Your first time is awkward, stammering. Both of you are blushing as you slip your fingers under the band of his sweatpants, feeling all too confused with yourself. He told you it was okay, right? All those months, you danced around the issue, watching shitty movies and not really talking--he makes a sound. Oh god. What did you do, no, what's going on--"Dave."
You freeze. "Y-yeah?" Your voice comes out with a stutter, something you thought you'd masked when you were seven, something you never wanted to hear again and certainly didn't want to hear now. "Have you done... this sort of thing before?" "What sorta thing?"
He rolls his eyes, and you marvel at how someone can manage to have his sweater hiked almost up to his neck and still be sarcastic and exasperated. "THIS. You know, fucking?" His candid approach to what you'd been trying to not talk about makes you blush even deeper, and it probably looks terrible and blotchy and stupid. "Uh... no? I told you, you were--" "No. I mean like, with yourself?" Your face is probably a tomato at this point. How can he say this shit so freely, oh god why you knew you were a noob but this is way too much even for you--"Dave, hey. Are you ok? Talk to me." You blink. He's there, looking concerned but also a bit turned on. You didn't know what that looked like on a troll. It looks kinda cute.
"Yeah, I-I'm fine. Just a bit of jitters, you know me. Be right as rain, y'know?" Okay, what the fuck was that, why did you say that. Right as rain what you've never said that before in your life, what the fuck are you doing?!? You see him staring at you, out of the corner of your shades, and that's when you tell yourself screw it and kiss him.
He's shocked, at least that's what you assume from his startled squeak that morphs into a purring moan, begging you to do something, anything, and you snake your hand back down his pants, which mysteriously disappear as you keep going. You add a bit of tongue in there as well, because why not, he's your boyfriend, he deserves it, and from the way he's clutching your shoulders as you dip two fingers into something suspiciously wet and sticky you figure he wants it too.
You give it to him in spades, diamonds, hearts, clubs, anything he wants as the night (or is it day? you aren't sure, that's Rose's lookout) progresses. As you pick him up bridal-style and dump him on your bed unceremoniously, he gives you what can only be described as one of his most done-with-your-shit glares he's ever pulled while in your general vicinity. "God, could you be any more rough with me?" You grin, he turns crimson for his choice of words, and you slip off his boxers to show him. Your eyes immediately meet the sight of a bulge, writhing on the sheets and dripping bright red (his red, you think). "Like what you see?" he mutters, looking away. You never thought you'd see him so embarrassed.
"I'd say I like it pretty well, but we'd probably have to make some changes, get me?" "W-what changes are those?" (he has a stutter too, that's actually cute) "Well," you say, climbing onto the bed, "first I'd need to stop talkin’." "Oh yeah, like you could ever--" he moans. Not a cute little moan like before, oh no. He's trying to talk, but the presence of you sucking his bulge keeps him from saying much in the way of intelligible conversation. You couldn't talk back anyway, even if you wanted to.
You tongue your way up the bottom of it, mouth filling with whatever the fuck the red shit is, you remember he called it "slurry" but he got too embarrassed to go into a full description. Whatever. Not like you're going to need to make any new lifeforms here. You just hope it's not poisonous. It'd be a shame if you died from giving your alien boyfriend a blowjob. Rose'd probably get it written on your tombstone, that's how petty she is. Or can be, rather.
You keep doing this for a while, licking his length as his panting moans get progressively louder and finally he comes in your mouth with a strangled pant. You look up at him, watching his soft chest rise and fall as he blushes bright cherry--the cherry you just popped, you think. You’d ask him if you were his first but you’re too nervous to say much beyond quips about his breathing.
Eventually, after staring at him for two minutes or so (you’re joking, there is no “or so”, you know exactly how much time has passed) you flop onto his chest. He squeaks at first, your height being at least a foot above his, but he gets used to it. As you both drift off, you feel him curl up around you, strong arms hugging you as though you’re the only one who matters. You--you guess you don’t mind that feeling that much.
Oh, who the hell are you even kidding. You love it.