Freaky Tuesday (bodyswap!)

Freaky Tuesday (and Wednesday, and Thursday, and especially Friday)
by etben
for stop_drop_porn's kink-a-thon, January 2007
Prompt: bodyswap!
Notes: shoemaster deserves pretty much all the credit for this: she told me I'd been tagged, helped me choose a prompt, and then listened to me blather about the story for hours and hours, beta-ing as I went and doing Dief-checks. Thanks also to custardpringle, who held my hand and asked important questions and distracted me in very helpful ways. Any and all errors remaining are mine and mine alone.




Ray woke up staring at his own face, which was - okay, yeah, that was weird. Lately, he hadn't been waking up to anyone, and the last time he'd seen his own face first thing in the morning had been after that one-night stand with - Cyndi? Mindi? Didn't matter, anyway; she'd kicked him out before he'd had time to do more than notice his own bedhead. Ray had gone home, crawled into his own (mirrorless) bed, and gone back to sleep, which, hey: sounded like a pretty good idea, at that.

"Ray," the other - and significantly more awake - him said, "Ray!"

"Grnh?" Ray said, sitting up and scrubbing a hand through his hair, only it wasn't his hair - it was smooth, and longer, and when he pulled a strand down over his eyes to look at it, it was dark brown, the color of - oh. Oh.

It was Fraser's hair, and those were Fraser's hands in front of his face - or, no, in front of Fraser's face, attached to Fraser's body, sitting up in - Ray checked, and sure enough - Fraser's half-assed excuse for a bed.

And if Ray was in Fraser's body, then that meant -

" - the young lady with the handful of string and the unusually persistent dachsund," Ray's body was saying, and that just proved it, because there was only one person alive who talked like that.

"Fraser," Ray said, trying out the voice, "we got bodyswapped, didn't we?" Weird, weird, weird to hear his words in Fraser's voice, and weird to see Fraser's frown and eyebrow-rub with his mouth and thumb and eyebrow.

"Well, yes, Ray," Fraser said, "that would appear to be the case." He went on, of course, telling Ray all about the girl at the 2-7 and her "experimentation with something akin to khipu, although obviously with some unforseen side effects," and how that had - somehow - turned Ray into Fraser and Fraser into Ray.

"She cursed us with her knitting?" Fraser opened his mouth, paused, and then shut it again, nodding. "So, okay," Ray said, "yet another wildly bizarre happening. Fine. But, I mean," he added, "you can fix it, right? Or, um, find her and persuade her to fix it?"

"I believe so, yes," Fraser said. "As I understand the matter, it's really only a question of - "

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray." Fraser paused, his posture better than Ray's ever had been, and frowned. "In the meantime, however, a certain degree of misdirection may be called for, Ray." Which made sense: hard to explain this to Welsh, or to anybody, really - and anyway, it wasn't like they couldn't do their jobs like this. It was Tuesday - give it Wednesday, Thursday, and then take an early day on Friday, track her down, get this fixed - yeah, that would work.

Ray nodded, and Fraser grinned, then stood up briskly and started writing something down, while Dief whined at his feet.

"These are the standard abbreviations, Ray," he said. "Fortunately, Inspector Churchill is nowhere near as demanding as Inspector Thatcher was, and Tuesday mornings are something of a slow spot; you shouldn't have any trouble getting free by ten or so." He straightened up, turned around, and frowned. "Diefenbaker will require a walk shortly and-"

"What?" But it was obvious: Fraser didn't think Ray could fake him well enough. And, fine, they were different enough, normally, for that to maybe be a little bit of a concern. Still - Ray took undercover work for a reason, and it wasn't because he hated his normal life. He took a breath, stood up, and smiled.

"Ray!" he said, getting right up in Fraser's personal space, "Ray, my friend, I'm afraid you're going to have to pay closer attention to your word choices, in the future." Fraser grinned at him, and Ray grinned back, and let his Fraser-face drop. "I got that under control, I'll take care of the wolf. But you've got to help me with the uniform," he said, and Fraser nodded.

"Understood - ah, I mean, sure thing, Ray."

*

Sure enough, the Consulate was slow all morning, and Ray could deal with most things by hmmm-ing and ah-ing and sneaking peeks at Fraser's list. At 10:12, Ray closed the folder of passport applications he'd been processing and snuck out the front door with Dief, nodding at Churchill as he went by.

And of course his car wasn't there, because he wasn't there, and Fraser's body wouldn't have the cash for a cab. Ray sighed, turned left, and started walking toward the 2-7. Stupid Fraser and his stupid Canadian money and his stupid, stupid walking.

Ray did two blocks in what felt like twenty seconds, fuming, and then looked back at his footprints in the half-inch of dirty snow on the sidewalk. Fraser was fast, and he walked like it was nothing - and, well, maybe the walking wasn't totally stupid.

The 2-7 was its usual mess, with people talking and shouting and, in Interview 4, confessing their crimes through interpretive dance. Ray just sailed on through, Dief running ahead, though - funny how different it was, being Fraser. People made way for Fraser, let him on through with a smile and a, "Hey, Fraser, how are you?" Even with all the added politeness, though - and, what, did Fraser just do that by magic? some sort of freaky Canadian mind-control politeness thing? - it was almost more than he could deal with - sight and sound and smell, all of it too bright, too loud, too much to handle. Ray could smell Dewey's feet, Welsh's tuna melt, the guy who'd puked in Interview 2, Frannie's perfume -

Ray ducked into the nook under the staircase and froze, listening with everything he had. Noise, noise, noise - but not the distinctive tap-tap-tap of Frannie's heels. He sighed, and straightened up, and ducked out.

"Fraser!" And, damn it, she was right there, just around the corner, waiting for him, holding -

"Thank you, Francesca," he said, snatching the hat out of her hands and setting it back on his head.

"It, uh, fell off your head," she said, "when you went under the stairs." And Ray'd known how Frannie looked at Fraser - he'd teased them both about it, at one point or another - but it was one thing to be sitting on the couch, needling Fraser about it, and another thing entirely to have Frannie eying him like a hunk of meat.

"Yes, of course," he said, "but if you'll excuse me - " Smile, smile, nod, duck around Huey and back down the hall, heading for his desk.

Fraser was there, of course, leaning back in his chair and kicking the underside of the desk - which explained why Dief was lying down behind the desk, for a change - flipping a pencil back and forth on his fingers. He looked up as Ray came closer, and, wow - Fraser looked miserable.

"Are you all right, Ray?" Ray took the seat next to Fraser, who grinned weakly.

"Yes, Fraser," he said, "I'm fine - I'm good," he corrected himself. Headache, he wrote, his handwriting on Ray's pad of paper. Ray winced in sympathy, and then had a thought.

"Ray, my friend," he said, catching Fraser's eye and raising his eyebrows, "have you been drinking coffee today?" Fraser stared at him blankly, then shook his head slowly. Ray nodded in the direction of the door. "Well, perhaps we should - " Fraser was already standing up, snatching Ray's jacket off the back of the chair, and heading for the door.

Outside, Fraser paused, taking a deep breath, and stood up straighter. Ray stood next to him, looking down the street, and waited for Fraser to spit it out.

"Your body is so - so jittery, Ray" Fraser said, finally. "I've been fidgeting all morning, Ray - you have no idea - " he trailed off, and Ray grinned at him.

"I know what you mean, Frase," he said. "Gets like that, sometimes - and especially if I haven't had any coffee." Fraser frowned, but Ray cut him off before he could start a lecture on clean living and who even knew what else. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said - "but that's my body, Fraser, and it's used to some coffee in the morning." Fraser frowned some more, but he let Ray lead him to the coffee shop down the block.

*

After that, though, Day One of the Mysterious Bodyswap Adventure went pretty well. They followed a few leads from the Henderson case, and Ray got to play with Fraser's freaky hearing to figure out that the guy in 13B wasn't armed, which was pretty cool. Fraser got better at pretending to be Ray, too - he stopped saying things like "perhaps some sustenance would be advisable" and started saying things like, "Fraser, want to go grab a bite?" He still slipped back into Fraser-speak when he got distracted, but he at least stood right.

"It's this body, Ray," he said, in the car. "Your spine is - well, I suppose it's the inevitable result of years of poor posture, but - "

"Lay off my body, Frase," Ray said, but he knew what Fraser meant.

So, fine: Day One, call it a win, even if it was a bit of a wrench to watch Fraser drive off in the GTO. The next day, Ray was up early, awake and working before seven, which was weird but felt kind of good all the same, and he was able to keep up with Dief on his morning marathon of peeing. It wasn't something he'd choose, normally, but Fraser's body was used to it, apparently. The noise still got annoying, but Ray could tune most of it out.

At the 2-7, though, Fraser was looking miserable, even with a cup of coffee in one hand and a couple of empties on the end of the desk.

"Still twitchy?" Ray muttered, taking the other chair, keeping his posture Fraser-perfect.

Fraser-nodded, rubbing at the side of his neck. "Do you have any other habits I should know about?"

"In the morning? No," Ray said, which was true; normally, his mornings were pretty much coffee, shower, coffee, clothes, coffee, work, in that order. Fraser was probably eating breakfast somewhere in there, but that shouldn't be causing any trouble - and he probably went to bed at a reasonable hour, too, and went to sleep right away, and - and oh, hell.

"Frase," Ray muttered, not looking at him, "Fraser, did you - you know - last night?" And, fuck: there was that blush, creeping up his neck and past his ears; it felt like poison ivy, this swelling, buzzing ache all over his skin. He couldn't say it, couldn't say, Fraser, you jerk off last night? but fortunately, Fraser didn't seem to need the words; his eyes went wide, and he did some blushing of his own.

"Did I - well, no, Ray," Fraser said, like it was obvious, like of course it made sense. And to him, it probably was - Fraser probably jerked off once in a blue moon, or only when the stars aligned in the appropriate mystical conjunction. Which, fine, whatever: Fraser could do whatever he wanted to with his life, his body. Ray's body, though - Ray's body was used to some quality alone time most evenings, and apparently Fraser was feeling the loss.

"So, yeah," Ray said, watching Fraser out of the corner of his eye, trying not to fidget. "You might want to - ah - see to that, tonight, Ray," he said, as Huey passed by.

Fraser rolled his eyes, and Ray grinned, and they started work on the second round of interviews.

*

Day Three, Ray was up even earlier. Fraser didn't twitch, exactly, but he had a serious energy surplus; Ray took Dief for a run and then kept going for a couple miles on his own, made it back to the Consulate with time to spare and was still thrumming, humming with the urge to do things.

After about twenty minutes - in which Ray tidied the hell out of Fraser's office, did all of the dishes in the kitchen, and thought seriously about busting out a mop - Churchill came out of his office.

"Constable Fraser," he said, frowning. "The Consulate appears to me to be in perfectly good order." Ray nodded, and Churchill frowned harder. "Constable Blair could use some on-the-job training, I believe," Churchill went on, and Ray nodded again, not getting it. Churchill sighed, closing his eyes.

"Fraser, will you kindly leave the building for the day?"

He didn't need to ask Ray twice. Fraser would still be at his apartment, at Ray's insistence. "My body needs sleep, Fraser," he'd said, "and besides, if you start coming in to work at the crack of dawn, it's going to look funny." If Ray left now, he could make it back, check in with Fraser somewhere quiet for a change - and then Ray could drive in.

It really wasn't that long of a walk to his apartment, not when he was using Fraser's longer, stronger legs, his superior lung capacity. Just for fun, Ray spent the walk playing around with Fraser's senses some more: seeing how close he had to be before he could actually read the sign for the Insta-mat; listening in on the people in the park (argument, argument, grocery shopping, argument, first date, argument); feeling for some kind of history in the bumps on the sidewalk. He tried smelling stuff, too, but none of it made sense, and all of it smelled kind of gross. After a while, he pretty much just wished he could turn it off.

Licking stuff was out of the question.

At the apartment, Ray knocked twice, then bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting.

"Just a moment!" And, sure, Ray could wait, but on the other hand, it was his apartment. He pulled the keys - his spare set, the ones he'd started leaving with Fraser after that incident with the attack weasels - flipped the lock and the deadbolt, leaned on the door and looked in to see -

- Fraser, in a pair of worn-out shorts that were slipping down his hips, no shirt, looking rumpled and mussed and embarassed as all hell. Not hard to guess what he'd been doing, especially with the way he blushed and tried to cover himself with his hands. Ray took a deep breath, planning to tell him that it was fine, cool, A-OK - or, well, no, because it was freaky and weird in a whole bunch of ways - but it wasn't a problem.

When the air hit his nose, though, he had to pause, because holy shit. Fraser smelled like sex, like sweat and come and slow, lazy mornings in bed, like teasing yourself just because you could, drawing it out aching and gentle until you thought you were going to die, letting the whole day just float away on an open plateau of yes, more, please. Ray knew what that felt like - hell, Ray knew exactly what that felt like. That was his body, right there, and he'd probably done everything to it that Fraser had, and most of it more than once.

And just like that, thinking of Fraser doing things to himself - touching himself, licking his lips, maybe even fucking himself with the dildo in the bottom drawer of the night table - led to thinking about Fraser doing things to Ray, running his big, pale hands all over Ray's body, licking his way into Ray's mouth, fucking Ray -

"Ray! Ray!" Fraser frowned, and put a hand on Ray's elbow, and that was even worse - Ray could feel the heat of his skin, even through the ridiculous Mountie uniform, and it made him want to lean forward and lick Fraser in places his tongue couldn't usually reach.

"Yeah, Frase," he said, pulling himself together, "yeah, sure, what?" Fraser looked startled, at first, like maybe he'd forgotten what he meant to say in the first place, but he pulled himself together.

"Well, Ray," he said, "I've realized that - well, that I haven't exactly been, ah, 'pulling my weight' in this endeavor." Damn if he didn't actually make finger quotes, too - and damn if Ray didn't still want to jump him.

"How's that?" he said, instead, trying to stay focused on things that wouldn't get him kicked out of his own apartment.

"Well, in impersonating you, Ray," Fraser said. "You're much more - physically responsive - " he said, blushing a little - "than I generally am, and if we're to suceed in our masquerade, I really think that -"

"Sure thing, Frase," Ray said, closing his eyes and thinking about Fraser - good-smelling, sexy-as-all-hell Fraser - being more physically responsive to him.

*

So Day Three was pretty much hell on earth.

When Fraser decided to be 'physically responsive,' he didn't hold back - he was in Ray's space all day, touching his shoulder and his back and his goddamn thigh to get his attention, leading him around with a hand on his arm, leaning in close to talk quietly about the case, the suspect, the weather. Nobody seemed to think anything was weird, though, which meant that Ray's body had been saying all kinds of things to Fraser's body for a long time - maybe forever - without Ray's brain ever catching a clue.

So, yeah: apparently Ray's brain was really stupid.

And apparently once Fraser's body had turned on, it was on, on for good, cranked up all the way to 300% SEX SEX SEX. Ray could smell him, could practically taste his skin - almost licked Fraser, standing in the middle of the hallway, waiting for a chance at the drug dealer in 3, before his (stupid) brain kicked in with its (stupid) common sense. He wanted to get Fraser naked, wanted to put his hands and mouth all over him - and it was his body, which meant that he knew all of the hotspots, the way everything felt, how a mouth on the back of his neck felt good, but was even better with just a brush of teeth. He could imagine it in Technicolor detail, full-on 3-D Sensurround, what they'd do and how they'd feel, taste, look, smell, sound.

He went home that night - keeping the Goat, thank you very much; he needed something to make the day not completely suck - locked himself in Fraser's office, and sat down on Fraser's ridiculously uncomfortable bed.

He wasn't planning on jerking off - Fraser apparently didn't, after all - but after a day of high-level sexual tension, even Fraser's body needed a little downtime. Besides, jerking off was a normal, healthy, fun way to deal with a sex drive that wouldn't quit without scaring off the best partner Ray'd ever had. And if Ray was a little - or, hey, a lot - curious about Fraser's hotspots, the things that felt good and the things that felt better, well. That was curiosity, and that was natural, too.

First, he locked the wolf out in the hall, then he pulled off the uniform, folding it over the chair so it wouldn't crease funny, and lay back on the bed. It really was world-class uncomfortable, the sort of uncomfortable that could kill a mood in seconds, but as soon as Ray slid his hand into Fraser's shorts, his body revved and caught, like an engine turning over, and then it was ALL SYSTEMS GO and one desperate hot rush to the end.

Rubbing his fingers through the come on his stomach - and, seriously, did Fraser save himself for special occasions? - Ray made a list of Things That Were Different.

Fraser's skin was smoother, and he was bigger than Ray was used to being - when his hips twitched up, fucking into his fist, biting his lips, the whole bed shook hard enough that Ray had to stop, breathing heavily, and wait to see if it was going to fall apart entirely. Fraser had calluses in places Ray wasn't used to having calluses, and they felt - god - amazing on his cock, the hint of friction, rough and new and better, so much better. Fraser's neck was seriously sensitive; Ray couldn't do it justice, but even brushing his fingers along the big tendon, pressing against the muscle, was enough to make him shiver, make the hair stand up all over his body. Fraser's body was just more sensitive - everything Ray did had come back to him bigger and better, hotter and deeper and sweeter and more, Fraser, God.

He wound up jerking off again, slow and lazy and careful, and when he came, he was thinking about Fraser, doing this, touching himself slowly, so slowly, drawing it out as much as possible, Fraser, fuck, Fraser.

*

Friday, when it came, started out as more of the same: day four of seeing Fraser's face in the mirror, trying to shave around Fraser's unfamiliar chin; day two of getting hard every time Fraser leaned in or breathed hard or looked at him, full stop.

They left early, though, heading off to check out Fraser's lead, and it got easier after that. Not that Ray didn't still want to fuck Fraser six ways from Sunday, no matter whose body he was in; that was absolutely still going on. But outside the 2-7, Fraser didn't have to put on a show; he was less touchy, less inclined to lean in against Ray when they left a building together.

Fraser's lead was exactly where he'd said she would be, in a third-floor walk up down in Hyde Park. She turned out to be a grad student in Anthropology, and also very apologetic.

"Honestly, I had no idea," she said. "I mean, obviously, there are certain interpretations of the theory which state that - " she glanced over at Ray and shrugged. "It's still mostly untranslated, unfortunately - I was just trying to remake a few of the older patterns, the ones that have been falling apart."

"But you can fix it?" She nodded eagerly, which was a relief.

"It's just a question of undoing the knots," she said, "although of course the change won't reverse until after moonset." Ray raised his eyebrows, and she fumbled the knots out of her purse and began to pick at them.

"Thank you kindly," Ray said, and meant it.

They stayed and watched until she'd turned the knots back into smooth balls of colored string, and then Ray dragged Fraser down to the car, where Dief was taking a nap.

"We're going home, Frase," he said, when Fraser asked. "We are going to go to my apartment and watch hockey and drink beer and eat pizza, and tonight I am going to fall asleep on my couch, and when I wake up tomorrow morning, I will do it in my own body and my own place of residence."

*

It was a good plan, and it worked like a charm right up until the middle, which was the part where Ray was supposed to fall asleep on the couch.

Because the couch - yeah, it was comfortable, but it still felt weird, somehow. Ray tossed and turned, fussed with the blankets, turned the pillow over and punched it a few times, and then gave up and went to get a glass of water.

And then, on the way back, he heard it. Nothing big, nothing that would be obvious to an outsider - but Ray'd been jerking off in his own body for more than twenty-five years, and he knew what it sounded like. That, there, the little choked-off sound: Fraser was touching his nipples, thumb and forefinger, easing up the pressure until he couldn't breathe. A long, slow breath out: one hand around his cock, just barely touching, thumb rubbing just so. Then: a grunt that turned into a moan, and oh, fuck, fuck, Fraser was doing himself, fucking himself, fingers pressing in and in. Ray closed his eyes, swallowed hard -

- and then tripped over the coffee table, spilling water everywhere. Dief started barking up a storm, of course, and within seconds Fraser was stumbling out of the bedroom, trying and failing to look like he hadn't just had two fingers up his own ass.

"Ray," he said, "Ray, are you - oh." Hard to hide it, now: Ray's shorts were soaking wet and plastered to his skin, outlining his hard-on in soggy cotton. Fraser glanced down, then up at Ray's face, flushing visibly even in the half-light of Chicago at night. "Oh, Ray," Fraser said, and before Ray could figure out what to say, how to act - apologize? bluff? ignore? - Fraser was kneeling over him, sliding hands behind his head, and leaning in to kiss him, gentle, careful, not wanting to press too far, ask too much.

But Fraser, more than anyone, had the right to ask for whatever the hell he wanted, so Ray stood up, pulled Fraser up, and kissed him again, for keeps. Fraser went with it, went all the way with it, dragged Ray back into the bedroom and slammed the door in Dief's face, then let Ray pull him over to the bed and pin him there, kissing him silly.

Weird, to be kissing himself like this, to be nibbling his own ear, sucking his own dick - but at the same time, it was still Fraser, completely and totally Fraser, even though he kissed with Ray's mouth and touched with Ray's hands. Something to do with attitude, maybe, or just with the fact that Ray knew Fraser, would know him forever, too well and too deeply to ever get confused about who, precisely, was doing what to who, here.

"Whom, Ray," Fraser said, and Ray grinned.

"I'll whom the hell out of you, Fraser," he said, meaning it as a joke, but Fraser's eyes got big all of a sudden, and he grabbed Ray's shoulder.

"Oh, Ray," he said, pressing against Ray's side, his dick hard and insistent. "Ray, yes - please - " Ray kissed him, then, and trusted Fraser to get the message.

"Stuff," he said, pulling back, "we need the - " and broke off, laughing, when Fraser's left hand came up to eye level, clutching a strip of condoms. The lube, when Ray looked, was already out on the night table, right where you'd want it if you were - say - planning to spend a nice quiet evening with your fingers up your ass. "God, Fraser," Ray said, and had to kiss him again, the words too big, too much for the moment.

Fraser was a man on a mission, though, and after a few more minutes of kissing, he pushed Ray off and handed him a condom, watching greedily as Ray rolled it on, smooth and shiny with lube. Then, before Ray could even move, Fraser rolled them both over and pushed himself backwards until they were spooning, curled together on their sides, Ray's dick hot and hard against Fraser's back.

"If you don't mind, Ray," he said, and Ray grinned against Fraser's neck before he got started with Operation Drive Fraser Nuts. The first step was slow, lazy fucking, just rocking back and forth, holding Fraser's hips steady and pressing gradually in and out. Fraser groaned, and reached back a hand, trying to make Ray move faster, but Ray grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, which was step two. He kissed Fraser's neck, hairline to shoulder - step three - and then bit down, just hard enough for it to feel good (step four). Step five was getting the other hand around to tug at Fraser's nipples, and step six was moving that same hand down to jerk Fraser off, making him gasp and groan and then come all over them both.

Steps seven, eight, nine, and ten (fuck Fraser, fuck Fraser harder, come like a steam train, and fall asleep, respectively) weren't part of the official plan, but Fraser seemed to like them just fine all the same.

*

Ray woke up staring at Fraser's face, which was new, but not a bad thing at all.

"Hey, Fraser," he said, smiling, and Fraser grinned back.

"Hello, Ray," he said. "As you can see, Miss Watson was entirely correct in her estimation that the transformation would be reversed by sunup."

"Yeah, I see," Ray agreed, looking down over Fraser's body. It looked different from this angle, sure, but that didn't actually change all that much. Although - he reached out with one hand and ran his fingers down the side of Fraser's neck, then looked down to watch the goosebumps. Turned out they really did go everywhere, which was - well. Interesting.

"You know, Ray," Fraser said, his voice rough and shaky, "I've obtained quite a wide sample of behavioral data, this week."

"That so?" A lot easier to bite Fraser's nipples, from this angle.

"Yes." A pause, and then Fraser sighed. "What I mean to say, Ray, is that - "

Ray cut him off with a kiss. "I know what you mean, Frase," he said. "Believe me, I know you."



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