An Indelicate Negotiation

an indelicate negotiation

The third time I’m passed over for a promotion to Peacekeeper, I strongly consider throwing myself out the airlock. It wouldn’t accomplish much, considering the Mainstay is currently grounded on ?ie, but the melodrama might make me feel better.

This time I was certain I’d make it. I started writing Peacekeeper Chance Landfall in my notebooks like a middle schooler with a crush, except the crush was on the position of intergalactic negotiator. My current job is a government position I don’t hate. I reach out on behalf of various earth companies seeking to license trade agreements. The past three weeks, I have worked as a liaison for a hydroponics company looking to acquire harvests of aquatic grasses from brackish ?ie waters.

It's not a bad position. Of my six-person team, I’m the one most consistently pulling in high ratings for successful deals. I’m confident I’ll be able to get this company their seaweed in a timely manner.

I take my role in intergalactic trade very seriously. However, my skills are wasted on negotiating issues such as the exchange of CO 2- rich fertilizer for a company that wants to make luxury rugs using wool from a species of alien fauna. Not when I could be leading campaigns to halt potential conflicts and initiate first contact with the inhabitants of other planets.

When each new planet or species takes months to prepare for introductions alone, professionalism is integral. Eight years of encounters and I’ve never experienced a total loss, unlike several of my coworkers. Researching customs and social etiquette makes a good impression, and I enjoy learning. If I were a Peacekeeper, the fruits of that labor would go so much further .

And yet! Not this time. Maybe not ever.

With my office lights dialed down to minimum brightness, the professional space sinks into a hazy, low-vibration liminality, its atmosphere demanding stillness. No one ought to disturb the humming, empty halls of Mainstay ’s business wing, and yet I’m here, feeling terribly out-of-body. It’s late, and I should be in my pinhead-sized bed quarters. Asleep.

Except the stress of yet another rejection has snapped my self-control like a brittle twig.

After switching off the automatic opener for my office door, I manually slide it aside just enough to slip into the dark hall. I stay close to the entryway so as to not trigger the motion sensor lighting panels built into the walls.

It’s an unnecessary precaution, because a figure turns the corner a moment after I emerge, their armless silhouette a void within the shadows for a scant second before the first light flickers on. As each subsequent panel clicks to life, their progression seems akin to the descending of a celestial being. I can tell when they’ve spotted me, because the forward march of their powerful raptor legs evolves into an upbeat trot.

A thrill races down my spine.

By the time the ?iet spokesperson, Nuj, stops in front of me, the hall has become fully illuminated, and I feel as if I’m being stared down by a marble statue come to life. ?iet can present a variety of colors, opalescent like polished gemstones, while a closer look reveals a landscape of tiny scales. Nuj’s scales are pink shot through with white streaks, and as they shift in the artificial light, bright green highlights erupt across their form.

“Greetings, Mr. Landfall,” Nuj says, their voice fractured by static. The translator implanted in their long, sloping neck hasn’t yet been properly adjusted to the ?iet voice box.The engineers are working on it, but for now, Nuj’s speech assumes a surreal quality, as if they’re speaking to me through distant radio waves even though I could reach out and touch.

As the representatives of our respective species, Nuj and I have spent most of the past three weeks in each other’s company, but we’re not usually alone together. Tonight is the first time we’ve agreed to meet outside of professional hours, and I’m full of wild, nervous energy.

Clearing my throat, I say, “We’re not in negotiations, Nuj. Don’t you think you can call me Chance?”

“That would be improper,” Nuj responds, and gives me a light, playful shove using their radia—an orb of kinesthetic mental currents ?iet use to manipulate their surroundings.

The sensation is like being hit by a wave of strong, warm water, reaching deeper than my skin, applying pressure I can feel around my bones. Being invisible, the radia allows Nuj to jostle and nudge me during our meetings without anyone else knowing, leaving me to blame my flustered blush and shortness of breath on my asthma, if questioned by other coworkers.

I’ve sat with aliens possessing an endless array of unique traits and features. My training ensures I treat every species with the respect they deserve, but the ?iet can be unnerving. Most stand slightly shorter than average human height, bearing resemblance to Velociraptors from the earth’s Cretaceous epoch. Below angular jawlines ?iet have no arms, just a torso descending into muscular hips and thighs, raptor legs, and a massive reptilian tail. Thus the radia, because as Nuj has explained, orthotic manipulation is annoying, as their clawed toes frequently fumble and puncture items they’d rather not ruin. None of that even begins to address the alarming fact that they don’t have eyes .

They are generally a curious, peaceful species, but as ignorant as it may be, the ?iet’s appearance screams ‘ Predator! ’ to the average human.

Still, I don’t fear for my safety around the ?iet; if I did, I wouldn’t be meeting Nuj alone. No, the reason I’m here is because the predatory way they regard me, the way they smile while drawing inappropriately near, fills me with the most delicious terror I’ve ever felt.

And I’m painfully into it.

Nuj leans in so close I can see the shallow hills and valleys of skin above their wide rictus smile, thin lips peeled back to reveal hundreds of short, needle-thin teeth. Visually, ?iet faces are nearly impossible to differentiate. They identify one another using a combination of their radia and a type of echolocation to trace the contours of their facial folds; to a sighted species, discerning one from another might as well be palm reading. ?iet don’t wear clothes other than the occasional neck wrap with names and credentials. To make things even worse, their pronoun designators are untranslatable—or, at least, the Intergalactic Standard Trade language to which the translators are programmed isn’t yet broad enough to grasp the cultural complexity.

All-in-all, a political relations nightmare.

Fortunately, Nuj always makes sure I know who they are, having established unique ways of invading my space. Can’t guarantee I wouldn’t lose sight of them in a crowd, but I’ve become deeply attuned to their presence.

I pause to consider them properly—their wholeness, not just their appearance and whether it does or does not intimidate me, and for which reasons. This is a do-or-die moment. Finally, I open my mouth, murmuring, “Well, Spokesperson Nuj. Maybe we can forego propriety if we find some way to be alone.”

A laugh crackles in Nuj’s throat. “Quick thinking, Landfall. I might be able to arrange that.” Then they hip-check the door to my office the rest of the way open and saunter inside, tail swishing behind them.

Tonight is merely a blip in my usual standard for maintaining professional distance. I’ll go back to being a perfectly respectable coworker tomorrow.

Drawing one last bracing inhale, I follow Nuj back inside.I engage the lock just in case of attempted intrusion, then turn to see Nuj considering the chess table I set up in preparation of our, uhm, lesson . While we were in the office yesterday, Nuj had loudly inquired about the grid-based Earth game; in response, I very innocently offered to show them. No one else would have been privy to their radia slowly drawing pressure down my spine, dipping dangerously low before I shivered and shook them off.

Not here. Not now .

Well, it is presently both here and now , and as Nuj makes their presence known in my space, the reality of the situation has my palms beginning to sweat.

There are two olfactory organs positioned bilaterally on either side of an ?iet’s ribcage: long, angled vents with thin interlocking bars buried about a centimeter deep inside the gaping mouth of each orifice. These are what ?iet use for breathing, smelling, and spatial awareness. Thus, instead of turning their head to examine the game, Nuj shifts their weight and adjusts the angle of their torso.

It reminds me of a chicken holding its head still while its body adjusts to maintain balance. Imagining Nuj as a giant domesticated fowl forces me to choke down a somewhat hysterical laugh, drawing their attention from the chessboard. They smirk with their sharp gash of a mouth, and a shudder raises hairs on the back of my neck.

“Do I want to know what you’re chuckling over, Chance?” they ask sweetly.

"Probably not,” I admit.

Nuj tilts their head, switching their intense consideration to… me. I suddenly regret distracting them from the game table, because even without eyes, Nuj’s gaze is so hot it burns. And their attention lasts and lasts, agonizing because it’s impossible to approximate a sightline, and thus I have no idea what they’re looking at.

Just before I combust, Nuj purses their lips, then takes a small step toward me. They go still with one foot in the air, the knob of their ankle twitching as they make a silent decision. Then they snap into a blur of movement, scales dark mauve and emerald in the low light. The wide arc of their tail knocks over the game table, scattering chess pieces across the office floor. Nuj doesn’t seem to care, and I have more important things on which to focus my attention—such as the fact that they’re now in my face, steering me backward. I’m a few centimeters taller, but the size difference hardly tips the scale in my favor, not with them crowding me into the notch between the wall and a bookshelf.

Nuj rumbles, their chest vibrating where it’s pressed against mine. “How should we do this?”

Words catch in my throat. I’m not sure how to answer, because what I’m thinking is ‘ any way we can, with whatever parts are compatible, and however we can wiggle them to get each other off .’

At my soft choked noise, Nuj laughs like a creaking hinge. “Worry not. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Then they kiss me, because at the very least, oral foreplay seems fairly universal.

The entire time we’ve been working together, I haven’t touched Nuj—not once. Without hands to shake or clasp, I learned how to express politeness via body language, shifting weight and nodding my head at different angles and degrees. Observing the other ?iet gave me an excuse to stare at Nuj, taking note of their figure from their dainty shoulders to the pristine obsidian of their wickedly curved claws. Half the time my heart rate would surge in fear of getting caught, knowing Nuj wouldn’t let me live it down. Other times I found myself hoping they would notice—obviously they did. They’ve learned much faster than me.

I open my mouth, allowing passage to a cool, sinuous tongue. Nuj is careful with their teeth, not pricking me as they wriggle that tongue farther down until it’s fucking into my throat. Pressure from their radia guides my hands forward until I feel the smooth texture of their scales under my sweating palms. I squeeze to test the firmness of their waist. It’s more resistant than a human stomach,but still pliant, and the faint texture of their scales makes it satisfying to massage.

Nuj moves one thick-boned leg to settle between my feet so they can press against my front, putting their thigh squarely against my crotch. When they roll their weight, I choke on their tongue.

Nuj pulls away, inspecting me with what seems like concern, until understanding dawns. “ Oh! ” Visibly pleased, they adjust to consider where our lower bodies meet.

It isn’t even a lot of contact, just undulating pressure, but the adrenaline has me twice as sensitive, so when I manage words it’s only a strained, “Fuck, Nuj…”

They laugh. “Yes, I suppose so.”

I rock forward on their thigh as I kiss them again. Their lips are firm and sleek, teeth still politely omitted from the negotiation. I get a wild impulse to ask them to bite me—gently. I’ve never objected to a blunt-toothed partner getting mouthy before, but this is different. There’s an inherent terror of trusting someone who could divorce my larynx from the rest of my anatomy to merely give enough to be pleasurable. It makes my stomach clench in unbearable anticipation.

Nuj touches me with their radia, starting at my neck and moving down.It’s a wildly strange sensation—a solid wave similar to the mechanisms in a massage chair, but smoother. The pressure seems to originate from inside me before radiating outward. When Nuj reaches my hips they pin me firmly against the wall, running the tip of their tongue along the inside of my teeth, experimental and searching. I’m still too afraid to return the favor lest they accidentally nip it off, but take the opportunity to suck lewdly on their tongue instead.

The noise that rattles free of them startles me, until I realize it was a moan. Nuj repeats the grating sound, then plunges their tongue farther down my throat. I suck harder, eliciting a full body jerk. Nuj rubs against me more insistently, and I join them with a moan of my own. Then they withdraw their tongue, moving to press their mouth to my neck, hissing through their teeth as they nuzzle my throat. I feel their lips peel back, the flats of those teeth running along the length of my jaw with a predatory precision.

Curious and motivated by their budding exploration, I drag my hands lower along the contours of their body, to the tops of their thighs. I don’t find anything reminiscent of genitals, not even a slit. I flatten my palm between their legs and press, just in case, but Nuj doesn’t react until I reach farther down, running over their scaled skin until I reach the underside of their tail. There’s a fold there, but Nuj twitches, flicking their tail to dislodge me, so I reroute, switching to the small of their back. I let my fingers trace the base of their spine, and this time they shudder, mouth opening to release a series of clicks while their teeth-points coming dangerously close to my skin. Instead of biting, Nuj latches on and sucks.

My hair is in my eyes, blonde streaks blurring my vision. Groaning, I close my eyes against the distraction. I usually keep my hair styled back, away from my forehead, but the nervous sweat has worked against the product I use. I lift a shaking hand to push it aside, but Nuj catches me by the wrist, trapping it against the wall beside my head.

Their radia continues to roll against-into me as their lips move down. They use their tongue to explore, touching my clavicle with intense curiosity before deeming it safe to greet with the rest of their mouth. Desperate to give them more space I try to free my left hand, but they refuse to release it, so I fumble the tiny button at my stiff, high collar with my right hand alone. I succeed, barely, but that’s as far as I get, because Nuj follows my example and in one swift gesture pops all my buttons—actually rips one off entirely, sending it plinking onto the floor amongst the game figures. This leaves my shirt hanging open, exposing my bare chest and the thick scars beneath my pectorals where unwanted breasts used to be.

Nuj prods them curiously. “What are these?”

“Scar tissue,” I explain. “I had parts of my chest removed.”

“Oh.” Tongue flicking out, Nuj traces one of them. “What was on your chest? Why would you remove it? Were they parasitic?”

Briefly embarrassed for failing to consider our biological differences, I pause to wrack my brain for terms that will translate to a reptilian alien. ?iet are a unisex species without gender designators, so I need to choose my words carefully. “Mammalian species feed offspring with swollen chest glands.” I’ve no idea how to search their expression for understanding, but they don’t interject, so I continue. “Juvenile female humans grow mammary glands on their chests, but some individuals… don’t want them.”

“But you are a human male,” Nuj says as if it’s a fact. Behind them, their tail lashes, which I recognize as a signal of curiosity.

Explaining transgenderism to a person wholly unfamiliar with gender as a concept is not the sexiest way to spend our time together, so I rush through the rest. “I was born female, but I was uncomfortable with how that felt. So I changed some things, and now I feel better.”

After another moment of contemplation, Nuj says, “There are plenty of species who change sex.” Then they fold, dropping to their knees.

Tucking their thick toes in the space between my ankles, Nuj wraps their tail around themself, the tip slithering up the bottom of my pant leg. Their upper body twists, breastbone arching in a manner that would be impossible for an earth herptile, neck bending out of the way so they can see-smell my response. My face reddens both when I’m flustered and when I’m turned on, and right now I’m both, so I must look like a damned spectacle. Hopefully my approach—less smooth sailing and more floundering shipwreck—still manages to inspire arousal.

I consider Nuj with stunned wonderment and a bit of unavoidable discomfort at the unsettling anatomical positioning. The foreign visual further increases my excitement. Palms hot, pressed flat against the cool surface of the metal wall, I try to shake my hair out of my face so I can see better. Nuj smiles, shifting until their head looks dislocated on their neck—and pushes my bangs back for me.

I lose interest in musing on how I look when they lean in, allowing the tiniest edge of their teeth to intimidate the hollow beside my hipbone. The area is unbearably sensitive; I buck in terror so sharp it’s nearly painful, arousal surging to ripe agony.

“I liked that,” Nuj says, like we’re having a normal conversation, and repeats it with more insistence.

Screaming in pleasure might still trigger the distress sensors, so I cover my mouth and bite into the meat of my palm. Nuj continues working their mouth around that soft, vulnerable skin, right above the waistband of my uniform pants, and that’s when I feel their radia pat around between my legs. They know I have something erogenous in that area, but haven’t yet found where stimulation will reduce me to dust.

Anticipatory, I yank the zipper of my pants, forgetting that there’s an inner latch so that when I try to tug my fly open and fail, I let out an embarrassingly distressed sound.

Nuj must know how pants work, because they calmly bat my hands away, gentle like a warm ocean current, and perfunctorily unfasten the clasp. I want to shove the pants to my ankles, but I also want to see what they’ll do, so I make what might be a risky move and set my hands on the top of their head, stroking chipped-gemstone scales. Doing so seems to be the right move, when Nuj rubs their temple into my palm and makes a chittering sound that registers as their own pleasure.

I shudder when they lave their tongue up the inside of my wrist. “You’re so fun to play with, Chance,” Nuj informs me. Then they peel away the front panels of my pants, pushing them down to my knees, exposing my undergarments. Their radia prods the squishy material of my packer, held in place by my tight boxer briefs.

Another thing I forgot.

“This is human male anatomy?” The confusion in their voice has me realizing they’ve probably never seen a penis before—at least not a human one.

“An imitation of one, yeah. But let’s not talk about it any further, alright?”

Nuj huffs a quiet laugh. “Acknowledged.” Regaining control of the situation, they guide the stretchy material down my thighs, then arch to inspect the offerings of my crotch.

I keep my body hair trimmed, so the view of my testosterone-thickened clit is unobstructed, though I prefer to call it a cock nowadays. I’m near-embarrassingly wet, enough to feel slick between my thighs when I shift. Uncomfortable with my restrictive, disheveled clothing, I awkwardly toe off my shoes, then squirm out of my lower garments, leaving me in just my unbuttoned shirt when I straighten. I stand there, cunt fully exposed, and wait for Nuj’s next move.

In a way, we’re playing a game after all, except unlike chess it lacks defined rules. Flying blind—quite literally, in Nuj’s case.

After drawing in a deep breath—fuck, are they smelling me?—Nuj smiles. “Very interesting, Chance Landfall. May I touch?”

A giddy laugh bursts from me. “Please. Please. ”

I’m so turned on I might combust. I have no idea what to expect, but when their tongue slides up my inner thigh to wiggle up inside me, I just about die.

I try to be gentle as I cup my fingers against the back of Nuj’s head, dragging them closer while cautious of nicking myself on their teeth. Nuj seems unperturbed: their tongue moves within me like no toy nor dick ever has, and I’ve had fairly satisfying variants of both. They spread my thighs, then apparently decide there still isn’t enough room, because they lift my left leg from under me and settle it over their shoulder. I tense, but Nuj keeps me steady with their radia, increasing pressure on my hips until I stop my panicked squirming. Once I relax, I’m overwhelmed by the powerfully new sensation of their writhing tongue, only half-wondering how strong Nuj is to be supporting my weight as if it’s nothing.

I do my best to muffle the sounds that force their way out of me, and pray the distress sensors know the difference between being stabbed and being fucked.

Nuj’s tongue slithers so deep their teeth end up pressed against my pubis. By now I trust them enough to get off on the danger aspect without the unsexy sort of fear. After a few different attempts to stimulate my cock, Nuj figures out how to apply suction with their radia, pumping me like a full-sized dick. No longer able to control my harsh, desperate noises, I buck down, fucking myself on the powerful muscle.

Sex is enjoyable most of the time, but it’s not uncommon for me to approach partners with some level of self-consciousness. I can’t relax until I’m sure they won’t be put off by my body. In contrast, the whole point of this encounter is to not relax, and furthermore the person fucking me is so phenomenally, bone-chillingly alien that it’s impossible to waste brainspace on judging my potential anatomical shortcomings. None of the usual nerves are there when I seize up, orgasm ripping through me like a plasma ray.

Apparently, the sensors can tell the difference between an orgasmic wail and shouts of genuine distress.

“Fucking… tits on a plane,” I gasp when I can form words again. That was fast , lightspeed compared to the effort previous partners have had to exert to force me toward climax. At some point Nuj returned my leg to the ground, but my muscles are so weakened Nuj has remained supporting me. Quite considerate of them.

“What are tits?” Nuj asks as they adjust, gently lowering my body to their level, settling me with my knees spread on either side of their knobby ankles. My cunt is still sensitive, and the movement alone makes me twitch.

“It’s what these used to be.” I touch my top scars, which healed more thickly than I’d have preferred, puffy and dark pink. When Nuj adds to the pressure of my fingertips with a brush of their radia, I shudder, even though the area’s sensitivity was reduced to nearly nothing after the surgical procedure. Endeared by their gentle exploration, I ask, “Now, how do I make you feel that good?”

Nuj whistles out a pleased chuckle, then pats my sternum. “Put your hand here, on me.”

I blink. “Where?” All I see are the four slits of their olfactory organs. Unless?—

When I don’t move on my own, Nuj leads my hand to the lower set of openings on their chest.

Oh. My stars.

My fingertips brush the ridges where their scales dip into one of the slashes, stopping when they bump into the vertical barring sealing it off. “How do—?” My question cuts off when the barrier begins to shift, parting into thin protrusions, and I realize with fascination and outright horror that they are more teeth . “What in the endless celestial fuck, Nuj. Holy shit.”

“Don’t worry, Chance,” Nuj purrs, apparently satisfied with my reaction rather than offended. “I won’t hurt you.”

But they could .

I proceed slowly, despite being obscenely excited to explore their unknown. The teeth recede, sucked into the surrounding flesh and leaving a bluish opening, a dark spot in the otherwise iridescent swirling pink of their skin. Pushing forth, I’m surprised by Nuj’s internal temperature; their scaled skin isn’t cold externally, but within feels like lying underwater. Undulating pressure, cool and surreal. Thick wetness seeps from pulsing walls, squeezing my fingers then letting go.

It dawns upon me that I am hand-fucking another species’ organs .

The thrill is so powerful I catch Nuj’s mouth with my own, plunging my tongue between their lips, even though I can’t fuck them like they did me. Obliging, they wrap the tip of their tongue around mine, squeezing like they’re sucking. I moan against the lingering taste of my own come. As we kiss, I ease my fingers farther into their chest. A high, wheedling sound, unlike any I’ve heard Nuj make before, reaches my ears like music. My hand slides in up to the last row of knuckles, and Nuj’s head hits my shoulder.

“Should I—” I demonstrate, pushing my fingers in and out. “Or…” I don’t know what other motions to use as an example, too worried of messing up with my hand halfway inside their thoracic cavity.

Nuj grunts and rolls their spine so my fingers slip farther inside, saying something in the ?iet language that doesn’t translate. After a scorching pause, they grit out, “Just move them,” voice even more gravelly than usual.

Okay.

I cautiously roll my fingertips in a wave against the bottom wall of their opening and shiver when they clench around me, like a pussy but flat and cold and nothing like a pussy at all, actually.

Emboldened by the positive response, I leverage the pads of my fingers to press upward, fucking in deep, and clasp the back of Nuj’s head when they jerk and moan.I continue to try different things, most of them mindless, twisting and stroking and, most importantly, never slowing the steady stream of movement. They seem to prefer depth, so I try not to pull out while getting creative with gestures.

It doesn’t take long for me to conclude that I can do better than this.

I unclasp my fingers from Nuj’s swanlike neck, dragging my palm down their chest before plunging my left hand inside their other opening to match the right. Blue fluid squishes out between my fingers, dripping down my wrist, staining the white fabric of my uniform shirt. I can’t push the sleeves up, so I ignore it.

Kissing them again, I work both my hands, sometimes in unison and sometimes individually, riveted on the challenge of deciphering their vocal responses. Most of what they vocalize isn’t translated, which is fine. This is more primal, me fucking their chest until my elbows are wet while mouthing at their smooth scales, licking the sharp blade of their jaw. They mewl when I bite down on the long column of their neck, and their ribcage heaves when I keep descending.

The cold blue slick tastes like water, slightly tangy. It isn’t bad in the least, so when Nuj arches their back with a desperate groan, I lean in with more purpose, tonguing the upper length of their slit. I shift the fingers of my right hand just far enough to the side to allow me to get my mouth onto them properly, sucking along their opening. I can feel faint rows of bumps where their protective teeth hide, capable of snapping closed at any moment should someone prove themself a threat.

But not me. All I want is to move my left hand in and out, rounding the shape to provide a better stretch, while the right fingers flex and rub, leaving space for indigo slick to coat my lips and chin. Nuj’s tongue passes through breathless lips, the tip tracing the shell of my ear so I gasp against them, choking on a mouthful of thick fluid. My arms tremble, not helped by Nuj’s ministrations, but as I switch my mouth to pleasure the left opening, my right hand creates a waving undulation; palm down, pressure firm and direct and unyielding and?—

Nuj muffles a screech against my throat, their devolving control finally allowing their teeth to nick my skin, but I’m unbothered by the pinpricks of pain. I push down as hard as I can, rubbing steadily as they ride out their orgasm, insides tightening around me so snugly that all I can do is push back. Eventually Nuj’s thoracic muscles relax, and they nuzzle my temple before slowly drawing away, leaving a string of thick mucous connecting my hands to their swollen, throbbing openings.

I watch the teeth close, and shiver.

We end up slumped side-by-side on the floor, both shaking and wracked by the occasional twitch. Our mutual affliction presents an interesting counterpoint to our physical differences, the way Nuj has to angle themself to avoid crushing their tail against the wall, their chest moving in heaving gasps despite their lips being closed.

Eventually Nuj shifts, humming. “I drew blood,” they inform me, not sounding pleased about it. My wet fingers drift to the tiny punctures I barely feel, only for Nuj to smack them away. “Wash first,” they scold, only to shamelessly lick the beads of blood drying with the sweat on my neck.

“I’ve got wipes in my desk,” I mumble, not inclined to struggle or argue.

Nuj rises with a groan, taking a moment to ensure their feet are steady before drifting to my desk. The floor is made of a low-impact material, rubbery with a grip to prevent slips, and I can hear the quiet scrape of claws over the ridges.

Raising my voice, I tell them, “Second drawer on the right,” but still hear multiple drawers being opened. A small, delirious smile tugs at my wet lips as I listen to Nuj snooping through my personal items. After they allowed me to manually fuck their internal organs, it hardly feels like an invasion of privacy.

Eventually Nuj returns with the wipes, a guileless smile on their face. They clean me up with surprising tenderness, wiping my body all over from my oversensitive cunt to the spaces between my blue-tinged fingers. Hopefully the pigment fades with a much-needed shower, otherwise I’ll have some extremely awkward explaining to do.

“Well,” Nuj says finally, nudging me to my feet—which I allow, though reluctantly. “I’m impressed, Chance Landfall.”

I sway, but they don’t let me fall. “What’s impressed you?” I can’t help a bit of fishing for praise. The denied promotion is all the sting my pride can handle for one-day cycle.

A sawing laugh explodes from Nuj’s chest, suggesting they know exactly what I’m doing, but they oblige anyway: “In addition to your exceptional negotiation skills, that was the best I’ve ever been fucked by another species. Commendable professionalism, Mr. Landfall.”

“You consider that professionalism? ”

Nuj only sighs in contentment.

I shake my head, then slide my ruined, no-longer-white shirt off my shoulders, leaving me completely naked—and I can tell Nuj notices by the abrupt tilt of their head.

“Like what you see?” I tease, before the faux pas hits me. "Oh, fuck. You don’t have?—”

Throwing their head back, Nuj cackles. “Now that was not professional. I’ll dock your points for cultural insensitivity.”

“Shit.”

“And that’s another penalty for foul language.” Nuj tuts. “I’m afraid one more infraction merits a failing grade.”

My lips part, but I can’t think of an appropriate repartee.

Nuj saves me with a bump of their shoulder, grinning like a hanged skeleton in possession of forbidden knowledge. “It’s all right. If you’re that concerned about your grade, I’ll allow you to re-take the exam.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’ll allow me, hm?”

“Generously,” they clarify.

“Extremely so,” I agree, crossing my arms over my bare chest. “Would you mind handing me my blazer?”

“And if I do mind?”

“Then I’ll accept my near-failing grade and report the mission failure to my program director.”

Without further protest Nuj grabs the clothing item from the back of my desk chair, then plucks my pants and undergarments from the floor as well. I don’t miss their curious squish of the silicone penis prosthetic before they hand everything over, and their smile informs me they couldn’t care less that I noticed.

Once I’m dressed—doing my best to ignore the weight of Nuj’s unwavering attention—I take a moment to prop my ass against my desk. I consider Nuj, who is now standing across the room, on the other side of the scattered chess pieces.

My heart begins to pound as I take a reckless shot. “Did…” I swallow hard. “Do you think my performance tonight merits a repeat, Spokesperson?”

“Haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean, Mr. Landfall.”

Ah, fuck.

“My mistake,” I say with an unavoidable twinge of disappointment. “Of course I don’t expect a prolonged arrangement. That would be presumptuous and possibly compromise our professional decisions.” I hazard a weak smile. “Wouldn’t want you to get soft on me during negotiations, after all.”

I didn’t fuck Nuj for professional gain, and am loath for it to appear as if that was my goal in pursuing an affair. In the interest of not revealing my foolishly hurt feelings, I turn the toppled game table upright and resolve to pick up all the pieces tomorrow, then navigate through them to the control panel. I reset the automatic sensor on the office door and set the lights to turn off in ninety seconds. Just enough time to make a dignified retreat.

Except when I try to leave, Nuj doesn’t move. Their smaller figure allows me to see the only exit with pained longing, but I don’t dare push past them. If they didn’t grab me with their radia, its full strength still unbeknownst to me, a mere flick of that powerful tail would send me flying.

One long stride brings Nuj achingly close. They brush damp hair out of my eyes, then lean in until our lips graze, just shy of kissing. “Discard your fears, Mr. Landfall,” they purr. “I plan to inform our superiors about how impressed I am by your exceptional proficiency at business negotiations. We’ll proceed with a fresh mutual understanding. And…”

Nut stretches to murmur in my ear. My breath catches when their chest rubs against the bare skin exposed by my partially unbuttoned blazer.

“In the meanwhile, I’ve found the rules of chess are much more complex than I had expected. Therefore, another lesson is in order. And perhaps a few more after that, if we find our gameplay enjoyable.”

I try desperately not to grin, but fail. “That’s more than all right on my end. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out how to bleach my uniform shirt before tomorrow’s meeting without raising any suspicions.”

Nuj flicks the tip of their tongue over the spot on my neck where their teeth nicked, then withdraws from my space. They swish their tail behind them so the office door slides open with a whisper, then step into the hallway. Just as the door is closing behind them, I hear: “Good luck with that, Chance.”

I linger, unmoving, until the timer runs out and the light flicks off, leaving me standing rumpled and alone in the dark.