Page 28 of Alien Attachment
Her eyes widen slightly. “And touching me would satisfy it?”
“Temporarily.” I meet her gaze honestly. “Though I suspect it would also create new... complications.”
“What kind of complications?”
The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities neither of us is quite ready to name. Through our bond, I feel her curiosity warring with caution, her practical nature demanding information while her self-preservation instincts urge retreat.
“Perhaps,” I say carefully, “we should focus on more immediate concerns. Life support, radiation shielding, establishing a secure perimeter.”
But even as I speak, my tendrils continue their subtle movements, reaching toward her with minds of their own. She notices, of course. Her gaze tracks their motion with growing fascination.
“They really can’t help themselves, can they?” she observes.
“I am discovering that conscious control over involuntary responses is... limited,” I admit. “Particularly when the stimuli are both present and...” I pause, uncertain how to continue.
“And what?”
“Appealing,” I finish quietly.
The word settles between us like a charged particle, altering the very atmosphere of the small cockpit. Through our bond, I feel her pulse quicken, her breathing change subtly.
“Appealing,” she repeats, her voice carefully neutral.
“You are...” I struggle for words that won’t terrify her. “Your presence is pleasant. Calming yet stimulating. My sensory systems find you... compatible.”
“Compatible.” A flush creeps up her neck, visible even in the dim lighting. “That’s very... clinical.”
“I am attempting to be respectful,” I explain, wrestling with three particularly determined tendrils. “The alternative terminology might be... concerning.”
Despite everything—our situation, the danger, the impossibility of what’s happening between us—she laughs again. The sound goes straight through me like electricity, and this time I don’t even try to stop my tendrils from extending toward her.
“Show me,” she says suddenly.
“Show you what?”
“These alternative terminologies. These multiple sensory systems.” Her expression shifts, becoming more direct, more challenging. “You said I needed to know what I’m working with, right? Consider it a practical assessment.”
The request sends every one of my defense protocols into chaos. “Kaylee, I don’t think—”
“I’m a courier,” she interrupts. “I don’t carry cargo I don’t understand. And I don’t work with partners whose capabilities are mysteries.” She gestures at my still-extending tendrils. “So help me understand.”
The logic is sound, even if the request sends warning signals cascading through my higher reasoning centers. “Very well. But perhaps we should establish some... parameters.”
“Parameters?”
I allow one tendril to extend fully, giving her time to object. “For instance, my tactile sensitivity extends far beyond baseline norms. What feels like casual contact to you might be... intense for me.”
She watches the tendril’s approach with what appears to be scientific fascination. “Define intense.”
“Touch me and find out.”
The words escape before I can stop them, far more suggestive than I intended. Through our bond, I feel her pulse quicken, her pupils dilate slightly. But she doesn’t retreat.
Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she reaches out and traces one finger along the length of my extended tendril.
The sensation explodes through me like lightning striking water. Every bioluminescent marking on my skin flares to brilliant life, casting the cockpit in shifting patterns of blue and gold. A low harmonic vibration resonates from my chest—part purr, part moan, entirely involuntary. The feedback through our bond hits Kaylee like a physical force, her own gasp mixing with mine as she experiences an echo of what I feel.
“Stars above,” she breathes, her hand still resting against my tendril. “I felt that. How did I feel that?”
