Laissez Dare

>The trip odometer turns over its 600th mile just after 11:47, and you shudder to a stop on a lonely, heat-cracked road on a hill maybe twenty minutes outside of Roswell, New Mexico.
>The lights of the city stand out sharply against the desert, twinkling gaily through the inky darkness in nostalgic shades of red and gold. They strain your tired eyes and set them burning again, but still you're glad to see them. You’ve been wading through the twilight an awful long time now.
>It’s been ten hours, at least, but maybe as many as twelve. Ever since you took over for Annie, which, come to think of it, had been when you’d stopped for coffee in late afternoon.
>By now you ache all over.
>Your back is propped uncomfortably in the driver's seat, your spine as stiff and fragile as dried spaghetti. Your dead pedal foot fell asleep hours ago, and even as the engine ticks and cools you can swear you can still feel it rumbling. 

>Annie’s pretty worn-looking too, even in the faint red hue cast by the hazard switch.
>She’s leaned back in the passenger seat with an empty bag of gummy worms in her lap, legs propped on the dash and crossed there, and tail spilling out onto the floor. The lights on the horizon glow glassily in her golden eyes, and her ears wilt like week-old roses. Her breath whistles softly through her canines, just loud enough to hear over the faint ringing in your ears.

> “This the place, Annie?”
>Your voice shatters the silence like a wrecking ball. It’s almost enough to make you jump. Her ears prick suddenly and she hauls herself back to sitting, but then they melt again and fold over at the tips.
> “Yeah. Yeah, I think this is it.”
>You pop the driver door, and the desert greets you with a soft, electric warmth that tickles your skin like the static that gathers on a cathode television. 
>Your legs seem to creak under your weight as you spill out of the driver’s seat. The dusty wind nips testily at your eyes and nose, and the strange, mixing smells of petrol and buckwheat wash over you.
>You take a step, and then another. The muscles in your calves and the small of your back unfurl uncomfortably, but between the movement and the air you feel a little life come back to you.
>Another door latch cracks the silence and Annie stumbles out behind you, eyes low and tail slack behind her. Her jeans sag at the waist, belt clasp open and hanging. 
>You can’t help catching a glimpse of her panty line, but with nothing but the stars for light, there's little to see but a shadow.
>Maybe she'd meant for it; maybe she hadn't. Something had changed that night in the tent six months ago, and you still weren't sure quite what.
>You supposed you loved each other now, as if you hadn't always.
>You supposed you were what people would call together, as of you had ever been apart.
>Something had changed. You didn't know. You doubted she did either.
>But by the time you unzipped the tent flap that morning, the both of you knew the score.
> “Good morning, honey,” you'd said, “what'll you have for breakfast.”
>And she'd asked you what kind of a faggot you were, calling your best friend and partner in crime “honey”, like that.
>And then she'd said she wanted sausages, if you wouldn't mind. And thank you for making her stay, and for the evening you'd shared.
>You both knew the score, but it was strange to see it up on the board like that.
>Strange to call her your girlfriend.
>Strange to say that you loved her.

> “What's up, Annie? Thought you'd want to stay in a hotel tonight.”
>You're staring out over the desert vista, hands hooked in your pockets by the thumbs. Even in the new-moon darkness the rocks and sand glow a faintly rusty shade.
>She picks an old wind-worn rock beside you and sits. She pulls her knees up to her chest, whiskers dancing faintly in the breeze.
> “Come on, Anon. I'm not that bad anymore. Not with you watching my back. And I told you, it's a surprise.”
> “What, the view?”
>You have to hand it to her, it's pretty stunning.
> “Partly. The girls and I were lost as shit when I found this place, but I've never been so happy to be lost. I remember wishing you were here with me. I remember praying you were safe.”
> “You? Praying? To whom?”
>She shrugs and sighs a long, thoughtful sigh.
> “Whoever manages electron spins, I guess. Whoever decides if the cat’s living or dead.  Anyone who might help you come home like I dared you.”
> “You know I've never gone back on a dare. And that was a double dog dare, the coming back part. What makes you think I needed help? Just who do you take me for?”
>She yawns and punches your shoulder.
> “Someone I missed. Bad. Someone I wanted to see something like this.”
>She gestures up at the sky, but there's nothing save the twinkling of stars. She drops her paw and beckons you.
> “C’mere. It'll be starting soon.”
>You sit beside her and dangle your feet over the edge. You give her a few inches, but she grabs you by the waist and pulls you in until her whiskers tickle your neck. She squeezes you tightly.
> “I'm sorry about this trip, Anon. I know it hasn't been quite what you hoped for, what with my working all the time. I didn't mean it. Really. It's just that they gave me a real job at a real observatory and--”
> “I know, Annie. It's alright.”
> “...and you stuck right with me anyway. I'd be scared to death to face them with my shitty little Masters degree if I didn't have you backing me up. I owe you for that.”
> “You don't owe me anything, Annie.”
>She pushes a little closer, burying her muzzle in your shoulder and wrapping her tail around behind you. Her breath brushes gently over the collar of your shirt, still faintly sour from the worms.
> “Then I dare you to let me give it to you, because I want at least the last night out here to be the way it was supposed to be. No laptop. No spectroscopy charts. No sixty page lab report. Just us.”
>She squeezes you again, almost tight enough to make you gasp. Your right arm wanders up the curves of her waist and finds its way to her ears. Her fur sifts finely under your hand like the chalky, crumbling dust left under a potter's wheel.
>She sighs contentedly and so do you, scarcely noticing the pain lingering in your lower back.
> “I wanted it to be just us, and--”
>She jolts up from your shoulder and turns back up to the sky, a quiet little gasp whistling between her teeth.
> “...and this.”
>You follow her gaze up along the tropical shades of the Milky Way and into the vaulted reaches of the sky.
>And there's nothing at first, or you don't see it.
>Just faint twinkling and the galaxy's cool, white glow.
> “Huh?”
>She squeezes harder and trusts a blunted claw skyward.
> “There!”
> And then you see it.
>The slowest moving shooting star you've ever seen.
>It creeps across the western sky like the Star of Bethlehem, shimmering in festive hues of white and red and blue and spitting sparks and flashes.
>A strange sense of awe tightens across your chest as another another bursts onto the upper horizon, and another after that.
>They multiply like guppies and spill out into the sky in an ever-widening shoal, lighting the night and wispy cirrus clouds in candlelight shades of copper and gold.
>Annie works her arm up your chest and jolts you tighter, her muzzle damp and spongy on your cheek. You can feel her heartbeat through your shirt, and the warmth of her body soaks its way into your skin like bathwater, even as your mind scrambles to rationalize what it’s seeing. 
>They look like tracers, or missiles even, but that can't be.
>It's like something out of a comic book, or War of the Worlds.
>You find yourself holding her back, and holding tight. 
>Tight like how she held you that night in the tent.
>But whatever they are, you can’t quite bring yourself to worry. They’re most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
>Presently Annie wriggles a little in your embrace.
> “Used delivery vehicles,” she whispers breathlessly, “NASA, SpaceX, ESA, Blue Horizon. All of them. All at once, to burn up in the atmosphere.”
>The streaks grow thin and white as they march across the sky, but their light only seems to brighten. They reach out to the hills and buttes to the East with spindly, fracturing fingers, and vanish in the hint of blue along the horizon.
>It was only a few at first, but now they fill the sky like mayflies.
>Dozens, maybe hundreds of them, glowing most every color you can think of.
>You loosen your grip and turn to her.
> “What were they doing up there?”
>She grins a broad, audacious grin.
> “Building Goddard Shipyard.”

>A long, plodding minute passes under the dancing lights, the sandstone soft and warm beneath you, and Annie firm in your grasp. 
>Your hand wanders up from her waist again, burrowing its way into her fur, and then the rolls of the old t-shirt she’s wearing. Inch by inch you work your way higher, waves of warmth and closeness seeping their way into your veins as the worn-out cotton pins your hand to the curves of her stomach.
>She sighs again, and her muscles slack. Her weight slumps gradually against you, her muzzle resting back in the crook of your neck, and arm falling limp over your shoulder.
>Slowly the streaks overhead stop multiplying, and then begin to thin as quickly as they’d come. The sky begins to darken again, and you feel your eyelids sag.
> “That was beautiful, Annie.”
>Her tongue slips between her canines and she nips plaintively at your cheek.
> “No sleeping yet; I still owe you.”
> “Annie, I--”
> “Shut it, Anon. Now look. There, West by Southwest.
>And like before there’s nothing but the faint purple on the horizon.
>Nothing, and as seconds drag by you work your hand a little further and a little deeper.
>Further until you can feel her breast against your thumb.
> “There!”
>She points, and from behind her claw emerges a ball of brilliant white.
>It seems to hover there in the distance, lighting the rolling desert hills like a chinese lantern.
>And then it begins to claw its way into the sky.
>Slowly at first, and then faster, and faster still as you trace the lines of her stomach with delicate, architectural strokes, kneading at the fur like cookie dough.
>It sprouts long, white tails that dance and twirl as it climbs, spitting dazzling sparks into a yellowing wake of phosphorescent blue.
>Somehow it only grows brighter and bigger as it arcs into the heavens, tails spreading wide over the world beneath it.
>Wider and bigger as something slips into the waist of your old Levi jeans,
>Brighter and more brilliant as it pops the button there, and spreads the zipper.
>And then, as a flash shatters the whirling blues and whites overhead, you feel her on you.
>On you, and stroking with the same patterns and rhythms your fingers press into her fur.
> “I’d touch your heart if I could reach it,” she murmurs.
> “This’ll have to do.”
>And overhead the shimmering globe divides and spits a pair of dwindling candles out to cartwheel in its wake, and you slide your hand around behind her and pop the straps of her bra free. They fall limp in your hands and slide into the folds of her shirt.
> “I love you, Annie.”
> “I love you too.”
>The globe dims, its glowing wake thinning into wispy, phosphorescent clouds.
>Her motions slow, and so do yours. A moment the two of you lie there under the dimming sky and bask in each other’s warmth, the desert breeze brushing delicately at you where she’s pushing back the strap of your boxers.
>And then finally she slides back out, seizing your waistline in her blunted fingers and pulling your pants up for you.
> “Come on,” she says, “It’s not over yet.” 
>This time it’s your old winnebago she points to. 
>So you stand slowly and shuffle that way, your pants held up in her claws, and her bra dangling under her shirt in your fingers.

> “You know, I used to daydream about us being each other's firsts.”
>You chuckle, popping the rear door with your off-hand.
> “Wouldn't that have been something.”
>She sighs, a sly smile spreading down the length of her muzzle.
> “We could pretend.”
>Then she goes limp in your arms. 
>For a moment a shot of fear jolts down your spine, but then she turns and looks up at you, head resting on your chest and eyes laughing.
> “It took us long enough, Anon, so let’s do it right. Carry me, Anon, like a fucking fairy tale.”
>So you prop the door with your shoulder and slide your off hand and down onto her ass, and then thighs, and she yips as you hoist her into your arms. And then grins, eyes wide and glowing sweetly in the honey of the interior lights.
> “You know,” she says, tucking her tail for space as you weave your way down the narrow aisle toward the bed, “companion stars, like the ones from the nova, exchange coronal mass when they get real close.”
> “One star,” she continues, working her way back into the waist of your boxers, “pulls gasses from the surface of its partner and wraps them all around itself, and they become part of each other, tied by a chain of gravity and the ionized hydrogen whipping along it.”
>You set her down and she pulls free again, turning her attention to her own zipper. She leans back on her elbows and kicks her jeans off, teeth bared and eyes wild.
>And then she’s looking up at you and grinning, laid bare save for that tattered shirt and a pair of dark black panties with the words “Schwarzschild Radius” embroidered in silver along the waist.
> “Come on, Anon,” she says, beckoning with a twitch of her tail, “Be my companion star. I dare you.”
>Without her there to hold them, your jeans flop uselessly to the floor.

>It’s not the biggest bed, nor the most comfortable, but as you climb in beside her you swear you’ve never felt so good in your life.
>She’s in the waist of your boxers again, and you’re pulling her shirt over her head. Then her breasts are free and you pull her close. You drag yourself through the plush fields of fur about her midsection and rest your head on her shoulder, your eyes locked and swimming in each other’s gaze. 
>Slowly you reach down and snag the elastic of her panties, and at once she grabs you by the shirt collar and pulls your lips to hers. Her tongue invades your mouth as she drags you atop her, and when she pulls away she’s got your shirt pulled up over the both of you, her fur brushing every inch of your skin and her tail wrapped clumsily around you. You notice she’s holding you between her thighs now, your boxers long gone.
> “There’s no going back now, Anon. Nothing escapes; not even light.”
>So she grabs you by the shoulders as she releases you, and you ease forward.
>Forward until you touch, and then a little further.
>A warm shiver rooted somewhere in your pelvis creeps its way up your spine, and she whines softly.
> “Now,” she breathes, the embers in her copper eyes burning brighter, “when your companion star is a white dwarf, she needs all that coronal mass. You see, as hot as she is, she doesn’t burn so brightly herself anymore. She doesn’t have any more hydrogen, and she needs yours.”
>She pushes herself away a little, and you push yourself closer.
>And then again, and the creeping shiver doubles and triples in amplitude. Her eyes burst into flame.
>Again.
>And again.
>Slow at first, like the rocket, and then faster.
>Faster as she moans and yips; faster as her fur flows like water beneath you.
>Faster as those reverberations in your spine spread aridly through your ribs and skull.
>Faster as you arc into the heavens together, as if there were no bed at all.
>And then she pauses and so do you, her eyes wild and breath fast and shallow. She holds you firmly at the shoulders as she pants, voice soft and unsteady.
> “...as you pile matter onto your white dwarf,” she wheezes, “her mass builds and builds. She wraps herself again and again until it’s all too heavy to stand, and--”
>Suddenly she yanks you in again, eyes spreading wide and jaw flopping open.
>So you gasp and start again.
>Faster.
>Her fur flies by like a Santa Ana wind and that creeping warmth spreads over and swallows you.
>Faster until she cries out with a low, lilting howl, and until you buck and shudder, and fall atop her.
>And then there it is again, faint over your rasping breaths.
>That little bit of ringing in your ear.
>The song of silence.

>The warm shivers recede in a steady, rushing tide, and you flop on your back and slide your arm under her.
>You pull her close, the two of you staring up at the stars through a little skylight in the ceiling.
> “...and then fusion begins again,” Annie whimpers, “The hydrogen blanket you gave her ignites, and she blows it off into the sky in brilliant, flowing, mixing shades of every wavelength we’ve put on a spectrum. And they call her a nova.”
>She slides her tail underneath you, wrapping the both of you in the waves of her fur.
> “I studied a lot of novas in grad school, Anon. We use them to help us find distances, and to understand what happens under all that pressure. I suppose I understood well enough; I could explain it to you six ways to Sunday. There’s a lot of theories in astronomy though, Anon, and one of my private theories was that it must feel something like this did.”
>You fish around a little for her paw, then snare it in your palm when you find it at her side. You work your fingers between hers, pads and claws rubbing at your skin like the back of a sponge.
> “You’re not going to write a paper about it now, are you?”
>She tightens her grip on your hand and smiles sweetly, canines breaking over her lower gums and shining like jewels in the light.
> “I call it Annie’s Law,” she says, burrowing her muzzle back into your shoulder, “but I’ve got all the proof I need. I don’t think you need any peer reviews.”
>Keeping hold of her, you reach to the wall and flick the light switch off.

>Twilight falls very suddenly around you, and then there’s nothing to see but the glow of a seven-segment clock, and a sea of stars that speckle the windows like rain;
>Nothing to feel save for the warmth of Annie’s fur, and the folds of the blanket as she pulls it over the both of you,
>And no sound but the briney, cat’s-tongue lick of desert wind against the aluminum walls.
>She presses close again, nestling her neck into the crook of your arm and resting her head beside you.
> “You, uh, don’t figure there’s any skinwalkers out there in all that darkness, do you Anon?”
>You ruffle her ears a little.
> “You don't believe in skinwalkers.”
> “That’d be great if they were like fairies and died just because I didn't.”
> “There’s no skinwalkers, Annie, but I’ll leave the light on if you’d really rather.”
> “I think you’ll be enough.”