Gayliens (LGBT, Aliens, Sci-fi, Alter sex)
Fic request! Gayliens. Homosexualiens. It’s my most neglected kink. I want lewd aliens. An alien man who (instead of dick tentacles or a big green penis with a knot, both of which are sexxxy) has another hole. He has a big dick, but no balls and below his cock is his vagina. Terminology for that extra hole can be anything~ boypussy, pussy, bussy, etc I got ahead of myself because I’m excited. In my idea there are aliens secretly on earth. Their skin tones range from lime green to neon green to gray. Some have tentacle dicks or dicks that lay eggs in you and some have an extra hole. I don’t know if all this info is necessary but I’d rather give you too much so you can use the parts you want and discard the rest, than give you too little and make you fill in the blanks yourself. You work really hard, dude. This alien man gets seen by a bold human and agrees to have sex with the human to not tell the world aliens exist. When the human man takes the alien home he learns this alien doesn’t just have typical human male genitals. He explores the alien’s body in wonder and tops him in his boypussy. They both love it & cum really hard.
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Act 1:
Ground Control To Major Tom
If you’re reading this, you’re probably the last of your species.
I’m still so incredibly sorry about that.
Genocide, it’s not something you’re concious of when you’re doing it. There’s the act and the mind, and between the two lies fuzzy static. You know you’re about to obliterate an existence, but your hands move all the same. They glide from blade to neck, and it’s over. You wash your hands and the sun sets. You wake up the next day, and it’s nothing more than a flicker in your mind. Remember that thing? Oh, you know. Damned if you can remember it’s name, though.
So.
If you’re here, that means at least one of you survived. Congrats. If there’s any mercy in all of this, it happened as quick and clean as we planned. We wanted it painless, mind. Really, we did. But it’s the gulf of sensation-that fuzzy space us and your kind-it made us blind. We likely fumbled it. There was blood for sure, but probably so much more than any could have anticipated.
Please. Do me one favor, okay?
Just keep reading. Let me tell you all of it, right from the top. You deserve that much. Oh, don’t think it’s for altruism. I’m a selfish whore of a man, all men are. I want your attention, need it. I want to be a good one, the hero. I’m not. I never have been, but let’s pretend. If I can tell you how it all happened, if you deserve nothing less?
Then I deserve-at the least-your pity in return.
Deal?
Deal.
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Let’s start with facts.
Fact number one:
Your planet-an aqua-blue ball of mud-was infiltrated. Not invaded. “Invasion” implies there was a war. It implies we appeared out of nowhere, gunships in tow. It hints-for a whole second-that we weren’t here. I want you to take a moment-and ask yourself if you believe that. If you can just accept that story. That in a single day, a population of 8 billion of your species were conquered.
Thousands of years of evidence to the contrary are just waiting for you. Infiltrated. Not invaded. Remember that. I won’t tell you the origin point-but I will tell you why. It’s quite simple.
We wanted to watch.
That’s it. Your media, it constantly makes us out to be monsters. With tails, spines. Five mouths that spit acid and skin that has camouflage. It’s cute, you’re all so damn cute. Oh, your species gets appalled at those kinds of caricatures, but it’s totally okay when it’s applied to others. Do you have any idea just how often the pleiadians wanted to correct you? We stayed their wrath as we have all others.
“Oh, don’t do that. We need the observations!”
They nodded and cooed about that. Oh how exciting it was for them-having been so close to a Centauri research deployment. Having been merciful and kind enough to allow us to continue. The pleiadians? They’re logic-based organisms. Absolutely no sense of emotion whatsoever. It’s all an act, a sham. But our work, it wasn’t so different. Centenarians?
We can mesh with the genetic code of anything we come across. It takes seconds. We touch you, and then we’re part of you. Sometimes literally, sometimes not. We employed an awful lot of mail people for that reason. Delivering the mail is the perfect cover. If you like your mail person? Like them enough to wave, shake their hand?
Hi. It’s us. The emotions are real, but all that flesh is a means to an end. UPS and the mail service was our idea from their inception. Before that, it was courtiers and courtesans. Before that, town criers. Shamans. Spiritual leaders. The Nazarian prophet? The most astounding researcher we ever had. Absolutely no one expected him to be successful, but he showed us didn’t he?
We never had to develop a single weapon against your species. Not even a one. All it took was a smile, a touch. They were lost, and I took them in. Amen.
You’re probably angry. It’s okay, it’s okay. Really, that’s a natural reaction. Where I in your solitary, isolated shoes right now? I’d probably be frothing at the mouth. If I had one. It’s okay to be angry-because we realized something watching you. All these thousands of cycles, we came to realize something. Blame it on proximity, blame it on pride.
But we came to like your kind. Really, genuinely like them. You were as beautiful in your contradictions as you were in aspirations. All those jumbled emotions-the anger and the hope, the joys and the pain-they’re intoxicating. There’s simply no reason for it to exist. It’s your greatest triumph and your biggest weakness.
So we had an idea. A funny, silly idea. It’s the kind of thing that-like that one researcher you crucified-seems too obtuse to work. But after establishing a religion? We were game for anything. It’s not enough, you see, to simply mesh with your genetics. Transforming into you doesn’t have the same thrill. No, we decided after all the nukes and wars and climate disasters that we simply couldn’t let go. Not yet.
We still had so much to understand. About you, about your emotions. We began a specialized planetside division that would work very closely with your species. Closer than we had ever imagined, or thought probable. Was it a break in protocol? Absolutely, but therein lies the fun. Your kind? You were going to establish new precedent for countless star systems.
Your sacrifices weren’t in vain. See?
You might be alone now, but it wasn’t all for nothing.
To understand you, to make sense of you-well.
Direct action always brings direct results.
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Fact Number 2:
It’s not just the mail people. It’s not just the UPS truck pulling into your driveway. It’s not just the nameless fast food workers, transients and service people. No, you know some of us. Not just a name, but in something so much more direct. Firm. Real.
Have you ever had a one night stand? A forgettable fling in the sheets-you promise to call in the morning. Then you never pick up the phone. No? Well, shame. But you have felt a trace of that excitement. Maybe it was the stranger you thought too beautiful to ignore. Perhaps it was the high school crush. If there’s been a face in the crowd you couldn’t pull your gaze from-hi.
It wasn’t just enough to be you. We came to a point in research we had to experience you. Quantitative biological data, that’s easy to obtain. But qualitative data?
We excel at that for a very specific reason. That genetic meshing, well. What’s the point if we can’t reconfigure ourselves to get closer?
Our elder research council disapproved the idea at first. The logical risks, they contested, outweighed the net gains. None of us had held such forms for that long. What if we got stuck? What if we began to live our covers? There had been scattered reports of just that, after all. They mulled, and they mulled. During that time, your kind had two great wars. You used your nuclear weapons with abandon, and damned were the consequences. After Nagasaki, that’s when the council finally decided.
You see, you weren’t supposed to make it as long as you did. Based on all models? I shouldn’t even be recording this. We were due in another star system twenty earth years ago. The council, they thought you would be extinct by now.
It’s the one time they have been wrong.
They begrudgingly approved, and figured you would be extinct before we could finish. Research units were hand selected based on previous service and raw ability. I was personally picked simply because I could hold my form that much longer. We were shipped in batches of five all over with one directive:
Blend in. Report back.
Deployments could be a week or longer. The first earth-month, an entire unit returned. They were so smug about it. An odd thing, since they certainly hadn’t left that way. Much less understood how to act smug in the first place. I didn’t say a word-I was already deep into my own work at that point. Following the directive meant getting a job, a house. An apartment at the least. It meant being tossed right into the thick of it, and wobbling like a newborn. I had to smile, I had to act just right.
Plenty of us did.
I bet you had the same, didn’t you? See, we realized that about you. Being human, having emotions-we’d viewed it so superficially. The transportation, the cars, the menial labor. So much worth placed within them. But there were parts to it never spoken of. Not in the light of day, and certainly not to your mail people. Your fast food workers. These countless faces that blended into generic details when you started your sleep cycles.
These details, they’re the finite element of humanity. The far-too-quick hidden moments were the gaps in our learning. You think after a thousand or so years we would have grasped it-but no.
No, it wasn’t until Tom came along I-and the rest-learned everything.
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Act 2
Countdown Engines On
He had such a fantastic smirk.
It was accented by a scar on the right side of his mouth. One that stretched from the edge of his lip towards his milky eye. On another face, another time? It would be a feature on a wanted poster. It would be played as a vaudeville prop, something to let us know who the villain was. But when Charlie smirked, that scar made the lines on his face deep. The slightest twitch made it look like a smile.
And Charlie? He always gave me a reason to smile.
He’s sitting there now, a hand propped to his temple. His fingertips comb through his salt and pepper hair as he laughs. It’s a deep, throaty noise accented by a smoker’s hack. He pushes a bang of black behind his ear, and plucks a cigarette from it. It’s at his lips as he speaks.
“Ya’ never told me where you’re from,”
It’s my turn to smirk. I lift my whiskey sour, and tilt it back. To your kind, it burns-so I burn a little too. I shrug, and the glass meets the table. “Oh, a ways away. Nowhere special,”
Charlie laughs again, and brings a fist to his lips. He fights back the cough as he ashes his cigarette. He shakes his head, and jabs the cigarette towards me. Past him, a few boys walk up to the jukebox. The quarters hit loud as early morning, and I watch as one slips his hand into another’s pocket.
“Oh bullshit,” says Charlie. He takes another drag, and tilts his head so his good eye focuses on me. That shade of blue, it makes me think of the mother ship. Viewing the edge of the star system from the command deck. An endless sapphire in every direction. I snort-a sound I’d found that could mean anything-and stir a finger at my glass.
“Oh? Why’s it bullshit?”
“ ‘cause,” says Charlie as smoke plumes from his nose, “It’s un-special because it’s your place. To me, it might be the most special place in the world. Ya’ ever think of that? Huh?”
I smile, and shake my head. “No, I don’t suppose I have,”
Charlie nods, his jagged smile deep. He puts the cigarette in the ashtray, and his chin meets his hand again. It’s his turn to snort.
“Tom? How long we been drinking together?”
“Oh, two cycles,” I reply
“Two what?”
“Uh, years. Sorry,”
Charlie rolled his eyes, and jabbed a finger towards me. “Two fuckin’ years man. I ain’t tried to bite you once! Awful unfriendly to not at least tell a fella where you’re from, ain’t it?”
I hated questions like this. I hate hate hate them, because they’re illogical. They’re not the kind of question that seeks an answer-they want an appeal. Charlie was full of appeals. So I took a deep breath, and sat the glass down. “Hey, Charlie-you wanna get out of here maybe? Go do something?”
The boys at the jukebox, they’re dancing now. One hand on each other’s hips. Their smiles are mutual, slight turns of the lips that draw near. Their faces meet, and all the while they sway. Charlie audibly burps, and splays his hands towards the ceiling.
“Ain’t like us tramps got something better to do. Sure. Whatcha have in mind, stud?”
He ends the comment with a smirk. I reply with a blush. I rise from the stool as Charlie pulls out a ratty leather wallet. He crumples the bills on the counter, and joins me a pace later. By the time we pass the boys, they’re in each other’s arms. Their hips move to the rhythm of the young-one that dies as the door closes behind us.
I hear the flick of a lighter, and turned in time to see Charlie smoking again. His eye glints in the night as it takes in the street. He pivots on one foot, scanning the lane. The sapphire in his skull darts from one end to the other, then rests on me.
“You know, I never understood why you did that,” I said.
“Did what?” replied Charlie. His cigarette glows as he steps forward and joins me. We make our way down the alley, the dull roar of evening traffic growing louder.
“Eye the place like you’re getting jumped. You always do that. Every time we leave, as a matter of fact,”
Charlie snorts, and we pause at the mouth of the alley. This close to the road, the rush of what few cars dare to drive at this hour stirs his bangs. He takes a drag, and centers his eye on me. He jerked a thumb down the alley, and says “Stud, just ‘cause it’s the culturally enriched era doesn’t mean people are listening,”
“Come again?” I say. I hit the pedestrian crossing button, and wait.
“Look-just ‘cause people talk about it now, don’t mean folks like us got it easy. And I’m navy, you know? So like, ain’t exactly the most beloved sailor. Savvy?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I say. The cars come to a stand still, and a neon sign tells us it’s time to go. Our feet scuffled across the pavement. All the while, Charlie pivots and glances here and there. When his foot meets the curb, he speaks once more.
“I mean, love sells. But who’s buying? Ya’ got washington tellin’ us we ain’t shit. Our own fucking governer telling us where we can piss. So us both coming outta there? You keep an eye out. You sure as hell ain’t, so I gotta,” he says.
He stamps his cigarette out on the walk. I frown at him, and he gives a sigh. He picks the butt up, and puts it in his pocket. He looks back towards me, and gives a smirk once more. “There-happy?”
“As a bird of paradise. So-my place? Yours?” I say. Charlie snickers, and rolls his shoulders.
“Hrm, you said go somewhere different. But not as to what we’d be doing. Enlighten me?” he says, voice gruff with drink. I smiled and gave a small shrug.
“Whatever comes naturally. Sound good?”
Charlie snorts, and says “I might naturally pass the fuck out regardless. Your place? It’s got a nicer couch than mine,”
He scratches his chin, and lets out a yawn. With his scar screwed to the side of his face, he looks so much older than he is. His lips smack a few times, and his hand raises to scratch at his scalp. I smile, and give a slight nod. He staggers forward, and we walk side by side down the street.
“The bed is pretty comfy too,” I say.
“What’s that?” he replies.
“The bed. It’s comfy,” I say.
Charlie shakes his head, and glances towards me. He almost trips over his own shoes, but recovers back into his gait. “Nah hoss, ain’t gonna kick you out of your own bed. That ain’t right,”
I snort, and say “Who said anything about that?”
I keep walking, and it’s only when I reach the edge of the block I realize Charlie isn’t with me. I turn on my heel, and see him down the way. Big, wide boyish grin on his face. He lifts a finger, his eye glinting in the streetlight.
“Oh, you’re tuggin’ my jib,”
“No. I’m serious,” I say.
Charlie laughs, and shakes his head. He stares at me, then screws his face. “I don’t even know where you’re from, Tom. What do you take me to be, eh?”
I smile, and let my arms across my chest. I turn to stare at him, and gave a shrug.
“Well, good company for one. Cute for two. Offer is good until the next stoplight changes. Are you coming, or-”
Charlie answered with hurried footfalls, and a grin that wouldn’t drop. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” he said.
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We never understood houses. Not the intent of them. That we got-but it was the nesting style behavior we couldn’t understand. A home serves as shelter. Sure. We could grasp that well enough. The very elements that keep your planet alive could kill you. What wasn’t so easy to understand was Better Homes and Gardens. “Curb appeal”. Things like that, things you all take as some intrinsic worth. It’s utterly meaningless in the face of how your species treats those without shelter.
But I had a job to do. All of us did. And so when Charlie and I arrived at home, he made the same joke he always did. He let out a loud, drunken laugh as he stared at my one-story home.
“Bloody hell, is there a fiesta going on somewhere?”
I hadn’t known it was more appealing to paint the house a single color. The yellows, greens and reds I’d alternated between made the house a signal flare in the dark. Charlie laughed, just as he always did. Like it was the funniest joke in the world. He staggered to the railing, and gripped it as he slumped forward.
“You got your key, Tom?”
“Charlie, I live here. Of course I do,” I said.
Charlie straightened his back for a moment, and then nodded. “Oh, right. Sorry, I uh-”
I snorted, and scooted past him. “You’re drunk is what you are. C’mon-let’s get you in,”
I flitted my hand to my pocket. I clasped the key, and stuck it into the door handle. Charlie’s feet were heavy behind me, but he found his feet by the threshold. I flicked a few switches, and we made our way within the landing. Charlie shot a hand towards the wall, and covered his eyes.
“Oh god, we’ve gotta get you a decorator. The fuckin’ room is spinning,” he said.
I met his side, and hefted his arm around me. His eyes cinched, we staggered down the hall. Past the living room (neon pastels) and the kitchen (White. Everything white, including the utensils). We turned left at the end of the hall, and I nudged the door with my foot. Another heavy step forward, and I turned the lights on. Charlie finally opened his eyes, and gave a sigh of relief.
The bedroom, as the council ordered, was spartan. A bed, sky blue walls. A thousand different bedrooms across the globe, they were just like this. Calm and simple. More a symbol than a room.
Here, sleep or copulate.
“Holy shit, free at last. How the hell do you not vomit every time you come home?”
“I’m not always drunk when I come home,”
“Ah right,” said Charlie.
He lifted his arm off my shoulders, and fell into the mattress. He gave a slight groan, and pulled himself farther across. I stepped forward, and unlaced his boots. They met the floor, and his socks followed. As the mattress creaked, he turned to face me. His eyes glowed as much as his cheeks. He turned, and rolled over with a grunt. He settled his hands behind his head, and spoke with a gaze towards god.
“Awfully comfy,” he said.
“That it is,” I replied.
“Don’t seem like it makes a lot of noise,” he said.
“Not nearly enough,” I said in return.
Charlie smirked, and tilted his head towards me. It was a gesture I gave in kind. Laying there on the bed, in the weak glow of that single lightbulb, that’s when it happened.
I felt it. This abstract thing that radiated from my form’s legs up. It stopped about center, and I felt my pupils dilate as my pulse danced in fervor. When Charlie twisted and lifted a hand to my chin, I didn’t pull it away.
After all.
Arousal was still an emotion. Still worthy of research.
Charlie’s hands were callussed, but not the way he used them. His lips were clumsy with drink but no less passionate. He pulled the buttons of my shirt away, and so did I with his pants. When I tugged at the waist, his cock sprang free. It smacked against his navel, pulsing and red. I clasped it, I kissed it. And my pulse rang loud in my ears as he fumbled for my pants.
Right then and there, in that room with him? It could have ended so many ways. I’ve thought about it a lot since then. I could have grafted with him. Became him. Turned him into a slurry of protoplasm and stuffed him in tubes. But instead-instead I let my pants fall. I watched as Charlie’s face turned quizzical, and he lifted my member.
“Hey, you got a-”
“I do. Is that a problem?”
Charlie looked up at me, his eye twinkling as he smiled. The smirk, the one I’d fallen in love with, spread over his face once more. He probed a finger into my cunt as his other hand gripped my cock. He leaned forward, and pressed his lips against my chest.
“Seem like it’s a fucking problem, Tom?”
“No, but I’d like a fucking problem,”
Charlie busted into a course laugh, one that almost sent him coughing. He spread the lips of my cunt, and pressed two fingers within. As they writhe against my walls, I gasped. I reached forward, and clutched his head to me. He looked up at me, the light of that room making him radiant.
“S’okay,” he said, “s’all gonna be okay. You gonna lay down for me?”
“Of course,” I said.
Charlie answered with a kiss, and squeezed me even tighter. His lips met mine, and he snickered. “Good-’cause I don’t think I can stand too much right now,”
I opened my mouth to speak, but let out a gasp as Charlie pressed inside me. All the way to the hilt. As his balls slapped against my thigh, I tried to think. I tried to find the words. Every thought was pounded away with the thrust of his hips. He gripped my ankles, and pressed them back as he rose to his knees.
As he pressed deeper still, as his lips kissed mine one more time, he smiled.
That’s when I knew. That slight twitch of his lip, that’s when I knew the council would get involved.
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Act 3
Put your Helmets On
It came quick.
At least, I was told it was.
The morning after, Charlie left for port. He kissed me as he gagged at the painted hallway, but did it with a laugh. He’d be back soon, he said. It was only a short tour.
I blinked, and turned to my kitchen only to find it gone. In its place was the council chamber, it’s very presence swallowing the space utterly. I paused before the opening, every nerve on fire. I took a breath, and stepped forward. Every single atom, every molecule reconstituted me into my native form. The council, their gelatinous heads pulsing, they spoke to me in voices that shook my skull.
I’d done well, they said. Too well. It would be one thing if I’d acted alone-but so many in the department had done it too. Gone native. They had called us all back, and would be dealing with us post haste. I was to be processed immediately. They lifted their writhing tendrils, and pointed towards a wide arch. Beyond it, I saw the rest of our department in one endless line. Their heads swiveled, eyes wide as exhaustion seeped from them in a wave.
Exhaustion. I could sense it, that feeling.
That’s what was wrong.
That’s why we had all been called back.
They never told us how it happened or why. A genophage, I’d imagine. Something so potent it decayed every atom. But we were back a week later, back to our posts. My fiesta colored, vomit inducing house. Others to their shelters, their homes, their hovels. We weren’t doing live research anymore.
Our studies now are archeologically based.
I went looking for him once. Charlie. I managed to grab a skiff, and made my way to the pacific. He’d not recognize me, not like this. But something told me it wouldn’t matter. That warmth that had spread from my thighs settled into an ember, right about my chest.
Where your hearts are.
It kept burning as I looked, and only grew cold when I found his ship. Empty, the uniforms scattered all about.
I took his name tag. I wear it now.
Which brings me back to why I write, and why in a native tongue. If you’re reading this-if you’re human, and not just one of us?
I’m sorry.
We loved you. Loved you too much. We got drunk on it, and chased it until we burned every last one of you.
But it’s not forgiveness I ask for.
Just contact. Because if there’s at least one of you, there could be more. Maybe someone else out there.
We can take you-and we can make this world something beautiful again. We can undo it all. It will take time-and research-but it’s the least we can do.
I heard from a few peers that many of you saw us in our natural forms. The true way we live, who we really are. And your species didn’t blink, didn’t turn away. Some of them even welcomed us, treated us as one of their own.
I’d like that. I’d like if we could begin with that from the very start. To do away with the secrets and the hate, the bigotry and the lies we’re forced to tell. It’s so exhausting, all of it. It would be so much nicer to be true always, wouldn’t it?
So please.
If you’re reading this.
Let’s start again.