![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
writedragon posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ds_flashfictionTitle: Oh, Frell!
Author: Writedragon
Rating: T
Word Count: 5,300-ish
Warnings: No warnings apply
Fandoms: due South, The Magicians (tv), Farscape
Pairings: Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Tags: Crossover, interdimensional time travel, magic, people in places they shouldn’t be, canon is meaningless and everyone is happy, idiots to lovers, magic comes from pain
Additional Characters: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Rygel XVI, D’Argo
Summary:
A wormhole intersected the Neitherlands, opening a portal inside Ray K’s apartment, and everything is frelled. This is what happens when you take magic, muppets, and Mounties, and throw them into a blender set to “frappe”.
————————
The last thing Ray expected to find after a long day of casework was a strange animal in the middle of his apartment, eating his snacks. That was usually Dief’s job.
“Fraser?” Ray asked, staring at the gray frog-like thing sitting on his couch.
“Yes, Ray?”
“Why is a muppet eating cheese puffs on my sofa?”
“Why is a what...?” Fraser stepped inside Ray’s apartment and froze, his forehead wrinkling with confusion.
“You know, muppet. Kermit the frog. Miss Piggy? Pigs in Space? Geez, didn’t you ever watch tv as a kid?”
“Ah. I understand,” Fraser said, studying the creature from the safety of Ray’s front doorway. “But I don’t think that’s a muppet.”
“Then what the hell is it and how did it get in here?” Ray’s hand hovered over his mobile phone. He should probably call Animal Control.
The animal — thing, whatever — shoved some cheese puffs into its mouth and chewed loudly.
“Agh grf nrf gn’arf [I am not a muppet, nor am I familiar with that species, you ignorant human],” the creature gargled at them, spewing bits of food.
Whatever it was, it had terrible manners. Ray had a hunch that instead of Animal Control, he should maybe call for a psych wagon. Or, even more likely, he was asleep and this was a dream, because really, that would make more sense than what he was seeing.
“Glaaaph oorphma g’lachtichaaa Hyneria [I am Dominar Rygel the Sixteenth, ruler of the Hynerian Empire],” it added, a haughty expression on its face.
The guttural noises coming from its mouth made no sense to Ray, but there was no mistaking the look of disdain. Too bad Dief was out on his nightly rounds. He would get along great with this creature, seeing as both of them shared both a love of junk food and a superiority complex.
Fraser stared at the creature, sniffed the air, tugged an earlobe, and nodded. “Ray, I don’t mean to alarm you, but I believe we may have been drugged and are sharing a hallucination, or perhaps somehow ended up in the Borderlands…”
Crap. They’d licked a toad or been roofied or whatever, and were asleep somewhere tripping the light fantastic. He hoped it was someplace safe.
“Got it,” said Ray. “We’re tripping. And that thing is talking to us,” Ray tilted his head, “at least I think it’s talking.”
“Mf gaha glorpmph frp, [Despite your lowliness, Earthling, I thank you for this most excellent delicacy],” Rygel said, orange crumbs tumbling onto the front of his robes. He burped twice, farted once, and went back to eating.
“Did the muppet just… fart?”
“I believe so, yes,” said Fraser, his voice unnaturally high-pitched. He stopped and rubbed his throat. “Huh. And I believe it expelled helium, if I’m not mistaken.”
The frog-thing raised its… his? Hand? Paw? In acknowledgement, then tipped the chip bag up and poured the rest of the contents into its mouth.
“I gotta say it,” Ray scratched his chin, “This is extra freaky, even for us.”
Fraser nodded in agreement, shook his head to try to clear it, and coughed. He opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and closed it again.
Ray understood that. What was there to say? They had no real choice but to ride this magic carpet, wherever it took them, until the trip was over. Ray closed the front door and leaned back, resting his head against the wall. He folded his arms and decided there was nothing else for it but to wait. But for what?
The answer came a few seconds later, when two young men appeared out of nowhere, dashing through Ray’s bedroom doorway and into the middle of the living room.
Fraser lunged towards the men and Ray reached for his gun. At the same instant, the strangers raised their hands and flicked their fingers, freezing Ray and Fraser in place, as if by magic.
“Glaaapf hazmot! [Son of a bitch!]” Rygel yelped, dropping the empty chip bag to the floor.
Ray didn’t need a translation to understand that.
He’d had dreams where his legs moved like he was running in molasses, but this was the first time he’d experienced full-on paralysis, and it sucked. He stood there, suspended, stuck like a wasp on flypaper. Thankfully, he could breathe and could feel his heart pounding, which meant he was still alive, so that was something. He could see and hear, too, but he couldn’t move a muscle, except for his eyes. It was fucking terrifying. He glanced over at Fraser, who was frozen mid-leap. The sight made his head ache.
Wake up, c’mon, wake up, he told himself. This trip, dream, whatever, was turning into a nightmare.
“Sorry about the freezing spe — uh, freezing thing,” said the shorter of the two men. “I promise, we’re not going to hurt you. But we only have a minute, and you’ve got guns, and there’s no time to explain,” he cocked his head apologetically. “Trust me, it’s easier this way.”
That little speech was probably meant to sound reassuring, but wasn’t. Ray wanted to snarl at him and say something about illegal confinement, assault, and kidnapping, but he couldn’t move. Which was the idea, apparently.
One upside to being frozen was that it prevented Ray from having the panic attack his body desperately wanted to have. Another bonus was that he got a good, long look at his assailants.
The taller of the two men was almost painfully slender, towering over everyone else in the room. Inexplicably, he carried a black and white rabbit, tucked firmly in the crook of his arm. The man was dressed like some kind of glam rocker left over from the 1980s, in an embroidered blue silk suit and high black boots that set off his long legs. He had intense hazel eyes outlined with eyeliner, and a week’s worth of dark beard. His angular face was framed by curly black hair, topped by a crown made of stones. The overall effect reminded Ray of one of those sixteenth century religious paintings Fraser was always pointing out at the art museum.
Ray strained to see if, in addition to the rabbit, the man also carried a bottle with “drink me” on it or little cakes with “eat me” on them, because why not. They were obviously through the looking glass now. All they needed was a caterpillar smoking a bong, a freaky smiling cat, or a girl named Alice.
The other man was shorter and pale, with dark floppy hair, his stubbled face haunted by a world-weary expression. He was dressed in skinny jeans, a dark gray t-shirt, black hoodie, and well-worn lace-up leather shoes. He looked like an overworked grad student, the kind you’d see slouching around UIC on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.
They made an odd pair. But who was Ray to talk — he hung out with a guy who routinely wore red serge, pumpkin pants, and a Smokey Bear hat.
Then Floppy-Hair did a thing that didn’t typically happen at UIC on a Tuesday, or ever. He turned to the muppet-frog and spoke to it. In a soothing voice, he said, “We’re here to take you back to your ship.”
“Snarf glach frell fooo [It’s about frelling time],” the creature replied, nodding.
Floppy-Hair moved towards the couch, but tripped on a corner of the rug and stumbled into Ray’s coffee table. He banged his shin hard on a corner, knocking an empty china plate to the floor with a loud crash.
“Ow! Shit!” He rubbed his shin then held up his hands, frustrated, his mouth opening and closing like a startled fish. “Sorry, my bad. I’m always breaking things,” he said, a grimace of self-loathing tightening his features.
“Jesus, Q,” the taller man said.
“Gimme a second, Eliot. I need to fix this, ok?”
“Send the messenger bunny first. We’re running out of time.”
“Right.” Q took the rabbit, looked it in the eye, and talked directly to it. “Tell Aeryn we’ve got Rygel and he’ll be back on Moya soon,” which was a sentence that made zero sense to Ray. But then again, nothing that was happening made a lick of sense.
Q set the rabbit down on the floor. The animal took a few short hops, shimmered, and blipped out of existence.
After the rabbit had vanished, Q tucked a few long strands of hair behind his ear, pushed up his sleeves, and focused on the pieces of the shattered plate. He lowered his chin, the muscles of his face taut with concentration. His hands hovered over the broken pieces like a music conductor about to hit a downbeat. Then he moved, his graceful fingers folding, weaving, and pointing in an elaborate dance of gestures, directing some kind of music Ray couldn’t hear.
Fragments of broken china rose into the air, moving as though enchanted by the invisible music. They floated, swirled, and pieced themselves back together, fusing one by one until the entire plate was mended. The plate, whole once more, settled gently to the table top.
“Yotza! [Hot damn!]” The frog-thing blurted, gasping in astonishment.
Ray didn’t need a translation for that, either, because he was thinking the same thing. Some expressions were universal.
Q gave a satisfied little smile, his cheeks dimpling, the haunted expression replaced by a flicker of happiness. It didn’t last, though, and he turned his attention towards the frog-creature again.
“Ready to go, your Majesty?” he asked. The frog-creature nodded and Q picked him up like some kind of dog.
“I realize this must be terribly confusing,” Eliot said to Ray and Fraser as they headed towards Ray’s bedroom. “It helps if you tell yourself you’re hallucinating.”
“And if that fails, denial and alcohol work too,” Q added, his voice sincere.
A split second before they vanished into Ray’s closet in a blinding flash of blue-white light, Eliot flicked his fingers. The freezing spell gave way, and both Fraser and Ray tumbled to the floor.
###
“Tell me you saw that, Fraser.” Ray gasped, finally free to move — and to panic — again. “Tell me I’m not completely unhinged.”
Fraser sprang to his feet, catching his own breath before answering.
“I saw everything, Ray. So if you’re unhinged, it stands to reason that I am too, if that’s any consolation.”
“Yeah, no, it’s not a consolation.” Ray ran his hands through the spikes of his hair. “Well, maybe a little. But something is definitely not normal here.”
“Agreed,” Fraser said. “That wasn’t like anything I’ve experienced before. Not recently, anyway.”
Ray raised his eyebrows. Not recently? What the heck did that mean? Ray shook his head. One freakazoid problem at a time.
“Ok. First things first. You see anything in here now?” Ray glanced around the living room, then cautiously peered into the bedroom, including the closet. Fraser followed him, double-checking everything. Except for an empty chip bag on the floor, there was no evidence that anything unusual had happened.
“I see nothing out of the ordinary,” Fraser said.
“You feel ok? Are we actually awake?”
Fraser checked in with himself, and nodded. “I feel fine. Perhaps we weren’t drugged after all. But if we weren’t asleep, then...”
“Then this was real.” Ray didn’t believe it. It couldn’t have been real. They had to be dreaming still. “Better pinch me, just in case.”
“I’m not going to pinch you.”
“Do it!” Ray insisted, holding out his arm.
Fraser hesitated.
“Oh for Pete’s sake,” Ray said, and pinched the back of Fraser’s hand.
Fraser yelped and a flush spread up his face to his ears.
“I won’t pinch you, but I will examine you, if that’s all right?”
Ray swallowed. That sounded a little more intimate than he’d bargained for.
“Um, ok,” Ray said, and dropped his hands to his sides.
Fraser gazed intently into Ray’s eyes and checked his pupils, which absolutely were dilating in reaction to Fraser’s attentions. Fraser studied Ray’s skin, which was flushing now, damn it, because Fraser was touching his cheek, sending sparks and shivers all the way down his spine. There was no way Fraser didn’t see that. Then he took Ray’s pulse, which again, just great, greatness, had shot up because of all the gazing and the touching and no, no, no, it was too much. Ray jerked his hand back.
“I’m ok,” Ray said, a little more harshly than he’d intended. Hopefully Fraser would chalk it up to the bizarreness of their situation and not to the fact that he was turning Ray on.
Fraser stared at him for a few more seconds. “Yes. Well. You appear to be functioning normally.” He straightened up again, but Ray saw it — a flush rising up the back of Fraser’s neck, painting the tips of his ears scarlet. Shit.
Ray had to do something to change the atmosphere in the room, calm the tension, and quick. Think, think, think. Got it.
“So here’s what we do,” he said. “I vote for denial and alcohol. This didn’t happen, we don’t talk about it, and we go for a drink. Now.”
“Just this once, I’m inclined to agree. There’s nothing we can do here.” Fraser put on his hat. “A walk would do us both some good.”
They backed slowly out of the apartment, just in case anyone else decided to magically appear, but no one did. Ray sighed a small sigh of relief, locked the door, and strode down the hallway, Fraser a step behind him.
###
Half an hour later, after they’d downed a couple of drinks — beer for Ray and chocolate milk for Fraser — they returned to the apartment, hungry and still feeling a bit dazed.
“Whatever we were tripping on,” Ray said, stowing Fraser’s hat on a hook inside the door, “I never want to see it again.” He took Fraser’s coat and walked to his closet to hang it inside.
He hesitated, his hand on the doorknob, not sure what he’d find on the other side of the door.
“We might as well see what’s in there,” Fraser said.
Ray pulled the door open and his jaw dropped. The inside of his closet had become a forest. Conifers towered overhead, blocking out the sun. Slanting beams of light sliced through layers of interwoven branches, dappling the pine needles that blanketed the forest floor with puddles of misty gold, like something straight out of a fairytale.
Inside the closet — forest, rather — stood three men. They were deep in conversation, heads bowed over something that looked like a sailing map, but with stars drawn on it.
Ray recognized two of the men, Eliot and Q, who stood next to an inhumanly large third man. At least, Ray thought it was a man. It was basically man-shaped, but he was wearing a bizarre-looking octopus mask covered with tattoos, and strange clothes. He was braced in a power stance with his legs apart, arms folded, radiating huge amounts of aggro energy, and was intimidating as hell. The massive sword strapped to his back reinforced the “don’t fuck with me” vibe.
The three men turned their heads simultaneously and stared at Ray and Fraser.
“Oh dear,” Fraser muttered, peering into the closet/forest but not stepping inside it.
“You’re late,” said Eliot.
Shit. Ray was sure they were tripping again and he tensed, his body vibrating all over. Every nerve and fiber was screaming to fight or flee. This was all way too strange, and he really wasn’t sure what to do about any of it.
A thousand questions zipped through his mind. He didn’t know if interrogating figments of his imagination would achieve anything, but he’d had enough of the mystery, hallucinations or no. Time for some answers.
“Who the heck are you, what the hell happened to my closet, and what the fuck is going on?” Ray demanded. “And no freezing us this time.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” Eliot said. “You keep your guns in your pants, and we won’t freeze you.”
Ray nodded. Fraser was about to let slip that he didn’t carry a loaded weapon, but Ray held up a hand, shushing him.
“I apologize,” Eliot said, inclining his head. “We haven’t been formally introduced this time around.” Before Ray could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “I’m Eliot, High King of Fillory, and this idiot man-child who smells like Axe body spray,” he touched Q lightly on the arm, “is Quentin. He’s incidentally also a king, but mostly just a nerd.”
Quentin sneered at Eliot, but Eliot placated him by blowing a kiss and mouthing “love you”.
“And this —” Eliot pointed towards the scary guy with the sword, “is Ka D’Argo. He’s a Luxan warrior. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s not from Earth. Word of advice: don’t mess with him.”
Copy that.
D’Argo lowered his tentacled head and glared at everyone. Ray realized with a shock that the man — alien, rather — wasn’t wearing a mask.
“As to what’s going on,” said Eliot with a flourish, “well, that’s simple. Everything’s fucked.”
“Frell d’aplakha [Everything is indeed frelled],” D’Argo agreed.
“This is beyond queer,” Ray said, rubbing his forehead. “It’s making my brain ache.”
Eliot smirked. “You’ll be happy to know you’re not the only one here with a broken brain who’s queer and a little bit lost,” he said, his gaze traveling up and down Ray’s body, then Fraser’s. “You’re in very good company,” he added, casually resting a hand on Quentin’s shoulder.
Ray did a double take and scowled. Queer, broken, lost — damn. That hit way too close to home. He squirmed, feeling exposed, like one of those dreams where you turn up naked on the last day of school, and forgot there was a final exam. He glanced down to make sure he was still dressed. He was, and thanked heaven for small mercies.
Fraser cleared his throat. “You said things were —” he paused, choosing his words carefully “ — not as they should be. Can you elaborate?”
“Yeah,” Ray nodded, grateful for the interruption, “what exactly do you mean by Everything’s Fucked?”
“As far as we can tell,” Quentin said, “a wormhole opened up inside the Neitherlands — that’s the place with all the fountains — while we were looking for one of the seven keys and…” his words trailed off as he noticed the completely baffled look on Ray’s and Fraser’s faces. “We’re pretty sure it’s Todd’s fault,” he added.
Eliot rolled his eyes. “Todd,” he said, disgusted.
“Who’s Todd?” Ray asked.
“Never mind,” Quentin said, flicking a hand in a dismissive wave. “Basically we’re taking this guy and his friends,” he gestured at D’argo, “back to where they came from, closing the portal in your apartment, and trying to clean up the mess without blowing a hole in the universe or screwing up the timelines. But every time we try to fix one thing, something else goes boom.” Quentin shrugged his shoulders in a helpless gesture.
“Like I said,” Eliot chimed in, “everything’s fucked. Must be a Monday.”
It was actually Friday, but what the hell, call it a Monday. Why not. There was no logic to dream time.
“Still, we have to try to fix it, right?” Quentin asked, but it wasn’t really a question.
“Yeah,” Ray nodded. He felt that too, the need to fix things, deep in his gut. For every bad guy he’d caught during his stint as a cop, it seemed like two more sprang up. But Ray kept going, because it was the right thing to do — because someone had to. Fraser had reminded him of that when they’d first met, and the feeling had only grown stronger since then. It was one of the many things he loved about the Mountie: his ability to bring out the best in people, remind them of who they were, or could be.
Even so, these so-called answers had only spawned more questions. The situation was so strange it threatened to overwhelm him.
Thankfully, Fraser came to Ray’s rescue. “Is there anything we can do to help?” he asked, cutting to the chase.
Good old Fraser — jumping in with both feet, wanting to help, regardless of how batshit crazy a situation seemed. Help first, ask questions later — that was Fraser in a nutshell.
“Why yes, Benton,” Eliot said, “As a matter of fact there is. Do you have a pen I could borrow?” He unfurled the long, elegant fingers of his left hand, palm facing upwards, and raised an eyebrow expectantly. “I know you always keep one hidden somewhere in those sexy leathers of yours.”
What? Ray’s muscles tensed even more. How the heck did Eliot know Fraser’s name, and that he always had a pen in those sexy… in his belt? As far as Ray knew, they’d never met this High King of Frippery before today.
But then again, the Worst Acid Trip Ever apparently hadn’t ended yet, so anything could happen.
The startled look in Fraser’s eyes told Ray all he needed to know. Fraser was just as surprised as Ray that this Eliot guy knew his name. Fraser studied Eliot for a moment, then removed a pen from his Sam Browne and placed it in Eliot’s hand.
Eliot clicked the back of the pen, pulled a rectangular slip of what looked like parchment paper from his pocket, and scratched some symbols onto the paper.
“Thanks,” Eliot said, snapping the pen shut and winking at Fraser. Fraser opened his own hand to accept the pen, and Eliot pressed the shaft firmly into his palm. As he let go of the pen, Eliot caressed Fraser’s fingers slowly, a sultry expression on his face.
Ray looked back and forth between the two of them, a sudden flash of jealousy heating his chest. He promptly stuffed the feeling deep into a corner of his psyche, because that was definitely not a thing he needed to think about right now.
“So, you were saying…?” Ray stammered, trying to focus.
“Don’t worry about it,” Eliot said languidly, setting the paper down on a large, flat-topped stone. “You won’t remember any of this. You haven’t the last five times we’ve been here.” A shower of sparks flew from his fingertips, lighting the paper on fire.
“Wish us luck,” Quentin said. “We think we’ve got it figured out this time. At least, we hope so.”
“Um... good luck?” Ray said, more bewildered than ever.
“One last thing,” Eliot held up a hand.
“Yes?” Fraser asked.
“Kiss Ray. You know you want to.” Eliot looked at Ray. “I mean, how could you not? He’s pretty. But more importantly, he wants you to.”
Ray’s cheeks burned and he dared not look at Fraser, because it was true — the part about him wanting to be kissed, at least. Ray wasn’t too sure about the pretty part. But, yeah, in his deepest heart of hearts, Ray wanted Fraser to kiss him and so much more, but he was too ashamed to admit it. Plus he’d never do anything to risk losing Fraser’s friendship.
But how did Eliot know? How was any of this possible? And what made this jerk think he had any right to out him like that?
Eliot grinned wickedly, and drove the metaphorical knife in deeper. “And wear the hat when you do it, Benton. Ray really likes the hat.”
Ray wanted to scream, to protest his innocence, to kick Eliot in the head. Most of all he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. At least then the shame burning in his gut would stop. But hallucinations couldn’t be killed, everyone knew that, so he stayed still, clenching and unclenching his fists and seething.
“Bye-bye!” Eliot said, wiggling his long fingers at them.
An instant later, the last of the flaming paper crumbled into ash, completing the memory-erasing spell.
The world spun sideways, Ray’s vision went all swimmy, and everything turned black.
###
Ray blinked. He glanced down at Fraser’s hand, which for some reason had a pen clutched in it. At the sight of the pen, Ray’s face flushed and a jolt of arousal shot through him, but he didn’t have the slightest idea why. He’d always liked Fraser’s strong and talented hands, sure, but really — a pen was just a pen. Wasn’t it?
Ray cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from the pen, into Fraser’s face. But that didn’t help, because Fraser was staring at Ray’s mouth, transfixed.
“Fraser?”
Fraser snapped his gaze upwards to meet Ray’s eyes, then looked away just as quickly. He stuffed the pen into his pocket, tugged at his collar, and cracked his neck for good measure.
“Yes, Ray?”
“Why are we standing in front of my closet?”
“I’ve no idea. Perhaps we were hanging up my coat?” Fraser suggested, regaining his composure.
Ray looked at the coat in his hand. Right. Coat. Made sense.
Ray grabbed a wooden hanger and hung up the coat. On impulse he rummaged through the clothes, but didn’t find anything unusual. Except… what was that smell? It was like — Ray sniffed the air — pine, maybe. Earthy, mixed with some kind of cologne he didn’t recognize.
“Looking for something?” Fraser asked.
“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” Ray said. He took a whiff of his own armpit. Nope. The scent wafting from the closet definitely wasn’t his. Where the heck had it come from? And for that matter, why was there a faint taste of beer on his tongue? He didn’t remember drinking any, though now that he thought about it, he did feel a little buzzed.
Fraser arched an eyebrow. “Everything all right, Ray?”
Embarrassed, Ray shrugged. “Yeah, fine,” he lied. For some reason looking at Fraser hurt. It made his chest ache and his guts burn with a weird mix of, he didn’t know what. Maybe he was just hungry. “You hungry?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Yes. I am, actually.” Fraser straightened his tunic and patted his stomach.
“Right then. Pizza?” Carbs and grease, yeah, that should help.
“Pizza sounds good.”
Ray shook his head, closed the closet door, walked to the phone, and ordered a large pie with extra pineapple. He went to the kitchen and started washing dishes, partly to give himself something to do that got him a few feet away from Fraser, and partly so they’d have something to eat off of. Whenever Fraser was around, Ray felt like he needed to up his game a little, at least pretend to be house-trained. So, clean dishes.
Meanwhile, Fraser, being Fraser, tidied the room, picking up old newspapers and stray socks as he went. When he reached for an empty cheese puffs bag on the floor, he paused and squeezed his eyes shut for a second.
“Ray?”
“Yeah, Frase?”
“Does the word Frell mean anything to you?”
“Never heard of it. Sounds French. Why?” Ray asked, rinsing a glass.
“It’s not French. I don’t know…” Fraser shook his head. “Ah, well, I’m sure if it’s important, I’ll remember it.”
Fraser stood up, crumpled the bag, and tossed it in the trash can. He picked up an empty plate from the coffee table, walked to the kitchen, and gave the plate to Ray, locking eyes with him as he did so.
The instant Ray’s hand touched the plate, a flood of sights, smells, sounds, and feelings washed over him, making him dizzy. A tidal wave of memories crashed through his mind, stranger than any movie he’d ever seen. He remembered bizarre creatures and magicians with unimaginable powers. There was a lost astronaut named John, who explored the universe with his found-family on a living spaceship. Talking animals, galaxy-eating wormholes, and people randomly breaking into song. Forests and castles and alien worlds, appearing and disappearing inside his closet. And love. And loss. And heartache. And pain — so much pain.
All of the memories were absurd, and wonderful, and terrible all at once — yet all of them were real. Impossibly, freakishly, undeniably real.
And in every memory, every time, there was a kiss. A kiss between him and Fraser.
Three times the kiss had happened from relief. Twice it happened from sheer shock. The other times it happened because it was the only thing that grounded them, the only thing that made sense in the face of unimaginable strangeness and overwhelming emotion.
“Oh, frell,” Ray croaked, his throat suddenly gone dry.
“Indeed,” Fraser whispered, stunned.
Fraser searched Ray’s face.
“What…” Ray’s whole body shook, his nerves buzzing with adrenaline. Ray set the plate down on the counter so he wouldn’t drop it. His knees started to buckle, but Fraser caught him, steadying him. Grounding him.
Kissing him.
Oh god, Fraser was kissing him. Again, but for the first time.
It was warm, so warm. A summer breeze on a beach. And sweet, like chocolate. And electric, the shock of it sending wild jolts of electricity coursing through him, his nerves tingling from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes. It was wonderful, and it hurt, and it broke him wide open. It was just like he’d always imagined, and nothing like it at all.
Ray kissed back, deep and slow, all thoughts in his mind banished except for the lush buzz of Fraser’s lips and the firmness of his tongue as it found its way home at last.
After a minute Ray broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and touched his forehead to Fraser’s. Fraser’s eyes were closed, as though he couldn’t bear to open them and break the spell.
“Oh god, Frase,” Ray said, cupping the back of Fraser’s neck with his hands, burying his fingers into his thick, soft hair. “I…” I’ve wanted this, he wanted to say. Wanted you. So much. For so long. But he couldn’t say it.
Words never were his friends, and this time they failed him completely. So he spoke with his hands instead, caressing Fraser’s eyelids, sliding a thumb across the hard bone of his cheek, moving along his jaw, and gliding a finger down his neck as far as that damned collar would let him.
“Me, too,” Fraser said, breath hitching in his throat as Ray nuzzled the hollow behind his ear and pressed the gentlest of kisses there.
Ray pulled back, and Fraser opened his eyes. His pupils were dark, filled with unguarded longing. And with love. A love so powerful, so intense that it burned. His face was flushed and glowing, achingly beautiful. Ray had to close his eyes again. How could something so incredible hurt so much?
“So — “ Ray began, opening his eyes, taking a risk. Risking it all.
“Yes?”
“Maybe you could wear the hat next time?”
Fraser let out a breathy laugh. A radiant smile lit up his face, and Ray couldn’t help but smile back, relief flooding through him.
“As you wish,” Fraser said, kissing Ray again. He kissed him with everything he had, drawing on their shared memories, their shared sense of loss and pain and confusion, transforming it into something beautiful and good and true.
And it was, dare he say it, magical.
###
no subject
Date: 2020-01-07 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-07 01:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-01-10 04:42 pm (UTC)More comments in a while....
no subject
Date: 2020-01-10 05:05 pm (UTC)P.s. this will be going onto A03 on Sunday when the challenge ends. I wasn't sure whether to post it there, but knowing that at least one person likes it is enough to give me the courage to put this deranged, yet fluffy, little thing out into the world.
no subject
Date: 2020-01-20 12:25 am (UTC)I will certainly be rereading your fic later on AO3 and leaving comments of \o/.