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“She has broken a rib,” Z’leni says. “We need to bind that first.”

“Heh,” Ryatuv grunts. “With what?”

Z’leni growls, but I know him well enough to realize it’s in frustration at the situation, not anger at Ryatuv or me. He moves back and I hear him moving around. He retrieves the torch and moves it closer, bringing at least some illumination.

“I have nothing,” Z’leni admits.

“It is not… right… but we have no choice,” Ryatuv says, staring over me at him.

“What’s not right? What are you thinking?” I wince when my voice goes too high, aggravating the rib again.

They continue staring at one another, ignoring me. I try to sit up and though anger carries me through to my elbows the pain causes me to drop back down, yelping as I do.

“Do not do that,” Z’leni says.

“Wh—wh—what,” I manage to huff between flashes of white-hot, blinding pain.

“I need the bottom part of… your shirt,” Ryatuv says.

“My… shirt?” I ask, pain making me slow because what the hell good does the bottom part of my shirt do anyone?

“We need cloth to bind your ribs,” Z’leni says.

Heat spreads over my chest as I glance between them. I don’t have a bra, I have a long piece of cloth that binds my tits down to keep them from hurting and being annoying. The bottom part of my shirt would do next to nothing, but if we repurpose the binding that would be more effective.

But that will mean letting both these men, whom I definitely have an interest in, each of them, see my tits. Which is nowhere near ready to do. They’ll not only see them but at least one of them is going to be touching me… there. The heat on my chest rises to my cheeks and for the first time I’m thankful for the darkness so they can’t see how red my face must be.

“We have no choice, I am sorry Elara,” Ryatuv says, reaching for my shirt to start his makeshift binding.

“No!” I yelp, both from surprise and pain.

“Elara, the lizard is right, we mus?—”

“No,” I cut him off, speaking softer and not eliciting pain this time. “And don’t call him that. You both saved me, can you at least please stop the name calling?”

Z’leni’s mouth drops open and he stares for a long moment. Then he looks up at Ryatuv and snaps his mouth shut. He blinks, takes a deep breath, then exhales before speaking.

“I apologize,” he says.

I blink too. That was a lot more than I expected. All I had hoped for was to establish a baseline of civility. Ryatuv nods, sharply, accepting the apology.

“There is, a… huh… hmm that hurts… a binding on my uhm… yeah. It will serve better as a binding for my ribs but… I’ll… shit… uhm… I’ll need help.”

If these two were human males, at least in my experience, they’d be slobbering all over themselves at the chance to even see my tits, much less get to touch them even in what should be a casual or clinical manner. Once again, though, they prove themselves to be aliens.

“You are… sure?” Ryatuv says. “I do not wish to… offend.”

“He is right,” Z’leni says. “Such liberty…”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Help me sit up, please?”

They do and though it hurts like hell to get there, being upright is overall better. Once I am anyway. They stay close, clearly unsure what to do next, so I take the lead. Silently undoing my shirt. It parts and though they try not to look too much, they both do. Not that there’s much to see yet, but the show is about to really get going.

Oddly, I’m not feeling self-conscious. When I had the idea I thought I would be, or at least more than I am. But instead of that I feel a strange tingling sensation deep in my core. That familiar tightness that leads to aching need, desire coiling around all my insides like some kind of python forms.

I untuck the binding slowly, my fingers trembling—not from fear, but something else entirely.

Ryatuv’s tail twitches back and forth, a quick, agitated rhythm.