ALL I could think about after last week's episode of Legends was WHY didn't Mick try to eat Ray. He just left him alone after knocking him out, when he clearly tried to eat Martin. Hence this fic was born.
I am shipping trash, but they make it so easy...
"Rory was a zombie and nearly ate you both?" Jax shook head. "Nope, I still had the worst day. Trust me." He patted Ray on the shoulder congenially, even with a shadow in the depths of his eyes that made him look much older than he'd been yesterday.
Ray didn't know what to say, so he merely smiled and tried to shake off the remaining shivers from what had happened to him during their ill-fated trek to the Civil War.
"To be fair, Mr. Rory seemed much more interested in taking a bite out of me," Martin spoke up.
Ray turned to him with a skeptical eyebrow raise. They were in the common area outside the mess hall, having just finished filling Jax in on their side of the adventure. "That's your phobia talking again, Marty. I was in just as much danger as you."
"Hardly," Martin huffed. "If you'll recall, Dr. Palmer, despite facing Mr. Rory alone, you escaped with nary a scratch. You were knocked unconscious, certainly, but no bite marks or major wounds sustained. If I thought our zombified friend capable of cognitive thinking, I'd guess he used you as bait to lure me out, but that's unlikely. I suppose he just likes you better." Martin patted Ray's shoulder as Jax had—they emulated each other's mannerisms more and more lately—with a smile that said he was mostly joking.
But while Ray chuckled in response, it dawned on him that there wasn't really an explanation for why Mick hadn't bitten him.
"And please," Martin patted Ray once more, a touch firmer, "don't call me Marty."
Jax stifled a laugh into his fist as the two halves of Firestorm headed out of the room, leaving Ray to smile bemusedly after them and then stare off to the side thinking about what Martin had said.
Mick hadn't bitten him, hadn't tried to eat him or hurt him more than a knock to the head. Why?
Ray stood alone now that Jax and Martin had left. He walked to the large monitor against the wall. "Gideon, do you have any security footage from Mick's attack, or were the cameras down with the lights?"
"A few cameras were in working order, Dr. Palmer," Gideon said. "Would you like to view anything in particular?"
"Yeah, can you pull up anything from before Mick knocked me out?"
"Of course."
The screen fritzed with static then stabilized into footage of the hallway where Ray had first been attacked and removed of the fire extinguisher. He was quickly backed into the room Martin had found him in later, and then—
Ray winced as his head clanked into a wall, and watched his body crumble. He touched a hand gingerly to the rather large bump that had formed since then, while the image of Mick fell upon him on the screen, looking very intent on taking a chunk out of his neck. The sight made Ray's insides roil.
But once Mick had rolled Ray onto his back and had a better view of his face, he paused. Something in the monster he'd become shook loose and he flinched, coming to his sense long enough to push Ray away from him. Mick scrambled to his feet and ran out the door down the hallway as if determined to get as far from Ray as possible before the monster took control again.
The image paused. "Would you like me to replay the footage, Dr. Palmer?" Gideon asked.
"No, Gideon. Thanks. That's all I needed."
The screen went blank, but Ray continued to stare at it. Mick had been snapped from his violent stupor just from seeing Ray vulnerable. Maybe they really were growing closer. There was so much potential in Mick that the others didn't see. Ray knew it was there. He'd believed in it even before Mick offered up his life to save him.
Ray couldn't help but smile every time Mick came to his rescue, and in this case he'd beaten out the base nature of a monster for him. They really were becoming friends. Ray hadn't realized how much he needed that. He didn't have the same rapport with any of the others.
He felt lighter for the first time in days, and while he still wasn't sure how he could be of use to the team without his suit, he wanted to offer something to Mick to continue cementing whatever this was growing between them. Ray valued their budding friendship, despite how scary Mick could be at times. He meant well. If Ray didn't believe that he never would have tracked Mick down in Central City.
He went to the kitchen and tried his hand at dabbling with Gideon's food processer again. It could make anything they wanted, but they'd discovered that the good meals came from having the ship produce the ingredients while they did the actual cooking themselves.
Ray made Mick a burger to make up for the sprouts on his sandwich—he'd only been thinking of Mick's health—and went to see him in the corner of the workshop that Mick had claimed as his own. Ray just wanted the chance to divulge something of himself instead of always trying to wheedle things out of Mick.
He never expected Mick to hand him the cold gun and actually say, "I'm looking for a partner."
Ray smiled, enamored with the makeup of the gun that he'd never gotten a close look at before, though he knew Cisco had made it and that Snart had modified it. It really was beautiful craftsmanship. Up until now, Mick had been keeping it under tight lock and key.
Ray opened his mouth to say something about how Snart would approve, he'd want them to be partners, though he'd also probably be really protective of his gun, so maybe Ray shouldn't say anything—when the Waverider suddenly listed to the left.
Ray tumbled into Mick's chest, cold gun jostling between them, firing a blast to the right before the two of them toppled. Mick oomphed as he landed on his back, Ray on top of him, the cold gun still sandwiched between their bodies. The wind was knocked from both of them for a good fifteen seconds.
"Everyone okay?" Sara's voice sounded over the intercom. "Just normal turbulence from the distortions, but it caught Gideon off guard. We're correcting for it as best we can."
"Mick and I are fine!" Ray called up to the ceiling, and the intercom went quiet without a reply.
Mick grumbled beneath Ray, eyeing him with that just short of murderous expression as he glanced to the side, where the blast from the cold gun had coated his recliner in a thick sheet of ice.
"Did you just ice my chair?" Mick growled.
Ray swallowed. "I can probably fix that."
Mick grumbled again but lost that look of lethal intent. "Yer a real trainwreck sometimes, ya know that?"
"Yeah," Ray huffed in relief that Mick wasn't too angry with him. "I know. Sorry."
"Ya plannin' on gettin' offa me any time soon?"
"Oh!" Ray recognized how tangled up their legs were, hips aligned, sharing body heat between them. "Sorry," he said again, and scrambled off of Mick, taking the cold gun with him, clutching at it to have something to focus on other than rambling and the flush to his face. Once he was on his feet, and Mick gave another low grunt as he lurched onto his feet as well, Ray stared at the gun in awe. "This really means a lot, Mick," he gestured with the gun. "Being partners is more than I would ever ask for. I mean, I know I did ask initially, I just…I hope you know that I really…I…"
"What?" Mick asked in suspicion, which was how he usually sounded whenever Ray tried to say something sentimental.
But Ray had to say this, even if Mick rolled his eyes and scoffed at him. He looked up at his friend, close in front of him. "I really care about you, Mick," Ray said, and pushed on even though all of Mick's neck muscled tensed. "Which you'll probably want to fry me for, I know, but—"
"Shut up, Ray," Mick said, more like growled, and then he was all in Ray's space, startlingly close, trapping the gun between them, which was an odd development, wasn't it, as he pressed their lips together and—
Ray froze, completely short-circuited and unsure how to respond, which dragged on for much longer than it had taken for their breath to return on the floor.
"Mick!" Ray gasped away finally, nearly tripping backwards a step. "What are you doing?!"
Mick stood where Ray had left him, still leaning forward, lips parted slightly and chest heaving once, twice, and then that terrifying look of panic that was far more reminiscent of fury crossed his face.
Like the tap of a domino, the pieces tumbled into a cohesive picture, and Ray was talking again before he could think better of it. "Is this why you didn't bite me?"
"What?" Mick ground out, an extra furrow added to his brow.
"As a zombie, when I went after you alone, you had the chance to hurt me, but you didn't. You knocked me out, but you stopped yourself. This is why, isn't it?" He gestured between them as he stepped toward Mick again. "You…you're in—"
"Don't say it," Mick glared in warning.
Ray bit his tongue, but he had to say something. "You like me." He smiled despite knowing that it was probably not a good idea right now. "I just thought we were becoming friends. I was going to say I think you're a really valuable member of the team, and—"
"Shut up, Ray," Mick roared and ripped the cold gun out of his hands. He stomped back over to the case to put it away, leaving Ray sputtering and empty handed. "Forget I said anything about partners. And definitely forget…everything else."
Ray charged after Mick "But you said…" then stopped in his tracks as he thought more deeply about the connotation of that word. "Partners. Like you and Snart. Were…you two…?" He pointed flimsily between them as if to indicate that failed kiss.
"No," Mick clenched his fists at the continuing line of questioning. "That never worked for us."
"So you tried—"
"Urg!" Mick snatched the cold gun back out of the case and powered it up Ray's direction. "Partners means partners. That's it," Mick said, but when Ray raised his hands in surrender, Mick quickly backed down and lowered the gun again. "The kiss was a mistake. Forget it."
Ray's mind was working in overdrive. He was good at solving impossible equations. This wasn't any different really. "I don't think I can do that, Mick."
Mick growled low, rough, like he might shoot Ray after all, but instead he put the gun away and slammed the lid shut. He moved to sit in the chair behind him, but remembered it was iced in time to abort. He glanced back at his ruined chair with a grimace.
Ray took the moment of reprieve to move closer. "What is it that you like about me exactly?"
"Ray, if you don't shut up," Mick spun around and moved forward with the crescendo of his anger, "I'm gonna shut you up."
Ray trembled at Mick's palpable fury, but stood his ground anyway. "Please? I just haven't felt very likeable lately. And you're…" he raised a hand toward Mick without really knowing how to explain. "I just always thought…" He sighed. "You always look at pretty girls." He raised his hand to indicate the pinups on the wall behind the still frosting chair.
Mick didn't bother looking back at them, but a sliver of tension released from his shoulders. "Pretty boys ain't so bad either," he said quietly.
Ray felt heat rush into his cheeks as he smiled and glanced away. Mick had called him pretty plenty of times. He'd called Heywood pretty too. Ray just assumed it was meant to be a slight, not a compliment.
"When you're not pissing me off," Mick began again, slowly, after a pause to collect himself, "…some of yer rambling ain't so annoying."
Ray looked up, and while Mick's stance wasn't exactly open or inviting, his fists both clenched, his mouth set in a thin line, there was something honest about his expression for once.
"Yer a good cook. Yer shit at watching yer own back, but not half bad at watching mine. You like tinkerin' with things. Like I do. You don't treat me like a cave man," he said with a snarl. "You got a…nice way about you, that's easy to be around when yer not trying so hard to be Mr. Perfect. You got a pretty face that ain't too bad to look at, and when I do…you look me in the eye."
Ray knew his smile had spread wider during that confession. No one had ever said so many nice things about him in such an honest way before.
Mick grunted, like he needed to clear his throat of all the sap getting stuck there. "You wanna be partners," he said, and gestured back behind him, "fix my chair. You wanna be friends?" Ray expected him to say, 'well, too bad, that ain't happenin', but instead he merely gestured behind him again. "Fix the chair."
"I will fix your chair," Ray raised his hands with a twist of his smile.
Mick nodded, but then a deeper, troubled glimmer filled his eyes and he couldn't shake it from his expression. "And forget the kiss," he said, before he turned to head out of the room.
Ray jolted forward to stop him, not quite finished processing everything to know how he wanted to respond, and yet words found their way out of him anyway. "What if I…wanted another chance? At that kiss?" Which surprised him that he'd ask, but then…maybe it didn't.
"Yer not interested." Mick glanced at Ray with a sneer, as though suspecting he was being pitied.
"I could be," Ray shrugged. "I just never really thought about it. I don't usually think about it unless someone else points it out to me. And when I am aware enough to go after someone, I tend to…overdo it. After Kendra, I thought it better if I just turned that part of my brain off for a while. I don't really have many…friends. Not just here. Anywhere. But the best partners, however you want to interpret the word, are friends first." He smiled wistfully, imagining if he was right and how powerful a connection that could be, if Mick wanted it.
But Mick leaned away with a wrinkle of his nose. "Not asking for some big romance."
"No! I know. I'm not either," Ray said—at least, he wasn't yet. "Right now all I'm asking for is another chance." He moved in front of Mick and smiled with a curious raise of his eyebrows, which wasn't at all how he gauged a woman's interest, but Mick was…Mick.
The burly man heaved a breath, and his eyes trained on Ray's lips. Eventually, he muttered, "Suppose if it'll shut you up," but there was eagerness in his eyes, want, and a touch of hope.
He slid his large hands around Ray's waist and tugged him closer with a jerk. Ray shuddered. Mick was the only person who had ever made him feel like he was small and delicate in comparison.
It was strange being the same height, and Mick didn't have any of the softness Ray was used to with a woman. But as Mick's lips descended and he pressed his body forward, the strength in his body felt exhilarating instead of intimidating, and Ray found that he didn't mind the differences.
The drag of Mick's stubble. The taste of beer on his lips. The squeeze of his hands at Ray's hips. The slide of his tongue, thick and hot.
Ray whimpered. He was used to being the pursuer. It was nice to be enveloped and dominated a little. That train of thought shot a hot shiver into his gut. Mick pressed the kiss deeper as Ray responded, and started to back them up until Ray hit the wall behind him, and Mick pinned him there with his impressive size and strength.
He delved deeply into Ray's mouth for several moments longer, tongue exploring, lips suctioned tight, so that when he finally pulled away, Ray was panting.
"That clear anything up for ya?" Mick asked gruffly.
Ray swiped out his tongue as he stared at Mick's dampened lips, the other man's meaty hands still at Ray's hips, while Ray's hands were trapped between their chests. "As a scientist…I can definitely say…more experiments are needed."
Mick chuckled with that deep, familiar rumble. It was a very different experience with Mick's chest pressed to his. All the anger and frustration that had existed on his face smoothed away, maybe for the first time. "My bunk or yours?"
"Oh! Uhh…"
"Mr. Rory, are you—?" Martin entered just then, noticing the state of the recliner with a start, and then looking around bewildered before he turned and saw them against the wall.
Mick tensed, and Ray wondered if the other man would dart away and try to act like nothing had happened, but when Ray slid his hands down Mick's sides rather than struggle away himself, Mick relaxed at the tender offer of support. Ray wasn't ashamed. Embarrassed maybe, but not ashamed.
Martin, however, seemed oblivious to the nature of their stance. "What are you two fighting about now? I require your assistance."
Mick slid away slowly, and only then did Ray realize how much heat the man generated now that he was left without it. "Later, Professor. And it's a discussion, not a fight. Real friendly like." He looked at Ray all the way down and back up his body like he had a mind full of creative ideas. "Which we need to finish. Now. Come on, Ray." He snatched Ray's wrist and tugged him from the wall roughly. "We'll be in my bunk!" he called behind him before dragging Ray after him out of the room.
The sensible part of Ray knew that they should not be moving this quickly—Ray had gone from discovering Mick didn't want to eat him as a zombie to scurrying through the hallways to reach Mick's bunk in less than an hour, and most of that time had been spent making a burger that would remain untouched.
He hardly thought Mick wanted to talk when they got to his room. Not that Ray was against further experimentation—he was interested. Surprisingly enough, very interested, judging by the strain of his pants. It had been well over six months since he'd been with anyone, and Mick was unlike any partner Ray had ever had.
They passed Jax and Heywood along the way, Martin having attempted to call after them but giving up. Ray was certain he turned beet red as he was dragged down the hallways, but he couldn't deny being interested in what Mick had in mind.
THE END
I wanted to keep any past ColdWave ambiguous, so read into that as you will. :-)
Comments are love! Thanks for reading!
Maybe I could be convinced to write what happens next.