"Oh." I laughed.
"Sorry about that," Micah apologized for Cato. "He tends to be a bit ritualistic."
"No, no. It was…fun," I said.
"If you thought that was fun, you should’ve seen Cato a few years ago at a saining. He made it a household event and insisted everyone be skyclad."
"What’s skyclad?" I asked, trying to stay out of Micah’s way as he bustled around the kitchen gathering cutting boards and knifes.
Micah set a heavy-duty cutting board down on the counter with a thump and looked at me. "Nude."
My eyes widened as I tried not to dwell on the disturbing picture of Cato in his birthday suit. "Good times. Well, I am going to go clean up."
"Oh, no you’re not." Micah grabbed my hand and dragged me back toward the fish on the counter.
"I’m not?"
"You’re not." He placed a knife in my hand and retrieved one for himself. "You have to finish what you started." Micah began scraping scales off of the fish.
"What Cato started," I reminded him.
"You don’t want to give Cato a knife right now – the medical team is asleep. Start scraping."
I sighed heavily and copied Micah, holding the fish upside down and scraping at the scales, from the tail down toward the gills. Scales flew everywhere.
"Keep your strokes short and quick." Micah shook his head, almost already done with the first fish. "Like this. Haven’t you ever cleaned a fish before?"
"I’ve caught fish with my father, but we always threw them back. It felt wrong to watch them suffocate." I looked remorsefully at the dead, half-scaled fish I held in my hand.
"Fish gotta swim, Micah’s gotta eat." He emphasized his point by chopping off the fish’s head with a large cleaver. "It’s the natural order of things. Make sure you get all the scales off around the fins, up the throat, and on the edge of the gills."
After I was done scaling, we brought our fish over to the sink and rinsed them.
"Now for the really fun part," Micah said. He inverted his fish so it was belly up; I mimicked him. "You need to cut here, basically removing his butthole." Micah made a little V shape on his fish, "Then cut from that hole to the head."
I did all of that with a wrinkled nose, "Not necessarily my idea of fun."
"But necessary, nonetheless. These fish will feed everyone at the—"
"—Chakra for the next couple of days." I finished his sentence for him.
"Too right," Micah said. "Now spread the fish open and take out the entrails."
I suffered through as quickly as possible. Upon inspection, Micah pulled out several pieces of god-knows-what, that I missed. We rinsed our fish, inside and out, thoroughly.
"There," I said, laying my fish down on a clean piece of wax paper. "Now I know how to clean a fish."
"Aren’t you forgetting something?" Micah was taunting me, waving the large cleaver in front of my face.
"Oh." I took the cleaver from him and in one clean stroke separated the fish’s head from his body.
"Now for the rest of them," Micah said.
I withdrew the cleaver and water and blood went flying, "Bring them on."
"Ack," Micah exclaimed. I turned, his face was spotted with red.
"Oops. Sorry about that." I retrieved a hand towel from one of the drawers and tossed it to him.
I turned, resuming the gruesome work while he dabbed at his face. My back stiffened as I felt him move up behind me.
He bent down to my ear and whispered, "Sorry, Kaitlyn. I just can't let that one slide."
I felt a tug at the back collar of my shirt, and something far too cold and far too slimy slid down my spine. "Ew! Get it out – get it out!"
Micah burst out laughing as I danced around the kitchen attempting to dislodge the creature out from under my shirt, which was unfortunately tucked into my pants. I finally managed to untuck. Scales and fins slithered the rest of the way out and flopped to the floor.
Trying to gain some semblance of dignity wasn't happening, my body shuddered as chills continued to run up and down my back. Dignity be damned, I walked over to the counter, retrieved the fish I had been working on, and turned, throwing it straight at Micah. He caught it mid-air, but slipped on the very same one he shoved down my shirt.
"Ha!" I shouted, finally gaining the upper hand. Not yet willing to declare victory, I picked up one of the cutting boards containing half the fish, and tossed the lot on him. He returned fire with a fish-slap directly to my face.
"Hey! That one will bruise by morning!" I yelped as I ran around the counter for cover.
"Put some mud on it!" He yelled back, lobbing fish after fish aiming for the sound of my voice. A few of them hit their mark.
I started throwing back, but heard each one hit the tiled floor, not Micah. He had gone silent.
Crap.
I risked a peek over the counter. No Micah. Another peek around the side. Still no Micah.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
This was going to have to be a rush job, I wasn't sneaking up on anyone with my wet, squeaky shoes. I grabbed two of the biggest fish I could find, and launched myself over the counter, missiles ready. I landed on my feet, in the middle of an empty room.
My arms dropped to my sides, "Hello?"
I spun around, twice, for good measure. My hands went to my hips as I tapped my foot. "Did I scare you away?!"
Something crept over my shoulder. "Yes, Kaitlyn. You are
veeeery
scary." I looked out of the corner of my eye. The biggest pair of fish lips I have ever seen were moving in time to Micah's poor Spanish accent.
I tried to hold it in, but couldn't. Laughter bubbled through my compressed lips, until I let out a full on snort.
I turned to find a big smile on Micah's face. He took a step closer, closing the distance between us. His nose wrinkled, "You smell like fish."
"You smell like blood," I retorted, attempting to give him a half-hearted slap on the shoulder with fish still in hand.
He caught my wrist. Tremors of energy coursed through him and into me; all projectiles were dropped. Our touch up until now only caused static shocks, but this time it was more like shockwaves. I shuddered, forcing it back into him, because I was afraid of what would happen if I didn't.
The exchange glued us together. I tilted my chin up just as he inched his down, and our mouths found each other.
Tonight
, I thought.
I'm ready tonight
.
He bent, picking me up and carried me to his room.
Hypnotic Whispers
He set me down in his room; I gave an apprehensive look at the bed. We had both been there together, but not for this. Instead, he took my hand and led me to the shower. As sexy as we were both smelling right then, I didn't blame him.
Still smiling, he pulled me into the hot water fully clothed. We faced each other, peeling off our layers together. He was deliberately drawing it out. Come morning, there would be no convenient excuses. No 'I was drunk with power', no 'I was caught up in the moment'. We each had plenty of opportunity to stop.
Neither of us did.
As the last of our layers came off, I kept my eyes glued to our feet.
"Look at me," he said.
I folded my arms into my chest. He stopped me, "Look at me, Kaitlyn." He lifted my chin up. Micah was certainly looking at me, drinking me in entirely.
He poured soap over a loufa and began lathering my body. First my arms, then circling down my chest, all the way to my legs then back up again. He pulled me in close, surrounding me with his strong arms to wash my back.
He was erect; his shaft pressed up against my belly. I took the loufa from him and returned the favor. He groaned. His eyes closed in pleasure then opened again as I continued to stroke him.
He pulled on my hair, forcing my face to look up, "Are you sure? Because I don't think I can wait any longer."
I swallowed, hard, too nervous to speak. But I nodded yes. He turned the shower off, flung open the curtain, then kissed me. Our lips stayed locked as he guided us to the bed. I was resisting the urge to climb up him and ride him where he stood.
We threw ourselves on the bed, soaking the sheets through. I inched back as he hovered over me. His mouth moved down my neck, and over the soft tissue of my breast, alternately flicking his tongue and sucking on my nipples. His hand moved in between my legs, forcing them open. He slid one finger in, then two.
It was my turn to groan, "Micah…"
He stopped, shifting his body higher, but kept my legs open with his knees.
Pushing back strands of wet hair from my face, he pressed into me. I bit my lower lip. His length and girth caused me to gasp. He paused, bending to bite at my neck, while he held me in place, forcing me to accept him. He began whispering in my ear. It was another language, one I didn't recognize, but it was hypnotic, and I relaxed into him.
He pulled out, then in again. A slow, controlled rhythm. Currents sizzled into me each time he entered, and pleasure replaced the pain. My arms weaved around his sides and back, encouraging him. Micah thrust harder. His language became harsh. I braced myself under his weight, urging him to tear into me, over and over again.
Streams of energy running through me began to peak; they were as unstoppable as the tide. Micah paused, making one last push deep inside, and voltage consumed me. We each shuddered as shock crackled, then finally ebbed away. We caught our breath and sank into the soft bed. There were no words. Micah, still hovered protectively around me, pulled the sheets over and wrapped us in a cocoon. And there we stayed, not even emerging with the morning.
Pleasant Conversations
Lungs aching for air, I was staring at the spot in between Micah's shoulder blades as he ran in front of me. A small bead of perspiration blossomed out through the cotton fibers of his shirt. I smiled in triumph – my training had begun a little over a week ago, and my running had quickly improved. He actually was breaking a sweat. Granted, it took seven miles to do it, but I would claim any small victory I could.
My routine of lessons, workouts, and training sessions was at least predictable, unlike our sex life. Since the night of my saining, we hadn't made love together – at least not in the bed. The same could not be said about the walk-in freezer or the forested part of the grounds. We went with our bodies inclinations. When the mood hit; it was as impossible to ignore as a tidal wave. By the time our heads hit the pillow at night, we were too exhausted to do anything else but sleep.
Finishing the long run before breakfast and with no water breaks, I was anxious to get to the kitchen.
"Wait, I want to stay and help fix this panel," Micah said, changing course.
A foul ball in yesterday's baseball game between guards and medics cracked one of the solar panels. My mouth felt like cotton, and I stopped mid-protest. I wanted Micah by my side, working to make up for the hardship he instigated via death trek. At what point had I become so dependent on him? Barring my childhood, when had I ever been dependent on anyone?
Muttering excuses about being too sweaty and hungry to argue, I turned in the direction of the building and Micah sent me on my way with a hard pat on the butt. I gave him a dirty look, but he was already pulling on rubber gloves and surveying tools. Once inside, I limped down the long hallway. Blisters forced me to walk on the outside of one foot. Inevitably, I tripped and fell, hard. The loud thump of my body against the cold stone floor echoed down the empty corridor. Exhaustion triumphing over ego, I didn’t even look to see if there were witnesses to my clumsiness. Instead, I slowly pushed myself up and identified the culprit.
Before I could remedy the untied shoelace, someone cleared their throat behind me. I turned, expecting to see Micah, but saw Shawn standing in a doorway that I could swear had been closed moments ago.
He leaned against the doorway, looking strangely gaunt. The dark circles around his eyes were gone but he was unshaven, and while it seemed as though he hadn’t slept in days, he was sporting a serious case of bed head. Under my critical eye, he straightened his posture, smoothed out his clothes and ran his hand through his hair. It was slow motion, much like a model at a photo shoot. That was the Shawn we all knew and loved. He took a step toward me and I instinctively took a step back. Shawn smiled, pleased.
I turned away.
He grabbed my upper arm, "Leaving already? But we have yet to start a conversation, Princess Gaia."
"I could have a much more pleasant conversation with myself." I twisted my arm out of his tight grip. "So I think I will be on my way."
He moved around to block me, with almost lightning quick speed. "Trust me, Princess, nothing about this is going to be … pleasant." His bitter breath forced me back toward the open doorway and I looked behind my shoulder into the bedroom. There were clothes strewn everywhere, the bed was unmade, and it had the very distinct odor of Shawn. Suspecting the worst, I tapped into the frequency of the land that was done so easily before. My waves bounced back, hitting an invisible shield.