Seventh Atlas ch.2

Author's Note: Who's got two thumbs and managed to get the poll story out on the same month as the actual poll, for once? This motherfucker right here! I've had some further battery troubles but ones that should be a little easier/cheaper to fix, so I should hopefully be back soon with some fresh content!

As for this story -- I mentioned a while ago that it was among the series I most wanted to continue, and man, working on it was a blast. I've really found myself getting 'into' this one and hope that it proves fruitful. Definitely something I'd like to see keep going!

It's been a while since the first chapter came out, so if you missed it, check it out here on Patreon, or here (with slight edits) on Ao3!

[story] [f/f] [some girldick!] [cute] [romance?] [aliens!]

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“Pooding. Ku’zan pooding?” Ahsia eyes me suspiciously, her eyelids creeping from the bottom upward until her eyes become thin, high slits.

“It’s not pudding. It’s a chocolate bar,” I say hesitantly, extending it a bit farther towards her. I opted for something simple, a bar of milk chocolate with no add-ins, about as close to pudding as you can get in solid form.

“Barr-pooding,” she lowers herself onto all fours on the couch, drawing close, sniffing the offered candy. Now that she’s had time to adjust and eat, she’s a bit more discerning about what she does and doesn’t want – though she did guzzle down nearly the entire gallon of milk I brought for her. Finally, she lunges out and takes a bite, like a snapping turtle trying to maul some unsuspecting human fingers, her sharp teeth easily breaking the chocolate apart, chewing it, and gulping it down. “Oah!”

“Good?”

“Barr-pooding! Nnnn.” She sits up, reaching out to take the bar with her hands and quickly finishing it, seeming to enjoy it nearly as much as she had the pudding, causing me to wonder if it was the chocolate she’d liked, or the texture of the pudding itself. I’ll have to experiment further in the future, there – banana, tapioca and whatnot, see what her favorite ends up being. Still, she fortunately seems pretty receptive to the chocolate bar, so I’ll consider it a win for now.

“Alright, cool, there ya go. You ate, you drank, you should have all of your basic needs taken care of, I think. Just wish I could understand you a little bet–” As Ahsia finally lays back on the couch and stretches out, it becomes immediately clear that not all of her basic needs have been met. A salty, pungent odor is coming from the alien girl, starkly reminding me that she’s been wearing a skintight suit for over a day and has not bathed. It isn’t technically unpleasant, but it is definitely noteworthy, sort of reminds me of how the house would smell whenever my mom cooked dak gomtang. “Fuck, you smell like chicken soup. We gotta get you into a bath, huh? How do you feel about water, Ahsia? Take a bath?” I pantomime rubbing my hands up and down my arms and shoulders, as if scrubbing myself down. She mimics me, but seems confused.

“Wa’tur, Ahsia? Baath? Erm….”

“Here, I – um, fuck – okay, come on, follow me.” I stand up and start making my way toward the bathroom. While it’s unlikely she understands, I beckon her onward with one hand, and she follows behind nonetheless, tail swaying behind her as she stalks forward on those long, strange legs of hers. It’s actually now that I really internalize how tall she is, not monstrous by any means, but certainly over six feet, dwarfing my little 5’8” ass. Who’s tall for a girl now, dad?

The bathroom’s a little cramped, but it has all the basic necessities – bathtub, shower, toilet, sink, mirror, and a couple small cabinets, with white tile floor, forest-green shower curtain, and an opaque window on the other side of the tub. As I guide Ahsia towards the shower, I become distracted by the mirror, seeing myself and Ahsia side-by-side, getting a truly bizarre wave of dysphoria. It’s strange to have gender envy of an extraterrestrial, but it’s definitely there. Despite her horns, tail, purple skin, and other alien traits, she’s still beautiful and effortlessly feminine in a way I don’t feel I can match. Not that I haven’t been trying.

Contrasting Ahsia’s little tentacles, my hair’s straight, black, and nearing shoulder-length, a little messy but lacking the curl or volume to make too much of a statement about it. With my mom being a second-gen korean immigrant from California and my dad being straight from Barcelona, I’m mostly left looking vaguely mediterranean, just asian enough to earn a few side-eyes when Covid hit. I lack Ahsia’s sleek, streamlined curves (though the estrogen has finally gotten my boobs to start kicking off, I’m still mostly stuck with training bras), but like to think I’ve crawled my way toward a sort of tomboyish appeal, halfway between ‘skater twink’ and ‘Home Depot lesbian.’

Shaking free of momentary introspection, I sweep the shower curtain aside and turn the water in the tub on, the sound of which causes Ahsia to startle backwards, lowering into a crouch. “It’s fine!” I reassure her, running one hand under the water and showing that it’s harmless. “Water, that’s all. Waaa-teeer.”

“Waaaa’turrrr,” Ahsia repeats, suspicion in her voice again, though she creeps up beside me and extends her hand under the water. She flinches at the warmth, quickly realizes she isn’t hurt, and extends her hand again, splashing the flow of liquid back and forth. “Wa’tur. Hrmn. Lanada kaph keph’riy.”

Alright, she hasn’t burst into flames or started dissolving or anything, so we’re probably good to go, for the most part. I turn the cold water on and get the tub starting to fill, then turn my attention back to Ahsia, realizing how… uncomfortable this next part might end up being. “Okay, can you, uh… strip? Clothes off? Suit?” I carefully reach out to pluck at the smooth, skintight fabric of what she’s wearing, but she doesn’t seem to understand.

“Sout. Streep?”

“Take off. Um…” I sigh, shrugging my way out of the purple flannel I’d been wearing open, a white tank-top beneath. Holding up the garment with one hand, I gesture to her with the other. “Take off?” While my primary intent is, and remains, to bathe her, I can’t help but get a little excited at the thought of her getting naked in my bathroom – it’s been quite a while since something like that’s happened, and it isn’t like Ahsia isn’t extremely attractive. I just hope I’m not somehow taking advantage of her… I dunno, her alien-ness.

Ahsia simply looks at the flannel, then back to me with a questioning expression. “Misz ahsoo lap?” Alright, hard way it is. I sigh, then reach down to pull my tank top off, exposing my skinny midsection and tiny, budding breasts. What Ahsia is most interested in, though, is my Atlas Moth tattoo, still wrapped in plastic (though I think I’m fine to remove it, at this point). “Oah! Kis’miy tou hazab!” She points at it, offering me a small smile.

“Did you say ‘kiss me’?” There’s no way she did, right? My heart immediately starts to beat a little faster, even if I know I’m wrong.

“Kis’miy! Hm hm hm,” she points at the moth again, and I nod.

“Right, the bug, the – t-the moth. Kiss-me.” I shake a few impure thoughts from my head, and go about removing the plastic bandage, gesturing to Ahsia with the other hand. “Okay, now you. Clothes off, alright?”

This time, it finally seems to click. The suit she’s wearing doesn’t seem to have any buttons, zippers, buckles, or anything else like that, so I admit to being a bit curious as to how she intends to remove it at all. I soon learn – she places two fingertips on one of those interlocking stars that make up her suit, a little larger than the rest and right in the center of her solar plexus, and makes a subtle motion I can’t quite make out. In an instant, the rest of the little seven-pointed shapes retract into the larger one, leaving Ahsia extremely and unceremoniously nude in an instant, and I can feel the burn of my cheeks beginning to redden a second later.

It’s difficult not to stare – so difficult, in fact, that I simply do so, taking a moment to study Ahsia’s figure. While most of her body has the same light lavender coloration as her face and hands, she has a sort of ‘underbelly’ ranging from her throat to her pelvis that’s several shades lighter, almost pure white, with the exception of her nipples (which she… has, wasn’t positive that she would), which are orchid-colored, and thin stripes of a darker reddish-purple streak down her upper arms, calves, and around her shoulder blades. Her skin in general has a sort of shine to it, and seems to be completely hairless, reminding me almost of a dolphin.

Her breasts are decidedly… human-like, and a bit bigger than mine, around a B-cup if I had to guess, though my personal experience shopping for bras has led to me categorizing nearly all of them as ‘too big’ unless they were AA’s. Beneath each armpit is a small cavity I can’t quite make out, and also of great interest is what lays nestled between her thighs, something I’ve always resented about myself, but which she seems to wear without a hint of shame: Ahsia definitely has a penis. It looks a little unusual, in all fairness, and I doubt it functions or behaves exactly the way a human’s does, but I am most assuredly looking at an outie, not an innie. The lavender color of its base fades to sky blue at its tip, and I see no signs of a foreskin or indeed, any manner of ‘outer layer,’ though its sides sport rows of thin gills, not unlike what you’d find beneath the cap of a mushroom. It’s visibly soft, leading me to wonder what it might look like if it… wasn’t.

“Holy shit, you’re…” I stammer aloud, clearing my throat as I look at her. Oddly, she seems to have no real sense of shame considering her nudity or my own toplessness, looking at me as if confused by my stunned staring.

“Schy’tt?” she mimics me, clearly not knowing what I’m referencing, and finally pointing to herself. “Ahsia, schy’tt?”

“No, no! You’re not shit. Sorry. I was just – agh, fuck.”

“Fucc!”

“Let’s just get you in the bathtub, okay?” I try to shake the sudden rush of arousal (and weird guilt) from my thoughts, reaching towards the tub to turn the water off now that it’s about full and at a good temperature. “In. Uhh…” I taught her ‘go,’ right? “Ahsia, go,” I attempt, pointing at the bathtub. The alien crinkles her nose in uncertainty, looking from the water and back to me.

With another moment of hesitation, Ahsia extends a three-toed foot into the water, testing it, then finally climbing in, sitting down cross-legged in the middle of the tub, then looking plaintively up at me. Alright, I have no clue how her people wash themselves, but it clearly isn’t like this, so it seems I’ll need to get more… involved. Swallowing hard, I get down on my knees next to the tub, reaching out and gently touching the small of her back with one hand, and her shoulder with the other, tiny touches that she doesn’t flinch away from or seem suspicious of. As I gradually lower her backwards into a more ‘normal’ laying position, I can’t help but feel a little proud of myself that she’s come to trust me this much, this quickly. Sure, it’s not like she has anyone else lining up to babysit her, but with those teeth of hers, she definitely doesn’t have to take any shit from me that she doesn’t damn well want to.

“Alright, here we go… waaateeer,” I repeat as I use my hands to gently splash the warm water over her upper chest and shoulders, only touching her very cautiously and in areas unlikely to be… delicate, just  trying to gesture at the idea of cleaning before she, hopefully, takes over. “Waaateeer. Clean Ahsia, okay?”

“Wa’tur. Kleen Ahsia. Hm hm.” She tries to mimic me, but is mostly just sort of splashing the water around, clearly not internalizing the objective the way I’d been hoping. Swallowing hard, I get a little bolder, getting a hand wet and rubbing it up along her shoulder, then neck, this time a bit more firmly. Her skin feels very much the way it looks – impossibly smooth, almost slippery now that it’s a little wet. Shimmering. Beautiful. To my horror (and weird delight?) she responds to the touch by letting her eyes drift shut, emitting another of those soft, high-pitched purrs, her body relaxing a little as I wash her. Is the purring sound is indeed roughly analogous to a cat’s purr (with the exception of Bastard, who for some reason only purrs when he’s pooping), did she… basically just moan?

It takes a moment, but I slowly get more comfortable with the idea of touching her, even if I am still trying to keep things clinical. With her eyes being closed, I take the opportunity to ogle her a little more, admiring her beauty and her… strangeness… all at once. I find a strange comfort in the fact that she has what certainly at least appears to be a dick – something that’s always made me feel out of place looks perfectly natural, even beautiful, on Ahsia. I don’t touch it, even if I do kinda want to, focusing on actually cleaning the girl.

After a few minutes, the purring abates, and Ahsia’s eyes open once again. She, fortunately, begins to aid me, rubbing water over herself with her hands the same way I am, seeming to finally get the point (even if it took her a while). “Ahsia, kleen?” she looks up at me, as if asking for approval, unsure if she’s doing the right thing.

“Fuck yeah. Ahsia clean,” I smile and nod, and move to stand up, figuring I can leave her own devices at this point, but pause when I remember something hidden down below that will become very much not hidden if I stand too abruptly – perhaps predictably, my time washing and massaging Ahsia’s gorgeous naked body has given me an uncomfortably stiff erection (through no fault of my own!), and… yeah, maybe it’s better that she doesn’t see that just yet. “You just, uh, keep on doin’ what you’re doin’, and I’ll, uh….”

I do a little half-stand full-body twisting motion, making sure I’m faced away from Ahsia before I stand completely, and make my way for the door. I don’t know if she’ll have a concept of what being ‘done’ entails in this particular context, but I guess I can just come back in a few minutes and hope for the best. I’m getting decidedly hot under the collar anyway, and some time to cool off would… do me good.

I wander into the bedroom and throw on a clean yellow t-shirt, then topple onto the living room couch. This is already serving to be… not exhausting, not even stressful, I don’t think. Dealing with Ahsia is exciting, even fun, but there’s a weight on my mind that I can’t shake. I don’t know what to do with her, not in the long run. And what are her goals? Does she want to go back home, or is she fleeing some sort of intergalactic conflict? Oh god, what if she brings the intergalactic conflict to Earth? What if alien invaders come looking for her, and follow some sort of tracking beacon on her shuttle, right to my backyard? Turn Bastard and I to dust with lasers, then steal Ahsia away and sell her into some kinda fucked-up intergalactic sex-slavery? Do they have sex slaves in space? Do they have sex in space? Has Ahsia had sex? Would she ever want to have sex with me? Would it be awesome, or would she like… liquefy me, or….

Fuck, okay, yeah, maybe stressful is the right word after all.

I head to the kitchen and grab one of the cans of cheap beer I bought last night, back when life seemed so much more simple, back when my problems were getting off unemployment and successfully dodging my parents’ phone calls. I crack open the can, take a long guzzle, sigh dramatically, and turn back to see Ahsia standing in the living room, stark naked and dripping wet, tail swishing contentedly back and forth behind her. “Ahsia, kleen! Nnnn.”

“Oh, we are gonna have to get you some clothes,” I say softly, mostly to myself. Not that she isn’t… great like this, but if I’m gonna start properly teaching her english, I’ll have to minimize distractions. “Alright, let’s get you dressed, and uh… I guess we’ll start some real, actual lessons. Fuck, do I have a long road ahead of me.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Samantha shuffled her feet nervously. It wasn’t often that she was brought to one of these offices. However sterile and brightly-lit they were, it always felt like being summoned to a dark room to meet some sort of shadowy overlord, which… was partially true, at least. It turned out that CIA candidacy coupled with a Master’s Degree in Astronomy led to some very strange job openings, and that the pay wasn’t always worth what was expected of her. The discoveries, however, tended to be. “The trajectory software has proven more valuable than the tracking satellites, actually… uh, sir. We managed to trace its movements fairly effectively as it moved past Mars, but… um, well….”

Director Pierce planted his elbows on the desk in front of him, leaning forward, fixing Samantha with that cold, gray-eyed stare. He was a hard, sharp man, a hawk-like nose and thick chin, bushy eyebrows and a high forehead. His gaze, and indeed his posture, spoke more of a fighter than a politician, or indeed even a spy. “Does your tongue betray you, Ms. Gilroy? Would you like to speak up, or do you find forever fucking silence to be preferable?”

“Sorry, sir – ah, director, sir. We… lost track of the Item.” Samantha swallowed, cleared her throat. “As soon as it entered Earth’s atmosphere. The working theory is that re-entry caused too much damage to the tracker for it to continue functioning, and–”

“You lost it? Do you know how much money we’ve put into this project, Ms. Gilroy? Are you aware of exactly how valuable our division considers the Item to be?” There was a quiet rage bubbling just beneath the surface, but Pierce’s voice remained distressingly calm.

“Uh, yes, sir, I do have an estimate, yes. But… I didn’t say we lost it. I said we lost track of it.” Samantha bit her lip, straightening the hair tie that kept her flame-red hair tied into a loose bun at the back of her head, desperate not to make direct eye contact with the man behind the desk. “As I said, the trajectory software I commissioned has proven extremely useful. Final readings of its position before re-entry place the Item somewhere on the west coast of North America, most likely the United States.”

“That’s a lot of fucking ground to cover,” Pierce leaned back in his chair, those icy eyes still glaring at Samantha. “Nothing more specific than that?”

“Well, the software is only so precise,” Samantha hesitated, “we can estimate that it’s landed anywhere within fifty miles or so of the epicenter of the reading, though it does give us a place to start.”

“Would you care to clue me in as to this epicenter, Ms. Gilroy?”

“It’s a town of no great significance, nor any real development in the last decade or so. Marion.”