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justbreathe80.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ds_recsredux2006-10-18 10:58 pm
justbreathe80.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_recsredux2006-10-18 10:58 pm
Untitled
Title: Untitled
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sprat
Pairing F/K
Rating: NC-17
Length: short
Why I'm reccing this fic: Sprat is an absolutely amazing writer, and I would recommend everything she's ever written. But if there's something she does exceptionally well, it's voices. Her Ray voice is exquisite, and I would go as far as to say that there are no better Ray voices out there. This little piece is Fraser POV, and proves that her talent with HEARING them isn't just with Ray, but with Fraser too. This is hot and lovely and SO Fraser and I just adore it.
The next day, everything is the same as it always is. Fraser works at the Consulate until three o'clock, then finds his way to the station. Ray is at his desk, feet propped amidst a towering pile of overdue reports and sandwich wrappers, phone receiver cradled between his shoulder and his ear. He lifts his eyebrows when he sees Fraser, does his minimalist, backward nod. Fraser nods back and takes the chair next to Ray's desk. Taps his knuckles against the toe of Ray's nearest boot.
Ray rolls his eyes, but he takes his feet off the desk and puts them on the floor, sits a little straighter in his chair. He's still listening to whomever it is on the telephone; he lifts his eyes to Fraser's, holds up a single finger: one minute. Fraser nods and sits back in the chair, Stetson on his knees. He keeps his eyes on Ray's face, watches as Ray's gaze goes distant and inward again, his attention moving back to the phone conversation. Watches as Ray nods agreement with the caller, remembers he can't be seen, says "yeah, yeah," in a quiet encouraging tone. Ray's eyes are very blue today. He is wearing a sweatshirt and his holster. He smells like dryer sheets and the soap he uses, like coffee and hot-dog relish and a sweet undertone of candy. Fraser feels his fingers clench too hard around the brim of his hat. He lifts his own gaze to the window. Sunny today, but still cool. He thinks of the way the ground felt under his boots as he crossed the park on his way here. Tries to calculate how many inches of thawed earth cover the remaining winter frost.
Untitled
Author:
spratPairing F/K
Rating: NC-17
Length: short
Why I'm reccing this fic: Sprat is an absolutely amazing writer, and I would recommend everything she's ever written. But if there's something she does exceptionally well, it's voices. Her Ray voice is exquisite, and I would go as far as to say that there are no better Ray voices out there. This little piece is Fraser POV, and proves that her talent with HEARING them isn't just with Ray, but with Fraser too. This is hot and lovely and SO Fraser and I just adore it.
The next day, everything is the same as it always is. Fraser works at the Consulate until three o'clock, then finds his way to the station. Ray is at his desk, feet propped amidst a towering pile of overdue reports and sandwich wrappers, phone receiver cradled between his shoulder and his ear. He lifts his eyebrows when he sees Fraser, does his minimalist, backward nod. Fraser nods back and takes the chair next to Ray's desk. Taps his knuckles against the toe of Ray's nearest boot.
Ray rolls his eyes, but he takes his feet off the desk and puts them on the floor, sits a little straighter in his chair. He's still listening to whomever it is on the telephone; he lifts his eyes to Fraser's, holds up a single finger: one minute. Fraser nods and sits back in the chair, Stetson on his knees. He keeps his eyes on Ray's face, watches as Ray's gaze goes distant and inward again, his attention moving back to the phone conversation. Watches as Ray nods agreement with the caller, remembers he can't be seen, says "yeah, yeah," in a quiet encouraging tone. Ray's eyes are very blue today. He is wearing a sweatshirt and his holster. He smells like dryer sheets and the soap he uses, like coffee and hot-dog relish and a sweet undertone of candy. Fraser feels his fingers clench too hard around the brim of his hat. He lifts his own gaze to the window. Sunny today, but still cool. He thinks of the way the ground felt under his boots as he crossed the park on his way here. Tries to calculate how many inches of thawed earth cover the remaining winter frost.
Untitled
no subject