Characters: Paul, Tara Walton
Pairing: Paul x Tara
Warnings: AU, interspecies sex (alien/human)
Summary: Sex in the name of science and love in spite of the cause.Abduction
Something is wrong. Even before she opens her eyes and becomes completely aware of her situation, she knows this. Her mind is hazy, and her memories leading up to this precise moment are but a blur, and, yet, she is acutely aware that not all is well. She is no longer in her room, or even in her house, and the surface she's laid out on – strapped down to – is cold and hard beneath her naked body. When she opens her eyes, the light shining down on her and flooding the room is near-blinding, and it takes a long, painful moment for her vision to adjust. The room she's in is small, perfectly circular, and absolutely white-washed.
Her mind races, and she wonders what's happening and why it's happening to her. She squirms on the table in a futile attempt to free her wrists and ankles from their bonds. She knows, deep down, that she can't break free, but she has to try.
There's a mechanical sort of hiss, and then someone says, “I wouldn't do that if I were you.” This makes her still, if only because she's suddenly very frightened and not because she wants to heed this stranger's advice. There's another hiss, and she assumes it's a door of some kind, somewhere out of her line of sight, and then there's a click. She doesn't get to wonder what it was for, because suddenly the slab of cold metal she's strapped to is suddenly rising up until it's as though she were standing. She doesn't mean to, but she whimpers, and it's a sound that makes her captor chuckle.
“Relax,” he says, still out of view, “I'm not gonna hurt you.”
“W-what do you want...?” she asks weakly, and wishes she could sound braver.
“You'll see,” he tells her, and there's a lilt in his voice, like he thinks this is funny or something.
She hears him behind her, moving about in the white of the room, and soon wheeling something over to her side. She glances down at the metallic cart that reminds her so much of a doctor's. There are things, strange instruments, laid out across it but what catches her eye in particular is a long, thick, opaque cylinder with one rounded end. She can't even begin to imagine what that, or any of the other devices, are for. Beneath them, on another slab, is the teddy bear she's kept with her nightly since she was eight years old. Old habits die hard, after all.
Then her captor makes himself known.
He steps into view, and she can't help but stare at him a little bug-eyed and fish-mouthed. “Y-you're an alien,” she blurts out, eyes fearfully and yet greedily drinking in the sight of him. He's wearing a sort of jumper, a one-piece suit that gleams and shines like metal in the light. His gray skin looks thick and rough to the touch; he's small, thin and short, but his head is disproportionally large in contrast. His eyes, she notices – because, really, she can't help herself – are big and clear and bright blue.
“To you I am, yes,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders and a roll of his eyes. “But, hey, if it makes you feel better, you're an alien to me, too. So, y'know, shock and awe and all that other initial crap.”
Some part of her wants to laugh, but she can't muster the courage yet as she continues to stare at him. Shock and awe is right, and she'd swear she was dreaming except that she knows she isn't.
“How... how am I understanding you?” she questions meekly, feeling foolish at her sudden curiosity. She shouldn't be curious, she should be terrified.
He stares at her, one eye ridge raising, one corner of his mouth curling in amusement. “I'm speaking English, d'uh. We tried this a couple times back in the day without bothering to learn any human tongues, and... that didn't go over so well. Turns out, humans like to talk. A lot. And talking back in a language they can actually understand helps keep them calm. Who woulda thought, huh?”
She lets out another weak whimper. She catches the lilt in his voice again, the entertainment, the intent to calm her, but her mind is trying too hard to unravel the mystery of his words. Her mind wanders and she thinks of all those crazy tabloid stories of alien abductions, of probings. She feels the blood drain from her, and imagines herself to be as white as the room she's trapped in. This can't be happening, her mind suddenly screams for her voice is lost.
He sees the sudden and very apparent terror claim her, and he frowns. It doesn't always happen like this, but he hates it when it does. He's not going to hurt her, just as he's never hurt any other man or woman that's graced this ship and his workspace. Unfortunately, she doesn't know that – they never do, and they never think so, either – and so before any real work can be done, he has to convince her she's safe with him.
“Hey, relax,” he tries to croon, but, admittedly, he isn't very good at it. It sounds forced and awkward as it rolls off his tongue. “It's not like I'm gonna probe ya or something,” he says, offering her a weak, half-hearted grin.
“B-but – ” she starts, and her voice is trembling, and if she cries he has no idea what he's going to do.
“Scout's honor,” he tells her quickly, crossing his middle and index finger as he holds up his right hand. “Think about it,” he continues, seeing that she's listening to him, at the very least, “how much could I learn from an ass?”
Despite herself, she feels the corner of her mouth twitch and curl into a weak half-smile, hears a quiet, wheezy laugh escape her throat. “Then... what...?”
“We'll get to that,” he tells her, eying her for the first time. She's pretty enough, he supposes, for a human. She's tall and thin, and her long, blonde hair falls in loose curls to the middle of her back. Her eyes are the color of Earth's sky on a cloudless summer day. Her skin is pale, but pinked in all the right places; each nipple, and the folds down in between her smooth thighs.
“First, how about I get those straps off you?” he suggests, and is glad to see some of her tension melt away. Now it's all about getting her to trust him, and he knows she won't so long as she's tied down. “They're just a precaution, anyway.”
She nods and he frees her. She stands aside, far away from the alien and the slab as it lowers and levels out again until it's roughly the height of a coffee table. She wraps her arms about her chest, and squeezes her thighs together to hide herself now that she can.
He snorts at this, rolling his eyes again. “It's nothing I haven't seen before.”
“I don't care!” she bites back, suddenly feeling just that bit braver now that she isn't tied down.
“What's your name?” he asks, taking her by surprise. He's pleased to see a bit more of her tension melt away.
“...Tara,” she tells him quietly. “What's yours?”
“Uh, I don't think you'd really be able to pronounce it,” he says, shrugging one shoulder. He's never given any other human his name, he realizes. Then again, no other has ever bothered to ask.
“Let's hear it,” Tara says.
What escapes him sounds a little like a hiss and a growl mixed together, and his voice is rough and strange when he speaks in his native tongue. She skews her face, and at best all she can make out is something that sounds an awful lot like Rotcha.
“Rotcha?” she asks, hesitant, not wanting to offend.
He laughs. “Close enough, I guess. If that's what you wanna call me while you're here, go for it.”
“Just how long am I going to be here?” she asks, reminded once more of her predicament. All this small talk is somewhat nice, but that doesn't change the fact that she's been abducted by an alien, and still has no idea what he wants from her. She highly doubts all he wants is conversation.
“You'll be back in your bed by morning,” he says and winks at her.
“And what happens between now and then...?”
“I do my job.”
She doesn't want to ask, she really doesn't, but the question just sort of slips out before she can stop herself. “What exactly is your job?”
“I'm a scientist,” he says, grinning. “I study human anatomy and sexual behavior.”
Her mind refuses to process this information. “What...?”
“It's my job,” he says, speaking slowly and advancing on her now, backing her toward the slab without her realizing it, “to see what makes you tick.” The back of her knees bump against the cold, hard edge, and she stumbles into a sit as he wedges himself between her legs.
“No,” she whimpers, chest beginning to heave as a new kind of panic rises in her.
“If you relax,” he starts, “this will be a lot easier on both of us. I don't want to hurt you. I just...” one hand slides behind her, presses to the small of her back, and she was right, his skin is thick and rough, like a working man's hand. “I'm just gonna make you feel good.”
“I – I don't want – ” she says breathlessly, scared but also a little intrigued, much to her own shame. She hasn't been a virgin since she was fifteen, and a part of her acknowledges that no man she's been with or will ever be with afterward will ever compare to this experience.
“Trust me,” he says quietly before standing on his tip-toes and leaning in, pressing his lips to hers. Whether he manages to win her over or not, she will have to stay and endure the process, anyway. It just makes things so much simpler when the abductee actually complies.
She resists first, because he's an alien and this is frightening, but soon she realizes a kiss is a kiss, regardless of species. His lips feel different from any she's had against her own before, but the gesture's the same, the movements are the same, and soon enough she feels herself giving in. However, she doesn't kiss back, and when he understands she isn't going to, he pulls back and chuckles.
“So, are we on the same page now?” he asks, licking his lips clean of her taste, more out of habit than for show, but he likes the color it brings to her cheeks, anyway. “You let me do my thing, and then you're free as a bird?”
“I don't have much of a choice, do I?” she murmurs, fighting the urge to lick her own lips. The ghost of his kiss still lingers there.
He chuckles, perhaps a little apologetically. “Not really, no.”
She's quiet for a moment, takes a deep breath and then says, very softly, “okay.” Because if she agrees to go along with him, perhaps it'll all be over sooner, and then she can go back home and pretend this was all just some sort of bad dream.
Then, as though he could read her thoughts, he says, “don't worry. You won't remember, anyway. It's policy to erase your memory after we're done. Imagine the shit storm that'd hit if we let you guys remember?” He laughs, a little hollowly. “As if our rep isn't tainted enough as it is, with all the crazies down there, blabbing about anal probes and microchips.”
He places both of his hands to her midriff, just below her breasts, and gently pushes, easing her down and onto her back. She lets him and looks down the length of her body at him, brow furrowed.
“I won't remember?” she asks.
A part of her is relieved, and another is disappointed. While she had just tried to convince herself she would like nothing more than to forget this experience, something inside aches subtly at the thought. It's fear, she decides, of having her memories tampered with. What else could it possibly be? She can't have hoped to remember him, this strange little spaceman whom is scaring her less and less and is intriguing her more and more.
“Nope,” he says and then grins at her. “But enough chit-chat. How about we put this mouth to better use, hm?”
She doesn't have time to think twice about his words, to ask what he means. He forces her legs apart and ducks down between them, and his tongue is outrageously smooth and soft in contrast to his skin. She's tense at first, set at unease by his mouth, but the way his tongue strokes her most sensitive areas is making it hard for her to keep a firm hold on her fear. Instead, she stares upward, at the ceiling and at the blinding light, clawing at the alien metal under her that just never seems to warm up. She writhes in shameful pleasure, sucking in greedy mouthfuls of air as though each may be her last breath.
He slides his tongue between her folds, circles her entrance, and then drags it upward and to her clit. It's swollen and eager for his touch, and when his tongue begins circling it, a heat like she's never known before courses through her. Liquid fire flows through her veins, and she swears she's going to melt, and if his tongue is this good, she can't begin to fathom what else he can do.
He pinches her clit between his teeth, which are surprisingly sharp-edged, despite them appearing to be blunt at first glance. She stiffens and bucks her hips, desperate to release the pressure he's been goading her body to build up. She hears him chuckle, looks down at him to see his big, blue eyes staring intently up at her. No doubt, he's been watching her facial expressions, taking note of her body language, and she has to wonder how different her responses are from any other woman he's experimented on.
An experiment. That's what this is, what she is. A lab rat. A guinea pig. A test subject. Nothing more than information and data to be collected. She should care about this, but right now he's sucking at her clit, and there's a long finger circling her opening, and it's really hard to think straight right now. She tosses her head back and lets out a strangled sort of groan, arches her back, juts out her hips and all it takes is one more hard suck from him to make her come.
Her body goes slack a few long seconds later, after the spasms have stopped. Her legs quiver, and he rubs his hands up and down them, kneading the tremors away as he slowly licks her clean.
“R-Rotcha,” she hears herself whimper, and she isn't sure if she's trying to goad him on or get him to stop.
Leaning up and away from her, licking his lips clean of her juices, he decides he kind of likes the way his name sounds when she says it. He grins at her, chuckling. “You're not down for the count already, are you?”
She takes a moment to catch her breath, then leans up and props herself up on her elbows. She doesn't outright answer his question. “That was... pretty intense. No one's ever... done it like that to me before.”
He laughs, grinning a little wider at her. His ego rather likes the feel of her stroking it. “I've had practice,” he tells her. “I know what I'm doin'.”
“No kidding...” she murmurs.
“We're not quite finished, you know,” he reminds her, and she body-blushes.
“We're not?” she echoes meekly, feeling shy and eager all at once.
“Baby,” he croons, smirking crookedly at her, “by the time I'm done with you, you won't be walkin' straight tomorrow.”
He lives up to this promise.
By the time they're really and truly finished, her entire body feels numb, inside and out. There had been no need for non-binary stimulation, and so the cart he had wheeled in at the start of the session wound up forgotten. He personally played with and filled every one of her holes with either his tongue, fingers, or penis – which, if she feels like being honest with herself, was somewhat intimidating upon first glance. And when all is said and done, he has the nerve to tell her, “on my planet, this is actually kinda small.”
If that's small, she thinks, she doesn't want to know what a well-endowed alien of his species looks like.
“What now?” she asks, watching him pull his jumper back on. He only does it up halfway.
“Well, you get to go home,” he says with a shrug.
“Do I have to forget?”
The question comes out softer than intended, and she's unsure why this matters so much. The sex had been amazing in the end, but she's not that shallow a girl, and there's more to it than that, she knows. This alien, this strange and crude and funny little alien has made an impression on her.
He stares at her, mouth opening and closing a few times, and she can tell that for the first time all night, he doesn't know what to say. His brow furrows and he rubs a hand against the back of his head before sighing and offering her a weak, half-smile.
“I'm sorry,” he tells her. Very few take these meetings as well as she has, and it's policy and precautionary and a part of him wishes he could get away with letting her go just as she is. She was scared to death in the beginning, but there's this chemistry between them now, and he thinks, fleetingly, that it would be nice to be remembered.
“I understand,” she says, and gets down off the slab and squats to be eye-level with him. There's nothing more to say or do, and so she offers him a small smile of her own. “Do what you have to do.”
He lets out a quiet, airy “heh” before he nods, and places one hand to her forehead, long fingers curling in her hair. He hesitates and just stares at her for a few long, quiet seconds before he begins the thought transfer, altering her memories as he sees fit.
Her body falls slack when he's done, and it takes all of his strength to hold her up and get her back up onto the slab. He goes through the typical motions now, cleaning her up, dressing her in the sleepwear she had been taken in, and healing her aches and pains, leaving no evidence behind.
She won't remember a thing, and he goes on to log his notes as she's taken away and sent back to her home, to the safety of her bed. In time, he's sure he'll forget her, too.
Except, then he notices something from the corner of his eye. Something that stands out painfully against the bright white of the room, something brown and dingy and old. He gingerly takes the teddy bear into his hands, as though it may break if he's too careless, or fade away if he holds on too tight.
They're not supposed to keep anything from the humans they take, nor are they supposed to send anything of theirs back with them once the session is over. A small, crooked grin spreads across his lips.
He'll have to return it one day.