Disclaimer: Not mine
Word Count: 831
Summary: The Lorax is curious and Once-ler is asleep. It's all downhill from there.
Warnings: Pseudo-bestiality, I think, although I'm not really sure what the Lorax actually is, so who knows
When sharing a bed, things are bound to happen.
Really, Once-ler should have known better; he remembers the same awkward occurrence at his own home, way back when his mother had thought that since her twin boys shared clothes and food and even the same womb, well, sharing a bed would be no different. She was wrong, of course, and Once-ler had filed the whole incident away as one of his more disturbing childhood memories.
But the Lorax wasn’t a person, it was some fuzzy little thing with a big stupid moustache and a savior complex, a stuffed animal with a sass mouth. The sleeping arrangement should have posed no problems. So after that first rude awakening when the entire forest population had stuffed itself in his cottage, Once-ler decided to be the bigger person—as if he had a choice—and let the Lorax share his home, if only to placate its need to “keep an eye” on him, whatever that meant.
It was before his family showed up, and Once-ler was very much sound asleep, curled on his side and snoring away.
Really, really snoring.
The Lorax stirred groggily. Damn beanpole; for such a thin guy he could really bring down the house. As if in answer, Once-ler let out another rattling snore. The Lorax rolled over to face his gangly bedmate. He was just getting set to crawl up and pinch his nose shut when he noticed something odd.
The Lorax had no experience with human anatomy, you see. Traditionally, when he would be summoned to stop some arrogant or ignorant fellow from chopping down the trees, he’d just give them a good telling-off and they would scurry away, ashamed and—more often than not—terrified of the orange creature that floated from the sky and called them names. But Once-ler was different, and this sleeping arrangement was very, very new. Of human behavior he knew little, and of human anatomy he knew nothing.
So when Once-ler shifted enough to throw off his thin blanket, the Lorax was concerned to note that between the man’s lanky legs a strange bulge was growing. Curious, he poked it with the tip of his finger. Once-ler let out a small whine, then stilled. Obviously the bulge was a source of discomfort, but why? Naturally inquisitive and maybe just a bit vindictive, the Lorax decided to make use of his forced alertness and learn more about this eccentric man; he pressed his entire palm against the bulge, hard.
Above him, Once-ler moaned, low and soft. As the Lorax continued to rub his palm between the man’s legs, he noticed it stiffening, hardening against his ministrations. His gaze flicked to Once-ler; large blue eyes met his stare, but there was no move to stop him. The quiet disturbed him—the stupid beanpole usually couldn’t keep his mouth shut. This silent acquisition was all the permission he needed; impulsively, the Lorax pulled down the man’s pajama bottoms, freeing the strange thing for his full inspection.
It was swollen an angry red and lanky as its owner. The Lorax leaned forward and stroked it, stem to tip, like he would a flower. He heard the Once-ler suck in a breath and repeated the gesture, feeling rather proud when it quivered at his touch. He fisted his hand around it and watched as Once-ler screwed his eyes shut, head falling back against the pillow.
“Couldn’t do this,” he panted, “wasn’t allowed…at home…” And then he was rambling, going on and on about idle hands and sticky sheets and he was incoherent, just gasping out fragments of thought intersected by raspy moans as the Lorax stroked him off, intrigued by this bizarrely vulnerable creature that had posed such a threat to his beloved forest.
Once-ler continued to twist beneath him, shuddering and mumbling. He seemed almost desperate for touch, for whatever it was the Lorax was offering him; it was almost sad, the way he arched and trembled. Soon the man stilled, alarmingly static. The Lorax watched, concerned. Once-ler’s face flushed red and he let out a small “oh,” before spilling strange white nectar onto the Lorax’s hand.
The Lorax drew his hand away quickly, shaking off the sticky sap. Once-ler continued panting, his chest heaving; the Lorax sat back, seriously concerned that he had permanently injured the man. Thankfully, his breathing soon returned to normal, and he was able to raise his head from the pillow and prop himself up on his elbows. Once-ler regarded him through amused eyes. “And here I thought you hated me.”
Humans were so odd. “Just go back to bed, beanpole. And try not to snore this time!”
Laughing, Once-ler fell back into bed; the Lorax realized he must have really done a number on the poor guy, as he fell asleep with the sort of ease that only the truly exhausted can manage. And when the snoring started up again, well, it didn’t bother him near as much.