A Perverted Path to Victory

Chona

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“I’m back!” A voice called into the dark house. Tinvel had to step over a pile of clothes piled in the entryway and shut the door quickly behind him. She heard a rustling noise, then a thump. Rather than stay in the University through her heat, Chona had snatched up one of the city’s hundreds of unoccupied homes, and there hadn’t been much special about this one. Just a convenient place for her to curl up in private embarrassment during her heat.

“Finally!” She snapped. “Where have you been?”

“I told you where I was going,” Tinvel called back, stepping into the living room. Rather than going straight to Chona, he moved to place a basket of food on the room’s lone table.

In those ribald novels Professor Garen had so helpfully provided them, the authors described the home of a vanara in heat as a ‘nest of passion.’ Scented candles provided the preferred amount of dim light, creating a smokey, intimate atmosphere. Clothes were a forgotten artifice of outside society, the closeness of two lovers of far greater import than that foreign propriety. The bed was always well-worn and piled high with downy comforters, providing a soft space for sprawling wide or wrapping one another up in a close-knit embrace. She’d noted, however, that not a single one of the books had described a vanara’s first heat. Not the one that came when a vanara was a young girl, but rather the first one after she’d been with a man. They only referenced it in off-handed, circumspect tones, usually by saying something like at least this isn’t my first heat.

Tinvel’s shoe squished as he stepped away from the table. Lifting it, Chona saw a rotten apple core smeared across the heel. He sighed, turning around. She tried to pretend she wasn’t embarrassed.

The room was a damn mess. Every article of clothing Chona owned had been scattered across the ground, lumpy piles that required careful navigation to avoid. A dozen plates of half-finished food buzzed with gnats, placed around an overflowing trash bin that smelled of sick. Projects born of brief bouts of boredom were piled up in other places, including a partially reconstructed pistol, several powder horns full of blackpowder, a collection of emcotton bullets, untold numbers of books opened to random pages, and, perhaps most mortifyingly, a half-disassembled vibrator. A much, much larger crystal than it had originally been built with was sitting nearby, ready to be put to use.

She was embarrassed about the state of things. Really, she was. Just… not enough to do anything about it.

“Get in bed!” She snapped.

“Give me a minute to clean up first, alright?”

She flung a pillow at his head. He ducked it adroitly, laughing, and despite her instinct to pout, she let out a little laugh as well.

“It’s not that bad,” she protested. “You can come to bed first. Clean up later.”

“I can literally hear the flies buzzing from across the room.” He dumped two plates of food into the bin, stretching his neck away from the cloud of insects. “But I promise I’ll be quick.”

“Good.”

Tinvel tossed the rest of the trash away as quickly as he could, then dragged the bin out through the front door, putting it in the hall. As with so many buildings in Tulian, this one had been entirely unoccupied until she’d decided to take it for herself. Waving the last of the insects out, Tinvel quickly flung the door shut, wiping his hands on his pants as he turned around.

The apartment, unsurprisingly, hadn’t come furnished. Chona had bought a large straw mattress and dropped it unceremoniously in the center of the living room, declaring the job done. Tinvel had taken one look at that, reminded her that they were on the ground floor, and went out to get a frame to keep the crawling insects at bay.

In contrast to her clothing, which was scattered across the house, Chona had… consolidated Tinvel’s outfits. His shirts, pants, and underclothes were greedily hoarded atop the bed, forming a defensive perimeter around the crater the last week had left in the mattress. She lay in the center, her chin buried in the garment of clothing that, as much as she hated it, smelled the most like Tinvel: his shitty old flight jacket. Every time he left for work, she spent the interim with it wadded up in her arms, pressed as close to her chest as she could get.

She hated that. She hated how… how needy this heat made her. She liked Tinvel, respected him, even cared for him pretty deeply, but the fact that her body was demanding this of her was infuriating. It was like she’d gained a new kind of hunger, an ache in her belly that could only be sated by her mate. She didn’t want to bury herself in his clothes, shoving her nose in that crappy jacket the entire time he was gone. She really, honestly wished that she didn’t have to. But her body didn’t care. It wanted his scent, and if it didn’t have it, it would make its displeasure known.

Seeing Tinvel eyeing her choice of garment, she glared at him. “It’s still an awful jacket, Tin. It’s just the one that you’ve worn the most.” She sniffed at it, filling her nose with the dizzying familiarity of his body. She feigned a look of disgust. “Ugh. No wonder it works so well for this. There’s no way you could ever get the scent of something so patchwork.”

Walking up to the bed, Tinvel stretched his arms wide, yawning, and then began to kneel, preparing to lazily crawl onto the bed.

Fast as a viper, Chona seized his arms with both hands, dragging him down atop her. She threw her arms around his shoulders in a crushing embrace, quickly adding her legs around his waist. Burying her face into his shoulder and breathing deeply was nice, soothing the burning desire by a few degrees, but it was the warmth of him that did more than anything else. Her traitorous body reveled in the return of her mate.

“My dad never made my mom spend all day alone when she was in heat,” she petulantly mumbled into his shoulder.

“Your dad wasn’t in the Air Force, either.”

“That didn’t exist back then.”

Tinvel rolled his eyes, patting Chona gently on the back. She shifted and twisted against him, trying to find a good blend of comfort and skin contact. He was still wearing his clothes, she realized. She hated that. Stupid fucking things.

She picked at his shoulder, tugging the shirt over his head. He laughed at her eagerness, and so she scowled.

“Shut up. You know I wouldn’t be doing this if I wasn’t in heat.”

“You weren’t in heat that first night, were you?”

“Shut up.” She flung the shirt across the room, then crammed her chest against his, letting out a sigh of relief. It didn’t make sense, but the warmth of his body always seemed to cool her down. “Why are you complaining, anyway? I’ve heard guys talk. You should have been willing to kill for this.”

“First of all, I’m not complaining.” His hips wriggled away from her leglock, giving her enough room to begin tugging at his belt. “Second of all, I can tell how much this is pissing you off. I don’t like that.”

Her fur fluffed up at that. She looked away from him, focusing on his belt.

“Just s-shut up and enjoy it,” she mumbled.

“If we didn’t have so much we both needed to get done, I probably would.”

Gods. She hated how he could be like that. A week into her heat and here he was, still being all nice to her. Every time she started to get so frustrated with everything that she thought about asking Professor Garen to blast her into a coma for the next week or two, Tinvel had to go and say something like that.

“I wish you’d pick a damn side,” she grumbled. His belt came undone and was flung across the room with a leathery rasp, clunking against the wall. “Either get all mopey and sad for me and leave me alone, or just fuck me through the whole thing without worrying about all the rest of it.”

“There’s no middle option?”

“No.” She tugged at his pants, shoving them off his waist with both hands and her tail.

“Not, like, ‘oh, I like having sex with you and seeing you feel good, but I wish it happened at a better time so we could enjoy ourselves properly’ or anything like that?”

She tried to hide her reaction with a furious scowl, but her fur was so puffed out she might as well have been dangling upside down. So fucking understanding. That pissed her off so much.

And his confidence! Where did he get that from? Sure, if Chona had spent a week listening to a girl failing to hide how desperate she was to have sex, Chona would have gotten a pretty big ego boost. But this was nerdy little Tinvel. He was supposed to be the pale artificer cooped up in Garen’s university with books piled higher than the doorframe. Not some… some fucking tanned fighter pilot with a sexy outfit and a cocky smile that had saved her life a few times over. This was bullshit.

She got his pants off. His underwear disappeared with a lightning-fast swipe, finally leaving him as bare as she was. She threw herself back up against him, letting their bodies mingle.

At least I can get some kind of revenge in listening to that, she thought smugly as Tinvel blew air through his teeth. She kept her crotch grinding down against his, shoving her sopping-wet core against him.

He wasn’t hard yet. Not all the way, anyway. Chona took some pride in the fact that, even after all the exhausting work she’d put him through over the last week, a simple hug had gotten him half-hard. She licked her lips hungrily. It wouldn’t be difficult to get him the rest of the way.

“You don’t want to hear about the stuff I did today?” He asked.

“No.”

She began to grind against him properly. She rubbed her wet slit against the underside of his cock, spreading her lips with every stroke. Not fast, not yet; she’d learned a very disappointing lesson about how quickly guys could climax if you were too eager right off the bat. His seed had been wasted on the comforter and her thighs, and she’d had to wait another aggravating hour before he was ready again.

“I visited th-the university,” Tinvel said, continuing to talk anyway. “Tried the new plane. Control testing didn’t go well, but the general airframe shows promise.”

She knew what he was doing. Trying to prove he could focus even when she was doing this to him. Arrogant piece of shit. She tilted her head, kissing and nipping at the base of his neck, adding to the many, many dark marks she’d already left.

“Oh, a-and I visited… uh, Affe.” His words came out unsteadily, but still recognizable. The greater sign of his distraction came in the racing wave of goosebumps that traveled up his neck, and the way he tightened their hug even as he spoke. “He’s not as b-bad as he used to be, I think. Still annoying, but-”

Chona nipped harder, making Tinvel yelp with real pain.

“The hells?!”

“Don’t talk about another guy while I’m rubbing on your cock,” Chona rasped. “I don’t like guys.”

“I’m a guy, aren’t I?”

“Yeah. Still kinda surprised that I’m doing this with you.” She grabbed his chin and turned his head the other way, beginning to nibble at the unmarred side of his neck. “Men aren’t hot. Just you. Don’t push your luck.”

She heard the smirk in his voice. “So if I talk about a woman instead…?”

Her tail whapped him on the side of his head. “I’ll get jealous.”

“So who c-can I talk about…?”

“Me.” She rolled him over, so she was atop him, her hips grinding against his pelvis. She was breathing hard, and she could see the way his eyes tracked the rise and fall of her breath. He loved watching her. Seeing the proof of that made her shiver. “You were gone all morning. I know you’ve got a few more in you, Tin.”

He was hard now. A steel rod lay between her pussy lips, and she was dripping arousal down onto his pelvis. Her breath was coming faster and faster, that new kind of hunger building in her core.

He gazed up at her. When things had first gotten physical between them, he’d been nervous. She’d been better at hiding it, because he’d acted as nervous as she’d felt. But the last week had changed things. His hands settled comfortably on her thighs, rubbing up and down. He watched her openly, without shame, and she watched him back.

He’s still too skinny, she decided. He needs to get some muscle on him or something, right? That’s how I should feel, I shouldn’t be fucking thinking like this. Girls that like guys are supposed to go for the big burly ones, not a tan little wirey guy with just enough muscle you can feel it when he flexes. You’ve got no excuse to feel like this when you look at him.

Unfortunately, the mess of primal instincts that were driving half her actions didn’t give her many alternatives. Professor Brown had called them ‘hormones’. Chona had decided she hated hormones.

You’re probably not going to be thinking that in a minute, she reminded herself. Scoffing inwardly, she tossed the back-and-forth argument out of her mind, trying to turn her focus back to the feelings between her legs.

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