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“Alright, message received. Do not eat the walnuts. But what are you doing with them?”
He’s created a small pile of brown nuts and another of yellow ones. Then he grabs a berry and begins dragging it over the floor, leaving wet, purple smears behind.
“Oh, you’re drawing. Are we going to learn the language? Or play charades?” I chatter, not minding that he can’t understand me.
He offers me a bright, sweet smile before returning to his drawing. Shapes are coming together on the floor, but not of something I recognize. A hexagon in the middle, surrounded by squares, triangles, and other geometric shapes that swirl outward from the central hexagon like a tiny galaxy.
When he’s done, he wipes his fingers on his pants and places a dark nut pile into the hexagon. The yellow nuts go to the edges of the “galaxy”.
Assuming it’s some kind of alien art, I give him an appreciative smile. “It’s beautiful. But you’re going to run out of space soon, my dear alien artist.”
Tareq shakes his head. “Rokha,” he says, pointing at the drawing.
“Rokha?” I still don’t follow. Is it a schematic we’ll use to escape? A hieroglyphic representation of a word? A calendar? “I’m sorry, I have no idea what it’s supposed to be.”
Tareq doesn’t mind my confusion. He gestures for me to sit down beside him, then moves one of the brown nuts out of the hexagon to a neighboring square. A yellow nut is moved next, jumping one step toward the center, then a brown one again.
At that point, a lightbulb lights up above my head. “It’s a game! Rokha is a game? Are you teaching me alien chess?”
His smile is utterly joyful, and he rumbles something, picking up the nuts and showing me the moves. The game has many rules, and by the time we mime through all of them, my mind is spinning, but it’s infinitely better than sitting around staring at the wall.
He lets me have the brown nuts and, if I understand correctly, I’m supposed to “escape” his yellow ones.
The first few rounds, I lose. Badly. Tareq isn’t giving me any leeway, and I can only dream of him letting me win. I don’t mind, though. In fact, I like that he doesn’t cosset me. He takes the time to show me why I lost each round and what I could have done to avoid it, helping me learn.
The first time I get one of my brown nuts past his yellow ones, I squeal so loud I’m worried it will attract the guards. Fortunately, none come, so I can celebrate my tiny victory in peace.
Tareq bows his head in appreciation, looking proud of me. Or perhaps he’s just proud of his Rokha-teaching skills. His smile is earnest and there’s something new in his eyes. A kind of desire.
The sexual desire is still there, too. He probably thinks he’s been doing a good job of hiding it, but I noticed it anyway. He likes my body. He didn’t give me the blanket so that he wouldn’t have to watch my ugly human form. He gave it to me to make me feel more comfortable, which only makes him that much sweeter.
The looks he’s giving me now are still hungry, but also tender. If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I would almost call them loving.
He’s definitely being protective of me. When the guards appear to empty the waste buckets, Tareq stands between them and me the entire time, shielding me from their eyes.
He exchanges a few words with them, saying something that makes them sound angry. I tense at the tone of their voice. Why is he provoking them? Are they about to hurt him? Fortunately, they just bark some commands and move on without activating Tareq’s collar.
After they leave, I try to ask him what it was about, but he merely shrugs. Either it’s impossible to explain without words or he doesn’t want to share it with me. A rogue thought that he might be working with our captors crosses my mind, but I immediately dismiss it. I trust him. It’s blind, inexplicable trust, but it’s strong.
Having nothing better to do, we go back to playing Rokha. To my utter astonishment, I find myself close to winning the next round. Tareq grins, chattering something in his growly language and making wild gestures. I find it odd until I notice his tail trying to move the pieces on the game board while he’s distracting me.
“Hey!” I whisper-yell, not wanting to attract the attention of the guards. “No cheating, you goofy alien!” I poke his rock-hard pectoral, laughing with him. “Your tail doesn’t get a free move. Put that walnut back!”
He gives me the worst fake innocent look ever, pretending he has no idea what his tail is doing. I’m so not buying it. I grab the end of his tail and waggle my finger at it. “Bad tail!”
Tareq sucks in a sharp breath, his vertical slit irises widening.
Too late do I realize that grabbing someone’s tail probably isn’t the best idea. Cats don’t like it, do they? Tareq isn’t a cat, but still, I hope I haven’t awakened some primal aggressive instinct in him by touching his tail like that.
A glance at his lap confirms I have indeed awakened an instinct, just not an aggressive one. Tareq’s cock is hard, straining against his pants. The string he used to tie the flaps together looks like it’s about to snap at any moment.
“Oh.” I let go of the tail, scooting back a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch you without permission. I mean, who knew that a tail was an erogenous zone? Last time I tried to pet a cat’s tail, it mauled my hand!” I blabber nervously, not sure what to say to lighten the suddenly tense situation.
“As’Trah,” he whispers my name like a prayer. His tail follows my hand, nuzzling against my forearm.
Clearly, he isn’t mad I touched him, but what does he want me to do? Keep touching him? That’s crazy! I have to admit I’m curious, though. How often does a person get to touch an actual alien? To explore his body? A smoking hot body on top of that?
I run my finger over the smooth skin of his tail again, waiting for his reaction. The last thing I want is to provoke him into jumping on me.
