Space was cold.
The bear had once worked on this ship, once. It seemed like a long time ago now. He canât remember what exactly he didâsomething to with shipping? Everything was fogged with pink and everything kind of tickled and he knew that deep in his belly, something was incredibly, incredibly wrong, something to do with a contaminant, a breach in quarantine⊠but it was too hard to focus. The former spacer heard messy, wet noises from the creature behind him, hissing, pleased with its prize. He could see his own breath in the antiseptic cold as he stared out of the porthole into the unfathomable void beyond, freckled with so many stars it made his eyes water. One slick, powerful tentacle was curled lazily around his neck, and there was a fuzzy heat at the base of his neck and his lower back, where Master was working. The pink spots hummed, pleasantly warm, as one by one his memories were replaced, edited, altered, deleted. More thick, muscular tendrils curl around his legs, so powerful and slick, spiraling down his calves. The bear couldnât remember what exactly he had done on the ship⊠now he wasnât sure he had worked there at all. In fact, he couldnât remember anything outside of that pretty pink lightâexcept for his Masterâs slippery embrace, and the deep loyalty he owed him. A dumb grin curled the corners of his lips, and calm like an ocean bloomed in his chest. His thighs were tugged apart, keeping him still. He couldnât remember a lot of stuff. It probably didnât matter.