Chapter Text
I was forty-five days into my return journey to Earth when my sex drive reawakened.
I referred to the first week of my voyage as 'Mary's Party Hours'. To no one's surprise, I'm a lightweight, so even after the Taumoeba-82.5 celebration with Rocky, I still had 4.5 liters of Ilyukhina's vodka burning a hole in my storage compartment. A week later, and I'd knocked that number down to one liter with more bags of my puke floating in the endless vacuum of space—like some kind of dreadful facsimile of a breadcrumb trail—than I cared to admit.
A party animal I most certainly was not.
When the initial euphoria of 'I'm going back to Earth and can tell Stratt to 'suck it' in person' started to subside, I turned to the lab and nerded out with some 'just for fun' experiments. I mean, can you blame a guy? I was looking at a four-year road trip with unfettered access to the most kick-butt lab equipment on my planet. I was going to use it!
I started with the Taumoeba (um, yes, hello, I have a magical alien organism that can kill Astrophage, I'm going to experiment on it). What were the most extreme conditions it could survive under? Could I make a nutrient-rich, consumable Taumoeba paste? Drink? Candy? (The coma slurry packets weren't exactly calling my name.)
Then I started getting a little weirder. He hadn't known how to produce it, but I learned a heck of a lot about solid-state xenon from Rocky. So I tried to synthesize it and… failed. A lot. Yeah, turns out a microbiologist can't exactly pull ‘noble gas to solid substance’ out of his butt.
I played every Legend of Zelda game to 100% completion. I watched through all of Babylon 5, Farscape, and every Star Trek show to date (even Enterprise, gone too soon). Eventually, I even had a day of designing the most physically perfect paper airplane, complete with computational analysis and everything.
But I was sitting in a tin can, far from home, and there was nothing I could do. Boredom began to ooze through the cracks of my days. It grew. Metastasized. Fed the creeping sense of dread that stained the edges of my mind. Black and ominous like an oily smear of Astrophage on a slide.
Four years.
That's a long time to be sitting in a three-room spaceship with nothing but Armando, coma slurry, and me, myself, and I for company. So, when I stumbled upon the Library of Congress's collection of pornographic materials while browsing one of my insane 'world's entire internet history crammed onto its SSD' laptops, I remembered another way I could combat my boredom.
I wondered, as I took myself in hand for the first time in God knew how many years, if I was the first human to rub one out in space. First in the Tau Ceti star system, that was for darn sure. It seemed funny that, out of all humanity, I would be one to claim such a feat. Like a weird kind of irony.
I'd never been terribly interested in sex. Romance? Yeah, sure! Past partners had actually rolled their eyes at me for how sappy and emotional I could be. What could I say? I was a man who loved love. But it was always the sex that would muck stuff up. Expectations. Disappointment. Frustration when I just… couldn't perform more often than not. But boredom was a wonderful motivator for regularly playing with your built-in, no-assembly-required toy.
So I started masturbating. A lot.
Every day, in fact.
And then I made the discovery about the Taumoeba getting loose, freaked out, cried a… not insignificant amount, and decided I couldn't let my best friend and his entire species die. Which brought me to re-inviting Rocky back aboard the Hail Mary for a much longer lease. And I. Was. Ecstatic. God, did I desperately wish I could hug that li'l carapace so freakin' hard.
Without a mission to occupy our minds, we spent the first couple of weeks just chillin' like villains. We watched movies and TV. We played video games, and yeah—I did say we played. He might've been able to melt most of my tech with a single touch, but if there was one thing my Eridian could do, it was engineer solutions. Apparently, I was right about my Nintendo Power Glove theory when it came to Rocky building remote-piloted arms to interact with his controller (and thank heaven someone thought to outfit the Hail Mary with controllers). Of course, he then proceeded to kick my butt at just about every game I suggested.
I insisted on co-op games after a while.
However, it was still three years to Erid, and I had spent the last couple of months essentially conditioning my body to crave a scheduled sexual release. The joy of Rocky's renewed presence began to fade as time crept by, replaced by a familiar ennui and dread as my actual foodstuffs continued to dwindle. Slowly but surely, I found my mind drifting toward more… immodest thoughts.
At first, it was just the occasional, fleeting stab of horniness. Then a lingering interest after watching a movie's sex scene. Then daydreams. All of it compounded into a simmering itch just beneath the skin, like when my ammonia burns had first begun to heal.
So I did what I always did when it came to problems I didn't want to face. A tried and true, scientifically-backed method that had never steered me wrong before, and surely wouldn't now!
I ignored it.
As soon as Rocky senses the shift in my heart rate, indicating I'm awake, he's asking me a question. Though I've been working on my Eridian sans translator, my brain isn't yet awake enough to process the different frequencies he's assaulting me with. I grumble something noncommittal and turn onto my side. The warmth of Rocky's atmosphere warms my back where I'm pressed against one of the xenonite panels that make up the majority of my dormitory space. It's nice.
"—answer. No ignore," I manage to catch. Man, can he be impatient. Doesn't matter how many times I tell him humans take a while to fully boot up after rest periods—he hears I'm awake and comes in guns blazing.
"Still sleeping," I grunt beneath my well-worn quilt.
"Lie. Grace not sleeping. How talk if sleeping, question?"
"No mission. No need to wake up yet. Still sleeping."
"Lazy human. Why sex organ engorged, question? Thought should only engorge during mating or injury. You are injured, question?"
Oh. Yeah, now I feel it—the tumescent pulse of heat radiating from between my thighs. During the initial Astrophage-focused months living with Rocky my body was so stressed that I wasn't even getting morning erections. A three-year coma, medically induced amnesia, and trying to save not one but two species will do that. Although, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not sure how much of this hard-on is simple morning wood versus the result of a newly remembered dream I'm just hit with. One involving a lot of hip gyrations and… wait—and a suspiciously hard, three-fingered appendage…??
Eesh, I am not about to unpack that.
"Not an injury, bud," I murmur, "don't worry. Normal human thing."
"Explain."
I groan loudly, but give up the ghost of sleep and roll onto my back, scrubbing at my eyes. Even if Rocky did let me try, I'm too awake to drift off again now.
"Fine!" I say with as much annoyance as I can muster. I sit up and watch as he descends from the bubble of xenonite above my bed alcove to get within eye level of me.
"Okay, so," I take a breath and try to focus on the clinical aspect of this whole thing before my face gets hot enough that my eyebrows burn off, "penises engorge when humans come out of sleep because of how our nervous system works. Lots of hormones and chemicals are released at that time. This probably wasn't happening during the mission because my body was incredibly stressed. Plus, I doubt that special sleep I was in on my way to Tau Ceti helped either. Just means I'm healthy now."
There, explanation accomplished!
"Happy Grace healthy, but still confused. If not injured then Grace want mate now, question?"
Yeeeeup, of course that'd be his next thought. I bite my lip and turn to stare daggers into the protrusion of blanket around my hips, willing myself to soften with a burning fury. Funnily enough, this is one of the few times in my life I've had this problem and not the opposite.
Awesome.
"No, no, I'm not—this isn't that. Yeah, my penis will get hard when my body is preparing to mate, but that's not the only reason. Human bodies are weird." I force an awkward chuckle and pray that this will satisfy Rocky's curiosity. I may have taught a heck of a lot of sex-ed classes as a middle school teacher, but somehow those experiences aren't translating to talking boners with my genius rock-spider alien buddy. What a surprise.
He considers for a moment, then straightens slightly. "Human bodies weird and disgust. Yes. But, if good for Grace, then happy happy happy."
And thank Christmas, that's the end of it.
"Cool, thanks, bud," I say. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to wait for this to go away and get some coffee."
It was not the end of it.
Three days later, I'm woken by my name being called in high notes of concern. As soon as I recognize Rocky's discordant squeals of worry, I bolt upright.
"Rocky? 'S wrong? Ship okay? Taumoeba still contained?"
My eyes, still blurry with sleep, frantically comb the room to find him practically glued to the panel directly to my right, tapping agitatedly.
"Finally, Grace awake!"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake! What's wrong?! Everything okay?"
"I am fine. You not. You make pain noise in sleep." He points to my hips. "Sex organ release fluid. Rocky worry much much much. Grace okay, question? Grace dying, question?!"
My eyebrows shoot up, and my face flushes in record time. I take a moment to catalog my body. Elevated heart rate. Tingling numbness making my limbs feel pleasantly warm and heavy. Peeking beneath the waistband of my briefs there's, sure enough, semen sticking between the cotton and the crook of my hip.
Cool. That's just great. I suppose I should be happy it was just me unloading my sleep and not, you know, another Taumoeba leak, or the Borg showing up to assimilate us. Though… no, scratch that, this is probably worse, because now I have to explain wet dreams to a pushy alien that can't just let my weird, gross human body be weird and gross.
I let out a despairing groan and tip my head back, covering my face with my hands.
"Grace answer! You sick, question?!"
"No, yeah, I'm fine," I mumble into my palms. "Sorry I worried you. It's normal."
"Explain."
Yeah, saw that one coming.
"It's a… private thing for humans, Rock. Healthy biological function."
"Explain better, statement!" He thumps aggressively against the hull. "Grace body acting too different lately to be healthy."
I lower my hands and give him an imploring look. "Can't I at least, ya know, clean up??" I try, knowing my efforts are futile.
"No. You make me worry. Do not understand how pain noise and organ expelling new fluid during sleep healthy. Explain now now now."
"Ugh, fine!" I throw my hands up in exasperation, but stop fighting the inevitable. I think, ever since Rocky saw me get injured over Adrian, he's decided human bodies are so frail that I'm essentially forever on the brink of death. I try not to take it personally.
"Okay, so I explained the concept of dreams to you before, right? Well, since I'm not regularly, erm—engaging in any kind of sexual release, human dreams will sometimes veer into…" I really want to die right now. If the airlock were in the dormitory, it'd be game over for us.
"Well, basically my brain will dream about mating, and I'll release my gametes in my sleep." I vomit out the words so fast they string together into a jumbled mess, followed by a painfully long silence that probably lasted all of three seconds but felt like days.
Finally, Rocky bobs his carapace in a sort of nod. It's cute, the little human mannerisms he's picked up over the months. "Understand. Eridian body has somewhat similar process. Did not produce egg even after cycle ♬♫♪♪♫ stop working."
Say what now? I sit up, grimacing at the sensation gliding around in my underwear, but that can wait. Apparently, there's new Eridian biology to learn about!
"Wait, what was that word after cycle?"
"♬♫♪♪♫. Like medicine that stops egg from being made. Had much much much after crew… after crew die. But since Rocky in Tau Ceti so long medicine eventually went bad and stopped working. Still, body did not resume egg cycle because GraceRocky were busy saving stars!" He gives a little jazz hands at that.
Huh. Well, color me intrigued. If his body shut down its mating prerogatives like mine, did that mean Rocky was producing eggs again? I wonder what that would look like, assuming he laid them out of his 'everything hole'. He told me the basics when we first discussed reproduction, but now I'm thinking it might be worth asking to obser—no. No, if it’s anything like him eating, I decide I vehemently do not want to see that.
I swallow the rest of my questions and continue.
"Right, exactly! But now that we're going home—well, going to Erid," I amend with a pang of melancholy, "—it seems like my body is getting back to business as usual." I don't mention that this is probably a conditioned response to months of waxing the carrot on the daily for the first time in my entire life. I don't do well with boredom.
"So, sex organ ♬♫♫♩ released reproductive material, question? Reflex. Not on purpose."
"'Involuntary'," I supply. "And yeah, essentially. It's a bit—it's embarrassing for humans."
"Why, question?"
I shrug, running a hand through my bed-head. "Dunno, really. Sex is a very private thing for us: social discomfort. Our bodies doing anything involuntary is kind of weird—like a lack of control. If you have no one to reproduce with to the point your body takes over and forces you to, well, do this," I gesture to my treacherous crotch, "it's embarrassing."
Rocky takes a moment to think this over before singing out a pensive, "… Understand." I'm curious what he's thinking, and I almost push him further, but then I shift again and receive a rather unpleasant reminder that I still have globs of cold, thick jizz sticking between folds of skin.
I shudder, letting out a disgusted eugh.
"Great. Glad we cleared that up. Can I clean up now?"
"Yes. Thank for explanation." Rocky turns toward his workbench. "Grace good teacher even though also gross human. School children were lucky."
I smirk at that. "Glad you think so."
Okay, this really needs to stop. For the third time in a week, I'm waking up with my underwear glued to my penis via my own spunk.
"Oh. My. God." I growl through gritted teeth.
"Grace release more fluid during sleep again," Rocky comments from where he's currently tinkering with something at his workbench a few feet from me.
"Yeeeup." I shimmy out of my sleeping area and grimace at the sensation of my skin sliding against itself, everything moist and cold and gooey.
"Humans so disgust. Cannot believe you evolved to always leak, even in sleep."
I shimmy out of my underwear and toss them into the crate I've designated as the dirty clothes hamper before rifling around the 'clean clothes' crate for a fresh pair. They're a bit on the small side, probably Yao's then. I don't love wearing my crewmates' clothing and avoid it when I can, but the thing is that I only have so many clothes aboard this ship… and I really can't afford to keep coming in them.
"Again, no disagreements with that statement, bud." I turn to Armando and ask for coffee. I only have another three months of bean juice left, so I've been trying to ration, but this morning definitely calls for it.
"If body continue to release gametes in sleep maybe you sleep with bag on sex organ. A least then no mess on clothing."
Always the engineer, my friend is. And I'm desperate enough to actually consider it. I mean, I'm not gonna do it, obviously. Sleeping with a baggy stuck on my genitals sounds like a terrible idea, but the real pickle here is that I can't actually… do laundry.
The Hail Mary was supposed to be a one-way trip. She'd been packed with enough clothes for a few months of continuous wear for the entire crew, but when I call for laundry, Armando just takes my clothes and stores them in a mystery compartment, never to be seen again. (Yes, I could access it, but that compartment contains a shirt I puked in the first time I was in Zero-G, so… I'm just gonna let it fester where I can't see or smell it.)
My water system is closed, but there's still only so much I have access to at any one time. So, for me, 'laundry' has become wetting the smelliest parts of my clothes, freezing them to kill the odor-causing bacteria, and voila: clean-ish clothing. It's been working well enough over the months, but as soon as actual contaminants are introduced—i.e., my special sauce—my life suddenly becomes much harder when it comes to cleaning my clothes without wasting too much soap and water.
So, I'm really up a creek here. Why, why did I decide it was a good idea to pass the time by jerking my way home to Earth?! I unwittingly conditioned my body to expect a daily 5-on-1 session, and now it's clearly taking matters into its own hands. Plus, God knows how gnarly of a reputation I'm building for my species in the eyes of my Eridian companion right now. I silently apologize to Rocky that, out of anyone humanity could've sent, I'm the guy he's stuck experiencing first contact with.
"I think I'm gonna have to figure out another solution," I murmur despairingly, crawling back onto my mattress pad with coffee and a laptop in hand. I'm putting my Taumoeba farm maintenance on hold this morning in lieu of some soothing Star Trek time, and no one can stop me!
"What is solution, question?" Rocky asks.
"I'll let you know when I decide on one."
My solution is the obvious one, and the one I most dreaded. I could wait for Rocky to sleep but I have a couple of hangups with that idea. One being that his resting time is highly variable, meaning I'd be waiting around for him to conk out so I could cock out and that just seems… a little creepy. And second, for 'entire crew died on my watch' reasons, Rocky gets really agitated when he wakes up and I'm not around. So, I'd need to remain in the same room while doing the deed.
Since my body has chosen violence—being that it simply refuses to fall back into sexual dormancy, no matter how nicely I ask—I'm left with one viable option.
I'd been fidgety all morning, choosing to hold off on 'the talk' until after my routine of breakfast and Taumoeba farm maintenance. Still, now that it was here, I couldn't help contemplating reneging on my chosen decision. Maybe I could continue my days pretending I wasn't constantly itching to shove a hand down my pants!
Too bad my dwindling stash of erectoplasm-free underwear didn't have that kind of time.
So…
"Rocky, I need to ask you something."
He was busy with the laptop I'd given him, the droning of text-to-speech he used to read too quiet for me to make out, especially with the device holed up in a xenonite box so it didn't fry in his atmosphere. Still, his carapace twitches in the way I know he's paying attention to me.
"Yes?"
I shift my weight, anxiously gnawing at a nail. I'd taught thirteen-year-olds about erections, but, for some reason, admitting that I have inescapable sexual urges to a sexually mature alien seven times my age is a level of mortification I can't stomach.
"So—it—we—you remember human reproduction processes, right?"
Rocky makes a curt sound like a train horn—an exasperated sigh.
"Yes, obviously. Rocky memory much better than friend Grace."
Obviously. I know I'm stating the obvious, stalling really, but doing so gives me a few extra seconds of savoring the last remnant of dignity I'm about to masticate into dust in the name of my rebellious libido. I scratch the back of my neck, hesitating. Rocky, seeming to sense my anxiety, abandons the laptop and approaches.
"Grace nervous. Heart beat very loud. You okay, question? Have bad news, question?" His tone is calm, but growing clipped with concern.
"Nothing like… bad, I guess," I falter. "I mean, maybe it is, depending on your perspective on this stuff. You don't need to worry or anything. I'm not, like, sick. At least, not yet. We'll see how—"
"Grace," Rocky cuts in flatly. "What is it, question?"
"Okay! Okay," I hold my hands up in a mollifying surrender, "so, you know I've been having uh… wet dreams. Ejaculating—releasing genetic material—in my sleep."
Rocky bobs his carapace. "Yes. Leaky space blob. Healthy to leak from everywhere, even when unconscious. Very gross and inefficient."
You're telling me, pal.
"Yeah, well, there's a way to stop—or at least lessen—how often that happens."
He waits for me to continue, swaying side to side in a sort of restless intrigue. I exhale slowly, shaking out my arms like I'm about to attempt a world record deadlift instead of telling my best friend I need to masturbate. Those are comparable things, right? Come on, Ryland, you got this.
"If I… stimulate myself manually, my body won't do that when I'm sleeping. At least, not as often."
Rocky is silent for approximately one-point-five seconds before bursting into a symphony of excited chitters. Oh god.
"Grace can self-mate, question? Amaze! I assume human body continue to release gametes involuntarily like egg cycle. So, you can fully control release of reproductive material, question?" He actually does an excited little twirl at that, complete with jazz hands and everything. Oh lordy, this is the last part of human biology I want Rocky to be obsessed with.
Of course, there's also the scientist in me that doesn't miss the fact that it seems masturbation isn't a thing for Eridians, and now I want to ask Rocky about pleasure responses during mating. What even is pleasure for his species?
From a biological standpoint, humans evolved physiological pleasure responses to incentivize attempting copulation. Considering our common genetic ancestry and similar developmental history, I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility for Eridians to experience some form of enjoyment during sex, right? It wasn't exactly a topic either of us had been keen on delving too far into during our early biology talks.
My brain reels as I try to hypothesize what Eridian pleasure may look like, given our anatomical differences. Surely sound is important, but considering their entire body is basically a really sensitive microphone maybe there'd be room to play with vibrations aaaand now my johnson is chubbing up. Great, I'm that scientist who gets hard thinking about science. Couldn't get it up with my human girlfriend half the time, but rock sex? Apparently, that's the ticket.
Rocky, meanwhile, has gone still. At least, still until he taps the ground again, and suddenly he's exploding in a cacophony of honks and snorts that my half-fluent-in-Eridian head struggles to keep up with. I glance over to the translation laptop I'd set up as a fail-safe for this exact situation. I usually keep it nearby if I feel we're going to have an important conversation.
"Grace organ engorge! Grace human body desire self-mate now! Amaze amaze amaze!"
I flush lobster red, turning back toward him and frantically waving my hands in front of my face. I'm tripping over my words as I try to explain it's just an autonomic reaction. Unsurprisingly, I'm ignored.
Rocky practically barrels into the xenonite, tapping aggressively, and right now I'm really, really wishing he didn't use echolocation since he can see through my clothing and, essentially, I'm constantly giving him full-frontal. The only difference is that this time he's scrutinizing not just my weird, squishy body, but my quickly un-squishifying penis as I continue to harden despite the searing burn of mortification.
"I observe! Will watch process of manual release of human gametes. Even if gross. Also very interesting. Human body so different to Eridian. Disgust! But also fascinating. Science!" Another set of jazz hands. Once again, I regret the lack of an airlock in my dormitory.
Finally, I'm able to string together a sentence through my desperate stammering. "Absolutely not, bud. I'm going to do this on the opposite side of the ship."
"I will hear regardless," he retorts.
"Hear less, and that's the key. Sex is a private thing for humans, Rock. Private private. Social discomfort."
Rocky stomps in an angry circle. I've never met an Eridian that dislikes the word 'no' more than him, and I doubt I will even after I take up residence on his planet. (Of course, that's assuming I don't starve or die of cancer before that or, heck, bonk my head slightly too hard on the plethora of sharp edges present within the Mary herself.)
"If so private why even tell me, question? You understand Eridian sleep different to human, correct, question? Could have performed self-mate then. Now, Grace just tease me with promise of doing new human biological function too far away for clear observation."
"Well, I thought it'd be, I dunno, rude to jerk off while you were asleep!" I snap, tossing my hands up in the air.
"Need word!" Rocky spits.
"It's a euphemism for self-mating!" I shoot back angrily.
[Conflict detected between crew members,] Mary pipes up. [Recommend the following resolution protoco—]
"We're fine!" I huff, and Mary, blessedly, shuts up. At least irritation killed my boner, except now we're just standing in fetid, frustrated silence.
After a moment, Rocky lowers his carapace slightly, seeming to calm down.
"Fine, Grace do whatever Grace want. I will not try to observe if not welcome," he says defeatedly.
Relief courses through my veins, warm and syrupy, and I breathe out a heavy sigh, running a hand through my hair.
"Thanks for understanding, bud." My lips quirk into a grateful smile. "It's, ya know, human culture stu—"
"But will remind that Grace bullied Rocky into observing private eating time. It is private private private and I still let you observe even though much social discomfort."
The smile evaporates from my face like water on the surface of the sun. That little… fudging… I don't know why I'm shocked that Rocky is guilt-tripping me, but I am. Curse the powers-that-be for sending me an alien buddy that is so much like me—too much!—because holy cannoli can I be annoying.
But with that, I deflate, because Rocky is right, and he knows he's right. It's only fair, and if being a teacher has instilled anything in me, it's an inability to ignore injustice. Still, I scrub a hand over my face and muster as much annoyance as I can into a drawn-out groan. The death knell of my protestations.
"Fiiiine. Fine, you can watch." Rocky trills with elation, carapace bobbing wildly. "But-!" I add, jabbing a finger toward him, " just this once. This will probably need to be a regular deal for me, and I'm not agreeing to you watching every time. Got it?"
Rocky gives me the affirmative thumbs down, and I'm weirdly reminded of Terminator 2, only the T-1000's thumb is the last remnant of my sanity sinking into that vat of molten metal. I take a steadying breath.
Let the experiment commence.
Alrighty, so, here I am. Sitting on a mattress pad. On the ground. In my underpants. Face to… carapace with my best friend as he patiently waits for me to get hard.
Funnily enough, picking a spot to, uh—do the deed was not as easy as one might think. All the instruments in the lab were installed for use while standing, so no chairs (made sense; Zero-G isn't exactly kind to items not bolted down). Similarly, Rocky couldn't get on my bunk, considering it simply juts away from the ship's hull, and isn't exactly rated for the weight of two people—let alone a human and a ~300lb Eridian.
So, after some reluctant pacing and maybe a sip or two of Ilhyukna's prized and highly rationed vodka, I elected that getting as comfortable as I could on the floor was the best move. I had the mattress pad for cushioning (and to keep my buns from freezing against the metal flooring), medical-grade lubricant by my side, and an increasingly restless alien in a glorified hamster ball not four feet away. Real sexy stuff.
"Grace take too long. Say need to be comfortable. Say need supplies. Stalling. You self-mate now now now." Rocky punctuates each 'now' with a stomp of his claw, and all I can think of is how my friend is one heck of a demanding bedmate… and I proceed to cringe out of my skin at that line of thought. Leave it to me to make this situation even weirder.
"I'm trying, Rock," I grumble. "Being comfortable and relaxed is an important part of arousal with humans. I can't just will my penis into action."
"Human body stupid. Leaks reproductive fluids during sleep but when Grace ready to self-mate it does not cooperate. Do not understand how humans evolved to be ultimate Earth predator."
I roll my eyes and tap my head. "If you're smart enough, evolution doesn't care if you're a leaky space blob."
Rocky huffs his vents. "Grace not even smart all of the time. Get stupid when need sleep or very emotional. Would not last a day on Erid, statement."
"Excuse you, who discovered the Taumoeba?"
"Who built Taumoeba collector, question?"
"Who came back for you after the Taumoeba got loose?!"
"Who did not think Taumoeba would evolve to escape xenonite, question?!"
"Ugh, okay, okay," I concede. Bickering about survival of the fittest might be fun for my brain, but my downstairs is thoroughly disinterested in the topic, so I drop it. "Just… lemme focus for a second, 'k?"
Rocky honks an affirmative, and I close my eyes. I should've just broken down and grabbed one of the laptops for some visual aid, but, honestly, that never did it for me, even when I didn't have a sentient rock scrutinizing my every muscle spasm. When it came to 'me time' I typically could focus on physical sensation alone, and my hand would deliver me to the promised land unassisted. Only, now I was feeling exceedingly self-conscious. A feeling that grew from an itch to a brand along the whole of my dermis as the minutes slid by and I remained resolutely flaccid.
Rocky, expectedly, runs out of patience pretty quickly.
"Nothing is happening."
"Statement," I supply flatly. "This isn't working." At least I'm more than used to performance issues in this department, so I can't find it within me to feel too self-conscious about it.
Rocky hums thoughtfully, then perks up. "I assist!"
My eyes just about fall out of my head with how hard they bulge.
"Wha-?!"
He stomps enthusiastically. "Yes! Grace organ engorged previously when I expressed excitement about human reproduction. You like when Rocky compliment you, even though it makes your ego too big. I will do now. For science!"
Jiminy Christmas, he wants to talk me through it.
And why did I just twitch at that idea?!
"See!" Rocky chirrups, pointing at my crotch. "Body immediately redirected blood toward sex organ. You are aroused. I take back calling human body stupid, body smart smart smart right now. Want to show me self-mate even when Grace nervous."
Oh my god. Oh my god, no, why did I find that hot? I try to center myself, but my equilibrium is back over Adrian's atmosphere, spinning out of control, only this time there's no way to jettison the ruptured fuel tanks. I'm torn between the fact that I promised Rocky a show, and this might be the way to deliver it, and the newly birthed mass of undulating confusion writhing around my guts about why I'm finding the process of my best friend—who is, I remind myself, a living rock—praising me while I take care of business so enticing.
"Hokay," I exhale shakily, pressing a hand to my eyes beneath my glasses. There's no way to mentally prep myself for this, but I do my darnedest because the fact is that I'm horny, alright? I'm horny, and I can't keep coming in my dwindling supply of underpants, and if the only way I can finish in this moment is with my friend's 'assistance' then I'm up a creek, and Rocky has the gosh darn paddle.
So, I steel my nerves and allow my hand to begin a slow descent from my face.
"Grace respiration increasing. Sex organ stiffening," Rocky sings in low, considering tones. "New functions of human body fascinating."
I bite my lip. There's so much I need to unpack here. Rocky's quietly melodious notes drape over my brain like a dryer-warmed quilt, instantly relaxing every single uncertainty and muscle fiber. I shudder through my exhale as my fingers cascade over a nipple where it hardens beneath my shirt. I catalog the curve of my ribs, the yielding softness of my stomach, and finally allow my hand to rest along the juncture of my hip next to my rapidly thickening arousal.
"Amaze. Skin tightening all over Grace body. Why, question?"
"It's the, uh—" I falter as I move both hands to my inner thighs and lightly scratch at the skin just beneath the edges of my underwear, reveling in the bite against my sensitized nerves. "The activation of my nervous system. The one that controls my 'fight or flight' response."
"Fight or flight? Sex organ dangerous when engorged, question?"
I chuckle. "No. At least I don't think so. Maybe if I had a massive schlong or something," I laugh at my own joke, only to cut myself off with a pleased sigh as I cup my erection. I'm almost fully hard now, and while I'm by no means crazy aroused, I'm far enough along to listen to my body's plea for more. "The areas that control sex and fear responses in the br—ah—brain are close together."
"Your body so strange. Need to be relaxed during mate only to stop relax. Like now, your respiration is fast. Heart fast. Everything fast fast fast."
"What's mating like for you, then?" I blurt the question before I even realize what I'm saying, and my stomach proceeds to lurch downward. Regardless of whether or not Rocky understands arousal in the same way I do, this is surely not an appropriate topic to breach during this… experiment. You know? The one where I'm currently in the process of palming my increasingly eager erection through my briefs.
Rocky remains unmoving for a moment, looking more boulder than living being, before hesitantly saying: "Grace… already knows about Eridian reproduction."
My hand stalls. I purse my lips. Rocky is giving me an out here, I think. Maybe he does understand that this weird 'experiment' has a bunch of loaded and unspoken connotations. It's easy to fall into the trap of infantilizing him due to his simplified speech at times (listen, I'm working on my Eridian grammar, okay? I've never been great with language!), but this guy is a gosh darn genius and literally hundreds of years older than me. Maybe he's a little more like me than I care to admit, namely in finding his companion's wholly alien genitalia as scientifically engaging as it is strangely… erotic.
I see the moment of bifurcation in our relationship—the one where we remain platonic, alien buddies, and the one where I take this puppet show too far. I taste it on my tongue. I smell it in the air. I say screw it, and double down.
"Yeah, I know the basics, just like you do about humans." I start petting my erection again, just enough to keep myself hard. "But I'm curious about you, too, Rock. Earlier, you seemed surprised I could mate whenever I want. Are Eridians incapable of masturbation?"
"Need word."
"This. Self-mating. Stimulating your release of reproductive material."
He sways, cooing a contemplative melody. "Egg release… can be performed without a partner. But no pleasure. Biological function like eating. Can only do when body has fully formed eggs in ♫♪♫."
Well, now color me officially intrigued. I almost want to stop so I can concentrate on understanding this newfound knowledge about my friend. My throat swells with a hundred questions, each vying to be the first one freed, and the battle between my horndog hindbrain and scientific frontal lobe starts going at it in earnest.
Rocky points to my crotch, stating sharply, "Not time for Eridian biology lesson. Grace breeding time."
Ough, I feverishly tamp down the stomach lurch of arousal from that domineering command, instead choosing to pout but move to dip my fingers beneath my waistband. "Eugh, please don't refer to this as 'breeding time', bud."
It's been weeks since I got a proper hand on myself, and at the first brush of finger pads along my arousal—warm and rigid—I exhale sharply. If you asked the version of myself that existed before getting hauled off onto a suicide mission, whether I could miss jerking off bad enough to do it in front of my future alien best friend, I'd say you were nuts. Maybe the Taumoeba food experiments I've been fiddling with are messing with my brain chemistry, because at this moment, just squeezing myself is almost as enjoyable as working in Mary's state-of-the-art lab.
Almost.
"So your egg release is cyclical? Are you… would it be rude to ask if you're currently… you know…?" My eyes screw shut with embarrassment. I'm not sure why I'm being so awkward about the question, considering the situation. 'Would it be rude?' Gosh, I don't know Ryland. What constitutes as rude when you're masturbating and asking your buddy if he's on his egg period?
Rocky doesn't answer for a moment, and I'm about to tell him to forget it, that I'll shut up until I'm done, but he beats me to it. Solid warmth blooms against one of my calves, and I open my eyes to see he's inched his ball a little closer between my splayed legs. Christ on a cracker, do I wish he had a face right now. A physically expressionless rock is incredibly difficult to read.
"Grace remove clothing and I tell."
Oh. Alrighty then. We're not just doing science anymore… are we?
His tones are low and dulcet sweetness pouring into my ear canals. They slip past my tympanic membrane, swirl to the center of my cochlea, and travel up my vestibular nerves to invade whatever negative space lies between my brain and skull. My eyes roll back as my vocal cords release a throaty groan I didn't tell them to make and suddenly I'm shirtless, lifting my butt to push my underwear down my thighs.
I don't even remember moving.
"Okay, there. Clothes are off. Happy?" I huff, annoyed at my own obedience, and add a grumbling, "Dunno why you care—can see through 'em anyway."
"You don't want to leak all over your clothing, right? That is whole point of self-mate for Rocky, because Grace cannot control self."
My stomach swoops a few more degrees. The heat steadily roiling within me begins to bubble over, radiating not just from between my legs, but now down my neck and lower back in throbbing waves of want. I'm ashamed to admit it, but clearly my body has officially punched its one-way ticket aboard the 'Rocky talks Ryland off' train.
Still, I'm nothing if not stubborn.
"Jeez, you're making me sound like some kind of animal," I say as I'm simultaneously pulsing out a viscous bead of pre-ejaculate. Doesn't exactly help my case.
"Disgust," Rocky snorts, but shuffles closer, tapping his claw relentlessly against the floor of his ball. Take a picture, bud, it'll last longer.
"Yeah, well, you knew I was gonna be extra leaky during this, so I'm not apologizing for that. Now, come on," I rip the top off of a lube packet and squeeze the contents into my palm. "I'm all naked and lubed up, so tell me about your eggs."
And wow. That's, uh—certainly not a sentence I ever thought I'd say.
"Grace rude. You ask me a very personal question and did not even say 'please'."
I roll my eyes with an exaggerated groan. "Bossy."
Rocky waits expectantly.
Fine. "Please."
"Good Grace." The heat twitches in my hand as I begin to stroke, and I immediately realize that I'm fighting a losing battle of not developing a kink for Rocky's compliments.
"Eggs must be passed average of every twenty-seven Earth days," he explains, swaying slightly as he continuously taps his claw. I'm not sure if I should be grateful or concerned by his aberrant investment in the visuals here. "Like I said earlier, can be pleasurable only with a partner. If Eridian is alone, egg release just like eat or sleep."
"So you guys can choose to experience sexual enjoyment when you release your eggs?"
"Yes. Pleasure make easier. Not necessary but… emotionally as well as physically rewarding."
I'm sitting up now, shamelessly leaning forward and stroking with long, savoring pulls as I take in Rocky's soft, lilting song. Is this the way he speaks to a lover? Rather than the harsh and clipped snorts of his authoritarian side or the tittering chirps of playfulness, the notes are deep—velvety and resonant. It's… enchanting.
"How's that work?" I press. "You said you can only achieve pleasure with a—hah—a partner. What do they do that makes laying eggs feel good?"
Rocky looks hesitant for a moment. Well, if a boulder can look like much of anything other than a boulder. For a moment, I worry I've finally found the line carved through the sand between us and have driven a dump truck over it. My hand falters until Rocky exhales a thick blast from his vents and answers: "Mate tap carapace and… sing."
"Sing?"
"Yes. Low notes. Human ear cannot perceive. Is called ♩♬♬."
My hand picks up the pace and, because the lube is starting to turn sticky and I'm sorta past the point of rational thought here, I quickly hawk a fat wad of spit into my palm to continue my ministrations. Rocky actually flinches, whip-cracking my eardrums with a sharp: "Grace disgust!"
"Yeah, yeah," I sigh, uncaring. "What's that like? The—the singing?"
Impending orgasm begins to whisper at the base of my spine—a tight incandescence slowly being nurtured from kindling to flame by the quickened drag of my palm. I pause to massage my frenulum and run my hand over my tip a few times. Just because I can.
Just because, secretly, shamefully, I don't think I want this to end.
"Mate song stimulates carapace ♪♫♪. Feels very good. Sensation all over body. Help relax ♩♪♪♬♩ to encourage egg release. Also tapping in special places very enjoyable. Concentrated vibrations."
I scrunch my face—pursing my lips in a vain attempt to mask how much this is turning me on. Sweat is beading on my forehead and upper lip. I know it was just my imagination, but I could swear that Rocky's voice had a hint of an unsteady warble just now. Is it a revulsion toward my body, or something else? Maybe something more… perverse. I'm both parts deeply ashamed and unconscionably aroused at the notion that watching me is getting him off somehow. Rationally, I know it's a stupid, horny-brain thought, but I don't beat it back as hard as I should.
He takes another step forward, nudging the ball as close as it can get, stationed between the V of my splayed legs. Xenonite is an amazing insulator, but man! These panels are flippin' hot where they rest against the insides of my knees. I can almost hear the sizzling of my skin. Hear the crackling pops of subcutaneous fat as my epidermis melts away.
I don't move.
"I… miss ♩♬♬," he continues, his humming rich and languid. He hasn't stopped tapping his claw for a millisecond. "Have not heard in many, many, many years. Miss feeling good like you are now. Wish you could hear my ♩♬♬ if I sang. Wish Grace could make me—"
I should be concerned with the flash of pure, unbridled lust that tears through me listening to Rocky's decadently soothing harmony. I should pause to ask him to define the words I didn't understand and log them on the laptop. I should be fantasizing about a past memory of sex, or focusing on how good my hand feels, or at least be thinking of my own species for Pete's sake! Yet, when I unexpectedly come, all I'm thinking about is how badly I want to see Rocky shudder with pleasure at the sound of my voice, as he releases his eggs in a messy spread of mercury.