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Arthur passed out. When he came round a second later he found he
was sobbing for his mother. Coughing and hiccuping his way to a
stop, he sniffled and reached into his dressing gown pocket for his
handkerchief. It wasn't there.
"Arthur." Someone handed him a handkerchief and he blew his nose.
"Is all of space this cold?" He began to shake.
"You're going into shock." Something draped across Arthur's
shoulders and Ford appeared in front of him.
"Ford, I can't move. Are we in some sort of stasis field?"
"No, you're in shock."
"Right. Is there a fish for that too?"
Ford didn't answer, but tucked what turned out to be a blanket
close around Arthur. Pressing Arthur's hands together, he chafed
them. They began to tingle with the friction and warm a little.
"So I'm in shock."
"Yes."
"Because my planet blew up."
"Yes." Pulling Arthur's hands open again, Ford rubbed the palms.
"I think I need a cup of tea. For the shock. Where's the kettle or
the replicator or the room service button?" Arthur looked round the
room and he wrinkled his nose. "You know, it's a bit ripe in here."
"There's no tea, Arthur. Just try to relax, OK?"
"I must say, space travel is a bit of a bore."
"Yeah, well..." Ford moved his hands under the blanket to Arthur's
upper arms. "I tend to agree with you." He began untying the belt
of the dressing gown and Arthur finally realised that something not
quite usual was going on.
"What are you doing?"
Ford looked puzzled. "I'm untying the belt of your dressing gown."
"But why?"
Pulling the gown open a little way, Ford slipped his arms inside
and rubbed Arthur's sides and back through his pyjamas. "You need
to get warm. You're in shock."
"So you keep saying." It was warming, though. Experimentally,
Arthur flexed one arm and found he could now move it. As a test, he
swung it around Ford's shoulder. It worked. Now the other one.
Success. Reflexively, he hugged himself closer to Ford. He was
shaking less now and his cheek rested against Ford's jaw and neck.
Sniffing a little, he noticed a spicy smell, exotic and definitely
not a natural human scent. It was true, then. Ford was an alien.
Taking a bigger whiff, Arthur realised, embarrassingly, that it was
actually his own aftershave.
Still, Ford's skin was hotter than any human's would be and
smoother too. Arthur moved his cheek a bit. Slick, almost. It felt
nice. Really nice. Ford's hands were still stroking his back and
that was nice too. Dreamily, Arthur found himself nuzzling Ford's
neck. Here we go, his body said. Finally something familiar. Go to
it.
"Ford?" Arthur was being pushed back down onto the mattress. "Ford,
all this...the spaceship...the destruction of the earth..." The
blanket was being tugged out from under him. "...the beer..." Ford
shucked his jacket. "Was it just an elaborate plan to seduce me?"
"Shut up, Arthur," Ford said and stretched out on top of him,
pulling the blanket over top them both.
Arthur shifted slightly under Ford's sudden weight. Ford was warm,
solid, a bit bony, a little soft, and very much alive on top of
him. Arthur strained gratefully toward the warmth and stifled a
moan. Unsure as he was of Ford's intentions, it wouldn't do at all
to moan in this situation. But the human (human? well...) contact
was so very welcome.
"You know, I used to do this with Linda, my old girlfriend, you
remember her, Ford, she owned that furniture shop. and she bought
me this electric blanket and in the winter we'd..." Arthur then
recalled that the electric blanket, the furniture shop, and Linda
had all been blasted into their component molecules, and he began
shivering again.
Ford muttered something that sounded like "impossible Earthman" and
rummaged about in a nearby pile of Dentrassi bedding. He spread
another blanket over Arthur, crept in under it himself, and climbed
on top of Arthur again.
"Don't think, Arthur," he said quietly, his mouth at Arthur's ear.
"Just relax."
A tingle spread from Ford's breath to Arthur's ear and raised the
hairs on the back of his neck in a disarmingly pleasant manner.
Arthur tried to go limp, letting his arms and body sink into the
mattress. Ford was gently breathing, a little more rapidly than
seemed normal, against his neck. One of Ford's legs was sturdily
lodged between his own. The heat coming off the other man was
impressive.
Arthur flinched suddenly and then relaxed as Ford began kneading
his arms. Quiet waves of pleasure flowed along his neglected
muscles. It had been far too long since anyone had touched him.
Ford shifted a little to reach more of his shoulders, and his thigh
brushed against Arthur's groin. That was when Arthur realised he
had the beginnings of an erection.
"Um, Ford. Listen. Thanks and all, but I think I'm quite warm now.
You can get off me."
With no warning whatsoever, Ford gripped Arthur's shoulders and
thrust his hips intensely, pressing a trousers-sheathed hardness
against Arthur's thigh. Arthur gasped.
"Do you want me to?"
"I...er..."
Ford didn't wait for a reply, but rocked his hips again in a way
that made Arthur's penis look around itself in a vaguely assertive
manner. Arthur gasped again, less in surprise this time than
before.
Arthur could just make out Ford's unnerving smile in the dimness, a
smile that his gasp had apparently summoned. Ford moved against him
minutely so that his next grinding motion brought their
still-clothed cocks together for an agonising few seconds of
blessed contact. Arthur's long-suppressed moan escaped, and he
reached for Ford's backside, pressing him closer. Arthur's hips,
delighted at the way things were progressing, raised from the
mattress in a successful attempt to find their soulmates.
Ford was most helpful, grinding his hardness into Arthur's own and
burying his face in Arthur's neck. He caught a bit of stubbled
flesh between his teeth and worried it for a moment, and then
licked away the sharpness of the bite. Arthur's resulting shiver
had nothing to do with the cold, or with shock. In fact, he was
beginning to sweat.
Keeping their legs entwined, Ford struggled to remove his shirt.
Arthur noted that even with a man from Betelgeuse in the sleeping
quarters of a spaceship hurtling through space at mindboggling
speeds, clothing had a way of rendering a formerly blistering
sexual encounter into a comical battle of
man-against-buttons-and-zips. He was comforted by this as he
shrugged out of his pyjamas.
As Ford's shirt flew to join its Dentrassi brethren littering the
floor, Arthur was treated to a glimpse of Ford's hairless torso. No
body hair whatsoever, apart from a bit of crisp ginger fuzz poking
out of the top of his trousers (which he was now struggling to
unfasten). Nothing under his arms, even. His skin, smooth and pale,
had the same odd, taut look as his face, not unappealing but
definitely strange. Ford was thin and wiry, small muscles just
slightly developed in his chest and biceps. His belly was lean, and
his nipples were large and pink, scandalously fleshy and inviting,
almost indecent really, like a woman's. Arthur leaned up and caught
one in his mouth.
Ford groaned and arched his back, threading his fingers through
Arthur's hair with one hand while still trying to unzip his
trousers with the other.
"Arthur, you're not helping."
"Really?" he murmured into Ford's chest, "I thought I was."
Arthur's hand joined Ford's as they finally worked the last of his
clothes off, but his mouth remained where it was, except for the
momentary, predictable wrangling with Ford's shoes. Then Arthur
seized his other nipple and licked it in swooping circles until
Ford writhed and fell on top of him.
The sweaty, slithery heat of Ford's nakedness against his own was
enough to wring a grateful sigh from his throat. Arthur revelled in
the sheer fleshiness of the experience, marvelled at Ford's taut,
springy skin and wondered if his teeth would bruise it. He sank
them into the meat of Ford's shoulder and was rewarded with a
strangled yelp and a tightening of the fists in his hair.
Ford's sweat was distinctly slicker than human sweat, not sticky
but slippery.
"Are all people from Betelgeuse so slippery? This is like hot oil
wrestling."
"How would you know?" Ford asked, sliding down to tongue his navel.
"Not that I have any experience of hot oil wrestling..."
Ford delicately, maddeningly avoided his penis has he licked
Arthur's belly, which jumped ticklishly. Ford's tongue was
pleasantly smooth, stirring the short hairs of his abdomen and then
swirling down around his balls. Arthur gibbered and clutched at
Ford's head. The delicious aching tightness which had been building
in his cock increased exponentially.
Ford stopped immediately and slithered back up to suck Arthur's
earlobe.
Arthur whimpered and ground his pelvis against Ford, desperate for
the contact. His cock was humming with blood and desire, and he
realised that not only was he ignorant of Betelgeusian sexual
habits, but he had no way of knowing what Ford was actually capable
of. Arthur felt that if Ford didn't touch his cock soon he would
not be responsible for the consequences.
"Are you trying to drive me insane?" he asked.
Ford looked up, surprised. The intense blue of his eyes shone out
of the darkness.
"I'm trying to have a good time. Something at which I'm normally
quite proficient," Ford replied. "Why? Are you in a hurry? Got an
important appointment?"
Arthur slid his hands down to grasp Ford's bottom, the flesh smooth
and pliant in his palms. He pulled Ford toward him sharply and
their erections slithered against each other. Lusciousness thrummed
up his spine.
"Ford, just how much of this can you take?"
Comprehension lit Ford's too-blue eyes and the disturbing smile
lifted the corners of his mouth.
"More than you can, apparently," said Ford, taking both cocks in
his hand and squeezing.
Arthur arched his back gratefully and moaned as Ford's hand slid
slowly, maddeningly slowly, up and down their lengths. Ford's penis
was an unfamiliar teasing pressure against the underside of his
cock. Slickness coated both, silkening the slip-slide of Ford's
fingers.
"Ooohhhh, Christ--"
Ford's hand moved faster, but in a way that said "I've got all the
time in the world." His breathing was heavy but measured against
Arthur's chest, and he occasionally bucked up against Arthur's
hands to remind Arthur to continue squeezing his backside. Arthur,
lost in a melange of heat and wet and toe-curling pleasure, was
glad to oblige.
Arthur predictably lost control of his hips at this point, and they
began thrusting in a rhythm that was much faster than Ford's
patient hand. Ford snorted and utterly failed to vary his pace,
unless it was to move slightly more slowly.
The sweetslick friction against Ford's palm, against Ford's cock,
was too delicate to chafe, too intense to allow desire to recede,
and too deliciously deliberate to do anything but frustrate. Every
stroke was just this short of the perfect stroke, every wet
tingling squeeze just this side of enough.
"Ford...Ford, please...aahh...you bastard..."
Ford laughed softly, and sat back on Arthur's thighs. His eyes
gleamed madly for a moment, and then his left hand joined his
right, both of them working more quickly now to the accompaniment
of squashy noises which Arthur, in his lust, could barely hear.
Slip-slide, slip-slide, strong hands coated in wet silk stripped
his burning cock expertly, milking him, faster, god yes, heart
thudding in his throat, until Ford's thumb stumble-caught on the
sensitive head, and Arthur came with a yelp and a lunge.
His skin was so hot that his semen felt cool against it, and he
pulled Ford down, driving against him as the last waves of his
orgasm ebbed away.
Ford's hardness was more implacable than ever against his sticky
belly, and Arthur wrapped his own hand around it, principally to
see the reaction on Ford's face.
His friend's expression softened into something that reminded
Arthur of Ford's occasional, mournful drinking binges. He did now
what he had sometimes wanted to do then. He pulled Ford's head
toward him and kissed him on the mouth.
Ford's lips parted eagerly, sucking Arthur's tongue between them.
The inside of Ford's mouth was smoother than the inside of
someone's mouth should have been, his tongue lithe and exuberant,
twining with Arthur's own. Arthur licked along Ford's gum line, and
Ford groaned into his mouth.
Arthur timed his strokes to the rhythm of the kiss, noting that
though Ford's intensity was increasing exponentially, he was still
moving slowly, rocking his hips in a strong but leisurely way.
A rapid pulse beat under Arthur's fingertips, contrasting urgently
with the slow roll of Ford's thrusts. He remained locked to Ford's
mouth, feeding on his lips, nipping at their edges and then diving
in hungrily. He felt Ford's legs tighten round his hips and,
smiling inwardly, he plunged his tongue deeply into Ford's mouth
while simultaneously pumping hard with his fist.
Ford made a sharp, high-pitched little noise and his hips
whipcracked into Arthur, who felt warm wetness seep over his hand
but kept it pumping. Ford trembled all over, at last releasing his
mouth and spasming continuously into Arthur's hand.
Still, amazingly, thrusting, Ford was also moaning now. He no
longer appeared to be ejaculating, but he was obviously still in
the throes of orgasm, writhing with screwed-shut eyes. His hands
scrabbled for purchase at Arthur's shoulders. Arthur wondered how
long orgasms lasted on Betelgeuse.
Ford's ecstasy showed no signs of waning when Arthur's forearm
began to go numb. With dismay, he realised cramp was imminent, and
brought his left hand round to take over. His right arm flopped
uselessly to his side.
At last, Ford ground to a halt, and collapsed on top of Arthur in a
sodden heap, panting. Either Ford's people had incredible sexual
stamina or Arthur was very, very good.
Eyes closed, Arthur worked for every breath under the limp weight
of the spent -- very spent -- Ford. He rested his left arm on
Ford's back and, when the feeling began to return to it, lifted the
right to stroke his hair, rather enjoying the wiry feel of it. One
of his legs was trapped at a funny angle and when the pins and
needles began prick in it, he figured it was time to shift Ford.
"Ford," he murmured, close to an ear.
"Grggleblerg." The weight went live, squirmed a little, then dead
again.
Was that Betelgeusian? But he had that fish in his...best not to
think too much about that.
"Ford, time to get up."
"Zarglenergnng." He didn't move.
Arthur braced himself, counted three, and heaved. Ford rolled off
onto his back, taking the blankets with him. Lying bare, Arthur
contemplated the residual secretions on his body. His skin seemed
to be absorbing the oily slick of Ford's sweat. Maybe it would even
be good for him. The splodges of semen on his belly he wiped off
with the only corner of the blanket still available to him.
Reaching beyond the mattress for his discarded pyjamas, Arthur was
unprepared for the arm that snaked around him and pulled him back
against a still-hot chest. My God, they were spooning. Lightyears
away from the smouldering ruins of his planet, stowaways hiding in
a filthy room on the flagship that ordered the destruction, waiting
for almost certain death upon discovery, and they were *spooning*.
It felt really good.
"Arthur?" Ford's breath tickled Arthur's neck. "Warm now?"
"Mmm...yes." Arthur hesitated, then spoke before he lost his nerve.
"Ford? Why did you rescue me when you left Earth? I mean, why me?"
No answer. "Ford?"
"Lrlrrgzl."
Arthur sighed and thought he might as well try to get some sleep
too. He could feel the last of the tension untwist as he drifted
off. Then there was a sudden whirlwind and his pyjama bottoms blew
against his face. He clawed them away, only to be hit by the
jacket.
"Get up, Arthur, and get dressed." No whirlwind, just Ford,
struggling into his trousers with as much grace as he had struggled
out of them.
Arthur sat and began to dress. He looked at Ford out of the corner
of his eye and an aftershock of pleasure shivered through him.
Ford. It was the strangest thing that had happened all day.
F I N I S
Horatio: O day and night, but this is wondrous strange!
Hamlet: And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.