Author: Desiree Armfeldt
Title: Baklava
Fandoms: due South
Characters: Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski
Rating: Explicit (for mentions of body parts; no actual sex occurs, even in Ray's head)
Length: 922 words
Angst-to-hope ratio: Low?  (Depends how you feel about UST)
Disclaimer: I didn't create these characters, I don't own them, I derive no profit from their use.
Bookkeeping notes:
Summary: Ray watches Fraser eat a piece of baklava.


Ray leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a toothpick to give himself an excuse to have his hand in front of his mouth, in case he actually started drooling.

He’d been on the Vecchio gig for six months, and he figured out by now that you learned something new every day with Fraser.  Which was actually cool, even if it was also annoying as hell.

But man, watching Benton Fraser eat a piece of baklava was a whole new level of educational.

Actually, discovering that baklava existed in the first place had made Ray’s day, because that there was some damn tasty dessert.  Buttery pastry filled with nuts and soaked in flower-scented honey: sweet enough to rot your fillings out, his mom would’ve said, but as far as Ray was concerned, that was a selling point.  Ray had scarfed down his own piece in two bites, and then wondered if he’d look like a pig if he ordered another serving

Fraser, on the other hand, was eating his in little tiny nibbles.  That, Ray would’ve expected him to do.  What was not standard Fraser behavior was the way he wasn’t using a knife and fork to do it.  He was holding that gooey, messy pastry in his fingers, just holding it in the air while he took one little bite at a time and savored each one.  And apparently even Fraser’s supernatural cleanliness mojo wasn’t enough to keep the honey from dripping down his fingers.  Ray could see a glistening trail making its way over the knuckles of Fraser’s ring finger and pinkie.  He wasn’t sure whether the mojo was still good enough to stop it from dripping onto the table, or the honey was too thick to fall, so it was invisibly oozing down Fraser’s wrist where Ray couldn’t see it.

He wondered if Fraser was going to lick those sticky fingers when he was done.  Ray would pay good money to see that, oh yeah.  It might give him a heart attack, but at least he’d die happy.

Meanwhile, Fraser’s face.  Christ on a merry-go-round, Fraser’s face.  Each time he took a dainty bite, his eyelashes would do this fluttery thing, like he was so overwhelmed with yumminess that he could barely keep his eyes open.  He’d pause for a couple of seconds, letting it melt on his tongue, Ray guessed, letting the flavor really soak in before he swallowed.  Then he’d let out this barely-audible sigh that belonged in a bedroom.  Finally, the tip of his tongue would sweep over his bottom lip, which would curve in a sensual, satisfied little smile, and for God’s sake, if the man could look this gloriously just-got-laid over a dessert, what would actual sex do to him?

Which was a totally inappropriate thing for Ray to be thinking about A) at all, B) in a public place, and C) in front of Fraser.  Fraser did not need to know that his good buddy Ray was sitting across the table at this meal that was not in any way like a date, fantasizing about licking honey off Fraser’s wrist, and maybe some even more interesting body parts.  Fraser especially did not need to know how hard Ray’s cock was just from watching Fraser eat his stupid dessert, or how hard Ray was fighting not to squirm in his seat, or better yet, reach down and rub himself under the table, just to get a little relief.  More importantly, Ray did not need Fraser to twig to any of this, because yeah, Fraser was an open-minded guy, but he was also weirdly old-fashioned and incredibly twitchy about anything related to sex, and Ray might have poor impulse control but he was smart enough to know that some things were too valuable to test to destruction.

Fraser polished off his last bite, treated Ray to a blissed-out smile that no one should ever point at anyone they weren’t currently fucking, and then actually, honest-to-God, licked the honey off the backs of his fingers.  Slowly.  Meticulously.  Like a cat bathing itself, only much, much sexier, because Fraser was not doing his Rolling in the snow butt-naked is a practical means of hygiene in the frozen North, there’s nothing embarrassing about it schtick, here.  No, he still had that orgasmic expression on this face as he ran his tongue over his own hand in long, lazy strokes—and, yes, over the bump of his wrist, though he stopped at the shirt-cuff.  And, oh God, now he popped one finger into his mouth and sucked, and his eyelashes did that fluttering thing again, and Ray was gonna cream his shorts if he didn’t look away, but who in their right mind would miss a second of this show?  He didn’t want to blink if he could help it.

When Fraser finished licking himself clean, he reached for his napkin and wiped his damp hand as he said, cheerfully, normally, damn him, “That was an excellent meal, don’t you agree?  This restaurant really was a find.”

“Uh. . .”  Ray had to clear his throat before he could make the whole talking thing work right.  “Yeah, it was cool.  We should do it again sometime.”

He tore his eyes away from Fraser’s beaming face and flagged down the waitress to order another tiny cup of thick, sugary coffee.  Maybe if he drank it slow enough, he wouldn’t totally embarrass himself when he stood up leave.  Or maybe Fraser would give in to temptation and order a second dessert.