Jerrok sets my arm down carefully and moves to the other. "Does it matter?"
A hot bolt of shame hits me. "No, it doesn't matter." Why do I care? He's just a friend that got stuck washing me because I hurt myself in his home. There's no one else to do the dirty work, so it falls to him. It's me that's getting clingy and ridiculous. "I'm sorry I asked."
He grunts, and that's his only response, and goes back to washing me.
I bite my lip and ignore the rest of the washing—or try to, anyhow. It doesn't feel the same when you know the person who's touching you is only tolerating your presence. Barely. The curl of desire I felt earlier withers and dies, and it doesn't even flare when he gently washes between my thighs.
I'm such a jerk for asking about his piercings. Jerrok was aroused, sure, but he's a guy. He probably gets hard at the drop of a hat, and it's clear he didn't like me asking about it. I worry I've made things weird between us. I don't want to ruin our friendship, because it makes me happy. As we step out of the shower and he towels me dry, I stare at the wall…and at a plas-film dispenser. Oh god, that's right. Mesakkah are sticklers for hygiene laws. Here he is, probably uncomfortable having to tend to me while violating all the hygiene laws in his universe and I'm asking about his dick while he had an uncomfortable boner. He's never shown an iota of interest in me or my body, and I'm just reading things sexually because my world has been warped and I think my only value is in my body.
Ugh. I really am the worst friend ever. He's just being nice and I'm being a creep. "I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry?" His tone is brusque, his toweling of me vigorous, and that just makes things worse. He's no longer being painfully gentle. It's like he knows that I get the wrong idea if he is.
"Because you're having to take care of me like I'm an invalid. I'll be healed up soon enough and you won't have to." I try to keep my tone cheerful, even though all I really want to do is hide and wait for my awkward embarrassment to ebb away. "I'll make it up to you somehow, too."
He just gives me an odd look and pulls out one of his oversized tunics, tugging it over my head. "You gonna be okay if I leave you alone for a few?" Jerrok paces away, picking up a crate of metal parts on a nearby table.
"Of course." My hair's still dripping down my head and onto the collar of the tunic, but I can't complain. I sit down on the edge of his bed and Sleipnir immediately starts to lick the water droplets from my skin, bringing a smile to my face. "I'll just cuddle with Sleipnir."
"Good," Jerrok says, and heads out.
I sigh and sling my arm carefully around the carinoux's shoulders as it licks my face. "I've definitely made things weird, boy."35JERROKCarrying the crate of parts out of the room is just an excuse to get away from her. Her gaze is too knowing, and I'm too flustered to remain calm. My cock aches and aches, and I vaguely realize I'm still wearing my damp trou and getting water all over the keffing floors. Not that I care. I head into the nearest room and toss the crate down, then drag my hand over the throbbing bar of my cock.
You're, uh, pierced, she'd said. For a girlfriend?
I'd been washing her breasts, fascinated with the hard tips and how soft she is here, and she asked about another woman. She wanted to know if there was someone in my life…and like the keffing fool I am, I shut her down. I'm an idiot. I panicked and wasn't sure how to respond. How do you tell a human female who's been trafficked and abused by aliens that you're fascinated with her? That you're obsessed with her scent and her skin and her smile and her conversation? How do you say that as you wash her naked body while she's helpless…and not make it threatening?
Besides, I already know her answer. She'd never be interested in someone like me. Even for mesakkah, I'm not particularly handsome. I've got scars everywhere. My eyes don't match. My limbs are trash. I'm not rich. I'm certainly not charming. Sophie tolerates me because she doesn't have any other options, but it doesn't mean that she's interested in me sexually.
That's why it's all the more important that I don't come onto her and abuse her trust. She can't know that washing her is one of the greatest pleasures in my life. She can't know that I dream about her, or that I touch myself to the thought of her. I look around the room, noticing it's one of the ones we've been working on clearing out recently. Sophie's obsessed with me having “comfortable” living spaces, as if that's important. She's got such a kind heart, and what do I do to repay that kindness? Jerk my cock every chance I get, dreaming about her mouth and her soft skin. Even now, I reach into my trou and squeeze my length, thinking about her soapy breasts.