Cats and Dogs

Fandom: Anita Blake

Category/Rated: NC-17

Year/Length: 2006/~1946

Pairing: Jason/Nathaniel

Disclaimer: The boys actually belong to Laurell K. Hamilton, who writes them much better than I ever will. I own nothing and make no profit from my sneak attack.

Author's Notes: Strangely, this was also requested by digital_opium, and I lucked out and snagged it. She requested a story about Jason Schuyler and Nathaniel Graison from the Anita Blake books getting it on. I was really excited to borrow Jason and Nathaniel for a wee while.

In the red corner, we have Jason Schuyler. Jason is young – just twenty or thereabouts, and he's blond and built with the kind of cornflower blue eyes that just holler innocence at you until it's way too late. He moves as if he's boneless, graceful, evident strength in his sturdy body, and he isn't ashamed of showing what he has, which is a lot. Jason is a stripper at Guilty Pleasures, the nightclub owned by Jean-Claude, and he's got a healthy interest in sex. Actually, a better description of Jason might be perpetually horny, although dominant he's not; he's more what you might describe as a pushy bottom.

He's got some strange kinks - for instance, he's the pomme de sang of the local Master of the City, and I am so not going there. Donating blood to the monsters isn't something I want to contemplate, although Jason is always happy to oblige and tells me that it's about as much fun as one person can stand.

Kinks apart, Jason's the sort of boy that your mother would like you to take home to meet her, because he looks clean and charming, and he's attentive. He cleans up well although he mostly doesn't bother, preferring to advertise his undeniably attractive self in the kind of clothing that makes him look like an S/M porno flick waiting to happen. He used to have long, fine blond hair that sifted through your fingers and spilled around his shoulders like spun gold, although recently he's had it cut short – almost businessman short. I've got to say that I miss the hair.

Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you, he's a werewolf.

In the blue corner, you'll see our other contender, Nathaniel Graison. He's also a stripper, and moves with the same fluid grace as his opponent. He's not a tall man either, but he's got a pair of shoulders on him that any wrestler would be proud of. His face is on the feminine side, with huge, sad eyes that are the most amazing shade of violet, and rich chestnut hair that falls down almost to his knees. Nathaniel is a submissive – beyond submissive really. He's what you might think of as a pet, and for some reason he thinks that he's *my* pet. Somehow, Nathaniel manages to be childlike, catlike, and yet still be an adult. As if I didn't have enough complications in my life, I've got myself a pet kitty.

Oh, didn't I mention? Nathaniel turns furry once a month too; he's a were-leopard. The rest of the time he's the perfect wife. He cooks, cleans and for all I know, he watches the daytime soaps. I've been working with him, trying to give him some sense of the self esteem that he's lacked since he was a kid. The other day I got completely exasperated with him and gave him a direct order. Toughen up, kid, or leave. Fight for what you want. Stop being such a wimp.

I ought to have thought a little about what I said to him, but wisdom always comes with hindsight, and I guess it's up to me to sort this out – if I can.

So why am I talking about these two as if they are about to fall on each other and rend themselves limb from limb? Because they are, and I greatly fear that it's my fault. You see, I'm not particularly good at casual sex – I used to say that I don't do it at all, but lately my standards have been sadly slipping. Since I've been required to feed the ardeur, I've had to take it where I can get it, and that's really what provoked the current fight.

Nathaniel is… I guess he's in love with me, or thinks he is. I've let him move in and live with me; I've even let him share my bed, but like I said, I don't do casual sex. Nathaniel gets to cuddle, because the were-leopards seem to need that, but he sure doesn't get to touch. I'd say that Jason doesn't get to touch either, but there was an incident not so long ago where the ardeur had been persistent, Jason had, as he likes to call it, 'taken one for the team'. He's been ribbing Nathaniel about it for days, and it would seem that the impossible has happened. Nathaniel is angry.

I've never seen Nathaniel angry. I've seen him happy, and I've seen him hurt. I've even seen him excited, but angry isn't a word that would ever spring to mind in relation to the little were-leopard, but something snapped earlier today. Nathaniel, normally the gentlest, most biddable of creatures suddenly became a biting, scratching madman.

The very ferocity of his attack made Jason – the normally laughing, teasing Jason – step backwards and after a minute you could see him realize that this wasn't something that he should treat with his usual, insouciant charm.

He tried to hold Nathaniel at bay; I could see the trembling of muscles that would ordinarily be able to bench press a car pressed into service to stop Nathaniel hurting himself, but he'd bargained without the leopard's distress. Nathaniel fought, and kept on fighting. Bloody scratches appeared on Jason's face and shoulders, teeth sank into one rounded shoulder, and I could see Jason blinking, taken aback, worrying about the implications for him, if he should let Nathaniel beat him, or if he should beat my leopard.

I've never thought of Jason as being politically savvy, but as I watched the thoughts flicker transparent across his face, I began to re-evaluate. I'd almost convinced myself that he'd decided to take Nathaniel apart, limb from limb, when his voice came, strong and commanding, carrying with it that sound that's in seemingly any man's voice when he's sure of his conquest and rather proud of it.

"Nathaniel, lie down."

I could see Nathaniel's eyes widen. They'd bled from amethyst to topaz as his beast came to the fore, something that ordinarily he kept under tight control, and I could feel the energy roiling in the air as the two men struggled, cat versus dog in the eternal battle of pets everywhere.

"Lie down," said Jason, and kissed him on the mouth.

Nathaniel froze, instincts of a different kind coming to the fore, and Jason gave a small grunt, pulling the were-leopard close and sliding his hands down over the tight muscles of his back to cup his buttocks and draw him closer yet.

Both men are dancers, strippers at Guilty Pleasures. Both men have the boneless grace that is the hallmark of the shape-shifter, and neither of them is modest in any way. On this particular day, Nathaniel was wearing a white muscle-T and green satin jogging shorts, and his red hair spilled down over the white like something living to swing against the backs of his legs as he was lowered to the ground by his erstwhile opponent.

Jason, dressed in ripped and faded jeans and T-shirt, followed him down, mouth locked to Nathaniel's as if he would breathe him in. There was no longer any fighting, any pretence at hostility. Instead, Jason's grip on Nathaniel had changed, and now he had one hand twined in the thick braid that Nathaniel wore, holding it so that he could guide Nathaniel's face the way he wished it, holding him steady as he worried at the little leopard's mouth.

I stood, feeling the power wash over me as the encounter escalated; hands tore ungently at clothing, no longer interested in anything but achieving skin to skin contact. My own beast would not permit me to look away as I watched, hoping that neither man would tear out the other's throat. Nathaniel was the first to be reduced to nudity, his shorts shredded and cast aside, his shirt a memory, mere scraps of white fabric littering my kitchen floor. Jason gasped as Nathaniel's heated flesh came into contact with his own and was fighting now to get himself free of his own, hampering garments.

Before long, the two of them were naked, still struggling, but this time their fight was apparently to press as much of themselves to the other as possible. There were yelps and grunts still; teeth bit, clawed nails scratched, but now, although blood still flowed, the energies were different, and it was obvious that this was no battle to the death, but rather a desperate need for each to find release in the other one.

Watching as Jason dragged his mouth down over Nathaniel's throat to suck at his collarbone, and lower to take a nipple in between his teeth and worry it, I was poised for flight, ready to cover my eyes and yet unable to stop watching them, because they were so beautiful.

Nathaniel's braid was still clutched in Jason's hand, his neck arched back painfully although his face was beatific, beautiful in its passion. He was heavy-lidded, his mouth bruised and swollen, and his eyes glowing in his pale face. There was a trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth and his teeth were bared in an expression midway between a gasp and a snarl.

Jason, writhing against Nathaniel, was marking the leopard's body with his teeth, applying them in a pattern down the front of Nathaniel's muscular chest, but it was not enough, was never going to be enough. As the two of them fought for purchase each on the other, Nathaniel's voice, gone deep and hoarse, was begging for more.

I had never seen two men do more than touch; my one experience had been with Asher and Jean–Claude, and although their two pommes de sang – these two before me now – had orgasmed, there had been no actual sexual contact. All that was about to change. As I watched, Jason hooked Nathaniel's leg and pulled it up so that he could insert himself into the only place there was for him to go. I stared, open mouthed. It could not be comfortable, and yet Nathaniel wore a smile now that I could only describe as triumphant. It had to hurt, didn't it? Yeah, right.

The two of them were moving now, in synchrony, Nathaniel apparently non the worse for the violent motions of Jason's hips. I'd seen Jason's genitals, knew that he wasn't small, and yet there was no sign of distress as the two plunged toward their release.

It seemed like only an instant before Nathaniel gave a hoarse cry and shuddered, rapidly followed by Jason, whose utterance was only slightly more intelligible.

"Fuck, yeah," he yelled as his buttocks tightened over Nathaniel, and he moaned out the pleasure of sweet release; then, amidst much panting, the pair of them collapsed together.

That brought me to my senses, and I knew that I needed to leave right then, before I became embroiled in something that really wasn't going to make any of us happy. As I tiptoed out of the room, I could hear Jason murmuring the kind of idiotic endearments I suppose all new lovers share.

I'm always willing to undergo a learning experience when I'm hit over the head with it. Dense, me? Nah! As a result of my experiences I've made a note that cats and dogs, although there might be friction, can in fact share a household. What Jason and Nathaniel have learned I am not prepared to ask. Someone much braver than I can figure that one out. There are some things a girl just shouldn't ever admit curiosity about. This was pretty much all of them.

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