The Big Rains - Sam and Dazzik
Chapter 1
Sam
Dazzik doesn’t leave the base often, so when he tells me he’s going out to scout the area for a while, I don’t waste any time. As soon as his hulking frame disappears between the trees, I close the door behind him and get to work.
There aren’t many places left I haven’t searched in the base. In the early days of being stuck here, I searched all the rooms for clothes to wear, finding an assortment of crumpled up things shoved in the back of drawers, forgotten by their owner when this place was abandoned. Then, when enough time passed for boredom to set in, I started cleaning the rooms Basran’s tribe were using for something to do. As I was throwing out stinking furs and sweeping up rubbish, I searched through the storage for anything that might be useful or entertaining.
Didn’t find much - a tablet that had long since run out of battery, a few dried up pens and faded notes written on scraps of crispy paper. I like to imagine the notes contain something juicy. A declaration of love, or perhaps arrangements to conduct a heated affair. They’re probably just work memos related to whatever the hell Mercenia was doing here, but I can’t read, so I’ll never know.
It’s only the communal spaces I’ve got left to search. Places that didn’t need cleaning and therefore I didn’t have the excuse to hunt through in secret. I figure the shower rooms are probably the best bet - there are some lockers in there. Maybe not all of them are locked.
As I descend into the basement, the strip lighting flickers on overhead, barely bright enough to beat back the shadows. Most of the doors down here are locked still - frustrating, because I bet there are loads of goodies hiding behind them. But I can’t complain, given that the medical centre was unlocked. Lina, or somebody, was really looking out for me with that one.
Stepping into the shower room always makes heat curl between my thighs, the memory of Dazzik’s body pressed up against mine under the hot water seared into my brain after many, many shared moments down here. It’s hard to know if I would be less horny if there were more things to do here, or if the magnetic power of Dazzik’s raw masculinity is just that overwhelming.
Not that I’m complaining about the numerous ravishings I’ve had.
I can think of plenty of worse ways to pass the time.
The first three lockers I check are open but empty, dust gathering in the bottom of them. The next few are locked, and though I play with the dials on them, I don’t manage to get any open. I’m just starting to think this is a bust when I hit the jackpot.
There’s a padlock on the locker, but it isn’t locked. An oversight? Or did it break sometime in the years since Mercenia left this place? Doesn’t matter - I can get in, and there’s a lot more than just dust inside.
The first thing I pull out is a long white coat. I figure it must be some sort of protective clothing because it’s not very practical. Too light to keep you warm - not that warmth is needed here in Lina’s forest all that often - and not cute enough to be a fashion choice. I don’t dismiss it just yet. There might be something I can do with it, so I set it aside and keep looking.
I find a lot of the same kinds of junk I found in the other drawers and cupboards around the place - pens and paper, dead electronics. But there’s also a bag hanging at the back of the locker, and when I lift it out, the weight of it makes my arms buckle. I set it down on one of the benches, then rummage through.
The first thing I pull out is a bottle of something - shampoo or body wash, maybe. I pop the top and smell it, a delicious fruity fragrance hitting my nose.
Nice. Very nice. But given that Dazzik hates the way the soap in the shower ‘hides my natural scent’, it’s not exactly what I’m looking for. I set it aside for now.
The next thing I pull out must account for a good chunk of the weight in the bag. It’s something I’ve only ever seen pictures of on the contraband announcements Mercenia likes to broadcast across the bottom tier districts - a book. It’s thick, wide enough that I almost have trouble wrapping my hands around it, a hard cover containing smooth, creamy pages. The cover has a golden pattern imprinted into it, a slight dent in the surface making the pattern as much as the colour. I run my fingers over it, tracing the lines and swirls, before opening up to a random page.
I can’t read, of course, so the lines of tiny text mean nothing to me, but there are gorgeous illustrations. Plants and animals - whole and broken down into their parts. Bones and musculature and whatever the innards of plants are called. I turn the pages, drinking all the pictures in, wondering why someone used what must have been a small personal allowance to bring this book on their trip out here. And what caused them to leave such a treasure behind.
After a moment, I force myself to put it down. It’s beautiful, but not what I’m after. I set it to one side to keep for myself, then continue rummaging through the bag.
At the bottom, I find exactly what I’m looking for.