If a tree grows in this post, how many hearts will be carved in its bark?

[slidellra.livejournal.com]

The prompts will be available on Monday, so we have a nice little handful of days left to play around and get ourselves in fighting/loving trim. How's about we start off with one of those drabble trees, eh?

1. I'll kick it off with a little bit o' writing.
2. You guys can reply to that with your own little bit o' writing that plays with something from the first (a line, a phrase, a scene, mood).
3. The next drabblers can reply to any of the above comments, and so on. Until we have a lovely, sturdy, romantic tree, with many ficcish branches all growing out of the first comment.

Have fun! Despite the name, for this drabble tree any length goes. Comment two, four, as many times as you like. Feel the romance, baby.

Comments

[slidellra.livejournal.com]

Vecchio bitched all the fucking time. It drove Ray nuts, this guy with a mouth that wouldn't quit, yammering on about his car, Ray's car, Ray's hair, Ray's attitude, Ray's clothes, Ray's music, and nothing Ray threw back at him left a mark; it all just beaded up on his sleek Vegas back and rolled away.

But the thing Ray realized--and it was on stakeout when he finally caught on, after Vecchio bitched about Ray's BBQ-flavor potato chip dinner before stealing the bag and tilting it up and pouring the crumbs down his throat--the thing was, Vecchio liked Ray's car and his hair and his attitude, was comfortable with them, with him.

Vecchio would lean against the passenger door while Ray yelled at him or ignored him or went over the case with him, and Vecchio's mouth would say bag lady and what are you, twelve? but his eyes, his body, and the way he forgot to check over his shoulder all said different stuff, warm stuff, right-there-with-him stuff.

Lucky for both of them, too, because when Vecchio caught Ray looking at his throat as he swallowed, at the salt and dark orange on his upper lip, things could have gotten things real ugly, real fast if Ray'd just listened to the words coming out of Vecchio's mouth.

He knew better, though, and so he leaned back against his own car door, insulting Vecchio right back, and let his eyes and body say different.

[brynnmck.livejournal.com]

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

[china_shop]

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

[dessert-first.livejournal.com]

Ray has quite mastered the knack of speaking with his body. Fraser's own body, he knows, speaks as well, and often, but never what Fraser wants to say. It betrays him, gives him away, despite all his best efforts to the contrary. When Frannie leans in for a kiss, Fraser's body tenses, freezing up in fight or flight instinct, or he pulls away in a sharp, sudden gesture. Fraser's body is not kind to Frannie, does not spare her feelings. Still, that hardly seems to matter. Fraser is not certain if she is oblivious to his body's cues or simply somehow determined to move past them.

With Ray, Fraser's body does the very opposite. He finds himself leaning in for no discernible reason, hovering too close, being too quick to welcome a helping hand on his elbow, an encouraging pat on his shoulder, an emphatic poke to his chest. He leans into each of Ray's gestures, as much a punch as a pat, as if all his fight-or-flight were used up by Frannie, leaving him stripped and defenseless and far, far too obvious. Ray is an observant man, is a detective, for God's sake. He is certain to notice eventually the clear and constant signal Fraser is broadcasting his way, and when he does...

"Frase?" Ray is looking at him oddly, his wide blue eyes concerned.

Fraser's body betrays him yet again with a blush. He looks down, away from Ray's too-observant eyes, but he finds his gaze suddenly caught by the hollow of Ray's throat peeking out from his shirt, the skin delicate and golden. Fraser swallows, an entirely unvoluntary gesture.

But Ray just tilts his head to favor Fraser with a long, reading look, then leans into Fraser with that gracefully expressive body.

And starts talking.

[brynnmck.livejournal.com]

And starts talking.

Eeeee! I love that. :)

[dessert-first.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I really enjoyed what you wrote, too. Team Angst is going down!!

[green-grrl.livejournal.com]

*happyflail*

[dessert-first.livejournal.com]

Thanks! Gotta warm up to get all romantical-like. ::does push-ups::

[catwalksalone]

He'd thought about it - telling him - but every time he opened his mouth all that came out were bitchy remarks. He knew this because Frannie told him so.

"Leave Fraser alone," she kept saying. "He's Canadian. He doesn't get you."

Ray was pretty sure she was wrong about that. He really hoped she was wrong about that. Because if Benny didn't get him then the sky wasn't blue and the sun set in the east and Fraser would've said something if the world had turned upside down.

So. Fraser got him and Ray got Fraser. But Benny was too damn polite to explore what that meant and Ray? Ray was too chicken. Too worried about Ma and the guys at the precinct and the vague irritation of a god he didn't really believe in.

That left him where? On Benny's excuse for a couch, his mouth flapping open and closed like some stunned goldfish. If you can't say something nice then don't say anything at all.

Eureka! Ray smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand but before Benny could respond Ray grabbed his shoulder and drew him in, two pairs of warm lips coming together in sweet collision. He felt Fraser's eager response and smiled into his mouth.

If you can't say something nice ...