10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Astra

I can't stop laughing. There's hysteria looming in the back of my mind, but mostly my laugh is caused by Tareq's adorable awkwardness. It's also a good way to distract myself from staring at his cock because… His cock? Thick and long and striped just like the rest of him, standing proudly even as he struggles to pull his pants back up.

I froze for a second upon realizing he was naked, thinking that maybe he's been jerking off while holding me on my shoulders, but then I realized he gave me a button to unscrew the damned rusty screws. A button that could have only come from his pants. No wonder they fell down to his ankles.

It's all kinds of ironic. These aliens are clearly super advanced, space-faring species. Yet, they still use good old-fashioned buttons to hold their pants up. One would think they'd come up with something more…futuristic than that. But no. Buttons.

I'm grateful for it though. I'd broken several nails before Tareq gave it to me and it made working on the screws so much easier, even though it was still tedious. I'm not even sure it will do us any good. Cricket is smart, but what can one praying mantis do against a ship full of aliens?

Still, sending him off into the vents was better than sitting around doing nothing, so I went with it, even if it meant climbing on Tareq's shoulders. I didn't actually mind that part. It was fun and strangely erotic, and I kept imagining straddling his shoulders the other way around, with my pussy right in front of his face.

Do aliens do oral?

He has a tongue. A long one, pointier than a human one. Even if he didn't know how to use it, I could teach him. And…that's a completely inappropriate thought. I should want to learn his language so we can escape this place, not so I can give him pointers for oral.

The smutty part of my mind argues that talking isn't required for this kind of activity, but I silence it. He probably doesn't even like me. After all, we're different species. And even if he does like me, I can't just jump him. What kind of message would that send about humans? Come to Earth, the home of the horny alien-boning sluts? Yeah, nope.

Still chuckling, I pick up the blanket and wrap it around myself again. Tareq has managed to pull up his pants but it seems he has to keep holding onto them or they'll fall down again. The image has me laughing even harder. Tareq lets out a playful snarl, clearly not thrilled to be the butt of the joke.

"Sorry," I say, fighting back my giggles. "I can't stop laughing. I think I'm still in shock from this whole alien kidnapping thing. Sorry." I suck in a deep breath to calm myself, which helps. A little. "Alright. So, what now?"

Tareq catches the meaning of my question even without understanding the words. Pointing at the vent, he shrugs as if to say that sending Cricket out was the entirety of his plan.

Since I don't have any other ideas on how to get out of the cell, I sigh. "Fine, then. We wait." I sit down in the corner with a food bar and a bottle of water, watching Tareq fuss over his pants.

He ends up picking away several threads from the bottom hemline of his trousers and, after punching a hole through the fabric with his sharp claw, he ties the flaps together. It's crude and not very sturdy, but functional. Clearly, he has experience with fixing things. Does that mean he doesn't have an alien tiger lady to sew on his buttons? And why am I thinking about this?

Time drags. Being kidnapped by aliens isn't supposed to be boring, right? Perhaps I'm doing something wrong because it only takes me about an hour or two before I'm bored out of my mind. I try sleeping, but I don't really feel tired. Also, the floor is uncomfortably cold without Tareq's warm body enveloping me. Not that I'd admit that out loud.

There's nothing to do in our little cell. Tareq is restless too, walking around the cell like the proverbial tiger in a cage, his tail swishing back and forth in agitation. Eventually, he sits down and begins picking through the pile of seeds Cricket and the other mantises gave us.

I edge closer, curious over what he's doing. I sift through the seed pile, picking up what looks like a walnut. A cautious sniff reveals it doesn't smell bad, so I open my mouth to try it out, only to have Tareq snatch it out of my hand.

He shakes his head, grimacing in utter disgust as he mimics putting the not-walnut into his mouth.

"Alright, message received. Do not eat the walnuts. But what are you doing with them?"

He's created a small pile of brown nuts and another of yellow ones. Then he grabs a berry and begins dragging it over the floor, leaving wet, purple smears behind.

"Oh, you're drawing. Are we going to learn the language? Or play charades?" I chatter, not minding that he can't understand me.

He offers me a bright, sweet smile before returning to his drawing. Shapes are coming together on the floor, but not of something I recognize. A hexagon in the middle, surrounded by squares, triangles, and other geometric shapes that swirl outward from the central hexagon like a tiny galaxy.

When he's done, he wipes his fingers on his pants and places a dark nut pile into the hexagon. The yellow nuts go to the edges of the "galaxy".

Assuming it's some kind of alien art, I give him an appreciative smile. "It's beautiful. But you're going to run out of space soon, my dear alien artist."

Tareq shakes his head. "Rokha," he says, pointing at the drawing.

"Rokha?" I still don't follow. Is it a schematic we'll use to escape? A hieroglyphic representation of a word? A calendar? "I'm sorry, I have no idea what it's supposed to be."

Tareq doesn't mind my confusion. He gestures for me to sit down beside him, then moves one of the brown nuts out of the hexagon to a neighboring square. A yellow nut is moved next, jumping one step toward the center, then a brown one again.

At that point, a lightbulb lights up above my head. "It's a game! Rokha is a game? Are you teaching me alien chess?"

His smile is utterly joyful, and he rumbles something, picking up the nuts and showing me the moves. The game has many rules, and by the time we mime through all of them, my mind is spinning, but it's infinitely better than sitting around staring at the wall.

He lets me have the brown nuts and, if I understand correctly, I'm supposed to "escape" his yellow ones.

The first few rounds, I lose. Badly. Tareq isn't giving me any leeway, and I can only dream of him letting me win. I don't mind, though. In fact, I like that he doesn't cosset me. He takes the time to show me why I lost each round and what I could have done to avoid it, helping me learn.

The first time I get one of my brown nuts past his yellow ones, I squeal so loud I'm worried it will attract the guards. Fortunately, none come, so I can celebrate my tiny victory in peace.

Tareq bows his head in appreciation, looking proud of me. Or perhaps he's just proud of his Rokha-teaching skills. His smile is earnest and there's something new in his eyes. A kind of desire.

The sexual desire is still there, too. He probably thinks he's been doing a good job of hiding it, but I noticed it anyway. He likes my body. He didn't give me the blanket so that he wouldn't have to watch my ugly human form. He gave it to me to make me feel more comfortable, which only makes him that much sweeter.

The looks he's giving me now are still hungry, but also tender. If it wasn't so ridiculous, I would almost call them loving.

He's definitely being protective of me. When the guards appear to empty the waste buckets, Tareq stands between them and me the entire time, shielding me from their eyes.

He exchanges a few words with them, saying something that makes them sound angry. I tense at the tone of their voice. Why is he provoking them? Are they about to hurt him? Fortunately, they just bark some commands and move on without activating Tareq's collar.

After they leave, I try to ask him what it was about, but he merely shrugs. Either it's impossible to explain without words or he doesn't want to share it with me. A rogue thought that he might be working with our captors crosses my mind, but I immediately dismiss it. I trust him. It's blind, inexplicable trust, but it's strong.

Having nothing better to do, we go back to playing Rokha. To my utter astonishment, I find myself close to winning the next round. Tareq grins, chattering something in his growly language and making wild gestures. I find it odd until I notice his tail trying to move the pieces on the game board while he's distracting me.

"Hey!" I whisper-yell, not wanting to attract the attention of the guards. "No cheating, you goofy alien!" I poke his rock-hard pectoral, laughing with him. "Your tail doesn't get a free move. Put that walnut back!"

He gives me the worst fake innocent look ever, pretending he has no idea what his tail is doing. I'm so not buying it. I grab the end of his tail and waggle my finger at it. "Bad tail!"

Tareq sucks in a sharp breath, his vertical slit irises widening.

Too late do I realize that grabbing someone's tail probably isn't the best idea. Cats don't like it, do they? Tareq isn't a cat, but still, I hope I haven't awakened some primal aggressive instinct in him by touching his tail like that.

A glance at his lap confirms I have indeed awakened an instinct, just not an aggressive one. Tareq's cock is hard, straining against his pants. The string he used to tie the flaps together looks like it's about to snap at any moment.

"Oh." I let go of the tail, scooting back a little. "Sorry. I didn't mean to touch you without permission. I mean, who knew that a tail was an erogenous zone? Last time I tried to pet a cat's tail, it mauled my hand!" I blabber nervously, not sure what to say to lighten the suddenly tense situation.

"As'Trah," he whispers my name like a prayer. His tail follows my hand, nuzzling against my forearm.

Clearly, he isn't mad I touched him, but what does he want me to do? Keep touching him? That's crazy! I have to admit I'm curious, though. How often does a person get to touch an actual alien? To explore his body? A smoking hot body on top of that?

I run my finger over the smooth skin of his tail again, waiting for his reaction. The last thing I want is to provoke him into jumping on me.

He takes a slow, deep breath, but otherwise remains still. I take that as permission and begin exploring the hair at the end of the tail. It's coarser than human hair, more akin to a horse's mane. Black, unsurprisingly. Everything on Tareq's body seems to come in either black, orange, or a combination of the two. Except for his lips and tongue, which are both dark brown.

Encouraged, I trail my fingers up his tail to where it juts out of a specially crafted hole in the back of his pants. I avoid touching the base of the tail, feeling like it would be a little too intimate. Instead, I reach for his hand.

Four fingers and a thumb. His palm is completely black without stripes and I lightly trace the creases in it, so very similar to mine. His nails are long and sharp, but not really claw-like.

Odd. Didn't he have claws before?

He murmurs something, flexing his fingers. At that, the nails lengthen, turning into razor-sharp curved claws, as long as my entire fingers.

"Whoa. That's… useful, I guess?" In a fight, it would definitely come in handy. In other situations, however… Shuddering, I imagine those claws being extended when he's touching someone's private parts. Not mine, of course. I'm absolutely not imagining him fingering me.

As if reading my mind, Tareq chuckles and retracts his claws. He says some comforting words, my name and that strange " Myále " word being the only ones I recognize. Maybe it's just my imagination, but I feel like it's some kind of endearment. What kind, though, is a mystery.

Is it something one would say to an exceptionally clever pet? An annoying younger sibling? A good friend? A lover? The weird alien chick he'd like to bang to put a checkmark next to "human" on his "species I've fucked" list?

I trail my fingers up his arm, swallowing the saliva pooling in my mouth at the feel of his hard muscles. His biceps, triceps, and all the other -ceps are rock solid. It's no wonder he was able to simply hoist me up onto his shoulders and hold me there without breaking a sweat. He could probably carry me like I weigh nothing.

I've heard standing sex is amazing. Back on Earth, it was something reserved for the skinny girls dating bodybuilders. Here in space, all bets are off.

My attempts at dragging my mind out of the gutter fail. There isn't an inch of Tareq that isn't sexy. His shoulders, his lickable pectorals, his corded neck. His ears, that twitch under my touch, making me giggle. His beautiful eyes, orange with blackened vertical slits that are now so wide they look almost circular. Then there's his flat nose, so alien and yet so human-looking at the same time, and finally, his mouth.

I might be exploring Tareq's body innocently but that doesn't stop me from touching his lips. They're soft and part eagerly, his tongue darting out to greet my finger.

This time, it's me sucking in a sharp breath as his wet, hot tongue circles the pad of my finger before retreating into his mouth. The brief contact is so sensual my core clenches.

Judging by Tareq's fast breathing, licking someone's finger isn't a common greeting for his kind, either. He's clearly aroused too, given that I can see his erection growing larger in my peripheral vision.

Determined to finish my exploration, I mimic opening my mouth. Grinning, Tareq obeys, letting me touch his sharp teeth, astonishingly white against his orange and black skin. His fangs are a little longer than the rest of his teeth, giving him a feral look. I tap on one of them to test how sharp they are, yelping out in surprise when he playfully bites down on my finger.

"Sorry," I say, a blush creeping onto my cheeks. "I didn't mean to examine you as if you were some sort of animal. Or test your teeth. I know what they say about the gift horse," I add with a grin.

He grins back at me, licking my finger again before releasing it. He waits for what I'll do next, something I don't know myself. Will I take this any further?