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[masticated]

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[diarists]

[shauna looks upwards and thinks about saber’s body, headless, blood-drained. a waste of good flesh, good meat, a waste of a heart she knew beat rabbit-quick beneath the bones of his chest. she can see them now, under the snug shirt, muscled and drawn out like an anatomy textbook – ribs clavicle sternum breastbone.

she reaches up, fingers just barely brushing at the hem of the shirt, something almost shy in the gesture. he’d been there in the manor before it burned, giving her a place to escape in the too-much too-deep ache of his body atop hers. and then – the camp, the woods, the commune, the games. first and second wolf, first and second sacrifice on whatever altar the shepherd and alpha had build.]

Don’t think she’ll like that. [bruce sits calmly, spine straight, directness in her amber eyes and the flick of her too-big ears.] Is your fancy tiger gonna try to eat her?

[masticated]

[he's slightly more boyish here, with his towel-dried, slicked back hair and shirt catching droplets of water or soaking up what he hadn't dried off entirely. the boy next door that no one asked for, waiting for shauna to come inside his den.]

No, he's not. He's not interested in stuff like that, y'know. We have different appetites. C'mon.

[his hand finds hers and he takes a few steps back to lead her inside toward the bed. baron's gaze follows each of their movements, from saber's lazy gait to shauna's nearly hesitant one to bruce's lanky body. he looks bored and tired. with a huff he crosses one paw over the other, leaning at a slant.]

I know you're not here for him. [saber sits on the edge of the bed, bringing shauna in between his legs and pressing a kiss to her neck.] He'll be here when we're done.

[diarists]

[it’s perhaps odd that shauna doesn’t think of jeff – jeff sadecki, fresh out of the shower, slumping into her backseat because jackie always, always gets the front, jeff boyish and soft and awkward and blunt, the kind of guy saber would eat alive – or ignore entirely.

but she doesn’t. she thinks of the time out in the wilderness, in the summer, when she saw a half-grown elk step out of the lake, antlers still growing, lean and animal and utterly belonging in his skin. the way she stood and watched as he shook himself, sending great sparkling arcs of water droplets flying, aware of her presence and unconcerned by it. her hand laces with saber’s, and she thinks of finding that same elk in winter, with another buck’s antler’s locked with his own, dripping ribbons of skin and old blood.]

Woah. [this to baron, who’s spread out, big paws and disinterest, blinking sleepily before settling back down with his paws crossed. bruce reacts similarly, finding a pillow that had slipped off the bed and settling down out of sight, on the opposite side of the room from the tiger. shauna has to laugh a little, her voice oddly breathless, her eyes strangely bright, as she’s drawn closer to saber, in between his knees.] You dunno, I could totally be here for him.

[but she’s not. she’s here because saber’s mouth comes close, so close to the scar ringing her throat, and something shivers in shauna, something that has her reaching up, thumbing over his neck, tracing the line of it. she says, soft:] Was it quiet? It was – quiet for me.

[masticated]

[between kisses, saber's energy shifts the longer she talks. the tiger's ears twitch and his head perks, jewel-eyes swiveling on the newly settled down bruce. death doesn't bother saber, how he died doesn't bother him, and shauna's doing that thing people do to connect and share. parts of him feel the same as he always had, other parts are made of the unknown.]

It's always quiet.

[breathed over her jugular, he's so close he can see her heart beating. ba-bump, ba-bump. he has hers memorized. shauna's fingers graze over scar tissue and the sensation brings him to the twisting crack of his head being torn off. quiet came after or before, or somewhere in the middle where tendons snapped and his spine was dislocated. that's nothing new, the scarring. nothing he won't heal by cornering some sad-sack maid and draining her dry like the monster he is.

his hands snatch her hips and pull her in close, close enough his nose is buried in the curve of her neck and he's grinning, gliding palms down her thighs and squeezing, guiding her to straddle him. he doesn't see the point in talking about what happened.]

Why do you wanna know, hm? You tryin' to see if it's different? Death's the same for everyone. Gettin' there is what's different. [he pauses, licking up her neck and nipping her ear.] Most of the time.

[diarists]

[bruce is sitting regally, nobly, the posturing echoed by shauna’s aloof pose, even though she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move from the feel of saber’s mouth over the scar on her throat. it feels like before, feels like the coal of anger shauna knows will never, never go out. she lets out a sigh and the coyote’s amber-sharp eyes soften, going warm and honeyed when they rest on the tiger.]

Yeah. [hard to tell if it’s an acknowledgement of his words or in response to his tongue, lips, hands coming to grab her, pull her into his lap. her legs spread, willing, hungry, wondering if that’s part of it too – die, come back with every need sharpened to a point, honed into a spear.

shauna huffs out a laugh, shakes her head, hands creeping around, grabbing at saber’s shirt to tug it upwards, knees nudging inward at his hips. bruce’s tail thumps on the ground, a thudthudthud shauna doesn’t hear.] No, just – it was kinda.

I don’t know. [she doesn’t feel remade, reborn, that’d be impossible. but everything weighs a bit less, for the moment.] Like waking up from finally sleeping on a real bed. [one hand slips up into his hair, drags her nails through it, settles at the back of his head, cradling.] Or – coming up from being underwater. I feel awake.

[shauna shifts her hips, exhales shuddery –] Do you?