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Keyword Destiny: Postscripts	By : Kereliah Category: +G through L > Invader Zim Views: 2219 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim, and I'm not making any financial profit off this story.

Chapter List
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2. Sweet and Sour
When Tak came to in the anglerfish forest, she blinked several times in quick succession, then scrambled out of my lap and onto her feet. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she demanded of me, brushing the sand off her skirt. "We should get back to the ship. Mimi will be wondering where we've gone."
"Uh, okay," I said, slightly bemused. "Give me a sec."
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised to find out that she wasn't an afterglow kind of gal. And I guess I didn't have any right to feel cheated, given how many girls I'd kicked out of my bed before my fingers were dry.
Still, I had to shake my head, as I collected myself – pulled on my leggings, buckled my boots, finger-combed my hair where she'd been mashing her face into it – and got up to follow her down the path. It wasn't like I'd expected to lie around snuggling for an hour, but—I don't know. Whatever I had expected, it wasn't this.
The more I thought about it, though, watching her antennae bob as she marched ahead of me, the more I realized that this was exactly like her. She wouldn't know how to handle something like this, so she'd act like it hadn't happened. Tak was smart; she had a lot of years and a lot of experiences under her belt, probably more than I'd ever have. Thing was, all that time spent dealing with things in a specific set of ways meant that she was very set in them.
She had a system for making sense of things, for categorizing them in her head, and situations outside her field of expertise tended to end up in her mental dumpster. She'd be trying to keep from feeling frustrated and confused by pretending she wasn't frustrated and confused, which I could understand. After all, nothing reminds you you can't control everything like somebody making you scream.
I decided I was going to be patient, and let her come to me when she was ready. It was a good thing, what I had going on with Tak; I didn't want to ruin it by pushing her too hard.
So I kept my mouth shut, all the way through the anglerfish forest and nearly back to camp. Made believe we'd just gone for an unusually long stroll, and absolutely nothing was any different than it had been when we'd left the ship. It wasn't until she broke the silence, a few dozen feet away from our camp, that reality resurfaced for us both.
She stopped so suddenly that I almost tripped over her, and turned to face me with a deep groove in her brow. "You can't tell Mimi about what happened," she said.
"Well, damn. And here I was all excited to give her the play-by-play."
"I'm being serious, child!" she snapped, anxiety pitching up her voice. "You have to promise me you won't mention it around her, or anyone. Ever. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Sticky," I said more gently, unable to keep from feeling a stab of sympathy at how freaked out she looked. Poor repressed Sticky Tak. She's got a rough couple of weeks coming up. "I won't tell anyone. Promise."
When I leaned down to kiss her, she didn't let me get within six inches of her mouth before she jerked away, smacked me across the face, and stormed off to her ship, her cheeks blazing deep green. She actually smacked me!
And here I thought that phase of our relationship was over, I sighed to myself as I watched her go, rubbing the sore spot where her hand had landed. Silly me.
Tak disappeared into her ship for the rest of that day, and I knew better than to go in after her. I wasn't even really surprised when she declined to join me under the dome that night, though I was a little disappointed. She needs time, I reminded myself, stretched out on my bedroll trying to fall asleep without her warmth against me, without the scent of smoke and cardamom flavoring the air. Just give her time. She'll come around.
But she took her sweet time doing it. All throughout the next week, she was startlingly cold to me, keeping our conversations short and her displays of affection…well, limited would be too generous a word. We left Shrith after a couple of days, and when we pitched camp on a new planet, she did get back to sleeping under the dome with me.
Which was less comforting than you'd think, seeing as she spread out her bedroll a good foot from mine, and made it very clear that she wasn't interested in being visited. Any attempt to touch her, whether inside or outside the dome, earned me a slap or a shove.
It wasn't like she was mad at me. I never got the impression that she was angry, just nervous, just mixed-up inside. She was trying to work it out, what I'd done to her in the anglerfish forest, and she kept hitting dead ends. She was afraid to let it happen again, but also afraid not to.
Or maybe afraid wasn't the right word. I figured out quickly (and with no small amount of pleasure) that fucking Tak wasn't going to be a one-time thing, no matter how uptight she was about it. After just a few days, she was craving me like crazy; I could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way her muscles clenched under her clothes. The way she flinched when I touched her, like some girls flinch when you first introduce them to a vibrator.
She was a sexual being now, whether she liked it or not, and sooner or later she'd need to reach that crisis her body was begging for. All I had to do was wait.
I had to hand it to her, though: she was one stubborn little iguana. Two weeks after we left Shrith, she was still keeping her distance from me, and the waiting game was getting old. She's got to be miserable, I thought one night, as I lay on my bedroll watching her slip under the dome. I mean, Jesus. Talk about blue balls. I know I told myself I'd give her time, but how much frickin' time does she need?
Once the dome was closed and darkened, she unfurled her bedroll its usual distance from mine. "Goodnight," she said curtly, curling up with her back to me.
"Goodnight."
For awhile, I lay there staring at her back, watching the rise and fall of her breath fail to affect the rhythm of sleep. She was wide awake and dying for it, and I was lying there dying to give it to her—so why the fuck am I still waiting?
I mean, seriously. Fuck patience, right? Patience wasn't getting me laid.
"What on Irk are you doing?!" she barked (actually, sort of squeaked) when she felt me slide up behind her, my arms snaking around her, my nose buried in her shoulder.
When she found herself unable to wriggle out of my embrace, I felt the ports on her pak opening against my chest, and I countered with something between a kiss and a bite to the nape of her neck – just enough teeth and tongue to make her choke on a groan. "Get off of me!"
"You don't want that," I murmured against her neck, pressing several softer kisses onto the spot I could feel throbbing from the first. Every time my lips touched her skin, she liquefied a little more, until her pak's ports had closed and she lay shuddering in my arms. "If you would just let me do what you really want me to do, this would be so much easier for both of us."
"What I want you to do is—is—oh!" She lost her protest to a gasp when I slipped a hand under her dress and into her leggings.
Sweet shit, was she ever happy to see me. There was a fucking monsoon in her leggings, swear to God; I pushed three fingers into her so easily it was almost embarrassing, and got to work getting reacquainted with that spot I'd gotten so friendly with last time. "Oh—oh—don't! I can't, I can't—"
"What exactly can't you do, Sticky? Explain it for me."
"I can't—do—this! Ohmy—oh—stopitstopitstopit! ItoldyouIcan't!" She made a whole bunch of interesting noises as I stroked her sweet spot, singing a pretty little song I'd gone way too long without hearing. Even as she whimpered stopit, she pistoned her hips frantically against me, all the while pulsing, quivering, clutching my fingers tight inside. "Why won't you listen to me?" she finally managed to spit out, sounding breathless, desperate.
"I'm listening, babe," I purred softly, right about where her ear would've been if she'd had one. "And I get it, okay? I know this stuff's hard for you. But you're going to have to get used to it at some point – because even if I did stop doing this, it wouldn't make you stop wanting me to."
"Don't know what you're talking about. I—umm…Iaahhh-ah—aineh! Srlyzyaaahh…" Her voice hitched and she moaned a stream of Irken words, splashing into the dam of her bedroll. I felt the muscles in her gut tense as she fought to stop herself pushing against me. "Toldyoutostopit," she growled weakly. "Idon'twant…I dohhh…"
"You know what? That gives me an idea." Without withdrawing my hand, I pulled her over onto her back and swung a leg overtop of her, so that I could see the spasms engulfing her face. I clapped my free hand over her mouth to shush her yelping while I made my offer, and her eyes blinked open wide.
"Let's make a bet," I said, grinning, keeping my fingers moving, loving the way the pleasure played out on her face in the absence of sound. "If I can't make you come in the next sixty seconds, I'll leave you alone. For good. You say stop it, you got it; I'll never touch you below the belt again.
"But if I do, you have to promise to at least try not to be such a prude about this. No more don't. No more I can't. If you can't go more than a minute without creaming yourself like a thirteen-year-old girl watching Twilight, you've got to admit there's something to this stuff. 'Kay?"
Of course, it wasn't really a fair wager. For one thing, I hadn't given her much chance to think it over. For another, we both knew I was going to win – or I did, anyway.
I worked her over until she was screaming so loud she was nearly sobbing, and it didn't even take me the whole sixty seconds to finish her off; I found myself drooling over the thought of what I could do to her with a vibrator (better yet, a strap-on), if only I'd had one. She came arching her back, clawing her bedroll, soaking my hand in that wine-flavored nectar that slicked her inner walls.
As her shrieks melted into sighs, her body giving way like the skin of a burst balloon, I pulled my fingers free of the twitching heat inside her, and flopped down next to her on the bedroll. This time, I scooped her up in my arms before she could even think about making a break for it, though she didn't seem in any condition to just then.
She was as limp as a sack of flour, finally drained of the tension she'd been carrying around for two weeks. She smelled amazing, like salt and honey and firewood, and she was making these beautiful little afterglow-y sounds under her breath. Pressed against me, she was warm and damp with sweat.
I allowed her a few minutes' recovery in silence, then kissed her on the forehead, whispering, "Feel better?"
She stiffened instantly, as I'd guessed she would, and blinked up at me. Her eyes narrowed as she watched me lick my fingers clean. "What are you doing, child?"
"Licking your girl-jizz off my fingers, Sticky. What does it look like?"
"Well, don't!" she snapped, her cheeks going a shade darker than they already were (which was impressive, seeing as she was already fairly turquoise with exertion). "It's disgusting. You'll give yourself some sort of disease."
"You're diseased?"
"No! That's not what I—" She paused and spat out the bait midway through her sentence, glaring at me. When she shoved me off and made as if to get up, I didn't even bother trying to stop her; I knew she wasn't going to get far. "Listen," she was saying, "I should really—aik!"
Before she could even get all her weight on both feet, she was squeaking as her knees buckled beneath her, her breath and her strength failing her in one dizzy blow. Of course, she didn't exactly have far to fall. All I had to do was reach out to gather her to me again, cuddling her head to my chest, slipping an arm around her to play with her antennae.
She flinched at first, maybe anticipating another onslaught on her poor smoking nerves, but I kept my touch light and soon she relaxed. After a little while, I began to pet her, scratching her shoulders and what little of her back was available above her pak.
"So I suppose," she mumbled into my shirt, with a touch more bitterness than I suspected she really felt, "that now that I've lost your ridiculous bet, you're going to expect me to allow you to molest me on a regular basis without complaint?"
"Bingo." I rolled over onto my back, bringing her with me, so that she lay on top of me looking down into my eyes. Folding my arms behind my head, I looked up at her and smiled. "But let's have a little chat about it, huh?"
"A chat about what, exactly?"
"Well, now that you've got your head screwed on straight again, why don't you take another crack at explaining what's been going on up there these past couple of weeks? What's your mental block with getting laid? I know you like it, you know you like it, so why keep trying to convince us both otherwise?"
She rested her chin on my chest and frowned at the neck of my nightshirt, suddenly too shy to meet my gaze. "I do not like it," she grumbled.
"Tak, please," I sighed. "Slap me, kick me—stomp my teeth on a curb, if you have to, but don't fucking lie to me. Not with my fingers still smelling like your snatch."
"Fine. Fine! But I can't explain it to you; I don't…quite understand it myself." She released a long breath, chilling the thin layer of sweat that had formed on my collarbone.
"I don't know. I suppose I'm…just not used to being so vulnerable around anyone, to—giving someone else so much control over me. It's hardly something Irken soldiers are conditioned for. The last thing we're taught to want to do is open ourselves up to be humiliated."
"I'm not in this to humiliate you, hon."
"I know that. But as you still apparently fail to grasp, Irkens aren't sexual creatures. We're not brought up to associate having our defenses broken down and our physiology exploited with a pleasurable experience, or equipped to process that kind of pleasurable experience in the first place. Irken physical gratification is—well—"
I snorted. "Snack-based?"
"Actually, yes. And as I'm sure you can imagine, nachos and doughnuts have prepared me rather poorly for…all of this." For a moment, she pressed her lips together tightly, and I could almost hear her trying to put together a sentence in her head. "It's difficult, feeling so…dependent on you."
"Well, hey, that's called being in a relationship, Sticky," I said, surprising myself. I hadn't known what I was going to say before I said it, but—we were in a relationship, weren't we? A real one.
I'd been with her longer than I'd ever been with any of my girlfriends (sacrificed much more for her, and so readily that I hadn't even thought of it as a sacrifice before now), and I felt differently about her than I ever had about anyone else. It was looking like she and I were in it for the long haul, or the foreseeable future, at least. I was startled to realize that that didn't bother me at all.
"You have to deal with the fact that you're letting somebody close enough to fuck you up, and trust them not to. I'm here when you need me, babe. You want to feel good; I'm itching to make you feel good. I mean, I'm dependent on you, too."
I unfolded my arms and reached out to tweak the spiral of her right antenna, raising my eyebrows meaningfully. "But do me a favor and don't go pulling that ice queen shit again, okay? As I think we can both tell by now, it doesn't help anybody."
She humphed into my T-shirt. "I suppose you're right."
Not long after that, we slept with me spooned up to her back for the first time in two weeks, the light from the dome's artificial stars speckling our skin. Nothing had felt so good in—well, in two weeks, and I dropped off in record time. The last thing I remembered thinking, before I fell asleep, was that it'd been so long since I last slept with her that I'd forgotten how our bodies aligned. Her head seemed like it fell higher on my chest than it had before.
The next morning, I stirred before she did, and was so pleased to find her there in my arms that I decided I had to wake her up. Not ten seconds after I burrowed in to kiss her neck, she started squirming, swiping at me like she was trying to hit my snooze button.
"Ack!" she spluttered. "What on Irk are you doing, child? Get off of me!"
"I don't think so, Sticky." I smiled and wet my lips, where I could still taste the sweetness I'd sucked from my fingers the night before. And I lit, then and there, on my personal challenge for the morning: find out what it's like straight from the source. "If you want to get used to this, you've got to practice."
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Keyword Destiny: Postscripts