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kleenexwomanso yeah, this is furry fic. I wrote this for an April Fool's joke, but somehow it turned out cuter than I meant it to. It was also another volley in the most passive-aggressive fandom war ever--actually, you can assume that most of what I write for this fandom is. Doesn't make it any less valid, just adds another layer to the text.
The fox boy was staring at him.
George fought down a shudder and shoved another leaf into his mouth. A predator wouldn't dare to actually attack right in the middle of Lou's Cafe, would be?
He risked a quick glance at the fox. He wasn't licking his chops, the way some of the feral foxes did before they pounced on a rabbit or a vole. His ears were pricked up, like he was listening for something. Was he afraid of George? A fox, afraid of a little lemur?
The fight-or-flight response was getting too strong to ignore. George glanced around to see if there were any trees or bushes around that would provide decent cover in case the fox did attack, but all of them were too far away--if he tried to run, the fox would catch up to him within moments.
The fox hadn't taken his eyes off him for a moment. George swallowed, shaking, and turned to face him, praying that he wasn't about to get his throat torn out. "What?"
"You're George McFly," the fox whispered.
Maybe he was one of those foxes who were too stupid to find food on their own. In that case, he was probably safe..."Yeah. Who're you?"
"Say!" A beak in his face, connected to a long neck craning over his shoulder. Goldie had fluttered over to join them. "What do you let those mutts push you around like that for?"
"Well, they're carnivores," George explained. "And they could eat me."
"Stand tall, boy! Have some respect for yourself." Goldie continued squawking into George's ear. He snuck another look at the fox, who had transferred his attention to the heron's neck. Now would be the perfect time to run. He slipped off the stool and skittered to the door, his paws scrabbling on the tile.
Ω
George clung to the tree branch, comforted by the feel of rough bark under his paws. Foxes and dogs couldn't climb trees, he was sure of it. He'd be perfectly safe for as long as he could stay up here.
A movement across the street caught his eye. He scooted along the branch on his belly and tried to focus on it. It was one of the cat girls he saw every day in school. She was grooming herself, licking her own shoulder with the utmost delicacy.
"He's a peeping Tom!" George snapped his head downwards, peering through the leaves to see the fox boy from the diner staring straight up at him.
He almost fell out of the tree. How had the fox boy followed him?
"Go away," he hissed.
The fox boy stuck his hands in his pockets. "Aw, George, come on out of the tree."
"No!" He gripped the branch tighter. "Leave me alone. Go find a--a rabbit or a chicken to eat instead of me."
"You think I'm going to eat you?" The fox boy laughed nervously. "I just wanna talk, okay?"
"Yeah, right." George glanced across the street again. The girl had closed her blinds.
"No, I'm serious." George didn't move. The fox boy sighed. "Come on, if I wanted to eat you I could just, uh, climb up and get you."
"Foxes can't climb trees," George pointed out. "Anyway, if you wanted to talk to me, you could just climb up and get me too."
"Yeah, well, I..." The fox boy trailed off. "All right. All right, I will." He rolled up his sleeves and wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree.
George watched as the fox boy grunted and struggled with the tree. "I told you it wouldn't work."
"Just...just gimme a second." The fox boy leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. "All right." He straightened up and took a few steps backwards, then went for the tree at a dead run. He managed to scrabble a few inches up the trunk before he slid down, his claws making tracks in the bark, and landed on his back in the grass.
George giggled. The fox glared at him. He covered his mouth. "I'm sorry. It's just..." He felt himself slipping, and scrabbled for purchase on the branch, body still shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter. The branch gave way under his paws. He waved his tail frantically, trying to regain his balance.
He landed on his paws on the pavement and staggered to his feet, gasping. The unexpected fall had knocked the wind out of him, and the pavement wobbled treacherously beneath him.
He felt pressure on his back, strong paws shoving him away. He stumbled, falling over himself, and felt a sharp pain in his head and then everything went black...
Ω
"Hey! Hey, are you okay?" A paw against his cheek, turning his head. He let his head fall back onto the grass. "C'mon, c'mon, get up..."
George opened his eyes to see two bright yellow eyes boring into his. The fox! He scrabbled back instinctively. "Please, please, please don't eat me..."
"I'm not gonna eat you." The fox sat back on his haunches. "Jeez, George, I saved you from that car. Would I have done that if I was just gonna eat you?"
"Maybe...maybe you just didn't want roadkill." George stared at him, watching for any sudden movements or a telltale flash of teeth.
The fox sighed and held up his paws. "George, come on. Listen, I promise I'm not going to eat you, okay?" He spread his arms out and let himself fall backwards onto the grass, his red T-shirt sliding up to expose his white belly, gleaming in the sun. "Look."
"What does that mean?" George asked.
The fox looked up. "It means, uh...it means I'm not a threat, you know? It means I, um..." His voice cracked. "I surrender."
George's tail twitched. "Really?"
"Yeah." The fox raised his head and smiled, a real smile, without teeth. "My name's Marty, by the way."
George scratched the back of his head. "Then what do you want? I mean, if you're not going to eat me..." He inched closer to the prone figure of the fox, unable to determine whether it was still a trick and he was about to be devoured through his own gullibility. Foxes were smart, almost as clever and tricky as the rangy, sly coyotes that wandered into town every so often from the desert.
The fox glanced back over his shoulder at the house that George had been spying on. "Well, you know that cat girl..."
Ω
George curled himself up tightly, his tail hiding his face, replaying the embarassing scenario over and over in his head. He'd gone into the diner and approached Lorraine, the cat girl that Marty had pointed out to him, the one who'd been grooming herself. She'd been sitting in a booth, sharing a bowl of tuna and milk with her friends. When he'd tried to approach her and sniff her, she'd batted him away and hissed.
"She almost scratched my eye out! This isn't going to work, Marty. Maybe she's not even in heat."
"Trust me, she is. I could smell it from a mile away. She's just waiting for you to come up to her and sweep her off her feet, George." Marty patted him on the shoulder.
"She's never going to mate with me." George sighed. "She's going to mate with some big carnivore like Biff."
"She wants to mate with you, George, she just doesn't know it yet. That's why we gotta show her that you, George McFly--" Marty poked him in the stomach. "--are a fighter. That you're fit to pass on your genes. That you're a real dominant male."
"But I'm not!" George wailed. "Marty, I'm a lemur. We're not supposed to be aggressive with girls." He rubbed his nose. "She'll just laugh at me. Or eat me."
"Jeez, George, what's with you and getting eaten?"
"I'm an herbivore." George glared at Marty. "We get eaten a lot. By cats, and dogs, and foxes..."
"I already told you I wasn't going to eat you," Marty said.
"No, you just want to get me to mate with a cat. It's not going to work, Marty. I mean...how could we have kids?"
"They could be hybrids?"
George buried his face in his tail. "I don't know. I don't know why you're trying to do this for me."
Marty pulled George's tail away from his face and put a soft paw on either side of his cheek. "Because I like you, George. And because you two should be together."
"I already told you, it's not going to work." George pounded the bedspread. "She's a cat, and I'm a lemur, and..."
"Listen. George, listen to me, okay? You're going to mate with Lorraine, and you're going to have little hybrid kids and live happily ever after and you're going to do that by going up to her before she goes out of heat and impressing her with just how strong and dominant and genetically desirable you are, and if Biff tries to horn in on you two you're going to kick his ass." Marty's eyes searched George's face. "Right?"
George tried to twist away. "You sound so sure about it."
"I mean...it doesn't matter if you're a lemur or not. My mom's a carnivore, and my dad's an herbivore, and they get along just fine...you just have to stop acting like a lemur."
"I can't." George curled up on his pillow. Eventually, he became aware of a soft, pleasant pressure on his tail. Marty was stroking it, letting the tip curl around his paw. It felt nice, and he started to purr.
"Come on, George. Get up."
George raised his head. "Why?"
Marty tugged at his paw. "Come on. Sit up."
George sighed and sat up, resting his front legs on his hind legs. "All right..."
"Now pounce on me."
"What?"
"Like a predator. See if you can do it."
George hesitated, then slid off the bed and spread out his arms as aggressively as he could and started to hop, glaring at Marty. The fox boy almost fell over laughing. George dropped his arms. "What's so funny?"
"What're you doing?"
"Trying to, you know...intimidate you. Like a predator?"
"That's how lemurs do it, huh?" Marty propped himself up on his elbows. "Never saw you do that before, I guess."
"Well, no, I was just trying to run away from you before."
"Yeah, I know. Listen, just jump on me, okay? You'll never impress Lorraine by hopping around like that."
"Okay." George hunched over, preparing to leap, pretending like he was just going to jump onto another tree branch. He closed his eyes and sprung onto the bed.
"Not like that, exactly." Marty peeled George's arms from around his neck. "You don't want to cling to me, George."
"Sorry." George dropped off the fox boy's neck and sat on the bed. "What am I supposed to do, then? I just don't have the predator's instinct, I guess."
"Aw, come on, sure you do..." Marty slapped him on the back.
George stared at Marty. Had the fox boy lost his mind? "No, I don't. I eat leaves. You don't hunt leaves or fruit or sap like you do rabbits."
"Fine, maybe you don't. But you can fake it, right? You just have to...be shown what to do."
"What? No..." But Marty had already dropped to all fours on the bed. He began to growl.
"Marty? Stop, you're scaring me." George tried to scramble away.
Marty pounced. George almost had the wind knocked out of him for the second time that day as the fox boy pinned his shoulders to the mattress.
"Like that," Marty growled. George was shaking so badly he could barely speak. Marty had already promised that he wouldn't eat George, but if the fox boy's instincts overcame him...He tried not to look at Marty's sharp, gleaming teeth.
Hot breath on his throat, smelling of meat and coffee. "You pounce, like that. And then you bite, just a little, like this. Just to show them that you mean business." Warm lips just brushing the hollow of his throat, and teeth, sharp teeth just shy of breaking the skin.
"Guh...dah..." George froze, afraid that the slightest move would spur Marty to bite deeper into his throat. "On anyone? Do girls like that?"
"Girls like this." A rough tongue scraping across the thin fur and delicate skin of his throat, a cold wet nose nuzzled next to his. He couldn't keep himself from purring and wriggling as the fox boy slid a hand up the back of his shirt and caressed his fur. Predators played games with their prey, he knew, but he'd never heard of one grooming his meal before eating it. His tail twitched, curling behind his back from the pleasure.
Abruptly, Marty drew away and sat back on his haunches. "See? Like that. It's not so hard."
George nodded, disappointed that the fox boy had stopped. "And that's what Lorraine'll like?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"What about Biff?"
Marty gave him an odd look. "Uh, what about him?"
"I mean, what do I do? To, you know, intimidate him..."
"Oh." Marty looked relieved. "The same thing. Just, uh, bite harder and don't let go. You know how dogs are--if you can get them by the throat, they'll accept you as alpha and won't bother you again."
"Okay." George ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering if they were sharp enough to break the skin. Probably not, but a set of teeth that chewed up twigs could probably deal out enough pain to get even a pit bull to surrender.
He smiled at Marty and purred contentedly. It was good to have a predator on your side, for once.
The fox boy was staring at him.
George fought down a shudder and shoved another leaf into his mouth. A predator wouldn't dare to actually attack right in the middle of Lou's Cafe, would be?
He risked a quick glance at the fox. He wasn't licking his chops, the way some of the feral foxes did before they pounced on a rabbit or a vole. His ears were pricked up, like he was listening for something. Was he afraid of George? A fox, afraid of a little lemur?
The fight-or-flight response was getting too strong to ignore. George glanced around to see if there were any trees or bushes around that would provide decent cover in case the fox did attack, but all of them were too far away--if he tried to run, the fox would catch up to him within moments.
The fox hadn't taken his eyes off him for a moment. George swallowed, shaking, and turned to face him, praying that he wasn't about to get his throat torn out. "What?"
"You're George McFly," the fox whispered.
Maybe he was one of those foxes who were too stupid to find food on their own. In that case, he was probably safe..."Yeah. Who're you?"
"Say!" A beak in his face, connected to a long neck craning over his shoulder. Goldie had fluttered over to join them. "What do you let those mutts push you around like that for?"
"Well, they're carnivores," George explained. "And they could eat me."
"Stand tall, boy! Have some respect for yourself." Goldie continued squawking into George's ear. He snuck another look at the fox, who had transferred his attention to the heron's neck. Now would be the perfect time to run. He slipped off the stool and skittered to the door, his paws scrabbling on the tile.
Ω
George clung to the tree branch, comforted by the feel of rough bark under his paws. Foxes and dogs couldn't climb trees, he was sure of it. He'd be perfectly safe for as long as he could stay up here.
A movement across the street caught his eye. He scooted along the branch on his belly and tried to focus on it. It was one of the cat girls he saw every day in school. She was grooming herself, licking her own shoulder with the utmost delicacy.
"He's a peeping Tom!" George snapped his head downwards, peering through the leaves to see the fox boy from the diner staring straight up at him.
He almost fell out of the tree. How had the fox boy followed him?
"Go away," he hissed.
The fox boy stuck his hands in his pockets. "Aw, George, come on out of the tree."
"No!" He gripped the branch tighter. "Leave me alone. Go find a--a rabbit or a chicken to eat instead of me."
"You think I'm going to eat you?" The fox boy laughed nervously. "I just wanna talk, okay?"
"Yeah, right." George glanced across the street again. The girl had closed her blinds.
"No, I'm serious." George didn't move. The fox boy sighed. "Come on, if I wanted to eat you I could just, uh, climb up and get you."
"Foxes can't climb trees," George pointed out. "Anyway, if you wanted to talk to me, you could just climb up and get me too."
"Yeah, well, I..." The fox boy trailed off. "All right. All right, I will." He rolled up his sleeves and wrapped his arms around the trunk of the tree.
George watched as the fox boy grunted and struggled with the tree. "I told you it wouldn't work."
"Just...just gimme a second." The fox boy leaned over, hands on his knees, panting. "All right." He straightened up and took a few steps backwards, then went for the tree at a dead run. He managed to scrabble a few inches up the trunk before he slid down, his claws making tracks in the bark, and landed on his back in the grass.
George giggled. The fox glared at him. He covered his mouth. "I'm sorry. It's just..." He felt himself slipping, and scrabbled for purchase on the branch, body still shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter. The branch gave way under his paws. He waved his tail frantically, trying to regain his balance.
He landed on his paws on the pavement and staggered to his feet, gasping. The unexpected fall had knocked the wind out of him, and the pavement wobbled treacherously beneath him.
He felt pressure on his back, strong paws shoving him away. He stumbled, falling over himself, and felt a sharp pain in his head and then everything went black...
Ω
"Hey! Hey, are you okay?" A paw against his cheek, turning his head. He let his head fall back onto the grass. "C'mon, c'mon, get up..."
George opened his eyes to see two bright yellow eyes boring into his. The fox! He scrabbled back instinctively. "Please, please, please don't eat me..."
"I'm not gonna eat you." The fox sat back on his haunches. "Jeez, George, I saved you from that car. Would I have done that if I was just gonna eat you?"
"Maybe...maybe you just didn't want roadkill." George stared at him, watching for any sudden movements or a telltale flash of teeth.
The fox sighed and held up his paws. "George, come on. Listen, I promise I'm not going to eat you, okay?" He spread his arms out and let himself fall backwards onto the grass, his red T-shirt sliding up to expose his white belly, gleaming in the sun. "Look."
"What does that mean?" George asked.
The fox looked up. "It means, uh...it means I'm not a threat, you know? It means I, um..." His voice cracked. "I surrender."
George's tail twitched. "Really?"
"Yeah." The fox raised his head and smiled, a real smile, without teeth. "My name's Marty, by the way."
George scratched the back of his head. "Then what do you want? I mean, if you're not going to eat me..." He inched closer to the prone figure of the fox, unable to determine whether it was still a trick and he was about to be devoured through his own gullibility. Foxes were smart, almost as clever and tricky as the rangy, sly coyotes that wandered into town every so often from the desert.
The fox glanced back over his shoulder at the house that George had been spying on. "Well, you know that cat girl..."
Ω
George curled himself up tightly, his tail hiding his face, replaying the embarassing scenario over and over in his head. He'd gone into the diner and approached Lorraine, the cat girl that Marty had pointed out to him, the one who'd been grooming herself. She'd been sitting in a booth, sharing a bowl of tuna and milk with her friends. When he'd tried to approach her and sniff her, she'd batted him away and hissed.
"She almost scratched my eye out! This isn't going to work, Marty. Maybe she's not even in heat."
"Trust me, she is. I could smell it from a mile away. She's just waiting for you to come up to her and sweep her off her feet, George." Marty patted him on the shoulder.
"She's never going to mate with me." George sighed. "She's going to mate with some big carnivore like Biff."
"She wants to mate with you, George, she just doesn't know it yet. That's why we gotta show her that you, George McFly--" Marty poked him in the stomach. "--are a fighter. That you're fit to pass on your genes. That you're a real dominant male."
"But I'm not!" George wailed. "Marty, I'm a lemur. We're not supposed to be aggressive with girls." He rubbed his nose. "She'll just laugh at me. Or eat me."
"Jeez, George, what's with you and getting eaten?"
"I'm an herbivore." George glared at Marty. "We get eaten a lot. By cats, and dogs, and foxes..."
"I already told you I wasn't going to eat you," Marty said.
"No, you just want to get me to mate with a cat. It's not going to work, Marty. I mean...how could we have kids?"
"They could be hybrids?"
George buried his face in his tail. "I don't know. I don't know why you're trying to do this for me."
Marty pulled George's tail away from his face and put a soft paw on either side of his cheek. "Because I like you, George. And because you two should be together."
"I already told you, it's not going to work." George pounded the bedspread. "She's a cat, and I'm a lemur, and..."
"Listen. George, listen to me, okay? You're going to mate with Lorraine, and you're going to have little hybrid kids and live happily ever after and you're going to do that by going up to her before she goes out of heat and impressing her with just how strong and dominant and genetically desirable you are, and if Biff tries to horn in on you two you're going to kick his ass." Marty's eyes searched George's face. "Right?"
George tried to twist away. "You sound so sure about it."
"I mean...it doesn't matter if you're a lemur or not. My mom's a carnivore, and my dad's an herbivore, and they get along just fine...you just have to stop acting like a lemur."
"I can't." George curled up on his pillow. Eventually, he became aware of a soft, pleasant pressure on his tail. Marty was stroking it, letting the tip curl around his paw. It felt nice, and he started to purr.
"Come on, George. Get up."
George raised his head. "Why?"
Marty tugged at his paw. "Come on. Sit up."
George sighed and sat up, resting his front legs on his hind legs. "All right..."
"Now pounce on me."
"What?"
"Like a predator. See if you can do it."
George hesitated, then slid off the bed and spread out his arms as aggressively as he could and started to hop, glaring at Marty. The fox boy almost fell over laughing. George dropped his arms. "What's so funny?"
"What're you doing?"
"Trying to, you know...intimidate you. Like a predator?"
"That's how lemurs do it, huh?" Marty propped himself up on his elbows. "Never saw you do that before, I guess."
"Well, no, I was just trying to run away from you before."
"Yeah, I know. Listen, just jump on me, okay? You'll never impress Lorraine by hopping around like that."
"Okay." George hunched over, preparing to leap, pretending like he was just going to jump onto another tree branch. He closed his eyes and sprung onto the bed.
"Not like that, exactly." Marty peeled George's arms from around his neck. "You don't want to cling to me, George."
"Sorry." George dropped off the fox boy's neck and sat on the bed. "What am I supposed to do, then? I just don't have the predator's instinct, I guess."
"Aw, come on, sure you do..." Marty slapped him on the back.
George stared at Marty. Had the fox boy lost his mind? "No, I don't. I eat leaves. You don't hunt leaves or fruit or sap like you do rabbits."
"Fine, maybe you don't. But you can fake it, right? You just have to...be shown what to do."
"What? No..." But Marty had already dropped to all fours on the bed. He began to growl.
"Marty? Stop, you're scaring me." George tried to scramble away.
Marty pounced. George almost had the wind knocked out of him for the second time that day as the fox boy pinned his shoulders to the mattress.
"Like that," Marty growled. George was shaking so badly he could barely speak. Marty had already promised that he wouldn't eat George, but if the fox boy's instincts overcame him...He tried not to look at Marty's sharp, gleaming teeth.
Hot breath on his throat, smelling of meat and coffee. "You pounce, like that. And then you bite, just a little, like this. Just to show them that you mean business." Warm lips just brushing the hollow of his throat, and teeth, sharp teeth just shy of breaking the skin.
"Guh...dah..." George froze, afraid that the slightest move would spur Marty to bite deeper into his throat. "On anyone? Do girls like that?"
"Girls like this." A rough tongue scraping across the thin fur and delicate skin of his throat, a cold wet nose nuzzled next to his. He couldn't keep himself from purring and wriggling as the fox boy slid a hand up the back of his shirt and caressed his fur. Predators played games with their prey, he knew, but he'd never heard of one grooming his meal before eating it. His tail twitched, curling behind his back from the pleasure.
Abruptly, Marty drew away and sat back on his haunches. "See? Like that. It's not so hard."
George nodded, disappointed that the fox boy had stopped. "And that's what Lorraine'll like?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"What about Biff?"
Marty gave him an odd look. "Uh, what about him?"
"I mean, what do I do? To, you know, intimidate him..."
"Oh." Marty looked relieved. "The same thing. Just, uh, bite harder and don't let go. You know how dogs are--if you can get them by the throat, they'll accept you as alpha and won't bother you again."
"Okay." George ran his tongue over his teeth, wondering if they were sharp enough to break the skin. Probably not, but a set of teeth that chewed up twigs could probably deal out enough pain to get even a pit bull to surrender.
He smiled at Marty and purred contentedly. It was good to have a predator on your side, for once.