Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Khesan
There is no pleasure in the world like spending time with Fiona today, and then kissing her soft human lips. I will not forget it as long as I live, and I hope we get to do it many, many more times.
But my doubt is growing. Shathar is so certain that he, too, is her fated mate that I have begun to worry. What if it’s true? Then my position here at Fiona’s side is not guaranteed. The little Frahma was clear that she must choose one of us.
What if the one chosen isn’t me?
This idea keeps me up long into the night. I wake up late the next morning and head downstairs to find breakfast has been made and a plate left out for me.
“She went to work,” Shathar calls from the living room as I sit down at the table. I grunt and sip the coffee that was still heated in the pot. At least the bitterness of the drink might wake me up.
I know her office is simply in another part of the house, but it feels like there is a yawning cavern between us. I’ve always been a tad anxious, even despite my training, and now those nerves have grown and spread. What if I must watch Fiona marry Shathar, and I’m the one who has to go home?
I must prove to her somehow that I am the correct choice. Which means I need to improve my romance skills, as I want to earn all of Fiona’s trust and affection.
So I spend my morning in the living room, watching more romance movies on the television. Shathar lets out a hmph as I sit there and eventually leaves. He must think I am wasting time, but I’m learning. There are many ways that humans show affection, and I will master all of them.
I’m surprised when I switch to one of Fiona’s many “streaming services,” and a woman moans. I quickly turn down the volume on the television as bodies move on a bed in a way that can only be described as erotic.
What could this be? I glance around to make sure Shathar is not within sight, but he’s downstairs. Assuaged, I keep watching.
It is a very intimate scene, with a woman writhing under a blanket while the male on top of her pumps his hips. Most of their flesh is hidden, but the mere suggestion of mating has my cock perking up.
What manner of television is this?
Soon, I worry someone will walk in, so I change the channel to what appears to be a show about cooking. But I’m still hard under my leggings, and now I desperately want to attend to myself.
With a quick look around, I determine I’m alone, so I get off the couch and hurry up the stairs to my private room. There, I hastily pull my leggings down and wrap my hand around my cock.
My whole body bows at just this contact, as riled up as I am. I ache to mate, to touch Fiona all over and then show her just how good my nalopo could make her feel. She would sing under me, I think, once I got to know what she liked.
I bite my lip with one sharp fang as I try to keep my voice in. My skin is electrified, and it won’t take much for me to finish after what I just saw on the television.
Would she wrap her legs around my hips that way? Would she cry out the way the human woman under the sheets did?
I buck into my hand and bite down harder as I finally ejaculate. Bliss radiates through me, down to my toes, and I let out a heavy sigh.
That afternoon, when she finishes with her work, Fiona announces that our clothes are ready and we must go pick them up. This time, I let Shathar take the front seat in the car without arguing, but he shoots me a dirty look anyway as he gets in, like he suspects I’m up to something.
I suppose I am. I will learn to get along with my rival as much as I possibly can to show that I am the better out of the two of us. Then he will look silly as he tries to fight with me.
The tailor is waiting with our garments, and we each try on a pair of pants in the dressing room.
My new “jeans” fit like a glove, though I don’t like the starchy, unforgiving fabric as much as I do my leggings.
They have room for my tail, with a strap over the top that snaps into place, keeping them up.
Shathar steps out at the same time, his jeans a darker, earthier color than mine. It fits his body flawlessly, and once again, I am frustrated by how attractive of an Arshurian he is. He might be older, but it doesn’t show in the shape of his legs or rear end.
I bristle, thinking how difficult it is to compete with this.
Fiona examines both of us, making ooh and ahh sounds. She pauses to admire me, and her smile is radiant. Some of my anxiety unfurls at the genuine pleasure on her face.
“You look great, Khesan,” she says, playing with the hem of my shirt. “Almost like an Earthling!”
I grin down at her, tempted to take her right here in a kiss, but then Shathar clears his throat and Fiona moves on to compliment him, too.
“I say we have dinner out tonight to celebrate your new fits,” Fiona says as we hop into the car carrying our belongings. Again, I take the rear seat. “Are you all right back there, Khesan?”
“Just fine,” I say. Shathar squints at me over his seat, but I remain with the smile on my face.
On our way home, Fiona turns into a parking lot outside a building that reminds me of one of our own back home, made of clay with blocky edges and covered in colorful decorations.
“Mexican food!” she crows as we all get out of the vehicle.
“At last,” Shathar says, tilting his head back to gaze up at the brightly-colored sign. “The little Frahma who came to Arshur couldn’t stop talking about it.”
I snap my fingers. “Yes! It was one of his selling points. Spicy and delicious.”
Inside, the smell is marvelous, and the place is packed with people. Enthusiastic murals cover the walls, and both Shathar and I stare at them as we pass.
“Very vivid,” he murmurs. “Reminds me of Western Arshurian art.” We also create art from tiles arranged in patterns to create beautiful images.
“Indeed. Such lush colors.” I feel a pang of homesickness.
Shathar lets out a hmph of agreement as a human woman leads us through the restaurant to a table. Fiona gets into the booth first, then me on her left and Shathar on her right. For good measure, I take her hand in mine, relishing the warmth of her soft skin against my scales.
“This is a menu,” she says, handing one to each of us. “It has all the food options on it.”
I browse the menu, my translator attempting to supply comparable words.
“There are so many,” Shathar says with a twinge of anxiety. “How do we choose?”
I have to agree with him. It is overwhelming, the pages and pages of options, when I am not sure what most of them mean.
“I guess it’s a pretty big menu. Want me to pick a few things and we can share?”
I bristle immediately at the idea of sharing with Shathar, but it makes the most logical sense.
“All right,” I say, folding up the menu and setting it down. “I will share.”
Shathar looks skeptical, but finally acquiesces as well.
“So, do you feel more like Earthlings?” Fiona asks brightly. “Now that you have pants?”
“I think my tail will always give me away,” jokes Shathar. Then said tail winds around Fiona’s waist, and I have to do my very best to keep my fans from rising on my head at this intimate contact. I wish to do the same now, but the last thing I want is to coil my tail with Shathar’s.
That is an act for lovers, which makes me envious.
Fiona’s phone buzzes as we wait to be attended, and she frowns as she reads the message she’s received.
“The Christmas party?” she mutters, annoyed. “Really?”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Marguerite. She’s my friend. She loves to play host, and she was going to put on a Christmas party this year. But she says one of her pipes just burst and she can’t do it anymore.”
“What is this party?” asks Shathar.
“Big, big deal,” Fiona says with a resigned sigh, like she doesn’t look forward to it. “She always goes ham with it.”
My translator supplies me with an image of cooked meat.
“Why are you not excited for the large meat chunk?” I ask.
Fiona blinks at me, then laughs. “No, no. I just mean, she likes to… do the most. No, it’s Mom. Christmas was always Mom’s favorite holiday. She always went wild. Covered the house in lights, put up a big tree in the living room, piled up presents, even after I grew up.”
“A tree?” says Shathar. “Inside your house?”
“Yeah. It’s weird, I guess. We go cut down a pine tree and then bring it inside and decorate it.”
Shathar and I share a quizzical expression as we glance at each other over the top of Fiona’s small head. What does this mean, cutting down a tree to bring it indoors?
“What do you do with it afterward?” I ask her.
“Well, good question. A lot of people just… leave it up for a long time.” She gives an uncertain laugh. “I am one of those people. Then, once I do get around to it, I guess I just put it in the trash.”
Again, we frown at each other. Surely they don’t just dispose of it.
“Seems like a waste,” I say.
Fiona shrugs. “Yeah, I guess it is. Anyway, if I have to host the Christmas party, that means I have to go all out on the decorations.”
“We will help you,” says Shathar quickly. “Don’t worry.”
I nod in agreement. “You have two Arshurians. We will make it go by quickly.”
Fiona grins. “Okay. Maybe decorating for the Christmas party will be fun.”
Then the staff arrives to ask what we would like, and Fiona orders for all of us.
When the food arrives, it is very hot to the touch, and absolutely exceptional in flavor.
It’s salty, spicy, and after only a few minutes I’ve devoured half of one plate.
Then we all switch, so I can try even more dishes.
“Mexican food is exactly as the little Frahma described,” Shathar announces. “Wonderful. Delicious.”
I must agree with him, though I don’t say it aloud.
When we’re all stuffed and finished, no speck of food remains on the plates. Fiona is amused by our appetites.
“Going to have to feed you guys more,” she says. “Didn’t know you were both bottomless pits.”
Once dinner is over, I have made my plan.
“I will help you in any way you need with this ‘Christmas party,’” I tell her as we return to the car. “Will there be a lot of people?”
“Many, many people. Marguerite’s house is always full.” Fiona rubs her face. “Man, all those people in my house!”
I rub her shoulder. “Don’t worry. You have me.”
“And me, too,” pipes up Shathar. “No party will defeat us.”
I love Fiona’s bright answering laugh.