Outpost 2: Snowed In - Bisexual

"You don't miss living with your own kind?" Riya asked. Schaffer shook his head, swirling his drink in his hand and watching the liquid as it formed a small whirlpool. "You don't miss living on the Pinwheel? I've been there on shore leave, that place is more like a damned resort than a military installation. A lot of people would kill for a chance to be stationed there."

"I don't miss it, my old life...my old colleagues, it very nearly got me killed." He perked up suddenly, as if waking from a daydream, realizing that he might have said too much and taking a long draw from his glass. "Not that I mind a little refresher every so often, I'm almost glad you got stranded here, maybe I had gone too long without human contact. It's nice to be able to dust off the old English language once in a while."

"Along with the bourbon," Riya added.

They heard something scraping along the deck in the hallway outside the kitchen, the two humans turning their heads to track the sound as a Polar appeared in the doorway. She was tall and far leaner than her counterparts, what insulating fat she had was tastefully distributed in a way that accentuated her feminine figure, giving her meaty thighs and an ample chest that was concealed beneath a leather sling. Bandoleers that held large bullets hung from her shoulders, and around her wide hips was slung a leather belt, a loincloth dangling from it to preserve her modesty along with pouches and sheaths made from tanned hide. She had a cruel scar running down her face from her forehead to her chin, pink, knitted tissue exposed between the dead follicles. Other such injuries were scattered across her body, a patchwork of pink lines that broke up her off-white coat, which was decorated with more of the coffee-stain markings than was common for her people. She wore the snow-white pelt of some native animal as a cloak, serving to better camouflage her when she was stalking the tundra for prey. She dragged a fresh kill behind her, some nameless beast that looked like an antelope, but with too many legs and a layer of blubber that filled out its body. In her free hand she carried a long, ornate rifle, a primitive but powerful weapon of Borealan design.

It was Scarface, the pack's resident huntress, she was passing by on her way to drop off the take from her latest hunt in the store room no doubt. Schaffer waved to her, and she returned the gesture, the alien was surprisingly withdrawn for a Polar and seldom interacted with anyone besides him.

"She's beastly," Riya commented as Scarface walked away down the corridor. "Looks a lot more like the breed I'm accustomed to seeing in UNN space. What the hell was that thing she was dragging along behind her?"

"I never gave it a name," Schaffer replied, "I could probably register a dozen newly discovered species if I could be bothered to take pictures and call them in."

"Call it a Keshi," Riya volunteered, "that's a horse demon from Hindu mythology."

"That's not a bad idea," Schaffer said, leaning back reflexively to avoid a hunk of meat that Osha had decided to cast in his direction. It landed on the table in front of him, splashing him with juice, the enormous female smiling contentedly as he picked it up and began to eat without complaint. The pack was depleting the supply pretty quickly, soon they would set about cooking the kill that Scarface had brought back with her, preparing a meal for the next rotation when the other pack members returned from their foraging.

As they finished their feast, they started to wander off one by one, no doubt leaving to choose a comfortable pile to sleep in while they digested their meal. The kitchen steadily emptied until only Runt, Osha and Zagza remained along with the two humans. The pair of larger Polars bid them goodnight, Zagza paying special attention to Riya for reasons that weren't obvious to Schaffer. While Zagza was the pack's Alpha, Osha was their unofficial matriarch, and the two tended to sleep together most of the time.

Runt stuck close to Schaffer, both because he preferred to sleep with him, and because he was feeling neglected as the pair of humans shared a moment over their bourbon. They had drunk about two thirds of it, and they both seemed to silently agree that it was enough, setting aside their shot glasses and screwing the cap back onto the bottle.

"So where am I sleeping?" Riya asked, pleasantly tipsy. "I don't suppose you have a guest bedroom?"

"Well the pack sleeps in a big pile, usually I just throw myself into the mix and hope that whatever I'm lying on doesn't wake up and start moving before I do. There are couches in the common room that you can use if you don't want to get too friendly with the Polars, I can find you a blanket if you need one, but the temperature in here stays pretty constant."

"Sounds good, I think I'll call it a night and turn in." She stood up from her seat, walking over to the doorway and leaning against the frame for balance as she turned her head to look back at him. "You're alright Schaffer, this blizzard could have been a real shit show, but you and your furry friends turned it around. I'll see you in the morning."

"Night," he replied as she vanished into the hallway. He turned to Runt when he was sure that she was out of earshot. "Ok, you have me to yourself now, happy?"

The alien buried his face in the nape of Schaffer's neck, downy fur tickling his skin.

Schaffer heard Scarface returning, the alien pausing at the doorway as she passed by to look in on the pair, the kitchen now deserted save for Schaffer and Runt. She seemed to have been waiting for the other pack members to leave, and seeing that they had all gone to bed, she slinked into the room and made her way over to where Schaffer was sitting. The human was one of the few people that she interacted with, she had taken a liking to him and as far as he knew he was the only member of their pack that she chose to share a bed with. Scarface spent much of her time prowling the wastes, she had been the lead hunter of the pack and its main breadwinner before they had moved into the outpost, and she still liked to fish and hunt more than was really necessary now that the UNN was providing them with food and supplies. During her infrequent visits to the base, she usually found ways to get some alone time with Schaffer, and he had to admit that her unusually aggressive style of lovemaking made him look forward to those rare encounters. He was still unsure of her story, how she had earned all of her scars, and what the reason was for her silent and frankly un-Polar-like demeanor. At first her antisocial tendencies had worried him, but she always seemed happy when she was tracking some alien animal or sitting by a hole in the ice waiting for a fish to bite, and that was good enough for him.

She sauntered over to the table and leaned down beside Schaffer, rubbing her head against his cheek and nuzzling at the nape of his neck, pinching his skin gently with her sharp teeth. He knew the signals well enough, though she never spoke a word she could communicate what she wanted from him, his body responding on its own as he leaned into her.

Runt sat to his right, still clinging to Schaffer's arm and alarmed that his alone time with his favorite human was again being intruded upon by a female, the little alien scowling as he clung to Schaffer's sleeve and eyed the newcomer suspiciously. Scarface seemed indifferent to him, ignoring him completely as she urged Schaffer to follow her away from the table, to some private spot where they might go undisturbed for an hour or two no doubt.

As he rose from his seat, he felt Runt dig his claws into his sleeve, preventing him from leaving as Scarface cocked her head at the little Polar quizzically. He barked something at her in their rolling native language, and she seemed taken aback.

Schaffer had never seen anything of the like, were they fighting over him? Runt was usually so meek and passive, but perhaps a combination of factors had brought out this new passion in him. It was probably Schaffer's own fault for encouraging him to be more assertive, along with his long chat with Riya and a little Dutch courage from the shot of bourbon that the young Polar had insisted on drinking.

Thankfully, Scarface seemed amused more than annoyed by his uncharacteristic outburst. Schaffer had never witnessed a real battle for status between pack members, any disagreements usually resolved themselves pretty quickly through a reconciliatory roll in the proverbial hay, but Scarface was a lot more selective of her mates than the other females of the group.

Runt spoke to her, and she seemed to shrug her furry shoulders, taking up a seat on the floor at the table opposite them. He heard her assortment of tools and knives that hung from her many belts and bandoleers clatter on the deck as she sat cross-legged, resting her large hands on the table and appearing to wait for something. Runt's claws clinked on the glass bottle of bourbon as he slid it across the table towards her, and she examined it suspiciously, eyeing the amber liquid as it settled in the transparent container. Runt took one of the shot glasses and upended the bottle, filling it and gesturing to the drink as Scarface looked on.

What on Earth was he doing? Had Schaffer just witnessed the invention of an alien drinking competition? Runt seemed indecisive, his tail was flicking back and forth behind his chair in a way that Schaffer knew communicated embarrassment or internal conflict, but he was putting on a stalwart front for Scarface's benefit apparently. Still amused, the giant hunter examined his face, then lifted the shot glass from the table and sniffed it experimentally before bringing it to her lips and taking a tentative sip. Her blue eyes widened as the liquid met her tongue, and she sputtered, clearly not enjoying the taste but not willing to set the glass down either.

She seemed almost playful with Runt, humoring him in a way that Schaffer had never seen her afford the more senior members of the pack. She was respectful of Zagza and his position, presenting her catches to him as if he were her employer, but beyond that she stayed out of the way of the older Polars. She took another drink, her piercing gaze fixed on Runt as the little alien fumed and watched her.

Runt spoke again, Schaffer wishing that he had some resource available for learning their alien language so that he might have been able to follow this bizarre exchange, and this time the Polar filled his own glass and drank from it as Scarface watched. He already seemed a little tipsy, and now he was swaying gently as he downed his second helping and grimaced. Schaffer patted him on the shoulder, shaking his head at the alien in an attempt to convey that he should stop before his liver shut down, but the alien pushed him away and looked back to Scarface.

She refused to drink more, pushing her glass away, and Runt rose to his feet as his chair legs scraped against the floor. He marched around the edge of the table as Schaffer watched with alarm, coming to a stop beside Scarface, at head height to her as she sat on the deck due to their difference in stature. He seemed more nervous now, his tail flicking indecisively again, but then he appeared to steel himself and his brow furrowed. She cocked her head at him, then he reached out and took her face in his hands, Scarface tensing as a look of drunken determination crossed his face and he pressed his lips against hers. Schaffer waited for her to swipe at him with her claws and reward him with some scars of his own, but the blow never came, instead she leaned into the smaller male and Schaffer watched as their oversized, pink tongues entwined. He had never seen her kiss anyone besides him before, and he felt a pang of jealousy as the two aliens pressed together, Scarface wrapping an arm around Runt's lower body and pulling the smaller male into her. His excitement was obvious, unable to contain himself as the huntress explored his mouth with her long, winding organ. She squeezed him against her plush body, letting his hands roam over her furred face, Runt's eyes closing as he lost himself in her forceful embrace.

Their union lasted for a few more moments, Runt seeming to relax as it dragged on, then finally Scarface broke away and rose to her feet. She scruffed him by the back of the neck, like a mother cat catching an unruly kitten, and lifted him off the floor to let his feet dangle in the air. She planted her other hand on her wide hip, scowling at the little alien as he hung there impotently, his tail limp and his demeanor now submissive again. She didn't seem angry, just annoyed, but Schaffer could see that the whiskey was doing its work on her too. Even one glass was enough to intoxicate her despite her impressive size and weight, Borealan biology being completely unsuited to such strong spirits.

She placed Runt back on his feet, and he went scurrying over to Schaffer once he was free of her hold, shivering and burying his face in his human friend's jacket. Schaffer scratched his head apologetically, trying to calm him.

Did Runt have a thing for Scarface, then? Once the alcohol had stripped him of his inhibitions he had gone straight to her, conflicted about what he was doing, but obviously determined none the less. Maybe it wasn't only that the little alien wanted Schaffer all to himself, maybe he was jealous of the relationship his peers shared as well. Scarface watched them both, her eyes narrowing as she schemed, then she lifted her shot glass from the table and downed the last of her bourbon. She marched around the table and snatched Runt out from beneath the safety of Schaffer's jacket, taking him by the scruff again and lifting him off the floor with one hand. Her other hand found Schaffer's arm, taking a firm grip and guiding him out of his seat, steering him towards the door.

CHAPTER 6 -- THREE'S A CROWD

Scarface led them down the hall and past some bedrooms that were occupied by piles of sleeping Polars, searching for a free dorm and eventually finding one, thrusting the pair into the room and then closing the door ominously behind them with a click as the lock engaged. They landed on the mattresses that lined the floor, white hairs from previous occupants littering the space, the two bunk beds that were unable to support the weight of the pack members pushed out of the way towards the back of the room.

Schaffer had a good idea of what was about to happen, Runt trembling beside him on the mattress, whether from anticipation or fear it was hard to say.

Scarface was usually distant and reserved, her true personality only really flourishing when she was alone with her chosen partner, where her stoic exterior fell away and she fucked like an angry tiger. Perhaps this case was similar, the alcohol was eating away at her resolve like some kind of corrosive chemical, her underlying lust and playfulness shining through as she watched the two males with a covetous expression and wet her lips hungrily.

She stalked towards them, swaying as she tried to balance on the soft mattress beneath her feet, her head swiveling between the two friends before her eyes locked onto Runt. She crouched over the little alien, two or three feet taller than him, then pinned him to the ground. He sank into the mattress under her weight, Scarface burying her teeth in the fur of his neck, her biting and kissing out of view from where Schaffer was sitting but obvious from the way her quarry bucked and shivered. She seemed to be asserting herself over him, punishment for him stepping out of line and having ideas beyond his station back in the kitchen, perhaps?

Her large breasts hung enticingly in their leather sling, heavy and pendulant as she ravished Runt, the bewildered Polar loosing squeaks and whines as she licked and bit at his sensitive throat and shoulders. Schaffer had rarely seen him so overwhelmed and excited, not since the first time that he had goaded Runt into joining an orgy that he had been watching from a secluded hiding place, too afraid to participate. Perhaps this situation was similar, it seemed to be a pattern with the meek Polar, he fretted and hesitated until someone gave him the push that he needed to pursue his desires. Throwing himself into the roiling pile of furry bodies rather than just watching in secret, discovering his dominant side and taking the lead with Schaffer, and now pursuing a mighty huntress who wouldn't have given him the time of day had he not confronted her.

It seemed to have worked, if anything his sheer audacity had drawn Scarface's attention and now she was putting him in his place, in the sensual way that these aliens preferred to resolve their conflicts.

Runt's eyelids were fluttering as she played her lips and teeth over his vulnerable neck, the unspoken message that she could have severed his jugular with her sharp fangs were she so inclined, but they both knew that reasserting her higher position in the pack hierarchy would take...other forms.

Schaffer watched as Runt's erection strained at his leather loincloth, tenting the fabric as Scarface took his furry cheeks in her clawed fingers and delved into his mouth once again, Schaffer's own member starting to ache as he watched their serpentine tongues intertwine and wrestle. She was really laying it on thick, maybe because she was a little drunk for the first time in her life, but the little Polar's eyes were watering and she seemed to want him so affected that he couldn't hope to mount any kind of resistance.

She broke off to leave him panting and shivering, a strand of her thick saliva linking their lips as her obscenely long, slippery organ coiled back into her mouth. She turned her predatory gaze towards Schaffer, her blue eyes meeting his gaze, and he felt his heart skip in his chest as her fuzzy tail coiled around his ankle like a tentacle. She dragged him towards them across the bed, her tail strong enough to lift him on its own without much difficulty, and she deposited him besides the gasping Runt.

She glanced between them as her lips curled into a salacious grin, as if she were standing before a buffet with her favorite dishes laid out before her, bawdy scenarios no doubt coursing through her brain as she decided what to do with the pair. She tended to take what she wanted from Schaffer when they shared some alone time, her lovemaking was greedy and passionate, her relentless pace leaving him exhausted and satisfied. Now he saw that same glint her eye, beginning to remove his clothes in anticipation of what he knew was coming next.

Scarface watched him, her gaze playing over his familiar body, then she scruffed Runt again. She did it tenderly this time, rolling him over and dropping him beside Schaffer, the two of them bouncing on the mattresses as the springs creaked under their weight. She tore Runt's loincloth free, unfastening the knot that held his belt together from behind and discarding the garment, leaving the alien exposed as his fleshy erection throbbed and dripped clear fluid from its tapered tip. Schaffer was equally erect, sore and wanting as Runt crawled closer, their members knocking together as the now submissive Polar planted lingering kisses on his chest and shoulders. Scarface's aggressive attentions seemed to have made him pliant and obedient again, Schaffer feeling his erection jump in the air as the alien crawled his soft lips down his belly and his fluffy fingers wrapped around his shaft.

Scarface sat down heavily, her legs crossed as she plunged a hand beneath her loincloth, her fingers moving frantically under the fabric as she watched Runt roam lower. This was for her benefit then, not Schaffer's, and the human jumped as he felt the Polar's soft lips wrap around his glans. His textured tongue coiled around Schaffer's tender flesh, painting it with saliva and teasing the underside of the head where Runt knew he liked it. His mouth was so warm and the lining of his cheeks so smooth, pressing around his member like a silken glove as the alien sucked him deeper. His undulating organ coiled down the length of Schaffer's shaft like a fat worm, squeezing him and milking, the obedient Polar lapping at the excitement that welled at the tip. Schaffer let himself lie back on the mattress, relaxing and enjoying the sensations, Runt was a goddamned expert by this point and nobody else could compare to his tenderness and eager skill.