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crack_van2012-03-13 08:16 pm
hazelwho.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2012-03-13 08:16 pm
First Person Imperfect, by Stormheller (adult)
Fandom: DUE SOUTH
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Length: 9K words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
storm_grant
Author Website: Stormy's fic can be found on AO3 or on her website
Why this must be read: Fraser is often written as the wide-eyed innocent, and that's a characterization that can work well. But Stormy's Fraser is a bit jaded, a bit calculating and very, very raw. The story is set during the pilot, with a grieving Fraser hot on the trail of the killers of his father. He's more alone than he's ever been before, and he takes advantage of the anonymity of a city the size of Chicago to indulge in human touch.
When he heads to the door, I follow.
“Gotta place?”
“Yes. I’m staying at the Hotel McLaughlin.” I’m not concerned about giving this stranger my current address. By tomorrow I will no doubt have relocated.
I consult my little not-to-scale map, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward a small parking lot made dangerous-looking by great slabs of heaved pavement. “I got a car.”
I wonder if his vehicle is safe in this neighbourhood. Would it be any safer nearer my hotel? “Leave it. It’s just a few blocks.”
I head off, hoping he’ll follow me now. With two quick strides, he closes the distance between us. I’m glad he decided to walk with me.
“So, buddy-boy. You gonna give me something to call you?” I stare at him a moment, considering. I would prefer our little tryst to remain anonymous. “So I’ll have something to scream,” he prods jokingly. A truly evil grin flashes across his features this time. A spike of arousal travels my spine.
A name. What moniker shall I offer? I mull over possibilities, discarding “Dudley Do-Right”, “Mackenzie King”, and “Yukon Jack”. He’s looking at me curiously.
I almost blurt out “Diefenbaker”, but the idea of attempting to achieve orgasm with that “pet name” panted in my ear seems, well, a thought best left alone. For a split second, guilt barks at my consciousness, guilt at my faithful companion’s temporary incarceration in quarantine. There’s nothing I can do tonight, though, so for once I’ll think only of myself and ignore the whining in the back of my mind.
Finally, I say “Steve. Steve Constable.” It’s as good a name as any, and offers no clues whereby he could trace me later, should he be so inclined.
“That’s not your real name, is it, Steve?” Perceptive. I’m impressed.
“Well, no, actually. It isn’t. Do you mind?”
“Nah. I don’t care. But now I gotta come up with something for you to call me.”
“Well, you could always use your real name.”
“Now where’s the fun in that? You getting to make up a neat new name and me being stuck with the crappy name my parents came up with when I was born? Nah, I’m gonna make something up, too.” His grin is infectious, and I congratulate myself on my choice. This one is both attractive and entertaining. I await his answer.
“What to call me? What to call me?” He repeats himself. Perhaps he’s nervous. “I know. How ’bout Stanley Kowalski?” His grin suggests he thinks this is quite clever, but already I find myself craving his smiles, and gift him with one of my own in return.
First Person Imperfect
Pairing: Fraser/Kowalski
Length: 9K words
Author on LJ:
storm_grantAuthor Website: Stormy's fic can be found on AO3 or on her website
Why this must be read: Fraser is often written as the wide-eyed innocent, and that's a characterization that can work well. But Stormy's Fraser is a bit jaded, a bit calculating and very, very raw. The story is set during the pilot, with a grieving Fraser hot on the trail of the killers of his father. He's more alone than he's ever been before, and he takes advantage of the anonymity of a city the size of Chicago to indulge in human touch.
When he heads to the door, I follow.
“Gotta place?”
“Yes. I’m staying at the Hotel McLaughlin.” I’m not concerned about giving this stranger my current address. By tomorrow I will no doubt have relocated.
I consult my little not-to-scale map, and he jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward a small parking lot made dangerous-looking by great slabs of heaved pavement. “I got a car.”
I wonder if his vehicle is safe in this neighbourhood. Would it be any safer nearer my hotel? “Leave it. It’s just a few blocks.”
I head off, hoping he’ll follow me now. With two quick strides, he closes the distance between us. I’m glad he decided to walk with me.
“So, buddy-boy. You gonna give me something to call you?” I stare at him a moment, considering. I would prefer our little tryst to remain anonymous. “So I’ll have something to scream,” he prods jokingly. A truly evil grin flashes across his features this time. A spike of arousal travels my spine.
A name. What moniker shall I offer? I mull over possibilities, discarding “Dudley Do-Right”, “Mackenzie King”, and “Yukon Jack”. He’s looking at me curiously.
I almost blurt out “Diefenbaker”, but the idea of attempting to achieve orgasm with that “pet name” panted in my ear seems, well, a thought best left alone. For a split second, guilt barks at my consciousness, guilt at my faithful companion’s temporary incarceration in quarantine. There’s nothing I can do tonight, though, so for once I’ll think only of myself and ignore the whining in the back of my mind.
Finally, I say “Steve. Steve Constable.” It’s as good a name as any, and offers no clues whereby he could trace me later, should he be so inclined.
“That’s not your real name, is it, Steve?” Perceptive. I’m impressed.
“Well, no, actually. It isn’t. Do you mind?”
“Nah. I don’t care. But now I gotta come up with something for you to call me.”
“Well, you could always use your real name.”
“Now where’s the fun in that? You getting to make up a neat new name and me being stuck with the crappy name my parents came up with when I was born? Nah, I’m gonna make something up, too.” His grin is infectious, and I congratulate myself on my choice. This one is both attractive and entertaining. I await his answer.
“What to call me? What to call me?” He repeats himself. Perhaps he’s nervous. “I know. How ’bout Stanley Kowalski?” His grin suggests he thinks this is quite clever, but already I find myself craving his smiles, and gift him with one of my own in return.
First Person Imperfect
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~ Stormy Stormheller / Storm Grant
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