Alien Survivor: (Stranded on Galatea) An Alien SciFi Romance

by Juniper Leigh

  But the belt was beautiful, intricate, delicate, and it was clearly something he treasured. So I wore it with pride for the rest of the day. But when night approached, I stripped down and folded my items, just as Odrik did, and we nestled in together to warm each other through the cold twilight.

  He draped himself over me in slumber, his nakedness pressed up against my own under the cover of the animal fur blankets. I felt the tip of his insistent cock pressed against my backside, but he was snoring gently; he made no move to use the great tool between his two large, muscular thighs. And eventually, the excitement and physical labor of the day gave way to utter exhaustion and I succumbed to the black of deep and dreamless slumber.

  ***

  I was trembling when I woke in the night, tiny little ice crystals on my eyelashes. I tugged the furs over my head and wiggled closer to the strange creature that was my protector, my savior. He shifted groggily in his sleep to accommodate me, turning onto his side so that we might both use his arm for a pillow. The other arm he used to encircle me and hug me close, one of his legs resting on mine so that I was covered in a blanket of him, and it eased my shivering. I breathed the air, still in a night much longer than one on Earth, and felt him grow hard again at the nearness of me. The head of his hardness rested on the inside of my knee, and I don’t know what made me do it, but I found myself scooting down, just a little. I scooted down along the soft furs, my back against his chest, until I could feel him at the velvety entrance between my legs. I moved a little, my bottom pressed against his abdomen, and reached back with one hand to spread myself open enough to feel what it would feel like to take even just the head of that great member inside of me. I was aching with desire; I felt insane with it. Mere days earlier, I had been terrified of this man and his strange horned head, the black depths of his eyes, his shimmering golden skin and black scales. I had been terrified of the sheer size of him, but something raged through me, a yearning for our joining that was so powerful, I felt drugged. Had I been? Stranger things had happened.

  I felt him stir behind me when the tip of his cock found my warm, wet opening. His breathing changed, and he brought his hand up to gently cup my breast. He said something, his voice raised in question, and even without knowing his language, I knew what he was asking: are you sure?

  “Yes. Yes.”

  He pressed his hips forward, sending himself only partly into me, and I gasped between my teeth as I felt him begin to fill me up. He worked himself slowly in and out of me, going deeper and deeper into my warm, wanting orifice with each thrust. He pulled away and got up behind me, tugging me toward him by my hips until I was up on my knees, my cheek pressed against our sleeping fur. He spread me open and plunged his cock home, and I cried out to feel myself expand to make room for him. His pace quickened; he was gripping me by the flesh of my hips, plowing into me with a force unlike anything I had ever felt. I heard him give a guttural cry, like agony and ecstasy all wrapped up in one, and felt his cock throb and pulse as he released into me. He quivered and collapsed on top of me as he regained his breath, his member softening inside me; even flaccid, however, it was larger than most human penises I’d encountered, so it stayed put until he pulled out. I felt his come spurt out of me and drip down my thighs even as he gently pushed me back down onto the fur. He turned me over, examining me with those astute black eyes, drinking in the sight of my body in the flickering firelight. He ran his fingertips over the curves of my breasts and down the slope of my belly, and I got goose bumps from his tender touch. Then he spread my legs, gently touching my most sensitive areas, which were wet from his emissions. And my own.

  He found my clitoris by accident, sending a jolt through my entire body. He was startled at first, but then he smiled down at me as he saw how I responded when he rubbed that tiny, sensitive kernel. He focused the attention of one hand on my clit, while the other continued its explorations. He settled, finally, on sliding two of his fingers deep inside of me, working me, in and out as he had with his cock.

  He pulled away suddenly, and just as I was about to protest, I felt his cock fill me again. I grinned — he had more stamina than any man I’d been with — and arched my back to press my breasts against his chest as he pounded into me. Then I caught his mouth with mine in a kiss, and he froze, curious, as my tongue flicked playfully at the tip of his. He mimicked my motion, then broke away and smiled down at me. It was a beautiful sight, that smile: I think maybe he was what men saw when they first began to paint angels and gods. I slid my hands over him, marveling at how rough that beautiful skin was, at how strange the collections of scales felt beneath my fingertips. My hands came to rest on the curve of his ass and I pressed him into me, trying to assert my opinion about the rhythm. He obeyed my hands, slowing down to give me long, deep strokes, until my breaths were coming in fervent pants.

  I felt my orgasm begin to build at my very core, felt the tension well between my thighs and spread out to my entire body. I felt like a tightly coiled spring, until he stroked into me a final time, and I snapped, the tension draining from my body as the muscles inside of me clamped down around his shaft.

  It wasn’t long before he reached his climax once more, filling me with the evidence of his desire. He rolled off of me and collapsed beside me, his chest heaving with every breath. We rolled over onto our sides so that we were facing one another, and he was peering at me like I was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. I grinned as he lifted a hand to brush his fingers over my cheek. “Vaenn,” he said. “Vaenn, Novalyn.” And I knew that word. It meant “beautiful.”

  Chapter 7: ODRIK

  The waning of the winternight brought with it a resurgence of my lady’s desires; my own seemed to be a bottomless well. The slightest shift in her position as she slept made me grow hard with my wanting, but after she batted me away, I knew I had to let her rest. In the morning, however, it was she who roused me with her fingers curled around the base of my shaft, tugging me to my full rigidity; it was she who shrugged off our fur blankets and climbed astride me, she who directed my hardness into the slippery cleft between her thighs.

  I was addicted to her, my first and only partner, and she seemed at least somewhat fond of me, and certainly an eager participant in our joining. She rode me, her hips undulating, until I felt the muscles inside of her contract with the force of her release. But even thereafter, she continued to move me in and out until I exploded inside of her, never one to leave me unsatisfied.

  Our energies spent, we rose and washed, we ate cured meats, we dressed. She fastened her curls with a scrap of leather, tied the belt tight around her waist so that my black tunic became a gown, and then she pointed toward the egg that was the day’s destination.

  When she set off at a hobbled pace, I grabbed her by the arm and bid her to climb on my back, which she did with some effort, huffing and puffing as she adjusted herself with her arms around my neck. I hoisted her up with my arms beneath her knees and set off at a leisurely pace, taking care to avoid the patch of rimosha which had attempted to make a feast of her a few days previous.

  She hummed a pleasant tune in my ear as we walked, the starshine beating down on us. I was beginning to sweat from the heat of exertion when I spied the egg, my pace inadvertently quickening until we reached it.

  This egg had landed smoothly: it was not buried half in the dirt as the dead girl’s had been, nor was it damaged and tangled in branches as Novalyn’s was. In fact, it sat high on four thin metal legs and had a ladder leaning against the side of it, and protruding from its glass top was a series of ropes, connected to a large swath of fabric.

  Novalyn climbed down, careful not to land on her injured foot, and limped over to the egg. I followed close behind and watched her ascend the ladder. She rapped at the glass, trying to find a way in, but neither she nor I could see a door. She pressed her palm against it, and the entire top of the egg tilted forward, giving her enough room to duck her head and climb inside. I followed, crouchin
g down low, and watched her sit in a white chair, a panel of blinking lights in front of her.

  The space was uncomfortably crowded with both of us inside of it, but we huddled close together as we peered down at the flickering panel, all color and light. There had never been such technology on this planet before; I marveled at it, running my fingers gently over the screen.

  “Welcome,” a woman’s voice said in my language. I glanced around, but saw no Qet who could have spoken to me. The blinking lights formed the runic word for Qeteshi on the panel and I was mesmerized. Magic. It seemed to me to be magic.

  I heard the word repeated in Novalyn’s language, and she glanced at me, startled. The egg was speaking to both her and me in our native tongues.

  “The members of the Echelon have deemed it necessary to intervene in the affairs of the Qeteshi,” the voice went on, in two disparate languages. “Their breeding patterns and death rates suggest an extinction threat in one generation.”

  Novalyn was staring at me, her eyes clear with understanding. I, however, was overtaken by my confusion. What was an ‘echelon’? And how had they come to know that our women had died out?

  “In the center console, you will find a pair of translation devices that you can use to better understand your new mate while they are acclimating to your presence.” Novalyn began to search the pod, opening a small compartment directly underneath the blinking panel. “These devices may be worn inconspicuously in the ear. They are not, however, a substitute for learning the native language of this planet, should it be foreign to you.”

  Novalyn held two small boxes in her hand, white at the base with a clear glass top. She handed one to me and I turned it over in my hand. “On behalf of the Echelon, we thank the women of Earth for their sacrifice and sincerely hope that their presence may mean the continuation of the Qet, a once proud and populous species. End of message.”

  My lady looked frantic as she opened the small box and placed the tiny device in her ear. I opened my own box and examined the object: it was very small, no larger than the smallest nail on my lady’s hand, and shaped to fit snugly in the ear. She had put hers in, and so I did the same.

  For a moment, I saw her mouth moving, but did not hear her. And then, in an instant, everything changed.

  “… derstand me now?” She leaned forward, just a breath away, her eyes locked on mine. “Odrik?” I swallowed hard. “Does this mean you can understand me?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, shocked, jubilant. “Yes, my lady. I can understand you.”

  Part Three

  Chapter 8: NOVALYN

  I gripped his hands, fierce and fervent, peering up into his eyes with a surprising desperation. My expression asked the question over and over again, even after the sound of my voice had died in the thick air between us: Can you understand me?

  “Yes,” he said, his voice tremulous and electrified, “yes, my lady. I can understand you.”

  It started like this: I plucked the device up out of its clear plastic container and held it gingerly between two fingers to examine it. Half the size of a dime and shaped rather like a lima bean, it was constructed of an opaque but malleable plasticine, and I slid it comfortably into the conch of my ear. For three heartbeats, everything was silence; then, his voice broke through the static. At first, I could hear him speaking in his own language, a sort of shadow beneath the sound of him translated into English. But the more he spoke, the more that faded and disappeared completely.

  “This is incredible,” I breathed, and he smiled down into my face, bobbing his head in agreement. But now that we had all of our known languages at our disposal, neither one of us knew precisely what to say. I let go of his hands and averted my gaze, suddenly self-conscious.

  “Now it will be easier for you to tell me what you want,” he all but growled, brushing his fingertips over the slope of my shoulder and around the curve of my breast. His touch sent a chill through me, but I just laughed sort of nervously and didn’t look at him. I crossed my arms in front of me and curled myself inwards and let my gaze linger anywhere other than Odrik’s face. He drew his hands away, sensing my retreat, and we were silent, wracking our brains for the right words to say to one another.

  “Earth,” he said at length, turning the sound of the word over in his mouth like he was chewing something sweet. “That’s where you’re from?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed, scratching absently at the back of my neck, unsure of what to do with my hands. “And I have the feeling that I’m quite a ways from home.”

  “What’s it like?” he asked, shifting his bulk from one foot to the other. “This Earth of yours.”

  “Well…” I was utterly unprepared to answer that question. I’d been asked what New York City was like — like being one blood cell in the center of a pulsing heart — or what it was like growing up on a farm in Nebraska — like death, but without the advantages — but never what just Earth was like. “It’s like here, in a lot of ways,” I said, “except the plant life is a lot less likely to try to eat you.”

  Odrik smiled and it lit him up; I looked up at him and smiled back. “And there is more technology,” I said, gesturing absently to the console with all of its blinking lights. “And a lot more people.”

  “That is what our old planet was like,” Odrik said, “or so I’m told.”

  “Old planet?”

  Odrik nodded, shifting awkwardly against the sides of a pod that was really much too small for him. “The Qet are not of this world. Not originally.”

  “What happened?”

  “As far as I know, there was an extinction-level event on our home planet, so we… relocated.” Odrik pursed his lips and arched his broad shoulders in a shrug, before turning to sidle his way out of the back of the pod. I followed close behind, hobbling awkwardly as I nursed my injury.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Qet are told a tale, a myth, about the old world. Our population was once in the millions, hundreds of millions. And then there’s some story about how the Qulari received a — ”

  “Qulari?”

  “Our priests.”

  “Ah.”

  “They received a calling to bring a chosen few to the new world.” Odrik reached up to help me down from the pod, setting me gently in the tall grass before he headed toward a tree some distance off; I limped alongside him, leaning most of my weight against his strong and steady arm. “But it’s just a story. The Qeteshi leadership was always told the truth of it: that a selection of our people were relocated here once we’d gotten word of an asteroid that obliterated our home planet.”

  “The Echelon,” I whispered. “They must have been the ones to relocate you. The same way they plucked me up off of my planet — they must have come in to pluck you up off of yours.”

  Odrik ran his tongue over his lips, brows arched high over eyes like bottomless wells. “I suppose. It was some two hundred years ago — I know only what I was told.” We reached the tree and he fell into an easy lean against its trunk. Me, I sat on some of the gnarled roots. I peered up at him, the branches breaking the sun into graceful shafts of light.

  “You know the truth of it,” I mused, “so you must be one of the leaders of your people?”

  He crossed his arms over the broad expanse of his chest and narrowed his eyes as he gazed out over the plains. I followed his line of sight and marveled at the natural beauty of this strange world, a world that I was coming to learn was no kinder to these creatures, the Qet, than it had been to me.

  “I was, yes,” he confirmed, his voice low and even. “But no longer.”

  “Why not?” Everything I knew of Odrik spoke to his natural leadership qualities: his steady temper, his inherent goodness, his strength, his good humor. I smiled faintly, a reflection of the well of fondness that warmed me from the inside out.

  “I was usurped,” he said, an edge to his usually even tone, “and when I challenged my usurper, I lost.”

 
“Who did — ”

  “I don’t wish to discuss it,” he snapped, and the sound gave me a start. I’d never heard him be short with me before, and the severity of his tone reignited the first spark of fear I’d experienced when I had landed here, the first time I’d laid eyes on him. Something on my face must have given me away, because he looked at me and immediately softened, his entire form relaxing as he came to sit beside me on the gnarled root of a giant tree. “Forgive me,” he murmured, taking my small hand in his large one, gently stroking the skin on the back of my hand with his thumb, “it’s rather a sensitive subject.”

  “It’s how you lost your horn,” I remarked quietly, careful to temper my voice. He looked up at me, slack-jawed at my having guessed it, and nodded his confirmation. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, lifting my free hand to his face and sweeping my fingertips along the slope of his jaw. He turned his face toward my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm; I felt a pulse deep in my chest, like my heart had skipped a beat; I felt a pulse between my thighs because he’d awakened something in me that I could not now put to bed.

  “No matter,” he said at length. “You’re here now. Everything has changed.”

  I scoffed and shook my head, not knowing what I could possibly say to him. Finally, I settled on, “I can’t stay.”

  He blinked at me, as though he were trying to process what I’d said. “But you came here to help us,” he said. His eyes, like a horse’s, were wide and round and full of questions.

  “Not exactly,” I muttered, dropping my hand into my lap even as I wrestled the other one free of his grip.