by Ruby Dixon
She makes a face at me. “All your books are in a language I don’t understand.”
I chuckle. “Listen to music, then? Or I practice my sticks.”
“Sticks?” Her brows furrow. “That’s the game you were playing with Froggy, right?”
I incline my head at her. “That’s the one.”
“Can you show me how to play it?” She turns her chair to face me and gestures at the table between us. “We could play right here.”
“Do your people have games of chance?” I’m constantly surprised by the things she tells me. Humans aren’t nearly as primitive as I’ve been led to believe.
“Oh yeah. I’m pretty good at cards.”
“Cards?” I give her a strange look. “You play with cards? Little pieces of paper? Why would you do something so foolish?”
“Are you kidding me? You guys play with sticks! Freaking sticks! Now who’s the foolish one?” She sounds so indignant.
I burst into laughter. “Fair enough.”
Her indignant look turns to a smile, and then she chuckles. “I guess they all sound silly when you break them down. All right, so show me how this works.”
I tap a panel on the table and my favorite sticks set rises out of its storage place. “Well, as I like to say, it’s all in the wrist.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “I feel like I’ve heard this one before.”
I grin. “Perhaps you have. Shall I show you my technique?”
I expect her to make a scathing comeback, but she only leans in and gives me a sultry smile. “Show me what you’ve got, hot shot.”
Her words make me fumble for the sticks case, and the playing pieces scatter across the table.
Fran’s little laugh of amusement is utterly delightful, and I fumble a second time.
I don’t even mind.
Playing sticks for hours a day becomes part of our new routine. Sometimes we play after we wake up and before we head out to the mess for breakfast. Sometimes we play after dinner, when all the work for the day is done and I have some time to myself. Fran doesn’t have much to do, so she busies herself with hand-sewing a dress or two from my least-favorite shirts and she practices her sticks techniques. She looks forward to our gaming sessions every day, and I do as well. There’s nothing I’d rather do than spend an evening with Fran, laughing and talking.
She’s quickly become my favorite person to talk to. Not just because her acerbic sense of humor matches mine, but she’s able to see things from an entirely different perspective than I can. She’s also quick to let me know when my ego is getting in the way, and when such feedback might have irritated me if it came from Alyvos or Sentorr, Fran just makes me laugh and realize I’m being an ass.
I like learning about her, too. There’s so much about human society that sounds both fascinating and odd, and our conversations sometimes highlight just how different our cultures are.
“So your brother’s wife is pregnant?” she asks me one night as we play sticks. “How’s that possible?”
I chuckle and give her a playful look. “Well, Fran, when a male and female love each other very much…”
She rolls her eyes. “Very funny.”
“—they get together and purchase the finest plas-womb that the medics have to offer.”
Her eyes widen. “Wait, what?” She looks startled. “They purchased a test-tube baby?”
“Actually, no. I think they’re doing it the old-fashioned way.” I think of Chloe’s bloated stomach and suppress a male shudder of unease. “She’s growing it in her stomach. I imagine there was some medical assistance, of course, but if you have enough credits, anything’s possible.”
Fran stares at me, her jaw hanging open.
“What?” I cast my sticks down and wait for her to take her turn.
“You’re grossed out by it, aren’t you? By her having a baby.”
I frown and gesture at the gameboard in front of us. “Your turn. And no, I’m not ‘grossed out.’ It’s just…unusual.”
“Because of hygiene laws?”
“Among other things, yes. Most mesakkah females don’t bother having their children naturally. Not when there’s a perfectly good artificial womb waiting to be rented. You donate your biological information, pay a fee, and then you can pick up your child when it’s ready.”
“That’s…weird.”
“It’s all very sanitary, I assure you.”
She puts a hand to her stomach, disturbed. “I don’t think I’d want to do that if I ever had a baby. I’d want to carry it if I could. Your homeworld’s laws just seem so…cold.”
A few weeks ago, I might have agreed with her. But since then, I’ve seen Fran’s smiles and breathed in her scent. I’ve touched her soft skin and licked her thigh. To say that I’m hungry for more would be like saying the universe is vast. There’s no end to how much I want her and crave her.
“They do seem like cold laws,” I murmur. I think of Jutari and how happy he seems, how content. It’s clear he doesn’t think about sanitary laws. I do wonder how much happier we’d be as a people if we weren’t so focused on disease. Interesting to think about.
Fran gives a little shake of her head and then casts down her sticks on the board. Her throw is terrible, but I can flub my next one so that she pulls ahead and the game continues a bit longer. It’s cheating in a way, of course, but I look at it as practice. Who knows when I’ll have to hoodwink the next target in a game? It’s best to know how to play against anyone, even a terrible player.
Besides, nothing makes Fran laugh with more delight than when she “wins” against me. I’m addicted to that triumphant giggle.
“I can’t imagine a society where you can’t even kiss the person you love,” she tells me, studying the table in front of us.
“Kiss?”
“A meeting of mouths. It’s a show of affection amongst humans.”
“Care to demonstrate?” I give her my best lazy grin, though my heart is pounding at the thought of her putting her plump lips against mine. Sanitary laws be keffed, I want to taste her.
But all she says is, “I’d hate to break your hygiene laws.”
“I’m a pirate, my sweet. Breaking laws is what I do. Don’t let that dissuade you from your goal.”
She just wags a finger at me as if I’m being naughty. “You may be a pirate, but I’m not. I’m just a pirate’s captive.”
“Ah, yes, because I won’t let you go back to Earth. Can’t you just be a guest?” I pretend to study the table in front of us, though in truth I’m concentrating on Fran and her expression.
My human looks thoughtful. “But a guest is somewhere because they want to be there, right? So I can’t say that I’m a guest, either.”
“Then what are you?” I ask. Other than mine, because I’m never letting you go.
She purses her lips and thinks. “When I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
9
FRAN
Sharing quarters with a big blue alien man proves to be a lot tighter than I originally anticipated. It’s a small ship—and the captain’s quarters aren’t exactly enormous—so we’re constantly running into each other or brushing up against each other.
One night, I’m getting ready for bed when I yawn and stretch. Kivian’s nearby flipping through something on his data pad when he suddenly gets up from his desk and heads to the small water closet. As he walks, I can see the front of his trousers are tented with a rather obvious erection.
I swallow hard, wondering what I should say. Should I do anything? Ignore it? Pretend like I didn’t see? Confront him? I think of the time that I brushed up against him and felt his erection rub against my backside. He’d acted like it was nothing and I thought I was mistaken.
There’s no mistaking that bulge in the front of his pants.
Do I say something, though? We’ve got such a fragile balance. He’s treated me like a welcome guest ever since I arrived, and even though my dreams—both day and otherwise—have bee
n a little steamy, he’s been the perfect gentleman.
And yet…
I nibble on a fingernail, thinking. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I creep toward the water closet on silent feet, and then lean closer, listening like the freak I am. It’s quiet in there. Of course it is. It’s probably soundproofed. Duh, Fran.
But then I hear it. The unmistakable slap of skin. A soft groan. Something shifts inside, as if a large body is leaning up against a counter.
My entire body flushes with awareness. Is he…touching himself in there? To me? Because I stretched?
I’m breathing hard at the thought, imagining it. My hand slides to the front of the long shirt I’m wearing as a dress. I could touch myself right now, masturbate like he is…
What’s wrong with me? He’s not shown any interest in me at all other than as a friend. What if this is a normal sort of thing for blue people? What if this is just another bodily function and I’m creeping on him like a pervert, imagining that big blue body covering mine? Imagining him leaning over me and nipping at one breast with those perfect lips of his…
I shouldn’t be thinking about sex. Not after what I’ve been through. Maybe I’m messed up in the head after my ordeal. The thought’s a sobering one, and I retreat back to the bed and pull the covers over me, tucking them under my chin and closing my eyes.
If he wanted to touch me, he would have…wouldn’t he?
10
FRAN
Days Later
Kivian’s started sleeping naked.
He asked me if he could, of course. He’s a restless sleeper, and when I prodded him about it, he admitted that he’s used to sleeping without clothing and that the fabric against his skin chafes and distracts him. So I told him he could sleep naked. I gave him permission.
We’ve been so friendly and so easy I didn’t think it would mess with my mind.
Duh, Fran. Duhhhhhh.
I’m dying to look over. Nudge a pillow to the side. Get a little glimpse. Dying. Dying. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
It feels like a betrayal of our friendship.
Dying, though. Like, is he as big—equipment-wise—as I think he is? He’s seven feet tall, so he should be.
Duh, Fran.
Sometimes I tell myself one little peek won’t hurt. But I can’t bring myself to do it.
Just one little peek would answer so many questions.
But I can’t. I just can’t.
Gosh, I wish I could, though.
11
FRAN
I feel like I’m going to explode if something doesn’t happen between us soon. Either I need to get over him, or I need to get whatever passes as an alien vibrator around here.
Something.
All I know is that I’m going crazy being around that big blue slab of delicious man and I don’t know what to do. He’s the one in control of my life, so I don’t dare make a move. He hasn’t indicated that he wants to touch me or be anything other than friendly.
I’ve never masturbated so hard—or so very furtively—in my life.
Something’s got to change soon, I think, or I might snap and start dry-humping his leg like the oversexed poodle-fuck-toy I’m supposed to be.
12
FRAN
Three weeks later
I wake up with a yawn. It’s early, the faux window in the room set to simulate a sunrise. Kivian’s cabin doesn’t actually have any windows at all, so the settings are based around what the user desires. I love waking up to a sunrise, and Kivian can sleep through pretty much anything, so the setting is set to my liking. I smile and watch the “sunrise” for a minute, admiring the thick, fluffy clouds. I don’t even mind that the “sky” in the picture is a watery sort of green. It’s the thought that counts.
Mornings are one of my favorite times on the Fool. None of these guys are early risers, so it’s kind of “me” time. I like that little window of quiet. Normally I get up and start digging through the food stores and watch mesakkah vids, trying to pick up language basics. This morning, though, there’s a big blue arm sprawled through the pillow fort, and I can’t help but lift the pillow and peer over the side at Kivian.
No peeking any lower, of course. I still can’t bring myself to do that even though I’m itching to check out his equipment. Doing so feels like it would break the fragile boundary we have on our relationship.
Kivian’s a deep sleeper, all right. His mouth is parted, his hair disheveled over his hard, craggy brow. His clothes are pulled up, revealing washboard blue abs and obliques that make my fingers itch to touch them.
No lower, Fran, I tell myself. That’s a line you can’t cross.
Instead of scaring the shit out of me, it makes me feel…curious. Yeah, that’s the word. Just curious. I squeeze my thighs together tightly.
Just curious. That’s all.
I study him for a bit longer. It’s been weeks since Kivian rescued me and brought me on the Fool. It’s been three weeks for me to find my feet again. I’ve gone from having everything ripped out from under me to a weird semblance of normal, and I’m starting to like the new normal. It’s different, but it’s not all that bad. The crew’s nice and I’ve fit in surprisingly well with them. I thought Kivian would be a problem with his early forwardness and chest-thumping declarations of MINE, but he’s been a perfect gentleman so far. In all this time, he’s cracked jokes, teased me, played games with me, been bossy and pushy, but he’s never frightened me. He’s never put a hand on me or even tried to get fresh with me. If anything, he dotes on me like a little sister.
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I mean, I’m thankful. I’m so thankful he’s not a big rapey son of a bitch. He’s a big tease and a flirt, but he’s not malicious and he’s rarely serious. His personality is a fun one, and I actually enjoy being around him. I never thought I’d say that about an alien, but he’s quickly becoming one of my best friends.
But as time passes, I’m not so sure if how I feel about him is “friendly” or something more. I find that I’m living for his laughs, his smiles. I eagerly anticipate each night in bed, hoping our limbs are going to brush against each other. I pace around the cabin all day because I feel it’d be too puppyish to follow him around the ship. I live for our sticks games. I’m addicted to his smell and switch out our pillows on the sly so I can breathe deep of his scent.
And I masturbate. Lord, how I masturbate. Daily. Sometimes twice a day. Once I even did it under the blankets while he slept. I can’t help it.
I’m getting increasingly frustrated by the fact I’ve been firmly placed in “little sister” territory. Part of me thinks that I’m an idiot for even contemplating such a thing, but I can’t help it. I’m fascinated by him and the fact that he made such strong claims about me belonging to him…and then doesn’t act on it.
Not that I want him to act on it.
I think.
Actually I don’t know what to think. All I know is that I’d love for him to grab me and pull me against him in a passionate kiss, and I’m pretty sure that’s wrong of me to even contemplate.
I should be grateful that Kivian’s treating me like an honored, welcome guest.
Yeah. Grateful. I’m feeling something, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t gratitude. And I squeeze my knees tightly together again.
Kivian sleeps on, blissfully unaware of the conflict in my head as I lie beside him. Ironic that I used to be annoyed that I had to share a bed with the guy. Now I get irritated that he’s so good at staying on his side. Why can’t he be a grabby snuggler?
I have issues.
Duh, Fran.
I crawl out of bed and pad toward the water closet in Kivian’s apartments. I wash up and dress in one of the three outfits I can claim as my own. Since we haven’t gone back to a station to restock, I have to make do with a few of Kivian’s castoffs. His shirts have been converted to belted dresses, and I wear a pair of blowsy harem pants underneath. Apparently there’s a type of material
that will conform to the body of the wearer, but Kivian’s a snob when it comes to clothing and all of his are tailored instead. So I get to dress like a hobo as I wander around the ship.
Truth is, I don’t mind it. His clothes are comfy and soft, and they’re made well even if they’re a bit more intricate than I’m used to. The man likes his details, that’s for sure. I do up the dozens of zig-zagging clasps up the front of my shirt dress and on the sleeves, then tie my hair back into a ponytail before heading to the front of the cabin. I glance back at him, wondering if I should just crawl back into bed and act on my impulses. Climb on top of him, confess my silly crush, and let the chips fall where they may.
But I don’t. My safety here on the Fool depends on his goodwill, and I don’t want to ruin that.
Kivian snores on, blissfully ignorant of my early-morning troubles. He doesn’t even wake up when I signal over the doorlock that I want out and the portal opens.
I head to the mess for morning tea and breakfast. There’s no coffee substitute, but there’s a tea from an unpronounceable planet that tastes kind of like a paint-peeling version of Earl Grey, and it’s quickly becoming my favorite. I make a cup of it and the strange soup they like for breakfast, and move toward the window so I can gaze out on my surroundings. It’s an asteroid belt in the middle of the endless black of space, but I find it fascinating to watch anyhow. There’s a distant nebula that looks like splashes of red and green stained the galaxy, and it’s all a gorgeous sight. I might miss the sunrise or sunset back on Earth, but I’m getting pretty used to a view of the stars.
