Alien Survivor: Stranded on Galatea

DR. ARACELI CROSS

I was dreaming a sweet something when the sleepy hum of a man emerging from the depths of his slumber roused me from my own. We were warm and calm beneath a pile of handmade quilts, atop a mattress of down pillows. Nothing hurt; I was a blissful blank slate, and I knew only that this warm, snoring form next to me was a welcome presence, and I smiled when he reached out in his sleep and slung an arm over me. My response was to scoot back so that I was pressed against him, and I was all but entirely enveloped by his considerable stature. His skin was unimaginably soft, and warm, smooth, and hairless, and I loved the tender way he hugged me close.

I hadn't yet opened my eyes, but I could see the skin of my eyelids glow a dark orange with the morning light that was seeping in through the window. Unwelcome thoughts began to invade our bubble, and I pushed them out, out; I wasn't ready to face the day. And maybe the glowing orange was just the first break of dawn. Maybe we had hours still left to us before we would have to wake.

I turned over to face him and snuggled up close so that I could rest my cheek against the pillow of his torso. My left hand went wandering over the continent of his skin, traversing the chiseled tributaries of his abdomen that led to the well of his bellybutton. As I touched him, I envisioned him in my mind's eye: that skin, like polished silver, that I had last seen smeared with the tribal paint that accompanied his celebration garb. No doubt mine was in similar disrepair: I had been painted in stunning gold, and I'd probably ruined it. I opened one eye just a bit to peek at him, and I could see streaks and smears of black and gold where we'd run together. I smiled, relishing the idea of our passion being written so clearly on our bodies.

I tilted my chin up then so that I could look at his face, and I saw that his eyes were already open, and he was gazing down at me. There were flecks of gold around his mouth, and when I reached up to press my fingers against my mouth, they came away black and gold. We grinned at one another, the ridge of his brow casting a shadow over his eyes, and we laughed, our mirth ringing out in the silence.

"We're a mess," I murmured. "I hope we haven't ruined your mother's blankets."

"They can be washed," came his low reply. "And so can we. Come on." He climbed out of our nest, and I gave an audible groan of protest. He smiled down at me as he planted his feet on the floor, allowing the blankets to fall away. And I got my first good look at him, unabashed, in the light. My God, but he was a fine specimen, looking as though he were chiseled out of granite. His hairlessness gave his silver skin the look of being shined, and his lack of pubic hair left his most sensitive area utterly exposed for my viewing pleasure. I sat up on the bed and reached out, trailing my fingertips over his muscled thigh and along the front of his pubis. I felt a slight ridge just above his shaft, which I had not noticed before but which, no doubt, led to the ease with which I had climaxed. Intelligent design, indeed.

The more time I spent with Danovan, the less alien he looked to me, even with the shelf-like ridge of his brow. He and his family were not some other species, they were my friends. They were quickly becoming my loved ones. And while I had always had respect for the Galatean people, what I was experiencing now went far beyond that.

"Let's take a bath," he said, "before the rest of the house wakes up." He reached his hand out to me and I took it, kicking the blankets back and shuddering as the cool morning air hit my naked skin. With his help, I climbed off the bed and walked ahead of him toward the door. "Stop," he said, and I froze where I stood. "Turn around." And I did. "I want to look at you." His pale grey eyes drank me in as he ran his tongue absently over his lips, eying me like he wanted to devour me whole. I felt a small pulse between my thighs at being looked at like that, a blush rising into my cheeks. Propriety be damned, we wanted one another, why shouldn't we show it? After a moment, he joined me by the door, darting in front of me to peer out into the empty hallway before he quickly gave the all-clear and ushered me forward. We moved on tiptoe, two naked forms absconding like thieves with the vestiges of their dignity through the house. We giggled conspiratorially when we slipped into the wet room and closed the door behind us, like we were teenagers who had gotten away with keeping the bedroom door closed while the parents were at home. Danovan went over to the tub and turned the knob so that it began to fill with water. Me, I went over to the mirror to assess the damage.

I was quite a sight. If there had ever been golden flowers painted on me, you couldn't tell now. Instead, there were streaks of yellow glitter all over my body, and smears of black to accompany it. I was a piece of modern art, like I'd just made love with Rothko or Jackson Pollock. I grinned at myself in the mirror, my hair a wild red halo around my head.

"It's a little impractical, don't you think?" I asked Danovan as the room began to warm with steam.

"What?" He dropped a spoonful of lavender bath salts into the water, and I breathed deeply of their sweet aroma.

"The body paint. For a wedding, I mean. I saw that Dinervah and her new husband were also painted surely everyone expects them to...you know."

Danovan grinned and bobbed his head as he came to stand beside so that we could both peer into the mirror. "That's part of the point," he said. "Unlike your antiquated tradition of checking the sheets for blood, we use paint."

I scoffed. "No one checks sheets for blood anymore. That went out with the monarchy." "Well, the principal is the same. Or at least, those were its origins. In more puritanical times, everyone was painted, but only the bride and groom were allowed to make love on the wedding night. So that when they emerged from their chambers in the morning, they would be the only two whose colors had mixed."

I smiled. "How quaint. But I maintain, very impractical."

"I like it," He countered. "I like seeing you like this, marked by what we shared."

"Do you, now?" I turned and snaked my arms around his waist, angling my head back so that I could gaze up at him. He brushed my hair back from my shoulders, grazing his fingertips across the slope of my cheek, and nodded. And I could tell he liked what he saw by how his cock grew firm with his wanting.

"I will have you again." It wasn't a request, and something about it sent a shiver down my spine. He slid his hands down my arms, and around to my backside, cupping my bottom in his strong hands and lifting me up and to him. I spread my knees to make room for him, almost involuntarily, and immediately felt the head of his insistent prick at my wet entrance.

He grinned a roughish grin that showed his canines as he rocked his hips back and forth, holding

me aloft as he slid himself into me. "You are ready for me."

"Yes," I breathed, clinging to his neck and pressing a kiss against the sharp angle of his collarbone.

"I make you wet with your wanting," He all but growled, and thrust himself home. "Yes," I said again, louder, more desperate, panting as he filled me up. He carried me to the counter, his phallus plunged to the hilt into me, and set me on the counter, bending at the knees so that he could stay inside me. I braced myself with my hands behind me, the back of my head against the mirror, and he slid himself in and out, in and out, at a maddening pace.

He pulled away for a moment, and I hopped down from the counter. But before I could move away, he turned me around by the shoulders and bent me over, gripping my hip with one hand as he directed his cock once and plunged deeply into me. I cried out as I felt his fingers digging into my flesh. "Harder," I begged, and he obliged, pressing me against the countertop so forcefully that I could lift my feet off the ground and remain where I was.

He slowed himself down after a moment, favoring smooth, deep thrusts, and tangled his fingers

in my hair. Gripping with assertive intent, he clutched my curls where they met my scalp and forced me to look up into the mirror.

We were silver and white, all smeared with black and gold, a sheen of sweat forming over our bodies even as the steam began to coat the glass of the mirror. We locked our eyes together in the reflection. "You are mine now," he said. And I was, I was.

I wanted to feel the pulse of his orgasm, and my own, so I reached down between my thighs to rub my clit as he fucked me, clamping down around the intrusion of him with the strong muscles of my inner wall. He groaned, low and throaty, his hands finding purchase again on my breasts. He pinched my nipples, already hard from the force of my desires, and I cried out, overstimulated by the sensation.

"I want to feel it," he said, his voice breathy from the exertion. "I want to feel your release." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my neck before standing up straight again and gripping me by the fleshy part of my upper thighs.

"I'm gonna come," I moaned, my voice ringing out against the tile of the bathroom. And just as I felt my body tense, and shudder, Danovan clamped a hand over my mouth to keep the sound in. My internal muscles contracted as I orgasmed, and Danovan joined me with one final, deep thrust. He climaxed, sending one pulsing wave of seed after another into my warm, waiting orifice.

We stayed there, joined together, for several long, silent moments, trying to catch our breath as the steam from the bath swirled around us. And it wasn't until we felt hot water at our feet that Danovan finally pulled himself out of me, and I could feel his hot emissions dripping down my thigh as he rushed over the wet tiles to turn the bathwater off.

I turned around, grinning to see that, in our distraction, we'd nearly flooded the wet room. Fortunately for us, there was a drain in the center of the floor. No harm done. Danovan let some of the water out of the tub as well, before beckoning me over and helping me in.

He got in with me, and I leaned back so that my back was to his chest before starting in with a

bar of homemade soap to scrub the paint away. Danovan took the liberty of washing my hair for me, cupping handfuls of water to spill gently over my head. It was an act of such intimate tenderness that I felt a lump rise in my throat. There is truly something so luxurious about having your lover wash your hair.

Then he went about lathering himself up, and I tried to help him get all the paint from his face and arms, his hands and body. All the while, I couldn't help but think about what he'd said: You are mine now. And how I'd felt when he said it. I felt like his. When he spoke those words to me, my mind and body gave way, and I could brook no argument.

And yet Christian was still alive. Before I could rightly make any kind of commitment to Danovan,

I had to be honest with Christian. I had to find him and tell him.

And, furthermore, I needed to find out how it was possible that humans and Galateans were procreating naturally. I needed to know how rare it was—and who had been tampering with my data back on earth. I needed to know if Cat was alive, and the rest of my team. I needed to know who had attacked us and find out where I could be safe again. Safe with Danovan, to pursue my work. We would return to earth, he and I, and I could work and maybe we could even start a family, a naturally born family-but I was getting ahead of myself.

"Van," I asked after a time, washed and clean, and lounging in the tub with him, "had you ever seen a human-Galatean couple with a child before last night?"

I could feel him give a slow shake of his head. "No," he said, running his hands absently over my shoulders, down my arms, across my breasts. "I didn't think it was possible, without someone like you to intervene."

"And when was the last time you were home?" I asked. "I mean, when was the last time you would've seen the people of this village?"

"Oh, years now. At least two years," he said. "And that's too long."

I nodded, lost in thought. "We have to get to the crash site. We need to know who's been tampering with my data. We-"

"Shh."

Danovan was listening to the sound around us, suddenly alert; all I could hear was the soothing sound of water as we moved through it. After a moment, Danovan broke into a grin. "My mother is awake. And cooking!"

He climbed out of the water, droplets splattering everywhere as he moved, and fetched two towels from one of the far cabinets. One he secured around his waist, and the other he held out

to me. I stood, letting the water flow over the curves of my body before letting Danovan enfold me in the soft fabric of the towel.

"Danovan "I began to protest, and he could read my intention from my tone alone. He pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"We will dress and get back on the road today," he said, "I promise. But first, we have to eat."