Warmblooded by anais [ - ]
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Category: Jurassic Park III
Characters: Alan Grant
Rating: NC-17
Genres: None
Warnings: None

Summary: Conversation and stuff. Mammal to mammal.

The fire was getting low and bit by bit, everyone was leaving for their tents and trailers, where they would be warmer than here, huddling around the last embers. Billy prodded the ashes with a stick and wondered how the creatures would have responded to fire - something he had never had the chance to try and ward them off with. Animals that pre-dated the discovery of fire.

Religious fanatics regularly firebombed InGen's offices and one fundamentalist group had planned a terrorist attack on Isla Sorna six months ago. The attack was foiled and Alan remarked how strange it was that he would find himself agreeing with fanatical Creationists. Opposition made some strange bedfellows.

Billy shivered and stared up at the moon - a moon that must have been younger and less scarred when dinosaurs walked here. He had used to be able to imagine it effortlessly; the thunder of giant sauropods on the move, the soft chitter of dilophosauri in the patches of forest, the conversation of raptor packs, the distant, honking deafening roar of a giant predator. Now he didn't want to think about it. It reminded him of Isla Sorna, the blinding terror of being prey, the bad dreams.

He rolled a half charred log over in the embers and blew on its surface, trying to fan some air through the bright mesh of cracked bark and fire-glow. It caught and burned, lighting his hot face and threatening to scorch his lashes and eyebrows. It was a strange, basic comfort - a fire - made the night seem less huge and dark. He could make it through cold nights, unlike the reptiles. His warm blood had been his salvation as surely as it had saved his distant tiny fuzzy mammal ancestors from cataclysm and climate change. He could keep moving in the dark, while the pteranodon slept, waiting for the sun to bask in. Those huge, fragile wings got cold easily at night, forcing them into slumber and giving Billy the old evolutionary edge - warm blood. They thought he was dead - an easy mistake to make. Billy had been sure he was dead too, until the reek of fish-heads and pterandon guano invaded his nostrils and reminded him that as peaceful and painless as death might seem right now, he wasn't ready for it.

Crawling down the rock-face was hell. If he had thought about it while he was doing it, there was no way he would have made it. He was starving, exhausted, half naked, cold, and he thought several of his ribs were probably broken. The medics later told him that his leg had been broken, his wrist smashed so badly there was talk of him losing his left hand and a hairline fracture to his pelvis. He hadn't thought about it. The fantastic primordial soup of pain-easing neurotransmitters running through his blood had kept him on the move - endorphins, adrenaline - that and the thought of what he was going to do when he made it off this island. It was a dim and distant fantasy, because deep down he knew he was going to die on Isla Sorna, but he fed the fantasy in his mind to keep him believing it long enough not to give up.

It was a banana split that saved Billy's life, or at least the thought of one. A fat, ripe banana slit all the way down, the halves nestling around a mountain of vanilla ice-cream, choc-cherry ice cream, covered with fat marachino cherries, chopped nuts and gooey ribbons of chocolate and raspberry sauce. A childish dream of a dessert that would make anyone sick, but when he got out of here, he was going eat every scrap and clean the glass dish with his tongue like a kid. As he crawled towards the beach, he could taste it. He could feel the chocolate sauce sticking to his tongue, the cherries bursting between his teeth.

When he saw men on the beach and found his voice to scream, that was when he was sure he was going to die. The fantasies evaporated and the reality of his situation must have sent his brain and body into shock. He nearly died, and came back as crazy as he had been when he was dreaming about eating ice-cream whilst surrounded by a bunch of things that wanted to eat him.

He came back from the dead so crazy that he couldn’t sleep at night, some primitive mammal instinct woken by his struggle to survive. Early mammals had crawled around, fed, fought and fucked by night in relative safety while the great lizards were sleeping. Billy, the skittery, tiny, warm-blooded mammal, had wriggled through the exact same evolutionary loophole, and had emerged to crouch next to a fire he knew how to kindle. A microcosm of mankind’s ascendancy.

It was so cold, and he thought he would feel safer indoors, but he wanted to watch the fire a while longer, watch it flicker and dance and wonder how you went from rubbing two sticks together to breeding extinct monsters in test tubes over a timespan which was a matter of minutes on the great clockface of life on earth. The arrogance of it was breathtaking.

A light flicked on in the trailer behind him and he glanced over his shoulder. Alan up and about - equally unable to sleep, no doubt. That had been one of the craziest parts of the whole adventure – the aftermath – calling Alan in the middle of the night and knowing he was awake too, almost telepathically. Alan calling him in the middle of the night and saying hesitantly that he had been dreaming, he was alone, so that Billy had been forced to struggle with his long ago jerk-off fantasies. He had to fight them off, otherwise he would have rushed across campus to Alan’s boxy apartment and fucked everything up.

Alan had surprised him by being the one to take the first step, showing up on Billy’s doorstep in the small hours. Looking up from under the brim of his battered old hat with that wry fleeting smile of his, and something else in his eyes, while Billy stood and shivered in the night air and tried to make sense of it.

"I couldn’t sleep," Alan explained, as if it were any kind of adequate explanation, and that was that. After all the thinking it over and half-revelations, it just happened and it was nothing – a tiny little huge nothing – effortless as breathing, sharp and deep as pain, as big as the night itself.

Billy huddled inside his sweater and listened to the caravan trailer door open, the familiar squeaks of the floor under well-known footfalls, the sound of Alan clearing his throat.

"Making some tea. You want some?"

Billy glanced back over his shoulder again. "Yeah. Thanks. Is there any food?"

Alan sat on the steps and shook his boots out before putting them on. "Marmite?" he taunted. A souvenir of his last trip to London.

Billy shuddered on cue. "How did you get that shit past Customs?"

"If I told you that, you wouldn’t eat it."

Wrinkling his nose, Billy shook his head and smiled. "I wouldn’t anyway."

"Food of the Gods, Billy. Food of the Gods."

Right. The Gods of No Functioning Tastebuds.

He wasn't sure of the time. A sense of time was usually the first thing to go with insomnia, and there were so many nights when they hadn't slept that sometimes they blurred into one long night. One long night full of talk, touches, fire, stars and skin. They huddled hip to hip beside the fire, sipping their tea and watching the flames, not feeling the need to talk. Conversation was a thing people less tightly fused and intimate did with one another. They warned each other with looks or nudges before breaking such a silence.

He could feel Alan looking at him, and glanced to see what was up. "What?"

Alan was smiling - the good smile, the one with no trace of sarcasm or quiet irony. He held his tea in both hands, warming them. The firelight was kind to his face, but showed up the crepey skin of his throat, reminding Billy of where Alan's skin was soft and smooth and making him wonder what the hell they were doing out here after all. "You look good enough to..."

Billy narrowed his eyes.

"I was going to say 'kiss'," Alan amended, swiftly.

"You were?"

"Mmmhmm. May I?"

Billy nodded and offered his mouth, finding it surprising as always that this sharp-tongued and ferocious academic should turn out to be so shy and old-fashioned when it came to sex. Alan had verbally spitroasted entire lecture halls and kicked dinosaurs in the face but confessed that it had taken him every nerve and every particle of chutzpah he could summon to present himself on Billy's doorstep that first night. But there was nothing wrong with old-fashioned, Billy figured. Nobody of his own generation kissed like Alan kissed. ("People your age might think that unrolling a condom constitutes satisfactory foreplay, Billy," Alan had told him. "I don't.")

Alan kissed as if Billy's mouth were the most delicious thing he had ever had the privilege of tasting in his life, teasing now, with tiny licks and light pressure, cradling Billy's scorching cheek in a tea-warmed hand. Billy sat still holding both hands around his drink, thinking that this would look casual to anyone who happened by. They sat side by side, faces turned towards one another, hands largely inert as they traded off control. Then Alan pushed deeper with his tongue, stroked the corner of Billy's eyelid with his thumb and made this low, soft sound of need and greed that made Billy's prick swell in his jeans and his body turn.

"What was that for?" Billy asked, catching his breath. Alan stroked the side of Billy's neck and chin, and Billy moved into the touch of his hand like an attention-loving cat.

"Just lately...I don't know...must be all this fresh air...these last few nights, I've wanted you."

"Alan, you can just roll over and take me."

"Strikes me as rude," Alan said, joking.

"Rude..." Billy muttered, sighing. He poured the cooling dregs of his tea into the fire. "Let's go to bed."

Alan nodded, and they moved away from the fire to the trailer. It still made Billy smile that Alan held the trailer door open for him and nodded a polite 'after you'. Billy glanced back, meeting Alan's shy smile and noting the lecherous glint in his eyes which promised pleasure. He knew that look and was ruthless at exploiting it, stoking the fire in Alan's eyes with dirty words and exhibited flesh until Alan dropped the good manners and cursed the air blue when he came.

Billy's clothes smelled of ash and burnt wood as he pulled them off over his head. It felt cold inside compared with the heat of the fire, but he was determined not to shiver, knowing that Alan liked to watch him undress and he liked that Alan liked to watch. He was sure that for years Alan had been unable to look at a naked human body without thinking of it as a museum exhibit - a silhouette figure designed to stand next to the shape of a dinosaur to denote scale. Billy had always known that Alan was cerebral rather than venal, but he wasn't going to let that stand in the way of what he wanted.

His dick got crushed inside his jeans as he bent over to undo his boots, and he yanked the boots off in his sudden impatience to be free of his constricting, smoky, sweaty clothing. He flopped on his back on their bed - a tangled nest of covers and sleeping bags at one end of the trailer, pushed out of the way like an afterthought to accomodate more bones, more models, plaster of Paris, more ideas. A comfy, reassuring mess.

"Are you tired?" Alan asked He sat down on the end of the bed to take off his boots.

"Nope." Billy arched his back and pulled his jeans down and off. He disentangled the covers and tried to make himself comfortable, but the bedclothes had lain empty long enough for them to catch the clammy chill they always did on cold nights. His erection hid its head, wilting in the cold. "Cold though. Get in."

Alan switched off the light and came to bed, burrowing close to Billy under the covers. Billy wound his arms around him and stared up at the small, shallow window above, the tiny sill decorated with a plastic stegosaurus, a trike and a dimetrodon. Their respective plates, horns and sail made strange patterns against the moonlit window - ancient silhouettes which had once been common sights before something wiped them out and tiny, unspecialised nocturnal mammals began their rise to dominance - warm blooded things that huddled up to one another's nippled bodies, warding off danger. It was funny how they still huddled, how he sighed when Alan's mouth teased and suckled his useless male nipples, how they slept easier when the shared warmth of their bodies was there to comfort them against the terror of predators.

"It's weird..." he said, picking up his earlier train of thought.

"What's that?" Alan asked, hiking up the covers over shoulders that were pale as pearl in the moonlight. Billy slid down the bed and nuzzled into Alan's bare chest and upper arms, fascinated as always by the older, soft-parchment texture of Alan's skin, aroused by the acrid scent clinging to the thin straggles of armpit hair.

"We always fuck in bed. Don't you think that's strange?" he asked, peering up at Alan's face.

Alan frowned. "Surely bed is the usual approved venue for..."

Billy smiled in anticipation, holding Alan's gaze and daring him to continue.

"Fucking." Alan finished, with a guilty, naughty-boy smile that made Billy laugh. It always amused him to hear Alan curse in that gracious, slightly Anglican voice. Almost as funny as hearing Brits swear. "Besides, it's not weird when you consider the alternative - carpet burns can be surprisingly painful and college libraries are extremely risky."

"But fun."

"Our ideas of fun have always diverged radically, Billy. Allow me to agree to disagree."

"No way. I was there. You called me baby."

"I did not! You obviously misheard me."

"Ye-ah. That's easily done in a silent deserted library."

"Why am I never surprised that bonobos are close relatives of humans when I'm with you?"

"Bonobos rule." Billy laughed. "And that's what I mean. Bonobos don't go to bed to fuck. They sleep at night and fuck whoever, wherever, whatever all day long. They're diurnal animals - they fuck during the day, like nocturnal animals fuck at night - whenever they happen to be awake. Humans almost always do it in the dark."

"Yes. Because the lighting is more sympathetic."

"Alan..." He shook his head, frustrated that he couldn't grasp the point he thought he was making. "I mean in the evolutionary scheme of things. Mammals started out as nocturnal, right? To avoid the larger diurnal predators?"

"Mmmhm. That's the current thinking."

"Do you think we're nocturnal?" Billy asked. "I mean, us, personally?"

"Scurried back down the evolutionary ladder, you mean?"

"Yeah. We've been thrown back into the same paradigm that early mammal ancestors survived in. Maybe we're just...instinct." He wished he could unscramble his mind. Since being laid up so long after Isla Sorna, he thought his mind had become faster, sublimating the intense physical energy that his body was too damaged to expend, but it hadn't become sharper. It veered off at tangents and popped and sparked and burned out too fast like a Roman candle. He sighed again.

Alan held him tighter under the covers. "No Billy. I'd be very sad if this was nothing more than instinct."

"That isn't what I meant. I don't know what I meant," He returned the embrace, wrapping his limbs around Alan's body, wishing he could convey what he felt more specifically. "I know what this is."

"So do I."

It felt like more than instinct when they kissed - those strong, deep kisses that Billy loved, the kind that made him warm and made his whole body want to drift deeper into Alan's touch. He moaned and lay back, opening his legs to accomodate Alan's body; a nudge of bony hip, smooth flank against Billy's inner thigh, the blood-hot silken-hard weight of Alan's cock butting gently against him. Billy tilted his hips to meet him, running his fingers down Alan's back to grasp the soft flesh of his ass, still kissing, his head pressed back against the pillow under Alan's mouth.

He had to break loose to catch his breath. Alan's hand moved between Billy's legs, tenderly cupping his balls, lightly fingering the root of his cock.

"Tell me..." Alan whispered, close to his ear, nipping the lobe with his teeth. Billy's cue to say all those things Alan was too well-mannered to say in the sack. Alan wrapped his fingers around Billy's dick and pulled gently back and forth, encouraging him to talk. It was always difficult at first - trying to think of the perfect opener, before lust loosened his tongue and he found himself gasping filth, excited further by Alan's response.

"Yes...just there..." Billy moaned, pressing his wet lips against Alan's cheek, not needing to fake his pleasure. Alan masturbated him smoothly and steadily, letting him know that he could do this for as long as it took to get him off.

"Oh yeah…like that…oh God…"

Alan’s face was pressed into the hollow between Billy’s neck and shoulder, so that Billy could feel him frown. He felt the puff of air against his skin as Alan gasped, responding to the catch in Billy’s voice.

"It’s so good, so good…more…please…I want more."

"Tell me." Alan squeezed him tight with his fingers and his body. Billy writhed into the touch, moving his hips to try and fuck Alan’s grasping hand, twisting his neck to steal a kiss. No dice.

"Tease. I want you. Come on…jerk it hard. Get me off."

Alan bit Billy’s shoulder, humped hard against him and ran his free hand over Billy’s flesh with a hungry, clumsy touch that had nothing to do with the cautious, delicate work those hands undertook in the field. It was a sign that Billy was hitting the right note, eroding the layers of polish and politeness until he had reduced Alan to nothing but instinct. In the morning, the manners would be back in place, but Billy would know by the barely perceptible glint in Dr. Grant’s eye that by night Alan was his.

"Put it in your mouth…" Billy whispered. "Suck it – suck me off…I know you love it, I can tell, Alan…you give head like you fucking love it…"

"Dirtier…" Alan urged him on, in a voice rough and cracked with lust.

Billy spread his legs wider and held Alan's head steady to take his mouth. Not getting away this time. He thrust his tongue into the kiss, greedily lapping up the taste of Alan's mouth, biting and panting. He spat out the filth Alan wanted to hear between messy, wet kisses and moans as Alan's hand worked his dick.

"Down...get down...suck it, lick it...wanna come in your mouth. Don't tease me, please, please...I need it so fucking much..."

He didn't know what he was saying when Alan slid down the bed, curling his body between Billy's splayed legs. He thought he had probably offered his ass in so many ways, offered his mouth anywhere Alan wanted it, bargaining with the promise of any sex act he could imagine, just so long as Alan would do as he asked and blow him.

Billy hadn't imagined he'd want to stare anything in the mouth again, animal or human, let alone let tongues and teeth near his body. Too many jagged teeth and raw, red throats that awoke memories of the old childish terror of being consumed, but Alan's mouth was soft and good. Billy cried out, arching his back and lifting his hips for more, but knowing he couldn't last. Alan's hands slid under his butt, Alan's mouth took him deep, suckling satisfyingly and making it even better with firm licks of his tongue.

"I'm coming..." Billy whispered, serenely, knowingly - as the familiar and delicious sensation began to build and build in his balls and brain. He bit his lip and closed his eyes, letting it surge through him and out into Alan’s warm mouth.

"Oh God…" He slumped back on the bed, panting. He flinched at the sharp sweetness of Alan licking him clean, pushing him away and pulling him up to wrap him in his arms.

Billy rolled over onto his side and clumsily wound himself around Alan, squeezing him close and rummaging in the tangle of limbs and bedcovers for Alan’s dick. He found it, licked his palm to make it good and slippery and grasped it firmly, desperate to please. He didn’t even have to try with Alan, who always behaved in bed like he couldn’t believe his luck, gasping out his pleasure and gratitude against Billy’s skin; soft words on warm skin, words that Billy couldn’t entirely make out, caught under Alan’s breath as he came and clung tight to Billy.

"God…" Alan whispered, breathing hard.

Billy held him and looked up at the dinosaur figures on the sill, realistic in minature in the moon’s cold light. It still tweaked at fears, dragged him back down into a world of instinct – just another mammal grubbing around, feeding and copulating in the sheltering dark.

Fuck you, he thought, frowning up at the figurines. He was more than warm blood and instinct. "I love you," he said, quietly, nuzzling against Alan’s thinning hair.

The End