WOOF - This monstrosity is finished! A little late, but hell, time is an illusion when you have a toddler. I started this early November because I wanted to celebrate my own personal Chrismand shipping moment! It was the Thanksgiving episode that got me, fellas, but specifically HIT at this moment -
From then on, the hooks were in, and then I starting writing "Kink Powers Activate!" and it was GAME OVER. This stupid, silly paring that literally went from "they should fuck, it'll be fun" to "HOLY SHIT THEY'RE IDIOTS IN LOVE!!!!" and I haven't stopped thinking about them in the TWO years since.
Still can't believe there's an active fanbase for this pair, but I love seeing EVERYTHING you all make! And I will NEVER make anything this detailed again. In the art department anyway... Nope, I'mma stick to shitpost doodles and too-long fanfics.
Thanks for reading! And Happy Belated Turkey Day to all who celebrate(d) :D
Rated T for mild language (including the *gasp* fuck word)
Word Count: 4,676 words
In light of recent events (if you know, you know), I thought I'd post something (mostly) lighthearted and silly for my fellow Chrismand lovers. So here's a funny PRE-SLASH fic with far too much research (but still plenty of creature and medical inaccuracies) and obscure references to cleanse your palate if you - like me - desperately need it.
Summary: Gourmand crashes the Wild Kratts tropical beach episode.
(The Creature Feature: Sundae the Geography Cone Snail!)
Today was not Chris’s day - not by any stretch of the word.
His misfortune started early; his breakfast - yogurt with granola - plummeted off the table and into his lap when the Tortuga hit a rough patch of turbulence, and from then on, Chris knew it was going to be one of those days. And how right that assumption proved to be!
It came as no surprise that, while Chris cleaned himself up, Martin rallied the crew to his idea for their daily destination. Which, even less surprising, wound up being the ocean - the tropics off the Southern African coast, to be precise, and Chris didn’t bother trying to sway them from the ‘beach episode’ Martin promised them. To be honest, he thought it sounded kind of nice after the lousy morning he had, so, just this once, he let his brother win the metaphorical coin toss without complaint.
That is - until Chris lost the literal coin toss an hour into their tropical excursion. Because they found a cone snail - specifically, a Geography cone (Conus geographus) - and couldn’t not beg Aviva to make a creature power suit based on the adorably deadly gastropod, and to their delight, she did! But, to their dismay, she only presented one disc, citing the day off Martin promised here. Which made it even more unfair when it was Martin who wound up with it, and his brother wasted no time carefully canoodling up to the snail - whom he’d dubbed ‘Sundae’ - and activating his CPS before Sundae decided to stick him with the business end of her envenomed radula tooth.
Was it worth the risk? Absolutely.
Was Chris going to maintain a safe and healthy distance until it was his turn? Again, absolutely.
In the meantime, he showed off all the different colored, textured, and patterned shells to the crew, who ‘oooh’ed and ‘aaah’ed at the sheer amount of variety even between the same species, and whereas Chris was forced to observe from afar, Martin got right in the thick of things, albeit very, very, very slowly.
Almost as slowly as Sundae dragged her unsuspecting prey - a sizable Crown-of-Thorns starfish - into her proboscis after a shockingly quick strike of her harpoon, and unsurprisingly, the sudden and grotesque brutality of the spiked invertebrate disappearing into Sundae’s ever expanding body turned the crew off of watching anymore of her exploits. Not that the snail would be doing much besides hunkering down to digest her lunch, but, still, Chris couldn’t blame them for wanting an immediate palate cleanser after such a squeamish sight.
So back to the beach, they went, and Chris elected to join them instead of hovering over the reef like an impatient little brother waiting for his turn with the cool, new toy. After all, it was far too nice a day to watch someone else have all the fun. Which was what brought them to -
“A chicken fight?”
“Yeah, dude,” Jimmy replied, a lazy grin on his face as he floated by on his back. He didn’t even open his eyes as he parroted, “A chicken fight.”
Chris raised a brow - not at Jimmy but at the two women laughing at him.
“How do you not know?” Koki asked, hardly getting the words out between giggles. “You have a brother.”
Now Chris was even more confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Aviva wiped a tear from her eye. “It’s a game - a silly kid’s game that you typically play in the pool,” she explained. “Honestly, it’s right up you Kratt’s alley, too. I’m surprised you don’t know about it.”
“I mean, I know what chicken is,” Chris defended lightly, still more lost than he cared to admit. “And, no offense, but I really don’t want to kiss any of you.”
Jimmy inhaled sharply somewhere behind him. “Ouch, dude.”
Koki rolled her eyes before sharing a mischievous look with Aviva. Which did not bode well for Chris in the slightest.
“Well, I won’t say a chicken fight hasn’t ever ended in a smooch,” the former began, slowly uncrossing her arms with a smirk. “But it certainly isn’t the goal of the game.”
Then Koki dove down into the water, disappearing with a big enough splash to flip Jimmy from his back float with a yelp. She didn’t stay gone long but reappeared between Aviva’s legs, abruptly hauling the giggling inventor onto her shoulders with a triumphant grin. And, suddenly in the know, Chris grinned back.
“Oh,” he laughed lightly. “You were talking about shoulder wars. Why didn’t you just say so?”
The four of them shared a good laugh that was, luckily, less at Chris’s expense, and when Aviva fell from Koki’s shaking shoulders, Chris used the distraction to secure his own partner. Poor Jimmy didn’t see it coming, and he floundered like a fish out of water on Chris’s shoulders and nearly sent them both back into the sea. Somehow, Chris managed to keep them upright through Jimmy’s flustered flailing, and as the girls righted themselves, too, he saw the competitive twinkle in their eyes. In anticipation, Chris tightened his hold on Jimmy’s trembling thighs but immediately let up when it earned him a surprised squawk from his partner, and though Jimmy couldn’t see his face, Chris sent up an apologetic smile anyway.
Across from them, Koki snorted. “Oh, we’re going to destroy you.”
Chris’s grin turned a bit sharper as he directed it at their opponents. “Bring it on.”
They got destroyed - plain and simple; there was no better word to describe the thorough, systematic way Aviva and Koki tore them down again and again and again.
“Maybe we should switch partners,” Jimmy suggested after the fifth time they were toppled, wiping his wet hair from his red face and casting a pitiful glance at their smirking conquerors.
It certainly made more sense than asking Jimmy - scrawny, sopping wet Jimmy - to hoist him up instead, but Chris couldn’t bring himself to give up quite yet.
“One more time,” he panted, giving Jimmy his own pleading look. One that wore his cohort down as slowly but surely as a peculiar blue cone snail was likely traversing the reef not a mile away.
“We’re waiting,” Aviva taunted with a toss of her drying hair.
Jimmy sighed but agreed, “One more time.”
And so, for a last time, Chris hefted Jimmy up on his shoulders. Having had plenty of practice by this point, they were balanced and braced for their final bout in no time at all, and as they clashed with the defending champions again, Chris knew this time would be different; he could feel it - felt it just as strongly as he felt his Creature Pod vibrating on his arm, but that didn’t prepare him - any of them actually - for the jumpscare that was Martin’s snail-masked face suddenly shooting out from the screen with a shout.
Whatever Martin said was lost in their startled screams, which were then swiftly silenced as all four crashed into the water in their understandable surprise. Their sputtering coughs upon surfacing didn’t drown out Martin’s next whiney words.
“Ah, man, you guys were playing shoulder wars? Without me?”
Chris spat out a mouthful of water and glared at his brother’s floating face. “Did you need something, Martin?”
“Oh, right!” Martin’s eyes went wide with recollection before abruptly shifting off-screen. “Gourmand’s here, and he’s planning to turn Sundae and the others into escargot!” His gaze darted sheepishly back to the screen. “And I may have accidentally broke the deactivation button on my suit, so, uh, I can’t exactly do anything about it besides join the menu, hehe.”
And with that, their relaxing day at the beach was forgotten.
“Wait, Martin, are you with him right now?”
Martin nodded. “Yeah, we’re in a fish tank on his ship.”
Immediately, Chris glanced back to where they’d left Martin. No sign of a dingy ship, but it was hardly surprising. They would have noticed another ship coming by, and any ship coming by would have seen the giant teal turtle anchored just off the coast. With any luck, Gourmand didn’t, and they’d have the element of surprise on their side. But first -
“Do you know where he took you?”
On the screen, Martin squinted past the camera. “Well, we’re in some sort of rocky cove, but we can’t be too far. The hose thingy he sucked us up with didn’t seem that long.” As if summoned by his brother’s words, the undeniably loud whirring of suction interrupted their conversation before cutting off just as quickly as it began, and Martin glared somewhere offscreen again. “Sheesh, just how many snails does this guy want to eat!”
Jaw set, Chris assured, “We’re on our way, bro. Hang in there, okay?”
If cone snails had arms, Martin likely would have done a cheesy little salute, but since they don’t, he settled for a cheeky grin instead. “Aye, aye, captain!”
With a final nod, Chris ended the call and addressed the crew, who looked just as determined as he felt. “Up for a creature and Kratt rescue?”
Each had their own job. Chris, obviously, was going in for the rescue; Koki was tracking Martin’s specific location and relaying it to him; Aviva was attempting to reverse-engineer an antidote of some sort in the likely event that someone got stung; and Jimmy was poised and ready to teleport said antidote when it (inevitably) needed to be used. Their preparedness didn’t guarantee success though, but, at the very least, it got Chris to Gourmand’s ship, anchored in a shallow cove just off the coast.
It was almost too shallow, and the rusting ship threatened to damage the coral its owner was currently sifting through with the ‘hose thingy’ Martin mentioned. The narrow nozzle-head poked and prodded at every nook and cranny it could reach, and the opaque, segmented body slithered after it in a perverted imitation of a snake and led Chris’s eyes right back to the ship. Where Gourmand stood in the open cockpit, eyes narrowed and focused on his console as he presumedly controlled the serpentine contraption, and his attention remained there and kept him oblivious to Chris’s slow, silent approach on his MantaRider.
Finding the fish tank that held his brother and the other snails was easy; it haphazardly half-hung off the starboard side, fastened to the railing with thick metal bolts and brackets that were just as rusty as the rest of the ship, and when Chris glided closer to see just how sturdy the supports were, he saw a familiar blue snail attempting to splinter the glass with his re-enforced, artificial radula harpoon. It looked to be working, too, a barely discernible crack catching the light with each rock of the boat. Martin noticed the progress, too, a wide, toothy grin flashing across his face before he even noticed Chris, and when he did, he lit up brighter than the sun reflecting off his transparent prison. They shared a nod - an acknowledgment of the plan formed wordlessly between them - and then parted to do their respective parts.
Which, in Chris’s case, was to distract the chef, and he had no time to lose when another loud whirring cut through the quiet cove again and announced another snail being ripped from its home. The crooning ballad that replaced the grating sound wasn’t much better, and after a particularly stomach churning lyric about sucking the snails from their shells, Chris couldn’t have held his tongue if he tried.
“I think you’ve done enough sucking for one day, Gourmand,” he called from behind the raised bow before swiftly - and strategically - moving port side. “And those snails belong free and in the wild - not in your mouth!”
Heavy footsteps thundered across the deck until Gourmand’s glaring face popped over the side, but the moment his eyes landed on Chris, his snarl twisted into a wry grin that showed just as many teeth.
“Ah, you jealous, Green Grape?” he cooed, still carrying the tune of his demented song. “There’s more than enough to go around. If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you eat your fill, too.”
Chris curled his nose but forced a smile. “How about I ask you to let the snails go and find a farm that practices heliciculture instead? I’m sure there’s plenty to choose from, especially in Africa; in fact, there’s probably one a few miles inland.”
With each word, Gourmand’s face fell further and further until it was slack in complete and utter disdain. What this man could possibly have against farms, Chris hadn’t the slightest clue, but, unfortunately, what he did know was that there was no way the chef would take his suggestion. Even as he artificially sweetened his smile and politely - nicely - added:
“Please?”
Gourmand scoffed, dry amusement replacing his disgusted disinterest. “You know, Green Grape, I would, but there’s just one itty bitty, teensy weensy problem.” To demonstrate, he brought his thumb and index closer and closer until they finally came together on ‘problem,’ at which point he likely envisioned smashing Chris’s head like a grape. It certainly seemed that way when he giggled under his breath before shrugging in a what-can-you-do kind of way. “They don’t raise cone snails.”
Chris felt his eye twitch. “Why would they? In case you didn’t know, cone snails are extremely venomous - some lethally so, and it’d be next to impossible to eat one without risking death.”
“Unless you’re a professional like moi,” Gourmand boasted, provoked but definitely unfounded. “It’ll be like preparing a pufferfish.”
“Don’t you need to be licensed to do that?”
Now, it was Chris smirking and Gourmand’s eye twitching.
“I don’t need a fucking piece of paper to tell me I can fucking cook,” Gourmand snapped back. “Or to cut the heads off a few snails to add a new tropical delicacy to my menu.”
Perhaps poking the man that could bench press a bear wasn’t the wisest course of action, and Chris got to his feet, precariously balancing on his MantaRider, when it looked like Gourmand was going to do exactly as he said. Though as the mad chef pulled a knife from somewhere, Chris wasn’t entirely sure how he’d stop him now, but when he noticed the splintered spiderwebs spreading across the glass prison behind Gourmand, he knew he had to do something. But what?
Gourmand seemed to be waiting for him to figure it out, too, watching even more intently now that Chris wasn’t prone on his MantaRider. He must have thought Chris was smart enough to bring his own weapon because he scanned over every last inch of his body - like his wet suit could have hidden anything, and in an attempt to placate the villain, he raised his hands and used the only weapon he was armed with. Reason.
“Gourmand, please, you have to know the risk far outweighs the reward. Someone could get hurt; you could get hurt, and for what? A taste only dead men know? That can't be worth it.”
Gourmand listened - even nodded along like he was truly pondering Chris's plea, but the way he licked his lips was as much an answer as when he parted them and said, “I find a taste is always worth it, sugar.” Those leering green eyes returned to Chris's face. “Sure I can't tempt you to take a bite?”
No wonder he felt like sharing; what's a little poison between enemies?
“Not on your life,” Chris replied. He chanced a glance at the tank and smirked at what he saw. “Or any of those cone snails’, either.”
Then there was only shattering glass and rushing water - the sound of freedom if Chris had ever heard it.
Too late, Gourmand realized the ruse and bolted back to his broken fish bowl. He shouted and cursed but could do little else as his ‘meal tickets’ - his words, certainly not Chris's - escaped back into the ocean. Not all of them must have made it, though, because Gourmand, in his ultimate hubris, shot his hand out and made to grab something from the ruined tank. It came as no surprise when, not a second later, he roared in pain and instantly dropped whatever he'd caught into the sea with an innocent, little plop.
Under normal circumstances, Chris would have been more concerned for the creature’s wellbeing after being caught by that meaty mitt, but he found himself far more worried about the absolute idiot glaring down at water. Fear and urgency choked him like a noose, but it wasn't Chris's life that was at stake. There wasn't a moment to lose.
How Chris managed to jump onto the ship, he wasn't sure - adrenaline, if he had to guess, but he was at Gourmand's side before the man even had a chance to look at his wounded hand. Chris beat him to the punch, praying that he was wrong - that maybe a piece of glass or the knife the chef still brandished were the cause, but what little hope he'd held was dashed the moment he saw it - a tiny puncture wound.
“Shit,” Chris hissed, then, with more feeling, “Shit!”
Okay, stay calm, Chris. Stay calm. Stay–
“You moron! What were you thinking?”
The outburst stupefied Gourmand as thoroughly as it embarrassed Chris, who was struggling to remember proper procedure for a cone snail's sting with how loudly his heart pulsed in his ears. When he finally recalled step one - applying pressure immobilization, he didn't bother looking for a first aid kit - heaven only knew if there was one on this rust bucket - and grabbed the first thing he saw that would make for an impromptu bandage - Gourmand's apron. Chris could replace it later; right now, he needed to stem the flow of venom.
As he ripped the fabric off Gourmand's hips, the bastard had the gall to laugh. “Skipping dinner to get right to the fun part, huh? Who knew you had it in you, Green Grape.”
Chris ignored the words but not the slurred way they came out. “Gourmand, I need you to focus, okay?” His voice shook as much as his hands as he wrapped the apron firmly around Gourmand's palm and up past his wrist. “Can you tell me anything about the snail you grabbed? Color, size, a particular pattern on the shell, anything?”
Dazed, dilated eyes stared back at Chris when he raised his own away from the wrapped wound, and with how quickly symptoms seemed to be appearing, Chris feared the worst. So, with one hand keeping the shoddy wrap secured, he called for backup.
“Aviva, Gourmand got stung,” he reported, hating the way words trembled on his tongue. “Do you have a working antidote yet?”
Grasping the severity of the situation, Aviva didn't mince words. “No, but if I know the makeup of the exact venom we're dealing with, I should be able to concoct something to counteract it. If only slightly.”
Chris nodded. “That's better than nothing. What do you need me to do?”
“If you scan the wound, your Creature Pod should be able to detect the different amino acids present, and from there, I can make adjustments." She paused, her eyes drifting to the villain silently staring holes into the side of Chris's head. “It might take a little longer for the scan to finish, though, since it'll need to go through the, uh, bandage?”
Again, Chris nodded. “I'll record what symptoms I see, too. Maybe that'll help us diagnose him faster.”
“Good idea,” Aviva replied with a reassuring smile. “And good luck, CK.”
The screen went dark, and Chris turned back to Gourmand. Who continued to gaze at him with such intensity that Chris was tempted to take a few steps back, but with no time for self-preservation, he faced it head on.
“I need you to take over holding the bandage,” he said, squeezing the bound wrist for emphasis.
Gourmand blinked and glanced down at where Chris's hand was wrapped around his wrapped wrist, and without those eyes on him, Chris noticed the color that had risen up the man's neck and throughout his entire face. Definitely not a good sign, and neither was the clammy, heavy hand that covered his own - another alarming symptom he'd be sure to take note of. As soon as he managed to slip his hand out from under Gourmand's. Which took a full ten seconds longer than it should have, but the moment he was free, Chris got straight to work typing out his observations while the scan ran in the background. When he ran out of physical symptoms of note, he started to look internally.
Without glancing up from his Creature Pod, he shot off a series of rapid-fire questions: “How are you feeling? Any pain? Discomfort? Numbness? Anything you can’t feel that you should?”
The only reply he received: “...Pretty.”
Chris blinked once, twice, and then lifted his head. “Uh, excuse me?”
With a downright dopey smile, Gourmand swayed forward, getting way too close for comfort, and repeated, “Pretty.”
Obviously there was a disconnect somewhere; he’d make a note of that, too, but first, he needed to figure out what Gourmand was trying to say. Which he’d prefer doing from a reasonable distance, but until the scan was complete, he was essentially trapped in the envenomed idiot’s bubble. Mother Gaia give him strength.
“I’m not following. Pretty what?”
“Pretty you,” Gourmand snorted, giving Chris a look that could only be described as fond exasperation - like he couldn’t believe Chris didn’t know his completely nonsensical answer. Or, at least, it was nonsensical until Gourmand clarified, “You’re pretty. Why’re you so pretty?”
Chris blinked once, twice, and then looked down, intending to add ‘delusional’ to the symptoms list, but before he could, a large - and, thankfully, uninjured - hand cupped his chin and forced him nose-to-nose with Gourmand.
“Can I kiss you?”
He would be underlining delusional - twice - when he got the chance.
“Uh,” Chris said. “No?”
At the rejection, Gourmand wilted and then completely collapsed onto the deck, and panic seized Chris once more. He dropped down beside the fallen villain and grabbed his shoulder, intending to flip him over for CPR - ironically, a kiss of sorts in its own right - when it became clear that it wasn’t cardiac arrest that sent him to the floor. No, the grown ass man was pouting, not dying. Or, at least, he wasn’t dead yet, but he would be sooner than later if Chris didn’t finish the damn scan that Gourmand’s theatrics interrupted. Of course, when Chris reached for the injured hand, the bastard pulled away. After doing that annoying song and dance three more times, Chris gave in.
“Son of a– Fine! Give me your damn hand, and I’ll give you a kiss, you big baby!”
Gourmand looked far too proud of himself as he flopped onto his back and freely offered his injured hand while the other pointed to his puckered lips. Chris enjoyed watching the pout return when he shook his head.
“Ah, ah, after the scan,” he chided. “Can’t have your dessert before supper, right?”
Speaking Gourmand's language did the trick, and the man laid there, completely compliant for a change, for the rest of the scan. And the call that followed.
Aviva was on the tail end of a laugh when she appeared on the screen, and the sight lifted a weight off Chris's shoulders until she giggled, “Please, don’t be mad.”
Chris was almost afraid to ask. “...What?”
“So the compound currently running through Gourmand’s system is an amino amide synthesized from two-six xylidine and chloroacetyl chloride.”
“Um, English?”
“It’s an anesthetic - specifically the one I used for the cone snail power suit.”
The reveal didn’t compute for a few seconds until -
“So it isn’t fatal?”
Aviva shook her head. “Not at that dosage.”
“And Martin was the one to sting him?”
A wry grin split her face. “It’s looking that way.”
Of fucking course.
“Thanks, Aviva,” Chris sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming on. “I guess I’ll be back in a bit, then.”
“Sure thing, see you soon!”
When Chris looked up from his Creature Pod, he met Gourmand's expectant face, and again, he sighed. There’s no way in hell the bastard didn’t notice the snail he grabbed was the only blue one in the bunch, but if one good thing came from that knowledge, it was that Chris knew for a fact the suit would have protected Martin from Gourmand’s grab. Still, his brother’s radio silence bothered him, and with the threat to Gourmand's life being nonexistent from the get-go, there was nothing stopping Chris from confirming Martin’s fate, too. Well, nothing except a firm, insistent hand at his wrist.
“I’m waiting,” Gourmand reminded him, another petulant pout on his flushed face.
Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t bother trying to break away. “Alright, alright already, just–” He couldn’t believe he was doing this. “Close your eyes.”
Gourmand obeyed immediately, lips puckering instead of pouting, and Chris almost wanted to laugh at how eager the guy seemed. Maybe he would have if it didn't also make him feel a little bad about what he did next. Because a kiss was a kiss, but the one Chris pressed to Gourmand’s palm - where the puncture had already scabbed over - clearly hadn't been what the villain had in mind. Though it did catch him off guard enough for Chris to slip through his fingers.
“Hey, that's cheating,” Gourmand accused, eyes flying open and hand flying out to try and grab hold of Chris again, but the attempt was sluggish at best and uncoordinated at worst.
“Like you've got any room to talk,” Chris replied, returning port side and looking over the railing. His MantaRider had floated a fair bit away during his dire - and pointless - rescue attempt, and any sympathy he may have had for the drugged man dried up real quick. “Unless you actually procured the proper documentation to legally fish here?”
The only answer Gourmand had to that was a slurred: “Snails ain't fish, sweetheart.”
“Didn't think so,” Chris muttered and went to jump over the railing before he stopped himself. He glanced over his shoulder at the delirious man watching him with wide-eyed intent. “Try not to fall in the water. If you don't drown first, you'll probably get stung by an actual cone snail.”
Gourmand grinned, but the leering effect was cheapened by how badly he struggled to keep his head up. “Would I get my kiss then, sweet cheeks?”
“Goodbye, Gourmand.”
And with that, Chris strapped on his breathing mask and dove into the water in search of his brother. Who made himself known almost as soon as he entered the water.
“Yeesh, I thought you’d never leave, bro!”
It was practically yelled in his ear and nearly gave Chris a heart attack - no venom or anesthesia needed. Not that the blue cone snail on his shoulder had a lethal dosage of either.
“Martin! What the hell? How long have you been there?!”
His brother laughed. “Oh, not long; just for the entirety of your Baywatch routine.”
Against all advice when it came to real cone snails, Chris grabbed the blue imposter in both hands and shook. “You jackass! Why didn’t you help me? Or, I don’t know, tell me that you were the one to sting Gourmand?!" He ceased his shaking to properly glare at Martin, who looked more green than blue for once. “I thought he was going to fucking die, dude!”
“Sorry, sorry, you’re right; it was a dick move. I’m sorry.” Martin shook himself out of his dizzy spell and gave Chris an apologetic smile. “For what it’s worth, I think you handled the situation perfectly…” The soft smile turned into a smug smirk. “Sweet cheeks.”
Chris deadpanned, “You know, you’re the only cone snail in the world that Gourmand could eat raw and not suffer anything worse than indigestion.”
That shut Martin up all the way back to the Tortuga - the only silver lining to what was certainly not Chris’s day.
