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New fic - inspired by this picture

fail owned pwned pictures

It could be set in the same universe as Tea For One For Two or One Man's Sweet Is Another Man's Poison
It's due South (which is not mine) F/K, about 500 words and for [personal profile] prudence_dearly , because she likes this sort of thing.

 

He’s No Mug

“And Francesca really didn’t see the...problem with the wording?”

Ray shook his head, grinning as he picked up one of the mugs.

“She thought they’d ‘boost the morale’ of the people on the night shift.  Apparently it took Welsh ten minutes to explain it to her.  There’s a rumour that he had to resort to diagrams, but, I don’t know...” Ray shrugged.  “Upshot is, we all got two to take home.  Welsh said he didn’t want to see them around the station – said it would ‘tarnish our otherwise spectacular relationship with the public.’”

“Well, I can see his point,” Fraser said.  “I’m not sure I’d want to use one.  The slogan is in rather poor taste.”

“I think it’s hilarious.”  Ray slowly traced his fingertip around the star-like shape on the side of the mug before suddenly looking up, directly, at Fraser.  “Do you want a tea or something?”

Fraser only realised he’d ‘hmm’ed in agreement once he heard Ray’s exclamation of “Greatness!” and watched him snatch up the pair of mugs and head into the kitchen.  It wasn’t the first time he’d been caught off-guard whilst appreciating Ray’s hands and it almost certainly wouldn’t be the last.  He cleared his throat.  “On second thoughts, Ray, I think I’d rather have a glass of water, thank you kindly.”

Over the course of the next week or so, the only mugs of tea Fraser drank at home were the ones he made himself when Ray was either out or still asleep.  Ray offered Fraser enough tea to float a two-man canoe, but always with a glint in his eye that he couldn’t quite manage to hide.  Ray gleefully used what he called his ‘mug of death’ for every single coffee, a couple of hot chocolates and even, on one occasion, soup, but Fraser had remained vigilant and had so far managed to avoid having to drink out of one himself.

He had at least managed to persuade Ray not to give one to Constable Turnbull as a birthday gift and Ray had, of his own volition, put the mugs at the back of the cupboard when his father called round, to remove the possibility of re-opening any old wounds. 

Then, on Thursday evening, Ray came home and announced, “Well, Frannie’s done it again.” 

He put his gym bag on the coffee table, unzipped it and began to rummage through the contents. 

Fraser’s feelings on hearing this news were decidedly mixed.  On the one hand he would probably now be able to stop trying to dodge those awful mugs.  On the other, what fresh mischief would Ray make now?

“Aha!” Ray found what he was looking for.  “She’s managed to get the most completely useless thing possible for the night shift guys – so more goodies for the rest of us.  Here, catch.”

Fraser caught....and cautiously opened the rectangular box. 

Oh dear.  Francesca had, literally, made another spectacular misjudgement.

“Sunglasses?”

 



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August 2009

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