A Taste of Whiskey

Note: This story addresses mature issues and contains references to violence, gore, sex, and alternative lifestyles. If you are uncomfortable with any of these topics, please do not continuing reading. If you have any comments or criticisms, please feel free to review and/or email me.


Chapter 3:

As it turns out, jobs in a city of freaks are at once nothing special and at the same time rather interesting. There were the typical minimum wage fast food and menial labor jobs, the monotonous and mundane office jobs, the high stress skilled labor jobs, and everything in between. There were a newspaper, four local TV channels, and a perpetually overcrowded mall that I decided to avoid like it was a cess pool of filth and stench... which it was, to me. I don't know how other Ferals stood it, and I didn't even have that great of a sense of smell.

Who knew that a city like New Babylon could be so.. normal. Well, until I realized that there was a serious lack of machines in the hospital. And that the city police were a mixture of Tankers and Ferals that put any other SWAT or special ops team to shame. I'm not even going to get into the secretary I encountered my first day at the Relocation Center who I'm pretty sure had a computer in her brain.

Me? My four years of medical school seemed a bit useless when the hospitals -- all two of them -- didn't even bother to have an X-ray machine. I guess there was no sense in spending the money on it when the Gas had provided them with someone with X-ray vision. Or when the doctors could simply touch their patients and heal them. Don't really need splints or even holding rooms when the healing took place instantly. If the healer Freaks couldn't fix you up, you were probably already dead anyway. So I put five years of hosting late night college parties to good use and got a job as a waitress at a small nightclub near my new apartment. I'm pretty sure he could smell the desperation on me.


At least it'd pay the bills.

It meant that I had to adopt a mostly nocturnal sleep schedule, but I'd always been one for late nights and later mornings, so that wasn't too much of a compromise on my part. I went to work at about eight pm, worked until the club closed at two am, then came home, slept, and woke up the next day around ten am. I don't sleep much, for the same reason I'm always fidgeting. Just not comfortable in my own skin; it feels on the small side with two of us in it, after all.

Three weeks in and everything was going good. Well, as good as it could go after having had my life crash around my ears and losing every friend and achievement I'd ever made in my twenty-five years of freedom.

Like I said, not bitter.

I paused at the sight of myself in the mirror, letting my eyes travel over my reflection scrutinously. I was wearing an off-the shoulder, form-fitting black dress so short that when I bent over, you could almost -- almost -- see my black silk panties. It contrasted deliciously with my pale skin, a result of long days and nights spent holed up in the library. The fabric of the dress was tight enough that it hugged my generous curves, dipping down low to tease at the valley between my breasts. I'd released my ebony hair from its usual bun, and it fell down around my shoulders in silky black waves. My cheeks bore just the hint of freckles, something I'd always covered up with base because I though they looked childish. My eyes were the only thing about myself I genuinedly liked; framed by long lashes, my eyes were a brilliant shade of emerald, flecked with hues of gold that really stood out when my beast was close to the surface.

I ran my palms over my stomach, smoothing the dress down and glanced over my shoulder down my back. Too risque? I wondered. Nah, Joe'd appreciate it. I nodded, inhaled.

"You're just another human. Just stay normal," I told my reflection, sternly. I'd lost everything. I wasn't about to lose my normalcy, too.

Then I grabbed my purse and headed out. Thankfully the nightclub was only four blocks away, though there's nothing worse to start your day off than having to descend four flights of stairs in stilettos. Apparently Bugman didn't believe in being handicap accessible. No surprise; he pinched pennies every place he could fit his grubby little fingers.

Hi ho, off to work I went.

As far as work went, it was brainless work as long as I turned my brain to autopilot. Balance the tray, don't drop it. Smile at the customers. Lean forward just a little and I'd get a bigger tip. Toss my hair and meet one of their eyes and that tip would go up even more. Keep out of hand's reach. And, at the end of the night, separate the bills and the phone numbers. Put the money in my purse; put the phone numbers in the garbage. I wondered whether any of them actually expected me to call them back or not... I was hoping not. The last thing I needed was a stalker, too.

"Done for the night?"

His voice was near my ear. Heat slid down my spine and I stiffened in surprise, both at the fact he was here and at the intensity of my reaction to it. Speaking of stalkers... I turned to look at Dr. Kevin Green, MD. His molten gold eyes caught mine, but I noticed, peripherally, he was dressed in another of his expensive silk suits, though the neck was open, not held shut by a tie, and I could see the dip between his collarbones and a hint of his smooth, strong chest. I inhaled sharply.

"You know, this is borderline harassment."

He grinned. It brought a dark, primal light to his eyes that made me grip my serving tray. I'm sure my eyes were flecked with gold, too, I could feel my panther underneath my skin, staring out at him through my eyes and devouring what she saw.

"Yes, but if I'm not mistaken..." he began, reaching out for my hand again. He didn't kiss it, just held it, rubbing his thumb over the side of my hand, brushing the soft skin of my wrist. He paused at the feeling of my pulse, skittering underneath his touch. "... you're rather enjoying being harassed."

"I'm a lesbian," I told him, defiantly. He smiled at me, amused, like a parent watching a child throw a temper tantrum.

"You're a Feral, sweetheart. Equipment doesn't matter one whit." He was right, damn him. One of the parts of being a Feral was an overactive sex drive and a population that discerned suitable bedmates according to species and not gender. It was rare to find a feline Feral with a canine one; it was basically unheard of for a Feral to bed a non-Feral. Most Ferals' idea of 'normal' sex was rough enough that most other Thresholds faced serious physical damage. Ferals saw violence as a natural extension of sex (or is it the other way around?). Most others tend to disagree.

I supposed it only made sense -- we're incredibly durable, so our sex would push those limits. And in those overarcing groups of similar Ferals, anything went.

I'd discovered the downside of my Feral tastes with my first real boyfriend. He'd bit down on my lower lip during one particularly steamy make-out session. Being a good girlfriend, plus rather horny, I'd returned the favor... which ended our make-out session as well as our relationship. Apparently the sice hours I'd spent at the hospital while they reattached his lip meant nothing.

Oh well.

I glared at him. "Are you calling me a whore?" I couldn't keep the challenge out of my voice. Bad move. Challenging a Feral always led to a fight... which usually led to sex, unless you really didn't like the other person. I tried to make my panther back down, but she wasn't listening to me. I was losing control. He laughed again. Damn that sound, it slid right through me and pooled between my legs.

He stepped forward. I stepped back, bumping into the table behind me. He leaned in; I could practically feel the heat radiating off of his body. One hand raised, his fingers ever so lightly brushing my hair back off of my shoulder. My eyes closed at the sensation, my back arching as his lips lowered. I could feel his hot breath escaping over my skin and it made me whimper softly in protest when he paused.

"I wasn't planning on paying you," he murmured against my skin, and my fury at that smug tone in his voice warred inside of me with the sudden heat that was coursing through my veins.

He stood, slipping a piece of paper into my hand. I gripped it, tightly, as if to remind myself that there was something else in the world other than his breath, his heat. He didn't say anything more, but turned and walked out of the club. I watched him go, then my knees gave out and I sank into the table. My dress was short enough that I was probably flashing anyone in front of me, but since it was only me and Aaron, the bartender, left, I couldn't care less.

I opened my palm, looking down at the slip of paper. It was an address. A close one, too, I recognized the street. I growled and closed my fist around it. That pompous, arrogant...! Did he really think I was going to just up and knock on his door? Fling myself into his arms and beg him to quelch the throbbing ache between my legs? Yeah right. Yeah, fucking right.

So when I found myself knocking on his door half an hour later, I was telling myself I was going to throw the piece of paper in his face and then storm off. I barely registered that the house was a nice one -- a really nice one, actually. I'd had to go through a wrought iron fence that tingled when my skin touched it. Most Ferals didn't like worked metals, there was something about it that didn't sit right with our more.. natural tendancies. It was too.. crafted.

The door clicked open and he was looking down at me. He smiled. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore, just his pants and that shirt with the first three buttons undone.

"Before you even say anything, I didn't come here to sleep with you," I blurted out. "I came to tell you to never ever approach me again or I'm going to the fucking police to get a restrain--"

His hand shot out, wrapping around the back of my neck and he jerked me forward. I couldn't keep my balance in my highheels and I tumbled into him. He was as firm and hot against me as I'd imagined and I pressed into him. One of my hands went against his chest to brace myself, curling in the thin fabric of his shirt. His lips descended to mine and I knew I was lost, because they were soft and deft and searing hot. I moaned against his lips, eyes closing. His kiss was neither gentle nor tender, but rough and hungry, his tongue sliding past my lips and plundering my mouth. I could feel his need for me straining at his thinly held controls.

He yanked me into the house. I slammed the door behind me and he shoved me up against the wall with an audible thunk. I was pinned between the cold wall and the heat of his body and I couldn't think past his mouth claiming mine. My fingers dug into his back, running down over the sculpted contour of his muscles. I was arching up against him, a mindless slave to the desire that had washed over me and consumed me so completely.

His hand pressed to the plane of my stomach and slid up, cupping one breast and gripping it tightly enough to make me gasp at the spice of pain that washed through me. Holy shit. I'd never imagined myself to be a sadist in any sort of way, but the pain that should have turned my sex drive off simply turned it into overdrive. I bit down on his lower lip, and to my delight he moaned -- in pleasure, not in pain. I'd gotten a sound out of him at last, I thought smugly.

My fingers fumbled with his buttons; his fingers fumbled with my zipper. He growled in frustration when hsi fingers kept loosing the tiny metal handle, and after only a few seconds of fighting with it his hands slid up to my shoulders and yanked the dress down. Part of me winced at the sound of something ripping, but the rest of me only cared that it was down around my waist now, and his hands were sliding over my black satin bra. He wasted no time in sliding the straps off of my shoulders, and I, fearing for my bra's continued existance, left his shirt long enough to undo it.

He laughed. "I could have done that," he said, in a voice that was low and husky with lust. His eyes fixed on my flushed face, and I snorted.

"You're buying me a new dress."

The tone of my voice set him off again and he swept me up into his arms, leaving his shirt and my dress, shoes, and purse lying in the entrance to his doorway. For a moment I wondered if he lived alone, but my mouth was too busy nipping and sucking at the flesh of his neck to bother looking around. His skin tasted of sweat and male, a combination that made my head whirl.

He tossed me down on the bed and I fell in a jumble, laughing as I ran my hands through my hair to get it out of my face. He slid on top of me and I arched off of the bed to press myself against him, shuddering at the feeling of how perfectly he fit against me, how his chest felt teasing over my breasts, how the entire world was cloth sheets, hot kisses, and satiny skin.

One of us -- both of us, maybe -- grappled with his belt, and he groaned my name next to my ear. I shimmied out of my underwear, he tossed his pants to the side, then moved in between my legs. I could feel the heat of him at my entrance and I bit my lower lip, a sudden uncertainty sneaking into my face.

He pulled back, as if sensing it, looking down at me. Surprise registered on his face, then an odd sort of gentleness, as he leaned down, nuzzling against my cheek.

"Are you...?"

"A virgin? Yeah. Shut up and do it," I shot back, playing tough girl even when my insides were quivering with a mixture of heady delight and nervous terror. One hand slid down over my body, slipping between my legs to explore my slick, hot entrance. I shuddered and cried out.

"It will hurt, but I promise only for a second." My fingers tangled in his hair and I pulled, forcing him to look up at me. I leaned in to kiss him, more nipping teeth than carressing lips. I wanted him to stop worrying about me, to stop coddling me. I wanted him to forget about the fact I'd never had a man who could cater to me as rough and hard as I wanted, who could see the primitive danger in my eyes and be aroused, not frightened. I wanted him to fuck me, and to do it hard and now.

He seemed to sense my unspoken message, because his hips thrust against mine, burying himself in me in one single, smooth thrust. Pleasure and pain exploded inside of me, my head throwing back as the scream ripped from my throat. He didn't give me time to come down, to adjust, but continued to drive his hips into mine -- slower than I'm sure he wanted to take me, I could feel the strain in him, but I was grateful for even that measure of control. Each slam of his hips into mine sent candied pain through me, delicious and sweetly intense.

My fingernails raked down his back. He shuddered at the pain and his hips bucked against mine harder, more urgently. I could feel my insides twisting, my entire body a throbbing mass of need as I writhed underneath him, my hips meeting his eagerly. Then he shifted, and when he buried himself into me again it drew another uncontrollable cry from my throat. I arched, ground into him, begged and panted incoherently for it.

The world suddenly froze and then shattered into a maelstrom of ecstasy. I screamed, until my voice was hoarse, my body spasming and clenchign around him. I could feel him as he drove into me once, twice more, then shoved into me so deeply it was painful. He jerked against me, his heat spreading through the base of my stomach.

I'm pretty sure I blacked out for a couple seconds, and when I came to my face was buried in his neck and I was gasping for breath. Sweat had matted my bangs to my forehead, the scent of it combining with the deeper scent of our lovemaking and teasing my nostril.

"Oh... fuck," I moaned, my eyes still shut. He laughed against my ear and then propped himself up on his elbows so he could look down at me. I'd messed up that neat braid of his and I liked him when he looked like that.

"Care for the phone? To call for that restraining order, perhaps?"

I stared at him. He grinned, and I growled in mock fury, smacking his upper arm. "Shut up," I shot back, then collapsed back down onto the bed. My body felt sore, abused, and wonderfully warm. I just wanted to stretch out like a cat in the sun and sleep. He must have sensed it because he left me long enough to grab the covers at the base of the bed and pull them up around his. He lay back, I rested my head on his chest, and he wrapped the covers around us.

I sighed, happily. "Thanks," I murmured, and before I'd even had time to register his response I was asleep.