Chapter Text
“What do think you’re doing?!”
Fox McCloud gasped, the sound choked and raspy, his frame going rigid from surprise. Immediately, he doubled over himself in defense at the kitchen counter, clutching his ill-gotten contraband. He braced himself as heavy footsteps approached.
“Stay back!” He tried his best to sound threatening, but his voice was nasally and weak.
Wolf wasted no time leaning over him, one eye narrowed in suspicion. His sharp senses already picked up a saccharine smell, hand clasping firmly onto a hunched shoulder.
“Give it up!” He growled menacingly over frantic whines.
“No!!” Fox squirmed in vain, doing his best to maneuver himself away from insistent prying. He knew he had already proven himself guilty, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Come on!” Wolf tugged him back hard with a shout, making him cry out in distress. He bared his fangs, jaw taut when he finally saw what he sought. “I knew it!”
With a pathetic sound, Fox attempted to shove his barely eaten eclair into his mouth, only to have it forcefully snatched away with a savage swipe. A despairing, mournful cry left him, his eyes moving straight from his assailant’s snarl to his lost pastry.
“It’s mine!” He protested, already making feeble attempts to reclaim it.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Wolf chastised him, effortlessly holding him back. “This kind of garbage is the last thing you need right now!”
“It’s good for the soul,” he retorted shamelessly, slouching in defeat.
“Who even bought this for you?!” The demand was accompanied by brandishing the sweet in his face, which he turned away from defiantly.
“I’ll never give up my sources!”
Fox watched in anguish as his lover walked away from him in a huff, ignoring his pleading whines as he all but slammed the dessert into the trash can.
“Heartless!”
“You’re unbelievable,” Wolf approached him with arms crossed over his chest, scowling. “You’re outta my sight for a few hours and you’re already up to shit like this.”
“Who died and made you a doctor,” Fox pouted, averting his eyes.
“Common sense,” he deadpanned. “Now go back to bed!”
“Urgh!”
The sickly fox threw up his hands, dramatically stomping off to the bedroom.
“I’m makin ya soup,” Wolf called out to him over his shoulder, already rummaging through the pantry. He rolled his eye when he was answered with an ungrateful ‘gross!’ yelled at him from across the room.
“Ingrate,” he murmured under his breath. “Gonna be the death a’ me.”