DS/C6D fic: Descendants, by kuonji (R)
Title: Descendants
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Due South, reference to Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski
Pairings: Fraser/RayK
Category: AU, character study
Rating: R
Words: ~3750
Summary: Fraser makes a discovery.
Descendants
by kuonji
Ray likes to make love with the lights on. He likes to be face to face. He says he loves Fraser's expression as he enters his body, eyes half-lidded and teeth bared.
When they first consummated their physical relationship, Ray had made a big show of looking over every bared piece of Fraser's body, until Fraser had started to feel quite self-conscious, if aroused and pleased by the attention. Ray admits one day that aside from just liking to look, he likes to assure himself that it's really Fraser he's with. He sometimes still can't believe his luck, he says.
Fraser doesn't fault him, since he shares the disbelief, surprised at every morning kiss and the slide of Ray's hand over his shoulder at breakfast.
It isn't until one day when they engage in an, er, impromptu bout of amorous activities, that Fraser makes a discovery.
He's backed Ray up against the wall. Ray's laughing through his kisses, cursing Fraser and the corner of the bookcase against his hip, fighting back but not enough to actually get away. Ray takes everything Fraser has to give and pushes it right back. He starts tearing Fraser's shirt off and Fraser, not to be outdone, drags Ray's jacket down and starts on his shirt before having to stop when Ray's clever hands reach the front of Fraser's pants.
"Want you, want you," Ray's chanting in Fraser's ear.
Groaning, Fraser pushes into that tight hold a few times, then pulls back enough to flip Ray face forward to the wall. Ray growls encouragement and interferes with 'helpful' wriggles of his body. They both grunt when Fraser finally shoves home.
Within the fog of heat and tight pleasure, Fraser notices a faint light, and he can't place the source. That distracts him enough that he pulls back to look around the room -- and that's when he sees it.
"Ray--!" he exclaims.
"Yeah, Ben, come on. Fuck me. God."
He responds, spurred by the need in Ray's voice, but at the same time he can't help but push Ray's shirt up farther and stare at the bony curve of Ray's spine. In the dim light of early evening, it's easy to discern the incandescent glow that shows through Ray's skin, highlighting the exact position and shape of Ray's vertebrae. They're a bright orangey-red, like large heat filaments, but when Fraser puts a hand on them, expecting it to burn, the area feels no different than the rest of Ray's heated and sweat-sheened skin. As Ray thrusts back into his touch, Fraser can see his spine ripple in an erotic dance.
He's so entranced by the sight that his orgasm takes him by surprise. Ray's follows, and Fraser quickly enfolds him and holds him close as he shudders. By the time they separate again, the light is gone, but Fraser knows what he saw.
"Shit, I can't believe we did that." Ray grins as he disentangles himself from Fraser's arms. He runs a hand over his neck, displacing the sweat there, then bends to pull his shirt down and his pants up. Fraser sets his own clothing to rights before facing his lover.
"Ray, you--"
His expression must show his wonder and his shock. Ray frowns. "What?" he demands, a little too loud.
"You're a luminant."
Ray flinches, and his mouth tightens in that aggressive pout that Fraser has often seen directed at suspects and ornery witnesses. Too late, Fraser remembers that in America 'luminant' is a euphemism for workers in the sex trade. Some of the sexual workers Fraser has met in Chicago even have phosphorescent implants. Many apply red makeup to simulate or imply the effect.
"I mean, an ossalux." He gives it the medical name so it can't be confused, but that only makes Ray roll his eyes.
"Okay, when you put it that way, I'd rather be called a lumie. Ossalux sounds like a disease."
"You know, then?" Not surprising, of course. Some people never realize what they are, but Ray was married for fifteen years and -- at least according to himself -- he and his wife had experienced an extremely active and varied sex life. Not to mention, he would have had extensive physical training to become a police officer, and according to Ray's record, he has seen use of those skills often -- much of it during their time of association. He would have to have suspected at least.
Ray shrugs in answer to Fraser's query, leading with one shoulder, feigning casualness. Fraser knows he is only feigning because he paces toward the kitchen and slams the cupboard door after retrieving a cup to fill with water. "Stella thought it was hot." He drops the information like a visible boulder on the floor.
Fraser dithers before answering the unspoken question, uncertain which answer Ray prefers. "That is not an uncommon reaction. I find it... attractive, myself, though it might be due in part merely to social conditioning."
Ray drains his cup without taking his eyes off of him, and Fraser is reminded of Gideon and the three hundred men who conquered Midian. After a quick swipe of his mouth, Ray asks, "So are you going to, I dunno, take pictures or some shit like that?"
The image is abruptly arousing -- Ray posed with his elbows braced against a wall as he had been just a few minutes before, lost in his pleasure. Or, dear God, on his knees, perhaps stimulating himself with one hand, throwing that half-lidded look over his shoulder at the camera, daring his audience to take him on. His broad shoulders tapering down would perfectly balance the straight line of his spine, which would be setting the valley between Ray's shoulderblades aglow in neat connected ovals placed like stepping stones that lead downward.
Fraser feels himself blush. He's seen pictures of luminants (both male and female, as it happens). Undoubtedly, every boy over the age of ten has at least gotten a peek at such an image at some point, they are such a mainstay of the erotic culture worldwide. He'd always been sure, though, that the pictures had been enhanced, or even outright falsified. The real thing couldn't be quite that bright, that... alluring.
"I, ah-- That is, I would never--" He stutters at Ray's sharp gaze. He wishes his hat hadn't been knocked off somewhere between the doorway and here. He would have liked something to fidget with. "Ray, you must know by now how much I value you as yourself. I admire your courage and your tenacity. I wouldn't know what to do without your friendship."
"Yeah, and from now on, you're going to be thinking to yourself, 'Hey, whoa, I'm fucking a toaster. Go, me!'"
The colloquialism takes Fraser aback for a second and especially the vehemence behind an otherwise innocuous word used in everyday context. Some slang terms -- especially pejorative ones -- he has come to recognize from working on the streets of Chicago, but others are peculiar to Ray's family. Perhaps 'toaster' is a reference to the radiant heat needed to toast bread, first popularized in ancient Rome, which Poland's territories had once belonged to.
He checks his mental skitterings, focusing back on the matter at hand. Namely, Ray. His lover, his partner, his friend. Fraser is well aware of his poor ability in dealing with social relations. He cannot afford to misstep here.
Fraser licks his lips. Instead of answering Ray's exclamation directly, he says, "My Uncle Tiberius was an ossalux."
Ray crosses his arms but doesn't say anything. He remains behind the sink, keeping the counter between them. Fraser is very conscious of the divide, both physical and metaphorical. He needs to show Ray that it doesn't need to be there.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with being a luminant. Indeed, at many points in history, they have been revered as gods and angels. Unfortunately, however, the association of luminants with the act that betrays them has placed certain connotations that are impolite in modern society. Not to mention, the deep suspicion many people harbor against them in professional sports.
"My uncle was a championship hockey player. He was on his way to the Olympics team before the league instated testing. Although still young with many promising alternative careers ahead of him, he never got over the loss of his favorite sport and his sense of unjustness over his expellation from the league. He spent the rest of his life bitter and unsatisfied. My father says-- er, said that he went mad in his later years.
"You have often called me unhinged. Well, I can accurately state that the trait may very well run in my family. And perhaps other things as well."
Ray shakes his head. "You're not a lumie." He quirks a small flash of a smile. "I would know."
Fraser combs a thumbnail over one eyebrow at the reference. "Yes. I realize I do not show the more, ah, obvious signs of the condition, and it is safe to say that I am most likely not a representative of the full expression of ossaluxism. However, I believe that I possess some of the traits."
Somewhere in his verbal fumblings, he must have said something useful, because the cant of Ray's head is now thoughtful instead of challenging. "Excess lung capacity," he says. "And Warfield's goons. They should've given you a worse beating than you got." He frowns. "Not that they didn't work you over good. You still could've been killed."
"I knew what I was capable of," Fraser informs him quietly. Yes, he had been all too careless with Warfield, depending too much on his literally hard head. He hadn't accounted for the brutality of Warfield's 'lesson'. Fraser could very well have suffered lasting injuries -- but he would never tell Ray that. Ray already feels guilty enough over the incident.
"Stubborn Mountie," Ray grouses. Fraser is glad for the tone, much closer to the teasing he is used to. This isn't a subject he is accustomed to talking about with others.
Fraser's physical prowess has always been taken for granted by those around him, wrapped up behind his unusual background, his training, and his general 'oddness'. Although some women have intimated at how much they would enjoy 'watching him glow', he is fairly certain those were simply meaningless innuendo and not a guess at the truth.
He wonders sadly how much of Ray has been hidden away. Fraser had thought that by seeing under Ray's rough exterior to his soft heart, he had known all of Ray's true self. Now he realizes he was mistaken.
Certainly, Ray is a very physical person. He often expresses his emotions and intentions through gestures -- one of the liberated quirks that Fraser admires about his partner. Now, he tries to remember instances where Ray may have shown feats of strength disproportional to his apparent muscle mass. The times when Ray has punched a wall or threatened violence against a suspect are thrown into sudden sharp relief. He wonders if anyone else in the precinct suspects, and he realizes that surely many do.
Luminants are prevalent in law enforcement and defense. The same traits that ban them from most professional sports leagues are welcome in jobs requiring stronger, faster individuals. It was rumored that Russia and Germany once bred luminants as workers and soldiers.
The glow of an ossalux individual's spine during sexual arousal is merely a side-affect of the condition. It results from a rare 90% or higher activation of the many genes that govern the human body's unique adaptation of osteoconversion. (These complex combinations of chemicals, being absent from apes and chimpanzees, have alternately baffled evolutionary scientists and been viewed by them as a sure sign of the power of spontaneous mutation.)
Whatever the original cause -- mutation or divine plan -- the human body, when under emotional stress (excitement, fear, anger) activates certain hormones which bind to the surface of the bones to momentarily increase the resilience and tensile strength of the bone structure. These hormones, in the presence of specifically sexual arousal, concentrate around the spine, and in luminants, they somehow induce exhibition of the well-known 'glow'.
Fraser had learned all of these factual explanations from his grandparents' books as a child. The erotic implications he had not been aware of until Depot -- another of the many reasons he had always felt a step off from the rest of his peers.
Ray claims that he has always felt the same way. Fraser wonders how much of this is truly due to the reasons he has always stated -- wearing eyeglasses, being lithe instead of muscled, sometimes having trouble with recalling certain words. How much of the reason for his self-styled 'freakishness' had come from hiding this intrinsic part of himself?
Ray's tapping his fingers on the counter. He's looking out the window when he says, "I played baseball in high school."
Fraser adopts a careful listening pose. He takes the chance of approaching his lover, and is relieved when Ray leans on his hands over the counter to meet him, this time looking straight into his eyes.
"My coach said I could've made pro. He helped me apply to college and everything. But Stella and I... We, uh, we found out halfway through the first year. I dropped out of the team, lost my scholarship." He lowers his eyes then, but Fraser glimpses the frustration on his face. Fraser remembers now how reluctant Ray had first been, playing for the Hawkeyes in Willison, and also how ecstatic he had been to hit that winning home run later on.
"I thought they didn't test until professionals." Americans are enthusiastic about their sports, but college athletic teams would hardly be able to afford the tests for a non-contact sport such as baseball. The genetic tests for luminants are prohibitively expensive, requiring meticulous analysis with sophisticated machines -- and highly regulated radioactive material.
"Yeah, but there wasn't any point to playing anymore. I would've had to stop after senior year, and then people would've wondered why. My parents were mad as all hell. First, because then I had to tell them me and Stel were doing the nasty before marriage." Ray shuddered, perhaps only half-theatrically. Fraser had met Ray's parents, several times before the two of them became a couple and -- he hoped not for the last time -- once shortly after. They were rather on the traditional side.
Ray snorted. "They said I should take advantage of whatever I got. But for me, it just wasn't fun anymore, and it didn't feel honest. I hated it. Stel backed me up every step of the way. She said she admired my integrity. Maybe she just didn't want to marry some guy who'd be accused of scamming the public if they found out later. There's a lot of money in college sports, you know. More than you might think." The wry smile appears again.
Ossalux individuals are banned from all contact sports and gymnastics, where their skeletons are said to give them an unfair advantage. The debate continues, many people believing that it makes as much sense to bar ossalux from rugby as to bar tall individuals from playing basketball. In both cases, it's a natural genetic advantage, unlike steroids or special drinks or surgical procedures.
"I'm sure she was thinking of your best interests," Fraser hedges. He can't be sure of Ms. Kowalski's intentions, especially when she had been a teenager, but he thinks that she would have supported Ray out of love and genuine concern for his well-being. "Is this also why you stopped boxing?"
Ray grimaces. "I never really let myself go. Never pushed. I just wanted to move, to feel the oomph, you know?" He throws a few jabs, to illustrate. "But Stella made me stop. She was afraid I'd hurt someone."
"You would never hurt anyone," Fraser asserts immediately. He's unprepared for Ray's pinched expression.
"I hurt you," he responds flatly.
Automatically, Fraser's hand goes to the left side of his jaw. What he's remembering isn't the pain, but rather the startled, vulnerable look on Ray's face, all his belligerence fled in an instant. "You didn't," he answers firmly. "I'm afraid I cannot say the same." He had meant to pull his punch, but Ray's goading had finally released all his pent-up frustration and he had unleashed his full strength. An unforgiveable lapse of control in a lifetime of it.
Thank goodness Ray is a luminant. Fraser might have broken his friend's jaw otherwise.
There is a brief pause where they both seem to have run out of words, and yet Fraser is conscious of a remaining awkwardness between them. He tries to think of something comforting or wise to share and, as is often the case with him, the first thing that pops into his head is a story:
"You know, Ray, in the origin story of the Haida people, the first people in the world arrived washed up on the shore in a giant clamshell. The Raven found the shell and tried to coax them out of it to join him so that he would have companions to amuse him. As the story goes, the people were eventually tempted by his extollments of the riches of the earth but by then the tide had lowered and the clam had shut tight. Some of the first men who were of superior strength opened the shell so that they could finally step out onto the world."
"So the lumies got everyone outside, huh?"
"Yes, Ray. They were the heroes of the tale, as it were."
"Of course, if they hadn't've done that, we'd all still be safe inside instead of running around chasing our tails for some big bird's amusement."
Fraser scratches the back of his neck. "As with any story, there are different interpretations."
"Where was everyone before that?"
"Pardon?"
"Before they showed up on the beach. Where were they? You've got a bunch of naked people hiding out in a clam. How does that work?"
"Ah. Well. This is an origin story, of course, and meant to be symbolic in many respects."
Ray snorts, not derisively, but in evident amusement. "Sounds like they were dropped down by aliens."
Fraser clears his throat and finds himself tugging at an earlobe. "Interestingly enough, some theorists postulate that the clamshell was in fact a spaceship."
"Get out." Two years ago, Fraser might have taken that literally and been confused or offended. Now he recognizes the utterance of disbelief, and he smiles at Ray's ridiculing and yet helplessly fascinated tone.
"Not the mainstream scientists, of course. However, almost all of the oldest myths around the world contain reference to a large enclosed object filled with people."
Ray snaps his fingers, as if they are discussing a case and he has just remembered a clue. "Noah's ark."
"Yes, exactly. Instead of two from each tribe of peoples, as in that story, others have family groups with children, or groups of identical siblings, or even animals. It is said in Egypt, where dogs were once revered, that the first dog came to them in a floating barge with his insect-headed human attendant who had the curious power to remove his eyes-- but that's not important right now. The point is, in every case, the characters arrive in a new place and disembark from a large receptacle such as a ship or a bird's nest, and in every case, there is mention of luminants playing a role."
"So what're you trying to say? That lumies are all from outer space?"
"That would be ridiculous, Ray." His mouth quirks at the thought. "I'm only reminding you that, based on tales from numerous cultures and peoples, luminants have been appreciated as equals or even superiors for as long as our history as a species on this planet."
Ray nods slowly with his jaw thrust out slightly in a way that tells Fraser he is thinking things over. Absently, it seems, he washes his glass and puts it away. Once he's done, however, he continues on around to swing into Fraser's space. He flips on the kitchen light on the way so that Fraser can easily discern the smile twitching at Ray's mouth when he comes to a stop a short step away.
He smiles, a slow, warm grin that brightens his face with emotion instead of light. "Superior?" he repeats. Ray holds up an imperious hand. "Okay, just-- Don't say anything for a moment, Frase. It's not everyday I get to be superior to you in something and you admit it. Let me bask for a while." He adopts a posture presumably suitable for basking, cheeky and altogether adorable.
Fraser splutters for an answer, secretly astounded at how Ray's mood has swung from defensive to angry to reminiscent to playful, in the space of ten minutes. "You are intolerable," he states, finally.
Ray snorts. "Ten seconds of basking. That's all I get? You sleep with a Mountie, and you pay and pay and pay..."
From this distance, Fraser can count Ray's eyelashes and see the minute variations of color in Ray's laughing green-blue-gray eyes. He wants to touch Ray's cheek and feel the sharp drag of hundreds of shorn hair follicles across his palm. He wants to kiss his neck and scent the collection of sensations that the English language is too poor to describe but that he knows defines Ray. He wants to hold this man close, as tight as he can, with no fear of harming him -- and it excites him suddenly to realize that he can. That, to him, is far more arousing than any cosmetic subdermal chemical luminescence could be.
Fraser ducks his head to hide his face. "As you say." He hopes the catch in his voice is not too obvious. His hands are picked up, and though he doesn't look up, he knows Ray is watching his face with that peculiar intensity of his.
"Hey," he says, making Fraser meet his gaze. Unexpectedly, Ray winks, reminding him of the first day they met. "You can light up my spine any time you want, okay? Long as I get to light up yours."
Fraser pulls back, frowning slightly in confusion. "But I'm not--"
"Fraser," Ray admonishes, rolling his eyes. He blushes in understanding, feeling foolish.
"Ah. Right. Yes. Anytime."
"Good."
Ray pulls him in for a kiss, and Fraser is quite powerless to resist him.
END.
"The sixes, the eights, and the twos have decided to stay. See how we can contribute to the world before we pass into God's hands." (Leoben Conoy, Daybreak part 2)
A/N: This story started as a response to Tatau's comments here.
A/N: A version of (our universe's) Haida origin story is here.
If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:
Turing Test (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji
Universe Ambassador (Stargate SG-1, Firefly), by kuonji
Competing Destinies (Due South, Battlestar Galactica), by Deborah Judge
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Due South, reference to Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Benton Fraser, Ray Kowalski
Pairings: Fraser/RayK
Category: AU, character study
Rating: R
Words: ~3750
Summary: Fraser makes a discovery.
Descendants
by kuonji
Ray likes to make love with the lights on. He likes to be face to face. He says he loves Fraser's expression as he enters his body, eyes half-lidded and teeth bared.
When they first consummated their physical relationship, Ray had made a big show of looking over every bared piece of Fraser's body, until Fraser had started to feel quite self-conscious, if aroused and pleased by the attention. Ray admits one day that aside from just liking to look, he likes to assure himself that it's really Fraser he's with. He sometimes still can't believe his luck, he says.
Fraser doesn't fault him, since he shares the disbelief, surprised at every morning kiss and the slide of Ray's hand over his shoulder at breakfast.
It isn't until one day when they engage in an, er, impromptu bout of amorous activities, that Fraser makes a discovery.
He's backed Ray up against the wall. Ray's laughing through his kisses, cursing Fraser and the corner of the bookcase against his hip, fighting back but not enough to actually get away. Ray takes everything Fraser has to give and pushes it right back. He starts tearing Fraser's shirt off and Fraser, not to be outdone, drags Ray's jacket down and starts on his shirt before having to stop when Ray's clever hands reach the front of Fraser's pants.
"Want you, want you," Ray's chanting in Fraser's ear.
Groaning, Fraser pushes into that tight hold a few times, then pulls back enough to flip Ray face forward to the wall. Ray growls encouragement and interferes with 'helpful' wriggles of his body. They both grunt when Fraser finally shoves home.
Within the fog of heat and tight pleasure, Fraser notices a faint light, and he can't place the source. That distracts him enough that he pulls back to look around the room -- and that's when he sees it.
"Ray--!" he exclaims.
"Yeah, Ben, come on. Fuck me. God."
He responds, spurred by the need in Ray's voice, but at the same time he can't help but push Ray's shirt up farther and stare at the bony curve of Ray's spine. In the dim light of early evening, it's easy to discern the incandescent glow that shows through Ray's skin, highlighting the exact position and shape of Ray's vertebrae. They're a bright orangey-red, like large heat filaments, but when Fraser puts a hand on them, expecting it to burn, the area feels no different than the rest of Ray's heated and sweat-sheened skin. As Ray thrusts back into his touch, Fraser can see his spine ripple in an erotic dance.
He's so entranced by the sight that his orgasm takes him by surprise. Ray's follows, and Fraser quickly enfolds him and holds him close as he shudders. By the time they separate again, the light is gone, but Fraser knows what he saw.
"Shit, I can't believe we did that." Ray grins as he disentangles himself from Fraser's arms. He runs a hand over his neck, displacing the sweat there, then bends to pull his shirt down and his pants up. Fraser sets his own clothing to rights before facing his lover.
"Ray, you--"
His expression must show his wonder and his shock. Ray frowns. "What?" he demands, a little too loud.
"You're a luminant."
Ray flinches, and his mouth tightens in that aggressive pout that Fraser has often seen directed at suspects and ornery witnesses. Too late, Fraser remembers that in America 'luminant' is a euphemism for workers in the sex trade. Some of the sexual workers Fraser has met in Chicago even have phosphorescent implants. Many apply red makeup to simulate or imply the effect.
"I mean, an ossalux." He gives it the medical name so it can't be confused, but that only makes Ray roll his eyes.
"Okay, when you put it that way, I'd rather be called a lumie. Ossalux sounds like a disease."
"You know, then?" Not surprising, of course. Some people never realize what they are, but Ray was married for fifteen years and -- at least according to himself -- he and his wife had experienced an extremely active and varied sex life. Not to mention, he would have had extensive physical training to become a police officer, and according to Ray's record, he has seen use of those skills often -- much of it during their time of association. He would have to have suspected at least.
Ray shrugs in answer to Fraser's query, leading with one shoulder, feigning casualness. Fraser knows he is only feigning because he paces toward the kitchen and slams the cupboard door after retrieving a cup to fill with water. "Stella thought it was hot." He drops the information like a visible boulder on the floor.
Fraser dithers before answering the unspoken question, uncertain which answer Ray prefers. "That is not an uncommon reaction. I find it... attractive, myself, though it might be due in part merely to social conditioning."
Ray drains his cup without taking his eyes off of him, and Fraser is reminded of Gideon and the three hundred men who conquered Midian. After a quick swipe of his mouth, Ray asks, "So are you going to, I dunno, take pictures or some shit like that?"
The image is abruptly arousing -- Ray posed with his elbows braced against a wall as he had been just a few minutes before, lost in his pleasure. Or, dear God, on his knees, perhaps stimulating himself with one hand, throwing that half-lidded look over his shoulder at the camera, daring his audience to take him on. His broad shoulders tapering down would perfectly balance the straight line of his spine, which would be setting the valley between Ray's shoulderblades aglow in neat connected ovals placed like stepping stones that lead downward.
Fraser feels himself blush. He's seen pictures of luminants (both male and female, as it happens). Undoubtedly, every boy over the age of ten has at least gotten a peek at such an image at some point, they are such a mainstay of the erotic culture worldwide. He'd always been sure, though, that the pictures had been enhanced, or even outright falsified. The real thing couldn't be quite that bright, that... alluring.
"I, ah-- That is, I would never--" He stutters at Ray's sharp gaze. He wishes his hat hadn't been knocked off somewhere between the doorway and here. He would have liked something to fidget with. "Ray, you must know by now how much I value you as yourself. I admire your courage and your tenacity. I wouldn't know what to do without your friendship."
"Yeah, and from now on, you're going to be thinking to yourself, 'Hey, whoa, I'm fucking a toaster. Go, me!'"
The colloquialism takes Fraser aback for a second and especially the vehemence behind an otherwise innocuous word used in everyday context. Some slang terms -- especially pejorative ones -- he has come to recognize from working on the streets of Chicago, but others are peculiar to Ray's family. Perhaps 'toaster' is a reference to the radiant heat needed to toast bread, first popularized in ancient Rome, which Poland's territories had once belonged to.
He checks his mental skitterings, focusing back on the matter at hand. Namely, Ray. His lover, his partner, his friend. Fraser is well aware of his poor ability in dealing with social relations. He cannot afford to misstep here.
Fraser licks his lips. Instead of answering Ray's exclamation directly, he says, "My Uncle Tiberius was an ossalux."
Ray crosses his arms but doesn't say anything. He remains behind the sink, keeping the counter between them. Fraser is very conscious of the divide, both physical and metaphorical. He needs to show Ray that it doesn't need to be there.
There is nothing intrinsically wrong with being a luminant. Indeed, at many points in history, they have been revered as gods and angels. Unfortunately, however, the association of luminants with the act that betrays them has placed certain connotations that are impolite in modern society. Not to mention, the deep suspicion many people harbor against them in professional sports.
"My uncle was a championship hockey player. He was on his way to the Olympics team before the league instated testing. Although still young with many promising alternative careers ahead of him, he never got over the loss of his favorite sport and his sense of unjustness over his expellation from the league. He spent the rest of his life bitter and unsatisfied. My father says-- er, said that he went mad in his later years.
"You have often called me unhinged. Well, I can accurately state that the trait may very well run in my family. And perhaps other things as well."
Ray shakes his head. "You're not a lumie." He quirks a small flash of a smile. "I would know."
Fraser combs a thumbnail over one eyebrow at the reference. "Yes. I realize I do not show the more, ah, obvious signs of the condition, and it is safe to say that I am most likely not a representative of the full expression of ossaluxism. However, I believe that I possess some of the traits."
Somewhere in his verbal fumblings, he must have said something useful, because the cant of Ray's head is now thoughtful instead of challenging. "Excess lung capacity," he says. "And Warfield's goons. They should've given you a worse beating than you got." He frowns. "Not that they didn't work you over good. You still could've been killed."
"I knew what I was capable of," Fraser informs him quietly. Yes, he had been all too careless with Warfield, depending too much on his literally hard head. He hadn't accounted for the brutality of Warfield's 'lesson'. Fraser could very well have suffered lasting injuries -- but he would never tell Ray that. Ray already feels guilty enough over the incident.
"Stubborn Mountie," Ray grouses. Fraser is glad for the tone, much closer to the teasing he is used to. This isn't a subject he is accustomed to talking about with others.
Fraser's physical prowess has always been taken for granted by those around him, wrapped up behind his unusual background, his training, and his general 'oddness'. Although some women have intimated at how much they would enjoy 'watching him glow', he is fairly certain those were simply meaningless innuendo and not a guess at the truth.
He wonders sadly how much of Ray has been hidden away. Fraser had thought that by seeing under Ray's rough exterior to his soft heart, he had known all of Ray's true self. Now he realizes he was mistaken.
Certainly, Ray is a very physical person. He often expresses his emotions and intentions through gestures -- one of the liberated quirks that Fraser admires about his partner. Now, he tries to remember instances where Ray may have shown feats of strength disproportional to his apparent muscle mass. The times when Ray has punched a wall or threatened violence against a suspect are thrown into sudden sharp relief. He wonders if anyone else in the precinct suspects, and he realizes that surely many do.
Luminants are prevalent in law enforcement and defense. The same traits that ban them from most professional sports leagues are welcome in jobs requiring stronger, faster individuals. It was rumored that Russia and Germany once bred luminants as workers and soldiers.
The glow of an ossalux individual's spine during sexual arousal is merely a side-affect of the condition. It results from a rare 90% or higher activation of the many genes that govern the human body's unique adaptation of osteoconversion. (These complex combinations of chemicals, being absent from apes and chimpanzees, have alternately baffled evolutionary scientists and been viewed by them as a sure sign of the power of spontaneous mutation.)
Whatever the original cause -- mutation or divine plan -- the human body, when under emotional stress (excitement, fear, anger) activates certain hormones which bind to the surface of the bones to momentarily increase the resilience and tensile strength of the bone structure. These hormones, in the presence of specifically sexual arousal, concentrate around the spine, and in luminants, they somehow induce exhibition of the well-known 'glow'.
Fraser had learned all of these factual explanations from his grandparents' books as a child. The erotic implications he had not been aware of until Depot -- another of the many reasons he had always felt a step off from the rest of his peers.
Ray claims that he has always felt the same way. Fraser wonders how much of this is truly due to the reasons he has always stated -- wearing eyeglasses, being lithe instead of muscled, sometimes having trouble with recalling certain words. How much of the reason for his self-styled 'freakishness' had come from hiding this intrinsic part of himself?
Ray's tapping his fingers on the counter. He's looking out the window when he says, "I played baseball in high school."
Fraser adopts a careful listening pose. He takes the chance of approaching his lover, and is relieved when Ray leans on his hands over the counter to meet him, this time looking straight into his eyes.
"My coach said I could've made pro. He helped me apply to college and everything. But Stella and I... We, uh, we found out halfway through the first year. I dropped out of the team, lost my scholarship." He lowers his eyes then, but Fraser glimpses the frustration on his face. Fraser remembers now how reluctant Ray had first been, playing for the Hawkeyes in Willison, and also how ecstatic he had been to hit that winning home run later on.
"I thought they didn't test until professionals." Americans are enthusiastic about their sports, but college athletic teams would hardly be able to afford the tests for a non-contact sport such as baseball. The genetic tests for luminants are prohibitively expensive, requiring meticulous analysis with sophisticated machines -- and highly regulated radioactive material.
"Yeah, but there wasn't any point to playing anymore. I would've had to stop after senior year, and then people would've wondered why. My parents were mad as all hell. First, because then I had to tell them me and Stel were doing the nasty before marriage." Ray shuddered, perhaps only half-theatrically. Fraser had met Ray's parents, several times before the two of them became a couple and -- he hoped not for the last time -- once shortly after. They were rather on the traditional side.
Ray snorted. "They said I should take advantage of whatever I got. But for me, it just wasn't fun anymore, and it didn't feel honest. I hated it. Stel backed me up every step of the way. She said she admired my integrity. Maybe she just didn't want to marry some guy who'd be accused of scamming the public if they found out later. There's a lot of money in college sports, you know. More than you might think." The wry smile appears again.
Ossalux individuals are banned from all contact sports and gymnastics, where their skeletons are said to give them an unfair advantage. The debate continues, many people believing that it makes as much sense to bar ossalux from rugby as to bar tall individuals from playing basketball. In both cases, it's a natural genetic advantage, unlike steroids or special drinks or surgical procedures.
"I'm sure she was thinking of your best interests," Fraser hedges. He can't be sure of Ms. Kowalski's intentions, especially when she had been a teenager, but he thinks that she would have supported Ray out of love and genuine concern for his well-being. "Is this also why you stopped boxing?"
Ray grimaces. "I never really let myself go. Never pushed. I just wanted to move, to feel the oomph, you know?" He throws a few jabs, to illustrate. "But Stella made me stop. She was afraid I'd hurt someone."
"You would never hurt anyone," Fraser asserts immediately. He's unprepared for Ray's pinched expression.
"I hurt you," he responds flatly.
Automatically, Fraser's hand goes to the left side of his jaw. What he's remembering isn't the pain, but rather the startled, vulnerable look on Ray's face, all his belligerence fled in an instant. "You didn't," he answers firmly. "I'm afraid I cannot say the same." He had meant to pull his punch, but Ray's goading had finally released all his pent-up frustration and he had unleashed his full strength. An unforgiveable lapse of control in a lifetime of it.
Thank goodness Ray is a luminant. Fraser might have broken his friend's jaw otherwise.
There is a brief pause where they both seem to have run out of words, and yet Fraser is conscious of a remaining awkwardness between them. He tries to think of something comforting or wise to share and, as is often the case with him, the first thing that pops into his head is a story:
"You know, Ray, in the origin story of the Haida people, the first people in the world arrived washed up on the shore in a giant clamshell. The Raven found the shell and tried to coax them out of it to join him so that he would have companions to amuse him. As the story goes, the people were eventually tempted by his extollments of the riches of the earth but by then the tide had lowered and the clam had shut tight. Some of the first men who were of superior strength opened the shell so that they could finally step out onto the world."
"So the lumies got everyone outside, huh?"
"Yes, Ray. They were the heroes of the tale, as it were."
"Of course, if they hadn't've done that, we'd all still be safe inside instead of running around chasing our tails for some big bird's amusement."
Fraser scratches the back of his neck. "As with any story, there are different interpretations."
"Where was everyone before that?"
"Pardon?"
"Before they showed up on the beach. Where were they? You've got a bunch of naked people hiding out in a clam. How does that work?"
"Ah. Well. This is an origin story, of course, and meant to be symbolic in many respects."
Ray snorts, not derisively, but in evident amusement. "Sounds like they were dropped down by aliens."
Fraser clears his throat and finds himself tugging at an earlobe. "Interestingly enough, some theorists postulate that the clamshell was in fact a spaceship."
"Get out." Two years ago, Fraser might have taken that literally and been confused or offended. Now he recognizes the utterance of disbelief, and he smiles at Ray's ridiculing and yet helplessly fascinated tone.
"Not the mainstream scientists, of course. However, almost all of the oldest myths around the world contain reference to a large enclosed object filled with people."
Ray snaps his fingers, as if they are discussing a case and he has just remembered a clue. "Noah's ark."
"Yes, exactly. Instead of two from each tribe of peoples, as in that story, others have family groups with children, or groups of identical siblings, or even animals. It is said in Egypt, where dogs were once revered, that the first dog came to them in a floating barge with his insect-headed human attendant who had the curious power to remove his eyes-- but that's not important right now. The point is, in every case, the characters arrive in a new place and disembark from a large receptacle such as a ship or a bird's nest, and in every case, there is mention of luminants playing a role."
"So what're you trying to say? That lumies are all from outer space?"
"That would be ridiculous, Ray." His mouth quirks at the thought. "I'm only reminding you that, based on tales from numerous cultures and peoples, luminants have been appreciated as equals or even superiors for as long as our history as a species on this planet."
Ray nods slowly with his jaw thrust out slightly in a way that tells Fraser he is thinking things over. Absently, it seems, he washes his glass and puts it away. Once he's done, however, he continues on around to swing into Fraser's space. He flips on the kitchen light on the way so that Fraser can easily discern the smile twitching at Ray's mouth when he comes to a stop a short step away.
He smiles, a slow, warm grin that brightens his face with emotion instead of light. "Superior?" he repeats. Ray holds up an imperious hand. "Okay, just-- Don't say anything for a moment, Frase. It's not everyday I get to be superior to you in something and you admit it. Let me bask for a while." He adopts a posture presumably suitable for basking, cheeky and altogether adorable.
Fraser splutters for an answer, secretly astounded at how Ray's mood has swung from defensive to angry to reminiscent to playful, in the space of ten minutes. "You are intolerable," he states, finally.
Ray snorts. "Ten seconds of basking. That's all I get? You sleep with a Mountie, and you pay and pay and pay..."
From this distance, Fraser can count Ray's eyelashes and see the minute variations of color in Ray's laughing green-blue-gray eyes. He wants to touch Ray's cheek and feel the sharp drag of hundreds of shorn hair follicles across his palm. He wants to kiss his neck and scent the collection of sensations that the English language is too poor to describe but that he knows defines Ray. He wants to hold this man close, as tight as he can, with no fear of harming him -- and it excites him suddenly to realize that he can. That, to him, is far more arousing than any cosmetic subdermal chemical luminescence could be.
Fraser ducks his head to hide his face. "As you say." He hopes the catch in his voice is not too obvious. His hands are picked up, and though he doesn't look up, he knows Ray is watching his face with that peculiar intensity of his.
"Hey," he says, making Fraser meet his gaze. Unexpectedly, Ray winks, reminding him of the first day they met. "You can light up my spine any time you want, okay? Long as I get to light up yours."
Fraser pulls back, frowning slightly in confusion. "But I'm not--"
"Fraser," Ray admonishes, rolling his eyes. He blushes in understanding, feeling foolish.
"Ah. Right. Yes. Anytime."
"Good."
Ray pulls him in for a kiss, and Fraser is quite powerless to resist him.
END.
"The sixes, the eights, and the twos have decided to stay. See how we can contribute to the world before we pass into God's hands." (Leoben Conoy, Daybreak part 2)
A/N: This story started as a response to Tatau's comments here.
A/N: A version of (our universe's) Haida origin story is here.
If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:
Turing Test (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji
Universe Ambassador (Stargate SG-1, Firefly), by kuonji
Competing Destinies (Due South, Battlestar Galactica), by Deborah Judge