The human female was nervous. The redness that had spread on her fleshy upper face was a telltale sign of discomfort, as was the way her eyes kept shifting from one spot to another, refusing to linger on any part of his exposed skin.
Threxin sighed as she pressed a damp cloth to the dry aperture beneath his chest. It ran diagonally from his sternum to his hip and, being among the largest on his body, was especially prone to dehydration. The warm moisture induced a carnal relief that felt entirely inappropriate, perversely drawing out the cyan glow within.
He had been nervous, too, to have those weird hands do their work on him. It was wrong to have anyone other than a parent or mate care these sensitive parts. They had flinched shut at the human’s first touch, and Threxin had to force himself to relax enough to open to her.
At first, he had half a mind to wave the female off and do the job himself, but he had already moved too much. The wound beneath the “synthskin” plaster in his chest had cracked, weeping at the edges.
But while he, too, avoided looking at the female at first, Threxin’s eyes were repeatedly drawn to those small fingers with their blunt claws. They were nimble and delicate--uncertain at first, though the female had apparently done this many times in the past days.
But now he was awake, and the human sensed the awkwardness of the situation as well as he did. They were both gritting their way through it without complaint, and as the ticks passed her touch grew more confident, falling into practiced, assured motions.
Too assured. Threxin hissed as she pressed the cloth too hard to the aperture, and she flinched back immediately: “Sorry.”
She should be. The jolt in his core was far from welcome. The way his apertures parted instantly against his will was even worse, and if he were human he would surely have reddened at this point as well.
