Breakroom
18 Dec 2001
Rating: Does a kiss get a PG rating these days?
Notes: This snippet won't go anywhere, but I like what I've got. I nearly called this "Clock".
Disclaimer: They belong to Alliance.
Ray quickly checked the corridor outside the break room before shutting the door and moving back to Fraser's side at the fridge. "Listen, clock me if I'm wrong, but I don't think I am. I think you want this. I know I want this."
"This?"
With one more glance at the door, Ray leaned into Fraser's space. Deep into it. So far into it that their chests were touching. He wrapped his arms around Fraser, rubbed his stubble against Fraser's cheek. "This," he whispered in Fraser's ear.
He turned his head, tilted it, kissed Fraser gently, drily, a featherdown of a kiss, on the lips. And waited.
Fraser had frozen when Ray's arms went round him, held as still as a rabbit when a hawk's shadow passes. After Ray's lips touched his, he stepped back until his back was against the refrigerator door. He looked surprised, but not overly shocked. But then, this was Fraser, master of the good front.
Ray let him go. Stepped back himself. Chin up, ready to take a punch.
The door opened and Frannie stuck her head in, "What," she said, inexplicably. "Am I interrupting something private?"
"No," Ray answered, at the same time Fraser said, "Yes." The both looked at her.
"Right," she answered and closed the door again. A moment later, she knocked.
"One moment, please." Fraser called. "Ray, I. . . " he trailed off.
The clock was ticking, and Ray was painfully aware that half of Major Crimes could be listening at the door by now. "Look, Fraser, way I see it, you've only got three choices here: you can say yes, you can say no, you can hit me as a way of saying 'hell no' but without the unMountielike swearing. Which is it?"
His face was painful to look at. So open, for once. "Not no…."
"But?"
"I need some time. Could we possibly. . ."
"Yeah. I'll pick you up after work. Meanwhile, you do that -- " his hand circled near his head, in a gesture that could mean "thinking" or "crazy as a loon".
"Yes," Fraser agreed.
"But don't, you know, -- " he gestured again, something closer to pulling his hair, which perhaps meant "freak out" or "I've just bitten into a Scotch Bonnet pepper, please call the bomb squad."
"Ah. Well. I can't promise not to--" Fraser mimicked the last gesture.
"Gentlemen, this isn't a private office!" Welsh barged in and crossed to the coffee machine. "If you need a discreet chat, what's wrong with the supply closet?"
