Not in Kansas-Kindle

by Alexander, R. G.

  Lenard was a thing of beauty as well, with strong muscles beneath the red hair that covered nearly all of his body. His face was narrow, lips full and lush, but without a doubt, from his ears to the—Kansas gulped—tail twitching behind him, Lenard was definitely feline.

  “I have to ask, just in case. There isn’t a special effects studio around here somewhere, is there? Or maybe a costume party? ’Cause if there is, you two would definitely win first prize. And I know I’d feel a hell of a lot better.”

  Lenard shrugged at Fenna’s expression of confusion, and Kansas sighed. That settled that. He reached for the towel-length fabric she handed him, grateful for the covering. He wrapped it around his waist with fumbling fingers, tying it in a firm double knot.

  Whatever this was, it felt real enough. His toe was still throbbing and the cloth felt cool against his heated skin. But if he truly accepted that, he might lose what little composure he had left. If this was real, if he was truly in another world or dimension that was, while seemingly harmless, still unrecognizable? He couldn’t wrap his mind around the ramifications of that.

  It meant he might as well be dead. That he would never see Uncle Emerson again. Never talk to Dee on the phone.

  And he sincerely doubted Fenna or Lenard knew what coffee was.

  A warm hand cupped his shoulder. “Breathe, Kansas Frayne,” Lenard said gently. “You are lost, but not alone. Not anymore. You are among friends.”

  The sentiment was kind, but Kansas couldn’t help but glance down at the monster erection Lenard was still sporting. Was it always like that? “Thanks.”

  Oddly, he did feel better. At least he had a towel now, and he wasn’t trapped in his delusion alone.

  What would you do if this were only a dream?

  He made an attempt at a carefree grin. “Let’s go with it. Take me to your leader.”

  Lenard released him and stepped closer to Fenna, both looking at him with a now familiar look of confusion.

  “Nothing? Come on, I’ve always wanted to say that.”

  Fenna nodded slowly, a cautious smile on her face. “Whatever you say, sea eyes. We can talk more about this reference on the way to the city gates. We should be there before darkness tomorrow.” She eyed his feet. “Can you walk with those, or does Lenard need to carry you?”

  “No! I mean, no, thank you, Lenard. I can walk.” Shoes would be nice, but he wasn’t about to complain. The Felix looked willing, but still a little too…well…frisky for his peace of mind.

  “Very well. Follow me, Kansas Frayne. I know a shortcut.” Fenna turned to head toward the tree line, and Kansas caught Lenard’s resigned gaze. He shook his head subtly, dropping his hands on Fenna’s shoulders to turn her gently in the opposite direction.

  “Oh, of course.” She looked flustered. “That’s the way I meant to go. Sea eyes has me out of sorts. It isn’t every day a storm child drops in from the sky, you know.”

  “I know.” Lenard soothed her with soft, agreeable murmurs, glancing over his shoulder at Kansas with an apologetic smile. Why?

  Was it the bird thing? Supposedly they had an outstanding sense of direction. Was that it? From Lenard’s expression, this wasn’t the first time Fenna had gone the wrong way. It was also obvious she felt bad about it.

  “I’m glad you’re around, Fenna,” Kansas offered sincerely. “Who knows what would have happened to me if you hadn’t found me.”

  Fenna stilled and tilted her head on her long neck, as if listening for the other shoe to drop. When he kept silent, she looked at him over her shoulder. Kansas felt his throat tighten when he saw her tears. “Thank you, Kansas Frayne.”

  “My friends call me Kansas.”

  “Kansas,” she murmured. “Let’s get you to the king.”

  Chapter Two

  “I couldn’t dream about the Bahamas. Or Greece. I went to Greece once, so I know it’s beautiful. But no, that’s not where my subconscious decides to stick me. Instead, I’m hiking through the jungle of another dimension. For miles.” He’d been muttering under his breath for the last few minutes, knowing he sounded crazy, but unable to stop himself. He was feeling crazy, and the grumpy patter was better than the primal screaming he’d learned in therapy. The last thing he wanted to do was scare away the only guides he had.

  They’d been on the move for hours and his feet were starting to protest. He’d walked every day at home, but even he was not in good enough shape for this trek. His guides, however, were still skipping along ahead of him as if they’d just started their journey.

  Technically Fenna was the one skipping. Step, step, hop. Step, step, hop.

  Between his tail and that monster between his legs, the best Lenard could do was lope. But the Felix still seemed pretty damn spry.

  Kansas, on the other hand, had started wishing for a mountain bike or a four-wheeler once the path started getting steeper.

  They hadn’t mentioned anything about mountains.

  He supposed, if he had to be trudging barefoot through an alien landscape, he couldn’t have picked a better location. It was beautiful here. Alien, but beautiful. The air smelled sweet and fresh, the flowers and plants they passed were all breathtaking, and they seemed to enjoy his attention.

  Did that sound crazier than anything else he’d seen since he woke? But it was true. He would swear it was true. The foliage was responding to him as if it were alive. Everything here was infused with life. He had a feeling if he talked to these plants like he talked to his houseplants at home, these would actually respond.

  You always expected the houseplants to respond too, Frayne.

  Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. That’s what made this situation even more surreal. It felt familiar. Had he dreamed of this place before? As a child, maybe? When he’d wished for a mother and father to tell him he was special and that they never would have left him if they could’ve helped it?

  That didn’t explain Fenna and Lenard. Not even his youthful imagination would ever have conjured travel companions like those two. If it had, his old therapist would have a field day with the easily aroused tomcat and a directionally challenged naked chick.

  Sexual repression. That’s what she would call it, and technically it wouldn’t be a lie. Internet access and a large supply of lube was no replacement for human contact. Years of isolation, and now his dick was in charge and it didn’t care that his head wasn’t on straight, or that his heart had one too many cracks in it to work properly. His body was begging for touch, for connection.

  At home, he’d been able to shut that part of himself down. Maybe it was the energy of this place that made it impossible to tamp down his emotions and desires. Feelings that heated his skin and pulsed through his veins.

  He’d never felt so alive or so damn horny in his life.

  Who got horny from hiking?

  This was all too ridiculous. As soon as he woke up for real, or found a way out of this delusion, he’d start dating again. He may be a little rusty, and a first date at thirty-five wasn’t something he was looking forward to experiencing, but then he wouldn’t be looking for love. Those dreams had died a lifetime ago. He just wanted dinner, maybe a little dancing. He’d missed dancing. Oh, and sex. Yeah, he was pretty sure sex would solve everything. If he still remembered how to do it after all this time.

  Trust me. You remember.

  He needed to think about something else before walking got more difficult than it already was. He noticed Lenard pulling a few of the large, wax-covered fronds from some nearby branches, and was weaving them together as he walked. Kansas caught up with him, curious. “What are you doing?”

  “Lenard is very creative,” Fenna answered for him as she marched determinedly ahead of them both. “Artistic in every way. He sculpts, sings, paints, and creates the most exquisite erotic poetry.”

  “An artist? Really?” Kansas smiled. The cat was an artist. Felix, he corrected himself. “That’s wonderful.”

  Lenard’s eyes widened, fingers stilli
ng on his work. “You think so?”

  “Of course.” Kansas patted him on the back. “I wish I had that kind of talent. Any kind of talent. I’ve always been an enthusiastic supporter of the arts.”

  He’d known how to make money. It had been his only focus for as long as he could remember. Something about his need for security, Uncle Emerson used to say.

  “Like a dragon hoarding your gold.”

  None of it would help him now. Not here. He had a feeling they didn’t deal in his kind of currency.

  “So, you like artists? Humans, I mean?”

  Kansas snorted. “We practically worship them, Lenard. I’m not exaggerating. We give them awards, take tours of their houses and buy their old clothes as memorabilia. They’re like royalty where I’m from.”

  Lenard reached up to scratch anxiously behind his ear. “Our king likes music. But my people aren’t—they don’t—”

  “The Felix aren’t known for being artists,” Fenna continued with an easy shrug. “Their society prizes strength and cunning above all things. The women don’t even weave their own baskets or blankets, preferring to trade using their…other skills. It’s why Lenard is so special.”

  Other skills? Kansas automatically glanced down at Lenard’s erection, and Fenna tittered. “I was referring to information gathering and hunting, but yes, they are known for their prowess as well. But none of them make their own binding knots the way Lenard can. He’s traded quite a few of them for our supplies lately.”

  “Binding knots?”

  She held up her arms, pressing her wrists together as if she were handcuffed. “For pleasure? Do humans never use restraints to heighten the experience of mating?”

  Kansas stumbled for a moment. A bird into BDSM? Add kinky to his future therapist’s diagnosis. He was sexually repressed and kinky. “Some do. I was pretty sure we’d invented it, to be honest.”

  Fenna grinned up at him. “That’s funny, Kansas. Are all humans so funny?”

  Thankfully Lenard interrupted their conversation. “Here now. They’re finished.”

  Kansas took a nervous step back, visions of being trussed up to the nearest tree as the young man’s plaything flashing though his head. “I really don’t need any binding knots, thanks.”

  “No binding knots,” The feline chuckled. “These are for your feet. I noticed you have no natural pads or calluses, and I can smell your injuries. These will protect your soft skin for the rest of the journey.”

  “Was that what I smelled?” Fenna asked, wrinkling her beaklike nose.

  Shoes? He’d been making him a pair of shoes?

  “I don’t know what to say.” Kansas leaned against the thick trunk of a nearby tree and slid on the soft footwear Lenard handed him. “I can’t believe you made them so quickly. Fenna’s right. You’re incredibly skilled.”

  They fit. And felt amazing. Kansas closed his eyes blissfully.

  “You’ll feel a cool liquid substance release when you take your first few steps. It’s why I chose those to work with. The juice from this plant will ease your wounds, even numb the pain a bit.”

  Kansas couldn’t contain his smile after taking a step to test Lenard’s claims. A slightly uncomfortable squish followed by instant relief. The scrapes and blisters that had been forming on his heels were soothed and Kansas was so grateful he wanted to hug the big, hairy guy, but managed to hold himself back. He wouldn’t want to give the horny bugger the wrong impression.

  “Thank you, Lenard. Truly. These are amazing and it was kind of you to think of me.”

  Lenard acknowledged the compliment with a shy nod. Fenna’s arms were crossed, her three long toes tapping impatiently. “Yes, that’s wonderful, now are you two ready to start moving again? It will be full dark in less than an hour and I’d like to camp near our watering hole so Kansas can clean up before meeting the king tomorrow.”

  Looking worried, Lenard stepped closer to Fenna and lowered his voice. “The watering hole? You wanted to camp at the watering hole?”

  “Yes, of course I do. Why?”

  “Two things. First, we should let Kansas know what to watch out for.”

  “What?” Kansas interrupted with a chuckle, still high off his magical footwear. “Are there bears?”

  “No,” Fenna said with a roll of her eyes. “Bears would never come near you. They barely go near each other, unless it’s mating season. Afraid of their own shadows. He’s talking about the water, though I don’t know why he’s worried. It has special properties, but it’s very particular about who it shows them to. I doubt you’ll notice a thing. It might not even react to a human.”

  “When you say special, do you mean relaxing mineral bath properties, or piranhas after my dangly bits properties?”

  Lenard snort-growled. “Humans are funny.”

  “Yeah, we’re a planet of comedians.”

  Fenna tugged a hank of red hair that made the feline yowl. “What’s the other thing, Lenard?”

  “Huh?”

  “You said there were two things?”

  “Oh. Right. If you want to get to the watering hole, we’re going the wrong way.”

  Kansas was more thankful for the shoes than ever once Fenna started her fast, angry march back the way they’d come. With Lenard as her compass, they heard the sounds of a waterfall within an hour, the lush vegetation finally in sight shortly after that.

  “Go down the path and clean yourself off, Kansas.” Fenna’s voice was harsh with suppressed frustration.

  He hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “She’s always sure.” Lenard surprised him by dropping to his knees in front of Fenna with his hands behind his back in a very revealing posture. “And she’s right, you should be fine. But if you notice anything strange about the water, don’t be afraid. It’s friendly.”

  “Water is friendly?” He had to admit, that sentence wasn’t remotely relieving.

  “Go,” Lenard growled. “Fenna needs me now.”

  “Sweet boy.” Fenna’s smile turned coy, her long nails sifting through Lenard’s hair and tugging him closer toward the apex of her thighs. “You should go now, Kansas. Unless humans like to watch.”

  Part of him was tempted, but the rest was aching and covered in sweat and more than a little confused about his unusual reactions, so he continued down the path without another word.

  Lenard was clearly trying to give Fenna back some of the control she felt she’d lost today. Was he her submissive? Were the binding knots he made for himself?

  Did he really want to know?

  “Oh, thank God.” A rippling pool of luminescent emerald water at the base of a glorious waterfall came into view, and Kansas felt like he’d reached the Promised Land. “Watering hole my ass. This is paradise.”

  Friendly water. He slipped off his unusual footwear and untied the cloth at his waist, considering what that could mean in a place like this.

  He inhaled the sweet scent of the large red blooms that seemed to surround the area. It was too beautiful here to be dangerous. And he was so hot. Desperate to cool down.

  The water could be as friendly as it wanted, as long as he could cool down.

  The first few steps were blissful. The perfect temperature. Exactly what he needed.

  He was finding it more and more difficult to convince himself this was a dream instead of a full-blown psychotic episode. Those were still his only two choices.

  A world like this couldn’t exist. And if it did, you couldn’t travel there via storm.

  That was too much like… Yeah, see? It was his subconscious. It couldn’t be real.

  He thought again about the stricken look Fenna had tried to hide each time Lenard nudged her in the proper direction. No matter how gentle his corrections, she’d been devastated. Kansas knew what it was like to be out of step. To be unable to live up to your own expectations, let alone everyone else’s.

  He’d wanted to comfort her, would have if she hadn’t ordered him away to get her freak on with the e
ver-ready Lenard.

  That Felix must be taking this world’s equivalent of Viagra. It had to have been hell to walk around like that all day long without relief.

  He’s getting it now.

  Kansas pushed the visuals of bird/cat domination from his mind and waded in until he was chest-deep in the heavenly pool, finding a smooth stone slab beneath the falls to sit on. He leaned back, allowing the pounding water to massage his body.

  It was bliss.

  As wonderful as it felt, he couldn’t quiet his thoughts as he looked up at the alien starscape above him. That wasn’t his sky. He couldn’t stop his mind from weighing everything that had happened since the storm clouds had rolled in without warning.

  It had called his name.

  It all seemed so real. He ached, his feet hurt—though not as much as they had—and he was starving. The fruit and nuts Fenna had handed him a few hours ago had helped, but now he was ravenous.

  He took another deep breath and faced reality. His imagination had never been this good.

  Danny had been the writer. He’d always had a great—

  No.

  Kansas hadn’t thought about him in years and he had no desire to start now.

  But the floodgates had been opened. Something about Lenard, the youthful beauty, the eagerness to please reminded Kansas of the past he’d spent the last five years trying to bury.

  Danny.

  He was the last in a long line of relationship mistakes. At the time, Kansas had believed he was finally the one. That he’d found someone who would never leave. Someone who wanted him, needed him for himself.

  He’d known Danny was young, only in his mid-twenties, but he’d seemed so perfect for him when they’d first met. Someone he could make a life with.

  Kansas had always had a tendency to be the dominant partner, the older father figure. Uncle Emerson had called him the fixer. He liked to be needed, liked to take care of the people he loved. Unfortunately that usually translated into a babysitter or, Kansas shuddered, a sugar daddy.