Because I didn't feel like describing the species contained wherein, a brief bit of information: 'Keshiir' are anthropomorphic cat people, effectively. Slender, flexible, and all-around small, they tend to be at least six inches shorter than humans of equivalent build. Their features tend toward a middle ground between "big cat" and "domestic cat".
'Niquon', in this story, are never named. The protagonist and her friend are niquon. Niquon may as well be humans, save for a few vestigial reptilian traits. They have bits of scale in places, lack body hair, and have sad little claws instead of traditional fingernails.
Anyway.
As is becoming trend, this is probably NSFW. Contains language and adult themes.
More will come later. Just wanted to post something now. It's been almost a month, after all.
The sound had always soothed her. Rhythmic, predictable,
each quiet ‘ba-bump’ accompanied by the slightest, softest jolt of her spine.
The cold glass against her cheek and the seatbelt cutting into her neck were
tied to nearly two decades of memory—to the quiet whispered adulations of her
father to her mother, to her brother’s impish grin as the family car flew past
yet another risqué billboard. Notches etched in the highway, ready to
accommodate next winter’s freeze. The sound of travel. The sound of everything
being right again.
‘Ba-bump’. ‘Ba-bump’.
Her pale grey eyes shifted from the blur of trees beside
her to the road just below her window. Thousands of tiny indiscernible features
melted into an ever-shifting black wall, tiny specks and imperfections dancing
about like the lines and dots that lent authenticity to old film. Her own
visage in the side mirror sat on the periphery of her vision, watching along
with, pale brow furrowed under the weight of reality. The weight of the phone
call she’d received four evenings prior. The weight of—
“Goddamnit.”
The voice made her jump, though really it shouldn’t have.
That Verci had gone this long without speaking was the only real surprise. Grey
eyes panned to the left before the rest of her head followed. Slender fingers
pushed raven hair away from her eyes.
She felt the van begin to slow.
Verci groaned. “Fucking interstate. Nothing but fuckin’…
tolls and titty bars, Lev.” The blonde woman sighed heavily as the window
rolled down, bony fingers rifting through the cup holder for change before
plucking the cigarette from her withered lips. She brought it to the ash tray,
only to pause. A moment later, it returned to her lips.
Levia watched in silence as the teller leaned in.
“Evening, ladies. Five pieces, please.”
Verci scoffed, holding up a single coin, her eyes still
on the road ahead. Smoke billowed out from between her lips, pouring out of the
window and into the teller’s face.
He forced a smile, plucking the coin from Verci’s
fingertips. “Thank you, ma’am. Have a good one.”
The window began to rise. Levia felt a sudden urge, a
pang, two words catching in her throat: “thank you.” The window reached the
frame. The words never left her mouth.
The van lurched forward, sudden and jarring. Silence
filled the van until, minutes later, Verci snuffed out the butt of her
cigarette. Reaching past Levia, she flipped open the glove box and grasped
another from an open box. Her fist jabbed at the car console, depressing the
lighter.
Levia sank deeper into her seat. Her face shifted down
toward her chest, nudging her nose beneath the open flap of her hooded sweater.
“I don’t get it, Lev.” Verci gave her passenger a
sideways glance, then turned back to the road. “I don’t mind giving you a lift.
I really don’t. Shit, I’m going this way, anyway. But there’s clubs back home
you could walk to. With less kesh.”
A long sigh left Levia. “Verci…”
The blonde one grimaced, blue eyes trained ahead. “Yeah.
Yeah, I know. You used to date one. But he was a shit, Levia. I mean, think
about it. What is it all men want most?”
Levia pushed herself up in her seat, fixing her gaze on
her friend. “I suppose you want me to say ‘sex’, and to be offended about it.”
Verci opened her lips to speak, only to sigh. She reached
for the cigarette lighter. Jamming her elbow against the steering wheel, she
mashed her cigarette against the heated coil, until the pale stick bloomed red
and smoke began to rise. Her fingers rose to her lips. She took a heavy drag.
The jacket rose back to Levia’s nose.
“…Fuck. Look,” Verci breathed, smoke pouring from her
throat. “I’m just saying, you take all the risk and responsibility out of it,
and you turn yourself into a fuckin’… penis playground, or some shit.
Interspecies is… easy. Why buy the cow, when the milk is free, stays cold out
of the fridge, and never fuckin’ spoils.” She paused to take another drag.
“…Plus they can smell when you’re umm… yeah. Shit’s creepy. Just sayin’.”
Levia groaned quietly, turning back to the window. She
cracked it open, allowing the fresh air to wash over her. Her voice rose to
combat the wind. “You wanna know what I think, Verci?”
The blonde scowled. “Probably not, but go ahead.”
“I think if you could smoke in a keshiir club, we
wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
Verci smirked, then chuckled, choking on the sound until
she was caught in a vicious blend of hacking and laughter. When the air
returned to her lungs, she shook her head with a smirk. “…Shit. Probably. That
kesh you dated. How was his, uhh…”
Levia rolled to her left, raising a pierced eyebrow as
she met her friend’s glance. After a short moment, she turned back to the
window. “…All night.”
* * *
As the van left the interstate, Levia watched the trees
fade and the concrete prevail. Streets became valleys, rivers of steel pouring
between glass mountains that reached clear into the heavens above. As time
passed, the buildings became smaller and older, until the river had trickled
into mere channels. The sidewalks had bloomed to life, dozens of people ambling
about, ducking into old brick shambles that had been repurposed time and time
again. An antique store, a thrift shop, a specialty shoes vender, a lingerie
store. Tattoos, bars, and clubs. Neon light had replaced the sun.
Verci pulled into a parking lot behind an abandoned
warehouse, well-known to be the only free parking within miles. The van came to
a stop in a secluded corner, next to a dilapidated old sedan that’d been seated
in the same space for five years. The engine fell silent. Verci put out another
cigarette. “…You sure about this? You can come with me if you want, you know. I
already asked Chad. He wouldn’t mind the extra driver. It’s a long haul to
Seriko.”
Levia smiled softly, only to shake her head. “…Nah. No
offense, Verci, but I think my sinuses would explode.”
The blonde smirked, only to flip open the glove box and
retrieve her purse and cigarettes. After stuffing the pack in the purse, she
flipped through it briefly, eyeing the contents. Satisfied, she closed it. Her
eyes turned back to her friend. “And you’re one hundred percent absolutely
positive for real sure that you don’t want to talk about what happened?”
Levia fell quiet for a moment. Her eyes found the floor
as her face began to flush, her eyes growing moist. Glancing back at Verci, she
nodded quickly, holding up a hand as she dabbed her eyes on her sweater. “No,
no, I’d… no. Not yet. I’m not… I can’t talk about it. But… thanks. Really. For
everything, Verci. I appreciate it.”
Verci nodded slowly, lips pursed. After a short silence,
she reached over, lifting Levia’s chin with her fingertips. “Well, listen here.
If it’s about a man, don’t let the bastard get to you. You’ve got nothing to
worry about. You’re sweet, you’re fun, and you’re gorgeous, you got me?”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Levia’s scowl,
followed quickly by a small chuckle. She shook her head as the smile spread.
“Oh, please.”
“Naw, I mean it.” Her thumb pushed raven hair away from
Levia’s scalp, revealing the thin ridge of scale that adorned her
hairline—white scale with tiny black spackles. “I’ve always been jealous of
your scale. Mine’s just… cream. Yours look like little bird eggs.”
Levia rolled her eyes, pushing her friend’s hands away
with a smile. “Verci, you’re blonde. They’re supposed to be that color. Now go
on, Chad’ll be here soon. You’re gonna make him wait.”
Verci nodded, once then twice, and pulled the keys out of
the ignition. With a grand motion, she slapped them into Levia’s lap. “Whelp,
here. Enjoy. Get sauced, have fun, and make sure to see your old friends here,
alright? Isn’t that why you came?”
“Something like that.”
“Well you feel better. And be safe, you hear?” Leaning
in, Verci leveled a finger at her friend. “There’s blankets and a pillow in the
back. If you get too wasted, sleep it off. The seats fold down. There’s plenty
of room.”
Levia fell silent. Images of wreckage littered her mind,
glass and steel and blood and pain. Billboards. Her brother’s grin.
Her hands balled
into fists, nails digging into her palms as she did her best to take a deep,
but subtle breath. A sudden, brief wash of bright light through the van
announced the arrival of Chad. Forcing a chuckle, she shooed her friend away
with her fingertips. “Go! He’ll whine for hours if you make him wait.”
“Oh god, don’t
I know it.” The driver’s side door flew open, then slammed shut behind Verci.
Her heels clicked on the concrete as she hurried around the van.
With another heavy breath, then another, Levia closed her
eyes. When the back doors of the van were yanked free, she leaned back with a
smile, waving her friend goodbye.
Grasping at her myriad of bags, Verci waved back, only to
tug them free and slam the door.
Levia listened as her friend’s voice rang out in the
darkness.
“Chaaaaad! I’m comin’!”
And then, in moments, they were gone. Silence permeated
the air, thick and smothering, with only the occasional holler from the street
to break it. Minutes passed. Eventually, she found herself crawling to the back
of the van. Her single packed bag was pulled open, its contents strewn across
the seat below.
With a quick yank, curtains were drawn across the back
windows. Her sweater fell free, followed by her shirt, her pants, and her
socks. Digging around in the mess she’d made of her belongings, she found her
black lace stockings and arm warmers. A black miniskirt followed, long enough
to be worn in public but short enough to be seen in a club. She decorated it
with a black leather belt, covered in tiny metal studs, then laced a second
belt above and below it, from her hip to her side.
Rummaging through
the pile, she found herself caught between a black spaghetti strap decorated in
cartoon animal skulls, and a black-and-violet corset top that came to a ‘V’ in
the front above her navel.
The corset top won.
After lacing it up in the front, she found her thick leather platform boots,
covered in unnecessary straps and buckles. Pleased with how they sat, she
pulled a small compact from her belongings and flipped it open.
Her hair, short and
straight, was fine as usual. It really required next to zero maintenance, which
she was always grateful for. With a slight twist to the labret in her lower
lip, she ensured the tiny kitten face on the end of the piercing was alert and
at attention. She fiddled next with the two small bars in her right eyebrow,
the two studs and one hoop in her right ear, the industrial in her left ear,
and the two cartilage hoops below that. Lowering the mirror, she made sure the
‘V’ in her top tucked in right above the black bar in her navel.
Satisfied, she set
the mirror down. She sat there for a moment, alone in the darkness,
contemplating the evening. Maybe Verci was right? Maybe this was a stupid idea.
Maybe she should have stayed home, close to the family that might need her
soon. Close to the hospital she might be called to.
Her gut sank.
Shaking her head to herself, she found the thermos amongst the pile, still cold
after three hours of travel. Twisting the lid off, she downed the contents,
chugging down the vodka, cream, and chocolate liquor like an iced coffee.
Twisting the lid back into place, she dropped the thermos to the floor and
pushed open the side door before her.
Verci might have
been right. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that here, no one would
recognize her. Here, no one would care. Her remaining friends in this place had
long moved on with their responsible adult lives, their responsible adult
schedules. No one would ever know she was here.
Tonight, she would
forget everything. Tonight, she would be happy again, if just for a moment.
* * *
Her head was beginning to feel light. A tingle had
settled into her fingertips, her toes, a soft glow of comfort that loosened her
knees and elbows and made every motion feel at once carefree and deliberate. The
bright neon lights, once so crisp, seemed to blur and dance at the edges. By
the time she reached the doorman for The Crypt, the loud giggles and aimless blather
of the warm bodies all around her began to fade into ambiance, a collection of
sounds, voiced pleasure, happiness distilled into nondescript noise.
She flashed her ID. A few coins slid from her purse to
doorman, a hume like her, large and built yet with a smile that belied his
intimidating front. She pressed through the door and the light shifted, sudden
and jarring, street lights replaced by flashing green and yellow and red and
purple, pulsing and shifting with the heavy thump of bass speakers, repetitive,
synthetic, the soundtrack of escape. Liquor, amphetamines, and endorphins.
Levia paused at the stairs before her. There were three
floors. Above her there were pool tables, a full bar, dart boards, and so
forth. A world all its own, altogether separate from the noise and motion just
below. Just ahead was a horse-shoe floor with no center, a loop above the dance
floor with tables set close enough to the rails to resemble some irreverent
mirror of classic dinner theatre. And just below, the spectacle—dozens of young
bodies, all dressed for show, each preened and prepared to flaunt and share and
grind against one another, readied for roaming hands, roaming eyes, a
collection of hormones and desires and the ever-pulsing, ever-shouting,
ever-booming need for release, pounding in the walls and in her skin and in her
bones, thump! thump! thump!, the
sound of repression melting away, trampled and forgotten, demolished, wantonly
destroyed, an act of animalistic defense against the world outside, simple
animal need forcefully injected, swallowed, and inhaled in its place.
Her feet carried her downwards. In moments, the dancing
light washed over her cheeks, and that sound, that beautiful beating drum of
desire, muted every screaming cry caged up within her chest. Her body began to
move and sway, poised and presented, though at no one in particular, no set of
eyes she cared for more than the other, an automatic motion buried deep within
her spine, a feral shift of her hips, of her shoulders.
She lost track of
time. The night became blur. The world around her began to spin. Her fingertips
landed on a keshiir before her, a massive specimen for his kind, his rich grey
fur glistening with each pass of light. She felt her body close the gap, felt
his do the same, felt his leg between her thighs and her hips grinding against
his. Her fingertips dug in, tiny claws catching on the mesh top he wore, a
simple thing, barely covering anything and yet somehow, some way, passing as a
covering all the same. She could feel tiny gaps in the fur, bits of bare skin,
raised, intentionally damaged, seared clean and never to grow fur again.
The music shifted,
the beat dropping in tempo, losing its frenetic quality and dropping into
something altogether more rhythmic, more sensual, raising the hairs on the back
of her skull and sending goosebumps down her spine. The keshiir’s palms met
hers, and she felt herself moving, spinning, felt his body press up against her
back, felt his fingers trail down her side. Her hands fell behind her, finding
his hips, and soon they were bucking, shifting, flesh against fur, bodies
shifting and pressing and needing and wanting, speaking with silence,
whispering salacious stories, frenzied fantasies, animal needs shared through
animal display.
He leaned in, his
broad face looming over her bare shoulder, his breath hot against her skin. His
hands were trailing up her thighs, feeling her lace, flirting with the lip of
her skirt, the bare skin of her middle. Her hips pressed back, hands looping up
behind his neck, looping around it, feeling his strength and his need, his
claws gently raking her middle even as her hips mashed against his. She could
feel it pressed against her, the sign of her motions, her dance of attraction,
how successful it was, how helpless he would be, if only she let him, if only
she allowed him to surrender to the beast within.
He was pulling on
her arm. Pulling away from all of this. Away from her respite. Her escape.
She shook her head.
Pulled back. Began to move again.
His hand found her
chin. The other pointed above. He mouthed a word. ‘Bar’.
A smile slowly
crossed her features. Her hand returned to his.
He was pulling
again, leading her, up and away, rising beyond the world below, to a world
apart, a place where sorrows came to die.
She closed her
eyes, and opened them again, and she was in a booth. The light was on his arm,
now, and she could see what she had felt—a winding vine, leaves and flowers,
scarred skin tattooed in beautiful, vivid color. Years of dedication to a mark
that meant everything in the world, yet nothing at all.
Her head was
leaning against his shoulder, against the vine, so beautiful and elegant. So
much pain and effort. So much love. Her fingers touched the petal of a flower,
lightly, only to pull away. Her eyes trailed up to his.
He nodded with a
smirk. His lips parted, a noise leaving them, but it was muffled, drowned, and
she shook her head, tapping at the patch of scale on the side of her head.
His chest shook in
a laugh, and he turned toward the barkeeper, slapping coin on the counter and
waving his arm about.
Pulling her face
from his shoulder, she allowed herself to touch. A single digit traced the vine
from his shoulder all the way down to his elbow, his forearm, his wrist, his
hand. It ended in his palm, a tiny bud and a single petal, inked in vivid
violet and blue and green, ethereal and haunting yet altogether familiar.
Levia leaned up
against the counter, her hands clawing at her shoulders as she pulled her arm
warmers free. Sliding her arms in front of him, she turned her wrists to face
him, displaying the twisting tribal vines trailing from her palms to the
insides of her shoulders, vivid black against her pale white skin.
Two drinks slid
toward across the counter toward them, unnoticed.
The grey keshiir
smiled broadly, trailing the pad of his fingertip along the pattern, matching
her motions, returning her display of interest. His skin felt warm against
hers, almost hot, and her belly fluttered, a subtle sensation that spoke so
loudly to her ears.
Suddenly, she heard
his voice again, still muffled. She looked up to find him staring, confused,
eyeing a slight blonde keshiir with little black swirls in her fur, approaching
swiftly, as though familiar.
Levia grasped her
arm warmers, slowly pulling them back into place.
The blonde keshiir
leaned in close to the grey one’s ear, whispering something, and he whispered
back, and Levia’s stomach was sinking and her head was spinning and then
suddenly the blonde feline woman was pulling a tiny bag out of her purse and
she wasn’t what she thought after all.
The bag dangled in
front of the grey keshiir’s face, then Levia’s. The blonde leaned in, finding
the hume’s ear, and raised her voice in a small shout. Something about a new
product. The words were scattered and broken, but Levia made out of a few, and
filled in the rest. A new high, a wonderful sensation, an ever-escalating
warmth, a stalk growing toward the sun and bursting into flower, sudden and
radiant, so untouchably beautiful, dancing in the sun for every jealous eye to
see.
She called them
sunflowers.
Levia nodded
slowly, grasping at the bag.
The grey keshiir
produced a small palmful of coins.
The blonde took
them, shoveling them into her bag with a grin.
By the time Levia
opened the bag, the blonde was gone. She glanced about, a bit confused, before
sliding one of the two pills to her new companion. He took it, turning it in
his palm, a small yellow pill against a vivid purple flower.
He glanced up, hand
raised, prepared to motion the barkeeper, when his eyes trained on the drinks
before them. He pulled them closer. Grasping his, he downed the noxious red
contents in a single slurp, chasing it with his sunflower.
Levia followed
suit. The drink was sweet, fruity, almost punch, yet with the definite bitter
bite of something strong.
As soon as it
settled in her stomach, her head began to sway. A definite warmth, white hot
yet comfortably numb, tingling and shivering and delightful, settled in the
base of her spine. It began to rise, slowly, crawling over her, filling her, a
warm faucet in an empty basin, tides rising until she felt so sure she would
overflow.
She slowly turned her eyes up to the grey keshiir.
He returned her
gaze, his eyes glazed over, blinking and then steady, and then blinking again,
a single pierced ear falling flat to the side as a loose smile tugged at the
corners of his muzzle. He shivered, a full-body motion, head to toes to tip of
tail, and his weight fell heavy on the counter. Leaning in closer, he fed her a
sloppy grin, mouthed his astonishment.
The lights were
dancing. The sound below ceased to be rhyme, ceased to be beat and motion,
becoming a constant whirring, a spinning disk set at a wobble, confounding and
inarticulate, imprecise, and suddenly she needed to leave. Her hand wrapped
around his arm, pulling, pleading, and soon her feet were on the floor and so
were his, and she was trying to walk, but each step as an impossible leap, a
jump across a growing chasm, the world below splitting and quaking and falling
to pieces.
And yet it was perfectly
okay. The world was over and that was fine. She felt warm. Her tummy tingled.
Her toes tingled. Her loins tingled.
The grey keshiir
was holding her shoulders, his steps behind her careful and plotted, every move
intentional, yet with more grace and balance than she could possibly manage.
She leaned back against him, holding his arms tight in her hands as they worked
their way down the stairs, down and down, descending into the pit of the earth,
into chaos, into beautiful cacophony and dissymmetry and peace.
The air outside was
frigid, yet warm. It tickled her skin, even below her clothes, every follicle
raised, every scale tensed. She felt like steam, billowing into the air, moist
and loose and free, her limbs melting into wings and her body taking flight.
She was flying,
free and unbound, yet not alone. The van was before her, and she was
descending, landing, her new companion in tow, her copilot, Mr. Grey Cat,
expert technician and master of all he surveyed.
His teeth were warm
against her neck, his breath hot and hungry. The back of the van was open, and
the seats were pushed back, and her back was buried in blankets, and they felt
just like snow, soft and cold, yet warm once she burrowed into them, holding
her heat, returning it, like an old trusted friend returning something they
borrowed long ago.
She couldn’t feel
her legs, yet she could feel every inch of skin, a separate entity, wrapped and
bound in her stockings, in her boots. The boots became free, gone, cast aside,
and so did the stockings, and so did the skirt just above, and the black lace
below, and the technician master flight expert was just as free, and he was
adjusting his instruments, inspecting hers, the little bar of metal that
adorned it, so innocent and innocuous, and suddenly they were soaring through
the sky, a sky that rocked and tilted like the ocean, sticky and wet, yet
soothing,
the
sound of her own voice an instrument to her ears, the sound of his purr
another,
and soon they’d become music, beautiful sound,
highs and lows and melodies so complex
and unknowable
that to even feel them pulsing in her ears felt impossible, holy, their own
personal faith that shifted and grasped and
tore and bit and sucked and pulled
and pushed,
hot flesh in hotter
flesh, an oasis in the desert,
packed
thick with the flesh of another
thick, thick, pressing, pushing, fucking, grunting, her
claws and his, skin and fur,
his face in the street
light, her little technician, bristling and gasping
jaw ajar, ears back, back
arched, tail arced over his spine, fur on end,
need and flame and desire and his
claws on her chest, and her top torn free, bra too,
tits rocking, shaking,
hard candy buttons, pierced, decorated, beckoning, calling,
being taken, sampled, eaten, devoured,
her arching back, the sound
of her own cry,
her toes curling
and her legs tight around his sides,
thick,
so thick, his cock so thick and hard,
fucking, fucking,
fucking her until she was numb, pushing harder, deeper,
her aching cunt squishing
with every thrust,
tight, tighter,
tighter still,
everything
collapsing into a single point, a single focus,
an implosion
of desire, of need,
of hunger, of everything,
every
little
thing
in
one
tiny
space
and then everything shook,
a deep rattle, an explosion,
a quake within her spine,
a growing cry, a choked gasp,
a sudden manic motion, claws
and teeth and hips and harder,
harder
harder
harder
harder!
and then waves,
wave after wave, the
entire sea packed within
her tiny frame, warmth and
fire and
need, everything pouring
free, shaking
and shivering, quivering,
convulsing, contracting, so beautiful and
so
unmistakable, and him
too, her little technician,
pushing ever deeper, thick cock pulsing,
pouring his
hot offering, his
freedom, his wings, so deep within her
body, straight into the core of her being, filling her,
overflowing,
leaking everywhere and
squishing and squeaking until finally his body
fell still, and hers too, and
there was nothing but breath and silence and air,
wonderful air, filling her, taking her,
freeing her from anyone and anything that
could ever hold her down, ever catch her
and harm her and bind her to this world,
to
anything
at all
ever
again
blackness
so much of so little
the world gone, faded away
nothing at all
beautiful,
peaceful nothing
* * *
Levia’s consciousness arose to the sound of pounding.
Deep, rumbling, internal, boom! boom!
boom!, ubiquitous and inescapable. A limp arm slowly rose to her face,
fingers pressing against her brow, below her eye, pushing and grasping, as if
some correct pressure might release the noise caged beneath her skin.
A quiet noise, something of a gasp, or a groan, parted
her lips. Her arm fell limp, but not against floor. Something softer. Warmer.
It began to rise and fall, and suddenly she was keenly aware of the sensation
against her ear, the warm air, moist and living. The breath of another.
Her eyes shot open, only to be assaulted by bright light,
searing, uncaring. Her body jerked away, slamming against the wall of the van,
and her hands found her face and stomach, her limbs curling in as her throat
released a moan. Her eyelids clenched shut again, and her fingers grasped at
the seats below, pulling, feeling her way away, toward the back of the van,
away from the body beside her.
Her hair rustled, soft breeze pushing it this way and
that. Her face panned toward the source, eyes opening slowly, forced open by
denial and horror, sudden and inescapable.
Her cheeks flushed red. She felt herself lurching
forward. Her hands were grasping at the open doors, her body pressed against
the wall of the van, hidden, covert, fighting against the pain, so much
overwhelming pain, until both doors had slammed shut and she was lying limp
against them, chest heaving, up and down, grasping at the air as though it
might bring some semblance of relief.
Slowly, tenderly, an arm rose to cover her face, blocking
her eyes from the windshield ahead. The world was spinning, slow and dizzying,
and every inch of her being craved expulsion, emptiness, a single cleansing
vomit that would release everything horrible from her soiled guts.
A single eye opened slowly, peering out from beneath her
arm. There he was. Another body. A person, not her, but just as nude, covered
in soft grey fur, clean and well kept, except between his thighs where
everything was caked, caked and filthy, covered in the same evidence as she
suddenly felt, so plainly, between her own. Bile rose in her throat. She
swallowed hard, head falling to the side, lips parting in a deep, sucking
breath. More and more air filled her, over and over, and yet she was still
choking, still throbbing, still needing.
Needing to get this
man out of Verci’s van.
Needing
to go home.
Needing to shower.
Needing
to cry.
She pushed herself
forward, a wounded crawl, as though sneaking, pitifully, past the body beside
her. Her body fell, slipped really, past the edge of the folded seats, onto the
floor, into the pile of smoke-soaked clothing from the day before. Her fingertips
grasped gingerly at the bra around her stomach, pulling and tugging until it
came close to a fit, as best as she could manage to care right now. She grasped
around blindly, seeking her bottom undergarments, but they were nowhere to be
found. With a choked sniffle, she settled for pants, legs lifting slowly,
quivering from effort as they slid beneath their coverings. The shirt was no
easier. The shirt made her sit up. As soon as she managed to crawl into it, she
fell back, collapsing against the seat behind her. A quiet, choked sob left her
lips, and everything fell limp.
The body beside her
shift. A low groan left him, followed by a cough, and his body began to twist
into the fetal position. A single word left him. “Fuuuuuck.”
Levia froze.
His broad face
turned to the side. Bright blue eyes focused slowly on the face below. A sigh
left his lips. “Ohh, thank shit.
You’re beautiful. I thought maybe…”
She paused,
staring, disbelief in her eyes.
The stranger
offered her a sloppy smirk, until a pained groan shut his eyes, a broad palm
pressing against his forehead.
And suddenly, she
was laughing. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, doubled over, pain
in her chest and head and guts and still, so much more. She tried to catch her
breath, sitting up half way, only to sputter and collapse again, laughing until
the pain was so intense that her laughter died out in a sputtering sob, a few
short groans, the threat of tears.
The grey keshiir
crawled slowly closer, until he was peering over the edge of the folded-down
seats, staring down at the crumpled form of the hume woman below. He offered
her a broad hand, and when her slender fingers grasped his thick paw, he pulled
her up to face him. “…Whatever the fuck a ‘sunflower’ is, I don’t think I want
another one.”
Levia groaned
quietly, eyes still shut, and when she opened them she found his vine-covered
arm still extended, still holding her hand. Her gaze locked on his shoulder,
the intricate pattern etched forever into his skin, and she followed it down,
down, until she found the palm against her skin, and suddenly she remembered a
little yellow pill, set against purple, so cute and innocent and inviting. A
heavy cough shook her, and she leaned back against the seat behind, gaze
meeting his. “…No. No, I don’t…” she trailed off, pausing to take a deep breath
and let it out slowly. “…I don’t either.”
A low chuckle
rumbled in the stranger’s chest, and a pained smile formed on his muzzle. “So,
uhh… this is a first, for me. I mean, the whole… wake up in a van with an
attractive woman thing. How does… how does this kind of thing… you know, go?”
Levia raised her
pierced eyebrow. A small, dry smirk found the corner of her lip. “…Beats me.”
“…Well, shit.” With
a small laugh, he shifted slowly, drawing his left arm out from under him with
a wince. His fingers slowly clenched and opened, then did so again. “You, uhh…
live close to here?”
Her head shook
slowly. “Mm. Three hours.”
His brow twisted in
surprise. “Seriously? Me too. Where at? Don’t say Yiilsi.”
Levia blinked. Her
head tilted slowly to the side, and she leaned closer, inspecting first his
face, then the elaborate marking on his arm. She opened her mouth to speak,
then paused, then raised a finger and pointed at his palm. “You… Oh… oh god, you worked in the record store last
year! I know you!”
His jaw dropped. He stared for a minute,
incredulous. “…Fuck, I remember you. You were in the metal section, looking for
uhh… shit, shit, don’t tell me. Don’t!”
A sudden throb in
her temple broke any interest she might have had in answering for him. Her
fingers found her temples.”
“…Symptomatic. You
were looking for Symptomatic’s new disk. Shit, yeah, I do remember you.” He
smiled broadly, chuckling with childlike glee. “Man, this is trippy as balls. What are you doing out here??”
Glancing up from
the floor, she shook her head. Everything hurt. Thinking hurt. The memory hurt
more. Her cheeks flushed red. “I… don’t ask. Just don’t.”
A deep, knowing
frown settled into his features. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Me too.” Glancing
behind him, he dug around in the covers until he recovered a pair of black
jeans, boxers still lodged within. Rolling onto his back, he began the slow and
tellingly painful process of putting them on. After a few grunts and groans, he
was met with success, and he crawled slowly toward Levia until his limp form
collapsed opposite her on the floor. “…Just wanted to get away and shit, you
know?”
Levia gave him a
small smile. Faint images of a black button-up floated to mind, long sleeves
covering that beautiful scar. “…Yes. I do.”
He returned her
smile, but soon fell quiet. Silence filled the van. Minutes passed. Finally, he
turned back to her, features set, determined, as though to prepared to do the
impossible. “…Khavès, by the way.”
She glanced at him,
confusion in her gaze, until recognition bloomed in her eyes. A slow nod
accepted the knowledge. “I’m… Levia. It’s… nice to meet you for real. I was
kind of…”
His gaze fell
toward the back of the van. He smiled. “Worried?”
A quiet, pained
giggle bubbled to her lips, and she slumped back against the seat behind her.
“…Yeah. Just a bit.”
“…Me too.”
Silenced settled in
again. Her eyes fell shut. For a long while, she felt content to say nothing,
to allow time and space to attend the throbbing in her head. Strangely,
inexplicably, the labored breathing of another pained soul was comforting.
Eventually, her
eyes fluttered open. The settled on this… Khavès, on his features, on his
beautiful, clean coat of fur, on an upper body that doubtlessly reflected
months of dedicated work. Truth be told, he was incredibly handsome. And as
shallow as it was, it helped make this whole situation much easier to accept.
Reaching slowly over, she set a hand on his wrist.
He blinked, looking
up suddenly to meet her gaze.
“…Are there… I
think… I think I need tea. Or coffee. Something.”
He smiled softly.
“I don’t… really know the area that well, to be honest.”
She smiled back. “I
don’t either. But there are… there’s sunglasses, in the glove box. Two pairs.
The adjustable, kesh-hume transition kind.”
“Mm.” Khavès nodded
his head toward the door. “Explore, then?”
Levia smirked. With
a heavy groan, she half-crawled, half-stumbled her way toward the glove box,
eyes clenched shut to avoid the bright sun.
From the back, the
grey keshiir heard a loud curse and a heavy thump. Suddenly, a pair of
sunglasses flew his way. “Thanks. I—hey. Hey, what time is it, anyway?”
Levia finished
affixing her glasses to her face. Rooting around near the driver’s seat, she
found her phone in the console. “…Well, shit.”
Khavès grinned.
“That bad?”
Levia sighed,
dropping the phone back in the console. “…It’s almost nightfall.”
* * *
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