ellnyx (ellnyx) wrote in areyougame, @ 2008-11-14 16:57:00 |
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Entry tags: | *crossover, *final fantasy vii, *shadow hearts, author: logistika_nyx |
fight!, ffvii/shadow hearts covenant (nanaki/blanca)
Title: Fight!
Author: logistika_nyx
Rating/Warning: M, dog sex?
Word count: 1400
Prompt: Crossover FFVII/Shadow Hearts Covenant, Nanaki/Blanca - more than they looked - while they could use it to their advantage, it was hard being treated just like a dumb animal sometimes.
A/N: I completely missed out on the first round, but diving right in for the free-for-all. Hope you enjoy!
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The white one is fast, like the wind. He is of the wind, Nanaki realises. They come together and the white one is faster, his paw over Nanaki's haunch, his jaws about the spiked nape of Nanaki's neck. Nanaki must twist vigorously to find his freedom again.
"Who are you?" Nanaki asks, his paws touching the earth lightly.
"Call me Whirlwind," the white one laughs, a huffed aroo, "call me Blanca, the White Whirlwind. Every wolf should know the name of he who'll master him; now you know mine, oh worthy Red Stranger. Prepare to be mastered!"
Nanaki grins, muzzle angled low and long. He raises his tail torch to the sky and lets the flame flare. The white one stares, startled, captivated, and laughs with his own tail, whiskers, ears before he lunges. They fight, red on white, white on red, and the leaf mulch on which they roll stains the white one far worse than it does Nanaki's own rusty hide. When they pull apart, they are both panting. Nanaki has great strands of saliva wrapped about his muzzle. The white one is stained with leaf's green and brown, panting, eyes as wide as his muzzle's gape. The white one can't douse Nanaki's flame, but not for want of trying.
Flame feeds on the wind. It is the way of the world; flame will always consume the wind, feast on it, grow larger for the harder the wind might blow. And blow this White Whirlwind does, blow and bluster, bluster and blow:
"You are nimble, Red Stranger, but you are old -- Look at all the grey that feathers your fur, look at the length of your tooth -- Your flame is sputtering, and your silence is telling indeed of the depths of your despair -- Have you nothing to say to he who will best you?"
"Young thing," Nanaki says, wry and dry. His tongue laps up to wet the dark of his nose; the white one's eyes follow that motion. "Even you must know that speech tells no tale as to the true capacity of a creature."
"True," the white one admits, "I can see you have much wisdom, as befits the elders of the world. The two-legs might treat us with uncaring for all of our wisdom, but I can concede to you that speech or its lack is no true telling tale -- But what is a telling tale is the matter of your pending submission!"
When they come together again, the white one is fleet enough that he outstrips his previous performance. Nanaki is impressed, with only experience keeping him half a step ahead of the attack: a true son of the north wind, this Blanca. When the tide turns, Nanaki's teeth close where a tail once taunted, his shoulder slamming into space where mass once beckoned. Blanca laughs, high and loud, proud, and from above: Nanaki can barely roll before the white wolf is on his back.
The flame - Nanaki's flame - Blanca is a better brawler than his bluster would show, but he has never fought a beast born of flame. The white wolf howls his new experience, a vocal pitch that has Nanaki wince for the proximity to his own ears.
Nanaki arches to throw the white one's mass from his shoulders. The wolf lands and rolls, fur filthy now, and singed. Nanaki's mane falls into his eyes, his clip lost in the struggle. He shakes his head that he can see. Blanca has not stirred, his ribs heaving. Each bone is clear against the flex of white fur. Nanaki noses that still warmth.
"Finished already?"
"Alas," Blanca pants, "your extensive experience seems to have granted you considerable stamina. Who would have known, age could do such a thing? You must know everything, Red Stranger!"
The 'stranger' does not stir Nanaki's objections, but the 'red,' however accurate, is a problematic instigator of nostalgia. Nanaki presses his belly to the leaf mulch and sets one paw across Blanca's heaving shoulder. The burn across the wolf's belly is not so bad. Nanaki does not smell broken bowel, just a skin-blister and seared fur.
"My name is Nanaki," he tells the white one.
"Nanaki," Blanca says, his breath easy under Nanaki's paw. "It is good I know the name of one who bests me so easily. I will never again underestimate the value of silence. You are more than you seem, oh ancient red Nanaki!"
Nanaki nips at the expanse of nape stretched before him. Blanka twitches at that, his own muzzle snapping at the air before he subsides under the submission. "Sons of flame and earth will always feast on sons of air and water. You will learn other ways to best those born of flame, white one."
The way Blanca's haunches ripple as he sets his paws to earth and pushes -- it is appealing, Nanaki can admit. The wolf is fit. Nanaki watches the wolf's muscle shift and strain. Blanca is built for speed, every sleek line tailored for it. Nanaki struggles to stand before Blanca can, his incisors still in the white one's neck.
Blanca is also built for fighting; even with Nanaki's teeth on him, he swallows his growls and tries, not quite successfully, to turn them into submissive whines and whimpers. Nanaki must grin at that. He lifts himself to set paws and weight across Blanca's spine, back paws digging into the dirt for leverage, and thrusts forward until Blanca bends, snapping and snarling all the way down.
Nanaki has spent a long time around two-legs. From the looks of Blanca's continued struggle, this would continue to seem to a two-leg that they still fight. Nanaki knows better: there is more than just sight and fight in this level of submission. Blanca lets off a scent that has great strands of saliva fall, unwilling and watery, from Nanaki's jaw. Blanca's whines take on a new pitch, lower and longer against the snappy struggle of before; Nanaki's ears are twitching without surcease, his nose very wet. Warmth builds between them. Blanca's white fur is long and silky. It does not take either of them long. Stickiness smears over Blanca's back haunches and spine, matting the white fur even further. Thus marked, Blanca at last falls quiescent.
Only then does Nanaki feel secure enough to lift off the mass of wolf. Blanca stands, regards his haunches with dismay, and shakes himself vigorously. As the white one strives to rub himself dry against the curve of a tree, Nanaki licks the scattered flecks of white from his muzzle and forepaws. He finds his hairclip at the edge of the clearing and tends to his mane.
"Wait, where are you going, red Nanaki?"
"I have the world to wander," Nanaki replies. Blanca sits back, his ears back and tilted vulnerable, eyes narrowed with some unreadable emotion. Nanaki pauses to mark the trees at the clearing's perimeter. This was a good fight; if he ever comes back here, he will remember it. "There are many facts to learn, and even more fiends to fight. A son of flame must find fuel to feed his fire, white one."
"But I -- Wait, wait, Nanaki, wait! It's been so long since I've seen another wolf, I've been wandering so long with the two-legs I've forgotten what intelligent company feels like."
"It's been an even longer time since I've seen anything approximating my own species, white one."
"But then surely it's ok if I follow you? I might even learn something--"
Nanaki just has to flick his tail, sending a thick scent Blanca's way. The scent has been brewing since the fight finished. Perhaps this was an inevitable meeting, or so Nanaki's glands seem to think. No creature is born to wander alone, not even a two-leg deserves that fate. The white one stops talking and sneezes, five times in a row.
"Thank you," Blanca says, not quite achieving the humble tone he was obviously striving for. Nanaki hides his incisors: he can appreciate the effort, at least. "That was eloquent, indeed; I'm flattered! I'll watch your back as you wander."
Nanaki nods, snorts, and shakes his mane back to its full spike. "The next water we find, son of air, you will bathe. You look like a two-leg's abandoned mutt, and I do have my pride to consider."
"As long as you don't call me Snowflake," Blanca says, and snuffs a laugh. "I have my pride to consider as well, Red Master Nanaki!"
"Just call me Nanaki," he says, and considers. "And maybe you can call me Master, if I'm in the mood."
Blanca's ears are even more expressive than his over-use of words. Nanaki flicks his tail, watches the white one's captivated gaze follow the flame, and grins.
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