Wings, But Not The Wind Beneath Them
by alejandra

"Ray. Ray. Ray." Why, Ray wants to know, is Fraser in my dream? I thought this was over, the dreaming -- oh, God --

But then Ray opens his eyes and Fraser's not in his dream -- Fraser is standing in the doorway of Ray's bedroom, frowning a bit.

"Good morning, Ray," he says, and takes a step into the room. "Are you all right?"

"Wha -- what?" Ray pushes himself up until he's sitting up, leaning against his headboard. He swallows hard, takes a deep breath.

"When you didn't arrive on time to pick up myself and Diefenbaker --" Dief barks here -- "we thought we'd come see if you're okay... You appear to be slightly flushed, Ray,

"Hey, Fraser..." Ray mimics Fraser's frown. "You don't have wings, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Ray, what?"

"Wings, you got wings?"

"Buffalo wings, Ray? The spicy kind from --"

"No, not buffalo wings! Wings! Like on your back."

"Ah. Wings. I see."

"Well? Either you got 'em or you don't, Fraser."

"Ray, are you feeling a bit unhinged today?"

"Aw, shut it! Nevermind! Stupid winged Mountie."

"Oh -- you mean these?" And then there's movement behind Fraser -- and suddenly he has wings, unfurling, reaching to the ceiling, almost a translucent peachy-pink color. Ray blinks, rubs at his eyes, and blinks again.

"I knew you had wings! I KNEW IT!" yells Ray.

"Ray, I didn't know you cared," replies Fraser stiffly. "If it's a problem --"

"Of course it's a problem, you freak! You got wings!" Ray swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands up, even though really he don't want Fraser to see him in his holey old t-shirt and faded boxers.

"It wasn't my choice," says Fraser, and, if it's possible, he stands up even straighter. "It was --"

"What, the wing fairy came and raped you? You have wings that are on your back and --" Ray stops, and jabs a finger at Fraser. "Can you fly?"


Ray walks closer to Fraser. "In the sky! Fly! Flap your wings and -- like superman! This whole time you've been Clark Kent and I've been Lois Lane! Standing around like an idiot, not knowing that you've got wings --" Ray runs his hands through his hair and glares at Fraser. "Some friend you are."

And Fraser, he's got this really hurt look on his face, like Ray's just betrayed him -- which makes Ray really angry, because it's not like Ray has been hiding wings for a year. He says, "Don't be like that, Fraser. I am the one who was played here."

"I didn't tell you for just this reason, Ray."

"You're lucky we're not in the station house," grumbles Ray. He paces back and forth and then stops in front of Fraser, closer than before. "Okay, so you've got wings."

"I believe that's been established," replies Fraser. His wings are drooping slightly.

"Right, right, right, so -- what's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"The wings? What're they like? Do they feel like leather? Do they got feathers like a butterfly? What?"

"I -- uh --"

"Can I touch 'em?" Ray puts out a hand, then draws it back quickly.

"No one has -- er -- " Fraser clears his throat and turns around, presents his back to Ray. Ray can't tell how they're attached, cause there's special holes in the back of the uniform! Like maybe a lot of Mounties have this problem. "Just... be gentle, Ray."

"Uh-huh," says Ray absently. He stretches out one finger and runs it along the base of the wing on the right hand side, where the wing goes into the uniform. It's soft and leathery at the same time, hard -- like cartilage, maybe, or a knotted muscle.

The wings perk up as Ray touches them, lifting higher and higher, spreading out until it seems like they fill the room.

Ray spreads his hand and moves it further up the wings, where they get lighter and feathery -- hollow bones, he thinks.

"Be gentle, Ray," says Fraser.

"I'm being gentle," snaps Ray, and Fraser turns his head a bit, catches Ray's eye over his shoulder.

"Ray, you don't seem to --" Fraser clears his throat again. "Ah, you may want to stop --"

"I ain't done yet," says Ray stubbornly. He's just reaching the tip of the right hand wing, where the feathers seem to be just attached to each other, not to anything else at all, when Fraser falls forward.

Ray looks up, squinting -- Fraser has braced himself against the doorway, and is shuddering, shivering --

"Hey," says Ray, and leans against Fraser's back a little, right between the wings. "You okay?"

"Yes," gasps Fraser, "I'm fine."

And Ray is going to say something else, but then he turns his head and accidentally breathes in the scent of Fraser's wings -- and it's like air or like -- darkness.

He pushes his face into the wing, opens his mouth, breathes in as much as he can of the smell, because it's a smell he knows -- a smell he likes and it's like coffee in the mornings, or chocolate or --

"Ray! Ray! Ray!"

And he's -- what? Sitting up in bed, sweating, and shaking, and there's Fraser standing in his bedroom doorway, larger than life, holding a paper cup in his hand, looking concerned, and for a minute Ray thinks he's hallucinating, because it's just like in his dream, or maybe he's still dreaming -- and the dream he just woke up from was a dream within a dream within a dream, and he's still got a layer to go before he hits reality.

"Good morning, Ray," he says, and takes another step into the room. "Are you all right?"

"Wha -- what?" Ray swallows hard, takes a deep breath.

"When you didn't arrive on time to pick up myself and Diefenbaker --" Dief barks here -- "we thought we'd come see if you're okay... You appear to be slightly flushed, Ray, and your body temperature is high by at least two degrees, and -- "

"I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"I brought you -- oh, I'm sorry, Dief, of course, we brought you coffee. With M&Ms, just as you like."

"Yeah, yeah, coffee --"

"Here --" Fraser sits on the side of his bed, and Ray stares at him suspiciously.

"Hey," says Ray after the first mouth-burning gulp. "You got wings?"

"Wings, Ray?"

Diefenbaker sits down in Ray's doorway and begins to howl.

"Shut it, wolf!" says Ray, but Dief doesn't stop. "Shut it!"

"Diefenbaker, really! He doesn't mean anything by it!" Fraser leans close to Ray and lowers his voice. His breath smells like tea and milk and sugar. "Diefenbaker had a terrible run-in with a winged beast once."

Fraser says winged like something from the Bible or a fairy story, and Ray isn't sure what to say, so he settles for, "Don't change the subject."

Dief continues to howl, but Ray decides to ignore it.

"I don't have wings, Ray, although don't think I haven't often given thought to how useful they'd be when tracking over long distances." Fraser grins cheerfully at Ray.

Ray shakes his head and takes another punishingly hot mouthful of coffee. After he swallows it and recovers from it he says, "I don't believe you."

"Well, Ray, as you know, I don't lie --"

"You don't lie the way I don't like coffee in my chocolate --"

"Ray --"

"So you better show me, Fraser. Prove it."

"Prove what, Ray?"

"Prove you ain't got wings. Let's go. Strip down." Ray knows he sounds ridiculous, but he can't stop, because worse than Fraser having wings would be if Fraser didn't have wings, and Ray's dream wasn't his subconscious telling him there's something funny about Fraser, but his subconscious telling him -- telling him there's something funny about himself, and not funny in that ha-ha sort of way either.

And Fraser is staring at him like he's got a hole in his bag of fucking marbles, and Dief is still howling in the doorway, and Ray thinks he's gonna lose it for real -- when Fraser's hands come up and he unlaces his lanyard, takes it off, and begins unbuttoning the horrifically red tunic.

"Well, Ray, if that's what it will take you convince you..." says Fraser, shaking his head. Then he mutters something that sounds like, "Anything to further the cause of justice," but Ray ain't sure.

Fraser pulls off the tunic, and under it he's got a long sleeved Henley, which he pulls off, and under that he's got an undershirt, which he pulls over his head, and he folds everything very neatly on Ray's bed.

He don't have much chest hair, but what he has is really really black, and he's even paler than Ray, which takes some trying -- but he's pale pink -- like the goddamn wings, Ray thinks -- almost translucent, and his nipples are -- No. Ray is not noticing his nipples.

"Turn around," he demands, and Fraser turns around. Ray sits up on his knees, and clutches the coffee cup to his chest.

With his other hand, he reaches out.

Fraser's back is smooth, pale pink like the rest of him, skin draped heavily over fat and muscle.

Ray strokes Fraser's back the way he stroked Fraser's wings in the dream, all the way down his spine to the red circle of scar tissue where Vecchio's bullet was lodged, and then back up again.

He's leaning dizzily forward to breathe in Fraser's scent, to lick where the wings would be, when Fraser pulls away and clears his throat. It's loud in the silence, because at some point, Dief stopped howling, and Ray hadn't noticed.

"Well, then, Ray," Fraser says, with a joviality that Ray knows he don't mean, "if you're satisfied --"

Ray clutches the cup of coffee even tighter, and sits back so quickly he might as well have fallen, and makes a noise.

Fraser picks up his undershirt and quickly pulls it on, then pulls on the Henley.

"Yeah, yeah, okay, great, no wings," says Ray. The smell of the coffee isn't helping reorient him to reality, a reality in which Fraser does not have wings, and -- doesn't want to be touched by Ray.

"No wings," repeats Fraser.

Ray takes a deep breath, then another, then another, and finally says, "If you and Dief wait in the kitchen, I'll be out in a second, and we can go."

"An excellent plan, Ray!" says Fraser, clapping his hands together. "Come along, Diefenbaker!"

Fraser turns away, still pulling on the tunic, and for a moment Ray thinks he can see the holes were the wings would fit through, but when he blinks, the tunic is just red serge again.

He rubs his eyes and finishes the coffee and glares down at the erection in his lap, which is really disturbing, because Fraser as an angel or something is not hot, Ray tells his body.

Then he pulls on jeans and a T-shirt and his holster, and very firmly decides to pretend like none of this ever happened. Ever.


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