It may have something to do with biology.

He remembers her saying it clear as day. It pissed him off then and it pisses him off now, but it’s all water under the bridge and neither of them have brought it up since. Time heals all wounds and all that jazz. It just doesn’t matter anymore. The both of them have moved way past that press conference and have never had a reason to revisit it.

But for whatever reason he keeps hearing it now, over and over in his head, because some part of him thinks it rings true in some infintesimally small part of his brain. The fear that ebbs and flows through the air like water, filling his nostrils with each breath, threatening to drown him because he just can’t get enough of it. She exudes it, displays it in every way possible and he still wants more. It’s like a switch is flicked whenever he sees it. Her pupils dilate? He’s on. Her long and naturally alert ears tuck meekly to her head? He’s on. Her little pink nose twitches incessantly? He’s so on.

And it is all in his biology. He doesn’t know why or how; he’s never done this before and he can’t control himself all that well while doing it. He doesn’t know why the fear urges him on, only that it does. Even in the tiniest amounts he smells it, tastes it on his tongue. He feels her fur in his mouth, filling in between his teeth and she gasps, and all he knows is he needs more of that.

“Nick…”

And the same must apply to her. By no stretch of the imagination could anyone say she’s anything but strong; why then does the dominance get her worked up? Why does she ask to be reduced to her primitive state as prey, and why does she ask him to devolve to an ancient predator? It must be in her biology. The hunt itself gets his blood red hot, whereas the fear of the hunt is what gets her going. Is prey never satisifed unless living in the moment directly preceding death, always racing and hoping to be one step ahead of the certain doom that chases them? Is she only satisifed feeling his teeth clamped onto her neck, eternally millimeters from finishing the act?

But it can’t be constant. Like a book or movie there must be climaxes and falling actions. The teeth release, the fear subsides, and she and him are on equal ground again. She aligns herself to the natural curve of his lithe body, gripping the sheets more loosely than before as the last climax fades away. He flicks his tail across her stomach like a blanket one size too small.

“So what’s next from here? Do we go to the naturalist club? Do I chase you around on all fours and we do this in front of everybody?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”