Sundry and Assorted Fanfictions

“So, it starts with mastication. We can fit much bigger whole objects in our mouths than you guys seem to – be able to.” Pausing only briefly for a hiccup and a wince, Grace pointed at his mouth. “We break it up mechanically, with our teeth and our tongue. See?”

“Rocky see.”

Grace had forced himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the padded wall with his quilt around his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to move, had felt the contents of his bloated stomach shift and slosh with every motion, but he’d known he would feel better once he was upright. The human digestive system had evolved to work in tandem with gravity, as he’d explained to Rocky when he asked why he was moving around when it obviously hurt him, based on the whimpering.

Rocky was between Grace’s legs in his xenonite ball, three legs folded beneath him like a loafing cat, two held out in front, claws spread against the panel currently pressed against the firm mound of Grace’s belly. He’d tugged his jumpsuit down and his T-shirt up in order to expose it, pale skin and dark golden hair, and it wasn’t the most comfortable position, but Rocky was curious...and warm, even through the xenonite.

It actually felt really good. Grace was kind of wishing he could sleep on his chest, but even in low-g, he’d probably break his ribs. Too bad.

“Rocky not have ‘mouth.’ Thought was wound, when first saw Grace.”

“Yeah, you guys are a sealed system most of the time; it’s cool. Anyway.” Arms draped over the top of the ball, Grace held back a belch. “Inside the mouth, there are glands that constantly secrete a thin mucus. We call it saliva. It keeps the tissue soft and wet – it doesn’t have many other protections, it’s epithelial tissue – and it also helps break down food further. There’s the moisture aspect, but it also contains enzymes. Chemical digestion starts in the mouth. That always…” Grace smiled wanly. “Surprised my students.”

“Grace sad,” Rocky observed. “Eat more now, question?”

“I think I’ve had more than enough, buddy.”

“Understand.” Grace had probably spent too much time with Rocky; he was starting to read emotions into the text-to-speech program he knew weren’t there. For example, disappointment.

“And from there, once it’s become a soft bolus, we swallow…”

Grace went on, past the epiglottis, down through the esophagus, to the stomach. Rocky listened, only commenting once to lament the sheer inconvenience of the digestive and respiratory systems sharing an opening. Grace agreed with him before continuing. Gastric acid (Rocky was terribly intrigued by the mechanism of hydrochloric acid contained in something as fragile as a human body), peristalsis, gallbladder, pancreas, small and large intestine, colon…

“And you - ” Once again, Grace stifled a burp, which he’d been doing all through the explanation. He’d really overdone it. “Know what happens after that.” It’d just seemed rude not to return the favor after what Rocky had let Grace watch him do.

“Why Grace do that, question?”

“Do what, question?”

“Hold air in.”

“Oh, right. So, that’s, uh…” Grace took his glasses off and rested his forehead against a pane of xenonite, closing his eyes. Warm. “Either air that’s swallowed while eating, or gas that’s produced by digestion. Causes discomfort, but it’s rude to let it out in front of other people.”

“Not rude for Rocky. Only disgust when Grace eat.”

“Thanks for that,” Grace mumbled.

“Grace not discomfort enough, question?” Rocky asked, and somehow, the TTS voice sounded dry to Grace.

“Okay, yeah, fine. Good point.” Grace forced himself to let out a belch, blushing slightly.Ugh, there were the sour Skittles.Of course Rocky didn’t care.

“Rocky see lot of air in digestive tract,” Rocky observed. That was one of many interesting things about Eridians: their echolocation was more like that of cetaceans than bats. They could see inside objects, especially objects as soft and penetrable as a human body. Like an X-ray. Grace sometimes wondered what Rocky knew about him he didn’t know about himself. Not this; he’d already been able to feel how gassy he was.

“Yep, that happens to me,” he mumbled.

“Grace do this before, question?”

“I’ve always been a stress eater. Surprised it took this long, honestly. With – everything.”

Grace knew that Rocky knew by now that he didn’t really like talking about Earth except in the most general sociological terms. That seemed to be fine with Rocky, who also didn’t seem to like talking about Erid, especially his mate or the dead members of his crew. Rocky changed the subject.

“Rocky not believe human stomach ♪♫♫.”

“Okay, that’s a new word.”

“Soft, shape change. Stretch.”

“Ahhhh, elasticity. Elastic.” Grace reached out with one hand, entered the new words into the database. “Yeah, it’s probably one of our more elastic organs. It was feast or famine for our distant ancestors, so we’ve still got the ability for it to stretch pretty far out.”

“Rocky tell,” Rocky said, and he didn’t have eyes, but Grace could feel him looking at his stomach. He might’ve said something snarky, but he burped again before he could. “Eridians not change shape like this. Carapace rigid. Grace round, soft. Fascinate.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying this.” Eyes still closed, Grace rested his chin on the ball, feeling the warm points of Rocky’s claws against his belly. It made him feel a little better.

Being with Melanie, Georgie often thought, felt like nothing so much as slowly taming a wild beast, one that had come in from the cold half-lame to lie warily beside her fire.

On the one hand, she resented that that was the pattern her relationships seemed to fall into, that - domestication.  Jon had not been an awful partner by any stretch of the imagination (no matter what he seemed to have taken it upon himself to believe about their time together after she told him she thought they might be better as friends), but she did feel as though she’d spent a lot of time especially in university getting him to eat well, take breaks, and talk to other people halfway civilly…only for him to descend into an even more feral state after they broke up.  (Granted, he seemed to have had help getting there, but still.)  And now here she was with Melanie, back in the same boat, even though she’d never set out to be a caretaker.

On the other hand, the circumstances really could not have been more different.  Melanie was not Jon, similar as she may be (probably why they didn’t get along, though Georgie would never say so out loud).  Georgie did not resent her, did not see her as a burden, could not imagine ever doing so, with Melanie’s core of sheer bitter strength.  And if she’d said she did not enjoy any part of taking care of Melanie as she gentled, as she healed, as she relaxed into the life she and Georgie were building together…well.  Georgie would have been a liar, and a huge one at that.

It’d begun when Melanie had first started therapy.  Georgie had taken her for dinner after - no romantic intentions at the time, just a bit of a reward.  She knew how much therapy could take out of you, the first few sessions especially.  But she found herself shocked by how Melanie practically attacked the plate in front of her.

“God, when’s the last time you had a proper meal?”

“Dunno,” Melanie answered, then glanced up at Georgie.  “The, uh…the bullet…”  She spoke about it gingerly, less like she didn’t want to talk about it and more like she didn’t think Georgie wanted to hear.  “It didn’t.  I didn’t really feel hungry while it was in me.  Just angry.”  She swallowed.  “It was almost kinda nice, in some ways.  Saved money, at least.”

Georgie hadn’t exactly seen Melanie regularly, though of course they’d been in each other’s orbit for years, being part of the independent UK ghost-hunting community.  She hadn’t even seen her videos since she’d stopped uploading regularly.  But now Georgie looked at Melanie from across the table, what she’d taken for knife-edge hardness from whatever she’d been through and whatever it was that’d touched her…well, that was there, too, but she’d also lost weight.  Quite a bit of it.  Melanie had always favored looser clothes, but they hung off her now, and her face was nearly gaunt.

Georgie felt a surge of - something.  Not unlike whatever she’d felt when Jon had showed up at her flat needing a place to stay, but warmer, more straightforward.  Less complicated.

“Do you want dessert?” she asked.  “Let’s order dessert.”

She could not save Jon, wasn’t even sure he wanted to be saved from what had happened to him.  What was still happening.  Melanie was hardly a replacement, and Georgie didn’t want one anyway.  But she was here, she was in front of her, she was trying, and Georgie could not let her walk alone.  That feeling only intensified when she was called to pick Melanie up from hospital with bandages wound round her eyes, a referral to a plastic surgeon, and a mandate for a psychiatric evaluation.

Melanie had a fierce independence that sudden, violent blindness had not dimmed.  She had no patience for being coddled, did not want to be treated as helpless; Georgie wasn’t sure she would have had her move permanently into her flat if she had, although it was endlessly infuriating to get her to accept any help at all during that initial period.  But Georgie could be just as stubborn as she could, so eventually Melanie submitted (granted, grudgingly) to what care she needed.  Georgie cleared wider, straighter pathways in the flat, put rubber pads on the sharper furniture corners.  She helped Melanie change her bandages, and apply silicone gel when the time came, to minimize her scarring.  She accompanied her to pick out a cane, to mentally map her usual routes, to occupational therapy, to the endless doctor’s appointments.

And she fed her.

She took her out to dinner, lunch, occasionally breakfast, because Melanie desperately needed to get out of the flat and likely wouldn’t be doing it for work anytime soon.  Georgie hadn’t baked or cooked regularly for a while, living alone except for Jon’s brief paranoid residence, but she started back up, leaving pans of brownies and buns temptingly on the counter, serving up enormous, dense portions when they didn’t go out.  She found out what snacks and treats Melanie liked, and stocked the kitchen near-religiously with plenty of them.

Melanie had been gaining a bit of the weight back, in large part thanks to Georgie’s efforts, even before she’d gone at her own eyes, but now it predictably accelerated.  Her hips widened, her thighs, her arms; her belly grew steadily heavier in shape and weight both.  Her breasts filled back in.  Before they went and got her new clothes (because, while cute, her borrowing Georgie’s all the time just wasn’t practical), they overflowed the cups of her non-sports bras in plump, doughy swells, and her love handles muffined over her waistband.  Her face rounded, felt soft when Georgie cupped it in both hands to kiss her, and sometimes just to look at her.

“D’you think you’re gonna get prosthetics?”

“Urgh, fake eyes.  Think I’ve had more than enough of those…I much prefer the sunglasses, sockets, and scars look, don’t you?”

Of course they’d long since begun having sex.  In some deep-seated, barely-conscious animal way, Georgie enjoyed the feeling of Melanie’s thighs on either side of her head while she ate her out, the fluid sway of flesh when she fucked her from behind, eventually the touch of Melanie’s belly when she fucked her - after they’d gotten a new harness for Georgie’s strap that didn’t dig furrows into her.  She liked the way Melanie’s tits filled and spilled out of her hands, how large and sensitive her dark nipples had gotten, the solid shape of her ass and hips.

Georgie had always liked larger bodies, and would have liked Melanie’s no matter what, but she didn’t clock it as anything but basic preference until one day some months after Melanie had moved in.  She’d gone looking for her to ask if she wanted pasta or soup for dinner the following night, and found her lying on their shared bed, headphones on, one arm wrapped around the Admiral where he lay snuggled up against her, and eating crisps.

The sight of her - belly spread out due to the position, on full display because the shirt she had on had been too small four sizes ago, crisp crumbs in her cleavage as she shoveled them mindlessly into her mouth - had Georgie wet so fast it nearly stung.  She didn’t even tell her off for eating in bed, just turned around and left.  And when Melanie, somehow having heard her, pulled her headphones off (What the Ghost spilling audibly out, because she liked it loud and apparently didn’t get enough of Georgie’s voice as it was) and sat up to call, “Georgie?  Did you need something?” it was a fair few seconds before Georgie could reply.  In part because Melanie had burped a bit while she was talking.

Georgie knew she probably ought to feel guilty.  Making someone gain weight because it turned you on without telling them, whether you realized it yourself or not…she might not have been all that well-versed in this area, but she was reasonably confident that was a no-no.  Especially when someone was kind of-sort of dependent on you, in some areas, even if they didn’t often feel like admitting it.

The problem was she didn’t feel guilty.  She wondered in an almost academic way if that made her a bad person; probably, but she’d stopped being afraid of that when she’d stopped being afraid of everything else, so it was sort of incredible something like this hadn’t already happened.  She wondered what Melanie would think when she found out.

Thankfully, she didn’t have long to wait.  And mercifully, it was anticlimactic.  As if they were being cut a break after everything.  A break Georgie may not strictly deserve, but, well: she would take it.

The next night, after the soup (because that was what Melanie had chosen), she groaned loudly beside Georgie on the couch, took her hand, and dropped it on her round, bloated belly before declaring, “Just feel how well you’ve fattened me up, why don’t you?”

She had lifted her other hand to Georgie’s face, so obviously she felt it when she flushed.  Melanie laughed delightedly.

“I knew you liked it, I knew it!”

“You knew?” Georgie echoed incredulously.

“What, did you think I was eating like a pig just because I liked it?”  Melanie asked, lifting an eyebrow.  “Well, I mean, partly, but…”

“And you didn’t say anything!” Georgie accused.

“Neither did you!”  And she had her there, so they sat in silence a few moments, before Melanie said, “If you want to have sex with me tonight, you’ll have to do all the work.”

“Oh, did I overfeed you, then?”

“Nah.”  Melanie patted her own stomach with both hands.  “Just enough.”

“Eridian sexuality is, uh...complicated.”

Sitting in front of the video diary setup he’d brought down from the Hail Mary, Grace leaned back, steepling his fingers as he glanced up at the ceiling and thought about the best way to put this. He’d gotten in the habit of sorting through his thoughts like this while aboard the ship, and had kept the habit once he was planetside again. In some ways, it was as close as he could get to talking to another human, even if the chances of anything he’d recorded since dropping the beetles ever making it back to Earth were slim to none.

Honestly, it was probably for the best nobody on Earth ever saw this one.

“Probably not any more complicated than human sexuality, but in a different way. Lemme explain,” Grace continued. “I’ve told you before they don’t really have sex or gender the way we do, because every individual has both sets of sex organs...or analogous ones, at least. They’re oviparous. Mated pairs gestate and lay their eggs together, after fertilizing each other’s ova. The actual act itself is quick, clinical, and violent – a love dart penetrates the carapace and injects genetic material, a lot like certain types of mollusks or insects. Occurs simultaneously for both partners.

“Now, in Earth animals, when coitus is so short, the ceremonies leading up to it become incredibly elaborate,” Grace went on. “Think eagles locking talons and death-diving, or leopard slugs hanging suspended and licking each other for hours. Same thing for Eridians. Especially because this is such an intimate and vulnerable act, so the lead-up is also about establishing trust. There are all kinds of variations on this ceremony, and that’s where most of the sexual pleasure comes from, rather than the actual fertilization. Every mated pair’s a little different, and it can get really in-depth. In other words, they’re kinky, practically as a rule. I’ll tell you more about mating dances and rituals later. Or I’ll have Rocky do it; he oughta be here any minute.”

Grace cleared his throat. “Speaking of Rocky. That...brings me to me and him.” Despite himself, he’d begun to blush.

“We’ve come at the problem pretty much every way we can. You can only make a suit so thin, with xenonite, not to mention his atmospheric needs. Adrian’s spent – probably literal days on it, by this point. But there’s just no getting around the fact we’re never gonna be able to physically touch each other. I can’t top him, even through the suit, and if he tried to do me, I’d...well, I’d die. Being stabbed and injected with boiling semen doesn’t sound like the best way to go; idea doesn’t appeal to me at all.” He wondered how obvious it would appear on video that he was lying.

“Even a hand – claw-job’s awkward. So he built...this.” Grace rolled back in his chair, grabbed the camera, and aimed it at the contraption.

There really wasn’t any other word for it, although Rocky had suggested several names, each more shameless than the last. (Sex wasn’t a taboo in his culture, but eating in front of each other was. Go figure.) There was an elegance to it, as there was with almost everything Rocky built, gleaming golden-black xenonite. There was a padded cradle, to hold Grace; above it was something that reminded him of the Blip-A’s hull robot, multiple segmented limbs. Most ended in clamps, meant to hold him steady; Eridians held one another while mating, in part to avoid hitting anything vital when they punctured each other’s carapaces, so being held down was kind of integral to the whole thing.

But one ended in something else. It was shaped like an Eridian love dart – Rocky’s, according to Adrian, who had designed it, but scaled up for Grace’s size. Wickedly, knee-weakeningly hooked on the end, though it was made of a silicone blend, so shouldn’t hurt him. Much. It was a soft silvery white-green, as was the interior of the xenonite cylinder mounted amongst the padding, meant to take Grace’s erect cock. Simulated a punctured carapace, apparently. Scandalous.

“Got a...lot of feelings about the fact the first real Eridian sex toys were made for me. Masturbation’s not really a thing for them ‘cause, again, the whole ceremony thing…”

It was for Grace. Frankly, he would’ve been content with it forever, he’d never felt much of a drive. But Rocky wouldn’t have.

“They’ve been working on this for months. Up here, you can see the motor; it’s small, but. Whew, is it powerful. First time they tested this thing, it punched through a wall. A xenonite wall.” Grace swallowed. “Again, not...something that appealed to me.” He glanced at the camera lens. “Honest. I’m not at all disappointed by how much they toned it down.”

And over to one side were the controls. Every limb would be completely under Rocky’s control, responsive, flexible, almost as good as the real thing.

“You might think they’re pretty far out of the way, but it’s not actually important to him to be able to touch me during. That comes before and after. He just needs to be able to hear everything.” Grace drew in a stuttering breath. “Really, I think just building the dang thing got him more hot and bothered than anything else. All about the courtship.” Grace considered. “And the challenge, I guess. I’m soft and delicate, compared to an Eridian. But, uh, honestly, I think he likes that, too...a lot of them seem to, for some reason. Maybe a soft shell makes for easy breeding.”

He was hard, he realized. Well, it wasn’t as if helping build this thing hadn’t done a lot for him, too.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Polite, for someone who was about to absolutely wreck him. Grace let Rocky in, and it began immediately. They’d waited long enough.

He crouched, put an arm out. Rocky lay one of his own alongside it, crossed over, and sang. Not language, as such. Pure emotion. Grace had asked if Rocky wanted any sound from him, but he didn’t unless it came naturally.

“Sound of heart enough. Blood moving, breathing faster. Beautiful.”

They danced. There was a lot of modification necessary. Grace was much larger than the average Eridian, shape different, and they could not actually touch each other. (Not that there was actually all that much of that anyway; touching waited for the mating embrace.)

Interestingly, undressing each other was as much a part of their mating ritual as it was humans’. Rocky was deft with Grace’s pants. They’d had a lot of practice, leading up to this final consummation.

It was hours later, Grace’s back and shoulders and thighs burning and his ears ringing with Rocky’s song, that Rocky spoke. Apparently, it was time.

“Okay, Grace get in breeding rig now.”

“Are we married to that name?” Grace reached over to turn off the camera, but as the limbs on the machine flexed and settled, Rocky re-familiarizing himself with the controls, he stopped him.