He startled awake a few hours later. Throwing his hands out again. Growling remarkably like a bear being woken. It almost made her laugh. Instead, she sat up a little.

“It’s been a long day for you,” she said gently. “Bed? Pet can cool you off.”

He grunted, getting up from his desk. Coming over to her, bundling her up wholly in the blanket like a cat in a sack. She laughed into her hands about it. Dropping her gently onto the floor. She got undressed as he sat in his reclining chair, watching her. She folded her appropriated uniform carefully on the floor at the foot of his bed. Going to help him get undressed. 

She barked out the Refaite word for what she assumed was ‘light’– or, anyway, what charged them up and down.

“Smart little Pet,” he said. She couldn’t quite tell if he was amused or put-off. So she stayed kneeling at his feet and didn’t say anything. He scooped her off the floor again. “Show me how smart you are. Give me something new.” 

She decided that he hadn’t minded her learning the word. Or, he was more interested in an orgasm than punishing or disciplining her. He sat on the bed, her waist still in the crook of his elbow. 

“Lay down,” she said to him. “Such a long day, time to rest, sir.” 

He let her flop beside him, and she rag-dolled. He settled in, propping himself up on his headrest. She went and retrieved her jar of lubricant. Getting back into bed, listening to his steady breathing. Flinging a leg over his torso, she sat up on his chest. Waiting to see if she’d be flung off. But apparently she wasn’t heavy enough to register. She started slathering his shaft. 

“Careful,” he said, almost murmuring. She stopped– not thinking that maybe whatever this lube was would upset his skin. “Don’t hurt Pet’s new hands.” 

She almost laughed again. 

“No,” she said, equally gently. “Very careful.” Finishing. Getting comfortable on him and then wrapping her feet around his shaft. Beginning to work him like that. That he’d like the novelty. She had this thought (desire) that he’d try to fuck every inch of her eventually, and she could help with that. 

He started thrusting with her. She reclined, back to his chest, slightly propped on her elbows. Pumping with her legs. He reached around her waist suddenly. Reaching between her legs with one hand. Spreading her open with two fingers. 

“Thank you,” she gasped. 

It wasn’t that he was clumsy, just unaware. But he seemed to be listening to her the way she listened to him. Exerting less pressure. Letting her work against his finger pad. 

She came first, panting “thank you” over and over again. As soon as she finished, getting heavier on him, she felt his warnings. Sat up speedily, bending herself uncomfortably in half. Thanking herself again for keeping up with stretches, and sealed her mouth over his tapered end. Sucking him down as fast as she could. Sputtering and dying and oddly tender about it. When he finished, he patted her hip, talons scraping the side of her knee. She flopped around, stomach to stomach with him. The side of her face on his lower chest, rising and falling deeply with his heavy breath.

Once again, getting that same sensation that she was endothermic and taking his heat from him. Dozing.

Waking, however, when she felt warm– even nude, she felt warm. So she braced to be tossed aside. He grabbed her hip in a sudden spastic grip, and she braced to hit the floor. But he just pushed her beside him. Clearly heavily asleep. 

She curled up against him. Face in the side of his torso, knees hitched up against him. Falling asleep. 

She woke up first. Surprised to still find herself on his bed. Neither pleased nor displeased, simply surprised. Padding out into the front room. It was too early still to make his chaar. She stretched. Did some body weight work-outs. Slightly concerned to find she could only do so many push-ups, stay so long in a plank, and do only so many mountain climbs. Definitely less than she had been able to. Finished. He was still sleeping, the lights still down in the back room. Clambered onto the chair, and then counter to make herself water. Flopping back in the chair to drink slowly. Detangling some of the powdered coffee from her tub of food. Very bad.

She watched the lights start to go up after a while. Scrambled back down from the chair to start making his breakfast. When she heard the sound of his limbs shushing across his sheet, she went in to help him dress.

They didn’t talk– although that was hardly unusual. She didn’t think her gambit of having him speak only Refaite to her was a bad one– but the translators were bad. She’d definitely learned words. It was impossible to not, using a translator. Hear it, hear the instant translation. But there were too many tones and layers she just couldn’t replicate. She’d likely never be able to really speak it. She’d practiced just the word for “sir” over and over while alone. Hoping to get close enough to right that he’d understand it when she said it. 

She’d left the tablet that hung on the door beside his cup on the desk. He sat, doing whatever check in or catch up he did before leaving the cabin. Sipping his drink. She sat on the floor, not thinking of much at all. Getting a sudden chill– she hadn’t gathered her clothes or blankets before leaving the back room. Still nude and cold now that she was sitting on the floor. So she wrapped an arm and a leg around his calf. He rested a heavy palm on her opposite shoulder. 

Scraping a claw along her collarbone to alert her, he stood up. 

“Sir?” she asked as he hung up his work.

Grunt.

“Notebook? Pen for Pet?” she asked. 

He looked at her. She kept quiet and still. She was guessing he was waiting for her to explain herself. She didn’t particularly feel like doing so. She knew she was pushing and testing– seeing how far he trusted her now. If he did at all. Coming back over to the desk, he slid his badge alongside one of the drawers of his desk. So it had been locked against her. Pulling out one of his small log-book style notebooks. A pen that was a little too thick for her to comfortably use. Glad, at least, that they used tablets and stylus’ like she would. Dropping it on the floor next to her. 

“Late,” he said. “No concern, no subterfuge.” 

“Best behavior,” she promised.

He started heading for the door again. Once more, closing off the keypad to her eye line as he let himself out.

“Pet will miss you, though,” she said. 

Knowing it was a gamble, half-way meaning it, half-way holding her breath, watching his back. 

“Best behavior,” he repeated, leaving. 

She’d finished all of “D” in her encyclopedias that day. Finished a book of the kids myths. Looking for something more adult– or anyway, the first set of stories seemed like they were for undeveloped Refaite– simple, clearly moralistic. Or not moralistic so much as practical stories. 

Hesitantly pulling the notebook toward herself. Wanting it for a variety of reasons. To practice Refaite– as best she could. But also to start sketching again. She hadn’t since she left Earth. And it used to be what she always did. 

But her hands were set almost to shaking. Like it was impossible to put pen to page after everything that had happened to her. How dare she go back to old hobbies when everything was upside down, and worse, totally wrong?

But once she put down that first line, it felt like she was filled with deep breath. Like that first real sleep she’d had up in the Brute’s hammock. 

She ate twice. Worked out again. Changed into a clean uniform. Filled four sheets of paper. Tried powdered chocolate drink. Washed her hair. Shook out his sheets. Washed his head rest. Stared at her hands, memorizing what ended up just being one single scar on her left palm. White, looking faintingly deep. So slim as to be lost. Took a boredom nap. Dreamt of floating into space. 

When he returned, she was sitting up on top of the desk. Legs stretched in front of her, beginning to sketch out a tiny desk of cards for herself. She would have to fold and rip to separate them– she thought it unlikely that he would give her a blade or scissors.

She started to scramble down to the floor.

“Stay,” he said. 

Watching him as he went into the back room, directly into the bathroom space. He returned, nearly half undressed. Standing beside her and peering down at her project. Rapping his claws on the sheet.

“Game,” she said. “Toys for Pet.” 

“Restlessness?” he asked.

She stayed silent. Unwilling to lie, and even more unwilling to say the truth. Still feeling like the only thing she ought to be feeling was thankfulness. 

He huffed, standing back up right and then shaking himself. Rolling his shoulders and neck just like she would when she ached.

“Pain?” she asked. Instantly knowing that was the wrong question as soon as it left her mouth.

“No,” he snapped.

“Hard used body?” she asked.

“Training,” he agreed.

“Pet helps,” she said, lowering herself to the floor with a thump. 

Avoiding his belt, since he still didn’t allow her to touch that, she hooked a finger around the loop instead. Taking him into the back room. Saying the word to activate the lights. Letting them stay that low running-light in the room. Finished getting him undressed and pushed him toward the bed. He sat, watching her. Rolling up her sleeves. She showed her hand flat, hoping he’d understand. Glad when he did, laying down on his stomach. She straddled his hips– the bed simply not wide enough to be beside him. Started working at his neck and shoulders– what seemed to have been hurting. 

He grunted and she let up a bit.

“Harder,” he said. “Tiny hands.” 

She gave her own little huff. Began kneading him as hard as she could.

“Weakling,” he said. And she thought he’d used the chosen human slur with genuine humor. She stood up. Hooking her fingers into her hammock still overhead. Tentatively stepped on his back.

“Better,” he said. 

She walked along his spine– bigger, wider and more of a ridge than a humans would be. Using the hammock to keep her balanced as she walked him. Stopping to grind her heels in as she reached his upper torso. Feeling him actually melt underneath her. Another little moment of triumph, of figuring something out. 

When she felt him warm up, she settled back down on his lower back. Sitting cross-legged on him, running her hands down his back. 

“Before rest,” he said, gesturing to one side all of a sudden, sounding slightly stupefied. 

“Sir?” 

“Pocket,” he said. He shifted, and she fell to one side, bumping softly into the wall on one side of the bed. He tugged at the ankle of his uniform that she’d hung up. She got up, going over, waiting silently beside it.

“Pocket,” he repeated, patting his hip. She touched the left hesitantly, just with a finger, head cocked, waiting for permission and to hear it was the right one.

“No,” he said. She touched the right in a wordless ask.

“Yes,” he said. “Special snack.” 

She pulled out another vacu-pack. Solid white with no indication as to what it was. 

Huff.

She went over, holding it out to him. He slit it open with a talon and handed it back. Not shaking it out into his palm for her. 

“Special human snack,” he said. 

She sat close beside him. Shaking out the special snack into her palm. The skin of her eyes going tight and dry all of a sudden. A terrifying tingle across the bridge of her nose. Freeze-dried fruit. Shriveled strawberries, maybe blueberries or grapes and mango. Looking so dazedly colorful, even in their altered state, that she felt like she was tripping on it.

After steel, drab uniforms, her own flesh and blood being the most color she saw for so long, it was almost overwhelming. 

“Sweet,” she said, horrified by how thick her voice sounded and close to tears she was. If she talked much more, she would lose it. So instead, she picked up one of the berries. Just sliding her bottom teeth along the skin of it. Wanting to make it last. 

He watched her carefully, turning slightly on his side to do so. Almost propped up on an arm. She nipped at a strawberry, eyes definitely swimming now. He looked hazy, even in the darkness.

“Can you?” she asked, holding out the other third of the strawberry. 

“For Pet,” he said, pushing it back toward her.

“Will it make you sick?” she asked.

“MD said it wouldn’t,” he said. 

So she held it out again to him. Heart stopping when he took it from her fingers with his own sharp teeth. Allowing himself to be fed in turn.

“Thank you,” she said. On the line of total break-down. Watching him chew and swallow. Tilt his head. Suck his teeth. 

When she bit into the next blueberry, she started crying– impossible to stop the flood now. He wasn’t worried. He didn’t even seem interested. He didn’t move to comfort her– why or how could he?

She ate and cried– no big hiccuping cries or wailing. Just leaking as she ate. Everything coming down on her all at once– not even the big, ever-present things that she was aware of. Being held captive by the Brute. Unsureness as to her own survival. Not even sure if anyone besides the Brute and Doc knew she existed at all. That this might be her last ever serving of food grown on Earth– of Earth food at all. She hadn’t been homesick. Hadn’t really thought about the gravity of leaving– and leaving so totally. That there would be no return. Nor even the confusion and never-ending effort of living with the Brute. And worse… when playing the game with him wasn’t an effort at all. 

When she finished eating, she swiped the tears off her face with the backs of her hands. Stood up to get into the hammock. He grabbed her with both hands, one above each knee, jerking her back down again. She fell into him, rag dolling like she always would when he hauled her around. Numbly hoping that he wouldn’t want an orgasm tonight. It seemed impossible to perform in front of him after crying in front of him. When was the last time she’d done both– orgasmed with anyone and cried in front of them…? Adolescence? Those two things were usually so separated now… Weeping had been an individual pursuit for over twenty years now… Orgasms frequently were, too.

She could take it, if he were to give it. But he just tapped at her with the back of his knuckles, so she was half draped on him. Specifically, making sure her arm was arranged across his head– using her just like a cool cloth for fevered skin or a headache. 

Within minutes, he was hot, breathing in sleep-cycles. 

She woke up before him again. Quietly scooping the wrapper from the freeze-dried fruit off the floor, along with a blanket this time. Doing as she had been. Some exercises– trying to build herself up again. Drinking water. While she sipped this time, she carefully folded the empty package into her notebook. Unsure why. She just had so few things that were hers. And this was hers. 

For a long time, she’d been one of those sentimentalists. Keeping the ticket stubs, the love letters, the drawings her father did, the broken beads from favorite bracelets, the pressed flowers from special places. 

All of that had been burnt the week before, joining Jack at the docking station. 

Seeing the first early glow in the back room, she went in there. Dropping the blanket in the threshold as she went. Throwing her legs over one of his thighs and leaning forward to take him in her mouth. 

His breath hitched, and his hands went instantly and painfully to her head. His talon cutting her earlobe before he seemed to realize it was her. 

She didn’t stop, though. Thinking briefly that maybe they both had reason to always be waking with a start. Not liking to think of what could frighten him, what could make him sleep unsoundly. 

“Pet,” he said, sounding both relieved and half-asleep.

She murmured affirmatively, mouth and face still wrapped around him. He groaned, liking the vibration. After a while, she raised herself up a little. Taking long licks along his length, making eye contact with him. At once, asking if she should stop, if this was too much of a disruption to his schedule, if he wanted more or something different. His hands locking around her rib cage, he tugged her up. Understanding, she straddled his hips. Going up on the flats of her feet to be able to more easily do so. Touching herself for a moment and teasing herself with the head of his cock. Easing him in by inches until she settled heavily on him with a groan. When she did, he reached out again. Taking the hand she’d been touching herself with and sucking her fingers clean. 

“Sweet,” he said, and it made her start riding him wildly. Groaning heavily again when he scraped his teeth along her fingers. 

She mined a bite at him, grinding her jaw. So he did, biting, but decidedly gently. Like how a dog could play rough, almost the same kind of sharp canines. Resting a hand on his lower rib cage to balance, she rode him harder. He bit a little harder, working down the side of her hand until her whole wrist was in his jaws. Biting down hard enough that her skin was pierced. Which, horrifyingly, made her come in one hard gush on top of him. 

He grunted right after her, filling her up in that terrifyingly cramping way. Like she was being filled, in a way that she couldn’t be stretched to accommodate. 

Breathing heavily, both of them, hers coming out in choked-off whimpers, he licked at her lightly oozing arm. 

“Sweet,” he said again. Making her clench around him once more.

When the blood had stopped– it had barely begun, more weeping than true bleeding, he lifted her off. Gathering her ankles together in one hand and lifting her upside down like a trophy fish. Bringing her into the bathroom as she tried not to squeal, clutching her lower stomach with both hands. Turning her right-side-’round, he deposited her in a sitting position on the tiny steel sink. 

She choked on a gasp, feeling him stream out of her. He helped her clamber back off the counter. She grabbed the small vacuum to clean up the bed, wrapping a towel around her waist. Going from there back to the kitchen to make his chaar. 

He joined her, half-dressed. She did his buttons, his socks, his boots. He sat, drinking his breakfast and the like. Patting the top of her head as he stood– her neck feeling like it was sinking between her shoulders as he did. 

And then he was gone again.