Fic: Metamorphosis, Part 1
Title: Metamorphosis, Part 1
Rating: T
Word Count: 822
Pairings/Characters: Will/Grell.
Summary: The best part about the whole thing is waking up the next morning. [Inspired by One More Night by Dantelian. Sort of Bicentennial-verse, I guess?]
The best part about the whole thing is waking up the next morning. Waking up curled in his arms, in his bed, in his house, and knowing that we could never, ever turn back. Never wanted to turn back, to be “just friends,” not for one single, solitary moment, because we loved each other too much. Oh god, it feels so wonderful, not having to keep everything I’ve felt for him for the last hundred years or so bottled up, wondering if he even notices me-well, I mean, of course he does, we work together every day and most of the time, I try my damnedest to get partnered with him and basically never leave him alone, but that’s just not the same. I don’t know if I can actually express how wonderful this is without sounding like the raving lunatic I’m sure most other reapers think I am. If I were to try, the only thing I could think of is “utterly fabulous."
Except for the part where he thinks I’m a man.
I know he probably thinks it’s queer when I call myself a lady or when I stare at beautiful dresses through shop windows or when I wear a corset around my house just so I can pretend and hope and dream. But even my lovely red corset with the lovely black laces and the lovely satin lining doesn’t do much these days. It used to make it easier to forget that this goddamn body I have is completely wrong, used to force it to have some semblance of a feminine shape, but now….well. Now all it does is make it completely apparent that my chest is still flat where it should be full, that my hips are narrow where they should be wide, and that my undercarriage is heavy and awkward where it should be light and graceful.
And I think that maybe the worst part of this “stuck in the wrong body” nonsense is that William has no idea it even exists. I’ll have to tell him one day, explain it to him and hope that he doesn’t have me thrown in a sanatorium, let alone even understand it. I’ve never met anyone who has, yet, but I hope he does. I have faith in him: William’s a delightfully forward-thinking individual, and most heartening of all, he loves me. Will cares for me enough that he’ll probably at least try to understand, and even if it takes a while, I have full confidence in him that he’ll get it eventually.
Because he loves me.
And maybe one day someone will figure out a way to fix me and we won’t have to worry about it any longer. That day is a long way off, though, if it ever comes at all. I have to keep believing that it will, because working under the opposite assumption will get me absolutely nowhere. So yes, the humans will figure a way to give me the right body one day, and then when Will and I make love, I won’t have to talk myself through it and convince my brain to forget my fucking erection for the moment, thanks, forget I even have the set of parts that I do and just pretend that I’m a real woman with real breasts and a real cunny and that all is right with the world.
It’s so hard to be patient, though, when I’m reminded every day that everything about me is wrong. Every time the human make another advance in the medical field, I’m happy, because it means that someone’s thinking, and soon, someone will think of the others who are in my shoes and someone will invent something that will help us. But until then I have to be patient. Being patient might be easier with William, though. He’s sensible and intelligent, and when I get into one of my moods about my body, he’ll be able to reason with me and bring me out of it.
I love that about him, that he never lets me get away with anything, whether it be at work or at home. I love his cold shoulder and his unhesitating, unwavering sense of right and wrong. I love the looks he gives me when I’ve done something that might be slightly against regulations-or perhaps substantially against regulations, whatever my mood might be that day-or when I don’t fill out my paperwork on time or when I wear my hair tied up in a ribbon during the summer. No one else has the brass to bring me down a notch when I deserve it, to trample down my own strong will with an even stronger one, and really, that’s quite an appealing quality in a man.
And maybe that’s really the best part about the whole thing: knowing that we have each other and knowing that we are all we’ll ever need.
Rating: T
Word Count: 822
Pairings/Characters: Will/Grell.
Summary: The best part about the whole thing is waking up the next morning. [Inspired by One More Night by Dantelian. Sort of Bicentennial-verse, I guess?]
The best part about the whole thing is waking up the next morning. Waking up curled in his arms, in his bed, in his house, and knowing that we could never, ever turn back. Never wanted to turn back, to be “just friends,” not for one single, solitary moment, because we loved each other too much. Oh god, it feels so wonderful, not having to keep everything I’ve felt for him for the last hundred years or so bottled up, wondering if he even notices me-well, I mean, of course he does, we work together every day and most of the time, I try my damnedest to get partnered with him and basically never leave him alone, but that’s just not the same. I don’t know if I can actually express how wonderful this is without sounding like the raving lunatic I’m sure most other reapers think I am. If I were to try, the only thing I could think of is “utterly fabulous."
Except for the part where he thinks I’m a man.
I know he probably thinks it’s queer when I call myself a lady or when I stare at beautiful dresses through shop windows or when I wear a corset around my house just so I can pretend and hope and dream. But even my lovely red corset with the lovely black laces and the lovely satin lining doesn’t do much these days. It used to make it easier to forget that this goddamn body I have is completely wrong, used to force it to have some semblance of a feminine shape, but now….well. Now all it does is make it completely apparent that my chest is still flat where it should be full, that my hips are narrow where they should be wide, and that my undercarriage is heavy and awkward where it should be light and graceful.
And I think that maybe the worst part of this “stuck in the wrong body” nonsense is that William has no idea it even exists. I’ll have to tell him one day, explain it to him and hope that he doesn’t have me thrown in a sanatorium, let alone even understand it. I’ve never met anyone who has, yet, but I hope he does. I have faith in him: William’s a delightfully forward-thinking individual, and most heartening of all, he loves me. Will cares for me enough that he’ll probably at least try to understand, and even if it takes a while, I have full confidence in him that he’ll get it eventually.
Because he loves me.
And maybe one day someone will figure out a way to fix me and we won’t have to worry about it any longer. That day is a long way off, though, if it ever comes at all. I have to keep believing that it will, because working under the opposite assumption will get me absolutely nowhere. So yes, the humans will figure a way to give me the right body one day, and then when Will and I make love, I won’t have to talk myself through it and convince my brain to forget my fucking erection for the moment, thanks, forget I even have the set of parts that I do and just pretend that I’m a real woman with real breasts and a real cunny and that all is right with the world.
It’s so hard to be patient, though, when I’m reminded every day that everything about me is wrong. Every time the human make another advance in the medical field, I’m happy, because it means that someone’s thinking, and soon, someone will think of the others who are in my shoes and someone will invent something that will help us. But until then I have to be patient. Being patient might be easier with William, though. He’s sensible and intelligent, and when I get into one of my moods about my body, he’ll be able to reason with me and bring me out of it.
I love that about him, that he never lets me get away with anything, whether it be at work or at home. I love his cold shoulder and his unhesitating, unwavering sense of right and wrong. I love the looks he gives me when I’ve done something that might be slightly against regulations-or perhaps substantially against regulations, whatever my mood might be that day-or when I don’t fill out my paperwork on time or when I wear my hair tied up in a ribbon during the summer. No one else has the brass to bring me down a notch when I deserve it, to trample down my own strong will with an even stronger one, and really, that’s quite an appealing quality in a man.
And maybe that’s really the best part about the whole thing: knowing that we have each other and knowing that we are all we’ll ever need.