a Due South story
by dirty diana
Mad love to miss pamela for the beta. Written for the the ds_flashfiction miracles challenge. Warning for fantasy elements.
That's all he says. I tell him this thing, this crazy insane thing, and that's all he says. Oh. Like I told him it was raining.
Stella had way more to say than that. Stella had lots to say. I'm pretty sure the whole entire neighbourhood heard what Stella had to say. They probably heard the new wedding china hitting the walls as well.
Fraser just looks at me, with those implacable blue eyes. We're just sitting on my couch, me and him, and it's too quiet in here now, with Fraser not saying anything.
"Do you want to see?" I ask him. Because sometimes when he says "oh" that way, it doesn't mean anything, he's just politely waiting for the punchline of whatever American joke I seem to think I'm telling.
Fraser nods solemnly. "Yes. I would like that very much."
When I peel off my shirt, Fraser reaches out to touch me. He's got his arm around me, hand touching the twisted lines of my back, sending electric current through angry nerve centres.
"Don't do that," I say desperately.
His hand shoots back immediately. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry."
"No," I say quickly, cause this is weirder than weird, and I know that I'm not making any sense. "It's just. Are you really sure you want to see?"
Fraser inhales, licking his lips. "Quite sure. Ray, I would like...I would like to see everything you wish to show me."
It sounds simple enough.
I close my eyes, and concentrate.
When I open my eyes again, Fraser's got me, in his arms. And I think we just almost fell off the couch, both of us, and he's holding on tight. And I can feel them, kinda fluttering, at my back, and it's been a long time since I let them do that. And it's a relief, an almost euphoric relief, like putting down something heavy.
They're not even that big. They're little wings, tiny patches of neat white feathers that fold close to my back. Pretty fucking useless. If you ask me.
Fraser doesn't let go of me immediately, and my breathing's still not quite right.
He just stares at me, with wide earnest eyes. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't realise that it would cause you pain."
"Nah," I say, resisting the urge to close my eyes again, because the world's too bright right now. And Fraser's too bright, in the centre of it, like a glossy photograph that's hurting my head. "I'm fine. Just peachy."
"Okay," Fraser says. He doesn't believe me.
And now I'm starting to freak, because Fraser isn't freaking at all.
"Fraser," I say, between loud breaths. My head is still spinning. "Look at me."
He looks as if there's nothing else worth looking at. Until I'm afraid he's never going to stop looking, and I'm just going to collapse and crumble underneath the weight of that stare.
"I've got wings!" I shout it out loud in frustration, as Fraser moves back slightly but doesn't let go. He's still afraid that I'll fall, and that makes two of us. "Don't you see I got wings?"
Fraser's confused now, honest-to-God confused like I'm not speaking English. "I see, Ray."
"Yeah, okay. You see. Don't you got anything to say?"
Fraser's still got his arm around me, stroking me with sweet slow fingers against a hard ridge of feathers, drawing goosebumps on my skin, making it hard to concentrate. I don't remember ever being touched there before.
He frowns. "They're beautiful," he says. "I've never...well, I've never met an angel before, Ray.
I try not to laugh at him, but I don't quite make it, a strangled sound that gets caught in my chest. "I'm not an angel," I tell him.
He blinks at me. "It seems logical, Ray. You have wings. Angels have wings. Well, birds have wings too, but..."
"No it does not seem logical!" I'm shouting without meaning to, my voice shaking. "I've got a bad temper and bad eyesight, and sometimes I drink too much. Does any of that sound angel-like to you?"
Fraser licks his lips, like he's thinking about it. But he doesn't answer.
"May I kiss you?" he asks finally.
This time the laughter comes all the way out, cause it's like all we've been doing lately is kissing. That crazy first time, in my car, and then on my couch, and any other place that we can lock the door behind us. It's like now that we've figured out this secret that we've got, that we share, we just can't get enough of it.
I know I'll never get enough of the way that Fraser kisses me. Like he's drowning. That's the way that he's kissing me now, hungry and breathless. His fingers touch my face, the rough corners of my mouth. I'm gasping for air as our bodies touch, and I got goosebumps all over from wanting him so bad.
"Fraser," I manage hoarsely.
"You did notice that I got wings, right?"
Fraser's eyes go dark, and then he pulls me roughly down on top of him. He's got me tight, fingers digging into my skin. His mouth and tongue are too hot as his hands slide down my back, coming to rest on the top of my ass.
This is easy. This is slow, different from the first time, in my car. We'd been sitting next to each other and not saying anything for hours, for months maybe. Until we both just exploded. Like dynamite.
Fraser's hands are methodical, purposeful sliding along the inside seam of my jeans.
"Everything?" I murmur ask him, my mouth tracing the hollow of his throat, stopping just above the open collar of his shirt. Then I undo the buttons, one at a time. My tongue slides across his right nipple, and then I dig my teeth in the smooth, pale skin.
Fraser groans, his whole body arching up into mine. Our hips rub together, and I can feel him, all of him, hard and wanting underneath me. Fraser's left knee eases upwards, pushing apart my thighs, as his fingers force there way into the small space between us, nudging down the zipper on my jeans.
"Everything," he agrees, as we buck and grind together, breathing heavy and warm against each other's skin. Every movement lasts forever, sending lightning shocks right through to the edges of me. Wings and all.
His quick hands are unzipping his own jeans now, and we rub against each other, hard and burning. Fraser is kissing me again, his tongue heavy and sweet in my mouth. I've got my hands gripping his hips, holding me up. His hands are busy guiding my cock, thumb sliding across the swollen tip.
"Everything?" I ask him in a whisper.
"Yes," he answers passionately.
I thrust desperately into his hand. Fraser is loud, moaning, pushing against me. I rock and thrust one more time, and then the world goes dark.
When I open my eyes, Fraser is staring at me, his face creased with worry. "Ray?"
My voice is weak, my breath barely there. We're both damp and sticky, not moving. "I'm here," I whisper.
I'm not going anywhere.
Stella walked out. She left for two weeks, and when she came back she said that since we were in this already we might as well give it a shot.
Yeah, I said. Might as well.
"And you did notice that I got wings, right?" My voice comes out of nowhere, in the darkness.
"I noticed, Ray," he says quietly.
"And you're okay? Fraser, I'm a mistake. An abba - an abba-whatsit..."
"A miracle?" he asks me.
I stare at him for a long moment, the smooth parts of him that I can see with my face right next to his. "Okay. I take it back. I'm not the freak. You're the freak. Any normal person would have been out of that door a half-hour ago."
"Then I suppose I'm an aberration," he says.
"Yeah, Frase. You really are."
"The perhaps it is you who should go out the door, Ray." I have to listen hard for his words, because he's whispering, his soft breath stroking my cheek, sounding like a smile.
"First of all," I tell him, "I live here. Second, it's never gonna happen."
"Then it looks like we're stuck with each other."
"Yeah, looks like it." My fingers knot with his, across the smooth table of his ribcage. "But I'm not an angel, okay, Fraser?"
"Whatever you say, Ray."