Outpost: Hetero Version

She seemed to want to demonstrate her craft to him, directing his attention towards the bead necklace that she was in the process of assembling. She held the beads and shells in her claws, slipping them onto the string to create repeating patterns. Emboldened by his boredom, Schaffer leaned forward, taking a string of his own and a handful of assorted beads. He began to copy the sequence, the alien who was serving as his seat looking over his shoulder curiously. Her neighbor was delighted by this, beginning to laugh as she watched him work. Schaffer tried to do it as quickly as possible, his small fingers less clumsy than those of the larger aliens, and the women seemed surprised by how quickly he mastered the process.

Before long he had made his own pile, outpacing his work partners and dropping the finished necklaces into the woven basket. They seemed grateful, the alien whose lap he was sat on beginning to groom him, dragging her sharp claws through his hair. He flinched away, but she wrapped her other arm around his waist, keeping him seated as the curved talons pricked his head. He began to protest, then relaxed as the sensation became enjoyable. Her touch was light, gentle, not enough to break the skin but enough to send pleasant shivers up and down his spine. His eyelids fluttered as she massaged his scalp, combing his hair. He leaned into her, exhaling happily as she crooned in his ear.

"Shoofa," she whispered, followed by something unintelligible. Her low hisses and purrs were meaningless to him, but her voice was somehow soothing, low and deep yet distinctly feminine. He was starting to feel strange. The rhythmic sensation of her claws in his hair, her placating mumbling, the warmth and softness of her huge body as his hands found purchase in her downy thighs. He relaxed against her, her bust making a fine pillow, feeling as if he might fall asleep. As a combat engineer serving on a military space station, massages were not part of his daily routine.

The second female leaned in, rubbing her large head against his like an oversized housecat, pressing her pink nose into the nape of his neck. He felt her fluffy hand creep up on him, tracing his lips with the fleshy pad on her thumb, her fur tickling his cheek. He was zoning out, his mind becoming mushy and unfocused as his breathing grew heavier.

He felt heat on his neck, followed by the prick of sharp teeth pressing into his skin and the rough, wet texture of a tongue. He was jolted to his senses, pulling away from the alien's exploratory mouthing. He slipped under the arm and down between the legs of the first alien, sliding under the table to make his escape. He reemerged on the other side near the wall, wiping the thick, warm saliva from his neck with his furry sleeve and eyeing the two women warily. One was laughing, the other seemed puzzled by his reaction.

"Schaffer is not food," he insisted, wagging his finger at them. "Not food, no."

His face was burning, he felt dazed, oddly aroused. These things just didn't care about...had no concept of...

Unable to formulate a coherent complaint and distracted by a guilty bulge in his suit, he made his way towards one of the fire pits, muttering to himself under his breath. You couldn't just lick people, touch people without consent. Surely even their primitive, stone-age society had some kind of rules and boundaries that dictated social interaction. Yet as he sat by the fire, his heart still beating rapidly and his blood flowing to places that it shouldn't, he looked back at the two females. They had left their seats at the table and were making their way towards the cots, shedding their clothing as they went.

Schaffer's face turned red again as he watched the pair tumble onto a cot, not much more than a mass of shadows in the gloom. Their limbs were entangled, their hands roving, flashes of pink tongue visible between their locked lips as their bodies entwined.

He looked away and stared intently into the flames, his eyes wide as beads of sweat began to roll down his face, unrelated to the heat of the fire.

"What the fuck?" he muttered under his breath. What the hell was this? What were they doing? Were those two women a couple? A mated pair? Why would two females engage in that kind of behavior? Had they attempted to involve him as well? He couldn't think straight, unable to process what he had seen and was now hearing as their soft, sultry vocalizations floated across the hall.

Why was he so intimidated by this? They were just aliens, after all, animals from his perspective. If he saw two dogs going at it during a walk in a park on Earth or one of the more verdant colonies, he wouldn't look twice, and he wouldn't be offended. They were so like humans, however. He was naturally inclined to apply human standards of behavior to them, but that was illogical. They were not human, they had their own set of behavioral standards, their own culture that apparently had nothing to say about public sex.

The sooner he got out of here, the better.

***

Zagza and his cohorts returned not long after, this time bringing back what looked like large, white rabbits with too many legs. It wasn't quite the haul of the previous hunting trip, but they seemed content with it, and a few of the aliens set about skinning and preparing them. Schaffer was still a little on edge, unsure if what he had seen was normal behavior for the aliens or some kind of deviancy. Even if he had been able to ask about it, he probably would have been too embarrassed. His feelings were hard to justify, he had no right to apply his own standards to this alien culture, yet he couldn't help himself. His own biases were so deeply ingrained, and his own sensibilities were set in stone.

He decided to occupy himself with trying to communicate with Zagza instead. He must formulate some kind of plan, a method to inquire about who the pack traded with and to explain that he wanted to meet them. He had a suspicion that this concept would be harder to convey than simply drawing shapes in the dirt and prodding them with sticks. Perhaps it was worth trying to teach Zagza more simple phrases, the giant alien seemed receptive to the idea. He also spread what he learned to the rest of the pack, which was incredibly convenient for Schaffer.

He approached the group of aliens, but he seemed to have caught them at a bad time. They were taking up seats around one of the fire pits, some of them dragging tables across the hall and placing them around the flames in a rough circle. The pack appeared to be gearing up for a feast. As if on cue, Osha and a handful of other females entered the hall through the main door, hefting the largest cuts of meat that Schaffer had yet seen. It was rigid, it looked frozen. This wasn't a fresh kill, they must have a store of some kind outside. He knew from experience that the chilling air would be cool enough to refrigerate the meat and stop it from spoiling.

Osha dropped a particularly large hunk of flesh onto one of the tables with a crash, then looked around the hall, as if searching for something. She spied Schaffer, making a beeline towards him. Oh God, not this again. She hooked him in her arms before he could scurry away, and lifted him, carrying him over to the tables and setting him down on a wooden stool that was far too high for him.

The first chunk of meat was already being turned on a spit over the fire. The other pack members took up seats around the circle, eyeing the dripping, glazed food expectantly. The whole pack seemed to be in attendance, about fifteen of them, not including the one who was manning the spit. The meat roasted as it turned, browning attractively over the flames that licked at it like hungry tongues. Osha was sat beside him on his left, and Zagza was to his right. He felt like a dwarf, sandwiched between the two furry giants. He wondered if the two largest aliens were a couple, but he hadn't seen any indication of that so far. There were more males than females around the table, although not by a large factor. Most seemed to be an average of eight-feet tall, with a few outliers like Osha and Zagza who were taller, and Runt who was shorter than any of them. The two females adorned in decorative jewelry were present, although they were sitting apart now, their previous romp apparently forgotten. There were two aliens with remarkably similar, no, identical patterning on their coats. Were they twins perhaps? They peered at him across the table, whispering to each other behind their hands.

There was chatter around the fire as they waited for their meal, none of which was discernible to Schaffer. He contented himself with trying to teach Zagza new words, although it was slow going. Eventually, the meat was declared ready, at least that's what Schaffer inferred from the enthusiastic burst of conversation as the pleasant smell of roasted meat wafted through the room. As usual, Zagza got first pick, followed by the other pack members in a sequence that seemed random to Schaffer but must have some social or hierarchical meaning. They all seemed to defer to Zagza, although Schaffer had never seen any blatant displays of dominance as one might expect from pack animals.

When Osha's turn came, she also sliced off a section for Schaffer with her claws. He might complain about the portly female, but he was grateful to be fed. There was no cutlery, and he would have had no other way to cut it. He had joked about her adopting him, but that might really be the case. The wayward human might appear as some orphaned child to her, malnourished and unable to properly feed himself, although he doubted that the great creature was so simple-minded.

This meat was thicker than the smoked meat and the flesh from the creature that they had dined on the previous night, chewier and more muscled. It was quite delicious, the aliens did not seem to care for sweet foods and used few seasonings, favoring fats and greases instead. It was a nice change to eat something lean, he certainly needed the protein. He had been getting used to the crushing gravity since the day he had landed, each subsequent day the weight would ease a little as his body adapted. He realized that he was building muscle in response, his legs already starting to gain definition that they hadn't had before. The Pinwheel had gyms, an Olympic swimming pool that was usually packed with Krell, and was itself large enough to do laps around without much difficulty. But that didn't mean that Schaffer had any time to work out on his busy schedule, a life of taking inventory and examining shipping manifests had left him a little softer than his Marine counterparts.

The conversation seemed to have died down as the aliens feasted, their mouths now too occupied with their food for idle chatter. He couldn't believe the quantity that they ate, even for their size. The one who had been tasked with turning the spit was apparently the designated waiter for the others. He kept bringing more meat and cooking more food, passing around wooden slabs that served as trays, piled with new delicacies.

The rabbit-like creatures that they had caught earlier had been prepared, and there was meat left over from the giant animal that the aliens had hunted the day before. There was smoked meat from the hooks that Schaffer couldn't identify, sausage obviously made from offal, diced meat of uncertain origin and even bones which they broke and sucked on in order to extract the nutritious marrow.

Osha seemed eager to have Schaffer sample a little of everything, and to his surprise, he found that few dishes were not to his liking. He would have given two arms and a leg for some barbecue sauce in order to sweeten some of the more savory meats, but it was all quite palatable. The giant female was concerned that he was eating too little, indifferent to the fact that humans had completely different dietary requirements and metabolisms that did not permit them to consume their own weight in food each meal.

His hosts were messy eaters, the fur on their hands and faces stained with grease and oil, which they spent a great deal of time licking clean with their long tongues. He was worried that Osha might try to clean him up again, but so far she seemed preoccupied with foisting piles of meat before him, practically force feeding him.

This went on for a good hour at least, until Schaffer and all of the aliens were quite full. The pack members leaned on the table or lounged in their seats, lethargic and sluggish, their bellies distended by the sheer quantity of food they had consumed. Even Schaffer had attempted to eat more than he could usually stomach and now wanted nothing more than to sleep. He sucked the grease off his fingers under the watchful eye of Osha, ensuring that he got to it before she felt the need to intervene.

Apparently spent, the aliens began to leave the table and head towards the cots. Schaffer was all too happy to follow their lead. He had given up on trying to sleep alone, a better strategy was to attempt to lie on the outside of a pile and then roll away once the larger beasts were sound asleep.

The aliens split up into groups of three or four, and Schaffer waited for an opportunity to join a smaller pile once they got settled. Some of the piles did not seem to be settling, however. In one of the mounds of furry bodies in which Zagza and two females that Schaffer had not been introduced to were entangled, there was slow, rhythmic movement.

Schaffer's eyes widened as he realized that they were mating in a heap, their shifting forms barely illuminated by the wavering firelight. Questing hands and pink, agile tongues roamed, irrespective of gender and indifferent to his shocked gaze. He wanted to turn away, he should turn away, but he couldn't take his eyes off them. Their dexterous, fluffy tails coiled around each other like serpents, their clawed fingers sinking into yielding breasts and thighs as soft moans and guttural purrs escaped the mass of writhing bodies. Schaffer felt heat rising to his cheeks as a pair of reflective, blue eyes peeked out at him from the gloom, and a furry hand beckoned to him. They were inviting him to join them. A second pair of eyes watched him, these more familiar, Zagza's large silhouette surfacing from the roiling mass.

"Shoofa, come," he said. It was more of a suggestion than a demand, his baritone voice low and sultry. Schaffer's breathing became ragged as he turned away from the indecent display and headed towards the refuge of a fire pit, where he might be able to block his ears and pretend that the gloom beyond the reach of the firelight did not exist. What was with these aliens? They just went at it whenever the mood took them, no sense of modesty or shame, no need for privacy.

Schaffer wasn't religious, he didn't consider himself prudish either, but this crossed the line and just kept on going. It was a cultural gulf that he didn't think he was capable of bridging.

Zagza called to him again, his baritone voice echoing through the hall, but Schaffer did his best to ignore it. His tone sounded confused, had Schaffer not made it abundantly clear that he wanted no part in this? To his horror, Zagza had left the mound of writhing bodies and had walked over to Schaffer's fire pit, crouching beside him and nudging him with his heavy hand.

"Shoofa, come," he repeated as he gestured to the cot where muddled shapes still stirred in the darkness. Flustered and desperate to be left alone, Schaffer shook his head, shooing the alien away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Zagza clearly did not understand why, but he accepted that Schaffer wanted him to leave, turning his broad back on the roaring flames and returning to his pile.

Too afraid to sleep on a cot for fear that he might wake up in the midst of an orgy, Schaffer lay down beside the fire, the pelts that were sewn into his suit providing enough cushioning to sleep.

***

Schaffer woke up sore and uncomfortable. The ground was hard and cold, and his back ached from the odd position that he had slept in. He rose to his feet with some difficulty, stiff and not well rested. Enough of this, it was time to get serious about escaping the planet. The sooner he contacted the traders, the sooner he'd be free of the antics of these damned aliens.

He looked around for Zagza, finding him talking with one of the bead women. He marched over, pausing by the crafts table on the way to retrieve a necklace from the wicker basket. He thrust it towards Zagza, who stopped his conversation to look down at Schaffer, his round ears twitching curiously.

"This jewelry, who do you trade it with?"

The alien cocked his head, not understanding. Schaffer dragged his hand down his face in exasperation, turning back to collect a stray shell from the table, returning to shove it into Zagza's hand.

"Trade," he said slowly, enunciating the word clearly. He took the shell back, replacing it with the necklace. "Trade, where do you trade?" He repeated the action as the woman looked between the two, confused. Schaffer left again and returned holding the entire wicker basket, the jewelry inside clattering as he shook it.

"Take me to where you trade!"

He waited as the two aliens talked for a minute, perhaps trying to decipher what the human wanted. After a moment, Zagza made his way over to one of the fires, stooping to pick up a sick that they used to stoke them. He began to draw on the ground as Schaffer trotted over to him. He drew a rectangle that Schaffer now knew was a symbol for the longhouse. The alien then walked a short distance away, drawing an odd shape that Schaffer couldn't interpret. Zagza took the basket of beads from Schaffer's hands and dropped it on the shape, gesturing with the stick.

"Yes, there! I want to go there!" he said as he pointed to the basket.

"Shoofa...no come...no fire."

Zagza must think that it was too far away for him to travel there, but fuck it, he couldn't stay here for the rest of his life. Nothing seemed to be within walking distance of this place. He rested his hands on his hips, adamant.

"Zagza, take me."

The alien looked as if he wanted to argue, but he lacked the capacity. Schaffer knew that they would be returning to this place, and probably soon, judging by the amount of jewelry that they had produced. If they wanted him to stay behind in the hall, then they would have to physically restrain him. Zagza turned to the woman, and they talked for a while as Schaffer waited, probably wondering if there were more effective ways to insulate him from the cold. Eventually, she retrieved her basket and left to return it to the table, Zagza giving him a reluctant thumbs up. Great, it was decided then. The next time they journeyed to the trading post, Schaffer would join them.

***

The following day, the pack geared up for their trip. Most of them were coming along, with only a handful staying behind in the hall. Even the aliens, with their coats of thick, insulating fur were donning cloaks and vests. Either their destination was a great distance away, or they expected unusually harsh weather. A few of them donned their leather bandoleers and their long rifles, perhaps in case they encountered some hostile fauna along the way. Schaffer had been stacked with even more layers of insulation. On top of his furry suit, he also wore a cape made from the same material that wrapped around his shoulders, fastened at the front by an ornate clasp. He was wearing one of the leather vests and a pair of shorts that were ankle-length to him. It was almost too heavy to move in, but hopefully, the effort would contribute towards keeping him warm.

Most of them were also carrying heavy backpacks, laden with supplies that they intended to trade. It wasn't just jewelry, they had skins and meats wrapped in leather, one of them had what looked like four ivory tusks tied to his back.