Ice-Blue Rendezvous
The light in the hall was icy-blue. That pale kind of color. Crystalline. Clear. Slightly shaded. And the snow rabbit padded through it. Leaving foot-paw prints on the floor, which was covered with a very thin film of snow. For all the windows in this place had been broken. Shattered. All the doors off their hinges. This was an old sentry post. Near the base of a mountain range. It was a secluded, forgotten place.
Perfect for a forbidden rendezvous.
Annika didn't know, exactly, why she was doing this ... why she HAD been doing this. This wasn't the first time. A few weeks ago, she'd mated with an Arctic fox ... in exchange for vital information. She'd done it because (as she'd perceived it), she had no choice. And, anyway, for snow rabbits, for furs of the ice ... mating was mating. It was done for warmth. For need. Their emotions, as repressed and frozen-over as they were ... needn't necessarily be hurt. They needn't ...
... know. Nobody need know of this. Know that, since that encounter, the femme rabbit had been secretly hunting down Arctic fox spies. There were many on this world. Just as there were many undercover rabbits on the fox world. They were involved in a tense cold war. Espionage, secrets ... all of it commonplace.
But since her yiff with the fox prisoner, she'd ... she found, to her own confusion, and to a certain extent, her own horror, that: she wanted more. She'd never mated with a predator. Never before. Only with other snow rabbits. And ...
... she wanted more.
It was a pulsing, prey-like pounding. In her blood. In her heart. Was she addicted to the danger of this? To the edge of it? Why was she doing this?
She didn't know.
Only that ... here she was. Having taken a small shuttle, leaving the base. And heading for this abandoned sentry post. Where she'd told the fox to meet her. She didn't know his name. But they'd met a week ago. They'd come together. Shared their warmth. And had parted. Just like that. Neither really saying a word. Neither caring that the other was the enemy. Both of them radiating a mistrust for each other, and even some kind of hatred ... but both drawn by this forbidden urge. This secret act.
Annika, though, had ... she'd had a hard time convincing the fox to meet her. He'd been viciously suspicious over the comm. Convinced this was a trap. This was a ruse. She'd told him, in all seriousness, that it wasn't. That she would show up at the set coordinates. And he could, too, should he wish to. She would leave it up to him.
He came.
And, now, they were meeting again. For a primal, instinctual coming together of predator and prey. A deadly dance that could, if discovered, get them both killed. Her for treason. And him ... for simply being a fox on the rabbit's world.
Annika hoped Oliver didn't know. Oliver was a snow rabbit. Another snow rabbit. He worked at the base she worked at, and she ... had a great appreciation for him. Often, they would come together ... and mate. And she enjoyed it. It was soft, and it was ...
... and she wasn't tied to Oliver in any way. Snow rabbits, as a rule, did not enter into committed relationships. They simply bred. They were rabbits, and they bred to relieve the tension. To find some heat. A moment of pleasure. And to reproduce, of course. Maybe that was sad. Maybe it was sad that the snow rabbits had been placed on such a frozen, icy world. That their emotions were so glazed ... that they couldn't directly feel them. Maybe they were deprived. Maybe ...
Annika felt guilty for doing this. But, at the same time, couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. The thrill of it. The absolute ... thrill of it. How natural it was. To submit. To do this. To sneak about. They'd been at war with the foxes for so long ... that she ceased to see them as real furs. Rather, as caricatures. As shadow things. As a generic, mass enemy. And to do this with one of them ... it had set her off. Awoken something inside of her.
It had made her ... burn. With feeling. Lots of feelings. Not just soft, tame feelings, but ... wild, passionate feelings. Of curiosity. Discovery. Lust. It frightened her, and ...
... she cursed her superiors for forcing her into what she'd done. The fox prisoner they'd captured, he knew of a terrorist attack on a snow rabbit station. Would only give the information if he could mate with a femme snow rabbit. They'd asked Annika to do it ...
She had agreed.
And, now, she was confused. She was addicted to this ... this ...
"Yiff," yipped the fox.
She spun. Her heart pounded. She shakily exhaled (the vapor visible from the action).
The Arctic fox grinned, stepping out of the shadows. And, nodding, he licked his teeth. "Yiff," he yipped again, making the sound ... from his throat. A sort of barking sound. It was said that the term "yiff" had come from foxes. From the sound they made during ... such activity.
Annika swallowed, nodded. "I am glad you decided to come ... again," she added.
"I have no reason not to."
"Despite," she whispered, "the danger?"
"I am a predator," was his response. As he padded toward her. The air cold, but his fur thick and white and keeping it at bay. His blood burning the chill away. As he stepped, inch by inch, closer to her. The shorter rabbit. "I do not scare," he whispered, "easily."
"I do," she admitted. A hard thing for her to admit, though it was the absolute truth. She was prey.
Tiny snow crystals seemed to hang in the air. Dance in the air. Where dust should be, the crystals were. Swirling in the invisible eddies. The breeze entering this hollowed-out building. Slipping through these crumbled, maze-like halls. There was still a ceiling, though. And a few of the rooms were still entirely intact. Were a bit warmer. A few of the rooms had no windows, and they had doors that were still there.
They would use one of those rooms.
Annika swallowed. Eager to get this done with. Oh, how she wanted it ... but the fear that came with the anticipation. She wanted that fear to disappear. To disperse. And she wanted him to initiate it ... first. Lead her into a room. Say something. Why didn't he get this started ...
"I never told you how ... curious," he said, "you are to me."
"Curious?" Her whisper, again, was visible. Her fur so snowy-white. And so pure. And her ears thin, tall. Waggling. Her tail a fluffy bob behind her, and her legs strong. Her foot-paws built for speed. For running. For running from the likes of this fox that now stood before her. Was she insane? How could she trust him? He was the enemy ...
"I am here," he said, "on your world ... to spy on your kind. To crack your defenses. To infiltrate. You are afraid of me, and yet ... you are doing this."
"You cannot tell me," she said, "that you do not fear. You say you do not scare easily, but ... I sense your hesitation."
The fox's grin was gone by now. And his eyes went to a squint. "I know what snow rabbits are capable of. I know what prey can do ... when equipped with cold detachment. When cornered. I know what you can do," he said. "I've lost many ... associates," he whispered, "to you. Many friends."
"As I have ... to your species. There is no worse sight," she said, "than red blood on white fur. I have had that image," she told him, "haunting me. In my dreams. Sometimes, it haunts me."
"We are both, then, taking a risk. But you asked me to take it. You sought me out. I was ready to run. I thought I had been uncovered. You were going to turn me in."
"I won't."
"Because you need me. You need," he whispered, muzzle to her ear, "what I have."
"As you need," she countered, equally calculating, and at an equal whisper, "what I have."
"It's a good thing," he whispered, nipping at her ear. His teeth grazed along her ear. "Good thing, then ... we're so willing. So," he panted, "reckless."
Annika huffed a bit. Her blood was surging. Her breasts rose and fell beneath her attire. Which, like her fur, was white. Was built for the winter.
"I've had enough of talking," the fox dictated. "We are here to mate. Not talk. I do not wish to know you ... as you do not wish to know me. I only wish for the heat. I only wish for the touch. For that vulnerability. But the emotion? We leave it out of this. Because it will betray us," the fox said, whispering. Voice serious.
"But are we not," Annika breathed, panting onto the fox's neck. Raising to the toes of her foot-paws, whispering, "Are we not doing this ... because of the emotional thrill? Because it awakens something inside us? Is this not done from emotion?"
"I would prefer not to know," was the fox's simple response.
Annika could sense that, in some way, the fox cared for her. As she, in some way, cared for him. Even though they were strangers. But any care they allowed to surface ... it might stick. And, if it stuck, this affair would be discovered.
That could not happen.
He put his paws on her arms. His claws dug slightly into her fur. Enough so that she could feel it ... as he undressed her. Fumbled at her clothing. Eyes boring into her. Teeth showing, all the while.
Her heart patter-patted. She raised her arms ... felt her coat go off. Her shirt. Everything. Felt his shirt flutter away. As they worked at each other's lower attire. As they stepped out of it. And as the fox let out a satisfied sigh and wrapped his arms around her. To her back. Paws massaging her lower back, and then running up her spine. Up and down her spine.
The rabbit shivered.
"Run later," he advised her. "When you need to ... when we part, you run, and I will ... slink away. As our natures dictate. But, now, right now ... do not run. Submit," he asked of her.
Annika nodded shakily (and a bit uncertainly). She nodded. Suddenly flooded with things that would better service her ... were they purged. Thinking of Oliver. And her yiffs with him. And how different that was ... than to what she'd done with the prisoner fox. And what she was doing with this fox. About how different predators were from prey. And how instincts, so often, got in the way of rationality. As was the case right now.
What would Oliver think if he knew that ... he was mating with a rabbit who'd been had by the enemy? Who'd been WILLINGLY had by the enemy? Would he report her? Did he suspect? Could he smell it on her?
She was the perfect citizen. The perfect soldier. No one would suspect ... would they?
Was she losing a bit of her soul ... with each of these callous acts?
Was God watching her?
She was becoming paranoid.
But, for the moment, that was forgotten ...
... as the fox hugged her close to him. Her breasts to his chest. And as he caressed her slowly, and as he ferally growled into her ears.
Her heart sped.
"Do you like ... that kind of fear?" he asked. "Did you know that fear could bring pleasure? Did you know they could be the same thing?"
She swallowed and shook her head. She had not.
He continued growling, and ... nipped at her neck. Lapped and nipped at her neck, making sure to get the taste of her and the scent of her. To drink of her. Slowly, slowly.
And she simply arched backward, eyes closed, muzzle partly open. Huffing out air. Her knees went weak. She wouldn't have been able to speak, she felt, even if she'd wanted to. And there was no reason for words now. It was too late for words.
They had to act through on this.
The fox was pushing her, almost starting to drag her ... backwards. Through the windswept hallway and into an abandoned room. Rubble in the corners. A table. Nothing more. Except a chilly mattress on the floor. And he shoved her down onto it.
She chittered and bounced, losing her breath. She laid there, shivering, eyes closed, vulnerable and exposed.
And he crawled on top of her. He was stronger. His teeth, his claws, his muscles ... he could overpower her. So masculine was he. But didn't do that. He didn't wish to hurt her. For some reason, though she was the prey, and was in his grasp ... the fox didn't wish to hurt her. Only wished to please her. And reap pleasure from her. Only wished to mate.
It was their instinct. It was what they wanted. What they NEEDED.
Through the open doorway, through the distant window ... the snowy slopes of the mountains, all white and empty, stood watch over their little, busted building. Then in the heart of it. Oblivious, now, to the nature that surrounded them.
They were both furs of the ice, and they were tasting of fire. And, to them, that was addicting.
Once he kissed her, wet and long ... on the muzzle, on the lips. Licking her nose. Once that heat was there, it took them.
She kissed him back. Sucking on his cheek. Panting. Her belly rising and falling with the force of her breathing, as her paws slid up and down his sides.
The fox growled, and his paws shoved her thighs apart. He wasn't going to wait. It wasn't like predators to wait. After all, being furs of the ice ... as soon as a male ice fur was erect, he went inside. He went for it. The cold was too much for his delicate member to bear ... and he was erect (already), and inside her (already).
This was happening so fast, too fast ...
... and the rabbit, she wanted it to last. She'd heard that other furs, like mice and bats and squirrels, they did oral things. Did other things. They took their time. That prey experimented with lots of things during yiff. They had the warmth. They had the time.
But, between predator and prey, and between furs from frozen worlds, furs who buried their emotions ... between Annika and this nameless Arctic fox (this nameless spy) ... between them, there could be none of that.
They were enemies. They could have no excess.
Just the mating. Furious. Fiery. Mating.
And as the fox powerfully bucked into her ... drawing back, bucking in. As he growled and possessively nipped at her neck ... as he did this, Annika momentarily forgot about details. About yearnings. And enjoyed it. Allowed herself to submit to this. This is why she was here, wasn't it? Why she was meeting him in the middle of nowhere, under the quietest of secrecies? For this ... for this ... for ...
... him, the fox, growling in her ear. Paws probing over her rear. And up her sides, until his stronger arms and paws were wrapped around her. To her back. Holding her against him while his hips pulled back ... went forward. Sliding through her tight, wet warmth. Warmer by the minute. The heat! Such sizzling heat ... her body gave. Such moisture. As if she were on fire inside. As if, indeed, she were lighting his wick. His fuse.
The fox growled ... and a slight smile was on his lips.
She huffed and moaned slightly, his snowy-white chest-fur rubbing against her hardened nipples. The sensitivity of that. And the relentlessness of him. How relentless he was in his motions. He bucked, humped ... rocked her against the mattress, which sank beneath them.
His weight, his warmth, his energy ... his predatory scent. Knowing he could kill her. Knowing their kinds were at war.
It was the most powerful, primal thrill the rabbit had ever felt. Prodded on by the growing pleasure that seemed to work through her. She wished, though, again, that ... things were different. That they weren't so emotionally cold. That ... he would caress her. Kiss her. Take care of her. Stroke her. Lick at her femininity. At her sensitive spots. Wished they could take their time with each other. Wished this could be something to savor.
But, again, it was ... not the way of things.
This was simple mating. Is all it was. All it ever could be.
And as her climax near, she yearned ... yearned. And, had she not been a snow rabbit, she would've cried.
The fox's voice, yipping, sounded strained. He huffed, huffed ... he was getting nearer. He was enjoying this. Oh, he was loving this.
And Annika felt, for a moment ... the thought flitted through her mind that: it was the thrill. The thrill of this was giving her more pleasure than the pleasure ITSELF. Was that true? Was that ...
... " ... oh," huffed the fox. "Uhn ... " His eyes went to a close.
"Mm," she moaned, panting for breath. As the fox bit her shoulder. She squealed silently in pain. Hoping he wouldn't draw blood. "Mm," was her whimper.
"Uhn, uhn ... ohhh," exhaled the fox. "Oh," he went. There. He was there. He sagged and panted, swallowing, clearing his throat, and lying inert on top of her. As his fox-hood twitched inside the rabbit's heat. As it sowed his seed into her. As he left an imprint of himself, and of this act, on the rabbit's soul. And as she left an imprint on his.
There was something spiritual about this ... and both could feel it, but both ignored it. Were they to pay attention to such aspects, they would feel such gravity. They needn't more gravity than they had.
"Huh," huffed Annika, as her spasms started. Warm waves. She shivered, shivered, needing to be hugged. Wanting to be hugged. But the fox didn't hug her. Just laid atop of her, recovering from his pleasure. Sniffing of the pleasure she was now feeling.
A minute or two passed. And the fox's bushy, white tail ... swished a bit in the air. As he rolled off of the rabbit and, taking a deep breath, nodded to her. Saying, "I appreciated that."
The rabbit nodded back at him. "As did I."
"Again?"
"Yes, I will ... I will," she stuttered (so rare for a creature like her, normally so composed ... to stutter). "I will contact you again."
"I will be waiting," said the fox. And he left the room. To retrieve his clothes and go.
Annika, still bare, curled up on the old, broken mattress. Stared, unblinking, at the Arctic shadows on the wall.
There had been pleasure. Definite pleasure. There had been thrill. And, given the opportunity, she would do it again. Had done it. Just did it. Would do it again. She would consort with this enemy. Knowing that, at the same time, she was HIS enemy, too. And he was taking the same risks.
She was too weak to resist this temptation ...
The one thing she regretted (if she chose to do so) ... was that, in this, there was no love. No romance. Nothing of lasting substance.
This would fade away.
Were it love ... it would last, and ...
... but she was of the ice. She was a snow rabbit. She was not built for love. She was built for survival. She was built to yiff and run. If this warmth, if this mating (with foxes, with other rabbits) ... if it helped her refuel. Helped her energy. If it gave her doses of warmth ... so be it. She was not built for love.
But, oh, how she wished she was ...
And she prayed for the capacity. Prayed, and got up. Got dressed. And went back to the base. As blank and as controlled and secure ... as she had been when she'd left an hour earlier.