Website/link to fic: Chez Shay
Fanlore page: Shay on Fanlore
First DS fic posted: 2002
Full disclosure: I've been a fan of Shay's for several years.
Pairings: Fraser/Kowalski, Vecchio/Kowalski, several other surprise! pairings.
Style and strengths: Shay's first due South fic was the epic gen thriller Wait Until Dim. Then she discovered slash and we have not looked back. She writes hot porn, hysterically funny crack, and the odd dark tale that makes us shiver. Shay is also a supporter of the love between Wolf and Turtle.
Other DS/C6D activity: Shay has written three Slings and Arrows ficlets.
Objects in the Rearview Mirror. Shay lists this as F/K, but it's more than that. It's the people who love Fraser, who want to love Fraser; those people he wont allow himself to love until it's almost too late.
"So, you want to grab some food when we're done here?"
I hear Ray as if from a great distance. The side window is fogged now, as the cool air within wars with the humidity outside. The condensation obscures the rearview mirror, just as a whiteout in the Territories obscures the terrain. You can be lost there so easily.
This time I shake my head, trying to rouse myself from the hypothermia of my heart. "I guess I'm just a little tired." Lie. Liar. "So, no."
"Oh." He sounds. . . disappointed, and I look at him, pulling myself back, despite my desire to withdraw. I've been avoiding him since the incident with the jogger. He's looking out his window, perhaps studying his own mirror. His shrug this time is a capitulation that says "I don't care," but he does; his defenses are transparent. "Thought maybe we'd get some dinner afterwards, that's all. But if you're tired we don't have to."
I've known him a year. He's often prickly, and being undercover, doesn't have many friends. He knows I've been keeping away and doesn't understand why. He'll never say so, but it hurts him.
I've hurt him, when all I wanted to do was protect myself. Well hurrah for you, Benton Fraser, you've succeeded. You've kept him at bay.
I wonder. . . Did I do the same to Ray Vecchio? Did I limit our friendship out of fear that he'd see my true nature, or the fear that I'd feel too much? Did he leave because I wouldn't let him in?
Dear God, is even simple, honest friendship too much for me to bear?
Stop Me If You've Heard This One Kowalski/Volpe, is it a prequel for Asylum? The stop-start narrative, the narrator's voice and language are all classic examples of how Shay can twist genre to make a great tale even greater.
A guy walks into a bar.
No. The wrong guy walks into a bar.
No. It's not a bar, it's an alley. The wrong guy walks into an alley, and—
No, wait. It goes like this:
Hey. Hey. Back up a little. There's this guy, let's call him Ray, and there's this other guy, let's call him. . .Ray. Well, anyway. This Ray, the second one, doesn't show up yet, so forget him for now. So this guy Ray – the first one, he has this friend, let's call him Volpe, only, see, they're not really friends, they're more like, say, guys that hate each other's guts, but this Ray guy, he owes this Volpe guy because the Volpe dude did some stuff for him. For the first Ray, got it? Okay, just hang in there. Sometimes, for his job, Ray does stuff for Volpe, and sometimes it works the other way. Volpe really, really likes the way Ray twitches when they're in the same room. Or alley. Why? See, the thing is, Ray don't like how Volpe gives him The Look – you know The Look, the top-to-bottom, checking-out-the-goods look, that guys usually only give to girls, except those guys who like guys the way the first guys like girls. Because this Volpe dude is one of those guys, and Ray – the first one, keep it straight, so to speak – he's not. So Ray just keeps twitching and Volpe keeps giving him the eye and smirking at him, and making suggestions to him, until Ray wants to do something permanent to Volpe, which he can't, because of the him-owing-Volpe part.
With me so far? Good.
Ritual, F/K. This fic is reason I developed a shaving kink!
"--Don't worry, Ray," Fraser was saying in a low, measured tone. "I won't slit your throat. I won't even nick you." How just like Fraser, Ray mused, feeling warmth grow in his chest. Sometimes he wondered if the man could actually read his mind.
And then the cool razor was sliding effortlessly up the underside of his chin, slowly stroking up again, gently, painlessly removing the golden stubble there. He could hear the faint scraping sound, and for some reason that sent an electric current up his spine. He struggled to remain still, but a thread of excitement remained, the thrill at the ever-so-slight possibility that something could happen, that Fraser might press too hard, or he himself might quiver slightly and cause the razor to slip. The thought made his heart beat a little faster, and the warmth inside him intensified and spread.
Fraser was intent on his task, and as he continued, the tip of his impossible-to-resist tongue appeared, coming out to rest between his lips -- lips Ray knew to be soft and pliant. It was Fraser's "concentrating" face, and it was extremely arousing to be the center of such a focused effort. Fraser paused to rinse off the blade, his eyes met Ray's in the mirror, and he smiled. Ray felt his knees go soft.