coprime_recs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
coprime_recs) wrote2004-07-06 05:23 pm
coprime_recs) wrote2004-07-06 05:23 pm
Entry tags:
due South: American Way by Resonant
American Way (Fraser/RayK | NC17 | 18,227 words) has Fraser pretending to be American for the sake of a case. An American Fraser makes a delectable picture, one that neither I nor RayK misses noticing. The case is pretty good too.
Excerpt:
Fraser looked sheepish as they walked out onto the sidewalk. "I'm afraid I'm not doing very well."
"Well, it's no wonder, when you got so many coaches," Ray said. "Look, you got any experience at all with impersonation?"
"I'm afraid not, Ray. I was cast in the role of Alfie Doolittle for our high school production of 'My Fair Lady,' but on the night of the performance, the auditorium had to be closed due to the migration of ... it's not important."
"Yeah, well, I never been onstage, but I done a little undercover work here and there. And the thing I learned, you can't be generic. You gotta be specific." They waited for the light, then started across the street. "I mean, you can't go to a meet thinking, Small-time runner looking to make big. You gotta have somebody in particular in mind, somebody you can think about and sorta get in the state of mind. See, you been trying to be some generic American, but that won't work. You gotta be somebody in particular." Ray steered them into the shade of a bank's awning. "You got it?"
Fraser gave him a serious look. "I -- think so." His thumb came up in the direction of his eyebrow, and then he seemed to catch himself, and his hand stopped halfway to his face.
"Yeah, you can't do all that fussy little fidget stuff there, Fraser. Shake it out." Ray shook out his arms encouragingly.
Fraser began to follow his lead, shaking -- hands, arms, shoulders. Rolling his head on his neck, rolling his shoulders, and shaking, shaking.
With every shake his shoulders got looser, his movements more fluid.
Until at last he bent his head, leaned his shoulders against the bank's brick wall, stuck three fingers in his jeans pocket, and looked up at Ray through his eyelashes.
Jesus. He looked like sex on a stick over there.
"Who," Ray said a little hoarsely, "who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Fraser raised his eyebrows and gave Ray an open-mouthed grin.
"You, Ray."
Excerpt:
Fraser looked sheepish as they walked out onto the sidewalk. "I'm afraid I'm not doing very well."
"Well, it's no wonder, when you got so many coaches," Ray said. "Look, you got any experience at all with impersonation?"
"I'm afraid not, Ray. I was cast in the role of Alfie Doolittle for our high school production of 'My Fair Lady,' but on the night of the performance, the auditorium had to be closed due to the migration of ... it's not important."
"Yeah, well, I never been onstage, but I done a little undercover work here and there. And the thing I learned, you can't be generic. You gotta be specific." They waited for the light, then started across the street. "I mean, you can't go to a meet thinking, Small-time runner looking to make big. You gotta have somebody in particular in mind, somebody you can think about and sorta get in the state of mind. See, you been trying to be some generic American, but that won't work. You gotta be somebody in particular." Ray steered them into the shade of a bank's awning. "You got it?"
Fraser gave him a serious look. "I -- think so." His thumb came up in the direction of his eyebrow, and then he seemed to catch himself, and his hand stopped halfway to his face.
"Yeah, you can't do all that fussy little fidget stuff there, Fraser. Shake it out." Ray shook out his arms encouragingly.
Fraser began to follow his lead, shaking -- hands, arms, shoulders. Rolling his head on his neck, rolling his shoulders, and shaking, shaking.
With every shake his shoulders got looser, his movements more fluid.
Until at last he bent his head, leaned his shoulders against the bank's brick wall, stuck three fingers in his jeans pocket, and looked up at Ray through his eyelashes.
Jesus. He looked like sex on a stick over there.
"Who," Ray said a little hoarsely, "who the hell are you supposed to be?"
Fraser raised his eyebrows and gave Ray an open-mouthed grin.
"You, Ray."