It's not that complicated. Written for Sprat, in out_of_con_txt.TRAV'LER IN THE DARK
By Cherry Ice
It's been months, and Ray still can't get over how clear the stars are. Pinpricks scattered across the black in arcs and swoops, twinkling bright and shiny. Fraser's told him enough times that it only looks like they're flickering, interference in the atmosphere and all that jazz, but it always puts Ray back to elementary school and Ms. Robinson singing Twinke, twinkle, little star.
There is still snow on the ground but it is starting to go, and Ray and Fraser are sitting, coats undone, before a fire. The smoke makes Ray's eyes water. Fraser is singing, low and deep, as the burning logs pop and hiss. It's some sort of tribal chant and Ray leans back on his rock, looks up at the stars and hums along.
It takes a little while before he realizes Fraser has stopped singing, that all he hears is the crackle of flames, the drip of melt water, and his own wandering, off-tune hum.
"You could join in if you'd like, Ray," Fraser says.
"Yeah, sure," Ray replies, watching a strand of northern lights start to snake across the sky. "Seeing as I speak Dinner Sullyl so well."
"Dene Suline," Fraser says, leaning far enough in that the firelight washes most of the shadow from his face. "It's really not that complicated."
Ray snorts. "It's not that complicated." Fraser is gold and somehow softer against the night, and Ray has to tear his eyes away and back to the sky. "Right."
"Well," Fraser starts. "It's not. If you'd just –"
"Can it, Frase," Ray says. Looks at Fraser again, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "All I'm saying is that you and me, we have different ideas about complicated."
Somewhere, off in the distance, Dief howls. Ray hopes it's Dief that's howling. Fraser's brow furrows. "I am not quite sure what you're driving at here, Ray."
Ray is watching the curve of Fraser's lip, the line of his neck. "I'm just saying," Ray replies, "that sometimes, I don't know what to think about you, bud." Fraser tracks the movement of Ray's hands at all times, even did the same back in Chicago. Fraser watches him like he's hungry, Fraser sleeps so close in the tent at night that their breaths mingle.
"I would hope," Fraser says, "that you would think of me well. I would imagine I've earned that much, at least."
Ray laughs a little breathless laugh and pushes himself to his feet. "I think of you well, Frase," he says. "I spend a lot of time thinking a lot more well about you than I should."
"Oh," Fraser says, tilting his head to follow Ray as he circles the fire.
"Yeah." Ray stops by Fraser, and he thinks his heart should be fluttering or something. As he hunkers down, though, settling on knees that only crack a bit, he feels this odd, inevitable sort of calm. His face is even with Fraser's. "See, that's the thing, because you know what? I know you do the same thing."
Fraser is the one discomforted – it shows only in a twitch of his left eye, but it's there. "I most certainly do think well of you, Ray," he says. "That you even have to ask –"
Ray grins, skin of his face tight and warm from the flames. "Nah," he says, reaches out and rests his hands on Fraser's thighs. "That's not the thing at all. You just – you got a weird idea of complicated, buddy."
Fraser is at a loss for words, which to Ray is always a beautiful sight. Fraser's eyebrows are drawn together, and when he opens his mouth as if to speak, Ray darts in and presses his lips against Fraser's.
It's a short kiss, almost chaste, but Fraser follows Ray when he pulls away, drops his hands on top of Rays'.
Ray grins, because he can feel the sudden tension in the muscles beneath his palms. Grins, because Fraser is looking at him in that intent way he usually saves for when he thinks Ray doesn't know he's watching.
"See?" Ray says. "Not complicated at all."
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