Tempted by Celestial Bodies

An Indelicate Negotiation

The third time I’m passed over for a promotion to Peacekeeper, I strongly consider throwing myself out the airlock. It wouldn’t accomplish much, considering the Mainstay is currently grounded on ?ie, but the melodrama might make me feel better.

This time I was certain I’d make it. I started writing Peacekeeper Chance Landfall in my notebooks like a middle schooler with a crush, except the crush was on the position of intergalactic negotiator. My current job is a government position I don’t hate. I reach out on behalf of various earth companies seeking to license trade agreements. The past three weeks, I have worked as a liaison for a hydroponics company looking to acquire harvests of aquatic grasses from brackish ?ie waters.

It's not a bad position. Of my six-person team, I’m the one most consistently pulling in high ratings for successful deals. I’m confident I’ll be able to get this company their seaweed in a timely manner.

I take my role in intergalactic trade very seriously. However, my skills are wasted on negotiating issues such as the exchange of CO 2- rich fertilizer for a company that wants to make luxury rugs using wool from a species of alien fauna. Not when I could be leading campaigns to halt potential conflicts and initiate first contact with the inhabitants of other planets.

When each new planet or species takes months to prepare for introductions alone, professionalism is integral. Eight years of encounters and I’ve never experienced a total loss, unlike several of my coworkers. Researching customs and social etiquette makes a good impression, and I enjoy learning. If I were a Peacekeeper, the fruits of that labor would go so much further .

And yet! Not this time. Maybe not ever.

With my office lights dialed down to minimum brightness, the professional space sinks into a hazy, low-vibration liminality, its atmosphere demanding stillness. No one ought to disturb the humming, empty halls of Mainstay ’s business wing, and yet I’m here, feeling terribly out-of-body. It’s late, and I should be in my pinhead-sized bed quarters. Asleep.

Except the stress of yet another rejection has snapped my self-control like a brittle twig.

After switching off the automatic opener for my office door, I manually slide it aside just enough to slip into the dark hall. I stay close to the entryway so as to not trigger the motion sensor lighting panels built into the walls.

It’s an unnecessary precaution, because a figure turns the corner a moment after I emerge, their armless silhouette a void within the shadows for a scant second before the first light flickers on. As each subsequent panel clicks to life, their progression seems akin to the descending of a celestial being. I can tell when they’ve spotted me, because the forward march of their powerful raptor legs evolves into an upbeat trot.

A thrill races down my spine.

By the time the ?iet spokesperson, Nuj, stops in front of me, the hall has become fully illuminated, and I feel as if I’m being stared down by a marble statue come to life. ?iet can present a variety of colors, opalescent like polished gemstones, while a closer look reveals a landscape of tiny scales. Nuj’s scales are pink shot through with white streaks, and as they shift in the artificial light, bright green highlights erupt across their form.

“Greetings, Mr. Landfall,” Nuj says, their voice fractured by static. The translator implanted in their long, sloping neck hasn’t yet been properly adjusted to the ?iet voice box.The engineers are working on it, but for now, Nuj’s speech assumes a surreal quality, as if they’re speaking to me through distant radio waves even though I could reach out and touch.

As the representatives of our respective species, Nuj and I have spent most of the past three weeks in each other’s company, but we’re not usually alone together. Tonight is the first time we’ve agreed to meet outside of professional hours, and I’m full of wild, nervous energy.

Clearing my throat, I say, “We’re not in negotiations, Nuj. Don’t you think you can call me Chance?”

“That would be improper,” Nuj responds, and gives me a light, playful shove using their radia—an orb of kinesthetic mental currents ?iet use to manipulate their surroundings.

The sensation is like being hit by a wave of strong, warm water, reaching deeper than my skin, applying pressure I can feel around my bones. Being invisible, the radia allows Nuj to jostle and nudge me during our meetings without anyone else knowing, leaving me to blame my flustered blush and shortness of breath on my asthma, if questioned by other coworkers.

I’ve sat with aliens possessing an endless array of unique traits and features. My training ensures I treat every species with the respect they deserve, but the ?iet can be unnerving. Most stand slightly shorter than average human height, bearing resemblance to Velociraptors from the earth’s Cretaceous epoch. Below angular jawlines ?iet have no arms, just a torso descending into muscular hips and thighs, raptor legs, and a massive reptilian tail. Thus the radia, because as Nuj has explained, orthotic manipulation is annoying, as their clawed toes frequently fumble and puncture items they’d rather not ruin. None of that even begins to address the alarming fact that they don’t have eyes .

They are generally a curious, peaceful species, but as ignorant as it may be, the ?iet’s appearance screams ‘ Predator! ’ to the average human.

Still, I don’t fear for my safety around the ?iet; if I did, I wouldn’t be meeting Nuj alone. No, the reason I’m here is because the predatory way they regard me, the way they smile while drawing inappropriately near, fills me with the most delicious terror I’ve ever felt.

And I’m painfully into it.

Nuj leans in so close I can see the shallow hills and valleys of skin above their wide rictus smile, thin lips peeled back to reveal hundreds of short, needle-thin teeth. Visually, ?iet faces are nearly impossible to differentiate. They identify one another using a combination of their radia and a type of echolocation to trace the contours of their facial folds; to a sighted species, discerning one from another might as well be palm reading. ?iet don’t wear clothes other than the occasional neck wrap with names and credentials. To make things even worse, their pronoun designators are untranslatable—or, at least, the Intergalactic Standard Trade language to which the translators are programmed isn’t yet broad enough to grasp the cultural complexity.

All-in-all, a political relations nightmare.

Fortunately, Nuj always makes sure I know who they are, having established unique ways of invading my space. Can’t guarantee I wouldn’t lose sight of them in a crowd, but I’ve become deeply attuned to their presence.

I pause to consider them properly—their wholeness, not just their appearance and whether it does or does not intimidate me, and for which reasons. This is a do-or-die moment. Finally, I open my mouth, murmuring, “Well, Spokesperson Nuj. Maybe we can forego propriety if we find some way to be alone.”

A laugh crackles in Nuj’s throat. “Quick thinking, Landfall. I might be able to arrange that.” Then they hip-check the door to my office the rest of the way open and saunter inside, tail swishing behind them.

Tonight is merely a blip in my usual standard for maintaining professional distance. I’ll go back to being a perfectly respectable coworker tomorrow.

Drawing one last bracing inhale, I follow Nuj back inside.I engage the lock just in case of attempted intrusion, then turn to see Nuj considering the chess table I set up in preparation of our, uhm, lesson . While we were in the office yesterday, Nuj had loudly inquired about the grid-based Earth game; in response, I very innocently offered to show them. No one else would have been privy to their radia slowly drawing pressure down my spine, dipping dangerously low before I shivered and shook them off.

Not here. Not now .

Well, it is presently both here and now , and as Nuj makes their presence known in my space, the reality of the situation has my palms beginning to sweat.

There are two olfactory organs positioned bilaterally on either side of an ?iet’s ribcage: long, angled vents with thin interlocking bars buried about a centimeter deep inside the gaping mouth of each orifice. These are what ?iet use for breathing, smelling, and spatial awareness. Thus, instead of turning their head to examine the game, Nuj shifts their weight and adjusts the angle of their torso.

It reminds me of a chicken holding its head still while its body adjusts to maintain balance. Imagining Nuj as a giant domesticated fowl forces me to choke down a somewhat hysterical laugh, drawing their attention from the chessboard. They smirk with their sharp gash of a mouth, and a shudder raises hairs on the back of my neck.

“Do I want to know what you’re chuckling over, Chance?” they ask sweetly.

"Probably not,” I admit.

Nuj tilts their head, switching their intense consideration to… me. I suddenly regret distracting them from the game table, because even without eyes, Nuj’s gaze is so hot it burns. And their attention lasts and lasts, agonizing because it’s impossible to approximate a sightline, and thus I have no idea what they’re looking at.

Just before I combust, Nuj purses their lips, then takes a small step toward me. They go still with one foot in the air, the knob of their ankle twitching as they make a silent decision. Then they snap into a blur of movement, scales dark mauve and emerald in the low light. The wide arc of their tail knocks over the game table, scattering chess pieces across the office floor. Nuj doesn’t seem to care, and I have more important things on which to focus my attention—such as the fact that they’re now in my face, steering me backward. I’m a few centimeters taller, but the size difference hardly tips the scale in my favor, not with them crowding me into the notch between the wall and a bookshelf.

Nuj rumbles, their chest vibrating where it’s pressed against mine. “How should we do this?”

Words catch in my throat. I’m not sure how to answer, because what I’m thinking is ‘ any way we can, with whatever parts are compatible, and however we can wiggle them to get each other off .’

At my soft choked noise, Nuj laughs like a creaking hinge. “Worry not. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

Then they kiss me, because at the very least, oral foreplay seems fairly universal.

The entire time we’ve been working together, I haven’t touched Nuj—not once. Without hands to shake or clasp, I learned how to express politeness via body language, shifting weight and nodding my head at different angles and degrees. Observing the other ?iet gave me an excuse to stare at Nuj, taking note of their figure from their dainty shoulders to the pristine obsidian of their wickedly curved claws. Half the time my heart rate would surge in fear of getting caught, knowing Nuj wouldn’t let me live it down. Other times I found myself hoping they would notice—obviously they did. They’ve learned much faster than me.

I open my mouth, allowing passage to a cool, sinuous tongue. Nuj is careful with their teeth, not pricking me as they wriggle that tongue farther down until it’s fucking into my throat. Pressure from their radia guides my hands forward until I feel the smooth texture of their scales under my sweating palms. I squeeze to test the firmness of their waist. It’s more resistant than a human stomach,but still pliant, and the faint texture of their scales makes it satisfying to massage.

Nuj moves one thick-boned leg to settle between my feet so they can press against my front, putting their thigh squarely against my crotch. When they roll their weight, I choke on their tongue.

Nuj pulls away, inspecting me with what seems like concern, until understanding dawns. “ Oh! ” Visibly pleased, they adjust to consider where our lower bodies meet.

It isn’t even a lot of contact, just undulating pressure, but the adrenaline has me twice as sensitive, so when I manage words it’s only a strained, “Fuck, Nuj…”

They laugh. “Yes, I suppose so.”

I rock forward on their thigh as I kiss them again. Their lips are firm and sleek, teeth still politely omitted from the negotiation. I get a wild impulse to ask them to bite me—gently. I’ve never objected to a blunt-toothed partner getting mouthy before, but this is different. There’s an inherent terror of trusting someone who could divorce my larynx from the rest of my anatomy to merely give enough to be pleasurable. It makes my stomach clench in unbearable anticipation.

Nuj touches me with their radia, starting at my neck and moving down.It’s a wildly strange sensation—a solid wave similar to the mechanisms in a massage chair, but smoother. The pressure seems to originate from inside me before radiating outward. When Nuj reaches my hips they pin me firmly against the wall, running the tip of their tongue along the inside of my teeth, experimental and searching. I’m still too afraid to return the favor lest they accidentally nip it off, but take the opportunity to suck lewdly on their tongue instead.

The noise that rattles free of them startles me, until I realize it was a moan. Nuj repeats the grating sound, then plunges their tongue farther down my throat. I suck harder, eliciting a full body jerk. Nuj rubs against me more insistently, and I join them with a moan of my own. Then they withdraw their tongue, moving to press their mouth to my neck, hissing through their teeth as they nuzzle my throat. I feel their lips peel back, the flats of those teeth running along the length of my jaw with a predatory precision.

Curious and motivated by their budding exploration, I drag my hands lower along the contours of their body, to the tops of their thighs. I don’t find anything reminiscent of genitals, not even a slit. I flatten my palm between their legs and press, just in case, but Nuj doesn’t react until I reach farther down, running over their scaled skin until I reach the underside of their tail. There’s a fold there, but Nuj twitches, flicking their tail to dislodge me, so I reroute, switching to the small of their back. I let my fingers trace the base of their spine, and this time they shudder, mouth opening to release a series of clicks while their teeth-points coming dangerously close to my skin. Instead of biting, Nuj latches on and sucks.

My hair is in my eyes, blonde streaks blurring my vision. Groaning, I close my eyes against the distraction. I usually keep my hair styled back, away from my forehead, but the nervous sweat has worked against the product I use. I lift a shaking hand to push it aside, but Nuj catches me by the wrist, trapping it against the wall beside my head.

Their radia continues to roll against-into me as their lips move down. They use their tongue to explore, touching my clavicle with intense curiosity before deeming it safe to greet with the rest of their mouth. Desperate to give them more space I try to free my left hand, but they refuse to release it, so I fumble the tiny button at my stiff, high collar with my right hand alone. I succeed, barely, but that’s as far as I get, because Nuj follows my example and in one swift gesture pops all my buttons—actually rips one off entirely, sending it plinking onto the floor amongst the game figures. This leaves my shirt hanging open, exposing my bare chest and the thick scars beneath my pectorals where unwanted breasts used to be.

Nuj prods them curiously. “What are these?”

“Scar tissue,” I explain. “I had parts of my chest removed.”

“Oh.” Tongue flicking out, Nuj traces one of them. “What was on your chest? Why would you remove it? Were they parasitic?”

Briefly embarrassed for failing to consider our biological differences, I pause to wrack my brain for terms that will translate to a reptilian alien. ?iet are a unisex species without gender designators, so I need to choose my words carefully. “Mammalian species feed offspring with swollen chest glands.” I’ve no idea how to search their expression for understanding, but they don’t interject, so I continue. “Juvenile female humans grow mammary glands on their chests, but some individuals… don’t want them.”