CW: isolation, imprisonment, murder, trafficking, drugs

The Brute had actual quarters. A receiving room/office in the forward space. Not huge, but bigger and better than she’d been expecting. A back room with an extra long bed. Hammocks of supplies and personal items hanging above. A smaller wall-mounted desk. A small closet of a bathroom. She blessed that there was something like a steel toilet. A reclining type chair that seemed comically enormous to her. 

As she stood, still clutching the bindle to her torso she heard the repeated bleepbleepbleep of him programming the touchpad by the door. 

“Just me, in or out,” he said. “Not only should you not answer the door, you can’t open it. So don’t bother.”

She shrugged and then nodded at him. Of course, at that moment there was a warbling sound of the door. She quickly ducked into the back room. Seeing his spare uniform hung up. Listening to him at the door. When she heard it slide back into place she sidled back out. Looking at his rounded shoulders as he stared down at something. Assuming it was a missive or memo.

Tossing whatever he was looking at on the table beside her she jumped. Then recognized the logo on it. The company that made translators.

“Please?” she asked, indicating it with a nearly non-movement of her chin. 

“For you?” he asked.

“I requested it from… Yes, for me,” she said. 

Exhalation. She stayed in one place.

“Proceed,” he snapped. She opened up the box. Familiar enough with the equipment. As she tried to pry off the backs of the sensor stickers though, her bandages got in the way, having none of her usual nimbleness. 

He was suddenly right in her space, snatching the tech away from her. Tugging her hair hard from her temple, sticking the sensors on. It hurt as he pressed the last sticker approximately over where her pulse beat in her throat. Reigniting the little hurts of his bruises. 

Reaching up to the control box she scrolled through it. Blessing herself for remembering Refaite, when the option came up in that same gentle recorded voice. Selecting it. She stood staring at him for perhaps two full minutes. He detached the voice part of his translator. They would each be able to speak their mother tongues, the box just doing the work of listening.

“The Weaknesses say with whining that the translator does not do Refaite so well,” he said. That massively vibrational and guttural real voice of his back. The scroll of English translation behind him by only half a beat.

“It appears to be working quite well,” she said. “I don’t want you to wear your translator in your home.”

Deciding to ignore being called ‘The Weaknesses.’ 

She watched that little… reading… look on his face. It reminded her of distrust or disbelief. 

“The Pet can go sleep and leave me alone. Work has been disrupted. No subterfuge action from you, little female. No dangerous stupidity. No sabotage– eat the pills,” he said. 

She kicked the bundle at her feet, letting him know that she would take the pills in it. 

“Yes… Sir,” she dredged up. Hoping that would work as well. 

Huffing exhale. 

She sat down carefully on the floor, bowing her head. He watched her for several long seconds. He closed the few few between them rapidly. Her instinct was to scramble away. Crawl along like a crab until she could hide under the bed. Instead, she pressed her fingertips to the floor beneath her, grounding herself. He snatched up her towel of goodies. Shook it out all over the floor. Examining pills, lubricant, tech deck, shower, Go, chocolate, and Jack’s badge. He threw the pills Doc had given her and surprise made her graceful, catching both bottles out of the air. He stopped moving. She understood. Struggling with the bottle lids for forty seconds or so. He grabbed her face, giving her an impatient little shake. A low growl down in the middle of his throat. Opening the bottles and handing them back to her. She shook the two of each into her bandaged palm. Swallowed dry. Coughed. Feeling the coating melting off the pills, a terribly bitter taste making her salivary glands react. He stood back up. Taking the Go and Jack’s badge and tucking both into his breast pocket. And then he was exiting the door as quickly as they entered.

She spent the first hour snooping. Since she disrupted nothing and stole nothing she decided this didn’t count as ‘subterfuge action.’ He didn’t have much. A log of some kind. In Refaite, nothing she could read. Translators couldn’t do that. She wondered if she could find some kind of scanner reader. Something like that must exist. Reading his logs would likely be ‘sabotage’ or ‘subterfuge’ though so she set it aside for the time being.

He had two uniforms. Underclothes. Two other sets– she decided one was casuals and one was something like BDUs or formal. Based entirely on the types of fabric used– the cuts appeared entirely the same. But one was a softer near-cotton blend, the other had the stiffness and shine of silk. 

In his bathroom, she found what she would think of as a shave kit. Fighting with the clasps to open it, finally figuring it out after a few long moments it popped open. Unknowable tools. Rather like dental tools, she decided. Possibly steel, with rubberized handles. Hooks, blades. 

No pillow on his bed. A curved headrest instead. Touching it, that ever-present cool plastic that had made up her coffin. She shivered. That one fitted sheet. A possible problem if he expected to get fucked in bed. She wasn’t sure about laundry arrangements in flight, but it seemed unlikely. Wondering how she could get in contact with Doc– if he could source her something like a tarp or top sheet. Laughing to herself. Still the strangled horkhork noise rather than a true laugh. 

No running water in the bathroom. She hid her showers behind the tank of the toilet. Leaving her pills prominently on the counter beside the “shave kit” so that he would know she was taking Doc’s order seriously. 

Peeking through the hammocks that held his personal belongings, strung along the ceiling. As expected. More logs he could write in. Underclothes. Tech. Battery backups. What looked like manuals. Illustrations. A little more interesting when she came across a few of what she assumed were training or tactical books. Illustrations of movements and exercises for Refaite. Showing downward strikes with those arm-blades. Wrist twists where the talons were very prominent. 

Flat little tubs. Twisting them opening. Sniffing. Gaining no knowledge. Gloves. The close-fitting sort of thermal underwear one would put on before suiting up. Simple two-planed keys– probably for a locker. Anti-nausea pills. A steel oval about the size of her pinkie with cryptic carvings. A stack of old badges. Different ships. She flipped through them. Most had no writing she could read on it or nothing at all. A few had his image on them. She stared at those. Getting to just look without operating in fear or trying to be one step ahead of him. Trying to see if he looked younger or had grown. She couldn’t discern any difference from one picture to the next. Some better, some worse quality. But all roughly the same. 

She traced what she thought of as rising promotions, laying them across the top of the bed, over her crossed legs. More badges and logos and insignia were added to his badge each time, seemingly. 

She took her time putting everything carefully back the way she found it. She was sniffing around the front room, and thinking about trying the drawers on the desk when she heard the bleeping of the touchpad. She slithered right onto the floor, resting back on her heels. As he came in, she grounded herself again. Pressing fingertips to the floor beneath her. 

He ignored her, moving around her easily. Setting things on his desk. She heard the disconnect of his translator and would have fisted her hand in triumph if she wasn’t being so careful to be unmoving. 

“Treacherous,” her translator worked, snatching his growl out of the air for her. 

“Good pet,” she disagreed.

Huff.

“Hates Pilings?” he asked.

“Loathe,” she answered. 

“More reason,” he said. 

When she didn’t move or react he rapped his talon hard on his desk. She stood up to join him. Confused by what she was looking at. Folded uniforms. Some old tech, flash-style books. His underwear. Some personal hygiene. The Brute pushed that bundle towards her. The things he thought she could have, that would be useful to her. She’d have to take inventory. Shave cream, novels by the looks of it, hair oil, cleaning wipes, sleep aid, protein. She turned over a razor and saw the blade itself had been plucked out and made useless. On the far side of the desk, out of her reach were other things. Shrink-wrapped Go, unknown powders, and pills. Needles. A stack of photos of her. Some while she was out. The key to the locks on the casket. 

The Brute tapped a vial shrink-wrapped to a needle.

“Kill sick,” he said.

She stared up at him. He mimed shoving a needle into his upper arm.

“Hot shot,” he amended as if a better option had been read to him. “You weren’t making landfall.” 

The first half of her funds had just been uploaded to her chip. If he killed her, all he’d have to do is transfer them back. Her face twitched but she hid it from the Brute.

She’d given Jack only three things for him to hold– an outfit to leave the ship in, her gold and pearl nose ring, and her interplanetary passport with her new name. She wondered how to ask about it. It seemed unlikely. And the only thing she’d really miss was the nose ring. One of the few remaining pieces of gold on the planet. And old. The passport was a fake, after all, with all her new information. The only thing real about it was the chip– she’d purchased that with cash. 

She mimed a nose ring at the Brute– thumb and forefinger at her septum. He didn’t react. She showed him the pierced flesh and made a ring with her hurt fingers again. 

“Metallic ring?” she asked. Showing its approximate size. 

“Nothing smelt of you in there,” he said. 

She tried not to slump away or show anything on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, gathering the clothes and hygiene products.

“Emmadee said sleep,” he said, pointing at her. She blinked, realizing she’d heard wrong– he was saying MD, medical doctor. Doc. 

“Where do you want the pet to sleep?” she asked. 

That gave him pause. Or seemed to. He started walking toward the back room. Slapping his hip impatiently again. She followed after him. From the hammock above his bed, he pulled something through one of the loops. Momentarily terrified she’d left something askew. It was simply another hammock he shook out. Hanging it from more hooks above his bed. Secondary storage he simply hadn’t been using. If she stepped on the edge of the bed, she’d be able to scramble in. If they were to sleep at the same time she’d be sleeping about three feet above him. 

She clutched Doc’s lab coat around her tighter, mimicking being wrapped up in a blanket and theatrically shivered. He had no blankets on his bed.

Huff.

“Forgotten. Pilings room. Will retrieve,” he said. Of course, he hadn’t thought of that. For the time being she untied the lab coat from around her neck. Slithering out of it. Stepping on the edge of the bed and tossing the lab coat in to wrap up in. Startling when the Brute was quite suddenly behind her. But he was simply hooking a talon over the close side of the hammock to help her scramble in. So she did.

“No scheming,” he said, watching her settle in. “Sleep.” 

She woke up screaming– hardly making a sound though. Fighting in the confines of the casket. But it gave and didn’t let her punch. She took a deep breath. Hammock. Hammock, that’s why it gave and didn’t echo back at her. The room was cave-dark. She sniffed and then held her breath. Not sensing, smelling, or hearing the Brute. Impossible to tell how much time had passed. 

Real sleep– how long had it been since real sleep? No dreams. The ability to stretch afterward. 

She scrambled down, missing the edge of the bed and falling to the floor with a pained hack. Waving her arms, hoping for motion-detected lights. 

No such luck.

But when she moved to the front room, running lights lit at least. She grabbed Jack’s– her tech deck. Began reading what Doc had given her on Refaites. Some of what Doc had already told her. 

High metabolism, longer life span than a human– not by much, but enough to make a difference. Two sexes, but to her, impossible to tell apart. Breeding apparently by being bathed in sperm– thus the viciously huge amounts of it, she decided. In another article, she found the two sexes now lived separately and had for nearly a millennium. Being paired for genetic hardiness, females having eggs artificially inseminated, and males donating. 

Had he ever experienced real coitus before?

Walking, talking weaponry. Able to exert 3000 pounds of pressure in their hands. A bite force of nearly 2000. Talons on hands and feet. The ability to produce poisoned spit– she assumed a similar makeup to the blood she’d been warned about. That high metabolism meant they could do enormous feats of strength. Able to lift well over 7000 pounds. They didn’t seem to have the same kind of pure stamina as humans though. Not able to do long physical treks. Incapable of going longer than 15 hours without fuel. A tendency to overexert, pressure building in their lymphatic systems leading to total organ failure. Unable to deal with wildly differing environments. Coming from a very cool planet, too much of a difference could also cause that failure. All useful, she decided. 

After reading until the battery died, she set the deck on the charger of his desk. Climbing back into the hammock. 

Falling back into healthy sleep.

She woke up, feeling like she was flying through the air. Then she felt claws on her spine and relaxed. Almost going limp, letting him know she wouldn’t fight. She was set on her feet and fell to her knees. Leaning forward.

“Drain me,” he growled, translator already disconnected. 

“How do you need it?” she asked. 

“Something new,” he said. “Show me your softness.”

She pushed at him in the darkness. Not feeling the roughness of his uniform, but of his high-heat flesh through her bandages instead. 

She felt dry and ripped open-- not capable of penetration.

“Lights?” she asked hesitantly.

He snapped out a word and she tried to remember it. Those same low-running lights along the base of the wall. Enough to see by, but barely. Seeing that he was fully undressed, for the first time. 

“Tired?” she asked him.

“No,” he snapped.

She wondered how to reword it. Getting her hands around his hips she pushed him backward again. Leaning down to lap at him. Feeling him twitch under her tongue. Lengthening her tongue she ran it up and then down along the sides. The soft ridges that she’d felt throb inside her. That seemed to pump and suddenly release. Assuming those were the most sensitive parts. Why he likely enjoyed being ridden, the feel of her labia slicking up and down those sides in particular. 

He twitched, exhaling. 

Looking up at him, she changed course, “A long day for you sir… You’ve done enough. You were diligent, your body engaged. You did good work. And now you’re done?”

“Yes,” he said. The word drawn out, perhaps the gentlest his Brutish could sound. She pushed him again, and he actually swayed. She knew he was allowing that to happen. She didn’t have enough strength to move him bodily. He took the hint, sitting back on the bed. 

She couldn’t kneel, nor did she want to, not on her knees. Relaxing into an ungraceful crouch, pushing his legs apart, hands resting on his inner thighs.

She wasn’t sure if he enjoyed it, or was too sensitive, so she stroked her fingers there again. He tilted his hips up, giving her more access. Good. 

She licked him slowly, working him up to full hardness. Listening to his breath. He breathed heavier and faster than her. Sounding like an engine as he became aroused. Getting closer to him she slid his cock between her breasts. Just able to surround him, blessing her endowments once more. 

He liked that. Hips jerking hard into her, hands shooting out and gripping her shoulders. One talon puncturing flesh. She worked him, pistoning on the flat of her feet too, to make sure she was working the whole length. Sure that was one of the most sensational things for him. 

“Good,” he grunted. 

She felt that spike in temperature and dropped her chin to her chest. Taking the tapered head of him in her mouth. Sealing her lips around him, but not stopping the pump. 

She tried to brace for the flood but it was impossible. And now her throat was crooked in a way it hadn’t been before. She started swallowing as soon as she felt that first pulse against her chest. And didn’t stop. Throwing his spunk down her throat with her cupped tongue. Desperately trying to keep up. Feeling it rise up her nose, her throat burning with it. 

When she was on edge, chest heaving, tears popping from her eyes, and a terrible trickle from one nostril she thought he was done. And then there was one final burst from him. She finished swallowing. Thankful he didn’t keep her sealed to him this time. She took two deep, hungry breaths. And then lapped his shaft clean. 

“Softness,” he said, sounding… approving? 

She shifted position, taking a tighter stance, her ankles aching, her legs tired. Taking him into her mouth again. Moving slow until he was settled fully in her throat. 

He grasped her face, crushing it and lifting her face from his lap with an awful wretch. 

“Sir!” she said, panicking, hands fluttering to grasp his elbows. “Please don’t kill me.”

Huff.

“Not this time, little female,” he said.

“Then why–?”

“I don’t require more,” he said. “Now resting.”

He reclined back on the bed. Finding that terrible-looking headrest. Slotting his neck into it. It looked dreadfully uncomfortable. She stepped on the edge of the bed to fight into the hammock again. Sure he wouldn’t like her awake and wandering the cabin while he slept. She felt she could sleep again anyway– though it seemed like she already had for many hours. 

He grabbed her by a thigh, one hand locking around the opposite hip. Dragging her into bed as she squealed and worked to not fight it. 

“You cool me,” he said, breath still very heavy. Confused until he lay her on him like a cool wash cloth. He felt like resting on some great electric heater.

Draped over him, feeling her sweat cool him. Feeling her own clamminess dissipating in the face of his heat, she reached up. Resting her fingers gently on his face– his core was the most heated, but his face wasn’t far behind. His bones felt closer to his skin than hers did, she thought.

Listening to him heaving a sigh. 

She couldn’t be sure of how long she lay there. But she had dozed off. Until she was suddenly lifted and sort of tossed to the floor. Not far enough or hard enough to hurt her. Just jar her. Like a blanket that had been discarded in the height of summer. She listened to his even breathing for at least three minutes, crouched and shivering on the floor. Decidedly cool now that she was no longer in contact with him. Finally hesitantly getting up and launching herself back into the hammock. Quickly wrapping herself up in the lab coat. 

Wishing terribly that she had just a sip of water. How long had it been? Taking stock of his taste. Bearable. But a drink would be nice…