Page 64
Story: Wanted By the Alien Warden
“What? No!” he said fiercely. “I’m cutting the branches. Many of the brambles will remain in your hair, but we can deal with that after.”
We, he’d said.We can deal with that.
He was going to help me. With something as small and stupid as a bunch of brambles caught in my hair, due entirely to my own clumsiness. He’d laughed at me for a moment, sure. But there had been no malice in it. Only warmth, underpinned by the certainty that he would get me out of this eventually.
How depressing would it be, I wondered to myself, if I admitted that Tenn is probably my best friend?
It was too pathetic to even put into words. Especially when I dared acknowledge just how beyond friendly most of my feelings were for him these days.
I stayed still, just as he’d told me to, letting his scent and the warmth of the sun bathe me. Closing my eyes, I gave in to the physical sensations: his chest brushing mine, the gentle tugs at my scalp as he freed my tangled strands, the occasionalstroke of a knuckle or thumb against my ears or throat. Leaves and brambles rustled gently around us as the knife snapped and sliced easily through their branches.
“There.”
I opened my eyes, slightly disoriented, like I’d been under some sort of spell.
“All done?” I asked.
“All done.”
Gingerly, I tried moving my head. There was no resistance.
“Thank you,” I said. I felt my head with my right hand, wincing as I encountered dozens of tangles and spiky brambles in my hair.
“Come out of there, would you?” Tenn cajoled. “Or you’re going to get snagged again and ruin all of my hard work.”
“The hard work hasn’t even happened yet,” I told him with a sigh as I got to my feet and carefully stepped out of the brambly mess. “I still have to fix all this,” I said, waving my hand around my head, “and I don’t even have a comb.”
“I have a comb.”
“Oh! You do?”
“Of course I do. You think I don’t comb my hair? I’m not Silar.”
“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never seen you use it. Can I please borrow it?”
“No.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Why not?” I asked, barely restraining myself from stomping my foot like a two-year-old. “Why would you bother telling me you have a comb if you weren’t planning on letting me borrow it?”
“Because lending it to you would be useless,” he said in a maddeningly statement-of-fact tone. “You can’t see what’s going on back there.”
“So, what, exactly, do you propose?” I asked him as we returned to the area of our camp.
“I propose,” he said, sitting down on a fallen log near the tent and indicating the place between his thick thighs, “that you sit down, be good, and let me do it for you.”
Be good.
God, how I wanted to be good for him.
Too much. Way too fucking much.
“Fine,” I muttered, hoping I sounded more belligerent than obedient. “Where’s the comb?”
But Tenn’s tail was already way ahead of me. His tail seized upon his pack and dragged it over to where he was sitting on the log. He started rifling through it, and when his hand emerged, his knife had been put away. In its place was a beautiful wide-tooth comb made of some kind of shiny white material, shot through with streaks of gold. It reminded me of Old-Earth marble, or opal.
“That’s a beautiful comb,” I said, sitting down between Tenn’s legs on the warm grass.
We, he’d said.We can deal with that.
He was going to help me. With something as small and stupid as a bunch of brambles caught in my hair, due entirely to my own clumsiness. He’d laughed at me for a moment, sure. But there had been no malice in it. Only warmth, underpinned by the certainty that he would get me out of this eventually.
How depressing would it be, I wondered to myself, if I admitted that Tenn is probably my best friend?
It was too pathetic to even put into words. Especially when I dared acknowledge just how beyond friendly most of my feelings were for him these days.
I stayed still, just as he’d told me to, letting his scent and the warmth of the sun bathe me. Closing my eyes, I gave in to the physical sensations: his chest brushing mine, the gentle tugs at my scalp as he freed my tangled strands, the occasionalstroke of a knuckle or thumb against my ears or throat. Leaves and brambles rustled gently around us as the knife snapped and sliced easily through their branches.
“There.”
I opened my eyes, slightly disoriented, like I’d been under some sort of spell.
“All done?” I asked.
“All done.”
Gingerly, I tried moving my head. There was no resistance.
“Thank you,” I said. I felt my head with my right hand, wincing as I encountered dozens of tangles and spiky brambles in my hair.
“Come out of there, would you?” Tenn cajoled. “Or you’re going to get snagged again and ruin all of my hard work.”
“The hard work hasn’t even happened yet,” I told him with a sigh as I got to my feet and carefully stepped out of the brambly mess. “I still have to fix all this,” I said, waving my hand around my head, “and I don’t even have a comb.”
“I have a comb.”
“Oh! You do?”
“Of course I do. You think I don’t comb my hair? I’m not Silar.”
“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never seen you use it. Can I please borrow it?”
“No.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Why not?” I asked, barely restraining myself from stomping my foot like a two-year-old. “Why would you bother telling me you have a comb if you weren’t planning on letting me borrow it?”
“Because lending it to you would be useless,” he said in a maddeningly statement-of-fact tone. “You can’t see what’s going on back there.”
“So, what, exactly, do you propose?” I asked him as we returned to the area of our camp.
“I propose,” he said, sitting down on a fallen log near the tent and indicating the place between his thick thighs, “that you sit down, be good, and let me do it for you.”
Be good.
God, how I wanted to be good for him.
Too much. Way too fucking much.
“Fine,” I muttered, hoping I sounded more belligerent than obedient. “Where’s the comb?”
But Tenn’s tail was already way ahead of me. His tail seized upon his pack and dragged it over to where he was sitting on the log. He started rifling through it, and when his hand emerged, his knife had been put away. In its place was a beautiful wide-tooth comb made of some kind of shiny white material, shot through with streaks of gold. It reminded me of Old-Earth marble, or opal.
“That’s a beautiful comb,” I said, sitting down between Tenn’s legs on the warm grass.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50
- Page 51
- Page 52
- Page 53
- Page 54
- Page 55
- Page 56
- Page 57
- Page 58
- Page 59
- Page 60
- Page 61
- Page 62
- Page 63
- Page 64
- Page 65
- Page 66
- Page 67
- Page 68
- Page 69
- Page 70
- Page 71
- Page 72
- Page 73
- Page 74
- Page 75
- Page 76
- Page 77
- Page 78
- Page 79
- Page 80
- Page 81
- Page 82
- Page 83
- Page 84
- Page 85
- Page 86
- Page 87
- Page 88
- Page 89
- Page 90
- Page 91
- Page 92
- Page 93
- Page 94