F*ckbunnies
“No worries, my lady! Oof! I have no intention of harming the—ung!—poor beast. It’s only natural to be twitterpated so—mother of gods!—in the springtime!” Fandral called out between grunts as an overly amorous giant bunny tried to screw him through the ground ass-first.
Darcy had seen smaller VW Bugs than the furiously humping bunny attempting to make a more enthusiastic paramour out of poor Fandral.
“Should we do something?” Twining her fingers around her practice staff, Darcy stood beside Natasha, Lady Sif, and a regiment of twenty of the Goddess of War’s young students. “He doesn’t seem to be making much headway on his own.”
Sif smiled. “Your concern is unwarranted, my lady. This is hardly the first time an impassioned hare in the throes of spring’s great musk-rut has tracked our Fandral’s gamey scent and made its merry way with him.” When Darcy and Natasha turned surprising looks on her, she explained, “He has a condition. Glandular. Harmless.”
The sound of armor squealing as it bent split the air.
“All is well, ladies!” Fandral insisted.
The humping intensified.
Sif shrugged. “Mostly harmless.”
“This happens every spring?” Natasha asked, crossing her arms and surveying the lusty carnage as Fandral’s leg flailed, loosing a boot in a high, parabolic arc.
“Well,” Sif hedged. “Perhaps not every spring. He’s usually better about—”
“I am quite fine! Fit and fine!”
The frenzied humping picked up speed, soon followed by more sounds of straining armor that wouldn’t be fit for the scrap heap at the end of the day at this rate.
“—remaining indoors until the worst of the Great Hares’ rut is over. It’s been an unusually long, warm spring, though. He becomes restless, loses focus without a nightly pot to fit his honey dipper. No better than a green cadet, really.” She shook her head with a mocking sad expression that barely hid her grin.
“Perhaps,” the beleaguered warrior squawked from beneath the humping, frenzied pile of fluff, “a few of your students could assist—”
The rest of his request was lost to the sounds of clattering armor at Darcy’s back as Sif’s students clamored for a space at the back of the group—as far away from volunteering for the dubious honor of helping the warrior as possible.
“Lie still and think of Asgard, Fandral!” Sif called out helpfully. “The beast will soon succumb and regain its good sense. Tis only instinct that guides its actions. It means him no harm," she cautioned the other women.
A discordant concert of rending metal denied her claims.
Something about Sif’s words rang a dim bell in Darcy’s mind. Instinct. Bunnies. She gasped and clapped her hands. “I know what we need to do!”
“Ye gods, since when have they two great swords?! I think this beast is not like its fellows!”
Wincing, Sif and Natasha raised their eyebrows, waiting on Darcy to clarify.
“It’s just a big bunny. Back home, we used to use a chemical spray that mimicked the urine scent of a large predator to spray around the house to keep the skunks and raccoons from nesting under the porch. Somebody just needs to go over there and pee to mark our territory. It’ll respond instinctively to the scent of a greater predator, breaking through the fog of its rut.” She wagged her head back and forth. “Probably.”
“The idea has merit, I will admit. It is to be a test then.” Sif turned to her wary-eyed students.
“Go.” She pointed to the vibrating heap of man and beast. “Prove your warrior’s hearts with the might of your bladders.” The goddess settled, fists on hips, arms akimbo. “This day, let your weapon lead you into battle.”
Darcy tried really hard not to snicker, but she's not perfect, okay?
She made an effort to hide it with a cough. She's not a complete asshole.
The cadets milled about uncertainly, pushing and shoving at one another until a trio of their brawniest stood at the front, shifting and avoiding eye contact with everyone and everything except the packed dirt at their feet.
The bunny continued to defile the warrior’s honor with little concern for the worries of the realm around it.
Fandral squawked. A manly squawk. His dignity remained mostly intact.
Natasha caught Darcy’s eye behind Sif’s back with a look and a smirk that said it all: “Barton would already be chugging ale to fill his quiver.”
The first cadet approached, but peed down his own leg and boot when the bunny bared its buck teeth and wiggled its nose menacingly.
The second made it only steps farther, prematurely spraying the ground a good thirty feet from his target when the beast wagged its fluffy tail and made a throaty sound that spoke more of pleasure than of threat.
The third ran in pell mell, dick out, draining the vein in every direction.
“Fuck it all!" Fandral swore ripely. "It’s not bad enough the rabbit’s trying to pound me to Niflheim—now this?! Open your eyes, boy!”
The cadet did as ordered, finding himself much closer to a Great Hare in musk-rut than he ever would have dared had he not been determined to prove himself where by closing his eyes and watering the flowers like a boy still in leading strings.
The bunny never wavered.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Natasha threw down her sword, marched behind the bush nearest Fandral and copped a squat, looking for all the world like a lady simply waiting for an overdue bus to arrive.
Within milliseconds, the Great Hare paused mid-thrust, eyes wide and body taut. Tension hummed in the air as predator eyed prey.
Fandral coughed and the bunny made a break for it, flinging Fandral at Natasha and hauling fluffy ass for the cover of the trees.
Moseying over to the messy heap that remained of Fandral, Darcy bumped fists with Natasha. “That was so badass. Like some real Bear Grylls, Lion King circle of life shit. Black Widow: top of the food chain.”