Drifting Anchors
"Sub-Commander. Mm ... Sub-Commander," the squirrel breathed, starting to giggle, "Jinx." She tipped her glass back, sipping more of the snow rabbit alcohol. Mint-flavored stuff, mixed with milk and cream, and tinted a lovely shade of cornflower-blue.
"I think ... heh ... think you're enjoying that a bit too much," the skunk managed.
"Mm." Ezri chittered. A light, high-pitched sound. And she leaned into him. "The, uh ... mm ... what?" Her whiskers twitched a bit.
"You're enjoying that a bit too much," he repeated, not as tipsy as her. Not yet. He could handle his alcohol better. It hit her a lot quicker.
"The, uh ... well, the drink , or your rank?" For Jinx's rank had been given a name-change, from 'commander' to 'sub-commander,' indicating his commission being taken on by the snow rabbit militia, and the snow rabbit High Command. Being that they were 'on the outs' with the Furry Federation.
"Both."
"I do enjoy," she whispered, "both." She pressed into him, setting her glass on the coffee table. The stem of the glass made a nice sound when she set it down, and the liquid sloshed inside the top of it. "I do, I do," she whispered, and their wet, loosened lips met. In a brushing glance. And, staying together, they began to purse, and began to suck, then, and they did all the things that meeting lips could do. And their muzzles tilted, his black and white-marked muzzle, and her brown one. And Ezri sighed through her twitching, sniffing nose, her whiskers brushing his own whiskers. Oh, she did enjoy it. She did, did, did.
The skunk's paws went, easily, naturally, to his wife's sides, holding her, and gently rubbing up and down, stroking her rich-brown fur. She was bare. In the fur. As was he. And they were reclining on the couch, her body now draping over his. Oh, one could never tire of such nighttime contact.
"Mm," was her soft, throaty moan, her fingers weakly raking through his back-fur. Night-black, silky fur, with the glorious white stripe. And that tail that was just as luxurious as hers. They spent a goodly amount of time grooming their tails. Skunk and squirrel tails weren't like rabbit tails or mouse tails. No, these were big, extravagant, bushy tails, ones that brushed through the air like flags. And they required a great deal of shampooing and conditioning to be kept in their most-attractive states. "Mm ... "
The kiss was broken, a bit sloppily, and Jinx slobbering a bit on parting. The alcohol starting to hit him, now, too. "You ... you're pretty," he whispered, with genuine, simple affection.
"Aw ... " She beamed, and then giggled, her paws moving up to his chest, now. Where she clutched at his fur. And her eyes, shining as they did, met his. "Say it again," she whispered.
"You're pretty."
"Aw!" She leaned forward, nose brushing his nose. Whiskers tangling. "Oh, Jinx," she breathed, swallowing. "Oh ... " She leaned against him, and her nose went to his shoulder. And she leaned her head there, eventually. And closed her eyes. And just breathed softly, silently. "Jinx," she whispered.
"Yeah, baby ... " His paws softly roved about her bare, furry back. She was at a sort of straddle of him. He was sitting on the couch, sinking into the cushions, and she was straddling his own legs, all her body on the couch. Shins and knees on the cushions, leaning forward. Their bodies nestled, fur meshing, marking each other with their scents. Sharing their warmth.
"I don't know," was her whisper. "Mm." A sigh, and she trailed, and then swallowed. "Jinx," she said again. Her tail softly swayed in the air behind her. While his tail was pinned between his back and the couch cushions.
"Mm?"
"I'm glad I ... I love you," she breathed, with a slight, slight squeak.
"Heh ... you're, uh, glad you love me?"
A giggle-squeak. "I am ... but I was, uh, gonna say," she said, "how glad I am that ... that I have you."
He flushed a bit beneath his fur.
"You're so much stronger ... than me," she managed.
"You're strong ... you are," he told her.
"Mm." A slight shake of her head. "Mm-mm. I'm just ... " She swallowed and cleared her throat. "I'm just a squirrel. Just a femme. Just ... me," she whispered. "I'm not strong like you, and I'm not artistic or a good ... or good with stuff, and ... stuff," she breathed, feeling light-headed, but wonderfully so. She loved this feeling. This feeling of being tipsy. Granted, she hadn't used to.
Used to, she'd hated it. And would feel so bad afterwards. But that was before she'd had someone to drink with. Drinking alone, yes, was depressing. Drinking with someone you loved was, as it went on, a very vulnerable, dreamy, melting experience, and she loved it. In the most responsible of ways, of course. She could never be called a heavy drinker. But a few nights a week, she liked for them to do this. And was glad they had a whole case of stuff that Arianna had gotten for them.
"You are very," Jinx whispered, right into her angular, cocked ear, "very special ... "
A weak shake of her head.
"You are," he said, whispering still. "Ezri ... baby ... "
"I'm just ... "
" ... a woodland flower. Mm-hmm. A woodland flower ... "
"Really?" she breathed. "A ... a flower?"
"Course. Course, baby. You know that ... you know that ... " His blunted claws gently scratched through her fur. His paws traveling up and down her back.
A very contented sigh.
"You okay?" he asked, whispering onto her cheek. Allowing his whiskers to brush hers. Her whiskers twitched. His didn't. And the twitching of her whiskers ended up making his whiskers move, and he liked that subtle, little feeling.
A weak nod. "I ... comm traffic," she said, breathing in deeply through her nose. Sniff-sniff. Twitch-sniff. And an exhale. "I just ... I hear all the things, you know. All the news." A swallow. "The, uh ... the Federation, they ... stuff's goin' on in there. Weird stuff. Like, no comm traffic. Except a few messages, and they're really ... odd. I don't even ... know," she said. "What happened? I don't get it ... "
"Doesn't matter. We're safe from ... from all that, though. You know? It's not gonna get to us ... "
" ... but it's ... it's home, and ... " A shake of the head. "I don't know ... "
"I'm keepin' you safe, okay ... you don't need to worry, okay?"
A light nod, and another light nod, and she leaned back a bit.
"Where ya goin' ... " His paws held to her back.
Squirrels were very agile. They were built to be arboreal acrobats. So she had no trouble stretching back to reach her alcohol glass. And then she leaned forward, and threw an arm, lazily, around the skunk's neck. And raised up a bit on her knees, and began sipping her drink. She smacked her lips. "Want ... want some?"
"I got my own," he assured.
"Mm, come on ... here ... " She put her glass to his lips.
He chuckled. "Heh ... "
And she tilted the glass, giving him a few sips. And a few sips more.
A sigh from him, eyes closing.
"Yeah, you did ... you did want some. I knew," she said, "that, uh ... you ... hey, hey, not all of it!" A playful squeak, as she pulled the glass back. And brought it to her own muzzle. And leaned her head back. Drinking some. And her whiskers twitched. "Ooh," she breathed, sighing. "Oh." A light-headed smile, and she reached back and returned her glass to the coffee table. And then, finally, leaning back into her husband.
"You, uh ... you wanna lie down?" he whispered.
A wordless nod.
He felt the nodding motion against him. Felt her little movements. "Okay," he said, very gently, barely audible. "Come on ... let's ... "
A dizzy sigh from her. And an absent-minded giggle-squeak.
He leaned down, stretching, readjusting. And they wound up side-by-side on the couch cushions, her back and her rump to his belly and groin, in a very close, very snug position, spooned up against each other.
Ezri closed her eyes. To the point, now, that, if she tried to stand, she'd topple over.
His paws went around to her front, hugging her as best he could. Holding her. And his fingers tracing over the furred mounds that were her breasts.
"Mm," was her soft, soft sound. "Mm ... " She took in a deep, deep breath, and then released it. And then swallowed. And then said, "I ... those new ... those Arctic foxes," she whispered. She licked her lips. "They scare me ... "
"They're not gonna ... they won't hurt you. I won't let them ... "
"You're, uh, not ... not scared of them," she said, almost slurring her words. She was quite tipsy, indeed. Her eyes stayed shut. And her breathing was soft and warm. Oh, she felt so comfortable right here, right now. Wrapped up in her husband's arms. Smelling of him. Oh, do not let me go. Oh, do not ever let go.
"No, I'm ... well, I guess I'm not," he said, tipsy himself. And sighing out. Still rubbing her. Still touching her. He loved to touch her. He told her so. Told her, "I ... I, uh, like touching you ... "
"Oh, that's ... that's sweet," she breathed, sighing out. "I like ... that," she said, still drifting.
He caressed her.
"How come?"
"What ... how come ... "
" ... the foxes. How come?" A breath. "You're not, uh ... scared, yeah ... "
"I dunno. I ... just not. I'm a skunk," he said quietly. "We're, like, in-between ... not really prey, not predators."
A little nod. "Like I said. You're ... you're strong."
"Maybe."
"You are. Oh ... "
His fingers lazily wagged over her hardened nipples. Softly caressing those pink nubs. "Baby, let's ... hard to talk," he breathed. Words coming out in staccato, broken rhythm. Words with gaps between them. "Let's," he whispered, trailing.
And all she could do was give a little 'mm' sound. Yes, she thought to herself. Yes. Let us. Let us.
Let's trail.
Let's sink into this couch.
Let's put our paws all over each other, and giggle and sigh and be all hazy. Let's be vulnerable together.
Let's make love while almost-drunk, more drunk on our passion for each other than on the drink, itself.
Let's thank God for allowing this. For bringing this about. For making this to be.
Oh, dear Savior, my Redeemer, my Friend. Oh, that love would never end.
Let's.
"Oomph!"
Mew!
Two forms collided in the corridor. The 'oomph' coming from Volga, who snarled in surprise, ready to fight, adrenaline spiking. Ready, ready. Ready to blink in surprise as she squinted. "Who are you?"
Sheridan said nothing. His ice-blue eyes very wide. He'd been in the mess hall, with Ross, learning how to cook supper. But they had finished, and cleaned up, and Ross had gone back to his baby and his wife, and Sheridan was now going back to Ollie and Arianna. He'd been lost in various thoughts, as energetic children were liable to be. And he hadn't been looking where he was going.
"I asked you a question," the Arctic fox femme said, sighing, and she got to her knees. And stayed on her knees.
Sheridan watched her move. And tried not to move himself. Though his whiskers twitched. And though his nose gave a sniff or two. And though his bobtail gave a flicker-flick.
"You make a better boy than you do," she told him, "a statue."
"W-what ... "
"Staying still would not protect you, anyway, from a huntress such as myself," she continued. She might as well offer this child some sound advice. "I would hear your heartbeat, for instance. I would definitely smell you."
"Even ... even if it was dark?" the child whispered, in his restrained, snow rabbit way. His emotional freeze was evident. Not as mature as an older snow rabbit's. But in place.
"Even," she said, nodding. "Your fear would give you away." And she sighed again, raising up to her foot-paws, and fully standing, and extending a paw downward. "Take it."
He froze again.
She gave a throaty growl.
And he immediately took her paw.
And she pulled him up.
He gave a surprised mew at her strength. And, once he was standing, he yanked his paw back. His slender ears waggled atop his head. His eyes still wide. And he was hardly blinking. Hardly knowing what to do. His little, puffy bobtail flicked.
"Where are you off to?" Volga demanded. Her own tail, very brushy and white, with its charcoal-tip, flagged a bit. And stopped. "Hmm?" she pressed.
"Uh ... "
" ... your quarters? It is night," she stated.
A slight, slight nod.
"Your quarters, then?"
A repeat of the same nod.
"Why did you run into me? You should never," she stressed, "sneak up on a predator like that ... "
"Uh ... uh," he stammered, his throat dry, and he was looking up at her, his muzzle open. "Uh, I'm sorry."
The Arctic fox exhaled through her black nose. "Very well. I will accept your apology. But do not do it again," she ordered.
An adamant nod. "I won't."
"Mm." She crossed her arms, squinting. "What are you doing out in the corridors?"
"I'm not ... supposed to talk to strange furs."
"You aren't?"
A shake of the head.
"Am I a strange fur?"
"Uh-huh," he said, being honest. To him, she was, indeed, a strange fur. She was a predator. And an Arctic fox.
But, for some reason, Volga felt a tad bit hurt by his response. He was only a child. And his instincts were already telling him not to trust her. Was there any way to fight that? To fight that kind of inborn instinct? Anyway, he was a child. And, true, she was not overly fond of snow rabbits, but she would never hurt a child, no matter what species he came from. She may have been a predator, but she wasn't a callous one.
There were certain boundaries one did not cross.
Sheridan still wasn't moving. Still standing in place.
Volga closed her eyes for a moment. Breathing softly. And then she opened her eyes. "I am tired."
"When I'm tired, I go to sleep."
A very slight eye-smile. "That would be the logical thing to do. But as you grow up, you'll find that it's not so simple as ... going to sleep," she whispered.
"How come?"
"Things get in the way."
"Like what?"
"Like your own mind. Like ... stresses."
"What's stresses?"
"Problems. Tensions. Pains."
"Like what?"
"Like ... " She stopped herself, and then squinted, realizing that this little snow rabbit was inquisitive. And the more answers she gave him, the more questions he would have. And they would be standing in this corridor for the next hour. So, she simply trailed, and thought for a moment, and asked, "Who are you parents?"
"I ... well, uh ... "
"Yes?"
"I ... my mom and dad aren't here."
"Where are they?" A squint.
"They ... the bugs got them." His voice was fragile. But emotionally-controlled, all the same.
"The bugs? You mean ... the wasps?"
A nod. "I live with Ollie an' Arianna, now."
"They adopted you?"
Another nod. "They're nice."
Volga's eyes darted a bit. "I lost family to the wasps, as well."
"Your mother and father?" Eyes wide.
"No. But ... family." A pause. "They destroyed my home," she whispered, her voice betraying her anger. Her resentment. She swallowed. "You do not understand," she told the child, "what it is like to be a predator ... and to be PREYED on. It is ... a disconcerting," she said, "sensation. It is a violation of ... of how things are supposed to be. Of natural law. I only regret that I was not able to exact vengeance against the wasps ... I stayed on your moon during the war."
"How come?"
"Because," was all she said, not elaborating. Not wanting to. Not to a child, especially. And she looked down at him. "Does my scent scare you?"
A tiny, tiny nod.
"Good," she decreed. "It should." And a pause. "But you don't seem as afraid as some of the adults have seemed," she observed. And she paused again. And then realized, aloud, "I suppose that is because they know what I am capable of. What my species can do to them. They know their place." She crouched down, again, bringing herself back to eye-level with the little snow rabbit. "You are too young to have experienced ... reality," she whispered. And then she thought twice. He'd just admitted to losing his parents. How much more realistic could you get? "I am sorry," she said, honestly. "I spoke too soon. You have more reality in your life than I would wish on any child. But you do not know what I am," she assured him again.
"You're a predator."
"That is right. But you do not truly know what that word means."
"I play predators and prey, sometimes. I know what predators and prey are," he insisted.
"You may vaguely know what they are. As a child would know. You are a child. But ... at the same time, you do not. You may KNOW what breeding is, but until you've had sex, you cannot TRULY know. Does that make sense?"
"Breeding?" His eyes went wide.
"Yes."
He considered grilling her for information on what breeding really was, and the details of it, but decided that would only make her mad. And he didn't want to make an Arctic fox mad. So, he didn't push his luck.
"But it is the same with knowing what predators and prey are. You know what they are, but until you've seen blood spilled, and until you've witnessed a verbal exchange of hatred between the two sides ... until ... you may know, little snow rabbit, but you do not KNOW." She shook her head, swallowing, her ice-blue eyes burning. "You do know what I am capable of. That is why you are not more afraid. If you knew? You would run ... you would not still be standing here talking to me. You would run," she assured, "and you would not look back."
"If I ran ... you would catch me." His voice was a bit shaky. "And my legs are all wobbling. You would catch me," he repeated. "It is not logical to run," he said, sounding older than he really was, "if I have no chance of escaping."
She peered at him. "No," she whispered. "It is not logical. But, eventually, you will learn that your desire to run ... eclipses rational thought."
His breathing was slightly erratic. His heart beating faster than normal. He was starting to get a bit dehydrated. "I'm thirsty," he said, swallowing, licking his lips. And then saying, "Are you going to hunt me, then?"
"I do not hunt children."
"You hunt big furs?"
She didn't answer that. Her eyes darted. "I ... have," she admitted.
"Why?" was the whisper.
"That is what I do."
"Why?"
"Because I enjoy it. It gives me pleasure. It ... " She let out a breath. "Because I was made to hunt. I ... I do not know. It is what I am. You are prey. And I am a predator. I did not ask to be what I am. You did not ask to be what you are. It is simply ... what we are."
"Cause God made us like that. That's what I learned.
She said nothing.
"How come God gave you sharp claws and teeth?"
She, again, said nothing, and felt a strange emotion. She didn't know what it was. But it was very uncomfortable. So, she let out a breath and rose to her foot-paws. "We will discontinue this conversation."
"How come?"
"Because I said!" she snarled, baring her teeth in frustration.
Sheridan jerked, backing into the wall, quivering, panting.
And she opened her muzzle, starting to apologize for scaring him, and then stopping. Why are you going to apologize? You ARE a predator. You have nothing to apologize for! Do not let this child send you on a guilt-trip. So, she breathed, breathed, and said, "I must go ... I must meet my partner," she said.
Sheridan said nothing. He kept his muzzle shut. The Arctic fox had lost his trust in that single snarl. And, now, he truly feared her. And, now, he didn't want to talk to her anymore. And, now, he shook. And all he wanted was a big glass of ice water and to be with Ollie the mouse and pretty Arianna, who was a snow rabbit like him, and he couldn't stand, any longer, the scent of the Arctic fox in his nose.
And she saw that in his eyes. And said, somewhat sadly, "I may have been mistaken."
His whiskers quivered. He still kept himself against the wall of the corridor.
"Perhaps you really do know what I am." And with that, she stepped away, saying back to him, "Go get your water. Go to your new family. Do not let them go."
Sheridan hopped and bounded off, needing no bidding.
And Volga returned to her quarters, to Ural, where together, they unleashed their primal, lava-hot desires, venting into each other. Thinking nothing cerebral. Sometimes, thinking could hurt. Sometimes, it was better to be all instinct.
Sometimes.
A little later.
The shower curtains slid aside, with a slick, watery sound. And the shower turned off, but water drops still drip-drip-dripping.
Aria stepped out, fur totally soaked. Matted. Freshly soaped and shampooed, and thoroughly washed. And she looked up and caught sight of herself in the foggy, bathroom mirror. And her whiskers did a singular twitch. She stood on her tip-toes, slightly turning. And she put her paws on her hips.
"You never used to do that ... " Arms slipped around her. Ross's arms, warm and enveloping. "Mm." He put his lips on her wet shoulder. And gave a delicate kiss. Smack-smack.
The snow rabbit slightly turned.
"Every time we get out of the shower, now, you ... stare at yourself in the mirror."
"That is what mirrors are for."
"I know, but ... you're not doing it to check your appearance. Well, you are, but ... darling, you're beautiful, okay?"
A soft eye-smile, their noses now meeting.
"Okay?"
"Okay," she whispered. Though still, inside, slightly insecure. Her body had felt different since being pregnant. Since giving birth. The extra pounds that stayed on, and all those things. All those little things that, suddenly, she was fixating on. It wasn't logical. It wasn't even all that noticeable. Seven pounds wasn't that noticeable, was it? She'd already been fit before-paw. And stretch-marks were hidden by fur. And so what if her breasts sagged a bit more than they used to? They were full of milk. What was she to expect?
"Darling?"
"Yes ... " She whispered into his shoulder, mouthing his wet, wet fur, sucking the water off him. She closed her eyes.
"I mean it," was the mouse's light, wispy whisper. "I think you're the most ... lovely, beautiful, sexy," he said, using all the adjectives he could think of, and then trailing. And piping up against to repeat, "You are. You are ... I love you." His paws going through her matted fur. "And not just cause of that." He shyly met her eyes. "I love your ... soul, and your mind, and ... "
" ... you do not have to overdo it," she insisted, eye-smiling genuinely. And, also, genuinely feeling much better. "You do not have to overdo it," she repeated.
A wide, dimples-on-cheeks smile from him. His whiskers twitching. "I don't mind overdoing it."
"True," she said, nodding. "You do not." He had not minded overdoing it in their bed, either, half an hour before, when they'd bred. When they'd made love. Which had led to their shower. The baby sleeping in his crib, quietly. For now. That wouldn't last long, perhaps. Perhaps they'd be woken up in the middle of the night. But, for now, they were basking in their privacy.
"Mm." He nibbled on her neck.
"We ... we should dry our fur. We should dry ... "
" ... ourselves. Yeah," he breathed. But he kept nibbling on her fur.
"We just ... we had sex," she reminded.
"I know," he whispered. "I just wanna nibble on you, that's all."
"Nibbling leads to ... "
" ... more nibbling," he supplied squeakily.
"And what does more nibbling lead to?" she asked, in proper, logical tone.
"Uh ... even, uh, more nibbling."
"No, it leads to ... "
" ... says who? Says ... uh, well, no, no ... " He pulled back a bit, panting. "Anyway, I can't get erect again so soon." His ears turned rosy-pink as he said this. "You know that," he whispered, almost embarrassed. But he was a mouse. Not a rabbit. The only way he could orgasm twice in one hour was if he was really, really horny. No, he needed an hour or so of 'recovery time' between acts. Which was just as well. Since Aria's breeding cycle compelled her to breed every six/seven hours. His own breeding cycle only required every nine (so, twice a day), but she needed three/four times, and, hey, who cared?
Neither of them really thought too much about the whole system. About the whole biological drive. The animal instincts.
They just made love when they needed to. Defused themselves when necessary.
Neither had any complaints.
For the need was also a want. Which made it all the better. All the purer, born of their spiritual matrimony, as it was.
"We should dry up," Aria repeated, grabbing for the towels on the rack.
Ross smiled, squeaking playfully as she tossed him a towel.
She, with both paws, rubbed her own, snowy-white fur with a towel, and said, in her cool, level tone, "We have found a potential planet for the Arctic foxes. We will arrive there later tomorrow."
Ross's big, dishy ears swivelled.
"I shall be leading a landing party down there. Wilco will pilot the shuttle-pod. Arianna and Arabella will come down to determine the feasibility of using the surface for a civilization. Their Ops training lends well to planning."
"How come you have to go?" the meadow mouse whispered, his earthy-brown fur drying. He didn't want her to leave the ship.
"Because I am the Captain, and I am in charge of the search. If I am to recommend a planet, I need to see it myself. One of the foxes will accompany us."
"Darling ... " His voice betrayed his worry.
"I can handle the foxes," she assured. She hadn't spent much time around them. She avoided them when she could. They brought back painful memories. "I can handle them," she repeated. A pause. "I know this will be the first time I have left ... and left you alone with the baby. But I will not be gone long. Just for several hours. I will make sure to feed Sterling before the trip."
Ross nodded quietly. "Okay," he whispered, and he let his towel drop to the floor in a rustle-rustle sound, and he put his arms around his wife. And closed his eyes. His fur was still damp, and her fur was still damp. But they were dry enough. Both of them standing, he leaned his bare, mousey body into hers, arms wrapped around. His bare, pink, silky tail snaked around like a wayward rope, wavering this way and wavering that way.
Her own tail flickered in response as she hugged him back, eyes closing.
And they stood there. Anchored in the moment, and letting the thoughts of predators, of away missions, of parental responsibilities, of this and that, letting it all fade away.
Just hugging.
Just swaying.
Just drying.
Just in love. But, oh, to be 'just in love' was to know the greatest of joys. And, with this in mind, they finished their drying and padded off to bed, where pleasant dreams were waiting, ready to dance in their sleepy heads, once their prayers were said.
Oh, Lord, give us rest. And give us hope.
And feed our love.
Amen.