Archive of Our Own

            The five of you hunted at eclipse, the very last rays of light and the fading glows of day guiding your paths winding through the forest. You’re following fresh yerik tracks, you are not far behind them so when you hear the soft call of water, you stop at a slow and shallow river to drink and wake. It’s not far from the tracks, but there is a steep drop, a blind spot from the trail you instinctively slip into.

The nantang are already expending energy on playful swims and scaring away any fish worth stalking, but this doesn’t bother you. The yerik will be fine enough prey for the early hours so you relish in the cool waters. You kneel on the riverbank and cup your hands to splash water across your face, using the shock to your system as a jolt of energy. You call to your nantang, a small smile pulling your lips as they drift too far downstream.

They return to you immediately and go back to playing on the forest floor, growling and rolling in the dirt. You tilt your head, enjoying the sight of their play. Often you join them, but sometimes it’s best to let the beasts play amongst themselves. You close your eyes and take a breath of the sweet morning air.

It’s in these rare moments of peace you that your mind can drift to thoughts of the People. The sounds of songs that float from their settlements bring strange dreams to your sleep. You elusively remember ikran cries and drums beating on nights of celebration but distinct images rarely surface. You’ve been teetering closer to the People in the last moons, watching from afar the gatherers and foragers procuring provisions, you learned which fruits are safe to eat from them, and you follow the smaller hunting parties for stretches of time to observe their methods.

You like the way the People navigate in a rhythm with the work they perform. Each movement is necessary, each person grateful for the sustenance freely given by Eywa.

            A crack from the tree line breaks your thoughts.

Your gaze snaps to the source and you instantly crouch low and call for your nantang to quiet. Seated atop a pa’li with a large bow in his hand, a na’vi man scans the forest for prey while the rest of his party follows the tracks of yerik.

His eyes never land on you, which leaves you able to admire the broad panes of his chest and the pride in his shoulders. His braided hair was laced with beads and the woven cummerbund across his torso appear finer than his brethren. He moves on from the river and you know what you’re going to do today.

Following him is easy. You stick to the trees while he and the other na’vi ride pa’li. Their comradery is evident from the quiet laughter and morning stretching, and you wonder why they don’t stick to trees. It is far easier to stalk from above. You hear his voice, it’s rich and commanding, he is likely their pack leader as he follows up the rear and he wears a crown on his head. This na’vi also carries a larger bow, its carving unique and colors bold.

Your little nantangs nip at your tail and laugh to get your attention.

They present you with a small kill and chitters of excitement making you smile at their affection, patting one of their heads, and sitting back on your heels. They finish it while you plot how to get closer to the na’vi again and get a clearer look at him. He piqued your interest. What do the beads in his hair look like up close? How did he fashion his bow?

You carry no bow. Just a staff and several knives. The other na’vi are more lively with one another, you assume there is a respect commanded by the one you’re enthralled with that makes them avoid roughhousing with him. You listen to their conversations and learn the leader’s name is ‘bro.’ You’re not sure what it means but you sense it’s a term of endearment, and possibly not his name either.

“Lo’ak, focus on the task at hand,” his voice is firm, his name must be strong as his voice, “The rains will begin soon and neither of us want to hunt in that.” He dismounts off his pa’li and separates his kuru, patting his pa’li’s broad neck and murmuring softly. Lo’ak shifts in his seat and rolls his eyes.

“Yes, yes, you’re always right, zey 'evan.” Lo’ak takes the hint and returns to the greater hunting party but the zey 'evan stays behind. The leader usually is with the pack, why is he left behind?

The heat of the day raises mist from the ground as daylight seeps into the forest and you’re grateful the moss under your feet dampens your footsteps. Zey 'evan’s sigh catches you off guard. The sound is… tight. When you sigh it is normally in peace. Zey ‘evan is unsettled. His muscles are tense and his tail flicks with irritation.

You aren’t sure what he’s doing, but the urge to find out overwhelms you as he walks away from his pa’li and farther from Lo’ak. The beat of your heart is loud, it’s calling you to go. The woods where he leads you are dense and the humidity thickens into a fog, enabling you to get closer but the nantang refuse to come, they have a dislike for mist—they go higher up in the canopy and leave you to stalk zey ‘evan alone.

The na’vi moves with precision. His tail and ears twitch with the bugs’ clicks but his gaze set on something you can’t see. The striped markings along his body are prominent and the pattern something you wish to memorize, it cuts his jaw sharp and elongates his strides. You could get closer, just one more branch down and there would be only a mighty leaf separating you from the na’vi, all he would have to do is look up.

A thrill hums through your pulse and a closed smile stretches across your lips until the corner of your eyes crinkle. The citrus and woodsy musk of the mist is delicious as evening clouds roll through the sky and rain approaches with thick layers of air. You realize the mist around you smells of zey ‘evan.

You let him get just a bit farther ahead, and then dangle from the branch as far as you can and drop to the lower leaf without making noise. You gain your bearings but atokirina block your sight—three of them drawing your attention from the na’vi and floating just breaths away.

The na’vi disappears into the deeper woods, not seeing the atokirina, where the trees become older and the bioluminescence brighter while more signs of Eywa gather and fall into a line.

She wants you to follow zey ‘evan.

He’s far enough ahead that you’re able to let your feet touch the grass and stay close to the ground. The atokirina are pushed away by the force of your descent but soon find each other again to lead further into the wood. The roots are tangled more than you’ve ever seen before, and the light of your footsteps echo onto a few nearby networks across the moss. The light rain starts and the atkorina gather in greater numbers, creating a pale path along the knotted ground.

 The rustle in the trees doesn’t draw your attention, the movement of the fog does. There’s something nearby, you try to gather the scent but you can only smell him, there are no sounds but your own breath. The assembly of atokirina leads to the disturbed air.

Breathe. Trust in Eywa. She is telling you this is okay. She brought you to Pala and Luk. The atokirina disperse and you are left alone. The forest falls silent, not a rustle of feathers or brush of a breeze, even insects have nothing to say as your exhales become louder. No—not louder, you are just more aware of every breath you take knowing that zey ‘evan is waiting. Deep in your stomach you feel certain that he is here for you. That he too is being guided by Eywa to this very moment.

He enters the clearing before you, coming close enough to appear in the fog but not to make any distinctions and your tail flickers. The urge to run surges, the welcome feeling of a chase preferable to the intimacy of his presence.

One atokirina falls between you.

“You are the one raised by palulukan.” You shudder as he steps to you, settling close enough that you can see him through the fog. He has weapons strapped to his body, you see the hilt of the blade and the string of his bow across his chest, his visor reflects bits of light, giving him a halo of sparkles every so often.

“Yes,” you answer.

His eyes are yellow but there is a mark of something else in there, a green, no, gold.

“I have heard of you,” your ears pin slightly at his words, “once I have seen you. We were both so young.” You tilt your head, you don’t remember ever seeing him before today. “I saw you playing with the other cub,” his expression is open, there is no expectation in his features, he eyes you like a myth awakened.

“Luk,” you tell him but the foundations of fear form.

“Luk,” he repeats and you force a small smile, trying to dissuade the negative feelings growing. “Your name is Luk?” he asks and you shake your head immediately and frown. Your name is not Luk, but you don’t have a name to offer him another.

“Luk is brother,” you correct him and he nods in understanding and the fear you feel disappears. His smile is beautiful. There is no threat from zey ‘evan, he is just as curious as you. You begin to circle one another, you take in the way his hands lay visible in front of him and away from his weapons but his focus trained on your face. “Are you of the People?” you can’t help but ask.

“Yes, I am Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk’itan of the Omatikaya.”

Neteyam.

“Neteyam,” you test the name on your tongue. It feels nice, beginning in the front of your mouth and ending in a hum.

“What’s your name?” He questions and you hiss, stopping the steps between you and him, looking away from him towards the trees. You don’t know your name, or rather, you can’t remember. That piece of your identity is lost with your parents and has never resurfaced.

“Your brother’s name is Luk, like palulukan,” he says and you nod.

“Can I call you Lulu?” Your brow furrows and your tail flickers. He is giving you a name.

“Yes,”

“Lulu, why were you following us?”

“I felt like it, Neteyam,” you say and he laughs. It’s a real laugh, one that erupts as a surprise. You don’t see why your answer is funny, it’s just the truth, but the warmth of his voice soothes you. You close some of the distance left between you and he as the rain begins to fall harder, the cooling air lightens the mist, revealing the thrumming forest of glowing life still deep in slumber.

“Why—” You cut him off with a small growl.

“How you make,” you gesture to the wrap around his torso and he looks down at it then back at you. His response is staggered but with a curious smile.

“I made it,” Neteyam inches closer to you until you are an arm’s length away, his eyes are welcoming and you can see the freckles adorning his skin in organic patterns. “Why were you raised by palulukan?”

You anticipated this question, but answering it still you find difficult. “The Sky People,” you manage to spit out, anger rising at the bare memories of heat and flames. “Their hurting of Eywa. They take everything.” A bare truth, the last scraps of memory of your parents given to Neteyam to see. His expression changes and he nods.

“I am sorry for what happened to you,” Neteyam’s hand reaches for yours. You let him take it and raise them between you then interlock your fingers. Your hands fit comfortably and you tilt your head to the side. The remaining nighttime air is refreshing in your lungs even when scented by Neteyam, and you wonder if he dreams like you do.

“When sleeping, do you feel the pain?” You ask and Neteyam’s brow furrows.

“What pain?” His grasp on your hand tightens and you glance down at his sharp knuckles. There is a desperation in his hold, you feel it from the firmness of his fingers.

“Eywa, she cries at night. Sings sometimes, but mostly weeps,” you tell him. You sob waterfalls and rainstorms and howl winds of fury in your dreams with the beat of Eywa’s heart. You are as sure of this as you are of the atokirina in your midst. “Can you hear her?”

“I feel her as every na’vi does.” Neteyam drops his grasp and runs both his hands up your arms, tilting his head to the side with a serious look on his face. “You can hear Eywa?”

You nod, “In sleep. Sometimes in day I hear her, but not so clear as in the night.” She is ever present in the rituals of your hunt and endurance, she sighs with the eclipse and carries sunlight to the forest floor. Eywa is the only real Mother you have known, Pala provided, but Eywa guides. “Is she loud?”

Neteyam’s face is still open but now with excitement, he guides you to stand beneath the leaf you came from to shelter from the thickening rain and stares at you unabashedly. You don’t cower from his gaze, yet you respond with reservation, pulling away from him. He frowns at your action, but you’re more concerned with receiving his answer to your question.

Neteyam’s brow furrows then realization blossoms, “I cannot hear her. My sister, Kiri, she can,” he explains.

“Kiri,” another name that sits well in your mouth. “I like,” you tap the crown adorning his head. It blocked a lot of rain from getting into his eyes before and makes him look strong. Imposing. He removes it gently and offers it to you to inspect. It’s woven tight and adorned with a bone in its center, small beads appear to fall away from it in colors of night and you place it on your own head. The circlet is too large and nearly covers your eyes but you like the weight of it upon you. Without it, Neteyam looks less threatening, the marks from wearing it too long indent his skin and you resist the urge to trace them.

“It is a visor for flying,” he says and your eyes shoot up to meet his gaze. Flying. “On the ikran,” he elaborates when he sees your ears perk up, “it’s a rite of passage for my clan. We tame an ikran and fly.”

You look at the visor and admire the structure and delicate details adorning the circlet. “I made this one myself for after I bonded with Karai, I was so proud of myself for making the visor. I wore it on my first flight,” The more Neteyam tells you more about his life the more you are enthralled. A ceremony with the other na’vi, rites of passage, flying.

You hand him his visor and while he puts it on you push against the cummerbund around his torso hard enough for him to stumble and hiss at you. There is a surge of resentment, jealousy that lives within you that there are parts of Eywa you have never known. That you will never know.

“What was that for?” His arms lift up and out of the way and you touch his necklace with the same amount of force. Neteyam is quick though, and he catches your wrist, tail flicking, and pulls you against him. Using your other hand you take the necklace into your grasp, feeling the carved bone beneath your fingers and try to understand what it is. You tug at the rope, hoping to being the charm closer to your eyes but again you pull too hard.

“Mawey, ‘itetsyìp,” he coos against your ear. He’s far stronger than you anticipated, his hold on you is solid. He releases your hand and takes the necklace off for you to inspect further. It matches his visor and the garment around his waist. Reddish beads fall around the carving and small feathers between each tickle your palm. You put the necklace over your own head and observe it from this new angle.

“My turn,” you reprimand, tapping his chest with a softer touch and Neteyam smirks, amusement flaring in his gaze. “Can I fly?”

“You want to fly?”

“You are wasting questions,” you bite back, growing impatient with him and twisting in his grasp. Neteyam holds steadfast and you don’t get far nor do you feel the urge really to do so. You’re comfortable here, close to him.

“You pass iknimaya and join the Omatikyan,” he says it like it’s so simple and lets go of you. “Would you like to do that?” You’re surprised he offers with such ease, there’s a pleasant warmth in his invitation that makes you think he’s being sincere. His gaze drops to the necklace you took, a glint in his eye you do not understand but it does not linger, instead he meets your gaze awaiting your response.

You nod with wide eyes and an apprehensive smile bends your lips.

The rain continues to drum against the leaf, the sound a pleasant ambiance to the moment as you and Neteyam stare at one another. His freckles cast patterns across his face that you wish to trace and you imagine the feeling of his skin on your fingertips. Neteyam doesn’t stop you from fulfilling this desire and when you touch, a rush of tingles pulses through your hand.

You cup his face and step closer, thumb following the path of the freckles across his cheek, up to his brow, and finally down his nose. His hand grazes up your side leaving a trail of tickles in its wake and softly moves up your back to grasp the nape of your neck. Your breath becomes lighter and excitement flushes your cheeks when the distance between you becomes smaller. Your heart is racing, but you don’t feel the urge to flee.

The cries of your nantangs break through the dense woods. You immediately pull away from Neteyam and hiss at him. He distracted you on purpose. Your nantangs are calling, the sound distraught. His fault. The atkorina are gone with the mist yet the rain still pounds on the leaf guarding you from its onslaught. Neteyam looks puzzled but you take no heed in disappearing after your nantangs.

You find your nantangs hurt. They were injured under the hooves of pa’li that paid no mind to their existence. You know not how to heal them, but you can offer them safety and respite until their wounds are closed. It is your duty to protect them yet you were galivanting with a na’vi male, you failed them.

That boy, Neteyam. He would know how to help, but it is his people that harmed them. You hiss at the thought, your tail swishing on its own and your ears pinning to your head. Eywa was wrong to lead you to him. You should have stayed with your little family and shielded them, but you were selfish. You were enchanted by Neteyam and his sparkling visor of beads and glass. His expressive eyes and strong body trapped you in a feeling you could not understand yet do not wish to seek again. The overwhelming intensity spooks you.

If the People are so callous to the creatures of Eywa then the lessons of Pala are right. You must never stray too close or risk losing what little you already have. Disappointment courses through you, there was a moment of hope that one day the People could be a place for you. Where you could fly. Where you could be with your own, but that thought must be discarded. If they did this to your nantangs, what would they do to you?

~~~

Neteyam works his way back to his pa’li with his brow furrowed in concentration. You disappeared up into the trees leaving no obvious trace, not that he has the time today to track you down. The hunting party will begin to worry why he was gone for so long and he has no intention of telling them of his exploit into the old woods with you.

Palulukan usually bear two offspring at a time so he thinks Luk’s original sibling was unable to survive the harsh jungle and rejoined with Eywa early, allowing its mother to accept you as a cub in its stead. When you ran off, he noticed three lines scarred into the skin of your back—it looked like you were on the receiving end of a palulukan and its claws. Not at all surprising seeing you were essentially raised as one.

“Bro!” Lo’ak rides up next to him with a broad smile, “you missed a great fucking hunt. The chase was wild; these little nantangs tried to…” Lo’ak rambles on about his successful pursuit, while Neteyam pretends to listen. His mind is elsewhere. In the coming weeks he will be named the official heir to his father in a ceremony that will solidify his future as the next olo'eyktan of the Omatikaya clan.

Which means he is also to be betrothed to the future t’shaik. His mother does not know who will be named as the discussions are still ongoing but it will likely be Zeyngaya Te Kängia Pxawowìmsyll'ite, a well-regarded young woman with a known interest in healing. Neteyam knows his opinion on this matter is worthless, he will do his duty as the future of the clan no matter what. Mo’at will consult with Eywa in the ways she knows to ensure the match is strong enough to weather the trials of time.

He envies Lo’ak’s autonomy in this respect. And Kiri’s. The pressure of the future is distant and light for them, no expectation of leadership, just being an admirable member of the clan. Lo’ak is taking his sweet time rifling through possible mates while accruing a reputation as a fierce warrior. Kiri isn’t being pressured into finding a mate, her connection to Eywa is of more importance.

He wonders if you will remain an outsider. Never joining the People, never taking a mate, and dedicating your life to one as a palulukan. Free in the forest to hunt and follow the will of Eywa. He remembers the way your eyes lit up when he mentioned flying. To never know the rush of bonding with an ikran is not a life he could ever imagine, and in his heart he can tell you feel the call to the skies like him. Though maybe you have bonded with the palulukan and that is enough.

“Lo’ak, do you remember seeing the girl playing with a young palulukan?” Neteyam interrupts his brother’s recount of the morning’s hunt which saw them acquire yerik. He ignores the look of offense Lo’ak’s face declares when he realizes his brother did not listen to a word he says.

“Yea, barely. I was what? Eight?” Lo’ak says.

“I think I saw her today,” Neteyam admits.

“For real?”

“Yes, she bore scars that only a palulukan can give.” Neteyam says and hopes Lo’ak believes him without more details. Neteyam is blessed to have a brother, especially one that does not think to ask for more information when presented with something new. Neteyam does not wish to divulge the intensity of your meeting or the feelings it stirred up, but he wants there to be someone that knows of your existence.

“Okay, and?” Lo’ak’s indifference makes Neteyam smile, “Did she injure you? Did a big bad palulukan girl scare the mighty Neteyam?”

“No, I think she is lonely.” Neteyam tries to hide the defensiveness in his voice but the side eye Lo’ak glares at him indicates his failure to do so.

“I would be lonely too if my only friend was a carnivorous beast.” Lo’ak readjusts his bow across his back to fit his shoulders more comfortably.

Neteyam lets the conversation end and they return to the clan in silence. The hunting party has pursued enough yerik to dry for the season of rain, but he wonders if you do the same. Where do you find refuge in the cold weeks? Do you live as an animal and hibernate or risk sickness to hunt meager prey? Do you know how to make a fire for warmth? 

Neteyam has no idea what happened. He felt the burning impulse to hold you close as your sweet scent enveloped him in mystifying thralls of desire, though for what he is still unsure. It could be the desire to protect, to keep, to claim. It could be all of that entwined into a ball of vicious emotion dooming him to memorize the brief moments he shared with you.

You so abruptly fled from his touch, no warning or reason Neteyam can discern as he replays the introduction over in his mind. Eywa grant him the mercy from being haunted by your face. It is all he can see as he helps preserve the yerik and later while organizing the weapons hold. He ties intricate knots to the hilts of blades dedicated to training warriors and continues to imagine your world while weaving his personal items. You still have his necklace, the one he made while bored at a clan meeting designed to look like toruk and inspired by his parents meeting.

You are nearly feral, rudimentary vocabulary and tools haphazardly organized from varying clans across what he is sure is the mother palulukan’s greater territory. You must be from somewhere in the forest, you said you had parents, a clan that probably searched for you for many cycles before declaring you one with Eywa. The Anurai clan reveres palulukan and claims them as their totem but they are not known to have bonds with them nor are they clad in black. The curved blades you carry are not unique to that clan either, they are a common tool for all Na’vi and especially Omatikaya.

By the time dinner is prepared and he returns to his family’s kelku, he is exhausted both physically and mentally. In the warmth of his family home his mother passes out portions for himself and his siblings. Kiri, Lo’ak, and Tuk chattered like fkio about their days but Neteyam still only thought of you. His father’s voice pulled him from the recurring thought of your longing to fly.

“Neteyam what’s on your mind?” His father’s face is kind and Neteyam knows he can confide in his family with no fear, yet he hesitates to share you even in name. You are for him to figure out. His to ponder on and reconstruct in his head.

“Nothing, sir,”  Neteyam takes a bite of his food, “I am only tired from today’s activities.” He does not like to lie to his father but it feels necessary to protect you. A wandering na’vi can be interpreted as a threat to the well-being of the clan and the last thing Neteyam wants is a hunting party aimed at you.

“He’s thinking about a girl,” Lo’ak drags out the last word as a way to tease him. Asshole. Jake’s brows raise in surprise and Neyteri looks up from Tuk to listen. Great, now his whole family is involved.

“A girl? What girl?” Jake sounds eager to listen, as if Neteyam’s possible interest in a clan member can bode well for the upcoming announcements. Neteyam hesitates to answer.

“Someone I met in the forest.” Neteyam thinks that will satisfy his parents interest in his love life but in the Sully family there is no such thing as secrets.

“Is she from a neighboring clan? How far out did you guys go this morning?” Jake sounds worried that his sons trespassed Tipani lands.

Lo’ak answers their father for him. “We stayed within our bounds, sir. Neteyam found a feral girl raised by beasts.” Lo’ak snickers but no one else does.

“What beasts?” Kiri asks, looking interested, her own connection to the world around them unmatched in the clan and the possibility that there is another girl somewhere out there that knows the life here is exciting.

“That is an old tale, Lo’ak. There are no beasts raising na’vi,” Neytiri scolds while Jake’s gaze is firmly locked on Neteyam. They all remember the story their father shared of brothers raised by dogs that became heroes of a long forgotten city.

“We saw her once. As kids, Lo’ak and I watched her with a palulukan and its cub. She was accepted by the mother.” Neteyam finally explains to Kiri, knowing she may understand you more than the rest of the family.

“You lie.” Neytiri says, her voice taut.

“No, mother, Neteyam does not lie. We did see her play with the cub and leave while resting along the mothers back.” Lo’ak supports Neteyam’s story with more information.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jake’s tone is serious and Neteyam feels defensiveness once again climb his throat, his grip on his plate tightening.

“It was brief, we must have forgotten to mention it. I did not clearly remember until I saw the same scars on her back as we did that day.” Neteyam does not want to talk about you. He wants his family to forget you exist so he can hold you in his mind alone.

“That is no excuse. If the mother saw you, you both could have been hurt. Palulukan do not like for their cubs to be watched.” Neytiri’s frustration is palpable as she begins clearing and storing the leftover dry foods harsher than needed.

“Where is she now? She must be of age if you saw them as children,” Jake asks and Neteyam knows his father will want to find her. His protective instincts are sharpened when someone is alone, if another clan discovers her they may kill her.

“I do not know, sir. She ran off. All I learned from her is that the Sky People are why she is alone.”

“We will send a party to track her in the morning. We cannot have a feral woman on our lands.” Jake decides then and there. Neteyam bites back a wince, knowing if you are found that you will not be so gentle with the hunters as you were with him. Neteyam was lucky to find you in a curious state, the atkorinas fluttering in the morning air while you were hidden from wandering eyes.

            Instead of lounging by the fire with his family, Neteyam retreats to his own kelku for respite and sleep. He dreams of you that night, hunting alongside him and swimming in the river. Your loose hair pooling around you as you float with your eyes closed while he sharpens his blades on the bank. He sees you flying with him wearing a visor like his own wearing dressings fit for a member of the clan. Beads threaded in the few braids you welcome into your silky tresses. He can feel your warmth and his mind conjures up the possible twinkle of your laugh when he flies too close to you.

The next few weeks the other members of the clan begin to whisper accusations that the Olo'eyktan’s heir is chasing a ghost; wasting precious warm days before the cool cycle begins searching for a woman that may not even exist. Neytiri did not allow the search to exceed three weeks, but turns a blind eye when Neteyam disappears in the waning hours of the day after his duties are completed. Mo’at has been silent on the subject, unwilling to have any conversation around you even as Neytiri pleads for her help to get Neteyam to forget about you.

His mind is trained on you, even through his fäza'u ceremony when the clan accepted him as heir, despite their ongoing reservations. He imagined you in the crowd, your voice chanting the ancient words to Eywa blessing his future. You would wear garments woven by his hand, his chosen colors decorating your chest and your own song cord hanging from your hip bearing the rites of passage to adulthood as a woman of the Omatikaya. You could fly an ikran and forget about the grueling demands of the forest.

You never leave his mind, his dreams, his longing. He wants you in his clan, in his world. You are formidable proof of Eywa’s blessings, a child raised by palulukan reaching adulthood without guidance other than the beast and the Great Mother herself. You probably have never bonded with the ancestors, or rather, have not bonded with the ancestors since your parents were killed by the Sky People. There is so much Neteyam wants to show you, to be for you. He can be your savior and your home. It is his role as future Olo’eyktan to protect, and his first quest is to bring you home.

Neteyam’s private search always starts where you met, but there has been no sign of you. He is unsure truly of how to track you even after the best trackers of the clan were unable to get a sense of your location, but by Eywa he will try. His father has not mentioned you since he disbanded the search, saying you have survived this long on your own and his responsibility is to the Omatikaya, not a wandering girl. The clear implication was that it is Neteyam’s duty too, but until he himself is Olo’eyktan, he can choose to be more selfish.

Neteyam grit his teeth listening to his family’s advice to move on, but nonetheless he persisted. His closest friends Eyay and Utek have been distant in the last few days, likely internalizing the talk about Neteyam losing his mind. Neteyam ignores their calls in their free hours to drink and socialize by fire along the river with eligible women. You should be one of the People too. You should be safely enjoying yourself in the protected arms of the clan without worrying for your next meal or being hunted by predators.

His days blur into sleepless routines of his duties to the clan, then his personal pledge to find you. Lo’ak tries to stop him some nights, but relents when Neteyam reminds him that you do truly exist and that no woman should be alone in the jungle no matter how strong they are. One man lost in the forest could stumble upon you and take you as his, one man can accidentally discover you in heat and claim you in your most vulnerable state. The thought stirs his ire.

His father understands this, it is why he never stops Neteyam from continuing. You still haunt his dreams, beckoning him into your world of silence and freedom, alone from the obligations of his station and able to live by your whims, a fantasy he has toyed with but never delved into as he attempts to bring you home. That desire deserts him when he is reminded of what the People mean to him, what his family represents. He loves his home, and he wants to share it with you too.

His turmoil does not go unnoticed by Kiri who urges him to visit the tree of souls each night before embarking on his search. So under the glowing vitraya ramunong, Neteyam sits. He is alone in Eywa’s embrace struggling to find peace. He knows you are out there, doing whatever it takes to survive when there are na’vi throughout Eywa’even that would take you in, like the Omatikaya. The soft grass grounds him though his grip on the strands threatens to rip it out from the earth and the biting breeze pinches his cheeks as it caresses his form.

Peace is elusive while he waits for Eywa to answer his calls. She has been so quiet in these weeks while he stirs in chaos. Where are you? Did you flee to another clan’s territory and find new hunting grounds after you ran off? Did you finally succumb to the will of Eywa alone in the wild, bleeding knowing there is no rescue? Are you hiding already for the cool cycle? Kept warm by the pelts of old hunts, incapable of fire or sharing warmth with another body? Or is he thinking about this all wrong? Searching for you as a na’vi instead of the animal you are?

Oh. Oh.

That’s it.

Neteyam’s eyes opened to three atorkina hovering in front of his face. Never one to ignore the signs of Eywa, Neteyam smiles and gets to his feet, silently thanking the Great Mother for her guidance. He is hunting a predator, not a na’vi, and he must treat you as such. The search parties looked for obvious signs of a na’vi alone, but you are no na’vi. You are a palulukan. His little Lulu alone in the forest, raised by a fierce beast known for its elusiveness and clever tactics for stalking.

He sets off immediately, recalling your scent and taking to the trees. You must have some sort of marker. Palulukan are territorial creatures with impeccable communication between each other. You likely imitate a palulukan’s claws scarred deep into the bark of a tree using your sharpened claw-like nails, rubbed in your scent to warn others of your terrain. The dim glow of the forest at night guides him deeper into its older, more dense woods, his nose twitching with each breeze for a hint of you.

You have probably been actively avoiding where you met now that the area has proven to be a risk for capture and competition, but also undoubtedly did not stray too far from home that early in the day. Neteyam takes his time to inspect every trunk and branch for carvings. By the time a whisper of your scent reaches him, it is stale and he is miles from his home. The sweetness peppered with spice is distinctive, and the hope of discovering you overpowers his rational thought of turning back and returning soon after eclipse.

He follows it until he spots three small claw marks that could be mistaken for nantang, but when looked upon with a keen eye are noticeably carved by hand. He presses his nose to the mark, taking note how the carvings look just like the scars on your shoulder. Your scent is still faint, but he now knows he is on the right track.

With each mark of yours he passes your fragrance grows stronger. He is getting closer. The glow of the forest at night conceals nothing, and he can hear the laughs of nantangs not too far from his current position. The marks here are older, worn by moss and time yet still visible. You live deep in the old forest, somewhat far from where he found you initially but the impenetrable fortress of trees makes the area a protected spot from the majority of large creatures.

Hearing the nantang screech and laugh as he grows ever closer to your home sends a trill of anger through him. How they managed to find you, he does not know but the thought of you warring with a pack of vicious creatures over a small kill enrages him. Neteyam brandishes a knife when he smells the freshness of your essence, he will be close enough to see you soon. Your scent is not tinged with fear, though he cannot imagine a palulukan is afraid of nantangs even if as a pack they are capable of severe damage.

He climbs a little farther up in the canopy before peering down into a small clearing. What he sees shocks him. You have made a home in an old human outpost. One single trailer overcome with flora and bare except for pelts and rudimentary objects protected by large rocks on each side and behind. A perfect hidden spot for a single na’vi. You have no fire, you use only the light provided by Eywa to guide you and his mind rushes at the thought of you cold.

That is not what shocks him as he sheaths his knife back onto his hip. No, it is the way you are laughing alongside the nantangs while rolling in a pile. Playfighting while atokirina float in a curtain around you. Never has he seen atokirina this deep in the jungle, but the Great Mother will never abandon her people. Warmth fills his chest at the sight of your unabashed smile. The little nantangs leap at you but you drive them away with ease, your force less than how you pushed him.

You discarded you weapons, they lay prone by the entry of your home—the staff leaning on the rusting metal and knives strewn haphazardly, as if you rushed to disarm and play. Neteyam sees no food, you must eat immediately after the kill and leave no trace as you let the nantangs finish the meal.

You use bones for decoration, abstract designs held together by sap and vines to create wind chimes that dangle from the roof of the old lab. Carvings of palulukan and nantang adorn the visible metal of the home telling stories of hunts, both successful and not. He sees a large one depicting a large fire and bodies dancing around it waves in the air that reminds Neteyam of the way music floats.

You are happy here and that breaks Neteyam’s heart. You have made a fulfilled life in the jungle by sheer will and created a haven of home so far away from any na’vi clan that it is no wonder you have not been seen or captured. Why did he find you then? What drove you so close to his home?

He watches the scene before him, allowing the impish growls and snaps of jaws to sear into his memory. Neteyam watches the way the necklace you stole from him bounces against your chest and a new feeling of protectiveness thrums through his veins. You have marked yourself as his, even if you are unaware. Wearing anything made by another is the first stage of courting in Omatikaya and the thought burns him with pride. You think of him.

You click your tongue and the nantangs disperse, continuing their laughter into the jungle and soon all that is left are the echoes of their hollers. Your eyes scan the trees and Neteyam hides his body behind a trunk before your gaze can set on him. Your scent is so tantalizing, Neteyam desperately wants to look at you again; see the strands of grass tangled in your hair and the smudges of dirt covering your face in the vague shape of a paw. He strains his ears to hear your footfalls, his tail twitching in agitation while being unable to witness you in your comfort.

“Come out, Neteyam.” You voice is lax, so quiet a breeze could carry it away if he was not already training his ears on your every move. Neteyam stiffens, not used to being caught while stalking, but nonetheless emerges from his spot and climbs down into your small clearing. “You smell,” you say with a scrunched nose when his feet hit the earth.

Neteyam does not take offense to this. You are likely smelling him as he does you but do not have the advanced language to be more specific. Despite this he will still tease you.

“I smell bad?” Neteyam drinks in your form, his eyes lingering again on the necklace delicately nestled between your breasts. He look back at your expression to see confusion. You are searching for words and he smirks. He likes this look on your face and the way your hair falls down your shoulders to nearly reach your waist.

“No. Not bad. Nice. You smell nice.” You correct while your fingers toy with the toruk carving. He senses nervousness in your stance, the way you barely meet his gaze and focus on anywhere but him. He steps closer to you, expecting you to move away but you do not, you allow him to approach until he is an arm’s length away.

“You smell nice too, Lulu.” He watches as you shudder when he uses the name he gave you. Good.

“You found me. How? My home is secret, far from na’vi.”

“I have been looking for you since we met, sevin. Have you searched for me?” [pretty]

“No. You hurt my family. Eywa healed them.” Your ears flatten and tail swishes in agitation. Your nantangs? What does he have to do with them? Suddenly he recalls a minor detail Lo’ak included about his hunt on the day you met. He mentioned nantangs getting caught under the hooves of the pa’li and scaring the daylights out of Utek. It clicks then why you abandoned him in such a hurry, you heard them cry out in pain at the hands of hunters and panicked.

Neteyam reaches his hand to cup your cheek, “oh, oeyä tstew yawntutsyìp. My people send their apologies. Rarely do nantang interfere with na’vi hunts. They were startled as much as your soaia.” Neteyam knows this will do little in ways of righting the wrongs of injuring your kin, but it is all he can offer at the moment. [my brave little darling / family]

He can hear the mild purr in your chest at the contact of his hand, satisfaction settling within him that he can pull this noise from you with just a touch. You lean into his grasp, your own hands settling around his hips as you relax into his control.

“I will kill them for it.” Your voice is sure and Neteyam huffs a small laugh.

“You cannot kill the hunters of Omatikaya, yawntutsyìp,” he says and your gaze glares into him. “I would love to see you try though.” The thought of you fighting his brethren sends his blood rushing. You are untrained in the art of honorable combat and would probably do much damage before any are able to pin you down, but down you will go. Even the fiercest warriors struggle when outnumbered.

“What is yawntutsyìp?” You ask. So innocent, so naïve to the ways of the na’vi that even the language of affection eludes you. It is so obvious how little you remember of your life before the palulukan and another surge of protectiveness envelopes him.

“It means that you are dear to me.” Neteyam explains while his hand trails from your cheek to the back of your neck. He can hear your breath hitch and your scent thickens as his fingers play with the base of your kuru. Your scent takes on a musky note, one that Neteyam recognizes as a female nearing her heat and he wonders how you have coped in all of your years alone.

You hold his gaze for a moment before breaking away with a blush blossoming on your cheeks.

“What is it, Lulu?” He loves watching the way you shiver at this name and how it deepens the flush on your face.

“I have questions, yawntutsyìp,” you say meekly and Neteyam feels weak at the nickname. You are using what he has taught you already, even if the meaning is not one you completely comprehend just yet.

“You may ask me anything,” Neteyam says and he knows that he will allow you to burden your curiosity onto him at your whim. Teaching is not his favorite endeavor however he knows he will do it forever if it means he can just hear your voice.

“Always at three moons, I burn. Do you burn?”

Neteyam is caught off guard; you are asking him about heat cycles. Neteyam feels his face redden, this topic is usually explained to na’vi when young, before the first one ever hits so there is time for processing and preparation. Mo’at teaches them how to manage unaccompanied until a na’vi feels ready for a partner to help, though by the time the first cycle hits at the precipice of adulthood partnerships are negotiated regardless of mating intentions.

“Yes, I burn too.” Neteyam says and he watches relief flood your expression. “Are you burning now?” He can’t help but ask even though he can smell the burgeoning heat building in your body. You are perhaps a week away from the natural peak of the cycle, but you do not use any herbs to settle your nerves and subdue your scent. No one was there to teach you.

Your small nod confirms his suspicions. It is no wonder your aggression has disappeared, a male you trust is a comfort during this time. Neteyam’s pride purrs knowing that you trust him enough to even ask these questions and he wonders if his lingering scent on the necklace acclimated you to his presence.

“I was afraid of the heat, but it feels good sometimes too.” You admit, looking him in the eyes and Neteyam wrestles with his own desires. His rut is not for another month, but it is known for a female’s heat to trigger a male’s rut under the right circumstances and vice versa. It can also come early if beckoned correctly but that is not something many na’vi like to happen as it is unnecessary.

Neteyam braces himself, he will not allow your looming heat to blur his mind, he must focus on solely you right now. You are being pliant and sweet, allowing him to stroke your neck and for his fingers to dance close to where a mating mark belongs.

“It does feel good. What you feel is called heat, all na’vi women experience this. Men go through their rut in the same pattern.” Neteyam explains and the blush on your cheeks darkens, spreading to your chest where your breaths appear deeper. He pulls his stare from your breasts back to your face, tracing the lines of glowing freckles adorning your skin with his eyes and admiring the way they form a small heart at your jaw.

“Do you make tsaheylu when it burns too hot?”

“No, tsyeym, that is for mates and I have no mate.” Neteyam answers and you nod. You probably feel your kuru reach out searching for connection at the height of your heat, something most na’vi suppress with herbs beforehand until they choose a mate. Neteyam has never felt it, but Mo’at described it during her lessons. [treasure]

“Have you made tsaheylu when it hurts?” Neteyam prays to Eywa the answer is no, that you have never found another male to satiate your heat in your long years isolated.

“No. I hide when it aches.” Relief rushes Neteyam’s heart as you continue, “my nantangs bring me kills but never stay to comfort me through pain.” Neteyam’s brow raises before he realizes that pack animals when injured stay close for protection, but during heat an animal would never stay near. That probably confused you greatly, why would your pack abandon you when you need them most? You don’t truly grasp why you experience this kind of pain, it probably took you a long time to figure out how to quell your heat alone. Poor girl.

“They would not stay, it is not their place. Your nantangs are smart to leave you be. Watching you in pain likely gives them stress, you are their provider and the most they could do is sit near you, but that is not enough. I imagine they protect your home from dangers so you can be at peace during this time.” He says while you you preen at the compliment to your pets. All this time you thought you were sick, suffering every three months by yourself with little to do but suffer.

“Nantang cannot be near me, can na’vi heal the pain?” You understand that the nantangs presence as pets would not aid in your agony during heat.

“Yes, Lulu, a na’vi can ease the hurt. An animal is repelled by the scent of a na’vi in that state, that they offer you food is reason enough to believe they are helping in the ways they can.”

“How does a na’vi help this burn?”

“Ah,” Neteyam is unsure how to answer this question. “They… touch you in places they know burn the hottest,” he says and feels as though this explanation is sufficient for your understanding as you nod.

“You do this?” The idea does not seem to frighten you, someone touching you where he knows heat hurts the most, in fact Neteyam watches as your pupils dilate and you take a sharp inhale.

“I have done it before, yes.” Neteyam confirms, not ashamed of his past experiences and partnerships during his rut and other females’ heat but your lips form a pout. Neteyam suppresses a smile at the light note of jealousy clouding your appearance and hopes you are imagining the ways he could help you.

“Why do we burn? I do not know why Eywa makes us hurt.” Your grip on Neteyam’s hips tenses and he feels the warmth of your skin over the bite of your sharpened nails digging into him. The slight pain is nothing compared to the pleasure of your touch and his tail swishes.

“Eywa wants to ensure there will always be na’vi. She gives you heat to remind you that it is part of our duty to make a family. It makes a male and female come together and try every three months,” he says and the way your eyes drink him in while processing this information strikes him hard enough that he pulls you closer. You hum, your ears relaxing and tail moving to curl around his calf. A possessive move, though you may not see it as such, or even be aware that you are doing it.

“Eywa wants her People to be one,” you muse. He wonders if you have been straying closer to his clan for this reason; Eywa is calling you home to the People, where you belong. The thought excites him—perhaps bringing you home will not be so difficult. Neteyam’s tail wraps around your hip while the hand not on your neck traces up and down your arm in comfort.

“Yes. She designed heat to draw a couple as one, to teach us that to find relief we need to rely on each other.”

“Then why has Eywa kept me from the People?” You ask and it is not something Neteyam can answer with confidence. He does not believe Eywa knew the Sky People would come, and without them your life would be entirely different.

“I do not know, sevin. Eywa works in her own ways.”

“Eywa brought you to me, Neteyam.” You state and he shivers listening to you say his name with such reverence. There is no room for misunderstanding, you believe that Eywa has presented him as a path to becoming one with the People. Atokirina land in your hair, but Neteyam does not push them away. Eywa has brought you to him. In all his years, there has never been one to inspire such patience in his being. Even now, as your heat approaches and your unencumbered scent beckons him to touch you with passion, he remains steadfast.

“She did,” Neteyam agrees. He is enjoying letting you guide the conversation, making note of every minor twitch of your ears and the way your head tilts while you contemplate his words. He watches your gaze flick to his lips and back up to his eyes before your lips rub together. He wants to kiss you, to feel the way your lips move against his but he will not make the first attempt, not when your inexperience eclipses his so thoroughly.

You surprise him by pulling him closer, your chests touching. A hug. When was the last time someone hugged you? Neteyam takes the opportunity to move your arms around his neck and his own to your waist and sever any breath of space between you. He can feel the contours of your body against his, the way your heartbeat increases and your breath hitches and he knows you can feel the same of him. His necklace that you wear presses into his skin and he knows it will leave an imprint. Pleasure courses through him at the thought of being marked by you, even if temporarily and by coincidence.

You tuck your head into the crevice between his shoulders and neck, hot breath teasing his skin as you unconsciously nuzzle against him. In this position he can smell you even deeper; the florals you use to wash your hair and the sweet grass staining your skin. You are all encompassing.

“I feel…”

“You feel what?” He encourages you to share your thought, his hands gently running up and down your back. He wants to know every detail that erupts in your mind if it means he can remain here with you in his arms, feeling the way your words vibrate against him. You pull away just far enough to look at his face again.

Your brow furrows as you search for the words to explain. “I want to try what I see.” Now it is Neteyam’s turn to tilt his head in wordless question.

“What did you see?”

“Can I show you?” Your gaze focuses on his lips again. By Eywa, you want to kiss him.

“Anything,” He says and that is all the permission you need.

Your moves are tentative as you maneuver up onto the balls of your feet and set your face directly before him, lips just a breath from his. You look into his eyes once more before closing them and leaning forward to kiss him. He can feel your wild heartbeat and the way heat torrents through you, all for something so innocent as a kiss.

You pull away and look at him with wide eyes.

“That is okay?” You ask, your voice small and Neteyam’s mouth curves into a small smile.

“Yes, yawntutsyìp. It is called säpom.” Neteyam says, his own body reacting to your caress as if he has never had a woman before. His cock twitches knowing he has tamed you in some way, even if the fog of your heat is appearing over the horizon to aid your amenable nature.

“Säpom.” You repeat, testing the word on your tongue. “Can I try again?” [kiss]

Neteyam does not use his words, he only captures your lips with his own. He does not deepen the passion of it, he allows you to explore in your own time. Whatever you saw clearly enthralled you as you open your mouth ever so slightly to gain a new angle. Neteyam resists the urge to use his tongue as you gain confidence with your movements. Just this chaste taste is enough to set him aflame. Your hesitancy fades as you press harder against him and your scent becomes spicier with desire.

Neteyam is the first to pull away this time. Watching you gasp for air with hazy eyes spurs him to lift you by your thighs and wrap your legs around his waist. You yelp in surprise, writhing in his grip. “Mawey, Lulu,” he coos in your ear, smirking when he feels you still in his grasp, “good girl.”

As he moves he can feel your lips graze his neck, close enough to where a mark will one day be than you could know. You explore his skin, nestling against his neck, unknowingly scenting him. Your instincts are responding to his presence, a fact that makes Neteyam glow. Neteyam walks you both closer to your home but stops short of going in, instead opting to sit down and lean against the structure. He perches you on his lap, your one leg on either side of him where no matter if your pull away from a kiss he will feel you.

“Is this okay?” He asks and you nod. You squirm in his lap, luckily you are not slotted against his center, and settle with your arms around him. Your eyes are bright, no longer timid but instead the same mischievousness he remembers from the day you met.

“Yes, Neteyam.”

He has to bite back a groan. The way your mouth forms his name and your voice sings it forward captivates him and in this new position there’s not a breeze that can move your scent away from him. Neteyam waits for your next move, intently memorizing the way your hands explore his chest. Your fingers are calloused squeezing the muscles of his arms and trace them up to his shoulders to settle at his neck, but your touch so gentle that chills run down his spine.

Neteyam keeps his hands at your waist, giving you the space to touch him wherever you please. You work your way up to his face and cup his jaw with a soft smile, eyes trained on his lips clearly hungry for more.

You lean in to kiss him again, his lips meeting yours in the middle and he cradles your head to hold you close. This time, your tongue sheepishly swipes his lower lip and a deep groan escapes him. Spooked, you pull away and stare at him, eyes wide with pupils blown and mouth agape. Neteyam knows the noise he made is new to you and feels the need to reassure you.

“It is okay, tsyeym, that means it feels good.” He lets you process this information and waits to see if you will kiss him again, and you do. This time confident that your tongue is welcome in his mouth you press in when his lips part. Neteyam doesn’t make noise again, wanting you to feel comfortable exploring this new sensation without overwhelming you. Neteyam doesn’t push into your mouth despite how desperately he wants to take the heat of you, he just lets you languidly feel his tongue against yours. You taste of fruit.

You creep closer to his body and press harder into the kiss, breathing through your nose and running your hands through his braids. Neteyam is hard beneath his tewng and wishes he could readjust himself, he does not want to call attention to his grown erection, but when you pull his hair just above his kuru he growls and pulls you flush against him where your core settles above him. [loincloth]

You fit against him so perfectly, the warmth of your center and the mild flutter of your heartbeat against the tightness of his tewng fogging his mind, not enough to lose focus but enough to need just a bit more. You accept this change of position with a purr, though Neteyam isn’t sure if you know you did it.

You continue to kiss him, your hands playing with his braids as you unconsciously begin to roll your hips against his, the friction electrifying. A whimper leaves you and Neteyam’s grip tightens on your hip, not guiding your movements, only holding you. The smell of your wetness permeates his senses and he groans again, not caring anymore if the sound is foreign to you. Instead of this startling you, you grind harder into him and with the movement his cock straightens in the tewng to slot perfectly against your clothed slit.

You pull from the kiss gasping, still rolling your hips against him, and moan. The sound sends shockwaves through Neteyam, your lithe body pliant under his touch as you chase this new sensation at your core.

“I am hot,” you tell him, through pants. Neteyam already knows this, but hearing you say it makes his cock twitch. The covering you wear on your chest is different from that of the clan, instead of decorative beads swinging on their own accord, you have a wrap of leather banded around your breasts. There is no freedom of air to regulate your skin and Neteyam can see beads of sweat drip from your neck to the valley of the bandeau.

Neteyam does not get to respond before you tug at the leather, pulling it free from your body and tossing it to the ground next to him. Your chest now bare, save for his necklace,  Neteyam drinks in the supple mounds of your breasts and the way your nipples perk at the cool air now reaching them. He want to pull them into his mouth but you capture his lips again with yours before he can propose the idea. Your naked chest against his drives him wild, his hips now moving on their own accord to meet your rhythm and you groan.

You pull away again, “More,” you say, your voice laced with unmistakable desire.

 Neteyam is concerned he could trigger your heat if he concedes to your demand, but he does it anyway. He grinds up into you with no restraint and you match his pressure, Neteyam is certain you are chasing an orgasm. Not wanting to shun your natural instincts, he guides your hips to hold you in place for his length to drag against you. You throw your head back in pleasure, the sounds emanating from your throat raw and unfiltered.

You’d never been taught shame, never been shown to be quiet for the sake of others and Neteyam fucking loves it. Every drag of your nails against his skin sends sparks down his spine and his eyes are addicted to your form. You don’t even know the ways you move are gripping and Neteyam thanks Eywa for being the only man to ever see you in this state.

Wanton pleasure unencumbered by expectations, letting your body follow instinct over what might attract a mate. No, you chase your own feelings, your own physicality in a way Neteyam has never witnessed. Your kiss is demanding, fangs nipping his tongue in pursuit of your own pleasure.

Neteyam digs into his grip even harder, pulling torturous noises from you that drive him wild. The way your clothed cunt chases friction against him will reemerge in his dreams until Eywa takes him. If these are the last moments you allow him in your world he can claim with confidence he did everything he could to make you feel good. He can feel pressure building in his own abdomen watching you grind against him but he ignores it, easy enough when the thought of you cumming takes precedent over every other thought.

“That’s it, yawntutsyìp,” he encourages, his voice low as your hips stutter against him and he finally pulls a pert nipple into his mouth. You mewl at the new sensation, your eyes rolling back as your movements slow against him. “Good girl,” he murmurs against your breasts as he moves to lavish the other with attention.

You move faster against him and pull away from the kiss, sounds coming from your throat that Neteyam can barely process as your clothed pussy clenches around nothing and a surge of wetness dampens his tewng.

He nips at your nipples and your pussy twitches at the feeling, a smirk grows on Neteyam’s lips knowing he did this to you. Your hazy eyes look down at him with curiosity, your hands tugging at his braids making him groan again. You move back from his cock, and look at the bulge in his tewng. Your hand moves closer to the shape of his cock but he grasps your wrist, stopping you from touching him.

“Why?” You pout.

“You do not know what you are doing, tunutu.” Neteyam says with a small smile. He regrets his words when you climb off his lap and kneel next to him, your hand trying again to reach for his aching cock. He can smell your release in the air, his strings of control tightening as your fingers graze his waistband.

“Show me,” you demand, your little fangs biting into your lower lip. More than anything Neteyam wants to show you, but you are not ready and he does not want to scare you even if your musky scent is provoking him.

“No.” His voice is hard, his restraint so close to snapping as your fingers pry beneath his covering and graze the hot skin at the head of his cock. “I told you, Lulu. No.”

You growl, wanting to follow your instincts and see the part of him that pressed against you and made you cum with a na’vi for the first time. Neteyam knows you will continue to push him but he is steadfast in not seeking pleasure from you. His focus is you. He can feel the burning of your heat taking over, your mind will be tracked solely on pleasure and he will give it to you on his terms.

“I will not take from you. I will only give.” Neteyam explains and your eyes narrow at him.

“I want to give.” You say and Neteyam shudders.

“I want to take care of you first. Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation you reply, “yes.”

“I want to show you something. You will feel good, I promise.”

Neteyam lays you down on your back and positions himself between your thighs, kissing your neck as he goes but still careful to avoid where his fangs pulse to bite down. He looks up to meet your golden eyes watching him intently, unsure of what he next move will be. He enjoys your piercing gaze, the way you stare at him with intent, like the predator you are. The thought makes him growl.

His trails his mouth from your neck down to your breasts, lavishing each one with attention before continuing and gently teasing your thighs with his fingers. He can feel you shudder and your hips reflexively press into him. He adds pressure to where your slit is hidden, feeling the wetness from your previous orgasm and your groan spurs him on. He rubs his hand against you while sucking hard enough on your nipples that when he releases one with a wet pop your eyes widen. 

“Syor,” Neteyam says, keeping his voice soft and level. [relax]

He kisses down the panes of your stomach, marveling the way your muscles react to his mouth against them. He pulls his hand from your center and tugs at your tewng, looking at your face and searching for any apprehension. When he doesn’t find any, he dips a finger under the band as you did to him and tugs at the cloth until it loosens down your legs.

Your cunt free, he breathes in your scent and presses his nose against you without thinking. You squeal in response, your thighs tightening around his head in surprise. Neteyam loves the strength you possess, the way your hands grip his braids and pull his head up to look at him. He hopes you can see the unadulterated lust overcoming his senses and the way he licks his lips in desire.

You don’t stop him as his head dips between your thighs and he kisses your exposed skin. Neteyam takes this as further permission to explore your center and he licks a stripe from your hole to your clit, then relishes in the way your back arches and your pussy chases his receding tongue.

“Again,” your breathe out and Neteyam smiles, conceding to this demand. He uses the tip of his tongue to circle the bundle of nerves at the top of your glistening cunt before using the same pressure to trail down to your entrance and tease the weeping hole. You taste divine, sweetening his tastebuds with the essence of heat and desire.

The sounds you release are throatier than before and your grip on his hair tightens when Neteyam uses an exploratory finger against your center. He pushes just the tip in and your eyes fly open and hands leave his head to lean up on your elbows. Before you can say anything Neteyam pushes it all the way in, feeling the way your walls stretch against the new sensation. He cautiously pumps in and out, his tongue finding your clit again to maintain your building momentum to another orgasm.

He adds another finger when you fall back against the grass and grip the blades of grass under your hands until your knuckles are white. He speeds up his ministrations and uses his tongue to lavish you clit with pressure until he finds the little spot that draws whimpers from your lips. He focuses on this spot while searching for the spongy spot inside you. He adds another finger and you nearly wail in pleasure, your skin hot and legs beginning to tremble.

Neteyam doesn’t stop until you’re thrusting up against his fingers and grinding into his face, unlike anything he has experienced. A flash of insecurity overtakes him but that is squashed when you cum against his lips with a cry of his name.

He helps you ride out the orgasm until you’re pulling away from him from overstimulation and he brings his soaked hands up to his lips to taste you again. You’re panting and your eyes are still closed, Neteyam takes the moment to memorize your features. Your freckles glow, you have many—more than the average na’vi. He tries to memorize constellations that make up your skin.

When you catch your breath and look at Neteyam, you look magnificent. A tinge to your cheeks and sweat on your brow, looking disheveled and calm. Neteyam lays next to you, not touching you but close enough to feel your heat. You sit quietly, processing what just happened.

“Are you okay, yawntutsyìp?” Neteyam keeps his voice level.

“Yes. What is that called?”

“Ah, we call it a special kiss,” he says unsure of how to explain the concept of eating out otherwise. That metaphor will not work in this circumstance, you will need more experience to understand it. “Did you like it?” Neteyam has to ask even if it makes him feel like a teenager again. He just wants to know you are okay.

“Yes,” you reply. You add nothing else, but you curl against Neteyam in the grass and rest your head on his chest. “Do all na’vi do that?”

Neteyam laughs, “most do. Some men do not like to do it.”

“You do,”

“I do. There are men that care more about their own pleasure.” Your hands trail down his chest to the edge of his tweng where his cock remains hard, though he is tempering that knowing you are spent. You do not push, you just trace his skin with the pads of your fingers.

“Do women do it?” You ask.

“To other women?” Neteyam replies, searching for clarity.

“Well, yes, but also to men?”

“Yes to both, sevin.”

“Women have done it to you?”

“Yes.” You tense in his arms. Neteyam grips you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. He does not want you to feel less special, but he will not lie about his past.

“Does it feel as good as it did just now?”

“I like to think so but Mo’at says women feel different.”

“Mo’at?” You ask and Neteyam feels warmth in his chest at your open curiosity for his life. You are talking more than he has heard since he met you. Your comfort with him is encouraging and makes him believe you will come home with him. If not now, later.

“Our t’shaik.”

“T’shaik,” you test the word, “what else does she say?”

“She says many things. Mostly about Eywa. She heals our people when they are hurt. She knows how to make you feel better when you are sick.”

“Like when you are in heat?”

“She cannot remove the heat but she can help with the worst of it.” Neteyam explains. He feels for the years of pain you have endured, his clan teaches early so no one needs to hurt.

“Are you shamed of your heat?”

“I have no heat, yawntutsyìp, I have rut. It is similar, but to answer your question, no I am not embarrassed of my rut. It is a mark of virility to have a strong rut. Good for finding a mate.”

“Virility?”

“A strong na’vi that can provide for a family and his mate.” Neteyam knows he comes from a line of tough na’vi, ones that are known for heavy ruts and large families. He is one of four, though Kiri is not of his blood that his father would take her in is enough to tell others of his virility.

“Am I virile?” You ask and Neteyam laughs.

“No, but you have muliebrity. Womanly.”

“I can provide for a family and mate,” you say and he can feel your offended pout.

“Yes, I am sure you can.” He strokes you cheek, “but a woman does it differently. A woman carries prrnenn, women are prrsmungn. Men cannot do that.” [infant/baby, baby carrier]

“What if I do not want to be prrsmungn?” Your voice is small with this question and Neteyam feels a pang of something negative in his chest.

“No one will make you.”

“What if I do want prrnenn?”

“Then you would select a mate to have them with,”

“I want yours.” Your voice is so sure and guilt flashes through him. Of course you would want his children, it is your instinct to choose your first as your mate. It is only with his education that sex separated from mating is clear. Regret makes Neteyam shift, he should not have touched you. He should have known this was a possibility. Possessiveness is nature, you are a creature of instinct, you know little else.

“Yawntutsyìp… that is complicated.”

“Why?”

“I am the next olo'eyktann, the leader. My mate will be t’shaik. She must be of the People.”

“If I became one of the People could I have your prrnenn?” You want his children. You want to carry his family. He is still not surprised, but his guilt grows. You know no other male. You deserve more of a choice.

“It is a possibility, but you are not one of the People, yawntutsyìp.” He is not trying to say no, he does not want to push you away but he remains realistic in his mind. Though this is a good opportunity to ask “do you want to be Omatikayan?”

“What does that mean?”

“You join my clan. You go through all of the rites and my people accept you. You bond with an ikran and complete uniltaron.”

“What is uniltaron?”

“A special dream,”

“Like the special kiss?” Your question makes Neteyam laugh again. So innocent. Neteyam pulls you closer against him again.

“No, not like that, sevin. You meet with Eywa.”

“I hear Eywa every night.”

“I know, still this is different. It hurts. Not all na’vi live to join the clan.”

“They die?”

“Some, not many. Only the strongest can join Omatikaya, and Eywa is the final one to decide if one is worthy.”

“Am I worthy?”

“I am not Eywa,”

“You are not.”

“You should rest, sevin.”

“I am not tired, zey 'evan. Tell me a story. I want to hear more.” Neteyam glances down at you where you trace the stripes adorning his body.

“Where did you learn that?”

“Lo’ak.” That surprises him. How do you know Lo’ak’s name? Jealousy surges within him.

“Lo’ak?” He can feel how tight his voice is but the gentle way your hand rubs against his chest reassures him there is no reason for this feeling.

“I listened. The day we met. He called you zey 'evan. It sounds like you.”

“He is my brother. He called me that as a joke. I am not special.”

“You are future olo’tekayan.”

“You are very smart, Lulu. You would be a good Omatikayan.” He says and you snuggle closer. You were stalking him that day for far longer than he presumed and he didn’t even know. You are truly a treasure.

“Story. Now.”