Chapter Text
The air is too crisp.
Gliding south from the frosted lands, over the ancient ruins of No Man’s Trail, was a Pal-tamer by the name of Mendoza. Hardy ice crystals frozen into his brows and beard, melted into his eyes as he left the bite of the Astral mountains behind. His wing-pack hummed with dynamic power, adjusting with each minute twitch of his shoulder-blades to guide his glide over his new homeland.
Winter is early.
From his over-watch of his territory, he could see the Pals below him. Some fought each other for territory, for mates, others fled at the passing of his shadow while stronger Pals took chase of their lesser kin.
The denizens of the Palpagos had not been kind to his arrival. This land was less in balance, more in a persistent flux that sought to uproot any order that dared persist. Time and again, the natives had sought to uproot him and his team. Time and again, he had repelled them from his walls.
Homes were built from bloody bones in this region, and he had grown to be quite the builder.
It was while taking in the beauty of the land that his wingpack made a sharp dinging noise, and suddenly he could feel the weight of his stuffed holdall and ancient armor pulling him towards the ground.
Quick to adjust, he let the remnant flight-cell deplete him towards the forestry, sharply twisting to avoid the waiting embrace of a tree trunk, before he spread his wings and landed heavily on his feet.
He could never get used to the returning weight of the world. How your body and organs were being dragged towards the dirt the moment a flight-cell depleted. It always ruined the dream. Reminded him he was alive. That there was blood caking the torn nanomesh of his ancient armor, that he was on his last plasma round, and that all his Pals were grievously wounded.
Gravity reminded him, with a weight that would crush most men, that he was alive. That he had failed.
He didn’t flinch towards the sound of guttural growls and pylon-like electric power. He didn’t need to. The Rayhounds were always uppity about newcomers, and the smell of his blood wasn’t helping. In a well practised motion, he slid his pack from his back and fished a half-full flight-cell. One simple flex of his scapulae and the mechanical whir behind his head let him pluck the empty cell and replace it one go.
He didn’t have time to waste, being surrounded by electric Pals was a mistake few tamers got to make twice. Spotting his exit, he pulled one last thing from his bag before slinging it over his shoulders.
Plink.
The grenade’s pin was left in his teeth as he sprinted forward, into the brush. Snapping jaws and loud growling filled his ears as his stalkers took chase, only for the grenade to-
Boom!
His pursuers scattered as he made it to the treeline, and dove from the cliffs. He let the wind take him as his wing-pack hummed to life. With a contented sigh he rode the updraft wafting from the fjord. The smell of mineral rich fresh water caught his nose, and he put himself at ease knowing he was almost there. Slowly, the walls of his home appeared through the evening mist, small as he drew up near the clouds and then began a slow glide downwards.
Yes, he so dearly loved the lands of Palpagos. Lands where one’s fate was in the strength of one’s back, and the glint of one’s wit.
Just another reason I have to save it.
*~*
The sun was just about set as he touched down in the compound. The hardy flagstone took the brunt of his landing, and the relief of making it home sapped the resilience from his legs.
“Catherine?” An embedded habit, like reaching for a light switch. He always called that name the moment he landed. “Catherine?” He called again, as he staggered, fell to a knee and waited.
Mendoza glanced around at the home he had built. A large, asymmetrical castle of flagstone, hardwood and shikkui style plaster walls.
At both the south and west of the compound, three towering building floors; glass, white walls and roof tiles, while the other half featured an open walkway littered with decorative trees and flowers between the high functioning equipment.
“Catherine?!” he called, louder now, but Catherine did not come.
The warm lamplight of the compound flickered on for the evening, revealing his beaten, tired form. His calls didn’t go unanswered, as from the flagstone path which led to the low fenced gazebo that housed his Pal-station, came his Prunelia.
“Meditas.” He smiled, and the prudent Prunelia approached with a low trickle and hum he had learned meant concern and interest. Four ghostly tendrils reached and grabbed at the many clasps and buckles securing his armored plates. Soon he was free of the burden. “Thanks boy, everyone else must be asleep.”
Prunelia’s tamer gave him a pat of gratitude, before handing him his backpack, an honor normally reserved for the compound’s lead pal.
“Put the spheres into the healing pods. If you don’t know how, wake Mycora.” He leaned in to ensure Meditas held the full weight of the pack before letting go. The sleepless auboriform nodded their affirmation, and the pack sank their typical hover to just an inch off the ground.
“Where is Catherine?” he asked, and Meditas responded with a slow point to the east of the compound with one of his tendrils.
Clack, clack, clack, clack.
His ancient boots were too conspicuous against the cobble, so with a practiced reach, the armored plates opened, and he slid from their grasp. Stepping lightly was the first habit a decent Pal-tamer learned. His steps were slow, light from his unburdened body, ghosting across the walkway as he would in the thick of the Palpagos bush.
But something wasn’t right.
He was home, he was free of his pack, his armor, and the threat of the outside. Regardless, Mendoza couldn’t free himself of the weight on his shoulders. It made him slow, tense, aware of his eyes in his head and the air leaving his throat.
He swallowed the strange sensation, best as he could. As any man of grit would, so he focused on the task of haunting his own home. Catching idle Pals unawares was something that always brightened his day.
Tall, rustic stone pillars overrun with twining ivy made up much of this wing. The green smitten columns stilted the compound’s massive workrooms above. Below was the cloister where his miners and choppers would process material in the day.
Absent, his workers were likely eating and washing for the night. Soon to rest, then to start again in the cold dawn. It was during his stalking of the compound that Mendoza caught wind of a confrontation.
“Mrow, meowchi- menenya, yow!” He heard a voice that was harder than Warsect hide, but even like that it was sibelyx-song to his ears.
It was coming from the breeding pen. There were more voices, the rough gibbering of a Gorirat, and the high pitched screeches of a Felbat.
The three chattered back and forth, back and forth, growing louder with each go around. Mendoza got closer, closer still, until the bicker incensed feline snapped in his direction, turning on her heel with her ears pinned to her head.
“HSSSS,” She struck, lashing out with her claws but Mendoza was quick, grabbing the feline by her fluffy, black wrist and pulling her too close for another strike.
“Good evening, Catherine,” he said, feeling again the weight of the world lift from his shoulders as she beamed a fanged smile just for him.
“Myeeow!” she chirped, dilated pupils holding a glimmer before she could regain her composure.
Catherine was a cat. His favorite cat.
The following purr and soft headbutt against his shoulder would never let him forget that. He appraised his prized pal. Her naturally black petaled skirt had grown into low flouncy ribbons on her hips. Much of her violet blue and yellow coat was growing out as well, sprouting tufts on her chest and legs for the approaching winter.
Filled with excitement, her three toed paws gripped the soft grass, her lengthy tail rose high above her head, twitching and flicking as she struggled to contain herself to the rumbly song of her purrs.
Catherine was a Sekhmet, though it was better to say Catherine was the Sekhmet. Tall, as any alpha-pal would be. Blessed as all Sekhmet, with the hips of a Queen and the legs of a dancer; locked in a constant graceful motion, never fully still unless sleeping. On her head, a golden plate, adorned further by a simple tiara she had crafted from a month's stipend and several years worth of stowed away shinies.
Reaching for her belt, the compound’s lead Pal placed a device on her arm, an ancient relic, one she had put together from recycled parts long ago. It reminded Mendoza exactly why she was second in command.
“Mendoza! Welcome back.” The device sounded as her nimble claws played at the unknowable ancient runes. It made a voice that sounded like hers would, or maybe he thought that because he had grown used to the device. “I apologize, you are early and I did not witness your arrival.”
As it turns out, the higher a Pal’s proficiency in medicine and handiwork, the higher their general intelligence. It had taken time and many implants. Artisan, Demon’s hand, Remarkable Craftsmanship, Vampiric; fully condensed and empowered. A decade of investment.
Mendoza had bartered for her early on into his journey. At the time, she had cost everything he had, and she was still worth more than everything they had built together.
He brought a gentle hand to her face. Catherine always turned her head a little to the left, in part to see with her one good eye, in part to hide the three taloned scars on the other.
“It’s okay, that’s the least.” He let his hand leave her. “Looks like you have your claws full, what’s going on?” The Master of the compound turned his attention to the two present. “Tory, Fwakka.” He addressed the Gorirat-Terra and Felbat respectively.
“I have it handled. You are injured, you need to rest.” Catherine tried to usher him away, but Mendoza was in no mood to be moved.
“What happened?” he asked again, and knowing him better than any others, Catherine smoothly pivoted from trying to move him to answering.
“They have not made any eggs.” Catherine huffed, folding her arms and steadily swaying her hips, unable to repress the natural motion.
“No eggs?” If the news affected him, it was impossible for his Pals to tell. A good leader keeps calm, a good leader dictates action, rather than reacting. A good leader could take the burden.
“I thought they would be incubating by now.” He turned his attention to the duo. “You two must really hate each other, huh?” he joked. Tory chuckled jovially while Fwakka tried to hide his face behind a wing.
“Quite the contrary, Mendoza.” Catherine tried to leer the duo into submission, but they only leered right back. Fools. “These two were getting on like a house fire. I observed, and the whole compound heard, a lot of mating. It’s gotten many of our companions quite riled up.”
“Hmm.” His hum was closer to a grunt. “Then someone might be infertile. Rare, but it happens. This sets us back, but we can salvage it.” The man felt some of the pressure lifting as a path forward formed in his mind. Compared to the week he’s had, this was nothing.
“They are both male, Sir.”
Catherine saw it, a sharp inhale, as if the news struck him. Tory the Gorirat chuckled, high pitched and grating. It hurt her ears, and sanded away at the patience of her favorite human.
More burden for buckling legs. Mendoza took a deep breath.
"I apologize sir. I should have noticed sooner, but I didn’t know two males could...” Catherine rolled her wrists, trying to pick the right words. “Make love, so rapturously. Also, Felbat gonads are... subtle,” Fwakka hissed indignantly. “To say the least.”
Mendoza shook his hung head in disappointment. “No, I put them in there in haste. It’s my mistake. Notify Meditas, we’ll be prepping the surgery table for use in the morning.”
Catherine leveled herself, having to be the bearer of bad news was her role as lead Pal, though something about her Mendoza was off. He was injured, sure, but injuries were common for visits to the World Tree.
Not delaying, she played her role as she had for a decade.
“We are all out of gender fluid, sir. We used our last on the Lunaris, to create Fwakka.”
Now she could see it on his face. A quiver at the corner of his lips. A crease in his brow. Frustration.
“I...” He had to pry the admission from himself. “Forgot.” The last few months were a dizzying rush to progress, and somewhere along the line he had drawn his supplies thin. “How many bounty tickets do we have?”
“Not enough. Only two.”
More burden for buckling legs. Mendoza took a deep breath.
“Huwrhuwrhuwr.” Tory was still laughing.
His left eye twitched. He had stopped breathing, and when he did take in air, his head felt as if it had grown three sizes. Despite that, he strategized. For as long there was a path forward, Mendoza could fight on.
“It’s fine. We can take on a bounty or two. Maybe go for a salvaging run and we’ll be back on schedule after a few days.” He nodded to himself.
“I’m afraid not, Sir.” Catherine was still as she spoke, as still as she could manage. She stifled her motion because her leader was in motion without moving. Like a pressure cooker with no whistle. A part of her knew it innately, and all of her knew he was the strongest being on the compound.
Sweepa Dee, and Sweepa Dumb seemed none the wiser.
“Huwrhuwrhuwr.” Tory was still laughing.
Mendoza took two steps out and two steps back to where he stood before he spoke. “And why is that?” He asked, casual now. As if on a spring walk.
Catherine took one last look at her fellow base Pals. Fools, they were. Born and raised within these walls, cherry picked for perfect traits among dozens upon dozens of their kin. She had logged that two philanthropists in a pod would consummate regardless of sex, and while they did perform their function; the duo had crossed a line.
They had become selfish, and that was why she would not save them from the trouble they had earned themselves.
“Because we are out of cake.”
Tory, hardly one to miss the chance at a good laugh, blurted out as his master’s face fell into despair.
“HUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWR!”
Out of cake. Out of cake. Out of cake.
The words were Icelyn frost on his bones. They bounced around in his head, under his skin, down to the souls of his feet. It sounded almost silly on its own. For such a trivial thing as cake to fall so heavily on his mind.
Catherine held her ground when Mendoza’s crestfallen gaze grew closer, closer still. He was taller than her, though she wasn’t the biggest alpha. He grabbed her by her shoulders, both of them, and through his grip she felt the strength of the genetic augments he had trusted her to implant, and the pressure building in his soul.
“That’s not true,” He spat through clenched teeth, squeezing her tighter. “You’re lying.”
His words hurt her more than his grasp.
Catherine stood her ground, feeling her arms throb as they begged her body for blood. She didn’t reach for her relic, instead shaking her head as mild fear began to leech into the pace of her breathing.
He searched her, with big wide eyes that threatened to spill from their sockets. She met his gaze, kept her composure, and moved out of his reach when he let her go.
“How?” His voice was shallow, wild.
Catherine was quick, curt.
“They convinced Meditas that they had been laying eggs. They told him Mycora had brought them to the incubators, and they would request their refills only when I was not overseeing the compound to... feed.” Shame tinted that last word. “I was taking the weekly stock of our resources when I discovered the discrepancy. That is why I was arguing. Please, forgive my incompetence.” She bowed, a needless show of submission. Needless but she remained on her knees.
Mendoza paced a few steps away as he tried to make sense of what he had heard. He turned his back to them, placed a hand on the diagonal wall of his watch tower.
No cake?
He couldn’t get enough air, and he was burning up despite the cold nipping at his wounds.
Crrrrp.
He unzipped the nanomesh, and pulled his arms out of the garment before letting the fabric rest on his thighs when it fell; only supported by the grip of his shield belt. Free of the insulating fibers, he felt the cold world on his skin. His journey had reduced him to muscle and bone, but that only emphasized the monstrous strength he called his own.
No cake...
One might look at his struggle, and laugh. Just as Tory was laughing. For how can a man be laid so low by the absence or presence of cake, of all things. To think this way is to be ignorant of the struggles of a proper tamer.
The answer is as such. Cake is no confection to a Pal-tamer. Cake is the way forward. The way ahead. Cake, as it is called, is no treat, but it is instead an extremely precise measure of nutrients and calories that allow a Pal’s body to maintain and reset the fatigue of laying large quantities of eggs.
Cake is the lubricant of generations. The difference between a breeding project costing years, or mere weeks. Tamers fly in from their perches, from high and from low to trade wagons of gold and gems for eggs, flour, and milk.
The cold was setting in now. Faster than it would elsewhere, living between the Astral and Frost-bound mountains. The cold would slow his Chikapees laying. It would slow the growth of his plants, both his plots and aquaculture. It would freeze the Mozzarina utters shut and shock the Beegarde into catatonia.
It would have been a two week breeding project. He would have hatched a small army of perfectly bred Tarrantris, meant to be fattened over the winter, and trained for combat come spring. Their low stature and great strength for their size made them ideal for his goal of saving the Palpagos, by destroying Astralym.
Mendoza had left his compound for the World Tree a week ago with forty cakes in his fridge. He had expected to collect more than eighty Pal-eggs. He had returned, and now there was nothing.
...Everything... Everything is fucked.
That pushes his breeding project back another three months, which meant they would fatten in spring, and begin training by late summer. Not enough time before the cold takes the land again, and cold Pals achieve little without a great excess of food.
This... whatever this was; prank, sabotage, treason. Whatever the case, it would cost him a whole year of progress once all is said and done. A whole year that the roots of the World Tree would continue to rot, where he would have to spend months turning the wheels of progress, and another year that his Pals would labor day in and day out as their homeland spoils.
It was truly a terrible setback.
But you know what made this shit pie even sweeter?
“HUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWRHUWR!”
It’s that at the very least, someone was having a grand ole time of it.
Catherine tensed when Mendoza pushed off from the wall. She side eyed him as he trundled past her, stomping like an alpha Mammorest across the plains.
“You putrid traitorous-!” she heard a wet crack, the sound of meat and bone. Suddenly, Tory was not laughing. Suddenly, Tory was not in the breeding pen.
The sound of splintering wood and the crashing roof of the shed caused a great commotion amongst the Pals of the compound. Catherine could already hear everyone approaching as the base’s alarm bells pealed the night awake.
Mendoza had punched Tory clear out of the already sizable ring, and against the compound’s outer walls. Tory yelped when his flight was rested by the not so soft cut granite, and bellowed a chest thumping challenge.
Only to squeak like a Lamball when a fist was thrusted into his gut. He tried to react, but he was already skipping across the grass, breaking on and off the walls before coming to a stop.
Pure adrenaline and rage was what let him recover as quickly as he did. “Growra?!” Tory squeaked in disbelief, rubbing his eyes as the leader of the compound moved three steps of distance for every one step he took.
“No no no no! IT’S FUNNY RIGHT?!” Mendoza was already over him. The simian got one look up, before his head was smashed into the dirt, a bare human foot on top of it. “I HOPE YOU’RE STILL LAUGHING BY THE END OF THIS, TORY! I KNOW I’LL BE!” Mendoza bellowed, his gnashing teeth and assaultive gestures re-opening his wounds.
Catherine had never seen Mendoza behave this way, at least, not to his own allies. Something wasn’t right, in a way that raised her hackles even if she wasn’t the one being punished.
Managing to find some indignant, ill-earned second wind out of sheer ignorance, Tory pulled his head from the foot he belonged under, and bellowed a challenge of his own. Mendoza replied with an inviting spread of his arms, and true to his nature as a Gorirat, Tory pounded the ground.
Pwow!
Bwoom!
Hearty shockwaves through the dirt that hit with sheer concussive force, before he leapt into the air for his strongest attack.
Mendoza watched as the silly simian came down towards him, rock hard fists and forearms doubled with juvenile rage. The man was more upset than he wanted to be. He knew it to be the case. However, he could not control the flow of actions around him.
He was a spectator to this fight, more or less. His reason had carved out a shallow nest in the corner of his mind, and let the rest of the faculties act unabated.
The shockwaves ripped through his body, each like falling from a building. He did not flinch, nor was he knocked back, as he had long been implanted with the diamond body passive.
Tory was coming down for his big bad attack, and that would injure even him without his armor. But the idiot was forgetting something. Something the dumb gorilla wouldn’t think about until its heavy arms slammed down on the active energy shield. The golden plates of defensive energy held his assailant in place, for the single second Mendoza needed to slam his foot into the simian’s chest.
Tory flew back up as high as he had leapt, hit his head on the high ledge of the base’s wall, and then slapped onto the grass like a lifeless bag of meat. Almost comically, he was left sitting on his ass with his back against the compound's barrier.
Catherine watched the whole thing play out as it logically would. A pang of sadness tugged at her golden choker. She had helped raise these two from the incubators, though they had been boxed for radically different time periods.
But before her, and before them, was the good of the family. The compound came first, and they had put themselves before it.
“Might I remind you, sir.” Catherine spoke up with her relic, giving Fwakka the Felbat as cold a side eye as she could manage, and the coward’s face began to pale. “That there are two-”
Whack!
Fwakka came to a rolling stop when one of the base pals, Minnie the Majex caught him before he could hit the hard wall. There were a lot of Pals gathering now. Curious faces, all making hushed chatter and spit balling about the possible cause.
Catherine shook her head. All this drama, over something as unnecessary as gluttony.
Her ears perked up just then. When she heard a subtle sound she didn’t expect to hear. It was the click of a weapon’s safety being flicked off. The hum of ancient technology pressurizing plasma in a paxolite casing.
“I’ll kill them all.” Mendoza’s face was cold, and vacant as he pointed his plasma rifle at Tory’s broken body. “Every. Last. One.”
“Myyaa!” Catherine was just in time to crash into him, pulling the weapon upwards before Tory could be torn in two.
Wet, melting red stone dripped from the base’s wall. Mendoza didn’t seem aware of what he had done for an entire, tense minute. For all that time, Catherine held him from behind, shocked but pleading in her embrace.
It wasn’t often that her tamer made mistakes. It was even less often that she would commit to correcting him. It wasn’t normally necessary, but such was her duty as the base’s lead Pal.
The rifle hit the ground, and shortly after, Mendoza fell to his knees. She still held him, pressing her plush coat against the taught muscles in his back. Her head was over his shoulder.
“Catherine.” He called for her, as he often does after a long day.
“Mow?”
“Box these two. Once we have the fluid, we’re changing Tory to a girl and giving him the serenity passive. Maybe it will make him less boisterous.”
“Mow meow.” Catherine answered.
He stood, and she stepped back, before turning to address the crowd of curious gossiping faces.
“The rest of you. False alarm. Catherine will brief you in the morning. Back to your beds,” Mendoza ordered, and his varying Pals began to trod back to their quarters.
He did the same with himself, leaving his cat to clean up his mess.
*~~~*
Mendoza was showering.
We could breed gilded Dumuds- no. I promised them no more. They winter underground, catching more- long trip, no cake. Same issue either way. Fishing won’t be easy once the frost comes in. Do I go south? Raids are more frequent as winter goes on. What about... Salvaging? Hunting...
His shower was in his watch tower. On the first floor, and above that was his bedroom and office. He did not think about the long flesh wounds that adorned his skin from shoulder to navel, though he did have the sense to clean them.
The water was icy, frigid in the night. He was cold, numbed further by the chill from an open window. None of it, not even the harsh gush of the showers on his raw flesh made it to his senses.
Mendoza was not doing well, though the idea hadn’t rung his register just yet.
It’s funny, really. That a man could be so focused on goals and strategy that he can forget that he is a man at all. Rather, he had become like a wrench made of bone, or a hammer made of stone. A catalyst for solving problems that wore him down with every use.
After scrubbing his body free of sweat, grime and blood, Mendoza stepped out of the shower and into the surrounding watch tower. A more slender, hectagonal two-by-two building with three floors.
He walked wet and nude up the unlit hardwood stairs. Until the sliding door to his room bumped his forehead. With a shoulder, he slid it back and passed by his work desk on the way to his bed.
Sat on the edge, he saw his own eyes in the mirror. His eyes saw the droplets of blood creeping from his cuts. His body felt the pain, the fatigue, but Mendoza was not his body. He was a hammer, or a wrench. He was whatever he needed to be to solve his problems, and save the world.
Now however, he could do neither. He was stuck. Pinned below the weight of tangling problems that he could not solve in good time. And if he could not solve these problems, then he was not a hammer, or a wrench.
In fact, if he could not save this place he had come to admire as early as morning dew, Mendoza did not know exactly what he was.
Knockknockknock
His reaction was fluid. One moment he was not seeing himself in the mirror, the next he was braced against a corner of his room, holding the makeshift pistol he had crafted a decade ago.
Mutiny was his first thought. The Pals had grown wary of his tyranny and would topple him and take-
A paw appeared from the corner of the door. The dip to the stairwell was walled, and terminated near the front of the room. His bed was towards the back, and he was ready.
“Mendoza?” The voice asked, and her paw waved, waiting to be acknowledged.
What’s her game? She’s seen my fraying first hand, and she is cunning. Too cunning. It only made sense for her to lead the revolution.
“Catherine.”
There was further silence, tense as his mind ran a hundred simulations of how he could incapacitate her. Melodic kitten chirps and the unique sound of ancient tech being manipulated by finely filed claws was his only hint to her next move.
“Do you want to pet your cat?” she asked, and to her relief, Catherine’s sensitive ears heard the man exhale after far too much time.
Catherine was not a Queen of many fears, and she did not think favorably of those who mistook caution for cowardice. She did not fear her leader, though she couldn’t help a few fuck-no jitters when she side eyed the barrel of a gun. The lead Pal moved at a leisurely pace as she entered the room from the closed stairs, being careful not to let her shock drop her oblations.
Stay calm.
She thought, now second guessing the quixotic quest she had sent herself on as the gun trailed the side of her head.
Sealed away in the highest tower...
She swallowed a lump in her throat and stole her nerves.
He needs help now more than ever.
Such was her duty as the lead Pal. Catherine came to stand before the master of the compound. In one paw, a plate of Mammorest steak that weighed two kilos. In the other, a cake.
Mendoza remained in one corner of the room. By the wall that closed the stairwell and left that little piece of real estate where he kept his old shoes. His hands were shaking, and he eyed her like a cornered Cawgnito.
She hated seeing him like this.
“Myow?” she asked, and sighed when he stayed there, unmoving.
Catherine set her plates down, turned on the room light and placed her paws on her hips. Mendoza finally reacted to the sear of his retinas under the bright overhead lights. He blinked, and suddenly he was a little more present.
“If you’re deciding whether or not to shoot me, might I invite you to a meal? Good decisions are seldom made on an empty stomach.”
But he didn’t answer.
Mendoza spent some time admiring Catherine, who stood beneath the weight of his pensive gaze wondering what he might be thinking. She was dancing at gun point, but it did little good to panic. If she lost her nerve she could end up spooking him, so instead she let the rhythm that came naturally to her take over.
Mendoza stared silently at her charming motion and pretty features, enchanted by the petals of her skirt rocking graceful friction over her buxom hips. Some say that Sekhmet were cursed by Anubis, when the hounds usurped their place as guardians of the Palpagos underworld. As such all their kin would be made to dance from cradle to grave. The more learned men say that large heads and thin necks, with flexible feline spines would be prone to dysfunction unless the load was shifted equally, and consistently.
Catherine was starting to lose her nerve until she heard the hum of an old song under her human’s breath. One he sang to match the motions of her dance. A song she remembered from a drunken celebration after he had avenged her eye with the defeat of the Victor and Shadowbeak. He had kissed her that night, deeply, and full of longing.
Then she hid away from him for the next two days, red in the face and confused.
They never spoke of it again.
Slowly, surely, the human in the room came back to himself. Looking around as if seeing the room for the first time. It was his bedroom, he realized. He had survived his battle within the World Tree barrier and made it home... and for some reason he was holding a gun.
“Catherine,” he called, a smile returning to him. He dropped the weapon, and stumbled over the old shoes in the corner.
“Yes, Mendoza?” she answered.
“You brought me food?” he asked, eyes twinkling like mischievous periwinkle. For a brief moment, Catherine heard the voice of the young man from so long ago.
“Meow,” she answered.
“Myow,” he mocked, in his gruff voice, with a teasing grin she was glad to see again.
Mendoza took on the gift of his meal like the weary traveler that he was. He made it to the bed, gripped the giant steak with both hands and ate with bites befitting the man of the mountain.
Despite the Mammorest in the room, Catherine found herself smiling as she captured her leader’s waistline in a towel. It wasn’t often one got to see a human’s genitals, and she always found his floppy nakedness a little too distracting.
It’s funny, he had done the same for her long ago. Back when she was a spicy feral sand kitten. The concept of bathing in water seemed like a hellish death, but a tactically deployed, extra cheesy Mozarrina burger held her still long enough to tolerate her fate. Now here she was, using the master’s teachings against him.
The short towel, and her human’s modesty secured, her nose brought her to his wounds. Fresh blood dripped from three skin deep gashes that traced him from shoulder to navel. She kneeled to get a closer look, spying no debris nor the scent of spoilage. It made sense, she had installed the idiosyncratic gene herself.
She would then get the med-kit from his wardrobe. Or at least, that’s what she thought of doing. Instead, Catherine lingered with her button nose near his wound. It smelled... nice. Iron, and copperish. Mendoza was a strong man, his blood equally so.
It was almost black, it was so dense.
“Go ahead,” he said, spying the feline staring with pupils dilated to dinner plates. He even stepped closer, and the moment he did he felt the tickle of her lapping tongue on his skin.
She was timid, and gentle the whole way up. Her purrs were like the hum of his wing-pack. Both the prod of her button nose and the brush of her soft ears reminded him of days long gone. It surprised him; that a touch could be so light. It was the first thing he actually felt in days.
When Catherine was done mopping the skin around his wounds, she had to pull herself away with a crimson Grintale smile. She held her body with her arms and made a soft whimper as her pupils narrowed and she came back to her senses.
“I apologize,” she said, with a bow, before tearing her gaze away from him.
“Is it getting worse?” he asked between bites of meat. He was always wary of the vampiric trait. He had used it to override her insomnia, per her request even. Now she was tireless, but he always wondered what the trade off truly was.
“It is, but not by much.” she fetched the med-kit, and a recovery potion. Mendoza finished his steak, and Catherine sat him on the bedside and kneeled before him before she began the wordless process of stitching his wounds closed. Medicine was not her strong suit, but little was out of reach of a sufficient intellect, and lots of practice.
Over the last decade, practice she had. Mendoza was always right next to his Pals in a fight, even if he was always less durable. In that time, his body had grown criss-crossed with scars. Some were mere discolorations, others were ugly welts of tissue. All of them were cherished memories to her.
While she stitched, Mendoza ate the cake with his hands. It was a special cake, a quarter the size of a normal one. All the Pals in the compound had come together to make it for him. He held the plate next to her head, and ate like an animal.
“We could have saved this flour, these eggs,” he said as he stuffed more into his mouth.
“Everyone worked hard to make it for you with whatever we could find. They are all very worried.” Catherine hoped those words would move him, but it was always harder to tell with his non-challant smile and unmoving ears.
“I don’t normally like sweets, but after two days on the wing, I’m starting to change my mind,” he said, taking on another mouthful.
“What happened to you, Mendoza?” she finally asked, before bringing her paws back to his wounds. He continued to eat his cake, and with her ears almost next to his mouth, the sound of his chewing made her features sour as she waited.
Mendoza finished the cake. It was delicious, but however tasty it was, it was gone now. Bite by bite, it had ceased to exist. Supposing, that is what he was running from. That every day he enjoyed the world, a little more of it was crumbling away.
He licked the icing from his fingers, the concern of his Pals not lost to him. Catherine literally spoke for the two dozen souls that gave life to this place. It made sense to take her words to heart. Despite that, he didn’t feel anything at the news of their concern, or the meaning of their gift. He didn’t feel the needle going through his skin, nor the tension in his body.
“Our base in the World Tree forest has been destroyed,” he finally said, trying and failing to remind himself not to move. “Grizzbolt and Mossanda clans decided they had enough of us hunting them for Holy-water extraction. I think they were watching me for a while. They attacked when I was scouting the far north.”
“Destroyed?” It made no sense. Raids were not unknown to her. They were actually quite common at their old base. It was after losing too much to a gang of black marketeers that Mendoza had moved to the mountains, where attacks were weak and sparse. “An attack? The guard-pals-”
“All dead.” Mendoza said, lifelessly, before he began working his fingers like a shy child might. “All the workers too. Catness, Wingsly, Jacob, Slack, Trimmer... Suel.”
“Suel is dead?” Catherine continued to stitch, her hands quicker than her brain could keep up with. Her eyes dewed and filled with moisture, but she continued her work, only stopping when the tears were too much to see. “Mroooow,” she whimpered, before trying to hold it in again.
“He was the last to go down, I think. Thirty of the raiders were dead on the inside of the base. They left some stragglers behind to kill me, I caught them divvying up his limbs.” His words opened little stab wounds inside her, but she appreciated knowing both his valor, and his fate.
Catness was a Cattiva, and the first Pal she had befriended on the old base. They had a falling out over Mendoza’s favoritism, but she still cared deeply for the old snaggle-toothed bitch. Suel was a Nitemary, and was her very best friend for many years. One of their strongest, he had flown away with Mendoza to work the new base.
Wingsly, Jacob, Slacker, Trimmer. They were all good friends that she had seen every day for years.
Then they were gone, and that was okay. Now they are dead, and she felt her insides twisting.
Despite the tears putter-pattering onto Mendoza’s towel, Catherine finished stitching all his wounds. Doing what needed to be done, despite her feelings. Such was her role as the right hand.
She bandaged him up, coated his stitches in salve, then wrapped his torso in off-white gauze. When she was done, she stood, grabbed a pillow off the bed and screamed into it. Oh my how she screamed. Not since she had lost her eye had Mendoza heard such grim caterwauling.
Silent paws paced about the carpet as Catherine drained her sorrows. She did so until she couldn’t anymore. Until all the tears were gone, and all that was left was rage.
Mendoza watched, unmoving. His heart broke for her, but his heart was already broken to a fine powder. There was something he should have done while she cried. Perhaps he’d have done differently if he were still a man.
Catherine turned to him when she was done. Incensed, she had opened her bad eye to leer. The scarred, grey orb peered his way, promising death onto their enemies. “I’ll summon our best fighters. We can all ride Panthalos and show them a proper raid!”
“With you at the helm?” he asked with a tilt of his head.
“With Ophydia’s tits at the helm! I don’t care who leads, but I want to watch them burn!” Catherine tossed the pillow down, ears pinned back and tail ramrod straight.
Mendoza chuckled, leaning back on his arms. When did things become so hard?
“We’re not doing that.”
Catherine recoiled, eyeing her leader as though he had truly lost his mind. She pawed at her device, the holographic runes reading her claw tips as much as her mind. “Mendoza, you’re not serious?!”
Oh, but he was.
Mendoza stood from the bed, feeling the itch of stitches and healing remedies working at his skin. “There’s no need. I already killed them,” he said simply. When Catherine began to type into her relic, he spoke again.
“All of them.”
She watched as the king of the compound swaggered his way to his work-desk. This desk faced a glass wall, and from here he could see the goings on of most of the facility. It was dark now, night time with a slivered moon and heavy autumn clouds.
“First I went after the Grizzbolt. Rained on their village with frag grenades. Killed all their warriors, then their workers, and then their children. Then I flew south, and slaughtered the Luxanda. I took my time with them. Peeled their fighters with my lazer sword till it broke, then I used all my arrows, then all my plasma cartridges.”
Mendoza turned back to her, arms out, looming as he stepped closer. “I killed every black and yellow bastard in that valley that ever had a wet dream about pissing lightning. I found every single one, killed them, even the ones that showed their bellies. Then I skinned them, and left their hides to dry in the old base.”
The two lingered on one another, both drinking in the sweet poison of revenge. Catherine was horrified, but satiated. This was her leader, and if she ever had to doubt why, this was a sharp reminder.
“Good.”
She said it out of anger, and didn’t doubt her choice of words until she watched him sit on the bedside, now holding the same tension she had seen when he almost killed Tory just hours ago.
He closed and opened his palms, huffed like a caged Direhowl. He gripped the sheets, whispered under his breath. He was in that moment again, in that space that let him slaughter innocents and enemies alike.
Catherine stared at the beast within her leader. The ambitious, but considerate boy who had earned her respect so long ago, now buried beneath the weight of the many lives he had taken, and that which were taken from him.
High tension nerves overrode the grief of what she had lost. She needed to do something, to say something, lest the stress fill her leader’s heart and kill him.
Mendoza started when Catherine’s knee rested on the bed next to his leg. Suddenly, she was close. The fur on her thighs mingled with his legs as she shimmied forward, and straddled his lap until the short, plush fur of her soft chest rested against his own.
A crimson crystal feline eye met equal with his glossy garnets. Despite her level gaze, he could feel a mousy tension in her hips, which switched and brushed across his lap as she failed to control her natural gyration. If she was even trying.
And he felt her there. Even if the whole world was white noise, he felt her heart pounding in her chest and the intimate embrace that brought the two drums together made his own join the rapid fire dance.
Mendoza found it silly that he felt so high strung. It wasn’t the first time they had shared a hug, though he did his best to keep a certain distance between himself and his Pals after... that night.
Catherine’s body made a diffident twitch as Mendoza’s arms came around her back. It was something of a dream of hers to be this close, despite the circumstance, she did her best to take in the moment.
She rested her head on his shoulder, and brought her arms behind his back before resting her weight on his knees, and lap. He stroked at her long black fur, and she caught his hand with her tail, threading the appendage between his fingers with prehensile precision.
“Hey Kitty,” he smiled, as a low purr began rumbling in his ears.
“You’re troubled,” she said, the relic behind his back.
“And you’re trying to comfort me?” he asked.
“Is it working?” Despite the monotone nature of the device, he could imagine her girlish tone. She quickly licked his cheek, just to drive the point home.
“It is.”
And it was. Each shallow breath drew longer, and longer. Catherine rode the slow rise and fall of his calming, happy that she was somehow enough to smother his worries.
“Do you regret it?” she asked, in the ensuing silence, shimmying her hips a little closer, so she could lean back and look him in the eyes. “Killing them?”
“Not for a second,” he said, but she could see it with her one good eye. The lingering asterisks stickering his resolve.
“But?”
“I...” He began, searching his mind in that way he couldn’t on his own. “I only wish I were there when it started. I could have saved them. Even worse, I flew off and wasted all my ammo. Wasted all the kills. If I were there, we’d have fought them off. We could have filtered their blood for holy water, and stored their pelts for leather. Instead, I stood on a mountain of corpses, and I was no closer to saving the Palpagos. Everyone died for nothing.”
“Don’t say that.” Mendoza winced when he felt her teeth on his ears. It was more ticklish than painful, and was followed by an equally gentle kitten kiss. “Don’t insult their sacrifices. Don’t insult your own sacrifices either.”
“But-”
“Don’t.”
She squeezed him tighter with her arms, and the big bad man of the mountain settled himself.
Comfort had become such an odd thing to him. He felt cushioned, weightless. Much like his time on the wing, Mendoza felt a little less real. In this solace, he could forget some of his troubles. Lean into the friction of her purr and let it fill his head. So weary was his burdened mind, and so soft her silky coat that even a mountain of a man could forget himself.
“Then what do I do, Catherine?” he asked, genuinely. The Queen in question had to hold back her surprise. “There’s no way forward, and no changing the past. What should I do?”
He was asking her? It was a new feeling for the feline. He trusted her to maintain things, build things, but she had always followed his direction. Now, he sounded lost, hanging on the hope that she might suggest some miraculous resolution to all his woes.
But there was none. All Catherine could say was what he needed to hear.
“You rest.”
“Rest?” He already knew it was the right answer. “How can I rest knowing what’s happening out there?!” He leaned away from her, met her gaze, pleading, searching for an alternative. “The whole world is crumbling down!”
Catherine rested her forehead against his own, again quelling his restlessness. Her little nose brushed against his, and her little heart was racing as she sensed the closeness of their lips.
“Try not to think that you’re wasting time, Mendoza, please. It’s like you said. We’ve been defeated, there’s no way forward. We’ll likely spend the next two years recovering and rebuilding. With our current resources, we can’t do anything but survive winter. That is the reality.”
“And you expect me to sit idly by?” he grunted.
“I expect you to recoup, consolidate, and create a new path. One step back means nothing if we can take three steps forward later.”
Mendoza’s mind whipped from one excuse to the next. Each time he’d look her way, and feel his indignance crawl its way back down his throat. Running off the edge of a dead end made no sense, that was true. Her way was the only real option.
“What else can we do?” she stared him down, watching as the last embers of his defiance, petered to a smolder.
“Rest?” The word just couldn’t settle in his mind. “Catherine.” He called, as he had for such a long time.
“Meow?” she answered with her voice.
“I’ve been fighting forward for years now.” He shook his head. “Stop? Rest? I don’t think I know how to do that anymore.”
Catherine giggled, a trickly chirping noise he had forgotten he enjoyed. Despite her mirth, her gaze was full of sympathy, admiration.
“It’s simple,” she typed, bracing resolve against the weight of what she planned to do. “First you breathe, and then you pet me.”
“Pet you?” Mendoza’s brows lifted high on his head as Catherine took his hands from her back, rested one high up on her thigh, and the other on the meat of her backside.
“Yes, right now.” Catherine had to fight her ears from pinning flat, the thought of things going awry now was a real and true terror to her. “Isn’t that enough? Just for the winter?”
“What?” Mendoza asked, his hands frozen in place. “I don’t understand.”
“Mrroooww,” the poor girl whined, kicking herself for thinking that a man named after a giant rock could take a hint. Her face was flushed beneath her thin yellow fur, showing as a pale orange across her cheeks.
The thought of bolting from the room crossed her mind, but as always, Catherine stood her ground. Outwardly, she closed her eyes, internally, she had to press herself against the obstacle that was his cute, stupid, innocent face.
Then it clicked.
“Do you remember the night that you kissed me?” She met his gaze again, but didn’t wait for his answer, her mind racing a mile a minute. “It wasn’t long after I lost my eye. Around that time, I felt so ugly I thought it had to be a drunken slip up. Even then, I’ve thought about it everyday since.”
“I thought you hated that,” Mendoza whispered, swimming in the regret that was that night.
“The idea that you could have any feeling but pity for my torn-up face seemed impossible. I hid away, because I knew it just had to be a mistake.” She drew closer, her hot breaths caressing his cheek as tenderness bunted his face and neck. Loud purrs from her throat rattled his ears, then she faced him once more, and let her lips linger a mere inch from his own. “Was it a mistake?”
...
It was.
Mendoza had regretted it every day since. Not for a lack of longing. He had a genuine admiration for his favorite feline. Rather, Mendoza regretted how it happened. How he had roughly caressed her body, and stolen her lips. That he had done it, and in doing so hurt her, and then buried both the moment and his feelings like a coward.
Now here she was, sitting on his lap, panting like she had climbed their mountain, waiting with baited breath for him to say anything at all, and somehow none of that had registered until now.
He must have taken too long to answer, so lost was he in trying to pick the right words. He didn’t notice that daring, intimate sweetness on her features as it wavered, and then fell.
“It’s... alright,” Catherine began, her ears drooping as she began to shuffle away from him. “I understand.”
But she couldn’t move.
It was like watching him wake from a dream, the way realization dawned on him. Catherine’s heart had already started to ache when the heavy handed man twirled her tail around his forearm like so much rope, and gripped the back of her head.
Their new first kiss was tentative, fearful. Both somehow fretting the other would take off. The second came shortly after, with heady breaths and relieved sighs that passed into each other’s lips. The third was deep, tilting heads and cupping cheeks while her paw beans explored his strong back and his powerful hands set about discovering every yielding curve of her body.
Then the dam broke. All the pretenses, the inhibitions, crumbled under the weight of their affection. Who they were, what they were. None of it mattered as she yielded to the attrition of a broad human tongue tasting her sharp feline fangs.
Then they pulled apart, and a string of spittle fell between them. The rise and fall of chests filled the room with excited cooing and gooing like proper mates do. Catherine felt like she was riding a cloud, so she set about saying what she had really come here to say.
“I don’t know what this means to you. You’re always so minimal with your words.” She kissed him again, just to keep his lips warm. “For me, I’m so happy it hurts.”
With her last vestige of courage, and burning florid cheeks, the sagacious Sekhmet tugged the tie on Mendoza’s towel free. Then yipped lightly when something hot and meaty sprang up to tap tap tap her achy sex with lively, ecstatic throbs.
It was getting harder to hold onto reason. All the trains of thought were racing off track and into the abyss of lust and need. They both glanced down again and again, to that scandalous friction.
Catherine reared up, sitting on her knees until she felt the head of his cock splitting her lower lips. She didn’t need any prep to take him. If she were honest, the all too keen kitty had been making a big wet spot on his towel from the moment she sat down.
“I hope this makes you understand that you’re not alone.” Happy tears dewed in her eyes and Mendoza looked up at her, positively stricken with whimsy. “If you die,” she lowered herself, wincing when the girthy human member breached her twitching slit. Somehow, she still managed to speak. “If you die, your world might end. But if you die, then my world ends, long before yours does.”
Mendoza’s heart beat like drumming Gorirat palms, actively bumping against Catherine’s paw.
“Mrrreermm,” she whined, tail twitching and body shuddering as she tried to press him all in. It hurt going down, and every time she thought she had it all, she found there was more to go.
“Take your time,” Mendoza hushed, bringing their lips together as Catherine steadily impaled herself on his sex, panting and mewling all the way down.
The man of the mountain was at her mercy. As for every way that she was soft and plush on the outside, she was just as squishy within. Nothing, not the whispers of children nor an Amione’s kiss could be so delicate as to warrant comparison to the grip of her flesh. He had long forgotten the nature of these things, and Catherine’s reminder was an overwhelming truth.
Droplets of liquid excitement dewed and crept down his shaft as she progressed, settling and soaking into the wrinkled skin of his balls. Catherine’s body fought the intrusion the whole way down, bombarding her lover's shaft with snug, twitchy tension that let her feel the shape of every vein and pore. She gasped when she felt his glands kiss something deep within her, and simply sat still as her body adjusted.
Mendoza was in the clouds, but he kept himself sober to every acute detail of the moment. His body, which was so accustomed to pain and hardship burst with a refreshing liveliness he had thought long gone. She couldn’t see his excitement through his silent mesmer, but like a pup wagging their tail, Catherine could feel his cock kicking and twitching inside her, and she couldn’t help a short chitter each time it did.
That said, though she might have been a fighter once upon a time, years of management, co-ordination, and maintenance had made her soft. She was a base Pal down to her bones now, and had the sort of complacently doughy figure that came with an administrative role. Even then, she was ashamed to be out of breath and close to orgasm after only just putting it in.
The fuck forlorn feline chuckled, and rested her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I will keep it warm for a while.”
They both laughed, and a moment’s respite from the choking tension was just what she needed to catch her breath. Never to be still for long, Catherine got to enjoy the sensation of her lover’s exploring hands. He grabbed and squished and kneaded her from toe beans to tail to thighs then onward. To the soft, fluffy fat on her chest, then onto threading through the petals of her skirt.
Then without warning, she sat up.
Schlrk.
“Mew,”
“Hnnr,”
They moaned, as Catherine fought against the seal her pussy had made around his shaft. Then she sat down.
Tcht.
Sparks raced through their bodies, an exciting, sanguine relief as pleasure reverbed through them.
Schlrp-Tcht. Schlrp-Tcht. Schlrp-Tcht.
Pace, and then rhythm, as the sensual Sekhmet’s body found the line between dance and love. She leaned back, one paw on his knee and grinded up and down, in and out, gyrating with fluid hips on a swinging axis that bombarded them both from every-
“Mrroow!” she sang, and Mendoza was pushed flat on his back as Catherine was taken by a rapturous sensation. It was hard to describe, a small rough spot inside her that blanketed her mind when hit just right. This wasn’t her first time having sex, and frankly she had often thought little of the process. That was, however, before she discovered her own G-spot.
Fwap-fwap-plap-flup-schwap!
“Mrew-mrew- Me!” she cried, changing from her cowgirl stance to a full squat-fuck. Incensed, she slammed the fat of her ass against Mendoza’s hips again and again. It made her ache inside, she was still new to this, but none of that mattered as she bared her fangs, gripped her partner’s hips and used his shaft to scratch an itch she could have never hoped to reach on her own.
“Aaah hell!” Mendoza grunted, reeling against his transition from this morning’s lack of sensation, to suddenly being forced to ride through the storm of Catherine’s assault. “Holy Hartalis, fuck!”
“Mroow, mrrroooow!” Catherine caterwauled, spit dripping from a corner of her lips as her hips dipped and picked one diagonal angle that set her body ablaze for five strokes before her knees clamped together and she fell back.
Mendoza, who was leaning on one elbow watching his sex disappear again and again, winced when Catherine fell back, legs up and knees together with his cock half lodged in her twitchy cunt. Droplets of musky, mineral scented fluid caught his cheek as he took the sight of her rich pink pantherine pussy, stretched out around his member for the first time.
Catherine purred, chittered and writhed in pleasure, her toes curling and splaying until another wave of ecstasy made her lift her hips. He drank in the sight of her bare twat quickly closing into a simple seam of short, fuzzy yellow fur.
Mendoza was a patient man, despite his recent issues with haste. Rolling stones and all that. There were however times, when a man could no longer be who they are, and instead had to be what they are.
He would have been glad to take things slow, but whatever sappy loving mishmosh had gotten him to this point was absent as he watched Catherine cum all over his stomach. His poor kitty was still riding the waves of her first proper orgasm when she was swept from his knees and placed onto her stomach with her legs off the bedside.
Plamf!
Catherine yipped when Mendoza slapped her backside, and without any real awareness of the motion, her hind-paws scratched at the carpeting below. Her tail puffed, twitched and flagged sharply to one side as she coiled her lower back up into a sinful queen’s arch.
“By the grace and power of Panthalus.” Was as much as he could think as he watched Catherine dissolve into a wanting puddle of lustful desires. The petals of her skirt had fallen back, revealing her thick, supple, violet blue ass and legs. The fat of her rear jiggled and shifted as the needy girl moaned and squirmed, waiting for him to mount her.
“You’re amazing!”
A euphonic trill left Catherine’s lips as her sex addled brain finally registered the returning prod of her new favorite toy. She couldn’t see beyond her own nose, but every thread of fabric on the bedsheets mingled with her fur in high definition. There was a hand on her ass, she wrapped tail around it, and moaned into the sheets when Mendoza reached even deeper inside her than her last ride.
It hurt, every deep stroke made her want to yelp with the way his sex prodded the back of her pussy, and yet she used her paws to spread her ass and left the fate of her guts to his mercy.
Mendoza answered her invitation, possessed at this point, strung along into the game of mammals by this wondrous, gorgeous girl.
Pamf-pamf-pamf-pamf!
Mendoza’s hardy hips and muscular legs fluffed mercilessly against Catherine’s cushiony, heart-shaped pillow of an ass. There was a flawless compliment in the ways their bodies differed, and the seasoned leatherneck took every chance to feel the gentle presence of her cushy body as he rapped at her sex with long winding strokes.
Catherine had to hold on for dear life now. She couldn’t even register the wild sounds leaving her lips. When she was in control, she was precise, fervent and fluid, whereas Mendoza fell upon her with all the grace of a landslide.
Long, swift strokes, drawing back to just the tip before churning her right back up to the hilt. Like herself, the bed rocked and squeaked under the pressure, slowly shifting to an odd angle until the frame was braced against the wall. The poor girl finally found a reason to love her fat ass, since it kept him at bay just enough for her to endure.
Perhaps she could take some blame for getting him riled up. He was, after-all, holding onto a lot. And while on a good day she’d hate to say he had a head full of rocks, the brute certainly fucked like it.
Despite her complaints, this was exactly what she wanted. All that stress, all that pain. She could feel it all being shared, with each heady grunt, and ripple of pleasure. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, she could finally take more of it away from him, and onto herself.
Mendoza leaned forward, bracing into her, shortening his thrusts as his blood came to a boil. Soon his lips were next to her ears, which flopped and twitched as they lightly brushed his face. She could sense it coming, all of his passion, his frustrations.
And this was enough. Being wanted, needed, useful. Such was the pleasure she took in being the right hand. It was more than she would ever ask for, as a Pal.
Until he went and ruined it.
“Cathuh! Cathaaa-, Catherine! You’re amazing!” He mumbled, suddenly sounding far too human. His breath in her hair, sweat dripping off his brow, the peculiar feeling of his balls knocking against her clit. “I love you!”
Somehow, in the cacophonic song of whimpers and murmurs, a sharp soberness struck Catherine from her sanguine trance. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. Not in her wildest dreams, at least.
“Hnng,” she heard, as her eyes rolled over in her head, and she was taken not by the simple stimulation in her loins, but by the butterflies in her belly.
Silly human.
Catherine thought as her reality peeled apart.
And your silly human words.
Again her legs locked together, and her entire body squeeeezed down on Mendoza’s member as she felt the first burst of his pent up seed soak her insides like hot pastry glaze.
Mendoza laid on her back, hilted to ride through the contractions of his kitty’s climax while exploring the scarred side of her face with his lips.
Catherine managed to find the last scraps of her senses, and turned her flexible neck enough for their lips to meet. She could feel all sorts of sticky, wet fluids mixing and matting into the fur on her inner thighs now. They both rode through her continuous waning grip with muffled cries of pleasure, to wuthering whimpers, then to silence.
It took some time for her to realize what had happened. After a few minutes of clarity, she couldn’t shake the feeling of nakedness and embarrassment. So she didn’t move, too timid to do anything at all.
Did he feel the same? Would a renewed clarity make him regret her? She had come here to be useful, and now she had been of use. Would he suddenly realize his mistake?
True to his nature, Mendoza swept her up without warning. She’d have been alright if she were deposited out the door, but instead he placed her lengthwise on the bed, and laid beside her. She felt blushing shame when she both heard, and felt a warm gush of goop leaking from her sex and onto the otherwise clean section of bedding.
She had never felt so vulnerable in her life.
Like an honest to goodness scaredy cat, Catherine hid her face in the sheets when Mendoza came at her with a clean rag to wipe away some of their mess. It was too embarrassing, so she snatched it away from him to swiftly clean herself before flattening against the sheets once more.
While she tidied herself, mister strongman shifted the bed back to where it belonged before laying next to her with a tired yawn. Then he held her, and rested her face on his chest. She hadn’t taken him for much of a cuddler, but she was glad to have her dower expectations betrayed.
They stayed like that for a long time, barely moving. Grief, sadness, joy, wonder, loss, hope. It all boiled together under their skins as they went over the day in their own minds. Both wondered what the other was thinking, until Mendoza broke the silence.
“Catherine,” he said, in a voice of lightness she hadn’t heard in years. “Catherine?” he called again.
“Hrmew?” she answered.
He had a big dopey smile on his face, that silly man. She looked up at it, wondering who it really belonged to. “I’m nobody’s poet. You’re a lot better with words than I am.”
“Mow,” she affirmed, as this was objectively true.
“I know, ha. I’d like to think of myself as an honest man, at least.” he sighed. “When I don’t want to say something, I keep quiet.” he drifted back to the ceiling. “Maybe that’s why I ended up surrounding myself with Pals. Less words, more action, understanding... but you’re not like that.”
Catherine waited, stealing occasional glances to his eyes, which seemed somewhere far away. “Mrow.” she hummed, coaxing him on.
“I bought you, I know.” He shook his head. “Fucked up world. It’s not fair, but I hope I never made you feel owned.” He came down from that place to look at her. “Never more than I had to.”
“Mew.” She reached a hand towards her relic, but thought better of it. Less words, more understanding. She kissed under his chin, and hoped that was enough.
His smile persisted, and that would be her lighthouse.
“You know I liked you from the start?” He suddenly admitted with a light bout of laughter, and she could feel his feet kicking like a school boy.
“Mra?!” she asked, genuinely surprised. He was so terribly distant at the start.
“You were so cute!” She liked seeing this side of him. “I sold everything I had the moment I saw you, still spent another three months paying it off. But honestly, once I had you, I had no idea what to do. I’m not good with feelings, or words, and I didn’t want to come off as some creep.”
Catherine chuckled. For sure, if he had expressed the slightest bit of such interest as soon as they met, she would have resented him like she had her previous ‘masters’. A title Mendoza never regarded himself with.
“After that day on the Astral Mountain... Your eye, and then that big raid. I realized I wouldn’t know what to do if you died or got captured, so I moved to where no-one could ever hurt you again.”
Catherine leaned up a bit, surprised to learn he had migrated on her behalf.
He leaned forward, and kissed her scarred cheek, and all her doubts lifted away. “I don’t even feel real right now.” He fell back. “All that to say, loving you isn’t new- it’s not what we just did. For years you’ve pushed me forward, and now I have you to reel me back in. Thank you.”
Catherine couldn’t find the energy to feel overwhelmed. She couldn’t even feel her legs at this point. Despite that, she drew herself up to his face, and licked his nose, his cheek, his eyelids and lips, purring all the while.
She thought of saying the same, of using her relic to repeat, reciprocate, but that didn’t sit right with her. It would be easy to echo his words, but despite loving him dearly, she couldn’t express it the same way.
So rather, she said what felt more natural. What could encapsulate her affection, and the role she liked to play.
“Do you want to pet your cat?” she managed, before drooping her head onto his chest.
“Hehe,” Mendoza smiled, wrapping his arms around her and drawing a gentle stroke across the blacks and yellows of her coat. “I do.”
*~~~*
Two days later.
*~~~*
Minnie the Majex was making his rounds.
Two days ago, both the leaders of their compound on the Frost-bound mountain had ascended the watch tower and then never came back. That left a vacuum, and in that void, he had convinced everyone since their lead pal was a cat, and he was also a cat, that made him the most qualified to tell everyone what to do.
And they actually bought it!
Antics aside, he had a plan. A large plate of Broncherry fried noodles in one paw, and a big bowl of French-fries should keep the two in their tower for another few hours. He had been making these deliveries from the start, which would ingratiate him with their leaders, and kept him in charge for a while longer.
Now, the cold late autumn air cast his breaths as a thick white fog that made his eyes a little colder as he walked through it. He was on the way to make his sacrifice to the tower, from the kitchen in the back, through the barracks, the gazebo, and then ascending the stairs. He made it to the first floor and had to stop in his tracks when he found...
“{Good Morning, Minnie.}” Catherine was a big cat. A head taller than Minnie at least, though her stature didn’t amount to much when laying on her back on the first floor, her legs still up on the staircase to the bedroom.
Seemingly in a trance of some sort, she didn’t bother looking at her compatriot. She was so at ease, unbothered, suspended in a state bordering on liquid. “{So you were the one delivering our food. Thank you.}”
“{Think nothing of it, boss.}” He almost dropped said food when he caught a whiff of her scent, which was much like an untidied breeding pen. “{What are you doing down there?}”
“{I came to check if you’re all alive.}” She yawned, closing her eyes with sleepy whispers. “{Are you alive?}”
“{I think so.}” Minnie smirked at the completely alien demeanor of the normally very serious feline.
“{Good enough,}” Catherine said, rolling onto her side.
Minnie chuckled at her laxness. “{Was it everything you imagined?}”
“{Hmm?}” Barely above a whisper.
“{Your knight in shining armor. The one you always went on about. The one that would whisk you off your feet and fly away. ‘Oh, I don’t have time for little base cats, there’s bigger fish to fry.’}” He mocked, calling on a past rejection that still stung just a tad.
“{So you know?}” she asked, as bothered as the mountain is by the wind.
“{Everyone knows.}” Minnie adjusted his plates, the food growing heavy in his paws. “{Me first of course, I was watching through the big window wall. Then a bunch of us piled onto the ledge, it broke, and we all fell.}”
“{Are you hurt, Minnie?}”
“{Nope, everyone fell onto Nubo, broke both his legs.}”
“{That’s good.}” Catherine stretched, her only sign of life before she returned to her puddled state.
Minnie couldn’t help but laugh. “{So it really was like everything you imagined.}”
“{Better than what I imagined.}” She opened her eyes now, a smile of real, true, inner peace. “{It was real.}”
Minnie was startled when a rumbling force began down the stairs to the bedroom. He fidgeted with the bowls as Mendoza, man of the mountain, came to a stop next to his second in command.
“There you are, I thought I lost you.” He said with a bright smile as he picked up Catherine in a gentle bridal carry. The benevolently bundled feline bunted her brawny beloved’s cheek and kissed his neck, breaking into a loud, affectionate purr. “Sneaking off to work?”
And she was acting all cushy kitty, right in front of Minnie! Right in front of his French-fries! It made his face red, and Minnie swallowed a lump when the giant of a man’s eyes fell upon him.
“Minnie, Good Morning.” Mendoza nodded, acknowledging him. “Thank you for the food, take them up to our room and then warm the water tanks.”
“{The water is already warm, sir,}” he said, and Catherine reached for her relic to translate.
“Good, great. Bring those up then, thanks,” he said, sliding open the bathroom door and trading hushed laughter. Minnie was no fool, he knew a happy couple when he saw one. Still, his boss was an out and out cat person. Sooner or later, there'd be other fish on base for him to fry.
“Oh and Minnie,” Minnie stopped, one foot on the staircase. “Tell the other Pals there will be no work today, and tomorrow. Only the essentials.”
“Nyow?” he asked.
“Rest, Minnie.” He traded knowing smiles with Catherine, who nodded her approval. “Tell them to rest.”