As the panic sweat starts to dry on my skin, I begin to feel a little chilly. I quickly stack a couple of logs and kindling in the fireplace and get a fire started.
My breath hitches in my throat as I turn back to Ravok. The quiet cabin, the soft glow of the fire casting long, intimate shadows. And a completely naked alien man, the warm light of the fire limning him like a dark glimmering statue.
I mime that I want to check the rest of his injuries. Kneeling on the hard floor, I reach for Ravok’s foot. “I’ll be gentle,” I promise, giving him a cautious glance, his white pupil-less eyes watching my every move with a grudging curiosity. I can sense his discomfort despite his best attempts to hide it.
Very slowly and gently, I rotate his ankle. Even though the area is still slightly swollen, his skin has thankfully lost its sickening shade of purplish black. His ankle still seems a little stiff and tender, but it’s showing fantastic improvement. If I thought he wouldn’t reject it again, I’d grab the bag of frozen veggies to lay on his ankle, but one look at the stubborn tilt of his chin and I know better.
I sit down next to him, my knees brushing against his hard thigh, needing to tend to the rest of his injuries.
From the moment I saved him, to nursing him back to health, we’ve shared this strange, inescapable intimacy. I’ve touched him more times than I can count – but it’s different now, somehow. Maybe it’s how his luminescent eyes watch me without pain marring his gaze, a silent type of attention that invades my senses and makes my heart pound in a way I can’t quite describe. Or perhaps it’s the low crackle of the fire, its intimate warmth coiling around us.
Inhaling deeply, I peel back the bandage on his side that hides the bullet wound. I gasp because the wound looks weeks old, not days.
“Wow…” I stammer out as my fingers graze the edges of his wound.
When I try to reapply the bandage, Ravok plucks it from my fingers, setting it aside. I give him an annoyed look, but he just returns my look with a flat stare. His lips twitch as if he’s trying not to smile in the face of my ire. I roll my eyes at my stubborn patient to make sure he understands that I see through him. Then, I have him lean forward so I can check the exit wound on his lower back. It looks as well healed as its counterpart. With hesitant fingers, I trace the subtly glittering pewter skin around the rapidly-healing wound.
I gingerly help Ravok lean back against the sofa cushion, his tall frame dwarfing me. His expression is stoic, but I can see the veiled pain throbbing in those luminescent eyes of his.
“May I?” I ask, pointing to the wound on his shoulder. We might not speak the same language, but respect is universal.
He offers a slight nod. I take that as a green light. Peeling back the bandage from his shoulder, I stare at the healing wound.
Last night, the injury was a ghastly gash that I was terrified was going to become infected. I shouldn’t even be surprised at the rate Ravok is healing, but my mind can’t process it. It is not as far along as the other wounds in regard to recovery, but he is healing in days what takes months for most humans. Lucky bastard.
In the hushed stillness of the room, I grab a fresh bandage from my first aid kit. Rippling muscles tense under my touch as I clean and sterilize the wound, hurriedly yet as gently as possible.
“Hold on, Ravok,” I murmur, his alien name rolling off my tongue. “Almost done.”
This time, he allows me to apply a fresh bandage. I want to say something snarky, but it would be lost on Ravok anyway. His intimidating gaze softens as he silently watches me work.
I realize that I have been resting one of my hands on his shoulder when it flexes under my hand. There is a part of me that wants to linger. I’ve never been this close to someone as muscular as Ravok.
The fact that I am kneeling almost across the body of a giant naked alien covered only by a damp towel isn’t lost on me. However, I force myself to pull away.
In the hallway, I spot the paper bag holding Ravok’s clothes where I’d dropped it earlier. Motioning him to wait, I hurry over to it and bring it bag to him. While there, I pick up the scattered remains of the splint. I hand the clothes to him, hoping he’ll be pleased. His hands dip into the bag, metallic skin glinting slightly in the dim lighting.
Slowly, he pulls out the oversized hoodie, his questioning gaze meeting mine. A small smile tugs at my lips.
“Clothes for Ravok,” I explain slowly. The words hang in the air, as Ravok looks from the hoodie back to me.
“Leelee…” Ravok’s voice trails off as he pulls the sweatpants from the bag. His silvery eyebrows furrow as he handles the strange piece of attire.
“For Ravok,” I say simply, my smile encouraging. I point to the sweatpants, then to him, hoping the message is clear.
Relief washes over me as he finally starts to pull on the pair of pants. Ravok groans as he leans over to slide the pants over his feet, so I stop him with a hand on his arm. I kneel on the floor and hold the pants so he can thread his large feet into the leg holes.
“Not that I’m against you staying naked – because let’s be real here, it’s one hell of a view – but for my libido’s sake we should keep you covered,” I tell him, winking playfully. He doesn’t understand me so I can be honest without worry. He looks almost startled at my wink, making me cackle like a witch.
Leaning over Ravok’s lap, I help slide the sweatpants up his legs and over his lap. Ravok gives a deep, growly grunt as he slowly lifts his hips, so I know it hurts. I quickly, but with care, work to slide the pants over his hips, trying not to jostle him. I stifle a gasp when I realize that I am almost face down in Ravok’s lap, hovering mere inches away from his cock as I try to help him pull on the sweatpants. My eyes want to look down, but I force my concentration onto his flexing abdomen which is only marginally better for my hormones. Despite my best efforts, I’m hyperaware of his maleness in my peripheral vision. I inhale sharply and my senses are flooded with his scent. He smells just like a regular man – salt, skin, a slight musk with an almost metallic undertone. My throat dries and my mouth floods with saliva – an involuntary, raw reflection of my bodily response to the proximity of him. I love giving head. There is nothing like the feeling of a thick, hard cock in my mouth; of driving a guy completely wild with my mouth. Ugh, I love it.
We finally get the sweatpants over his hips, and I sit back on my heels, trying to recover my equilibrium. One glance at his lap confirms that I can still easily see the outline of his dick through the jersey material.
I can feel a red-hot blush rush to my face. If I were wearing panties, they’d be damp, but I am still only wrapped in a towel. Oh god, I am a no-good, dirty pervert.
I get to my feet and pull the hoodie out of the bag. I hold it up to compare it to the breadth of Ravok’s shoulders. I’m relieved when I see that it should fit him.
I’m a little amazed – and definitely thankful – that Koko provided clothes that fit my massive alien guest.
I step forward, my hands extending to hold out the hoodie for Ravok. “Here, let me help you with this,” I say, pointing to tell him to guide his arms into the holes.
Ravok points at the fire, then at the bandage on his shoulder, growling a rapid set of words I can’t possibly decipher. When he points at the hoodie, shaking his head, he says, “No, Leelee.”
Ravok’s luminous eyes fixate on the hoodie in my hands; his sharp brow furrows as I extend it towards him. “It’s called a hoodie. It’ll keep you warm,” I try to explain, fully aware of the absurdity of arguing with an alien who can’t understand my words.
Ravok glares at me, shaking his head, his skin glowing a darker shade of silver. A low, annoyed-sounding growl builds up in his chest, echoing around the small cabin. He tends to growl and snap his teeth at me, but I notice that he seems to take care in not making any actual threatening moves towards me, so his ire doesn’t scare me.
Somewhere within me, a spark of defiance kindles to life. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or maybe the insanity of my situation, but I push back. With my heart pounding, I growl back, mirroring his rumbling sounds. Unyielding, he simply crosses his arms over his massive chest, growling louder. He bares his teeth at me. They glint ominously under the cabin’s lights. Startled at his audacity, I gasp out, “Don’t you bare your teeth at me, Ravok.”
Then Ravok raises his arm, demonstrating that he can barely lift it perpendicular to his torso.
Throwing my hands up in the air, I huff out a breath, “Fine! But don’t come complaining to me if you get a chill.” I drop the hoodie on the coffee table and pick up the splint. I approach Ravok, intending to put it back on his arm when he growls at me again. “What? We need to keep it immobile for a little bit longer. I want to make sure it heals properly.”
I approach him with the splint, and he growls at me again. I prop my fist on my hip and give him my best ‘stern nurse’ face. “Ravok! We need to put this on you. It’s just to support your healing.”
He gives me a look that reminds me of a stubborn toddler refusing to eat his veggies. Ravok shakes his head and says a series of deep, growly words I can’t possibly interpret. But the meaning is clear: He is refusing to wear the splint.
It’s not like I could wrestle it onto him – even if it is for his own good.