Page 19 of Alien Kraken's Prize

“My wife. Does your species not marry?” he asks, adorable brow wrinkling.

“We aren’t married,” I tell him with a choked laugh, because this has to be a joke.

“We were married as soon as I gave you my life-water.”

“Life-water?” I repeat, not understanding. “Oh. The shimmer jizz. The octo-baby-batter. Well, okay.”

Married to a kraken-dude who rules an underwater planet.

I could have done worse for myself.

“You aren’t angry?”

I purse my lips, sinking slightly, thanks to the raggedy motions of my legs, which are not nearly as well-equipped to swim gracefully with as eight freaking-fracking tentacles.

“I don’t want to live underwater.”

“Why don’t we take this one stroke at a time?”

When he says stroke, all I can suddenly think about is touching him. What is wrong with me?

Octojizztacular.

“One stroke at time,” I murmur. Oh. Step. Like stroke means step, one step at a time.

Got it.

“Food, rest, and then I will have my folk make you suitable to be seen in court.”

He’s very bossy.

Bossy about taking care of me.

For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to be his wife, really.

What would it be like to be his? To have someone look after me, to make sure I had food, make sure I was safe, clothed… taken care of?

Tears unexpectedly sting at the back of my eyes, and I find myself swimming towards him. Awkwardly, to be sure, but swimming nonetheless.

I cough on some water as I close the distance between us, and he pulls me into his body, desperately warm against my skin in spite of the barrier he’s created for me.

“You’re a good teacher,” I tell him.

“You are a clever student,” he replies, smiling down at me.

I let myself study him for a moment, really look at him.

He’s very, very handsome. His features are alien, but familiar enough to my own that I find myself reaching for his face.

He holds nearly completely still for me as I trace the flattened angle of his nose, the faint ridges on the sides of his eyes and forehead. It’s fascinating, how similar his face is to mine and how different.

My fingers trace lower, until I find his lips, softer than the rest. The tentacle around my waist flexes slightly, pulsing, and I can’t help the answering smile that tugs the corners of my own mouth up.

It is nice to be wanted by someone who has been kind and is very, very good to look at.

“Does your species kiss?” I ask softly, tilting my head.

“Yes,” he says emphatically, and pulls me up even closer, suspending me in front of him. It’s like the warmest, safest hug I’ve ever had, and we stare at each other for a long moment as desire ripples through me again. “Are you telling me you would like to kiss?”

---