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A slow, deep breath, like a reconciling. Sun-washed and surf-scented. Warm and wet, with the sweet-yet-tangy taste of some recently peeled (and, of course, eaten) oranges lingering in her maw. Clementine, was the variety. Small in size, but no less delicious. She swallowed, trying to define the essence of the flavor before it left her. Before it dissipated. That un-rhyming dichotomy. Scintillating scent of citrus. Oranges were like golden worlds in a dark dream, weren't they? Full of spicy promise? Illusions that had to be pried away, stripped away ...

... to get to the fruit.

To get to what was real.

This, she remembered. This, she knew. So very clearly. Before finally letting such notions (of spherical, philosophical fruits) completely go, proceeding to stretch in place, reaching her paws and arms heavenward. Raising. Up. Her supple, solid body, those strong, loping legs. Oh ...

... just relax ...

... rabbit.

Relax. It shouldn't be so hard ...

... right?

Meira nodded to herself, eyes closed. No, it shouldn't be. But it often was. She was an over-thinker, to put it lightly. An over-doer. A perfectionist. Lowering back down to her foot-paw pads, she sighed. Swaying slightly, her white-furred, blunt-clawed toes sinking and digging into the wet, suntanned sand for a moment. More than a moment. Sand. Wasn't sand just little rocks? Are there more grains of sand on this beach than stars in the galaxy? Than neurons in my brain? Are there ... Meira, she interrupted. Please? Don't concern yourself with it ...

... we're relaxing, remember?

Another nod. Yes, yes ...

... but in spite of her pleas for relaxation (or even 'ease' of any sort), her posture sustained that uncertainly. As if, well ... not only was she out of her psychological element, but out of her physiological one, as well.

Maybe it's this place, she reasoned.

Why am I here?

The sun is so strong, so different. Like a stranger. I have no idea how to greet it. I like my stars tamer. Dimmer. Giving less heat. I come from an Arctic realm. Really, she'd never been on a beach before. Well, not a 'warm' one anyway. Not like this. Not one without an ice shelf. Or, at the very least, much colder water. Grey skies. Flurries. Drizzles. So, yes ...

... this was new to her.

This was very warm and very (cerulean!) blue. So much color. Everywhere. It was uniformly vibrant. It almost hurt to gaze at the landscape. Yet she couldn't look away. There was a captivation, an ethereal expressionism. Like a painting gone wild. God as Artist. But, even saying that ... why, oh, why, she wondered, did landscapes get compared to paintings? So often? I'm even doing it, myself. Why is painting the noble default, the prettier art? Why compare landscapes to paintings and not, say, photographs? When photographs were often more faithful, detailed representations ... really, she did not understand ...

... eh. But.

Sigh!

Meira had to shake her head to get her thoughts back on track.

She had wanted to stay aboard the ship, but ...

... Adele, the red squirrel (who, let it be said, was sleeping with the Captain), had ordered the engineering staff, along with the rest of the crew, to take time off. And, so, here she was. A snow rabbit in a place which had never seen snow. At least not in the last five thousand years, presumably. Not that she needed a cold climate to be happy. Of course not. She liked warmth. I do. But this wasn't even temperate. This was tropical. And a little outside her comfort zone.

It was hot.

She felt hot. And thought to herself ... good thing I have white fur. If I had dark fur?

She stood still, letting the tide wash in, ever-inward, over her foot-paws and up past her ankles. Did it tickle? Or was that her imagination? The water, cool and stirring, went a few inches higher than that. She wondered just how far it would go. Should I move? But, just as she was thinking this ...

... it lost momentum and began backtracking, retreating. She watched it leave. Her foot-paws left soaking but no longer covered. And she wondered: if this planet has multiple moons, shouldn't the tide be more violent, or ...

" ... the water doesn't bite, y'know," came the casual, friendly voice. From behind her, and to the left. Out of nowhere, seemingly. "It might kick a bit, but ... "

The snow rabbit turned her head, quickly. Blinking in surprise. In fact, she almost hopped. "Excuse me?"

The otter held up his paws, disarmingly. And immediately. To show he meant no harm. "Sorry. Eh ... wasn't trying to sneak up on you. Really. Uh, honest ... " His paws were still up, in that 'I surrender' gesture. "I come in peace?"

Meira, heart racing in that prey-like way (it was easy to forget you were prey when you served on a ship with no predators; not that otters were predators ... but, still) ... she stared for a bit. Before giving a singular nod. Looking away from him. Out to the late-afternoon horizon. Nary a cloud. Take a breath. Calm down. That's it. "My ears were distracted by the surf-sounds," was her explanation. Or was it an excuse? "And those noisy birds," she continued. "You are not to blame."

"Heh. Okay ... " A pause. " ... you going for a swim?"

A hesitation. " ... no." A fidget. "Just walking."

"Ah." She had a swimsuit on, though. Maybe she was going to swim later. Or maybe she was just trying to fit in? Or stay cool? This was a beach, after all. He didn't push it, though. "Well ... those noisy birds are seagulls. There are particular types, but I don't think it matters. They become background noise after a while. They're not so bad." He took a short breath, running a webbed paw through his own messed-up head-fur. "You're not from around here, I take it?" His eyes widened with curiosity.

"No." In the distance, a shuttle-pod. And, after an interval, a slightly larger craft. None of them related to Majestic. All taking off. Breaking the illusion that she was in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh. Well ... " His long, sturdy rudder-tail raised itself. And steered to the left. Before lumbering back to the right. " ... I didn't think so. A few snow rabbits live on this planet, but they don't hang around the tropics. Most of the general population is down here, so ... " He trailed. And she looked at him more closely. This otter looked familiar, actually. I think ...

" ... I saw you back on the main beach," Meira realized, as a keen observation. She nodded, squinting. That was it. "Earlier. Didn't I?"

"Yeah?" He was being coy, now.

"You tell me. You were in a very tall chair, I believe." A head-tilt, blinking once. Twice. Finally realizing, "You are a lifeguard?"

A smile. "Yeah, I am." He puffed up a bit. And pulled a whistle out of his swim-trunk pocket. Twirled it around. "One blow into this? And all activity on the beach ... " A finger-snapping motion. " ... just stops." A nod. "Oh, yeah. But I rarely use it, cause, uh ... it's for emergencies. Like shark attacks and stuff? That's never happened, though." A sheepish pause. His whiskers glistening in the sun. "Well, except that one time ... " ... he didn't finish the sentence.

The snow rabbit didn't want to 'bite,' but ... couldn't resist. "One time?"

"Eh. H-heh ... embarrassing. It wasn't a BIG shark. It was, uh ... okay, it was, like, two feet long. But I didn't know that! I just saw the fin sticking out. Kinda caused a panic." A goofy grin. "No one was hurt, though, in the mad rush away from the water." A pause. "Except some little kids started throwing wet sand at me ... anyway, sharks are overrated."

An eye-smile. Feeling a sudden rush of mirth. "Perhaps they are simply jealous of your ability to whistle and have whistles, these sharks ... for they cannot whistle whilst underwater."

"Uh ... heh, tongue-twister. Wow. 'Whistle whilst underwater?' You must got a good tongue. Um ... well, still. It gives me authority," he assured. "It's like a badge or something." Another twirl of the thing. The whistle. Which was on a lanyard.

"Must be frightening to have that kind of power," Meira responded. With a dry but increasingly-amused wit. Her tall, charcoal-tipped ears twiddled. Once or twice. He was clearly trying to impress her. Or woo her. It was flattering, really ... and she had no reason to discourage him from it ...

" ... oh, it is. Well. Not that I'm trying to scare you," he joked. A chuckle, putting the whistle back in his semi-damp pocket. His fur, too, was a bit damp. Rich-brown fur. Thickly covering his strong, broad chest. That was a nice chest. Little nipples buried in the fur. Belly button barely visible. A nice, luxurious pelt. He was just wearing those swim trunks. That was it. And, yes, you could tell he was a swimmer. The muscle tone beneath the aforementioned fur. He was easy on the eyes. For sure. She has to resist the urge to look down (to see if that suit was clinging any).

But, then, the snow rabbit was wearing even less. Perhaps part of the reason he'd been, uh ... inspired to speak to her (if the otter was being honest.) She had on a two-piece swimsuit, herself. Not outrageously skimpy, but unmistakably form-fitting. It showed her curves. And, oh, she had curves (enough that they threatened, at times, to fall out of her suit). Yes. She had hips. The suit material being navy-blue in hue, and ...

... she adjusted the top. Absently. Well-aware that she was showing a good deal of 'pelt.' Aware that he was staring. Asking, "Should you not be guarding lives, then? Instead of chaperoning strangers?" She looked to him, pointedly. With those ice-blue eyes that snow rabbits tended to have.

"What?" A blink. " ... oh, h-heh ... no, I'm off-duty. I, uh, work mornings, early afternoons. 6 to 1. Mostly. Uh ... sometimes, it's different. Right now, summer season, it's mornings. Yeah." A slight blush. He hadn't expected this rabbit to be so, uh ... direct? So forward and sharp! Most regular rabbits were kinda ... well, casual. Easygoing, you know? This one had a bit more decorum to her. Even though this colony was on the border of High Command space? Again, it wasn't like snow rabbits' natural habitat was tropical beaches. He just plain didn't have experience with this species ...

... but, uh, he wouldn't mind getting some. Experience, that is. Uh ...

... experience.

"Tell me: do you go around showing your whistle to every femme who wades the local surf?" was her next question. "Or just the ones who show their fins upon approach?" Just as likely an innuendo.

He swallowed. " ... uh ... you don't have fins."

"I have tall ears."

A veritable nod. "Mm-hmm." Clearing his throat. " ... j-just trying to be friendly," he offered lamely. Licking his lips. And beginning to nod again, admitting, "You stand out."

She raised a brow.

"Oh, not in a bad way," he assured. "I mean, that pure-white ... searing-white fur? And the little black highlights? The sun just bounces off it. Makes you glow. The way you walk ... "

" ... hop," she supplied, gently.

" ... hop," he repeated. "Has a confidence, a cadence to it."

"Perhaps. But, truth be told ... " She hesitated. " ... I was not feeling all that confident today." Her voice betrayed a definite sense of vulnerability. Why was she telling him this? He was a stranger. Good-natured and eager-to-please, but still ...

... he bit his lip. "Well, you do a good job of hiding it." A pause. Was that a bad thing to say? "I mean, you, uh ... you give off a good air," he corrected. That sounded better. "And you've just been wandering around, looking lost, all alone, so ... " He sighed, shrugging those big shoulders. " ... my job is to come to furs' aid."

"I was not aware," she whispered, with a tinge of defensiveness, "that I was in need of aid."

"But you just said you weren't feeling ... "

" ... that does not mean I require help." Her voice rose, tersely. Before she could stop it.

But, to his credit, he didn't back down. And kept his optimism. "You might step on a jellyfish, though. What about that? Buried in the, uh ... the sand," he whispered back. "You need someone who knows how to spot 'em."

A momentary pause before, still whispering, she replied, "I would not want that to happen. To step on a jellyfish."

A head-shake. "Me, neither. They hurt." He cleared his throat. "I mean, it hurts. When you get stung."

"I would imagine," she said, simply, breathing in deeply through her nose. Whiskers giving a singular twitch. And her cottony, flame-like bobtail giving several of them. Flickers, more like.

There was a moment of silence, filled only by beach-sounds. The breeze, and distant laughter and squeaks and barks and stuff. Furs in the surf. And the birds, too, and ... " ... uh, I'm Hayward," the otter said, heartily extending a paw. In official greeting.

She deftly nodded. "Meira," was her simple, prim response. Not really aiming to shake paws, at first, but seeing the rejection building in his eyes at her hesitation. So, she took it. After all. His grip was strong. His paw-pad had a textured, weathered feeling. He was in the water a lot.

The otter smiled with relief. He nodded. "Meira. That sounds poetic."

"It is just a name."

"I'm sure it's not. It sounds important ... it sounds like it means something," he whispered, gently letting go of her paw. Their fingers brushing as they fell apart. She felt soft. Her fur. Her touch.

"If it does, I am not inclined to dwell on it."

"Oh. Well ... " He rubbed his own neck, blowing out air. "You been here long? The colony, I mean?"

"Only since this morning."

"You came on a starship, I take it?" he asked. That was a stupid question, Hayward. Of course she did.

"Yes," was the snow rabbit's succinct response, beginning to walk-hop. To move. Further down the beach. It was a fairly open environment, but it curved, and there was dense foliage just a little ways inland. There were no large, jutting rocks. Not in this area anyway. Maybe miles down.

Quite smitten, the otter followed. Bounding, at first, and then slowing. His bare, webbed foot-paws kicking up sand. Literally. "I've only been in space a few times, you know. And only in orbit. Or ... to the habitable moon. We got three moons. Only one has a breathable atmosphere."

A simple nod. She knew that.

" ... so, uh ... what ship? What's it called? Is she pretty?"

"Majestic." She twiddled her ears. "A High Command patrol vessel. It is an aesthetically-pleasing craft, yes."

"Is she big?"

"Big enough," was the response. "Holds between 40 and 60 crew-furs. Right now, it's on the lower end of that spectrum. Though I must point out: ships do not have genders." Her bobtail flickered.

"Doesn't seem right to call a ship a 'he,' though, does it? I mean, that would be all twisted. All wrong. And 'it' is too impersonal. Ships are 'she's' ... all ships. Sailboats, rowboats. Starships."

"That is illogical."

"But it feels right," the otter responded.

She gave him an eye-smile. He had a disarming charm. A contagious enthusiasm. "What are you doing?" she asked, suddenly, as he bent down. Mid-stride. And picked something up as he walked.

"Here. For you," he went, extending a paw. As they continued to meander, side-by-side.

" ... what is it?"

"Open your paw. Come on."

A sigh, doing so. A bit impatiently. And watching as he put a flat, white shell atop her charcoal paw-pad.

"It's a sand dollar." A bright nod. "Now, you're rich."

A genuine eye-smile. She felt ... touched? Strangely? Emotions welling beneath her emotional 'freeze.' " ... well ... rich? Where do I spend it? This is not actual currency ... "

" ... course not, silly. But what I do," the otter stated, privately, with a grandiosity that was rather cute, "is I wish something on 'em ... and throw 'em back in the sea."

"Do you get your deposit back if the wish doesn't come true?"

"Only sometimes."

"Sounds a bit like gambling," Meira said, turning the sand dollar over. And over again. "I have never been a gambler."

"Don't like taking risks?" His rudder-tail dragged, sensuously, through the sand. Leaving a 'trail,' like foot-prints only ... tail-prints. Which the tide then half-washed away. The water rushing over their foot-paws. And then retreating. The cycle repeated so many times that it was pointless to count. It became a rhythm. Like the beating of a heart. Like the planet had a pulse.

"I will take chances," she elaborated, ears arching and then slacking a bit, "over risks."

"What's the difference?"

"A chance," the snow rabbit said smartly, "is less likely to hurt you in the end. Hit or miss, you emerge intact. A risk has a jagged edge. The reward is greater, but the price of failure ... is also higher."

"Maybe. Or maybe you're over-thinking things. It's just a sand dollar. It's a gift. I, uh ... to be honest?" He rubbed his nose. " ... I'd be upset if you got rid of it. Just keep it, you know? It's nice to know you could make a wish on it, but ... "

" ... thank you ... but I have nothing to give you in return."

"Don't worry 'bout it," the otter assured, warmly. " ... 'kay?"

A simple nod.

He stretched his arms. "So, how long you here? Just visiting? Or, uh ... "

" ... we were given four days shore leave. The Captain decided to take it here."

"Any particular reason?"

"It was near the exact mid-point of our patrol route. And seemed ... hospitable," she said, diplomatically, "to most of the crew. Though I do not know why my fellow snow rabbits were so eager. I would have preferred someplace more temperate."

"Someplace snowy?" he asked. Because, well, she was a snow rabbit. Like she'd said. And like he could very obviously see. "There's a pole continent. Could've gone there."

"No major settlements, though. And no one to travel with, so ... not very convenient. We only have four shuttle-pods, so we all have to go to one locale as a group. More convenient, a better use of resources. The logical thing to do." A pause. "Some of my superior officers were coming to this particular resort. I simply came down in their shuttle-pod."

"A good choice," Hayward assured, with that goofy grin of his. He wondered what rank she was. "You won't regret it. You'll, uh ... have fun. Hey ... " He blinked. Quickening his pace to ensure he was still walking beside her. She'd started to lope, almost. " ... hey, you walk fast! Or, uh ... hop. Hop. Sorry." A swallow. "Anyone ever told you that? You're not in a hurry, are you?"

"Not particularly."

"Then why don't you slow down?" It was almost a plea.

She tilted her head, curiously. And did so. Slowing her pace down to a 'stroll.' A very slow, lolling stroll. She had been increasing her 'clip.' Didn't know why, to be honest, but ...

... the otter smiled. He seemed to do that a lot. It came naturally. But one also got the impression that he was hiding a great deal of loneliness. A great deal of poignancy. "There. See? You look more relaxed already."

" ... I do?" the snow rabbit had to ask, having a hard time believing it.

"Mm-hmm. Well, that's why you're here, isn't it?"

"I suppose so." A pause. "Yes," she admitted. "You are being very 'jocular.' Is there any particular reason?"

"Jocular?"

"Jovial," the snow rabbit added.

"You mean happy? Is that not allowed?" Hayward asked, blinking.

"It is, but ... "

" ... so, what's the problem?" he asked, gently.

"There is no problem," she mouthed back. Quietly. Adding, getting right to the point, "You'll beg my pardon, but I find males like 'tail'." A pause. "I am simply trying to determine if that is an ulterior motive ... to your approaching me."

He blushed, dipping his shoulders as he walked. Not making eye contact. Ulterior motive. That made him sound like ... well, creepy. And I'm not, he thought! But, still, he couldn't deny that the prospect had been on SOME part of his mind. Some part. "Femmes don't like 'tail'? Just as much?" was all he could say to that, burning with shyness.

A warm, stirring eye-smile, that 'glow-glinting' thing snow rabbits did with their eyes. Hmm. He had her there. "Well ... we do. True. But ... "

" ... no semantics." He waved a paw.

"But ... "

"No qualifying your responses." An otter-chirp. "Nope, nope!"

"Not even a little bit?" A playful, raised brow.

"Not even." A head-shake. He stopped walking. Still hot beneath the cheeks. "But, to answer your ... well, your question: that wasn't the main reason I approached you. Of course not. But maybe, deep down ... and more after the fact. After, you know we started chatting, maybe the idea ... " A shy stuttering. " ... had occurred to me. At least once." He swallowed. "H-heh. I think I need to sit down ... actually ... "

She stopped moving, also. "I, uh ... concur." She blew out some air. And swallowed. "That is to say: I need to sit down, as well." But she didn't. Not yet. Not here. She closed her eyes for a second, and then snapped them back open. Feeling very impulsive, now. And what was that impulsiveness going to cause her to do? She had an idea, but ... tried to calm herself. Tried. "Do you have any water?" she asked, seriously, cocking a brow.

A blink. "We're surrounded by it."

"I mean freshwater. To drink? My species, we're not used to heat. We dehydrate quicker than ... most other furs." She licked her gums. Her fur was slightly matted by sweat. "We've been walking, and it's muggy, and ... "

" ... oh. Um. Right." He bit his lip. "I didn't bring any with me. We could walk back to the resort? Or, uh ... I guess we could ... "

He was stammering again. Wanting to say something. And she was keen enough to wager a guess. So, she helped him out, facing him. Leaning in. He was a few inches taller than her. Four, five inches? And obviously weighed more. " ... you have a place. We can go to," she whispered, sniffing. Nose hovering above his shoulder. He had a salty scent. But that was probably because he'd not showered since being in the sea. Whatever the case, she liked it. It had an allure. A strength.

He noticed she'd stated that last phrase like a command. Not a question. Which made his spine shiver a bit. He was, himself, fairly dominant. In a totally carefree way, at least. But, clearly, she was more so. Only, uh ... serious-like. One of them was going to have to submit. And, as ... a-as she traced her fingers through his head-fur, over a rounded ear, he swallowed ... and n-nodded ... it was going to be him. He nodded, submissively. " ... y-yeah. I got a place." Oh, gosh. Oh, boy. His heart skipped a few beats. He ... he had some ideas. Uh. About ... what might, or maybe, or ... not that it was GOING to. But maybe it would. Maybe they would. And ... " ... I ... uh, d-don't think I'm some easy, casual ... bad otter," he panted quietly. He'd 'slept' with furs before. A few times. Uh, three. Just three times. (But, oh, never with a rabbit! No!) But ...

... she mouthed his cheek. Chiding him, harmlessly. "Now, who's qualifying their responses?" she posed, losing her breath. But, no, she knew what he meant. (And she, herself, had never had sex with an otter. So, the prospect of feeling something entirely good with something/someone entirely new? Held a thrilling prospect of discovery for her.) "Nor do I wish for you to ... perhaps," she said, carefully, "view me, being the otter you are, the fisher-fur you are ... to think I'm an easy catch. I admit ... " She faltered. Why was this so hard, suddenly? " ... I am an open breeder. I have some frequent partners back on the ship." More like 'daily.' But no need to say that. "But ... " Awkwardly, she looked past him. " ... I am clean. And I am not in heat for another week." She whispered these things extremely quietly. The sound of the sea almost drowned the words out.

He nodded. Also quietly, cheeks burning. Bashfully. Dumbly. Blurting, " ... I don't have a problem with that. Um. I'm clean, too. And I'm ... n-not in heat, either."

A mew of mirth at that last part. "I should certainly hope not."

" ... eh, h-heh. Well ... eh, brain-fade." He licked his lips. "I'm all male. Don't worry. I'm male ... "

" ... I believe you. I can see that. I can," she breathed, "smell it. And I am female," she responded, sultrily. "And we're furs, right ... and breeding is a natural, animal ... "

" ... y-yes. It is! Yes. I'm ... me, neither. I mean, I ... I've, uh ... " He was hardly making any sense, now, in his excitement. Talk about tongue-tied! He was even bobbing up and down on his heels. "Mm ... "

Her fingers went to his lips. Shutting him up. Damn cute thing. "Let's not discuss this here." A swallow. "I am on vacation, and I am going to enjoy myself," was her soft, deliberate declaration. Her final decision. "And, if in the process of enjoying myself, you happen to enjoy yourself, too, and ... we enjoy each other? Well ... "

" ... y-yes ... so be it," the otter bumbled, sucking on those fingers.

She arched a bit. Pulling them slowly, steamily. O-out ... to clutch to his pelt. Feeling his mouth move ... so be it ...

... to her head-fur. Sniffing, nosing. Nuzzling. Paws trembling against her lower back. "I can help you. To. Relax ... "

" ... I am sure you can."

He peppered a few kisses against her forehead.

Paws moved, and ...

... she slipped the 'sand dollar' into one of his trunk-pockets. The one that didn't have the whistle. And, soon, fingers met. And meshed.

She delighted at the feel of his 'webs.' Webbed paws! She'd never held any like that before. They felt funny. But nice.

His diamond-shaped nose buried in her neck-fur. "You smell pure and mellow," he whispered, earnestly. "Like vanilla ... "

A weak mew. Meira leaned her head back. "We ... w-we are in broad daylight. You said you had a place?" she reminded ... focus. Focus.

"I do. I d-do ... " He began to nudge her, and move ... move ... like the sea, the waves, the dipping birds, all moving, all ...

... mewing, m-mewing like an animal. With deep instinct. Her obsessively-controlled veneer, much like her swimsuit, having been clumsily, quickly peeled off. Lost somewhere in the green, breeze-blown grass, in the midnight-blue shade. Back at the otter's rather isolated place.

She felt hotter, even hotter. Than before (and, yes, she had gotten that glass of water, and had downed it fairly quickly). Like she was being boiled down to her raw, basic elements. You couldn't hide anything. Anymore. Not now. Not here. Not during sex. When intimate? The things that were shared? Said? Done? Literally, physically ...

... becoming as one?

Such an elemental connection.

Delicious, earthy friction, fur against fur, bits of flesh. Intermingled. Wet. And caressed. And there, amidst it all, complementing that primary pleasure, the physical, was that secondary (but maybe just as important) pleasure. What did you call it? Emotional fulfillment?

Satisfaction!

Yes. W-was ...

... being had, and ...

... o-oh, good Lord, stop thinking, Meira!

The otter, beneath her, on his back, overjoyed and oversexed, gave a light, playful, masculine growl. Voicing his approval of her femininity. Otters had the ability to bark. Kind of dog-like, some of their sounds. But they could also chirp, as well. Whistle. They were very vocally ... versatile lovers, Meira was discovering. And her keen, tall antennae-ears were enjoying each and every sound, the pitches, the durations ...

... kind of like music. Mixed with her mews?

A symphony of sorts! Only ... o-only, they were going rogue, moving off the 'sheet,' off the composition. They were improvising. This was candid. And no one could stop them. Only an act of God could part these two, now. The desire, starting as stirred embers, had turned into a full-blown fire ...

... not easily put out.

This was enough to burn down a whole house.

Hayward, meanwhile, wasn't really dwelling on the sounds, nor the poetry of them. Or metaphors dealing with heat and the meanings of intimacy. Not like she was. He just panted, gazing up at her, hotly. She was even more beautiful now. Than before. From up close like this? Her curves? Her feminine hips? And she had a cute ... j-just, well ... say it, Hayward, he told himself. Say it. She has a cute pussy. I mean, she does! Her groin-fur was tufted and thicker than the rest of her pelt, natural and ... m-mature. He liked that. Her petal-lips? Pouty. With a cheeky, peeking clitoris. B-but, how it looked, how it ... was nothing compared to ...

... how it felt.

Just. Oh, you know. GLORIOUS. The otter sighed, head rolling to the left. His cheek tingled. His whiskers went momentarily numb as a shiver went up his spine. He swallowed, blinking, moving his head again ... her walls. S-suffocating his flesh. Like drenched, form-fitting silk ... and ... he was so, s-so stiff, and ...

... seeing Meira looking down, eyes half-open. Direct contact. Gaze-to-gaze. Ears flopping over her head (if only slightly). From her straddling position, she hunched. O-over, arms extended, paws on his huffing chest. As his own webbed, padded paws gripped her fertile, feminine hips. Lifting ... lifting her ...

... she went.

And he pulled her back down. Her tunnel swallowing his blood-rigid shaft. Again. She'd been doing most of the work, even though her position was the dominant one. F-figured ... he should give her a rest, help her out a bit ...

" ... o-oh," she breathed. Accepting it (and not remembering that, earlier, when talking on the beach, she had been hesitant to accept aid of any sort). H-he ... his otter-hood was a modest five inches. Six? Maybe? In length. Was her estimate. Her snow rabbit partners on Majestic were l-longer. Didn't matter, though, cause ... she'd be damned if he wasn't thicker, in girth, than all of them. (N-not that, uh ... her reasons for liking the otter were contained to 'stats' like that. I may be horny, but I'm not a callous rabbit. I wouldn't be here if I didn't like his personality. If he hadn't charmed me.)

He, with strong, webbed paws, raised her hips ... a-again ...

... and she felt herself being pulled down. Again. Felt that shaft sliding, wetly. Wet with her own juices. With his pre. It was all mixing, now. Their bodies united as one, fusing ... f-for a mutual cause. Perhaps being tricked or controlled by nature. More than perhaps. Definitely. Yes. (It wanted them to do this, after all. This diabolical, pleasure-promising scheme. To ensure the femme got ... and the male gave. Seed.) Certainly, nature was making it hard to resist ...

... so, why waste energy trying to buck that biological call?

When they could more easily 'buck' each other?

J-just give in.

Give in.

P-panting for breath. Both of them. More and more. Things were getting a bit frantic, now. Climax was nearing. And, right now, at a full hilt. She felt. S-so full, did the snow rabbit. Stimulated. Every part of her slippery walls. And she took matters back into her own paws, and began g-grinding, all-out ... gyrating ...

... clockwise. Steering his penis, with short, short downward humps. And subtle slants of her hips.

The otter chirped happily! Eyes watering, toes curling, paws leaving her hips. His flesh felt everything. Especially the head, alive with s-sensation. His paws, though. Oh, g-going. To that rear of hers. Rump. Oh, gosh. It was ... he'd wanted, since spotting her, to get a feel of this. Bunny backside (he wasn't aware that snow rabbits didn't like to be called 'bunnies'). And he did. He was. Caressing the cheeks, groping, kneading. So soft and furry.

Meira weakly quivered, her vagina fluttering softly. Nectar dribbling, in little rivulets, down the base of the otter's shaft. Soaking into his tightening, brown-furred sac. She arched her head. To the sky. The tree-tops, the flaring sun. The light. The scent of citrus (as always, here). Or was it flowers? Hibiscus? Did she see flashes of hummingbirds nearby? The whole warm world kissed her face, her senses, all of it, and she exhaled sharply, sweating and panting, leaving one paw and arm on his chest. And the other ...

... the o-otter watched. As his partner began furiously massaging her clitoris. Using a thumb and forefinger.

Hayward reached out. To help. To take over. Gently nudging her paw away. And using his own. H-his blunt-clawed, furred thumb. Wagging over that ever-important bud ... she liked that ...

... shaky sighs. Saliva drooling from her maw. She licked her lips, aware of it, and desperate to kiss. She didn't know why. But it was important to her. Right now. A craving so sharp. She wanted to kiss him. And, so, she leaned down, even as she was ditching the grinding, going back to a more-obvious bouncing on that cock, bouncing, b-bouncing (and it made a slick, squelching sound, repeated over and over) ... on that ...

" ... a-ah," the otter whined, forcefully humping his hips. Upward. H-hump, up. Up. Panting as his rump settled back down in the grass and sand and dirt. His rudder-tail, nearly forgotten in all of this, jutting to the side. Like a big trunk of a thing, giving twitches. But not really moving. It was too big and thick a tail to move about when you were flat on your back. It wasn't like a mouse-tail (very easy to move, no matter your position). Or a rabbit's tail ... c-cause ...

... hers was bobbing. Flickering. He ran his fingers through it. So soft. S-so ... soft ...

... silky. Smooth. Sopping. Steamy. Hazy alliteration, such w-wondrous ... snatch that it was. Became wetter and wetter, and, Lord, even warmer ...

... it was just too much.

Too! Much!

He hugged her. He hugged her body down, horizontal atop his own, and ...

... she was still seeking that kiss. A wet, sloppy ...

... meeting of lips.

Mouthing. Meshing.

(And he'd been right, earlier: she DID have a good tongue.)

Suck. S-suck ...

... sucking.

Finally.

F-fuck.

Exclamatory thought, fit for explosive response.

He broke down, s-suddenly, sharply, in overwhelming orgasm. And had to turn his head aside. Just by a few inches. He didn't want to moan into her maw. That might be rude. So, instead, he pressed his mouth and nose against her cheek. As he came. " ... ah. N-n ... n-n-ah. Y-h-n. N-nh." Huffs, c-chirps, and ... weak writhing gasps. And faces. And gripping her sides. Clutching her fur. Such. Intense. Pleasure. His penis jerking, twitching, spurting. Spoon-fuls of steamy-white otter-seeds. Semen. Pelting against and flooding her womb. Jolts of electricity, seemingly, to his extremities.

She soon, just as soon, followed suit. Sensually, sexually synchronized. The symphony in crescendo. Her mews, m-mews, and ... sighs. Moans. She arched her entire body. " ... o-oh. Oh." Her foot-paws stretched ... oh, she stretched. Oh, gosh. " ... o-oh!" Her vagina in spasms. Milking him. Ensuring she got what nature intended. Every drop. Tremors, too, the result of this bodily earthquake. The pleasured epicenter rooted deep inside of her. " ... uh, n-nuh. Uh." Her voice shook. Her sweaty paws. They went behind the otter's neck. Her eyes watered, and she licked his cheek ...

... he licked back.

Licking, both of them, and not just cheeks. But each other's tongues, and ... until ...

... it was done.

They both swallowed, sighed.

And went lazy and limp, catching their breaths ...

... a few hours later, just after sunset.

The sky was pink and lavender-purple. Melon-oranges mixed in. Lemon-yellows. Tropical hues for a tropical locale. But all of it was fading into a deepening, blushing blue. It was beautiful. It really was. The kind of shadows the palm trees were casting? The silhouettes? The stars, even, high above? Meira's earlier hesitance toward this place was being tempered. Greatly. And she was starting to enjoy it. (And the breeding had helped. Let's be honest.) Above, again ...

... stars. And three glowing moons, each in different phases. Different sizes. One a huge crescent. Another small but full. Another barely visible. It was simply stunning. She was used to seeing stars and planets, of course. Things like that. She saw them outside her window, often streaming by. Every day, back on the ship. But they all sparkled when seen through an atmosphere. They shined in a way that they just didn't in the vacuum of space.

She mulled over these things. Aesthetic things. And looked over to the grass, which was still bent over, in patches, from where their bodies had laid ...

... deciding, ultimately: I feel good.

I do.

She was on her rump, in front of the fire. Bare. Rehydrated. Hugging her legs to her breasts. Watching as Hayward flipped a fish on a frying pan. Her nose sniffed.

" ... sure you don't want any?"

"I am a vegetarian." A pause. "But thank you for the offer."

"I eat fish every day. Eh, probably too much."

"Nothing wrong with that." She nodded. " ... by chance, do you have a food processor?"

"Course. Heh. I may not have a lot, but I have the basic technological items. Sonic shower, even."

"That so?" she asked, with an eye-smile.

"Uh-huh. I'll have to show you."

" ... yes." A slow, savory breath. He would. "I will, uh ... have a salad. And some bread, perhaps. For my meal. I think."

A soft glance, the otter's fur so vibrant in the glow of the golden flames. His tail kept raising and lowering. Patting against the ground. Was that a sign of happiness? "Well, the processor's in the kitchen. Uh ... but it's a small, uh ... " He was smiling, losing his words, and ...

... she tilted her head. He had dimples. She hadn't noticed that before their 'coupling.'

" ... you can't call my place a 'house'," Hayward continued. "More like a shack, yeah. I think I mentioned that. I mean, I'm not ultra-successful. Not that I don't want to be, but that's not my main goal in life." He paused, biting his lip. "And I've just had some bad luck. Well, until today," he said, half-jokingly (but half-not) ... " ... are you alright?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're sorta hiding your breasts. I mean ... sitting like that. All scrunched up." A shy pause. "You want your swimsuit? It's still in the grass over there. I can fetch it ... eh, you want me to put mine on?" He was naked, too. His otter-hood limp inside its fuzzy, visible sheath. He began to get self-conscious.

"No," was her gentle assurance. "I am comfortable. I just ... "

His rounded ears perked, listening.

" ... while it is true I'm an open-breeder, I normally breed with ... those within ... " She didn't want to have to explain the snow rabbit concept of 'breeding parties' to him. She just didn't. So, she simply said, " ... I am not used to feeling shy. I believe I am feeling it right now, to some degree."

"I saw you naked earlier. I was, uh ... h-heh. In you? Earlier?" he went, even more shyly. Starting to get embarrassed. He was rubbing his own neck. That was one of his nervous habits. "You have nothing to hide. I mean, I think you're really, really beautiful."

"Thank you." A flattered pause. Not really knowing what to say to that. Only knowing that, right now, her sexual desire had been sated. And when desire was satisfied? It sorta changed your attitude a bit. Her 'abandon' of earlier wasn't so strong now. (Granted, it would soon come back.) "I did not bring any clothes with me. Aside from the swimsuit. And it covers little, anyway, so ... and it's warm out, nice weather. I might as well just ... "

" ... you came down to the planet in a swimsuit?" A blink.

A head-shake. "I changed when I got here. I brought a backpack, but it's ... "

" ... back at the resort. Oh. Eh, of course. Uh, you weren't ... " He faltered. " ... you need to go back? I mean, is your crew expecting you, or ... "

" ... I have my comm.-badge. If they need me, they can find me." A slow breath. "I prefer to stay here."

A soft nod. The relief on his face was evident. And his confidence began to return.

And she realized just how emotional a creature he was. And how attached to her he'd already gotten. It caught her off-guard. Truly. (What have I gotten myself into? I thought I was taking a mere, simple chance, but ... was I taking a risk, instead? With him? But, if so, why does it feel so good?) She looked into the fire for a moment and then said, "The food processor ... "

" ... yeah, just inside. You can't miss it. Like I said, it's, uh ... there are two rooms, basically. Two and a half if you include the bathroom."

She nodded. She'd already been in the bathroom. But hadn't explored the other spaces. Hadn't wanted to be nosy or rude, after all. Unfurling from her leg-hugging posture, she stretched. On her shins and knees. And then slowly stood. "Do you want anything?" she asked.

He looked to her, dumbly. As she stood there, in firelight, in full profile. Standing contrapposto, hips at a slant. Breasts hanging with gravity. Bobtail casting flickering shadows (much like the flickering flames were doing). And, beneath it all, moving past the physical: a sharp, enigmatic mind. Running it all. And ... he just n-nodded. "Yeah ... "

" ... salad? Fruits?" she asked, wanting to know. "Do you need anything to drink?"

" ... water. Definitely water. Uh." A deep breath. " ... I'll take some carrots and celery," he said. Not because he had a craving for those things, but because he figured those were rabbit-friendly foods, and maybe they could share? That was silly. But, oh, well.

"Understood." She turned, primly, bare foot-paws padding onto the wooden front-porch. And she ducked inside the open doorway.

Hayward almost forget to flip his fish again. Blinking, he hurriedly did so. It was almost done. Just a few more minutes.

Inside, still able to hear the fire, Meira smoothed her matted fur. Certain body fluids from the otter had, uh, made her fur stick together. When they had dripped out. In areas below the waist. But that was simply part of the act. Things got messy. Just don't be so obsessive, Meira. Just relax. Relax ...

... easily finding the food processor. It was embedded in the wall. The manual panel was glowing. And she rubbed her forehead, saying, "Computer: tossed green salad, with croutons, sliced carrots, and shredded cheese ... bowl of baby carrots and celery sticks. Two glasses of ice water. Plate of buttered French bread, for two ... sliced." She paused, very briefly. " ... and an apple. No, two apples. Galas."

A chirrup, and a whir-whir-whir, and the food (and water) began to dissolve and glow into view. The platform was barely big enough to hold it all. Plates overlapped. She had to carefully separate them. There was a whole science behind how this worked. Matter-reprocessing, all that, and ... she was an engineer. She was well aware of the mechanics. But she noticed this particular processor was a decades-old model. I can't believe it still works ... or that it has voice-activation! It looks like a manual model.

" ... you alright in there?"

"Yes," she called back, in the dark. For it was dark, now. Especially in the house. A dim light over the sink was casting enough glow to prevent stubbed toes, though. She considered asking him for help. In carrying all this stuff out there. But decided, instead, that she would just make two trips. Three, if necessary. " ... I am fighting the compulsion," she said, piping back up, "to take this thing apart."

"My processor?"

"Yes. I am an engineer ... "

" ... really?" He piqued. "Like a chief engineer? A lieutenant-commander?"

" ... uh, no. I'm merely an ensign." She sounded bashful at admitting this.

"You seem like you'd be higher," he said. "I thought you must be something intellectual, though." The sound of his voice indicated he was smiling. But, then, didn't it always?

Carrying a few plates, balancing them expertly, she reemerged from the house. "I would hardly call engineering an 'intellectual' field. Not as compared, say, to physics or chemistry or mathematics ... "

He helped her with the food. Setting it down on some towels. "You're being way modest. Matter and antimatter and protons, and, uh ... warp coils. Things? I mean, it sounds complicated."

" ... it's just a matter of learning it. Having a knack. I would equate engineering to medicine. Both attempt to fix things. To make things work. Medicine involves the organic, and engineering the inorganic."

A shy smile, rubbing his neck again. "It's all above my head, though," he repeated. "I'm just a lifeguard." His whiskers gave a singular twitch. "All I've ever known is the beach. The sea. I wouldn't say I'm a 'beach bum' ... but maybe I am."

"I don't believe one's worth has anything to do with their social status," the snow rabbit said, quietly. Quickly. Lingering in place before moving back into the shack. Her exposed rump and bobtail swaying. Lightly. Like that ... lusciously, like that ...

... Lord, the otter thought, she has a sweet ...

" ... ask you something?"

" ... what?" He blinked. Fumbling with the frying pan, getting the fish off the fire. It was done. He proceeded to cut it up.

"May I ask you something?" came her voice. Repeating it.

A nod (even though she couldn't see it). "Of course."

" ... this may have been implied, but I just ... " Her voice trailed. The sound of clinking dishes and such. " ... wanted to be sure ... " She emerged, once more, padding toward him. " ... am I spending the night?"

He inhaled, softly. And almost forgot to exhale. "Yes," he whispered. A nod. Helping her, again, with all the, uh ... things. " ... yeah ... I mean, as long as your ship's here. In orbit, I mean. You're welcome. I mean, welcome to stay ... " You're acting goofy, Hayward. Get a grip. Take a deep breath. " ... uh, now may I ask you something?"

A head-tilt, doing that 'eye-smile' of hers.

" ... you mind sleeping outside?"

"In the grass?" A blink. Didn't he have a bed?

"No, no. Around back, uh ... I got a huge hammock. Strung between some palms? It's really sturdy. It won't break. It's comfortable, and the forecast says no rain."

A slight bow. "That would be agreeable, yes," she said, properly. It had been ages since she'd slept outside.

He licked his lips. Clearing his throat. "Good. H-heh ... uh, anything left in the house?"

"Just the water," she said, already making the short trip to fetch it.

Arranging the food, making a tidy presentation of everything, and keeping an eye on the fire (didn't want it too bright or hot), the otter asked, " ... I don't know if this is too personal, but ... " He hesitated. " ... how old are you?"

"Twenty-five," the snow rabbit replied. She may have been self-conscious about a few things. But her age was not one of them. "You?"

" ... um." A slight hesitation. "Twenty." He bit his lip. "Next week."

She emerged, with a glass of water in each paw. Blinking more than once. He was nineteen? "That is ... younger than I had pegged you for." She'd assumed he was younger than her, honestly. The way he acted? But maybe only by a few years. Not by five or six.

His heart hammered, worried. "Is it is a problem?" He fought the urge to apologize.

A head-shake. Considering for a moment. " ... no," she eventually whispered, hanging him his water-glass. "We are both adults. We knew what we were doing." Assuring, honestly, "I feel no regrets."

"Me, neither. Yeah ... " He relaxed. " ... you're actually a little older than I thought you were. I thought you must be, like, twenty-one, twenty-two? I'm no good at judging ages, obviously. And when I saw you? I mean, it wasn't even one of the top ten things on my mind, so ... "

An eye-smile. "I will take that as a compliment. Thank you."

He otter-chirped bashfully. Chuckling soon after. "You're welcome? Heh." He sat down. On his shins and knees. "Do you say grace before you eat?"

"Grace?" she went, raising a brow. As she, herself, sat on her rump. Legs to the side.

"I say a prayer before every meal. Like, to give thanks." A pause. " ... is that okay?"

"Of course," she whispered. She rarely did so, herself.

The otter put his paws together, clasping them. Bowing his head. And gave a tiny, little vesper. For the meal. And for, " ... the company I keep. Thank you. Uh, amen ... " And he breathed deep, looking up. Rolling his bare shoulders. "I'm hungry," he said, brightly.

"Likewise," was the nodding response. A fork pushing into her salad.

"You sure that's ... " A chew-chew of fish. Holding a knife and fork. " ... hearty enough?" Chew. And swallow. "Salad?"

Chewing herself, she nodded. "Mm-hmm." Chewing ... swallowing, too. " ... this is what rabbits eat." An eye-smile. "I enjoy many things, but I try to keep a defined diet. I like to protect my figure. Besides, I have bread, carrots ... "

" ... two apples?" he asked.

"One is for you. For dessert," she said, slyly. "They are 'galas.' That means 'celebration.' Usually a festive one, but ... quiet celebrations are more my style. So, I thought it would be fitting if we both had one. To celebrate our friendship."

"Aw!" He liked that. A lot. And beamed and nodded. "Why didn't you just replicate an apple pie, though? Might be tastier."

"Because galas are not 'pie' apples. They are sweet snacking apples." She was from the tundra, but she still knew that. "And I had my heart set on galas."

" ... h-heh. Well, your stomach set, at least. But ... seriously? I thought you could make pies with any apples. I mean, pies are pies." A nod. "Pies. Pies are pies."

A head-shake. "Not true."

"Yes. Pies?"

"No."

"Well, apple trees aren't even native to here, so ... I mean, I know about, uh ... oranges? Bananas? Coconuts? Maybe. Sorta. I'm not completely ignorant." A pause. "You went to college?"

"The High Command Academy, yes. Four years."

He played with his fork, looking down. He hadn't received that level of education. And wondered, on some level, if she thought he was naïve? He didn't want to be just a 'piece of tail,' after all. When all was said and done. But what did he have to offer anyone other than, you know ... well, sex? And nothing?

"Hayward?"

He looked up. Forcing a smile, asking, " ... tell me about where you're from."

A blink. "Why?"

"I want to know. I've never been there. I probably never will, so ... and watching videos or stuff isn't the same as hearing about it from someone who's got experience." Experience. That's what he'd been yearning for earlier, on the beach. Life experiences. Meira seemed like she had some. Lots of them. He admired that. He really did. "Is it cold there?"

"Yes."

He looked to her, wide-eyed. Waiting.

She gently gestured with a paw. "Eat. Eat ... and I'll tell you."

He smiled, looking down. And nodded, resuming his meal.

She tilted her head. The fire. The warmth of it was kissing her cheek. And the air smelled so sweet. So lush. "My world is nothing like this. It has been frozen for many ages. Two sentient species evolved there. My own, and the Arctic hares. We did not get along. They left ... and then we turned against each other. Snow rabbit against snow rabbit. Civil war. And, in the course of that conflict, most of the technology we had was destroyed. We threw ourselves back into a Stone Age. We had to start our society over. From scratch."

He listened, raptly.

" ... we were almost feral, after that. Until we developed ... or, rather, evolved, or were given by God. However you wish to put it. Over time, we developed a psychological barrier. A 'freeze.' Which restrained our emotions. Pulled us back from the feral edge and civilized us. Allowed us to function." A deep breath, eying her plate.

"Freeze? But you were being ... " When they'd made love? Hadn't he made her ... feel things? Anything at all? " ... eh, I don't understand." He scrunched his face.

"It simply means my emotions are felt through a sieve. A screen. I can thaw. I can feel more, bit by bit ... but never the full emotion. Thaw," she repeated, "but not melt. It would turn me raw. That's just how fierce snow rabbit emotions are, deep down. God, evolution, Fate ... if they are not, indeed, all the same thing: we were protected from ourselves, with this. It does not hurt. I do not regret it. It is normal for me. I do not even notice it."

He nodded. " ... so, you do still have feelings? For things? For, uh ... others? You can do still do that ... "

"Of course." She met his eyes.

He stared back, reassured. Smiling again. "So, keep going. Keep going. I wanna hear this."

A slow breath. "Modern snow rabbit history is even more complicated," she continued. "For the past few centuries, we had a cold war with the Arctic foxes. Predators. Icy, sharp predators. They began taking swipes at us ... we swiped back. They began encroaching on our territory. The wasps, in the background, saw this. And helped bring both sides to all-out war. I was lucky enough not be stationed on the front lines. Others aboard Majestic, my ship ... were not as fortunate. They bear the scars."

"But you won, right? I mean, I know that much."

"Yes. We won. But in a war that fierce, victory rings rather hollow. Especially since the wasps detonated the Arctic foxes' sun, months after the ceasefire ... we evacuated as many as we could. But how can you remove millions from a planet on day's notice? So, the survivors lived on one of our moons. Before relocating to a nearby planet. A new home. And, now, both parties get along. Grudgingly. There are still hostilities. But after all we've been through, we at least have peace with them. Maybe not other predators, but ... "

He sipped some water, licking his lips. Nodding.

" ... then the wasps. Them detonating the foxes' sun was a sign of evil. They had to be stopped. They wanted to assimilate our resources, use our space as a stepping stone deeper into the quadrant. We asked the Federation to help us in the fight, since they were clearly the wasps' next target. They refused, stubbornly." Meira sounded like she held a grudge about that. "Distracted by a civil war of their own. We were left to fight the wasps alone. We won ... not on the battlefield, but in the brain. We found a way to telepathically tap into their Queen. With the aid of a bat. They have telepathic abilities, of course.

"But, again, it came at a cost. And, just when we began to recover our breaths ... the predators who had taken control of the Federation Council, the same predators who refused to help us against the wasps, saw how weakened we were AFTER the wasps, and decided we were even riper for takeover than before. And that, if the wasps couldn't conquer us, maybe they could. They launched an attack. Partly, I feel, to distract and falsely 'unite' their populace against a 'common foe'.

"We repelled them, but, again, with aid. The Federation prey mutinied at a fortunate time ... with greater force than they had before. Which allowed us to overpower them. The Federation could not fight wars on two fronts." A sigh. Rubbing her cheeks. "The last three years have been peace. Finally. We are rebuilding, if not slowly. And we now have a treaty with the Federation which even involves the loaning of officers. An 'exchange' program. Majestic is half-staffed by Federation furs and half by High Command snow rabbits."

" ... wow." A swallow.

"You did not know all this happened?" she asked, sincerely.

A sheepish look. "I was sixteen. When your last war ended. I mean, I've heard about this. Just ... I don't know much about it." His stroked his rudder-tail for a moment. "You have to remember this planet here? We're isolated. Very isolated from things ... I mean, we're on the edge of nowhere. We're out of the loop."

She nodded. " ... sometimes, that is a not a bad place to be," she whispered. "In fact, sometimes it is preferable to everywhere else." Before continuing, "My species went through a lot, though. We emerged battered, but undoubtedly ... we are stronger. We are now the dominant species in the quadrant. To think! Snow rabbits! A prey species would have the most power?" She swelled in unmistakable pride. "Whether anyone likes it or not, we are a force. And are prepared for any future attacks or problems that come our way."

"So, you think the peace will be broken?"

"That remains to be seen. With all my heart, I hope not." A sigh. "I hope not. But logic says that, in the history of civilized races ... there has never been a period of time, not a single day, week, month, or year, where conflict wasn't going on somewhere. Between one group and another. It is in our animal natures. Kill. Be killed. Hunt. Evade. The push and pull. The tension. Predator and prey. Our civility does not make us less animal. It just masks," she said, "our wilder tendencies."

" ... wilder? What about, uh ... "

" ... breeding?" she supplied. "That is a wild tendency, too. One of the most 'animal' acts we engage in. But sexual tension is ... " A sigh, thoughts drifting. Such images dancing in her mind. " ... masked in a far prettier, far more poetic way. It is the antithesis to violence. It is ... instead of striking one another? It is attempting to unite. Literally. With another. It is ... " A hot exhale. " ... it is," she said, simply, "what it is. Love ultimately conquers all." She almost couldn't believe she was saying this! A logical snow rabbit? What's prompting this, Meira ...

... a shy nod. Biting his lip. Whiskers giving a singular twitch. "Do you think I'm wild?"

Eye-smiling, she tilted her head. Amused. "Do you want to be?"

"I don't know. I guess I, uh ... sorta see myself as rugged and rustic? As independent. A little bit. I wanna be civil. But I wanna be wild, too. I don't wanna be domesticated, like ... cookie-cutter, fits in everywhere. Part of the masses. But I don't wanna be lonely and totally ... off in a corner. Uh. Is what I'm saying." He rubbed his neck. "Eh, that made NO sense. I'm sorry."

She looked deep into his eyes. Sighing (and she didn't even notice she was doing it). "Don't be," she whispered, honestly.

He glanced over the fire, and then back to her. "So, uh ... everything's okay up there? In space? I mean, I guess I'm a citizen of the High Command, aren't I?"

"You are, indeed. Your planet is under my species' jurisdiction."

"So, you're protecting us? We're safe?" There was worry in his tone. As if, maybe, all the talk of war and animal conflict had spooked him.

"You are entirely safe. I promise," she whispered, soothingly. She didn't tell him about the yellow jackets. They were more like pirate mobs, anyway. Not a mass threat. No reason to scare him further. "That is why Majestic is in this region of space. We are a patrol ship. We are here for that purpose: to protect you. And others."

A warm, dawning look. "So, in a way ... your ship is like a lifeguard? Only in space, not water? I mean ... " Well, the image made more sense in his head.

" ... perhaps it is."

"Not 'it.' 'She'," the otter corrected. "Ships are 'she's'. Remember?"

A slight mew of mirth. Relenting with a simple head-tilt.

" ... so, you don't have any tropical beaches at home? You've really never been to a place like this?"

She looked up. Blinking. "Well, we have an equator, obviously ... but it's not hot there. Simply 'less cold.' Warm, not hot. Nowhere on my planet is particularly hot," she stressed. "Some places have warm seasons. Three, four months. Mild. Temperate. It can make you sweat, but ... it's not this kind of 'beach' heat, no."

"Snow?"

"Snow?" she echoed, blinking. Goodness, he was so eager to learn. He really was. Asking so many questions. Listening so attentively. He may not have been book-smart, but he was bright, nonetheless. And that was so incredibly appealing.

"I've never seen snow, and you're a SNOW rabbit. Tell me about it," he insisted. Chewing. Chewing, swallowing. And reaching for his water-glass.

"There is little to tell. It is white, fluffy ... "

" ... like you," he said, warmly.

"It is also bitterly cold," she added.

A sheepish look. "Not like you. I mean, I know we're not ... eh, longtime friends. But, still, from what I can gage ... " A soft inhale. Feeling, uh ... really, what am I trying to say, he wondered? " ... is it fun?"

She had to think about that. For several seconds. "I have honestly never thought of it like that." A pause. "How do you mean?"

"Well, like, the water's fun. Splashing, swimming, racing, diving. Is snow like that? Do you play in it? I mean, frolic ... explore, create? Is it good for all that? I've seen pictures. I mean, we have a polar continent I told you about? I've seen plenty of images of that. The snow looks beautiful."

"It is beautiful," she admitted. "At times. Yes. But beauty does not equal innocence. The snow, and that which it spawns ... can hurt. Badly."

He swallowed, done with his fish. And chewing on a celery stick. He wasn't sure what she was trying to say. Beautiful things hurt? She was beautiful. Was she trying to hint that she was going to hurt him? Or was that just a random comment? And he asked, again, trying to shake such thoughts, "You ever played in the snow, though?"

" ... define 'play'," she stated, evasively. She'd had sex in the snow. Not fully naked. But, still. More than a few times. Back in her Academy days, living in the plains of Kendra Province. When she'd been Hayward's age. Late teens. With some snow rabbit males (often called bucks). And, yeah, you got cold doing that. But, living in that environment, as a snow rabbit ... your pelt got so thick in winter, and your body was so biologically-tailored for Arctic survival? That you could get away with it. You could deal with a lot better than other species could. It was your natural habitat. So, technically, she had 'played' in the snow. But she didn't dare tell him that. He seemed so trusting. And he knew she was an open-breeder, but ...

... knowing something like that about someone? As opposed to knowing AND hearing details? Those were two entirely different things. She knew how to be discreet when she needed to. She wasn't going to lie to him, but she could dance around questions with a dainty touch.

"Well, snowball fights? Snow angels? Wrestling?"

"I have never had a snowball fight, no."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Hmm." He leaned back, arms acting as stilts. "I think I probably would, if I had the chance. I think that'd be the first thing I did."

"Snow has to be at a certain level of slushiness before it can be compacted. You can't make snowballs just because there's snow. It has to be on the threshold of melting."

"Oh." A nod. "Guess that makes sense."

She nibbled on a carrot. Daintily. "What about you? Do you ... surf? Fish? You seem a water-lover. And you are," she stressed, "an otter, after all."

"I do love the water. Maybe being around it more than being in it, but ... I mean, just that atmosphere, you know? The scent in the air. The sounds. The sights. I like to swim. Obviously. But it's not like I live beneath the waves." A pause. "You didn't smell like salt earlier. You smelled like vanilla. You never actually went in the water, did you?"

She shook her head.

"You don't know how to swim," he guessed, mouthing it. As if it were a private secret.

An inhale. " ... no," she confessed, vulnerably. "I do not."

"Wow," he whispered. He just couldn't fathom that. How could anyone NOT know how to swim? It was instinct, wasn't it? "I've never met anyone who can't swim. But, then, I live on a beach, so ... "

She shifted, self-consciously.

" ... oh, b-but ... it doesn't matter, you know. I mean, it's easy. It's just paddling, and arm-strokes. Leg-kicks. You just pick up on it."

"I have just not needed to swim," she tried to explain. "A good deal of the water on our planet is ice. And when it's not? It's still too chilly to swim in. At least for me ... I would wager some snow rabbits can swim perfectly. I'm fairly certain. We do have pools on our world. But, myself, I just ... never needed to learn ... "

"Heh. Yeah, swimming pools are good for racing. Like, I can stay underwater a whole length of the pool. Holding my breath."

"Can you, now?" she asked, obligingly. He was trying to impress her again.

"Yeah." An admiring sigh. "Meira ... "

She looked to him, calmly.

"I can teach you to swim. While you're here. I mean ... you've taught me a lot. It's only fair."

"What have I taught you?" she asked, genuinely confused. "We only met this afternoon."

"Well, you're teaching me about snow rabbit customs, uh ... your home. What it's like. Politics. History. And ... " He hesitated ... " ... eh, you did some things. When we ... " He lowered his voice. " ... were making sex. Or, uh, having. Having breeding," he corrected, still not getting it right. He shook his head and moved on. The point was ... " ... I didn't know about some of those things you did to me." A hot swallow. "That opened my mind to new things." A pause. "And my body!"

Were snow rabbits capable of laughter, she would've done so. Heartily! He was so genuine. There wasn't a false or calculating bone in his body, was there? Instead, she just gave a few light mews. Of mirth. " ... truly, I was not attempting to 'school you' in sex. I mean, I am glad you feel I did, but ... " An eye-smile. " ... I was just hoping you would enjoy it. Nothing more."

"Oh, I did." Short breath. "It was awesome," he blurted, proudly.

She gave him a cheeky, affectionate look. " ... I would have to agree. Though I would not put it so juvenilely." But, then, he's still a teenager, isn't he? Well, for another week (according to his earlier confession).

"Eh. H-heh. Yeah ... " He licked his lips. "Toss me that apple?"

She nodded, reaching for it. And doing so.

He easily caught it in his webbed paws. "Still want apple pie. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I could make, um ... trying to think of some local dish. That you couldn't just replicate in a processor on any ship, anywhere? Something you've never tasted before. Some kind of dessert." He scrunched his features. "I'll think of something. I promise."

"You, my friend, have a sweet tooth," Meira pointed out, beginning to sprawl on the towels. And the ground. Lazily. She was finished with her meal. And she licked the skin of her apple. Before biting it. She always did that with apples. She didn't know why. Just a quirk she had. She did it with pears and peaches, too.

He noticed. That was cute. And replied, " ... maybe a sweet tooth. Maybe ... or maybe I just have a good sense of taste. I know what I want," was the response. "I want what tastes good." His eyes met hers.

She flushed. Beneath the fur, looking down. And biting into that apple again, with the juice dribbling down her maw, her chin-fur, mixing with ...

... strings of her saliva. As they locked lips, in a late-night, fumbling kiss. It was a few hours after supper. They were in the hammock out back.

" ... mm-m ... " The otter's paws roved. Across her belly. To a breast. He began to grope a little bit. Lips sliding. Smacking audibly. " ... mmf."

Her breath washed over his chin. She almost implored him to calm down, to slow down. Calm down, boy. I'm not going anywhere. But wasn't able to get the words out. And didn't want to interrupt ... the f-flow of this, this ...

... and he nipped at her cheek, looking down. Swallowing. And then whispering, dumbly, "You have the most beautiful breasts ... I t-think I've seen." He'd seen a few others. Uh, otters'. A skunk's. But, oh, snow rabbit! Her body was so pristine. Maybe it was the color of the fur. But she had this 'sculptural' quality about her, or something? He mumbled incoherently.

She didn't know what to say to that. Only ... " ... thank you." He was quite handsome, himself. But she just wasn't sure how to say it without being crude. Poetry wasn't necessarily her strong suit. Even if she HAD been waxing about the poetic power of love earlier. Where had that come from, by the way? She still didn't know.

A simple nod, not letting up. "So supple, like ... snowy mountains. With pink peaks?" A pause. "I want to scale them with my mouth."

"A very innocent thing to say. Are you sure you're not a rodent?" Or maybe, knowing that he's younger ... he really is more idealistic, Meira thought. More wide-eyed. But, then, mouses and certain other species were wide-eyed throughout their entire lives. Generally. Maybe otters were that way, too. She didn't know. She'd never been this close to an one before. She'd never been intimate with ... w-with ...

" ... mm-m." Nuzzles, heavy nuzzling. "I want to ... " He panted. " ... I want you to suck on me again." She'd done so shortly after they'd finished their apples. Back during supper. Hadn't planned it, but she'd been sprawled like that, naked, in the fire-glow, and eating that fruit ... and he'd approached, sorta crawling, and ...

... things ... uh, happened.

She'd given him muzzle. And had swallowed, too.

A mewing head-shake. "I change my mind about you being innocent," she teased.

"But I liked it," he whispered.

"I know. As did I. But ... another time, because I want more than that," she countered, "right now. You're going to give me more." She stressed that word. This word. "More." Her toes rubbed against his ankles, up his shins. "You are one of the most playful furs I have met. I must admit, Hayward. You are ... incredibly nice ... "

"My species does have that reputation. The playful part." A chirp. "Mm-hmm ... m-mm ... "

" ... yes. It does," she admitted, her arms around his neck. "What of my species? What have you heard about mine? Other than what we've already discussed?"

"Uh, just that you're logical. A little cold. A little brisk ... incredibly sexual. Horny all the time." He blushed. " ... but I don't think ALL those things are true. I mean ... you feel warm to me. To my touch."

"Yes ... you told me that," she breathed.

" ... well, also, you're very kind. And I don't think you're horny as much as passionate. I mean ... you, in particular." He took a moment to collect himself. "I like to think I'm passionate. It sounds so much better," he whispered. Kissing. Kissing her body. Oh, her body. " ... h-has more purpose. It means something ... to be passionate ... " Head lowering, he mouthed at one of her breasts. "It means something spiritually great ... "

She breathed in, deeply, through the nose. Eyes closing. But not before catching a glimpse of his own eyes. He was glancing up at her, discreetly (or so he thought), trying to gage her facial tics. Her expressions. He was so nervous about pleasuring her properly. He truly was nervous ... wasn't he? His paws, when they'd made love earlier? Had been shaking half the time.

Masculine, strong, and yet so laid-back and sensitive.

Which made the snow rabbit wonder: how in the world did this poor, friendly otter NOT have a mate? Was it because of his social status? He was resource-poor? He was barely twenty years old and living alone. Was all his family dead? Did he grow up an orphan? Did he have some secret that everyone knew about, locally, but that she, as an outsider ... was clueless to? Did he come from a line of outcasts? Was he, in spite of his obvious virility, reproductively infertile? Unable to have offspring?

What was the deal?

There had to be something.

There just had to be. Not to be cynical, but ... there had to be ...

... maybe he's exclusively an open-breeder. Like you, Meira thought. Maybe. But he doesn't seem like the type. He'd indicated he HAD been that way. But she didn't think it was because he preferred it. He loves to have fun. Sex is fun. But you can tell he's emotional. And the emotional ones always get attached ... always. You can't open-breed if you get attached ...

... she knew this well enough. You couldn't be ...

... attached.

Her eyes. To his. They locked for a moment. His irises were an emerald-green (compared to her ice-blue), and those pupils were dilated so wide (an involuntary response of arousal; and, plus, it was dark out) as to be comical, and ...

... a-and, three minutes.

Flat.

That's all it took, before they were back to full-out ... f-fucking ... like mere mammals in the hammock, grunting, mewing, grabbing ...

... moaning.

Fur meshing, t-tails ...

... twitching.

All over each other, oh, o-oh, all ...

... the hammock swaying.

Swinging back and forth, back. Back. And forth. The palm-leaves rustling, and ... " ... ah, a-ah! Ah!"

Twenty-five minutes after that.

The otter gently snoring. A very soft, soft sound. Hugging the snow rabbit against him. Protectively. Her back to his belly ... bare. Spent. Sleepy. So very sleepy. It was just after eleven.

She wasn't quite unconscious, herself. Almost. Almost there. Just aware enough to know where she was. Who she was with. What had just happened. How natural and wonderful it had felt.

And, though night had fallen, and that same night was deep? She could hear so much. She could hear the waves from here. On the beach. And jungle-frogs and birds. And chirping, squeaking things, sort of like crickets or cicadas, and ...

... his breath. Washing over her nape. Irregular, unconscious. She heard that, too. Just as much as she felt it.

And was she hearing her own heart?

In my ears?

I do not know ... but I am comfortable, she reasoned. She was ...

... soon.

Asleep.

Comfortably asleep.

She woke up, slowly. Another eight hours after that? Nine? She was losing track of time. On the ship, on Majestic, she would glance at chronometers constantly. She knew the time ... at ALL times. Obsessively. And, now, she didn't, and ...

... it was disorienting.

It made her uneasy to not know when it was.

Made her feel helpless.

On her back in the hammock, bare body awash in patches of bright sunlight. She squinted. " ... eh." Shielding her eyes with her paws. There was a breeze. A very warm breeze. It was going to be a hot day. And ...

... she was alone, and ...

... confused by that. At first. Focus. " ... Hayward?" Her heart spiked, with instinctual prey anxiety. For just a moment. Where was he? But the combination of her 'freeze' and her logic pulled it back. She calmed, rubbing her eyes. My voice sounds groggy, she realized. What time is it, she wondered again? Where's the otter? She began sniffing for him. But his scent, though it lingered heavily on her own pelt, wasn't freshly near. It's not like he's your mate. Stop being so desperate. Good Lord, Meira. She tried to sit up, but ...

... exhaled, with a whoosh. And laid back down. Blinking several times. I'm awake. I'm awake, she assured. And then remembered, her mind up and running (fully, now): his work. Of course. Hayward was a lifeguard in the morning. 6 to 12. No, 6 to 1, he'd said. Yeah ...

... he was on the beach.

She sat up again, swinging her legs to the side, and ...

... oomph!

The hammock flipped over.

She was flat on her belly. Breasts squished down to the ground. Dirt 'dusting' her white fur. A grumble, rubbing her face. " ... eh!" A rabbit-kick at the air. Strong. Powerful. Long legs and big foot-paws. Another kick, just out of frustration. And because it loosened her up. She was wide awake, now. No doubt. She pushed herself upright, stretching. Ambling into the shack. She went to the bathroom. Then got some breakfast from the food processor (vanilla yogurt with granola, an orange, and some cinnamon toast). And realized she would probably have to take a shower after she ate. Cause ... well, you made love twice yesterday. (Well, three times, if you count going down on Hayward.) And didn't clean up. Her fur was very, very matted. Yeah ...

... she showered.

He did have a sonic shower, and it ... f-felt ... good. The water swirling, soaking, pelting. So warm. So cleansing. Between her legs, under her arms, her tail, her belly. Face. Behind her ears. Shampoo, scented shampoo. And moisturizing soap. Oh. So fresh. Refreshed!

She lingered in that thing.

Taking the longest shower she'd taken in months.

Before, a towel around her breasts and waist, she turned it off, drying and wandering about the house. Or shack, more like. Seeing a blinking computer pad on the couch. She picked it up. Pressed it. It was a note from Hayward. He had work. Would be back around 1:30. And there was a 'heart symbol' after the sentence. And a teasing 'PS - you rabbit-kicked me when we were sleeping ... I'll scheme of a way to get you back for that' ... after that, even. Which, at the same time ... made her feel a little bashful. Made her waver. But, also, made her feel more than a little pleased. She liked his affections. There was something about them. He knew how to flatter a girl. And he was definitely passionate.

She swallowed, remembering last night. Yesterday afternoon.

Aboard Majestic, with some of the other snow rabbits, she had a lot of, uh, lusty ... desirous. Breeding. And it was good. It was what she expected from fellow rabbits. But she wouldn't call it passionate, per say. What she and the otter had done yesterday had definitely been passionate. And the differences were so subtle. But so monumental. Just ... different ways of touching, of ... it was so hard to explain. It was just a manner. Just a demeanor. An intent. The otter had truly been invested in pleasuring her. And, yes, he'd wanted pleasure for himself. That was obvious. And he'd gotten it. But ... there was that unspoken, emotional investment. He was investing himself in her. In an effort to give her some kind of ... eh ...

... am I over-thinking this? Again? Like I do everything?

I am on shore leave.

I hooked up with a young (younger than I thought, at first) otter, and we are ...

... having fun.

Enjoying life.

That's it, right?

This is just a 'live the moment' kind of thing.

She nodded quietly.

Yeah.

Blowing out a breath. Well. At least he didn't write 'I love you.' On that note he left? It was just a heart-symbol. I think he's smart enough to understand that our one-day old relationship isn't REALLY a relationship. I mean, come on. I know furs are nothing more than sentient animals. We have a lot of primal instincts. We're very sexual. I was speaking about that only last night. Relationships, for us, happen very fast. They come together quickly, but ... not ONE day quick.

I just don't want awkwardness. I have to leave in three days. And, yes, this planet is on Majestic's patrol route, but that doesn't guarantee I would have the time or ability to come back anytime soon, or as often as I would like, and ...

... she rubbed her forehead.

Stop.

Complicating. This.

Meira!

Relax ...

... well ... what time is it, she wondered? Yet again. He's gotta have a chronometer, a clock, or ... " ... computer? Time?" It wasn't like she had anywhere to go. It was more a compulsion. She just. Had. To know. The time. Right now.

"The time," the computer chimed, from somewhere. Her ears twiddled quickly, trying to find the source, "is 0920."

"I slept for nine hours?" she said, aloud. That surprised her.

"Query not recognized," the computer said.

"What?"

"Query not recognized."

A wave of a paw. "I was not speaking to you. I was speaking ... to myself," she finished. That didn't sound insane, did it? Oh, no. She almost rolled her eyes. But kept herself composed. Logic. Decorum. Please. "I suppose I was exhausted. I had a long day. I was very ... active. Spent a lot of energy," she mused, truthfully.

On Majestic, she would wake up at 0715. Every day. Even on her off days, she'd wake up at that time. She wasn't used to sleeping in. And wasn't used to having nothing to do ...

... she paced about Hayward's shack. Noting that he was pretty tidy. She hadn't expected a single non-rodent male to be this tidy. Maybe, having so little, he takes extra pride in what he does have? Whatever the case, he had a clean abode. She also found out a few other things:

He had trophies for 'diving.' First place trophies, too. Cliff diving. This raised her brow. The thought of him diving off cliffs into the ocean? Made her nervous. Why did that make her nervous ...

... he collected shells. But, for some reason, she didn't see any sand dollars. Other than the one he'd given her. Which was on the kitchen counter. Maybe he only gave those out specially? Or maybe, like he'd said: he made wishes with them. 'Spent them' in the sea. That was kind of romantic ...

... but I'm a snow rabbit. Do I even have the capacity to appreciate (or define) romance, she asked herself? Am I qualified to say if something is romantic or not? Well ... look at Annika and Dennison. Look at, uh, Peyton and Adele. Snow rabbits in both those pairs. Aboard her very ship. And they seemed to 'know' what romance was. I am sure, therefore, you do, too.

She just nodded quietly.

Well.

So, he collects shells. What else ...

... hmm, he just doesn't own a lot. This is a very small place. And, besides, you can't judge a fur based on their possessions, their things. I really don't wanna snoop.

She did notice one thing: he didn't have any pictures of family or loved ones. Not a single picture. Normally, furs had something. Little frames on desks, or pinned to the wall. But she didn't see any of that.

Well, how many pictures do you have in your quarters back on the ship? I have my mother. My father. (They weren't mated to each other, and never had been. They'd been open-breeders, too.) My siblings. My half-siblings (again, due to her mother and father having children by many partners). Uh ... some of my breeding partners from engineering. Um ...

... I have pictures. At least some.

He doesn't.

Meira, stay out of it. He's a good kid.

And she paused, raising her brow ... kid? I do not 'breed' with kids. He's almost twenty. That's an adult. Mature. Sexually mature, yes, adult. Well. Young adult. Okay, so he may not be as experienced and galaxy-weary as you, but ...

... that's part of his appeal, right? That's part of why you ended up going home with him. He's refreshing.

Refreshing. Like water. And he happens to be an otter.

Was that serendipitous?

Was that Fate?

Doesn't matter.

You're on shore leave. And yesterday? Was one of the best days I've had in a very, very long time. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Wasn't that how the saying went? Don't question the joys that you are blessed with.

She mewed and stretched. Nodding to herself. Dropping the towel that had been round her body and going, nakedly, out front, back into the luscious light, finding her two-piece swimsuit. Putting it on. Slowly. Wriggling and giving a hop or two. Today was a bright, brand new day. Maybe, later, she would take Hayward up on his offer: he could teach her how to swim.

I might as well go back to the beach, now, though. Get some exercise in. Walk back to the resort and fetch my backpack. Check out. Be back here by the time he returns (he said 1:30, I believe). I'm sure some of my fellow crew-furs noticed I wasn't at the hotel. But, you know, they can chirp my comm-badge. And they haven't. So ...

... I'm going to spend the rest of my leave here.

Definitely. After all ...

... Hayward gives much better room service.