Food for Thought
Author's Notes - This one is weird, even for me. And yes, there is one line that could easily turn this from Gen to Slash, but I'll leave that up to your imaginations. :)
Blair’s stomach growled.
It emitted a boisterous series of gurgles and rumbles, the kind that could be heard for half a city block, causing its owner to pat the offending midsection, glance sheepishly around and apologize profusely.
“Sorry, man.” Blair rubbed his abdomen in a futile attempt to quiet the protest emanating from his innards.
Jim chuckled softly. “It’s okay.” His own stomach purred contentedly. “Try not to think about food.”
At the mention of the ‘F’ word, Blair’s stomach turned up the volume a notch, causing several small, curious woodland creatures to scatter in alarm.
“Easy for you to say, man.” Blair trudged along behind Jim…thoughts of grilled steak, boiled tongue and lasagna sparring with each other for a place of prominence on Blair’s mental list of what to devour first should they ever reach civilization.
Jim slowed his pace, and threw another suggestion over his shoulder. “Maybe if you’d eaten something for breakfast other than that toad-food…”
“Tofu, Jim, to-fu.” Blair stuck his tongue out at the older man’s back.
“And five cups of coffee, for chrissake…”
“Hey, who’s bright idea was it to get up at the butt-crack of dawn? Like the damn river wouldn’t have still been there two hours later? At an hour when I could have woken up without an overdose of caffeine?” Blair suddenly stopped talking, remembering it was the five cups of coffee hitting his bladder with a vengeance that was the cause of their present predicament.
Standing up in a canoe on a rapidly moving river to relieve oneself over the side was a tad more of a challenge than accomplishing the same task while in a stable, flat bottomed fishing boat on a calm, lazy river.
The canoe was probably halfway to the Pacific by now.
Jim came to a halt, ignoring Blair’s ramblings. He cocked his head, peered off into the distance and sniffed the air, getting his bearings.
Blair’s stomach growled again. Pan-fried trout added itself to the list.
Jim altered their course and they set off in a new direction.
“We’re lost. Aren’t we? We’re in the middle of nowhere, no food, no water…”
“It’s good to know you have such faith in my sentinel abilities, Chief.”
“Would you eat me, Jim?”
Jim stopped dead in his tracks and Blair ploughed right into him. The older man turned and stared at his partner, a dazed look on his face.
“What the hell…?’
Blair looked up at this friend with an innocent expression. “If you had to, you know? To survive? Like that soccer team whose plane crashed in the Andes? Or the Donner party back in the 1840’s who got stranded in the Sierra Nevada’s?”
Jim rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “For cryin’ out loud, Sandburg, we’ve only been hiking for six hours!”
Blair gazed at Jim with genuine concern and shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just sayin’, man; if it was a matter of survival? I read somewhere once that cannibals in Africa or someplace say humans taste a lot like pork”
Jim grabbed Blair by the upper arms and shook him; ready to launch into a lecture regarding how preposterous Blair’s question was. Instead, he cuffed his friend lightly on the back of the curly head and then wrapped a protective arm around his guide and squeezed tightly. “Shut up, Chief. We’ll be out of here before supper time.”
Blair’s stomach answered with another long, low growl.
Braised pork chops with boiled potatoes and warm applesauce jumped to the top of the list.
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