Nautilus (For EW&R)

It was like nothing he’d ever seen before. A curving … something, making its way through the water. Well, all right, it wasn’t water, he supposed, since the chemical formula wasn’t even close to H2O. Still, it was the liquid stuff that passed for ocean, and it was surprisingly blue, just like home, so it was water in his head.

Geez, he had to think ‘head’. As if it weren’t bad enough being out here sans what the suits called “companionship”, now he’s making it worse for himself? Damn! ‘Making it’. Christ, what he wouldn’t give to be making it right now. It wouldn’t even much matter who.

Or what. That curvy thing swimming along was sort of donut-shaped. Looked about the right size, too. Who’s to know? He’d do it, then collect it and head topside.
Without further thought, he swam toward the thing. Damn, it was pretty, his favorite color blue, and the little finny-feathery things around that just-right hole looked soft and welcoming. Good thing, since the almost-pleasant ache in his groin had turned the corner into definitely-painful. He reached down to adjust himself and decided to just go ahead and lose the trunks. Might as well be ready, since he was pretty close now.

Much better, the warm … water … caressing him, making promises that curvy thing was gonna keep. Crap, it saw him! No sneaking up on this specimen. He’d get it anyway. He was fast in the … water. That’s why he was here, for god’s sake, because he was fast in the water. He’d be fast and catch it, then slow, slow doing it and fast again collecting it and getting back topside.

Damn. Uncoiling? Shite, there goes the hole. Turning toward him now. Well, hell-oh. This could be even better. The thing’s an effing tube! And he was going to eff the hell out of it. If he could catch it. Coming closer now, maybe it was curious. Hey, that works. Draw it within reach and there ya go. He’d let it … well, if he were home and it were canine, he’d say he’d let it sniff him. Whatever this thing did, he’d let it, get it to relax so he didn’t have to work so hard for it.

Oho, maybe he wouldn’t have to chase after all. The curveball (hey, it’s as good a name as any until the nerds see it and call it some dumb Latin thing or another) — it seemed interested in that particular part of him. All he’d have to do is a bit of guiding and a clamp and hold once it was where he wanted it.

My god, not even that! It slipped right over him, slow and easy, tight and hot, rippling in waves along his length. Damn. Hot holy damn, it was like a million very well-trained mouths all on him at once. And it liked it, too. It was changing color along with the waves, going from cobalt through the spectrum to lavender and back. He reached down to caress it. He wouldn’t collect this; he’d have it as his FWB instead. God, so soft! Almost to his belly now, just a bit more and he’d be all in. There must be finny feathery things on the inside, too, the deeper in he went, because something was ticking the very tip of him and oh holy shit, it was good!

Christ, another second and he’d blow. So damned good! There, now, oh god, now! Yes, Curveball, milk it, get it all, every drop. Damn, Curveball went solid green, shimmying and shivering along with him. Did it come, too? Jesus, the guys back home would be lining up to pull a rotation out here once they found out. Best he’d ever had.

A thought. Coming from Curveball? Telepathy? The science boys talked about it, figured it was how everything around this place communicated, so yeah. Curveball was telling him something.

Thank you, is that the term to express pleasure and gratitude?

He couldn’t imagine trying to talk under … water … so he thought back to it. Yes, that’s right, and thank you. That was astounding. Very pleasurable, I mean.

I’m very glad to hear that. We like our conjoined to be happy.

Conjoin— wait, that means attached, one body. Oh, no effing way, dude, no —

It’s rather too late for no.

He reached down and pulled at Curveball, tried to yank it off. Hot needles raked his johnson as Curveball moved a tiny fraction.

I wouldn’t, if I were you. My spines can inject a toxin. You wouldn’t like that.

Oh god, he had to get topside, get the thing removed!

What kills me, kills you. I have collected you; you are mine. Come, Rover, time to go home.

About suzanawylie

Suzana Wylie is the not-very-pseudo pseudonym of Susan Wylie Wilson, because let's face it, there are lots of Susan Wilsons around, and as an author, I want readers to find ME and not the bazillions of others. I've been writing all my life - since I learned to hold a pencil anyway - and can't NOT write. Other people have to breathe to live; I have to write.
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