Notes: Written for the ds_flashfiction badfic challenge. Joandarck has written sequels, which can be found here and here. Glee!
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"Knock knock, I come bearing beer," Ray said from the doorway, one hand holding up said sixpack while the other draped seductively across the doorframe.
Fraser mentally rewound that sentence and crossed out seductively. Number one, hands could not be seductive on their own, however much Ray's liked to try. Number two, Ray was not seductive in any way, shape, or form, because Ray was his partner. His very American, very straight partner, and therefore was the complete opposite of seductive.
And number three, Ray was looking at him with that expression that said that Fraser had been staring at him for way too long.
"You shouldn't be here, Ray," he said finally, earning him the exasperated oh, hey, Fraser's lost it look he had become so accustomed to.
"Let me guess," Ray said, stepping into the office and planting the beers on the desk. "You're a danger to yourself and others, and you must not be allowed within a hundred feet of me because I'll die a horrendous and painful death."
Well, when he put it that way, it sounded positively absurd.
"I put you in jeopardy this afternoon," he said, and Ray rolled his eyes.
"Jeopardy, schmepardy," he said. "Frase, you've put me in jeopardy every day since I met you. How is this any different?"
"It is different, Ray," Fraser said. "These are not your garden variety Chicago muggers we're dealing with here."
"No. They're dangerous mutants who can morph metal with a wave of their hands, and read our minds, and control the weather, and probably turn into freaking polar bears for all I know. And they're after you because it turns out that you are Super Mountie after all, just like we all thought you were right from the beginning. And you know what, Fraser? I. Don't. Care. You think that some super mutant crazies are gonna make me stop loving you? Well screw that."
The world came to a screeching halt for a while, and Fraser spent that time blinking at Ray, then opening and closing his mouth for a few minutes, and then blinking some more.
"Beer?" Ray offered when the world began again.
"Stop what, Ray?" Fraser managed to get out finally, and he watched Ray's throat as he tipped his head back to drink one of the beers, imagining how the skin would taste right in that spot where neck met shoulder.
"Loving you, Frase," Ray told him when he finished licking his lips. "Beer?" he offered again, holding one out.
"I don't drink," Fraser said absently, watching the way Ray's fingers curved gently around the bottle, and thinking that maybe hands could be seductive after all.
"Fraser, you've spent the day being chased around Chicago by not one but two groups of nutso mutants. You've been in the middle of two twenty-car pileups, one inferno, one freak tornado, and, if I'm not mistaken, you've been stalked by a crazy blue guy who can disappear into a puff of smoke at will. If anyone deserves a beer today, Fraser, it's you." He popped the top off the bottle and stuffed it into Fraser's hand, then perched on the edge of the desk and watched him until he took a sip.
"Thank you, Ray," was all Fraser could think of to say, and even that was rather miraculous, seeing that he wasn't quite sure if his brain was connecting to the rest of him at the moment.
"No problem, Fraser buddy," Ray said, picking up his bottle again. "You know why I do it, right?"
Fraser could feel his face heating up. "Because�you�love me?" he ventured.
"Well, that too," Ray agreed. "But I was thinking more along the lines of getting you drunk, taking you home, and having my wicked way with you."
Fraser choked on his beer in a less than dignified manner. "You. I. Really?"
A glint of something Fraser couldn't quite name flickered in Ray's eyes. "You have no idea."
"Well, I�I can't say I'd be averse to that idea, Ray," he said, and then Ray was leaning down to kiss him, and his mouth tasted like beer and mints, and when Fraser closed his eyes he was falling, sliding into a sweet dark nothingness.
He hadn't kissed all that many people in his life, but he was reasonably sure that unconsciousness wasn't supposed to be a side effect. Of course, by the time that thought crossed his mind, he was too far gone to care.
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Mystique poured the last of Fraser's beer down the sink in the bathroom. "Took you long enough to drink it," she muttered at his unconscious body as she stepped back into the office.
This Mountie was turning out to be far more trouble than he was worth.
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A lot of strange things happen in the dead of a Chicago night, and if anyone was there to witness Constable Turnbull leaving the Canadian consulate dragging a suspiciously large suitcase at three in the morning, no one thought that it was strange enough to comment on.
TO BE CONTINUED
Stay tuned for the next chapter, when Logan and Dief face off!