Our Divine Discontent
This wasn't supposed to hurt ... was it?
Was this supposed to hurt?
Ketchy sat on the couch. In the near-dark. Unblinking. Waiting. Waiting for him to come home (to their quarters). He was late. As usual. As always. And, as always, he would ... brush it off. Say he was too busy with stuff in engineering. Stuff. What was stuff? Who was busy with stuff? He was too closed-off to elaborate on it. Or on anything.
He'd been like that ... when they'd met. But she'd been lonely. Been desperate. Had thought, naively, that she could change him. Make him open up.
That she could make this work.
But he wouldn't change ... he was afraid to show emotion. Was afraid to talk of deep things. The kind that ... she didn't even know. She didn't know! Cause he wouldn't TELL her ... would not communicate.
She longed to share herself. To communicate in ... full flower. To ... that's what mates did, wasn't it? Mates were close. So close. Mates were ... would give their lives for each other. That's what mates did.
But she knew, if asked the question ... she would reply that, no, she wouldn't give her life for him. She wouldn't even need to hesitate ... in saying no. She was fond of him. She was ... had convinced herself, maybe, that this was love, but ...
... again, she came to the fact that ... this relationship was born out of desperation. Both of them had needed some kind of intimacy. Neither had thought it through. Neither was compatible, but ... they'd forged blindly ahead.
And, now, it was falling apart all around them.
And everyone knew it. She could see it in their eyes. How they looked at her with a gaze that seemed to say, "Poor Ketchy ... won't she ever be happy?"
She felt their pity.
And it made her sad ... when Fredrick got sad, he got MAD ... he had a rage problem. No one knew about it but her. She had seen him angry. Oh, he hadn't hurt her, but ... he'd scared he more than once ... with his glowering gazes. With his stalking, out-of-nowhere rants.
And, now, Ketchy had fled into the arms of the ship's only otter. Denali. He was strong. He was ... sweet. He whispered things into her ear. He would do that. He would ... do lots of things with her. And to her. Oh, the things ...
Ketchy closed her eyes.
It would be too one-dimensional to blame this all on Fredrick. But she wanted to. She had tried so hard to make this relationship work. She had put SO much energy into it, and what had he put into it ... in return? What had he given back? What was his problem? And, if he HAD a problem, why wouldn't he TELL her what it was?
She sighed in frustration. Opened her eyes. Still waiting.
No one knew, yet, of her affair ... maybe Adelaide knew. Did she? Ketchy couldn't be sure. If you had a secret on this ship, you steered clear of the bat. And of Field, too ... the both of them. They were too moral for their own good. They would sense it. They would want to help, and ... all that ...
But she didn't think anyone knew yet.
But they would. It would only be a matter of time, and ... she needed to end this (with Fredrick) before that happened. She didn't want to be branded as a cheater. As someone who was prone to be unfaithful. She didn't want to be branded in any sort of bad way. No, she would ... dump Fredrick. And go stay in Denali's quarters. And ... something like that. Maybe ... she didn't know. She hadn't really thought this through ... not in clear fashion, anyway. She was simply in a lull. In a daze. Just ... accepting the heaviness of her reality.
Where was he?
Why did he spend so much time away from her?
Field and Adelaide, Wren and Rella ... all the other duos on the ship, they ... were in LOVE. They LOVED each other, and they spent almost all of their free time with each other. Why didn't Fredrick spend time with her?
Where was he? Engineering? Was he really in engineering, or was he doing yiffy things in the simulation room? Or ... was he on the snow rabbit station? Getting drunk ... or something. No, if he'd been getting drunk, she would be able to smell it. And tell it ... right? Wouldn't she ...
But, ultimately, this was a ship of, what, eighty-four furs? Everyone knew everybody else. And they had NO mission ... right now. Other than to orbit the snow rabbit world. Other than to ... simply live. Simply survive. No, Fredrick stayed out at nights ... because he didn't want to come back to her.
Because he didn't want to talk.
Because things gotten so awkward.
And how had it happened?
How did it ever happen ...
She was mated to him. And yet she was making love, daily, with Denali ... the otter. He worked in the science lab. He was the back-up medic. And it had been so easy to fall in love with him. And STAY in love with him ... while, at the same time, falling out of love with Fredick. And STAYING out of love ... with Fredrick.
She dreamed, like all furs, of ... that one, magical mate. Who would forever satiate every desire. Every need. Who would be as much for you ... as you could be for them. Who would be your equal. Your ... partner. Your ... everything.
She was jealous of so many of the other furs on this ship. Like, Assumpta and Azure ... the snow leopard and squirrel. What an unlikely pair. What a recipe for ... malfunction. And, yet, they were still together. And they were fine. You could see it in how they looked at each other. In how he smiled, and how she protectively positioned herself next to him ... in social situations. They'd been in a relationship of impossible odds. And they had made it work.
Ketchy had gotten into a normal relationship ... with a normal squirrel. The odds should've been great. Should've ...
The door swished.
Ketchy turned her head.
Fredrick stepped in. Pausing. And his whiskers twitched, and his tail jerked about (like a flag that had lost its luster). "Hey," he said, not really making eye contact. And going for the kitchen area. To the food processor. Getting an orange juice. He drank orange juice at all times of the day. She once asked him why he liked orange juice so much, and the response she'd gotten: "Dunno." That was always his response ... and she wasn't going to listen to that for her entire life. She wasn't going to ... she didn't want to hear that word ever again.
"Fredrick," she whispered.
No answer. His back turned to her. He sipped his orange juice.
"Fredrick ... we have to talk."
"I'm gonna take a shower ... "
"No," she said.
"My fur's all matted."
"I don't care," she said, more harshly than ... her norm. "We need to talk."
He looked to her.
"And if you don't wanna talk ... fine. I'm used to it. But you're gonna listen," she said, voice getting quiet again. Her breath shook. "I'm ... I don't think this is working," she said. For she didn't know what else to say. How else to word it. It was the truth, wasn't it?
"Well ... "
"Well, what?" she pressed. Eyes boring into him. "What?"
"Well, maybe you're just tired ... "
"What?" She made a face.
"Maybe if you get some sleep, in the morning ... "
"No. No, this will NOT ... " She reigned in her frustration. Breathed. "This will not be better in the morning. It will not be better tomorrow. It will not be better next week. It's ... it's not working. Darling," she said, and trailed. When was the last time she'd called him darling? She didn't even remember. She cleared her throat. "I'm ... I have to leave," she said, eyes watering. Eyes darting. "I ... I've spent the past year ... you know, as ... " She shook her head. Breathed, breathed. "It wasn't a waste of time, but ... I mean, I don't regret it. I mean, there's no reason to regret things," she said, "in life. We can't change them. But we can learn from them. These things ... these things," she said, "make us who we are. Who we become. I believe in fate," she said. "This had to happen." A breath. She slowly brought her own tail around (to her front) ... and held to it. "And it has to end." She looked back up at him, eyes watering. She swallowed. A lump in her throat.
Why was this so hard?
Again, if it ... if this love wasn't working ... why was it so hard to let it go?
Why was she crying now ... quietly, quietly crying.
Fredrick went to the table. Sat down ... several feet away from her (and the couch). And he turned his glass around. Staring at the orange juice. He wore a blank expression. Didn't he even care? Wasn't he even going to show emotion ... even now? Now, of all times? Was he that cold ...
"I honestly ... I don't know what I saw in you," she managed, through her sniffles. Paws wiping at her own eyes. "I know that sounds cruel, and I'm sorry, but ... I hate lying. I'm not gonna lie ... anymore. I ... and I think you know it, too. I don't think you love me. I don't think ... think ... I don't ... " She had to stop for a few seconds to compose herself. "I don't think you find me attractive." She gave a little sob. "I don't ... when you touch me, there's no fire in your eyes. Just ... a mechanical instinct. I hate it," she said.
Fredrick twitched. Saying nothing. But his teeth were clenched.
"You can get mad if you want, but you've ... you've no right to," she told him. Accusingly. "I gave you so much of myself!" A cry. "And you took it all for granted ... you ... oh, just ... I can't ... I can't do this anymore. I can't ... we're not mates anymore ... I'm leaving," she said. Her words coming erratically.
"Fine," he said, almost growling it. With a disdain. "But I'm keeping our quarters."
Ketchy buried her muzzle in her paws. Shaking. And she sniffled ... no, he wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it ... she, after a moment, stood. And hesitated. And went into the bedroom. Emerged a second later with a bag. She had already packed her things.
"Where are you going?" he asked casually ... dully. As she went to the door.
"I'm going to live with Denali. I'm going to be his mate." Denali lived on E-deck, a few quarters away ... from Field and Adelaide.
"Denali? The fox?"
She sniffled. "He's an otter ... you ... " She was going to call him some kind of name, but ... didn't. "He's an otter. And I love him." And she added, as a verbal dagger, "And I don't love you. I'm not sure ... if I ever did." In a way, she regretted those words ... as soon as they'd been spoken. But, in a way, she ... it had been satisfying. And maybe it was true ... maybe what she thought was love ... never was. Maybe she didn't yet know what love was. Maybe she would find it with Denali. Maybe she would finally be a happy fur. A fur who, when seen in a room, everyone would say, "I'm glad Ketchy's here. She makes everything so bright."
Fredrick shrugged. Obviously angry. And he looked to her. "Whatever," was all he said.
"That's all? Whatever?" she spat.
"Just get out," he whispered, looking blank again.
She nodded, clutching her bag. Her belongings. "I will ... don't worry, I will ... " Her voice shook, and the plain-brown fur on her cheeks was matted from her salty tears. And she ... hesitated. And turned. And left ...
... and didn't make it twenty feet down the corridor before she had to stop, slump to the wall, sink to the floor ... and sob.
Gnaw ... gnaw-gnaw ...
"Heh ... my foot-paw," whispered Dotna. "You're gonna leave it attached?"
"If I gnawed it off ... I wouldn't be able to chew on it anymore. Would I?" Pyro asked, looking up from his task. Red, red eyes ... glowing. Red eyes knowing. And knowing what? Sometimes, it was hard to tell. Sometimes, the wolf was hard to figure out. But he had a spark about him. He had a levelness about him. And, even after this short while, the chipmunk loved him.
Did love need a timetable? Could young, sudden love ... be as pure as long, gradual love? Were there different degrees of love?
Love ... say it enough times, and the word (like the emotion) would stop making sense.
"Why do you love doing that?"
Pyro looked up ... from his position (on his belly, facing the opposite direction ... she was on her back, her shoulders and head propped up by pillows). His muzzle was at her foot-paws. He was nibbling. He never hurt her ... with his teeth. Never. He was so careful. He put those sharp teeth to her fur, to her body ... and pressed. So she could feel it. Feel his love-bites. And he would suck and gnaw and ...
"Why do you bite?"
His red eyes met her forest-green ones. She had emerald eyes.
She waited.
"I'm not entirely sure," he confessed. "I like ... putting pressure," he said, "on things."
"Why's that?"
"Things under pressure ... adapt. Things under pressure ... show their strength."
A giggle. An eye-dart. "So, what does ... that doesn't make sense."
"I guess I bite, also cause ... I mean, I can touch you with my paws," Pyro said. "And you feel soft. And you feel warm. And you feel real. I can touch you with ... my nose. And I can smell you. Smell your fur. The soap you use. The sweat from the day. Your own natural scent. I can ... but to make contact with your lips, with your muzzle," he insisted, "is the most intimate kind of touch."
She watched him. Her belly and breasts were a lighter shade than the rest of her. A bold, brown stripe ran down her back. Her tail was long. But not wide. Not bushy. More like ... a bit like a fuzzy wire. But not as snaky as a mouse's tail.
"Kissing, tasting ... biting," he said. "When I nibble on your body," he whispered, giving her the most intense, masculine stare (that seemed to raise her own body temperature several degrees). "When I nibble on your body, I know, without a doubt ... how real you are. How warm you are. How intimate ... such contact is. I ... I don't know." He looked away. To the sheets. "I love to bite," he whispered. Eyes glazing over.
"Well, you are a wolf," she said, smiling. "Even if you're a prey-like wolf, you're still a wolf."
He gave her a head-tilt. And a smile. "I guess so."
"You guess so?" she teased gently. "Don't you know?"
A sly shrug.
"Mm ... " She reached out a paw. Ran it over the fur on the cheeks of his rump. On the backs of his strong legs. "Well, I gotta say ... no one's ever wanted to nibble and gnaw on me before."
"I'm sure they have ... "
"Oh, I've been kissed. Been hugged. Never ... never nibbled or gnawed. Not until you came along," she said quietly. Reflectively.
"Well, I guess I'll have to make up ... for your lost time. Have to nibble you raw."
A giggle. And she tugged at one of the periwinkle-blue sheets.
But he tugged back. Starting a tug-of-war.
"Hey," she whispered playfully.
"You don't need it ... are you cold?"
"No ... "
"Then what ... you don't need to cover yourself."
She flushed.
"I've seen it up close," he reminded.
"Yeah ... I know." A pause. "You know, squirrels are ... they have beautiful tails. And mice ... are so adorable, and ... you know, chipmunks? We're sort of ... lost in between them. You know?"
"You feel inadequate?"
"No, I just ... I feel I have to fight harder to get noticed."
"Well, I notice you," was Pyro's response. "I notice you, and ... " He returned, in the dimness of their room, in the lateness of the hour, in the softness of their bed ... to biting on her toes. Delicately biting on her toes, and then ... on the rest of her foot-paw. Moving to nibble at her ankles.
"You're ... sure," she panted, "you're not a meat-eater?"
An almost-shy question (with a cheeky grin). "Is pussy a meat?"
A giggle. And another. "Um ... don't know. Don't think so."
"Well, then ... I'm not a meat-eater. But I do love to nibble on a nice chipmunk now and then. Most delicious."
"Only delicious?"
"Scrumptious," he corrected.
"Ooh ... " She sighed. As he nibbled on the fur (and, beneath it, the flesh) of her thighs. His teeth grazing through her fur. "Ooh, I've ... never been called scrumptious."
"You have now."
She couldn't argue with such logic. Oh, he was impeccable!
"I want you to learn ... to learn," he said, "how to bite back."
"My teeth aren't as sharp as yours."
"You can still bite, though ... right? You still have a muzzle? Still have jaw-bones? Still ... "
"Yeah," she giggled. "Yeah ... "
"Well, you'll like it."
"So, there's a method ... to your madness, huh? To biting? There's a style? You don't just ... bite at random?"
"Oh, no ... no," he breathed. "To make it sensual, to make it ... to make it feel good, you have to know what amount of pressure to apply. Have to know the sensitive spots," he whispered, "of your mate's body. Have to know which directions to graze your teeth ... through fur. To go against the grain of each strand of fur ... so that you can feel," he said, "the fur parting. Have to know ... so much. Biting," he confessed, "like so many aspects of love-making ... is an art."
She couldn't argue that ... couldn't argue anything ... for his was nibbling and gnawing his way up, up ... past her groin. To her belly. And up and around.
"You're not gonna ... bite my, uh ... my ... "
"Nipples are for suckling ... not biting," he whispered. Breath going faster, faster. "Thought everyone ... knew that," he said, blowing a warm breath onto her left breast. Her left nipple. Body half draped over hers, and his brushy, ragged wolf tail in the air. Wagging ... wagging ...
Her eyes squeezed to a shut. And her paws reached out and clutched the back of his head, holding him in place.
He suckled ...
And she sighed ... forgetting all the question she had meant to ask (about his past). Forgetting all the worries.
Simply a prisoner to his tongue. His teeth. His lips.
Literally ... being muzzled. And loving it.
Piano. Flute. Or oboe? Something trilling ... holding its note, trilling, and trailing. Something going solo ... in a bed of brass sounds.
"What is this?" Assumpta asked. Angular ears swiveling. "I do not recognize this piece."
"I got it from the snow rabbit database. Bailero from Chants D'Auvergne." Azure took a step (a bare step) toward her. Body bare. Foot-paws bare. In the open air of their quarters. Once more, it was night. And, once more ... hours of soft, sweet delight. With each other. With words, with touches, with glances ... and, now, with dances.
They were going to dance. Just like they'd talked about (but hadn't yet done).
"The instrumentation," the snow leopard whispered.
"You like it?" Azure whispered back. Meeting her half-open eyes ... from half a foot away.
"Yes. It is ... pleasing," she whispered.
A smile. A bright smile from him.
And she gave that eye-smile. She practiced that look in the mirror. When her mate wasn't around. She practiced smiling in the mirror. She practiced smiling every day. And ...
... he put his muzzle to her cheek. And gave a soft kiss. A soft, soft kiss. And slipped his arms around her waist. She was, being a snow leopard, stronger than the squirrel. A bit taller. She was the predator, and he was the prey ... and he slipped his arms around her waist. And leaned his head on her shoulder. And closed his eyes.
She brought her white paws, and her white, grey-striped arms ... around his back. And held him close. And also closed her eyes. And purred.
Oh, she purred!
"You don't know," Azure whispered (with such delicacy), "how much I love it ... when you do that."
"When I do what?"
"Purr. I ... your purr," he whispered to her. "It's the most beautiful sound. It's the safest, warmest ... most wonderful sound," he said, sounding so innocent. So vibrant.
She breathed inward through her nose. And purred against his neck. Moving her muzzle to his ear. And purring in there.
"Oh ... " The squirrel relaxed in her grip. Relaxed ... so utterly. In her arms.
And she kept purring, and she started turning them in a slow circle. To the sound of the music. To the operatic, femme voice ... of whatever snow rabbit was reciting the words that accompanied this classical piece. This slow, slow ... romantic swaying music.
Azure hadn't wanted to waltz. Hadn't wanted to ... move all about the room.
He had wanted to sway.
Swaying was a kind of dancing, wasn't it? It still counted, didn't it?
Sway ... sway ... slowly. In circles. Bare foot-paws, pads of foot-paws ... shuffling on the carpet. Toes bumping into each other. His weight clinging to her. Her weight supporting him.
They danced like this, in slow, swaying fashion ... for minutes. Eyes closed. Her purring, and him ... chitter-squeaking. Making their little sounds. Holding to each other's soft, warm fur. His tail, larger, bushier ... twitching regally behind him. Her tail snaking ... so gracefully ... behind her.
"Gataki," he whispered. Using an alien word for "kitten" ... oh, his kitten. His gataki. "Gataki," he whispered again.
"Yes ... "
"I'm glad you wanted to do this."
"Why would I not wish to?"
"I don't know," he whispered, eyes still closed. He breathed in through his twitching nose. "I know predators don't dance. I know it's a prey thing. I know ... you must thin it's frivolous."
"Not at all," she assured. "No, I ... I think this is," she told him, "quite romantic." Her voice at a delicate, purring hush. "I would not rather be doing anything else ... but dancing with you."
"You mean that?" His voice rang with quiet joy. And he opened his eyes. They were blue. Deep blue. Like a sky.
"Of course." She breathed of his scent. "Oh ... " She sighed. And they swayed.
And the music melted into the background. Into their ears. It became such an accompaniment ... that they hardly noticed it. They became ... part of it. Their movements, their motions ... became an extension of the music.
Trickling piano sounds ... quivering woodwinds ...
... and quivering breaths.
"Meow," he asked. Quietly. "Please ... "
She hesitated.
"I love your purr ... but you rarely meow. I love it when you meow ... " He hugged to her. Oh, hugged to her.
And she took a breath ... and meowed into his ear. Once ... twice ... before returning to golden, thrumming purrs.
"Oh ... " A deep breath. "Oh ... "
They turned in slow, shuffling ... circles, circles. Circles in their eyes. Paws running circles in each other's fur, and ...
... they found themselves bumping into the couch.
Azure's chest rose, fell. Rose ... fell ... his paws feeling all over her breasts. Cupping them, tracing them. Thumbs waggling over the nipples ... and he huffed. And eyes darted to hers. Her eyes ... star-lit! Like the stars outside their window. Like the icy-blue of the planet below them. That's how her eyes were.
They were crystalline.
They were pure.
Just like her.
And she ... met his gaze. Did not break it. Did not let go of him. Was never going to let go of his energy. His innocence. His emotion. His joy ... his radiance. He was so alive. And he made her feel things. Made her feel emotions. Things that, for predators ... were frowned upon. Things that, by instinct, were buried ...
... but, oh, he was digging them up. And, oh, she was giving a throaty growl. And pulling him onto the couch. A tangle of fur and limbs. Sinking to the cushions. And lips coming together in greedy smack-smacks. In greedy sucks. Paws ... roving over hips. Over bellies. Over each other.
"Oh ... oh ... "
Purr ...
... squeak! Chitter!
"Our dance," Azure breathed. "Our ... you wanna ... "
"We shall have to dance," she panted, "lying down ... "
A giggle. He giggled into the fur of her shoulder. "Was that a joke?" A beam. "Mm?"
"A statement of fact." But her eyes, meeting his, glowed.
"Well, then ... "
And the two furs, the two mates ... predator and prey ... 'danced' in the embers of the dying day.
Ketchy, bare now, in his arms now ... was pressed up against Denali's chest. As an otter, he had a solid build. He had rich-brown fur. He was the rugged (but slender) type. Thinner than she was, but ... he thought she was beautiful. He told her so.
She exhaled onto his chest-fur. Her ear very near to where his heart was. She could hear it beating. Oh, she could his heart ... beating. Beating ... thump-thump ... thump-thump ...
Denali's fingers and paws delicately scritched at her. In her fur. Lazily.
"Why didn't ... " She faltered. And managed, "Why didn't I fall in love with you ... sooner? Last year ... or ... whenever. Why ... didn't I ... why are we only now," she whispered, "together?"
"I don't know," was his whisper. "I think you know ... there's no good answer to that. Other than: we ARE together. Right now. And ... that's all that matters. Now, and ... later. We still have time."
"I hope so," was her yearning. "I love you," she confessed. Fearing he wouldn't say it back. Fearing he would be like Fredrick. But he wasn't ...
For ... "I love you, too," was his easy, soft reply. Giving her a squeeze (as he breathed in). And exhaling. Adding, "My mate. My pretty mate."
She smiled. So tired, but ... she had a new mate. One who ... was so warm, and so kind, and ...
"Sleep, hun," the otter murred. Stroking her softly.
And she, closing her eyes, did so. She'd always been afraid of dreams. They always got crushed. But, as she drifted out of consciousness ... as she dozed off, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe tonight, she felt, the dreams would be good.
Maybe, tonight, in her dreams, all her discontents ... oh, in her dreams, every discontent would be divine. And all the love she'd needed ...
... would be, upon waking, there to find.
And Ketchy sighed and smiled. And slept. Head nestled to Denali's chest.
At the docking hatch, an Arctic fox ... a spy ... surgically altered (at great pains and efforts) to look like a snow rabbit ... strolled aboard. Looked around. It was late, and no one was up. No one would notice him ... and, if they did, well ... he looked like a snow rabbit, didn't he? And, oh, he could act the part. He'd had years of practice. Alterations such as his ... were permanent. He would look like a snow rabbit for the rest of his life. He could never return home. No, he was an eternal spy. And, if he was caught ... well, the snow rabbits would torture him. They were prey, and they claimed to be victims, but they had ways about them ...
But sacrifices had to be made. The fox had given his life ... to serve his kind. To monitor the snow rabbits. And, now, he'd been ordered to monitor Luminous. Back home, on the other side of the border, on the other side of the DMZ ... there were fears that Luminous (a very advanced ship) had joined the snow rabbit fleet. And would lead an assault on the fox's territory.
Perhaps that was paranoia ... but, regardless ...
The Arctic fox spy was here (this time) to observe. To scan the ship's interior. Get the frequencies of their hull plating. Learn everything he could about this ... Luminous. So, that in future, when her destruction was necessary ...
... nothing would get in the way.
The spy went to the nearest corridor. Looked one way. Looked the other. And set off on his stroll. Scanner in paw. In twenty minutes, his survey would be over. And he would leave.
But he knew he would be back ...