Chapter 15 Robbie
ROBBIE
To my surprise, I’d fallen asleep quickly and only woken up when I felt Gree-Gree rise.
Sometime after I’d fallen asleep, he’d pulled a set of blankets over me.
I fingered the material, which felt as if they’d been knitted from some sort of soft wool.
I wondered what kind of animal they'd gotten that from, and where they kept them.
Unfortunately, I had no way of asking. Just as that thought crossed my mind, something else screamed for my attention - my bladder.
I tossed off the blankets and stood, glad that the voluminous shirt hid my raging morning wood.
Gree-Gree must have heard me moving about as he poked his head through the door. “Hrakuk Rah-bee. Shagrah norgraah.”
I gave him a tiny little wave. “Um, good morning to you too,” I said, guessing at what he could be trying to tell me. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, pretended to grab my dick, and made a sort of water noise. “Where can I, ah, make water?”
He understood my gestures well enough, it seemed, as he pointed me to what I’d thought was an empty plant pot, which could only be a chamber pot.
I walked a few steps over to it and sure enough, there was some yellow looking water that certainly smelled like piss.
I mentally smacked myself. He lived in a stone cottage inside a hollow fucking mountain, so why would he have a plant pot?
“Thanks,” I said, and lifted the shirt, bunching it under my chin, which I bent down in an effort to hold it out of the way. Then, with my good arm, I took hold of my dick and carefully aimed. “Yes!” I crowed softly to myself, pleased beyond measure to not have gotten any on my borrowed clothes.
Gree-Gree had left, and I sniffed the air, smelling something cooking. My stomach growled angrily, and I left the half full chamber pot for Gree-Gree to deal with later since I hadn’t a freaking clue where it should be emptied..
Leaving the bedroom, I edged into the kitchen where I found him stirring a pot.
On the table sat two mugs of that drink he’d called…
cha kah? That had been it, I think. Some sort of tea, anyway.
I took the same seat I’d had before and wished heartily for something to clean my hands with.
I mentally recoiled, remembering the pot had been used before me. Had he washed his hands before cooking?
Gree-Gree rumbled something softly and stopped stirring, taking the lid off of a shallow lidded bowl on the shelf.
He took out a damp square of cloth not unlike what we’d used to bathe ourselves with, and as he handed it to me, his gaze flicking to my hands before then mimed wiping them with it, I understood I’d just been handed the alien equivalent of a wet wipe.
“Thanks, big guy,” I said brightly, quickly cleaning my hands.
He pointed at the basket that still held our towels and clothes from our bath the evening before, though now I saw another wet wipe sat on top of them.
Yep, he’d washed his hands, a fact that greatly relieved me.
I wanted to do a lot of things with Gree-Gree, but getting sick from his toileting habits was not one of them.
I placed my used wipe in the basket and retook my seat in time to see him crack an egg and stir it into the liquid in the pot.
A few moments later, he ladled the results into two earthenware bowls and brought them over to the table.
I stared down at it. It looked kind of like the soup my mom used to order for us at the Chinese restaurant.
only without the bits of green onion in it.
He lifted his bowl and began to drink from it, and now I understood why he hadn’t provided any spoons.
Okay. I could do that. Or maybe not, I decided, placing the bowl back down with a mild hiss as pain shot through my shoulder and down my arm.
Yep, my arm had been feeling better up to this point, but now it was telling me off.
“Rah-bee!” Gree-Gree was looking at me with an expression of worried dismay.
”It’s okay, just shouldn’t have raised my arm like that,” I tried to reassure him, blinking my eyes to process that dull throb that even now was easing back down to a tolerable level.
Gree-Gree pushed his chair back and stood up, taking my bowl.
I started to protest, only it was quickly apparent he’d only taken it to change how it was presented to me for consumption. A handled mug, and I was ready to drink my soup one handed.
“Thank you!” I lifted it in my good hand and took a cautious sip after blowing across it several times.
It was the same broth he’d fed me the day before, only seasoned this time with a bit of salt and something else that gave it a richer flavor.
The bits of egg were, well, eggy but still, it could really use a bit of salt in my opinion.
I drank it all down as it cooled, followed by the tea.
After the meal, he gathered up the dishes, stacked them neatly, and set them in the basket to be taken for washing. Then he returned to my side, close enough to touch, but careful not to crowd me. He rested a hand on my upper back, the weight of it gentle but impossible to ignore.
I closed my eyes and let myself lean into the warmth, just for a second. When I opened them again, he was watching me, expression unreadable but not unkind. I realized, then, that he was waiting. Waiting for me to get up, because, duh, he had things to do and I had to tag along.
I stood, and he dropped his hand. I swallowed, already missing the contact, and turned around to give him a smile.
I knew I was being a big sap, falling so hard, so fast, but why the hell not?
My being here was proof enough that one shouldn’t take anything for granted and that life turned on a dime.
He returned it, slow and sure, then with a soft chuff, wrapped his tail around my waist and drew me in.
“Rah-bee,” he rasped, running his knuckle down my cheek.
Then he stepped back and went back into his bedroom.
I followed to find him rummaging in a small chest, pulling out strips of leather cord and a small lap throw, looking version of the blankets on the bed.
I saw the throw had ragged edges, and the blanket itself looked worn.
He flicked his claws out and began slicing wide strips from it.
When he finished, he gestured for me to sit, by pointing at the floor in front of him.
I did and he grabbed my ankle and began winding a strip around my foot, over my ankle, and up my calf.
He then secured it with crisscrossing bits of cord.
Ah…foot protection and leggings sort of, all in one.
I lifted my other foot up for him obligingly.
Once he was finished, he stood up, a long piece of the cord in his hand.
He held his other hand out to help me up, and once I was on my own two feet, he used that length as a sort of tie belt around my waist. I wasn’t going to win any fashion prizes, but at least now I looked somewhat more presentable.
In fact, looking down at my legs, I was sort of reminded of Luke Skywalker, back in his Tatooine days.
He wasn’t finished yet, though. Another length of the cloth he used to fashion a new sling for my arm.
He really was a big sweetheart. Such a good heart and in one sexy package too.
It was no wonder I’d gone straight from instant crush and started speeding merrily along to planning a happy ever after with his fine, furry butt.