cephalopod

Woot woot!

kink_bingo , 1/5. Kink: animal play.
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Pairing: Sassan/Torrie (worksafe)

***

Vaan had come and gone with half a dozen sunstones and haggled over potions for nearly an hour. The fence made thunk-thunk noises when she drummed her heels against it; the wind blew; the cockatrices chirrupped and scratched. Penelo was thoroughly bored.

The little cockatrice—not the one with the orange beak, that was Chit, so that made this one Sassan—nudged up under the toe of her boot to scratch its back. She patted her lap invitingly, the way she’d do for a pet cat, and sure enough the cockatrice flapped up with a little grunt of effort. It hunkered down, nuzzling his shoulder cozily against her breasts. Sassan was surprisingly light for his size.

“I likes these,” he said.

“Mm,” said Penelo, before realizing that Sassan wasn’t expressing a wholesome appreciation for the fence, or the other cockatrices, or….ew! “Excuse me?”

“Yer things,” he said. “They’re nice an’ small, no trouble at all. My wooin’ of Torrie was made most exceedin’ awkward by her things.”

She coughed.

“Sassan,” Penelo said carefully, “I don’t think you ought to pay any attention to my things.” Despite herself, she glanced across the camp at Vaan to see if he might have overheard that. He was talking to Elder Brunoa. Apparently he hadn’t.

“Wotcher mean?” The cockatrice swivelled his neck around much further than a hume could manage to blink at her in confusion. “Up ‘ere, there’s no call to. I can’t see over ‘ers from me natural standpoint is all, on account of my bein’, shall we say, built for heffishuncy.”

She stared back at him. His beaky face looked earnest, though she wondered how she’d be able to tell if a cockatrice was smirking.

“…oh. I guess that’s all right then,” she said. She supposed it was, honestly—as far as that sort of thing went, the sex thing, she had more in common with a moogle than a cockatrice. Not that she’d ever date a moogle, of course.

Maybe that made her a bad person, she mused, turning her attention to a glimmering sunstone in the distance while one hand returned to stroking Sassan’s round back. There was nothing really wrong with moogles. Some of them were very nice.

“I’ll tell yer the epic tale ‘a passion if ye scratch me,” Sassan said hopefully, giving his frill a shake. Penelo laughed.

Beneath the smooth coolness of the outer layer, feathers were spiky, bristly things and she had to dig down harder than she thought could possibly be comfortable for him to reach the skin. Her fingers were buried to the third joint in his ruff—under all the fluffiness, he had a scrawny little neck.

The skin felt so odd. It was nothing like her own, and not scaly like a bangaa’s. It was thin and wrinkly, with the tiny, hairy-feeling starts of new feathers sprouting between the stiff full-grown shafts. It was also very warm.

Somehow, and she wasn’t sure how, it seemed embarassing. When she essayed a scratch, and Sassan closed his little eyes and made a wet-sounding rapturous coo, it became distinctly more so.

“…is this all right?”

“Oh aye,” Sassan churred blissfully. “Jus’ right. You an’ Torrie, the both ‘a yer got good hands.”

Penelo decided that she wasn’t going to consider the implications of that statement any further than was strictly necessary. “Thank you,” she said. “Now, what about that story?”

“I dreamed about ‘er in me egg,” the cockatrice said, wriggling in delight. “All cozy and safe I was, listenin’ to people talkin’ out there, waitin’ to come out and see the sun, an’ when I heard ‘er voice I knew she was the one.”

Penelo kept scratching. “Aww. That’s really cute, Sassan.”

“It’s more ‘n cute! It’s destiny!”

Vaan scuffed up and opened his mouth to say something; Penelo flapped a hand at him and made a “ssh” motion. He shrugged. Sassan continued, oblivious.

“So the day for me day-byoo comes by an’ crackle goes me shell, and out I rolls. And the first thing what greets me eyes? Oh, it weren’t ‘alf fate I tells yer. Sure enough, shinin’ like the sun what comes out after the Rains, there she were.”

What, Vaan mouthed silently. Penelo shushed him again.

“An’ somebody says we’ll name ‘im Sassan what do yer think o’that Torrie and it’s like music to my wee ears when my Torrie says well that’s a good name, innit.”

Sassan fluffed his ruff up proudly.

“Exceptin’ that me viewpoint, as I ha’previously brought to your hattenshun, is less ‘n ideal. And so Torrie, I says, Torrie m’love, I want to see yer sweet face but yer things are in the way and she says—“

“Oh, no.” Penelo stifled a giggle.

“—and she says why Sassan I think that’s the nicest thing any man’s ever said to me aren’t you sweet and I says well now I tries and she just smiles and I knew sure as ennyfin’ we was meant to be.”

Carefully, Penelo disengaged her fingers from his plumage and lifted him from her lap. “Hold him for a second,” she told Vaan.

“Sure, but…” Vaan accepted the armful of bird awkwardly, its long yellow feet dangling between his hands.

Tiny puffs of dust bloomed up as she hopped down from the fence. Ignoring the expression on Vaan’s face, she leaned over and as solemnly as she could, kissed the top of the cockatrice’s head.

“Sassan, you are sweet. Torrie’s very lucky.”

“So you’ll be at the weddin’ then?”

“Absolutely.”

“We will?”

“Yes, Vaan, we will.”

“Cor! Mus’ go let caterin’ know!” The little bird flapped free of Vaan’s grasp and scampered off to the other side of the pen to squawk urgently at their minder.

Vaan dusted his hands. “Was that thing…flirting with you?”

“No.”

“It looked like it was flirting with you.”

“You’re probably just jealous.”

***

I maintain that the best thing about this pairing is that it is completely canon. Completely. All this? Canon. <3!