Page 24 of Technically Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #4)

Tev'ra

After our conversation with my creator-parents, the atmosphere in my quarters feels different—warmer, more settled.

Finn remains curled against my side on the seating platform, but I can sense his mind working through what just happened, processing the experience of being welcomed and cared for by people who have no obligation to him.

The empathic connection carries echoes of his wonder, his gratitude, and underneath it all, a vulnerability that makes me want to hold him closer.

"I should prepare the vel'thani ," I say eventually, though I'm reluctant to break this peaceful moment. "Creator-parent Vel'tha's instructions arrived while we were speaking with them."

Finn lifts his head to look at me, and there's something soft in his expression that makes my chest tight. "You don't have to. I mean, it was nice of them to send the recipe, but—"

"I want to," I interrupt, surprised by how true that statement is.

"I want to create something specifically for your enjoyment.

Not because protocol requires it, not because assessment parameters suggest it, but because I want to see your expression when you taste something made with care that they suggested. "

The simple honesty of the statement seems to catch us both off guard. Finn's eyes search my face for a moment, then he smiles—one of those genuine expressions that transforms his entire appearance.

"In that case," he says, sitting up, "can I help?"

The offer surprises me. "You wish to participate in food preparation?"

"I like cooking with you," he says simply, standing and stretching. "It's… nice."

Nice. Such an inadequate word for the way his proximity affects my nervous system, the way his casual acceptance of domestic activities makes something warm settle in my chest. But I understand what he means—there's something profoundly satisfying about creating sustenance together, about sharing the rhythms of preparation and care.

I move toward the food preparation area, reviewing Creator-parent Vel'tha's detailed instructions along with their extensive notes about human nutritional preferences and suggested modifications for interspecies compatibility.

"The herb blend requires precise timing," I explain, indicating the various components as the synthesis unit produces them. "But the texture preparation could benefit from human techniques."

What follows is an hour of collaboration.

Finn proves surprisingly skilled at adapting human food preparation methods to Nereidan ingredients, while I handle the more technical aspects that require precise temperature and timing control.

We work in comfortable synchronization, occasionally bumping shoulders or reaching around each other in ways that send pleasant currents through our empathic connection.

"This is really good," Finn says, tasting the partially completed preparation. "Complex. Like… comfort food, but sophisticated."

"Creator-parent Vel'tha specializes in nutritional satisfaction on multiple levels," I explain. "Physical sustenance, sensory pleasure, emotional comfort."

"Smart. Food that makes you feel good instead of just keeping you alive. That's how it should always be." Finn leans against the counter, studying me. "You're different when you cook."

"Different how?"

"Less formal. More… yourself, I guess." He pauses. "I like seeing you like this."

The simple statement creates warmth that has nothing to do with the thermal preparation elements. "I find these activities more satisfying than anticipated."

"The cooking?"

"The sharing," I correct, meeting his eyes. "I've never prepared food for someone else's pleasure before meeting you. It's… gratifying in ways I didn't expect."

Something shifts in Finn's expression, and he steps closer. "I've never had anyone cook for me before. Not really. Not like this."

The empathic connection flares gently between us, carrying his wonder at being cared for, my satisfaction at providing that care. For a moment we just look at each other, surrounded by the warm aromas of vel'thani and the comfortable domesticity we've created.

"We should finish the preparation," I say finally, though I make no move to step away.

"Yeah," Finn agrees, but he doesn't move either.

Eventually we return to our collaborative cooking, but something has shifted between us. The touches become more deliberate, the glances more lingering. By the time we finish the vel'thani , the air between us feels charged with more than just pleasant domestic comfort.

"Perfect timing," I say as the preparation reaches completion. "Creator-parent Vel'tha would be pleased."

We settle on the seating platform with our shared meal, and Finn's reaction to the first taste is everything I hoped for. His eyes widen slightly, then close as he savors the complex flavors.

"Holy shit, Tev'ra," he says, opening his eyes to look at me. "This is incredible. It's like… every comfort food I've ever wanted, but better."

"The recipe has been refined over generations," I explain, though I'm more focused on his obvious pleasure than on the technical details. "Each family line adds modifications based on their experiences."

"So this is like… your family's version of mac and cheese?"

I'm not familiar with the reference, but his tone suggests it's significant. "A preparation that provides emotional as well as nutritional satisfaction, yes."

We eat in comfortable silence, and I find myself studying Finn's responses to each component.

The way he closes his eyes when tasting something particularly appealing, the small sounds of satisfaction he makes without seeming to realize it, the way his entire posture relaxes as the vel'thani works its intended effects.

"I have something for dessert," Finn says when we've finished the main preparation.

He moves to the food synthesis unit, programming something I don't recognize. Soon the unit produces what appears to be small, colorful spheres and a white, fluffy substance.

"Berries," Finn explains, settling back beside me with the unfamiliar food items. "Strawberries, blackberries, raspberries. And whipped cream."

"Cream that has been… whipped?"

"Whipped into this texture, yeah. It's sweet, light. Perfect with fruit." Finn picks up one of the red spheres—a strawberry—and dips it into the white substance. "Try it."

I accept the offered food, noting how Finn watches my reaction intently. The strawberry is sweet and slightly tart, while the whipped cream adds richness and an almost ethereal texture. Together, they create a flavor combination that is pleasant but unfamiliar.

"Interesting," I say. "The contrasting textures complement each other well."

"Right? And it gets better." Finn dips another strawberry and brings it toward my mouth. "Open."

The casual intimacy of being fed catches me off guard, but I comply. This time, I'm more prepared for the flavor combination, and I can appreciate the way the sweetness balances the tartness, how the cream softens the fruit's texture.

"Good?" Finn asks, and there's something playful in his expression.

"Very good," I confirm, then reach for a berry to return the gesture. "Your turn."

When I bring the cream-covered strawberry to Finn's lips, he maintains eye contact as he bites into it, his tongue darting out to catch a small amount of cream that threatens to escape.

The simple action sends heat racing through our empathic connection, and I watch his pupils dilate in response to my reaction.

"Messy," he says, licking his lips. "But worth it."

I find myself fascinated by the way the cream clings to his mouth, the unconscious way he cleans it away. "Efficient consumption methods are not always optimal."

"No," Finn agrees, reaching for another strawberry. "Sometimes the mess is part of the appeal."

This time when he feeds me, a small amount of cream transfers to my lips. Instead of cleaning it away efficiently, I watch Finn's gaze focus on my mouth with obvious interest.

"You have…" he starts, then seems to lose his train of thought.

"What?"

Instead of answering with words, Finn leans closer and kisses me. His tongue traces along my lower lip, collecting the cream while sending sparks of sensation through our empathic connection. What begins as playful food sharing rapidly transforms into something much more heated.

"Definitely better than efficient," I murmur against his mouth.

"Much better," Finn agrees, then picks up another berry. "Though we should probably finish these before they go to waste."

What follows is an education in sensual food consumption that our research parameters definitely failed to anticipate.

Berry feeding becomes an excuse for lingering kisses, with cream transferred deliberately between our mouths.

Finn dips strawberries and traces them along my throat, my collarbone, following the path with his tongue until I'm shaking with need.

When I return the favor, painting berry juice across his chest and licking it clean, his moan sends fire through our empathic connection.

"Fuck, Tev'ra," Finn breathes, watching me clean the last traces of sweetness from his skin. "You're going to kill me."

"The empathic feedback suggests you're very much alive," I murmur against his throat, nipping gently at the sensitive skin there.

"More than alive," he gasps, his hands tangling in my hair. "I can feel how much you want me. It's... God, it's overwhelming."

By the time we've worked through half the fruit, we're both breathing hard, skin flushed, the empathic connection carrying increasingly intense waves of arousal between us. Finn's pupils are blown wide, and I can feel his heart racing through our bond.

"This is definitely not how berries are typically consumed," I observe, watching Finn deliberately lick cream from his fingers, his tongue working with obvious intent while he maintains eye contact.

"No," he agrees, reaching for my hand and bringing one of my fingers to his mouth. "This is much more fun."