"Fraser, I swear, I didn't put those there," Ray says, blinking down at the empty pizza boxes that sit on the kitchen table. Ten minutes ago they'd both had full pizzas in them; pineapple and ham for Ray and plain cheese for Fraser, but neither of them had eaten a single slice. It's kind of a goofy tradition, Ray thinks, but he loves it all the same.
Every Friday night they get some pizzas, some beers -- sometimes milk for Fraser, but now and then he treads on the dark side and has a couple sips of beer with dinner -- and they watch movies on the couch. It's a married thing, Ray figures, and since he likes married things, he likes this tradition, no matter how goofy it might be. He especially likes married things with Fraser and the pizza are a very important part of that married thing.
Only they're not where they're supposed to be.
"Who else put them on the table without snapping distance of Diefenbaker's mouth, Ray?" Fraser asks, but Ray can see that he's trying not to laugh, that his mouth is twitching faintly.
"I don't know," Ray insists, but now he's trying not to laugh as well. He's the one who's put them there, of course, but he hadn't been thinking. Mostly he'd just been wondering how long it'll take to get Fraser relaxed and into his boxers and into bed and now, the pizza has suffered as a result.
"I swear I didn't put those boxes there," he says again, but he lets out a quiet laugh as well, biting down on his lower lip. "Diefenbaker moved 'em, Fraser. With his, y'know, his optable thumbs."
"Opposable?" Fraser asks and he's near to laugh again.
"Yeah, those," Ray agrees, but his words are lost as Fraser crosses the room and catches his mouth in a long kiss. It's a goofy tradition and he's ruined this week by letting the dog eat the pizza, but there's nothing saying they can't finish it. With or without the pizza.