Chapter 2

two

T echnically, you’re an alien to me,” the blob pointed out. “I’m on an alien planet right now. Just saying.”

“Oh my God.”

“And seriously! All your skin!” The blob beamed. “That’s great.”

“I… I have all my skin. Yes. Yes, I do.” Ozzie chuckled and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t even fucking know what that means.”

“Just know you’re luckier than some of the poor bastards on Malchior Four, okay?”

“On the what now?”

“Aw!” The blob laughed and hugged Ozzie. “You’re cute when you’re confused.”

Ozzie’s cheeks heated up, his gaze dropping to the four different arms holding onto him. “Oh my God. I’m naked and you’re naked?—”

“Clothing! Oh, we’re supposed to have that?” The blob giggled. “I always forget which aliens wear it and which ones don’t. Such a shame to cover up all that pretty skin.”

“Are you… hitting on me?”

“Aw, would you like me to be hitting on you?” The blob batted his lashes. “Because trust me, baby, I can definitely make it much more, mmm… palpable .”

“I, um…” Ozzie felt the heat from his face melting down his neck and chest. “Clothes. Yes. Should have clothes.”

He’d never in his life had another naked body pressed against his own. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was…

Weird.

Weird but good.

But so damn weird, since they’d known each other for all of five seconds and his heart fluttered really hard when the blob called him baby.

“I always forget which aliens wear clothing and which ones don’t. Sorry I can’t poof those up for us, but this is kinda nice!” The blob rubbed himself against Ozzie with a grin. “Are you sure you wanna put clothes on?”

“I’m sure!” Ozzie laughed nervously, his fingers settling awkwardly against the blob’s back. His cock twitched from the friction of skin against skin, but he tried to ignore it. “Super sure. Uh. I don’t even know your name!”

“Oh, it’s—” The blob promptly made a sound that sounded like a cat retching up a bag of rusty nails.

Ozzie stared. “Do you need some water?”

“What? No. That’s my name!” The blob looked over Ozzie’s face critically. “Huh. Maybe your tongue isn’t long enough to pronounce it.”

Ozzie grimaced. “What a fucking Tuesday. Alien in my bath says my tongue is too short?—”

“Ooo! That’s cute!”

“What?” Ozzie blinked slowly. “Tuesday? That’s just… today.”

“Well, I need a name, don’t I?” The blob hugged Ozzie tight. “Come on, how else are you gonna scream it later.”

“Oh, God?—”

“It’s like a pet name! Which is just adorable. You already have a lil’ pet name for me! I feel like we have such a connection, even though we haven’t connected, you know what I mean?”

“This is real.” Ozzie didn’t know if he should laugh or throw up. “This is really happening. You just open your mouth and say these things?—”

“I can open my mouth and do lots of stuff.” The blob winked. “So, how about it, baby? What’s your name?”

“Oswald…?” Ozzie had no idea why it came out as a question.

“Tuesday!” The blob now known as Tuesday took a step back, offering one of his many hands out. “Nice to meet you!” He gestured expectantly.

“Uh, nice to meet you too.” Ozzie took his hand and shook it. “Most people just call me Ozzie.”

“Aw, see, now I have a pet name for you!” Tuesday gushed. “This is going great. So!” His lower set of hands rested on his hips while his upper ones stretched over his head. “What passes for clothes here, anyway? I like bright colors, anything shiny, and ooo, ruffles.”

Ozzie tried not to look, but he couldn’t resist peeking a bit at Tuesday’s body, certain that his face could start a whole forest fire right now. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have anything like that.” He gave himself a mental shake and forced his eyes away from the miles of pale pinkish skin. “I can get you something comfy, though.”

“Okay. I can live with comfy.” Tuesday grinned and then left the bathroom as if he’d lived here all his life.

Except he opened a door and tried to walk right into the linen closet.

“Oh, wow.” Tuesday whistled. “You don’t sleep in here, do you? I thought there’d be a bed.”

“No!” Ozzie burst out laughing. “I don’t sleep in the closet.” He snorted and adjusted his towel, leading the way to his bedroom. “Let’s get you some comfy clothes, all right?”

“Oh!” Tuesday gasped as he looked around the new room. He walked right in and hopped into Ozzie’s bed. “This is more like it.”

Ozzie inhaled sharply, shocked at the sight of the beautiful, naked creature in his bed. His heart rate skyrocketed, and he turned away to hurry to his dresser. He grabbed the first shirt he touched and yanked it on over his thick body.

Tuesday stretched and writhed across the sheets with a happy sigh.

“Make yourself at home,” Ozzie grumbled, turning his focus back on the dresser. He pulled out a second shirt to toss in Tuesday’s general direction.

“Hey, what gives?” Tuesday grunted.

Ozzie grabbed two pairs of sweats, one with a drawstring, and glanced back at Tuesday. “What?”

“This is clearly defective merchandise, baby.” Tuesday had pulled on the T-shirt, but his lower set of arms stuck out because there was only one pair of sleeves.

“Sorry, we usually only have two arms.” Ozzie grimaced, tossing the sweatpants with the drawstring to Tuesday. “I can probably add some extra arm holes or something.”

“Mm. Are you sure about the two arms thing?” Tuesday quirked his brows. “I am very certain you humans are supposed to have four.”

“Nope, just two.” Ozzie stepped into his sweats, wrestling them on beneath the towel so he didn’t flash anything.

Not that it really mattered, since Tuesday had already seen him naked.

And rubbed on him.

“Huh. Okay, I guess.” Tuesday tore at the shirt, removing several inches from the bottom half.

“Hey! Rude!” Ozzie scoffed. “You didn’t have to turn it into a fucking crop top.”

“What? And not show off this figure? Pfft.” Tuesday laughed and struck a little pose with his upper arms above his head. “You know, even missin’ some limbs, you’re pretty cute.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that.” Ozzie scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and looked away from the half-naked alien in his bed.

In his bed.

“I’m gonna just, uh… give you some privacy to put pants on, okay?”

“Okay.” Tuesday nodded, but he made no effort to move.

“Okay.” Ozzie nodded and shuffled toward the door, his cheeks as red as a lobster as he fled the room en route to the kitchen.

He definitely needed a smoke.

From right behind him, Tuesday asked, “Where are you going?”

Ozzie jumped. “Oh, God!”

“Are you all right? I already saw all your—” Tuesday waved his hand. “Bits and things.”

Ozzie looked down.

Tuesday still hadn’t put on the sweats.

Ozzie continued toward the kitchen, scrubbing his hands over his face and groaning. “Just put on the pants. Please. Then we can get high. So fucking high.”

“What? You don’t like my body?” Tuesday frowned, tagging right along. “Did I do somethin’ wrong? I was pretty sure I got all the right parts…”

“Look, it’s not that I don’t like your body. It’s got, uh, all the parts.” Ozzie wondered if he could crawl into a cabinet and die. “Some of us just aren’t as proud of our bodies and feel a little more… awkward.”

“Why?” Tuesday asked. “Your body is nice! There aren’t any holes except where they’re supposed to be, you’ve got hair in fun places, and the skin. Cannot stress how nice it is you got all that.”

“I… Thank you? I think?” Ozzie started to turn to address Tuesday directly, but he jerked back in the other direction.

Too late.

He’d already seen it.

Long, pink cock.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Ozzie groaned loudly. “Please put pants on.”

“Oh, sure! But you didn’t give me pants.” Tuesday waved the sweats, dangling between his fingers as if they were contaminated. “You gave me whatever this sad thing is.”

“Um… Well… They’re not sad. They’re comfy. I work from home, so…”

“Doing what?” Tuesday scoffed. “Kicking kittens? Stomping on flowers? Punching hatchlings? These are the garments of a deranged mind.”

In spite of his complaints, Tuesday did finally put the pants on.

“The garments of a deranged—you literally showed up in my bathtub as a ball of goo talking about intergalactic bullshit. But yeah, I’m deranged for wearing sweatpants,” Ozzie grumbled as he opened a lower cabinet to retrieve his Batman bong.

“A ball of what? Goo?” Tuesday rolled his eyes. “Says the bag of meat and calcium sticks.”

“Bag of what?” Ozzie set the bong on the counter, but the sound of tearing fabric drew his attention. “What are you doing now?”

Tuesday was busying himself ripping the legs off the sweats to make indecently short shorts. “Fixing them. Obviously.”

“I don’t… Fine. It’s fine. Shorts are… just fine.” Ozzie let out a heavy sigh, raking his thick fingers through his hair. “You wanna smoke?”

“Smoke what?” Tuesday swung the shredded pant legs around.

“Weed. It’s a plant here on Earth.” Ozzie pulled a jar out of the same cabinet he’d gotten the bong from. “We can get high, and I desperately need to get high.”

“Right! The marijuana. Yup. Got it. And yeah, me too.” Tuesday looked around, opening random cabinets and some drawers. “Dropped into some guy’s bath and then he called me a pile of goo.”

“I’m sorry. What should I call you?”

“Your Highness, Your Majesty, light of your life. Those work.”

“Right.” Ozzie twisted the lid of the jar off and then brought it up to his nose for a smell. He picked out a few nuggets, broke them up with his fingers, and loaded up the glass bowl of the bong.

Tuesday was still exploring.

Ozzie arched his brow. “Are you looking for something?”

“Trash. Incinerator.” Tuesday waved the pant legs. He bent over at his waist, deliberately sticking his ass out as he continued to search.

“There’s a trash compactor under the sink.” Ozzie fidgeted with packing the bowl. “So, uh. Where… where exactly are you from? Does your, um, planet have a name?”

Tuesday made a loud, retching noise as he tossed the pant legs. “Mm, I guess humans can’t pronounce that either. Must be your gag reflex getting in the way. Most of you have those pretty bad, right?”

“I wouldn’t say bad gag reflex.” Ozzie made a face, then attempted to repeat the name back to him. The tickle in his throat made him want to barf. “And wait, what’s your name again?”

Tuesday repeated the awful sound from earlier. “It’s all in the back of your throat. Really get some phlegm behind it.”

“I think we’re gonna stick with Tuesday. If that’s really what you want.” Ozzie hummed, grabbing the bong and a lighter. “What about Pinky? Wait, scratch that. I don’t wanna be Brain.”

“Don’t worry.” Tuesday patted his arm. “No one would ever call you that.”

“Fuck you!” Ozzie jerked away with a scowl. “Rude little goo.”

“Fuck you! But later!” Tuesday grinned. “Trying to get high right now.”

“Ha ha.” Ozzie flicked the lighter and brought his lips to the mouthpiece of the bong, sucking in the smoke. He held it in for as long as he could stand, offering the bong to Tuesday. When he exhaled, a laugh escaped with it. “Goobert.”

“Weak.” Tuesday giggled, accepting the bong and snatching the lighter. He lit up and took a hit, sucking more and more, using one of his free hands to flip Ozzie off. He blew a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, croaking, “I’m sure you’re very smart for a human.”

“Thanks. That’s really sweet.” Ozzie laughed, the grip of his nerves easing off. He took the bong back from Tuesday, but he didn’t move to light it. “Is it safe for me to get your germs?”

“Germs?” Tuesday gasped. “Are you fucking serious right now? What, do you think I have space germs or something?”

“Yeah! Maybe? I’ve seen the movies. We do stuff, exchange DNA, and next thing I know I get a little alien baby popping outta my chest!”

“Ew, no.” Tuesday wrinkled his nose. “We can exchange DNA and the only thing popping out of you should be loads of hot come.”

“That’s, uh… great.” Ozzie was certain that his face was so hot now his skin would melt and fall right off. “Jesus Christ.”

Tuesday ran his very, very long tongue—way too long to be human—over his top lip. “Nope, not my name, but you can scream whatever you want later.

Ozzie coughed, choking on his own spit, and he shoved the bong at Tuesday. “I… don’t even know what to say to that.”

“You can say no, yes, or buy me dinner first.” Tuesday struck a little pose, cocking out his hip and winking sweetly. “If I’m bothering you, all you gotta do is tell me to stop, baby.”

“Okay, well, I…” Ozzie stared.

Tuesday really was the most gorgeous blob, alien, person, whatever Ozzie had ever laid eyes on.

And for whatever reason, he seemed to like Ozzie.

Maybe aliens had bad vision.

Ozzie waited for Tuesday to finish lighting up and pass the bong back over before replying, “Maybe we can discuss dinner.” He paused to hit the bong again. “Later. Much later.”

“All right, Ozzie.” Tuesday beamed as if he’d won something. “So, speaking of dinner… and other than you, whatcha got around here that’s good to eat?”

“Oh God, you say the craziest shit.”

“What?” Tuesday tilted his head to give Ozzie an appraising glance. “You’re really cute. Are you single and ready to mingle? And by mingle, I mean fuck?”

Ozzie was going to die.

This was the end. He was going to be killed by utter shock and embarrassment.

“I don’t know how to respond to that,” Ozzie squeaked, his tone much higher than normal. “I’m single, not really into a lot of fucking.”

“Huh. All right.” Tuesday spotted the Tupperware on the counter. “Ooo! What are these?”

“My grandma’s cookies.”

“Oh, I love cookies.” Tuesday popped open the lid and immediately shoved a handful of snickerdoodle cookies into his mouth. “Mmm, these are good.”

Ozzie watched in a mix of horrified awe as Tuesday promptly devoured a dozen cookies in mere seconds. “Uh… Help yourself.”

Tuesday tilted his head at Ozzie. “So. What’s your deal, baby? Ace? Aro? Demi?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Ozzie countered. “What’s your deal?”

“What?” Tuesday asked through a mouth full of cookie. “I can’t be curious about my handsome host?”

“You’re way prettier than me, first of all.”

“Aw, see! You are smart,” Tuesday teased. “Come on. Ask anything you want! I’m an open book, baby.”

“Okay.” Ozzie snagged a cookie before Tuesday could eat them all. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from a little galaxy, far, far away that you human types haven’t discovered yet. I won’t bother telling you the name, but let’s just say it’s called the Fun Galaxy, okay?” Tuesday ruffled Ozzie’s hair.

Ozzie growled under his breath at the touch, though he couldn’t deny the sparks that jolted through him. “Fun Galaxy. Sure. Okay. Why are you slumming it here, then?”

“Look, so.” Tuesday’s cheerful expression dropped into a deep frown. “I’m kinda trying to get away from my ex-boyfriend. He’s sort of not accepting that we broke up. It’s why I need a place to hide out for a bit. He’s a total Scorpio—real possessive, controlling, all that.

“Oh.” Ozzie’s face fell, the crunch of the cookie in his mouth the only sound for a few moments as he worked on a reply. “I’m really sorry. That’s shitty… You, uh… Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Tuesday seemed startled by the question, and his face flushed a dark shade of pink. He grinned, confident once more as he teased, “Aw, are you concerned for little ol’ me? That’s mighty sweet of you.” He brushed a few crumbs off Ozzie’s cheek.

Warmth bloomed where their skin touched, and Ozzie found himself leaning into it. “What? No… I just don’t like bullies. That’s all.”

“If you bully me, I’ll come.”

Ozzie choked on his next bite of cookie, and crumbs shot out before his hand could cover his mouth. He was able to swallow and breathe, croaking out a frantic laugh. “Oh, God.”

Tuesday smacked Ozzie’s back, giggling some more. “Saw that on a shirt here! Earth has the best T-shirts.”

“Okay, that’s actually really funny.” Ozzie laughed again. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah, you like that?” Tuesday grinned sweetly and gave Ozzie a little nudge. “Yeah, you like that? I got a million of ’em. I love stupid ass T-shirts.”

“Then why are you turning mine into crop tops?” Ozzie teased, unable to stop himself from grinning back at the beautiful pink boy.

“Because one, this shirt is stupid. It doesn’t have anything on it!” Tuesday scoffed. “And two, I like showing you my amazing body. Duh.”

“Christ.”

“Remember, call me Tuesday.”

“Okay, let’s get some pizza. I’m getting the munchies.” Ozzie licked his lips, mentally swatting away the butterflies in his stomach as he set the bong on the counter. He’d normally put it away, but he had a feeling he was going to want to smoke again later.

Being high helped soothe his anxiety, but it didn’t do much for the weirdness of the hot alien guy with four arms eating his grandmother’s cookies.

Tuesday picked up the Tupperware. “These are coming with us.”

“Sure.” Ozzie got the box of pizza from the stove where he’d left it so he could carry it out to the living room. He sat on the couch, placing the pizza on the coffee table in front of him. He tried not to stare as Tuesday strolled up to sit beside him, but it was really hard to avoid all that gorgeous bare skin.

God, he felt like such a pervert.

A dirty pervert alien fucker.

“Do you know Earth movies or shows?” Ozzie asked, fumbling with the remote. “Have any favorites?”

“Yeah!” Tuesday set the stack of Tupperware in his lap, wiggling over so his hip touched Ozzie’s. “We got cable in space too, you know.”

Ozzie could not ignore the electric sparks shooting through his body as Tuesday pressed so close. “Uh, right. What… what do you like to watch, then?”

“I love cooking shows,” Tuesday gushed. “I love watching ’em from all across the universe. But oh! Earth has that one with Satan. That’s my favorite.”

“Satan?” Ozzie opened the pizza box to get a slice. “Satan has a cooking show?”

“Yeah.” Tuesday shrugged. “I think he’s Satan anyway. He makes people cook with the worst Earth ingredients in tiny little kitchens and puts them in shackles and tortures them.” He cackled. “It’s fantastic.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’ve seen that one. Sounds kinda like something Gordon Ramsey would do.”

“Mr. Ribbed For My Pleasure Forehead? No, it’s not him.”

Ozzie snorted, and handed the remote to Tuesday. “Here.”

Tuesday kept munching, and a third arm popped out from his stomach to take the remote. “Here, lemme see…”

Ozzie stared. “I, uh. I have a couple of streaming services and YouTube.”

“Don’t worry. I got this.” Tuesday clicked around until he found a competitive cooking show called Cutthroat Kitchen. “Here! This one!” He pointed at the host on the screen. “That’s Satan.”

“Alton Brown?” Ozzie laughed around a bite of pizza. “You think he’s Satan?”

Tuesday snorted. “Look, I don’t know a lot about all your fancy-shmancy Earth religions, but that guy is definitely Satan.”

“Okay.” Ozzie laughed, helpless to stop the smile that was splitting his face in half. His gaze drifted often to Tuesday’s face as they watched the show, finding him more fascinating than the chefs who had to deal with everything, from cooking with tiny pots from a child’s play set, to breaking down an entire turkey with a pocketknife.

There was an alien on his couch.

A beautiful alien who had a great smile, a silly sense of humor, and somehow, whose very presence was soothing instead of irritating. He didn’t seem to care when Ozzie acted grouchy or didn’t know how to respond to his relentless flirty advances—advances, by the way, he had even offered to stop. Tuesday was apparently more than content to simply sit on the couch and laugh at the ridiculous show.

It was… nice.

Ozzie didn’t have to pretend to be interested in a boring conversation, or act normal, because there was literally nothing normal about this situation. It was okay that he was still a bit nervous, though he was starting to forget why.

Tuesday was funny, gorgeous, and there was something about his energy that was oddly relaxing.

Even with the extra arms.

After several episodes of the bizarre and frankly sadistic show, bingeing way too many cookies and fudge and finishing off the leftover pizza, Ozzie’s eyelids were heavy and his stomach was full. He was definitely ready for bed.

Even though he’d had so much fun hanging out with Tuesday…

Other than Derrick, Ozzie had never spent this much time with another person without getting the sense that he was fucking it up somehow.

Wow, yeah.

It was really nice.

But he really needed to go to sleep.

“I hate to break this party up, but fuck, I gotta head to bed. I have work in the morning.” Ozzie yawned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You still, uh, wanna crash here?”

“That was sorta the plan, baby.” Tuesday grinned. “You know, the whole hiding from my ex thing.” He reached for Ozzie’s hand. “Look, I promise I’ll be out of your gorgeous hair in just a few days, okay?”

Ozzie's breath caught, his heart skipping over itself in his broad chest. “No worries.” He exhaled sharply, shrugging and letting out a nervous giggle. “Take your time. You can stay as long as you need to.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

“Thanks, baby.” Tuesday leaned in close and licked Ozzie’s cheek

Ozzie squealed. “Oh my God! What the fuck! Why?”

“What?” Tuesday blinked. “I can’t kiss your cheek?”

“I just… Just wasn’t expecting that.” Ozzie laughed, blushing bright and trying not to make a face. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”

Tuesday smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.” He stood up and stretched, yawning a bit. “Mmm, I’m definitely ready to crash. Running around the universe is really tiring.”

“I bet, uh…” Ozzie’s heart fluttered a bit, and his head tilted back to take in the full expanse of Tuesday’s incredibly tall body. “The couch is probably a little short for you, so you can have my bed.”

The coffee table was a mess of empty Tupperware and the pizza box, but Ozzie ignored it.

That was tomorrow’s problem.

“All right. Come on, then.” Tuesday reached for Ozzie’s hand, leading him right back to the bedroom. “You gotta brush your teeth. I remember that being very important.”

“Oh! Uh.” Ozzie smiled nervously, and his stomach twisted up into knots. “You’re, uh, you want me to come with you? That’s… Yep, that’s cool.”

“Well, yeah. It’s your bed.” Tuesday chuckled. “Seems kinda mean to kick you out of it. And I promise, I will behave.”

“Really?”

“Yeah!”

Ozzie stared.

“What?” Tuesday batted his eyes sweetly. “I will be an absolute gentleman.”

Ozzie wasn’t sure if he believed him, but honestly…

There was a part of him that hoped Tuesday wouldn’t be.

Maybe not a full gentleman.

Just, like, ninety percent.

Seventy?

Crap.