Frozen Through
Annika blinked. "What?"
"He has information," said the other snow rabbit. A commander. Talking to her in one of the corridors of the base. Snow-Fall Nine.
"Have Oliver interrogate him."
"That is not the ... problem. He cannot simply be interrogated."
"I do not understand ... "
The commander let out a vaporous breath. "We know," he confided, "that he has information on ... a planned terrorist attack. The Arctic foxes are targeting one of our orbital stations. We don't know which one, and we don't know when it'll happen ... "
Annika tilted her head. Confused.
"I DID have Oliver ... interrogate him," the commander continued. "Earlier this morning."
"And?"
"And the fox ... did not break."
"Try again."
"Annika ... "
Again, the rabbit blinked, looking to her superior.
He sighed. "He ... has agreed to tell us everything we want. But he wants something in exchange."
"His freedom?" she asked. "You cannot let him go. He knows too ... "
"No. Not his freedom."
"Then what?"
"He wants ... you."
"Me?" She took a step back.
"Well, not YOU-you, but ... a femme snow rabbit. He wants to breed a femme snow rabbit. Said he's always dreamed of ... " The commander trailed, not saying the rest.
"And you're allowing this?" Annika's voice, though detached, though professional, held more than a hint of disturbance.
"We're running out of time. We're furs. It's no secret that we ... relish breeding. A casual breed is ... not a problem. We do it all the time with ... "
"NOT with foxes," Annika spat. Now, indeed, showing her emotion.
"You're the most ... trusting femme we have. The highest-ranked. I know you're strong. If anyone could do it, you could."
Annika went to the wall. Leaned against it. Closing her eyes under the florescent lighting. Breathing.
"I need to know ... "
"Just once? He just wants it ... once?"
A nod. "Yes ... " The commander was obviously uncomfortable. Obviously not wanting to be discussing this.
"And how do we know," she whispered, "he'll give us the information ... upon delivery?" she asked, eyes frozen over.
"We've told him that, if he reneges on the offer, we will kill him. Regardless of what he does or does not know. And as much of a predator as he is, I do not believe he wishes to die."
"So, this an assumption?"
"I cannot tell you, Annika, what an attack would do ... to our security. To the public's welfare. The cold war is at a stalemate. An attack of such magnitude ... would shift the tide in their favor. If we can prevent it ... "
She nodded quietly. But thought of Oliver. They hadn't ... verbally agreed to be mates. They hadn't. Snow rabbits, as a rule, did not "mate." But ... she felt a devotion to him. Felt this would be a betrayal. "Does Oliver ... "
"He knows. I told him."
Annika nodded.
The commander blinked. "You and Oliver. Do you have ... "
"A very high amount of respect for one another, yes."
"I see." A nod.
Annika breathed. Swallowed. "I will do it." Her heart pounded. She felt a sickening ... sort of thrill. At the promise of this encounter. But also a disgust. She would be giving a fox what he wanted. An Arctic fox. Would be ...
"Report to the holding cell in an hour. Do what you must to prepare yourself." And, with that, the commander turned and loped away.
Annika breathed in the corridor. Alone. Trying to quell the unease she felt. Trying to tell herself that she would be doing this to benefit her kind. She would be compromising herself ... to acquire information that would save lives. Her own needs paled in comparison to the wider whole. But ...
" ... I agreed to this coupling. Shall we get it over with?" It was an hour later, and the snow rabbit was standing, daintily, in the cell. The fox's cuffs having been undone. Paws and foot-paws free. Tail brushy and white, but speckled with black. Tail almost wagging. He tilted his head at her. Staring. Prompting Annika to ask, "Am I not what you expected?"
"No, you're just as arrogant, just as cold, just as ... emotionally numb ... but just as supple and delicious," the fox teased, speaking each word in a slick, silky way. "As I thought you would be."
She glared at him.
"Your stare," he said, "cuts my heart. Like an icicle." He gave a predatory grin. His fur just as white as hers, but longer. His nose black and muzzle pointed. Toothy. "You know, if you stab a fur with an icicle ... you leave no evidence of a murder weapon? Cause the ice will melt. The perfect kill."
"I wouldn't know."
"Wouldn't you? You snow rabbits ... are so composed. So calm. Of the ice. But do not tell me that you do not feel vengeance. That you do not feel hatred. You are feeling it for me ... toward me. I can smell it."
"It is a shame," Annika retorted, standing there, "that you cannot smell your own flaws ... as easily as you can smell mine."
"Didn't say they were flaws, now, did I?" the fox countered.
She said nothing in response.
"In regards to your original request, yes ... let's ... get this over with," the fox whispered. Obviously a lot more eager to do so ... than she, herself, was.
She took a few cautious steps toward him. Her prey heart telling her to stay away. Do not trust him. Who knew what he'd done. And what he would do to her.
Quickly! He reached out, snatched her paw, and yanked her forward ...
She gave a rabbit-squeal, twisting ...
He chuckled. A dominant chuckle, hearing her heart pound, pound, pound ... and whispering (into one of her long, quavering ears), "Just testing your reflexes."
"My reflexes," she said lowly, showing her teeth (which were considerably blunter than his own), "are fine."
"Yeah?" was the tease. Followed by a nip to the neck.
Annika, eyes open, blank, tilted her head to allow for the nip. The nip that turned into another nip, into nips, nibbles. Sucks. Long, luxurious laps to the fur of her neck. Matting it wet and warm. Steam coming off of her neck now. In the cold. And she barely blinking.
The fox could see she was trying to resist it. Resist any pleasure. Any carnal desire. Predator/prey relationships usually ended in disaster, it was true, but that didn't keep predators and prey from yiffing. They did it all the time. The prey ... for the thrill. For the flush of pleasure they received at submission. The predators did it ... to exercise their dominance. To have what they could no longer hunt. Hunting prey was outlawed now. But they could still have prey ... in this way. Through yiff.
Annika breathed. Closing her eyes. Thinking of Oliver. How stable he was. How reliable he was. He would make a sound mate ... but snow rabbits didn't mate. They simply bred, bred, bred ... quietly, behind closed doors. Never making an overly-emotional display of it. When a femme was in heat, the next available male ... impregnated her. And she raised the litter on her own. No resentment. No nothing. It was the way of things. It was how life was ... on the ice. It was harsh. It was bare. It was not a life of creature comforts. It was a life of taking what you needed when you needed it. It was ...
... all he wanted right now. The fox was wanting her more and more. Her show of quiet resistance was, for some reason, incredibly arousing, and he lifted her shirt. She refused to raise her arms for him, so he nipped sharply at her shoulder.
She gave a tiny huff ... at the tiny pain. And lifted her arms, and he slid her clothing up and off. And slid it down ... around her ankles. Removed everything ... while simultaneously, paws fumbling, removing his own.
"How do ... you wish," she panted, her pulse moving faster, faster. "To do this ... "
"Fours," he ordered. "All fours."
She nodded, sinking down to a crouch, and ...
"Hold it," he whispered, huffing. "Hold it ... " He swallowed. Eying her like that. She, bare, crouching. Knees bent. Rump lowered, with fluffy bob-tail growing out of her. The white, white silkiness of her fur. That soft, snowy pelt. Her breasts hanging loose, nipples erect. Curved. And how she crouched there, as if in wait, as if ... a prey waiting to flee. Waiting to bolt. Her eyes darting slightly nose sniffing. It was too much for him. Almost too much for him ... and the fox crouched down with her. And he drew her into a hug. A hug from behind.
Annika swallowed in fear. Closing her eyes. The fox was more muscular, more ... he was bigger than a snow rabbit. Bigger than Oliver. Bigger, in body, in spirit, than anyone she'd ever been with. But he was a predator. His nature was to be larger-than-life. Was to lord over things. He was a predator. And, right now, she was his prey. And for some strange reason, she felt ... compelled to act her part. To give him what he wanted. It was ...
" ... only natural," he whispered into her ear, his belly, his chest ... sliding over her back. "It's only natural to be afraid. You're prey. But I won't," he promised silkily, "hurt you. I didn't ask for this ... to hurt you. I ... I admire," he whispered, "the beauty of your kind. You're like crystals. Diamonds. I've done prey before," he admitted. "But never a snow rabbit. You're our enemies. We're forbidden to associate with you, but ... there's something about you ... your kind. About ... I need to taste it," he said, almost growling the word 'taste.' "In my life, I HAVE ... to taste it." He was huffing now. He'd worked himself into a frenzy, and it wasn't going to subside until he'd had her. Until he'd had his fill.
Her heart spiked. The eroticism of this, of this situation, her position, his voice ... it wasn't like anything she'd felt before. It wasn't like the soft, soft, giving-way ... the soft giving ... she'd had with Oliver. That she wanted again. She wanted that again. In a more permanent way. But ... no, this wasn't like that. But ... it was undeniable, suddenly, in attraction. In the idea of her being bred by her darkest enemy. The thrill of that. Of doing that and surviving. Of imprinting souls with ... some-fur like this. The perspective it would give her. But, no, more importantly ... the curiosity it would sate. The ...
... desire in the fox was too much. He was out. Erect. When male snow-furs got free of their sheaths, they went for the nearest warmth. For the air was always cold. And the male member, pink and shy and stiff, couldn't stay in that cold. Not for long. Outside the sheath, it was vulnerable. Snow-furs, therefore, did not engage in much foreplay. They needed the intercourse. Or oral. Or ... they needed to be enveloped by warmth. They needed to make heat, quickly. Be in heat. Produce it. Exude energy.
For snow-furs, yiff, more often than being about affection ... was about simple warmth. Simple heat. Was about instincutal need.
And the fox growled ... as he slid in her. From behind, he mounted her, doggy-style. The fox draped over her back. He loved it. Loved it like this. It was so carnal. So basic. So natural. And he wasted no time in pulling out ... to his tip, leaving his cock glistening in the cold. And he pushed back in. Into that heat. That piercing, melting heat. The heat of her was unreal. The heat of his prey.
Annika huffed, head hanging in submission. In pleasure. Why was she ... feeling this? Why was she ... enjoying ... the feel of his male essence? As it made a slick friction with the muscles inside her. As it went into her body. And retracted. And back in ... as it went back and forth, in such an organic, fluid way. It was ...
"Huh ... oh, oh ... " The white-furred fox, hot and getting hotter, was moving faster. Faster ... he didn't bother to stimulate her nipples or her clitoris like Oliver had done. He didn't take the same care that Oliver had done. And she lamented that. And, even as she was being done by him, she was dreaming of being with Oliver again. But fearing that ... maybe he would view her as contaminated now. By doing this ... would she now carry a stigma with her? Would ...
" ... oh ... oh, come on ... " The fox was getting feral now. Biting on her neck.
She whimpered.
He growled. He wanted to draw blood, but ... if he killed her, they would kill him. He resisted. Just bit. Nibbled, and then licked her neck. That fur. As if taking care of her.
Still, she whimpered ...
... and it wasn't from the pain of the bites. It was from the arousal of them. Was from his quick, slick, frantic humping of her. The soft, muffled slapping of his sac. How he was rocking her body. How he was huffing, was ...
"Uhn! Uhh ... huh ... " The fox arched, growling! Fiercely! And sinking with a final, "Ohh!" He shivered and shook, and ... he grinned. Teeth and gums showing. "Oh ... wow ... "
Annika, almost oblivious to his exclamation, simply shook ... as she leaked of fluid. His and her own. Her body shivering with heat. She went about her orgasm quietly. Submissively. She felt it, though. Oh, she FELT it.
The fox stayed in her for another five minutes ... until he had to withdraw, cock flopping out. He huffed and fell to his knees, and then ... sprawled on his back. Broad shoulders and chest rising and falling as he breathed.
Annika, eyes closed, still shivering from the whole experience, curled up in a ball at his side.
He stroked her casually. "You ... are beautiful," he whispered to her. Still catching his breath.
Her eyes watered. Not because she was disgusted with herself (as she felt she should be). But because ... she felt such pleasure. And those words. A predator, her greatest enemy, telling her in an honest way (after breeding her), that she was "beautiful" ... it was such a compliment. And when she composed herself, when she made it to her knees, she leaned over him ... and gave a soft, shy kiss to his lips. And pulling back, her eyes ... resorted back to their ice-coated selves. After yiff, a snow-fur went back into her shell. So, she nodded to him.
He nodded back. He would tell the snow rabbits all they needed to know. He would give all the information they asked for. He would keep his word.
And she stood and ... paused, absently dressing herself, clearing her throat a few times. Smelling of Arctic fox. And she, lingering, her back to him ... she felt she should say something. But she didn't. She just left the room, walking down the empty corridor. Pausing at one of the junctions. Leaning against the wall. Needing to compose herself.
She took a steadying breath. This had been her first time with a predator ... and he'd been her most-feared predator of all. And ... she didn't regret a second of it.