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I get used to sleeping with an Eridian watching over me.
Rocky insists on the most 'efficient' positioning for our bunks during my naps… which means, I get to spend a whooole lot of time staring up at his underside. I guess if you could 'see' omnidirectionally, you’d be less shy about what your bottom looks like, too.
But still.
What I’m not used to is Rocky being present when I talk in my sleep. I don’t often dream, and I can’t tell if that’s always been true about me thanks to… you know. The coma! But I do know that I don’t dream much let alone talk in my sleep, until Rocky chirp-sing informs me that I slept strangely, and wasn’t it good Rocky watch Grace sleep to observe anomaly, question? Rocky had good plan.
Sure. Anyway, now when I do dream, I can feel some deep-set worry wriggling behind it. It’s almost like lucidity, or just that the logic of dream-land lets me know that I very well might be spewing incoherent nonsense to my non-native speaker of a roommate, who is no doubt confused as heck by them.
What I’m…. doubly not used to is having those dreams take… a turn. Or waking up with a… situation. Down south.
I mean, for Pete’s sake, it’s space! A life or death situation! It’s kind of an unnecessary addition to the stakes here!
… but. Maybe I'll get lucky, and he won't have noticed. Somehow.
<GRACE. GRACE?> Tap tap. And, when I don't immediately answer, it comes again. <GRACE OKAY, QUESTION?> Tap tap.
“Yeah,” I call out, a little more feebly than I’d like. Crud. Here I was, thinking I’d just be able to go unnoticed. He can see through walls, of course I’ve been spotted. Great. Awesome. Having an alien roommate who can see right through you. Highly recommend!
Ugh. And now, I’m all sweaty. I’ll have to freeze this shirt to get the germs off after this. I just put it on…
It’s okay. I’m okay. “I’m okay. I just— just had a weird dream. No worries. I’m gonna hit the sponge bath, okay?”
Rocky makes his low, trilled disgust sound. I can practically hear the, why need be cleaned after dreaming?! Gross gross gross. Yeah, you and me both, pal.
<CONCERN CONCERN CONCERN.>
So. Not quite the same, but maybe close enough to still take credit for my read. “… Concern about— about what, bud?”
<NOT ARM APPENDAGE DIFFERENT. NORMAL, QUESTION? SOMETHING WRONG GRACE, QUESTION?>
The taps are a little frantic, now, and I groan internally. “Oh. Um. Yeah, no, it’s okay.”
Man. If only we had a mutually-understood and accepted way to say this is crossing a social boundary to ask! Without seeming dismissive or rude, at least. I mean, I have asked my share of pretty stupid, tactless questions.
“It’s private. The app— the appendage. Ahem. It’s, um. Sometimes, when humans sleep, the blood flows into it more, and it— it changes. That’s all. Not harmful.”
<WHY, QUESTION? WHAT CAUSE, QUESTION? INEFFICIENT USE OF LIQUIDS AGAIN.>
It’s not inefficient! But… I don't really feel like poking the bear on that front just now.
“It’s a biological process.” I wave a hand, like it might clutter up the airwaves enough to hide my shame, and pull my knees up and out of the quilt. “It’ll go away on its own, okay? And it won’t leak, before you ask. Unless I use the toilet.”
(Technically. I mean, it won’t leak without… you know. But we don't have to get into the specifics.)
But Rocky is not so easily dissuaded. <DISCOMFORT, QUESTION?>
“Just a normal, healthy, natural amount of it. It’s mostly the scrutiny, okay? I told you, it’s… kind of private.”
<LYING LYING LYING. SAY NO LEAK BEFORE TOILET. LEAK SMALL AMOUNT ALREADY.> His tone is downright grumpy. How long since he last slept? Meanwhile, here I am, mortified that he noticed even that much.
“I— ugh.”
Okay. This has crossed the line firmly into humiliating. Awesome! Maybe if I cry out 'heeeeelp!' fast enough, the ship will jab me and send me back into another coma?
“Yeah, okay. A bit, but I’m not lying. It’s just… it's a preliminary secretion before ejaculation—” I throw in several words he doesn’t know, just so I can gloss over this. Funny, how being honest will do that for us. “It’s very typical for someone virile and my age, so don't worry.”
<TOO FAST TOO FAST TOO FAST! CONFUSE. CONFUSE. DO PUPPET SHOW.>
“Oh. Yeah, no way.”
<WHY, QUESTION?>
“Because, it would be… ugh. Inappropriate.”
He doesn't like that answer, and even without a face, I swear the scowl is splitting his carapace in half. I get another couple of frustrated tones before Rocky continues. <WHY INAPPROPRIATE, QUESTION? WE TEACH. WE TEACH. ERIDIAN THINGS ROCKY TEACH GRACE, HUMAN THINGS GRACE TEACH ROCKY.>
“It’s just… it’s embarrassing, too. Okay? Look, it’s— it’s probably going away.”
<SO GRACE KNOW CAUSE, QUESTION?>
“It’s a biological process. I had a dream, my body reacted, and that’s it. Okay?”
I blush a little. Honest to god, blush. This is so ridiculous. While my face warms to what must feel like a real smooth texture to him, he tilts side to side. I read that as thinking.
We're both smart. We both understand the hanging implications here: if this really was such a normal, biological function, there'd be no reason for embarrassment.
<...REPRODUCTIVE PROCESS. THAT WHY GRACE WEIRD, STATEMENT. NO EMBARRASSMENT. ERIDIANS HAVE ALSO.>
“I get that, but we don’t really show it off, man, c’mon.” I swing my legs out of the bed now. No sense in hiding my shame from the all-seeing eye of Sau-Rock, I guess. Ugh.
(Tau-ron? For Tau Ceti? No, no. First one was better.)
“I’m gonna go sponge off, and we will never speak of this again. Deal?”
A foot stomps, defiant. Insistent. <NO. NOT DEAL. GRACE BEG BEG BEG ROCKY SEE EVERYTHING. EVEN WHEN CAUSE SOCIAL DISCOMFORT. NOW GRACE FEEL SOCIAL DISCOMFORT, ROCKY NOT ALLOWED ASK? NOT COOL, MAN.>
And, oh. Isn't that rich? Done in by my own human movies and their human slang. But… he has a point. Begrudgingly, I can accept that he does. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Okay, and you got a good look. Listen. Right? So. That’s… that’s a boner.”
He chitters, curiously, and scoots closer to the edge of his barrier. I kind of wish the thing would burst and put me out of my skin-crawling misery. <… PAINFUL, QUESTION?>
“No, no. Just— it’s hard. That’s the… un-scientific term for it. It doesn’t hurt, usually, it just gets… sensitive.”
<ROCKY CORRECT, THEN. AROUSAL SYMPTOM.>
I don't really know if he understands the concept of tact. I have to think it's not totally foreign, given the way he almost… fidgets, now. Yeah, Rocky. It isembarrassing.
<WHAT IS STANDARD PROTOCOL FOR FIX, QUESTION?>
“… Stimulus.”
This is crazy. ‘Protocol?’ Like, what, do you want an IKEA manual? I mean, maybe he does. The visual aid— through his texture screen— might be a little less bashful about the whole thing.
Rocky… does not like that idea. <NO GO SPONGE. DO HERE.>
And maybe I am still dreaming.
Not because such a request is or is not, like, an appealing one. I just mean because I didn’t expect, in a million billion seconds— counted in base 6, base 9, base anything— that Rocky would be making it.
Long seconds tick by. That's not possible, at the speed we're going, but it sure feels like time dilation. Even my own internal monologue is getting away from me. If my face were a display, the readout would be one spinning, ‘loading’ circle.
“You— ahem.” Voice crack. Nice. “You want me to do that… here. So you can see-hear it.”
Rocky nods. He doesn't need to, or have any natural reason to, but he does it anyway, out of some sense of courtesy that doesn't extend to making insane requests of me. <YES. CURIOUS ABOUT PROCESS. SCIENCE.>
You can't just play the science card on me. That's my whole thing! I practically invented that excuse. “If I do say yes, and do it, you’re going to ask me to do it again. For better observation angles.” My arms cross. I’m serious. “If I say yes, we’re… just gonna do this once, and that’s it. Okay?”
One of his arms curls. Another two bring him a step back from the xenonite between us.
<... OKAY.>
“… Okay.”
Stepping away from the observational area isn’t exactly what I meant, but. Screw it, right? For science?
For science.
Scientifically, I… tuck my fingers into the hem of my suit at my waist and kick it off. Gracefully. Scientifically. For goodness sake, it doesn’t have to be a strip-tease! Just… take them off.
I don’t, though. I settle back onto the bunk, legs crossed in front of me, and hover a hand over the bulge in my underwear. This is the end of the road here.
“It’s, um. It’s warm, from the blood flow. Can you hear that? I mean, I know everything is colder to you out here, but this should be warm-er.”
<GRACE GETTING WARMER FEEL NICE, QUESTION?> Tap, tap. It's such a jarringly earnest wording that it very nearly takes me out of my explanatory mindset. Nearly. He's right back up to the barrier, now, like he never left.
“Yeah, it does. Sometimes— because of the decreased bloodflow to other areas? The extremities?— it makes it a little more difficult to think, before you do something about it. I’m sure you— hahah— you’ll take great pleasure in that factoid.”
With that, because I’m guessing he’ll be busy enough trying to find new, creative ways to work 'dumb Grace' into this, I proceed with making first contact.
Oh, my god. Okay. Don’t— don’t call it alien movie terms. Just talk normally.
I wrap my hand around myself, through the fabric, and squeeze with a grunt. I can’t remember the last time I did this. It must have been back before I left Earth. Some last hurrah in those little dormitory rooms. Or maybe the showers.
Did you know: Eridians can gasp? Shocker, right? I say 'can,' because I'm pretty sure they don't do that naturally, either. Given how absorbed he is in observing my movements, I don't even know if it was a purposeful decision.
<NEVER HEARD GRACE DO THIS BEFORE. WAS DIFFICULT, QUESTION? IS BECAUSE ROCKY AROUND, QUESTION?>
“No, no. It’s just— when humans are stressed, or exhausted, it can be more… difficult. To experience arousal.”
In for a penny, in for 168 kilograms.
“So… you know. Space travel. The Petrova Line. Lots of things going on up— up here, not much going on… down here.” I gesture with my free hand, because the other is busy, absently stroking over myself. I can almostforget that fact as I explain.
<... ALWAYS FOCUS ON PETROVA LINE WHEN TOUCHING SELF, QUESTION?> Rocky rings out brightly behind the translator's voice, two gleeful taps.
“No…! No. No. Definitely not. Hah.” My ears are burning. I wonder if he can see that, sort of. Visualize it. They’re red-hot, and he doesn’t have a concept of that beyond low-textured. Perhaps it is my saving Grace.
“I just mean…” Oh. Yeah, that was definitely a laugh. I caught that. Like… tonal descent, crescendo combination. Yeah. A sheepish smile worms its way onto my face at having recognized it. “I usually think about… the sensation. The way my skin feels. The way other people feel, when my hand touches them. You know? More— more abstract, maybe. Less specific.”
<SKIN BEAUTIFUL. SOUND NICE TO TOUCH.>
“It… can be. Warm, cold. Soft, or rough, sometimes…” Fingers play at the hem of my underwear, but… no sense in being coy around Rocky. His receptors can see through them, anyhow. I pull them down in a jerky motion and squirm as I feel the light smack of its weight at my stomach, skin against skin.
When I try to follow it up with a coherent thought, my wires get scrambled, because— oh, yeah. I’m too busy making a…
(Okay. In scientific terms, because we are being scientific about this.)
… whimper.
I wonder if it sounds song-like enough to transcend translation.
<GRACE PRETTY.>
“Oh. You— hah.” It’s somewhere between a laugh and a pant. My cheeks are still hot, but my hand is almost cooling against my skin as I take myself into it fully. This should be more mortifying than it is. Maybe that fact is what’s really embarrassing here.
But, no. I can feel Rocky’s carapace boring into me, and I… don’t stop. Or, I don’t let the squirming it elicits stop me from doing what I said I was going to do. This is like a trust exercise in and of itself. And… okay. Yeah. I’ll give it to him, I am… leaky.
Rocky scuttles against the barrier again. I can hear him shifting handholds, climbing higher into the protrusion over my bunk. <GRACE SHY ABOUT PRETTY. BAD AT TAKE COMPLIMENTS. BAD BAD BAD. SHOULD SAY THANK TO ROCKY.>
…
Okay. The sting of being told I’m bad at something while I’m being… pretty vulnerable! Is at least somewhat assuaged by the surprise I feel at the last sentence. Or maybe, my response to it, which is to say (scientifically)… another muffled groan.
It’s been a while. Okay? I don’t need your judgement, internal monologue. It feels good to hear.
“Should I? You’re probably— probably right.” I’m actually making a concerted effort to move now. “It was nice of you to say. Yeah. Thank you, Rocky.”
<GOOD. MUCH BETTER. GRACE WELCOME. GOOD GOOD GOOD GRACE.> The bottom of his carapace thunks loudly against the xenonite. Did he slip? Is he alright? I open my mouth to ask, but he's not done. <GRACE MAKE BEAUTIFUL SOUND. PLEASURE SONG. FEEL GOOD TO LISTEN TO, STATEMENT. TOO PRETTY FOR EARTH. DID NOT DESERVE GRACE. NOW ONLY ROCKY HEAR. PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT.>
Oh. Yeah, that’s.
He’s… remarkably good at this. Not because I didn’t expect an alien society capable of space travel to be up-to-snuff on their mating practices. Heck, he has a human lifespan’s more experience than I do. But. There’s a little bit of a thrill to this, not unlike a hard-won discovery after months of staring down a microscope’s lens. Maybe it’s a little insane to compare this exploration to staring at microbes, but— I’m sure he’s just as fascinated by the experiment, right?
I hope so. His words soothe over my nerves, all ones I recognize by now. Which is all the better, because the musicality of his voice, the lowered octave… it’s working. I’m relaxing. And now, I pick up the pace a little to make sure he can hear it. The sound is a little obscene, thanks to the aforementioned pre-leaking.
And then, I look up.
Rocky is rocking, back and forth, and at first I think it’s like he's zoning in, to hear better. But, no, he’s moving against a seam in the xenonite barrier. If I didn’t know any better— and maybe I don’t, since this is the first time we’ve ever gotten quite so visual— I’d almost say he was matching my pace.
… Jesus.
Okay.
“Pleasure song? We— haha— we call that a moan. Moan.” I try, but I can’t help from making another to cement my point. “You’re right, though. I haven’t done this in a long time. I don’t really… I haven’t had a… sexual partner. In a long time. Not for lack of interest, I just. Haven’t.”
The next movement sounds like a buzzing, followed by a high, relieved noise. Do Eridians shudder?
<NO UNDERSTAND. ROCKY IMAGINE HUMANS PUNCH PUNCH PUNCH EACH OTHER FOR RIGHT TO MATE WITH PRETTY GRACE.>
… confirming my suspicions. That was definitely a pleasure-song of his own. Okay, we can work with this.
I lean, resting my back against the plane of the wall below him, and crane my neck up toward the curved xenonite floor. “What about you? I bet— I bet Adrian had to fight off a ton of hopefuls for you. You’re so… smart. You’re very talented. You— you have a beautiful voice.” He does, though. Enough to drive a man to learning music theory, digging for days through my vast library of every software and publication ever just to attune myself to the sound of it. Forget the computer.
<NO FIGHT FOR GRACE, THOUGH.>
It's not just words, anymore. Rocky seems to really be getting into it. I can see, finally, when he shifts just right— his orifice has been busy, too. My view through xenonite is somewhat warped, sure, but this is excessive. I realize now… it’s liquid, pooling beneath him. Maybe his own body’s lubricant, or another secretion, but it’s visible to me.
… Wow.
“You— gave me all that guff for leaking so much, huh? Do you know the word “hypocrite” yet? I bet you can guess…” It’s half-laughing, half-delighted. Hah! I was right! My thumb goes for a celebratory lap around the head of my dick, and I shudder, hard.
Is this something we can come back from? Can you be professional colleagues with someone you shared such an intimate moment with? Some people can, I think. Just not you. And… I’m right. Every fling, every this is just for fun, stress relief type of situation I got myself into through grad school always ended with an embarrassing, unreciprocated attachment on my end.
Pay attention.
<GRACE CAN...> He pauses, mulling over the right way to word… whatever this is, through our shared vocabulary. <GRACE CAN HAVE ROCKY. NO COMPARISON ANYONE ELSE. GRACE SPECIAL. PRETTY AND SMART AND FUNNY AND DUMB. CUTE DUMB. SO SPECIAL.>
Maybe… that’s okay. Rocky certainly isn’t talking about this like he isn’t enjoying it. “Can I? Is that— that’s what you want? For me to have you?”
<YES. IS OKAY FOR ROCKY THINK OF GRACE LIKE THIS, QUESTION?>
“I— of course it is. Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” The earnestness of my tone surprises us both, I can tell. “I hope you don’t feel like I was being a total jerk or anything before…”
I’m fighting a stomach-drop. In fairness, he's telling me now. And in double-fairness, we didn’t exactly have a reason to talk about this so blatantly before. “Is there anything I can… do for you?”
<WHAT MORE ROCKY CAN ASK FOR? GRACE SOUND SO PRETTY AND LEAK DOWN THERE. SO [UNKNOWN].>
A three-clawed hand reaches for his— I have to give it a sexier name. His slit? His opening?
<ROCKY GET SOOOO [UNKNOWN] HEAR GRACE. GRACE DOING GOOD JOB, EMPHATIC STATEMENT.>
“Did you? How’s that feel?” I’m finding my voice again, even when it comes out a little strained.
How could it not? He looks so good up there. So ridiculously good. This is an honest-to-goodness, insane sci-fi encounter, and here’s unremarkable me, finding myself wondering what that secretion tastes like. Maybe… metallic, more than earthy, considering his diet and how his internal systems work. Fascinating.
<[UNKNOWN]> Rocky rumbles it, lowly, and I have to assume it's some kind of expletive. We haven't quite gotten there yet. <SO GOOD. SO GOOD GOOD GOOD.>
His claws press harder— I can actually see now— until something springs free from him audibly. Wetly. I can see it catching the dim light of the room. His sixth appendage finally makes its appearance! I drink it in with my eyes. I’d like to try it with my mouth, if I wouldn’t… die. Attempting it.
Now, I’m trying to match his pace, which seems pretty fast. I can hear the audible squelching. It's downright filthy, but I'm not in any position to cast judgement, what with my hand wrapped around myself.
<HOW GRACE FEEL, QUESTION? LIKE LOOK AT ROCKY, QUESTION?>
“I feel… good. Very good. I’m very hard. More aroused, Rocky.”
Darn language barrier. I probably sound like a dolt to him, right now. Why didn’t we just knock out more of these descriptor words sooner? Ugh. Thank goodness I can glean from context clues, though, because some of the new ones are… definitely eliciting a response even without a direct reference.
“And— and I like seeing you, too. I want to see… I mean, everything,but— ” For once, I wish Rocky took up just a little more room in here. That his window was a little closer to my face. I shift, instead, trying to reach up and skim the surface of the xenonite with a finger so I can feel how extra-warm the liquid makes it. I know Rocky runs hot-hot-hot in the deeper parts of his biology. It’s warm enough I can feel my pulse throb below my thumb.
“… how does it feel? Is it rough? Your hand on your body?”
Rocky, for his part, shudders harder the closer I get. I know him well enough to recognize excitement, anticipation.
<ROCKY [UNKNOWN] ...THAT WORD FOR EGG APPENDAGE. CAN ADD LATER— SMOOTH. BIG SMOOTH. HARDER WHEN AROUSED. STILL FLEXIBLE. TO PUSH EGG THROUGH.>
His claws wrap around himself, punctuating the statement in lieu of the word. I'll concede that this is a much more interesting view than the computer screen. We can always add these to the dictionary later, now that my ear is attuned enough to new words that I can pick them out myself. 'Egg appendage…' yeah, we'll think of something sexier. Snappier. For now, I can see him struggle to get one set of claws fully around, and, jeez. He's girthy.
“We have slang too, for a penis,” I offer. My ears feel a little warmer being so blatant. “I know you know that one, but it’s kind of clinical, so. We call it, like. A dick or a cock.”
I thumb the slit, just like Rocky had before the appendage appeared, and it comes away so, so wet. Which gives me an idea. I’m making a mess down here, too, anyway. Might as well make it a louder one so he can hear better. My hand stops its movements, and I bring it closer to spit into my palm, working it up and down myself.
Oh, yeah. That’s the ticket.
“You know,” I continue, a little breathless now. As if spitting in your own hand to touch yourself more smoothly is some universal constant of it's okay to be unabashed, now. Maybe it is. “… I’d get my mouth on you instead, if I could.”
It must be. He catches my drift immediately, letting out another sing-song that slurs into words.
<GRACE LEAKY MOUTH SO BEAUTIFUL. ROCKY [UNKNOWN] INTO GRACE MOUTH FEEL SO PERFECT PERFECT PERFECT. GRACE GET FLUID ALL OVER ROCKY [UNKNOWN]. NEED.>
And he's dual-handing it now, two sets of claws grasping around the wet shaft. That is definitely a good sign.
“You would let me? Thank you, Rocky. Thank you, baby. Shit. You were right, about me thanking you. You’re so good to me.”
… I don't know where that came from, either, okay? It just feels right.
<GOOD GRACE. SO POLITE. SO GOOD. HAPPY TO LET GRACE HAVE ANYTHING GRACE WANT BECAUSE GRACE IS SO GOOD.>
“You’re— haah— mmnn…” Not a word. Maybe it’ll come across as a sound, too. A dumb, dumb sound as the smooth gliding brings me closer.
<PRETTY GRACE. SWEET GRACE. MY GRACE. GRACE.>
“Thank you,” I manage again, because that seems to be the real bridge between pleasures here. ‘My Grace’ draws its own, new sound, higher and throaty and stupidly needy. But I don’t care. “I want— want to make you feel good.”
<GRACE MAKE ROCKY FEEL SO SO SO GOOD. WANT DO THIS AGAIN AND AGAIN. [UNKNOWN]. [UNKNOWN]. GRACE.>
Each word rings out through the air, because I'm in this weird triangulation between Rocky and the computer, but I don't need it. I know my name. I can tell when he needs something. The urgency tones.
<HOW GRACE FEEL, QUESTION? TALK TO ROCKY, BABY. TELL ROCKY. GRACE LOOK SO... [UNKNOWN]. SO [UNKNOWN] DISGUST BUT PRETTY DISGUST. MAKING MESS. LIKE LIKE LIKE IT.>
“I feel so good, Rocky, I— I’m imagining it.” Of course we can do this again and again. I don’t feel… on display, like a specimen. I feel observed. Lovingly so. I should…
“You look so pretty, too. Not disgust. Just— just marvelous. You’re incredible.” One of those words has to have stuck. I can only hope I've rambled about enough beautiful things for him to have caught them. “You understand, que— nnhh— question?”
<UNDERSTAND.> Rocky tilt-nods again, unnaturally gracefully. <WISH ROCKY COULD BE CLOSER TO GRACE. TOUCH GRACE WITH HANDS. FEEL GRACE SHAKING UP CLOSE. GRACE IS SHAKING. CAN FEEL VIBRATION. SO PRETTY. SO PRETTY AND NICE. GRACE GRACE GRACE.>
I let loose another whine, and my spare hand finds the window again, gripping feebly against the contour of the surface, like I could actually hold him back.
“Rocky… Rock— Rocky, I’m getting close— I— it’s happening soon— ”
My hand sweats from the warmth of his environment, and the other loosens so I can switch positions, feeling the heat of his body, hisatmosphere, on the palm against myself now, and I cry out a loud, wailing noise. It doesn’t hurt. It feels so, so—
“Need you,” I say, over and over, slurring together. The further we go, the more we meet in the middle, talking to each other in our special, shared little language. “Need need need, you. So good, Rocky. So good. So warm. So special, so— so special. So perfect…”
<GRACE HAVE ROCKY. HOWEVER GRACE WANT. HAVE ROCKY. BELONG TO GRACE. YOURS.> It sounds clunkier. Unusual, for the sentence. He never uses pronouns. I can hear his proud, Eridians no have need for this word.
… but, oh, they have needs, alright.
<ROCKY CAN'T WAIT HEAR HOW GRACE IS WHEN FEEL MOST MOST GOOD. CLOSE NOW, QUESTION? ROCKY CLOSE NOW, STATEMENT. NOT TAKE LONG. GRACE SO PRETTY PRETTY PRETTY IS EASY TO GET TO MOST FEEL GOOD TIME.>
“You— yes! Yes, yes, yesyesyes— good. Good. I want to see, Rocky. I want to see what happens when you feel most good.”
Keep it together. That’s a tall order when this entire moment is an exercise in letting go, but I won’t be much better off if I lose it, and he can’t reach me to fix. I don’t want to upset him, so I bite back the trembling lip and the stupid tears welling up and I ramble. I’m good at that. “I want to see you all the time. I want to see what you look like, always. I never liked watching someone sleep so much as I do with you. I never wanted to share every meal with someone this badly.”
<GRACE. OH, MY GRACE. PRETTY BOY GRACE MY GRACE— [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] [UNKNOWN] PLEASE GRACE PLEASE. ROCKY GOING— >
The last of his words, melting away into pure music, layered and warbled out, wrapping around me like surround-sound, and there it goes. His mess of fluid, splattering against the floor below him in fat drops. I feel like I’m out in the rain, peeking from my umbrella, thinking about casting it aside to open my mouth and catch the droplets.
(Of course, most Earth rain won’t give you mercury poisoning. Not at a concentration that matters, anyway.)
“Jesus. Fuck, Rocky… is it always— always that mu-u-uch?” A shudder spikes through my words. He can probably still decipher them. Thank goodness I stayed coherent. “You— fuck! Sorry— sorry, for the— the swearing, I just— god, fuck—”
<PRETTY GRACE... SOUND PRETTY CURSING. OKAY TO GO. GOOD JOB. GOOD JOB LEAK. MY GRACE SO SO SO BEAUTIFUL.>
I follow him. It doesn’t take much more than a few twisting strokes with my warm, warm hand before I follow him. It gives him enough time to answer my stuttered questions.
<YES. HAS TO BE ENOUGH LUBRICATION FOR EGGS. NO EGGS NOW. NOT TIME IN MY CYCLE, SO JUST FLUID.>
“Mm. Mmhm.” I’ll write that down later. Jeez, is he already up-and-at-‘em? What happened to a refractory period? I try and steady myself, an arm flopped over my face as the breathing comes out more evenly. “Okay. Very— very interesting. Seriously.”
He doesn't reply to my pitiful attempt. Not in words, at least. He reverberates, against the barrier. He's singing… something. It sounds unrehearsed. I don't dare interrupt it.
It’s like my first day stumbling through the tunnel his robot built between our ships. Peering through the tiniest window of xenonite into the dark cavern of Rocky’s ship and catching a movement. His claws, rapping against the window and directing me with urgent, excited noises I could not yet decode. Sharing our clocks, our knowledge, our thoughts for the first time, however difficult.
No matter how hard the exhaustion pulls at me… How could you sleepat a time like this? I lay, chewing at my lower lip as he continues his song. I don’t always have words, but a good chunk of the time, I get the feeling… I think. This feels sentimental. Adoring. It’s really nice.
<... GRACE TIRED. WILL WATCH SLEEP.> A beat passes, and he says, softer, <...ROCKY WANT TO BE CLOSER. WILL TRY TO FIGURE OUT WAY TO SLEEP CLOSE. HUMANS HUG AFTER MATING, QUESTION?> Tap, tap.
“Of course we do, yeah.” I don’t let myself slip into it yet. “… You wanna use the ball? I could… move back onto the other mattress. The one in the dome.”
Sure enough, he perks right up. It's cute. <YES YES YES. ROCKY GET IN BALL. COME TO DOME. ROCKY WILL HOLD GRACE AND MAKE SONG UNTIL GRACE SLEEP. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY.>
His emphatic spin really sells it. Not that he had to try particularly hard! After all… that, the last thing I want to do is be needlessly far away from him.
I let out a breathy laugh and haul myself up with a grunt. The sleeping pods self-sanitize, but I wipe off the mess onto my old shirt instead. It was already pretty soiled.
“Me too— me too. I… I wish we didn’t have to be so, like…” It trails off past the lump in my throat I’ve been fighting.
<NOOO. NO, BABY. NO LEAKING, MY GRACE. ROCKY WILL FIX. BALL JUST PROTOTYPE. CAN MAKE NEW FOR BETTER TOUCH AND MORE CLOSE. BE RIGHT THERE.>
I’m too big to feel this stupid, and small. It’s just— it’s been a day! Okay? A… ship-clock-mandated day. I don’t even know the real time on Earth right now, after all the fiddling I’ve done to cheat the thing into giving me more than the allotted amount of coffee per day. Would the sun be coming up, in my place? Would Rocky and I be curling up for an afternoon nap?
<... ROCKY GO GET IN BALL NOW. WILL GET CLOSE AS ROCKY CAN. BIG BIG CLOSE. ROCKY PROMISE.>
It’s so frustrating, to be this leaky. I just nod, patting a hand against the barrier one more time as I brave the ladder down and towards the mental health dome. God knows I’ll need it.
It takes him a good few minutes to get the ball to me, even with how efficient he's gotten with his airlock switch-over. It's enough time to straighten up a little and make room at the top of his ramp-slash-pulley deal for him.
<GRACE? AM HERE. OKAY, QUESTION? BRING HUMAN TEXTILE SHAPES FOR COMFORT, QUESTION?>
“I have it,” I call out. In fact, I am pretty thoroughly wrapped up into it, now that there’s no chance I’ll soil it. “Here, here.” My arm raises enough to accommodate the ball as it clatters over, and it’s warm as I press my cheek to it. Very warm, from its time inside his atmosphere, but I don’t mind that. Even if it pinkens my cheek.
Having this helps monumentally. I can feel myself relaxing. “Hi. Are you okay? Did I interrupt your singing?”
<NO. CAN SING TO GRACE MORE. STILL MAKING SONG. WORK IN PROGRESS. WILL HAVE SPECIAL NEW SONG FOR ONLY GRACE AND ROCKY SOON.>
It's impossible not to smile at that. Impossible, like so many things about Rocky. How we were able to find each other in Tau Ceti's orbit. How we're able to communicate like breathing, computer or no computer.
<HAPPY GET CLOSER.> Rocky all but purrs. I can feel it rattling the ball more. <HAPPY GRACE AND ROCKY DO MATING. HAPPY GRACE AND ROCKY 'HANG OUT' AFTER. FEEL GOOD.>
“‘Hang out!’ Haha. No, no. This is a different word. ‘Cuddle.’ Like this.” I squeeze at the ball, rolling it an inch, closer to me. “Humans do that after sex. After mating. It helps solidify the bond. We do it when we sleep, too.”
His front-right arm is pretty close to my face, and I lean in, pressing a kiss to the xenonite long enough for him to move it to the other side. “That, too. Most of us. We do that a lot, after.”
He chitters, pleased. <HAVE MANY NEW WORDS TO ADD WHEN GRACE WAKE UP. MAKE UNDERSTAND WHEN MATING EASIER.>
I know he'd recognize a kiss, though. We've watched enough movies with frequent, concept-explanation pauses. Rocky knows what if it means, even if he can't feel it like I can.
<ROCKY WILL FIX BALL. MAKE BETTER. FIND WAY TO KISS GRACE MORE. KISS KISS KISS. SO MANY.>
“I believe you. I think you could do anything you wanted to, somehow.” And I do. As he curls up closer to me, now, I continue. “I dont wanna sleep yet. I’m— body tired, not brain tired. I want to stay with you.”
<STAY. GRACE CAN STAY WITH ROCKY. GRACE SO CUTE CURLED UP IN HUMAN TEXTILE SHAPES.>
“In the quilt? Yeah. It’s comfy.” I yawn, despite my protestations. “Do Eridians like to lay in something soft?” His ship brought with it mostly metals. I don’t know if he deemed his sleeping bag or bunk or bed as 'unnecessary' when he moved into the Hail Mary. “Like a nest?”
A little grunt. <ERIDIANS LIKE THINGS EFFICIENT. MAKE NEST ONLY FOR MATE WHEN HAVE OFFSPRING INSIDE. BUT ROCKY GET USED TO GRACE HAVE SOFT THING AROUND. LIKE IT.>
“Maybe you just got used to Grace… period. Like, end of statement.”
And I grin at him, a little. It’s a nice thought, that I have an actual tangible impact on him. That he doesn’t always feel the need to do the efficient things if he can do my things. That’s not… eloquent, but it feels pretty beautiful.
<YES. ROCKY THOUGHT WAS OBVIOUS. GOT USED TO GRACE. LIKE HUMAN THINGS BECAUSE OF GRACE. LIKE BE WITH GRACE. TALK DIFFERENT BECAUSE GRACE.>
Sweet. Sweet, sweet, sweet Rocky. Somewhere along the way, I've gotten used to thinking things in threes.
<GRACE CHANGE ROCKY LIFE. GOOD GOOD GOOD WAY.>
I wish it was warm enough that my tears could burn up as they enter his atmosphere. Instead, they fall and roll down the tip of my nose, the xenonite barrier.
“You changed my life, too, Rocky. You make me feel…” I search for the right word. 'Brave,' my brain supplies, from somewhere I can’t place.
“… meaningful,” I say instead.
<GRACE MEAN VERY MUCH. TO ROCKY AND TO EARTH.>
His carapace presses closer to the barrier, slotting into one of the contours to get as close as possible to me.
And then, I swear, he hum-chirps… and it almost sounds like, mmm-wah.
“Oh! Heh… That was cute.”
The xenonite buzzes. <GRACE CUTE. ROCKY CUTE. CUTE TOGETHER, QUESTION?>
“Very cute together,” I agree, before he even finishes his taps. “… but mostly because of Rocky.”
<GRACE? NO. GRACE CUTEST. DUMB, CUTE GRACE.>
“Okay, okay, okay. Agree to disagree."
<NO. DISAGREE TO AGREE. STATEMENT. EMPHATIC STATEMENT.> His vents flutter, insistently.
… Okay. Yeah. There'll be time to hammer that out. To roll over and let him have what he wants… later. For now, I have two arms full of warm, buzzing xenonite.
I'll get used to sleeping with an Eridian curled up next to me.