Prompt #24 - "Symmetry" for malnpudl
Title: Symmetry
Author: akamine_chan
Characters: Diefenbaker, Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Rating: R
Warnings: Some animal death due to natural selection. Not Diefenbaker.
Prompt: “People are not food.”
Length: 672 words
Notes: Many thanks to luzula for the last minute, lightning beta. She is my hero, many times over.
Sometimes, he dreams. And in his dreams, he remembers.
* * *
Desperate hunger, whimpers and whining, other squirming bodies pressed close and the strong flavor of her milk. It is dark, and her heartbeat is loud and rhythmic, soothing them to sleep. Her tongue, warm and wet, stroking, stroking, stroking.
The smell of the others, the same but not. Snuffling, burrowing closer, fighting for his place at her belly, shoving at the others, being shoved back in return. Drowsing in a pile, content, only to wake to a growling hunger that he can't escape.
Eyes slowly opening, blinking at the brightness and movement around him. Something moves close and he cowers low, whining, until he smells her. Food-female, Licking-female, Singing-female. She has many names and the first sight of her masked face, tongue lolling, is love. She is beautiful.
He runs, awkwardly, out of balance but learning, slowly but surely. How to jump and chase, to tackle and pounce and dominate. Growing, eating, playing. Hunting small foods, listening to her singing to the night. Catching tails, running, pushing, chasing others through the grass. One of his pack tackles and bites hard, forcing him to show belly. He growls resentfully, but submits.
She cuffs them both and they nuzzle at her jaw. Always her, their center. Warmth, food, Pack.
Cold and a gnawing hunger, a slow freezing. The others curl together for warmth, noses covered by tails.
He hunts, tracking food and then loses the trail. He smells another small food and edges closer to it, slow, slow, clever and quiet. He pounces and the food squeaks and dives into the burrow. He digs for a moment before snapping his jaws in frustration.
It's cold, and the hunger is worse. One by one the others grow still and silent until only she and he are left. They hunt, and hunt, and hunt, but the food is too fast, too strong, too healthy. They keep moving, hoping to find slow food, young food, hurt food.
They find a hurt food and her eyes flash. He circles, flanking the food while she moves forward. She charges, too early, too early, and he watches as the food kicks out, connecting with a loud noise.
He noses at her, whimpering, but she grows cold. He lies down and grooms her russet fur, curling around her, trying to share his warmth but she doesn't move and he's alone.
Hunger drives him, but his aloneness paralyzes him. He can't hunt big food by himself. Only littlest food, mostly bone and fur. At night, he hears singing, but it's not pack. He moves on, avoiding strong scent markings.
He falls. It hurts and hurts and he whines, grooming himself in comfort. Far above him, he hears loud noises that make him crouch low. Danger. Movement and a rush of sound and he twists as something falls. A large food, scenting the air with fear and pain.
Growling, he steps forward, starvation pushing, pushing at him. He stands up and raises his tail and ears, baring teeth. The food looks at him, staring back, no submission in his body. Only strange eyes that share his hunger for pack.
Slowly, the food extends a paw for him to smell. Warmth and comfort and home. Pack. He rubs his muzzle on the paw, marking it, and lies down to rest. His packmate moves around, making noise, and suddenly there strange food in front of him, meaty and sweet and not-alive. He gulps it down.
“My name is Benton Fraser.”
* * *
Dief wakes and whines, padding into the bedroom where his Pack is sleeping. He jumps onto the bed, steps over Ben and nudges at Ray, licking at the too tempting ears. Ray grumbles, and pushes him away, opening his eyes to stare at Dief. “People are not food, furface,” he enunciates distinctly. Dief woofs softly and gives Ray one last lick.
Settling down between Ray and Ben, Dief falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, warm and content and home. Pack.
Author: akamine_chan
Characters: Diefenbaker, Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski
Rating: R
Warnings: Some animal death due to natural selection. Not Diefenbaker.
Prompt: “People are not food.”
Length: 672 words
Notes: Many thanks to luzula for the last minute, lightning beta. She is my hero, many times over.
Sometimes, he dreams. And in his dreams, he remembers.
* * *
Desperate hunger, whimpers and whining, other squirming bodies pressed close and the strong flavor of her milk. It is dark, and her heartbeat is loud and rhythmic, soothing them to sleep. Her tongue, warm and wet, stroking, stroking, stroking.
The smell of the others, the same but not. Snuffling, burrowing closer, fighting for his place at her belly, shoving at the others, being shoved back in return. Drowsing in a pile, content, only to wake to a growling hunger that he can't escape.
Eyes slowly opening, blinking at the brightness and movement around him. Something moves close and he cowers low, whining, until he smells her. Food-female, Licking-female, Singing-female. She has many names and the first sight of her masked face, tongue lolling, is love. She is beautiful.
He runs, awkwardly, out of balance but learning, slowly but surely. How to jump and chase, to tackle and pounce and dominate. Growing, eating, playing. Hunting small foods, listening to her singing to the night. Catching tails, running, pushing, chasing others through the grass. One of his pack tackles and bites hard, forcing him to show belly. He growls resentfully, but submits.
She cuffs them both and they nuzzle at her jaw. Always her, their center. Warmth, food, Pack.
Cold and a gnawing hunger, a slow freezing. The others curl together for warmth, noses covered by tails.
He hunts, tracking food and then loses the trail. He smells another small food and edges closer to it, slow, slow, clever and quiet. He pounces and the food squeaks and dives into the burrow. He digs for a moment before snapping his jaws in frustration.
It's cold, and the hunger is worse. One by one the others grow still and silent until only she and he are left. They hunt, and hunt, and hunt, but the food is too fast, too strong, too healthy. They keep moving, hoping to find slow food, young food, hurt food.
They find a hurt food and her eyes flash. He circles, flanking the food while she moves forward. She charges, too early, too early, and he watches as the food kicks out, connecting with a loud noise.
He noses at her, whimpering, but she grows cold. He lies down and grooms her russet fur, curling around her, trying to share his warmth but she doesn't move and he's alone.
Hunger drives him, but his aloneness paralyzes him. He can't hunt big food by himself. Only littlest food, mostly bone and fur. At night, he hears singing, but it's not pack. He moves on, avoiding strong scent markings.
He falls. It hurts and hurts and he whines, grooming himself in comfort. Far above him, he hears loud noises that make him crouch low. Danger. Movement and a rush of sound and he twists as something falls. A large food, scenting the air with fear and pain.
Growling, he steps forward, starvation pushing, pushing at him. He stands up and raises his tail and ears, baring teeth. The food looks at him, staring back, no submission in his body. Only strange eyes that share his hunger for pack.
Slowly, the food extends a paw for him to smell. Warmth and comfort and home. Pack. He rubs his muzzle on the paw, marking it, and lies down to rest. His packmate moves around, making noise, and suddenly there strange food in front of him, meaty and sweet and not-alive. He gulps it down.
“My name is Benton Fraser.”
* * *
Dief wakes and whines, padding into the bedroom where his Pack is sleeping. He jumps onto the bed, steps over Ben and nudges at Ray, licking at the too tempting ears. Ray grumbles, and pushes him away, opening his eyes to stare at Dief. “People are not food, furface,” he enunciates distinctly. Dief woofs softly and gives Ray one last lick.
Settling down between Ray and Ben, Dief falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, warm and content and home. Pack.