Author's Website: https://www.squidge.org/~pumpkin/cara/caraindex.html

Disclaimer: Due South and associated characters are the property of Alliance, et al. All hail the mighty corporate muckety-mucks who own our imaginations.

Author's Notes: This fic is experimental, more than a bit odd. It was written specifically for posting on DSAD, and it may not be to everyone's taste.

Story Notes: This story contains both slash and het overtones. There is no actual pairing, per se. This story contains fetish/kink material. Though the story contains humor elements, I'm told it's rather sad.

His car looked like the inside of a bordello on the Monday morning after the entire United States Navy took shore leave. There were nylons draped over the passenger seat back, high heels in the rear foot-well, and a slip lying crumpled in the seat behind his. He was surprised that there weren't panties hanging from the rear view mirror, though he supposed Fraser was too prim for that.

The whole car smelled like passion flower. There was even a makeup kit stashed in the glove compartment, and put together it all added up to one thing: all this female stuff was making Ray incredibly horny.

*God, it's been too long.*

Ray gloomily watched his partner sprint away, clutching a handbag-- for a miracle, not his handbag; one he'd seen a pedestrian drop, and he just couldn't sit still and let Ray climb out and get it, then call the woman later. Oh no. He tore off down the street in dress reds and makeup and earrings to give it back to her.

Ray sighed, and Diefenbaker sneezed next to him, dislodging Fraser's red wig, which had landed over his head. Ray caught it before it could slither into the floor. Surprisingly, the hair felt soft, human-- not coarse and artificial. Ray blinked, realizing Fraser had managed to get an expensive wig, one made out of real hair.

The scent of passion flower drifted up into his nostrils, and without thinking, Ray opened the button of his jacket and tucked the wig inside, hiding it. Dief watched with interest, but failed to comment.

Eventually Fraser returned, slightly winded and looking ludicrous, but with Boy Scout... Girl Scout? duty done.

"Well, if you're not gonna go out on the town with me, let's head for home." Ray was abruptly eager to be by himself.

"Very well, Ray. I'd like to have a thorough wash. These oil-based cosmetics provide excellent coverage, but they're terrible for my skin."

"Absolutely. Don't want to mess with the skin." Ray responded absently, swinging away from the curb. Fraser busied himself gathering the various accouterments of his disguise and packing them inside his handbag.

Ray let Fraser off on Racine, relieved when his friend failed to notice the missing wig, and pulled away before Fraser had a chance to remember.

He broke a few traffic laws getting home and ignored his family as he pelted upstairs. If Frannie smelled that passionflower perfume on him--

"Ray! Heard somebody saw you with a hot little number down at the precinct earlier!" Frannie grinned at him from the doorway of her room, tying the belt of her houserobe. "Who was she? Elaine called her a knockout."

Ray groaned, stopping with a hand on his doorknob. He should never have introduced his sister to Elaine. Now he'd have to kill them both. "Just some woman." He shrugged, holding his arm close to his body, terrified that the wig would fall out of his coat, or maybe that some of the hair was showing.

Frannie stepped closer, and Ray knew she was sniffing. "I'm bushed, I'm going to bed." He shut the door practically in her face, then locked it. He could hear her laughing all the way down the hall.

"I'll find out, Ray, and when I do..."

"And when you do... what? You gonna turn lesbian on me?" Ray delivered his parting shot through the closed door. She wouldn't get it, of course, unless she actually learned who the 'knockout' was.

He sighed, relaxing at last, and took out the wig.

Fraser's perfume lingered on it, conjuring memories of long-lashes and pouting red lips, of a fleeting moment before recognition set in, and a couple of dozen after. Strong muscular thighs over high heels, carefully manicured fingers peeling sheer nylons down legs that just didn't end...

And the hair, sweeping gracefully around a demure high collar, rustling against fabric, smelling so sweetly of perfume and perspiration...

Ray lifted it to his face, pressing his cheek into the soft hair, inhaling the delicate scent. Expensive perfume, too. Lush and lovely. Like Miss Fraser. Unexpectedly winsome and beautiful.

He opened the wig and settled it over his own short-cropped hair, looking in the mirror to confirm that yes, he'd make a perfectly hideous woman. He smoothed the auburn strands around his face thoughtfully, wrapped in the sweet scent they bore. He let his eyes close, luxuriating in the feel of soft hair against his cheeks. Fuck, it'd been too long since he got laid.

If Fraser really had been a woman, he probably would've gone for it.

Ray swallowed, running his fingers through the strands, ruffling them gently. They hadn't really danced, but if they had, he could have felt this soft crown of silky hair against his cheek and neck like he did now. He'd have felt the long graceful folds of his partner's dress swishing against his trousers. He would have smelled this perfume warmed by Fraser's throat, been tempted to taste it on the pulse point below the curve of Fraser's earlobe, nuzzling in through the soft, soft hair...

Strong shoulders under his hands, plump breasts against his chest, Fraser's cheek against his throat...

Ray swallowed hard, and moved to the left, feet tracing a waltz step, and he laid his own hands against the balls of his shoulders, crossing his arms over his chest, pretending to embrace the woman of his dreams as he swayed, feeling the sway of that long auburn hair caress him.

Like Irene Zuko, back in school, only a thousand times better. Because Irene wasn't Benny. No woman was. Nobody was Miss Fraser, or ever would be. Not even Benny.

Ray gathered the soft tresses against his face, pressing them to his lips for yearning kisses. He hardened as he danced, indulging his fantasies for a long sweet time, stubbornly ignoring the ludicrous picture he knew he made as he traced the steps of a dance he would never have with a lover who didn't exist.