Chapter 1 #2
That stings because yeah, I probably would, but I brush it off. They need what we produce in order to live, and we need their tech.
“I don’t know why caring about people living makes me such a bad guy, Zane,” I say quietly. “I would have done it before, too, if it meant saving my parents.”
Zane’s cheeks turn a little red, his head tipped down as he mumbles an apology. “I know losing them sucked. I just wish it wasn’t all on us to fix everyone else’s problems.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I shrug. It doesn’t matter anyway. Buckets of cum won’t bring my parents back, but if it means no one else has to feel this way, I’ll do what I can. And I’ll endure anyone’s judgment about it. Even Zane’s.
Stretching my arms above my head, I take off in a run, and Zane follows me down the road, our legs moving in tandem as we jog. The air feels good, and by the time we hit the gym parking lot, the endorphins have improved my mood.
Heading inside the gym, the blast of warm air hits my skin, defrosting me almost immediately. My face tingles hotly, and I take a moment to adjust before we head to the check-in counter.
Behind the desk, there’s a monster scanning membership cards, his blue hair pulled up into a bun, his pierced ears flicking back and forth as he converses with the people ahead of us.
I take a moment to observe him without being obvious that I’m staring. I’m used to them now—several of them work at the mall, too, but even after all these years, they’re still so…strange.
As a species, they wear very little clothing, as their skin grows thick for the cold winters. Then, when summers grow hot and humid, they shed, and their opalescent skin becomes a little more translucent, almost like it’s glowing.
It’s a little weird, but it’s also kinda cool. They remind me of snakes a bit, especially because they have no whites in their eyes, which is one of the most interesting things about them.
Right now, this monster is less naked than some, wearing low-slung shorts, his tail wrapped around his leg, his chest shirtless. His nipples are pierced with C-rings, and a curved barbell sits in his belly button.
My eyes catch on it for a moment until I look up and realize he’s smirking at me for staring, and my face reddens.
“You two checking in?” the monster asks, his accent a little less thick than some of the other monsters I’ve spoken to. I’ve heard their language a few times, and it’s…different. It’s lyrical, relying heavily on tones like a song. I’m not sure any human has successfully mastered it.
I have not been brave enough to try.
When I don’t answer right away, his eyes flicker over to Zane before moving back to me. I know his name. Heard it once. Shit, what is it? How rude of me not to remember.
I realize he’s asked me a question, and I clear my throat. “Sorry, yes.”
I hand him my card and watch as he scans it, his long fingers moving deftly toward the machine, then he flicks it back to me.
Zane doesn’t pull his out fast enough, though, too busy staring, which causes the monster to lean forward and give him a sly grin. The badge around his neck hits the counter, and I catch his name on it.
Quilliyn. Right.
“It’s in your front right pocket, human.”
That makes Zane blush, and Quilliyn smiles, showing a hint of fang. They have eye teeth like we do, only theirs are sharp and stick out a little more. The clinic officials swear they’re not dangerous and can’t break skin, but I’m not quite sure I believe them.
Zane mutters something like, “Oh,” under his breath.
“We have a good sense for this kind of thing,” Quilliyn says, a glint in his rainbow eye.
Zane sputters, pulling the card out and slapping it on the desk. “Can you see through clothes?”
“Maybe,” Quilliyn replies and then scans the card before winking at us, a trait they picked up from the humans recently.
Zane is fuming by the time he gets to the weights. “Flirtatious little shit. He should know he’s not getting anywhere near my dick.”
I hand him a set of weights, and he starts pumping them, not even bothering to stretch first.
He’s going to pull a fucking muscle, but saying anything now would be pointless. He’s been worked up all morning, and Quilliyn’s obvious flirting didn’t help.
I turn my head to my right and left, pulling my arms up, taking in the humans and monsters mingling as I stretch. It seems almost normal now.
Now that more of them are making their way through the portal to live, it’s hard to remember what it was like before they arrived.
I’m fine with it, but it’s getting harder to deal with Zane’s prejudices. He nearly lost it when a monster moved into our apartment building. He even tried to start a petition, but it didn’t go anywhere.
Most people are afraid to speak out against them, terrified they’ll take their gifts and leave us even worse off than we were before they arrived. And I’m one of those people.
Of course, Zane doesn’t understand. He’s never experienced loss the way I have, and as much as he feels sorry for me, he’ll never know what it’s like to lose everything to the single sweep of a disease we couldn’t control.
One that almost killed me, too.
But I blame his parents for that. They’re set in their ways and have moral objections to the whole cock-sucking thing. Zane spent the last several years listening to his parents talk about how the monsters are morally corrupt.
And how they’re taking humanity with them.
My aunt and uncle are the same, but they didn’t take the death of my parents as hard as I did. They don’t really understand what’s at stake.
I love Zane, but I hope he comes around soon because they could ask us to do so much more. Our own government used to ask young people to fight and die for pointless wars that never accomplished anything.
I don’t understand why he cares so much about a few orgasms when it means everything we have is so much fucking better.
“I bet they can see through our clothes,” he mumbles angrily. “You know, I read that the government hasn’t done any testing on them. We don’t even know what they’re capable of.”
I ignore his rambling. This is a weekly discussion, and his conspiracy theories are through the roof. When I’m drunk, they’re fun. When I’m not, well, I’d rather not participate.
“And honestly, where did they get all that tech? I’ve heard from some podcasters that their world is, like, medieval. They’re not all that technologically advanced.”
A monster with pink and white hair moves around us and huffs in annoyance, obviously having caught the tail end of Zane’s rant.
I prepare myself for an argument. Monsters are docile, but I can’t imagine they want to be insulted in public like that. But the monster says nothing. He moves to the bench press with another monster and gets to work, like Zane is invisible.
And that’s probably for the best.
He’s currently bench pressing double what I can.
Zane notices, too, and immediately turns around so he’s not facing them. He continues to pump the weights recklessly. Putting myself between him and the monsters as a buffer, I begin my own reps, though slower and more methodically.
I actually want to bulk up without hurting myself in the process simply to spite another species that doesn’t give a shit about my existence other than the cum I produce.
I take pride in my body. It’s bulkier, filled with muscle from wrestling and playing football in high school. I plan on keeping it nice and toned for as long as I can.
I peer in the mirror and see my biceps rippling, my dark hair slick with sweat as I breathe through my mouth.
Zane is grumbling beside me, his movements jarring. I can tell from his expression that he’s starting to feel the pain of his bad form.
“You should slow down, dude.”
“Can’t,” he grunts. “Too angry.”
“They’re not even watching you. You’re going to hurt yoursel—”
He looks over to prove me wrong and jerks his arm up too fast. The weight clocks him in the mouth, and he freezes, blood oozing from his lip and gums.
“Shit,” he murmurs, and his fingers go lax. The weight hits the floor with a loud thud as he yanks his shirt up to his mouth, trying to staunch the blood flow.
The Vyastil at the bench press look horrified, moving quickly as they stand up and hover near Zane.
I can tell he’s growing flustered by the attention they’re paying him. His ears are red, and the flush is spreading downward to his cheeks.
“He’s injured. Humans are so fragile,” the violet-haired one says.
The one with cerulean hair in a long braid down his back nods before adding, “I have some zitha in my bag. Should I grab it?”
The violet-haired one grimaces, his fangs poking over his lip. “Yes. I can’t stand the smell of their blood.”
Zane pales.
Before I can interfere, the one with the braid is gone, striding off quickly to grab whatever the hell zitha is.
Zane is blinking over at me, frustration on his face, and I can tell he’s about to blow. He’s probably ashamed of being so reckless, but also furious that the creatures he despises are fawning all over him.
It makes it worse when Quilliyn appears seemingly out of nowhere, his hand moving to Zane’s chin and tilting his head back.
“You’re hurt,” Quilliyn says.
Zane glowers.
“We’re getting some zitha,” the one monster who stayed behind says.
“Is it safe for humans?” I can’t help but ask.
“Yes.” Quilliyn gives me the same look one might give a scared child.
Then Quilliyn’s eyes meet Zane’s, and for a moment, Zane stops breathing, his breath caught in his lungs.
And then he expels it as the monster who left reappears with something in a jar.
“Whoa. What the fuck is that?” Zane asks, his words slightly slurred from the way he’s holding his lip.
“A healing ointment,” Quilliyn replies patiently, and takes the jar, twisting it open. I immediately catch a strong, unfamiliar herbal scent as Quilliyn slips his finger into it.
Zane rears back, but Quilliyn is stronger than him and holds him tight against his body, forcing him to accept the help.
Using his thumb, he pushes Zane’s lip up and smears the ointment along all the places he’s bleeding. Zane’s clearly struggling against him, but Quilliyn manages his work without looking like he’s straining against Zane’s flailing arms.
When he’s done, Zane spits and sputters, glaring at Quilliyn as he attempts to wipe it off. It doesn’t work. The shine of the ointment is still there. And, as I watch with wide eyes, the bleeding immediately stops.
It seems the herb has clotted the cuts, and I can almost see it knitting him back together again.
“Holy shit,” I murmur. “Thanks.”
Quilliyn nods, but he does look a little annoyed that Zane isn’t even a little grateful. “There would have been less bleeding if he weren’t so stubborn. If it weren’t for the zitha, he’d have to get stitches.” He says the word stitches like they’re some barbaric treatment.
And, I suppose, to a species that has ointments like zitha, stitches would seem horrific.
“Yeah,” I say from behind a sigh. “I know.”
Zane is glowering at everyone now, his shirt slightly bloodstained, his cheeks red, too.
Quilliyn leans in toward Zane and speaks in a low, melodic tone. “Be careful, human. You are fragile.”
Zane freezes, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a breath, then stalks off to the lockers, murmuring to himself the entire time.
I think this might be his first interaction with a monster where one actually touched him, and it’s clear he’s struggling with the way it made him feel.
I wonder what their skin feels like, I think as I get back to my workout.
I know Zane needs some time to cool off. If I follow him now, he’ll most likely tell me off, and I’m honestly not in the mood. Not when I’m so anxious about my appointment at the New Beginnings Clinic tomorrow.
Zane can take a few minutes to breathe and chill out, and I can make sure I work off any excess anxiety.
And tomorrow, I’ll figure out what a Vyastil feels like.
If not their entire bodies, then at least their mouths.