Drabbles
Um warnings? It's not really in-your-face stuff, but it is (sometimes heavily) implied M/M. If you don't like, don't read?
Drabble 1: The Artist.
The sky was a clear blue, and the spotted lynx just stared up, one paw over his forehead to block out the bright sun. He sighed, and smiled, as trees and leaves overhead created a sort of mixture, like a painting.
That's right. He'd come out here to paint, but he'd been wandering in the forest for an hour or so now, easel in his hands, and his pack slung over his shoulder. He looked around, and like a well-time hook in some movie, he saw it. His subject.
There, a lion sat near the edge of some trees, asleep against one of them. His shirt and vest had been discarded beside him, but the lynx focused little on that. Instead, he couldn't help but stare at the lion's form. Pulsing like a large balloon, inflating and deflating with each powerful breath. Arms crossed over his chest, sitting almost regally, and yet as if he were just like any other tired person, wanting to sleep.
Sneakily, the lynx sat on a boulder close enough to see distinct features and details, but far enough to hope that perhaps the lion wouldn't see him if he woke up. He set up his easel, got a charcoal pencil for the outlines, and took hold of the easel's legs, urging it aside so he could see both creation and inspiration.
What he didn't expect, was to see that powerful body now standing in front of him, looming over like some predator about to catch his prey. "It's not nice to draw people without their permission." The lion said, a grim smile on his face. The lynx nearly hopped off the boulder, his easel and supplies scattering in the air, before falling to the ground.
This wasn't going to be good.
Drabble 2: The hurt.
His sides flared in pain. Flashes of pain, rather. Passing, and coming back with each breath. Each painful breath. Even thinking seemed to hurt.
He tried to move his head up, so he could look up. He ended resting it against the wall behind him. A wall of solidarity. A wall that could support him.
Arms wrapped themselves around him, and he heard breaths from behind. The wall moved. The wall held him.
"It'll be okay..." The insistent voice behind him said. It wasn't strong, didn't feel like it had backing to it. But the wall did. The wall held fast. He wanted to collapse against it, and he almost did; the world spinning as if he were about to fall. "Hey, hey, stay with me. Concentrate on my voice, don't pass out." The voice insisted.
He concentrated, but even that seemed to hurt. God. Why did this hurt so much? His body wracked with pain, and he felt like his body was on fire. If fire could be described as dull, this was it. It numbed him, pained him to the core.
But no matter how much his body hurt, he knew it was worth it.
"You didn't have to do that." The voice said. He tried to turn around, to face the wall. His arms and hand, bloody and bruised, weakly aided in the maneuver, until he came face to face with that wall. Arms tightened themselves around him, and he sighed.
"I... I know..." He muttered weakly. "B-but... I did... for..."
A hush. Light kisses on his head, that brought a slight hint of pain with them, but a great load of assurance. He smiled.
"Didn't think someone as small as you had it in you." The wall said. "This wolf's surprised, just so you know."
Paws weakly grabbed at the ones on his side, placing them on his shoulder. He smiled, and looked up at the wolf.
"That's okay... didn't think I had it in me either..." He muttered. The wolf let out a sigh, and nuzzled his neck. Mm. Warm. But not like the painful warmth. No. This didn't hurt.
"Come on." The wolf said, picking him up behind his knees, the other arm holding behind his back to support him. He felt weak when he did this, when he always did this. As if he had to be carried around. Though, he knew what the response would be if he were to protest. "I want to."
"Let's go home." He replied. The wolf chuckled, and started to walk. Each step sent a small quake of pain through his sore body, but he ignored it. "Love you."
Silence. Then the wolf looked down.
"Love you too. My little foxy-woxy." The wolf said. He groaned.
"Call me that again... and I'll beat you too." The fox replied. The wolf just laughed.
Drabble 3: The Dancer (Inspired by an RP)
Hips gyrated on the dance floor, as technicolor lights flashed around like busy bees in a hive. Bodies pumped, moved in unison, danced, flailed; as long as they were in movement, they were welcome.
He scowled somewhat. These people ruined his very favourite form of art. Devon started to move his body, feeling the beat rush through his body. His arms, legs, hips, torso, all became art in motion, as the beat began to pick up.
This was what he loved. This was what he lived for. That internal rhythm matching the rhythm of a song, that need for movement. That way of living called dance, the expression, the feeling. This wasn't just some club bouncing around. No.
Well, okay, it was. He looked around as he danced, people simply grinding with each other, pumping up and down. It was disgusting. And tantalizing. He had to admit. It might not have been his cup of tea, but the dancing was fun. There was just... no one to impress him.
Humans, furs, it didn't matter anymore. He could look past that. He could look past their build, their looks, their abilities or disabilities. As long as they could impress him, they were worthy. But he was too good. Everyone knew that. He knew that. He didn't just dance, he lived through motion. He loved it. But right now, he just stood, scoping out the other dancers, as if he had some sort of power here.
"Well what are you doing here on the floor if you're not moving?" Someone said, coming up behind him. Hands came down his sides, resting themselves on his thighs. A tail snaked its way around his waist, white and black. Lynx? No, the body was too big. What other animal was this forward, and yet white and black? Ah, yeah, tigers. Always thought they owned the dance floor.
But this one was different. Didn't try and talk his way into things. No. Now with this deathgrip on Devon, the tiger started to move. Ground into his backside. Moved to the rhythm. Danced.
He spoke, really. Spoke with his actions. Devon ground back, almost intoxicated by the dancing. The song slowed down a little, their movements becoming less dance-like, and more passionate. He reached back, his smooth, hair-less arms running across the feline body behind him. It was large. Powerful. Unclothed for its upper half. He smiled.
Passion turned into lust. In a dance metaphor, that is. It was like dry sex hidden in dance. He could sense it. He didn't need to be a fur to realize what the tiger wanted. But he wasn't like that. He wasn't just some one-time fling. That wasn't impressive.
"How about we go somewhere to 'dance' in private?" The tiger asked. Apparently, the feline thought he was. Devon started to push off, but the hands kept him there. They roamed his body, went under his shirt, caressing the smooth human underneath the clothing. It felt like a million little hands ran over his body, the way his sweat mixed with the felines. The way his sensitive hairs were teased by the tiger's fur.
"I'm not some lap-dancer." Devon said, wondering if the tiger would get it.
"That's alright, I don't like one-time dances." The tiger replied. Devon turned around, and smiled up at the tiger. "Lucas."
"Devon." The human replied, brushing his bangs out of his face. They'd become matted down from the sweat, and from turning around, he could smell it off the tiger. Sweat. Musk. Man. Tiger. Sex.
"So, you up for a little one-on-one dancing?" The tiger asked. Devon smiled.
"Gotta have a dance-off first." He said, pulling the tiger more to the center of the dance floor. A circle formed around them, and Devon started, going into a form of beboy, as the music switched from the adagio, passionate beat to a more up-tempo one. The tiger responded in kind, not letting up. Devon laughed. He hadn't had this much fun in a while.
He hadn't had any fun in a while. He realized. Maybe it was time to try again. The tiger was impressing him, at least.
They danced, centre of attention, for a little while. Together, apart, against, or with each other, they were like two dancers who'd been practicing for a long, long time. They anticipated each other's movements, reacted in kind, whether as a counter or together. It was like the tiger knew him, not for his looks, or for his skill, but for the dancer inside. It was poetry on the dance floor.
And, it won him over. Devon smiled, as the song finished. People cheered, and the tiger bowed jokingly, which Devon started to do as well.
"Now, for that private dance?" The tiger whispered, as he walked beside Devon. The human smiled. He sure liked his dancing, after all.
Yeah. Enjoy? I guess. :P.