold outside, and Fraser is worried. Ray went out to feed the dogs. The last glimpse of him Fraser got was a thin shadow in mittens, fighting its way through the driving snow. In the aftermath of a few (dozen) screaming fights, Fraser had resolved to refrain from worrying about Ray so much - at least, out loud - but it never stops being hard during storms like this, not to stifle Ray's independence, not to keep him bundled safe indoors.
His world is so harsh, so unfriendly to strangers, especially now in the bite of winter, and even after four years in the Northwest Territories, it is easy to forget that Ray isn't a stranger anymore. He's made amazing strides, for someone who once declared that he broke out in hives if he left the city, and sometimes Fraser is so filled with joy in him, in his accomplishments, that he feels like a proud father. But then Ray moves, and all paternal feeling flees. He has lost none of his quicksilver Chicago charm.
Fraser has mostly stopped worrying that Ray won't be able to handle Canada.
There's a thump from outside, and Ray appears in the doorway like a mobile snowman, his eyelashes crusted with ice. Relief wells up in Fraser's heart, and he crosses quickly to his lover's side to help him take off his wet clothes. He waits until Ray is stripped down to his undershirt, all his outerwear hanging neatly from the line by the woodstove, before he takes Ray into his arms and kisses the ice crystals from his eyes.