Tracker and Red escorted her back to her room to take a shower before her evening swim. As Red headed back to pick himself out a lounge, Tracker darted across the Plaza to his own room. He picked up the large, trapezoidal box delivered by one of the quartermaster’s assistants that afternoon and hurried back to her door. Nervously he stood there for a moment, then slipped the box behind his back and touched the annunciator panel.
”Entrez,” she called over the sound of the shower. He stepped inside, closing the door softly behind him just as she emerged from the bathroom, toweling off.
”‘allo, Tracker. What have you?” she asked, noting the object behind his back
”Something for you,” he said.
”Qu’est-ce que c’est?” she asked. Her face lit with a childlike eagerness.
”Come and see.”
She came up and started to step around him to look, but he turned with her. “You’ll have to reach around me,” he teased.
She tilted her head and looked up into his eyes for a moment, lips parted. Then she smiled.
”As you wish,” she responded, pressing against the fur of his chest and reaching behind him. He felt her fingers touch the box.
”Take it,” he urged.
Pulling it from his hands, she laid the cardboard box on the bed, noting is large size and relatively light weight.
Tearing open the box, she beheld a new guitar case covered in real leather, bright, brass latches holding it closed. Her eyes widened. “This is yours?”
”No, Antoinette, it’s for you. I, ah…,” he began to stutter, “…don’t know anything about guitars and, … uh, I know it … uh, probably isn’t as good as the one you had. I know it … ah, can never replace the guitar you lost, but I thought it … uh, it might, umm … help. It …” His voice faltered into silence as he watched her with worried eyes. Anxiety flooded him. His ears drooped limply to the sides of his head as his tail curled up between his legs.
She held her breath as she sank to the bed, ignoring his stammering self-deprecation and the sharp aroma of his anxiety. She opened the case and gasped. Inside lay a gleaming, new guitar made of highly-polished cherry wood, detailed with genuine mother-of-pearl. She lifted it out and ran her fingers over the deep red wood. With a shiver of anticipation, she bent her head and tuned it. Then she played a short melody. She looked up, her face streaked with tears. “Ah, Tracker, merci beaucoup! Thank you. Thank you for caring. It is so beautiful, and its voice is so rich and true! Je l’aime.”
”I’m glad you like it,” he said with relief, his ears returning to their erect pose though his tail remained plastered down behind him. “Uh, play it?”
”With pleasure.” She sat cross-legged on the floor and played as she sang in her soft contralto voice. Tracker slowly relaxed and stepped back to lie on his stomach by the door to watch and listen to her, bent over the guitar; absorbed in her music.
At last, she sighed and carefully placed the guitar back in its case. Tracker stretched. “It’s getting late. Red’s waiting at the pool for you.”
She slid the guitar under the bed, then palm-locked the door and sat down beside him. “I have a better idea, Tracker,” she whispered as she stroked the fur under his cape. “It is more fun even than swimming.” She ran her fingers through the fur on his back, pushing the short cape high on his shoulders. “The cape. Take it off?” He nodded with an uncertain smile and unfastened the collar holding it.
She stroked and caressed his upper body. He turned his back towards her, his eyes slowly closing. Her touch relaxed him more than he could remember. It felt so wonderful! Nobody had touched him like this since being taken from his father, so long ago. And no touch had ever felt like this before. Totally hypnotic.
”Ah, Tracker, you feel so good,” she sighed. “Do you like it?”
His eyes snapped open. “I … yes!” he yelped.
She fingered the heavy gold serpentine band above his biceps. “It is very pretty. You wear it always. Is it special?”
”I like it. It was a reward for my first successful mission when I belonged to Castile, before I defected. It’s the only reward they ever gave me, other than the valtan I carry. But then, the valtan is a weapon and can’t really be considered a reward.”
She continued to caress him, pulling him over onto his back as she explored his upper body. He even allowed her to explore his head and face, letting her touch him in places he’d never allowed such exploration before.
Finally, he sat up and gestured for her to lie down. She stretched out on her back, legs parted, one hand on her chest and the other up in Tracker’s chest fur. He reached across, placed his hand on her hip and pulled. Puzzled, she rolled over to her stomach. Gently, careful of her soft skin and his thick, blunt, claw-like fingernails and coarse pads on his fingers, he started caressing her, running his fingers down from her neck to the small of her back and up again. Her form, her texture, her scent. So much nicer than his one previous encounter with a woman. He’d never been this close, this … intimate with someone before; at least, not when both partners were willing. He’d never even wanted to be this close to someone before, to touch someone so much. It was all so new and fascinating. He didn’t know how to describe it or even name it. All he knew was he liked it, more than he’d ever liked anything else. He massaged her back with both hands, his blunt fingers tracing the bands of muscle beneath the skin.
She sighed, shivering with pleasure as he caressed her. She rolled over, placed her hands behind his neck and pulled. He froze. She smiled, ducking her chin and tilting her head as she gazed deep into his eyes. He pulled back, full of puzzlement and confusion. What am I doing!
