INTRO: This story was inspired by something Token Boy said a while back on CPSG. To paraphrase: "Tom is soft and slightly bruised, and while that gives him an undeniably hot vulnerability, I need a guy who's gonna take me camping."
PREMISE: 'Camp' is a **sigh** Tom POV that shpeiled out while I was trying to write Angstrom VII (...Getting to be a habit...) It's a PWP, definitely. Caffeine can do weird things to me.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the characters, the ship and just about all the fun stuff. **waves to them** Be nice, Paramount-heavies. I'm just, you know, borrowing the boys for a bit. ;-)
The following story is rated NC-17 (woo-hoo!) for language, explicit m/m sex and if it's not quite BDSMesque, its also not vanilla smooth. If you shouldn't be reading it, don't. Feel free to mail me **said all casual-like** at email@example.com with any comments and/or CC...
Oh, and PS. If you're gonna copy any of this or link to it or whatever, that's fine, just drop me a line to let me know, hmmm?
"They teach a survival course at the Academy... I got a B minus."
Paris to Neelix, 'Parturition'
"...to the end of a wire, and then you use the wire to get the distance you need...."
He'd been detailing the kentaran fishing technique for the last hour.
Birds were chirping, bugs were flitting, trees were, um, growing - we'd walked God only knows how far since we got in. Real nice planet, Chakotay, I wanted to say. Real nice. What it lacks in beauty it makes up for in carnivorous fucking insects.
And about 11.4 Newtons of gravity.
And I've got some official ships business to attend to that I sort of forgot to mention when you suggested this¨÷
Shit. Just call me poor Tom, shoot me and have done.
Meet me in holodeck 3, he'd said. We'll run a program, talk a little, try and get over some of the old bullshit - not that he said the word bullshit - do you like camping at all?
Camping, I said. Camping.
I mean, it's fine for him. He's the sort of guy who can pause, staff in one hand, one foot resting on a rock, and the setting sun will sort of automatically slip down and silhouette him - look, he's doing it now. Me on the other hand, I'm a 24th Century boy. Whatever the hell kind of scenery we were passing, I was never gonna shake the feeling that we were just two guys walking round and round in circles in a twelve by thirteen metre holodeck.
"¨÷it. Don't you think, Paris?"
"Yeah," I replied, nodding my head emphatically. "Definitely. I definitely agree with what you just said."
"Great!" Chakotay grinned and shrugged his pack from his shoulders. "Then lets break out the skarian pegs."
I just stared at him. "Sorry, the what?"
He grinned again and slapped me on the arm. "Very funny, Mr. Paris."
Yeah, hilarious, I was thinking. Chakotay was meanwhile looking at me in this really expectant way so eventually I said, "Right. Well then. Go ahead and, uh, break them out."
I should have seen it coming a mile off-
"You mean you didn't bring the skarian pegs?"
Two miles, even.
He pushed close - Chakotay does that, gets close when he gets angry. His body was touching mine in parts, his face was like a centimetre away¨÷ It was a hell of an intimidating posture and, give him credit, it would have worked fine if he hadn't been about four inches shorter than me.
Or if my mind wasn't suddenly on other things¨÷ Shit. Oh, shit. Being close to him didn't intimidate me¨÷ It made me want to...
"How are we supposed to make camp if we don't have any skarian pegs?"
In the same patronising, levelled out tone I returned, "I don't know, Chakotay, how many pegs do you need?"
Chakotay moved off, dragging his left hand across his forehead. "At least seventeen, Paris. Probably more like thirty."
Sort out our bullshit. Right.
Here's the thing about camping: It doesn't smooth out the issues between two people, it amplifies them. Nature sees all your crap, isolates it, and then belts you with it, right across the face. You end up arguing over flies, heat, forced co-operation, someone always forgets the tent pegs... Lets face it, shall we? Nature bites.
And whaddaya know, on par for the course, just as I had that thought, it started raining.
The drops made patterns on the cloth of Chakotay's shoulders. Some of them caught in his lashes, which made him shake his head and try and blink them off. This wasn't a sprinkling, this was hot, humid tropical rain. Without shelter, we'd soon be soaked through. The both of us. We stood there facing each other, him pissed off and me just kinda¨÷
Me just kinda wishing he wasn't, I guess.
Not that I said any of that to him, I didn't. What I said was, "Computer, simulate thirty skarian pegs. And turn the rain off. And keep it off."
"Working." The rain stopped. "Please specify, tallesi style? Or skarian drilling pegs?"
I gestured for Chakotay to make the decision. He glared at me. "The drilling pegs."
The computer beeped compliance.
"You're missing the point¨÷" he began.
I reached down and grabbed the pegs bag from the ground. "Look, its either this or walk out the arch back into the starship and get the pegs from supplies. Or sit here in the rain without shelter."
"I should make you go back and get them from base camp."
You gotta love the Commander, huh? I was this close to saying, "Right then. See you in six hours," and leaving. Then I could just call for the arch the moment I got safely out of his line of sight, skedaddle back to my quarters and not have to worry about returning for six big ones.
Of course a simple, "Computer, locate Lieutenant Paris," would blow that plan and set me deeply in the shit, but it was tempting¨÷
I settled for, "Great. Just remind me, was it left by the big tree and then straight ahead for the next three hours? Or¨÷"
He sighed. "I get the feeling I should have just... bought you a beer at Sandrine's."
"Hey, it's not too late," I pointed out, suddenly hopeful. "You could still, you know, flip programs. I wouldn't tell anyone."
Chakotay raised a still-damp brow. "It's my dime, Mr. Paris. And I say we're camping. Besides-" and I thought I could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes, "You love the great outdoors."
"Yeah. Like my own father."
He missed the sarcasm.
"You know," he mused. "It's strange but..."
"But?" I prompted when he trailed off.
"But in a lot of ways you really¨÷"
The second pause got me nervous. "What?" I asked suspiciously.
Chakotay flashed one of his rare grins. "You really remind me of me."
"Oh good," I said sarkily, before I could stop myself.
He chuckled. "I used to hate all of this too. Jungle, weather, wildlife - my father dragged me off on a quest when I was, well, a lot younger than you are now. I don't think I'd ever been so unimpressed by anything in my life. But in time I learned¨÷"
Et cetera, et cetera... Which was fine. Fine and all fucking dandy, actually. Here I was, alone with a guy I'd had a crush on for something like three years, and now that he finally didn't 'hate me' he was going to play father-figure and teach me to Love the Wilderness.
My gaze fixated on his moving lips. Images tantalised, just for a second, and I thought to myself, Crush. Sure, that's what it is. Who the fuck exactly are you kidding here, Paris?
Damn him, anyway.
"¨÷more important than technology. A lot of things are, Paris."
"Love. Honour. A really well done steak with potatoes and rison beans..."
"It's not a joke, Lieutenant."
"Right." Shit. I felt a kind of spreading warmth in my chest. "So you'd rather make love in a bush than in a really well appointed, tech-filled pleasure suite on Risa?"
"Just hand me the pegs, hmm?"
"Sure," I answered, tossing him the bag. "You going to teach me how it's done?"
"Here. Now drive the peg into the hole. Straight in, one smooth stroke. See? Easy, once you get..."
I know, I've got a filthy mind.
We ended up wrestling the tent up together. Chakotay was gorgeous - all heave and pull and furrowed brow concentration. He'd stand back every now and again and rake his eyes over the work, critically. I spouted some very abusive language at the expense of tent designers in general and the parents of the skarian pegs in particular, but I'll admit, I did feel a certain pride of accomplishment once the damned thing was up and properly secured.
"Nice work, Mr. Paris."
I grinned happily. "Now all we need is a fire and we've got ourselves a regular Fleet boy good time."
"Coming right up," Chakotay answered, flicked out the phaser and aimed-
"Hey, isn't that a little post-warp of you? I thought we were-"
He just turned, grinned and nuked the shit out of the big, damp log near the tent flaps. Seriously, a flick of the phaser and that log burst into red and yellow flames. Very impressive. Aim, that is.
And thank God for the fire, because without it, by this time, it was too dark to see anything. Under normal circumstances I would have asked the computer to reset - hell, the sunsets I program last anywhere up to six hours - but Chakotay was too much of a puritan to approve of that kind of thing. For him, if the sun had set, it had set. No reset button, and the past written in the kind of stone a Gul would admire-
Oooh, watch yourself, Paris-
"Now what?" I asked him.
"Now we cook something."
"You're not serious¨÷"
"I'm always serious, Lieutenant." Amusement, humour and a kind of wry self depreciation lurked in his tone. "You should know that by now."
"Oh, sure." And I got to blink into a surprised look and innocently bat my lashes. "It's what I love most about you."
"Just like I love your sparkling personality?" And there was something about the way Chakotay...
"Right." Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. He's not flirting, he's just being friendly. "Just like that. Now please tell me I wasn't in charge of supplies as well as pegs."
Chakotay dropped to his knees and started scrounging in his packs. "Not at all. I brought what we need from the mess hall."
My grin drained away. "You know..." That tumble of ingredients he was fishing from the bag was not putting me at ease. "I've only got about three dishes in my cooking repertoire..."
"Yes, Mr. Paris. I remember your cooking very clearly from our two days on Benari Four in the Maquis."
"Hey, no wonder you hated me."
It was the wrong thing to say, of course. It was too much, too fast, too soon.
He caught me with his eyes and held me, suspended in his gaze. "Do you want to talk about it, Tom?"
"No..." I whispered. I wasn't lying, not really... "No. It's past. I'm over it."
"Then lets get cooking."
The fire was steady burning; it was keeping me warm, sure, but playing odd tricks with the shadows and the light. Night had fallen. The food was all but finished.
Chakotay was sprawled out comfortably on his side, his head propped up by a hand - I'd never seen him so relaxed. He was watching me with that calm, steady gaze of his, soaking up my every word... He'd just asked me about my time at the Academy, and I was trying to give him the short version.
"...up against a Bolian and three Humans from the Pentara Prime colonies." I pulled my knees in towards my chest and slung my arms around them. Thinking about that round of tests still made me uneasy. "The Bolian was already an eminent astrophysicist. She'd done a lot of work with subspace fields... work I still don't understand - Dr. K'Nar, her name was. She was incredible." I thought back. "Probably the only one of us humans that came close to her was a boy called David. David somethingorother. Young wiz kid, you know the type. Kind of like Harry." I let out a little breath. "I was completely out of my league. They don't have a piloting test on the entrance exam, after all."
I must have looked bothered by this, because Chakotay smiled softly and said, "Hey, take it easy. Most of us failed the first time around."
I snorted. "Yeah? Not in my family." I saw him open his mouth to speak again, and this time quickly cut him off. "Anyway, I didn't fail. I made it in."
Chakotay looked away, but I caught a glimpse of his expression. Read it like a book. Admiral Paris exerts his famous influence and Tom coasts through the first round of tests- "Congratulations," he said a little bitterly.
So it bothered him same as it bothered me. So what?
So fuck, I don't know. It irrationally pissed me off. "You gonna tell me how many times you failed the entrance exams, Commander?"
"Does it matter? My father was an historian, not a Fleet Admiral."
"Oh, careful with that Chakotay," I returned carelessly, clearing up the last of the food. "You'll hurt my feelings-"
I could just about make out the glitter of his eyes. Of course he wasn't going to let it go.
"That's all you're going to say?"
"Fuck this," I murmured, a kind of quiet heat in the words. Then, pitching my voice so that it carried, "What do you want me to say, Chakotay? You want me to spill my guts over the fire? This is a camping trip, not true confessions-"
"I'm sorry," he said softly, looking away. It was impossible to tell if he meant the words- "I'd hoped we could... talk a few things out."
"What's past is past, Chakotay."
And that was just brilliant, wasn't it? Sheesh. Good thing Harry wasn't around, he'd have never let me get away with a line like that- Thank you, brain, I wanted to say. You can sure come up with the conversational goods when I need you-
But Chakotay let it lie. Or possibly didn't even notice; it was that kind of conversation. "Maybe."
Right. I didn't answer him.
I mean, if he wanted to talk, he could talk. I spend enough time staving off the past as it is. I've no urge to dredge it up in conversation.
Time passed. The embers popped and sparked, and behind us, in the darkness, a half-cool breeze lifted leaves and branches... I got so used to the sounds of the trees and the fire that when it finally came, the low pitch of Chakotay's voice buzzed like a little shock. "Maybe. But I have to... Tom? Can I ask you something?"
I must really be a sucker for mood lighting, because I said "Go ahead" instead of "You just did".
Chakotay shifted position, but I don't think he was searching for words. When the question came it seemed like he just... blurted it out. "The Ocampan homeworld. Why did you come back for me?"
That's what all this was about?
Dammit. I broke off.
I couldn't look at him, not with pain knotting in my chest and trying to worm its way upward, past neck, into mouth... So I balled up my fists and was quiet for a long while, just holding it in, staring at the fire. "You'd have done the same for me."
"Probably." There was a pause. "You sound angry."
Fuck him. Fuck everything. Fuck the fact that I care what he thinks, fuck that nothing changes...
I wanted to say, I would have gone back for anyone. For Neelix, who I didn't know, for Dalby who'd have killed me-
I wanted to say, you bastard, how could you ask me? How could you? And don't give me that shit about talking stuff out when I know, I know that you have a high enough opinion of everyone else on board - Janeway, Tuvok, Neelix - that you wouldn't think to ask them 'why' if they ever saved your life.
I wanted to say, I could have gloated, I could have rubbed it in, hell, I saved the Maquis leader's life... but I didn't. I didn't, and do you know, that one moment, high on the scaffolding is the only time I've ever held you in my-
Angry, I wanted to say. God help me, Chakotay, anger is the last thing I could ever feel around you...
I grinned instead. "Hey, give me a break. Sullen's my best emotion. Suits the blue eyes."
Because, I mean, really, can you imagine me actually coming out with any of that other bullshit?
I heard the faintest trickle of laughter, and saw Chakotay stretch out into a new position. "The fire suits you too, Tom. Gold flames on your skin... You're pretty when you're not in smart-ass mode..."
Something spasmed in my too-tight chest. Shit. Steady, Paris. Get a grip. Stop playing is-he-or-isn't-he right now. This is Chakotay we're talking about here after all. That was a... a comment, something he noticed, aesthetic appreciation, not a pass.
Then why is he looking at me like...?
Stop, dammit! You've heard that kind of line before. Variations on the cute, cruel little, 'He's pretty when his mouth's shut--' Besides, the man's just about told you to your face that he still thinks you're worthless and you, what, want to let him fuck you?
Yes, whispered a part of my mind, spilling its own brand of heat on my skin. Yes...
Huh, I told that part of my mind. Take a cold shower and a long walk and that's the last time I ever ask you a rhetorical question-
"You think I look better when the light's dim. Great."
"Relax Paris," came his answer. Again, that quiet, lazy tone. "I was paying you a compliment."
I snorted. "Yeah? Well forgive me if I'm sceptical, Commander. We haven't exactly been best kissing buddies these last two years."
"Skeptical," he repeated. "That's reasonable, I suppose. We can change the subject if you'd rather talk about something else."
Change the subject.
Change the subject???
The impossible, frustrating, piss-Tom-off, adjective-inspiring, slippery son of a bitch.
"Sure." I ran a hand through my hair. "Change the subject. Fuck. Then I can spend the rest of the night wondering whether or not you just made a pass at me."
He didn't answer me. "So did you?" I prompted finally, teasing more than anything else...
To my complete astonishment, Chakotay broke eye contact, looked away, and... and... oh God, his words sent my heart skidding against the inside of my chest. "At least I've given you something to think about."
He didn't mean it, I told myself. Get a hold of yourself, drown this feeling, stop looking at him.
I couldn't. It was pain, bittersweet, my need for him and the heat of the planet seemed like a tangible presence, holding me, pressing against my skin...
He expected me to say something?
"Lost for words, Paris?" Chakotay half smiled. "Spirits, I finally shut him up..."
"A wisecrack isn't a denial," I pointed out carefully.
"Very insightful of you, Tom."
The grin wrapped its way round my face completely of it's own accord. "That isn't a denial either."
I thought I saw Chakotay smile, smile or grimace, before he ducked his head and swore. Very expressively. In Romulan.
I smirked at the words he used. "I'm certainly not that easy, Commander."
"It was an expletive, not a suggestion."
"Oh, sure. You say that now-"
Chakotay stretched up into a sitting position, flexed his fingers as I said the words. He was looking at me strangely. Assessing, maybe. Weighing me up, and I got the disconcerting feeling that the bastard was missing nothing.
Spasm of anxiety. "Uh, Chakotay...?"
He uncoiled at the sound of his name and leaned in, resting his bodyweight on his arms. I watched the strain ride up his dark, bronzed forearms and bunch, tensed, in lines across his biceps and shoulders. In the pause before touching he tipped his head to one side and asked, like it just occurred to him, "You speak Romulan, Tom?"
His breath tickled, we were that close.
"Not a word," I answered in that language. My throat felt oddly constricted. My gaze darted in half-unconscious invitation, from his eyes to his lips and back again. "Never a word... I wouldn't want you to think-"
"So shut up," Chakotay breathed. Oh God...
Need hit me like a phaser blast. I wanted him, wanted his lips on mine, his tongue opening me-
He leaned in closer and rubbed his cheek against mine; his movement echoing the head to head nudge of a contented cat, or the whuffling of a flighty pony. The whiplash of sensation, the blaze of skin on skin- I swear, if he'd put his hand between my legs I would have come right then-
"God, that feels good," I whispered, still in Romulan. I don't know if he understood me, but he kept it up, nudging, not kissing, until I closed my eyes, felt my neck arch and heard a small sound escape my lips. I'd wanted him for so long...
Sudden frustration. My eyes flew open. Chakotay had pulled back, and instead of that devastating caress he was giving me a long, slow, once over look. Admiring his handiwork no doubt. Tom, you slut, I thought to myself, my breathing roughened. You just made a first class idiot of yourself-
I could only imagine what I must look like...
Amusement crept into his expression. "Somehow I always thought you'd be the one to make the first move, Paris," he said.
And I snapped. I really did.
Three hours of hiking, pitching tents, an abortive pass - and him sounding smug and looking gorgeous was just about all I could take. "You got that right," I growled. And screw dignity, screw propriety, screw self respect - I took his shoulders in a firm grip and shoved him backwards, loving his gasp of surprise, and the delicious way he sprawled out under me. "Consider this a first move, Chakotay."
"Aggressive, aren't you?" Chakotay purred, arching into me. "I think this is going to be fun..."
He wanted it, I realised, suddenly. I wanted to scream my exhilaration. He wanted it! And all at once we were tousling, biting, struggling, pushing against one another. Clothing was peeled off - the black and red jumpsuit uniforms, the frustrating- as- hell grey polo-necks, the briefs that were preventing us from touching at the sweetest juncture -
"Paris..." he groaned, as our cocks pressed together.
I was kissing his neck at that stage - well, biting probably, judging by those marks - the friction between our legs was exquisite, but still- I tugged at his hair, sharply. "I do have a first name, Mr. Chakotay," I said.
"I know." I saw the intent kick into his expression, felt him change grip, and then, with one smooth motion, a single glorious heave he flipped me onto my back, reversing our positions. He looked powerful, hard, aroused. Stunning. We just stared at each other a moment, caught motionless in need. Then, "I'm going to fuck you," he exhaled. "Tom."
The breath knocked out of me. Heat gathered, pounding in my groin. It felt like he was trapping my wrists, stopping my movement, grinding me into the earth- "You really are unbelievable, you know that?" I gasped, laughing breathlessly as we struggled. "Conceited. You think we're going to do things your way?"
"I think I know what you want..."
His knee slid between my legs for emphasis, rubbing up dangerously near the flesh of my aching cock and then pressing harder against... Oh, God it hurt. It hurt, and I cried out as the wave of pain and desire hit, I arched my back and squirmed into him against my will, some sick part of me wanting more, the rest wanting-
"We'll... see," I managed to respond.
But even I couldn't deny the delicious sensation that had flickered down through my neck and chest and twisted in my stomach at his words. I was going to get fucked. Hard. By the First Officer, Chakotay, who was already turning me over, already massaging my buttocks and whispering things that were making my head spin and the ground seem to slip out from under me...
The tip of his cock rubbed down over my cleft, smooth burned it's way past the tight, aching fold of my asshole. Want sped into me, and I moaned and heaved back towards him. "For fuck's sake, do it."
"Wait, lubricant Tom, I don't have any..."
"I don't give a shit. Do it!"
His cock head pushed at me, pressed itself to the cleft between my buttocks in the softest, most perfect kiss. I moaned; the hot, moist sensation rode all up the way my tail bone. Crazy, I thought dazedly, crazy, Tom, you're crazy, and boy, was I crazy... The throbbing heat of his cock, just resting there at the opening, was teasing, taunting me into gaspier breaths, hardening me beyond anything, driving me wild, and damn him he wasn't doing anything...
I was primed, ready, hungry to thrust and be filled. I was anticipating pain, impalement, but Chakotay was hesitating...
"Oh fuck," I wailed. "Chakotay... What are you waiting for-?"
"Paris, you're an impatient son of a bitch." His voice sounded laboured. "Anyone ever tell you that?"
Cock against asshole. Almost penetrating. Almost. Christ.
"Not... under the same circumstances, no... Chakotay, god..."
"I'm trying to be... it's going to hurt if I don't do it slowly-"
I bit my lip and forced myself to wait. I was aching for it, my body screaming to be fucked, but he was right, of course. I'd done it like this before, a couple of times, and it had hurt like hell. And that had been with gentler lovers, and nothing like this kind of urgency-
"Relax, Tom," Chakotay said through gritted teeth. The heavy first push of his cock felt- surreal; hard, swollen, excruciating. It opened me slowly, or tried to, scraping its way inside, millimetre by impossible millimetre. "Let me in-"
I hissed with it. "It's not going to... shit..." Pain exploded in starry formations before my eyes as he pushed. Slowly. God. I ground out, "It's not going to work dry with you fucking about trying to be gentle."
"Just fuck me, dammit!" I growled back, agonised, wanting him in, and the pain ended, or at least subdued. I pushed back onto him, hard, the sensation ripping a harsh little cry from my throat.
And finally, finally he started thrusting. "Tom! Oh, God you feel..." I groaned from the strain. And his cock, stabbing it's way inside, seemed like some wild, inhuman instrument; reaming me, coring me, forcing cry after cry from my throat.
Pain swept me in continuous waves; pain and heat and pleasure, every shove of his sending fire to my cock, spearing me closer and closer to the edge. Stars blazed behind my eyelids, galaxies spinning themselves across my vision in a crazy, whirling stellar dance. His cock filled me. Chakotay's cock filled me-
"Yes...! Yes...! Oh fuck yes...!"
And then, somewhere in the daze of sensation I realised he was holding back. "You're... not-"
"I don't want to hurt you-" he gasped.
Damn you, Chakotay, you pacifistic son of a... I wanted him, dammit, wanted him all, nothing held back, and the idea of pain... I was too turned on to care. I shoved backwards again, and almost screamed. My voice was hoarse, but I was determined to- "Hurt me? You call this a fuck?" I managed. "Ferengi screw fiercer than you do-"
"God Tom, don't, I'm... I can't..."
It was insanity, I was too close, too close to taunt him, a thundering sensation building inside me, my body crashing on the edge of orgasm, "Prove yourself, Chakotay," I ground out, trying to hold off. "Harder. Harder! Screw me dammit-"
It hit like a wrecking ball, a smashing thrust that knocked me down from all fours and drove me, sprawling, into the ground. And another, and another - "Chakotay...!" And his name ripped itself from me, pushed out in an agony of sensation... Chakotay...! I cried out, and came - hard, bursting with it, spurting, writhing, calling his name and coming-
He followed, seconds behind, his own cry wordless, inarticulate passion in his throat. He colapsed down onto me, and for a few moments we lay there, dazed, his breath hot, ragged, panting in my ear.
Maybe, just maybe, I thought, as parts of my mind collected and slowly began to function again, maybe in the lassitude of the moment he'll want to...
He rolled off and onto his back at about the same instant. "That was incredible," he breathed.
"I'm a mess," I said with a tired half smile, determined not to feel disappointed. "Mind not yet working. Next time don't drag me ten million miles through a jungle before you fuck my brains out, Chakotay."
I heard a tired chuckle. "...try and remember that..." He closed his eyes. "I'd say we should clean ourselves up, but I feel like I've got lead in my veins. I couldn't possibly move... Your reputation is not exaggerated..."
I managed the sufficiently ambiguous, "Yours neither."
It stretched another chuckle from him. "Do I thank you or strangle you for that one, I wonder..." His voice started to trail off, got tangled with a yawn maybe. "I've promised myself that I'm not going to ask the name of the Ferengi you fucked, Paris..."
"Good," I murmured. Then, feeling prickles, "Shit. This- what the hell am I lying on here? Computer, give us some bedding, would you?" Then, "He snores?" I almost giggled. "Figures."
Darkness and silence and warmth from the fire.
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