Work Text:
Ray Kowalski had navigated the well-concealed underground of gay police hookups with casual adeptness for several years before he was partnered with an unbelievably attractive Mountie.
But now that he was genuinely interested in someone, all his practiced, successful techniques were bombing hopelessly. Fraser didn’t edge away with straight nervousness when Ray invaded his personal space, but he didn’t respond with the subtle and plausibly deniable interest that Ray hoped for, either. Instead, Ray found himself unexpectedly pouring out his heart, spilling his self-doubts and self-recriminations to someone who listened without judgment and helped without reservation. If this was friendzoning, the friend zone was a profoundly deeper level of connection than Ray had ever imagined. But it wasn’t enough.
He tried asking Fraser out with all the hints and tricks he knew to indicate that such an outing could turn into a tryst, but nothing seemed to work. Maybe, thought Ray, it was a Canadian thing. Maybe Canadian gays had their own language that could only be mastered by other Canadians. Ray might have flunked Spanish in high school, but damned if he wouldn’t somehow manage to learn Canadian Gay to get through to his beautiful, oblivious partner.
In the meantime, he wasn’t going to give up on his own M.O. One day as the end of their shift approached, Ray prepared an invitation that would couple complete innocence of words with an undeniably flirtatious expression, less subtle than his usual low-key demeanor.
The only problem with this brilliant plan was that Fraser was called away at the last moment to complete some paperwork relating to his on-loan-from-Canada status, and Ray wanted to get home in time to shower and change before the hoped-for date. After a few minutes, Fraser popped his head back in to say, “This is likely to take considerable time, Ray—don’t wait for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Disgruntled, Ray grabbed a piece of scratch paper and scribbled, “Wanna grab a beer? McClanahan’s at 7?” and left it on Fraser’s desk.
Ray was sitting in the bar at 6:45, nursing a beer and feeling more pissed off at the universe than usual when Fraser walked in. He stood near the entrance for a moment and looked around; once he spotted Ray he made a beeline to the bar. Taking the barstool next to Ray, he leaned in surprisingly close.
“it’s good to see you, Ray,” he said warmly. “What are you having?” Then he actually winked at Ray and added, “For now, I mean.”
A couple of hours later, Ray rolled over in bed, tangled his legs with Fraser’s, and said, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” said Fraser companionably.
“Look, Fraser,” said Ray, propping himself up on one elbow. “I have been dropping hints for weeks and gotten nowhere. Why today?”
Fraser smiled up at him. “Oh Ray,” he said with a sigh. “You’ve discovered my secret fetish. I cannot resist a handwritten note.”
Ray rolled back over toward the nightstand, dug around in the drawer and pulled out a pencil and an old receipt. He scribbled, “Wanna go at it again? Right now, I mean,” rolled back toward Fraser, and handed him the note.
Fraser read the note, crumpled the receipt, and tossed it to the floor. “I was hoping you’d ask,” he breathed. He pulled Ray on top of him with easy strength and proceeded to kiss him senseless.