First Line Challenge by omphale23 and slidellra
Title: Things That Go Bump in the Night
Authors: slidellra and omphale23
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG
Length: 750 words
Notes: First line from a sweet SG-1 fic by the excellent troyswann. Written for the First Line challenge, but the Dief-centric result is in honor of malnpudl's birthday.
It was the giggling that woke him. He stretched, sorting out the sounds and scents as he came awake. Consulate, nighttime, and--mmmm--he had possession of the cot.
Dief growled at the sound, trying to cover his ears. Even the new Ray's apartment was quieter than this. And it had pizza. Pizza was good. After this nap, he'd go find some pizza. And a doughnut with sprinkles. But first, a nap. His eyelids were drifting shut when the odd sound came again.
Yes, definitely giggling. Was Turnbull back? Because Dief was hungry, and Turnbull made very good quiche. Cocking his head, he focused on the sound. It had been a long time, but he remembered Fraser laughing like that, hiccuping and snorting like a moose. He jumped off the cot and trotted out of the office, wondering what kind of mess Fraser had gotten himself into this time. Drugged and cornered by pretty Frannie or nasty Inspector? Hysteria, like that time on the ice floe? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
You save a human's life, and you pay and pay and pay. They just couldn't be trusted to amuse themselves without causing some sort of trouble. Still, the sounds didn't seem to involve breaking glass this time. That was an improvement.
He followed the sounds to the room with the TV, his favorite after the room with the refrigerator. The TV was playing something noisy and fuzzy. He could hear Ray's voice, but couldn't see anyone until he came further into the room. Then he blinked and tilted his head in surprise. Fraser and Ray were together on the couch, lying on each other like packmates. The arm Ray didn't have wrapped around Fraser's chest was pointing at the TV as he tried to talk over the ridiculous sounds Fraser was making.
"Hey, for 1978 I was the height of cool. And like you're one to talk about bad fashion."
Dief focused on the screen where a blurry young human was behaving very strangely. He didn't look like Ray. The kid on the screen was mostly bald, and what hair he had was black like the old Ray's was before he went away. And his clothing was--
Ray interrupted his analysis by growling at Fraser. He certainly had an interesting vocabulary. Dief turned back to the screen, where a small version of Ray had begun swinging a piece of wood over his head. While screaming. And jumping up and down.
It seemed an inefficient way to kill something, but Dief could see how such behavior would cause one's prey to cower in confused terror.
The small Ray fell down. The TV screaming stopped briefly, but the laughter from the couch grew louder.
Fraser was wheezing now. Dief was torn between enjoying the spectacle and worrying about oxygen deprivation. Ray seemed concerned, too, as he rolled over and gave Fraser some of his own air. Oh. Perhaps it wasn't air that they were sharing.
Humans were strange animals, with none of a wolf's grace visible in their mating rituals. At least Fraser had stopped giggling, although the moaning was barely less irritating.
Dief settled in to watch. At some point he would need to hunt himself a remote control with bigger buttons. This film of Ray screaming and waving his arms around wasn't nearly as entertaining as the seal documentary he had seen last week.
Dief grumbled at the pair on the couch, shifting out of the way of Ray's socks as they hit the floor. Honestly. Did no one care that he was trying to watch the TV? And they could have mentioned to him that they were mating, instead of expecting him to figure things out for himself. It would have been common courtesy, really.
He was a wolf, though. They probably assumed that he already knew. They certainly weren't being subtle about it. Perhaps Fraser was right; to miss something that should have been so obvious, he had to be losing his skills. He'd have to work on them. He lifted his muzzle and scented, then wrinkled his nose. Fraser and Ray were working up some interesting smells. Beyond that, Chicago smelled terrible. Dirty air made worse with heavy floral air freshener, nothing like the sweet, fresh smell of real flowers, he thought wistfully. Then he picked up the faint trace of cheese and cooling grease drifting from the kitchen. Fraser must have cleaned up already, but Dief was a hunter. He went to hunt.
Authors: slidellra and omphale23
Pairing: F/K
Rating: PG
Length: 750 words
Notes: First line from a sweet SG-1 fic by the excellent troyswann. Written for the First Line challenge, but the Dief-centric result is in honor of malnpudl's birthday.
It was the giggling that woke him. He stretched, sorting out the sounds and scents as he came awake. Consulate, nighttime, and--mmmm--he had possession of the cot.
Dief growled at the sound, trying to cover his ears. Even the new Ray's apartment was quieter than this. And it had pizza. Pizza was good. After this nap, he'd go find some pizza. And a doughnut with sprinkles. But first, a nap. His eyelids were drifting shut when the odd sound came again.
Yes, definitely giggling. Was Turnbull back? Because Dief was hungry, and Turnbull made very good quiche. Cocking his head, he focused on the sound. It had been a long time, but he remembered Fraser laughing like that, hiccuping and snorting like a moose. He jumped off the cot and trotted out of the office, wondering what kind of mess Fraser had gotten himself into this time. Drugged and cornered by pretty Frannie or nasty Inspector? Hysteria, like that time on the ice floe? Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.
You save a human's life, and you pay and pay and pay. They just couldn't be trusted to amuse themselves without causing some sort of trouble. Still, the sounds didn't seem to involve breaking glass this time. That was an improvement.
He followed the sounds to the room with the TV, his favorite after the room with the refrigerator. The TV was playing something noisy and fuzzy. He could hear Ray's voice, but couldn't see anyone until he came further into the room. Then he blinked and tilted his head in surprise. Fraser and Ray were together on the couch, lying on each other like packmates. The arm Ray didn't have wrapped around Fraser's chest was pointing at the TV as he tried to talk over the ridiculous sounds Fraser was making.
"Hey, for 1978 I was the height of cool. And like you're one to talk about bad fashion."
Dief focused on the screen where a blurry young human was behaving very strangely. He didn't look like Ray. The kid on the screen was mostly bald, and what hair he had was black like the old Ray's was before he went away. And his clothing was--
Ray interrupted his analysis by growling at Fraser. He certainly had an interesting vocabulary. Dief turned back to the screen, where a small version of Ray had begun swinging a piece of wood over his head. While screaming. And jumping up and down.
It seemed an inefficient way to kill something, but Dief could see how such behavior would cause one's prey to cower in confused terror.
The small Ray fell down. The TV screaming stopped briefly, but the laughter from the couch grew louder.
Fraser was wheezing now. Dief was torn between enjoying the spectacle and worrying about oxygen deprivation. Ray seemed concerned, too, as he rolled over and gave Fraser some of his own air. Oh. Perhaps it wasn't air that they were sharing.
Humans were strange animals, with none of a wolf's grace visible in their mating rituals. At least Fraser had stopped giggling, although the moaning was barely less irritating.
Dief settled in to watch. At some point he would need to hunt himself a remote control with bigger buttons. This film of Ray screaming and waving his arms around wasn't nearly as entertaining as the seal documentary he had seen last week.
Dief grumbled at the pair on the couch, shifting out of the way of Ray's socks as they hit the floor. Honestly. Did no one care that he was trying to watch the TV? And they could have mentioned to him that they were mating, instead of expecting him to figure things out for himself. It would have been common courtesy, really.
He was a wolf, though. They probably assumed that he already knew. They certainly weren't being subtle about it. Perhaps Fraser was right; to miss something that should have been so obvious, he had to be losing his skills. He'd have to work on them. He lifted his muzzle and scented, then wrinkled his nose. Fraser and Ray were working up some interesting smells. Beyond that, Chicago smelled terrible. Dirty air made worse with heavy floral air freshener, nothing like the sweet, fresh smell of real flowers, he thought wistfully. Then he picked up the faint trace of cheese and cooling grease drifting from the kitchen. Fraser must have cleaned up already, but Dief was a hunter. He went to hunt.