I Surrender All
"Maybe it's a gremlin."
Aisling looked up, blinking. Straightening. "Gremlin?" Her white-furred, charcoal-fringed ears waggled, standing to attention. The interiors of her ears delicate and pink.
The pika nodded. "You know, a ... like, a creature? That eats mechanical parts and chews through wires?"
Aisling raised a soft, white brow, not quite understanding.
"Back home," Wasilla said, "they always blamed engine problems on gremlins. Shuttle-pod engines, skimmers. The like."
"I see," the snow rabbit said, slowly. Her holy-white flame of a bobtail flicker-flicked. And she sighed. Admitting, "Actually, I do not. But 'I see' seemed the appropriate thing to say."
The pika gave a friendly, patient smile. "It's okay. I was just being silly." A breath, whiskers twitching. "I know snow rabbits value logic. I know, uh ... I'm not an engineer. In any way. But I heard the warp engines were down." They had been 'on the fritz' for several hours. Yellowknife still had impulse engines. Thrusters, too. But the warp engines were currently offline, the ship moving very slowly, lazily through the stars, still assigned to mid-range patrol and study in snow rabbit space. Aisling's team was confident they could restore warp power before day's end.
"So, in your silly bout of not-understanding ... you deduced we are plagued with 'gremlins'?" Aisling asked, sounding so proper. But, then, most snow rabbits did (most of the time). It wasn't like they could help it.
A bit of a squeak. A smile. "Best I could come up with."
Aisling gave a head-tilt, and returned the rodent's muzzle-smile with a soft, blue eye-smile (something only furs of the ice could master). "Well, I thank you," she said, "for the suggestion. I shall have my staff check for these 'gremlins'."
A giggle-squeak, and a nod. "Mm. Well, I'm only glad to help." A deep exhale, and then a deep inhale (through the nose). "I, uh ... is Konka here?" Wasilla looked around, sniffing the air. "I don't smell him. But the computer said he was still here." Her whiskers giving several twitches. Pikas were curious creatures. Somewhat mouse-like, but not exactly. They had signature squeaks. Loud, identifiable sounds. And those round ears. That cuteness. That rodent demeanor.
"I sent him into the access tubes, to see if he could get closer to the source of the problem," Aisling explained. A pause. Raising her brow again, her slender ears going waggle-waggle. Her cool, black nose giving a few sniffs of its own. "Do you need to breed?"
A shy hesitation. "Not yet. I was just ... I mean, I can wait a bit."
"Are you sure? I can call him," Aisling insisted, paw moving to tap her comm-badge.
"I can wait," Wasilla repeated, at a gentle whisper. "Really. I don't want to pull one of your officers away in the middle of a task. I ... we need our engines," she said. "I can wait 'til he's done." A pause. And, then, "He's not gonna take that much longer, is he?"
Aisling couldn't help but eye-smile, replying, "He should be no longer than ten more minutes."
The pika swallowed, nodding. And she took a deep breath. "Okay. I can wait."
A tiny nod from the chief engineer. "Very well." A pause. "I was just running some diagnostics. You may linger by me," she said, "if you wish. I could use some conversation."
"But won't I distract you?"
"The snow rabbit mind is ... " She wanted to choose her words carefully, so as not to sound uppity. " ... more highly-adaptable than the minds of other species. I can focus on many things at once, if need be."
"Oh. Okay ... "
"Though I would wager that watching engineers as they 'tinker' is not your ideal version of entertainment, based on what you've told me. And based," Aisling added, "on what I know of you." Which was very little, actually. Aisling spent a lot of time talking to Konka. After all, the coyote was her second-in-command here in engineering. At first, they'd fought. Fiercely. But, now, they were friends. But Aisling and Wasilla? The two femmes hardly ever spoke to each other. It wasn't that Aisling avoided the pika. They just didn't have much in common. And they worked in different parts of the ship.
Another giggle-squeak from the pika, and a shake of the head. "I can't say it is, no. I mean, I know my husband's an engineer. Sometimes, he talks about it. But I sorta ... it goes over my head."
"It does strike me as odd, if I may say ... that a coyote would have any interest in engineering. Most canines do not. It has been my experience that they would sooner choose positions of authority. Enter command tracks. Or things dealing with tactical/security ... when it comes to predators, felines tend to be the ones interested in engineering and mechanics."
"I guess so," Wasilla whispered, nodding a bit. Sighing. "I don't know. Uh ... Konka? He can be enigmatic," Wasilla said, "at times. I don't know why he does half the things he does." A pause. A whisker twitch. "But, then, I can be rather enigmatic myself. I guess that's why me and Konka fit together. We both keep to ourselves. I guess we're too private, sometimes ... we don't make friends easily." A pause. "We just have each other."
Aisling turned to look at the pika.
"I'm not bothering you, am I? I don't mean to bother you. I ... I know I don't come into engineering very often. It scares me," she blurted. The pika was part of the Operations staff (with the two mouses, Emerson and Azalea).
"You are not bothering me," the snow rabbit assured, gently. "I was intrigued at what you said."
"About ... "
" ... being an enigma. Snow rabbits are often accused of being such. I was just trying to ascertain whether an 'enigma' is a good thing ... or a bad one."
"I guess it can be both," was the honest reply. "I guess it depends."
"Logically." A nod of agreement. A sigh. "As for engineering, it is not so scary," Aisling assured, tap-tapping at her controls, eyes darting over the computer screens. "While it is true that a great deal of power courses through this room ... and while it is true that these devices allow us to travel faster than light," she continued. "Such technology is not to be feared. It will not hurt you."
"But it can fail. Technology is only as perfect as the furs who make it. Which is ... not very," Wasilla whispered.
"Correct. But, all the same: I am the chief engineer of this star-ship, and it is my duty to make sure that these engines run. And, furthermore, that they run safely. That no one is harmed by them. Under my watch, you have nothing to fear."
The pika seemed to ease a bit. Just a bit. At that assurance. "Well, it's not you I doubt, Lieutenant-Commander. It's the gremlins. I don't trust the gremlins." A small smile. Which grew bigger.
Aisling had to eye-smile in return. "Were I able to laugh, I just might give a mirthful mew." And she turned her attention back to her monitors, staring, scanning. Tap-tapping. Tap-tap. Beep-a-beep. "After a while," she said, making 'small-talk', "the hum of the warp core becomes like a friend. A sound that you cannot sleep without. If you remain very quiet ... you can hear it even on the bridge. A faint hum. It is more noticeable in here, of course, but as the chief engineer, I am so attuned to my ship that I can hear it from any room. Any deck."
"Really?"
A nod. "Most certainly."
"Hmm ... well ... " The pika looked to the cylindrical warp core, which glowed, swirling with lavender and periwinkle light. Silvery, metal struts anchoring it to the floor, and pulsing plasma tubes running off, as well. Engineering had two levels. The bottom level was more spacious. The upper level a bit more constricted, with walkways and railings. The upper level was also frequently used by the ship's snow rabbit breeding parties as a collective 'breeding ground.' Knowing this, the pika looked up there, her rounded ears perking, nose sniffing.
Aisling, pausing for a moment, turned her head. And said, "If any members of my staff were breeding up there right now, you would know." Aisling, herself, looked up in that direction. "The smell is unmistakable. The sounds? Even more so."
"And you allow it?"
"It would be," Aisling said, "inefficient, otherwise. Snow rabbits, like all rabbits, are extremely virile. We breed about four times a day. Everyone on my engineering staff save Konka is a snow rabbit. So, if I were to allow my staff members to leave the department every time they needed to breed ... we would get no work done. We would be running with a 'skeleton' staff all day long. By letting them breed on the upper level, I keep them in the department, close at paw, close to their work." A small pause, filled by soothing, little beeping sounds. Beep-a-boop. "It is done this way on most snow rabbit ships. Engineering always has that convenient 'area' ... mainly because engineering is always the biggest room onboard. Lots of nooks and crannies," the snow rabbit explained, "to 'nestle' into. Unlike the bridge, say."
"Oh. Well ... yeah, I guess that would do it." The pika gave a quiet nod, finding this quite interesting (but, then, most furs found any conversation or topic that alluded to breeding to be so). A hesitation. "So, do, uh ... do you ... "
" ... no. I go to the armory." Her husband, Seward, was one of the ship's tactical officers. He worked the armory (while Antioch, the chief tactical officer, worked the bridge station). "I prefer the privacy. Besides, being the chief, as well as a senior officer, I can go where I want to." An eye-smile, almost playful. "It is a perk of command."
"I would think so," Wasilla said, nodding, smiling brightly.
The snow rabbit's eye-smile faded. "Besides, I think my staff prefers me and Seward breeding elsewhere. Though our breeding party dissolved, there are still two more on the ship, and ... it would be awkward," she explained, simply, stopping it there.
"So, like ... it's like an orgy up there?" Wasilla whispered, wide-eyed.
"On the upper level? Sometimes. It's more like ... couples breed within view of each other. They don't necessarily swap partners during the act, because you are assigned certain partners for certain days. That allows for structure." A pause. She knew much about this, of course. She was the leader of her former breeding party. A sigh. "But you can see, hear, and smell other couples. It is erotic. But ... I do not want them to see me and Seward making love. I have come to view it as a spiritual act, and ... it would denigrate it," she decided, "if we were to do it in the open. Besides, we used to be a part of those parties. Both of us. The temptations are best avoided." Another pause. "Old habits are easier to fall back into than we would sometimes have ourselves believe. I do not need the exposure ... "
The pika wasn't sure how to comment. Other than, "If you don't mind me saying so, snow rabbits have the most complicated breeding habits I've ever known. I mean ... I don't know how your species keeps it all together." A swallow. "No offense," she added.
"Nor do I," was Aisling's quiet, honest answer. "And no offense taken. It is simply an unfortunate consequence of not being able to express," she breathed, "emotion. Sex is the most emotional of acts. But we have our 'freezes.' So, in our virile paws, the most emotional of acts becomes merely ... instinctual. And it is not mean to be. We handle sex poorly, as a result. But I do believe my species is changing for the better. It has been," she indicated, "for a few years, now. I believe more snow rabbits are coming to the Christian faith. And are leaving the breeding parties to practice devotion." A pause. "I believe ... I pray, rather, that my compatriots will learn how to love. Will understand that we can love without melting our freezes. That it won't destroy our species." She paused, trailing, and let out a deep breath. "But I am going off on tangents."
"It's alright," Wasilla whispered, kindly. "I mean, I understand. And I gotta say that I've seen the progress your species has made ... you know, even since I came aboard. I think it's very heartening."
Aisling gave an eye-smile, and a head-tilt. "It is, indeed. Anytime new furs comes to the faith, it is a time for rejoicing."
Wasilla gave a little nod, looking around. Looking at the other snow rabbits in engineering. At all the colorful consoles. The pleasing, aesthetic design of everything. Snow rabbits had a very clean, cool aesthetic. Lots of whites, blues, and purples. Very smooth lines. Everything scaled down to be small and manageable. Unlike most Federation ships, which were bigger and bulkier, colored with greys and cadet blues. Federation ships were more durable, also. They lasted twice as long 'in the field.' But snow rabbit ships were prettier. If that accounted for anything.
Aisling's eyes darted over a monitor. Her soft, white-furred fingers (with the filed-down, black claws) danced nimbly over the controls. Beepity-beep. Bop-bop. Bop.
The pika, turning her attention back to the snow rabbit, went, "You said about, uh ... how a flaw of your species was that you tended to use sex in unemotional ways. Cause you can't express the emotion inherent in the act."
Aisling stopped what she was doing. "Yes," she said, simply, raising a brow.
"Well, I don't know ... it's just, with us? Warm-blood furs? We do the opposite. We allow ourselves to be completely overrun by the emotions inherent in sex," she breathed, "to the point where it clouds our judgment. You know? Like, uh ... sex creates illusions. Auras," the pika breathed, "of emotional bonds that aren't really there. When sex comes before emotional intimacy ... you end up with a relationship that's built on the sand. Sex is the sand. The rock? Intimacy is the rock." A pause. "So, while your species may tend to treat sex too un-emotionally ... we allow its emotion to dupe us." A pause. "Too often, anyway."
A pause.
"I didn't, uh ... me and Konka, we didn't have sex until we were married. I, uh ... I wasn't gonna let him. I was pretty strict about that. But we nuzzled. We nibbled on each other. Before, and ... and ... I can't help but wonder if that physicality, as harmless as it was ... it's like that chicken or the egg question? Does the emotional intimacy come first? Or the physical need? It just seems that if the physical need comes first, the emotional intimacy will be weakened. But if the emotional intimacy comes first, the physicality, the sex ... it'll have a stronger foundation."
"You are saying that it is dangerous to allow intimacy to be defined by physical activity?"
A nod.
"I cannot argue with that," Aisling whispered. And a hesitation. Observing, "Here I am, somewhat lamenting my lack of emotion. And you," she said, "lamenting having too much emotion." An eye-smile. "Is there no middle-ground?"
"I'm not sure," the pika whispered, honestly. She sighed, leaning against a console. Her eyes closed for a moment. "I'm not sure," she whispered again, eyes opening. "I guess breeding habits are complicated for everyone. Not just snow rabbits."
"Indeed." Aisling looked to the pika. "But our faith," she insisted, "gives meaning to all of it. Gives it purpose. Frames," she said, "that intimacy. Helps us to handle it in healthy, spiritual ways." The snow rabbit finally gave up trying to get any work done. Instead, she sighed and leaned against one of her computer consoles, right next to Wasilla. Both of them side-by-side, now, facing the rest of the engineering room. "May I ask you something?"
The pika nodded, looking straight ahead.
"You are married to a predator."
Another nod.
"Why," was the question, "are you married to a predator?"
Wasilla took a breath, whiskers twitching. "Well, it's ... simple, really." Another breath. "I have anxiety problems. All rodents do. Squirrels and marmots and such, like Talkeetna and Antioch? They handle it better. But mouses and pikas? And the rest of us?" A shake of the head. "It's with us constantly. A constant, underlying fear, and ... " A sigh. " ... when I'm with Konka, it goes away. His strength, his muscle. His power. His ... I don't believe that God designed predators to hunt prey. I believe that only came into being after the Fall. After sin, through us, entered the picture. Then we turned against each other."
Aisling listened, ears standing tall, like antennae.
"No, I believe that God originally created predators to protect prey. And ... I don't know. A lot of prey fear predators. Won't even be in the same room with them. Understandably, since predators still hunt us." A breath. "But ... but, regardless, I thought Konka was rugged and handsome. He makes me feel safe. He makes the anxiety go away. And I know he can be difficult. But the way he holds me, and the things ... you know, I just wanna latch to him? I just ... it's ... " An exhale, and she licked her dry lips. "I don't look at him as a predator, you know? I know that he is. I never forget it. But that's not the first thing I think of when I look at him. I just think of him. He can be really funny, you know, sometimes, and ... despite his stubbornness, he's good with technology." Wasilla paused, swallowing. "Honestly, I can't explain it. I love him for a lot of reasons. I don't know that any of them would make sense if I tried to put them into words."
Aisling tilted her head, whispering back, "Love rarely makes sense when put into words." A pause. "That is why sex has become so precious to me. Now that I love someone ... it becomes more than an act of pleasure. It becomes more than just obligatory breeding. It becomes an act of expression. My species, being unable to express so much ... it is how we release steam. But I am no longer content to release steam with simple, mechanical heat. I want to release steam that stems from organic passion."
"I know what you mean," Wasilla whispered. She and Konka were doing better, now. But they had been, for some time, struggling to connect. Struggling to make their marriage truly work. "But, sometimes, even though showing love is easier than speaking of love ... sometimes, showing love can be difficult, too. Sometimes, it gets so vulnerable that it almost hurts. You feel like you're glass. Like you're gonna break. You're trusting your entire sense of self to your spouse. And you just ... you have to have faith that they won't let you down. Cause if they do, you'll shatter into little pieces." A pause, and she swallowed, ears swiveling a tiny bit (listening to the chatter of the other snow rabbits throughout the department, as well as the gentle hum of the warp core). "Fear has always been my biggest vice. It's not that I don't trust God. It's ... I don't trust myself. So, I fear."
Aisling said nothing to this. Just took a deep breath, letting it out, and giving a nod. Her whiskers gave a singular twitch. "I have dealt with fear in the past. During the war with the Arctic foxes. I ... and other times," she said, not elaborating. Though it was clear there was a detailed story there. But probably a painful one, as well. "But fear has never been my biggest vice. No, my problem ... or at least, one of my problems," she corrected, "used to be pride. The presumption that I didn't need God's love or guidance, didn't need the love or support of other furs ... to be happy. That I knew what was best for myself. That I could be self-sufficient. That I didn't need faith." A pause. "Often, we are, ourselves, our biggest roadblocks. I believe that the healing process can only begin when we surrender ourselves," she whispered, "to God. Ourselves and all that we think we deserve. That includes," she added, "giving Christ our burdens. He has volunteered to bear them. We would be fools to refuse."
The pika's whiskers twitched. "Yeah," was all she said. "I, uh ... I don't often talk about faith. I have it. I really do," she insisted, "but I'm not a good theologian. I'm not like Emerson or ... you know, like you. I can't extrapolate about the meaning of this or that. I'm just not good with words. I feel it. But it's hard to wax on and on about it, you know? I wish I could. But ... "
"Not everyone needs to be verbally proficient. The important thing is that you have salvation, and that you understand what it means. That you believe it. And live it. Whether or not you can spend hours debating the facets of Christian theology ... does not matter as much as whether you can live it. Through your actions. In your heart." And the snow rabbit trailed. "Do I make sense?"
"You do." A breath. "You do," Wasilla assured. "But, uh ... me and Konka never talk about stuff like this. Konka's new to the faith, for one, and ... well, predators are always creatures of few words. They're more about 'showing' than 'talking'."
"It is alright," Aisling whispered, eyes gentle. Patient. And the snow rabbit was quiet for a moment, before saying, "You may call me Aisling."
A blink. "What?"
"Earlier. Earlier, you called me 'Lieutenant-Commander.' You may call me Aisling."
The pika smiled. "Alright ... Aisling."
An eye-smile, and a nod.
And Wasilla took a deep, satisfying breath, roundish ears swiveling. Swivel-swivel. "You know, I'm surprised you haven't asked me yet."
"Asked you what?" Aisling asked, blinking.
"Almost every-fur does. Almost every-fur on the ship has asked me."
The snow rabbit still didn't understand.
"I don't have a tail," Wasilla elaborated, doing a half-turn. Her uniform had no 'tail-opening' on the back, because she had no tail to stick through it. "Pikas don't have tails. You haven't asked me what it's like to be a fur without a tail."
"I had noticed, but ... I did not wish to be rude."
A smile. "It's okay. I mean ... to be honest, it's not a question I can answer, though, when asked. Cause how can I say what it's like to be a fur without a tail if I've never HAD a tail? I have no comparison to ... to judge it against, you know?"
A nod. "Logic would dictate that such would be the case."
"But Konka doesn't mind. Me being tail-less." A pause. A smile. "He likes to massage my rump ... I think, for him, a tail would only get in the way." A shy giggle-squeak. She closed her eyes, breathing through her twitching nose, imagining her husband's strong, clawed paws running slowly up and down her back, caressing, stroking, stopping on her rump-cheeks. Squeezing, kneading, and going to her lower back, and up, up again, and ...
" ... shall I call him?" Aisling asked again.
A heavy sigh from the squeaky pika, eyes snapping open. She swallowed. "Please," she whispered, her body posture submissive, needy. Her concentration beginning to falter. Her resolve breaking down. "W-what about you? Don't you need to go be with, uh, Seward?"
"I can wait another half an hour. But you ... " A smile, looking the pika over. Seeing how she was twitching. How her pupils had dilated. How she seemed to be hot beneath the fur. " ... you cannot." And the chief engineer tapped her comm-badge. "Konka, if you'd be so kind as to return. Your wife is here for you. I think her engines are in need of your attention ... more than Yellowknife's." And, cutting the channel, she looked to Wasilla and said, "Were snow rabbits prone to winking, I would wink at you. But I am afraid I will simply have to give you a head-tilt."
A giggle-squeak, and a nod. "That's, uh ... that's fine."
"You are no longer scared, I take it?"
"Mm?" A bit of a chitter.
"Of engineering. The warp core. Your body language indicates that you are no longer scared of being in here."
"I guess I, uh, forgot my fear. Just for a moment."
"Perhaps we can work on extending those moments into minutes. And those minutes into hours. And so forth."
"Perhaps," was the friendly, smiling response.
Aisling grabbed a toolkit and began to pad off, turning, pausing, saying, "I must check a few things before I take my own break, but ... it was nice," she admitted, "conversing with you, Wasilla. I am sorry I do not know you better."
"It's alright," was the response, no offense taken. "You're a busy snow rabbit. I'm a just boring, little rodent."
"Little, perhaps. Boring? Anyone who can smile as you do ... is hardly boring. I cannot smile," the snow rabbit reminded. "But if I could, I would wish to smile with as much brightness and innocence as you do."
The pika was caught off-guard by such a kind statement. Her eyes watered a bit. "Well, uh ... uh, thanks. Thank you," she whispered. "And, uh, Aisling?"
"Yes?" Her ears waggled and her bobtail flicker-flicked.
"Just because we haven't been close friends before, that doesn't mean, uh ... you know, that we can't be. Maybe me and Konka could have supper with you and Seward? In the mess hall? Or we could all play a game in the simulation room, or ... "
"I would very much like that. I will contact you later. We will make plans for tomorrow night?"
"Tomorrow night's good." The pika nodded, nodded. "Tomorrow night," she repeated.
An eye-smile from Aisling, who nodded back at her, then padded away in her bare foot-paws, her bobtail flicking primly behind her.
And the sound of a hatch opening in one of the walls. Konka crawling out. He'd been working in one of the junctions (room-like spaces where multiple access tubes led to). "I hope you haven't been waiting long," he said, to his wife, as he closed the hatch and padded to her. He looked around. "Where's Aisling?"
"Checking for gremlins. And, no, I haven't been," the pika assured (in response to his concern). And a smile, and a deep breath. "It's good to see you. I know I saw you a few hours ago, but ... still ... "
" ... it is good to see you, too, my little pika," was the earnest, whispered reply. A little growl coming from the tawny-furred, rugged coyote's throat as he nipped at her neck-fur. "Our quarters?" he asked, of their destination.
A wordless, squeaky nod.
And the coyote guided her out of engineering. The ship was crawling through space, right now. But their hearts would soon be racing.
A few hours later, in the Captain's ready room (the doors locked), Ada and Graham were on his couch, beneath the big windows that looked out at the stars.
Their uniforms, their clothing all in a gentle, little pile on the carpeted floor.
Graham sighed, spooned up behind her, groin nestled right against her rump and bobtail. Both of them horizontal on the couch-cushions. Bare. Snowy-white pelts exposed to the cool, comfortable air. The lights were dimmed. And the bridge crew knew now to disturb them (based on the fact that, when the Captain took his wife into his ready room and they didn't readily come out, you pretty much knew what they were up to).
"Oh ... " An exhale from Ada, who swallowed, breathing slowly and deeply through her cool, black nose, which gave a singular sniff. Whiskers following with a singular twitch. " ... that was," she breathed, "wonderful." Her eyes half-open. "Thank you," she said to him. In a pleasured haze.
A mew from him. As he maneuvered slightly, slightly, slipping himself out of her femininity. Mew. "You ... you are the one needing," he breathed, securing her in his arms, "to be thanked." He remained spooned against her, behind her, despite having broken the intercourse. But they'd both climaxed. Had both settled down. They were both firmly entrenched in afterglow.
"You are too modest," was her gentle, breathy response. "You are an excellent breeder. Mm ... " Another sigh. Eyes closing. "It is a good thing these couch-cushions," she whispered, with a restrained, teasing tone, "are stain-proof." The seed he'd recently sown in her (the amount that hadn't reached her womb) was dripping, like molasses, from between her legs, little, sticky rivulets pooling on the couch.
"A good thing," he breathed, eye-smiling, burying his nose in her nape-fur. A heavy sigh. "Oh, my Ada ... " His muzzle tilted. A kiss to her neck, now. Mouthing wetly, hotly. And then stopping to breathe, "I love you so."
An inhale from her, breasts loose and warm, nipples still slightly-hard. "As do I love you," she breathed, "as well, Graham." The snow rabbit way of saying 'I love you' had a bit of pomp to it. Reflecting their logical natures.
He continued kissing and nibbling on the back of her neck, lightly, lightly. His bare foot-paws arching, reaching. So that his toes bumped her own. Soft, white-furred toes with blunted, black claws. The pads (or soles) of their foot-paws also black. That charcoal color that was offset by the overwhelming, snowy white that covered most of their bodies. But he bumped his toes to hers. Foot-paws rubbing foot-paws, so gently, so sensuously.
A sigh, her foot-paws making little motions back at his.
His bobtail flickered behind him, making a rustle-rustle sound against the couch-cushions. "Oh ... Ada," he breathed again, squeezing her tightly. Hugging her. He closed his eyes and breathed of her scent. Making love, indeed, was sweet business. But making love with one whom you had so much in common, one you adored, one you'd taken marriage vows with. The future mother of your children. And a fellow soldier of the Christian faith. The sheer spirituality of it was enough to melt a soul.
Oh, love.
Oh, sweet intoxication.
When your words wash over me. When your body slides over mine. When these things happen, you speak to me!
"Mm." A contented sigh from him.
And slow, steady breaths from her, his bare belly and trim chest snugged to her soft, warm back. The heat they were sharing. His hips to her rump. His fingers, now, delicately scritching her own belly (his arms wrapped around her as they were). Her husband and her captain. Thus far, the two roles hadn't collided into a conflict of interest. She hoped that they never did.
"The warp engines," he breathed, licking his dry lips and giving another, little sigh, "are to be back online tonight. They found the problem."
"That is good," Ada breathed.
A slight nod, his nose sliding through her neck-fur. A heavy exhale. "It is," he agreed, a paw going to her breast. He cupped one of her breasts, fingers splaying, delicately kneading, kneading that snowy mound of feminine fur and flesh. His thumb lazily wagged over the 'peak' of that mound. Over her nipple. "It is ... and we will continue to be on a lookout," he whispered, "for the 'ghost ship'."
"Admiral Flint wants us," Ada reminded, "to search for plant enzymes ... "
A tiny nod. "I know ... we will stop at a few planets. I have informed Aspera." A new strain of STD had broken out among the breeding parties back home. Apparently, this one caused very noticeable fur loss. Which was not only extremely embarrassing to any fur, but when your world was largely covered by snow and ice, not having fur could also be deadly. Your body would have no protection against the cold. Yellowknife was to help in the search for a cure.
"It makes me wonder," Ada breathed, "why they think it is worth it ... partner to partner. Not waiting for lasting love. Their diseases, their unwanted pregnancies. Their welded-shut hearts ... " A pause. "Where does it lead them? Does it give them peace? Does it quench their thirst?" A breath, reflecting. "I am so glad we left that. I am glad you came into my life, and that ... that I," she breathed, "could devote to you. The safety in your arms, and the promise of your love?" she said. "I have no need to lope away. I have no need for another. You fulfill me," she breathed.
Graham mouthed her neck. Softly, softly, wetting her fur with his saliva. And then stopping, breathing lightly. "You came into my life ... as much as I came into yours. It was a collision," he said, "of souls. That God planned."
"Indeed," she breathed, "it was." A pause. "Your heart is strong. They say that our hearts are brittle from being frozen-through with ice ... but, beneath the slight thaw, is a strong heart. And I believe it will have no ending," she whispered.
"You are too kind," he breathed, "to me ... "
" ... and you are too modest," she repeated.
"I love you, darling," he breathed again. Just having to say it. Needing to. It was a balm to all things, was love. And the confession of love? Was like a burden lifted. Was like a lightness descending upon you.
Oh, but love was like the very breath of God.
Oh, Lord, that Your very presence so sustains us.
Ada, sighing, replied once more, "As do I love you, as well ... my darling."
Both of them each other's 'darling.'
To have someone. In this way.
They surrendered all.
And they, sailing through the stars, were ever blessed.