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WIP Amnesty, Day 4
According to the file info, this one's from April 2004 (although the file info also says ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iuliamentis wrote it, which I'm fairly certain she did not, so we can take that with a grain of salt). The file, which I'd forgotten existed until I started poking through my hard drive for WIPs, was called flashdief, which I'm taking to mean that I started writing this for a flashfic challenge, though I no longer have any idea what challenge might have resulted in... this.
I'm actually also not sure why I didn't finish it: whether I decided to hang on to some dignity and not let this out into the world, or I just couldn't come up with a pithy conclusion. Since neither of those present an obstacle at this point, here you go:
Due South, F/K pre-slash.
Ray half-woke to somebody calling his name. The voice was unfamiliar but not a stranger’s, and he was still half-asleep and the room was cold, so he rolled over, face in pillow, as he tried to place the voice.
“Ray!” The voice was rough, gravelly. Higher than it should be, but he didn’t know why he thought that, and a little slurred. “Ray!”
Slurred, but not like he’d drinking, more like–-
Somebody–-something–-jumped onto his bed, startling Ray wide awake, because holy shit there was somebody in his apartment in the middle of the night. He started to roll over, reaching for the night stand, the gun in the drawer, and there was a low familiar growl, a weight on his arm, jaws–-teeth–-clamping down on his hand.
Dief.
Ray yanked his hand free and pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying to shake the sting out. He raised his hand to his mouth, licked across the skin and tasted blood. “Jesus, Dief, what’s wrong with you?”
Dief dropped down to sit on the bed, and his mouth opened like he was barking, but Ray heard words. They didn’t synch with his mouth–-it was like watching a dubbed kung fu flick–-so it took Ray a minute to process the meaning. “I wanted to get your attention. I don’t have a lot of time.”
Ray blinked, and poked at his bitten hand with his tongue. It still hurt, and Dief was still sitting on his bed in the middle of the night, talking to him. “You don’t have a lot of–-” he glanced sideways, at the digital clock, which read 11:57. Exactly the middle of the night, on Christmas Eve. “I thought that just worked at midnight.”
“Couldn’t say much if we only got one minute a year - although would it kill you to try a little harder the rest of the time? I mean, think in shades of grey, man: sure, I can’t actually talk, but that doesn’t mean I don’t express some communicative intent. You could meet me halfway.”
Ray blinked again. “Jesus, you sound like Fraser. I couldn’t dream this shit–-hey, isn’t it bad luck for me to hear you?”
Dief nodded toward his hand. “There’s your bad luck right there, though that’s more for not fucking listening.”
Ray raised an eyebrow, and Dief gave him a wolfy grin. “Hey, I’m not a Mountie, I just hang out with one. I know all the words, man.”
Ray lowered his hand. “So what’s the deal, anyway? What did you have to tell me that was so important you had to take a chunk out of my hand? Couldn’t you just tell Fraser to tell me? He’s always talking with you.”
Dief shook his head a little, looking skyward in a way that Ray totally understood. “Fraser may hear me all the time, but that doesn’t mean he listens, you get me? I figured what with the shock-value I might have a chance at getting through to you, and let me tell you it’s been driving me crazy waiting this long–-seriously, if you just–-”
“Yeah, well, from now on, it’s all shades of grey, Dief, I promise.” Ray flexed his hand. “So what is it, then? Something to do with Fraser? Something he doesn’t want to hear?”
Dief made a little wolfy snort noise, and then went back to the weird out-of-synch talking. "Look, he's as crazy about you as you are about him, okay? So if you two could just stop being so fucking human for a few minutes and get it out of your systems it would make my life a lot easier."
Ray opened his mouth to object, and Dief's lips went back from his teeth; the voice had maybe fooled him, or the months of feeding him donuts, but all of a sudden it was apparent that this was a wolf in front of him. "I've got a nose, Ray. You think I stick it in your crotch every time I see you because I wanna cop a feel? I can smell it on you. And him--let's not talk about him, okay? because he knows I know what I'm talking about, and he fucking still--" words trailed off into a series of frustrated barks and snarls, and after a minute Ray realized that midnight had passed, and Dief wasn't going to be able to tell him anything more.
Not in words, anyway. Commutative intent, right? He leaned forward a little. “Dief, this–-this crazy-about-me thing, is it, y’know...” Words failed him as totally as they had Dief, and he waved a hand at his chest.
Dief whined a little, lowered his nose and brushed it with one paw.
“Right, sorry, you can’t smell how he feels,” Ray muttered, “and with Fraser–-it’s not like he says, right? Not like he’s lying awake nights pining for me.”
Dief turned his head away and moved his shoulder in a way that said, “I don’t care if I’m Canadian and a wolf and the Bill of Rights doesn’t exactly apply, I’m still taking the Fifth.”
Ray nodded. “Okay, so. Okay. And he doesn’t listen to you, because he’s Fraser, and if there’s anybody who’s really fucking human...”
Dief growled agreement.
“But, it’s him,” Ray muttered, “he doesn’t do casual any better than I do, so it’s gotta be something.”
iuliamentis wrote it, which I'm fairly certain she did not, so we can take that with a grain of salt). The file, which I'd forgotten existed until I started poking through my hard drive for WIPs, was called flashdief, which I'm taking to mean that I started writing this for a flashfic challenge, though I no longer have any idea what challenge might have resulted in... this.I'm actually also not sure why I didn't finish it: whether I decided to hang on to some dignity and not let this out into the world, or I just couldn't come up with a pithy conclusion. Since neither of those present an obstacle at this point, here you go:
Due South, F/K pre-slash.
Ray half-woke to somebody calling his name. The voice was unfamiliar but not a stranger’s, and he was still half-asleep and the room was cold, so he rolled over, face in pillow, as he tried to place the voice.
“Ray!” The voice was rough, gravelly. Higher than it should be, but he didn’t know why he thought that, and a little slurred. “Ray!”
Slurred, but not like he’d drinking, more like–-
Somebody–-something–-jumped onto his bed, startling Ray wide awake, because holy shit there was somebody in his apartment in the middle of the night. He started to roll over, reaching for the night stand, the gun in the drawer, and there was a low familiar growl, a weight on his arm, jaws–-teeth–-clamping down on his hand.
Dief.
Ray yanked his hand free and pushed himself up to a sitting position, trying to shake the sting out. He raised his hand to his mouth, licked across the skin and tasted blood. “Jesus, Dief, what’s wrong with you?”
Dief dropped down to sit on the bed, and his mouth opened like he was barking, but Ray heard words. They didn’t synch with his mouth–-it was like watching a dubbed kung fu flick–-so it took Ray a minute to process the meaning. “I wanted to get your attention. I don’t have a lot of time.”
Ray blinked, and poked at his bitten hand with his tongue. It still hurt, and Dief was still sitting on his bed in the middle of the night, talking to him. “You don’t have a lot of–-” he glanced sideways, at the digital clock, which read 11:57. Exactly the middle of the night, on Christmas Eve. “I thought that just worked at midnight.”
“Couldn’t say much if we only got one minute a year - although would it kill you to try a little harder the rest of the time? I mean, think in shades of grey, man: sure, I can’t actually talk, but that doesn’t mean I don’t express some communicative intent. You could meet me halfway.”
Ray blinked again. “Jesus, you sound like Fraser. I couldn’t dream this shit–-hey, isn’t it bad luck for me to hear you?”
Dief nodded toward his hand. “There’s your bad luck right there, though that’s more for not fucking listening.”
Ray raised an eyebrow, and Dief gave him a wolfy grin. “Hey, I’m not a Mountie, I just hang out with one. I know all the words, man.”
Ray lowered his hand. “So what’s the deal, anyway? What did you have to tell me that was so important you had to take a chunk out of my hand? Couldn’t you just tell Fraser to tell me? He’s always talking with you.”
Dief shook his head a little, looking skyward in a way that Ray totally understood. “Fraser may hear me all the time, but that doesn’t mean he listens, you get me? I figured what with the shock-value I might have a chance at getting through to you, and let me tell you it’s been driving me crazy waiting this long–-seriously, if you just–-”
“Yeah, well, from now on, it’s all shades of grey, Dief, I promise.” Ray flexed his hand. “So what is it, then? Something to do with Fraser? Something he doesn’t want to hear?”
Dief made a little wolfy snort noise, and then went back to the weird out-of-synch talking. "Look, he's as crazy about you as you are about him, okay? So if you two could just stop being so fucking human for a few minutes and get it out of your systems it would make my life a lot easier."
Ray opened his mouth to object, and Dief's lips went back from his teeth; the voice had maybe fooled him, or the months of feeding him donuts, but all of a sudden it was apparent that this was a wolf in front of him. "I've got a nose, Ray. You think I stick it in your crotch every time I see you because I wanna cop a feel? I can smell it on you. And him--let's not talk about him, okay? because he knows I know what I'm talking about, and he fucking still--" words trailed off into a series of frustrated barks and snarls, and after a minute Ray realized that midnight had passed, and Dief wasn't going to be able to tell him anything more.
Not in words, anyway. Commutative intent, right? He leaned forward a little. “Dief, this–-this crazy-about-me thing, is it, y’know...” Words failed him as totally as they had Dief, and he waved a hand at his chest.
Dief whined a little, lowered his nose and brushed it with one paw.
“Right, sorry, you can’t smell how he feels,” Ray muttered, “and with Fraser–-it’s not like he says, right? Not like he’s lying awake nights pining for me.”
Dief turned his head away and moved his shoulder in a way that said, “I don’t care if I’m Canadian and a wolf and the Bill of Rights doesn’t exactly apply, I’m still taking the Fifth.”
Ray nodded. “Okay, so. Okay. And he doesn’t listen to you, because he’s Fraser, and if there’s anybody who’s really fucking human...”
Dief growled agreement.
“But, it’s him,” Ray muttered, “he doesn’t do casual any better than I do, so it’s gotta be something.”