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Scenes from Another Page

{for the ds_flashfiction genderfuck challenge}

 

The pillows were all screwed up, bunched up under his chest and uncomfortable as hell. Ray tried to inch off them. Then, half-asleep and muttering, he grabbed - wait a minute - and yanked. "Yeeaoowwch!"

Fraser popped up like a Mountie-in-the-box when Ray screamed in his ear. "Yes, sir. Immediately, sir!" Still asleep, he scrambled halfway out of bed, yanking the sheets with him and left Ray wearing nothing but his briefs and some shadows, hand clenched on the soft, warm sore pillow that wasn't a fucking pillow.

That was a handful of him, two fucking handfuls and Ray stared down at his chest - it was his chest and those were breasts - before throwing himself out of the bed and bolting for the bathroom.

"Ray?"

"Stay the fuck out there, Fraser!" Ray yelped - and it was a girly voice - he was hitting the high 'C's' as he clenched a hand around the doorknob, feeling it turn as Fraser tried to get in. "Stay out! I mean it or I'm gonna kick you in the fucking head!"

"What's wrong, Ray?" Fraser sounded … he sounded pretty freaked out there but the doorknob stopped rattling and Ray slumped against the door with a sigh, jerking back suddenly when skin met cold wood. The wrong skin. "Are you ill?"

"Shuttup," Ray yelled and stuck his hand down his boxers. Okay, nice curly pubes down there, just like it should be, but his fingers crept down and down and there was nothing. He whimpered, stomach clenching in a phantom pain because he had to be hurt, really hurt, ‘cause his fucking cock was gone. A whine slipped past his clenched teeth as Ray curled his fingers around the place where his cock should be and wasn't. There wasn't a wound either; it was just maybe a little damp down there and Ray could feel some familiar folds of flesh - but never this way, from the inside. When he brushed a thumb against the tender lump of a clit - oh, shit that was weird - he jerked his hand out of his shorts and slammed his fist against the door.

"Ray -" It was Fraser's voice on the other side of the door; he sounded normal - no girly voice for the Mountie.

"Fucking dreaming!" he yelled, and didn't even recognize his own voice. "This is crazy -"

"Ray, Ray -"

"Acid flashback or some kinda drug or -"

"Let me in, Ray!"

"Or I'm crazy, Frase!" The lights were off and his eyes were clenched shut and it still wasn't dark enough for him. Ray could feel the weight on his chest, the air on skin he hadn't gone to bed with and there was no cock down there. "I'm crazy. I've gone crazy."

"Ray, Ray -" It was Fraser's talking-the-jumper-down-from-the-ledge voice. "Ray, talk to me, all right? Let me in. We can talk; we can figure this out. Just unlock the door."

"No!" If Fraser saw him, it would be real. Ray wasn't going to let Fraser see chick-Ray, or see totally-off-his-rocker-Ray either, for that matter. "No, you ain't seeing me - "

"Ray…" Fraser's voice was ragged and Ray heard a soft thump, guessing Fraser had let his head thunk against the other side of the bathroom door. Ray pressed his hand against the wood, where Fraser was, just a few inches away. There was just enough light to see that his hand didn't look the way it used either. Ray closed his eyes again.

"All right, Ray, all right," Fraser was pulling himself together out there and Ray rested his hot face against the cool wood, shaking, waiting for Fraser to pull it all together because personally, he was fucking flying apart. "We can talk this way. Are you - are you injured?"

"I dunno," Ray whispered. Now that he was awake, he could feel a hundred differences - he was bottom heavy and out of balance but somehow at the same time lighter. "I dunno, Frase, something's wrong."

"Are you bleeding? Dizzy?"

Ray rolled his head against the door, hands trembling against it. "No - I - I'm different."

"Different? What's different, Ray?"

"My cock is gone," And there was the girly wail again. Not his own voice, not his own body, not his own skin.

"Ray, you can't misplace your penis," Fraser said with strained calm. "You must have had a nightmare."

"Am I having a nightmare now? Huh?" Ray yelled at the door. Fuck Fraser and his fucking reasonable explanations. "I got no cock! I'm a fucking girl, Fraser, I got tits!"

There was a long, long pause. Ray crossed his arms — ouch. He crossed them again, lower down and glared at the door. Go for it, Mr. Logic, he thought. Figure this one out.

"That's not possible."

"No shit, Frase," he snapped. Ray could feel the weight of his breasts resting against his arms. He could feel his breasts too, and the press of his arms against them. "Do I sound all right? You know, normal?"

"You sound a little - strained, Ray."

"I sound like a chick. I got a chick voice."

"You sound like someone who's under a great deal of stress," Fraser was Mr. Soothing now, and Ray could pretty much see the expression that had to be on his face, all intent and calm. Ray took a couple of deep breaths - chest heaving - just thinking about Fraser's calm face - well it was better than thinking about his cleavage. He could be calm. Sure.

"Perhaps you … are having a nightmare," Fraser said.

"I'm awake," Ray said. That would be good, if he was just having some kind of freaky dream. "Aren't I? Right?"

"You could be dreaming this whole event - even a false sense of 'waking up'."

"But you're talking to me."

"I could be a figment of your imagination as well."

"A figment, huh? Okay, I can go with that." Ray said, unlocking the door with a rush of relief. Only in his dreams would Fraser would figure out that he wasn't even real. "So, I'll just get back in the bed and go back to sleep and -"

He opened the door, grinning at maybe-imaginary-Fraser because, when you thought about it, this had to be some weird dream. He couldn't just turn into a chick overnight. Fraser's eyes dropped to Ray's chest -- his jaw dropped open, and his eyes popped wide.

"Oh, dear."


After twenty-seven years, when the phone rang at four in the morning, Welsh jumped. He was out of bed with his pants in hand by the time he put the phone up to his ear. No one called a CPD lieutenant this time of night unless all hell had broken loose and - now awake - Welsh could hear the sound of sirens, too many for this time of night.

"Harding."

He didn't recognize the voice, low and rough and wire tight with tension. "Who is this?"

There was a ragged sound - was the man crying on the other end of the line?

"Just listen, lieutenant. I'm calling for the commander -"

"Who are you!" Welsh checked his clock, marking the time in case this was some kind of kidnapping plot or death threat. "Where is Commander O'Neil?"

"Listen!" the man yelled, and Welsh stiffened at the sound of desperation.

"I'm listening," he said soothingly, while adrenaline made him almost forget he was pushing sixty. "I'm all ears. Why don't you tell me -"

"Get to the station, Harding," the man interrupted, and it bothered Welsh that this stranger knew his name and used it. He used it like he knew it, and that one-sided equation disturbed him. "Just - get to the station, call in your men. The whole city is going crazy. There's been some kind of - of - disaster. We need everybody on the streets."

"A disaster, complete with wake-up call - very convenient."

"Look out your window if you need proof!"

Welsh was already at his window and there was a flash of eerie light as he pulled the drape away.

On the other side of the glass -

- it was a disaster. "Jesus -"

"Get to the station. The commander … sh-he'll explain everything … there." His mystery caller hung up, leaving Welsh with an empty line and a city losing its mind.

Welsh had been a rookie during the last riots, and he'd hoped to go to his honor guard grave without seeing another one. The streets were busy, too busy for four am, and Welsh could hear the sounds of sirens - fire, police, EMT - screaming in the night. He could see a pinkish cast to the horizon where fires cast light into the darkness and there was a checkerboard of dark patches scattered across the city where the power had gone out. Above it all, the night sky flickered and danced, reds and blues and greens rippling over the stars like a cheap special effect. Welsh yanked on his pants and - after a pause - he dug his kevlar vest out of the back of his closet and put it on under a sweater.

It was too early in the morning for the end of the world.


Ray was sitting on the stoop behind the station, smoking and scratching his ribs. He wondered what the hell whoever had invented bras had been thinking. The fuckers itched, they strangled, they hurt under the straps of his gun harness and Ray had tossed his in the trash by noon. He'd tried the thing, and if Fraser complained he could wear the damn bra himself. The cloudless sky flickered green and gold before settling back to plain old blue. Ray watched it and wondered, like everyone else in the whole world, what the fuck it meant.

"Hi, Ray," the door opened behind him, scraping over the concrete stoop.

He had to twist around to see who it was: he didn't recognize the light baritone. Nowadays, there were a lot of new voices to old names. Ray didn't recognize his own voice and he was making Fraser leave the greeting message on his voicemail. "Hi, Frannie."

Frannie plopped down next to him, tugging her tie loose and popping the top button on her shirt. She already had a beard shadow, at noon, along with bits of tissue stuck over razor scrapes on her chin and jaw. Ray rubbed his own smooth face and wondered if Frannie was going to go bald like her brother.

"Now I get why the call these things hangman's lariats," Frannie grumbled. "I thought stockings were bad."

"Nooses, Frannie, hangman's nooses."

"Nooses, lariats - whatever - they're still too tight and ugly." She yanked the tie off and threw it angrily: it only fluttered to the ground a few inches away, uncoiling like a blue and green silk snake. Frannie huddled on the step and hid her face against her knees.

"What is with you guys?" she wailed suddenly. "The men's room is disgusting. I got better aim and I've only had this thing for a week!"

Ray smoked and, after a moment, reached out to rub a hand over the wide bony shoulders. He'd had to go to the precinct storage and get a new gun harness, size small.

"I hate this," she said, sounding choked and exhausted. She'd pulled her hair back, tying it at the nape of her neck and slicking the sides down, but she hadn't cut it. Made sense, Ray figured. He wasn't going to fucking change his hair, anymore than he was going to start wearing skirts. "I miss my breasts."

Ray pulled the collar of his shirt out to frown down at his own chest. Faint pink strap marks were visible over the pale curves he was still rolling on in his sleep. His nipples, large and dark pink, were hard against his T-shirt and sensitive in a pretty cool way if they weren't so fucking weird.

"You can have mine," he said.

Ray was making Fraser sleep at the consulate. Fraser was all understanding and logical about it, and looked like he was bleeding to death every time Ray saw him. It pretty much broke his fucking heart, but Ray was seriously too freaked to have Fraser sleeping in the bed next to him - or in the next room, or anywhere he might see Ray naked. He just wasn't up for that. Not yet.

He took another slow sip of scotch, wincing at the burn. At least that was the same. Getting drunk, girl or boy, and hanging over the toilet in the morning -that was the same. Puke, he smirked, was the great equalizer. Everything else - even food - was different. Chocolate was pretty kick ass; he'd already gone through a month's worth of M&Ms. Ray held up his glass, hand shaky. The light from the kitchen shone through the scotch, golden and warm, which wasn't anything like what scotch made his brain. His thoughts were moving about like molasses in Freezerland, and it was easy to push everything away; the riots and the craziness, the way his jeans didn't fit right anymore, the fact that Dewey made a pretty girl. He had a quarter of a bottle left, and that would be just right to drown his sorrows for tonight.

Ray pushed a hand up under his wife-beater until he fumbled to a breast, still feeling that jolt of surprise, and shivered. His breast. All new equipment and he was too damn chicken-shit to take it for a test drive. Or - and Ray took another sloppy drink - let Fraser take him for a spin. Him. Her. Him.

He was still him. He was Ray - Ray Kowalski - he felt the same and he wasn't thinking girl thoughts…was he? He squinted at his glass and thought about, oh, flowers and those books Frannie read, then belched. Yep, still a guy, he thought with a drunk, sour grin. Except the breast in his hand, nipple hard against his palm, was his too. Girl parts outside and a guy inside and which one was him now? Shivering again, Ray ran his fingers down the soft skin of his breast, then caught the nipple with a twist that made him shiver - oh, that was good - and gasp. Hearing that woman's gasp in his empty apartment made him yank his hand out from his shirt. Was this him? Getting drunk every night 'cause he couldn’t stand his own skin while the eggheads on the news went on about a fucking sex change comet? Kicking Fraser out on his ass because he'd told Ray he didn't care about Ray's parts and he believed him? Breasts and pussy and no cock? "Fuck you," he whispered in an sexy alto. Ray let his head sag against the back of the couch and gulped down the rest of his glass. "Fuck me."

The knocking on the door didn't move him for a long, hazy minute because Fraser had a key, and he'd eventually remember that. Then Ray eventually remembered that Fraser wasn't supposed to come by anymore, and so it had to be somebody else hammering away. Ray got up and shuffled to the door to peer out the peephole, sagging against the wall. He could see Frannie's forehead out there in the hall, eyebrows wrinkled up into a scowl. She hadn't gotten any taller when she'd gotten her cock, just like Ray hadn't gotten any shorter - just thinner, except in some very important areas.

"What?" Ray pulled the door open and leaned on it. Frannie was in guy jeans, scruffy with late night stubble and weaving slowly from side to side. It made Ray dizzy, so he headed back to the couch, hearing Frannie stumbling along behind.

"I thought we could visit," Frannie said brightly, sliding over the arm of the couch and onto the cushions. Frannie wasn't a cute drunk when she was a guy - she looked pathetic, but then Ray felt pretty pathetic so what the hell, it worked. "Maybe start a support group: you , me, the commander, Dewey. You know, you tell me all those top secret guy things and I tell you what kinda lipstick you should wear."

Ray scowled and grabbed his own bottle. "Uh-uh. I ain't wearing lipstick. I ain't wearing bras or skirts or f-fucking pantyhose."

"Let me tell you, I'm not missing the pantyhose," Frannie tipped her bottle back - she didn't have a glass - and they drank together.

"Screw the pantyhose."

Ray curled his bare toes over the edge of the coffee table, looking down at his feet. They were thinner than they used to be and his boots didn't fit right anymore. No pantyhose, now way. Shit, he sure as hell wasn't going to shave all that either.

Ray finally gave up on teaching Frannie the secret guy handshake - was it pinkie first or thumb wrestling? - about the time that the last of his scotch gave up.

"You're gonna have to learn to belch the alphabet, you know," he told her carefully, their fingers still laced clumsily together.

Frannie was slouched in the corner of the couch, shoes discarded and legs tucked up. Her shirt was half unbuttoned, revealing a fan of dark chest hair "You think this - is forever?" she asked.

"I dunno." Ray said.

"I was dating," Frannie was scraping the label off her empty bottle with a thumbnail. "Vinnie Ablagato - and he's a nice guy, he's nice to Ma and everything. Sexy too. Dark hair, those big dark eyes, not too tall - " She laughed, coughed and rubbed her face. "Kinda like me, huh?" Her eyes were watering. "Now he won't even look at me. Like it's my fault! I thought he liked me. I thought …."

"Okay, okay," Ray hugged her and she buried her face between his breasts like they were made to be cried into. Ray patted her back awkwardly, feeling breath and heat on his skin in a way he really didn't want to - he wasn't drunk enough for this. She was crying hard, shaking in his arms like she was going to fall apart. "It's gonna be okay. Some people, you know, it takes time for some people. And some people are just jerks. Besides, they'll fix this - all those scientists are working 24/7 and they'll make a ray gun or a pill or something and fix this. It's not forever."

"At least you and Fraser can be together now," Frannie mumbled into his chest, shoulders hitching under Ray's hands. Ray stiffened and shoved her off.

"What?"

"Oh, please" Frannie collapsed against the cushions and wiping her nose on her shirtsleeve, tears forgotten with the ease of the truly drunk. "You two -" she waved her hands with an eye roll that was so Frannie that the beard seemed like a silly joke. "Like you couldn't breath if you were more than a foot away from each other? Siamese twins have more personal space than you and Fraser. And now, you know, it doesn't have to be all big brother and just buddies. You can -"

"You really think -" Ray flung himself out of the couch and fetched up against the window, squeezing the frame with white fingers. His stomach ached and the scotch was suddenly sour in the back of his throat. He could see his reflection in the glass: familiar blonde hair, the softened angles of a new face, the swell of breasts under his old wife-beater - "You really think that a pair of tits are all it takes for Fraser to love me? That's kinda - uh - you know, cheap."

Frannie snorted drunkenly. "I know it takes more than that, mine sure didn't do the trick. When I had 'em. He already loves you."

"I know he loves me." Behind Ray, the room throbbed in time with his heartbeat, swinging dizzily. All the scotch did for him now was keep him from pushing away the realization of how fucking stupid he was for kicking Fraser out, tits or not. He was lonely; he missed Fraser and he was scared. "The girl parts don't change that."

"The girl parts don't change that," Ray whispered again, head sagging against the cold window, really hearing what he was saying this time. Somewhere across town, Fraser was sleeping alone - and how stupid was that? Making Fraser miserable - making himself miserable wasn't going to get his cock back. Ray knew that Fraser would stand with him even if he never got his hands inside Ray's shorts again; he wouldn't let his hands go wandering if Ray didn't want it. What he didn't know was that he didn't. If he could ever want Fraser to put his hands on him like that. Ray couldn't keep the images tumbling in the back of his mind away anymore; Fraser's naked body and his naked body together. Scary. Instead of two cocks, a cock and a pussy - could he let Fraser in like that? Ray groaned and thumped his head against the glass; he was D-U-M dumb. He'd already let Fraser in every other way. In his bed, in his guy body, in his fucking heart. Everything else was just details.

He'd gone and sent his heart to go sleep on a cot in fucking Canada - and then he wondered why he felt like shit.

"Frannie, I gotta go." Ray turned around abruptly, the feet restless and wanting out the door now. He had to go, he was no kinda buddy to Fraser here and that wasn't okay. Ray didn't know what he'd say but he could already feel the GTO under his hands, the dark streets, and the polish of the Consulate. Beyond that, he didn't know - but he had to go anyway. "I gotta -"

Frannie had passed out, snoring softly, head thrown back and loose hair softening the angles of her face.


Had the cot always been this uncomfortable? Fraser twisted restlessly, opening his eyes briefly to the changing angle of moonlight before shutting them stubbornly. He had to get some sleep; the past week full of panic and shock was taking its toll, and Fraser knew he had to sleep to regain full use of his facilities. The cot creaked under him, too small, too lumpy, too … lonely.

It had taken him a shockingly short amount of time to adjust to Ray's restless tossing and turning. It would take him forever to adjust to his absence. Fraser draped his arm over his eyes to block out the light outside his window and could only hope that he would not have to wait forever for Ray to … adjust.

He understood Ray's distress; the unasked for and impossible transformation of his entire body had stunned them both. The fact that approximately twelve percent of the world's population had also suffered a sexual transformation overnight - and the resultant riots and chaos - had been an almost welcome distraction. Ray, along with every other officer and firefighter and doctor, had been on duty for days trying to hold civilization together. When they had been finally released from duty, and returned home, Ray had turned around in his living room and told Fraser that he had to leave. He'd had to say it twice before Fraser could make himself walk out. He'd been incapable of speaking, let alone begging. Fraser understood why Ray was so upset; he just didn't understand why he couldn't be with him.

He had only just begun to feel that Ray's apartment was home. Or, more importantly, that Ray was his home. Fraser pressed his arm harder to his eyes, until the darkness was shot with red stars and the tickle at the back of his nose faded. He fumbled with his other hand under his pillow, dragging out one of Ray's old t-shirts and pulling it to his face. The knit was old and worn, familiar against his skin, and still carried a faint, fading trace of Ray's scent. He missed Ray, missed him with a deep ache that was not eased by their working relationship - because at the end of every day, Ray went home and Fraser did not. After a moment of breathing in Ray's scent, of wondering what he was doing now - sleeping, Fraser hoped - he sat up and went to his desk. There was no point in pretending to go to sleep.

The television and newspapers were awash with facts, figures, and editorials about the comet and the impossible side effect of its planetary near miss. Fraser had been searching them - not for more wild theories, but for a solution - mostly without success. There was no pill, no magic cure, no simple procedure to undo what had happened to Ray. Hormone replacement therapy and surgery could only do so much - but Fraser had collected all that information, done all that research, in case Ray wanted it. It gave him something to do in his sleepless hours, besides standing on the sidewalk below Ray's window and watching his lights behind the drawn curtains like some sort of criminal. He'd told Ray that his new, female, body was as beautiful to him as his male body had been, and he'd meant it. If Ray wanted to use technology to recreate the body he'd been born with, Fraser would love that - love him - and mean it. Fraser had everything ready, every option he could think of, every scrap of research and support he could find. He just wanted Ray to give him a chance to prove it.

Footsteps in the dark made Fraser lift his tired head from his palms, then brush his hands uncertainly down his undershirt. He recognized the hurried pace, even if the step was lighter - it was Ray. He flung the door open before Fraser could do anything more than stand up.

He leaned in the doorway, tangled hair backlit, thumbs hooked in his pockets - the lanky line of his body was so familiar that Fraser felt all his longing gather in an aching knot in his belly. "Ray," he said, startled at the sound of his hoarse voice.

"Fraser." Ray's new voice shattered the illusion of the past. "Wanna talk."

"All right, Ray." Fraser swallowed and reached for his desk light.

"Leave it off," Ray said sharply and Fraser nodded, stiffening behind his desk. Ray's voice was wound tight, shoulders riding high with tension, and Fraser wondered what awful thing Ray was going to tell him this time. That they couldn't see each other at all? That Ray hated him for his unchanged body? Fraser folded his arms across his chest, as if that would hide him, and watched Ray prowl restlessly around the room until he fetched up against the desk.

"What did you want to talk about?" he had to say, finally, when Ray only stood there pushing papers around with his fingertips.

"Me - uh - us." Ray shuffled restlessly.

"Can I come - home?" Fraser swallowed the plaintive tone down and watched the flicker of emotions across Ray's softened face. Ray looked away, face betraying the same hurt and loneliness Fraser felt, which made his self inflicted isolation even more bewildering. "Ray?"

"Frannie came to visit, see," Ray blurted. "Y'know, com - comiterate -"

"Commiserate."

"Right, and she was all 'now it's true love for you and Fraser'. Like she ain't ever seen a gay guy in her life." Ray snorted and raked a hand through his hair. Fraser sighed at Frannie's exasperating ignorance; traditional upbringing or not, she also worked in a police station and should be more aware of human variation. "And I figured this was all crazy. Like being a gay, undercover cop was easier than this? Like I didn't know you loved me before? Like tits were gonna make you love me more?"

"I did. I still do, Ray. It's not your body -"

"I know. I know that, so what the hell am I doing? But I'm fucking scared, Fraser. All this stuff and it's me now and what the hell is gonna happen if you touch me? What if it's bad? I'm not a girl and the parts don't make me a girl but I don't know what I am now. I dunno - I dunno."

"And it's easier alone?" Fraser asked softly. "All those questions? All that wondering?" It's not easier for me, he wanted to cry. But life was never easy; Fraser knew that very well.

"No it ain't." Ray burst out. "It's just D-U-M dumb and I'm sorry, okay?"

"Underst -"

"And I want you to kiss me. Now." Ray was already leaning across the desk, one hand wound in Fraser's T-shirt and the other hot and sweaty on the back of his neck. Fraser was pulled forward before he could think, and then Ray's mouth was hard on his before he could speak.

"You've been drinking," Fraser said stiffly, twisting his face away. Ray was drunk.

Ray's hand, slimmer but still strong, fisted in his hair and kept him close. "I've had a few but I'm not brain dead, Fraser. I know what I'm doing and maybe a little buzz ain't such a bad idea, you think?"

"Dear god, Ray, you didn't drive here -"

Ray was kissing him again, stopping his words. What if he took Fraser's rejection the wrong way? What if this was the only chance Fraser would have to bring Ray back to him? Ray's tongue pressed his lips and it was easy - right - to open up and let him in. He tasted mint over alcohol, and beneath all that was the familiar taste of Ray's mouth. Fraser leaned in suddenly, the edge of the desk biting into his thighs, and his protests were forgotten. Ray's hair prickled against his palms as he cupped his head, and when Fraser bit Ray's full lower lip, he tried to devour Fraser's mouth with groaning, open-mouthed kisses. So good, so good and the slender nape of Ray's neck was warm and his tongue thrust hot into Fraser's mouth and all he could do was open, open and take.

Papers scattered over the floor when Ray scrambled over the desk under Fraser's urgent hands. This was Ray - his hands hot and shaky, his breasts pressed to Fraser's chest, his breath sending shivering goosebumps over Fraser's skin. This was Ray, who he loved, who he desired - Fraser's hands skimmed over Ray's old leather jacket and under to feel the heat of Ray's skin through thin cotton - this was Ray, always.

He should take care; he should be gentler - but Fraser couldn't stop himself from hauling Ray closer, from wrapping an arm around his narrow waist and groaning into his mouth when he felt Ray's knees around his hips and his boot heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

"Oh, god, oh, jeeze -" Ray's voice was caught between fear and hunger. Fraser dragged his teeth over the soft skin below Ray's ear and moaned when Ray gasped, when he arched his neck, when he struggled to hitch himself closer. All familiar gestures, familiar pleasure amid the new shape of Ray's body. Ray's crotch was pressed tight to Fraser's erection, sending his pulse racing. His hips jerked, seeking heat as his penis surged. "Fraser -"

"It's all right," Fraser's hands roamed over Ray's back as he breathed into his ear, licked the smooth line of his jaw and crumpled the back of Ray's T-shirt in his hands. The skin of Ray's back was very smooth, delicate in a way it never had been before - Ray flinched, shivering when Fraser spread his hand over it. Fraser forced himself to lean back, letting suddenly cold air slip between them, he had to slow down.

"No," he said, but Ray pulled him close again, eyes wild and dark, the outline of his hard nipples stark under his shirt. "Nuh-uh, no thinking. I can't think, Fraser, just gotta go - gotta do this. C'mon, c'mon - come here and kiss me."

"Ray, are you sure?"

Ray threw off his coat and pulled his shirt over his head. Naked from the waist up, he was all shadows and pale curves, with a sudden smirk on his mouth at Fraser's stunned look. "Get the hell over here, Frase."

Fraser found himself bare chested and his hands in the loose waist of Ray's jeans without knowing how they'd gotten there. Ray's breasts were soft and warm, and Ray's breathing was harsh and loud in Fraser's ear when he stroked a hand up Ray's side and cradled one breast in his hand. He teased the nipple with his thumb, feeling the crinkled flesh tighten further under his touch. Beautiful.

"Oh god, oh weird …" Ray's fingers scrabbled on Fraser's back as he humped his crotch urgently against Fraser. Fraser thrust forward, pushing his erection against Ray, and mumbling against his neck. He ran his lips along Ray's collarbone, as slender as a bird's wing, then down the warm rise of his breast. When his mouth closed over his nipple, Ray arched back with a cry, heels digging hard into Fraser's thighs and hands clutching his head to hold him close. "Oh, shit, oh, yeah, do it, do it, do it, Frase - "

Fraser hummed against his skin and suckled wetly, opening his mouth wide to take in as much of Ray's breast as he could. Ray was pulling his hair and squirming restlessly on the desk. Yes, this was what they needed. Fraser licked his way across Ray's chest, murmuring his name into the new skin, naming him, shaping him with is mouth and his searching hands - bringing Ray, flushed and panting, to the surface.

Ray pushed him back unexpectedly, catching Fraser's open mouth in a hot kiss before he could protest, then groped swiftly down Fraser's body to his penis. Gasping in a shocked breath, skin sparking everywhere Ray's hands landed, all Fraser could do was groan and push into the quick, teasing grip. Long, warm fingers slipped in the fly of his boxers, stroking down his penis to cup his scrotum. Fraser felt a heady rush, as if he was the one who'd been drinking, before Ray's hand was gone again and could only gasp in protest, too lost for words.

"C'mon, c'mon, want you," Ray was murmuring senselessly as he shoved Fraser back, moving him, pressing him until he sank into his desk chair. Then Ray dropped to his knees at Fraser's feet and Fraser's hands found their familiar rest on the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah, oooh, so pretty, Frase -"

Fraser shivered and his head fall back, hips sliding to the edge of the chair as Ray pulled his penis free of his boxers. In the moonlight, Ray's face was stark, eyes dark and liquid, mouth lushly wet. His gaze swept over Fraser, tongue sliding across his lips as his attention centered on Fraser's weeping erection, poking from the pale folds of his boxers. He bent his head, blonde hair brushing Fraser's thighs as it had many times before.

"Gonna suck you, wanna suck you -"

Ray's voice cut off as Fraser felt the first, wet touch of his lips kissing the tip of his penis. He choked out Ray's name, fingers tightening on the narrow nape of Ray's neck. So warm, so wet - the tender flutter of Ray's tongue caught Fraser up in bliss. Fingers at the base of his penis urged him to thrust, to press into Ray's open mouth; his groans and helpless motions were welcomed by persistent suction. Ray pulled him in, took him deeper, and Fraser could have drowned under lapping of his tongue, Ray's head bobbing in his hands. The lonely ache in his chest eased, unwinding under the touch that felt like home. Ray stroked his thumb in circles on Fraser's hip, an erotic rush that set Fraser's heart to racing and his hips to small uncontrollable thrusts.

"Ray," Fraser groaned to the ceiling. Ray's head sank lower, taking Fraser deep, his breathing noisy, his mouth noisy, his hands gripping Fraser's thighs as if he were afraid Fraser would pull him off. Fraser laced his fingers with Ray's, keeping him close. "Ray. Ray -"

He was cresting rapidly, unable to resist Ray's intoxicating mouth. Unable to resist Ray and his hunger for pleasure, his hunger to give Fraser pleasure. It gathered until he ached with it; his balls twitched, lifting, and a sudden brief press of Ray's thumb on his scrotum sent Fraser flying. He yelled Ray's name, shameless, lifted and shaken by his orgasm; then he collapsed back into the chair, spine going liquid and hands lax over Ray's.

Ray stayed where he was, panting into Fraser's crotch and rubbing his head against the twitching muscles of Fraser's belly. All Fraser had the energy to do was stroke that aggressive hair, imagining Ray purring like a cat under his touch.

Ray certainly acted like a lazy cat as he climbed into Fraser's lap, straddling his thighs and kissing him languidly. Slicking his tongue deep into Ray's mouth, Fraser chased the strong taste of his own semen, feeling shivers in the long muscles of Ray's thighs. The crush of his breasts was strange against Fraser's chest and Ray's jeans were uncomfortable on his softening penis.

"Ray?" Fraser murmured, slipping an arm around Ray's waist. He ran his fingertips down the sweat slick line of Ray's spine, dipping into his jeans and stirring a shiver and grind from Ray. Ray swung his face away from Fraser, raking his teeth over his lip then giving him a sidelong, wary glance. Fraser stroked him again, delicately scratching a fingernail at the base of his spine and kissed his cheek. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah," Ray breathed with another sensuous shiver. "I wanna - jeeze - I gotta but I can't think Frase, can't think about nothing or I'm gonna freak. I want you to do me, you know, where it counts…."

"Ray, are you sure? There are other ways -."

"Fuck if I'm sure!" Ray snapped. "Don't you back out on me now, Fraser, 'cause that ain't buddies!"

"I won't back out on you. I just don't want to rush you, Ray. You don't have to do anything, any particular thing, if you're uncomfortable."

"What, I'm ugly? That you don't wanna fuck me?" Ray stared at him and the light and shadow over his face was suddenly familiarly accusing. He carded his fingers through Fraser's hair and smiled faintly. "Do you find me … attractive, Frase?"

Fraser tightened his arm around Ray's waist possessively and leaned close to whisper in his ear. "Very much. Very much so, Ray."

"As a woman?"

"As you."

Fraser got them both out of the chair and headed in a slightly clumsy dance to his cot. Standing beside it, he hooked his thumb over the button of Ray's fly and felt his breathing quicken - desire or nerves, Fraser didn't know. Probably both. He licked along Ray's sweating hairline, tasting salt, before kissing him again as he popped the button and eased the zipper down. If Ray didn't want to think - Fraser circled his thumb around the dip of Ray's navel, earning a sharp buck - that could be arranged. Fraser kissed Ray hard, with teeth and tongue, and pushed his hands into Ray's pants.

"Jesus," Ray groaned, clutching at Fraser's shoulders. His skin was hot, burning through the thin knit of his briefs, and Fraser sucked in a hard breath against Ray's lips as he eased his hand between Ray's legs, where he was hottest. When Fraser rocked the heel of his hand against Ray's mons, Ray arched hard against him with a startlingly high pitched cry. Fraser curled his fingers down, feeling sodden cotton against his fingertips as he braced himself against Ray's straddle legged grinding. Ray was wet.

"Ray, Ray, Ray …" Fraser murmured over Ray's litany of "oh, god, oh, god, don't stop", pushing Ray's pants down with his free hand. He wrestled Ray naked and onto the cot, despite his clinging hands and insistent kisses, then bent to kiss Ray's foot. Ray groaned and relaxed when Fraser licked a slow circle around his anklebone. Fraser tasted his slow way up Ray's legs as Ray relaxed beneath him, one long leg trailing off the cot, an arm thrown over his face as if he couldn't quite bear to watch - but his other hand hesitantly explored his own body, touching his breasts, stroking his heaving belly.

"God, I love you," Fraser blurted, flushed with sudden tenderness and lust. It wasn't that Ray was beautiful, though - male or female - he was. It was because, even in a changed body, he was still utterly Ray - from the restless curl of his toes against Fraser's side to the assertive sprawl over Fraser's bed. He dropped a kiss onto the warm skin of Ray's inner thigh; the hair there was as fine and soft as a chick's down, and Ray's whole body rolled with a shudder under Fraser's touch. Ray let his legs fall open wider; the shadowy hair between his legs was visibly wet in the moonlight and the sea-scent of his excitement left Fraser breathless with desire. He smelled different - wonderful - and Ray's courage stole Fraser's breath away. "I love you," he murmured, licking the tendon up Ray's inner thigh until he had his nose pressed at the angle of crotch and thigh, feeling Ray's tremble and the rasp of pubic hair against his cheek.

"You're gonna, ohh - oh, god, Frase -" Ray's pelvis rolled and Fraser turned his head to lick his labia, grunting at the sudden rush of heat and blood to his still sensitive penis. The new, pungent taste of Ray was compelling - Fraser pursued it eagerly as Ray's thighs shook and his hand clenched painfully in his hair. Ray didn't try and stop him, full of a courage Fraser envied - the courage to pursue what he wanted, to be the first to say 'I love you', to feel and want and need without shame. Ray wanted this, Fraser could taste it as he teased his way between the folds of labia. Ray spread his shivering legs for Fraser's shoulders and murmured his need with an increasingly breathless voice.

Fraser tongued his way up, letting his fingers slide between wet flesh as he found the small bud of Ray's clitoris and tasted it gently. Ray wailed and pushed up. Fraser pressed two fingers inside - thank god, there was no hymen - teasing his clit with quick flicks of his tongue and stroking cautiously into his vagina. Ray squirmed, he didn't seem enthusiastic about that and Fraser pressed his mouth more insistently against his clit, pulling his fingers out and letting them slip down the abbreviated perineum to the clench of Ray's anus. He was wet there too; it was easy to slide a finger in, and Ray's throaty, pleased groan made Fraser hum with satisfaction. They knew this.

Fraser fingered Ray, licking strongly with his tongue, bracing himself on his elbows as Ray struggled to ride his hand and mouth both. Ray didn't like Fraser's fingers in his vagina, but he liked his tongue well enough as Fraser explored messily, sucking and kissing and licking and tasting, tasting, tasting. It was so good - Fraser was humping awkwardly against the rattling cot, one foot braced on the floor. He could feel the rolling shudders in Ray, gathering in strength, bringing Ray's mons hard to Fraser's face then down onto his probing fingers over and over. Ray was moaning too, longer and louder, gorgeous, compelling and irresistible.

Orgasm swept through Ray, powerful shudders rippling through him, along with a fierce cry, and the fluttering clench of his anus around Fraser's fingers was echoed in pulse of his vagina. Fraser gentled his mouth on Ray's clitoris, slipping his fingers free and resting his forehead on Ray's still spasming belly. It was Ray's turn to soothe a hand through Fraser's hair while he caught his breath. The cot creaked as Fraser had to finally shift, looking for some relief for his rigid penis. He was as hard as if he hadn't climaxed less than an hour ago. Ray always did that to him.

"C'mere," Ray mumbled, tugging on his hair. Fraser slid up Ray's body until he could see his relaxed, flushed face. Ray shifted, brushing up against Fraser's penis and giving him a heavy lidded smile when he flinched. "S'okay, Frase."

"Is it?" Fraser let Ray angle in for a kiss, sharing the erotic taste of his body. Ray sighed, shifting under him so that his skin teased the leaking tip of Fraser's penis, goading him to thrust down. Fraser rocked his penis against the sweat slick skin of his stomach, searching for a response, a rhythm.

"Mmmm, s'good," Ray's tongue slicked along his lips, down his chin, licking the fluids smeared over his face. Grunting, Fraser kissed the corner of Ray's eye, licking his cheek and thrust again, again and again. "Always liked that tate - fucked up that it's from me. C'mon, Frase, get in there."

"You didn't like vaginal penetration, Ray." Fraser tried to squirm away but Ray hooked his thighs over Fraser's hips and suddenly it was impossible to escape the teasing brush of his pubic hair and impossible not to imagine how it would feel to slide into his wet vagina. Fraser arched back, trying to pull away from Ray's distracting tongue, but only bared his throat to Ray's teeth. He jerked at the sharp bite and the grip of Ray's hand on his cock, guiding him, drawing him down and … in.

"Oohhhh, shit," Ray groaned loudly under him, and Fraser tensed. Ray hooked an arm around his neck. "Okay - s'okay, Fraser. It's just weird feeling. Weird, ah, ah, weird. S'okay. Want you to fuck me."

"Please -"

"Want you, want you," Ray chanted, and arched - and Fraser was lost. He was inside Ray, deep inside, collapsing on top of Ray, penis sheathed in slick heat. Fraser could feel the faint, fading flutters of Ray's orgasm - and that delicate touch undid him. He thrust, groaning loudly; Ray jerked under him and he thrust again. Ray's heels dug into his thighs as Fraser braced himself on the narrow cot, staring down into Ray's dazed face, and Fraser discovered he'd lost all shreds of control as he drove down and in, riding the wet clasp of Ray's body. He was moaning Ray's name, wild with needy pleasure; he had to feel more, have more, give more. Ray raked his fingernails down Fraser's sides, making him buck. Ray's hips snapped up in answer in a hard, driving rhythm until Fraser's climax rushed through him with a roar.

Utterly spent, Fraser collapsed in a sweaty tangle with Ray. The cot groaned under them; Fraser thought vaguely that they'd been lucky, all in all, not to end up on the floor. Though, honestly, he wasn't sure he'd have noticed if they did.

"Ray?" He finally managed to gasp out. "Are you all right?"

Ray was running his hands lazily up and down his back. "M'great. Greatness … I think."


Ultimately, they had simply forgotten. The course of the comet that had been pulled into orbit around the sun had been closely followed since its first traumatic appearance twenty months before. In the weeks before its scheduled return, the media had revisited all the theories about the night of the change, and everyone wondered if there would be another bout of transformation on its return.

On the night of its closest pass, however, Fraser and Ray were sound asleep. Between the latest rash of murders and their daughter's cranky teething, they were too tired to either wonder or worry about the comet.

Fraser woke to find the sheets bunched uncomfortably under his chest, and Tola crying in her nursery. "It's your turn," he mumbled groggily. Ray rolled out of their bed and padded out with a muttered curse.

Fraser finally managed to untangle himself from the bedding and, in the shimmering light of the comet, stared down at himself in shock. His - rather generous - chest heaved as he gasped for breath. Fraser clenched his eyes shut and his fists on the sheets. He wasn't going to hide in the bathroom. He wasn't.

The sound of Tola's crying drew closer and Fraser swung around to see Ray in the doorway of their bedroom, holding their daughter in his arms. She was beginning to calm down, rooting at Ray's breasts and kicking his stomach with her tiny feet. At seven months, she already had Ray's hyperactive temperament. Ray was staring down at her sparse dark curls, clearly worried, but when his gaze fell on Fraser, his mouth dropped open with a stunned expression that Fraser knew matched his own.

"Uhhh - " Ray swallowed, choked and tried again. "Frase, you think there's a boy version of Tola's name? 'Cause you ain't the only one in the house with new equipment tonight."

Fraser looked down at his undeniably female chest again. Unlike Ray, he wasn't going to be able to skip wearing a bra. "Oh, dear. "

END (051805)