Nature Vs Nurture

by Obliquesque

The relationship between Carrot and Angua finally reaches a boiling point- but can they both come to terms with the strong influences of their past, and enjoy the present? Begun as just a quick smutty vignette for the salacious satisfaction of bursting the tense bubble between them, this story evolved into an exploration of what makes these characters really tick, romantically.

1. Chapter 1

Angua abandoned civilized knocking and drummed urgently against the solid oak with both hands, panting. Come on, you idiot! The wind was picking up; the clouds could part at any moment, and she could feel the beckoning moon mercilessly bright and full behind them. Rain spat against her skin, which prickled in warning. Angua clamped her teeth together in an effort to anchor herself, fighting against the growing pressure along her spine. Not now, she thought desperately. Please not now.

The door jerked open and Carrot appeared, fully clothed but sans armor, radiating his characteristic concern for A Citizen In Distress. "Sergeant Angua! What—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up, just let me in," she growled, staggering forward and all but collapsing into his arms. She hated herself for giving into such dramatics, but couldn't suppress a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. Carrot supported her politely and slightly gingerly, as a distant uncle might accept the unfamiliar burden of a rather sticky, sleeping niece. Angua wilted hopelessly. Damn. This isn't how I pictured it. What was I thinking? A tiny whimper rose in her throat, unbidden.

Captain Carrot coughed. "All right… there, there…" he said awkwardly, patting her back.

Angua rolled her eyes, even while the wolf inside wagged with pleasure. The simplest touch, the most careless caress and she turned into a doting, stupid puppy? No, this would not do at all. Still, she rested her head wistfully against his shoulder. She could smell his bewilderment. It was warranted; even she knew she was acting strange, or stranger than usual for a vegetarian werewolf watchwoman in the throes of unrequited love- which was pretty damned strange, indeed.

"Carrot," Angua's voice was muffled in his vest, but the Captain thought he caught the tremor of a sob. "Please, you—"

His heavy arms tightened inexplicably around her, pressing her close—dangerously close, she realized too late. Angua groaned with frustration as the smell of him overwhelmed her; first sharp with armor polish and clean with sandalwood and lye; then earthy with hints of musty chain mail and shammy leather; and finally, beneath those pungent everyday aromas, the intoxicating scent of the man himself. Carrot. Her heart hammered as she drew the very essence of him in, unconsciously pressing closer against the solid wall of his muscled frame.