Chapter 12 His and Hers
TWELVE
HIS AND HERS
Sabrina
As the days go by, Darolus gets angrier and angrier, and I go back to hoping he’s gone all day rather than around to distract me, no matter how nice he is to look at.
He’s had no success finding the other naga he thinks is out there, and it’s increasingly upsetting him, making him restless.
Yesterday he came back covered in blood, offering me a long slab of stringy meat and a pile of unusable plastic trash to use as kindling for a fire, then left again soon after and was gone until this morning.
If he didn’t knock me out, who did? He can’t seem to figure it out and it’s driving him crazy.
It makes me wonder if I remember what happened right, because if a naga who knows how to track down his prey can’t, then maybe I’m the one who made a mistake.
Staring up at the ceiling while sprawling out on my now thick pile of hides, I fall into a lull, trailing my eyes over the cracks and grooves and following the shafts of sunlight.
All day, every day, I have nothing to do except cook, clean, and straighten out rocks and Darolus’s belongings, which are few and hardly used.
There is some lichen on the walls near the water, and I play with it with my fingers, in awe of the little plants.
As for the rocks, I now have stacks of them lined up all around the room in artistic displays.
They please me, to a point. Constantly rearranging them throughout the day helps with the boredom.
There are eighty-three stones for me to play with, and more on the other side of the pool, but I can’t get to those unless I swim.
And that’s not gonna happen—the most I’m willing to get into the pool is sitting on the edge to scoop water over my greasy skin.
There are eight hides in my nest; four are large, two are mid-sized, and two are small.
All of them are in shades of brown, beige, and black, and mostly furry.
Darolus told me the largest hide, the one I stole from his bed, is from a bear, while the two small ones are from creatures called rabbits.
All my belongings—which is everything Darolus has given me, as well as a few things I’ve taken—I have lined up on a flat rock near my bed: a replacement for the boulder I was once tied to.
On the other side of my hide bed is my table-rock and semi-permanent cooking setup.
And that’s it. That’s the entirety of my life, basically.
Bringing my hands up to my eyes, I rest the backs of them on my face.
I remember something whizzing past me, the hissing—which could’ve been something else maybe—and being hit. I’d thought it was Darolus who did it because I woke up here, but…
I blink hard several times behind my hands, drop them, and sit upright, wishing there were something to do besides reminiscing, pondering, and dwelling on things I do not want to dwell on.
I hope I remembered correctly. I’ll feel terrible if Darolus is searching for someone who doesn’t exist. Maybe it was a rock?
Either way, I wish I could convince myself it was a rock because then I’d have a better chance of convincing him, and if I could convince him of that, maybe I could convince him to stay and talk with me more often. From there, I could convince him to give me my freedom. I know I could.
Though at this point… if he gave me my freedom, I don’t even think I would immediately try to leave.
Yes, I want to get to the forest and possibly meet back up with the rest of the crew, but I also don’t want to die.
Darolus isn’t such bad company either. He’s quiet, overly paranoid, perhaps a little reserved, though who wouldn’t be in his position? I’m a problem he never saw coming.
Smiling, I get to my feet.
Over the next few hours, I rearrange my artwork and dust out the deeper crevasses with a small scavenged cloth.
When I’m done with that, I shave my legs with my knife, then find myself gazing into the pool at the mossy brown bottom between the jagged submerged rocks.
Letting my eyes follow the maze of stone and dirt, I peer into the water by the back wall where the shadows deepen significantly.
I think there’s an opening, though I’m not certain.
I’ve thought about jumping in and checking it out, as well as the holes where the water comes in—there’s one or two I may be small enough to fit through—except I keep stopping myself, reminding myself it’s too dangerous.
Is potentially dying worth escaping? I shiver, imagining drowning in water deep underground where there’s no light to see by. Dying in the cold, wet dark is not the death I want.
I turn away with a sigh, and my drifting gaze lands on Darolus’s bed—or what he likes to call his nest.
I’ve never seen him sleep in it.
Forgetting all about the water, I head over to it and press my palms down into the hides.
Though it smells like Darolus, some of his scent has faded over the days of him not using it—not that the scent bothers me anymore.
Fingers outstretched, I run my hands over and through the luxurious textures, wondering what they feel like against scales.
At first I was thankful that Darolus was sleeping elsewhere, but now? I feel a little guilty and find it sad. I hope, wherever he goes, it’s half as comfortable as this seems.
I don’t think Darolus is a bad guy. In fact, I think the opposite.
Yes, he has a lot to learn, but it’s easy to see he’s generous and sincere.
And he’s this way naturally, he’s not trying to fake it like so many do from where I come from.
It’s nice. Comforting. I can’t remember anyone I’ve ever met being as openly giving as the naga.
When resources are few, like they often are on the bigger ships, it can be a death sentence to be so giving.
Feeling brave and bored, I pull my feet from my boots and climb into his nest. I’ve thought about doing this more and more often, except I keep hesitating. It’s not that I think he would mind… It’s more about crossing a boundary. Today I just can’t bring myself to care.
I crawl into the middle, surprised by how soft and lush the bed is and how deep I sink into it.
Spreading my fingers through the many different types of animal furs, I hum with pleasure, imagining what it would’ve been like to have these types of blankets when I was younger.
Smoothing the topmost hide out until there are no more wrinkles, I can tell the rest are layered underneath it, all them heaped into a large oval.
Pulling some up, I shift my knees under me and begin to dig.
I count through dozens of them before I reach the first plastic-wrapped padding beneath.
Further still is a foundation of flattened rocks and boulders to lift the nest off the floor, almost like a large bowl.
I wonder if he sleeps with his tail coiled around him.
The nest isn’t long enough for him to spread his tail fully out, not unless he drapes it over the side.
Placing the hides back down, I stretch out on them and, with a huff, go back to staring at the ceiling.
Where is he?
Breathing in Darolus’s earthy, bitter scent, I’m surprised by the surge of comfort it gives me.
Relaxing deeper into his nest, I wiggle my toes and rub my cheek against the plush softness of it.
I didn’t like his scent before, but I’ve gotten used to it, recently seeking it out at night when I’m tossing and turning.
Sometimes I pull my hides to my nose and inhale, hoping for a whiff.
At first my new fondness for his smell was a great relief for my listlessness and inability to sleep, before…
Before it began entering my dreams.
Turning my face into the fur, I inhale him now. Tugging the edge of one of the hides over me, I curl into a ball, wondering what he’s doing and where he could be and, most of all, why he cares so much about this place and me in the first place.
Me.
He really doesn’t like that someone might have knocked me out.
It’s a weird notion, to have someone concerned, especially when the being concerned is an alien male. A huge one at that.
I smile, picturing Weston and the rest of the crew’s faces if they saw Darolus, especially Darolus with me.
No one would mess with me with Darolus at my back. No one would dare. I chuckle, thinking of the havoc we could cause. Blat had muscle, but Darolus…
Darolus is a wall.
Sliding my hands over the fur, I slip my fingers downward.
Slowly I drag them over my legs and up my thighs, drifting them between my legs.
Shifting deeper beneath the hide to cover and warm my body, I arch my hips into my hand and press down hard on my clit.
For better contact, I slip my hand into my pants, then close my eyes and curl my toes as the sweet sensations begin.
It’s been too long.
Darolus’s familiar smell fills me as I twirl my fingers around my clit over my underwear, delighting in the feel of stroking it, and for a while, I don’t think about anyone or anything at all.
To me, masturbation is about release and sex is a means to an ends type of deal.
I get off and my partner gets off, and we both have a little fun in the process.
No stress, just satisfaction. Often accompanied by good food and something hard to drink, those rendezvous come complete with no questions, no contracts, and no second time.
Enjoyable, but not something really worth making a priority.
I circle my clit faster, spreading my thighs wider, getting wetter. Quickly growing frustrated with my pants, I roll onto my back, unbuckle my belt, and shimmy them off, shoving them to the side of Darolus’s nest.
My thoughts on sex have changed since being here. It’s been cycles since my last dance, not since The Wreck first got stuck on The Dreadnaut, and I’ve realized how much I’ve missed it. Once I get back to civilization, the first thing I’m doing is pulling a guy aside and getting some dick.