Author: Flash Gator
Show: Wallace and Gromit
Pairing: One-Sided Wallace/Gromit
Warnings: Slash/Yaoi/Shounen ai/Boy love, implied themes of bestiality, I guess you could say (not that anything actually happens). If you dislike any of these themes I must ask you to take the 'back button express' away now. You have been warned. Flames used to roast marshmallows at the next 'Slash fan girls convention'.
Well, I've been watching a lot of Wallace and Gromit recently, and the idea to write for the pairing popped up when I realised that, well, no one else had. And I just love to promote under loved slash couples. I was also looking for an excuse to post a one shot wherein I could try out this writing style that, admittedly, I have always utterly freaking adored in fics. It's so choppy and conflicting and wonderful, always such fun to read. It's a shame more people don't use the technique. Ah well. Not saying I'm amazing at it, or even the slightest lick good, that's for you to decide, but I hope anyone brave enough to move on enjoys the fic.
It was so wrong. So wrong. And it felt wrong. (but also so right. It felt so, SO right). And he knew it was wrong. But he wouldn't (couldn't) stop it. Should (definitely) try to control himself. And he did (to an extent).
But some days (most days) he couldn't (wouldn't) help it. Couldn't help the small (almost invisible, but there, still there, just the slightest hint of pink under fur) blush that arose on his cheeks, nor the times he stared too long. Just a little too long. But he panicked. What if they saw (HE saw. What if HE saw)? It was so socially unacceptable, so taboo (so WRONG).
But what was he supposed to do?
Then there were some mornings when he woke up and wondered if it had all been his imagination. If this stupid little infatuation (obsession) had gone. But then he would be up and cooking or knitting (sometimes he acted too much like a housewife, HIS housewife, for comfort) and he would pop down for breakfast (usually toast with raspberry jam, porridge on Thursdays and every other Monday) and he'd say something stupid or DO something stupid (stupid, Stupid, so STUPID) and his little crush would be back and he'd be blushing or staring and have to excuse himself before his brain melted to mush.
And he was so stupid all the time. How could someone so intelligent be so stupid? Like his birthday. With the collar and the lead and-
"There you are Gromit! You look like someone owns you now!"
And he was so ANGRY, ashamed (embarrassed at the statement, the implication) even, but he let it pass.
And everything was fine (no, NOT fine, far from it), and he'd been keeping himself together and in check (aching, screaming, falling apart at the seams). And then their big job came along, to apprehend the were-rabbit they themselves had created.
The townspeople were filled with petty worries for the safety of their aubergines, their chicories, their artichokes, and all the while he was worrying for him (fearing for HIM). What if they found out? He had been so scared when he discovered just who the rabbit actually was (it wasn't him, wasn't HIS Wallace, and that thought terrified him). And he had to think of a way to help him, a place to hide him until he returned to normal, lest the townsfolk kill him (and that was the scariest thought).
Of course, he wasn't terrified the entire time. There were those moments when Wallace was with Lady Tottington ("Tottie") or talking about Lady Tottington or admiring their framed picture of Lady bloody Tottington when, well. He couldn't help himself, really. And it was so petty. But he was, admittedly, jealous of the bushy haired woman.
And so, when Wallace was thinking about her, he'd leave and check on Hutch. It was amazing how much he was becoming like Wallace (still small and fluffy, made of disjointed phrases and memories that were slowly becoming coherent, intelligent sentences), and he almost felt, well, guilty for spending time with him. But he needed the companionship (no, he needed HIM, but he was so rarely there, always with Tottie, Tottie, Stupid Tottie). And he needed the time away to cool off.
Sometimes he wished (wished so long and hard, pleaded) that he could instead be infatuated with Hutch. It was unorthodox, but far more acceptable, more sane. But he couldn't bring himself to like the cheese-obsessed, slipper wearing rodent. Not when he liked (loved, adored) him so much.
And then, of course, came the vegetable competition.
Really, it was his own stupid (stupid STUPID) fault for releasing the rope 20 feet from the ground, but he did and then he was falling (say goodbye to all your regrets), eyes clenched shut and preparing for impact.
But instead he felt warm, fuzzy arms wrap around him (engulfing him. And at once he knew it was him, almost losing himself right there in the scent of him), and he landed with a soft thud on a large, quaggy chest.
Then he was staring down at him, as his odd rabbity face collapsed in on itself and he returned to normal. But he couldn't see the rise and fall of his chest, nor feel his breath tickle his fur, and it took him a few moments to realise (though somewhere he already knew, as the tears leaked freely and uninhibited down his cheeks) that he was dead. That he would never have to make him another cup of tea again, or knit him a sweater, or stop him doing something stupid (so stupid. Oh, so fantastically stupid). That he would never again be able to share in the anger, the joy, the sadness (never be able to hold him, admire him, LOVE him, never have his hidden blushes and secret glances).
"Lovely cheese Gromit!"
And he turned and there was Hutch with a plate of Stinking Bishop (wonderful Hutch, brilliant Hutch), and he grabbed a slice and waved it under Wallace's nose, allowing the stench to waft up his nostrils, praying (Dear God, PLEASE let this work, don't take him from me) that it would revive him.
For a couple of seconds, it appeared even the stench of cheese wouldn't bring him back. But then-
And he was up and smiling and breathing and oh-so alive, and he launched himself into his arms and embraced him tightly (fur flush to naked skin, beige moulded to peach, but he was unable to concentrate on anything other than him being alive). Next he turned to Tottie, of course (so embarrassed about being naked before her when he didn't care at all when embracing HIM), and he could feel nothing but relief for his being alive and smugness that he'd revived him, that he was the first Wallace noticed when he awoke. Not HER.
Then it was over and they said their goodbyes and left for home and went to sleep (but he couldn't sleep, so happy and excited and HIGH that he was still alive, that they were still alive).
Wallace and Tottie saw each other for a while after the incident, but things weren't quite the same between them as before the Vegetable Competition fiasco, and they eventually moved on.
Gromit was, shamefully, rather gleeful to see the last of her.
And so time went on and they encountered other adventures. They still jumped from profession to profession and struggled to make ends meet. Wallace still chased after women (never realising that someone had been chasing after him for years now). But, as was the usual, none of them lasted long. After all they'd been through, Gromit still found he could relish in the fact that, no matter how much Wallace appeared to like these women (isn't Amelia just amazing? Noreen has the most beautiful eyes, don't you think?), they never lasted long. HE was the only constant in his life, and Wallace the only constant in his. They needed each other (though he needed more than what they had, so much more), and though he would always want more, this was enough for him for now.
Well, not at choppy as I'd intended, but still a hoot to write ^^. And before anyone asks, no, I most certainly do NOT support bestiality. Not in reality anyway. I have a slightly more loose opinion of it in fandoms. If the animal in question acts like a person, thinks like a person and it quite probably more intelligent than a great deal of the human characters in the show, then yes, if I can find someone to put them with, I'm generally all for it.
At any rate, I hope you all enjoyed this drivel. Oh, and yes, quaggy is a real word. It's a very underused adjective meaning soft and wet (as in soil) or soft and flabby. 'Yielding easily to pressure or weight; not firm'. I love how it sounds, so I was pretty much just looking for an excuse to use it.
Let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated. Review, flame, concrit, I can take them all! And Merry belated Xmas!