Smugglers Ch. 2
Segmentum Secundus
Sparky looked up at the ceiling, a grimace on her short, dark muzzle. There was some sort of noise coming from upstairs, and the first, sudden thump had startled her, almost causing her to drop the delicate piece of machinery held in her gloved paw. There was another thump, and then muttered words, muted and rendered unintelligible by the ceiling. As time passed, and she listened to the sounds filtering through the grimy plaster, the grimace turned into a wry smile. They were at it again, she mused, the rhythmic thump, thump, thump coming from the first floor office giving away what 'the bosses' as she thought of Kara and Darren, were up to. Well, she couldn't blame them, it had been a long, tense couple of weeks, hiding from Imperial troops and trying to cover their tails after that debacle at the Chemistratum. Whenever it had been bad, or even just a little intense, there is always a sudden rush of pent-up energy once you are safe, an exhilaration that you are finally safe. A shudder ran through her slim, lithe body, from silky ears to stubby tail. In the last few weeks, she has been shot at, almost arrested more than a dozen times, nearly run over, and had a glancing knife wound on her leg that was just now mending. The whole team had spent a month in the swamps south of the capital waiting for patrols to die down. They had no face ID on their little team, thank the heavens, but they knew the vehicle they were using, until she rebuilt it, that is. It had a pretty average run, all in all. The usual mix of screw-ups, bad luck, and mad daring that got them through most things. It was, however, nowhere near as bad as some of their runs. The most notorious, for her at least, being the critter run on Drexia, when all the damn ripper beetles had come alive and tried to eat her when the sketchy stasis field they bought had failed without warning. Only Ankh's quick reflexes and preternatural danger sense has gotten her out of there alive, but she has still needed fur grafts and a month in a ward to be fit for anything again. She pushed those thoughts, of gnashing teeth and skittering dark, out of her head, and returned to work on the skimmer's recalcitrant conduit core. Instead, she remembered her first days free of that damn doctor, all mumbling and muttering, and of the long night spent saying thank you to the quiet, mysterious feline.
After a few minutes, she grumbled a curse her mother would not have approved of and tossed the wrench aside. It was no use, she thought, it was impossible to work with those two moaning, meowing and thumping around up there. The distraction was bearable, but it reminded her of two things. The first was of how achingly pretty Kara was, and of their fleeting, solitary encounter several years ago, when she had first joined up with this ragtag outfit. The second was the reminder that she also was stressed, nervy, and in possession of more than her usual excessive supply of pent-up energy. They didn't call her Sparky for nothing, you know. With a resigned sigh, she stood, spent a few moments brushing the dust and metal shavings off of her work overall, and skittered off on silent paws to go find where ol' Ankhy had gotten himself off to. Once she found him, she would be getting him off to her room for a bit of. . .stress relief.
Hearing the crunch of feet on gravel outside, Ankh-Re leaned over the arm of the chair and peered out the window, unconsciously flicking the knife he had been sharpening back across his paw into a good grip for throwing. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the harsh, glaring light of the equatorial sun, but eventually he made out a figure in shapeless, grimy coveralls making its way across the road, toward the crummy apartment he called home at the moment. Soon, the figure resolved itself into the compact, voluptuous outline of Sparky, and he swore that it was the maniac grin that gave her away first. He darted back, out of line of sight, and looked around his room frantically, he knew all too well what that crazy woman was after, and he wondered if he could hide or something. It wasn't that he didn't like her. . . he did, and she was always up for something, though it was usually her particular brand of furious sex. It's just that she was so, there, in a way that went against his whole way of life. She was small, a few inches shorter than him, but she filled up a room with her presence. She could make a concert hall seem crowded all by herself, jabbering and gesturing. He, on the other hand, had spent his whole life working towards being a shadow, invisible and unseen, as unremarkable as a spoon, and much more dangerous. Though, he reminded himself, you could to terrible things with a properly applied spoon. They were always picking at each other, him, counseling her on the merits of stealth and of tact while she berated him to get out there and 'have some fun,' usually of the fistfight and alcohol variety. Finishing the survey of his room, he cursed himself for not providing himself a way out when she came charging in, not even bothering to knock, a whirlwind of energy and passion that no door could stop
.
'Ankhy!' she cried, her voice a melodic alto that carried very well. He winced, Ankhy was a pet name for him she had concocted somehow. He despised it with a burning passion, but he did not have the heart to tell her that. Thankfully, she never used it in front of the rest of the group, so he just let it go.
'Hey Sparky-' He trailed off, one eyebrow quirking as he watched her strip off the coverall, no ceremony and no subtlety, clothed one moment and naked the next, her fur damp and matted with sweat, the sweet female scent of her in the air almost immediately.
'Hey Ankhy, mah fluff,' she grinned at him, her paws on her round hips, her eyes sparkling, 'Why dontcha get outta that stuffy robe and give a girl some love?'
The thin, languid feline stood up slowly, taking his time just to spite the overeager ferret, stretching, ruffling his dust colored fur and making a big show of putting all his sharpening and cleaning supplies away neatly in their velvet lined case. He was pointedly not noticing the naked, excited female in the middle of the room, and he knew it was driving her crazy. One thing he could not control, however, was the effect her smell had on him. Musky and familiar, his body knew what was coming, and he was powerless to stop it. Luckily, his robe, his usual garment, the color of cream, edged in red, covered his arousal from her view. He turned to put something away, and as he turned to face her again, she was airborne, pouncing him into the chair, churring eagerly, squirming against him, her dexterous paws undoing his robe before he even had a chance to protest. Seconds later, the time for protests had ended, and he was kissing her eagerly, paws cupping her small, pert breasts, feeling his heart pound in his chest. Sparky broke the kiss and winked at him, her own breathing quick and excited, straddling him in the big, oversized chair, and positioning herself over him. 'Not much for foreplay, are ya?' He purred, giving her left breast a soft squeeze.
'Foreplay is for herbivores and queers,' she quipped back, as a grin split her muzzle, revealing her short, sharp teeth, teeth that felt positively delicious in the heat of passion. Trailing down his front in a zig-zag, leaving furrows in his meticulously cleaned fur, her paw found his feline member, and held it in position as she lowered herself onto it, churring happily as is slid into her, spines stroking her tight walls. Growling low, he kissed her again, pushing his hips up, and then slowly withdrawing, the spines keeping his withdrawal slow. Never much for the long kiss, she broke it again, leaning her head back, arching her back and making the strange hybrid squeak and churr that was a ferret's version of a moan. Her hips rotating slowly, she pushed down on the willing male, burying him in her, the spines on his head stroking across her most sensitive spots, sending a shiver through her flexible, powerful body. Grinning up at her as she rode him, he thought about some of their other times. She was amazingly flexible, and could nearly entwine him, like a furry snake, keeping her legs around him. That, and she could do some other exciting things reserved for the sufficiently flexible. Yes sir, she could. After the rather stimulating spectacle of getting to watch her eat herself out, he wondered why she came after him at all, and ultimately decided it was because she got off just as much on watching him squirm as she did actually yiffing him. Crazy females, he mused, watching her breasts bounce rhythmically as she rode him. With a slow smile, he grabbed one of the firm mounds lightly and squeezed, letting his thumb brush across the nipple, relishing the sound of her ecstatic squeak. A sudden, rippling clench of her walls got a gasp of mixed surprise and pleasure from him. His willpower was immense, and the control he applied to nearly every aspect of his life held true here, and he could go for a very long time if the paceing was good. However, she was ramming herself down on him, less interested in any notion of pacing or control than in the dizzying airburst that was orgasm. Her churring cries filled the air, and he knew she was geting close, just like he was. Another sudden rippling squeeze made him wince and bite his lower lip. Too close, he thought, too close! He closed his eyes tight, willing away the growing pressure, but powerless to stop it as she worked her powerful body down onto him, praying that he would hear her squealing and feel the frenzied clenches of her release before he lost control of himself. Perhaps Aphrodite was watching, and perhaps not, but his prayers were answered. Sparky gasped and fell silent, her back arching hard, every muscle tense as her walls clamped down on him, the calm before the storm. She screeched, only the context giving away if it was pain or pleasure, grinding down against him, pushing him deep into the cushions of the chair, her walls spasming and rippling around his feline member, her whole body tensing in rythm. That was all it took for him, and he grunted deeply, his only concession the quiet feline would make in terms of sound, feeling himself jerk and spasm inside of the ferret, sowing his feline seed in her willing body, waves of pleasure wracking him delightfully. As soon as it began, it ended, and the exhausted ferret collapsed atop him, panting and squirming as the aftershocks of her quick, yet intense, release ricocheted through her. His arms slid around her, pulling the exhausted ferret close, his own breathing short and sharp, as even the slowest, most romantic sex is exhausting business. With a cute smile, she leaned her head up and licked his chin as a way of saying, 'Thank you.' A warm, rumbling purr was his only reply as he closed his eyes in sort of a half doze, and they napped away the afternoon entwined with each other, oblivious to the heat outside.