Boys On My Left Side (AB) PG
Boys On My Left Side
An Anita Blake story
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: It's been seven years and Anita isn't the same person anymore.
Disclaimer: Anita Blake belongs to Laurell K. Hamilton. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: PG
Characters: Anita, Nathaniel
Words: 1,100
An entry on the Quasi-Drabble challenge entry.houses_on_fire Anita Blake, Nathaniel, new skin
Note: Set at a random time after Danse Macabre.
~~~~~
The magazine was open on the carpet, the air silent and warm around me, as I sat in a pool of sunlight in one of the unused upstairs bedrooms. It was a perfect day for lying around, being lazy and reading silly magazines in the sun.
Instead, I was staring out the window, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
A soft sound from the hallway, the feather-light crunch of pressure on the carpet, drew my attention away from the oh-so-fascinating spot on the window. I sat up, putting on my poker face, ready for anything.
Except the black leopard head that poked its way around the doorframe.
"Nathaniel?" I shook my head, slumping back against the wall. "What are you doing up here?"
Nathaniel padded towards me on huge paws. It was massively unfair that he could move so gracefully when he was in leopard form. He was huge, almost as high at the shoulders as my waist, and he walked as if he was dancing on air.
He always moved like that, graceful and elegant and... him. He wasn't feminine, but feline, and I was slowly growing used to it. Had grown used to it. Couldn't live without it.
Couldn't live without him.
Slowly and deliberately, Nathaniel stopped beside me. He dug his front claws into the carpet and stretched, his head going down while his feline butt went up in the air. I could almost hear the popping of his spine as he contorted his body in weird cat-like ways. It looked relaxing, more than anything I'd done in days.
Then Nathaniel laid down, his rib cage pressing against my left thigh. He butted his head against my chest.
I cleared my throat. "What's up?" I asked.
Nathaniel dropped something from his mouth into my lap.
I picked up the hairbrush. "Seriously?"
Nathaniel rubbed his head against my chest. It was as submissive as hell and any other day, I'd have smiled, but today I just looked at him.
After a moment, Nathaniel rolled over, one paw in the air. He batted at my hand.
"Okay, if you want. It's your brush." I shifted closer and tentatively ran the brush over Nathaniel's side. "How's that?"
Nathaniel purred.
"I'll take that as a yes." I continued to brush Nathaniel's fur. "Do I even want to know why you're still in leopard form?"
Nathaniel shook his head before he wriggled around and pressed against my hip.
"I haven't seen you in this form in a while, at least when you're not at work. And even then you're usually in half form. Is that what you call it? Half? Maybe half-and-half, but that's what they call cream in Canada. Do you even like cream or is that a cat stereotype?"
Nathaniel looked up.
"Not that there's anything wrong about liking cream." I ran the brush over Nathaniel's leg. "Stereotypes can be cool. But in general, you don't like things that are too fatty. Is that because of work?"
My babble was cut off when Nathaniel craned his head around and licked the line of skin between my jeans and my top. He snuggled closer to me, his heavy legs holding me down. His body was so warm, his fur strangely soft under my fingers.
I didn't know what to do. I wasn't used to this, with Nathaniel being in leopard form and me being... well, me.
Nathaniel rumbled low in his chest, his head resting on my thigh. I put the brush down and let my hand drift over Nathaniel's head. "It's just one of those days, you know?" I toyed with the shell of Nathaniel's ear, watching his eyelids droop slightly. "Just... a day."
Nathaniel's tail curled into a question mark. Never before had I realized how expressive a wereleopard's tail could be.
"You know, when I was in college, there was this anatomy class I took," I said. Nathaniel's whiskers twitched as I stroked his head. "Your cells reproduce and replace themselves, all of them. It's like, your whole body replaces itself every seven years."
Nathaniel pressed his paw against my thigh. The world was quiet and the room was hot and I didn't know what was wrong.
Or maybe the problem was, I did.
"It's March ninth," I finally said, taking Nathaniel's paw in my hand. "It's March ninth, and I'm twenty-seven. It's been seven years today since I started working for Bert. Raising zombies for money, and... the stuff that happened after that."
Stuff like the vampires, and lycanthropes, and the ardeur and my life just being different.
"So that's like... I'm a whole different person now." I let out a breath.
Nathaniel squirmed closer to me, his paw pressed against my leg and his head heavy against my hip. Downstairs, I knew Micah was getting ready for work, Damian was dead in the basement, and half the pard was collapsed, asleep, in the living room. Across town, Jean-Claude was probably dressing at the Circus of the Damned. Richard was at school, teaching. I had to be at work in a few hours, to raise more zombies, use my metaphysical gifts yet again.
Back when I started this, when I raised my first zombie at work, part of me had been convinced I was doing something wrong, like I had crossed that line in the sand, from good to bad. Seven years later, I knew better. There wasn't any line, no black and white anymore.
Part of me missed that certainty, of knowing what to do.
The leopard on my lap yawned, flashing long white teeth. Seven years ago, if I'd seen anyone like this, I'd probably have panicked and run away, not wanting to understand what was going on underneath the fur and fangs.
A lot had changed since then.
I curled over and kissed the top of Nathaniel's head. "If you want me to do the other side, you'll need to move," I told him. He obediently rolled to his feet and flopped down on his other side, managing to take up most of the sunny spot on the carpet.
As I brushed Nathaniel's fur, I thought about that different person I had been just seven years before. My whole life had changed; I had changed, and yet I hadn't. I still raised zombies, drank more coffee than was good for me, still had a chip on my shoulder the size of Detroit. I was still Anita.
The only difference was that now, I wasn't alone.
And that made all the difference in the world.
end
An Anita Blake story
by mhalachaiswords
Summary: It's been seven years and Anita isn't the same person anymore.
Disclaimer: Anita Blake belongs to Laurell K. Hamilton. No profit has been made from this fic.
Rating: PG
Characters: Anita, Nathaniel
Words: 1,100
An entry on the Quasi-Drabble challenge entry.houses_on_fire Anita Blake, Nathaniel, new skin
Note: Set at a random time after Danse Macabre.
~~~~~
The magazine was open on the carpet, the air silent and warm around me, as I sat in a pool of sunlight in one of the unused upstairs bedrooms. It was a perfect day for lying around, being lazy and reading silly magazines in the sun.
Instead, I was staring out the window, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.
A soft sound from the hallway, the feather-light crunch of pressure on the carpet, drew my attention away from the oh-so-fascinating spot on the window. I sat up, putting on my poker face, ready for anything.
Except the black leopard head that poked its way around the doorframe.
"Nathaniel?" I shook my head, slumping back against the wall. "What are you doing up here?"
Nathaniel padded towards me on huge paws. It was massively unfair that he could move so gracefully when he was in leopard form. He was huge, almost as high at the shoulders as my waist, and he walked as if he was dancing on air.
He always moved like that, graceful and elegant and... him. He wasn't feminine, but feline, and I was slowly growing used to it. Had grown used to it. Couldn't live without it.
Couldn't live without him.
Slowly and deliberately, Nathaniel stopped beside me. He dug his front claws into the carpet and stretched, his head going down while his feline butt went up in the air. I could almost hear the popping of his spine as he contorted his body in weird cat-like ways. It looked relaxing, more than anything I'd done in days.
Then Nathaniel laid down, his rib cage pressing against my left thigh. He butted his head against my chest.
I cleared my throat. "What's up?" I asked.
Nathaniel dropped something from his mouth into my lap.
I picked up the hairbrush. "Seriously?"
Nathaniel rubbed his head against my chest. It was as submissive as hell and any other day, I'd have smiled, but today I just looked at him.
After a moment, Nathaniel rolled over, one paw in the air. He batted at my hand.
"Okay, if you want. It's your brush." I shifted closer and tentatively ran the brush over Nathaniel's side. "How's that?"
Nathaniel purred.
"I'll take that as a yes." I continued to brush Nathaniel's fur. "Do I even want to know why you're still in leopard form?"
Nathaniel shook his head before he wriggled around and pressed against my hip.
"I haven't seen you in this form in a while, at least when you're not at work. And even then you're usually in half form. Is that what you call it? Half? Maybe half-and-half, but that's what they call cream in Canada. Do you even like cream or is that a cat stereotype?"
Nathaniel looked up.
"Not that there's anything wrong about liking cream." I ran the brush over Nathaniel's leg. "Stereotypes can be cool. But in general, you don't like things that are too fatty. Is that because of work?"
My babble was cut off when Nathaniel craned his head around and licked the line of skin between my jeans and my top. He snuggled closer to me, his heavy legs holding me down. His body was so warm, his fur strangely soft under my fingers.
I didn't know what to do. I wasn't used to this, with Nathaniel being in leopard form and me being... well, me.
Nathaniel rumbled low in his chest, his head resting on my thigh. I put the brush down and let my hand drift over Nathaniel's head. "It's just one of those days, you know?" I toyed with the shell of Nathaniel's ear, watching his eyelids droop slightly. "Just... a day."
Nathaniel's tail curled into a question mark. Never before had I realized how expressive a wereleopard's tail could be.
"You know, when I was in college, there was this anatomy class I took," I said. Nathaniel's whiskers twitched as I stroked his head. "Your cells reproduce and replace themselves, all of them. It's like, your whole body replaces itself every seven years."
Nathaniel pressed his paw against my thigh. The world was quiet and the room was hot and I didn't know what was wrong.
Or maybe the problem was, I did.
"It's March ninth," I finally said, taking Nathaniel's paw in my hand. "It's March ninth, and I'm twenty-seven. It's been seven years today since I started working for Bert. Raising zombies for money, and... the stuff that happened after that."
Stuff like the vampires, and lycanthropes, and the ardeur and my life just being different.
"So that's like... I'm a whole different person now." I let out a breath.
Nathaniel squirmed closer to me, his paw pressed against my leg and his head heavy against my hip. Downstairs, I knew Micah was getting ready for work, Damian was dead in the basement, and half the pard was collapsed, asleep, in the living room. Across town, Jean-Claude was probably dressing at the Circus of the Damned. Richard was at school, teaching. I had to be at work in a few hours, to raise more zombies, use my metaphysical gifts yet again.
Back when I started this, when I raised my first zombie at work, part of me had been convinced I was doing something wrong, like I had crossed that line in the sand, from good to bad. Seven years later, I knew better. There wasn't any line, no black and white anymore.
Part of me missed that certainty, of knowing what to do.
The leopard on my lap yawned, flashing long white teeth. Seven years ago, if I'd seen anyone like this, I'd probably have panicked and run away, not wanting to understand what was going on underneath the fur and fangs.
A lot had changed since then.
I curled over and kissed the top of Nathaniel's head. "If you want me to do the other side, you'll need to move," I told him. He obediently rolled to his feet and flopped down on his other side, managing to take up most of the sunny spot on the carpet.
As I brushed Nathaniel's fur, I thought about that different person I had been just seven years before. My whole life had changed; I had changed, and yet I hadn't. I still raised zombies, drank more coffee than was good for me, still had a chip on my shoulder the size of Detroit. I was still Anita.
The only difference was that now, I wasn't alone.
And that made all the difference in the world.
end