hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-09-02 12:32 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-09-02 12:32 pm
Work with me here, people.
Jesus Christ is in talks to play Superman. *waits for punchline* *locusts chirp*
Moving on... Clearly the only way to get over a writing issue is to get it drunk, take it home and screw it until neither one of you has any muscle control left... hence, the Fraser POV.
due South
Minor Inconveniences (un-beta’d)
The first sign of something being wrong was the slight hitch in Fraser's writing. One moment his handwriting was sure and firm, the red ink filling form 6904-Z with just a slight slant to the left, and then there was an extra 'a' in 'malfeasant' that didn't belong, and he had to stop what he was doing and investigate. And then it happened again, not the hitching, but the muscle spasm that hadn't been there before.
Fraser couldn't recall ever having a twitch, and the sensation was somewhat jarring. He had had an itch before, certainly, the serge was somewhat uncomfortable around his wrists on occasion and his jodhpurs weren't always terribly pleasant to run in, but a twitch, no.
If someone had asked previously, he wouldn't have been able to say he could identify a twitch were he to have one; but now that he was experiencing the sensation in his bicep, he knew it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. It was indeed a twitch... in his arm.
So this was what Ray felt like all the time.
The compulsion was astounding.
Fraser couldn’t actually help but stare as his muscle jumped over and over again of its own volition, an action only slightly visible to the discerning eye, and then it just stopped -- but the damage had been done. Fraser had twitched, and now all he could think about was his twitching and Ray’s twitching, because Ray was full of twitches: inside the GTO, beating on the dashboard, and during stakeouts, and in his sleep. The way he snuffled and tossed and turned reminded Fraser somewhat of Diefenbaker when he was having an unpleasant dream.
From there it was a slippery slope to thinking about, well, the slope of Ray's back. From his shoulders to the small of his back, to the rise of his buttocks and the curve of skin before it met Ray's thigh, and Fraser had to push his stack of forms aside and go for a walk to cool down.
When Dief rose to accompany him, Fraser shook his head. “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “It’s just a short walk.”
Dief barked twice and yipped once.
“No, I am not going to bring you back donuts.”
Dief whined.
“Yes, but I’m not going to see Ray.”
When Dief snorted, Fraser frowned. “Sarcasm is not going to get you anywhere with me,” he said adjusting his Stetson before stepping out.
*
The second sign of something being wrong occurred thirty-eight minutes later when Fraser walked through the front door of the two-seven and collided with Dewey coming out with an elderly lady in handcuffs in tow.
Fraser held the door for the detective and wound up getting kicked in the shin by the lady who declared that she wasn’t old enough for Santa to start holding doors for her. Fraser was accustomed to being judged unfairly, but the lady had had rather pointy shoes and she’d pegged him right in the shin. He hadn’t been blindsided so viciously by a woman since, well, a lot more recently than he cared to consider, but his shinbone throbbed as he made his way over to where Ray was eating a sandwich at his desk.
The scent of peanut butter hung heavily around Ray’s head, and Fraser paused for a moment to try and gather his thoughts, which seemed to have taken a decidedly lascivious turn.
One moment he was dwelling on a shin injury, or possible hairline fracture, and the next he was imagining Ray, naked, and a jar of peanut butter. Surely the peanut butter would get stuck in uncomfortable crevices and require considerable time and soap in the shower, which was not necessarily a bad thing, but Fraser had no idea how to get peanut butter out of cotton sheets.
All the same, Ray smeared in peanut butter was a formidable idea.
“…aser? Fraser? Benton!”
Fraser started as Ray wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Ray, did you need something?”
“You all right there?” Ray asked licking his lower lip.
“Of course,” Fraser said, but when he reached up to smooth out his eyebrow, his eye began to twitch.
*
By that evening, Fraser didn’t need any further signs, but as Ray moved underneath him, his body slick with sweat and saliva and various other things, Fraser realized what the problem really was, and then he promptly forgot it as Ray continued to stroke himself to orgasm.
The sight of Ray flushing and gasping made a muscle in Fraser’s thigh twitch, and his orgasm ripped through him somewhat prematurely. Ray’s body arced into what surely was a painful position, however, the indolent smile Ray gave Fraser as he pulled away and stretched out alongside him said differently.
Fraser was silent for some time as Ray pushed and pulled and generally moved them out of the wet spot. Finally he spoke up. “Ray, I believe you’ve corrupted me.”
Ray paused in wiping down his stomach with his discarded shirt. “Corrupted you?” he said. “Me?”
“Yes.”
Several emotions flittered across Ray’s face before he stopped at disbelief. “Fraser, how did -- what – who told you that I was corruptin’ you?”
“… with sex,” Fraser added.
“I’m corrupting you with sex?” Ray repeated slowly.
“Yes, that’s obviously why my muscles have begun contracting on their own, ‘twitching’ I believe you call it.”
“I’m corrupting you by making you twitch, and you think it’s the sex?”
It was clear by the tone of Ray’s voice that he wasn’t quite following Fraser’s train of thought, but the tiny smile that turned up the corners of his mouth apparently didn’t mind.
“Obviously it’s the mark of good sex,” Fraser said thoughtfully. “And I suppose that everyone must accept some minor inconveniences.”
Ray stared, and under such intensity Fraser couldn’t help but laugh. Ray threw the waded-up shirt at him. “You don’t fool me, Fraser, I always knew you were one of them dirty-minded Mounties.”
“I assure you that I have no idea what you’re referring to, Ray.” Fraser shifted to make room for Ray. “All Mounties abide by strict hygienic guidelines.”
Ray rolled his eyes as he pulled up the sheets. “Hardy-har-har, you’re really funny, you know that?”
Fraser yawned. “So I’ve been told.”
-end-
Improv: jump, inside, peanut butter, red ink, corrupt. For A and H.
Moving on... Clearly the only way to get over a writing issue is to get it drunk, take it home and screw it until neither one of you has any muscle control left... hence, the Fraser POV.
due South
Minor Inconveniences (un-beta’d)
The first sign of something being wrong was the slight hitch in Fraser's writing. One moment his handwriting was sure and firm, the red ink filling form 6904-Z with just a slight slant to the left, and then there was an extra 'a' in 'malfeasant' that didn't belong, and he had to stop what he was doing and investigate. And then it happened again, not the hitching, but the muscle spasm that hadn't been there before.
Fraser couldn't recall ever having a twitch, and the sensation was somewhat jarring. He had had an itch before, certainly, the serge was somewhat uncomfortable around his wrists on occasion and his jodhpurs weren't always terribly pleasant to run in, but a twitch, no.
If someone had asked previously, he wouldn't have been able to say he could identify a twitch were he to have one; but now that he was experiencing the sensation in his bicep, he knew it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. It was indeed a twitch... in his arm.
So this was what Ray felt like all the time.
The compulsion was astounding.
Fraser couldn’t actually help but stare as his muscle jumped over and over again of its own volition, an action only slightly visible to the discerning eye, and then it just stopped -- but the damage had been done. Fraser had twitched, and now all he could think about was his twitching and Ray’s twitching, because Ray was full of twitches: inside the GTO, beating on the dashboard, and during stakeouts, and in his sleep. The way he snuffled and tossed and turned reminded Fraser somewhat of Diefenbaker when he was having an unpleasant dream.
From there it was a slippery slope to thinking about, well, the slope of Ray's back. From his shoulders to the small of his back, to the rise of his buttocks and the curve of skin before it met Ray's thigh, and Fraser had to push his stack of forms aside and go for a walk to cool down.
When Dief rose to accompany him, Fraser shook his head. “I won’t be gone long,” he said. “It’s just a short walk.”
Dief barked twice and yipped once.
“No, I am not going to bring you back donuts.”
Dief whined.
“Yes, but I’m not going to see Ray.”
When Dief snorted, Fraser frowned. “Sarcasm is not going to get you anywhere with me,” he said adjusting his Stetson before stepping out.
The second sign of something being wrong occurred thirty-eight minutes later when Fraser walked through the front door of the two-seven and collided with Dewey coming out with an elderly lady in handcuffs in tow.
Fraser held the door for the detective and wound up getting kicked in the shin by the lady who declared that she wasn’t old enough for Santa to start holding doors for her. Fraser was accustomed to being judged unfairly, but the lady had had rather pointy shoes and she’d pegged him right in the shin. He hadn’t been blindsided so viciously by a woman since, well, a lot more recently than he cared to consider, but his shinbone throbbed as he made his way over to where Ray was eating a sandwich at his desk.
The scent of peanut butter hung heavily around Ray’s head, and Fraser paused for a moment to try and gather his thoughts, which seemed to have taken a decidedly lascivious turn.
One moment he was dwelling on a shin injury, or possible hairline fracture, and the next he was imagining Ray, naked, and a jar of peanut butter. Surely the peanut butter would get stuck in uncomfortable crevices and require considerable time and soap in the shower, which was not necessarily a bad thing, but Fraser had no idea how to get peanut butter out of cotton sheets.
All the same, Ray smeared in peanut butter was a formidable idea.
“…aser? Fraser? Benton!”
Fraser started as Ray wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Ray, did you need something?”
“You all right there?” Ray asked licking his lower lip.
“Of course,” Fraser said, but when he reached up to smooth out his eyebrow, his eye began to twitch.
By that evening, Fraser didn’t need any further signs, but as Ray moved underneath him, his body slick with sweat and saliva and various other things, Fraser realized what the problem really was, and then he promptly forgot it as Ray continued to stroke himself to orgasm.
The sight of Ray flushing and gasping made a muscle in Fraser’s thigh twitch, and his orgasm ripped through him somewhat prematurely. Ray’s body arced into what surely was a painful position, however, the indolent smile Ray gave Fraser as he pulled away and stretched out alongside him said differently.
Fraser was silent for some time as Ray pushed and pulled and generally moved them out of the wet spot. Finally he spoke up. “Ray, I believe you’ve corrupted me.”
Ray paused in wiping down his stomach with his discarded shirt. “Corrupted you?” he said. “Me?”
“Yes.”
Several emotions flittered across Ray’s face before he stopped at disbelief. “Fraser, how did -- what – who told you that I was corruptin’ you?”
“… with sex,” Fraser added.
“I’m corrupting you with sex?” Ray repeated slowly.
“Yes, that’s obviously why my muscles have begun contracting on their own, ‘twitching’ I believe you call it.”
“I’m corrupting you by making you twitch, and you think it’s the sex?”
It was clear by the tone of Ray’s voice that he wasn’t quite following Fraser’s train of thought, but the tiny smile that turned up the corners of his mouth apparently didn’t mind.
“Obviously it’s the mark of good sex,” Fraser said thoughtfully. “And I suppose that everyone must accept some minor inconveniences.”
Ray stared, and under such intensity Fraser couldn’t help but laugh. Ray threw the waded-up shirt at him. “You don’t fool me, Fraser, I always knew you were one of them dirty-minded Mounties.”
“I assure you that I have no idea what you’re referring to, Ray.” Fraser shifted to make room for Ray. “All Mounties abide by strict hygienic guidelines.”
Ray rolled his eyes as he pulled up the sheets. “Hardy-har-har, you’re really funny, you know that?”
Fraser yawned. “So I’ve been told.”
-end-
Improv: jump, inside, peanut butter, red ink, corrupt. For A and H.
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No. Really.
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Uh, huh, and will you be funding this dedication?
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Oh, lovely, wonderful, cluelessly droll Fraser!voice!
Mmmm. ::stroking h::
:;twitch::
::twitch::
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See, you CAN do Fraser. Or would you just rather do Ray? *snerk*
And I had a thing about The Twitch from 'All the King's Men' but I've misplaced my copy. Trying not to panic...
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Like you even need to ask.
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And, dude, what's more perfect than Jesus playing Superman? (Then again, it's just typecasting. *shakes head sadly* What other projects are there left for Mr. Caviezel?)
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I mean really you are very right. After Jesus and Supes there's no place to go but down.
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And I loved the story, even though I've never seen dS. *g*
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Dief barked twice and yipped once.
“No, I am not going to bring you back donuts.”
Dief whined.
“Yes, but I’m not going to see Ray.”
When Dief snorted, Fraser frowned. “Sarcasm is not going to get you anywhere with me,” he said adjusting his Stetson before stepping out.
This section kjust *cracked* me up, as well as Fraser's conclusion about what was happening to him. You've been *wonderful* lately, babe! Keep them coming, please!
(and I'm friending you so I don't somehow miss any of these!)
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It was indeed a twitch... in his arm.
So this was what Ray felt like all the time.
oh, that's priceless. and I agree with what A says. Ray can corrupt me with sex whenever he wants to.
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“All Mounties abide by strict hygienic guidelines.”
Bwahaha!
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Peanut butter, hm?
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I love the Fraser voice in this, almost prim but willing to accept what's happening.