Fic!
This is for kanzenhanzai , on the glooooorious occasion of her birthday.
It's 870 words, with RayK/OFC, RayK/Fraser, and it's rated PG. Enjoy!
Five Unexpected Moments Kowalksi Actually Expected (but Fraser Didn't)"
1
“She’s gonna make a pass at you,” he tells Fraser, who’s still frowning from his last encounter with the office supplies rep. “I bet you 10 air.”
Fraser looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “A pass? How does one make a pass?”
Ray just grins- he knows what Fraser understands and what he doesn’t. “Do you take the bet?”
“Well, I can afford it, considering how much air you’ve kindly provided me with.”
No one person should be that good at poker while still pretending not to know what’s going on. He smiles his shark smile and shakes on it. “You might know your aces from your kings, but I know people.”
Fraser’s expression is humoring, and Ray half feels like arguing with him as they step out onto the street. Every time he does that, though, he sort of slides off of the argument, gets too angry, and Fraser becomes distant and polite and it gets real unfriendly until the next time one of them nearly dies.
The next time she comes in, she’s got a bunch of flowers, and Fraser somehow ends up in the supply closet with her. He claims it was to discuss staples, but he has a hickey. He swoops down 10 air onto Ray’s desk, and ignores his cackling. She’s pretty, the supplies rep, slightly shy- she avoids eye contact sometimes- but she has great legs and a crooked way of smiling that tugs at his heart a little.
He meets her in the bar near his apartment the next week, and they get talking. He doesn’t quite know why he kisses her, but later, in his apartment her legs wrap around him and her moans are breathy, and her hands clench around his bedsheets, and it’s almost enough. She snuffles a little as she sleeps, and when he brings her coffee in the morning, she practically inhales it. Neither of them mention Fraser.
2
He knows Welsh is in a bad mood, but doesn’t tell Fraser. He’s developed a sixth sense when it comes to Welsh’s limited mood span, and this is closer to homicidal than impatient. Fraser wants to ask about a case, some procedural niggle that’s vitally important to him, but not to normal people. Welsh’s door is open, and Ray considers trying to dissuade him. Instead, because this is going to be entertaining, he writes ‘Welsh is in a shitty mood’ and the time on a piece of paper, puts it on the desk, face down, then follows Fraser into the office.
Fifteen minutes and a great deal of impressively controlled rage later, Fraser follows him back to his desk, looking mildly stunned. Without saying a word, he turns over the piece of paper, points to it. The side of Fraser’s mouth twitches. Ray grins, slings his arm around Fraser’s shoulders and steers him to the canteen. “C’mon, I hear sweet tea’s good for a shock,” he says. Fraser allows himself to be led off. He doesn’t say ‘I told you so,’ because he didn’t.
3
He doesn’t know what it is about the Mountie with the scuff on his left boot that alerted Ray, but he’s jumping him at the exact moment he pulls the gun on Fraser. It is snowing, and the ground’s cold. The gunshot rings out in the muffled air, pinging off a streetlight and burying itself in a doorframe. Fraser’s face is pale, lips and uniform red, hair black against the stark backdrop. For a split second, he looks furious, deadly, with a resolve that scares the shit out of Ray, then he’s back to looking concerned and helping Ray arrest the guy.
“I thought-“
He breaks off. The officer arresting the impostor Mountie assassin shuts the door, sketches a lazy salute. Fraser looks at him, checking for injuries, a slight frown still on his face.
“Not even a scrape,” Ray reassures him.
“How did you know?”
Ray thinks for a moment. “His boots weren’t shiny enough. You’re all weird about your boots.”
“I assume that by ‘weird’ you mean fastidious, Ray.”
Ray’s wet and cold, and he knocked his knee in his flying tackle. He’s too tired for talking. “Yeah, that must have been it. Now you should take me home and feed me soup.”
He does.
4
Office supplies rep smiles at Ray, and doesn’t try and get her hands into Fraser’s Mountie pants. The rest of the day, Fraser keeps starting questions he doesn’t finish. Ray just keeps quiet.
5
He kisses Fraser at 4:38 A.M. Fraser’s almost too tired to stand up straight- they had just been on a stake out, followed by some stupidly lengthy hostage negotiations. His eyes keep slipping shut, his hair’s slightly tousled and there’s a bruise on his left cheekbone. He looks human, vulnerable, and Ray just can’t help it, can’t help wanting. He kisses him in the doorway of the consulate, half in Chicago, half in Canada, trying to show him everything, every beautiful unexpected thing, the times he’s seen him angry, scared, petty, brave, good, kind. Fraser pulls him back into Canada, closes the door. Kisses him back. It’s almost a surprise.
It's 870 words, with RayK/OFC, RayK/Fraser, and it's rated PG. Enjoy!
Five Unexpected Moments Kowalksi Actually Expected (but Fraser Didn't)"
1
“She’s gonna make a pass at you,” he tells Fraser, who’s still frowning from his last encounter with the office supplies rep. “I bet you 10 air.”
Fraser looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “A pass? How does one make a pass?”
Ray just grins- he knows what Fraser understands and what he doesn’t. “Do you take the bet?”
“Well, I can afford it, considering how much air you’ve kindly provided me with.”
No one person should be that good at poker while still pretending not to know what’s going on. He smiles his shark smile and shakes on it. “You might know your aces from your kings, but I know people.”
Fraser’s expression is humoring, and Ray half feels like arguing with him as they step out onto the street. Every time he does that, though, he sort of slides off of the argument, gets too angry, and Fraser becomes distant and polite and it gets real unfriendly until the next time one of them nearly dies.
The next time she comes in, she’s got a bunch of flowers, and Fraser somehow ends up in the supply closet with her. He claims it was to discuss staples, but he has a hickey. He swoops down 10 air onto Ray’s desk, and ignores his cackling. She’s pretty, the supplies rep, slightly shy- she avoids eye contact sometimes- but she has great legs and a crooked way of smiling that tugs at his heart a little.
He meets her in the bar near his apartment the next week, and they get talking. He doesn’t quite know why he kisses her, but later, in his apartment her legs wrap around him and her moans are breathy, and her hands clench around his bedsheets, and it’s almost enough. She snuffles a little as she sleeps, and when he brings her coffee in the morning, she practically inhales it. Neither of them mention Fraser.
2
He knows Welsh is in a bad mood, but doesn’t tell Fraser. He’s developed a sixth sense when it comes to Welsh’s limited mood span, and this is closer to homicidal than impatient. Fraser wants to ask about a case, some procedural niggle that’s vitally important to him, but not to normal people. Welsh’s door is open, and Ray considers trying to dissuade him. Instead, because this is going to be entertaining, he writes ‘Welsh is in a shitty mood’ and the time on a piece of paper, puts it on the desk, face down, then follows Fraser into the office.
Fifteen minutes and a great deal of impressively controlled rage later, Fraser follows him back to his desk, looking mildly stunned. Without saying a word, he turns over the piece of paper, points to it. The side of Fraser’s mouth twitches. Ray grins, slings his arm around Fraser’s shoulders and steers him to the canteen. “C’mon, I hear sweet tea’s good for a shock,” he says. Fraser allows himself to be led off. He doesn’t say ‘I told you so,’ because he didn’t.
3
He doesn’t know what it is about the Mountie with the scuff on his left boot that alerted Ray, but he’s jumping him at the exact moment he pulls the gun on Fraser. It is snowing, and the ground’s cold. The gunshot rings out in the muffled air, pinging off a streetlight and burying itself in a doorframe. Fraser’s face is pale, lips and uniform red, hair black against the stark backdrop. For a split second, he looks furious, deadly, with a resolve that scares the shit out of Ray, then he’s back to looking concerned and helping Ray arrest the guy.
“I thought-“
He breaks off. The officer arresting the impostor Mountie assassin shuts the door, sketches a lazy salute. Fraser looks at him, checking for injuries, a slight frown still on his face.
“Not even a scrape,” Ray reassures him.
“How did you know?”
Ray thinks for a moment. “His boots weren’t shiny enough. You’re all weird about your boots.”
“I assume that by ‘weird’ you mean fastidious, Ray.”
Ray’s wet and cold, and he knocked his knee in his flying tackle. He’s too tired for talking. “Yeah, that must have been it. Now you should take me home and feed me soup.”
He does.
4
Office supplies rep smiles at Ray, and doesn’t try and get her hands into Fraser’s Mountie pants. The rest of the day, Fraser keeps starting questions he doesn’t finish. Ray just keeps quiet.
5
He kisses Fraser at 4:38 A.M. Fraser’s almost too tired to stand up straight- they had just been on a stake out, followed by some stupidly lengthy hostage negotiations. His eyes keep slipping shut, his hair’s slightly tousled and there’s a bruise on his left cheekbone. He looks human, vulnerable, and Ray just can’t help it, can’t help wanting. He kisses him in the doorway of the consulate, half in Chicago, half in Canada, trying to show him everything, every beautiful unexpected thing, the times he’s seen him angry, scared, petty, brave, good, kind. Fraser pulls him back into Canada, closes the door. Kisses him back. It’s almost a surprise.