by Dixon, Ruby
He isn't grossed out, though. Gren goes very still, groaning low, and then the lightness goes out of our game. It's no longer about frolicking in the snow. He doesn't move, but I can hear his breath rasping in his throat, and I can feel the hard stab of his erection against my back.
It doesn't take much to turn him on, and I feel like a jerk for licking his hand. Of course he gets aroused at that. Something tells me that he's still new to touching overall, and even the most lighthearted play will become more to him. I'm heady with power at the thought of being able to turn him on so easily, but at the same time, I wonder if we shouldn't pace ourselves. Is he going to think our entire relationship is about sex if I keep making it sexual? I don't know what to do.
I want to kiss him and caress him. Heck, I want to see his reaction to everything. But is that bad? Am I doing a disservice to our “friendship” if we become more than just buddies? How’s he going to feel if I resonate to someone else?
Of course, I’d have to be around someone else for that to happen, but the threat is always on the horizon. I haven’t forgotten that the others are out seeking us. All that needs to happen is for one of them to run across the same trail we’re on and if a cootie fires off, we’re in trouble. Will Gren understand that?
Why wouldn’t he understand that, Willa? He’s not an animal. He’s a person that was raised different than you, no more, no less. Now I feel even worse because I stole Gren away from the others to prove he’s not an animal, and then I’m hesitating because I think he might not understand how a relationship works? I can’t have it both ways.
Unless…what if Gren thinks that I took him away from the others so he could be my sex slave?
This is complicated.
I know that I want him.
I think that he wants me.
Surely it can’t be more difficult than that, can it? Does it have to be? Or do I need to wait before touching him to prove that we can be friends as well as friends with benefits?
As I turn to look at Gren, he drops his hand and lets me go. "Fire," he says flatly, turning away from me. He bends and begins to pick up the poop-cakes, collecting them in his big hands and I feel a twinge of guilt. Should I have responded faster? Did he sense my hesitation?
It's not that I don't want him. I just have to be careful of our relationship. We're both so very new to knowing each other and this planet. We can barely communicate, and it'd be easy to misinterpret things. For all I know, me touching his dick yesterday means that we're married.
Maybe we should have a long talk when we get back to the tent…right after we make fire.
10
WILLA
Figuring out how to make fire isn’t as easy as it looks, though.
When we get back with the fuel—I refuse to think of it as poop—I dig a hole in the snow for our “hearth,” push the poop into a pile, wipe my hands, and then try to figure out the fire-making implements I snatched from the other camp when no one was looking. There's a bit of metal that looks like it came from a spaceship and a rock that's been marked on one end with a reddish dye. I've seen plenty of movies so I should know how this works.
Theoretically.
In reality, I can't get it to work at all. I try striking the rock to the metal. Then I try striking the metal to the rock. I try banging both together. I change the angles that I hit them, I even try rubbing them together for friction sparks, but nothing works. I get the occasional spark, but nothing takes on my poop, and after a while, I'm sweaty and tired and I still have no fire. Gren watches me, but he's a bit warier since our playfulness got weird, and I want to tell him that it's me, not him. That I'm just trying to figure out how free I can be around him. That I'm the one blowing hot and cold and I'm the problem. Didn't I want him to kiss the hell out of me this morning? What changed now?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing has changed. I'm just…skittish and now I'm in a bad mood. My dreams of a hot bath (or at least a hot toweling off) and a cooked dinner are fading quickly. This survival shit is hard. When I knock the rocks together again and nothing happens for the millionth time, I give up and fling them down, then stomp out of our lean-to so I can rage in private.
Fire’s a fucking staple. If I can’t make fire, how are we possibly going to survive?
I don’t reckon we will. And then I’m going to be responsible for Gren’s death. I drop to my knees in the snow, weary and tired and cold and just beat down from everything that’s happened. A week ago, I was waitressing with no future other than picking up extra shifts to put down some cash on credit cards that weren’t even mine. It was stressful, but I could handle it. I knew the situation. It wasn’t life or death.
But here…I’m over my head.
I feel suspiciously weepy and sniff hard, trying to ignore the overwhelming urge to cry. If I do, the tears will just freeze to my face. The wind is picking up again, and the small window of nice weather is gone, the clouds and snowflakes returning.
For a self-pitying moment, I wonder if I’ll ever be warm again.
“Willa?” Big hands close over my shoulders, warm and comforting. “Friend?”
I close my eyes, ashamed. Here I am being a crybaby about my fate. Yes, it might be hitting me that I’m forced to survive on a wintry planet with no one to help out…but the entire time I’ve been treated better than how Gren was treated. I have no right to complain. I put my hand on his and squeeze. “I’m sorry. I’m having a weak moment. I promise I’ll suck it up and do better.”
I turn around and look at him, a bright smile on my face. There’s a wariness in his expression, and then it hits me. I know why I’m freaking out at the thought of “using” Gren. Of worrying over how sexual our relationship is so quickly.
That was how Mama controlled her men. If she wanted drugs, she’d show up at her dealer’s house in sexy clothes, with her lipstick perfect and her hair curled, her high heels on. I’d sit in the car with the radio playing, and she’d come out a little while later, hair mussed and lipstick smeared, her eyes glittering with her new high. If there were bills that had to be paid, Mama would just turn on the charm.
She used sex to get what she wanted. It was nothing to her to use her body, to tease with a quick touch and a promising look.
I’ve never, ever wanted to turn into her.
I’m terrified that’s what I’m doing to Gren, even subconsciously—that I’m using him to comfort myself because I’m stressed about being stranded here on this planet. That the choices I’m making aren’t because I think he wants me or I want him, but because I need to somehow control something in my environment…and he’s it.
“Willa?”
I look up at him. I can’t explain everything that’s going through my head. I don’t have the words yet, but I know he’s going to think he’s at fault somehow, and that just makes me more upset. “I wish you got stuck here with a better person,” I whisper to him, and then bury my face against his chest, twining my fingers in his soft fur and wishing I knew my own head better.
I wish Mama hadn’t fucked me up so bad.
GREN
I have done something wrong. Willa has changed toward me. Did I miss a signal? An indication that she wanted to mate with hands again and now she is offended? She seems lost in her own thoughts this day.
We play word games to learn more of each other's language as we try to build a fire, but the fire proves impossible, and Willa's frustration grows. By the time it is dark, she puts away the two fire-making stones and huddles in one corner of our shelter, her expression sad and thoughtful.
I want her to reach for me, to curl up against me so she can share in my warmth, but she does not seem to want to do the same. How do I lure her back, I wonder? I think of how she touched me when we hid against the wall of the canyon. I try to recall if she gave me a signal of some kind. All she did was stroke my stomach and murmur words to me, and then the next thing I knew, she was caressing my cock. There was no signal.
That is the most frustrating thin
g of all. "Give me a sign, female," I tell her in Praxiian, because my body aches with want for her, but I will not force her. The last thing I want is fear on her face. She is the only one that has ever looked at me with understanding, and I would not have that change for anything.
So I try to think of ways I can touch her. I pretend to lose the words she has shown me earlier this day so we can go over body parts again. Willa repeats the words for me, but her expression is distant and I do not know how to show her that I want her, other than to push her into the snow and rub my cock against her body until she makes the pleasing noises. I try to think if I have ever seen another gladiator woo his female, but those matings I saw were never truly consensual and the females cried pitifully the entire time.
That…is not what I want.
She picks up the fire sticks again and then puts them down, gazing at her hands in frustration. They are reddened and blistered from her attempts, and I take one in my grip, displeased. "I am warm enough, female. Why do you hurt yourself?"
But she tilts her head and tries to interpret my words. "Food? Boot?"
I bite back a sigh of frustration. All of the slurred growls and nuances of Praxiian are lost to her. I give up, taking our waterskin and pouring a bit of water onto a bit of soft hide and then washing her hand for her. Willa's eyes go soft and she watches me with a worried expression, even as my cock grows and aches at her nearness. I want her to touch me. I want her to reach for it again. I want to touch her, too, even more than I want her hands on me.
"Tell me what I did wrong," I ask again. "Show me the signal once more so I can tell you yes."
"Yes?" Willa asks, her brow furrowing. "Yeswut?"
I growl again, this time in frustration, and it makes her cock her head once more. "Boot?"
Grr. Obviously I must learn more of her words.
I finish washing her hands and she makes no effort to touch me. If anything, she looks away, and that causes me physical pain. Is she realizing how ugly I am now? "Friends?" I ask as she pulls her hands from my grip.
Her eyes glisten with wetness, and for a moment she looks so sad. "Friends," she agrees, her voice tender. She runs a light knuckle down my cheek, but when I try to lean into her caress, she pulls back.
I am more confused than ever, now.
We sit in silence in the small tent, and I watch as her breath begins to puff in the air as it grows darker outside. Even my body heat is not going to keep this tent warm enough for her, and I am secretly pleased. Now she will be forced to come to my side and burrow against me for heat. She is reluctant to do so, though, putting on every piece of clothing she brought instead of lying upon it. She sips water nervously, and then when the wind picks up even more outside, she grimaces and gets to her feet.
I get to my feet, too. "Do we leave? Hunt?"
"No," Willa says, putting a hand out to stop me. "Pah-tee."
Ah. This word I know. It means she wishes to go outside and empty her bladder. I know from experience that she also likes privacy when she does this, though it displeases me. I look at the entrance of the lean-to and the snow that grows higher, the wind whistling.
She reaches out and pats my shoulder. "No far. Pah-tee."
I interpret she means she will stay close. Still, it is dangerous in the snow for one as fragile as her. Do her feet not sink with every step? "Gren come?"
Her cheeks flush brightly. "No. Stay." She gestures that I should remain sitting, and then slips out of the tent, pulling her hood over her head.
Irritated, I swipe at the now hard-packed snow that is our floor, and I grow even more annoyed when it crunches underneath my claws and sprays ice everywhere. I do not like this distance she puts between us. I do not like how all she does is pat me on the shoulder. For a moment, I wonder what she would do if I’d lie down in the tent and touched myself like she did to me. Would she see me fondling something that she thought of as hers and decide to take control from me? Would she push my hands aside with a teasing little grin and a breathless call of my name?
I like that thought very much. Perhaps she does not realize how much I want her? It is possible I have not made it clear enough. She knew my desire when she touched me, but much of the time, I ignore my erection. Maybe this confuses her. So I lie back in the snow, my body tense, waiting for her return.
I wait for her to come back, see my cock hard and ready for her, and I anticipate her springing upon me with delight.
A scream pierces the night air.
I bolt upright and out of the lean-to, any thought of mating or touching out of my head. That was my Willa, and it was not a cry of surprise.
It was one of terror.
Suddenly there is no thought in my mind, no instinct save one—protect my female.
I storm out of the tent. It is dark outside, the wind howling and the snow thick in the breeze, but my vision has been enhanced and I can see almost as well in the dark as in the daylight. In the distance, past a large drift of snow, I can see Willa, hunched over, her body made small.
Several pairs of eyes gleam in the darkness in front of her.
Predators. Something hunts her, its scent hidden on the high winds.
A snarl of pure fury erupts from my throat and I spring forward to protect my female. Even as I move, my thoughts are racing to count the number of opponents. Eight sets of eyes—large numbers to overcome. I have fought just as many in an arena before, but eight with a female to protect will be tricky, and there will be no one to give me healing stims after I am done.
It does not matter. If I give my life this day for my Willa, I will be glad of it. She must be kept safe.
I surge forward, my claws extended, my teeth bared in a snarl. The scent of them hits me at the same time as I catch sight of the predators. Felines—more of them, and these bigger than the one that I killed. Are they its pack? Or did they simply smell the hide that I dragged all over our trail to throw off the mesakkah natives? I did not even think of other predators…and now Willa is in danger.
Rage blurs my mind. I find myself sinking into my old ways, into survival mode. Arena mode. Nothing exists but my enemy, and I must destroy him. I crouch low, growling, and then spring into the fray before the first feline can pounce upon my Willa.
She screams, the sound carried away by the wind, and the moment I land upon one feline, claws slashing, two others jump upon my back. This will be a battle of attrition—I can and will kill them, but I will be wounded. I do not care. I fling one into the snows even as I reach for another nearby. I want all of them to focus their attention on me. I am the predator. I am the monster they should fear.
I am the beast.
One feline latches onto my arm, its teeth digging deep. I bite back, shearing off a hunk of fur and flinging the cat to the side. Another moves to take its place, and then something rakes up my back, tearing it open. I roar again, and then more of the animals pounce on me. I snap necks and break bones, even as my skin is torn to shreds under their claws. They hiss and retreat, only to pounce again. I do not stop, either. I will never stop, not while my Willa screams and screams nearby. I send another feline flying, then attack the next. They seem endless, and as they continue to attack, I grow more savage. I rip at flesh and snap bones with my teeth. I tear and rend and destroy in a haze of fur and blood and snow. I sink my teeth into my newest kill and taste hot flesh, even as I shred it and cast the creature aside.
Something howls in the distance and I glance up. Blood runs into my eyes, and as I squint, I see Willa, standing over one feline, the spear lodged into it. The lean-to is still attached to her spear - she grabbed the entire thing and came to my aid. I am stunned at her bravery.
My brave female.
Blood runs down her arm, her sleeve destroyed, and she looks up at me, panting. A sob catches on her breath, and I wonder at how loud it is. Then, I realize that the animals are dead. I look down at the snow at my feet—it is nothing but blood and guts. There are bits of a feline here…and parts over there. I hold m
y hands out and see they are covered in spatters of matter and tufts of white fur. One of my claws was ripped from its bed and there is a deep gouge on one hand, so deep I can see a hint of white bone underneath. The wound throbs, but…all of my body throbs. I feel achy all over, but it does not matter. I stagger towards my female. "Willa?"
"Gren!" She drops the spear and moves toward me, her face shiny in the dark. Her eyes are leaking water onto her face, and as she sobs, she touches my arm and then withdraws again as I hiss at the sharp stab of pain. "Urhrt?"
"Are you well?" I run my good hand over her body, checking her for injuries. "You should have stayed back and let me fight."
She tries to move my hands away, and then cries something angry. "Urbleednevrywhr! Gren!"
“Come,” I tell her. “We need to get you out of the cold.”
“Gren!” Willa gently puts a hand on my fur. “Blessurhrt.”
The way she emphasizes the word makes me remember that I have heard that before. She tells me sweetly I am foolish. Maybe I am, but I would do anything to protect her.
The wind is blowing hard around us and I reach over to scoop up the spear and tent. As I do, dizziness overtakes me. The world slides away and topples, and then there is nothing but darkness.
11
WILLA
This has been the worst night ever.
I wipe tears from my eyes, sniffling, as I try unsuccessfully to make a fire again. Dawn is approaching, and light is starting to spill over the world. Thank god. Maybe when it’s bright outside I can see what I’m doing. I gaze at my torn-up hands, but the pain throbbing through them doesn’t matter. I glance over at Gren, who lies in a bloody heap in one corner of the sagging lean-to (that I’ve managed to somehow pull back together). The snow underneath him is dark with blood, and his fur is matted and crystallized with ice.