Now I was being led out along the walkway, towards what at first I’d thought was a natural cave archway. The arching top of the entrance might have been original to the space, but the rest certainly wasn’t. Stone sinks hugged the wall, six in total, with a hand pump and a crystalline bucket in the middle of them. I stared in awe as someone pumped the handle and steaming water came out. Stinking slightly of sulphur, mind you, but clear and definitely a bit steamy. After filling the bucket, the person I now guessed was female, thanks to her smaller, softer build and small, rounded breasts, poured the water into a sink containing dirty dishes already in some water, returned the bucket to the hand pump, and began to clean them.
Gree-Gree marched up to one of the empty sinks and quickly unloaded the basket he’d carried the dirty dishes in into it, stuffing a bit of cloth into a hole in the back of the sink at the bottom, which appeared to empty into a channel that ran along the bottom of the wall, draining into a hole which led to goodness knows where, judging by the wet marks underneath the other sinks. Next, he walked over and began pumping water into the bucket. I was oddly reminded of one summer when I was around eight, maybe nine years old, and my dad borrowed a tent from a friend and took us camping at a campground. There had been a communal dishwashing area similar to this, only with much more modern sinks and plumbing. Totally the same vibe though, and now I was wondering how they got the water into the pipes from wherever it led to. And did they have different sinks to wash themselves in? Or tubs? Or was there a giant hot spring like the ones I’d seen pictures of in Japan? Or did they tongue bathe, since they were basically giant, furry cats? I hoped not, because I was definitely not going to lick all the sweat and dirt and whatnot off of myself. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to reach some of the places that would need cleaning, even if I wanted to, which I didn’t. Nuh uh. Not after getting all gross while on the alien ship and then wearing their pongy ass clothes as protection, especially.
I had a sudden terrible thought. I knew I didn’t smell particularly fresh, but how much worse did I smell to Gree-Gree and the others? Shit! The way their noses twitched as I stood or walked by them… I had to smell absolutely foul! I stalked over to where Gree-Gree was filling the bucket a second time and caught his attention before pointing to the water and miming washing myself. He slashed his hand through the air in what looked to be a negative response, the growling words falling from his mouth sounding adamant. But was it a “No, we don’t bathe here,” or a “No, we don’t use water to wash ourselves,” or something else?
I chewed my lip, trying to decide which it must be, and coming up empty. In the meantime, Gree-Gree cleaned up everything we’d used for our meal and placed them back in the basket we’d brought them in, removing the rag from the hole he’d stuffed it in, and wringing it out before placing it inside the basket with them, neatly folded along with the cloth he’d used to scrub everything. He held the basket out to me wordlessly, and I took it. Then he picked up the other basket, the one he’d put more cloths and bits of clothing in, like when my dad took me to the men’s showers at that same campground. And duhhhh… I should have made that connection before! So his response must have been a “No, not here,” and he was about to take me where the showers or whatever were.
“Rah-bee,” he rasped, gesturing for me to follow him, which I did because shit, I’d be lost without him.
We walked back towards his home, only stopping for him to take the basket from me and pop it inside his door before leading me further down, around a bend, and oh wow. Ahead of us was a grotto of sorts, with a trio of natural pools. Each pool varied in size, edges smooth and invitingly rounded as if coaxed into shape by many years of patient attention.
Steam rose languidly from their surfaces, curling into the air like ghostly serpents dissipating into nothingness. Crystal clear waters beckoned seductively under flickering torches embedded within the stone, providing ambient light as it reflected in the water. The scent was invitingly earthy, combined with a hint of sulphur that somehow only added to its raw allure. I couldn’t wait to shed my clothes and join the others bathing there, and so I looked at Gree-Gree, hoping he’d show me where to go and what to do.
He smiled, tilting his head to indicate a direction he wished me to follow, leading me to the smallest pool at the very back of the grotto, which was unoccupied. He settled the basket of clothes on a bench carved into the cave walls, removing the large swaths of fabric I now realized must be towels of some sort. He placed them on the bench and began removing his boots and clothes, and I hurried to do the same. He then took me by the hand, leading me to the pool’s edge, and I noticed he held a smaller wad of cloth in his other hand, along with what looked like a cake of soap.
He sat down at the pool’s edge, then slid in, and I saw the water here only went up to his waist. I dipped a toe in and shivered in delight. The water might smell like eggs that had seen far better days, but it was deliciously warm.
“What the hell,” I muttered to myself and followed his lead, sitting on the edge before lowering myself in. A bath was a bath, and ohhhh, shit! The water felt sooooo good! It was the perfect temperature, the heat seeping into my bones, chasing the last of the chill away.
13
GRIGHRI
We eased into the water, the liquid heat slowly making every muscle in my body loose, though my senses remained sharp, attuned to my smaller companion. He relaxed slowly, first arms and shoulders, then legs stretching and toes fanning under the water. He closed his eyes, head rolling on his neck, a faint smile playing over his lips. Only then did I realize how the constant cold and uncertainty must have gnawed at him until now. He looked so small in the pool, shoulders just breaching the surface, his skin weirdly pale and smooth next to my own pelt. I marveled at the fragility of his species - not only furless, but blunt toothed and with no sign of claws, unlike my own retractable ones. His smallness was cute, and I had to bite back the urge to ruffle the short mane on his head.
He turned, catching me staring. "Ey," he said, then pointed to his own hair and made a rubbing motion over his head. I watched for a few seconds, not quite sure what he wanted. Then he pointed at me, then back at his head. Ah. He wanted help washing it. I should have realized, seeing as that was why we were here, to wash.
I shifted over and took the cloth I'd brought, wetting it and rubbing some of the cleanser onto it. I could smell the tang of him, sweat, fear, that dry and slightly sweet undertone of starvation, layered over the burnt-metal note from the carcass of the great metal grak’s death. Not as pungent now that he was out of his clothes, but still distinctly foreign. I urged him to dunk his head, and he did, dipping down into the water and back up. I smiled in approval, taking the cloth and running it through his hair, using my fingers to work the cleanser on it through the strands so the skin beneath was seen to.
There was something underneath all the grime and the sourness, something bright and alive and hot. I gripped the edge of the pool to steady myself, heartbeat suddenly thudding against my ribs. The scent, it was like catching the echo of a song I knew but hadn't heard in years. I sucked in a deep breath to steady myself, then resumed washing his hair gently, working my fingers through the tangles with care. Rah-bee hummed, eyes closed, and leaned into my touch as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. I focused on the line of his jaw, the vulnerable slope of his neck, the way his shoulders hunched when I put down the cloth, cupped my hands, and poured water over his head to rinse the suds away.
“Thahnk kyoo,” he said, reaching for the bar of cleanser. He rubbed it in his hands, lathering them up, then rubbed his face, neck, and chest. “Shootuh. Ay should uv uzed thuh wahsh clahth. Ah weyl, gud enuf, “ he added before dunking himself back under and back up. He smiled up at me happily, and I became undone.
My people shared communal baths, and it wasn’t unusual to assist a friend or family member if asked, so this shouldn't have done anything to me. I was supposed to be keeping this odd little male safe until we found the rest of his stolen people, or the Sky Gods came and took him home. Instead, my pulse was spiking, heat that had nothing to do with the warmth of the pool creeping along my skin, and something old and instinctive wanted me to sink my teeth into his shoulder and claim him as mine, even as my cock stirred.
I forced my hands still. Was this why I had felt so compelled to rescue him? Had I known, on some level, that the universe had rolled the bones and matched us? That was how it worked for my people, and our mating pull was as undeniable as it was permanent. When it happened, it overrode almost everything else. Was it the same among his people? He was not of this world, and I had never heard of one of my people mating with one of the Star People. They came, and they left, always. Though the stories of the Star Demons with their stolen peoples always were just that, stories the Star People we knew told. The Demons would land their graks and fly them away again.
Would Rah-bee find a way to fly away from me? I tried to calm myself with slow, even breaths as the thought sent a sense of panic through me, but the more I tried, the more I scented him - the cleanser and water, yes, but also the raw, pure scent that said alive and frightened and full of unknown hungers. It filled my lungs, made my tail flick and coil under the water. I reached out before I could stop myself. My hand spanned his shoulder, the muscle and bone so much more delicate than my own, but he didn’t pull away. He just looked at me, eyes wide, lips parted as if ready to ask a question I wouldn’t be able to answer even if I could understand him. My other hand came up, cradling the back of his head. He blinked, but didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem to tense at all.
I realized, in that instant, that I could easily snap him in half. One quick squeeze and I could crush his skull or break his ribs or shatter that fragile wrist. I’d never felt so dangerous, or so careful, in my life. The realization made my claws want to slide out to keep him safe from imagined danger, but I kept them sheathed. I kept everything sheathed.
He was shivering, but not from the cold. We were close enough that I could see the pulse beating in his throat. His breath was short, his pupils wide and dark. He was waiting. For what, I wasn’t sure, maybe for me to let go, maybe for me to do something catastrophic. I was a predator, and he knew it, and right now, he was most definitely my prey, and I’d caught him.
I drew him in, slow and gentle. My tail came up from behind, coiling around his ankle, testing, and when he didn’t resist, I squeezed just enough that he would feel it, just enough that he would know: this is mine. His head lolled, lips forming a silent o of surprise, but still, he didn’t fight.
We stayed like that for a long time. I could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, could hear the wild rhythm of his blood through the fragile vessels just below the skin. Every instinct screamed at me to bite, to claim, but I held back. He’d never forgive me if I moved too fast, and neither would I.
Instead, I pressed my forehead to his, letting the vibration of my purr work through his bones. He gasped, flustered, and his hands scrabbled at my arms. But not to push me away - he was gripping, holding on, as if the earth might buck him off if he let go.
His voice was trembling. "Gree… Gree-Gree?"
I closed my eyes, savoring the way his tongue shaped my name. I had been right, then, to hope for it. I licked the water from his cheek, a careful, grooming gesture, and was rewarded with a sound from his throat that was pure pleasure and mortification tangled together.
I pulled back, searching his face for anger, for rejection, for anything that would give me an excuse to let him go. Instead, his gaze was fixed and clear, the panic replaced by something raw and yearning. He wet his lips and ducked his head, mumbling words that sounded like a curse and a prayer to some unknown god smashed together.
There was a moment, a single, crystalline moment, when I could have stopped, could have said no, could have told him that this was a terrible idea. But I didn’t. I reached for his hand and placed it on my chest, over the steady, pounding beat of my heart. His fingers splayed wide, and I wondered if he could feel the tremor that ran through me.
He moved both his hands then, making small, uncertain movements, as if trying to learn by touch alone what I was. I let him, as much as I could, knowing his injured arm would still be tender. He touched my throat, then my jaw, then my ears, which flicked under his fingers and made him smile in genuine delight. I let him discover, little by little, the truth of me.
