Oh, The Places You'll Go

Team Romance Love Bombs

Notes: During the 2007 ds_match, Team Romance started to feel sorry for their angst-muffin opponents. They decided to cheer them up with puppies, joy and romance, all packaged up in little anonymous love bombs. These are my contributions.


To simplystars

Fraser leant against the doorframe, a smile playing across his face as he looked at the two blonde heads snuggled closely together in the bed. Emily must have had another bad dream. He conceded now that Ray had probably been right and that he shouldn't have answered Emily's query about polar bears with such honesty.

So he would be going to bed alone again tonight, but he knew that sometime before dawn, Ray would come creeping in, pressing his cold feet up against Fraser's warm skin (child-sized beds were not conducive to warm adult extremities) and wrapping his arms around Fraser's waist until they were snuggled as close as Emily and Ray were now. Closer.

The wild, passionate love-making across every available surface had mostly been replaced by quick, quiet embraces in bed, tender and fierce, murmurs and gasps replacing shouts and moans. There were no dates because baby sitters were hard to come by so far out of town, no romance in the traditional sense of the word but Fraser had never been happier. Love was always love, whatever trappings were hung on it. And in love Fraser was the richest man in the world.


To hyperfocused

Ray wasn't kidding when he said Fraser moved like a block of wood. So it must be love. Because Fraser was in the goddamn moshpit with him doing some weird kind of movement as Grohl belted out 'Learn to Fly' which Ray could only figure was a Canadian version of rocking out. No humans or otters were harmed in the so-called dancing and every now and then Fraser would turn and look at Ray with this half-excited, half-questioning look on his face. Asking if he was doing it right.

And then Ray would pause mid-leap and twist and wonder exactly how he was supposed to not stick his tongue down Fraser's throat and his hand down Fraser's pants for the next hour or so. Anyone else but Fraser 'dancing' next to him like that and Ray would have been oh so subtly letting the crowd split them up. Him? With me? Don't you see how I move? But Fraser was here where he didn't want to be because he loved Ray and damned if Ray was going to move more than a foot from his side. Ever.

Fraser looked at him again.

"You're doing great, Frase!" Ray yelled.

Fraser's eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head in the universal sorry what? gesture.

Screw it, thought Ray and leaned close, talking with his lips in his favorite way. He could feel the music flowing through them both. Him, Fraser and Grohl and the band. Who could ask for more?


To akamine_chan

What Ray failed to take into the equation is that Fraser is a liar too — tried and tested. And so it takes him a while to work through what happened between the two of them, why Ray, who had been unconsciously saying one thing for weeks, months then turned on a sixpence (as his grandmother used to say) and denied the truth that lay between them. He's used to Ray's mercurial nature, loves it in point of fact, but this is quixotic even for him.

The light finally dawns, ironically, in the darkest hours of the night and Fraser finds himself outside Ray's apartment, no longer polite, but hammering the door hard to be allowed entrance.

Ray opens the door, bleary-eyed, but Fraser can tell that he hasn't been sleeping. He overrides the instinct to ask for admittance and instead takes Ray by the shoulders, pushing him backwards into the apartment. Fraser catches the door with his heel and swings it shut.

Ray looks like he's working himself up for a good fight but Fraser sees it. The tiny spark of hope in Ray's eyes.

He shoves at Ray, maneuvering him towards the couch.

"This is pushing, Ray," he says. "I can do it with my hands, with my mouth, with anything you want but it will be to draw you closer, not push you away."

He feels some of the tension go out from Ray's shoulders.

"Frase, I ... It's impossible." His voice is pleading with Fraser to make that not true.

"Nothing's impossible, Ray. Nothing. You set 'em up, I knock 'em down. Remember?"

Ray nods, dumb.

"Where there's a will, there's a way." Fraser allows himself a smile now.

"We can work it out?"

"I believe there ain't no mountain high enough."

Fraser pushes a little harder and Ray collapses on the couch, Fraser falling on top of him, showering sweet kisses on every part of Ray he can reach. This is all the home he needs.


To jamethiel_bane

When I look at him I don't see the bag-lady clothes and the hair that's trying too hard to have an attitude. I don't see the scowl and the fuck-you look in his eyes. I see hope. I see what the future could be for us if he'd just shut the hell up already and let it happen.

See, we fit, Kowalski and me. I made a list and checked it all off. Crappy job. Check. Sexy-but-scary ex-wife. Check. Crazy beautiful ex-partner. Check. There's a whole bunch of other stuff too, the stuff that says yeah I'm damaged goods and so are you and we could make it on our own — tough guys, that's us — but how much better would it be if we were in this together?

I see it sometimes when he thinks I'm not looking. His eyes get hot and far away but he's right there, right with me, staring at me like he can't get enough, like he hasn't had enough of being Ray Vecchio for one lifetime, like he wants to climb right inside me, be with me, become part of me.

I see it sometimes when I'm bitching about the way he hasn't filled in this bit of paperwork or how he interviewed that perp all wrong and he doesn't bitch back, just flashes me that beautiful smile of his, pats my cheek and agrees with me. Then, of course, I do whatever he wanted in the first place. I think I'm being handled. I like that.

I see it sometimes when we're out on the job. Maybe we're hunkered down behind a municipal dumpster with guys shooting at us who aren't so fussy about which body parts they hit. These days he always puts his glasses on and he never lets me shoot first.

He knows it too.

And one day soon I'm gonna lean in and touch my lips to his and let him know that the future is ours. The hope? He can have it. He can have me.


To isiscolo

He'd shoved Ray out of the bedroom, locking the door behind him. He never locked the door.

"C'mon," Ray had crooned through the wood. "Ma will kill us if we're late."

"Horses. Hold 'em."

So Ray had. His horses were well and truly held. Stabled, fed with oats, the whole enchilada.

And now he hears the lock turn and he looks up from his seat on the couch to see Kowalski leaning against the door frame dressed head to foot in a dark navy suit that has very definitely seen a sheep at some point in the past. Ray feels his jaw drop, he can't help himself. God, Kowalski is beautiful. And Ray isn't just thinking of his outsides.

"You did this for me?" Ray asks.

Kowalski shrugs and smiles, slow and steady. It makes Ray grateful he's already sitting down.

"You gotta do these things right, Vecchio. Meeting the family, that's important."

"But you met them, like a million times. You were me, remember?"

"Yeah," says Kowalski, advancing towards Ray, fingers twitching at his tie. "But, you know, I wasn't asking for my own hand in marriage, was I?"

Ray's jaw drops again. He can swear he feels it hitting his knees. He manages to get out some kind of reply but it's definitely not in English. Kowalski nods anyway, face serious now. He holds out his hand to Ray and cocks his head to one side, questioning.

Ray reaches out and clasps Kowalski's hand.

"We'd better get going," he says. "You gotta offer Ma camels or something."

"I was thinking maybe she could pay me to take you off her hands."

"Keep thinking, tough guy."

Ray brings their clasped hands to his mouth and kisses Kowalski's knuckles, slipping a little bit of tongue in there because there's such a thing as too much sap. He lets his eyes say all the other stuff he can't quite squeeze out and he sees Kowalski get it.

They're a little late for dinner.


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