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Title: Little Tigers (Mythklok Interstitial)
Author: tikistitch
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ams not nice to tease kitties
Warnings: Tiger POV
Notes: Cats can’t actually sense sweet tastes, but I’ve decided Hobbes is a pie-eating tiger, and dammit, I’m sticking with it.

Lord Ganesh was in one of his favorite spots on earth: laid out atop his beloved angel.

His lovely angel had just returned from a morning jog round the compound, still breathing hard, his body slicked with sweat. It was utterly irresistible. Ganesh was currently working his way down the angel’s chest, tasting each and every centimeter, dizzy with his lover’s scent. And, he decided, following some hot dirty sex in the bedroom, they would move to the shower, perhaps for some hot clean sex. And then, they would proceed to the living room, where, blithely ignoring any angelic squawks of protest, he would pull that tight ass into his lap and they would sit and watch a film: perhaps an old American comedy, or maybe a Bollywood number where hapless Akshay Kapoor lost his shirt yet again and so had to brood prettily.


But Lord Ganesh’s cogitations regarding the day’s entertainment were rudely interrupted by a tiresome person. Unluckily enough, the interruption was courtesy the self-same person Lord Ganesh was intending on spending the day fucking senseless.


Yes, that was definitely his name. Called thrice, it was something to attend to. However, this was only the second time, so perhaps....


Ganesh muttered something and reached out one quick arm to the bedside table, where he snatched up a sticky note, and then carefully applied it to Sariel’s sweaty chest.

“Ganesh, what are you doing?” demanded Sariel, as Ganesh slid up to chat with his angel, face to face.

“Marking my place,” said Ganesh, playfully tapping the square yellow note with a finger.


“I intend to do this methodically. Now, what is the matter? I still have rather a lot of work before me!” protested Ganesh, waving a hand at the note, which was no more than one third of the way down Sariel’s bare torso.

“Uh. I was wondering....


“Would you still be with me if I was just … like this?”

“Mmmmm. Sweaty?” purred Ganesh enthusiastically, who thought he shouldn’t mind in the least, although it would tend to make things a bit more slippery. Perhaps ditching the silk sheets would be in order?

“No, I mean … no wings?”

“Oh!” said Ganesh. “Well, if you no longer wish relations when in your winged Form, we could work around that. It would eliminate a small element of fun, but I am certain-”

“Wait, really?”

“Of course, ‘really!’” said Ganesh, pushing himself up a bit and putting a hand through Sariel’s soft angel hair. “If you will recall, when we started, you declared that you refused to display your other Form to me. At all.”

“Did I? Oh, maybe I did….”

“The cumulative effect of cigarette smoke has probably clouded your central nervous system's ability to form memories. At any rate,” said Ganesh, who had now paused for quite long enough that some power of cognition had returned to him, “is this about us, or is it rather pertaining to Toki and Skwisgaar?”

“I’m trying to keep out of that one,” Sariel said quickly.

“Because you think that is the best course, or because you despise emotional intimacy on principle?” chuckled Ganesh, now nuzzling Sariel’s soft angel neck.

“Both!” Sariel admitted. Ganesh ceased his attentions and looked into his angel's in the eyes, surprised at the revelation. “Both,” Sariel repeated more softly.

“Well. Then let me admit something in turn. Perhaps the information will provide some insight,” said Ganesh, who was already starting to slide back down.


“I am a liar and a cheat!” announced Ganesh, grabbing the small square sticky note from Sariel's chest and flinging it heedlessly across the room.

“What?” said Sariel, now thoroughly confused.

“Remember, dear, I can see you as you are. Always,” he said, although some of the latter part was muttered into Sariel's chest. “Your magic,” he continued, giving a very gentle bite. “Your power....”

Hobbes was beside himself.

The little tiger leapt again, slashing the air with his savage tiger claws.

But the funny little bird once again darted out of his grasp, giggling all the time.

His Tiger Mama had sent him to live in his new realm with his little master. They were a proud family, with a distinguished history, she had explained. And now, as her firstborn, he would have the singular honor of serving the grandson of the glorious Lord Shiva and the resplendent Lady Parvati.

Hobbes wasn’t quite sure who these splendid people were, but his Tiger Mama had implied they were terribly famous and important. And he liked his little tiger master. The boy had a nice warm snuggly bed, and plenty of tiger toys (although Silver Daddy didn’t seem to realize the little plush figures were indeed tiger toys, but as Tiger Mama had explained, sometimes the two-legged ones required patience in their dealings).

His little master had a fat black wolf brother, Murgatroyd, who was, like all good brothers, someone to quarrel with and make up with and go to play on long warm spring days like this.

Hobbes loved exploring his new kingdom. It boasted many rooms to practice tiger stalking, and extensive tiger play gardens to boot. That was how he first encountered the other wolves: they lived out in the yard. Hobbes had run into them one day when he went adventuring. He quite literally fell in with them (the wall proving a little slippery for tiger paws).

They were not terribly courteous, these yard wolves. They had wanted him to yield to them. Hobbes was only a young tiger but he knew enough of the ways of the world to know tigers did not yield to wolves. He replied with a well-aimed claw to a nose, which sent the largest on backing away, squealing a very un-wolf-like squeal.

Fortunately, Murgatroyd arrived to straighten out what was what for these uncouth wolves. From then on, Hobbes was afforded the respect he deserved.

Hobbes quite liked following Silver Daddy around when he was not trailing his young tiger master. It was a good way to explore his new home, plus Silver Daddy had a lovely warm tiger nap bed on his desk (Murgatroyd claimed it was actually a laptop computer, but wolves were literal creatures). Sometimes Silver Daddy would tempt Hobbes down off the desk with a morsel of delicious tiger food. They served elegant tiger food here: ripe fruit baked inside a flaky carapace, sweet and delicious.

But he was outside in the tiger gardens today. And he was puzzled. He looked over to Murgatroyd, who was currently occupied with trying to bite off the fairy who had landed on his tail. Fairies know this is annoying, that’s why they do it. Of course, the young wolf was always a few inches short in his attempts. Hobbes sighed and batted off the stubborn fairy, who cursed at him and then flittered away.

“Thank you, Brother Hobbes! That was most irksome!” Murgatroyd told him.

“Fairies,” sighed Hobbes, suppressing a great tiger yawn. “They are a tiger annoyance. But what of that creature?” he asked. “Is it a bird?”

The wolf and tiger paused to watch an incredible blue-feathered creature once again take to wing, and once again come soon enough crashing down to earth, sending the little birds around him, including Hobbes' young master, to once again help him untangle himself from the hydrangeas.

“Yes, he is a real bird,” Murgatroyd told him, giving his ear a good scratch with his back paw. Murgatroyd was a young pup too, but he had lived many wolf lives previous to this one, and knew much of the world.

“But how did he ever survive his fledging? How was he not eaten by a fox?”

“He has a strength to him. You can sniff it!” said Murgatroyd, taking a long whiff of the sweet spring air for good measure. Tiger Mama had told Hobbes to listen to wolves, for though their eyesight was poor, they more than made up for it with their sensitive noses.

“So the little birds help him now?” asked Hobbes, chewing on his paw.

“Yes,” said Murgatroyd. “Our young master. And his kinsmen!”

Hobbes squinted at the little birds. He knew his brother and sister were now in service to these little tiger masters. Their own tiger mama was here with them. She sat in a long chair, drinking something colorful through a straw, and leafing through a magazine. Hobbes had gone over to her and gotten a nice scratch behind the ears. He was baffled by her magazine however: there were lots of pictures, but absolutely none of them were tigers! He tried sitting in the middle of the magazine, in order to make this important point, but their tiger mama had just laughed and scooped him off and told him to go play.

The big blue angel looked to be resting for a while, wings folded in, his back to a tree, chatting with the tiger mama.

“It's a pity tigers cannot fly,” said Hobbes.

“It looks to be more trouble than it's worth,” opined Murgatroyd. “Me, I will stay on the ground, like my kind.”

“You climb trees, friend,” said Hobbes. “Is that of your kind?”

“This is little known,” Murgatroyd told the little tiger, “but I am part cat! Trees are my natural habitat. But flying: I'll leave that for the birds!”

Now one of the little kinsmen, the one who was tiger-colored, had just fluttered over. This was the biggest of the little birds, with distinctive reddish wings. He carried the most wonderful tiger toy: a small brightly-colored cloth mouse with a little silver bell.

Hobbes leapt wildly for his prize, but the little bird was too quick, once again yanking it up just before Hobbes grasped it with a paw. He scowled at the little bird: no one long defeats a tiger when he is stalking! He shall have his prize! He decided a more methodical approach was in order. He gathered himself, remaining still in the tall grass. He crouched down low, silent and still, but for his twitching tiger tail.

He waited patiently; waited until the little bird was directly overhead, waited for the glorious little silver bell to jingle almost under his nose.

Waiting.... Waiting....

He sprung!

Claws reaching! A great savage tiger leap!

Suddenly, the bell was yanked away. His paws caught only air.

He plummeted, coming to earth smack on his tiger face.

He sat up, shaking the dirt off his head. And found himself being lifted, higher and higher. He blinked, golden tiger eyes suddenly staring into a pair of kind blue eyes.

The big blue bird had picked him up.

“Liam, are you teasing Hobbes again?” asked Raziel. She was now standing nearby, sunglasses perched up atop her head.

“Nawt teasin’!” protested her young son, hiding the cat toy behind his back. “Pway!”

“Liam,” said Raziel. “All of you,” she continued, reaching up to Hobbes, now cradled in Toki's arms, and giving him a good scratch. He purred contentedly. Three children regarded her. “Something to remember. Hobbes is a little tiger now. But he's gonna grow up to be a big tiger. And when he's a big tiger, he's gonna remember who teased him. And who scratched him behind the ears.”

Charles stood by the outer window, wrapping the robe more tightly around himself even though he was perfectly warm: warm from the shower, warm from sex.

“How are the lessons going?” asked Ganesh. Charles, oddly enough, didn't resist as Ganesh wrapped him in many arms. Ganesh paused. “Are you all right, jaanu?” he asked.

Charles pointed to the garden. “Our weird wolf is in a tree. Our weird kid is flying. And our weird tiger is flying too.”

“What?” asked Ganesh, suddenly dropping his arms. He knew rather a lot of information about tigers, non of which involved aeriel achievement. He leaned forward and looked down, far below.

While Murgatroyd looked down contentedly from a tree branch wagging his small wolf tail, and Toki stood nearby flapping incredible blue wings with excitement, and Raziel sat in a chaise lounge ignoring it all while she perused Italian Vogue, Elias flew by with an orange and black striped tiger clinging to his back. His two cousins were fluttering about as well: they seemed to be engaged in some sort of game.

Then, as the two men watched from above, Elias suddenly banked, nearly cutting off his cousin, Liam. As if by signal, the little tiger on his back launched itself at Liam. It sprang, legs jutted outward, as if expecting to glide on tiger paws. It looked to be going for Liam, but somehow missed him, grabbing wildly at what looked to be thin air.

It started to plummet (as tigers cannot fly – not really) but was swiftly scooped up by Elias's dark-haired cousin Abby.

“What ever are they doing?” asked Ganesh, now thoroughly puzzled.

Charles departed and then came back holding a pair of field glasses. He squinted down through them, and then nodded and handed the glasses over to Ganesh. The god focused them on the garden. The three cousins had returned to earth, Abby still holding Hobbes.

The little tiger now had a cat toy in its mouth, which it was shaking vigorously, as if it were really alive.

“This is how our children play with their pets?” asked Ganesh, who was rarely flummoxed, but definitely felt so now. He handed the field glasses back to Charles, studying the angel for a long moment. Finally he said. “Er. We shall watch a movie now.”

“OK. Hey. Something with Aksay Kapoor?” asked Charles hopefully,

“I have one,” explained Ganesh, “where he is reputed shirtless for an entire reel!”

“Sounds educational,” agreed Charles, following Ganesh into the living room.
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