by Ruby Dixon
I'll hide Sophie while he's here. No one ever stays long anyhow, and I make sure they don't feel welcome.
When I head back to my quarters, Sophie's still asleep, the carinoux pressed against her back and sprawled across my bed. Doesn't leave me a lot of options; I can't work and wake her up, can't join her in bed. So I make a big batch of noodles and when it's simmering quietly on the burner, I try to find those books I know I have around here somewhere. I imagine the smile on Sophie's face and it motivates me to keep digging, even when my limbs start to ache.
By the time I find them, my bad arm is jumping, the circuits flaring with feedback. I knew it'd happen, so I ignore it and pull out the small crate with the human artifacts. I don't know what half of it is, but I hope she likes it.
When I return to my quarters, she's awake, though still lying in bed. The big carinoux is gone and Sophie is alone. She wriggles a little deeper under the blankets, until her bare shoulders are covered, and blushes as she looks over at me. "I'm naked."
"Didn't realize you slept in clothing." I set the crate down for later, when she's feeling better. There's no rush, and I don't want to seem too eager.
"Don't you?"
I shrug, acutely aware that I'm not wearing a tunic myself. I rub my bad arm, teasing away some of the worst of the feedback, and then grab one of my tops and sling it over my head. I pull a second one out and move to her side. "You can wear this. The sleeves are big enough that they shouldn't bother your hands."
She licks her lips, hesitating. "I can't hold the blanket up." She moves the rounded mitts of her hands.
"Like I haven't seen breasts before? I washed you earlier, remember?"
"I know," Sophie says in a small voice. "I just feel weird about this. Like I'm shoving my nudity on you."
"You aren't. Don't feel weird, okay? I know if you were feeling better you wouldn't show me, so don't worry about it. I'm not going to grab my cock to the sight of some bare skin. Give me a little credit."
Her cheeks flush and she tries to sit up, using her elbows. It makes her fascinatingly quiver-y breasts shudder as she does, and I avert my gaze, putting a hand to her back to help her up. "I guess human bodies probably seem weird to you, huh?"
"Hideous," I joke, but it sounds flat even to my own ears. I pull the tunic over her head as if she's a child and carefully pull her arms through. "You hungry?"
A look of horror crosses her face. "You're going to have to feed me, aren't you?"
"Unless you feel like shoving your face into a bowl of noodles."
She appears to consider it for a moment. "I…could eat a dry one. Or a ration bar. Do you have any of those?"
"No." I don't keep the keffing things around because they remind me of my time in the military, when we ate ration bars day in and day out. "And the noodles are already made."
"I'm so sorry to be such a pain, Jerrok. I feel terrible." She hangs her head. "I know it's a huge inconvenience."
She's so full of apologies, she's making me feel like a damned monster. Meanwhile, all I can think about is that I get to touch her for the next few days. I get to brush my fingers over her skin every chance I can. I get to have her in my bed so I can look after her. I get to bathe her.
It makes me the worst kind of male for even thinking such things, doesn't it?
32
SOPHIE
Everything hurts.
The dull, throbbing pain in my hands feels like it's spread to the rest of my limbs, and no matter what I do, I can't tune it out. It wakes me up out of my sleep, leaving me whimpering and restless.
"Shhh," comes a familiar, warm voice. A hand touches my shoulder. "Drink this."
Jerrok. I open my eyes and give him a woeful smile. "I'm a huge pain in the ass today, aren't I?"
"The worst," he agrees, but his words have no bite. He helps me sit up, and this time, I ignore the blanket that falls around my waist. Who cares if I'm showing my tits to the universe? My hands hurt too badly to give a shit. He tilts a cup to my lips, and when I realize the liquid's hot, I try to pull away. "No," he insists. "Drink it. It's going to taste like ooli sweat, but it'll help things."
I sip it and grimace. "What is it?"
"Just a bit of cell stimulant to help the healing along…mixed with a bit of alcohol so you'll forget how bad it tastes." He props me against his shoulder. "I'm sorry you hurt so badly." He awkwardly pulls the blanket over me, trying to cover up all my naked parts. "I didn't realize your hands were that bad."
"Neither did I." I lean against him, because it's comforting that someone's taking care of me. It's nice to be able to whine about how much I hurt and not expect a slap across the mouth for speaking up. It's nice to lean against someone, and when he rubs my shoulder gently, I want to cry with how…kind it is. "Thank you, Jerrok."
"For?"
"Everything." I turn ever so slightly, trying to look at him, and I just end up sticking my nose against his throat. His scent hits me, one part mesakkah, one part male musk, and just a hint of machine oil. It's comforting, and I take a deep breath, and somehow I feel a little better.
I wait for him to push me away, but he seems content to just hold me, and it's the nicest. I close my eyes and rest against him, trying to ignore everything but his warm, solid presence. Of course, my bladder has to make its presence known, and I fight back a sigh of frustration, because I know that's something I can't handle on my own. "I have to pee."
He doesn't make a face or tease me about it. He just helps me up and tends to my business, and I'm utterly grateful that there's no humiliation in it. He's just helping me out. I think about his prosthetics, and how hurt he must have been while his limbs healed. Someone helped him once; he's being kind by just passing it along.
Jerrok helps me back to bed, and hesitates. "Do you want to shower? Eat?"
I shake my head, placing my bandaged hands carefully over the blankets. "Where's Sleipnir?"
"I closed him in the terrarium while I was taking care of you. I didn't want him mauling me if you cried out in pain."
Smart. The carinoux loves me, but I'm not sure if he'd understand that Jerrok wasn't the one that hurt my hands. "Will you make sure he's fed?"
"No, I thought I'd starve him to punish you for hurting yourself." It sounds more like a tease than anything, and when he tucks the blankets higher around me, I can't help but smile. "What?" he asks.
"I'm keeping you from your work, aren't I?"
He shrugs. "There's no time limit on scrap. It'll get done when it gets done. How are you feeling?" He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead and then jerks back, as if he's done something forbidden.
"I hurt. And I'm tired." I fight back a yawn. "Is that the medicine making me sleepy?"
"Yeah. When you're healing, it's best just to sleep."
"I'm hogging your bed," I point out with another yawn. "How are you going to sleep?"
He hesitates, his gaze flicking over me. "I…slept next to you last night. Just so I could be nearby in case you needed anything. Is that okay?"
I nod, my eyes drifting closed. "I slept good," I tell him. "I hope you did, too."
"I slept great," he says softly as I drift off once more.
I doze off and on all day. Whenever I wake up, Jerrok is there, giving me water to drink, or making me eat a cup of noodles. I get another dose of his medicine-alcohol combo at bedtime and it knocks me right out. I'm only vaguely aware of a big body sleeping curled up against me. It sets off a ping of alarm at first—am I trapped in bed with my owner again?—but when I reach out and find nothing on the other side of me, I relax. Just one person in bed. Just Jerrok. I roll over, my arms tucked against my front and go back to sleep, snuggling against his chest.
I wake up with a metal component pressing against my cheek. It's part of the prosthetic where it attaches to his arm, I recall, and I actually like the sensation because it reminds me that this is Jerrok and not a praxiian. I keep my eyes closed, curled up against him. I know the sensation
can't last, but I love being tended to, being cared for. I didn't realize I was so hungry for it. All this time I've wanted to be independent, to learn how to take care of myself, and the moment a stranger shows me a bit of kindness, I fall apart.
No, I correct myself. Not a stranger. Just Jerrok…my friend.
My friend doesn't care that I'm naked and pressed against him in bed. All he cares about is that I feel safe and secure. God, I wish every guy was like this. I let out a contented little sigh, wanting to stay here forever.
An ear-splitting screech reverberates through the halls of the station.
I jerk, lifting my head.
"That would be your pet," Jerrok murmurs.
"He misses me," I say, sitting up. I examine my hands, as if I can somehow peer through the thick bandages and see how they're looking. They don't throb as much today, which is an improvement. "Maybe we should let him out?"
Jerrok hesitates, and then nods. "If he starts chewing on me, you'll have to pull him off." He gets to his feet, tucks the blankets carefully around me, and then heads down the hall, toward the terrarium. I watch him go, and I can't help but notice that he's wearing his pants—his trou, they call it—in bed. Of course he is—just because I'm naked doesn't mean he's going to be. I also notice that his back is incredibly strong, his muscles flexing…and that he's got scars everywhere.
Poor Jerrok. Life has not been kind to him.
He returns a few moments later, Sleipnir two paces ahead of him. The carinoux has an absolutely indignant look on his face as he moves to my side, sniffing me all over before thumping down into bed next to me and putting his head in my lap. I want to rub his ears, but the bandage-mitts on my hands won't allow it, so I just coo sweet things to my pet and hope he realizes how much I love him.
Jerrok gives the carinoux a sour look and moves to the end of the workstation where he sets up the makeshift stove every night. "You want noodles? Hungry?"
Just like that, he's taking care of me again, and I want to eat it up with a spoon. A girl could get used to this. "Ravenous."
33
SOPHIE
It's not long after Jerrok wipes the last of the noodles from my messy face when I realize that I smell. Not only am I wearing half of my breakfast—it's rough being fed a soup by someone else—but my hair is greasy and lank, and I stink of old sweat. As Jerrok clears the dishes away, I surreptitiously lift an arm and smell one of my pits…and cringe. Oh yeah, that's bad.
"You think we can take these off?" I ask Jerrok, gesturing at my arms. "See how they look?"
He frowns over at me but moves to my side. "Do they hurt?"
"Not much."
"That could be the numbing gel. I'd be surprised if it healed that fast. They were bad burns." But he sits down at my side and unwraps the bandages anyhow, his gaze flicking to me. "We should probably change these out, anyhow."
I say nothing, because I want my hands to be better…and I don't. I want that shower, and I want to get clean…but I also am shamelessly loving being babied. I love that Jerrok is being so tender with me, so attentive. It makes me want all kinds of things and makes my brain fire up. I imagine us as Claire and Jamie for a moment, tending to one another and letting the sexual tension build and build…
Except there's no sexual tension. We're just friends. He barely tolerates me. I hate aliens. We're getting along right now out of boredom, that's all.
A small hiss escapes me as the bandages peel away, sticking to my wounds. My palms are red and the blisters are still terrible looking, but Jerrok seems pleased. "It's coming along nicely."
"It is?" Looks frightful to me, and I'm disappointed because this means another day of being useless.
Are you really that disappointed? my brain silently asks. You like being cosseted.
I do…and I don't. My last owner thought he spoiled me. He made me eat “treats” from his hand and dressed me in fine clothing and had me sit at his feet on a pillow. I hated him so much I wanted to murder him, too, because he never acted like I was a real person, with feelings. I was a thing to him, a pet monkey with a fuckable vagina.
No wonder monkeys rip people's faces off.
But with Jerrok, it's different. He's never demeaning when he tends to me, and that makes all the difference in the world. He feeds me, sure, but it's different. It's all different.
I think about how different it is as Jerrok slathers a fresh round of numbing cream on my burns and carefully re-wraps them in fresh bandages. "You look sad," Jerrok comments.
I shrug. "I wanted to be able to get clean."
"I'll help you with that. I did before."
"I know…but I keep imposing on you." I bite my lip. "You're probably getting sick of seeing my face."
"Only a little."
I glance up at him, not sure how to take that. Is he joking or serious? It's hard to tell with him sometimes, and I worry he's going to be more than ready to pitch me out the door when the va Sithai brothers return. The thought makes me a little sad. I like it here. I wouldn't mind visiting again the next time we're through this area. Just hang out for a few days and spend some downtime with Jerrok, scrapping things and tearing ships apart while Sleipnir gnaws on the metal carcasses.
Except…Sleipnir isn't mine to keep, and Jerrok hates company.
I bite back a sigh. "You sure you don't mind?"
"Even if I did, it's not like you have a choice." His answer is cagey, and he won't look me in the eye, which makes me think he does mind, a lot. That makes me feel worse. "Come on," he says. "Let's get you washed up."
"All right."
He offers me his hand, and even though I can't take it, I smile. I press my elbow into his grip instead and use his weight to maneuver myself up. I hear his joints creak, but he doesn't complain. He doesn't let go of me, either, even when I'm on my feet. He just keeps holding onto me, guiding me to the lavatory as if I'm a princess on his arm instead of a smelly human slave with bad hands. He doesn't look at me, though, and I wonder if he finds human bodies hideous. I'm not all neat, elegant lines like mesakkah females. My hips are too wide, my butt too jiggly, and I unfortunately have larger than average breasts, something I've always lamented. Not because it's cute to coyly suggest that they're too big. It's that they're prominent and noticeable and catch the attention of alien perverts, and so I hate them. If I could, I'd chop them off just so no one looks at me twice ever again. It's sad—once upon a time, I loved my body, but now I just want to be left alone.
Jerrok starts the spray of the shower and then steps in, wearing his trou and boots and everything. The sight makes me giggle, and he looks over at me in surprise.
"You're wearing a lot of clothes for a shower," I point out as I join him.
His cheeks flush in that darker shade of blue. "Figured it'd be rude of me to have my cock in your face." He goes silent, and then his face seems to flush all the way to his horns.
I find that strangely charming. "You're a gentleman," I proclaim, and step toward him.
"Stay out of the spray," he instructs me, putting a wet hand on my shoulder and turning me around. "Keep your bandages dry. I'll clean you and rinse you off."
"Oh. Okay." I can't remember how we did it the other day—I was hurting too much to pay attention—but maybe that was how? All I remember is that his touch was kind and gentle. I close my eyes and wait patiently. I should feel more weirded out that I'm naked in the shower with him, but it's just Jerrok. He's seen me naked. He's touched me everywhere. It's no big deal.
Big, warm hands touch my shoulders, and then a large sponge sluices hot water over my skin. Oh god, that feels good. He does it a second time, wetting my body, and then uses one hand to lift my hair off my nape and washes the back of my neck. It's like a massage, almost, or like being touched by the most tender of lovers.
A little whimper of pleasure escapes me before I realize it, and Jerrok freezes.
34
SOPHIE
Well now I've done it. I've gone and made things a
wkward.
"Sorry," I whisper to Jerrok. His hands are still on my skin, but he's not moving. It's like the shameful noise I made has frozen him in place. "It's just…it's been a while since someone touched me. Not that you haven't touched me. It just felt good and—shit, I'm making this weird. Just ignore me."
He clears his throat. "It's okay. Happens to all of us."
Does it? I suspect it doesn't. But it's nice of him to say so. I bite my lip in silence as he scrubs my back, his movements careful. He's utterly silent and things feel…awkward. Even so, I can't ignore how very nice it feels to be scrubbed and washed. I bathe regularly, of course, but it's different when someone else is tending to you. His touch is the perfect mixture of firm but gentle, and I kind of want it to go on forever. He finishes my shoulders and back and moves down my legs and buttocks, and then back up again.
"Turn, please."
I do, and I can feel myself flushing because my nipples are tight. My skin prickles with awareness, and I can't help but watch him as he sluices more water over my front, adds soap to the sponge, and then begins to wash my front. I suck in a breath as the sponge moves lightly over my breasts, and an ache rises deep inside of me. I'm actually…surprised that I'm turned on. How long has it been since I've been aroused? I don't even like touching myself much anymore. There's too many bad memories mixed up with that. But…I like this. I like his touch. It's tender and caring and it makes my pulse throb between my thighs in a way that feels good and not shameful.