Fix
© May, 2001 Misha
http://www.madstop.org/misha/
The characters, alas, are not mine. This was not created for
profit, more's the pity.
Rated PG-13 for intimations of potential
m/m sex (pre-slash)
Summary: Fraser muses on the properties of nicotine.
For the Bindlechatters. Mucho thanks to Dine for superfast beta.
I love to smell the nicotine on his skin, not his, never his, but a second hand inhalation off his surface, a musty fragrant scent that blends so well with his own sweat and aroma and makes of itself so much more than a mere aftershave could promise.
We end up in the most unlikely of places sometimes, bars where the smoke drifts thick like artificial fogbanks, and I at times wonder at the advisability of carrying with me a fog horn. Clubs thick with crowds and sweat along with the ever-present cigarette smoke, and warehouses where the scent mingles with the murky smell of the lake. We are there in the name of duty, and so I can ignore the niggle of guilt when I eagerly shepherd Ray to these places.
I can never help myself in times like these, I stand close and breathe so deeply, open my mouth to drink in that sweet, sharp odor, the essential distillation of Ray. I would never want him to smoke, to taste of ashes and death, but I cannot help crowding close and conjuring the smoke into his skin, and wondering just how much like his scent he would taste.
Once, at the house of an older gentlemen, a house wreathed with the sweet odor of pipe smoke, I almost broke. We questioned the man regarding a break-in potentially related to our case, and I was able to keep a professional demeanor, and my distance from Ray, but once we had retired to the GTO, the new scent and the scent of Ray rolled over me in a wave. I was speechless for a moment, simply breathing in the cherry-tobacco on top of Ray's natural scent, my mouth watering perhaps as much as Diefenbaker's when he has his mind on powdered donuts.
I wanted to taste his skin at that moment, to see if I could parse out his cologne and the lingering trace of his soap and drown myself in his skin and the smoke on his skin. Would he allow me, I wonder abruptly, the question of his desires intruding, would he allow me to taste him?
And suddenly a fix becomes a possibility, and I open my eyes.
The End
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