Things Are Better Not Said When You're Out There - Pete/Patrick - [1/1].
Title: Things Are Better Not Said When You're Out There.
Author: littleladypunk
Beta: alles_luege
Pairing: Patrick/Pete.
Words count: ~1,000.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: dog!Pete doesn't understand why he can't "have babies" with cat! Patrick.
Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction. Never happened in real life. All men belong to themselves and their respective wives.
Warnings: Fluff.
A/N: Written for anon_lovefest prompt.
Patrick’s afternoon nap number five is violently interrupted when a body lands on his stomach with a thump. He lifts his eyelids to tiny slits, already knowing who he is going to see. And no surprise, his gaze meets big brown eyes staring right back at him.
“Hi, Tricky.” The statement is followed by a tongue hanging right in front of Patrick’s muzzle and a waggling tail, hitting his hind paws.
“Get off of me, Pete.” Patrick huffs and Pete rolls off and on the ground.
Pete is a neighbor dog, this little and clamorous kind. Now Patrick is aware that very few dogs know what it means to act with dignity and composure, but Pete overcomes every limits. He tends to run all over his backyard with no real purpose, barking at everything that moves, and sometimes also at immobile objects, such as his little human’s plastic buckets. God forbid somebody gives him a ball. Pete is a ball freak. He will chase it until the poor thing is shredded into pieces.
To Patrick’s utter despair, Pete seems to have a inexplicable fondness for him, manifesting in jumping at Patrick out of nowhere, trying to cuddle with him whenever it is possible or licking his muzzle when he’s not expecting it at all (or this one terrifying time, his very lower stomach. Patrick prefers not to think about it, ever.). Their humans find it adorable, laughing at them and, to Patrick’s horror, taking pictures. At least they don’t put them on display in the living room, thank God.
Even with all this he can’t say he hates the dog. Patrick won’t admit it even under a threat of cutting down his weekly Whiskas supplies, but he likes the tiny fucker. Just sometimes, he is too much to handle. Plus, Patrick is a pure breed British Shorthair and he has to keep up appearances, right?
“What are you up to, Tricky?” Pete asks and the cat wishes he would stop waggling his tail. It distracts him too much.
“I’m resting,” he answers and closes his eyes again, stretching on the grass.
Pete nudges his muzzle against Patrick’s side. “You’re resting all the time,” he complains. “It’s boring. Let’s play!”
“No.”
The dog lets out a whining noise. “Please, please, Patrick, pretty please?”
“No.” Playing with Pete always ends badly for Patrick’s fur, and he has spent twenty minutes, cleaning it into perfection. Pete’s flicks his tongue over his nose and tries his best puppy look on Patrick, the one which always earns him bits of food from his humans’ dinner table. But there’s a reason why Patrick closed his eyes before. He knew it’d come and he won’t let this look affect him.
Pete is quiet for a while, which is rare for him. Patrick ponders whether to open his eyes and check if the dog is still there or not, when a body presses into his side, a thin tail covering Patrick’s fluffy one and a nose is being tucked under his chin. The cat flinches inwardly. It’s wet.
With a long-suffering sigh, he says: “You know, I’m sunbathing here. You’re casting a shadow over me.”
Pete turns his head sideways. “Don’t be silly. You’re not gonna tan anyway. Only humans can do so.”
“It’s not about getting tan.” Patrick pauses, wondering how to explain the need to lay in the sunshine. “It’s more about... warmth, I think.”
“Well, I’ll keep you warm.” Pete declares happily and touches his wet nose against Patrick’s neck once more.
Patrick’s life is so hard.
Pushing Pete away will take effect either in him getting even more persistent, or getting hurt and hiding from Patrick for a week. Patrick doesn’t want any of it. They are lying this way for a few minutes, and Patrick starts drifting off, when Pete speaks once again. “You know what, Trick, I’ve been thinking... We should have puppies.”
Patrick lifts one eyelid and looks at the dog disbelievingly. But no, he isn’t joking. “We can’t have puppies,” he deadpans.
Pete flicks his tongue over his nose, a habit revealing itself when he is disappointed or embarrassed. Then he brightens. “That’s okay. Kittens will be good too.”
Stretching his paws, Patrick turns on his side to see Pete better. “Pete. I hate to break it to you, but we can’t have any. We can’t mate with each other,” he explains patiently.
“Why?” The question is followed by Pete twisting his head sideways curiously.
To be honest, Patrick doesn’t know much about mating himself. But he is pretty sure it has something to do with a scent. “You don’t smell right.”
Pete sniffs at his paw suspiciously. “You think I should roll in poo the next time my humans take me to the park?”
“What?! No! Eww, no.” Patrick still remembers the last time Pete did so. He didn’t let him near himself until Pete’s humans bathed him twice. “I mean, you don’t smell like a cat. This is it, Pete. We’re different species. We don’t mix.”
“Oh.” Pete lays on his stomach and puts his had between his paws, staring at the grass sadly. Patrick doesn’t like to see him like that. He tries to think about something that will cheer Pete up, but his mind is blank. Casting a look over the other’s form, he spots a smudge of dirt on his white fur.
“I don’t know how,” he says with mock exasperation, “but you always managed to get yourself dirty.” Without thinking, his cat instincts taking the best of him, he removes the stain the only way he knows.
Pete gives him a disbelieving glance. “Patrick. You’ve just licked me.”
If cats could shrug, Patrick would be doing it now. “So what? You’re doing it all the time.”
“Yeah, but you never have.” Pete stares at him in some kind of awe. In a matter of seconds, his tail starts waggling and he tucks himself against the cat once again.
Sighing, Patrick lays down more comfortably and squints at the sun. He still can nap for about an hour.
Author: littleladypunk
Beta: alles_luege
Pairing: Patrick/Pete.
Words count: ~1,000.
Rating: PG-13.
Summary: dog!Pete doesn't understand why he can't "have babies" with cat! Patrick.
Disclaimer: This is purely a work of fiction. Never happened in real life. All men belong to themselves and their respective wives.
Warnings: Fluff.
A/N: Written for anon_lovefest prompt.
Patrick’s afternoon nap number five is violently interrupted when a body lands on his stomach with a thump. He lifts his eyelids to tiny slits, already knowing who he is going to see. And no surprise, his gaze meets big brown eyes staring right back at him.
“Hi, Tricky.” The statement is followed by a tongue hanging right in front of Patrick’s muzzle and a waggling tail, hitting his hind paws.
“Get off of me, Pete.” Patrick huffs and Pete rolls off and on the ground.
Pete is a neighbor dog, this little and clamorous kind. Now Patrick is aware that very few dogs know what it means to act with dignity and composure, but Pete overcomes every limits. He tends to run all over his backyard with no real purpose, barking at everything that moves, and sometimes also at immobile objects, such as his little human’s plastic buckets. God forbid somebody gives him a ball. Pete is a ball freak. He will chase it until the poor thing is shredded into pieces.
To Patrick’s utter despair, Pete seems to have a inexplicable fondness for him, manifesting in jumping at Patrick out of nowhere, trying to cuddle with him whenever it is possible or licking his muzzle when he’s not expecting it at all (or this one terrifying time, his very lower stomach. Patrick prefers not to think about it, ever.). Their humans find it adorable, laughing at them and, to Patrick’s horror, taking pictures. At least they don’t put them on display in the living room, thank God.
Even with all this he can’t say he hates the dog. Patrick won’t admit it even under a threat of cutting down his weekly Whiskas supplies, but he likes the tiny fucker. Just sometimes, he is too much to handle. Plus, Patrick is a pure breed British Shorthair and he has to keep up appearances, right?
“What are you up to, Tricky?” Pete asks and the cat wishes he would stop waggling his tail. It distracts him too much.
“I’m resting,” he answers and closes his eyes again, stretching on the grass.
Pete nudges his muzzle against Patrick’s side. “You’re resting all the time,” he complains. “It’s boring. Let’s play!”
“No.”
The dog lets out a whining noise. “Please, please, Patrick, pretty please?”
“No.” Playing with Pete always ends badly for Patrick’s fur, and he has spent twenty minutes, cleaning it into perfection. Pete’s flicks his tongue over his nose and tries his best puppy look on Patrick, the one which always earns him bits of food from his humans’ dinner table. But there’s a reason why Patrick closed his eyes before. He knew it’d come and he won’t let this look affect him.
Pete is quiet for a while, which is rare for him. Patrick ponders whether to open his eyes and check if the dog is still there or not, when a body presses into his side, a thin tail covering Patrick’s fluffy one and a nose is being tucked under his chin. The cat flinches inwardly. It’s wet.
With a long-suffering sigh, he says: “You know, I’m sunbathing here. You’re casting a shadow over me.”
Pete turns his head sideways. “Don’t be silly. You’re not gonna tan anyway. Only humans can do so.”
“It’s not about getting tan.” Patrick pauses, wondering how to explain the need to lay in the sunshine. “It’s more about... warmth, I think.”
“Well, I’ll keep you warm.” Pete declares happily and touches his wet nose against Patrick’s neck once more.
Patrick’s life is so hard.
Pushing Pete away will take effect either in him getting even more persistent, or getting hurt and hiding from Patrick for a week. Patrick doesn’t want any of it. They are lying this way for a few minutes, and Patrick starts drifting off, when Pete speaks once again. “You know what, Trick, I’ve been thinking... We should have puppies.”
Patrick lifts one eyelid and looks at the dog disbelievingly. But no, he isn’t joking. “We can’t have puppies,” he deadpans.
Pete flicks his tongue over his nose, a habit revealing itself when he is disappointed or embarrassed. Then he brightens. “That’s okay. Kittens will be good too.”
Stretching his paws, Patrick turns on his side to see Pete better. “Pete. I hate to break it to you, but we can’t have any. We can’t mate with each other,” he explains patiently.
“Why?” The question is followed by Pete twisting his head sideways curiously.
To be honest, Patrick doesn’t know much about mating himself. But he is pretty sure it has something to do with a scent. “You don’t smell right.”
Pete sniffs at his paw suspiciously. “You think I should roll in poo the next time my humans take me to the park?”
“What?! No! Eww, no.” Patrick still remembers the last time Pete did so. He didn’t let him near himself until Pete’s humans bathed him twice. “I mean, you don’t smell like a cat. This is it, Pete. We’re different species. We don’t mix.”
“Oh.” Pete lays on his stomach and puts his had between his paws, staring at the grass sadly. Patrick doesn’t like to see him like that. He tries to think about something that will cheer Pete up, but his mind is blank. Casting a look over the other’s form, he spots a smudge of dirt on his white fur.
“I don’t know how,” he says with mock exasperation, “but you always managed to get yourself dirty.” Without thinking, his cat instincts taking the best of him, he removes the stain the only way he knows.
Pete gives him a disbelieving glance. “Patrick. You’ve just licked me.”
If cats could shrug, Patrick would be doing it now. “So what? You’re doing it all the time.”
“Yeah, but you never have.” Pete stares at him in some kind of awe. In a matter of seconds, his tail starts waggling and he tucks himself against the cat once again.
Sighing, Patrick lays down more comfortably and squints at the sun. He still can nap for about an hour.