Some Marvellously Uncensored Text

Content Warning: #Lewd #Explicit Very lewd alien erotica right from the get-go! But otherwise it's a schlocky silly space opera, light in tone and humour.

Working title: Spacegal Fruitpie and the Quest for an Epic Sausage

Chapter 1

Wryk’ars trailed the tip of their glistening flugthore around Camryn’s belly button, an anticipatory shudder working its way through their iridescent flesh that Cam felt reverberating over her skin.

“It’s just – he could say hello, you know?” Cam shifted on the bed and moved her arm aside to make way for Wryk’ars’ azolae that snaked underneath her waist and pulled her upwards towards them. “I see him every day, you’d think he could be a little nicer.”

“Of whom do you speak, most-endearing-one?” Wryk’ars mumbled, shifting their attention downwards, flugthore leaving a trail of tingling saliva across Camryn’s stomach.

“Geoffrey. You know, that Cleckovian janitor that cleans the B-deck. Oooh... yeah, right there. That’s good.” Camryn’s back arched as Wryk’ars grazed the tip of two more azolae over Cam's inner thighs, teasing upwards towards her pubes. Her eyes fluttered closed and for a moment she lost herself to the sensation of Wryk'ars' many appendages caressing her body, but then an image of Geoffrey in his grey and yellow janitorial robes, top buttons open revealing the shimmering orange-red scales of his chest, sprang to the forefront of her mind.

She frowned.

“Hell, at this point I'd settle for a grunt of acknowledgement. We've been on this floating heap of metal for going on four years now. I pass him every – mmmmmm that's good – every day. Least he could – oooh, yeah... Least he could do is – is -” Camryn writhed, fingers curling up the sheets into her fists as Wryk'ars probed into her with their moist flugthore, pushing slowly but insistently deeper as their azolae danced along her swollen labia.

“Oh god... yes... ohhh... Yeah that's it... Oh jesus fuck...Ohhhh!” Cam gasped with her orgasm, every muscle spasming under Wryk'ars' skillful touch. When the last little ripple had ebbed, she relaxed and her fingers unclenched from the gathered fabric.

Geoffrey.

“I haven't done anything to make him dislike me. Nothing I can think of, anyway. Do Cleckovians have any weird cultural things that I should be aware of?”

Wryk'ars slithered to stretch out at Camryn's side as a sigh coursed through their body, the tiny carpet of blue-purple cilia that covered their skin rippling with the movement and making their whole body iridesce with a silvery metallic sheen.

“This one does not know, most-endearing-one.”

“Could you just, like, call me Cam? We've been over this. This isn't formal. We're fucking each other in the two hours down-time you get between picking up and dropping off piles of space junk. You can just call me Cam. It's fine.”

Wryk'ars three brilliant green eyes glanced off to the side, mandibles clacking a disproving tut. “Very well, Cam. This one observes that your attention seems particularly drawn by Geoffrey on this evening, Cam. More so than usual, Cam.”

“What? No it's not,” Cam sat up on her elbows. “What do you mean 'more so than usual'?”

“This one feels that you were not very engrossed with our activities at all. This one wonders why they came here at all if all Cam does is talk about Geoffrey while they fuck each other.”

“For Tizlel's sake,” Camryn rolled over onto her side and took Wryk'ars' still-swollen flugthore in her hand. “Forget about it. I was just blowing off steam. Which is precisely the reason we do this, you know,” Her voice lowered to a croon as she massaged Wryk'ars' flugthore, prompting a fresh trickle of lubricant to excrete from the porous appendage.

Wryk'ars began to tremble, their body vibrating and shimmering through a pastel spectrum.

“This one... Is extremely...” They paused as Camryn took their flugthore into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, applying gentle pressure with her lips as she slid the slick appendage back and forth. “...Grateful for this exhalation of water-vapor,” Their voice was tremulous. “Please... Continue... Continue... This one is approaching climax...”

Cam stopped sucking and quickly mounted Wryk'ars, sliding down onto their throbbing flugthore, Wryk'ars responding in kind to buck up against her as their azolae found Cam's nipples and coiled around her breasts. Turned on again by Wryk'ars' own arousal Cam clasped their body between her thighs as she rode their flugthore hard, pounding her own orgasm to completion as Wryk'ars warbled a frantic 'Climax! Climax! Climax!' beneath her.

• * *

The black vastness of space stretched out before her, peppered with myriad sparkling stars and little grey blobs of scrap metal and banged-up crates and the decaying, crumpling frames of long abandoned miscellany, pooped into the vacuum of the in-between by an unfathomable number of greedy, all-consuming species.

Camryn leaned back against the bulkhead and took a sip of her tea. Wryk'ars had left an hour ago and wouldn't be back to the station for a few days, until the next shipment of compacted scrap metal was ready for transport to Zesluter, their home planet. After they'd left, she'd showered, shoved the bed linen into the wash, cleaned up the rogue glistening tendrils of Wryk'ars' copious lubricant that seemed to get absolutely everywhere no matter how careful she was about containing their flailing azolae, and made for her favourite spot on the station – the aft cargo bay on Deck C, right behind the canteen. She'd picked up a Hempain Buttersausage and a mug of steaming Fiestea and settled down on the floor against the huge viewport.

Cam had always appreciated a good sausage. The Hempain Buttersausage, common in some parts of space but not in this sector, was only available because Blimm, the chef of the Deck C canteen, had an uncle from Hempain that sent him a shipment every month in return for occasionally letting him dock unregistered. His uncle was, by all accounts, not exactly an upstanding citizen. Camryn didn't care about any of that; she was just grateful for the sausage.

She took a bite, felt the buttery grease trickle down her throat as the blush of the secret blend of Hempain spices warmed her cheeks. As sausages went, it was a pretty good one – not her favourite of all the different sausages she'd partaken of through the years in her travels, but certainly one of the higher ranking varieties, and it paired perfectly with the bitter-sweet tones of Fiestea.

A clang from the starboard corridor drew her attention away from the viewport. She craned her neck over the rigging, struggling to see but too lazy to actually stand up. A man, tall and with a mess of long pitch-black hair, stumbled out into the cargo bay, shaking a bucket from his foot.

“God damn janitors leaving their death-traps everywhere,” She heard him mutter. She turned her attention back to the view, not feeling like engaging in conversation.

“Oh, hi. Didn't see you there.” His voice was closer. She didn't recognise him – on a station like this, with her job, she grew to know people by their voices; in her ears coming through the cans as she piloted her ship, over intercom, disconnected in the ether.

Dammit. She'd been spotted. She shoved the remaining couple of inches of sausage into her mouth and swallowed them down with barely a chew, brushing crumbs from her shirt and wiping her sleeve across her lips.

“Hey.” She tried to sound disinterested.

He walked over, whoever he was, and leaned against the railing behind where she sat, looking out at the same view that she'd appreciated having to herself. He looked about six foot four, broad shoulders, tanned skin and chiseled cheekbones.

“Damn. Never gets old, does it?” He nodded towards the window, curling his fingers around the railing which made his biceps struggle against the hem of his t-shirt sleeves. He was pretty ripped. Mechanic, maybe? She hadn't heard that they'd lost anyone but maybe management was doing one of their shuffles again.

“Might not get old but it certainly gets crowded,” Cam scowled and took a sip from her mug, wishing the steam would rise up and cocoon her in a cloud of opaque white where no-one could see her.

“Hah!” His laugh was deep and throaty. “Well, that's why we're here, right? Sort all that junk out, make some space. Space! In space!” He laughed again.

She groaned. “Yeah. New here?”

“Just transferred from Centurion Station. Pilot. Name's Jareth; Jareth Rockrod.”

He held out his hand. With a weary sigh she set her mug down on the floor and stood to shake his hand. He flashed her a grin of pearly whites that sparkled almost as much as his pale blue eyes. He'd be a heart-throb, if she were into that kind of thing. She took his hand and, as she'd expected, he pumped hers with a vice grip.

“Rockrod, huh,” she curled a corner of her lip into a wry smile.

“You bet,” He winked.

Ugh.

“I'm Cam. Pilot. Been here four years. Go out on the late shift. By choice. Like my solitude. Don't like small talk.”

She wiped her hand off on her thigh and sat down on the floor again, rescuing her mug of tea and cradling it against her chest. Jareth towered over her for a moment, his expression blank as he slowly absorbed her words and considered their meaning.

“Right,” He laughed nervously. “Right. Well, I'll leave you to it, then. Cam. See you around, probably. Looking forward to it. Yeah.” He ran one hand back through his hair and swept it over his shoulder, leaned back against the railing briefly, remembered she'd just brushed him off, stood upright again, and then turned and stalked off.

Cam sighed and tipped her head forwards to lean her forehead against the thick viewport glass, listening to Jareth's footfalls fading down the corridor until they were muted by the usual clangs and clanks and groans of the station. She looked out at the debris being tractored in by the auto-harvesters, and then shifted her point of focus so that she was looking at the reflection of the cargo bay in the glass. A brief movement at the far side of the bay caught her eye and she turned around in time to see a familiar scaly tail flicking around the corner and vanishing from sight.

Geoffrey?

• * *

“Remote Assist Officer Viola Embergale logging on comms. You hear me, Cam?”

Viola's voice crackled through the shoddy headset into Cam's ear. Now that her assist was online, she had clearance to leave the station. She gripped the bulky throttle arm and eased it forward. The vessel, a chunky hauler, shuddered into motion and started its slow glide to the exit port. She checked that the cargo was secure, flicked on the autopilot to follow the standard navigation course, and then leaned back in the tattered leather chair and kicked her feet up onto the dash.

“Loud and clear, Vi. How's it?”

“Eh,” She heard her friend sigh. “Same old. Another glorious day hauling trash for the motherland. Such honour, many thankful.”

“I hear ya,” Cam chuckled. “Pays the bills though, amirite? Y'know, it could be worse; we could be the ones who have to sort out all this crap instead of just dealing with the compacted junk-cubes.”

“Yeah I guess. I should be thankful all I have to do is sit here on comms for a few hours, and all you have to do is fly a junker a couple of times a day. It's fucking boring, though.”

“Oh!” Cam dropped her feet and leaned forwards instead, resting her elbows on the edge of the control panel and looking at the gaping maw of the wormhole as the ship turned slowly towards it. “You seen the new guy?”

“No? What new guy? Fifty clicks from drop-off point.”

“Roger,” Cam confirmed the readings on her dash with Vi's. “Oh, you'll like him. He's exactly your type.”

“Coming from you, I don't know if that's an insult.”

Cam laughed. “He's tall, and built like a brick shithouse.”

“Perfect!” She could hear the smile in her friend's voice. “Who is he? Where did you run into him? Is he cute? What's his name?”

Viola had always been one for a good bit of gossip. Cam didn't usually go for that kind of thing, but there was little else to do on the back-and-forths to the wormhole so she entertained Vi's lust for chatter just to pass the time.

“It was uh... Jared. No! Jareth. Jareth...” She paused, for dramatic effect, lips curled into a smirk; “...Rockrod.”

“...Rockrod? Seriously?”

“Afraid so. He's really tall, long black hair, blue eyes, fucking impossibly white teeth, tanned, shoulders for days. I'm telling you, you're going to adore him. Oh! And he's a pilot, so you'll probably get to whisper sweet nothings into his earpiece soon.”

“YES!!” She imagined Vi's fist-pump. “Freaking finally. It's almost comical, the complete lack of any decent blokes on this station. You'd think a place this size, with so many people passing through every day, would have a fair selection of manflesh for me to sink my teeth into, but nooooo, Vi has to get assigned to the driest station in the sector.”

“Speak for yourself,” Cam curled a lascivious grin, recalling yesterday's session with Wryk'ars. “I manage just fine.”

“Yeah, well, we don't all have your – erm – appreciation for kinky alien sex. Ugh, I don't know how you even.”

“With great 'appreciation' is how I even, Vi. You should try it some time.”

“Blergh. I'll stick with Rockrod, thank you very much. With a name like that, how could he possibly disappoint? Ten clicks from drop-off point; prepare cargo for release.”

Cam sat up straight and disengaged auto-pilot. The wormhole was right in front of her now, a huge and slowly swirling mass of black-purple opalescence that distorted the space behind it.

“Confirmed; beginning rotation.” She flicked switches and pushed buttons on the dash; the junker slowed to a crawl and she punched the thrusters on the port side, causing the ship to rotate around until it pointed away from the wormhole and back towards the station. Somewhere on that massive assembly that looked not unlike the compacted cubes of trash that she hauled every day, Vi was sitting at a comms panel looking back out at her. Somewhere, Jareth Rockrod was in his bunker, probably fast asleep if he'd taken the day shift (and he looked like a day shift kind of person; tedious and predictable). Somewhere, in some dimly-lit and lonely corridor, Geoffrey pushed his mop and bucket around, scrubbing floors and shining windows.

“Cam?”

“Mmm? Oh, sorry. Disengaging cargo...” She paused, and then poked at the little red Cargo-Release button. “-...Now.” She heard a thunk from the back of the ship as the release clasp unhooked itself from the cargo netting.

“Cargo disengaged. Commence boost.”

“Commencing boost,” Cam replied and flicked on the rear boosters. The propulsion would shoot the compacted cubes of junk neatly into the wormhole and propel her back towards the station. She verified on the ship's radar as it lurched forwards that the little green blip representing the packaged junk-cubes was indeed heading straight for the wormhole, and then re-engaged autopilot to take her back to the station. “Heading home for the next lot.”

“And thus begins another beautiful evening of trash-hauling,” Vi yawned over comms.

“So excited,” Cam struggled to stifle a yawn herself. “Aight, I've told you about Jareth. Time to dish the dirt on the thrilling goings-on at Comms Deck!”

“Oh let me see, um... Some nothing happened, a bit more nothing – and ooh yes, some fat wads of nothing!”

“Disappointed,” Cam leaned back in the creaking chair. “Any news on upgrade budgets? This pile of junk I'm flying deserves to go through the wormhole itself.”

“Yeah, no. No dice. Maybe next month?”

“Dammit. What about the scrappers, anything interesting come in?”

“Actually I did hear that F-deck had to deal with some Asglorbian Loaches that breached the containment seal on their crate last night. Apparently they had to call down every single janitor, even the ones off-shift, to help round them all up again before they stripped all the paint bare. I bet your friend Geoffrey would have been happy about that.”

“He's not my friend,” Cam frowned at Vi's ribbing. “I mean he could be my friend if he ever -”

“ – if he ever said more than two words to you, yeah I know. It's so weird, he's fine with everyone else. He's not chatty, but he's pleasant, you know?”

“No, I don't know,” Cam sighed. “I don't know why it bothers me. I don't know the guy. I just don't understand why he's so off with me. I can't think of anything I've done to upset him.”

“Have you asked him? Maybe he just doesn't like you.”

She could hear the teasing tone of Vi's voice and knew she wasn't serious, but the thought still irked her. Something about Geoffrey, the scaly lizard-like Cleckovian janitor that she only infrequently ran into and had barely exchanged more than a handful of words with since her arrival on the station a few years back, intrigued her and the fact that he'd barely speak to her was annoying. Even Cho'Koth, the bristly (literally) mechanic on B-deck, gave her a smile when she passed.

“Want me to talk to him?” Vi continued. “I could ask him on your behalf.”

“No!” Cam sat up, frown intensifying. “No, don't do that. It's dumb. I mean, it's no biggie. Whatever. I don't even know the guy.”

“Mmm, you said.”

“Shut up.'

“You talk about him all the time.”

“I don't! And if I do it's just because I want to know why he won't speak to me.”

Cam thought about how peeved Wryk'ars had gotten last night when she couldn't stop talking about Geoffrey during their intimate make-out session. Okay, maybe that had been a bit much, she concluded. Darn scaly lizard-man getting her all worked up over nothing. And had that been him earlier in the cargo bay? Had he been spying on her? Did she have to worry about him not talking to her and spying on her now? What was his deal, anyway? Her shoulders tensed. If the image of him in his janitor jumpsuit with its undone top buttons and sleeves rolled up revealing his muscular green-grey scaled forearms would stop just popping into her head at inopportune moments, she'd be happier.

“Oh! Cam!” Vi's suddenly excited voice roused her from her reverie.

“Sup?”

“This is the kind of weird stuff you like hearing about – just got a memo that someone found some strange squid-thing hiding in the trash compactor in F-Deck aft.”

“Hiding? Like, living there?”

“Yeah I guess. They're keeping it in containment in case it's someone's pet that's escaped. Don't you have that empty tank from that time your ex bought you a Phynosian Snootlebug for your twenty-three-day anniversary?”

“I do! Do they know what species it is or anything? Is it dangerous?”

“Doesn't say, but I'm guessing if it were dangerous they'd have thrown it in the incinerator.”

“Awesome! New pet!”

“Oooh,” Val cooed, her voice dripping with mischief. “Guess who found it?”

“Who?”

“Guess who's found it and who's temporarily looking after it until it gets homed?”

“Who?!”

“Your best pal Geoffrey.”

“Dammit,” Cam sighed as her stomach flipped a little cartwheel.

******

The corridor on the C-Deck crew quarter was quiet and empty. She'd just come off shift, and by her circadian clock it was about 5am. The day-time janitorial team would just be waking up, she figured, but was still wary about disturbing Geoffrey if he happened to be sleeping. She wanted this weird squid thing they'd found, though, so she'd have to suck it up.

She waved her hand in front of the door panel and heard the soft beep echoing into the room inside. The seconds ticked by agonisingly slowly in the still silence of the corridor and she shuffled awkwardly, wondering if it would be rude to beep again, when she heard a scuffle and the door slid open.

“Mmm?” Geoffrey stood before her in little more than a pair of black boxers and a skin-tight black sleeping shirt that clung to his scales, fitting his lithe, toned form perfectly. She sucked in a gasp of air; this was the most she'd ever seen of him – of any Cleckovian, for that matter – and his colourings and patterns, previously hidden behind the overalls, were astoundingly beautiful. “Oh, it's you,” he met her gaze and then quickly looked down at the floor. “Greetings.”

“Um, hi,” Cam bit back her lip and then cleared her throat. “So hey I heard you found a squid thing living in the trash compactor down in F-deck aft and that you're keeping it temporarily until it gets re-homed and I have a spare tank in my quarters from the time my ex bought me a Phynosian Snootlebug for our twenty-three-day-anniversary and I'd like the squid please.”

She stared at him hard, struggling to keep her focus on his face. He lifted his head briefly to look at her, piercing bright green eyes boring intently into hers, and then looked down again. “Yes, of course. Wait here.”

Geoffrey spun around and vanished into the dim light of his quarters. Cam sucked in a deep breath, held it a moment, and then let it out with a quiet, drawn-out hiss of air. She tried for a moment to resist having a good gander of what she could see of his room while she stood in the doorway, looking at anything but – the doorway itself, the corridor, the rivets in the wall, even the pattern in the metal floor tiles, but eventually cracked and turned her attention to what she could see of his room.

Cam's knowledge of Cleckovian culture was sparse and so she had no idea what typical Cleckovian room décor would be like, if even there was such a thing, but she wasn't expecting anything quite as cozy and intriguing as Geoffrey's quarters. The sterile base décor of the room had been hidden behind wall-hangings and shelves and display cabinets, the standard company-provided furniture removed and replaced with a massive leather sofa and easy chairs. A lamp in the corner cast the room in a warm yellow glow and made Cam homesick for winters and fireplaces and crunching snow.

A shadow flickered through the doorway to the bedroom and then Geoffrey re-emerged carrying a small synthetic container that sloshed with water. A dark shape coiled a suckered tentacle against the container's edge.

“The creature,” He held out the container to her. “With pleasure.”

Cam's fingertips touched briefly with Geoffrey's hands as she took the tub from him. The sudden, unanticipated sensation of cold smooth scales beneath her fingertips almost caused her to let go and drop the tub; the water sloshed as she grabbed hold, much to the consternation of the creature inside that writhed and coiled, agitating the water.

“Is it dangerous?” Her cheeks flushed hot, fingertips still tingling with the echo of Geoffrey's skin. She chanced to look up at him and found him staring intently at her, bright green eyes locked onto her, but as soon as she met his eyes he looked quickly away.

“I don't know,” He shrugged, and offered nothing more.

“Right,” Cam said. “Well... I guess I'll find out.”

“Are you -” He started, voice lilting as if a question was forthcoming, but he paused and swallowed, shadowed eyes drilling into a point in space just to the side of her waist. “I'm sure it will find a good home with you. Thank you for relieving me of it. Good evening.”

Before she could respond, Geoffrey had retreated into his quarters and the doors hissed closed.

“Night,” She said into the empty corridor, and then sighed and turned to head back to her own quarters to get her new pet settled in.

*****

“Your panel is a little... dirty,” Geoffrey leaned over her where she sat in the beat-up leather chair of her hauler and traced a finger along the paneling. He was naked from the waist up and his scales rippled orange-red as he stretched past her.

“It – it is?” She stammered, torn between pushing the chair back to give him more room and enjoying this closeness to his body.

“Mmmm. You've been a very naughty girl, letting your equipment go this long without some attention.”

“I have?” She looked up at him with wide eyes, and this time he met her gaze and held it steady, those bright green eyes so close and unwavering that she could see the thin streaks of gold that outlined his slitted pupils.

“Very naughty indeed,” he tugged a cloth from his toolbelt and ran it slowly along the contour of the dashboard. “I could see to that for you, if you like. It just needs a little attention. A little... TLC.”

The low, gravelly quality of his voice hummed through her chest, his slightly lengthy S-es that always gave a little flicker of his forked tongue seemed to curl themselves around her and draw her up to him. He worked the cloth to the far end of the dash such that he had to lean past her to reach. The tip of her nose grazed his chest and her eyes fluttered momentarily closed.

“Would you like that?” He whispered, mouth so close she could feel his cool breath on her heck. Her skin prickled, every fine hair along her back standing to anticipatory attention.

“Yes,” She whimpered. “Yes, I'd like that.”

“I thought you might,” Geoffrey's muzzle nudged lightly into her neck and then he pulled back, turning his attention to the paneling and working the cloth around the instruments.

“My apologies if I... tweak your buttons,” He rubbed the cloth across the many switches and toggles on the dash. She watched his every move, mesmerised as he paid close attention to every single knob, twisting the cloth down over them and polishing deftly across every button top.

“It's fine,” She mumbled. Her throat was dry. What was he doing here in her ship? His janitorial duties only extended to the station; there was a different team that valeted the ships when they weren't in use. Had she asked him? She couldn't remember. Did he come here to see her?

“This panel is particularly dirty,” A bottle of spray appeared in his hand and he spritzed it onto the radar screen. For some reason, she found the action particularly arousing. “Really, you should take better care of your gear,” he mock-tutted at her. “I will have to scrub this good and hard.”

“You – you will?” She couldn't move, frozen in place by the spectacle of a shirtless Geoffrey scrubbing imaginary grime from her junker's dashboard.

“Oh, yes,” He assured her. “And what about you, hmm?”

“Me?” She gulped.

“When was the last time you had a shower? When I'm done with your ship, shall I give you a good scrubbing, too?”

“Haaaah, I don't, uhhhh” Cam stammered, eyes wide as Geoffrey cast her a lascivious sidelong glance, still working the dash with his cloth and spray, scrubbing up and down with theatrically slow strokes.

“I thought so,” He nodded sagely. “You're filthy, hauling this scrap around all day. Oh well, not a moment to waste! Let's get to it, shall we?”

Suddenly she wasn't in her ship any more, but standing fully clothed in the dark, empty communal showers on her section of the crew deck. She could see Geoffrey's reflection in the mirror on the wall in front of her, a reptilian silhouette moving towards her through the shadows.

“Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?” He hissed quietly and she felt his hands wrapping softly around her upper arms, talons pressing into the sleeves of her jacket. “How about a nice cold shower?”

“Cold?” She frowned as Geoffrey guided her to a nearby shower and turned the faucet. A trickle of cold water dripped from the showerhead and splashed down her cheek and neck.

“Aren't you hot? I think you're hot. A good cold shower should cool you down, though,” He peeled the jacket from her shoulders before she could protest and the droplets of cold water trickled down under her shirt.

“You think I'm hot?” She turned around to face him and found herself nose-first with his chest. “Oops,” She giggled. “You're so close. Are you going to shower with me?”

“Would you like me to?” He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her head up until she was staring into his piercing eyes. More cold water flicked over her; she shivered involuntarily and he pulled her closer against him, wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned down, down closer until his mouth was almost touching hers, and still the cold water dripped over her, trickling down her arms...

Cam blinked into the darkness and sat up, pushing the sheets away. The fog of sleep faded but the sensation of cold water on her arm remained.

“Warm light twenty percent,” She called out to the computer and the darkness receded as the computer complied. Her arm was indeed covered with droplets of cold water, and the squid-creature she'd rescued earlier that evening was half-draped over the rim of the tank she'd put it in, one tentacle languidly flicking in and out of the water, smattering the closest side of her bed to the tank with droplets.

“Dammit,” She sighed and climbed out of bed to fetch a towel. “I don't know if you were doing that on purpose, but that dream was just getting good.”

She didn't know if it understood her, but it coiled a second tentacle out of the tank and seemed to adopt even more of a casual lounge, splayed out along the corner of the tank, tentacle-tips playing with the surface of the water.

“Oh, you think this is amusing? Brat. Hey, maybe that's what I'll name you. You like that, Brat? How about it?”

It followed her as she moved around the room, pulling itself along the top-front rim of the tank's glass with its suckers, and when she stopped, it stopped too and resumed its lazy water-playing.

“Brat it is, then.”

---

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, let me know at WelshPixie <3