Erin Ptah (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ptahrrific) wrote2012-04-03 03:35 pm
ptahrrific) wrote2012-04-03 03:35 pm
Entry tags:
Fake News: Little Red State Riding Hood
Title: Little Red State Riding Hood
Rating: PG-13
Contents: ...wolf play?
Characters/pairings: wolf!Jon/"Stephen", Willard Mittington "Romney" Romney
Disclaimer: #NotIntendedToBeAFactualStatement. Characters belong to the Report. Names of real people are used in a fictitious context, and all dialogue, actions, and content are products of the author's imagination only.
An election-era fairy tale, starring the characters depicted in Grey Wolf and Little Red.
Now with a sequel!
The Wolf was having a nice relaxing day. Lounging in the sun-soaked meadow at the edge of the forest, not even caring whether he got grass stains on his suit, enjoying having ladybugs crawl over his grey silk tie and trying not to twitch his furry ears when a butterfly landed on the tips.
He did prick his ears at the sound of human footsteps on the wooded path. Most of the time he could run rings around any of the hunters that wandered in these woods, but you could never be too careful.
As the footsteps drew closer, the Wolf slunk under the cover of the trees and found a pack of brambles through which to spy on the path. The traveler came into view quickly: a young man, covered basket in hand, wearing a cloak of the brightest, gaudiest red the Wolf had ever seen.
Plus, he didn't seem to be wearing a shirt under it. So that was interesting.
The Wolf straightened his tie, ran one clawed finger under the rim of his collar, and strolled out onto the path.
Stephen was making his way through a particularly thorny stretch of the woods when a grey-clad stranger appeared as if out of nowhere and matched his pace. "Afternoon."
"Good afternoon," said Stephen politely, though he held his basket a few inches closer. Just in case.
"Nice day, isn't it? Still, it's probably nice back at your home, too. What's a pretty young thing like you doing this far out in the forest, hm?"
"I'm not really supposed to talk to strangers," admitted Stephen. "There are some pretty unsavory types in these woods, you know. Like...."
"...wolves?" suggested the stranger.
Stephen shuddered. "Bears."
"Oh." The stranger looked faintly disappointed. "Well. If I introduce myself, then we won't be strangers anymore, right? I'm Jon. What's your name?"
"Stephen." Then, compelled by honesty, he went on: "But everyone calls me Little Red State Riding Hood."
"Ah." Jon waved vaguely at Stephen's chest, where the scarlet cloak was knotted. "Because of the, the thing."
"It's not a very good nickname," admitted Stephen. "Being four times as long as my actual name, and all."
Jon turned on one of his smartly polished dress heels so that he was standing in Stephen's way. He caught the ties of the cloak between his fingertips, letting the red strings make waterfalls over pale skin and unnervingly sharp nails. "It's an eyecatcher of a hood, I'll say that. But I'm happy to call you Stephen, if you want."
Clutching the basket for the Candidate in both hands now, Stephen stammered, "I...I'd like that."
"So...Stephen." Jon's crooked, closemouthed smile was doing funny things to Stephen's insides. "I still want to know what you're doing out here. Like you said, it's an unsavory place." He traced the pad of one finger down the center of Stephen's bare chest (for a wild second Stephen wondered if Jon would continue all the way to the waistband of his loose linen trousers). "Lots of things out here just might want to gobble you up."
"Basket!" blurted Stephen. He jiggled the wicker basket, making the delicious foodstuffs bounce under the cloth covering. "I've got a basket. Taking it to the Candidate. It's a gift."
"The Candidate?" echoed Jon, ears pricking. "I know that guy. Friend of yours?"
"No!" Stephen fought down a shudder. "I don't even like him. But we all have to get used to him, so I may as well make the best of it, right? That's why I'm bringing him all his favorite stuff." He paused. "At least, all the stuff he said was his favorite at some point. Like grits. And corn. And some fried things on sticks. And foie gras, which I don't think he's actually mentioned but is probably a safe bet. And pork! Everybody loves pork, right?"
"Depends on how many houses you have to blow down to get it," muttered Jon.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," said Jon quickly. Still standing in Stephen's way, he flicked his tongue over his lips. "Just thinking. You know what I bet the Candidate would really love? If you brought him a couple of ringing endorsements."
Stephen considered. "I guess so. But where am I supposed to find those?"
"Well, just between you and me...." Jon gestured with a nod toward the brighter side of the forest, where the trees thinned out and the bright hues of wildflowers shone through the underbrush. "I ran into a couple undecided songbirds in that meadow over there."
At the Candidate's mansion, the Wolf snuck in, found the man himself, and had a late lunch. It wasn't very satisfying -- mostly hot air. He then folded up the legs and cuffs of one of the Candidate's suits so it would fit him, and topped it off with one of the Candidate's spare sets of snap-on hair.
Just as he was getting comfortable on the lush parlor's couch, the bell rang.
"Why, if it isn't Little Red State Riding Hood!" exclaimed the Wolf, curving one paw around to the small of Stephen's back and ushering him inside. "Come in, come in. What's this you have? A present? How charming! Have a seat. Let's talk."
"I really can't stay," stammered Stephen, letting the Wolf take his basket and pulling the scarlet cloak more closely around his upper body. "The walk took longer than I thought, what with wasting a lot of time trying to talk you up to some birdbrains in the meadow, and I have to get home before sunset...."
"Oh, I'm sure there's a guest bedroom or ten here if you need it." The Wolf dropped the basket on an end table between the couch and the darkened fireplace, then stroked the velvety crimson fabric down Stephen's spine. "Besides, after that long walk, you deserve to lie down for a while."
"I could use a rest," admitted Stephen. The hood fell back across his shoulders, revealing tousled hair and flushing cheeks. "I, um...Candidate, what big ears you have today."
The Wolf winced. The snap-on hair had covered his own gray ruff, but his ears were too large to be shoved underneath. "All the better to hear the needs of the American people with, my dear."
"And...." Stephen stumbled to a stop in front of the couch, turning slightly to face the Wolf. "And what a big nose you have."
"All the better to avoid accusations of not supporting Israel, my dear." The Wolf pushed him gently to a sitting position, leaning with one knee on the cushion beside him.
Stephen's eyes darted to the way those silk trousers shifted at the apex of the Wolf's legs. "And...and what a big...not that I didn't think it would be big, I just never...I mean...."
The Wolf gripped Stephen's shoulder, enjoying the way Stephen's almond-brown eyes went wide as he leaned in. "All the better to thank you for your support with, my dear."
"Guh," said Stephen, and let the Wolf drag him into a kiss.
There were more differences in the Candidate, which Stephen couldn't help noticing even in the heady surrender to the man's tongue. He seemed a lot shorter than usual, for one. And what blue eyes he had. And what sharp claws, digging into the flesh of Stephen's shoulders even through his cloak. And, and....
...and what superfluous snap-off hair?
Stephen all but swallowed his tongue. The perfectly coiffed hairpiece tumbled to the ground. He was pinned, not by the handsome if eerily plastic-y Candidate, but by a handsome, gray-furred, sharp-fanged, charming, hungry-looking Wolf. "J-Jon?"
"Yeah, it's me," said Jon, with an oddly sheepish grin. "Sorry about the disguise. But you did seem pretty into it."
Stephen flinched as the late-afternoon sunlight glinted off those teeth. "Stupid, Col-bert, stupid!" he hissed to himself. "Why didn't you listen to the warnings? You're too pretty to die, much less to end up as wolf chow because you couldn't resist a nice guy in a suit!"
Jon started. "'Wolf chow'? You think I'm going to kill you?"
"Of course! What else would you do?"
"Well, I was mostly thinking I'd hump your leg for a while," said Jon with a shrug. "Then sniff you in embarrassing places, maybe lick you all over. With a break at some point to share some of the Ham Rove in your basket over there. Definitely lick you after that. I mean, c'mon, human-smelling hands and face covered in ham grease? A-maz-ing~!"
When he put it that way, it didn't sound so bad. In fact, it sounded a lot more appealing than anything Stephen had imagined for his visit to the Candidate. He wondered idly if Jon were running for anything.
"You promise you're not going to eat me?" he said at last.
The way Jon smirked at that, it was a wonder the ties on Stephen's pants didn't spontaneously yank themselves apart. "Not unless you ask nicely."
Rating: PG-13
Contents: ...wolf play?
Characters/pairings: wolf!Jon/"Stephen", Willard Mittington "Romney" Romney
Disclaimer: #NotIntendedToBeAFactualStatement. Characters belong to the Report. Names of real people are used in a fictitious context, and all dialogue, actions, and content are products of the author's imagination only.
An election-era fairy tale, starring the characters depicted in Grey Wolf and Little Red.
Now with a sequel!
The Wolf was having a nice relaxing day. Lounging in the sun-soaked meadow at the edge of the forest, not even caring whether he got grass stains on his suit, enjoying having ladybugs crawl over his grey silk tie and trying not to twitch his furry ears when a butterfly landed on the tips.
He did prick his ears at the sound of human footsteps on the wooded path. Most of the time he could run rings around any of the hunters that wandered in these woods, but you could never be too careful.
As the footsteps drew closer, the Wolf slunk under the cover of the trees and found a pack of brambles through which to spy on the path. The traveler came into view quickly: a young man, covered basket in hand, wearing a cloak of the brightest, gaudiest red the Wolf had ever seen.
Plus, he didn't seem to be wearing a shirt under it. So that was interesting.
The Wolf straightened his tie, ran one clawed finger under the rim of his collar, and strolled out onto the path.
Stephen was making his way through a particularly thorny stretch of the woods when a grey-clad stranger appeared as if out of nowhere and matched his pace. "Afternoon."
"Good afternoon," said Stephen politely, though he held his basket a few inches closer. Just in case.
"Nice day, isn't it? Still, it's probably nice back at your home, too. What's a pretty young thing like you doing this far out in the forest, hm?"
"I'm not really supposed to talk to strangers," admitted Stephen. "There are some pretty unsavory types in these woods, you know. Like...."
"...wolves?" suggested the stranger.
Stephen shuddered. "Bears."
"Oh." The stranger looked faintly disappointed. "Well. If I introduce myself, then we won't be strangers anymore, right? I'm Jon. What's your name?"
"Stephen." Then, compelled by honesty, he went on: "But everyone calls me Little Red State Riding Hood."
"Ah." Jon waved vaguely at Stephen's chest, where the scarlet cloak was knotted. "Because of the, the thing."
"It's not a very good nickname," admitted Stephen. "Being four times as long as my actual name, and all."
Jon turned on one of his smartly polished dress heels so that he was standing in Stephen's way. He caught the ties of the cloak between his fingertips, letting the red strings make waterfalls over pale skin and unnervingly sharp nails. "It's an eyecatcher of a hood, I'll say that. But I'm happy to call you Stephen, if you want."
Clutching the basket for the Candidate in both hands now, Stephen stammered, "I...I'd like that."
"So...Stephen." Jon's crooked, closemouthed smile was doing funny things to Stephen's insides. "I still want to know what you're doing out here. Like you said, it's an unsavory place." He traced the pad of one finger down the center of Stephen's bare chest (for a wild second Stephen wondered if Jon would continue all the way to the waistband of his loose linen trousers). "Lots of things out here just might want to gobble you up."
"Basket!" blurted Stephen. He jiggled the wicker basket, making the delicious foodstuffs bounce under the cloth covering. "I've got a basket. Taking it to the Candidate. It's a gift."
"The Candidate?" echoed Jon, ears pricking. "I know that guy. Friend of yours?"
"No!" Stephen fought down a shudder. "I don't even like him. But we all have to get used to him, so I may as well make the best of it, right? That's why I'm bringing him all his favorite stuff." He paused. "At least, all the stuff he said was his favorite at some point. Like grits. And corn. And some fried things on sticks. And foie gras, which I don't think he's actually mentioned but is probably a safe bet. And pork! Everybody loves pork, right?"
"Depends on how many houses you have to blow down to get it," muttered Jon.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," said Jon quickly. Still standing in Stephen's way, he flicked his tongue over his lips. "Just thinking. You know what I bet the Candidate would really love? If you brought him a couple of ringing endorsements."
Stephen considered. "I guess so. But where am I supposed to find those?"
"Well, just between you and me...." Jon gestured with a nod toward the brighter side of the forest, where the trees thinned out and the bright hues of wildflowers shone through the underbrush. "I ran into a couple undecided songbirds in that meadow over there."
At the Candidate's mansion, the Wolf snuck in, found the man himself, and had a late lunch. It wasn't very satisfying -- mostly hot air. He then folded up the legs and cuffs of one of the Candidate's suits so it would fit him, and topped it off with one of the Candidate's spare sets of snap-on hair.
Just as he was getting comfortable on the lush parlor's couch, the bell rang.
"Why, if it isn't Little Red State Riding Hood!" exclaimed the Wolf, curving one paw around to the small of Stephen's back and ushering him inside. "Come in, come in. What's this you have? A present? How charming! Have a seat. Let's talk."
"I really can't stay," stammered Stephen, letting the Wolf take his basket and pulling the scarlet cloak more closely around his upper body. "The walk took longer than I thought, what with wasting a lot of time trying to talk you up to some birdbrains in the meadow, and I have to get home before sunset...."
"Oh, I'm sure there's a guest bedroom or ten here if you need it." The Wolf dropped the basket on an end table between the couch and the darkened fireplace, then stroked the velvety crimson fabric down Stephen's spine. "Besides, after that long walk, you deserve to lie down for a while."
"I could use a rest," admitted Stephen. The hood fell back across his shoulders, revealing tousled hair and flushing cheeks. "I, um...Candidate, what big ears you have today."
The Wolf winced. The snap-on hair had covered his own gray ruff, but his ears were too large to be shoved underneath. "All the better to hear the needs of the American people with, my dear."
"And...." Stephen stumbled to a stop in front of the couch, turning slightly to face the Wolf. "And what a big nose you have."
"All the better to avoid accusations of not supporting Israel, my dear." The Wolf pushed him gently to a sitting position, leaning with one knee on the cushion beside him.
Stephen's eyes darted to the way those silk trousers shifted at the apex of the Wolf's legs. "And...and what a big...not that I didn't think it would be big, I just never...I mean...."
The Wolf gripped Stephen's shoulder, enjoying the way Stephen's almond-brown eyes went wide as he leaned in. "All the better to thank you for your support with, my dear."
"Guh," said Stephen, and let the Wolf drag him into a kiss.
There were more differences in the Candidate, which Stephen couldn't help noticing even in the heady surrender to the man's tongue. He seemed a lot shorter than usual, for one. And what blue eyes he had. And what sharp claws, digging into the flesh of Stephen's shoulders even through his cloak. And, and....
...and what superfluous snap-off hair?
Stephen all but swallowed his tongue. The perfectly coiffed hairpiece tumbled to the ground. He was pinned, not by the handsome if eerily plastic-y Candidate, but by a handsome, gray-furred, sharp-fanged, charming, hungry-looking Wolf. "J-Jon?"
"Yeah, it's me," said Jon, with an oddly sheepish grin. "Sorry about the disguise. But you did seem pretty into it."
Stephen flinched as the late-afternoon sunlight glinted off those teeth. "Stupid, Col-bert, stupid!" he hissed to himself. "Why didn't you listen to the warnings? You're too pretty to die, much less to end up as wolf chow because you couldn't resist a nice guy in a suit!"
Jon started. "'Wolf chow'? You think I'm going to kill you?"
"Of course! What else would you do?"
"Well, I was mostly thinking I'd hump your leg for a while," said Jon with a shrug. "Then sniff you in embarrassing places, maybe lick you all over. With a break at some point to share some of the Ham Rove in your basket over there. Definitely lick you after that. I mean, c'mon, human-smelling hands and face covered in ham grease? A-maz-ing~!"
When he put it that way, it didn't sound so bad. In fact, it sounded a lot more appealing than anything Stephen had imagined for his visit to the Candidate. He wondered idly if Jon were running for anything.
"You promise you're not going to eat me?" he said at last.
The way Jon smirked at that, it was a wonder the ties on Stephen's pants didn't spontaneously yank themselves apart. "Not unless you ask nicely."
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