Scene suggestion—anup and sourang 3 (Patreon)

@Leinglo asked if Lunsdie would overcome his fears, whether that would prevent him from acting. Let's find out...

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 Lunsdie was pushing his cart to the market early the next morning when the starrise lit a surprising sight—golden fur. “Hello?” he called down the alley beside the ambassador’s office.

But the huge figure didn’t move.

He abandoned his cart and walked closer. “Are you all right?”

Then he gasped, throwing his muzzle back into the crook of his elbow. Could the alien have contracted the third wave? Cases of Collapse were rare—only three or four reported every year, and most from places he had never heard of. But the news of each victim spread like wildfire—spread like the disease itself—a reminder that third wave was still present, still waiting for someone to drop their vigilance, still waiting for the pandemic to ignite afresh.

His heart raced and his ears burned. He should run, run and quarantine himself just as quickly as he could, alert the authorities to prevent any additional risk…

But yet…

He had gotten too close to the alien just yesterday. If the creature died today, then it would have been contagious for the last fifteen. He was already exposed. He was already doomed.

Probably already exposed.

Probably already doomed.

Without even realizing it, he stepped closer.

“Hello?” he asked again, his back to the stone wall as he edged around it, as he tried to see its face. He held his span before him, like a sword. His ears felt clogged, as if he was under water. Somewhere nearby, a trash can stunk of rot, or was that the creature itself? It hadn’t smelled like this the day before—it had been musty, like a woolen blanket that was overdue for the wash. Then against his better judgement, he lowered his trembling span and pushed it against the alien’s shoulder, rolling it over from its side and onto its back.

Her chest moved. Her eyes opened the slightest bit.

“You’re still alive?” he whispered.

“Somewhat,” she gasped. She coughed and flecks of foam flew from her lips. His skinny tail tucked tight between his legs and he crushed himself against the far wall, trying to meld into it. It was all he could do not to bolt. “Stayed out too long. Almost made it…”

“Made it where?” he asked. He looked both ways but saw only alley. “Where do you need to go?”

A pause, then she raised her strange, double-thumbed paw and gestured vaguely, farther down the alleyway.

Lunsdie shuttered in disgust at the way she used her paw to point. It was absolutely revolting and obscene, but she lacked a span. Perhaps she had little choice? He pointed his rod for her in the same direction. “That way?”

She stared for a moment before giving him the weakest of nods. “Yes.”

“Here,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm and authoritative—like someone else, not Lunsdie, certainly. “Take my span.”

He held the golden rod out to her and after a moment, she gripped it, but no sooner did he pull that the span slid from her grasp.

She opened her muzzle to complain but managed no sounds.

“You have to hold on tighter,” he begged. He squatted down and held the rod at both ends, without even realizing that his paw now covered where she had been touching it. “Grab hold!”

The alien took a jagged breath, then nodded. She reached up with her tail this time, wrapping the bald thing once around the bar and once around his left wrist.

He stared in horror at where she held him, frozen, trapped between breaths and unsure what to do. Her touch was warm against his fur, snug.

All he could imagine was germs—germs from the alien, from the alley, from who-knows-what her tail had been touching—all over him; in his fur, on his skin, in his bloodstream.

I am gonna die.

Then, closing his eyes, and trying to swallow with a dry throat, he pulled.

She held on better this time. He pulled her tail taut and her rump lifted slightly from the dirty concrete. Pulled her round, a few centimeters at a time, until she sprawled across the ground at an angle, wedged in the narrow space, unable to turn any farther.

He hung his head a moment in frustration before finally shaking free of her grip.

“Forget this!” he grunted, tears blurring his vision.

He drew a great breath.

Then bent.

 Then sliding beneath her back, he helped her sit up, tucked his arms inside each of her armpits, laid his span across her muscular chest and gripped her tight, his neck pressed snug against her own, his wet nose against the downy fur on her shoulder. 

I have completely lost my mind.

Then he heaved with all his might and her body began to slide.

One meter, two, three. She reached up with one arm and wrapped her paw around the side of his neck, her smallest finger tucked into the shaggy fur beneath his right ear. She held on… No… She embraced him tenderly, like a mother might hold her cub.

It was the strangest sensation he could remember ever feeling. His ears heated and he felt slightly dizzy. Was that the virus? Was this what Collapse felt like?

Lunsdie felt his resolve suddenly strengthen and soon the bricks on either side of them were flying by. Before he knew it, they had reached a steel door on the side of the ambassador’s wall.

“There,” she whispered.

He set her gently down and jerked the handwheel sealing the hatch. He pulled it open and then helped seal her inside.

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My buddy @Leosaeta (https://www.patreon.com/sethiova) drew our hero, Lunsdie, but Sbarrie's teasing has gotten him excited, so this pic is most certainly NSFW. I'll attach it instead of posting it inline. Thanks man, you rock!

Reviewer's link: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Iiprq477IQvoBL9P-W3iY3CciaAo13gF-ZOUjyP8cIA/edit?usp=sharing