Crocodylus Acutus
J Rocci
CROCODYLUS ACUTUS
J. Rocci
Copyright © 2012 by J. Rocci
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Contains Adult Reading Material
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Author's Note
This short story was written for the Love Is Always Write event on the GoodReads M/M Romance Group, where readers provided prompts for the group's authors to claim and write. Diane posted the prompt: "Craig is a crocodile shifter who loves nothing more than to sit in the river all day among his pure croc brethren. Over the past few days he's been watching this cute conservationist gather data about his dwindling habitat. But when the guy falls into the mud, the rest of the crocs think lunch but Craig thinks love."
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CROCODYLUS ACUTUS
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The houseboat rocked particularly violently at the same time a couple snowy egrets had a domestic dispute up on deck, knocking Craig out of a sound sleep. Yawning with a guttural growl, he rolled out of his small bunk and scratched absently at his stomach as he climbed to his feet.
The boat swayed again, which was unusually choppy for the river. Frowning, he headed for the door and stubbed his toe on the edge of his hoard, cursing the mangled license plate and hopping on one foot until the pain died. Then he started walking normally just in time to clip his forehead on the low-hanging lintel that separated the bunk area from the boat's small galley and main cabin.
After that, he just curled over his kitchen counter for a moment, cheek plastered to the cool surface, and glowered at his beat up alarm clock. It was the old fashion kind with twin bells on top, that he'd found in the river a couple years back like most of his trove. Sure, it was a little rusty, but he had replaced the guts and it was happily tick-tocking along now, kept safely in the main cabin where Craig couldn't accidentally crush it in the mornings.
Sighing, he carefully pulled it over and toggled the button on the back to off. Stupid birds. He could've slept another hour, since his new friend didn't arrive at the wildlife refuge until late morning.
Well, "new friend" might be stretching it. More like acquaintance? They'd totally made eye contact. Granted, Craig was a crocodile at the time, so it might not count.
The dispatch on the truck radio and that old dude who accompanied him always called the latest G-man intern Grady, so Craig at least knew his name. And that Grady liked his coffee black and that his lunch was tuna every single day. His voice was wonderful, too, like Grady was just a breath away from laughing, and he was dying to hear Grady's voice with his less-sensitive human ears, to see if it was still as great.
But Craig's little houseboat was moored as close as he could legally get to the southern tip of the Florida everglades, so it wasn't like there was a coffee bar or supermarket where he could conveniently run into the -- Was a Fish and Wildlife employee technically a G-man? Or was that title just reserved for the FBI or those other guys?
Craig realized he'd just asked the question of his rarely used stove and took that as a sign that he needed to go socialize with living creatures. Otherwise he might end up finding where his delectable object of affection lived and standing in Grady's bedroom at night, watching Grady sleep like a creeper.
Creepers weren't cool.
He whistled as he went up on deck, snagging a new t-shirt and jersey shorts as he went. The noisy egrets scrammed as soon as they heard him coming, going to roost in the low-hanging branches that spread over the water from the banks.
"Good morning to you, too, Breakfast. Dinner," he greeted their retreating backsides cheerfully, tossing his clean clothes at the usual spot on deck for when he returned.
Slipping naked over the side of the boat, he carefully descended a ladder into the brackish water. When he had first moored in the area, he'd made the mistake of diving straight into the river without being able to see what was hidden in the sediment at the bottom. He shuddered at the remembered pain.
Once he was in up to his neck, he closed his eyes and slipped underneath the surface completely. The river was cold in the morning shadows, but the shock helped push his transformation, just like the lack of oxygen as he held his breath.
He changed pretty much every morning these days, but it still was an effort, requiring that he relax and just let it flow.
Soon he was scaly and jetting up the river to the wonderful mud banks that the other crocs basked on during the day. A couple years back, there'd been a harsh winter that had almost wiped out the natural crocs at his old stomping grounds, so he'd moved to the Everglades. He hadn't expected to find so many natural crocodiles in one place, but the wildlife reserve was the best social club he could have hoped for, and after three years of floating around its banks, Craig felt at home.
Besides, the American Crocodile being on the Threatened Species list or not, Craig was less likely to get shot by poachers in the wildlife reserve. The government and conservationist groups kept the habitat as balanced as they could; there were fences and nets to keep the big boats out of certain areas -- he ducked under one to enter the sanctuary, huge body undulating as his short arms and legs tucked against his sides -- and the food was plentiful.
Speaking of, he took a detour to find some tasty fish in the shallows. Mm. Bass. His human grocery bills were practically non-existent.
His time-sense went a little wonky when he was transformed, so he wasn't surprised to see Grady already puttering around on the service road when he arrived at his basking spot. The other man was a good distance from the banks, digging in the back of a pickup truck.
Heaving his huge form onto the opposite river bank, Craig settled in to watch, grunting at a couple of the crocs already there. The weather had been unusually warm this year, and the result had been a whacked mating season with some eligible females looking for partners while others were still preparing nests. It had left their little community on edge, and was probably part of the reason Grady was out here earlier than the interns in years past.
Mm. Grady.
Craig chuffed contentedly, ignoring the twitches around him. He was the biggest male there so they could suck it if they wanted to get grumpy with him. Nothing was going to distract him from the best view in the Everglades.
Grady was singing to himself today, snippets of a song Craig didn't recognize. Craig hadn't gotten close enough yet to see the logo on the baseball cap Grady wore every day, but he thought Grady was probably from one of the Florida universities. His wire-rimmed glasses reflected the Florida sunlight through the trees, his t-shirts were usually baggy, but his jeans fit his athletic frame amazingly, and Craig may have tracked his muddy boot prints through the underbrush on a couple occasions. Grady had cooed over a baby crocodile just yesterday, one of the early little ones only a few days out from leaving the nest. Grady was adorable.
Tripping over his own feet, Grady went down in the tall sawgrass with a curse, work bag flying through the air over his shoulder.
Craig had also observed that Grady was something of a klutz. Not that Craig could say anything, really.
Climbing to his feet, Grady started searching the surrounding area for his glasses. A male
crocodile further down the river slipped into the water silently, nostrils and eyes just above the surface as he started to swim closer.
Craig's eyes narrowed, a subvocal rumble starting in his chest. The female nearest him quietly took off into the water, too.
Grady seemed oblivious to any danger, chiding himself as he found his muddy glasses and tried to clean them off on his t-shirt. Putting them back on, he squinted around him and adjusted his cap.
"Right," he said with a sigh, futilely trying to wipe off his cute behind. "Water sampling kit. I just had it here..."
Another female croc went water ninja and Craig had had enough of that. Just as he started to sink back into the river, though, Grady slipped in the mud again, and this time he went head over heels down the slippery bank.
Right into the water.
The water full of opportunistic crocodiles.
Grady needed a keeper, Craig thought as he put on a burst of speed and bellowed a warning. On land, a croc could keep up with an Olympic runner. In the water, there wasn't much hope for their intended prey.
The first male crocodile had stealthily gotten closer while Grady had searched for his glasses, a deadly vee in the water, and now took his chance.
Oh hell no, Craig thought and snapped at the upstart. Dude had gotten territorial on Craig before,
