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I found my…what you'd call a boyfriend, nearly passed out and half-frozen solid on the edge of my Alaskan property.

It had been a couple years since the Blackout, when the world went to Hell in a hand basket and the weather got worse. Even the Last Frontier wasn't safe, each freezing snowfall and hot day of summer harsher than the last. Of course, being a polar bear made things easier for me, but then Alaska's population temporarily rose and fell. Refugees fleeing the southern U.S. or parts of Central America started trying to make it all the way up to Alaska without any preparation for what to do at the beginning of autumn. All they cared about was keeping cool as the southern part of the continent boiled over from intense heat waves or flooded from nonstop hurricanes and rainstorms.

Whenever I did encounter one of these Yankees while out hunting for food or scavenging for supplies at the nearest dead town, I always played up the crazy Alaskan prepper stereotype to scare them off. It was better than letting any of them think I was to be fucked with. So, I always acted territorial, waved my hunting rifle around, and fired off a warning shot if I had to when they were acting aggressive towards me. At one point, I stopped shaving my beard. At another point, I didn't speak with anything other than bear growls. If not for the sake of selling the crazed survivalist act, then to no longer worry about appearances. The last thing I wanted was for any of them following me to try and take what little I had. I didn't even try to help any of them, whether it be a group or family or a few Spanish-speaking wanderers. I just kept all to myself.

Well, until Davi came into my life.

It either had to be December or January. It was hard to tell without calendars. My ursine frame stretched out of bed as I glanced out the frosty glass window to see the overnight snow finally stopped. I grumbled in approval, slipped out of my thick pajamas and into a pair of boots as well as snow pants, burly hunting coat, and gloves. Enough headfur was able to replace the need of a wool hat.

Without government and without property laws, I could hunt feral animals while past my property line. I hoped to find either a deer or a moose during a long trek when suddenly, I spotted something leaning against a tree deep in the forest. It wasn't a wild animal, but a mammal. A poorly clothed jaguar passed out, covered in frost and snow, visibly emancipated and speaking in tongues.

I could've left him to die. Apart of me worried he would be bait or a trap set by one of the more stubborn groups of raiders in the region. Thankfully, my conscience won out in the argument.

Years before the apocalypse, when I was just one of dozens of rural Alaskans enjoying life off the grid, I built my permanent home by paw. Well, by myself and a few survivalist friends who hadn't given up the life and gotten married yet. With their help, we constructed a two-storied beauty made from surrounding trees. Based on the top of a small hill and partially hidden by newly planted pines, an open porch gave way to a decently sized first floor with a workshop, large furnace, and connected garage. Meanwhile, a diagonal staircase led up to the second floor where I had a small kitchen standing between a rustic living room and bedroom/walled-off bathroom.

Without much thinking, I placed the shivering, delirious jaguar in my sleeping bag after stripping his soaked, freezing clothes off. Then I stripped my own clothes off and joined in with him, lying on my back as the smaller feline curled up tiredly against my burly white chest. I rubbed his back and let the insulating sleeping bag heat him up with our combined body heat. I remember thinking he felt so soft in my arms, and how tired I felt having hauled him across my property and upstairs into bed.

I didn't even notice falling asleep until I felt something poke against my belly. What really jolted me awake was feeling (and hearing) the jaguar purr like a peaceful kitten against my bare body. Not two seconds after I opened my eyes and patted his back did the feline look up at me, then gave the most thankful smile in the world. He also appeared bashful when I shifted a feeling his hard-on.

Over the course of several hours, we traded small talk. His name was Davi, was 10 years my junior in his early thirties. He spoke English with a thick Portuguese accent, thanking me for saving him from the cold, and apologizing over and over for the boner, even as it refused to go down. I told him it wasn't a problem, especially when I showed my own erection, then reassured him I wasn't one of those xenophobic, homophobic Americans.

At some point, I needed to go to the bathroom, and got dressed in order to cook us some meals. During which, Davi told me what brought him all the way up to my neck of the woods. Apparently, he was part of the first wave of people trying to go north after the Collapse, originally staying at Anchorage before society there too fell apart. He had travelled all the way from northern Brazil to Alaska in order to escape the tropical storms and rising sea level, but got lost in the snowstorm when I found him by chance. In return, I passively mentioned growing up my entire life in the northernmost state. My bushmen parents had been trappers and hunters in the deepest of wilderness, and when they died not long after I reached my mid-twenties, I spent some time living in Fairbanks. For two years, I worked a desk job and enjoyed modern conveniences as much as I could, until one day I decided to spend all my savings in buying the property. The only things I had connecting me to the outside world where a solar-powered radio, my reliable truck, and an emergency phone that no longer had any real use in the post-Collapse world.

For what felt like hours, as I fed him and myself some warm soup cooked in a pot on the kitchen's gas stove, Davi and I talked. About life and the challenges we each faced since, as well as what we did before everything went wrong. Apparently, the handsome jaguar used to be a freelance contractor for construction companies. He was equally impressed when I explained how me and my friends built the cabin, getting more and more animated as we talked through the night.

Eventually, Davi gathered enough strength to be able to get out of bed. He didn't leave though, and I never suggested that he should. He simply stayed, maintaining the cabin as I went on longer hunts and helping me cook or prepare our dinners once I returned. He would even help fix some of the issues I'd been having such as a faulty generator or a problem with the furnace. I didn't bother building another bed for him, simply sharing my bed with the smaller-framed feline in an unspoken agreement between us.

Some days during the rest of the brutal winter, I had to strip naked with the jaguar. Neither of us complained though. If anything, once we blew the candles out and let the fireplace continue roaring for the rest of the night, me and Davi eagerly explored each other in the private semi-darkness. Our bodies would press together as paws wandered beneath the covers; fingers groped onto ass cheeks, his soft tail brushed at my fat toes, my erection vibrated with his purring, and our cocks rubbed together in slow but pleasured bliss.

A month after he came into my life, Davi and I would make love to keep warm. A day and a half later after that, we would share our first of many kisses. And once winter ended and the snow started to thaw, I voiced my concerns about him wanting to leave. As we stood on the porch and watched a sunset, Davi simply pulled me into another soft kiss, then purred my name.

“Worry, or don't worry, I'm here with you either way." He then leaned against my shoulder, and we continued to watch the sunset on our rocking chair. And would continue to do so for the rest of our lives.