Christmas Fic! LoM.
Two fics, one I wrote a while ago, and the other I've just knocked out, which is sort of 'part two'.
Title: Let Us Go Forward Together.
Author:
elfbert
Recipient:_afterism
Rating: NC-12
Word Count: 4850 words, ish. (And I thought I'd struggle to get to 1000!)
Notes/Warnings: Title from a very famous poster during the war. Prompt was ‘Ray/Chris, please? "I don't know any french, boss.”’nebula99 did the fastest beta ever, so thank you to her and all remaining mistakes are mine.
The party was in full swing, and Sam was enjoying it, despite himself. He didn’t normally go in for office parties, but this one was somehow different. He didn’t know whether it was because of the generally more relaxed air of 1973, or because of the three whiskeys that Gene had forced upon him, and he was rapidly realising that it didn’t matter.
He took another look around the room – officers were sitting on desks, everyone with a drink in their hand and many of them now ‘wearing’ the streamers and paper chains which had originally adorned the drab office and given it a touch of Christmas charm. Then he realised he had more urgent concerns than trying to decide if he should move on to beer or stick with the spirits, and headed unsteadily for the toilet.
He leant against the wall as he pissed, humming the bloody Slade song. He smiled when he remembered how impressed Chris had been when Sam had known all the words when it had first played on the radio. The younger man had treated it as if were some feat of magic – which Sam supposed, if he was honest, it was.
Once he’d washed his hands he headed back into the corridor, enjoying the relatively smoke-free air for a moment. Then he saw someone else, leaning in the shadows by the corner. His natural instinct kicked in and he walked towards them, ignoring the noise from inside the office.
“Chris?”
The younger man jumped. “Boss, um…happy Christmas?”
Sam smiled. It was obvious that Chris was drunk – he didn’t, however, look very merry.
“Why are you out here?” Sam asked, leaning up against the opposite wall.
Chris looked at the floor and shrugged.
“Thought you’d be in there, enjoying the party,” Sam continued. He knew how much Chris enjoyed parties – he didn’t seem to care about making a fool of himself, dancing, singing, as long as everyone seemed to be having fun.
Chris shrugged again.
“Ray’s telling a story about two prostitutes and a stray dog – or was it two constables and a stray prostitute? I don’t remember,” Sam smiled encouragingly. And then notice that Chris’s expression had become even gloomier.
“Has Ray been making fun of you?” Sam asked, knowing that the DS could push things too far.
Chris looked up suddenly and shook his head. “No! An’…I don’t mind, anyway. Most stuff he tells people…it is funny. I know I’m a div…sometimes. An’…if it makes people laugh,” he shrugged yet again. “I’d rather people laughed than…’s nice, when people are ‘appy, innit, Boss?”
Sam gave a smile. “Yeah, I suppose it is, I suppose it is.”
They stood in silence for a minute or two, Chris smoking a cigarette and still not looking any happier.
“What are you doing for Christmas, then?” Sam finally asked, to break the silence.
“Me parents, Mum’s cookin’, like. She normally does a nice spread. Chicken or turkey. And roast spuds. I love ‘em.”
Sam smiled widely as a touch of happiness finally showed in Chris’s expression.
“What ‘bout you, Boss?” Chris asked, remembering his manners.
“I’m…um…spending it with a friend,” Sam answered, not wanting to tell Chris that he hoped to spend most of the day decidedly naked and in bed with their DCI.
“Girlfriend?” Chris asked, wondering how the Boss ever found time to have any friends – he seemed to be either working or in the Arms.
Sam paused. “Um…no. Just…someone who doesn’t have anyone else…and I don’t, so…well, it’s better to spend Christmas with friends or family, isn’t it? Not much fun on your own.”
Chris face fell again, and he looked at his feet, pushing something invisible around on the lino with his toe.
Sam frowned, trying to piece together the evidence. The haze of alcohol was affecting his normally sharp mental skills though, and he shook his head.
“Is there someone…who…you’d rather you could spend Christmas with?” he finally ventured, awkwardly.
Chris pulled a face. “Sorta.”
Sam let the silence drag, waiting for Chris to elaborate. Finally he prompted: “Meaning?”
Chris looked up and down the corridor. “There’s someone…an’…Christmas ain’t very happy for ‘em, an’…they’ve got no one to spend it with but…I dunno if they’d want me to…y’know? I’d like to, though, but…sometimes, if you ain’t very happy, you don’t want people tryin’ to make you be, do you?”
Sam tried to unjumble Chris’s speech, then nodded, thinking he understood. “Have you asked them?”
Chris shook his head. “I dunno what to do…I always stay in with Mum and Dad, an’…I don’ want to upset ‘em, or upset…the other person, so…I jus’ di’n’t do anything, but now I think…maybe I should’ve?”
Sam wasn’t sure what to say. He’d found it quite easy to ask Gene to spend the day with him – the moment Gene had said his missus would be going to see her family Sam knew that was his opportunity. In fact, he was reasonably sure that was the reason Gene had told him. He knew the Guv would never have asked, but Sam also knew that, despite him being unable to imagine Gene and the missus sitting down for a cosy Christmas dinner together – she did have first dibs on her husband, however obvious it was that they had grown so far apart that even saying they were ‘co-habiting’ was putting more warmth in their relationship then there really was.
“Are you going to see this…other person, before tomorrow?” Sam asked. “Or can you phone them? I’m sure your parents would understand if you wanted to make sure someone else had a nice Christmas day. And I’m sure they would appreciate that you were being a good friend to someone. After all, you see them every day.”
There was a flash of hope in Chris’s eyes and he nodded. “What do I…how can I…the other person…cos, to invite meself…an’…what if he says no?”
Sam’s eyebrows rose at the word ‘he’ and Chris immediately realised what he’d said.
“Oh.”
“You won’t know until you ask him, Chris. Ask first, and if he wants you to spend it with him, then tell your parents – if not, no harm done, you stay at home, right?”
Chris nodded, uncertainly at first, but then more enthusiastically.
“Go and find a phone or something then, before you’re too drunk and forget,” Sam steered Chris with a hand on his shoulder.
“Now?” Chris’s earlier look of fear returned.
“Now.” Sam answered. Half wishing he could listen in to the conversation.
As Chris reached out for the door to the office Sam stopped him. “You can’t call from in there – too noisy. Go to one of the other offices, it’ll be quiet there.”
Sam headed for the party seven as soon as he was back in the office, feeling as if he had done his good deed for the day.
He didn’t notice Chris again until later, but noted that the younger man still wasn’t exactly looking in the party spirit. The Guv had just done an appalling rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which had most people trying to hide their giggles, for fear of reprisals. Chris was smiling, but his eyes still held an air of sadness.
Sam walked over to him, but was distracted by a commotion near the desk Gene had just climbed down from. A few of the officers and Annie were all pushing Ray to climb onto the table, someone else messing with the tape player which had been given a rest from it’s normal duties to blare out the Christmas hits.
Ray finally stood on the desk, looking as if he really shouldn’t be standing, let alone on a table strewn with spare cups and discarded tins.
The tape player finally kicked in and Ray clicked his fingers in time with the music, swaying the glass of scotch in his other hand.
Sam turned back to Chris, not looking forward to any more of the drunken out-of-key karaoke. “Chris – what did he say?” he asked as quietly as he could.
Then Ray started singing and Sam felt his eyes open wide, his gaze drawn back to the man on the table. Ray was actually singing in tune, in time – and it was as good as any professional version Sam had heard. And Ray’s gaze was resting on Chris as he sang.
“A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland.”
Sam turned back to Chris, who was smiling, attention entirely upon Ray. He decided that whatever he had been going to say could wait until the end of the song.
As soon as Ray had finished the song and safely descended to ground level again, Sam grabbed Chris and dragged him out of the room again.
“Boss! What you doing? Boss?” Chris half stumbled as he became caught in some streamers.
“What happened?” Sam asked, although he was pretty sure Chris hadn’t actually done anything yet.
“Uh…I…’aven’t…” Chris stuttered.
“Come on then.” Sam held Chris by the arm as he marched down the corridor, his inebriated state removing his usual manners. He stood Chris by a desk in another office and picked up the phone, holding it out to Chris. “Dial.”
Chris gently but firmly put the handset down again.
“He ain’t at home.”
“Oh.” Sam had been sure that Chris had chickened out from even asking his friend, he hadn’t thought of other options.
“He’s in the office,” Chris finished. His natural reticence to talk about it had been eroded by the drink and by his knowledge that he was, once again, being a div. He knew that by asking he’d at least be giving himself a chance. But by not asking he’d never have to deal with the rejection. “’S Ray.”
Sam was so shocked he choked and began a coughing fit. Chris hesitantly patted him on the back. “Boss?”
Sam waved a hand. “Ray?” he croaked out. “Why are you scared of askin’ Ray? He’s your best friend!”
Chris stood back. “’S why it’s so ‘ard. I don’t want…he’d think I were feelin’ sorry for him or summat, and then…well, Ray don’t like that. He ain’t…he ain’t the sort of person who wants people to feel sorry for ‘im.”
“And…why would he think that? I mean…it’s normal, for friends to spend Christmas together, isn’t it?”
Chris shrugged. “He don’t really like Christmas. ‘S why he volunteered to do the shift on Christmas day. Nowt ever ‘appens, but the Super, he don’t like it if no one’s here, jus’ in case, like.”
Sam remembered asking Gene about that – he had assumed they would do some sort of draw to pick the unlucky officer, but Gene had told him Ray would do it without hesitation.
“Does he always work Christmas day?” Sam asked.
Chris nodded. “Everyone else has…someone. Like, the Guv’s got…Mrs Guv, an’ everyone else ‘as got kids or family, like me…I suppose you could ‘ave done it, but Ray’d rather…he’s jus’ always done it, since I joined, anyway. Think it stops ‘im thinkin’ about his family, an’…y’know.”
“What happened?” Sam asked, knowing it was a question he would never ask Ray.
Chris looked uncomfortable, but he supposed Ray wouldn’t mind Sam knowing. “His mum an’ his brother were killed in the blitz here. That were a couple of days before Christmas. Then, ‘fore the New Year, there were a telegram saying his Dad were missing. He were only about 6 or seven.”
“Oh.” Sam couldn’t help but wonder what memories Gene had of the wartime Christmases he had lived through. He wondered if he should ask. “I think…I think Ray wouldn’t mind if you asked him, y’know. In fact, I think he’d like it.”
Chris looked terrified, but nodded. “Really?”
Sam remembered the look in Ray’s eyes when he’d been singing. “Really. I think…I think it’d be the best Christmas present you could give him.” He gave Chris’s shoulder a squeeze. “Ask him, even if it just means you coming and sitting in the station, at least he wouldn’t be alone.”
Chris smiled. “You think he…might…like me? Even though I’m a…boy?”
Sam nodded. “I think he might.”
“How do you know?” Chris asked, his voice not quite a whine, but he wondered what he was missing that Sam could see, because he was pretty sure that any move he made on Ray would be greeted with some reference to him being a div, or a dozy twonk, and possibly a fist in his face.
“The language of love, Chris, is universal,” Sam winked.
Chris frowned. He’d been out with a bird once, who’d talked about the language of lovers. “But I don't know any French, Boss."
Sam laughed out loud. “I’m talking about body language, Chris, not French.”
Ray was drunk – not falling-down drunk, but definitely a long way from sober. He spotted Chris walking back into the office without a drink in his hand, so tipped some whiskey into a spare mug and headed for him. “Drink,” he said, holding out the mug.
Chris smiled and took the mug, about to say something when Ray swayed and Chris feared he would fall over – he quickly reached out and grabbed Ray’s shirt. Ray slung his arm around Chris, determined to make Chris enjoy himself. Even the Boss was looking more relaxed than Chris was – and the boss didn’t have enough hair to let down, so to speak. Ray smiled at the thought. He knew if he could get drunk enough tonight he would spend the whole of the next day feeling so sick he wouldn’t even think about the fact he was spending yet another Christmas alone in the office.
“Why ain’t you dancin’?” he slurred at Chris. He liked it when Chris danced. He’d watched very carefully in the past, just to be sure he liked it as much as he thought he did.
Chris shrugged. “You sounded good – when you sang,” he said, then decided that the sentence hadn’t quite come out right, but Ray didn’t seem to mind. Chris was concentrating more on the feel of Ray’s body pressed against his own, and hoping that this was the sort of body language the Boss had been talking about.
“You should sing! Go an’ sing,” Ray gestured to where Annie and Trevor were doing a passable rendition of ‘Baby, it’s Cold Outside’, which would have been more convincing if there hadn’t been thirty years between them and Annie wasn’t obviously keeping her distance from Trevor’s wandering hands.
Chris gave a smile. “I can’t. Anyway, ‘s somethin’ I wanted to…ask?” he finished uncertainly.
“Need a piss,” Ray replied, dragging Chris towards the toilets as if he’d forgotten he still had an arm around the DC’s shoulders.
“Uh…Ray?” Chris started, but then he decided it might be an easier conversation to have out of the public eye.
Chris politely averted his eyes once they were in the toilet, and was just about to ask Ray when Ray began singing to himself. “Man, your lips look so delicious, my brother will be there at the door, Waves upon a tropical shore.”
Chris felt himself laugh as even Ray’s rather slurred falsetto for the female part still sounded better than Trevor’s attempts.
They were halfway back to the office when Chris remembered his original intentions. He stopped Ray, then paused, trying to find the right words.
“Ray?” he started, still holding into Ray’s shirt, just to make sure the man couldn’t escape again. “Tomorrow…can I…come in too?” he finished lamely.
Ray frowned. “Thought you was havin’ it with your folks?”
“I am – I mean, I was…but…can I?” It wasn’t entirely what he’d meant to say, and he realised now that he could have simply turned up in the office, but he felt he needed permission.
“Course. You’re a div, ‘f you’d rather spend it ‘ere than ‘ome, but I knew that anyway.”
Chris couldn’t help but let a smile spread across his face. “Yeah! I mean…’m not a div. Sometimes.”
Ray laughed. “Sometimes,” he echoed, and dragged Chris back into the office. “Now sing.”
And Chris did, complete with dancing, because suddenly the party seemed a lot more fun.
The next morning he awoke with the covers tangled around him, his shirt still on, and feeling as if something had died in his mouth. It may have been his brain, trying to get out of his skull, he wasn’t sure.
He rolled over and pulled the cover over his head, whimpering slightly as the movement caused all of his innards – which had somehow turned to liquid – to slosh around inside him. He decided the last Christmas present his Mum would want was a bed full of vomit, so he got up, and when the room had stopped spinning, staggered to the bathroom, leaning on the sink heavily.
It was more than half an hour before he was in any state to head downstairs, now dressed in his favourite old jeans and a shirt.
His Mum was busy in the kitchen already, vegetables were being chopped and cooking smells were coming from the oven.
“Mornin’ Mum, ‘appy Christmas,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a hug.
“You stink of alcohol, Christopher,” she admonished. “But happy Christmas.”
Chris got himself a glass and filled it with orange juice, leaning back on the worktop and wondering what he should take first – some painkillers or something for his stomach.
“You ‘ad a nice time, last night?” his Mum asked.
Chris nodded on reflex, trying to remember anything that had happened.
“Ray brought you home. You shouldn’t get so drunk, you know. What if something were to happen to you? And in your position too – should be setting a good example.”
Chris frowned. “Ray?”
“Well, I didn’t look out, but it sounded like him. And he’s usually the one who gets you home safely.”
Chris nodded. Ray was like that. Always looking after him. Then memories of the night before began to surface.
“Ray! I said…I said I’d go an’…he’s on his own, Mum. At the station. I promised I’d go an’ see him. What’s the time?”
“Today?” Chris could tell his mother wasn’t best pleased. “And it’s almost midday.”
“He’s all alone. An’…an’ he’s got no family, so…”
“You should have invited him around here. Next year, you must. No one should spend Christmas alone.”
“He…don’t really like a fuss. ‘Is parents, they died Christmastime. In the war, so…”
“Oh, the poor boy. And God rest their souls. He must only have been a little lad.”
Chris nodded. “’S why…I wanted to…”
“Of course. Well…if you wait, I’ll do you up some dinner to take. How’s that?”
“Really?” Chris grinned. “I think he’d like that.”
“Well, you’re a big boy now, we always knew one year we’d lose you to a pretty girl. Besides, I’ve things to do and your father will fall asleep after the Queen’s speech.”
Chris nodded. He’d found Christmas day a little boring since having to admit he was a grown up. Even as a boy he’d always secretly wished he could spend it with his friends, or that he’d had a brother to play with.
It was almost an hour later when Chris carefully packed the small feast his mother had prepared into his Dad’s car. There was turkey and veg plus all the other trimmings, gravy – in a teapot with a cosy on it, to keep it warm – two servings of Christmas pudding and some cake. Chris had also packed some orange juice as his Mum refused to let him take any alcohol, partly because of his hangover and partly because she knew that Ray would never drink on duty, and Chris didn’t think he should correct her on that one.
He nodded to the officer on the desk as he entered the station, ignoring the funny look he got as he balanced everything to press the call button on the lift.
It was odd, when the station was so still and quiet, but Chris kind of liked it. It felt a little bit magical. As he headed down the corridor to CID he saw the streamers still strewn around and the odd tin or cup. He pushed open the door and saw Ray, feet in his desk drawer, tipped back in his chair asleep, the TV sitting on a nearby desk, instead of in the locker room, playing to no one.
Chris carefully approached and noticed the floor around the bin was littered with scrunched up paper and carefully folded paper aeroplanes – testament to Ray’s boredom. He allowed his gaze to linger on Ray for a long moment, taking in Ray’s jeans and the denim jacket that he was huddled into. He wasn’t wearing a tie, either, and Chris wondered if this was Ray’s one nod to the fact that today should be a holiday. Around his neck instead was his red and white scarf, which Chris knew would never enter the office if there were even a chance of the Guv being there. Chris silently moved a few things aside, then put the plates down, still covered in their silver foil, using two files as place mats. He arranged the other dishes too, then looked up, wondering how to wake Ray, only to meet the questioning gaze of two bright blue eyes.
“Uh…” Chris gestured to the spread. “I bought lunch,” he said, unnecessarily.
Ray stopped looking at him for just long enough to take in the food arranged in front of him. He frowned at the teapot. “We’ve got tea here, you div.”
“’S gravy. Mum di’n’t want it getting’ cold on the way.”
Ray smiled widely, rubbing his eyes and removing his feet from the drawer. “I like your Mum.”
“She said…you took me ‘ome last night?”
Ray nodded. “Sit down, I’m starvin’.”
Chris grinned widely, although his stomach did a little flip-flop when Ray brought a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and poured them each a slug.
It might not have been traditional – eating at a desk, surrounded by files and folders, the vegetable dishes fighting for space with an in-tray and the gravy almost dripping on the telephone, but Chris thought it was probably the best Christmas dinner he’d ever had. He knew he had to thank the Boss for giving him the encouragement he needed.
He knew he would remember the look on Ray’s face when he brought out the Christmas pudding and cream for a long time. He had wondered if it would be possible for Ray to ever be happy at Christmas, after the tragic events of his early life. The smile Ray gave him made him feel as if he’d achieved more than he ever thought possible.
After eating they both sat back, Ray smiling at Chris.
“Why’d you do it?” he asked.
“Wha’?” Chris asked, trying to pick a bit of nut out of his back teeth with a paperclip.
“This,” Ray gestured.
Chris shrugged, not entirely sure. “Jus’…di’n’t want you to be lonely.”
“You could’ve been nice an’ cosy at home, havin’ seconds, feet up in front of the fire.”
“An’ listen to me Dad snorin’ an’ help me Mum wash up, then get dragged to me Auntie’s an’ listen to ‘em all moan on at me about crime rates an’ how they could do a better job than we do an’ ‘ow we should still ‘ave the death penalty.” Chris shook his head. “Rather be ‘ere.”
“An’ there was I thinkin’ you’d given up summat special to be wi’ me – didn’t realise I was your ‘andy escape plan.”
“I didn’t…” Chris began, realising he’d just made it sound as if he’d only come to see Ray to escape a worse fate. Then he saw Ray’s smile.
“Div,” Ray smiled.
Chris grinned, feeling his cheeks colour slightly.
They spent the afternoon watching the telly, complaining about the same films playing every year and mulling over the events of the past year.
In a quiet moment Chris decided he had to ask.
“What were it like, Christmas in the war?” he asked. His Mum always told him that talking things through was good for him, but he wasn’t sure she was right. He did know, however, that he wanted to understand Ray.
Ray took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. Chris could tell he had tensed up – they were sitting next to each other now, feet on the desk that held the telly.
“Well, there were rationing – sometimes you got extra ‘round Christmas, but sometimes not. There weren’t much to be had, anyway. An’ it were dark. Unless a bomb or a doodlebug lit the place up. No one could ‘ave their trees all lit up in the window no more, an’ you couldn’t see the displays in the shops cause of the blast tape. Di’n’t get no presents, unless you were real lucky. One year we ‘ad sweets – homemade. Some of the local women ‘ad clubbed together an’ been saving up their rations for months, an’ they made us all sweets, in the ‘ome. I remember the first few years, everyone sayin’ ‘It’ll all be over by Christmas’, but it weren’t. We never guessed ‘ow long it would last, though. Didn’t seem like there was enough people in the world to keep going an’ dying.”
“Were you evacuated?” Chris asked.
Ray didn’t answer for a long time, and Chris grew uncomfortable. Then Ray reached for his cigarettes again, tapping one on the box, but not lighting it. “We went, in ’39, me an’ Rob. We were in the same village, but split, cos no one wanted both of us. His family were okay, but mine were…the old man was ‘orrible. Used to beat me, for nowt, an’ take my rations. Rob found out, when we talked, an’ he decided we should go back ‘ome. So we did. We got back an Mum were so glad to see us, she hugged us an’ di’n’t let go, she were cryin’ an’ all. Lots of kids went back, cos it weren’t as bad as they said it would be, not at first. It were better at ‘ome, together again. Then…the next year, that’s when…we di’n’t think the bomb would ever stop ‘til there weren’t nothin’ left. They kept comin’ over, an’ you could hear they were big planes, and even when the bombs weren’t close, you could feel ‘em,” Ray clenched his fist against his chest. “In there, could feel them hitting, an’ each time, you wondered how many people ‘ad gone. We di’n’t have a shelter – my old man didn’t think we needed it. So we were under the stairs, like we were told. We’d been there hours, when we heard one whistling, an’ we knew it were going to be close. An’ I was smallest, so I was right in the back of the cupboard, all wrapped up in meself, an’ a blanket around me, over my head an’ all.”
Chris felt himself tensing up, because he knew what was coming, but Ray had never described it like this before.
“When it hit…it were like the whole world were ended, the noise was so much, everything was going everywhere, bits of the house, an’ the dust, and it was so hot. An’, in the end, when stuff stopped falling, an’…it di’n’t go silent, but near as it got, an’…I finally pulled the blanket off me head. It was cold. Windy an’ cold. I thought it’d be dark…but it weren’t. Manchester was burnin’, all over, an’ our house jus’ weren’t there. I was outside. The next two were the same, an’ the wall had gone off the next. You could see all their stuff, their bed an’ everything, jus’…open to the air. An’ the bombers were still comin’ over, hundreds of ‘em. So I stayed were I was. I knew…I knew they ‘adn’t…Rob an’ Mum. I held Rob’s hand, were it were sticking out of the bricks, but…”
Chris found his own hand reaching out, and he gripped Ray’s, squeezing it, somehow wanting to show him that it was all right and that he didn’t have to think about that night any more and a million other things that he knew he didn’t have the words to convey. When Ray squeezed his hand back and pulled Chris into an awkward hug, Chris knew for sure that he had done the right thing.
~Fin
Title: Let ‘Em All Come
Author:elfbert
Rating: Brown Cortina, explicit sex
Word Count: 1400 words, ish.
Notes/Warnings: Follows directly from "Let Us Go Forward Together" if you haven’t read that, you’ll be a bit lost reading this. Title comes from another War Propaganda poster.
Beta: Betad by Fran "I'll beta it for you...what does a beta do?". Any mistakes that remain are mine. But please tell me about them XD
It was five o’clock before Ray nudged Chris awake from where he’d slumped, fast asleep, against his shoulder, and began tidying up the office, readying it for another day’s work.
As they put the chairs back, and Ray carried the TV into the locker room again Chris felt uncertainty creeping through him. Was this it? The office back to normal, the day and its events forgotten? Would tomorrow be like any other day now?
Ray returned and saw Chris looking lost in the middle of the room, his eyes holding an air of sadness.
“Wassup?” he asked as he straightened out the files and half-heartedly scooped up some of the rubbish.
“Are…you goin’ home, then?” Chris asked.
Ray nodded. “Nowhere else t’go, is there?”
“I…s’pose,” Chris answered.
“You comin’?” Ray asked, hoping that Chris would agree.
“Uh…what?”
“You comin’ back to mine, or ‘ave you got to be back at your folks? You said summat about goin’ t’see your aunty?”
“Oh! No, I don’t…I can…can I come back to yours?”
“Course.” Ray planted a kiss on Chris’s lips as if it were the most normal thing in the world as he walked past with the plates, heading to the sink.
Chris froze to the spot, then very slowly lifted his hand to touch his lips. He turned, still open-mouthed to where Ray was now washing up. He had been happy holding Ray’s hand, pressed against him, feeling his warmth…but none of that had been anything they hadn’t done before, admittedly when they’d both been drunk. Ray had undressed him before, and put him to bed too. And Chris fervently hoped that might happen again – except he wanted to remember every second of it this time.
He walked up behind Ray and looked for the tea towel, which was usually somewhere in the area. Ray glanced at him. “I ain’t got much in at my place – nowt fancy like you brought ‘ere.”
Chris nodded. “Don’t matter.” He almost added ‘as long as we’re together’, but stopped himself because he thought that might be a bit too girly.
Ray watched as Chris put far more concentration into drying up than was needed, then launched a large blob of foam from the sink at the younger man.
Chris only saw the missile just in time and jumped away, the bubbles landing on his chest. He grinned, putting the plate down safely and twirling the tea towel around, ready to flick it at Ray in retaliation. Ray spotted the danger and began backing off, glancing around for a suitable weapon.
“Chris…I’m warnin’ you, ‘f you…”
The tea towel snapped out, catching Ray a stinging strike on his thigh. Ray decided the best defence was to put Chris out of action, so he stepped forward, scooping more bubbles up as he went and crashed into Chris, forcing the younger man backwards until he hit the wall, then rubbing the bubbles into Chris’s hair, watching as bits detached and fell around Chris like a small snow shower. Ray kept going though, until he was leaning against Chris, their bodies pressed together chest to toe. Then he leant in, claiming his prize, kissing Chris hard, pushing his wet hand up Chris’s jumper, under his shirt and sliding across his smooth stomach.
Chris kissed back hard, feeling himself go weak at the knees, but knowing he could fall because Ray was holding him up. He’d never thought of himself as being terribly good at kissing, he never really knew what girls wanted – and they were so fragile, he didn’t want them thinking he was some sort of animal. But with Ray that was what it was about, instinct and passion and an animal need. He hooked one hand into the waistband of Ray’s jeans, the other gripping the front of Ray’s denim jacket, pulling him close, demanding more.
Ray finally broke away, resting his forehead against Chris’s, panting whisky-tainted breath over Chris.
“Think we should get back to mine?”
Chris looked around, suddenly remembering they really were in CID, not safely tucked away in one of his dreams, as they had been every other time this had happened. He nodded eagerly, throwing all the crockery into the basket, not caring how it landed.
Ray left the car park of the station in a squeal of protesting rubber, and Chris steered his dad’s car a bit more carefully after him. They reached Ray’s flat in record time and as soon as they were inside the door Ray grabbed Chris’s jumper and pulled him close, a smile playing on his lips.
“What do you want to do now?” Ray asked in a low voice.
Chris didn’t know what to say, so he closed his eyes and reached for a kiss, working his hands inside Ray’s jacket, feeling the solid flesh, so different from any girl he’d ever been with. Ray pulled the jacket open, then shrugged it off, dropping it on the floor, leading Chris through toward the bedroom.
By the time Chris was naked, one of Ray’s hands gripping his arse cheek, his cock was hard and he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He was just glad that Ray seemed so totally at ease.
Ray dragged Chris down onto the bed with him, leaning over him, kissing him, running his hand down Chris’s side until he slid his fist over Chris’s cock, gently pumping it. Chris groaned into Ray’s mouth, his fingers digging into Ray’s back, trying to force them together so closely that there was nothing else in the world. But Ray broke free, sliding down the bed, leaving a trail of kisses down Chris’s smooth chest and belly, taking Chris’s hands and interlocking their fingers, holding so tightly that he could feel his tendons standing out. He trailed the tip of his tongue up Chris’s thigh, then dipped his head and sucked on of the soft balls into his mouth, hearing Chris gasp and feeling his body tense. He switched his attentions to the other, then lifted his head and waited until Chris looked down at him, their gazes locking as Ray took Chris’s cock in his mouth and sucked.
Chris bucked, feet slipping in the bedding, managing to break Ray’s hold on one of his hands and reaching down to tangle his fingers in Ray’s wavy hair.
He made inarticulate noises of pleasure, letting go like he couldn’t when he was alone, in his bed, with his parents in the next room. He had to open his eyes though, to check this was really Ray, this was really his dream coming true. He watched his cock slipping between Ray’s wet lips, felt Ray’s tongue sliding over the sensitive head, listened to Ray grunting with satisfaction, sending vibrations into Chris.
Chris couldn’t stop watching – it was better than anything he could have imagined, better than any porn film, any dirty magazine, because it was really happening, to him. He felt the familiar sensation of orgasm building inside him, curling up from inside him until there was no stopping it.
He made a half-strangled shout of warning, but it seemed like it just made Ray put in a little more effort, and as his warm tongue slid across the underside of Chris’s cock Chris came hard, panting and moaning, muscles in spasm as he thrust as far into Ray’s mouth as he could.
Ray swallowed everything Chris had, gently sucking and licking Chris clean until Chris giggled and pushed him away, limbs heavy, half-deaf as his heart pounded.
“Too much,” Chris mumbled, dragging Ray back up the bed. He was surprised when Ray reached for another kiss. He could taste himself on Ray and it felt dirty and sexy and he grabbed Ray and held him close, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex that clung to them both.
Ray slid an arm around Chris’s waist and looked down at him, smiling, enjoying the solid warmth of Chris’s muscular frame.
“’Appy Christmas,” Chris said softly.
Ray nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
~Fin (until they’ve got their breath back, anyway)
Title: Let Us Go Forward Together.
Author:
elfbertRecipient:
_afterismRating: NC-12
Word Count: 4850 words, ish. (And I thought I'd struggle to get to 1000!)
Notes/Warnings: Title from a very famous poster during the war. Prompt was ‘Ray/Chris, please? "I don't know any french, boss.”’
nebula99 did the fastest beta ever, so thank you to her and all remaining mistakes are mine.The party was in full swing, and Sam was enjoying it, despite himself. He didn’t normally go in for office parties, but this one was somehow different. He didn’t know whether it was because of the generally more relaxed air of 1973, or because of the three whiskeys that Gene had forced upon him, and he was rapidly realising that it didn’t matter.
He took another look around the room – officers were sitting on desks, everyone with a drink in their hand and many of them now ‘wearing’ the streamers and paper chains which had originally adorned the drab office and given it a touch of Christmas charm. Then he realised he had more urgent concerns than trying to decide if he should move on to beer or stick with the spirits, and headed unsteadily for the toilet.
He leant against the wall as he pissed, humming the bloody Slade song. He smiled when he remembered how impressed Chris had been when Sam had known all the words when it had first played on the radio. The younger man had treated it as if were some feat of magic – which Sam supposed, if he was honest, it was.
Once he’d washed his hands he headed back into the corridor, enjoying the relatively smoke-free air for a moment. Then he saw someone else, leaning in the shadows by the corner. His natural instinct kicked in and he walked towards them, ignoring the noise from inside the office.
“Chris?”
The younger man jumped. “Boss, um…happy Christmas?”
Sam smiled. It was obvious that Chris was drunk – he didn’t, however, look very merry.
“Why are you out here?” Sam asked, leaning up against the opposite wall.
Chris looked at the floor and shrugged.
“Thought you’d be in there, enjoying the party,” Sam continued. He knew how much Chris enjoyed parties – he didn’t seem to care about making a fool of himself, dancing, singing, as long as everyone seemed to be having fun.
Chris shrugged again.
“Ray’s telling a story about two prostitutes and a stray dog – or was it two constables and a stray prostitute? I don’t remember,” Sam smiled encouragingly. And then notice that Chris’s expression had become even gloomier.
“Has Ray been making fun of you?” Sam asked, knowing that the DS could push things too far.
Chris looked up suddenly and shook his head. “No! An’…I don’t mind, anyway. Most stuff he tells people…it is funny. I know I’m a div…sometimes. An’…if it makes people laugh,” he shrugged yet again. “I’d rather people laughed than…’s nice, when people are ‘appy, innit, Boss?”
Sam gave a smile. “Yeah, I suppose it is, I suppose it is.”
They stood in silence for a minute or two, Chris smoking a cigarette and still not looking any happier.
“What are you doing for Christmas, then?” Sam finally asked, to break the silence.
“Me parents, Mum’s cookin’, like. She normally does a nice spread. Chicken or turkey. And roast spuds. I love ‘em.”
Sam smiled widely as a touch of happiness finally showed in Chris’s expression.
“What ‘bout you, Boss?” Chris asked, remembering his manners.
“I’m…um…spending it with a friend,” Sam answered, not wanting to tell Chris that he hoped to spend most of the day decidedly naked and in bed with their DCI.
“Girlfriend?” Chris asked, wondering how the Boss ever found time to have any friends – he seemed to be either working or in the Arms.
Sam paused. “Um…no. Just…someone who doesn’t have anyone else…and I don’t, so…well, it’s better to spend Christmas with friends or family, isn’t it? Not much fun on your own.”
Chris face fell again, and he looked at his feet, pushing something invisible around on the lino with his toe.
Sam frowned, trying to piece together the evidence. The haze of alcohol was affecting his normally sharp mental skills though, and he shook his head.
“Is there someone…who…you’d rather you could spend Christmas with?” he finally ventured, awkwardly.
Chris pulled a face. “Sorta.”
Sam let the silence drag, waiting for Chris to elaborate. Finally he prompted: “Meaning?”
Chris looked up and down the corridor. “There’s someone…an’…Christmas ain’t very happy for ‘em, an’…they’ve got no one to spend it with but…I dunno if they’d want me to…y’know? I’d like to, though, but…sometimes, if you ain’t very happy, you don’t want people tryin’ to make you be, do you?”
Sam tried to unjumble Chris’s speech, then nodded, thinking he understood. “Have you asked them?”
Chris shook his head. “I dunno what to do…I always stay in with Mum and Dad, an’…I don’ want to upset ‘em, or upset…the other person, so…I jus’ di’n’t do anything, but now I think…maybe I should’ve?”
Sam wasn’t sure what to say. He’d found it quite easy to ask Gene to spend the day with him – the moment Gene had said his missus would be going to see her family Sam knew that was his opportunity. In fact, he was reasonably sure that was the reason Gene had told him. He knew the Guv would never have asked, but Sam also knew that, despite him being unable to imagine Gene and the missus sitting down for a cosy Christmas dinner together – she did have first dibs on her husband, however obvious it was that they had grown so far apart that even saying they were ‘co-habiting’ was putting more warmth in their relationship then there really was.
“Are you going to see this…other person, before tomorrow?” Sam asked. “Or can you phone them? I’m sure your parents would understand if you wanted to make sure someone else had a nice Christmas day. And I’m sure they would appreciate that you were being a good friend to someone. After all, you see them every day.”
There was a flash of hope in Chris’s eyes and he nodded. “What do I…how can I…the other person…cos, to invite meself…an’…what if he says no?”
Sam’s eyebrows rose at the word ‘he’ and Chris immediately realised what he’d said.
“Oh.”
“You won’t know until you ask him, Chris. Ask first, and if he wants you to spend it with him, then tell your parents – if not, no harm done, you stay at home, right?”
Chris nodded, uncertainly at first, but then more enthusiastically.
“Go and find a phone or something then, before you’re too drunk and forget,” Sam steered Chris with a hand on his shoulder.
“Now?” Chris’s earlier look of fear returned.
“Now.” Sam answered. Half wishing he could listen in to the conversation.
As Chris reached out for the door to the office Sam stopped him. “You can’t call from in there – too noisy. Go to one of the other offices, it’ll be quiet there.”
Sam headed for the party seven as soon as he was back in the office, feeling as if he had done his good deed for the day.
He didn’t notice Chris again until later, but noted that the younger man still wasn’t exactly looking in the party spirit. The Guv had just done an appalling rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, which had most people trying to hide their giggles, for fear of reprisals. Chris was smiling, but his eyes still held an air of sadness.
Sam walked over to him, but was distracted by a commotion near the desk Gene had just climbed down from. A few of the officers and Annie were all pushing Ray to climb onto the table, someone else messing with the tape player which had been given a rest from it’s normal duties to blare out the Christmas hits.
Ray finally stood on the desk, looking as if he really shouldn’t be standing, let alone on a table strewn with spare cups and discarded tins.
The tape player finally kicked in and Ray clicked his fingers in time with the music, swaying the glass of scotch in his other hand.
Sam turned back to Chris, not looking forward to any more of the drunken out-of-key karaoke. “Chris – what did he say?” he asked as quietly as he could.
Then Ray started singing and Sam felt his eyes open wide, his gaze drawn back to the man on the table. Ray was actually singing in tune, in time – and it was as good as any professional version Sam had heard. And Ray’s gaze was resting on Chris as he sang.
“A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland.”
Sam turned back to Chris, who was smiling, attention entirely upon Ray. He decided that whatever he had been going to say could wait until the end of the song.
As soon as Ray had finished the song and safely descended to ground level again, Sam grabbed Chris and dragged him out of the room again.
“Boss! What you doing? Boss?” Chris half stumbled as he became caught in some streamers.
“What happened?” Sam asked, although he was pretty sure Chris hadn’t actually done anything yet.
“Uh…I…’aven’t…” Chris stuttered.
“Come on then.” Sam held Chris by the arm as he marched down the corridor, his inebriated state removing his usual manners. He stood Chris by a desk in another office and picked up the phone, holding it out to Chris. “Dial.”
Chris gently but firmly put the handset down again.
“He ain’t at home.”
“Oh.” Sam had been sure that Chris had chickened out from even asking his friend, he hadn’t thought of other options.
“He’s in the office,” Chris finished. His natural reticence to talk about it had been eroded by the drink and by his knowledge that he was, once again, being a div. He knew that by asking he’d at least be giving himself a chance. But by not asking he’d never have to deal with the rejection. “’S Ray.”
Sam was so shocked he choked and began a coughing fit. Chris hesitantly patted him on the back. “Boss?”
Sam waved a hand. “Ray?” he croaked out. “Why are you scared of askin’ Ray? He’s your best friend!”
Chris stood back. “’S why it’s so ‘ard. I don’t want…he’d think I were feelin’ sorry for him or summat, and then…well, Ray don’t like that. He ain’t…he ain’t the sort of person who wants people to feel sorry for ‘im.”
“And…why would he think that? I mean…it’s normal, for friends to spend Christmas together, isn’t it?”
Chris shrugged. “He don’t really like Christmas. ‘S why he volunteered to do the shift on Christmas day. Nowt ever ‘appens, but the Super, he don’t like it if no one’s here, jus’ in case, like.”
Sam remembered asking Gene about that – he had assumed they would do some sort of draw to pick the unlucky officer, but Gene had told him Ray would do it without hesitation.
“Does he always work Christmas day?” Sam asked.
Chris nodded. “Everyone else has…someone. Like, the Guv’s got…Mrs Guv, an’ everyone else ‘as got kids or family, like me…I suppose you could ‘ave done it, but Ray’d rather…he’s jus’ always done it, since I joined, anyway. Think it stops ‘im thinkin’ about his family, an’…y’know.”
“What happened?” Sam asked, knowing it was a question he would never ask Ray.
Chris looked uncomfortable, but he supposed Ray wouldn’t mind Sam knowing. “His mum an’ his brother were killed in the blitz here. That were a couple of days before Christmas. Then, ‘fore the New Year, there were a telegram saying his Dad were missing. He were only about 6 or seven.”
“Oh.” Sam couldn’t help but wonder what memories Gene had of the wartime Christmases he had lived through. He wondered if he should ask. “I think…I think Ray wouldn’t mind if you asked him, y’know. In fact, I think he’d like it.”
Chris looked terrified, but nodded. “Really?”
Sam remembered the look in Ray’s eyes when he’d been singing. “Really. I think…I think it’d be the best Christmas present you could give him.” He gave Chris’s shoulder a squeeze. “Ask him, even if it just means you coming and sitting in the station, at least he wouldn’t be alone.”
Chris smiled. “You think he…might…like me? Even though I’m a…boy?”
Sam nodded. “I think he might.”
“How do you know?” Chris asked, his voice not quite a whine, but he wondered what he was missing that Sam could see, because he was pretty sure that any move he made on Ray would be greeted with some reference to him being a div, or a dozy twonk, and possibly a fist in his face.
“The language of love, Chris, is universal,” Sam winked.
Chris frowned. He’d been out with a bird once, who’d talked about the language of lovers. “But I don't know any French, Boss."
Sam laughed out loud. “I’m talking about body language, Chris, not French.”
Ray was drunk – not falling-down drunk, but definitely a long way from sober. He spotted Chris walking back into the office without a drink in his hand, so tipped some whiskey into a spare mug and headed for him. “Drink,” he said, holding out the mug.
Chris smiled and took the mug, about to say something when Ray swayed and Chris feared he would fall over – he quickly reached out and grabbed Ray’s shirt. Ray slung his arm around Chris, determined to make Chris enjoy himself. Even the Boss was looking more relaxed than Chris was – and the boss didn’t have enough hair to let down, so to speak. Ray smiled at the thought. He knew if he could get drunk enough tonight he would spend the whole of the next day feeling so sick he wouldn’t even think about the fact he was spending yet another Christmas alone in the office.
“Why ain’t you dancin’?” he slurred at Chris. He liked it when Chris danced. He’d watched very carefully in the past, just to be sure he liked it as much as he thought he did.
Chris shrugged. “You sounded good – when you sang,” he said, then decided that the sentence hadn’t quite come out right, but Ray didn’t seem to mind. Chris was concentrating more on the feel of Ray’s body pressed against his own, and hoping that this was the sort of body language the Boss had been talking about.
“You should sing! Go an’ sing,” Ray gestured to where Annie and Trevor were doing a passable rendition of ‘Baby, it’s Cold Outside’, which would have been more convincing if there hadn’t been thirty years between them and Annie wasn’t obviously keeping her distance from Trevor’s wandering hands.
Chris gave a smile. “I can’t. Anyway, ‘s somethin’ I wanted to…ask?” he finished uncertainly.
“Need a piss,” Ray replied, dragging Chris towards the toilets as if he’d forgotten he still had an arm around the DC’s shoulders.
“Uh…Ray?” Chris started, but then he decided it might be an easier conversation to have out of the public eye.
Chris politely averted his eyes once they were in the toilet, and was just about to ask Ray when Ray began singing to himself. “Man, your lips look so delicious, my brother will be there at the door, Waves upon a tropical shore.”
Chris felt himself laugh as even Ray’s rather slurred falsetto for the female part still sounded better than Trevor’s attempts.
They were halfway back to the office when Chris remembered his original intentions. He stopped Ray, then paused, trying to find the right words.
“Ray?” he started, still holding into Ray’s shirt, just to make sure the man couldn’t escape again. “Tomorrow…can I…come in too?” he finished lamely.
Ray frowned. “Thought you was havin’ it with your folks?”
“I am – I mean, I was…but…can I?” It wasn’t entirely what he’d meant to say, and he realised now that he could have simply turned up in the office, but he felt he needed permission.
“Course. You’re a div, ‘f you’d rather spend it ‘ere than ‘ome, but I knew that anyway.”
Chris couldn’t help but let a smile spread across his face. “Yeah! I mean…’m not a div. Sometimes.”
Ray laughed. “Sometimes,” he echoed, and dragged Chris back into the office. “Now sing.”
And Chris did, complete with dancing, because suddenly the party seemed a lot more fun.
The next morning he awoke with the covers tangled around him, his shirt still on, and feeling as if something had died in his mouth. It may have been his brain, trying to get out of his skull, he wasn’t sure.
He rolled over and pulled the cover over his head, whimpering slightly as the movement caused all of his innards – which had somehow turned to liquid – to slosh around inside him. He decided the last Christmas present his Mum would want was a bed full of vomit, so he got up, and when the room had stopped spinning, staggered to the bathroom, leaning on the sink heavily.
It was more than half an hour before he was in any state to head downstairs, now dressed in his favourite old jeans and a shirt.
His Mum was busy in the kitchen already, vegetables were being chopped and cooking smells were coming from the oven.
“Mornin’ Mum, ‘appy Christmas,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a hug.
“You stink of alcohol, Christopher,” she admonished. “But happy Christmas.”
Chris got himself a glass and filled it with orange juice, leaning back on the worktop and wondering what he should take first – some painkillers or something for his stomach.
“You ‘ad a nice time, last night?” his Mum asked.
Chris nodded on reflex, trying to remember anything that had happened.
“Ray brought you home. You shouldn’t get so drunk, you know. What if something were to happen to you? And in your position too – should be setting a good example.”
Chris frowned. “Ray?”
“Well, I didn’t look out, but it sounded like him. And he’s usually the one who gets you home safely.”
Chris nodded. Ray was like that. Always looking after him. Then memories of the night before began to surface.
“Ray! I said…I said I’d go an’…he’s on his own, Mum. At the station. I promised I’d go an’ see him. What’s the time?”
“Today?” Chris could tell his mother wasn’t best pleased. “And it’s almost midday.”
“He’s all alone. An’…an’ he’s got no family, so…”
“You should have invited him around here. Next year, you must. No one should spend Christmas alone.”
“He…don’t really like a fuss. ‘Is parents, they died Christmastime. In the war, so…”
“Oh, the poor boy. And God rest their souls. He must only have been a little lad.”
Chris nodded. “’S why…I wanted to…”
“Of course. Well…if you wait, I’ll do you up some dinner to take. How’s that?”
“Really?” Chris grinned. “I think he’d like that.”
“Well, you’re a big boy now, we always knew one year we’d lose you to a pretty girl. Besides, I’ve things to do and your father will fall asleep after the Queen’s speech.”
Chris nodded. He’d found Christmas day a little boring since having to admit he was a grown up. Even as a boy he’d always secretly wished he could spend it with his friends, or that he’d had a brother to play with.
It was almost an hour later when Chris carefully packed the small feast his mother had prepared into his Dad’s car. There was turkey and veg plus all the other trimmings, gravy – in a teapot with a cosy on it, to keep it warm – two servings of Christmas pudding and some cake. Chris had also packed some orange juice as his Mum refused to let him take any alcohol, partly because of his hangover and partly because she knew that Ray would never drink on duty, and Chris didn’t think he should correct her on that one.
He nodded to the officer on the desk as he entered the station, ignoring the funny look he got as he balanced everything to press the call button on the lift.
It was odd, when the station was so still and quiet, but Chris kind of liked it. It felt a little bit magical. As he headed down the corridor to CID he saw the streamers still strewn around and the odd tin or cup. He pushed open the door and saw Ray, feet in his desk drawer, tipped back in his chair asleep, the TV sitting on a nearby desk, instead of in the locker room, playing to no one.
Chris carefully approached and noticed the floor around the bin was littered with scrunched up paper and carefully folded paper aeroplanes – testament to Ray’s boredom. He allowed his gaze to linger on Ray for a long moment, taking in Ray’s jeans and the denim jacket that he was huddled into. He wasn’t wearing a tie, either, and Chris wondered if this was Ray’s one nod to the fact that today should be a holiday. Around his neck instead was his red and white scarf, which Chris knew would never enter the office if there were even a chance of the Guv being there. Chris silently moved a few things aside, then put the plates down, still covered in their silver foil, using two files as place mats. He arranged the other dishes too, then looked up, wondering how to wake Ray, only to meet the questioning gaze of two bright blue eyes.
“Uh…” Chris gestured to the spread. “I bought lunch,” he said, unnecessarily.
Ray stopped looking at him for just long enough to take in the food arranged in front of him. He frowned at the teapot. “We’ve got tea here, you div.”
“’S gravy. Mum di’n’t want it getting’ cold on the way.”
Ray smiled widely, rubbing his eyes and removing his feet from the drawer. “I like your Mum.”
“She said…you took me ‘ome last night?”
Ray nodded. “Sit down, I’m starvin’.”
Chris grinned widely, although his stomach did a little flip-flop when Ray brought a bottle of scotch out of his desk drawer and poured them each a slug.
It might not have been traditional – eating at a desk, surrounded by files and folders, the vegetable dishes fighting for space with an in-tray and the gravy almost dripping on the telephone, but Chris thought it was probably the best Christmas dinner he’d ever had. He knew he had to thank the Boss for giving him the encouragement he needed.
He knew he would remember the look on Ray’s face when he brought out the Christmas pudding and cream for a long time. He had wondered if it would be possible for Ray to ever be happy at Christmas, after the tragic events of his early life. The smile Ray gave him made him feel as if he’d achieved more than he ever thought possible.
After eating they both sat back, Ray smiling at Chris.
“Why’d you do it?” he asked.
“Wha’?” Chris asked, trying to pick a bit of nut out of his back teeth with a paperclip.
“This,” Ray gestured.
Chris shrugged, not entirely sure. “Jus’…di’n’t want you to be lonely.”
“You could’ve been nice an’ cosy at home, havin’ seconds, feet up in front of the fire.”
“An’ listen to me Dad snorin’ an’ help me Mum wash up, then get dragged to me Auntie’s an’ listen to ‘em all moan on at me about crime rates an’ how they could do a better job than we do an’ ‘ow we should still ‘ave the death penalty.” Chris shook his head. “Rather be ‘ere.”
“An’ there was I thinkin’ you’d given up summat special to be wi’ me – didn’t realise I was your ‘andy escape plan.”
“I didn’t…” Chris began, realising he’d just made it sound as if he’d only come to see Ray to escape a worse fate. Then he saw Ray’s smile.
“Div,” Ray smiled.
Chris grinned, feeling his cheeks colour slightly.
They spent the afternoon watching the telly, complaining about the same films playing every year and mulling over the events of the past year.
In a quiet moment Chris decided he had to ask.
“What were it like, Christmas in the war?” he asked. His Mum always told him that talking things through was good for him, but he wasn’t sure she was right. He did know, however, that he wanted to understand Ray.
Ray took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. Chris could tell he had tensed up – they were sitting next to each other now, feet on the desk that held the telly.
“Well, there were rationing – sometimes you got extra ‘round Christmas, but sometimes not. There weren’t much to be had, anyway. An’ it were dark. Unless a bomb or a doodlebug lit the place up. No one could ‘ave their trees all lit up in the window no more, an’ you couldn’t see the displays in the shops cause of the blast tape. Di’n’t get no presents, unless you were real lucky. One year we ‘ad sweets – homemade. Some of the local women ‘ad clubbed together an’ been saving up their rations for months, an’ they made us all sweets, in the ‘ome. I remember the first few years, everyone sayin’ ‘It’ll all be over by Christmas’, but it weren’t. We never guessed ‘ow long it would last, though. Didn’t seem like there was enough people in the world to keep going an’ dying.”
“Were you evacuated?” Chris asked.
Ray didn’t answer for a long time, and Chris grew uncomfortable. Then Ray reached for his cigarettes again, tapping one on the box, but not lighting it. “We went, in ’39, me an’ Rob. We were in the same village, but split, cos no one wanted both of us. His family were okay, but mine were…the old man was ‘orrible. Used to beat me, for nowt, an’ take my rations. Rob found out, when we talked, an’ he decided we should go back ‘ome. So we did. We got back an Mum were so glad to see us, she hugged us an’ di’n’t let go, she were cryin’ an’ all. Lots of kids went back, cos it weren’t as bad as they said it would be, not at first. It were better at ‘ome, together again. Then…the next year, that’s when…we di’n’t think the bomb would ever stop ‘til there weren’t nothin’ left. They kept comin’ over, an’ you could hear they were big planes, and even when the bombs weren’t close, you could feel ‘em,” Ray clenched his fist against his chest. “In there, could feel them hitting, an’ each time, you wondered how many people ‘ad gone. We di’n’t have a shelter – my old man didn’t think we needed it. So we were under the stairs, like we were told. We’d been there hours, when we heard one whistling, an’ we knew it were going to be close. An’ I was smallest, so I was right in the back of the cupboard, all wrapped up in meself, an’ a blanket around me, over my head an’ all.”
Chris felt himself tensing up, because he knew what was coming, but Ray had never described it like this before.
“When it hit…it were like the whole world were ended, the noise was so much, everything was going everywhere, bits of the house, an’ the dust, and it was so hot. An’, in the end, when stuff stopped falling, an’…it di’n’t go silent, but near as it got, an’…I finally pulled the blanket off me head. It was cold. Windy an’ cold. I thought it’d be dark…but it weren’t. Manchester was burnin’, all over, an’ our house jus’ weren’t there. I was outside. The next two were the same, an’ the wall had gone off the next. You could see all their stuff, their bed an’ everything, jus’…open to the air. An’ the bombers were still comin’ over, hundreds of ‘em. So I stayed were I was. I knew…I knew they ‘adn’t…Rob an’ Mum. I held Rob’s hand, were it were sticking out of the bricks, but…”
Chris found his own hand reaching out, and he gripped Ray’s, squeezing it, somehow wanting to show him that it was all right and that he didn’t have to think about that night any more and a million other things that he knew he didn’t have the words to convey. When Ray squeezed his hand back and pulled Chris into an awkward hug, Chris knew for sure that he had done the right thing.
~Fin
Title: Let ‘Em All Come
Author:
elfbertRating: Brown Cortina, explicit sex
Word Count: 1400 words, ish.
Notes/Warnings: Follows directly from "Let Us Go Forward Together" if you haven’t read that, you’ll be a bit lost reading this. Title comes from another War Propaganda poster.
Beta: Betad by Fran "I'll beta it for you...what does a beta do?". Any mistakes that remain are mine. But please tell me about them XD
It was five o’clock before Ray nudged Chris awake from where he’d slumped, fast asleep, against his shoulder, and began tidying up the office, readying it for another day’s work.
As they put the chairs back, and Ray carried the TV into the locker room again Chris felt uncertainty creeping through him. Was this it? The office back to normal, the day and its events forgotten? Would tomorrow be like any other day now?
Ray returned and saw Chris looking lost in the middle of the room, his eyes holding an air of sadness.
“Wassup?” he asked as he straightened out the files and half-heartedly scooped up some of the rubbish.
“Are…you goin’ home, then?” Chris asked.
Ray nodded. “Nowhere else t’go, is there?”
“I…s’pose,” Chris answered.
“You comin’?” Ray asked, hoping that Chris would agree.
“Uh…what?”
“You comin’ back to mine, or ‘ave you got to be back at your folks? You said summat about goin’ t’see your aunty?”
“Oh! No, I don’t…I can…can I come back to yours?”
“Course.” Ray planted a kiss on Chris’s lips as if it were the most normal thing in the world as he walked past with the plates, heading to the sink.
Chris froze to the spot, then very slowly lifted his hand to touch his lips. He turned, still open-mouthed to where Ray was now washing up. He had been happy holding Ray’s hand, pressed against him, feeling his warmth…but none of that had been anything they hadn’t done before, admittedly when they’d both been drunk. Ray had undressed him before, and put him to bed too. And Chris fervently hoped that might happen again – except he wanted to remember every second of it this time.
He walked up behind Ray and looked for the tea towel, which was usually somewhere in the area. Ray glanced at him. “I ain’t got much in at my place – nowt fancy like you brought ‘ere.”
Chris nodded. “Don’t matter.” He almost added ‘as long as we’re together’, but stopped himself because he thought that might be a bit too girly.
Ray watched as Chris put far more concentration into drying up than was needed, then launched a large blob of foam from the sink at the younger man.
Chris only saw the missile just in time and jumped away, the bubbles landing on his chest. He grinned, putting the plate down safely and twirling the tea towel around, ready to flick it at Ray in retaliation. Ray spotted the danger and began backing off, glancing around for a suitable weapon.
“Chris…I’m warnin’ you, ‘f you…”
The tea towel snapped out, catching Ray a stinging strike on his thigh. Ray decided the best defence was to put Chris out of action, so he stepped forward, scooping more bubbles up as he went and crashed into Chris, forcing the younger man backwards until he hit the wall, then rubbing the bubbles into Chris’s hair, watching as bits detached and fell around Chris like a small snow shower. Ray kept going though, until he was leaning against Chris, their bodies pressed together chest to toe. Then he leant in, claiming his prize, kissing Chris hard, pushing his wet hand up Chris’s jumper, under his shirt and sliding across his smooth stomach.
Chris kissed back hard, feeling himself go weak at the knees, but knowing he could fall because Ray was holding him up. He’d never thought of himself as being terribly good at kissing, he never really knew what girls wanted – and they were so fragile, he didn’t want them thinking he was some sort of animal. But with Ray that was what it was about, instinct and passion and an animal need. He hooked one hand into the waistband of Ray’s jeans, the other gripping the front of Ray’s denim jacket, pulling him close, demanding more.
Ray finally broke away, resting his forehead against Chris’s, panting whisky-tainted breath over Chris.
“Think we should get back to mine?”
Chris looked around, suddenly remembering they really were in CID, not safely tucked away in one of his dreams, as they had been every other time this had happened. He nodded eagerly, throwing all the crockery into the basket, not caring how it landed.
Ray left the car park of the station in a squeal of protesting rubber, and Chris steered his dad’s car a bit more carefully after him. They reached Ray’s flat in record time and as soon as they were inside the door Ray grabbed Chris’s jumper and pulled him close, a smile playing on his lips.
“What do you want to do now?” Ray asked in a low voice.
Chris didn’t know what to say, so he closed his eyes and reached for a kiss, working his hands inside Ray’s jacket, feeling the solid flesh, so different from any girl he’d ever been with. Ray pulled the jacket open, then shrugged it off, dropping it on the floor, leading Chris through toward the bedroom.
By the time Chris was naked, one of Ray’s hands gripping his arse cheek, his cock was hard and he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. He was just glad that Ray seemed so totally at ease.
Ray dragged Chris down onto the bed with him, leaning over him, kissing him, running his hand down Chris’s side until he slid his fist over Chris’s cock, gently pumping it. Chris groaned into Ray’s mouth, his fingers digging into Ray’s back, trying to force them together so closely that there was nothing else in the world. But Ray broke free, sliding down the bed, leaving a trail of kisses down Chris’s smooth chest and belly, taking Chris’s hands and interlocking their fingers, holding so tightly that he could feel his tendons standing out. He trailed the tip of his tongue up Chris’s thigh, then dipped his head and sucked on of the soft balls into his mouth, hearing Chris gasp and feeling his body tense. He switched his attentions to the other, then lifted his head and waited until Chris looked down at him, their gazes locking as Ray took Chris’s cock in his mouth and sucked.
Chris bucked, feet slipping in the bedding, managing to break Ray’s hold on one of his hands and reaching down to tangle his fingers in Ray’s wavy hair.
He made inarticulate noises of pleasure, letting go like he couldn’t when he was alone, in his bed, with his parents in the next room. He had to open his eyes though, to check this was really Ray, this was really his dream coming true. He watched his cock slipping between Ray’s wet lips, felt Ray’s tongue sliding over the sensitive head, listened to Ray grunting with satisfaction, sending vibrations into Chris.
Chris couldn’t stop watching – it was better than anything he could have imagined, better than any porn film, any dirty magazine, because it was really happening, to him. He felt the familiar sensation of orgasm building inside him, curling up from inside him until there was no stopping it.
He made a half-strangled shout of warning, but it seemed like it just made Ray put in a little more effort, and as his warm tongue slid across the underside of Chris’s cock Chris came hard, panting and moaning, muscles in spasm as he thrust as far into Ray’s mouth as he could.
Ray swallowed everything Chris had, gently sucking and licking Chris clean until Chris giggled and pushed him away, limbs heavy, half-deaf as his heart pounded.
“Too much,” Chris mumbled, dragging Ray back up the bed. He was surprised when Ray reached for another kiss. He could taste himself on Ray and it felt dirty and sexy and he grabbed Ray and held him close, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex that clung to them both.
Ray slid an arm around Chris’s waist and looked down at him, smiling, enjoying the solid warmth of Chris’s muscular frame.
“’Appy Christmas,” Chris said softly.
Ray nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
~Fin (until they’ve got their breath back, anyway)