Fugitive (19 page)

   "Ever what?" Manx prompted when Zef stopped.

   "Get you voted out of the lake," Zef mourned.

   "So it wasn't just because you were old and ugly?"

   Zef looked at Manx as though he'd like to bite him for saying that but agreed anyway. "Nope. Weasel doesn't work very well anymore," he said, clearly doing his best to make it seem less of a tragedy than it truly was. "Happens when you get old."

   Since Manx's "weasel" hadn't worked at all until Drusilla showed up, he could relate to that problem better than Zef realized. Manx had been wondering if his dick would ever get hard again—which was another thing to be thankful for. Imagine if Drusilla had arrived and her scent hadn't aroused him! Manx stopped that thought cold; it was too depressing to consider. "Aren't there any older females who wouldn't mind if it didn't work?"

   "If there were, they got out-voted," Zef replied.

   "But what about the other males?" Manx asked. "Don't tell me they voted against you too!"

   "Don't have a say in it," Zef muttered.

   "What was that?"

   "The males can't vote," Zef said, raising his voice slightly. "If the women don't want you, you're out."

   Manx considered this for a moment. "What about getting together with other males?"

   "I think there was one in this lake a while back," he said. "But he died." Zef looked up at Manx with a sad look in his bulbous eyes. "We don't last long without anyone to talk to—and the fish bones have helped keep me going."

   "So, are you saying that if I'm not here anymore, you'll die?"

   "Oh, I'll die anyway," Zef said staunchly. "But maybe sooner rather than later."

   Manx didn't want to be responsible for that. "Well, I'm still here for now," he said after a moment's reflec tion. "You never know what might happen."

   "Enough about that," Zef said briskly. "Don't want to think about it right now. I'd rather hear more about Drusilla! So, you liked each other?"

   Manx gazed off into the distance. "I think so—I liked her, at least, and she seemed to like me pretty well— once I finally talked to her."

   "See, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Zef said, his jaws crunching with amusement. "You just need to go back up there and do your stuff. She'll like it. I know she will."

   "Maybe I should," Manx said pensively.

   "Yeah, but before you go, mind doing some fishing?"

   "Hungry?" Manx said with a grin.

   "A little," Zef said. "Actually, I want fish badly enough to try to catch them myself, and though I hate to admit it, I probably wouldn't catch any." Looking at Manx hopefully, he said, "So, fishing first?"

"Fishing first," Manx agreed. "How many do you want?"

"How many can you catch?"

"Zef," Manx said warningly. "I haven't got all day."

   "Used to be, you did," Zef said. "You've already got me longing for the good old days when no one lived in the house and you and I could do as we pleased. I'm gonna miss that."

   "You'll survive," Manx assured him. "I'll just tell Klog to start feeding you pancakes. You'll probably live forever."

   "I dunno," Zef said skeptically. "Sweet and fluffy? I like things that crunch."

   "You don't know what you're missing," Manx said. "But I'll catch a few fish for you anyway."

   It didn't take Manx long to catch Zef's breakfast, and as the eltran happily crunched on the fish, Manx knew he couldn't put it off any longer, and Zef seemed to agree.

   "You're a good friend, Manx," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna miss you."

   Manx grinned. "I'm not going anywhere yet—and maybe I'll never leave."

   "Well, if you pass up the chance to spend a lifetime with Drusilla just to hang out with me, you're even dumber than I thought."

   "All right! I'll go talk to her."

   "That's the spirit!" Zef called after him. "And be sure to wave your cock at her. She'll love it!"

   Manx went back to the house but stalled a bit by taking a shower before he went upstairs. He toyed with the idea of putting on his shirt and pants before he went inside, then decided it was too late for that now. Dwell let him in without comment and he found Drusilla by the window, painting.

   "So how's Zef this morning?" she asked pleasantly. "I saw you two out there swimming."

   "Fine," Manx replied. "I caught some fish for him, so he's happy."

   "That's nice," said Drusilla. "He's quite a character, isn't he?"

   "Yes, he is." Manx just stood there after that, not knowing what to say to her.

   "Is there something you wanted to say?" she prompted after a bit.

   "Do you—"

   "Do I what?"

   Manx sniffed the air in her direction. "No, I guess not."

   "What are you talking about?"

   "Well, you said you wanted to have breakfast first, and then you took a shower, I just wondered if you—I mean, before Klog interrupted us, we were about to—"

   "Ah, yes, the nooky." Glancing down at his groin, she added, "You don't seem to be feeling as much enthu siasm as you were earlier."

   "Oh, I feel it," he assured her. "But you don't."

   "How do you know that?

   "Your scent," he replied. "If you don't want me, I can't do it."

   "What?"

   "Your scent," he said again. "If I can't smell your desire—"

   "Your dick doesn't work?"

   "That's right."

   "Guess I shouldn't have taken a shower, huh?"

   "Water does wash away some of it," he admitted. "But I'd still know if it was there."

   "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you. I'm sure it'll come back at some point." She focused on her work again before adding, "It's just that I tend to get very absorbed when I'm working—I don't think about much else."

   "That's very good," he said, coming closer to peer over her shoulder. "That's me hiding there in the jungle, isn't it?"

   "Yeah," she said. "Not a very good likeness, but then I'd only caught a glimpse of you when I painted it." After a brief pause, she continued, "So tell me, Manx, what does a guy like you do out in the jungle all day?"

   "Mostly hunt for food," he replied. "And I swim with Zef a lot too. We've kept each other company for a while now."

   Nodding, she went on with her painting. "And how long is a while?"

   "A year or so," he replied. "It's hard to tell here. The seasons don't change."

   "So it's always like this?"

   "Pretty much."

   "Must get boring after a while," she observed. "So, where were you before you came to Barada?"

   "Serillia," he replied. "I worked in a restaurant there."

   "Was that your usual line of work?"

   "Oh, no," he said. "I've done all kinds of things. When I first get to a planet, I usually earn a little money as a street musician, and then I—"

   "So, that
was
you playing the flute," she interjected. "I thought so."

   Nodding, he reached into the pouch that hung from his belt and pulled out a small instrument made of different sized tubes lashed together with strips of bark. "I can make them too," he added. "I sold lots of them on Serillia."

   Taking it from him, Drusilla examined it closely. "I saw a man playing one of these at an art fair once—it's a very ancient type of instrument," she said. "They call it a pan flute where I come from."

   "They've been played on Zetith since ancient times too," he said. "My mother taught me—she tried to teach my brothers and sisters, but they weren't interested."

   "And all that beautiful music is lost now," Drusilla said wistfully. "That and everything else, except for you and what you remember." She paused as she gave him back his flute. "That must make you feel very lonely."

   "Sometimes," he admitted. "I try not to think about it too much."

   "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I didn't mean to bring up things you might prefer to forget. I just wanted to know more about you."

   "I understand," Manx said. "I'd like to know more about you too. Zef told me all he knew, which wasn't much aside from you being a painter."

   Drusilla snickered. "Did he also tell you what he thought of that as an occupation?"

   "Yes, he did," said Manx. "Art doesn't mean very much to him, but fortunately I don't share his opinion."

   "Well, that's a relief," said Drusilla. "Tons of people think art is a waste of time." She smiled as she remem bered all the snide comments she used to get about her bird paintings from passersby. "I remember setting up my paintings at art fairs back when I was a struggling young artist. I'd sit there with the other artists all day in the sweltering heat or freezing cold while crowds of people passed us by—no one buying much of anything, of course—and if you ever did sell something, any profits you made were spent on lunch."

   Manx laughed. "Sounds like my flutes and I would fit right in."

   "You certainly would," she agreed. "I can see us now: me with my paintings set out under a big, shady tree, and you playing the flute, drawing in all sorts of potential buyers—mostly women, of course. I'd imagine you sold lots of flutes just because the ladies wanted an excuse to talk to you."

   "Not all species find Zetithians attractive," he pointed out. "In some places I was more of an oddity than an attraction."

   "Not on Earth," Drusilla said with conviction. "On Earth, you'd draw women like a lemonade stand draws yellow jackets."

   "Not sure what that means," said Manx.

   "You'll understand what I mean if you ever go to a late summer picnic," Drusilla said. "Yellow jackets are a real pain." The full impact of their conversation hit her then; if she didn't take him with her to Earth, there would be no art fairs or late summer picnics, at least not with Manx, and the thought of that had her eyes filling with tears.

   "What's wrong?"

   "I don't know," she said slowly. "This is so strange. Here I am already thinking about you living on Earth— and us doing all sorts of things together—and we barely know each other. I don't understand it."

   "Neither do I," he said. "Maybe it's best not to think too hard."

   "Take it on faith?"

   "Something like that."

   Drusilla closed her eyes, trying to remember the last time she'd done such a thing—really taken a leap of faith about anything—and came to the conclusion that she never had, until now.

   "It was you," she said softly, raising her eyes to his in wonder. "You were my leap of faith. I should have realized it."

   "Me?"

   "Yes, you. When Lester warned me about the vicious beast loose in the jungle, even though so many things pointed to you, I didn't believe it. Somehow I just knew it wasn't true." She paused again, gazing up at him. "What in the world am I waiting for?"

   Manx smiled grimly. "We haven't waited," he said. "We've been interrupted."

   With that, Drusilla called out for Klog, who promptly emerged from the kitchen. "No lunch or dinner or any interruptions for the rest of the day, unless I specifically ask you for something. Okay?"

   Klog beeped once and floated off.

   "Well, that was easy enough," Drusilla muttered. "Should have thought of that before." After putting down her brush and wiping the paint from her fingers, she then stood and said, "Okay, Manx. You now have my undivided attention."

   Grinning wickedly, Manx sprang into action. Scooping her up in his arms, he made a beeline for the bedroom.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked along the way.

   "What?" she said, momentarily puzzled. "Oh, you mean the cat scratches. They're not too bad; that oint ment is amazing," she said. "At least I got my shirt on with no trouble."

   "That's the reason I asked," he said. "Because I'm about to take it off."

   "Oh, well then, go for it."

   Manx set her on her feet and then pulled her top off so gently she never felt a thing. Then his belt, which was his only garment, hit the floor, and he skimmed off her shorts. Having accomplished all of that, he sighed, "That's much better."

   "Yeah, you look so much better without that nasty belt."

   Manx burst out laughing and landed on the bed with Drusilla in his arms. Taking her face in his hands, he looked at her and grinned. "I can't stop smiling," he said. "All I have to do is look at you and I feel… different, better, happier somehow. I can't explain it."

   "Then don't try," she said. "I know what you mean, anyway."

   Drusilla leaned forward and as their lips touched, she melted into his warm embrace. His hair was soft and thick, and as her fingers delved into it, all she could think of was getting lost in it forever. Manx deepened the kiss, and she could feel him tasting her, heard him inhaling deeply as he gorged himself on her scent.

   As their tongues entwined, Manx thrust his fingers through her hair, pulling her to him. "Pull me in and drown me," he groaned helplessly.

   But Drusilla was already drowning herself. His fangs were probably dangerous, but she braved the kisses anyway; they were soft, then hard, sweet, then ferociously feral, bringing out the animal inside her. She couldn't seem to get enough of the feel of him in her hands; they wouldn't open wide enough to feel all she wanted to feel. Hands, arms, and lips weren't enough. She was aching for him; he had to come inside.

   And she took him in.

   Nothing in her life could have prepared Drusilla for what happened next. Manx pulled her on top of him and pushed her down on his cock, which slid effortlessly into her core. He was so big he should have hurt her, but instead it stretched her until they fit perfectly, her snug warmth wrapped tightly around his thick shaft.

   He was hot; Drusilla couldn't remember ever being with a man who could actually warm her from the inside out. But then he began twirling that rod and suddenly her entire being took on a different perspective. She would have been in a perfect position—the one, in fact, that she had imagined—to feed him delicious bites of cheesecake, but she didn't think she would have had enough coordination to do it.