Nine Years Ago: PT II
He had surprised her in her own home before she had even awoken, sitting as still as a stone on that wooden stump and merely watching her sleep. The yautja had brought a few of his own hunting items that he sought to enjoy during this expedition, and even though they were mostly overkill for the simple prey in the region, it gave him an excuse to showcase his versatility.
She had aroused with a fright at the enormous shadow preying at her bedside and it earned him a small iron pot being launched at his forehead, which he promptly caught.
"By Freya," she breathed after recognizing it was him invading her home. "What are you doing here so early? I had given you my farewell."
She groggily sat upright, unaware her shift had rolled off one shoulder and exposed a full breast to him. As she rubbed at her bleary eyes, he tilted his head and said nothing. It was his first time seeing any of her bare skin underneath her layers of garments…it wasn't anything extremely enticing after seeing many a bare-chested yautja female. Although…it did look very squishy.
When the female would finally come into her cycle (for he assumed they had a breeding pattern like yautja did) and he would rightfully claim her as was his practice, he would be more than…curious, as to its texture. She thrust the pelts aside (making it jiggle!) and abruptly paused as the fur brushed her nipple. A glance down, and she suddenly whirled around to expose her back to him.
"I am going to ask you to leave!" she snapped, her drowsy demeanor spooled into a raging tempest.
Leave? Why would he leave when he was waiting on her to begin with? The yautja was looking forward to venturing out of the area once again after being cooped up during the long winter months.
She threw a look over her shoulder that any living being with some minor intelligence could interpret as livid. It pricked under his own skin at the sudden, and undeserved, hostility. Za'ytaele stood from his seat, dramatically puffing himself up to fill the space with his arms bowed at his sides and his back arched forward.
"No. Leave." Her recorded voice only slightly diminished his threatening aura. He pointed a single talon down to the packed dirt flooring at his feet. "Stay."
She blew out an annoyed huff as she went about fixing her appearance before standing her ground before him. The shift came slightly past her thighs, the bottom hemming frayed from years of assumed use. He was granted another sight of her creamy white legs. She looked just so…soft!
She pointed her own finger like a dagger at the door behind his back, her small teeth bared in a snarl as she barked up at him. "You may stay once I have left! This is improper! Have you no manners?!"
Her words confused him, making him visibly deflate. What was she so upset over? Manners? She had never prompted him to leave before, so why was she suddenly doing it now? He would rectify himself if she only told him what he didn't understand.
"Go!" she snapped.
Before he could react, a sharp knock rapped at her front step. They both looked to the door.
"Who visits at such an hour?" she questioned loudly.
Za'ytaele scented the air, unsheathing his kci'ta-pa with new fury coursing through him. It was the rival.
"It is Onem," a muffled voice answered.
The yautja paid little attention to his spat with the female as he turned around to address the matter himself. This was his female, uncourted or not. He would put this male in his place and-
"No! What are you doing?!" she hissed in a low voice as she suddenly came around to block his path. "He cannot see you!"
Za'ytaele growled, tapping a claw on her chest. "Mine."
Her expression took a strange turn, her pale skin blooming a deep red. He tried to take another step to make her move, but she drew herself flush against him with her hands laced tightly over his biceps, her head tilted back to look up at him with desperation. The close contact was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He could feel her breasts tucked close to his lower torso…they were squishy!
"I will send him on his way," she whispered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, drawing his eyes to zero in on her weird mouth. "Just…please be quiet."
A sharp click was given in response to her request. He was mildly distracted by the feeling of her body weight leaning into his own, dissolving his hot anger against the rival into a brief stagnation. He grumbled as she ushered him to stand in the corner.
"Please hide, as you do," she requested.
Za'ytaele crossed his arms with defiance, keeping his kci'ti-pa distinctly displayed across his broad torso. He refused to cloak! He would not hide like some prey animal from this lesser ooman male-
A pelt from her bed was suddenly tossed over him, darkening his world instantly. A surprised squawk left him at the sheer audacity she displayed. He must look ridiculous!
"Do not move," she instructed firmly before he could rip the covering away. "…or there will be no more honey from me."
That was…a cheap threat. He muttered a yautja curse under his breath as he heard the door creak open, the two oomans speaking quickly and faintly.
"I have already given you my answer…and so has my father," the female said in clipped tones. "There is no need for you to visit my hearth anymore-"
"Was it Sighvat?" the male abruptly cut in.
Za'ytaele bristled and flexed the powerful sculpted muscles of his arms at how this rival spoke to her.
"No. It was not. And that is none of your concern," she replied with cool airs. "I bid you your leave."
The door began to swing closed, but the sound of a hand slapping against it prevented it from closing completely.
"If we could simply speak-"
"There is nothing to speak of!" she growled, frustration creeping into her tone. "You will find what you seek at Estrid's doorstep, not mine!"
"I do not want Estrid-"
"And I do not want you!" There was a tense moment of silence, and then her heavy sigh. "Please, Onem…respect my wishes."
The moments ticked on as the yautja silently raged underneath his hiding spot. His sharp hearing and sense of smell could draw an internal picture of the rejected male sulking back to the main hub of the village, leaving them alone once more. Za'ytaele ripped the pelt away, simmering in his wrath as he watched her quietly close the door, her mood visibly soured.
"Improper," he played, drawing her distant eyes back to himself. "Not. Respect. You." He pounded his fist against his chest like a beat of a war drum. "No. More. Onem."
She blinked, piecing together the clips of her own voice before her eyes widened in understanding. "You cannot kill him!"
He stalked towards her. "You. Not. Want. Onem."
"I do not," she affirmed.
He beat his paw to his chest again. "Kill. Onem."
Za'ytaele was baffled at her reluctance to his suggestion. A yautja female wouldn't hesitate to maim an incompetent male over the refusal to mate, especially one that was foolish enough to continue his paltry advances. He would gladly rip his spine out and present it to her if she so asked, for it was nothing less than he deserved for blatantly insulting her.
She came forward and gently placed a palm over the curled fist on his chest, stuttering his heated growls. Her hand was so remarkably tiny in comparison, her fingers barely brushing his knuckles.
"Please do not kill him," she implored in a much softer voice. "He is not worth your time."
The yautja huffed, turning to the side as he scowled. He adjusted the pitch of her voice to end it in the form of a question. "…worth your time?"
Now she smiled; that strange little ooman expression that meant she was pleased. "You would not be standing in my home if you were not…" she then added under her breath as an afterthought, "you insufferable fool."
Za'ytaele beamed with smugness. "I. Stay. I. Worth. Time."
He then retracted the blades into his gauntlet, took a seat back on the stump in the middle of the room, and proceeded to wait as he did before. When she stared at him, he waved a claw at her.
"I. Stay. Hurry. Leave."
She fidgeted, her fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of her shift. "…I need to dress."
Another wave of his claw. "Dress."
He watched her, but didn't indicate any motion to depart. She eventually pursed her lips tightly and moved past him, and before he could turn his head to watch her, the pelt was thrown over him for a second time.
The excursion to her campsite was underwhelming. Sometimes, out of sheer boredom, he'd let her pack mount gain a considerable distance between them and then proceed to stalk her to gauge her instincts. More than a few times she would pause and briefly look around, the itch under her skin evidence to her ancestor's passed on traits of survival. She never found him, of course.
That first night shared around the same fire and under the stars sought to him evaluating her gear. Perhaps they lent to her failed efforts at being a notable hunter? She only watched him, a piece of salted meat being chewed at her lips while he carefully inspected her hunting equipment with the collective experience gained over centuries of hunting.
He unsheathed the sword she always carried but never wielded, twirling it expertly and with an inhumane fluid grace. It was…well crafted, for an ooman. Impeccably balanced and deceptively light. The markings in the handle and design of the blade itself were appreciated even by his standards.
"It is my father's," she explained as he held it upright with a curious trill. "It was his father's before him, and then his before him. It has been passed down our line, and will…continue to be." She sucked her salted fingertips and looked into the fire. "I am not a good swordswoman, but I carry it with pride, nonetheless."
He respectfully placed it back in its leather holding before moving on to her bow. This one he was not so enamored with. The wood, although well carved, was brittle with age. He ran a fingertip gently along the curved frame, feeling the minuscule fissures that were impossible to be perceived by the human eye. It would eventually give, sooner rather than later.
"It was a gift…from a long time ago," she said rather quietly, as though the memories were still being replayed before her eyes. "…I was the best archer in the village-"
He grumbled. He very much doubted that.
"-and then, I soon wasn't," she professed with shame.
Something in her tone made his head cock to the side, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't further wish to elaborate, he chittered and placed the weapon back beside her. Za'ytaele had taught many youngbloods and had even taken a few mentees under his wing that had proven worthy of his time and advice. Surely if he could refine their skills, then he did not see why he couldn't with her.
When they made it to her hidden outpost in the cave beside the babbling brook, he promptly took a seat on the earthy floor and waited while she unpacked to prepare for her stay during the coming weeks.
A carefully sealed jar caught his eye, and no sooner had she turned her back to him did he stealthily reach a single claw out to snatch it for himself. The tip barely scratched the surface before she spun around to smack at his paw.
"That is not for you," she said firmly.
He delivered a dark scowl from behind his mask. "For. Me," he replied just as resolutely, planting one hand over her entire face to keep her at bay as he scooped it up. "Mine."
She encircled her smaller palms around his wrist to move his hand away with what could be considered valiant strength…if he weren't a yautja. "That is to be set for my traps!" she retorted.
He chuffed indignantly. He would show her how to lay real bait. It was absurd to waste such an invaluable commodity over something like prey. He shuffled his back to her so as to prop his mask up and place the little container between his mandibles. A raucous commotion ended his enjoyment prematurely, and he refitted his gear so as to glance over his shoulder.
"No," she commanded, pressing that little warm palm against him as he moved from his spot. "You stay. I will return." Her face flushed an interesting rosy color as she dropped her eyes and faltered with her assertiveness. "I am going to bathe."
He trilled, tugging at her cloak. "Bathhouse!"
"For me, not-"
"Bathhouse. Help. You. Require."
"I do not!" she squeaked, the rush of blood to her head making him slightly nervous. "When I am done, I will show you where it is."
"Show. Bathhouse," he retorted. "I am going to bathe. You."
She stamped a foot, startling the horse just outside the entrance. "You are going to remain here, am I clear?"
The yautja clicked the tips of his talons around his little treat. Without another word, he set it aside to make his own way out of the cave. She did not attempt to stop him or question his motives as he quickly disappeared through the foliage.
The 'bathhouse' was easy to find.
A natural hot spring, encased by smooth stones and large enough to comfortably fit five to six yautja males. It was within a ten-minute walking distance (by her pace, he estimated) and situated in an open clearing with the backdrop of the stunning snow-capped mountains in the distance. Its thick curtain of steam promised temperatures to his liking, and as he methodically began to strip his armor and carefully set it to the side, he considered removing his mask.
No. He would leave it. He was sure to see her shortly.
The Elite dipped right in, a delightful purr echoing from within the pit of his core at the natural refreshment. He waded around, sinking nearly to his neckline in a certain spot, and so he submerged.
A disturbance in the water made him slowly resurface, only half of his mask revealing itself to the naked female wading towards him. He then arose completely, making a showcase of his glorious physique.
She jumped and swiftly grabbed her cloak from the rocks and held it to her chest, her fright at his sudden surprise appearance palpable. "I have told you-!"
The covering was then promptly dropped, exposing her nudity again before him. Her eyes went wide, her jaw went slack, and her attention focused solely on one thing.
The yautja stood there, wholly naked such as herself, his well endowment on full display for her to take in. He took slow steps towards her as she kept her entire focus on his lower half. Was he that much different from an ooman male?
The cloak drifted towards him on the surface of the water and he picked it up, noticing her head tilt to the side to keep track of his gifted qualities when the fur got in her line of sight. A faint waft of a new smell trickled by his senses and he inhaled it deeply. It was arousal. The closer he came, the more her head tilted to keep it in her full spectrum of vision, as though she were a simple moth drawn to an open flame. When something from his hand was presented to her, she blinked rapidly, snapped her jaw closed with a click, and sheepishly glanced upwards at his mask.
"Hrm-? W-what?" she stammered, finally looking at the object he waggled for her to take.
It was the brush from the bathhouse.
"You took this?" she attempted to scowl, but the massive bulge in her peripherals flattened her anger as she became entranced once again.
"Bathe," he requested, still holding the wooden end out.
She slowly took it as more of a subconscious action, and then she motioned down to his genitals. "…may I…touch it?" she asked in a painfully shy manner.
The Elite took his own moment to become stunned at her words. First, she couldn't bear to even catch a glimpse of it, and now she wished to…touch it? Was this an ooman female's approval to mate?
He studied her intensely for another minute, scenting that allure in the air. With a nod of his head, he held his hands down at his sides, waiting for her to initiate their mating. Every female he ever bred would always take the lead, and so he respectfully stood still as she reached out to make the first contact.
The first brush of her fingertips down his length made his spine tingle. They were so careful and curious, brushing over every ridgeline and bump that constituted a yautja male's penis. It was well lubricated from being inside his sheath, faint lines of clear ooze spider webbing into the water.
"Am I hurting you?" she asked cautiously, her eyes half-lidded and body posture much more relaxed than he had ever previously seen.
He shook his head, beginning to rumble a purr to let his comfort be known. He hadn't been touched in such a way unless he was deep inside a female, so to have her little ministrations all over his cock without any actual end for release was maddening. Beads of precum began to leak from his blushing tip that emerged from within, and she would slowly swirl it along the tapered head with the pad of her thumb.
Paya! When was she going to allow him to proceed with his end?! He wanted to buck his hips into her hands as she cupped both palms around the sides and began to stroke downwards, the pressure still too light for any real satisfaction. He let out a hiss of pleasure when she brought both up to his small pink tip and squeezed it, making her instantly release him.
"I-I am sorry," she began to stammer, and her eyes suddenly lost all of their desire as she spun around to leave.
The yautja panicked. She thought that she had hurt him! He splashed great droves of water as he rushed towards her before she could dress. Payahelp him, she couldn't just leave him like this!
"I do not know what overcame me," she said thickly as she began to climb over the rocks. Her wet hair slapped against her breasts as she turned away from his imploring claws that beckoned her back. "I am unspoken for. We-we should not be doing this."
Unspoken for?! In what way? He was speaking for her at this very moment!
"Hunter. Want." He nabbed her clothing before she could regain her modesty. "Hunter. Want. You. Mine."
She bit her lip, the indecisiveness thick in the air. Za'ytaele took a step back. He knew better than to press a female when she was unsure, and considering he hadn't exactly proven his worth to her, she had every right to refuse him.
…she was the first female to ever do so, and it didn't go without bruising his ego.
Her arms crossed over her chest, her brilliant blue eyes silently watching for his next move. The Elite looked to the side, reached for the floating brush she had dropped, and waggled it at her.
"Bathe?"
To emphasize his point, he sat down to cover away his distracting qualities, the water lapping gently around his middle. She gingerly took ahold of it a second time, and then slowly nodded her head. He shook his dreads to spill over his shoulders to reveal the length of his spine to her, and he released a rumbling purr as she began to clean him. More than once, he felt her fingertips wander across his shoulders, the trepidation and curiosity in their findings adding to his desire for her.
Even so…she still wouldn't let him scrub her.
Thunk
Za'ytaele shook his head, his many ornate jewelry affixations in his dreads tinkling together. With a stern cross of his arms, he gave a faint click of disapproval at her terrible accuracy. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the backside of her forearm, her displeasure at her own shortcomings clear. The yautja was becoming frustrated at her lack of progress- even with his help in adjusting her aim, she somehow still missed.
The lone hare had bounded away deep into the recess of the forest, once again forcing her to track it down.
By this point, she had simply ceased voicing her complaints and merely trudged on ahead with a stubborn attitude. Za'ytaele may have had some rather unruly students in the past, but she was hopeless! He would have pitied her if he had any empathy towards insignificant hunters.
The hour passed under the brilliant sun shining through the foliage. He had to give her some credit, she was a rather good tracker…but then when they paused by a small stream, the tracks seemingly vanished, he caught sight of a tuft of fur snatched on a wayward branch of a bush. He waited for her to see the obvious trail, but she just squinted her eyes and continued peering around from her crouched position.
The yautja clicked and pointed.
She rose her head, annoyed, and squinted even further to see what he was referring to…and yet, she did not notice it.
The Elite lowered his claw to his side, switching the modes of his bio-mask for an in-depth scan of her retinas. No wonder she missed her targets. With the deterioration of her internal irises, she was limited. She seemed to have no issue looking at things up close to a certain degree, but the distance wasn't generous.
Genetic defects were not a welcome factor in yautja society. Everything was for the betterment of the species as a whole. He only accepted the best of females, as they did with males, to sire and produce the strongest pups. That was the key to survival. It was their way.
He crouched beside her and gently tapped a claw at the side of her eye. "Not. Show?"
All at once she stood, flustered and angry. So, she knew of her impairment. Her hand curled around her bow with increasing strength until her knuckles grew white.
"I was not always like this," she said bitterly, her head turning to hide her shame. "My father…he is the same. He began to lose his sight around my age. They say Odin removed his own eye for divine wisdom from Mimir's well…and so perhaps, we, too, lose our sight for something." She sheepishly shrugged her shoulders. "At least, that is what my father tells me."
The yautja would've snorted. Silly little oomans and their beliefs when it was merely a genetic pass down.
She shouldered her bow and began to follow the trail back to their campsite, empty-handed and unusually reserved. There was no hunting to be made for some days after that- he watched her scrub her clothing in the soaking waters and forage for berries and earthy roots instead. No amount of prompt from him could entice her to hunt; he pouted, not finding any appeal in hunting alone when his only desire was to boast his impeccable skills. He was left with a sullen attitude and took his days to just indulging on the sweetest berries while watching her bathe from his perch on the rocks. He hadn't joined her since that day, but she also wasn't bothered with her nudity around him, anymore.
One such evening as they made their way back to the cave, he scented a faint whiff of another ooman in the air. He immediately held up a claw- the universal sign to wait. She paused, furrowing her brows as he tilted his head to the side and focused on the raw smell.
He turned to her, pointing a single finger to the forest floor beneath their feet. "You stay."
He then leaped into the trees and cloaked, nimbly and ever so silently making his way back alone. He had already identified the owner of the pheromone that was leeching the surrounding area.
The rival.
The said male was busily making a loud ruckus and stomping around the cave, gathering her things with sloppy care and strapping them over her pack animal that was beside his own. Za'ytaele only had to observe the scene for a few minutes to detail the picture behind his intentions.
The yautja wasn't stupid, by any means. He knew what this ooman male had come for, for why else would he venture so far for this particular spot? His interest in the female was clear…even when it was unwarranted. He'd witnessed what ooman males did to their females; it's what equated them to basic animals with no semblance of honor. It didn't pertain to every ooman, but it most certainly did to this one.
The Elite jumped from the trees, landing on the balls of his feet before revealing himself before the unaware prey.
The male quickly dropped a leather sack, not paying any mind to the contents that rolled out over his feet. His eyes grew wide, and the stench of fear permeated the air as Za'ytaele began to encroach. The Elite drew himself to his full height, splayed his arms out at his sides, and bellowed a fierce challenge. The other took a step backward, tripping over a sizeable rock and falling flat on his backside, the etched expression of sheer horror and incredulity never fading from his face.
"No!" the female begged as she threw her arms around one side of his waist, her small fingers clutching desperately to his textured hide. Her breathing was labored from ignoring his command after she had sprinted to catch up. "He does not mean us harm!"
Foolish little female, he thought as he clacked his lower tusks together sharply. However, she did not possess the acute sense of smell as he did- she could not taste the underlying stale hint of musk. This male had grown excited during his trip here, unaware that he would be present.
She sidestepped around him, keeping a hand braced over his abdominal muscles in an attempt to keep him at bay from his challenger. "Onem! You will speak now as to what you are doing here!"
Za'ytaele's rival male didn't speak for a few moments as the initial shellshock of what he was seeing still weighed his tongue. The female finally caught sight of her belongings strewn about.
"What is this?" she snapped, her nervousness at his possible disembowelment giving way to anger. "Why have you come?!"