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Fraser is a wild thing – and wild things can’t stay long in the city before they snap. Not unless they have the company of other wild things.
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“He talks to you like you’re a prince,” Ray says.
“To him,” Fraser smirks, “I am.” Out of the corner of his eye – he sees Turnbull shiver, sees the way his eyes spark and the shadows around him lengthen as one wild thing calls to another.
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Fraser tolerates the Inspector’s words about Turnbull because she was alpha over all of them; he laughs at Ray’s words about Turnbull because Ray doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Turnbull is awkward in the city – all wild things are – so Fraser remains patient.
Especially since Turnbull was always so eager to please.
-x-
The city may have been made of concrete and steel, but it was still weak – introduce a little ice and the concrete crumbles and the steel rusts. Its people were soft, plump. Bred to rely on bullets and meaningless words.
It makes the wild thing in Fraser shudder in disdain.
-x-
“They’re so fragile,” Turnbull says with a small shake of his head when Fraser comes back from the hospital.
“That they are, Turnbull,” Fraser says, nodding as he takes his hat off and rubs his thumb over his eyebrow. “That they are.”
Turnbull stands up from behind the desk and pulls Fraser in close by his belt. “Would you like to spend some time with someone who doesn’t break so easy, sir?” he asks.
“Finally,” Fraser says, closing the distance between them.
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“Keep going,” Inspector Thatcher says (orders), crossing her arms as she leans against the doorjamb.
Fraser tightens his fingers in Turnbull’s hair, says, “Yes, sir,” and thrusts forward – not losing his rhythm again.
-x-
Ray tries to curl in close first, then Francesca, then Stanley.
But they all stink of the city – like smog and gun smoke and rot – and somedays Fraser has to fight not to pull away when they lean in close.
On those days, he buries himself in Turnbull. Turnbull who smells like ice and pine and the air just before a blizzard blows in. Turnbull who meets him thrust for thrust and bite for bite, who can take everything Fraser can give with a smile and a laugh and a “Is that all you got, sir?”
Fraser is a wild thing, and only the company of other wild things could keep him from going mad in this city.
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End.